#they shoulda thrown it back in links face
Note
Hey! Could I request a fic where the reader and Bucky like each other and she has to pretend she’s Zemo’s girlfriend for the Madripor mission? Bucky gets jealous and all that jazz and they confess their feelings :)
Madripoor Muse
Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary | Bucky harbours feelings for you, but despite Sam’s inflatable encouragement, refuses to inform you of them. However, seeing you pretend to be Zemo’s girlfriend whilst on a mission, more so when the criminal knows what strings he is pulling at, happens to infuriate him inevitably.
Warnings | jealousy, violence, references to sex work (there is nothing wrong with it, everyone is free to do what they want or need to do to get by, angst, mentions of death, grief, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, swearing
Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬
“I mean, if he looks like a pimp, then I look like one of his workers.” Sam snorted at your words, as Bucky’s eyes trailed down the skin that was exposed through the small piece of fabric, that in modern days, was considered a dress.
Zemo simply sighed at the pair of you, shaking his head as though the former winter soldier would understand his point. “It’s Madripoor, not an american graduation. You are not going to be clothed in long robes in this place, expression is in the body, and how it is clothed.”
“Or not clothed.” Bucky retorted, frowning at how you shuffled beneath the criminal’s gaze, crossing your arms, which definitely did not help the situation, considering that it did nothing more than make your breasts rise. Admitting defeat, you let them fall, holding them to your sides, outlining your hips, which once more, was not how you wished to be portrayed as you walked through the illuminated air, careful to keep pace in your heels.
“We all have a part to play, winter soldier.” Helmut spoke, his accent causing waves to ripple through the euphoria of lights that lay up ahead. “I am me, you are you, Sam is the Smiling Tiger, and...”
“I’m a hooker?” Once more, Zemo showed disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to you. It seemed that tonight, you, a smart and well coordinated avenger, was absolutely adoring testing his patience, but that was his trick.
He was the captive here, forced to help the forsaken superheroes that had prompted him with the idea of escaping from the government’s ensured facility. And it was without a doubt that he would mess with their minds each chance that he got.
“No, think of yourself as more personalised to one person than that y/n. Your as you people say ‘arm candy’.” He used quotations with his fingers, causing you to reach for Sam’s arm to assume the role. “Oh no, not his.” Zemo made a come here motion, making you gulp.
“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky huffed, glaring unimpressed towards the Baron, who only tutted in reply, implying that he indeed was serious. “This is stupid.”
“Stupid would be allowing this hurrah of new age super soldiers to continue their war path, don’t you think James?” Zemo asked condescendingly, holding his arm out for you to grasp onto, so that you would look more than an associate, or a serum induced bodyguard.
“Me posing as your sugar baby is stupid.” You muttered, as you walked, Bucky on look out behind you, as he glared frustratedly at where you and the mass murderer were touching.
Zemo tugged you by the arm for the comment, causing you to roll your eyes at the man that had tried his best and succeeded, at destroying your team; your family. Nevertheless, you followed his stride, well aware of the sharp eyes of the man behind you.
As you entered the club, a spectrum of blue lights illuminated your skin, as you stared around in wander. There was a variety of all didn’t people, born from different virtues, wealths and races all intermingling around in the space.
If Zemo didn’t have a leash on your arm, you’d have stared for a little longer, perhaps even gotten purposely lost in the sea of bodies that flashed with such ambition and prospect. All were designed to suit their surroundings, and you wished that you could fit in that easily too.
But you were lost, roped into this journey by the Falcon, the man that denied Steve’s wishes and passed on the shield to firmer hands, still uncertain of where you were planning on going. What you needed was a fight, a reason to keep roaming upon the earth. If you came up empty, you may have well have taken up Thor’s offer, and accompanied him with his new friends.
The avengers were disbanded, dotted with different services. You’d heard nothing from Wanda, it appeared that her phone had been cut off, leaving you gravely confused, but you understood that she needed time to mourn. But you couldn’t give yourself the same pampering, if you did so, then all purpose of life would slip through your fingers, and you’d be left vulnerable, a hero that willingly fell from their graces.
Finally you reached the bar, with the shadow of the winter soldier hovering over your shoulder, watching as Zemo’s untrustworthy hand trailed along your furthest collarbone, using it as his sway to grab your attention. He set his sights upon his touch, glaring harshly at it.
No one would question the expression that he wore, it was only natural for his reputation to be proceeded with such a dagger like gaze; he was supposed to be playing the killer that he once was after all.
“My lady, what would you like to drink?” Helmut asked, turning your gaze towards his, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forbidding you from even try to look away from his sly eyes.
“White wine will do the trick, my love.” The words felt like spew falling from your mouth, but you withheld the impulse to grimace, instead, flashing him a flirtatious smile, fanning his face with your eyelashes as you were still held to face him.
“Fine choice.” He smirked, nodding towards the bartender, who had just presented the Smiling Tiger imposter with a shot that had the intestines of a snake floating around in its liquid. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Sam hesitated to drink it for a moment, before throwing it down the hatch, treating it as an old trick.
Madripoor, for an island trapped in violence, didn’t appear that bad on the outside. That was, until the shooting began, causing the lot of you to leg it from the citizens targeting their rifled hardware towards you, running with your lives depending on it.
You had temporarily lost Zemo, as you put head your own safety, your pace and spot being just between Sam and Bucky, as the first man’s arms flailed as he insisted that he could not run in the heels that he was wearing. Huh, you’d be running in heels all your life, maybe he shoulda learned how to do so earlier, it came as a great talent.
Gunshots rang out, as a hooded figure unveiled themselves, introducing the older face of a blonde that you had once knew. It had been quite some time since you had last seen her, all having gone your separate ways to evade the law, and its cruel jurisdiction. “Sharon?” Bucky spoke, instantly recognising the woman that had aided them in the past.
Once you were all reintroduced, and met with her annoyance, which was surely understandable, she led you to her property, where you were able to part from the Sokovian, and share your distaste to the man, as well as remove the skimpy dress.
It pooled at your feet as you tossed it from your ankle, leaving you in nothing more than your underwear. As you squinted, searching for some reason that you were continuing with this foolishness of thinking that the world still considered you a hero, an echo of a knock rattled against the door. It was metal upon wood; Bucky.
“Come in.” You spoke, as you tied a spare robe around your waist, watching as the super soldier, who appeared less stoic, and more human stepped into the room, closing the door behind his emerging shadow. “You alright man?”
Bucky’s eyes drifted down for a moment, before they splintered back up towards your face, his jaw physically tensing, the notion well visible. He breathed in a long breath through his nose, as he stepped closer, his brow harsh and lined upon his forehead.
“I didn’t like Zemo putting his filthy hands on you.” He admitted aloud, the words of Sharon, teasing him for pining after someone that he had once thought of as no more than a friend of Steve’s. But now that man was gone, and so was the one that he used to be. Instead, he was left standing on his own feet, having to find balance by himself somehow.
“Neither did I.” You informed him. “It was like he was pulling back the images of his collapsing country, pouring every ounce of pain and hatred upon me, evading my mind with guilt, and the memories of what it all amounted to. None of it had been worth it, living like this. We’re treated like animals, no longer idols or heroes, people under the big thumb that keeps pressing down on us.”
“Well we’re both pressed down, limited to our rules and the outlines they want us to obey.” He nodded, raising his flesh hand to your collarbone, wanting to mark his touch upon it to remove that of Zemo’s. At his action, your breath hitched, but you allowed him to sweep his pads over the flesh, shuffling indefinitely closer so that you were chest to chest.
“We’re dangerous in their eyes. That’s a mindset they have in common with our prisoner out there.” You whispered, frowning from the thought. Two monarchies, one still whilst the other already fallen, served the same opinions, though, only one could continue to take action. Zemo was a Baron, but of what country now?
Like all, his home had been vanquished into smithereens, the foundations collapsing into rubble, the history disappearing with its lands, having thrown its dusty remnants in your face.
“I’m fine with being considered dangerous so long as I’m not alone.” He pinched your chin, tilting your head, this time though, you felt in his grasp. It didn’t belong to that of an enemy, it was one of an ally, a friend. “Tell me I’m not alone y/n.”
“I’m here James.” You stared up at him with focused pools, biting your lip as your mind went haywire over everything. “The Wakandans will come for him, you do realise that, right?” He hummed in reply, briskly bringing his metal hand to toy with the belt of the white wrap around.
“Do you think that you could show me that I’m not alone?” He nervously asked, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, as he awaited a reply. But instead of words, he earned himself the sensation of your lips upon his, collaborating in a touch starved jumble of grunts. “You’re beautiful, like...”
“Like what Barnes?” You prompted, brushing your palms onto his shoulders, easing his tenseness. Expectedly, you watched him through half lidded eyes as you leant up to plant supple kisses upon his neck, sucking his skin into your mouth, as though you were trying to thread it gently with your teeth.
“A muse.” He sighed, thinking for a momentum, before dragging your hair through his vibranium fist, lightly grinning as he heard your breath wither from the sensation. “A beautiful muse, one that reminds me to be better everyday. I want to become someone better for you.”
“You shouldn’t.” You unlatched your mouth from him, frowning lightly at the brunette man. “You should become better for nobody but yourself Buck, each day, it’s about self growth, fixing everything that you have ever been taught so that you can learn to do better next time, so that no one else will die because of your expense.”
Bucky nodded, allowing your words to sink in. His fingers returned to playing with the waist band on your robe, his eyes gazing into your own, as he fiddled with the material. “Can I?”
“Go ahead.” You granted him permission, allowing him to push the coverage from you, his eyes widening at seeing you in nothing more than your underwear. His sight traced every curve and bump and dip that was upon your shape, licking his dry lips to make his gawking less subtle.
“You’re killing me doll.” He leant his head back, as he raked his contrasting fingertips down your shoulders, all the way to the small of your back. You smirked, grasping him through his jeans, earning yourself a moan from the elder man.
“I said it’s all about self growth, didn’t I? It seems that you are taking that in quite a literal sense.” You rubbed him through the denim, finding it unsurprising as the man backed you towards the bed, your knees hitting the end sending you falling onto the mattress.
Bucky crawled his way atop of you, rutting his hips against your own. It had been so long since he had been permitted to be this free, and he knew for sure, this would be a secret that he would not inform any therapist of. This was private, the sentiment making it close to his weathered heart.
His lips returned to your own, as your hands scaled beneath your shirt, lightly tracing the scars. He wasn’t as insecure as he thought he’d be about someone touching them, perhaps it was because many of your own materialised stories were written in your skin, or that you understood what it meant to be a soldier, serving under orders.
It didn’t matter too much, he wasn’t overthinking it. Instead, he was yearning as he grasped at the straps of your bra, trying to pull it over your head, as was done with the dames back in his day, but the effort seemed more difficult. Lightly leaning away from him, you reached around your back, unclamping the contraption before tossing it out of his sight.
He didn’t care to ask what the modern day had done to the garment, he was far too focused on your pert nipples, and how they stood to attention before him. The super soldier reached forwards, running his smooth hands upon the underneath of your breasts, before interacting with the present buds, softly tugging at them with his whimsical fingers.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Released from you as a sign, instantly becoming pleased as Bucky stripped himself from everything but his underwear, leaving a nest of his clothes upon the wooden floor, as he leant his head down, capturing your left nipple within the warmth of his mouth, moaning lightly as your hands weaved through his locks, tugging lightly at the short roots. “Stop teasing Buck.”
He didn’t miss the way your eyes roll from the slowness of motions, and thus, he reached down, and snapped the band of your underwear, the ripping noise audible, as he then pulled his boxers down, revealing his bobbing cock, that was directing its tip towards your entrance.
With a glance down, he lightly drooled at the way your cunt clenched around nothing, quickly swiping his fingers through your slit, as he brought them up to his lips, humming contently at the flavour that graced his tastebuds. “Need to be in you doll.”
“Need you in me soldier.” You taunted back, digging your knuckles into his shoulders as you pressed him against you, pushing your tongue into his mouth, as he suddenly bottomed out inside of you, waiting for a moment for the pair of you to adjust to the sensations.
He was in you, filling you to the brim, as you tucked your heels into the base of his back, lightly rotating your hips up, as your tongue chased his own, sucking on it as you nipped at the end, causing him to unintentionally jerk his rigid cock into you.
That had prompted him to start moving, screwing his hands into the satin sheets either side of your head, as your bodies succumbed the others to waves of pleasure. It was a luxury, having an outlet to all the stress that your duty brought. If you could just pass the mantle on like Steve had done, and Clint was in the process of doing, you would.
But it was all you had known; the gritty route, that had spanned the entirety of your tale. And Bucky now became a part of it, as he became a part of you, unravelling your vulnerabilities with sleek thrusts into your cunt, and smooth words that had swept you from your feet and had landed you in a bed.
A bed thats structure was creaking from the strength behind the animalistic carnage that you spent on one another. His teeth pulled at your lip, opening your mouth so that you could use him as an oxygen mask. Neither one of you had noticed the door opened, and an unimpressed Sharon standing in the entry way, her agent arms crossed unamused.
She cleared her throat, which made Bucky still inside of you, and you to clutch onto his back, to cover the decency of your chest. “You let me go on the run, then you fuck in my bed. It’s like I’m not allowed to belong anywhere.”
“Sharon-“ she halted your speech by raising a finger, her eyebrows pointedly telling you not to bother trying to speak, as sweat beading down your body. Bucky subtly rolled from atop of you, quickly pulling the sheets over you both, giving Sharon views that she neither wanted nor appreciated.
That was grittiness, she was a hustler, not a once avenger. A part of you wished she would understand that, as much as it would be painful to hear, she hadn’t been the top of anyone’s list. She had disappeared, and from so, she had became unreachable, practically falling off the face of the earth.
But she had been here, in Madripoor, the island of bones and whatever else Zemo had described it to be. “You two fucked in my bed. Okay.” She remained cool headed, her eyes trailing through the various fabrics among her floor. “Thought I’d tell you to get ready, and to blend in, though you two have that part already figured out. There’s some clothes in the wadrobe, and from what I can tell, you’re going to need new underwear.”
She bothered no longer once she had informed you of what she had told the other men. Instead she simply left, only for you to brace your head back into the quality pillows, slumping, and dreading the journey ahead.
Though you seemed restless, Bucky still thought of you as a muse. His hands grasped your chin, leading your lips to his own, as he sucked on your bottom one, his right hand grasping one of your breasts, as he pulled you atop of him, your skin flushed as you steadied your weight over his tough thighs.
“Now this is a dangerous sight.” He clicked his teeth, trailing his large hand down from your jaw, surpassing the middle of your chest, to your hip, which he grasp, as he shuffled you up just a little, so that you were seated upon the base of his cock.
“I can show you dangerous Barnes.” You smirked, adjusting the both of you so you were ready to sink down on his length. Your hands softly stroked his erect shaft, as you tapped his tip upon your pussy, before pushing down, filling yourself up one more.
Madripoor was a bad place, but good things could come out of visiting the skull island. This was the job, though, breaks were prompted, and were you glad that Bucky had became your little bit of calm in the arising trouble in the world.
“Fuck.” He groaned beneath you, his balls clenching as he felt you writhe all the way down to his base, beginning to bounce upon him, the years of training that you had endorsed coming in handy as it had helped your stamina. He was a super soldier after all, you were surely going to need it.
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Goldstein Sisters, Together
A little sister reunion/Together prequel for you.
See on a03
“Jacob?” Tina opens the apartment door wider, backing up before Mrs. Esposito hears them. Nobody ever comes to see her here. She curls a hand around her wand, still in its harness from work, just in case. “What’s wrong—is—”
“Oh, no, honey, everyone’s fine. Newt’s fine.”
Tina freezes at that voice, stumbling back a few more steps.
Jacob smiles. “There’s just someone who wants to see ya.”
Tina’s vision blurs, and it feels like she can’t catch her breath. “Queenie?” she gasps, but the sound is strangled, barely intelligible.
Her sister steps around Jacob and walks into their apartment—always their apartment, for she could never bear to think of it as anything else—pushing the door shut behind her.
“Hi, Teen,” she says softly.
“It’s—it’s you?” Tina squeaks.
“It’s her,” Jacob confirms, his hand resting on Queenie’s back.
Tina looks between them, and everything rushes in so powerfully that the part of her that recognizes that this is her sister knows that all of these feelings are flooding into her mind. Guilt about their fight, and about not having been the one to bring her back, about failing to be the protective big sister she’s always, always been. Anger for Queenie’s recklessness, that she ran away, and for how she was taken in by a madman, and her stubborn inability to see reason all those months ago. Hurt at being left alone, the only Goldstein, at a time when she really, really needed her sister, and hurt at Queenie missing everything that’s happened in her life, and at missing everything that’s happened in Queenie’s. The aching, overwhelming loneliness of their time apart, and regret for how they left things, and relief, and frustration, and hope, and love.
She doesn’t have to speak any of it. Some part of her had nearly forgotten what that felt like, but the rest of her has always, always remembered.
“I’m so sorry, Teen. So sorry. I’m with you all; I promise I am. I never shoulda—“
Tina pulls her sister into her arms, her tears, once released, flowing freely. She cries quietly into her sister’s shoulder while Queenie rubs her back, and she recognizes distantly that Queenie is crying, too.
“I’m so sorry,” Queenie repeats.
“You left,” Tina says angrily, “for that madman.” And then, more gently, “I never stopped hoping—I tried anything I could think of to find you and bring you back and I thought about you every day and—“
“I know, I know.”
They look at each other, and Tina holds her sister’s face between her hands. “You’re back?” Her voice is soft, hopeful, afraid, like the little girl at a funeral watching their world fall apart.
“I’m back.”
Really back? For good?
“For good. I promise.” Queenie says to her thoughts.
They embrace again and separate only after several quiet minutes, laughing tearfully.
Tina takes in her sister’s appearance. Her hair is icy, almost, her eyes tired and worn. “Queenie, what I said before, about Jacob and everything. I’m sorry. I was—I was afraid I’d lose you.” And then I did.
“I know, Teen. Of course I know. I’m sorry ‘bout what I said, too.”
You were right, Tina thinks, swiping away a tear. I’m not brave enough to be reckless with my heart, and I was jealous that you were, and I threw myself into work and made myself blind to what would make you happy.
“I wasn’t right. Not about all of it. I’m so proud of how much you care about your work. Head Auror! Momma ’n Poppa would be so proud’a you.”
Tina laughs wetly.
“I shouldn’t’a said you only care about work. And what I said about Newt—“
Jacob chimes in, as though unable to help himself. “Wait, what did she say about Newt?”
With her hands still linked in her sister’s, Tina explains briefly about the magazine, about Queenie’s certainty that there must be more to the story, until that final, bitter fight, when Queenie had thrown Newt’s supposed disinterest in her sister’s face.
Jacob laughs. “So that’s why you were so. In Paris. Oh, poor guy.”
Tina feels a stab of guilt. It still aches that she hurt Newt for those first few hours together, and during the weeks when she suddenly, from his point of view, lost interest in writing to him. Seeing their time together without the blind of her own pain, she can easily conjure up his wide, confused eyes and fumbling hands.
“Oh, Tina,” Queenie sighs, “It really didn’t seem like Newt’s worried about any of that anymore.”
Tina’s heart lurches hopefully. “You saw him?”
“M-hm,” Queenie confirms, smiling. “Oh, I’m so glad the two’a you are finally—“
Tina smiles as the warmth of their recent letters fills her chest. And then her smile falls a little. She still hasn’t managed to take that risk, not fully.
Queenie cups her sister’s face and looks at her, smiling but serious. “You are brave, Tina. You are so brave.”
Tina shakes her head, smiling tentatively despite herself.
Queenie holds each of Tina’s hands and backs away to look at the clothes she still hasn’t changed. “Oh, look at you, career girl!”
Tina laughs.
“So,” Jacob says, wandering over to the kitchen. “Dinner?”
-&-
Tina keeps looking back at Queenie while they get ready for bed, as though her sister might be a phantom she’s dreamt up after a particularly sleepless week of work.
Queenie had insisted that she was absolutely staying with her sister, at least for a while, and had her own moment of tears to find that Tina had always kept her bed ready, just in case.
They last a couple of minutes in their own beds before Queenie crawls out of her own bed and into her sister’s, just like they had when they were little girls.
They sit against Tina’s headboard in the dark, barely squeezing into the twin bed, and talk for hours.
Tina hears about everything that’s happened in Europe and beyond, and about Queenie’s plans with Jacob. She fills her sister in on life at MACUSA, their old friends, the little changes that have happened to their street.
“Aren’t you leavin’ somethin’ out?” Queenie asks. “Or, someone?”
Tina blushes and looks down. It is a relief to once more let the thoughts flow without having to give shape to them with her voice. That she’s never done this before, felt this before, or even thought it was possible for her. What if—
Their letters have been so much more, lately, so intimate. Tina knows how he feels. But she doesn’t understand it. She believes in him, just not that he could be so in awe of her, when he is so extraordinary.
Tina sits quietly as Queenie absorbs all of this. “Why wouldn’t he be as taken with you as you are with him?” she asks.
“You sound like Momma,” Tina says.
Queenie takes her sister’s hand. “Everythin’ you feel for him. He feels that for you, too.”
“Queenie, I don’t know if you should—“
“You shoulda seen him when we got to his flat in London, Lookin’ for you.”
“I know.” Tina looks at her hands. “He’s told me. But what if we don’t—”
Queenie gives her a withering look, then softens when she sees her sister’s tears. “Teenie. What are you afraid of?”
Again, Tina lets Queenie wade through her thoughts. Her trust in both her own and Newt’s feelings, and yet her knowledge that this thing between them will be—is—will be a force she cannot fight. Her fear of letting herself love like that, after this year of being so alone and wanting things she cannot or will not let herself have. The weeks before Paris, after Queenie left, truly alone for the first time in her life, angry and hurt and feeling guilty, and forcing herself not to take out Newt’s letters or acknowledge her broken heart, and wishing desperately for a sister to talk to. And the weeks after Paris, and new, beautiful letters, and fearing that she’d never get to say to her sister you were right; there was more to the magazine story, and he’d kept this picture of me, and the way he looks at me. The terror of wanting this thing so much, and how easily she could fall even harder. Pouring all of her love into raising a little sister who left, and in such a horrible way, after a bitter fight, and to a madman who represents everything Tina had thought she’d taught her sister was wrong. Feeling like maybe it would break her to give any more of her love away.
“Oh,” Queenie says softly, her voice trembling. “Oh, I’m—“
“I didn’t mean—“ Tina starts, grasping her sister’s hand.
“No. No it’s okay. I—I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. I know.” And for the first time that night, Tina hugs her sister not for herself but for Queenie, to comfort her as she used to when they crowded into Tina’s bed at their aunt’s house, and Tina sang the same song their mother used to until Queenie fell asleep.
“I just mean—“ once he’s in, he’s staying.
“Teenie. You let him in a long, long time ago.”
Tina sniffs and dashes away her tears, grateful that Queenie hasn’t let her hand go. “He was in New York once, a few months ago. Just for a day. His publisher sent him for a meeting with one of the booksellers for Ilvermorny.”
Queenie arches an eyebrow. “And you don’t suppose seein’ you had anythin’ to do with his agreein’ to come?”
Tina sighs. “I know it did. I think he woulda—I was quiet. I think he was a little confused.”
“I’ve been around him, remember? He doesn’t understand why you haven’t—but he understands. And he isn’t upset, or angry, or anythin’. Just waitin’.”
“I know,” Tina whispers.
“He’d come runnin’ in a heartbeat the second you asked.”
And that’s part of what scares me, Tina thinks.
Tina thoughts jump back to their fight, and Queenie’s accusation of jealousy.
At the time, she’d been so angry and so blind, but she can admit now that her sister had been right. Beneath her genuine concern that being with Jacob would cause Queenie harm, her fierce need to protect her sister, there had been a small part of her that had stung with every evening Queenie slipped into the apartment late, her joy and laughter written across her face. Why did it have to be so easy for them? Oh, she hadn’t envied them everything—not the doe-eyed flirting over dinner, how boldly they showed their preference for anyone to see, the danger with the law their relationship might bring.
But their willingness to want and reach in one breath--to show each other their hearts…The fact that Queenie thought Jacob was wonderful, and he was hers if she’d have him...not like Tina, the one-who-shows-up-where-you’re-least-wanted, the girl everyone seemed to assume didn’t have a heart.
She’d been terribly jealous of their recklessness with their hearts.
Queenie tugs her sister’s hand into her lap. “Jacob’s asked him to be best man, y’know. So he’ll be coming to New York in a couple months anyway.”
Tina’s heart jumps, mostly happiness, and just a touch of fear.
Her sister nudges her shoulder. “Best man, maid of honor. I think you’ll have to share a dance at least.”
Tina finds herself excited at the prospect, even with her fear. Maybe she’ll finally, finally be brave.
“Teenie, you’re already brave.”
I am?
“‘Course you are. You were so young yourself, but you were a Momma and Poppa to me. You took care’a me. You’ve always been there.”
I didn’t protect you very well lately, Tina thinks with a scoff.
“Yes, you did. Y’know, not everythin’s your fault.”
Tina sighs.
“It takes much more bravery to be afraid and do things anyway.”
“You were right about him, Queenie. When you said there must’ve been more to the story. He—“ she opens up the feelings to her sister’s mind. Her pain as they walked through the French records room, and his fumbling hands and words, and how he was looking at the picture of her, but she was looking at his face, suddenly seeing clearly how tender it was, how much he felt for her, and how desperately he wanted her to know it. His happy surprise when he found she’d read his book, and that breathless step closer, and her unembarrassed joy…”And he thought I was dating someone else, too. You told him that because I had coffee with that awful guy one time.”
Queenie shrugs.
“You were tryin’ to make him jealous,” Tina accuses.
“Hey, it’s a sister’s right, after he broke your heart, even if he didn’t mean to! As if you were gonna fall in love with anyone else.”
Tina swallows and looks down at their hands.
“Back when we—fought—when I said you don’t take enough risks with your heart. What I meant to say is. You have way too big a heart not to share it. ‘specially with him.”
Tina wipes tears away.
“You know he carries those pictures of you everywhere.”
Tina thinks of her own pictures of him, tucked securely into her desk here and at work. She takes them out sometimes and touches the edge of the paper and wants the portraits and their letters to be enough for now, and wants so much more.
“So what are you gonna do?” Queenie prompts. “I know you. You thought if you could just try hard enough, work hard enough, Grindelwald would be weaker, and the world would be safe, and you’d have me back. And then you might feel safer fallin’ in love. But Tina, it’s always gonna scare you a little. I know you trust Newt, but someday you gotta trust yourself.”
“Yeah,” Tina whispers.
She thinks of Queenie and Jacob, grateful that her first, fearful instinct with them was not borne out, no matter how much it still scares her, how valid her concerns. She’d always worried Queenie would struggle to find someone who could look past her surface. Being a legilimens seems glamorous to people, sure, but Tina knows it isn’t always. And Queenie’s gorgeous, but there’s so much more to her than that. Jacob sees it. As for Jacob—well, Tina’s seen what this year has been like for him, and she’s relieved to see him so happy.
“So be happy, too,” Queenie whispers. “Little steps, y’know. You’ve clearly already taken lots of big ones these past few months. Write to him and let him know you’re excited to see him in person.”
“Yeah, I—I will. Tomorrow.”
Queenie leans her head against her sister’s. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“You, too.”
“We should probably get some sleep, huh. You have work tomorrow and all.”
Tina wraps an arm around Queenie’s back. “No, not yet. We haven’t caught up nearly enough for me to fall asleep. And I may still be your big sister, but I think you’ve grown up enough for me to let go a little.”
“Okay,” Queenie agrees, and Tina can hear the smile in her voice, at everything the promise means.
“I love you. Even when we argue, and I know we’ll argue again, but hopefully never, ever like that, you will always be more important to me than you could possibly know.”
“You too,” Queenie says softly.
“Okay.” Tina takes a breath and lets everything settle. “Now, tell me, what did Jacob think of Hogwarts. That must’ve been quite an experience…”
#my writing#goldstein sisters#newtina#newtina fanfiction#together#queenie#goldstein sisters together#together prequel
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Hello and welcome to a mulit-chapter story! basic info: Tubbo-centric, talk of contracted murder that never goes to fruition, kinda deus ex machina-y
If anyone wants to be part of a taglist for Assassinate But Nah, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.
Taglist: @sleepysnails
Ao3 link
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“Tubbo! My boy! You’re my favorite agent.”
Toby Maron pulls out a chair at a private poker table at Quacksino. “I really shouldn’t be honestly,” he says to the leader of the Jays, one of the Mafia groups in Houver.
“Of course you’re my favourite!” Schlatt says. He gestures to Quackity, who’s acting as dealer tonight, to deal this looks-younger-than-sixteen year old into the next round. “You’re a cop’s son? Those guys never get caught.”
Quackity slides Tubbo a packet of M&Ms before dealing in Tubbo, Schlatt, and his two main lackeys Slimecicle, and Ted.
Tubbo grimaces. “Right.” He opens the packet of M&Ms and separates them into the six colours, acting as the six chip types. “Why am I here?”
Slimecicle looks at his cards and slides Tubbo a folder. “Right here.”
“Thanks.” Tubbo looks at his own cards. “Ten.” He puts his cards down on the table and flicks a candy to the pot. He opens the file, he sighs heavily. “Another assassin job?”
“Oh yeah.” Schlatt grins like the two of them are in on a little secret. “That’s why I like you.” He throws in a chip. “Call.”
Tubbo skims the reference sheet in front of him. “Thomas Rough?”
“Call,” Slimecicle says.
Schlatt’s grin stays on his face. He takes a swig of beer. “What do you know about him?”
“Thomas Rough? He’s the son of Dan Rough.” Tubbo continues to skim the papers in front of him; blond hair, blue eyes, 6’3”. “Dr. Rough was a kid from the Teenage Mall District, bad place for a kid to grow up.” Tubbo thinks back to his memory of headlines and research projects. Dan made some big advancement in microbiology, I don’t know what though. He now has his own lab and a nice house in the suburbs. The Houver Mailer called him a ‘Diamond in the Rough’ in their series on him.”
“Good.”
“Call,” Ted says.
Quackity puts down the flop.
“Two hundred.” Tubbo throws in the equivalent amount of candy.
“Playing it safe are you?”
“Mhm. Shoulda said that with my ten.”
“Call.”
Tubbo continues to rattle off information. “Thomas Rough spends the first semester abroad at Oak Park Academy, a Swiss boarding school.” He glances up from the papers to Schlatt. “Nice. He comes home for Christmas break, then spends the second semester in a local public school: Granite Bay.”
“Something about balancing rich kid privileged education and being a normal kid.”
“Call.”
“I can understand that.” Tubbo eats a couple M&Ms.
“Hey! Don’t eat your chips,” Ted jokes. “Call.”
“Chips? These are chocolate.” Tubbo seems to remember that he’s talking to the top guys in the Jays and shuts up.
Quackity burns the top card and places the Turn.
Tubbo’s eyes flick up. “Add another hundred.” He flips the page. “Who’s this?”
Schlatt puts his elbows on the table and leans in. “Ranboo Alastair. Nothing special about him, but he’s Rough’s best friend during the half year he’s in the city.”
“Does he need to go as well?”
“No. You just need to befriend him while Rough it’s around.” Schlatt looks towards his men. “Call.”
“But will you dispose of him once I kill--”
“Assassinate.”
“Kill Thomas Rough? He’ll be able to point me out in a line up.”
“Ideally, he won’t know that you disposed of his best friend”
“Fold.” Slimecicle slides his cards to the burn pile.
Schlatt continues. “You know Eret?”
“Yeah. Informant on the drag scene.”
“Ranboo’s her little brother. Your mark is Thomas Rough, but befriending Ranboo will be a warning to Eret as well.”
“Killing two birds with one stone.”
“More like killing one, injuring another.”
“Fun.”
“Isn’t it! And you’re a police kid, nothing will happen to you.”
“But won’t Dr. Rough want answers to what happened to his son?”
“We’ll deal with that. You deal with Thomas Rough.”
“Call.”
The next card gets burned and the River gets flipped.
“Five hundred.” Tubbo puts the fold to the side and tried to read Schlatt, not that he wasn’t already doing that. “So I’m supposed to befriend Ranboo, hope that Thomas Rough keeps he around as a friend, then kill him?”
“Yes. Call.”
“Fold.”
Schlatt turns to Quackity. “Burn these. Flip a new five cards please.” He then gestures to Tubbo’s pile of M&Ms.
“One thousand.”
Schlatt looks at his cards once more. “Call.” He sits back in his seat. “We’ll be putting you in Public School, Granite Bay, as you mentioned. You’re junior year I think.”
“It would be,” Tubbo says wistfully.
“If you take it--”
Tubbo cuts him off, “If? I have a choice?”
“If you take it,” he looks Tubbo in the eye. “This’ll be your last job. I’ll be asking your father to overlook first degree homicide. Even his debts have limits.”
Tubbo thumbs at his cards.
Schlatt flips his. He gives Tubbo his first proper smile of the night. “Flush.”
“Blue-Eyes White Dragon,” Tubbo says. He takes great pleasure in how Schlatt is visibly thrown. “I’ll take the job, but my cover isn’t in this folder.”
Ted hands Tubbo another thin packet of paper.
“Tubbo Jacobs?”
“That’s your name for the next year. You’ll be living with Karl Jacob’s, chief editor of the Houver Mailer.”
“He works for you?”
“Yes. He’s getting redeployed on another mission next year, so once you get the job done, Tubbo Jacobs will disappear with him.” Schlatt grabs a few M&Ms from his winning pot. “And Toby Maron will be allowed to go back into public school.”
“But not Granite Bay.”
Schlatt nods and drops the candy in his mouth. “But not Granite Bay.”
Quackity taps Schlatt’s forearm.
“What is it Flatty Patty?”
“The kid wins,” he murmurs. “Hands off the pot.”
“What was that?”
“The kid wins.”
Schlatt scoffs. “The nerve of some people. Fine. Take your candy and chips. Get out of here kid.”
Tubbo puts all his papers back in the manila folder and slips it into his bag. “Yes Schlatt.”
“You have until the end of next summer to get it done.”
“Yes Schlatt.”
“Good boy. Remember. Do the job, and it’ll be your last one. Chicken out, and you’ve still got a few years ahead of you.”
“Yes Schlatt.” Tubbo picks up his chips but leaves the candy on the table. He pushes the chair back in behind him and goes to the counter to cash out his two thousand, three hundred, and thirty bucks.
“Bye Sapnap.” Tubbo may be an unwilling assassin due to debt, and he may hate it, but he’s still polite. Tubbo walks into his house, eyes downcast. His dad, Captain Maron, is reading in the newspaper. “I’m back.”
He tosses down the paper and comes to hug his son. “How was your meeting at the Quacksino?”
“Good. Schlatt’s sending me to public school.”
“What?” Captain Maron holds his son by the shoulders. “Public school?”
“Yeah. Catch s I have another assassin job.”
Captain Maron’s face falls. “At public school?”
“Thomas Rough, he goes to Griante Bay second semester.”
“Oh.” Jordan’s expression flickers.
Tubbo doesn't have the energy to even try to decipher it.” On the bright side,” he tries, “Schlatt says that this is the last job I need to do for him. Something about debt limits and that you can’t prosecute me.”
His dad gives him a tense smile. “Did he really say that? Or are you paraphrasing for your old man?”
“That’s what he said, he was very clear about it.” Tubbo pulls away and heads to the kitchen. “But you can’t prosecute me. I don’t know what I’m going to do after though. I feel like Schlatt has been setting me up to go crawling back to him for a sense of purpose.”
Jordan looks at his son sadly. As one of the top cops, he’s seen a lot, and he’s seen that very story play out so many times before. “I’m sorry.”
“No. No. Don’t apologize. It’s grandpa’s fault for getting tied with one of the Mafia families. It’s not your fault. He’s the one who died with debt to the Jays.”
Jordan comes to hug his son again. “Get some rest. You’ll have time to brush up before the school year starts.”
“Yeah.” Tubbo grabs himself a bowl of cereal, directly opposing what his dad just suggested. “I’m a new transfer. Tubbo Jacobs. Starting tomorrow I’m going to be living with Karl Jacobs, but only until the job is over,” he reassures his father. “And Lani will still be at home. Think of it as an exchange; like I’m going to school in europe or something.”
“I just. I don’t like the idea of you living with Karl Jacobs,” Jordan admits.
“It could be worse. At least he’s got a proper office job. It’s a good cover.” Tubbo shovels a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “Relax dad. I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine. I will keep being fine.” His gaze softens. “Besides dad, this case file tells me to befriend some kid. So I’ll get that experience.”
Jordan smiles at his boy and ruffles his hair. “Goodnight son.”
“Night dad.”
- - -
Jordan walks up the stairs and goes to the safe in his closet. He spins the lock and opens the door. He digs up an old photo album and pulls it to his lap. He flips through old polaroids of him and his two childhood friends.
He pulls the last photo out of its clear sleeve. Then flips it to the back and reads the mailing address scrawled on it.
He mutters it under his breath and puts everything back in its place.
Jordan goes to find a pen, a piece of paper, and an envelope. He writes out the address and starts to pen two letters.
Dear Philip Wright,
I’ve been in some trouble with the Jays for the past six years. Sorry for not mentioning it earlier. You know me, I’m stubborn. I’m a cop. I thought I had it under control. I don’t. Most of the debt has been worked off, but if you could advise me on how to proceed. That would be great,”
Yours, Jordan Maron
Dear Daniel Rough,
Just got a tip that Tom is in danger.
Yours, Jordan Maron
p.s. sorry for never returning your requests to catch up
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Whumptober: Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever
It was getting colder. As the autumn months ended and faded into winter, the chill had gotten worse, and they had been needing to bundle up as much as they safely could and cut back on their time on the surface to avoid accidentally falling into hibernation.
Still, Leonardo sometimes went out solo. Not for long, of course, he wasn’t stupid, just for brisk morning runs or to cool off after an argument. He made sure to put something warm on, he had told Donatello when he found out, who was very concerned about his winter outings.
Now, usually these went well. And sometimes they ended in him throwing himself at a gang harassing some poor person who was just trying to get home from a tiring nine to five job.
Sometimes, that ended in him getting shot in the leg and tied to a fence.
The oldest of the group cackled as Leonardo struggled with the bindings, mocking his situation. Every weapon he had was pushed against the opposite wall, out of his reach, so that he couldn’t cut through the ropes even if he tried. Not just that, anything that was previously warm was thrown into the ground, half soaked in blood and frozen. He could already feel chill, sending shivers down his spine. Shoot.
“Not so tough now, are you?” One of them taunted, having the audacity to saunter closer and rest a gloved hand on his face.
Leonardo smirked, then bit them, hard.
With a sharp cry, they ripped their hand away, rubbing it and swearing under their breath before turning to glare at him.
"Shoulda muzzled the stupid thing too…" They muttered darkly, then tilted their head away from Leo. "C'mon, let's get out of here. If it's still alive when we get back, we'll make sure that it learns its lesson."
They were coming back? His beak wrinkled as they left. He didn't plan on sticking around long enough for them to do anything to him. A chain link fence rattled behind him as he pulled against the wrist ropes. He couldn’t stay there long. The air was chilling more and more as nighttime approached, the dull oranges and midnight blues fading away into black. Leonardo knew what he was risking by staying out too long, they all did. Stupid turtle DNA.
His breath misted in the air in front of him, leaving a small cloud for a moment before it dissipated. That wasn’t a good sign, that was-
There was the first snow of the season, of the month.
Shoot.
He was already getting sluggish, the ice falling off of him as soon as he struggled and kicked. He was getting weak, he wouldn’t be able to make it home, not at this rate, and it was already dark-
There was a thin sheet of snow over him, occasionally disturbed by harsh shivers or sudden, jerky movements. When did that happen? How long had he been there, that it was beginning to gather like that? People’s Christmas lights had already gone up, towards the beginning of December, and were now reflecting on glistening snow, vibrant reds and greens. He knew Michelangelo would like the way it looked. He would have to take him down here when this whole mess was over.
Right, stuck, tied to a fence. He couldn’t risk letting himself be still for too long, who knew how long it would be before he slipped into hibernation. Leonardo tugged again at the ropes before they froze, leaning forward to try and snap them with his body weight, but only succeeded in putting himself in an uncomfortable situation.
Oh, he was really stuck. But he needed to get back to the others, before they started worrying, if they hadn’t already. There was a bullet in his leg anyway, more vibrant red staining the snow, leaving him trembling harder as any left over heat left his body. Struggles began to cease, sleep tugging at his mind and trying to pull his eyelids shut.
A voice in the back of his mind called for him to rest, to close his eyes and not wake up until Spring. Leonardo really wished that his instinct would shut up for two minutes and let him be aware of his situation so that he could figure a way out.
But nooo, nothing could be easy for him, could it?
He was still slipping, he was still losing the ability to think and remember. Remember that he needed to stay awake and get home, that he had been shot and he might not be able to keep going if he closed his eyes, that he was risking not waking up. He hadn’t been abandoned there, he hadn’t.
He hadn’t been abandoned, so maybe he could close his eyes for just a bit…
%%%
“What the- Don, he’s over here!”
“Oh my- Leo! Shoot, what were you thinking? You idiot!”
“Is he okay?”
“No, Mikey. From the looks of it, he’s fallen asleep, which means he might be hibernating right now, pretty much. He’s also really hot, so he’s definitely sick from the cold, considering how long he had to have been out here for this much snow to gather. It’s like a blanket! Not to mention the bullet wound in his leg.”
“That little- What was he thinking?”
“I don’t know Raph, but we need to get him home now, before he freezes. Grab his things. Mikey, you’ll help me get him down, I need to keep a close eye on him anyway.”
%%%
That idiot.
What was he thinking, heading out that early for a morning run? What if he had been left out in the open and somebody had seen him? They knew the risks of getting seen by a human. They would be taken, most likely experimented on, and then dissected to see what made them go “tick”. Medical experimentation was not always done… Ethically.
Still, despite his worries, his brother was there, laying on that couch in a basking spot with a blanket, alive (although much less than well) and safe, for the most part. As safe as they could get. All they needed to do was get him out of hibernation, then see about his sickness afterwards.
The heat might have been too much. He was already feverish from staying out in the cold for God knows how long, and his temperature was rising by the minute. Raphael wasn’t comfortable with leaving him there for long, considering how warm his older brother was getting.
Then, by some kind of miracle, he woke up. Leonardo started slow, blinking sleepily and looking around, dazed. He struggled with the blanket for a second, but managed to remove it without Raphael’s help. Still, Raphael watched him for a long minute, making sure that he didn’t need help with anything. Was that weird, to just watch him? He didn’t think it was, they did that plenty.
“Don, he’s awake,” Raphael called and scooched just a tad closer even as Leonardo coughed into his elbow. To heck with sickness, he didn’t care.
Closer, now, he could tell that the older of the two was shivering, even though he felt as though he were burning to the touch.
Fantastic, he really was sick.
Donatello came running, immediately looking Leonardo over and grabbing his cheeks in his hands, despite the quiet protests. After a long moment, he moved Leonardo out of the heated spot on the couch, into somewhere much cooler, and set the blanket beside him. Offering it, but not forcing it on him.
Leonardo trembled and coughed again. “How’d you find me, anyway?”
“There’s a tracker in your phone, Leo. There’s a tracker in everybody’s phone.”
“Oh.”
They left it at that, Donatello curling up next to Leonardo, before finally asking:
“What were you thinking? I’ve told you time and time again, we shouldn’t go up as much when it’s cold out!”
Leonardo sneezed, and said nothing, head dipped in shame. Donatello wrinkled his beak, preparing to further his talk, but decided not to at the last minute.
Raphael bit his tongue to keep back a laugh. Leonardo, of all people, getting lectured? He never thought he would live to see the day, but there he was.
%%%
Later that night, Donatello discharged Leonardo to his own room. Told him to call him if he needed anything at all, and that he planned on checking on the bullet wound in the morning.
Leonardo, being Leonardo, agreed.
%%%
“This is your fault, Leo!”
No, he- He thought he left those fears, long ago. He thought that after the mushrooms, it would be over!
“You failed us!”
He- He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t. Right? Right?
Still, Raphael stood above him, hollow eyes that would haunt anyone, a blade pushed between the cracks in Leonardo’s plastron. His bloody plastron, he noticed. They were definitely a gory sight, bleeding from almost everywhere, looking akin to zombies, and that was-
Not his blood.
Theirs.
Not his, theirs. Their blood, coating his scales, on his hands, everywhere, tinging the air copper. Something he never wanted to be around again.
And he wanted to cry. He wanted so badly to scream at them that he was trying his best, he couldn’t do everything, but he knew, he knew: They were right. It was his job to keep them safe, as their brother and leader.
So when Raphael pushed the sword into his torso, Leonardo did not cry or beg for mercy. He only screamed as the burning pain laced its way into his very being, tearing his atoms apart, hot coals in his body-
Leonardo had dreamed screaming, he woke up screaming, hand over his plastron, still feeling that agony, that splitting agony that coursed through him and-
The shoji slid open, his family raced in- He disappointed them, they were going to hurt him, they were going to kill him-
Leonardo rolled out of bed, dizzy as it made him, and grabbed his katana, screaming at them.
“Stay back!” he stumbled, fell back, and was distantly aware that he could have accidentally cut himself. That wasn’t important though, what was was staying alive.
“Hey, what the-” Raphael said- Leaning forward, a weapon in his hand, black eyes, disappointed, bloody. He was angry, Leonardo couldn’t stop seeing it-
“What’s wrong with him, Don?” Michelangelo said. He sounded afraid, afraid of Leonardo but Leonardo should have been afraid of them, as wrong as it felt.
“I- I think it’s a fever dream?” Donatello moved forward, reaching out to grab him.
No, they all moved forward, he was going to die, going to die in that tiny space and it was his fault, his fault, his fault-
He had a sword, to Mikey’s face, to the baby’s face, and still Michelangelo pleaded, voice soft from a bad attempt at soothing him. At his sides, Raphael and Donatello had circled around his sides to grab him, should the need arise, because he was about to hurt one of his own.
“Oh,” Leonardo whispered as he dropped the sword, the clatter of metal against concrete too loud in his ears, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry-”
They didn’t say anything at first. Good, he didn’t want or deserve the condolences, but then-
"You're alright now, Leo. It was just a dream, nothing more, you don’t have to apologize if you just put the sword down."
They still were worried for him, even after he tried to hurt them? What if he tried it again? What if the dreams came back? He would disappoint them, when they put so much faith in him-
Leonardo faintly remembers letting go of the other katana that he still had at his side. He’d grabbed both in his panic, just in case one got away from him. The world was spinning, now, and that’s not something the world was supposed to do.
“No, no, I was-” he paused to cough, a harsh, wracking cough that made his chest hurt and it felt like there was sandpaper in his lungs, “-I was going to hurt you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
He cut off, not because of his own guilt. There was something amiss, the world was still spinning, and that wasn’t good, he should probably say something.
Raphael reached out.
Leonardo said something.
“Bucket-”
Thankfully, they realized rather quickly what he meant, and there was a bucket in front of him. Pretty much completely empty, he ended up dry heaving, coughing afterwards. It still hurt, in his chest, his plastron, his whole torso, actually. But at least now the room wasn’t tipping, even though they were all still looking at him like he was dying.
“Sorry…” He mumbled again, pushing it away and leaning back. The room felt suffocating with four people in it although there was barely anything to make it feel cluttered, so much open space that there shouldn’t have been any crowding at all.
“Mikey,” Donatello finally started, “Make him some tea. The peppermint stuff, we’re just gonna- Leave, for now-”
“NO!” The answer was sudden and Leonardo hated it, but he didn’t want to be alone, not just then. “No,” He corrected, “Please, don’t leave.” He thought he had escaped those fears a long time ago, but the truth was that they never left. They only faded over time, became less vivid so that when he woke up he never remembered them. Now, he was sick and most likely delirious. They were almost lucid. Almost.
Donatello shifted nervously. “Alright, the couch it is, I guess.”
Leonardo nodded and hopped onto his feet. Raphael grabbed his arm when he got unsteady, and the blue-banded turtle had to force himself not to pull away or start screaming. This was not one of his dreams. He was awake, they were all alive, he hadn’t disappointed anyone yet.
They moved slowly, allowing him to limp and favor his injured leg, so that shortly after getting to the couch, Michelangelo had popped out of the kitchen, holding a warm cup of tea. It was promptly shoved into Leonardo’s hands as the youngest wormed between the two oldest, snuggling between them. Each started doing their own thing, not entirely what to do or say after that event, but that was fine by Leonardo, as long as he had them there with him and knowing that they were safe and alive.
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Getaway Driver
Summary: You’re a get away driver for the checking place heist.
Wordcount: 1514
Warnings: None really, it’s a pretty gen fic.
A/N: So this was a short story exercise that I liked how it turned out and since I haven’t posted any honest to god fics recently, thought it would be a good addition to my masterlist. So have a fic.
The engine quietly rumbled as it sat idle along the street, the sun was high in the sky as your eyes swept the street beyond the streaky windshield, the sidewalk was littered with pedestrians, strolling and going in and out of the various shops, the smell of boiled hotdogs, over salted beef, burt coffee, and freshly baked bread wafted through the cracked window. You drummed your thumbs on the steering wheel as your eyes jumped from the street to the rearview mirror, then to the side mirrors to check the street behind you, then to the countdown timer on your phone.
You shifted in your seat, hands gripping the wheel, foot poised over the gas pedal ready to zig zag down the road at a moment's notice.
With every second that passed you forced the tension in your shoulders down and scanned the street again.
The path from the checking store to the side door of the van was clear, the road was spotted with a handful of cars, the police scanner that was mounted on the dashboard clicked with a police call on the other side of the city when the guys burst through the door, making a run for the van and jumped in.
As soon as you heard the door shut your system flooded with adrenaline and you floored the gas, the familiar high helping you weaving between the cars as you peeled down the road, taking a sharp turn at the end of the road, taking every light at each intersection, swerving around honking cars and avoiding going onto the sidewalk. You rounded another corner and narrowly avoided slamming into the side of a tan sedan and going onto the sidewalk as people jumped out of the way.
“Keep it on the road!” came a muffled voice from behind you.
“Guess I should’ve just crashed into that car back there, huh?” you threw back as you took another turn
“Just get us to the warehouse alive.” he hissed
If you could afford the second it took to roll your eyes, you would have.
You were halfway to the safehouse when the police scanner clicked again, a description of the van coming through the small speaker with a “reckless driving heading east” attached to it, the radio clicked again with the closest unit responding that they were two minutes away.
You gripped the wheel harder as you swerved between cars, ignoring the muffled and panicked “we’re gonna get caught” and “i knew we shoulda waited for Paul”
“Shut up!” came a clearer and exasperated cry from Billy as he pulled the rubber mask from his face and made his way through the small space between the seats and let himself drop on the passenger side seat.
You chanced a glance at him and for a split second, despite the scars marring his face he was still so handsome. It had been awhile since you had last seen him, even before he had contacted you out of the blue, asking if you were available to drive a car for him. You weren’t strapped for cash but you never gave up a chance to work with Billy. It wasn’t the cash you were after but you had always been a fan of what came after working a job with Billy.
He radio gave a click as you passed an intersection, cars honking as you drove past, Billy pulling a gun from his waistband and resting it on his thigh.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” you hiss under your breath as you get closer and closer to the safehouse, your eyes jumping between the rearview mirror and the road ahead of you for any signs of blue and red lights.
“You’re doing fine, we’re almost there,” you hear from the seat beside you.
You turn the last corner, the wheels screeching as they drag against the asphalt and head down the empty street, the safehouse is within view when Billy pulls out a small walkie-talkie from his pocket, clicking the button on the side and giving the order to open the fence..
You saw the chain link fence swing and the door of the safehouse being open and swerved into the safehouse, slamming the brakes once you were inside and letting out a sigh of relief when the sound of the metal door clanged throughout the mostly empty warehouse.
The doors were thrown open and the guys exited the van, the guys in the back carrying the duffle bags out and throwing them on a nearby table and ripping off the rubber face masks. Billy made his way around the van and towards the guys that were standing around the table and pulling out the stacks of bills, sorting them into neat piles.
Once that was done, Billy stepped in and separated the money into even piles, pushing each pile towards one of the guys and saying,
“Now get outta here, I’ll call you guys when I have the next job lined up.”
The guys shoved their money into their respective bags, throwing a quick, “later boss,” over their shoulders as they walked to their respective cars and rolled out of the warehouse, leaving you and Billy alone in the warehouse.
“That was some good driving,” Billy said as he shoved the money into the remaining empty duffel bag, “We could use them again for the next job.”
“Yeah? Sure you don’t want Paul to be behind the wheel for the next job?” you tossed back as you leaned against the side of the van.
Billy let out a chuckle, the apple of his cheeks lifting and crinkling the corners of his eyes,
“I don't think Paul coulda made those turns without crashing.” he said as he closed the zipper, picking it up and walking over to where you were propped up against the van.
“He probably couldn’t.”
“So what do you say, want in on the next one?” he said, propping his arms on either side of you, caging you in and pressing close against you.
“Sure, sounds fun,” you pushed yourself off the van and closed the distance between you, your lips pressing against his in a slow kiss, “and I wouldn’t be able to do that if you go to prison.”
“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t.” you said against his lips as he pushed himself against you, his arms wrapping around your body. His fingers slipping under the edge of your shirt, his fingers digging into the skin of your back.
Every inch of your body felt like it was on fire, your heart was beating wildly in your chest, the sound of rushing blood filled your ears as his tongue ran against the seam of your lips, teasing your mouth open, deepening the kiss. His hand ran down your leg, curling his hand on the crook of your knee, lifting and hitching it around his waist, pressing closer, his hips slowly rubbing against you, before pulling away.
“We should get going.”
“Yeah,” you murmured as you looked into his dark eyes, the want evident in their depths making your body pulse with lust.
He walked over to the table, picking up the bag and making his way to the last car, an old ‘00 tan corolla that was there, throwing the duffle bag in the trunk before making his way to the large warehouse door. You followed behind him, taking your place behind the wheel and driving the car out and closing it behind you then climbing into the passengers side, pulling up the hood of his sweater over his head and pushing the back of the seat down, obscuring himself from the outside.
You drove out slowly, stopping only to lock the chain link fence, the heavy chain clinking against the metal fence and clicking the large lock in before driving off, taking each turn carefully and deliberately.
You made it onto the main road, tensing when you saw a police cruisers a few cars ahead of you at the intersection, the side roads closed off by blue police roadblocks, an officer standing at the intersection and peering into each car and waving them over.
Billy pulled a pair of large blocky sunglasses from the pocket of his jacket and perched them on his nose.
When you rolled up the officer peered into the car, his eyes scanning your face and glanced over to the passenger side. In an attempt to distract him you asked,
“What's with the roadblocks officer?”
“Some guys just held up a checking place and made a run to this side of the city,” he looked over at Billy again, “Hey buddy, lower your sunglasses.”
“He just had an eye exam, sir, his pupils are dilated and the sun hurts his eyes.”
The officer looked back to you,
“Does it?” he looked back at Billy, waving his finger, “lower the shade buddy.”
Billy turned toward the officer, pushing the glasses down the bridge of his nose, you saw the cop peer at Billy, his brow furrowing for a moment, then waving you through.
You eased your foot onto the gas and rolled away, the tension in your shoulders melting away as you left the cop and the checkpoint behind you.
Taglist: Gen: @juguitos @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @the-blind-assassin-12 @suchatinyinfinity @bts-smolarmy @elanor-of-imladris @pheedraws @obscurilicious @fific7
Billy Russo: @nananananananananananabatman @shinebrightlikeafanbase @emyyjemyy @agswitch
**strikethrough can’t be tagged
#billy russo#billy russo x reader#billy russo x you#billy russo fic#the punisher#the punisher fic#please dont ask what the exercise was#or what the parameters were#it's pretty embarrassing#also its 3:10am and i wish i was sleepy
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Can I request Alastor x reader hc or a fic about his love being redeemed but then after a while they get thrown back in hell for a really stupid reason?
Lmao honestly I was like ‘Oh ho this is gonna be sad’ then the last part had me rolling. Ima go for a fic though. I hope you like it hun! :)
(P.S I made it a really really stupid reason-sorry).
(P.P.S (d/h/c): Demon hair color
(d/s/c): Demon skin color
(h/c): Hair color
(s/c): Skin color
Alastor X Reader-Redemption and Back
You had finally done it. You had made it! You were going to be taken to Heaven and given your wings! Finally! This IS what you wanted, right? You sigh as you snuggle in to your boyfriends chest, thinking things over.
He was humming softly as he ran his claws through your hair gently. He didn’t want to lose you, oh no, you were his darling demon gal! But, you had wanted to be an angel. He couldn’t tell you no to that, and besides, this gave him cause to follow you to Heaven. If he could manage, that is...
You looked at the time. Only an hour left. An hour to get your things to the roof. An hour to cuddle with Alastor. One last time... Until he came to meet you in Heaven, of course! An hour to say your goodbyes to your friends. No, your family. All of your goodbyes... Even to the sweetheart herself, the princess of Hell...
“Al, I can’t do this. I can’t just leave-” you felt the hot tears start, you couldn’t hold them back. You didn’t want to say goodbye to everyone.
Alastor simply shakes his head. “Darling, you must! I cannot let you stay here when this has been such a big deal for you!” His everlasting grin almost dropping. He didn’t want you to leave either. But he was going to be strong enough, for the both of you if he had to be. “Dear, please don’t back out now, I would be sad to see you give up so easily.”
You sigh as he gently wipes the tears away. You knew he wouldn’t be there for a long time, if ever, which felt like someone was ripping your heart out. “But I don’t want to leave everyone...” You say quietly, frowning.
“Smile my dear! You’re not fully dressed without one! And everyone will follow you up! I can’t see why they wouldn’t! I certainly will follow a pretty little doll, such as yourself, to the gates of Heaven!”
You let out a soft giggle and nod. “Okay... I’ll... Give it a test run.” A small dorky smile made its way to your face?
Alastor tilts his head in confusion. “A test run, my dear? “But there have been demons sent to Heaven before! This is no longer a test-”
You giggle and shake your head. “No, what I mean is, if I get too sad or too lonely, I’ll do something stupid and come back!” you joke lightly.
“Ahohohohohoh, my dear, don’t do that! It might take us a while, but we will all eventually be right there beside you!” His grin widens slightly at your cheered up state. Why was he convincing you to go? He didn’t want you to. He sighs and sits up. “Well dear, let us go say your final goodbyes, shall we not? Everyone will be waiting for you!”
You look up at him. He was right! Only half an hour left. You sigh and link arms with him, going to the roof. You smile as you see everyone. You waved shyly. Time to say goodbye! You went through them all, Husk, Baxter, Niffty, Charlie, and Vaggie.
After what felt like only a few minutes, you saw the angels. You turn to Alastor one last time. “You promise me I’ll see you again?”
The tall Radio Demon took and then kissed the top of your hand, smiling at you. “I won’t stop trying until I succeed, my love.” He said softly, only for you to hear.
You smile and squeeze his hand, realizing you may never see him again. Your heart begged you to stay, but he gently handed your hand off to an angels, and with that, you were gone.
Charlie tried to comfort Alastor, but he simply dismissed her, and went to be alone to think about you.
He didn’t cry, no, that would make him look weak, but he couldn’t stop his grin from falling as his brain screamed at him to get you back and his heart thumped dully in pain. He’d never see her again. He was too bad to go to Heaven, but at least you were happy.
You open your eyes and looked around. Your demon form was replaced with your human one. Instead of (d/h/c) or (d/s/c) you had (h/c) and (s/c). You stood there shocked for a moment.
“You may go in at any time.” The angel who escorted you up said, slightly annoyed. Guess attitude didn’t dull when you went to Heaven.
You sigh and walk through the gates, only to be tackled? You let out a shrike. “Who are you?!!” You glare at the angel above you-wait.
“Hiya toots. Miss me?”
“Angel Dust?!”
“Shhh shh, up here I’m Anthony.” He says chuckling.
“You EGGED someones house and got sent back to HELL? After one WEEK?” Vaggie yelled at you and Angel Dust, in a private room. So far only her and Charlie had seen you too.
“Come on sweets,” Angel began, earning a glare from Vaggie. “The guy was a douche. He shoulda come down ‘ere with us, ‘e was just to holy.” Angel said in your guys’ defense. “ ‘Sides Vaggs, I didn’t wanna be up there anyways-” he began.
“Because you missed the drugs, turf wars, and sex?” she asked, snapping at him.
Charlie set a hand on her shoulder and looked between the two of you for answers.
“Well, yes, but I also missed you fuckers, alright?” he shoots his own glare at Vaggie. “Heaven is no fun, especially when everyone is tryin’ to get ya sent back ta Hell anyways.”
You nod in agreement. “Yeah. I’m uh, I’m with Angie on this.” You look down at your hands. “Besides, there are other demons up there proving that Hell DOES have people who can change... We didn’t even think we’d get in that much trouble.”
Vaggie seemed to have softened up to the both of you. But, she was still going to be strict. “Whatever. But if you two plan on staying here for free still, you’re gonna need to earn your keep.”
At the visible confusion you and Angel Dust show, Charlie perks up. “What she means is that you two will need to work here! Keep a decent reputation so the hotel doesn’t fail, but do smaller things to stay here and help!” she grins.
Of course you and Angel agree happily! This hotel was pretty much your home, and so were the people! You both go your separate ways, you to find Al, and Angel to find Husk. Or drugs.
You smile as you see him, deciding sneaking up on him would be the worst best course of action. You wrap your arms around the deer boi and he goes rigid.
He won’t kill anyone he won’t kill anyone he won’t dO IT-
“Alllll, guess what?” you sing song.
His jaw drops, was that really you? “(Y/n)?” he turns around and wraps his arms around you when he sees you, afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
You grin. “Yep!”
“But how did-why are-” he, for once in his life, seems to be speechless. He looks at you confused.
“Angie and I egged a guys house since he was being a dick... And well... We were condemned. Yay?” You weren’t really sure how he was going to react, if you’re being honest.
His grin only seemed to widen though. You had really come back! He picks you up and spins you around. “Well darling, it seems to me that you mean you’ll be in Hell for quite some time then! Lets go take a stroll through Hell and maybe get a bite to eat! Omelets, perhaps? It is breakfast!” He gives you a cheeky grin.
You can’t help but giggle and shake your head. “Of course. Omelets sound great, Al.”
And with that, you were off!
#Alastor x Reader#Alastor x Reader fluff#Alastor x Reader Angst#To Heaven#You Go To Heaven#Then You Get Sent Back To Hell#Saying Goodbye#Angel Dust#Angel Dust Friendship#Hazbin Alastor#Hazbin Hotel#Idk what else to put here#sorry lmao
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Experiments - Part 7
If you want to start from the beginning:
Experiments on Ao3
---
“Is that what you’re gonna wear?” Jessie’s voice stopped Rhett as he was coming down the stairs. She was sitting on the couch, frowning at Rhett. Rhett looked down at his black Mythical t-shirt and sweats.
“What’s wrong with ‘em?” he asked, confused.
“Isn’t that a bit… casual?”
“It’s comfy,” Rhett said with a shrug. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to imply.
He descended the stairs and walked up to her. Jessie yanked on the hem of his t-shirt and looked at it disapprovingly. Rhett ducked down to give her a kiss which she accepted before pushing him back towards the stairs.
“Go put on that new button-up. The green one. Makes your eyes pop. And change into jeans,” she told him and turned back towards the TV.
“Um, why?”
Jessie’s gaze returned to him and she tilted her head. “Don’t you wanna look good for him?”
Rhett’s cheeks pinkened. “He knows what I look like,” he stammered defensively, staring down at his clothes he’d just thrown on after his shower.
“More reason to put in a little extra effort,” Jessie said. “Go on now.”
Rhett trekked back upstairs and changed his clothes, feeling slightly ridiculous. They were gonna be on the floor of the house sooner or later, why bother? He stopped at the mirror before leaving the bedroom to fix his hair. A quick glance at his new outfit made him admit that Jessie was right. He looked damn good in this shirt. Looking good for Link just had never even occurred to him. Would he care? He probably wouldn’t even notice. A strange, little stab at his heart followed the thought, but he brushed it off as indigestion.
“I’m going now,” he hollered as he grabbed his little overnight bag before heading to the front door. Jessie stopped him there to give him a hug and one more quick kiss. Rhett held her, smelling her familiar scent. She smelled like home and comfort. She was his sanctuary. And the way she was handling everything that was happening now with Link… Rhett was blown away by her kindness and ability to be so selflessly supportive. She’d even given Rhett some great pointers after he’d told her about the office blow job earlier that week.
When she tried to step away, Rhett pulled her tighter and buried his face into the crook of her neck.
“You okay there, big guy?” Jessie whispered, a smile coloring her voice as she gently rubbed Rhett’s hunched back.
“Yeah,” Rhett muttered. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” she asked back, clearly feigning ignorance. Rhett dragged himself away from her warmth and looked her in the eyes, once again searching for even the smallest hint of discomfort.
“You know what I mean.”
After all these years, her smile still made him feel lighter. She reached up to pinch his cheek. “Yes, I’m okay. Now go make your man happy.”
“He’s not my—”
“Go!”
She chased him out with a playful butt slap and that same smile that had made Rhett fall in love with her decades ago.
— — —
Just like two weeks ago, Link was already at the house when Rhett drove in. He parked his car, jumped out and basically jogged to the door. His heart was hammering when he walked inside and announced himself with a cheeky, “honey, I’m home!”
“In the kitchen!” Link yelled back. Rhett’s good mood immediately took a beating—Link sounded like he was in distress. Rhett dropped his bag onto the floor and rushed into the kitchen. Link was standing with his back turned and making huffs and puffs that could only be described as dad noises.
“What’s wrong?”
“This daggum bottle!” Link growled. He turned and waved a wine bottle in Rhett’s direction. The mouth and neck of the bottle were visibly scuffed.
“I didn’t realize we don’t have a corkscrew here. Shoulda bought one of those cheaper ones with the twisty corks,” Link grumbled.
Rhett’s lips quirked into a smile and he walked up to Link. Link gave him the bottle and held out the pocket knife he’d been using to try and get it open. Rhett looked at the knife and then at Link’s hands. Link saw the glance and frowned.
“I’m fine! I can use a knife. It’s just a stupid bit for the show.”
“Mmhmm. Want me to ask Christy about that? Or your father-in-law? Gimme,” Rhett ordered, reaching for the knife. Link relinquished the weapon with a pout and hopped on the counter. He swung his legs, heels tapping lightly against the drawers as he watched Rhett work on the bottle.
“Christy says hi,” Link said after a moment of silence.
“Hi,” Rhett grunted, trying to get the cork out. He finally had to concede that it was too mangled by Link’s attempts. “Gonna have to push it into the bottle, I think,” Rhett mused under his breath.
“She’d been here last night. Bought new sheets for the bed. She left other things too. Like… lube and stuff.”
Rhett’s heart missed a beat as a hot wave rushed through his body and the knife slipped from his suddenly trembling hand. Link’s eyebrows rose and he smirked.
“Careful there, McLaughlin. Don’t want you falling into my arms just yet.”
Rhett let out a dry bark of a laugh. “I’m not the one that faints at the sight of blood. Ha! There!” He’d finally managed to pop the cork into the bottle. He looked down at the wine and frowned.
“Should we pour this through a sieve? There are a lot of cork pieces in there.”
“You really think we have a sieve here?” Link asked, laughing. “Just pour, we can fish the pieces out with a fork.”
When they finally had mostly-corkless wine glasses in hand, Link smiled nervously at Rhett and clinked their glasses together.
“Dink it.”
“And sink it,” Rhett said, smiling back at him and he took a small sip. Despite the faint taste of cork, the wine was pretty good. Rhett took another sip and watched with widening eyes as Link gulped down almost half the glass in one go.
“Thirsty, huh?” Rhett teased him. Link’s cheeks flamed and he set the glass back on the counter with a resonant clink. He was still sitting on the counter, legs spread apart enough that Rhett could easily wedge himself between them. So, he did.
Link’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his smile faltered a bit. Rhett set his wine glass on the counter next to Link’s and lifted his hand to run his fingertips along Link’s bottom lip to brush away a drop of wine. Link’s lips parted and he puffed out a small, shaky breath that jolted Rhett’s cock to life. How could something so small could be so fucking sexy, Rhett had no idea.
Rhett’s fingers moved to trace along Link’s chin and jaw, finally ending their journey at the nape of his neck, slowly rubbing the sensitive skin at his hairline. Link shivered at the touch.
“How do you wanna do this then?” Rhett asked, voice low and gravelly.
“You know,” Link said, squirming under Rhett’s light touch. “Just… fuck me.” It was almost a plea. Almost like begging, and it made blood rush to Rhett’s dick.
“Here? Against the counter?” Rhett asked, pressing a teasing kiss against Link’s t-shirt-covered collarbone. Link gasped, possibly more at Rhett’s words than the kiss, and Rhett’s hand dropped from his neck to his lower back. A rough pull brought them chest to chest and drew a small “oh” from Link. Rhett could feel Link’s erection rubbing against his stomach. His hands were slowly moving up and down Link’s legs, his thumbs pressing into the inner thighs, fingers moving closer and closer to his bulge with each pass. Link’s eyes were closed and he was breathing through an open mouth.
“Well?” Rhett asked, when he got no answer.
“No. Not here. Bed,” Link mumbled. Rhett tried to step away to move the night along, but Link’s hands shot up and he pulled Rhett back to him.
“Not yet,” Link said.
“You wanna drink the rest of your wine?” Rhett asked. Link’s hands were sliding up his chest, rubbing his pecs through his shirt on the way before they ended up around his shoulders.
“No. I don’t want anymore wine. I want—”
Rhett’s hands had found a place on Link’s waist and he paused to marvel at how well they fit around him.
“You want what?” Rhett husked.
“I want you to kiss me,” Link whispered. Rhett’s gaze jumped to Link’s face.
“What?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry despite the just-sipped wine. Link’s eyes shone in the low light of the kitchen and he licked his lips before answering.
“Isn’t it a bit weird that we haven’t? I mean, your cock’s been in my mouth and I came inside yours, but we’ve never…” Link’s words died on his lips and he shrugged, looking embarrassed over his request.
Rhett wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to do this. He’d come here tonight, more than ready to stick his dick inside Link’s asshole but kissing him? For some reason, that scared him more than anything.
“A little weird, yeah,” he murmured, trying to buy some time.
Man up, McLaughlin, and kiss the guy!
Rhett took a deep breath, readying himself. Link cupped his face and slowly ran his fingers through his beard, sending pleasant tingles down his spine and up to the crown of his head. It brought back a vivid memory of how it had felt when Link had held onto Rhett’s hair when Rhett was sucking him off at the office. The memory of Link’s cock filling his mouth combined with his proximity now was making Rhett dizzy.
“This felt pretty dang amazing down there,” Link said, tangling his fingers into Rhett’s beard and tugging it gently to pull him closer. “I wanna know how it feels up here.”
Link’s gaze flicked from Rhett’s eyes down to his mouth and his tongue peeked between his lips to wet them. Rhett felt himself being pulled to him like they were magnetized. A small part of him feared this would change everything. Another part, a long-dormant one, whispered that deep down he’d always known this was going to happen eventually.
Rhett saw Link’s eyes widen before he closed his own and brushed their lips together. Link’s mouth opened, filling Rhett’s with the taste of wine and mint and Link. The soft touch of Link’s lips set him on fire. He was dying a slow death, scorched by the pyre of realization that this was what had been missing from his life.
The epiphany was too much. His chest was crushing under the weight of it. Rhett had to pull away before he’d get totally consumed by it. He was thankful for the counter he could lean against because his legs had somehow turned into jello.
“Is that what you wanted?” Rhett asked, trying to pull his lips onto a casual smile. It was a shaky one at best, but maybe Link wouldn’t notice.
Link’s eyes fluttered open and he licked his lips slowly as if savoring the taste Rhett’s kiss had left there. Rhett realized he was gripping Link’s waist too hard and one by one, forced his fingers to relax.
“It was alright,” Link said, corner of his lips tugging up. “Nothing to write home about.”
Rhett scoffed. “Excuse me?”
“You call that a kiss? That’s how you kiss a cousin,” Link said, eyes twinkling with mischief. Rhett snorted.
“Wow. Your relationship with your cousins must be radically different from mine,” Rhett said, arching his brow. Link just shrugged and smiled that teasing smile of his. Rhett knew what he was doing, but it was impossible not to fall for it.
“Fine. If you think that was weak, let me show you a real kiss,” he huffed and cupped Link’s face. The flash of elation on Link’s features punched the air out of Rhett’s lungs and he had to take a deep breath before diving into another kiss.
Rhett moved in fierce and determined to kiss Link’s socks off. Their mouths slotted together and Rhett’s thumb slowly brushed along Link’s chin as he licked his way into Link’s mouth. Link’s tongue met him halfway and with soft sweeps, Rhett coaxed it into his own mouth and gave it a long, soft suck. A breathy moan rumbled out of Link’s throat and he grabbed a fistful of Rhett’s shirt to pull them closer. Link’s legs wrapped around Rhett’s hips and Rhett’s hand dropped to Link’s lower back to pull him closer to the edge of the counter. Rhett imagined that he could feel Link’s cock throbbing through his jeans, just as his was.
When they finally parted, Link was staring at him, his lips slippery and deliciously pink, eyes blown black and his whole body keening towards Rhett.
Rhett’s breath caught. Link was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful.
“How about that then?” Rhett asked, breathless. Link swallowed down hard and nodded.
“Better,” he whispered, eyes never leaving Rhett’s lips.
“Bed?” Rhett offered with a hopeful and lust-filled voice.
“Yeah,” Link sighed. “Let’s go.”
#Appa writes fic#rhink#rhink fic#experiments fic#part 7#mythical wives#Jessie mclaughlin#Christy Neal#polyamory#mwah!
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Garden of Eden
Vampire!Harry x POC!OC
A/N: something I've worked on for a while. This will be a multi chapter fic. I really hope you guys enjoy the first chapter. I might just post the rest on Wattpad. Here's my link to that. Let me know your thoughts. Lots of love
-Shay
Warnings: racism, death, depression, alcoholism
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I've got promises to keep, and miles to go, before I sleep."
-Robert Frost
New Orleans, Louisiana 1894
"We can't keep meeting here," Charlotte whispered, back pressed to the large oak tree. Harry smiled down at her, brushing his fingers over her lips lightly and relishing in the way she leaned into his touch.
"It's the only place we can be darling," he whispered, lips brushing against her cheek. She leaned her head against his shoulder, pulling him closer to her by the lapels of his jacket.
"I mean it Harry." She pushes on his shoulders, looking into his eyes sadly. "This is the last time we meet like this." He takes a step back, creating space between them, an uneasy feeling building in his belly.
"You want to break this off? But I love you." He goes to hold her but she steps out of reach.
"Harry you're married....This can never go anywhere good. And if I end up pregnant." She shudders, tears welling in her eyes. "Harry I love you too. I do. Truly. But you know what will happen to me-"
"Nothing's going to happen-"
"How can you say that?" She snaps, eyes wild. "I work in your home. I work for your wife. Do you not think she'll find out you come to the servants quarters?" Harry feels the blood drain from his face. He knows she's right.
He takes in the beautiful girl he's fallen in love with. Her black curls pulled back into a bun, but her hair is too curly, some hair spills out over her forehead and by her ears, down the back of her neck. Her brown eyes shining with tears and her brown skin glowing in the sunset. He knew she was in danger everytime they met. And she still risked it all for him.
She can see his distress, softening she goes to him, letting him wrap his arms around her tightly, he buries his face in her shoulder as she wraps her own arms around him, not wanting to ever let go.
"You're all I've ever wanted Charlotte. You know this don't you?" She kisses the side of his face lightly before pulling away.
"I know."
Pretending to love Antoinette was easier than Harry had ever thought possible. The marriage, if you could call it that, had been arranged by her father and his mother back in England. It had been the right thing to do, to save his mother and sister from destitution. But to be in the same house with the one he truly loved and to not have her haunted him. They brushed by each other without a word, nothing spoken between them. It was like they were strangers and Harry felt empty.
"Harold? Are you listening?" Harry looked up across the dining table to his wife. She was beautiful. Fair skin, tosy cheeks, blonde hair, blue eyes. But he could never find it in himself to love her. Not the way he loved Charlotte.
"I'm sorry dear," he clears his throat, sitting straighter. "Do tell me again?" Her eyes narrow slightly before she continues. "Charlotte. She's pregnant." Harry feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, but he catches his jaw before it drops.
"Oh?" He cuts into his steak, seemingly uninterested. "I didn't know she was married."
"She's not. The child is a bastard." Harry couldn't help but flinch at those words. He knew it was his child. It would never be a bastard. Not to him.
"How did this come about?" He asked disinterestedly.
"She fainted making dinner. One of the other servants checked her over. She's about four months along. A bit of a belly on her. I noticed but thought she was just being greedy." Harry swallowed hard. He had noticed too but had thought nothing of it.
Antoinette stood, walking down the table and around to him. She sits on the edge of the table looking down at him. And it's in that moment that he knows, that she knows.
"Antoinette-" Harry starts.
"How could you." Her voice is full of accusation. "It all made sense when I put two and two together. The nights you slip from bed, why you wouldn't touch me." Harry reached out, but she slapped his hands away. She stands, taking a few steps back.
"Antoinette think about what-"
"I saw you!" She shouted. Harry felt the wind being knocked out of him as she spoke again in a whisper. "I saw you." She folds her arms across her chest.
"When?"
"Two weeks ago, coming back from the woods." The night they ended everything. Harry's speechless, he feels his cheeks turning red. He doesn't know what to say. She sighs. "I know this isn't the perfect marriage. But it is a marriage Harry. You're my husband. I can't have a colored child runnin' round here with your looks....so I did what I had to do." Horror begins to twist in Harry's stomach when her words seep in.
"Antoinette what have you done."
"You're going to make things right. You're going to give me a baby-" Harry bolts from the house, running down to the servants quarters. Already he can see commotion.
"Hey! Easy there!" He slams into Antoinette's brother Jack. Jack grips Harry tightly as they watch Charlotte be dragged from inside the house.
"Let me go!" Harry snarls, Jack only tightens his grip.
"Shoulda been fuckin' my sister. Not this wench!" Something hard hits the back of Harry's head. Everything fades to black as the ground rushes up to greet him.
It's dark when he comes too. Harry groans, grabbing the back of his head as he sits up. He doesn't realize where he is for a moment, but then, as memories come rushing forward he stands, turning to look at the servants quarters.
The scream he let's out is barely human.
Antoinette is in the living room when Harry finally comes in. His shoulder's slack in defeat. Antoinette walks up to him, reaching out to touch his cheek.
"It's for the best." Harry says nothing.
The days become a blur for Harry. He drinks his weight in whiskey and sleeps in the guest room. Antoinette harps, complaining to him about her needs but he doesn't care.
He wishes he was six foot under, buried with Charlotte and his baby.
He wishes for death the second he wakes, anger and hatred the only things he can feel, the numbness over takes him in a way love once did.
He's stumbling down the street. It's late, the bar closed and he wasn't ready to go home. He hoped someone would mug him maybe, or just straight up kill him. He was ready for it. At any time.
A hand reached out of the darkness, yanking him into an alley. He grunts as he's thrown into the brick wall, his head becoming warm and sticky.
"I can smell death on you. You long for it." The voice snarled. A hand snaked up around Harry's neck, pressing hard. "But revenge....what if I could make you strong enough for that?" Harry's drunken eyes widened, the man's words were hazy. But revenge. Revenge would be sweet.
"How?" He gasped. The stranger pulled his hand away. When Harry looked up he could see the eyes, red and glowing.
"I'll show you..."
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
"No one knows what happened to Harold Styles. He went out for a night of drinking and never was seen again. It's speculated he was murdered, having been the wealthiest man in town...a few days later the entire plantation was in flames. His wife, Antoinette, and her brothers died in the fire. Servants called the grounds cursed and no one has rebuilt on the land since."
Charlotte Auste looked up at the portrait the plaque had sat under. It was a portrait of the man, Harry Styles. She couldn't help the sense of familiarity she felt. His green eyes boring into hers from the painting, almost like he was calling to her.
Charlotte always found solace in museums and art galleries. Especially being so far from home. College had taken her all over the world, but it was nice to come back to Louisiana. To come back home and start the rest of her life.
This portrait had always been a favorite of hers. She would come here often in high school and just sit, staring at the portrait, feeling something sad and familiar wash over her. And in a strange way, she knew he would have understood how she felt.
"Hey!" Charlotte's best friend Libby, slung her arm over the girl's shoulder. She looked up at the portrait with Charlotte. "Mm mm. He is quite dreamy isn't he?" Charlotte rolled her eyes, tucking her curls behind her ear, only to have them spring forward again.
"I'm sure over a hundred years later he would still look fabulous." she said sarcastically. They laughed, walking from the art gallery arm in arm.
#harry styles#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#solo harry#hs fandom#hs imagine#hs fanfic#hs2#hs1
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Holding On And Letting Go - Chapter IV
Summary: Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV
Word Count: 2180 Genre: angst Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: multichapter AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹
“I’m the one to blame and I know it. That’s the worst part.” InuYasha confessed to the dorment well in one of those nights, when he missed Kagome so dearly it was downright suffocating.
He would never forget the moment when she first taught him about the universe — how it was infinite and always expanding. He still remembered how small and overwhelmed it made him feel.
Even now, that the memory was old and dusty, InuYasha felt the same. Missing Kagome was just like the universe — infinite and always expanding — and he was only himself, powerless and infinitesimal when faced with the immensity of it all.
“I shoulda fought harder for you.” The claws piercing his palm compensated the lack of emotion on the statement. “Not just that last time...” He shook his head, his brain flooded with images of the time they were forced apart and how he had been unable to do anything besides watch it happen. “But before that too. I shoulda told ya how much you meant to me, even though you knew already. I shoulda kissed you each chance I got. I shoulda apologized more.”
A lump housed in his throat as he recounted their journey on his mind, making sure to linger on the mistakes he made with the rawness of salt thrown straight into an open wound. Every argument they ever had seemed so pointless now, and yet, what wouldn’t he give for one more quarrel, if only to hear her voice again?
“And I shouldn’t have let you go!” All at once, the all too familiar anger started bubbling in the depths of his stomach, surfacing through his intonation. “What the hell was I thinking? That just because I wasn’t a selfish asshole for once, everything would be just fine at the end? It ain’t how life works! You’d think someone like me woulda learned that by now.”
Sitting on the grass, InuYasha fought the urge to scream in frustration. It was all bullshit. All of it.
“Before you, I didn’t use to do the right thing and we both know it. So why the fuck should I keep doing it now? ‘S not like it would bring you back.”
Deep down, InuYasha knew the answer. In the end of the day, her happiness and well being were way more important than his self-centered desires, and ultimately, he would never jeopardize all the effort he had put into becoming the man she showed him he could be — a man deserving of her. It didn’t mean he couldn’t feel sorry for himself, just a little.
“They already had at least fifteen years of you in their lives, but we... We didn’t have enough time.”
Part of him argued that it would never be sufficient, no matter how many lifetimes they got bestowed with. The other part reminded him of all the times he had pushed her away.
InuYasha acknowledged his greediness right then. Kagome had already given him more than he ever dared to dream and admittedly more than he deserved. Most of his kind would die without knowing so much as the prospect of love, while he had experienced it in every shape. Because of Kagome, he had finally found a place where he belonged, with people who accepted him. That should have been more than enough.
And yet there he was, asking for more as if he was entitled to it, as if every good thing in his life wasn’t as bright as it could be if she was around.
What an ungrateful bastard he was.
“I need you more than they ever could, anyway.” InuYasha went on, wondering why is was so much easier admitting these things when there was no chance for her o listen. “If you ever come back, I’d do everything different. No more wasting time, no more acting stupid. I’d even tell you how much I love your food and the way you smell, ‘cause I do, I always did.”
He once believed that Kagome was born to meet him. Now it looked they were doomed from the start.
“Just come back and see.”
If the Honekui no Ido was a Wishing Well, her wish would be him.
She knew it was selfish, but it was true.
There was nothing she cared about more, nothing else she wanted so fiercely in her supposedly fulfilled life.
Day and night, she dreamed of better worlds, where they never had to be more than a heartbeat away from each other. If she could, she would change her own, just to fit him in it the same way his Fire-Rat robe used to fit around her shoulders — warm and familiar — and he would know he was safe and sound. She would rewrite each cosmical rule keeping them from being together, speak over the prejudiced voices whispering their bigotry at them, shield him from the hurtful things he pretended to be indifferent to even though it broke his heart. And they would get the happy ending they deserved.
“All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” Kagome remembered that day, swallowed by the sands of time, when she sat in the very well she now leaned against, and faced with these same emotions, asked InuYasha to stay with him. It was the moment she realized no amount of nasty blows to her ego could make her walk away. Her happiness was tangled with his. “And I promised you I would always be by your side. I guess things never work the way we plan, but I want you to know I would have kept my word. I still intend to.”
Kagome deliberately looked at the pile of books beside her. Most of them turned out to be useless, brimming with inaccurate information. A couple of few managed to carried interesting material and maybe Kagome could even teach Kaede a thing or two if she ever accomplished her main goal, but the rest were not written to be taken serious at all.
The girl, however, was no fool. It was highly unlikely that the solution she was looking for would be laying in a long lost book, and that just like in the climax scene of a hollywoodian movie, she would decode its manuscript, unsealing the magical time portal, consequently, reaching the anticipated joyous outcome, white letters rolling up the screen and lights turning on to reveal a clapping audience.
But what could she do except keep trying? The alternatives were way too depressing and she had promised him. She owed him — owed both of them — that much, and it gave her a purpose. Doing something felt good, even if something meant a new burn to a cauterized heart. What was a little drop of frustration for someone drenched on its rain? What was a little wave of sorrow for someone drowning on its waters?
It was also a good distraction from math problems and her oblivious — despite of well meaning — friends. She welcomed those distractions as much as the lamppost lights that guided her way home.
Truth was, too many new moons had passed and it wasn’t lost on Kagome that the separation would affect her and InuYasha differently. While he knew she was out of danger, secure with her family in pacific modern era Japan, that same courtesy was never offered to her.
Sure, Naraku was gone and InuYasha would always have Tessaiga, as well as their friends, to support and protect him. But he was still a cocky half demon with a remarkable talent to lost his temper and a pretty respectful list of enemies. Trouble would find him one way or another.
Part of her wondered if it already did and, as much as it hurt to consider it, that was why he never met her after the five hundred years gap. But then again, it could also mean that he didn’t have to, because she found a way to get back on her own.
Her attention went back to the open book on her lap.
“I just… I just need to see if you’re okay.” Pleaded Kagome, aware of her own lie the second it left her lips. Just a glimpse of him, brief and distant as it may, and she could never walk away.
The night came and went as she devoured the pages, in vain. Then daylight touched Earth, imposing and golden like his eyes.
The sky was so clear, not a single cloud dared to taint its dazzling blue. Around him, InuYasha could see all the summer colors, as bright as they were, from the floating orange of the butterflies to the endless rainbow of flowers gifted to them by a generous spring. Nearby, he could hear the birds singing their jubilant melodies and the village’s children playing under the sun.
It was a beautiful morning and he hated it.
A day like that without Kagome to enjoy it was such a waste. Everything about it seemed pointless — wrong, somehow — since she wasn’t there to see it.
Particularly, he had grown fond of the cloudy days. It was much easier to blend in. Everybody gets a little sad when it rains.
But InuYasha couldn’t control the weather and certainly he couldn’t extinguish the distance separating them either, as he had previously learned. All he could do was sit there and wait for her.
“And now the little brats are getting old enough to chase me around.” Continued InuYasha, on yet another detailed report Kagome would never hear. “‘S a nightmare, I’ll tell ya. Not even you or your mom were so obsessed with my ears and that’s sayin’ a lot.”
His heart clenched at the thought of the kind woman who had treated him like a son from the very start, but it didn’t last long, as he could practically hear Kagome’s giggles. He had no doubt she would find the whole situation insanely amusing, much to his pretended annoyance.
He didn’t even try to fight his smile.
“Can you believe it? Miroku and Sango have twins!” InuYasha exclaimed, because he sure as hell still couldn’t, no matter how many times the living proofs climbed over him, pulled his hair or pestered his poor ears. “I mean, ‘course you can. You saw it coming way before I did.”
Well, not even her wildest guess would have bet on twins right away, but the important thing was the monk and the slayer were really making marriage work. InuYasha would give anything to see her smug I-Told-You-So expression.
“They’re really happy.” And they had every reason to be. Against all odds, they were together, they had a family. After so much trauma, fights and goodbyes, they managed to stood side by side at the end. They had earned that. InuYasha knew it. And he wanted to be happy for them. He was happy for them. He just couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that would come along with every look, touch or gleeful moments shared between the couple: it should have been Kagome and I.
Then guilt would hit him like a punch, making him avoid the pair for a while just to feel even worse. It was much harder to feel happy for someone else when his own happiness was in the other side of the well with her.
“They miss you, though.”
“Congratulations!” Kagome walked in, dropping her purse to the base of the Honekui no Ido to grasp her hair in exasperation. “You have finally made Tokyo boring and I thought this was impossible!”
The schoolgirl spent the whole day out, passing by parks and stores that had been so fascinating to her in the past, but that now just couldn’t catch her eyes.
Since she was a little child, she always felt her city like a living entity. Pulsating, stimulating, a surprise on every turn.
Then, years ago, she had fallen into that damned well and the conception of adventure that she once had changed forever.
In that new, exciting land, Kagome had been a fish out of temporal water, but then she decorated the tides and made them her habitat. Now that she was isolated from it, she missed it like crazy and the place she used to call home didn’t felt like home anymore.
She was a fish out of water again, but this time in her own town.
The city lights were as pretty as ever, but they could never match the starry night sky from Feudal Era and the more she walked through the comfortable pavement, the more she longed for the freshy grass. It was sickening and frightening.
For her family, Kagome desperately kept trying to make things go back to the way it was before — Studying, hanging out with her friends, helping in the shrine. She never told them it wasn’t working. There was no need to hurt them over nothing.
But she didn’t belong there. And she hadn’t for quite a while.
“What do I do?” She whispered.
A/N: one day I’ll write something that isn’t angst again... but today was not that day. Thank you for reading, tho. It means a lot to me. Oh, and let me know if you want to be tagged or something. See ya!
#InuYasha#Inukag#Kagome#Holding On And Letting Go - Chapter IV#Kagome Higurashi#Inukag Angst#Inukag Multichapter#My Writing
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like yesterday, here's a bullet list of my thoughts for episodes 18~21
thoughts on episode 18:
oh no, it's the beach episode.
-- i really like how they show the way the PT take care of futaba. ren patiently cleaning up her room in between hours at the florist, them playing vidya with her, or just having lunch together in montage moments is very sweet. it makes me wish the anime had much slower pacing, more slice of life-y kind of drama.
-- watching yusuke, ryuji, and futaba lose their freakin minds over good curry is VERY relatable.
-- i still don't understand why ann and makoto thought that a two piece frilly bathing suit was the way to go with futaba. a one piece that she could wear under a long wrap or a hoodie would've made so much more sense... but >male gaze
-- have i told y'all how fucking tired i am of the sexualization of the teenage girls in p5 yet, and how it is one of the several things that fuckin ruined this game for me
have i?
well here it is again
none of the previous games were as bad as this b t w and p4 had one of the dungeons be a STRIP CLUB.
-- yusuke and his lobsters are wonderful.
-- oh god i forgot COMPLETELY about the whole 'mental shutdowns' thing in this game's plot. i think because it's all so pointlessly convoluted. p3 had something similar but even there it was just people turned catatonic for weeks on end when the monthly boss-shadows drew near.
i think the reason i find this so hard to understand is because from p3 to p4 the rules of shadows didn't really change so much. p3 had the persona users go up against shadow bosses; p4 had people confront the shadows within themselves, either accepting them completely (which then turned into persona), or the shadow 'absorbed' the person and ran rampant as a monster. neither of those rules really contradict each other, but in p5 personal shadows for persona users are gone completely, and how you deal with other people's personal shadows doesn't even involve them being present to complete the merge.
mona says that persona users can't have palaces, but persona users in 4 could and DID have 'dungeons' within the shadows' worlds. these dungeons dealt specifically with what was at the core of the shadows' emergence--a deep secret and a hidden truth that caused the shadow to grow, a place that was a replica and a distortion of reality based upon that suppressed truth. so that sure sounds like a fucking palace to me.
so....................... unless there's like, multiple realities folded into our own, and persona users can only access certain ones.................. i'm just super confused.
like, i know it's because the rules change game to game, but p3 to p4 didn't have any contradictions, and p2 didn't contradict anything in p3, either. it just went from a full party of wild card users to a singular one.
-- i'm glad ann's getting a little screentime here. i was just thinking about how other characters' development was lacking after makoto and futaba got so much focus.
-- mona's so sweet to ann ;-; now that he has a human form in p5r, i hope they become really good friends. she needs a kind guy friend that'll be reliable~ plus he makes her laugh.
-- sojiro talking about the anniversary of wakaba's death is......... really interesting........ considering that screenshot of futaba sitting next to a woman with the exact same haircut as her "deceased" mother.
-- ren reassuring mona that he absolutely has to be human, that he will return to who he used to be once they figure out what's happening in the metaverse is jsut jdfklasd
AND HIS LIL ROUND OF APPLAUSE WHEN MONA TALKS ABOUT ALL THE THINGS HE'S GOING TO DO TO KEEP THE WORLD SAFE ;-;
AND THAT SHOT OF HIM SLEEPING CURLED UP ON REN'S STOMACH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
-- listen i know mona isn't rly a cat but he's the BEST cat
thoughts on episode 19:
oh it's the hawaii episode.
-- man what the hell kinda budget do these school's got that they can just go overseas with dozens of students on a yearly basis? that's impressive.
-- ryuji: "whoa, awesome! ..... i don't really get it, but awesome!" fjdsafds okay that got a laugh outta me. good one, ryuji.
-- ren: "i'm excited, too." (said in a monotone) fjklsadsl BLESS THIS BOY
-- ren's FACE when he learns that futaba installed a spying app on his phone and can hear him/see pictures he takes is...... kind of hilarious. especially if you have the headcanon that he and akechi send dumbass snapchats to each other a lot--which i do. and which you do now, too.
-- mona's depression is ten times more sad because he's a cat okay :c why they gotta make the cat so cute
-- ren, ryuji, and ann's lil sleepover is adorable. especially since ann chastises ryuji for not knowing one of the basic rules of a sleepover: if you start talkin' about your crushes, you gotta start with your own~ thems the rules lads
-- rip principal bloatneck.
-- honestly that truck shoulda at least TRIED to stop.
-- "A LO HA." goddammit that's adorable
AND HE GIVES THE LEI NECKLACE TO MONA FJDSKFJDSKL ren you're so SWEET.
-- I TOTALLY FORGOT THAT MONA CALLS SAE "ONEE-NO-NIIJIMA" FJADSKLFJDSKL ahhhh it's so cute.
-- the PT targeting okumura, who is essentially the dave thomas with political ambitions of the persona 5 world, is far funnier now that i phrase it like that.
-- ANN, OF ALL FUCKING PEOPLE, SAYING THAT THEY PROBABLY BROUGHT THIS RECENT TROUBLE ON THEMSELVES, IS A FUCKING STUPID WRITING DECISION. I CAN'T BELIEVE SOMEONE DIDN'T LOOK AT THAT AND GO, "ANN WOULDN'T SAY THIS. ANN HAS NO REASON TO SAY IT." god. lmao PLEASe let p5r be a goddamn second draft.
-- mona's totally right that ryuji's just concerned with getting popular and his dick wet. like,,, that's why this argument only made me hate ryuji more than i already did. he gets pissy when mona points out the truth.
god he sucks lmao
I'M SORRY I'M SO SALTY YOU GUYS
LOOK I'LL SAY SOMETHING NICE: SAE AND AKECHI ARE COOL
-- i really like how guarded akechi's face looks in his conversation with sae, and how off his guard he looks when she tells him that she's not going to hold back, especially since the culprit is doing such dire, awful things. he's not exactly surprised, but he's definitely uneasy and shaken by what he hears. which makes me wonder who he’s really concerned for--himself, or for ren (and the PT by extension, but akechi only really seems to care about ren, so).
the reason i like that is because the okumura arc in p5 is really where akechi's mind starts its downward spiral. principal kobayakawa's death obviously rattled him, especially since the only reason the principal died was because shido saw him as useless and disposable, something akechi is desperate NEVER TO BE. and it's that + what happens with okumura that really kicks him over the edge.
i hope p5r will give us the chance to pull him back from it. he deserves a better chance than the game's subpar writing gave to him.
thoughts on episode 20:
-- ren wakes up in a panic because he thinks he sees mona on his bed ;___________;
-- goro snoopin' on the PT's LOUD, TOTALLY CONSPICUOUS conversation in front of okumura foods' HQ is kind of adorable if you remember he clearly loves star wars (HE HAS A LIGHT SABER), and the camera cuts to his face right as they're talking about big bang and outer space lingo.
-- oh, haru. i really wish you were the black mask. that would've been so much cooler--and an actual twist. her total hopeless panic about being a beauty thief could still be a thing (because it is actually endearing), it'd just be an act. but that's me talkin' fix-its again.
-- i really like the scene of haru defending mona to the PT on the rooftop, then cutting to show just how strained her relationship is with her father. she exists to be useful to her father's ambitions and nothing else, and that scene really drove home just how painful that is for her.
-- REN TWIRLS HIS HAIR BETWEEN TWO FINGERS WHEN HE'S DEEP IN THOUGHT. AHHHHHHH I FORGOT HE DID THAT
-- oh hey remember how the game went through the trouble of showing how haru's fiance is a sexist, violent, animal-hurting piece of shit and then promptly failed to actually separate her from him in game (i think you only can do that in her s-link?? the s-link you can barely finish in your first run of the game??), and in t hEN SHOWED HER IN THE CAR WITH HIM LATER, LOOKING HORRIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE?
god this story makes me so fucking mad lmfao STOP PUTTING GIRLS IN PHYSICALLY OR SEXUALLY VIOLENT PERIL AND NEVER ACTUALLY ENSURING THAT THEY'RE SAFE, YOU DAVID CAGE LEVEL OF HACK BULLSHIT WRITERS.
-- ryuji running into the attic, all worried about mona, with a first aid kit, is..... very good. very good and endearing. good on you, ryuji.
-- haru gently encouraging mona to tell the truth is also really good. idk if i just missed it in the game or what, but i really like how she's presented in the anime. she's like a counterpart to ren--soft, sincere, observant, patient, yet she's made of pure steel beneath all that.
thoughts on episode 21:
-- WHY WAS HARU'S GRANDFATHER GIVING COFFEE TO A FIVE YEAR OLD
-- haru, the reason your father's heart grew twisted is thanks to capitalism. you gotta change the heart of capitalism.
-- not to be all poochie here but whenever akechi isn't on screen, all i can ask myself is whERE'S AKECHI?
-- HOW CAN I TAKE THE EVIL DAVE THOMAS SERIOUSLY WHEN HE'S DRESSED LIKE FUCKIN MEGAMIND?
-- okay see this is where i'm thrown completely out of the story or even really liking haru. haru just listened to her dad's shadow saying he would PIMP HER OUT TO HER FIANCE WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT. and she still is just like ~no i want him to go back to being kind~
bitch are you nuts
are you NUTS
youR DAd SHOULD DIE AND YOU'D BE BETTER OFF
CONSIDERING HOW THE GAME GOES, YOU ARe BETTER OFF
god. i'm getting so mad again lmao
-- ren approaching haru to point out that if the truth of her father's crimes comes to light, she'll forever be associated with him (and with all the harm and ruined reputation that brings) is, once again, further reminder of just how... damn good ren is. he doesn't hesitate to speak from the heart nor does he ever fail to listen to someone else speak from theirs.
-- also not for nothing but uh
how did the cops not like
figure out how the PT phan-site was set up within the first few months and track it down to mishima? was that ever addressed at all?
-- honestly another reason why i get so fucking mad about this okumura stuff is the game goes SO FAR OUT OF ITS WAY to make you feel BAD that he died, when he was by all rights a fucking shitheel monster, yet when akechi dies it's like 'oh well. that sucked.' fuck off, atlus. the death of a greedy, heartless CEO isn't more sad just because his gaslit daughter is conditioned to be sad about it.
i understand that a large part of the shock after okumura's death is because the PT don't know if they did anything wrong. but okumura was in no way a good person. he was in no way a person whose redemption overruled all the hurt and harm he did. that has been the case for EVERY PT target before this, so why the fuck is okumura suddenly so different? why SHOULD he be?
the difference between him and, say, akechi is that okumura et. al. all made those choices on their own to do terrible things. they delighted in it, they enjoyed it. but akechi, much like futaba, was forced into a cycle of self-destruction--it’s just that in futaba’s case, her self-destruction targeted herself, and akechi’s was quite literally weaponized and used against others. he approached shido as a young teenager and was then used by him for years.
a teenage boy being used as a magical hitman by his shitlord father is far more deserving of sympathy and redemption than grown adults who willingly make the decision to harm, abuse, and prey on others. but no, the game didn’t want to do that.
this is another big problem i have with p5's second and third acts: it's so tonally dissonant and sloppy. it's like they didn't try to actually be as rebellious and hellraiser-y as the first act WANTED to be, and it all ends up being such a limp-dick shriveled mess of "let's fight against this rotten society!! ......... as long as it in no way actually upsets anyone or does any REAL change." fuck off lmao
that's not me even commenting on the "twist" and how it needed to be explained MULTIPLE TIMES to the player for it to make any sense.
and it still doesn't make sense to me btw.
so that's another thing i hope p5r fixes.
-- rip evil dave thomas megamind.
-- akechi floating the idea to sae that the phantom thieves had nothing to do with okmura’s death is............................ interesting.
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We Can Always Come Home
Here it is :v @dbhevents
My Secret Santa gift for @birooksun
If you absolutely hate it, feel free to tell me and I’ll gladly write you something better.
Pairing: Gavin Reed/RK900
Tropes: Hurt/Comfort. Literally.
Wordcount: 4,194
Summary: Gavin gets hurt, and like the man-child he is, he initially refuses help from his nonhuman partner.
Ao3 Mirror
"You never fail to surprise me, Detective Reed."
Four hours. Six minutes. Thirty eight seconds.
Not a particularly long period of time. Less than a work day. More than a movie. Just long enough to make almost anyone uncomfortable if they were to sit in place for the entire duration.
It's even less ideal when said person is physically unable to get up and leave.
"I'm meant to adapt to the vast unpredictability of humans, yet I find myself unable to track you down in a reasonable amount of time. My apologies."
"I don't need your pity, tinman."
The rough, strained voice came from a bloodied and half-frozen man that'd been handcuffed to a chain link fence. For four hours and a fistful of minutes he'd been attempting to break free. To call for help. To spit in the eyes of his attacker. Despite his determination to leave, and even in spite of how badly he wanted to beat the hell out of the guy that left him for dead in all the same ways they did to him, he refused to call his partner.
"Hold still. I'll try and make this as painless as possible."
With his hands bound above his head as he sat helplessly in an alley, Gavin Reed didn't have much of a choice. He didn't eat breakfast that day, and after the first blow to his skull, his condition only went downhill. He couldn't stop his attacker from tearing holes in his favorite maroon hoodie or from getting blood all over his jeans. With the way his head swam and his stomach churned, he could barely manage to hurl insults at the toaster he considered his partner.
...Partner.
He used that term loosely.
If you consider an untied knot loose.
"Can you stand?"
"Does it f'cking look like I can?"
Nines, Richard, Conrad... whatever people decided to call the damn thing. He didn't care. Nines stayed out of his way for the most part, kept quiet, and knew how to use a gun. Even if it was just an over glorified Connor clone, Gavin liked him better than the talkative freak.
Maybe ‘liked’ was too strong of a word. Gavin tolerated him at most. Plus, the RK900 model, in Gavin's opinion, looked a lot cooler than its predecessor. For starters, he was taller and had striking silver eyes that worked like a charm when interrogating suspects. And instead of that dopey semi formal outfit you'd expect from Connor, Nines wore a sleek white suit jacket with a fancy high collar. It... still looked kind of dumb, but most androids were pretty stupid looking by default.
"There's a hospital less than two miles from here. I'll-"
"No hospitals."
Nines looked down at the shaking man being carried in his arms like a princess. Even after being beaten and left for dead, he still seemed far too proud to admit he needed help from a machine.
"This isn't the time to let your pride get in the way, Detective."
"Ain't about pride." Gavin glared at Nines to the best of his abilities, though numbness in his face made this difficult. "I can't afford it. Even with my insurance, I'll be in debt until I die."
Nines sighed- a useless action for someone lacking the need to breathe. "Fine. I'll take you home and do what is necessary myself."
"Just leave when we get there. You're not my babysitter."
"No, I'm not-" he briefly repositioned Gavin his its arms so his head could rest comfortably on his shoulder, "-but I may as well be at this point."
Even if Gavin had all his strength, his slaps and punches against Nines would have the same effect on him- that being nothing. Still, Nines didn't particularly enjoy being poked in the optical sensor, so like the manchild he was, Gavin's shivering body had been placed as gently as possible in the back of a police cruiser so he could drive in peace. Ah, but it should have known better. While he no longer had to worry about physical assault, Gavin still managed to run his mouth for the entirety of the trip to his rundown little apartment.
"Shoulda gone faster when you rounded that corner," Gavin said while being scooped back up into Nines' arms. "People on bikes are worth ten points."
"I probably would have if murder wasn't illegal."
"Nothing's illegal if ya don't get caught."
As much as they bickered and joked about each other getting run over or falling into a woodchipper, the two undoubtable had some kind of chemistry together. While it depends on how you look at it, they got along better than they did with anyone else back at the DPD. Nines could handle any of the insults thrown at him and heave them back with twice the speed and burn, all with a nearly deadpan voice. He enjoyed Gavin's gross sense of humor and, at the very least, understood his apathetic outlook on life.
"I'm serious, though. You don't have to stay here and look after me."
"And if I want to?"
"Then you better get to fixin' before I bleed out."
Nines wanted to comment on the fact that he stopped bleeding before he un-cuffed him. Or how he really would be perfectly fine after a simple shower and a warm meal, albeit a bit sore and with a few open wounds. Unfortunately, with Nines essentially being deviant the moment he stepped out of the box, he couldn't comfortably leave a poor, defenseless, injured human all alone. With free will comes responsibility, and sometimes he wished he had neither.
Gavin clutched at his side while Nines sat him on his couch before going off to do whatever the hell he wanted. Did the couch always make such a loud noise when he sat on it? He couldn't remember. He knew his shitty one bedroom open kitchen apartment could use a good cleaning, though. He also knew he didn't have time to do more than clean himself and take out the trash every now and then. Most days he just came home, ate, maybe showered, maybe threw some laundry in the washer or dryer downstairs, and went to bed. This obviously left his residence looking a little sad, perhaps even bordering on depressing.
"I've drawn you a warm bath," Nines said upon returning.
"You're not washing me."
"I'm not. I'm going to be helping you is all."
One cautious trip to the bathroom later, Gavin began to squirm around in Nine's arms. He was a grown man- one who fell asleep with an ice cream bucket on his head once, but a grown man nonetheless.
"If you want me to let you down so badly, then here." Rather coldly, Nines allowed his arms to fall and all but forced him to stand on his own two feet. "I won't get in your way. All I ask is for you to provide proof that you will not die if I leave you alone for five minutes."
"I'm fine, goddammit. Go make yourself useful and clean something, whydont'cha?"
As much of a front he put on, it soon became painfully obvious how badly Gavin required assistance. He couldn't take his hoodie off without lifting his arms, and whenever he tried to do so he took dramatically long pauses in an attempt not to scream. Every muscle in his upper body ached, his ribs were sore, and each breath made him aware of how much effort it took to draw air into his lungs.
"I'll help you if you let me."
"F'ck off."
Gavin gritted his teeth as he grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it up and over, taking his undershirt with him until the fabric tumbled off his bruised skin and onto the floor below. He shot Nines a triumphant smirk, showing it that he didn't need an overpriced ken doll's help. It wasn't easy, and he never wanted to do it again, but he proved the tincan wrong.
"I stand corrected. You didn't need my help after all."
A toothy smile made it way across Gavin's face. "Damn right." Dumb robot. Of course he could do it himself.
"I suppose you have the strength to keep your arms up long enough for proper cleaning."
Shit.
If he didn't want to half-ass his bath, he'd need to really scrub his upper body, which required him to keep his arms elevated for an extended period of time. Hell, he could barely stand on his own two feet for much longer. How did he expect to thoroughly wash up?
"If you're still eager to help and all, I mean- it's not like I need your help, but-"
"I understand, Detective. Things are naturally easier when someone else does them for you."
"Yeah! See, you get me."
Nines assumed things would go far less smoothly and would take a lot more convincing. After all, he'd never seen Gavin so exposed before. Prior knowledge of humans and their obsession with privacy lead him to believe he he'd be a little more... modest.
"I got an order for you," he began as he sat on the edge of the tub. "Don't open your eyes until I say so."
DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES UNTIL I SAY SO
Free will or not, Nines prided in being able to follow instructions to the letter- annoyingly so, most times. He very much had the ability to ignore him and do anything it pleased. If he wanted to, he could leave the DPD, become a fishman and never set foot in Detroit again.
"I won't open them until you tell me to."
However, shadowing a man who would fight a rabid raccoon for a breakfast burrito proved to be far more entertaining than the idea of catching salmon.
After waving his hands in front of Nines' face, Gavin got to work stripping down and setting foot in his bath. He groaned and bitched at his jeans and how his blood made them stick to his legs, thus causing his sore arms to cry in agony as he tugged them off. Thank fuck he worked faster with the incentive of a warm bath to soothe his aching bones.
"You just gonna stand there or what?"
"I hadn't realized you'd gotten in the water already."
"Shit, dude. You got ears, don't you?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. How nice of you to notice."
"Shut up."
Nines knelt down and fumbled a bit looking for a wash cloth he swore he saw hanging off the side of the tub just a second ago. He wanted to lather it up and get right to scrubbing, though Gavin's various open wounds likely wouldn't agree with such hasty actions. For the time being, he used the damp cloth to gently clean away the blood and anything else sticking to his skin.
"Easy on my back, all right?"
"Understood."
Gavin quickly settled in to the feeling of someone else's hands touching him for the first time in ages. Nines did a fairly decent job not cramming the cloth into any of his cuts, and when said injuries needed to be cleaned next, Nines was incredibly gentle. His fingers traced along his skin to feel where he'd been hurt, and in the process of getting to know him so intimately, Nines discovered he had a few bruised ribs and a distinct lack of any broken bones or internal bleeding, leading him to believe that most of his pain came from general soreness and the various superficial scrapes.
What a drama queen.
"You have impressive muscle definition, Detective."
A wet hand quickly shot up from the water to clamp over Nine's closed eyes, which, for the record, was not a pleasant sensation for either of them. "I told ya not to look!"
DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES UNTIL I SAY SO
"I haven't looked. I'm merely commenting on what I can feel."
At the word ‘feel,’ Nines traced over a seemingly sensitive spot near Gavin's side, eliciting a rather interesting noise from him, the likes of which Nines never heard before. It almost sounded as if he was in pain- the way his heart rate increased indicated as much. Despite this, he didn't quite groan nor did he lash out at Nines for hurting him.
"Sorry. Did that hurt?"
Nines felt Gavin tense up.
"I'm fine-!" In a single swift motion, Gavin pushed him with a considerable amount of force, causing him to fall backwards. "You can open your damn eyes when you shut the door behind you. I'll shout if I need anything."
Nines gave a few adjustments to his suit after leaving the bathroom. What pain... He was just trying to help. Didn’t he see that?
Even if his words discouraged him some, Nines didn’t want to give up on being helpful just yet. Gavin would have to eat soon lest he risk his health deteriorating any further. What did he even have in that pathetic little fridge? Eggs, milk, butter... Nothing substantial, but it would have to do. He had bread somewhere, didn't he?
"Detective?" Nines knocked on the bathroom door with a free hand while the other daintily held a plate in its palm. "I made you something to eat."
The sound of frantic footsteps and rummaging through fabric rumbled on the other side. "Gimme a minute! Can't a guy get dressed in peace?"
"I'll leave this on the kitchen table, then."
"Wait, wait-" Gavin leaned against the door, causing a soft thud to resonate through it, "-uhhh can you put it on the little table in front of the couch? I don't... I don't really eat in the kitchen."
"All right. It will be here when you get out."
But what table was he talking about? He didn't have a coffee table or ottoman or... anything. Just a rundown grey couch big enough for one person to sleep on if need be. Upon closer inspection of it, leaning against on of the arms was a wooden TV tray; a simple, single-person table.
It's better than seeing him eat off the creaky hardwood floor.
Probably.
"You really went through the trouble to cook for me?"
Gavin emerged from the bathroom looking less like a greasy, bloodied weasel and more like his regular weasel self. He donned put on a less torn-up set of jeans and hoodie, and while they didn't appear clean enough to look straight from the dryer, they contained minimal holes and no visible blood.
"Of course. You haven't eaten in quite some time-" he stepped out of the way, giving Gavin room to sit down and eat, then sat beside him, "-and if memory serves correctly, all you had for breakfast was a stale bagel and a cup of black coffee."
"Yeah. Well, not all of us get our daily bread from that soylent blue stuff you suck down."
Nines remained silent as Gavin took his first few bites. The warm, sweet smell coming from his plate was unlike anything he ever experienced before. Even after downloading a cooking program and learning how French toast should look and smell in theory, being around it firsthand was an entirely different experience.
"Why you starin' like that?" Gavin asked prior to swallowing a bite of breakfast-for-lunch. "Don't tell me you're hungry."
"Physically, no. But I would be lying if I said I didn't want to try it."
Gavin furrowed his brow. "You didn't taste it before you served it?"
"There's no need since I followed a highly rated online recipe to the T."
A strong sense of... something... tightened itself into a knot in Gavin's chest. What the hell was it? It felt like guilt, just slightly to the left and upside down.
Setting down his fork, he gestured towards the plate. "You can just... go ahead and taste it if ya want. Not like you got any germs I gotta worry about. And, I mean you made it and all, so..."
His gesture, while flattering, didn't suit him at all. Where was the man who'd rather shovel the rest of the food in his mouth before sharing it with an android? Not sitting beside Nines, apparently.
"Either have some before it gets cold or f'ck off."
Ah. He didn't leave after all.
Oddly enough, the maple syrup drizzled and smeared over the ceramic plate caught Nines’ eye over everything else. What an odd concept- pouring what is essentially liquid sugar over your food. As if humans needed any more sugar in their diets, what with it lacing basically anything that isn't fresh vegetables.
"Yes. Of course." Nines scooched in close enough to touch Gavin by simply leaning an inch or so to his left. By doing so, he just so happened to notice a bit of the aforementioned syrup clinging to the corner of his mouth. At first, Nines thought nothing of this. Humans are imperfect and bound to make mistakes.
Then the theoretical lightbulb over his head couldn't have burned any brighter.
Nines grabbed ahold of Gavin's chin with enough force to move him but enough slack for him to pull away if he so desired. He briefly looked into his eyes, searching for signs of hesitation or fury, and after finding none, his own closed as he leaned in to decisively lick the corner of his mouth. The overwhelming amount of sugar from the syrup and rough stubble of his beard proved to be a unique and completely new set of sensations, and along with this new set of information he quickly found himself craving more than a lick.
Like a deer caught in headlights, Gavin froze completely up. Being touched so suddenly was one thing. Having someone like Nines behave tenderly... He didn't know what to make of it. His face burned and his heart pounded against his sore ribs. This just couldn't be happening. There's no way Nines licked his damn face. No way Gavin didn't immediately shove him off the couch and beat him with one of the cushions. No fucking way Gavin closed the distance between him and a machine until their lips were one word away from properly touching. Surely, he wouldn't be so desperate for physical affection that he'd resort to getting it from his non-human work partner.
And yet.
"You're dangerously close," Nines commented in a deep, whisper-like tone. Half-lidded eyes wandered down to Gavin's lips, hesitated, then slowly made their way back to meet his gaze. "I can back away if you're uncomfortable."
Gavin wanted to be smooth and reach up to grab the back of Nines' head or at least his neck or shoulder. With his arms in the condition they were, he hardly managed to weakly grasp at the front of his coat.
"Are you trying to push me away or pull me in?" The question fell sarcastically from his lips much like the puzzle of Gavin Reed fell into place. The noise he made after being touched, his constant insistence on being near Nines, the fact that he hadn't begged for a replacement or for him to continue his work alone all painted the most hypocritical of pictures.
Not letting go of his head, Nines dragged a finger along his jawline, earning himself the sight of his jaw clenching. "I may already know the answer, but I digress. I find myself unable to take any further action without your permission."
Gavin swallowed hard. His throat hurt. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. The majority of his body felt as if it may spontaneously combust. What the fuck. He couldn't. He wanted to. Damn did he want to. More than anything.
"...I see. I apologize for misreading the situation."
And God help anyone or anything that got in the way of what he wanted.
Nines assumed Gavin didn't have the energy to properly turn him down. Maybe his pride got the better of him. Maybe Nines completely misunderstood his body language. No matter the case, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable. Even the least respectable of people have the basic right of personal space.
The very moment Nines backed away was the instant a shot of sheer determination ran through Gavin’s veins. In spite of the pain, he powered through it long enough to drag Nines forward until their heads nearly collided. He still couldn't reach the back of his neck like he aimed for, but he had a fairly decent grip on his shoulder, which turned out to be all he needed.
A sharp tug yanked Nines forward and he felt Gavin groan against his mouth in striking detail amidst a somewhat messy though not unwanted kiss. A momentary pang of pity stabbed him in the chest only to be rapidly washed away by his melting thoughts. He expected things to be a lot more rough- perhaps a bit of biting or being pushed up against the nearest surface that'd hold his weight. However, Gavin treated him with the same patience and gentle touch that'd been tending to him all afternoon.
Any and all pain floated outside Gavin's body just long enough for him to take everything in. From Nines' shoulder, a hand trailed up the side of his head and ran through short, tidy hair. He allowed his mind to cloud with lukewarm static as the remaining dead air between them grew smaller and smaller.
Nines nearly collapsed into his lap with as close as Gavin insisted on them being to one another. He snaked an arm around him in an attempt to keep him from falling onto his back, thus preventing any future bitching about how much it hurt to stay upright. Speaking of staying upright, Nines himself had trouble doing just that. He nearly slipped into him twice, and the moment his body decided to relax, his mind soon followed, which lead to quite a few unique thoughts popping up. Consequently, said thoughts caused both his mind and mouth to wander in places they arguably didn't belong. Lips steadily moved away from Gavin's, then took their sweet time kissing along his scruffy jaw and finally down to his neck. His head interfered with the latter, so like any sensible android, he used his free hand to tilt it and give him more room to work with.
Gavin kept shifting his weight around and making these... sounds. These soft, out of character grunts and hums that progressively became louder. His mind struggled to claw any sense of semblance together and found nothing amongst the haze of his flushed skin and the android exploring it with his mouth.
"Detective."
Air caught in his throat as the sound of a familiar, dominant voice brushed past his ear. Gavin's eyes fluttered open to see Nines pull away and stare him down with that striking silver gaze of his.
"Your temperature has increased substantially."
"Oh yeah?" The crack in his voice failed to keep his sarcasm is check. "Gee, I wonder why."
Gavin could have sworn he saw Nines smile and heard him let out the faintest laugh through his nose. If his temperature was high before, it certainly wouldn't be going down any time soon.
"Are you all right, Gavin? Were my actions too straightforward?"
Gavin.
Nines rarely ever used his first name, and when he did, the situation usually turned out to be far more serious. Gavin, don't do that or you'll get shot. Gavin, I warned you about this. He always said it in that stern, cold voice of his as well. Yet way he spoke to him on the couch didn't give of the impression of Nines being upset or annoyed in the least.
"I'm fine. Jus-" he held his abdomen and momentarily gritted his teeth "-tired and sore as shit."
Nines' LED swirled yellow. What a hassle to be able to feel pain. And what an almost equal hassle to empathize with those who suffer.
"I can carry you to bed if you'd like to rest up."
A pause.
"Yeah. Sure. Do what you want."
Bridal-style had been deemed Gavin's choice mode of transport as of late. He could easily hold onto Nines for extra support, and with him being in such a compact position, relocating him became easy as walking. But first things first, Nines needed to pull him into his arms before he could stand. Getting up first would only complicate things. So for a brief time, Gavin sat snuggly in his lap.
"Is it okay for me to stand now? Detective Reed?"
Apparently, being cradled in someone's arms while simultaneously having no energy left is the perfect recipe for even the most stubborn of men to fall asleep. Gavin's head rested comfortably up against his shoulder, and he could easily hear his deep, relaxed breathing. He failed ro recall having ever seen Gavin look so comfortable- and in the clutches of an android, no less. If he were more of the emotional type, he would have felt more joy from the smidge of pride welling up inside him.
Though he still managed to smile.
"As always, you are excellent at keeping me on my toes."
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Dancing with the Devil (Unedited)
Sometimes good by itself cannot defeat darkness. And sometimes it is necessary to fight evil with evil in order to save the world. Jack discovers this and more in his tenuous alliance with Aku.
Chapter 21
The wizard was suddenly quiet, pinned beneath Jack's soulful gaze. What was the samurai thinking? Why couldn't he discover what the samurai was thinking? He was simply a soft little mortal creature hardly worth the effort of manipulating to fulfill his own agenda, yet there was something more to it then that—an infuriating inability for him to fully comprehend his own pawn. It was maddening and intriguing and each sentiment served to bolster the other until Aku found it difficult to even look at his samurai nemesis without the pendulum continually swinging from anger to curiosity. The samurai's father had been a self-righteous little wretch, but the samurai himself was different, of a harder and more insolent ilk than his sire. Audacity, that's the word he was looking for. His nemesis possessed an outright audacity and it drove him into a fine rage each time he had to face it. No mortal had ever been so audacious in his presence.
Only the samurai dared his wrath. Only the samurai could—
The sudden slap of cold against Aku's face startled him and he jerked his head back in a mixture of indignation and bewilderment. His scarf unravelled with the abruptness of his retreat and hung limply in Jack's hand, only moved by a teasing breath of wind to fill the ensuing silence with the occasional flutter of clothing. The samurai's fingers, calloused from years of swordsmanship, lightly grazed his exposed throat and settled under the ridge of his helmet to tilt his head back into a vulnerable alignment with Jack's face. The press of lips dispelled any discomfort from the cold, now unimpeded by any protective demon aura.
Aku inhaled deeply as he pulled away, furious at himself for being caught so badly off-guard. "Gods flay your miserable hide, samurai," he breathed in a low rumble and watched with detachment as every word condensed in the chilly morning air. "Even after all that I have said you still possess the insolence to defy my prophecy?" The demon tightened his hands into wrathful fists, angry at the samurai and himself and their situation in general.
Jack didn't bat an eye when he caught Aku's wrist and with the absent ease of long familiarity he twisted the demon's arms behind his back and managed to pin his hands against his spine in one smooth, decisive motion. Aku only had the time to look surprised before the space between them vanished and any snide insults he would have made were swallowed up by astonished silence.
The wizard was completely surprised and realized it was the first time he had been in close proximity to any mortal before. From far away they appeared so clumsy and fragile with their flimsy bones and pitiful stature, but now their positions were reversed, and it was he who felt flimsy in comparison to the samurai's battle-hardened musculature, so unyielding after years of strife and hardship. For one strange moment he felt relaxed this way, utterly boneless, before the familiar anger reasserted itself.
"How dare you!"
"Why do you even pretend to be angry at this stage?" Jack asked, amused and genuinely puzzled. "It would seem redundant now, do you not think so?"
"I am angry! I am furious with you!" Aku curled one side of his lip and turned away to regard the fortress before him with stoic contempt. "Stop wasting time, samurai, those Celts hunger for demon blood and I intend to answer their insolence." He ascended up the path with squared shoulders.
Jack followed, hands hidden within the folds of his sleeves. He reached out when he matched Aku's pace and clutched the demon's shoulder. "No," he said firmly and took the lead, "your arrogance will not get us killed." The warrior passed beneath the magnificent frosted arch and was greeted by a square courtyard with a pile of stones placed in its centre. Birds sang in the emptiness, echoed oddly in the uninhabited halls of the ancient fortress. Jack shivered as he stepped gingerly onto the packed earth, still solid even after countless ages of neglect. He could sense a presence in here, something unsaid resonated within each stone used to build this place. He couldn't discern what it was, but he could feel it intimately in his being. An acknowledgement.
Dagaz and Deirdre stood idly by the ruined stones and both looked up to watch them enter the fortress. The big Celt shook his head in disgust and spat into the snow while his wife remained motionless, her tiger eyes unreadable beneath the sharp edge of her helmet. Jack could tell from the silence behind him Aku was wary. "Where are these trees?" He asked and waved his left hand towards the pile of stone. "Surely they are not within this fortress?"
Both Celts shared a significant look and it was Deirdre who answered. "The druids believed trees held special powers. There are folks who tell of a series of tunnels below this fort built before the Romans ever stepped foot here. That's where the trees are. Underground. Have a care, these are not natural trees. This is where the Forest King was slain and whatever is still down there seethes over it. The earth has a long memory, lad. It's a dark place down there." Deidre made a strange little sigh. "Dagaz and I can't follow ya any further. We've shown you the way, but the way's closed to us. We'll stay here and guard your back."
"You shoulda listened to me, li'le warrior," the hunter rumbled darkly beneath the ghastly skull, "he will attract things down there in that place." They both appeared disappointed but resigned to Jack's decision. Something the samurai was grateful for. He nodded his head to them both for their assistance and approached the square's centre but always kept himself between Aku and Dagaz.
"I thank you both for all your assistance, you have helped me immeasurably." He bowed his head in gratitude.
"Do us a favour and don't die," Deirdre muttered gruffly with forced nonchalance.
"Aye, it would make a good story over a pint," Dagaz added and swung his hammer over his shoulder. "It would be a shame if you took such a good tellin with you into the afterlife."
Jack's scowl gave way to a weary smile. "I will try." He bowed again but it was wasted upon the two Celts, who swarmed him with caution and good-natured admonitions. "Please," he pulled away from their unbridled affection, "how do I enter such a place?"
Deirdre pursed her lips, but her eyes had quickened. In her armour she appeared far more dangerous than her husband. "There's a hidden entrance about. Tis a cursed place, Jack, I won't lie to ya. It's damned and dark beneath these stones." She cast a complex glance at Dagaz. "Light a torch here and the hate of this place will eat ya alive. The Forest King was loved and whatever grows underneath isn't forgiving."
"Here," Dagaz lifted his enormous hammer and walked toward a particularly ornate arch. "Tis here you'll need to go." Jack followed his mountainous bulk and squinted into the shady reaches of the fortress. There was a battered soldier carved into the wall. Hard eyes gazed out from the lost centuries, eyes that sized Jack up. At his scornful feet rested a thick slab of marble, rosy and rare. Imported from the balmy Mediterranean basin. A solid remnant of an empire lost to the pages of history. The samurai bent down and examined it for a hidden trigger. There was none. He looked to Dagaz for an explanation, but the big Celt was looking at Aku, features tight and inscrutable. These ruins unnerved him far more then the one they had passed before.
The samurai frowned but continued to examine the small square of marble. The Roman soldier gazed down at him, stony face imperial. There was an eerie knowledge to the carving, something that not quite stone. Jack knew magic when he saw it. He turned to Dagaz and spoke, if only to distract the big Celt's alarming gaze. "There is a spell here. If this place is cursed, should such a thing be broken?"
"No, there is no need to damage it." Deirdre muttered. "Dagaz knows the words." The hunter spared his wife a complex look, but he turned to Jack and nodded.
"Aye, I remember."
Aku shot the hunter a glance, green eyes narrow. "Only demons know such things."
"And such fine help you've been!" Dagaz shot back. The wizard scowled, but hadn't the strength for idle prattle. Deirdre put a hand on his arm and the big Celt's body lost some of its tension, but his eyes burned with malevolence. He and Aku regarded each other for a long time before Dagaz faced the stone soldier and began to speak.
Dagaz had a low, guttural voice, but the words that emerged from his mouth were elusive and deeply unsettling. Jack strained to discern individual meanings, but syllables and vowels thundered past him like a polluted waterfall. He glanced over to see Aku was motionless behind him, gaze intensely green and unblinking. Jack realized he was watching something. Colours—like in their link? The samurai frowned. Despite his experience accessing the demon world was beyond him.
For a moment if felt like the stone wouldn't yield to Dagaz. Then a teeth-chattering grind shook the ground beneath their feet and the soldier shattered. Jack ducked instinctively and threw up an arm to protect his eyes. Rock pelted his exposed skin and promised to leave welts. A cloying grey dust was thrown up as the wall collapsed and shrouded them in a thick coat of dust. It was impossible to see, but Jack could hear Aku's breathing.
"I can smell her." The demon hissed into his ear.
Jack blinked rapidly and waved the dust away from his face. "What?"
Aku made an agonized groan and leaned closer. "She's been here. A long, long time ago…but she has been here."
"What?"
"Yes." The demon was trembling, expression torn between revulsion and pleasure. "She has grown very powerful…."
Jack recalled the chaotic encounter with Gaia; his own and the dizzying recollections of his nemesis. What would it be like to meet the demonic god who made you? He shuddered, but didn't have an answer. Instead he pulled Aku to his feet and waited for the dust to settle. Dagaz and Deirdre hadn't moved, but they were crouched with their back to the wall. The snow was littered with rocks and fine debris. It looked like a volcano had sent ash raining down the mountainside.
"Jack?" Deirdre's voice was faint.
"Yes. We are here." The samurai approached the Celts as they struggled to their feet. After Aku's outburst, he could feel something welling up from the deep, dark hole in front of them. The Roman wall had fallen away to reveal older foundations. A wooden hatch had covered it once, but had long since rotten away. Only a rectangular hole remained. Despite the light, it remained a featureless void. Jack squinted and stepped closer. There was no evidence of stairs. Only a presence rose from the black depths. It went beyond Aku's at the Roman ruins they had passed earlier. A deep and immortalized malevolence regarded them from the bowels of the earth. Jack swallowed and looked away.
Dagaz stood at his side. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "So?" He asked after a moment.
"How did you know those words?" Aku asked. His voice was soft and had a visible affect on Dagaz. The big Celt looked at him.
Without speaking he withdrew a golden medallion that had been hidden under the layers of clothing. It shone under the sunlight, the sapphires perched on its surface glowed as blue as Dagaz's eyes. The sight of it was like a physical blow. Jack gasped and took a step backward. The shape, the colour, the jewels, the despairing figures….
"How?" He demanded. "I saw that in my dream."
"Gaia found you." Aku spoke the samurai's thoughts. "She caught you sneaking into this place." He eyed the Celt's helmet and his eyes suddenly widened. "That skull is how she kept you here. She took your face."
"To use as her avatar," Jack added softly. Aku shot him an alarmed glance. "You told me she challenged the gods, but if she had a disguise…." His dark eyes met Dagaz's. "She could do what she wanted without divine interference."
Deirdre approached them, sword dangling against her thigh. Her bright tiger eyes were blank with astonishment. "I never asked," she muttered softly, "and you said it was an accident. You said…." Her husband glanced at her, eyes heavy with silent messages.
"It was," Dagaz suddenly spoke and threw the medallion to the ground. Its round design shone eerily amongst the snow drifts. He stood still, blue eyes glowing, and suddenly looked at Jack. "I like you. I do. I even tried to warn you…but it's done." He pointed at the medallion shining beside his feet. "It's touched the earth, now. She will come. He's made sure of it." He pointed to Aku.
An ominous shiver ran through the crumbling fortress. Aku's head jerked up as if someone had called his name. The cold air crackled with an unseen danger. Another tremor rumbled through the ruins, more violently than the last. Jack clutched his katana as a jet of light burst from the medallion to punch through the overcast. It shredded the clouds. The sky became an unearthly purple-black bowl. A new sort of cold descended as the sun withered to a grey pinprick.
Jack struggled to understand. He tore his eyes away from the column of light and gazed at Aku. The wizard's eyes reflected the sky's eerie sheen, his expression blank. There was so much power before him, but he was helpless to use it. One of Gaia's talismans had more power than he had in his entire being. Jack could see the realization. Jack could feel its weight. Despair crept over them all like the deep purple sky. It felt like time was slowing down.
Dagaz released a hoarse shout and smashed his hammer against the medallion. Instead of breaking, its energies exploded through his weapon, up his arms, and through his body. The sudden heat was blistering. Jack stumbled back, momentarily blinded, and bumped into Aku. The wizard's body was cool and unyielding against his back. The fuhai's work was nearly done. Deirdre regarded everything from the opposite side of the clearing. Her golden eyes were nearly perfect circles as her husband was consumed by demonic energy. The magic forced its way beneath his skin, made it glow and pulse like the transparent flesh of a newborn bird.
"What is happening?" Jack howled over the roar of wind and power. Aku made no reply, deaf to everything but Dagaz's transformation. His eyes were unblinking, mesmerized.
And then there was only darkness. The sky above was a charred and starless black. Jack felt it pushing down on his shoulders, sucking the strength from his limbs. An invisible tide washed across the fortress, numbing and pervasive. Jack felt he was drowning. There was no sun, no light, no warmth. The sky was a godless black bowl, emptied of life and light.
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5 From Werther’s 47
TRIB TO A BIG PINK PIG (UNWRAPPED, WHAT)
Hay turd, the lastic oinker, shammer of mud and lug huts. Course the critter's a lubber, no udder would drink its milk. Squirm and bones, squirm and bones: we're patting rumps for future bacon—the pigsleeves offer joy links.
As far as we could see, the oinker's brutality: in the mud it squammers, strains to be heard. Trough bent to tipping ends in noselipping: not satisfying, that, no, that note won't do. We were splashed with its jellied urn, exploded in the muck, Griddle Cake's littlest firstborn, that is.
All along we sat fencewise. No sign of a troubled birth, the piglets came plopping out in mudears, the oinker stammering beautifully her deft art: sucking piglets in an arc, laid out in her offal, sleepy piglickensin the boot—all amongst the sty a newborn family.
No names to the younglets, they'll scramble to be pigs, end averse end to haul their booties far enough to call themselves oinkers. All along the farmer expected better-- (first prize at the fair, first prize at the fair!) but all he got was a cluttered pen.
CARSON'S CAVE
You're my red sky, my orphanage long ago, my suckle, my ending heart. Your endlessness comes to me by rowstrokes and pinpokes. I take tin to the dump. Geese flock to consume me.
Thirsty dogs yored of sense, bat-yawed cuttings trimmed until bereft of clogs: "Didn't care to contain Skelton's Hedge," at first The Geezer was complaining, then he sensed his unchained wilting, not to heat, but torn aheart.
Fastly ablunder she sailed across, spanking the mother, cursing the purse. Of course no relic saved such ends of twine to be halved for hanging. Mere's rose did the stinging: what little wounds there was came from flowers…from flowers.
Termitic, the lance thrown aloft: Mickle Mill set about to plunder. Jock tore out his own lobe. "What the misery, why?" The Geezer croaked. "Another future old cloak left the ashes behind?" "Yes, Padre," said I. "She took an empty urn."
A TILTED SKITCH, COME COURTING
Cantabee was slaking an ivory thirst when what was a bend but a bottle's end? No, not to be had by a cod and a went, she weren't waiting on old married Swurtz for long before he mentioned the old croaker wasn't enough far gone to give her a Bye Bye.
That old grouch, wended for capital, had marbles of cat gulch in her gut, but clamped down sudden in peaceway's grass instead of winging away on angel's weavers. Held nothing down but didn't nothing up either. The hag befuddled even Old Doc who'd come to say: "She'll be dead before the day."
Cantabee cuddled close to her parakeet, prayed the old crow to quick flight for sowing so soon Swurtz's quickseed. "A plight's a merry wherewent," Parson Weathers mumbled. He'd carriaged sixteen days just in time to see Jewel's sister croak beneath the plough.
Doc said: "She’s done inside explodin' with blood. The old one finally made a night to dream tallow wax into. Not far from ever or after, but lest all be all, all's been ending. A day late, Parson, a day late." To make Cantabee loneliest and lowly of all: Swurtz too croaked while digging the grave.
SWAMP (DAY'S SAIL TO SEA)
Pondwise to ermine gloss, past Malaran's urbane moss, the swampthings, trees, vines, muck and such stuck to boots and buckles. Hatched eggs torn past will soon say West, he's able when he's able to paddle his own boat. Up down, the river flows, voiding the thick damp, sticking it further along.
Old man in the river runs to unicorn horns, voices thankel for the boon, and sails were set towards the sandbar's escaping berth. No wise critter comes aping his sole cluster without severing himself from his knowing, his ingrown distrust, his old blixen fear. Ease, he's got to ease her into the universe.
Your life is dripping from your vein, winding round the final turn towards the big untied Not-Not: unknotted twigsnap, at first to be bloomed and kited into dirt, later to be placed, some of us, at a better elsewhere. Sin or no sin you're backing into where you're from: the big Now-Now will walk you away and away you will stay, forever.
Mud thucked against his thumpboots. Skeeters nattered for toeholds on his whiskers. He scritched, his gestures more convinced of Hell, less to the Marycabin he thought he was sloppin' for. Somewhere's a thought in his direction, never, that is, to arrive eyewise in his ears where it's mighty long overdue and, like dough, needed.
MANCHIMP (CORPUSCLE TO CORPUSCLE)
He vented her oscillator on the third day, his fast's hungered hallucinations taking shape along with every notion he ever had: bootblacked strategems sparkling through ginrust glue, stuck fly-like to inspiral tape and humid ideas. Carefully The Old Neezer snuk around the hole hoping to dig his finger and sniff out a patent.
Curses, the bloody corpse didn't sink when it sank, it came into the bay like a surrender flag, and The Neezer rode him in like a bobbing dolphin. Townfolk recognized the bloated old Parson's face. It was his bible washed ashore days later that made them stick to the mark and give The Neezer his reward money for putting his effort out.
Fifth day of the old blow he fixed her motor. "Shoulda had her running for the whales," he told the Parson's one sane daughter midst a sturdy rain. She'd have followed the humpbacks home had he gimmied her an elbow jolt to start the ideas flirting with her jackblack, but religion had taken hold of her better sentiments without tagging the bottle along.
"Millet, millet and corn gruel!" he shouted, ounces of table salt spilling into his wounds. The rum room he'd docked to had a bay window where he saw her closing in upon his feelers. No way out for a Neezer, though, no way in for a fogged jackblack. He filled a hollow grave with unrepentant shavings, his life skimmed off the top like cream with a razor blade.
Published in Parcel.
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