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#I really wanna write a fic of this au..

kittimau · 2 years

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don't get me wrong I love unhinged feral disaster characters but may I submit: the calm, collected, master of resting nothing-fazes-me bitchface character gradually being pushed to their breaking point, slowly and agonizingly becoming more deranged as the foundation they've built their worldview, their entire identity, upon crumbles to pieces beneath them, until all that's left is blood and ash and the beast that's lied dormant within the darkest depths of their soul finally, gleefully awakens to unleash absolute fucking hell, mmm yeah that's the good stuff

#ngl i was thinking of nbc's hannibal when i wrote this lol #but i kinda really wanna write a sith!obi-wan au just to break him down and build him back up evil #because that would be fucking terrifying #and extremely sexy #dark fiction #dark fic #character development #character arcs #character archetypes #writing #fiction #tropes

6K notes · View notes

lovesickeros · 6 months

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #arlecchino #lyney #furina #you do NOT wanna know what i got put thru writing this fic #trying 2 find out where arle was in the few times we DO see her and going down a rabbit hole of fuck fontaine and its layout actually!#I spent like 3 hours looking it up and checking in game it gives me a migraine thinking abt it. ew #anyway trying to write a really smart character is surprisingly difficult when ur as dumb as rocks #also used an actual chess match for this and gave myself an even worse migraine trying 2 make sure i didnt repeat moves or smth #furina doesnt get a spotlight yet just imagine her sitting in the corner trembling like a wet kitten you found on the side of the road #arlecchino goes thru a crisis more at 11 #shes a tired single dad shes isnt getting paid enough for this okay #hands u a fic over half the length of the other THREE PARTS #ehe :]#is arle actually on ur side??? is she gonna double cross u???? who knows!!!!!#shes unpredictable she might stab u for funsies #anyway im gonna go nap in a ditch now this took SO LONGGGGG OH MY G-D #also just think acolytes who arent buddy buddy w reader and even resent them is so tasty #bc how r they supposed 2 know reader was a human vibing 5 minutes before their got eebied 2 teyvat..#reader gotta roll up their sleeves and get 2 WORK sometimes murder IS okay #they gotta fix some shit around here and that means committing several crimes all at once. sometimes more #a group can be g-d (just got here) their dragon (neuvi) their cat (archon) their dog (wrio) and their wolf (arle)

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jtl-fics · 1 year

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Fluent Freshman - Part 20

FF had watched more than a few self-defense videos when he believed that Andrew Minyard was looking for a dark alley to stab him in. He had learned how to turn the attacker’s momentum against them. Had learned about disarming the person trying to stab him.

He’d even had Matt teach him a few punches claiming that it was for the dust-ups that tended to happen on the court.

He, naturally, does not use any of that knowledge because his mind immediately reverts into Lizard panic mode the moment Jackson Plank takes another step forward with a knife (HUGE. Is it wild that he is thinking about Crocodile Dundee right now?)

“If you come quietly you won’t get hurt.” Jackson says and he reverts to who he is as a person and he freezes. His bravery was used up maybe it was only ever tied to great pump up songs and now in the silence of the alley he is back to being Stone-Faced Smith.

“You’re going to dial up Wesninski and if you don’t say EXACTLY what I tell you to then I’m going to have you SING in agony.”

Y’know in that moment he stops thinking about Crocodile Dundee.

He thinks about a movie that is far more ingrained in his mind than any number of self-defense videos or one-off lessons with Matthew Boyd where he’d been trying not to flinch. A movie he had watched in better days with his family and had been a favorite of his Grandma’s (and his).

He thinks about Miss Congeniality.

Sandra Bullock as Gracie Hart has taught him everything he ever truly needs to know when he takes a step back and Jackson comes at him.

He strikes right at Jackson’s nose with the palm of his hand.

“SON OF A-“

The knife is dropped and FF kicks it under a dumpster.

FF grabs the single weapon he has on his person.

The McDonald’s Megamind Happy Meal Light Effects Brainbot.

He points the LED light straight at Jackson’s eyes and just like Aaron in the car on the way back, “Shit, that’s bright!” And now completely blinded by a combination of watery eyes and LED McDonald’s toy he proceeds to SING just as Gracie Hart had taught him.

S - Solar Plexus. He punches Jackson there as hard as he can.

I - Instep. He smashes his booted foot down on the inside of Jackson’s shoes (who the fuck wears LOAFERS to a kidnapping?)

N - Nose. He’d feel bad about hitting it again if Jackson wasn’t y’know…a hitman out to hurt Captain Neil.

G - Groin. He may have to give himself just half a second to apologize to all of mankind for what he is about to do. His step brothers had definitely kicked him in the groin plenty of times to try and get a reaction. It’s an art to not let anyone know that your ball has retreated up into lower intestine. He kicks Jackson as hard as he can (collegiate athlete) with the boots that Nicky had let him borrow. He is right on target with the toe of his shoes.

Jackson goes down.

The next thing he does is not something Gracie Hart had taught him but does still feel like the right thing to do in this situation. He kicks Jackson in the head and the man goes limp.

If FF throws both hands up in the air and lets out a “I am Miss Congeniality!” Victory cry into the alleyway well no one is around or awake to know that.

He feels like he deserves a sash and a crown and some flowers.

He looks down at Jackson and then over at the van the man had hopped out of. He was definitely PLANNING on kidnapping Captain Neil so he probably has like…some kind of restraint?

Well, better to completely subdue this guy before he tries to figure out the game plan for Romero. Wait, what’s that next to the Crocodile Dundee knife, are those...?

***

Roland is calling for a second time.

Andrew had let it go to voicemail the first time. It was usually Roland complaining about Nicky, Aaron, or Kevin doing something exceptionally stupid in their inebriated states. They have a system. Roland will call and leave a voicemail detailing the dumb shit his family has gotten up to and then he’ll let it go.

If Roland calls twice then there’s an issue.

Arm still around Neil’s shoulders he answers the phone, “What.” He asks.

“You need to help your new friend. There’s some guy following him, he’s armed and dangerous and looking for someone to grab to get Neil’s attention. He tried to lead the guy outside but he’s standing watching it for now so there might have already been someone waiting?” Roland gets out in a rush and Andrew is up and moving towards the stairs even as he’s closing the phone to disconnect the call.

Neil, of course, is right on his heels. “What is it? Did something happen?” Neil asks and they are up the stairs and pushing past Frank and his stupid pineapple shirt. Andrew spots Nicky and he spots Aaron.

“Get Nicky and Aaron somewhere safe. I need to go help Smith with something.” He says because whoever this is wants Neil and Andrew will not let Neil get within grabbing distance and won’t mention it. Neil, blessedly, does what Andrew asks without question.

Andrew scans the crowd and finds a man whose gaze goes between his phone and the back door.

A face that Andrew had memorized.

One of Nathan’s surviving men.

In the same Zip Code as Neil.

And that man has the audacity to still be breathing.

He looks and Nicky and Aaron (drunk, drugged, and useless because Andrew had wanted them to be) are with Neil and Roland is directing them to the backroom.

Andrew goes out the alley and can feel Romero’s eyes on him.

He’s prepared for a lot of things to see out in that alley. He’s angry that FF hadn’t just come down and grabbed him and Neil (he does not need TWO martyrs) and he wants to know what the fuck FF was thinking (or if he was thinking at all). Even with that anger he does not wish to see FF’s blood spilled all over an alleyway because Andrew’s family needed to be protected and FF was the only one sober enough and aware enough to do it.

He knows what Nathan’s men are capable of.

Knows that Romero was one of Nathan’s best so if there is someone out in the alleyway then it’s likely one of his other bests.

FF doesn’t even know how to use a knife. He had asked and FF had firmly declined every time Andrew had brought it up after the first fainting incident. “I’m not interested in learning that. No.” Had been the standard response.

He knew FF had at least taken a lesson or two from Boyd on throwing a punch considering the one he shot out a week ago when a Striker came at him after the third time FF intercepted a pass.

Still, Andrew had not anticipated coming out into the alleyway and finding an unharmed FF securing an unconscious Jackson Plank’s arms behind his back with fuzzy handcuffs.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks and FF looks up at him with a flush on his cheeks.

“It’s not my fault this is a weird sex alleyway! They’re the first thing I found on my way over to the van to look for actual restraints.” FF says immediately and Andrew almost laughs at the insanity of it. “Wait, where’s Captain Neil?” FF looks around nervously.

“He’s with Aaron and Nicky in the backroom. Roland gave me your S.O.S.” Andrew says even as he quickly makes his way away from the door and towards FF. “Romero is watching the door. Let’s give him a reason to come out.” He says going over to Jackson and when he rolls the man over he raises an eyebrow at the piss stain on his pants and the blood dripping down his nose.

He looks to FF who resolutely does not look back at him.

It’s a story he’ll get out of his friend eventually. Looks like FF didn’t really need those knife lessons. Something settles a bit more in Andrew, it’s nice to have someone else in their group that could handle themselves in a fight.

Andrew finds a phone and FF rolls Jackson back onto his stomach, “He could choke on his own blood.” He shrugs and Andrew wouldn’t care if Jackson choked on his own blood in fuzzy handcuffs in a back alley but he can understand FF not wanting a murder charge.

Andrew looks at the phone and sees the the swipe pattern clear as day. It takes him two tries to get the order right but then Jackson’s phone is available for him to get over to the texting app.

The texts he reads there make him angry. There were a lot of plans on what the two of them were going to do to Neil before his body was offered up to a different crime family to show that Romero and Jackson had no loyalty left to the Wesninski line.

He types out a text to Romero that will have the jackass come out thinking everything had gone well and they had two hostages. He looks over to FF, “You ready for round two?” He asks.

“There isn’t a tap out option right?” FF asks and Andrew laughs at the joke.

Always cool under pressure it seems.

“No.”

“Then yeah, I guess just hit send.” FF says with a shrug.

Andrew does just that.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Didn’t wanna leave ya’ll hanging on that particular cliffhanger for too long ;)

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #I would like to thank Sandra Bullock's performance for allowing me to write the stupidest fight scene ever #I would also like to thank my sister for getting engaged on April 25th so Miss Congeniality was floating around in the noggin already #Andrew: Smith is really cool under pressure. He can make jokes at a time like this.#FF: What if no one believes me that I found these handcuffs in the alley?#He's too focused on the embarrassment of using those handcuffs to focus on the fact that round 2 is about to happen #Did my 'research' involve finding out EXACTLY what McDonald's happy meal toys were being offered November 2010 #Perhaps #The internet really does just have like a whole shitload of people who will just have a database of seemingly useless knowledge #I love those people #Neil may be pacing up a storm in the back room but Keeping Nicky away from the dance floor is a full time job #For ONCE Aaron is the easy one to deal with #Roland just gave him a virgin drink and he's happy #AFTG #AFTG OC #AFTG AU #AFTG Fic #My Fics #It's shorter because I didn't wanna leave ya'll hanging #FF - Pt. 20

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

#tw mentions of gore #cw gore #i suppose this counts as gore #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #really leaning into the idea of rath just being a horror. the horrors! i am delighted in the horrors!#im having fun with it #i swear to god turning 19 turned a switch on in my brain because i am much more comfortable with gore and heavy injury now than i was l #literally a year ago. the urge to write about some of danny's most horrific injuries in his fights is STRONG #like the hORRORS folks. *th horrors*. i dont think i'll ever write a dissection fic because that icks me out but the idea that danny's had #to stitch up his own throat because it got slit in a fight nd he cant shift back to human until he's done because his ghost will survive bu #his body wont #the idea that he's been impaled multiple times before and it hurts each fucking time but he still gets up and hurls the hurt right back in #equal measure. because that's how you wanna play? okay. lets play. he's 14 and his best friend is dead. he can play.#and the idea that all ghosts have 'corpse' forms where their ghosts look exactly like how they died. and danny is utterly unrecognizable #jazz being liminal or not just isnt important to me because she's barely gonna show up in the story anyways #same reason why i hardly use the headcanon that ellie becomes danny's daughter because what use is she to me like that? she'll hardly have #an impact on the story and i refuse to treat characters like props. if they can't help progress the story then they aren't included

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hugmeimtouchdeprived · 2 months

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COD Bakery AU

I can't, for the life of me, come up with names/titles for anything I write (tips and suggestions are more than welcome!)

Content warning: None (I don't think?), other than that this is very, very self-indulgent :)

Also that I'm just not going to have a specific plan for this, just writing when I feel like I need to write something fluffy and not stress about it (although I do have some minor plots in mind, but we'll see!)

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

The first time he comes in is in autumn, early September.

You’re putting a freshly decorated cake in the display case when you hear the bell chime above the door, notice the tall figure approaching the cash register.

And boy oh boy, does he leave you speechless for a moment.

Tall and muscular, with a slight tan like he’s just come from a vacation or something, messy mohawk on his head, dark shirt tight around his muscles. You can tell those aren’t just for show, either.

“What can I get for you?” you just manage to get the words out as you walk up to the register, pen and paper in hand to take his order.

“I’m lookin’ to buy something for my mam,” he responds, looking at the cakes and pastries on display, as if he’s examining each and every one. “What’s this one? A strawberry cheesecake?”

“Strawberry and lemon. The one next to it is blackcurrant and white chocolate,” you point at the white and blue cheesecake. The man nods.

“A couple slices of both of the cheesecakes, please,” he smiles at you. You tell him the total and start putting his order in a white box, making sure to keep them upright.

“Is there a special occasion?” you ask, trying to fill the silence.

He shakes his head. “Nae, just been gone for work for a couple months, mam’s been worried sick. Wanted to bring her sort of a peace offering,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah. Well, these should calm the storm, then,” you chuckle, tying a ribbon around the box before handing it to him. “I wish you luck. Hope she likes sweets.”

He laughs. God, how can a person be so attractive? It’s not fair, the way his blue eyes twinkle as his lips curl upwards.

The man takes the box, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. Enough to make your heart flutter slightly. He gives you another smile before leaving.

The second time you see him is only a few days later. You’d almost forgotten about him; it was mostly his looks that had caught your attention. Otherwise, he seemed to be just a regular customer amongst the others. You don’t even know his name.

You’re joined by your boss this time. An older man, who inherited the bakery from his parents a decade ago. The bakery is fairly small, with only one other employee working there besides you and the owner. You prefer the days when you’re either working alone or paired with Ava.

Ava, only a couple years older than you, is sweet. She does most of the baking when she’s in, but always encourages you to bake and decorate things, especially if you express even the slightest interest in trying something new. Always giving you tips and complimenting the things you make.

Your boss, Brent, is the opposite. You can tell he’s not used to actually having employees, used to working alone for most of that decade he’s been in business. You and Ava were both hired mostly because the business started to eventually take off, way more than Brent had anticipated, so he hired the two of you to keep up.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, looking at the apple pastries you’re currently sprinkling powdered sugar on top of.

“The apple pastries you asked me to make yesterday,” you respond quietly.

“Looks like shit.” Brent has never been one to hold his tongue, always finding something to complain or whine about. You and Ava often compare him to Gordon Ramsay, except even he’s actually nice to his employees, from what you’ve heard.

Besides, Brent has openly admitted to not even enjoying baking; he’s only here because it’s what he has left of his parents, which is admittedly admirable. But the man bakes only when he has to, otherwise making you or Ava do it.

You just nod your head at his insults; sometimes it’s just best to roll over and show your belly, so to speak.

“Smells good in here,” a voice comes from behind you, behind the cash register.

Both you and Brent turn at the same time, seeing the same Scotsman from a few days ago.

“Looks good, too. Those for sale yet? I’d like to have one,” he continues, pointing at the pastries in front of you. Brent rolls his eyes at you and waves his hand, motioning for you to take care of it, before disappearing in the back room again.

“For your mum again?” you ask with a smile on your face.

“Nae, just for me this time. And a coffee, for here, please.”

You go about charging him for the order, before sending him off to take a seat wherever he’d like, that you’ll bring everything once it’s ready.

You place the pastry onto a plate with a dollop of whipped cream on the side, pour the coffee into a cup and bring it on a tray to the man, setting everything in front of him on the table.

He pays and takes a seat near the large window at the front of the bakery, with a direct view of the small kitchen behind the register. The bakery used to be someone’s home ages before it became a business, with a bit of a yard at the front with outdoor seating in summer and a few parking spaces. Perks of being located more on the outskirts of the city.

Unlike many other bakeries and cafes, the kitchen isn’t hidden somewhere where customers can’t see; it’s right behind the cash register, so customers can easily see whatever is being made or decorated.

“Mam really loved the cakes, by the way,” he tells you before you can turn and walk away. “She really wanted me to bring her here sometime, had to sneak out of the house just to come today.”

“Why not bring her today?” you ask curiously.

“Eh, she can be a lot sometimes. I can too, so I thought you wouldn’t want to deal with both of us,” he explains with a laugh.

You take a quick look at his attire. Not to ogle or anything, it’s just hard not to steal a glance at the stranger. It looks like he was going for a run, you assume that was his excuse for his mum.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he finally introduces himself. Johnny. So that's his name.

You tell him your name in turn, which he repeats under his breath. You like how it sounds coming from him, with that accent.

“Well, as much as I’d like to continue chatting, I have to get back to work. Hope you like it,” you tell him, motioning towards the pastry in front of him before returning to your duties, before your boss can get a chance to complain.

Johnny’s eyes linger on you as you work, hustling behind that counter, trying to keep up with everything even as a large group arrives just as you’re pulling two cakes out of the oven and trying to get two more in.

He enjoys moments like this, even if he’s not one to go out for coffee very often. Prefers his coffee in the quiet of his own apartment, or sometimes at his mother’s house if she insists he come over when he’s on leave.

Johnny even gains the courage to leave his phone number on the receipt for you, when you inevitably come to clear the table after he’s left. How could he not? You’re too pretty for your own good in his eyes, too good to resist. Plus, this way he doesn’t feel like he’s pressuring you into anything; you can just toss the receipt into the trash if you’re not interested.

It's such a shame that it’s your boss who ends up clearing the table when Johnny eventually leaves, eyeing the receipt and the number and the “Text me! -Johnny” scribbled onto it before discarding it himself, not giving you a chance to see it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!🌷

#Also I'm obsessed with soap recently #so that's why this ended up being a soap fic #but i really wanna write for ghost and gaz at some point #bakery au #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x reader

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ekat-fandom-blog · 1 year

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Dragons and Ghosts prompt

Dragons and ghosts are kind of similar in that some of them can (1) look passably human, (2) be super strong, (3) use magic, (4) take hits better than humans can, (5) heal fast, (6) have obsessions, (7) change forms, (8) have deafening screams/roars, (9) fly, (10) be territorial, (11) use fighting as a form of playing, and (12) probably make attacks come out of their mouths(fire, wind, water, sound...) please note that I used the word can as there are many different types of dragons and ghosts. thank you.

What I'm saying is: Mix Dragon!Batman au with DPxDC.

Danny thinks Batman is a ghost because of multiple of the reasons listed above and tries to reach out with gifts or something as a peace offering. Ghosts don't usually become heroes, so it would be great to meet a few(or one). He doesn't know ghost culture very well, so he probably gets some help. For ghosts it's simple to gain allies, but also extremely difficult. Don't enter another ghost's haunt without permission(unless you plan on fighting them). Gifts in general can be seen as peace offerings unless it's death or obsession related(then it's a courting gift). You can't just show up and wait outside of their haunt to have a chat because it can be seen as you issuing a challenge. If you don't (a)receive an in person gift in return, or (b)an in person meeting with the other ghost in a week, you can try again.

Bruce is unsettled because the scent on the gifts smell weird. He's not the most well versed in magic (just because he's a magical creature, doesn't mean he has to be good at it) but he does know dragon culture. Don't enter someone else's territory without express permission. Gifts have meanings. (If it's shiny, they want something. If it's food, they probably want to be friends/family or to form an alliance. If it's something to add to your hoard and aren't already part of your family, then they are trying to court you. Side note: if you hoard food or shiny things, courting items mostly come in even numbers.) Always, someone is supposed to wait with the gift to explain/negotiate more minor details. Everything is always done on the same day; no waiting, no return gift or searching out the other person/dragon. He assumes a baby dragon found out about him being a dragon and is trying to remember how to contact an unfamiliar dragon. (or if you want bruce/danny: he assumes his potential suitor is unfamiliar with dragon culture and trying to learn)

The cultures overlap, so neither realize that the other isn't the same species, but they're also different enough that they do not understand what's going on.

(feel free to add or disregard anything in this prompt if you want to write something based on this)

#dc x dp au #dc x dp fic idea #dragon!batman #batman is a dragon #dc x dp prompt #yes i am trying to fuel my mythical creature obsession #bruce's hoard is information #and gifts from his family #he keeps all the gifts nicely organized in a box that no one ever sees #he doesn't want his kids to roast him about how sentimental he is #he also doesn't want a single thing to get damaged #that's his drawing of him getting shot by penguin #and he loves it #i should write a separate batman prompt/au for dragon!batman #i don't really wanna #that takes effort that i don't have right now #someone remind me #dc x dp #dp x dc

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makeadealwithdean · 10 months

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read a fic one time years ago (from a different fandom) that was a teacher!au, and holy shit, i need to write this with harringrove.

go with me on this— billy needs someone to substitute teach for him while he’s out of town for a bit. (billy is a high/middle school teacher). so steve gets walked into the classroom by the principal to meet with billy before he leaves to get the basic rundown.

billy’s in the middle of a lesson, so steve just takes a seat near the back of the room to wait for him to be done. the principal leaves, steve can introduce himself, no problem.

billy finishes the lesson and hands out a practice worksheet, and the kids get into groups to work on it.

he sits down with steve and says, "so are you the sub?"

and steve flushes bright red for some reason, "uh, y-yeah, i guess so."

billy cocks his eyebrow, cause why is this guy acting like he just asked him something scandalous, "okay, so how long have you been subbing?"

steve averts eye-contact, "not long, but why...does that matter here?"

billy laughs, confused, "because you're subbing here?"

steve looks a mixture between horrified and confused.

oh.

billy clears his throat, "um, sub-stitute teaching," he clarifies.

steve inhales quickly and tries to mask the look on his face, but he still looks as if he's been splashed with cold water, "yeah," he laughs nervously, "of course. i know. what else would it be?" laughing it off obviously isn't going as well as he'd hoped.

billy just raises a single eyebrow and tries half-heartedly to dissolve the smirk creeping onto his face.

#harringrove #harringrove fics #billy x steve #harringrove au #i obviously don't wanna plagiarize but like it's fanfiction- tropes and ideas get repeated soooo often #i haven't even looked at that fic in 7 years so this really is me just running with the miscommunication concept #i feel like that's okay right? i mean who knows if i'll even continue writing it #i just had to write harringrove in this situation

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deerabigailhobbs · 20 days

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Victorian Adamgail AU still on the brain so here's a rundown of what I think the siblings would wear and why:

Abigail favours the practicality of her clothes while still wanting to be fashionable. The large hoop skirts of the 1850s decade are still visible, however with tight or short sleeves to make it easier when she's working with Dr Gordon. Of course there are times, however, when practicality can be ditched for something more stylish, such as when she is out with her friend Marissa for lunch. She'd mainly wear earthy tones, not wanting to appear too flashy and stand out. Blending into a crowd is what makes her feel most comfortable.

I also know some people headcanon Abigail as Christian, and since it is the 1850s, when religion was more prevalent in day to day life, I think she'd wear a cross around her neck, maybe keep her rosary in a dress pocket too.

Formal wear is different however, ditching the darker colours for something lighter and with more flare

As for Adam, he would be less interested in fashion trends than his sister, putting comfortability above all else. Not only for himself, but for his work. Rigid clothes make it harder to get the best angle for a photo. Loose shirts and lack of coats make him a bit of an anomaly in town, appearing at first like a commoner who's gotten their hands on some fine clothes rather than an upper class man.

Adam is far less of a fan of formal attire, and when going to fancy gatherings and parties, he will show his own small form of rebellion. Necktie slightly loose, one or two undone waistcoat buttons undone, etc. He knows people will talk, but unlike his sister, he doesn't care what the public thinks.

I can imagine the ladies of the town fawning over this "bad boy" who has a button or two undone lol

#tldr: Abigail eats and Adam flops /s #abigail hobbs #adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight #adamgail siblings #adamgail victorian au #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #saw #saw franchise #saw 2004 #also disclaimer: im not Christian so i apologise if i say something that may be incorrect its not my intention!#also definitely wanna write a fic about this now but im really gonna have to plan it out first since all ive got is a general idea and vibes

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onionsoop · 1 year

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scaramouche drabble; tw smut, spanking, power imbalance, gn!reader MDNI

Prince au or like if he swapped childhoods with Diluc Scaramouche where reader works as a maid for his estate 🤔

He would be known throughout the manor and the Fatui as a particularly strict and unforgiving ruler. The general consensus was that he had grown up spoiled, getting anything he wanted from his mother Ei and he hadn't grown out of it in adulthood.

When you joined his staff as a maid, he became very demanding of you, making sure you were always somewhere in the house near his office, that you were always the one on turndown service for his bedroom, and that you were always the person who cleaned the lower shelves where your ass was exposed to him whenever he watched you. It felt like you never spent any time away from him. At the start, any time you messed up on something, he would grab your chin and force you to look at him, or pin you against the wall so he would watch you tremble under his gaze. Before long he would be unable to resist making your punishments more severe and ultimately more physical. He would bend you over his desk and spank you, reprimanding you for how you never seemed to learn how to clean any better. He would make sure you would spend extra time in his office during laundry hours so you wouldn't have time to wash your clothes and he could watch you come in the next day with no undergarments.

This cycle of punishment would continue over and over until it ended up with you being impaled on his cock at least once a day while he was doing paperwork. He would never admit that he liked fucking you, it was always because you were a horrible maid and needed to be taught a lesson, but you suspected that wasn't the case. There were times when you had cleaned his office so diligently that he couldn't even find something tangible to complain about, but it would still result with you in his lap, moaning as he fucked you senseless, because "You could have done it faster."

It's not like you minded being your master's favorite though, after some time he became slightly more caring, letting you spend the night in his bed instead of making you go back to your own. He eventually let you move your clothing into one of the empty closets in his room, and he made sure to order two breakfasts any time you woke up with him. If questioned about this newfound kindness though, he would always snap back to his rhetoric about how "It was for your own good," but the flustered expression didn't help much with disguising his true feelings.

#im still in by better call saul era but it's gotten marginally better #i really wanna write a fic for this au but I haven't been able to think of a plot yet oopsie #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #smut #genshin #onionsoop.writing

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wings-of-flying · 2 months

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so uhm. first paragraph of a riptide fairytale au oneshot series i'm potentially doing. this one's snow white inspired:

Once upon a time, in the faraway kingdom of Luneya, there lived a prince with skin as blue as the waves, hair as green as malachite, and a list of titles as long as the tallest tower was high. And Chip was going to kill him.

#posting this because i tell you what being a writer is difficult #cause i write all this shit and give up part way through cause there's been no validation or anything #and i don't care if that sounds like i'm attention seeking. cause i low-key am let's be real that's how humans work #anyway. i really wanna finish writing these and need some motivation so. here. have. take #lemme know if you'd be interested in more because i'm getting fed up with fic writing tbh #albatross writes #jrwi #jrwi riptide #riptide au

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hippolotamus · 8 months

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Seven Sentence Sunday 🖋️📖

Tagged by @wikiangela @daffi-990 @your-catfish-friend @rmd-writes @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @spotsandsocks Thank you loves! 💖(And don't forget to check their snippets!)

Here's Buck's journal entry to Ch 2 of you're where I wanna go (prev snippets here)

To have and to hold. Until death do us part. Those phrases, those vows should mean something, yes? Something deeper than words spoken for an audience. And when they are uttered, the experience should be as if every consonant and vowel are taken from one’s very soul. Written by God himself upon every blood vessel, nerve ending, ligament and bone. Pumping through the heart, waiting for the day they can be shared with another. Vow is defined as a solemn promise or assertion; specifically one by which a person is bound to as an act, service, or condition. Supposedly the earliest marriage vows can be traced back to the medieval church, originating sometime during the 11th century. In earlier times a bride was negotiated for. When all parties were satisfied the couple was declared married. Simple. I suppose Lucy and I did a bit of both. I always thought, when I formally pledged myself to another, it would be joyous. That I would give part of myself, but still feel fulfilled because I was gaining pieces of my partner, too. As it turns out, all I felt was more of me being lost. Once again offered in service to a greater purpose. The only comfort, if it could be called that, was knowing the fragments I received in return were never mine to keep either…

No pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @apothecarose @vanillahigh00 @disasterbuckdiaz @elvensorceress @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @eddiediaztho @barbiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @chaosandwolves @spaceprincessem @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck absolute loml @lizzie-bennetdarcy @ladydorian05 @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @jesuisici33 @pirrusstuff @eowon @cowboy-buddie @fionaswhvre @steadfastsaturnsrings if you wanna

#oh inner thoughts we're really in it now #fic: you’re where i wanna go #hippo writes #buddie wip #queerplatonic relationship #every chapter will start with a bit of Buck's journal thoughts #not sure if i mentioned that before?#aaaanyway bon appetit #seven sentence sunday #historical au

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ferretwhomst · 4 months

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ON THE TOPIC OF THE GHOST BROTHERS IVE BEEN MEANING TO ASK BECAUSE THE INSANITY IS GROWING Help why am i yelling

How did the ghost brothers first interaction go the mental image of them doing the spiderman meme made me keysmash irl but On a more serious note . i am autism staring you

HEHEHEHE HI EMBER. sorry to keep you waiting for like two days on this ask. to make up for makimg you wait i went a littleee crazy. ENJOY. ALSO YES I WILL BE GOING TO SLEEP AFTER POSTING THIS. DW

when they first meet ghost ford is on the verge of panicking, trying to properly utilize the first burst of energy he's had in 30 years by doing the only thing he can think of: following his brother trying to make sure he doesn't do something he shouldn't. (and let's face it, after seeing how stan reacts to finding his remains, he 100% expects him to do something he shouldn't. stanley's always been impulsive like that.)

following stan into an entirely different reality is deeply disorienting- and of course it's a lot to process!!! three decades of total inactivity and suddenly he finds himself dimension hopping. it's a lot.

this dimension's basement looks a lot like his, minus the blood embedded in the floor and walls, of course... but fundamentally it's the same basement. the first thing he notices is the trembling shape of two people's silhouettes intertwined in a tight hug. it's hard to see, what with the bad lighting (and, you know, his singular working eye), but from the wild hair ford can tell that the misshapen lump contains his brother and... another version of himself???

he catches himself overthinking and, through gritted teeth, promises himself he'll unpack that later; he's still getting his bearings and processing his environment. standing somewhat behind them are what look like two children, not older than 12 or 13. they're on the verge of tears, but look relieved nonetheless.

before ford can start to question what this means, the most awful scent of smoke starts to engulf his senses. he winces. it's... still better than the lasting smell of rot in his own basement, but it overwhelms him nonetheless. it's a reminder of how his last conversation with stan went, and an unwelcome one at that.

as he surveys the room for a source, he suddenly locks his gaze with someone who looks a lot like him. he brushes his unkempt hair out of his eyes (tired, tired eyes; ones that have worked 30 years past their expiration date) to look at ford with a horrified look of realization.

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