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greenhorn-art · 3 months

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World Champions | Artwork for World Champions by TheDefenestrator by TheDefenestrator, art by Blurb_brain

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 71 944

At the end of season 4 of the Glory Pro Alliance, the government finally receives the information it has been waiting for: The other players have caught up. Or, In which Glory has been a government recruitment ploy for remote-piloted mecha operators all along.

About the Book

FONTS: Mundo Serif, Azonix [dafont], Segoe UI Symbol

IMAGES: Illustration by Blurb_brain [AO3]; cover image by NASA ID: 440611 [Rawpixel]; Planet Earth background ID: 6331593 [Rawpixel]; Circuit lines background ID: 3117935 [Rawpixel]; endpapers' image by Eric Eastman [Unsplash]; Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer [The King's Avatar Wikia]

MATERIALS: regular printer paper (8.5"x11", 96 bright, 20lb), 80pt bookboard, Iris Bookcloth (colour: Black Pearl), Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", bright white, 65lb), waxed linen thread (white, 30/3 size), embroidery floss (shades 3750, 350, 3845, 370), leather cording (1.9mm diameter), Reeves’ acrylic paint (Mars Black, Phthalo Blue, Titanum White), Americana acrylic paint (glow in the dark), ph neutral pva glue (Books by Hand)

PROGRAMS USED: Typeset in Affinity Publisher, cover/title page/endpapers designed in Affinity Designer/Photo, QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, PDF arranged for printing with Bookbinder-JS

BINDING STYLE: quarto, case bound (slightly rounded, with oxford hollow, forgot to use tapes)

Fenes' "Glory's tech isn't handwaved" AU. This was great! Funny and creative, and I'm both amazed and full of admiration for Fenes' ability to juggle so many characters.

I was feeling excited and ambitious with this one. Tried some new fun things (double core endbands, painted edges) and used some new equipment (a lying press).

The Text

TITLE/HEADINGS FONT: Azonix says 'SciFi' to me, it's a bold, non-serif, sleek font.

BODY FONT: Mundo Serif, it's a decent serif body font I haven't used before. Felt like it worked with Azonix.

SCENE BREAKS: a special character in Segoe UI Symbol of a black & white icon of Earth, the globe showing Asia.

TYPESETTING: Finished typesetting the fic, left document open on my laptop, laptop's battery failed, file now crashes immediately upon reopening, issue persists with copied versions of file (；￣Д￣) . Thankfully I had a backup file for the typeset with the barebones of the text, so I didn't have to restart from scratch...

Title Page

My thinking: it takes place in space, the world's at stake, and it's the dawn of a new horizon for Earth. Glory and the titular champions are represented by Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer – the captains of what I'd call the 'big 5' teams. A circuitry board background element hints at the tech/mecha nature of the story's competition. It may not match Blurb's art, but I hope I was able to convey some of what the story is about.

The circuitry image is used as decoration throughout the book. I only used the avatars of the top five teams' captains because too many silhouettes would lessen their impact and readability. (Removing the backgrounds was tedious, but worth it.)

Here's what it should have looked like. The test prints for this and the BB art were fine, but I think my inkjet started running out of ink just when I printed the final copies and I didn't reprint them. (Too impatient, really wanted to finish up and read the book)

The Cover

World Champions is another Big Bang fic, and once again I based some of my design choices off of the accompanying artwork. The dominant colours of Blurb_brain's illustration are red and blue-green.

COVER PAPER: For the decorative cover material I used NASA's ASTER image of Poyang Lake. NASA has some really interesting photography some of which remind me of marbled paper, thought it could be interesting. I chose this image of Poyang Lake because 1) it's in China, 2) the colours were similar to Blurb's awesome illustration (fate strikes again, dropping matching images and artwork into my lap!), and 3) NASA is tangentially relevant to the fic, which takes place in space.

BOOKCLOTH: Verona bookcloth in the shade Black Pearl, a lovely dark navy blue colour. Thought it suited the cover paper and title page. (Bought it for this fic specifically, but the colour goes well with almost all of my decorative papers so it should see a lot of use in the future!)

Endpapers

The final decision that held this project at a standstill for two months. In the end I drew inspiration from the matchups against the final opponent in the story. The image I used is a little chaotic and a little too unrelated to identify why I picked it without an explanation, but this book is for me and I know why, so there. (Note that I played around with the colours and cropped the photo.)

Endpaper inspiration: the maps for the matches against the Infilhites

"a long bridge through an enormous tube-like hall, where light seem to come from every side through stained glass windows. It was visually confusing, limited lateral motion" "a warehouse, crates stacked on and beside metal racks that went all the way to the ceiling." "a house of mirrors, fully enclosed to be sure the Infhillte couldn’t fly out of it." "like a volcano, rivers of lava moving sluggishly down a slope, occasional vents of overheated air nearby." "a series of overlapping bridges between halls and stairways, level after level layered over an open abyss."

Trimming & Painting the Edges

Going all out, a 2-for1 deal: the opportunity to use my lying press for the first time and learn a new technique!

TRIMMING: Used a paring chisel and lying press.

CHISEL: The 1.25" wide paring chisel I used was form a modern manufacturer. (Vintage paring chisels are very thin, enough so that you can bend/flex the blade. But don't do that.) It's long and wide blade made it easier to register against the surface of the press for consistent cuts. Looks like this one below from Lee Valley.

LYING PRESS: My dad's project. Solid black walnut, hand carved screws and internal threads — he even made the tools to make the threads too! The jaws of the press are each 3 7/8" wide. It's big and heavy (though much smaller than full-sized professional ones omg), but there's enough of a flat surface to register the chisel against. A thicc boi, much like this one below from Bookbinding Supplies.

PAINTED EDGES: The idea was to have dark navy edges, speckled with white stars. I used acrylic from a tube to paint the edges — tutorials recommended it over liquid bottled acrylic, and I had an old set hanging around. Had to water it down because otherwise the paint just flaked off.

My test of trimming and painting went well. Then the trimmed book itself came out slightly crooked, the paint required significantly more watering-down than before, and the white paint did not want to be both opaque and speckle-able. Unfortunate, but still book-shaped! And now I have an idea of what to do differently next time.

Also, did not like the glow-in-the-dark paint. Looked too translucent in the light when compared to the white acrylic, and needed a thicker coat to be visible in the dark. (The thickness combined with the translucence and base colour kinda reminded me of boogers... Ended up scrapping most of it off, so there's not much left to glow.)

Endbands

Still in the mood to have fun and go all-out, I attempted double-core endbands for the first time.

TUTORIAL: YouTube @ BookbindersChronicle: Bookbinding 101 Sewing Headbands Session 2. Also watched @ DAS Bookbinding's Double-Core Endband // Adventures in Bookbinding, but I personally found Chronicle's closeup video easier to follow.

I used embroidery floss from a 100pk of assorted colours off Amazon, wrapped around a core of 1.9mm leather cording from Michaels. I drew from Blurb_brain's art for the general colours, choosing a dark base, with red, blue-green, and gold. The specific shades were picked to go with the cover.

#World Champions #TheDefenestrator #Blurb_brain #qzgs #tka #the king's avatar #fanfiction #bookbinding #fanbinding

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chantsdemarins · 28 days

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🏰Breath of the Æsir {Loki X Fem.Reader} Chapter 3: Stories Cannot Burn or Disappear

I am so sorry these chapters are taking me so long. I haven't been the same since Covid! I hope the quality is still good...Thank you for joining my crazy medieval AU Loki fever dream era.

There is a bit of Easter and eclipse magic wound up in this chapter!

Summary: Loki isn't the only one who thinks you are more than a human woman, which buys you time while you figure out how to keep your manor and tenants safe. However, the challenge of nursing a debilitated, power-stripped god adds a layer of complexity to your already daunting task, clouding your judgment when clarity is most needed.

Note to Reader: Yes, Hozier is now a character, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you 😭 But which character will he be? Guess and comment!

Passion and Romance Meter: Nothing explicit yet but hopefully you feel it boiling.

I hope these people don't mind being tagged! I thought you might want to be tagged! Please let me know if you don't want the tag or if you want to be tagged. Also comments and reblogs are healing and joyous for me!

@arcielee @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @thomase1 @mcufan72 @caffiend-queen @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbsblr @anukulee @mischief2sarawr @mochie85 @sailorholly @lokisgoodgirl @shambelle97 @lokischambermaid @eleniblue @smolvenger @wheredafandomat @hiroyukinasukawa @meowmeow-motherfucker @latent-thoughts @buttercupcookies-blog @lcolumbia1988 @soulpiercing @wolfsmom1 @mysticmarvelfan

@holdmytesseract @superficialdomina @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @mjsthrillernp @arcielee @poetic-fiasco @gruftiela @thegodofnotknowing @thedistractedagglomeration @tallseaweed

@dangertoozmanykids101 @jennyggggrrr

The clay soil in your husband’s land hadn’t fully absorbed the blood of the Christian god. Not yet at least. The claustrophobic land was hemmed by bogs and marshes, lowlands with the familiar wooden gods made from branches poking out of the muddy banks. The tides to the east would fill the saturated earth till she could take no more before becoming a lake. This system of pooling respiration created a natural barrier for the people. The stillness of the water meant you didn’t stop for long, just enough time to plant your wooden god or light a beeswax candle, burn some leaves as an offering, and then find fast footing across the rickety log bridges built by people no one could remember.

In spring, a carpet of blue wood betony would appear. The town's folk's talk led you to forage it, keeping the blossoms and stems in dark Roman glass, tucked on the kitchen shelf next to the salt. Your husband never noticed your collection, or if he did, he never mentioned it as anything particular or strange. It was a relief to find plants that grew elsewhere, unlike the state of the manor land — high on a hill, flanked by rocky, sandy soil. Collecting plants often made you wonder if Christ might rise from the bogs. You'd just have to wait and see, you supposed, imagining Christ emerging naked from the thick peaty waters, stray herbs clinging to his torso.

Perhaps when Loki showed up, bleeding from his stomach, you'd envisioned something like that before. That desert man had a different name, Jesus of Nazareth. You blushed at the thought of any man, holy or common.

Yet, you didn't blush much while sewing Loki back up. Stitches plunged down his torso into places you'd only seen hinted at on the marble body of Jupiter in Eboracum. Your confident needlework proved itself. If your cheeks reddened, it wasn't from embarrassment but from lack of oxygen, struggling to breathe. Saving a life required haste, much different from the crafts of passing time.

The day the Northmen came you had been already struggling to breathe, you’d lost your air completely and found Loki’s form in front of you when your eyes finally opened again. His hair like ash from the hearth, his eyes the most peculiar color of blue, much like the betony in your waiting Roman jars. Just where had you gone when you’d lost your air? Loki had refused to confront the Danes, refused to fight them. He had handed you back his weapon, leaving you to confront the invaders yourself.

After all, you became a manor wife because your origins had burned in your village's fire, but not in the stories that followed. Stories cannot burn or disappear, especially when people fleeing tell them to the right people in the countryside. Your husband's family had heard your father's tales and believed him. Your hand in marriage was worth more than any dowry. It was all the more disappointing when you couldn't produce an heir or embroidery, and the manor lands remained sandy, rocky, and haunted. You hadn't known a husband should stay close or lie with his wife until Elinor finally told you. Your confidence to heal a stranger, to meet the Northmen at their boat, came from your father. He told you who you were, and like the manor people, you believed him — even if you didn't understand what you were.

The sky had darkened as you came to the mahogany longship anchored next to the wind-ravaged cliffs. You knew to avert your eyes from the mast, the Northern dragon guardian was designed to kill folk such as you. A provocation to your ancestors. There was confusion at their camp, what seemed like hundreds of men were pointing above and shaking their heads. A seer had cast the runes, and the chieftain seemed to not like what the seer had spoken. The rugged man looked up at the sky once more and sent what looked like an envoy to you. He blamed the Norns and you in yet another language you didn’t understand. He could not kill you because it would only curse them more.

Stunned, your trembling hands clutched Loki's blade in disbelief. You ran beneath the still darkening sky, which seemed poised for rain, though no clouds were visible. Looking up, you saw something unimaginable. A planet had fully eclipsed the sun. Your people knew of these events, but you had not witnessed one yourself. As you ran you wondered if the land's spirits had cast a powerful enough curse to scare the Northmen.

Returning home, you found only Loki in the makeshift courtyard, fever-ridden, slumped over the fence. Your heart sank, fearing he was actually dead this time. But the breath of the Æsir still moved through him, you could see his chest moving as you approached.

The village was silent, its people hiding. The only sound was the wind stirring the grain fields and the oak leaves in a dry, papery rhythm. Loki beckoned you inside but he was barely able to move to the porch, he was already worried you’d absorbed too much of the darkness. You fell into his arms, wincing from the feel of his fevered skin through your shift. Significantly taller, Loki's limbs resembled a freshly felled hawthorn. You dragged him closer to the front door, you both were exhausted in the strange day of night.

Your efforts paused for a moment, you readjusted your grip on the stranger. "Saturn is passing over the sun, an eclipse," Loki murmured, breaths faint and labored. How did he know this? Such knowledge was native only to your people. Still reeling from scaring off the Danes, you now faced an eclipse. Loki speculated on the Northmen's possible interpretation of the event. Since much of their knowledge came from his world, he felt he knew exactly what they must have felt seeing the sky darken as you approached.

"They saw the eclipse as a sign of your power. They recognize planetary transits. As you approached them, Saturn crossed the sun's path, a coincidence perhaps in your favor," Loki continued. "But they'll return, and we need to be ready," he cautioned, aware of your mutual defenselessness. He felt responsible for the deaths across these isles, seeking balance, an unfamiliar concept.

You had wanted him to stay long enough to know who he was but now it appeared like he wasn't well enough to be able to leave, even if that is what you both wanted. The truth was, part of you didn't want him to go at all. There was something about him. He knew some of the old ways and where ever he had come from, you suspected again, he had once held a high status.

Loki also continued to contemplate your shared fates. Did the Norns truly allow for this meeting between you as part of the path of the raven’s wingspan, his destiny as a god with no power. He dared to speak to you some of his true thoughts. He felt he owed you some kind of explanation for his resistance to fighting on your behalf.

“Lady, I wish I could help you but as you see I am unwell from my wounds. When I heal, I would like to help you defend your home as part of my thanks, I will find a way to do that does not involve fighting. We have the cosmos on our side it seems, so perhaps there is more luck for our coming together. This is of course if you will continue to have me.”

His pale face seemed even more ghastly, and he laid his body on the porch in a heap, looking very similar to how you first found him. You felt a tenderness stir. You’d felt it for him when you were saving him but now it was tinged with worry for both of your lives and everyone who depended on you.

“Loki I don't want to heal you twice, but it seems this is my fate. Let’s see what you have within you still and if your Gods are listening. I expect you will tell me why you refuse to fight or why you cannot. You owe me the truth. There is much you are not saying.”

He knew he would not be able to hide himself from you as you seemed unable to hide yourself from him. The circumstances unfolding seemed like the actions of reverse spells, instead of concealing they were revealing who you both were. This was vexing to you both.

Despite his sincere words to you, Loki was not sure this troubled land was his final destination. He wondered if he should try and leave as soon as he was able. He was speaking with two tongues. Perhaps he should venture south, go to the Midgard places where panther Gods and pyramids covered in gold existed. Those people were said to do the bidding of the gods with even more ferocity than the Northmen.

Instead, he was sick with fever and stuck with a mysterious, beautiful, and angry woman, whose husband could return at any moment and kill him for what it looked like was happening, even in the middle of a possible invasion. Suddenly his reverie broke as you lifted his shirt to inspect his wound. Your worry for his fever could wait no longer.

"Lady," he said as he batted your hand away.

You protested back, “I have seen you already, why would you be shy now stranger? I need to check your wound, you are feverish,” you continued to pull up his shirt. His gash had indeed become weeping and likely the source of his fever. Whether you liked it or not, you were healing him once again it seemed.

“Wood betony, that is what you need, you are lucky I have some. I’ll see to it Elinor makes you a poultice, and then I am putting you in one of the downstairs bedrooms.” Your eyes were worried even if your words were not. Loki placed his weakened hand on your shoulder, and spoke solemnly, “You know, we need to find your husband.”

You turned your face from him, you didn’t want Loki to notice even the smallest bit of feeling.

“Of course, that is a good idea, this is his manor and his people after all,” you replied. “We can leave when the fever breaks and you can walk without me carrying half your weight,” there was the slightest tinge of playfulness in your words to your surprise. You hoped he did not notice.

As the day was moving into evening, the villagers whispered their suspicions about the stranger you aided. The darkened sky had unsettled them as much as the Northmen. Loki was right, without your husband the manor would devolve into chaos and this would leave the village even more vulnerable.

You watched Loki slowly drag his body to the downstairs bedroom and close the thick doors behind him before you had the chance to redirect him or wish him a good night. You thought better to tell him that he had gone into your husband’s bedroom not the servant’s quarters you had intended for him to rest.

You felt your stomach twist in knots. If your husband came home tonight the wrong impression you worried you would make, would surely be inevitable. You would have to go and move Loki once you were done with your chores. A prospect that left you even more anxious.

Finally, when everyone had gone to sleep and Elinor had gone to her quarters, you stood alone in the empty house contemplating what you should do next. Sleep seemed an impossibility. The eclipse had only been five minutes, but it disturbed the entire day. Now it was nearly midnight and it felt like morning. All time had shifted somehow. Loki sleeping in your husband's bedroom loomed in your head.

To quiet your thoughts you found yourself in the kitchen, sometimes cooking felt relaxing even if you were not good at it. Instead tonight you eyed the row of bottles on your shelf. There was something else calling to you. You grabbed a jar of mistletoe berries, and held them in your hands. Their color was startling.

Suddenly you busying yourself muddling them with the mortar and pestle. If there was a recipe to follow you did not know it, you pulled a few more bottles off the shelf and added the ingredients. Mullein leaves and blackberry.

Pausing for a moment you felt that Loki’s knife was still around your body, you had placed it in a leather holder diagonally across your chest, and forgotten it was there. The knife passed over your breasts and you couldn’t help but touch the length of it.

You hadn't the time to have paid much attention to it before. You noticed the unusual, rich craftsmanship. The inlay was extraordinary. Garnets and chrysoprase. You then gently pulled it out of the holder and carefully pricked your finger with the impossibly sharp tip. This action surprised you.

You inhaled deeply. Crimson blood rolled down your finger and into the stone mixing bowl. You placed your still bleeding fingertip into your mouth hoping to quickly stem the bleeding, but the knife had been too sharp, or you cut yourself too deep.

Quickly, you sucked the wound, blood filling your mouth. You spat the excess into the bowl and placed it on the windowsill, intuitively sensing it needed the moonlight. Just then you heard a deep voice behind you. You were frozen in place, unable to turn around. It was Loki.

"I had no idea you were a seer, you could have told me that sooner and it would have cleared things up," his words rich with sleep and something else.

When you finally turned around you saw he was only wearing his leather trousers and the poultice. Your heart produced a wild, unfamiliar beat, and you steadied yourself against the kitchen table. You weren't a seer, but you could not explain what you were just doing or what you were now feeling.

Before you could stop him, Loki took your mixture from the sill and drank it. "My gods what have you done?" the startled words fell out of your mouth as he placed the now empty bowl back into your hands.

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dreamingofep · 4 months

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Sinned Awakening pt. 19 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, abduction, mentions of blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hello and welcome to part 19! We're closing in on the end very soon and it is making me a little sad! I haven't felt so attached to anything I've written before so its all so weird! I'm sure I'll write random blurbs about Vampire!Elvis in the future so he's not going anywhere😉 Hope you enjoy this next part!

A reminder, this is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story.

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here I hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think!

You paced aimlessly upstairs, trying to plot your escape out of there. Every scenario you came up with, ended up with you getting bit by one of these vampires luring in the house. The number of them in the house was unknown to you and that made it even more dangerous to try to escape. Your stomach growled and your head felt weak. You honestly don’t remember the last time you ate a meal. So much has been happening and you haven’t made time to take care of yourself. You peer out the window and see two men at the front gates. Getting through them would be tricky and almost impossible. You look down and see it would be a far fall from the second story and you’d probably break a bone making your escape an impossible one. The city lights illuminate in the background of the dark desert. You had to be a few miles away from the hotel and there wasn’t much foliage to hide behind if you made it that far. Vampire’s eyesight was perfect even from miles away, you knew you were going to get caught either way.

You curse under your breath and close the curtains again, making the bedroom pitch black. You turn on the lamp on the side table and sit on the bed, covering your face in your hands. Your mind wandered and missed Elvis more than anything right now. He was looking for you, you were sure of that. You just wished he could find you sooner. You look down at your bandaged wrists and see blood coming through the wrapping. The stinging still coursed through your arms and winced if you moved your wrists a certain way.

The clock on the wall ticked menacingly, reminding you that you’re running out of time sitting here. Your head continued to pound and the added nerves didn’t help anything. You had to eat something or you’d pass out. You were too afraid of that happening in a house with starved vampires. The possibility of there not being any food in the house made you ill at ease. Why would there be anyway? Usually, the food comes to them…

You had to go and look anyway. Hopefully, Raphael wasn’t downstairs and wouldn’t make you stay down there with him. You quietly make your way down the carpeted stairs, taking one step at a time. You were sure it was pointless being this quiet as they could probably hear your heart racing away. Peeking over the banister, you don’t see anyone in the living room and you let out a slow sigh of relief.

You remain stealthy and try to not make any noise once you’re in the kitchen. The space was huge and the cold marble floors made you shiver as you carefully treaded on. There was hardly anything on the countertops other than a few small arrangements of white azaleas on the far ends of the counter. There was a butcher block of knives by the sink and various items of cooking utensils in a container next to them.

You find a pantry closet and peek inside. It was dark and the air smelled musty. You open the door a bit further hoping the light will light up the pantry more. The first thing you find is a box of crackers. It doesn’t look like they’ve ever been opened, which is a good sign they haven’t been tampered with. You carefully rip the plastic wrap off of them, trying not to be too loud.

“Surprised you left your dungeon,” a man’s voice says behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

You quickly turn your head to look at who it is and find yourself disgusted when you discover it’s Daniel.

“What do you want,” you say through your teeth.

“You really must work on your manners. That’s no way to talk to a man,” he grumbles.

“Go fuck yourself. I don’t owe you anything and do not need to talk to you nicely. Not after everything you’ve done to me.” You spat.

“There’s so much hatred inside you. You were never like this when you were with me,” he says smartly.

“Trust me, I was. I just knew how to hide it better.”

He takes a few more steps closer to you in the kitchen. His eyes were still red and he looked gaunt. You scoff at his current state. He looked pathetic and weak. Nothing like how powerful Elvis looked. While he was a new vampire and one whose power was unparalleled, it still didn’t scare you.

“So this is what you wanted? The entire time you wanted to serve someone like Raphael? Because that’s what you have done to yourself. There’s no free will with him.” You seethe.

“You wouldn’t understand,” He grumbles.

“No?! Try me. What was the purpose of being with me if you knew that all you wanted was to be a vampire? That doesn’t include me at all in that picture,” you yell quietly.

He stays silent and looks at you with disgust.

“You weren’t going to be in the picture. I was going to leave you,” he says low.

You nod your head and try not to laugh.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Selfish bastard,” you mutter under your breath.

“How did you find out? What they are?” You continue.

“After some time of working for him, he told me. He said if I wanted to work for him, I’d have to handle the truth of what he is. He showed me his fangs and it scared me to death. But I pulled it together and tried to not let it freak me out. If it did, he said he’d compel me to forget and I didn’t want to,” he explains. His admission was surprising to you, the slightest amount of change that came into your lives freaked him out and he always deflected issues when you both were together. You were shocked you never noticed any strange behavior from him when he found out about Raphael. But then again, you two were never together and always working.

“What was your job with Raphael? Because you were gone all the time,” you ask annoyed. “Vampires don’t need ‘bouncers’ to protect them 24/7.” You say snarkily.

He takes a pause and starts explaining nervously, “I was the one bringing him… food whenever he wanted. That’s why I was never around.” He explains.

“And how the hell does Raphael think he’s better than Elvis when he goes around doing that? He says Elvis has a control issue when in fact it’s him who has the problem. The only difference is he made you do his dirty work,” you say with disgust.

Daniel stays quiet and clenches his jaw.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says.

“And you call me stupid. That’s exactly what it is,” you scoff. “But now what? What are you going to do now that he changed you?” You ask.

“I uhh… I don’t know. Raphael hasn’t really explained anything to me yet,” he says timidly.

You laugh at him, not surprised at all by Raphael’s actions.

“Typical. I guess nothing has changed in the last fourteen years.” You mutter.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He snaps at you.

“When Raphael bit Elvis in the army, he left him to figure out everything on his own. He went crazy because there was no one to guide him or knowledge of how to live with this newfound strength he possessed. I wouldn’t doubt you have the same fate,” you say.

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” he grumbles.

“Mhmm sure. Whatever gets you to sleep at night,” you say rolling your eyes at him and then realizing what you said. “Oh wait never mind...” you say smartly.

He stares daggers at you, anger boiling off of him and he takes another step closer to you.

“Be honest with me, what do you see in Elvis? How could you possibly want him?” He asks.

You chuckle softly and shake your head at him, “That’s funny, Elvis asked me the same question in regards to you.” He looks at you annoyed and clenches his fist at his side. You continue, “But I’ve told you before, it’s none of your business. He takes better care of me than you ever could, that’s all you need to know,” you say coldly.

“You have to be lying. There’s no way that man would ever show a human any mercy,” he laughs at you.

“You don’t know Elvis! All you have heard about him are lies and rumors from either the newspapers or straight from Raphael’s blasphemous mouth,” you seethe, “How can you hate someone this much?!”

“The moment I knew he was fucking my fiancee! That’s when! I already didn’t like him, so it didn’t take much for me to push me over the edge. But when you told me what you let him do to you, I had never felt such rage. You were supposed to be my wife,” he growls.

“No! You already said you’d leave me once you were turned so you have no right to think you had a claim on me! You just became jealous of what you couldn’t have anymore. I didn’t want you anymore. It took me a while to come to terms with, but I can’t undo the past. We were not meant for each other,” you sneer.

"All he ever does is lie to get his way darling. He might say he cares for you, but that can all be over in a blink of an eye," he snarls.

“You know nothing! Did you ever meet him before the night of the after party or was this hate you have for him based on only what Raphael told you?”

He shoots you a confused look and you sigh realizing he doesn’t remember any of it.

“He compelled you, the night of the afterparty we went to. I know you don’t remember obviously but I’ve always wondered… what made you lose your temper so bad? Do you remember any part of the night? I had never heard you yell like that…” you ask.

Daniel’s eyebrows furrow and he searches for answers.

“I don’t know… I’m sure it was because I knew things about him I had thought you did not know of… That entire night was such a blur… I remember what you wore and…I do remember watching how he would look at you from across the room. That hungry stare he had, the way he was practically drooling, taking in every last square inch of your body… that was enough to set me off. I guess in a way, I knew then he was having his way with you,” you say disgusted.

You hum quietly to yourself and have to look away from him. The events of that night flood your mind and you can’t let him see your reddened cheeks.

“But now, you’ll have to live with the memories of him and that’s all. Raphael isn’t letting you out of his sight and won’t let you go back to him… guess you’ll be stuck with me after all,” he laughs menacingly.

“You should probably get back upstairs. Unless you want me to tell Raphael his meal is waiting downstairs for him," he growls.

You scoff at him and shake your head.

“You don’t scare me. You’re the same pathetic excuse for a man that I met years ago. The only difference now is you have fangs.” You hiss at him.

He gives you one last look of disgust and turns to leave you in the kitchen. You take a pack of crackers with you and throw the box in the pantry quickly. Before heading back upstairs, the glint of the stainless steel knife handles catches your eye. You had no idea how to hurt a vampire, but you knew they bled. That was part of the process of changing a human into one. You had to drink their blood to complete the process. If you could get close enough to Raphael and use on him… maybe you had a chance to run. Cause him to slow down in some way so he couldn’t hurt you as easily. You chose a shorter-bladed pairing knife and hoped it wouldn’t be as noticeable and would be easier to hide somewhere on you.

Nibbling on the crackers you found, you watch as the clock’s minute hand inches closer and closer to six o'clock. You knew you had to get down there eventually or you were going to be dragged out by your ankles. You weren’t going to change clothes or anything. He didn’t deserve anything nice from you. You hid the knife under the mattress in the meantime just in case anyone decided to come in unexpectedly. You lift the mattress and take it out. You step in front of the mirror and slip the blade in your sleeve. The sleeves were already long on the sweater so it wouldn’t look out of place that your hands didn’t show very much when you walked. You test it out in the mirror and make sure you try to move as casually as possible.

There was a sharp knock at the door and it makes you gasp.

“What is it?” You ask, quickly glancing over at the clock to see it is a quarter til six.

“Raphael wants you downstairs now. Don’t keep him waiting,” the voice says darkly.

A chill runs through you and you know you have to go. This was the time to try and make your escape. It would haunt you if you didn’t even make the effort. It was a long shot, but it was worth the try. You prayed Elvis was coming. He has to find you or it might be too late…

You tread slowly down the stairs, gripping the knife handle firmly in your hand. The air felt thick and it felt like you could cut the tension clean with your knife. You struggled to breathe and every breath you took felt like poison going into your lungs. Every last instinct told you to run away from this man and not take another step. It wasn’t that simple and you wish there was another way.

“Hello, honey. How are you this evening?” Raphael asks as you take the last few steps down the stairs.

“Fine, thank you,” you say courtly, making your way to the couch he’s sitting on.

“Please, take a seat with me. We should talk,” he advises, making a gesture to the spot next to him on the sofa.

You hesitantly make your way to the sofa and leave space between the both of you. He was wearing a suit tonight and a red rose tucked into his jacket’s top left pocket.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” You ask carefully.

“I was planning on giving you a proposition,” he says as his eyes look over you hungrily. He carefully pulls the rose from his pocket and hands it to you. It had thorns on it still and you handled it gently, making sure to not prick your skin and cause yourself to draw blood. You give him a forced smile and set the rose down on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Okay? In regards to what?” You prod.

“Your future. You need to decide what you want.” He explains.

Your heart drops because you know what is coming. Anything he was going to offer you was going to be awful and you didn’t want to hear it.

“I-I’ve already told you what I want,” you say shakily.

“Yes but you see, that isn’t an option. So I’m giving you an alternate,” he continues.

“You can either work for me and do as I say or, I turn you and you live freely as you wish…” he says darkly.

You hold your breath, not liking anything that he’s said to you. Both options sounded terrible and seemed like your life would end either way. His gaze is intense and unwavering, piercing into your very soul; the thing he wants most.

“Work for you… as in getting you something to eat whenever you wanted or?…” you ask carefully.

He chuckles amused, “Mhmm… that will be one of your jobs… and anything else I desired…” his eyes trail down, taking in your body with his eyes. You feel repulsed, not wanting to be here another second next to him.

“How long would I have to decide?” You ask.

“Sooner the better my dear,” he says darkly.

You want to hurt him right here and now, but you have to be patient.

Wait for the right moment.

You take a deep breath before speaking and soften your eyes when you look at him.

“I’d really appreciate… if you gave me a little more time. This is something I should give some thought to. You do understand, don’t you?” You say sweetly, cracking a soft smile. You boldly reach out to touch his knee, trying to get him to trust you and get him distracted. He quickly looks down at your hand on him, puzzled by your physicality. You quickly take your hand off and try to play it off as an accident.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep,” you say quickly.

He looks at you stunned, unable to say anything right away after your bold move.

You keep smiling at him, your eyes pleading for him to keep looking at you.

“No, not at all…You are fine. How much time do you need?” He asks softly.

“Maybe a day or two? Is that okay?”

“I don’t know-,” he says hesitantly.

“Please,” you interrupt, “give me some time. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll let you feed from me whenever you please, just give me more time,” you instigate, getting closer to him, and placing your hand back on his leg, a bit higher than before. Your thumb rubs soft circles there and you can feel him tense up.

His eyes wander, looking at every inch of you and his breathing is beginning to hitch. You couldn’t let your nerves get the best of you. You had to act now or there would never be a tomorrow. He places his hand on top of yours and slowly lifts it up to his mouth.

“How about now? Can I take a bite?” He asks darkly, looking intensely into your eyes.

Your heart races and your head pounds away. You can’t control your breathing as you look back at Raphael. His eyes start to change in color and the monster inside him starts to gain full control.

“Yes,” you softly whisper.

“Come closer. Sit down,” he says patting his leg softly. You clench your jaw, trying to not show the disgust you have.

You carefully get up and sit down on his knee, displaying your wrist out in front of him. Your other arm drapes along his shoulder, making sure to not let him feel the cold blade of the knife.

“Go ahead,” you say with the most reassuring smile you can conjure. You couldn’t prepare yourself for the pain he would cause you again. The wrist you had reached out in front of him was not one he’d bit yet so he would have to open up another wound or bite on the mark Daniel left.

He greedily grabs your wrist closer, taking a deep breath, and licking his bottom lip. He quickly unwraps the bandage on your wrist and squeezes your forearm tightly. You squirm a bit, the pressure making you uncomfortable, and not prepared for the agonizing pain.

His fangs pierce your skin before you can look away and the pain shoots through your whole body like a lightning bolt. You close your eyes tight and let out a loud scream. His bite felt like he was about to take a chunk of your arm out. He wasn’t just drinking your blood, it seemed he was trying to mark you with the imprint of his fangs. Making it known that he bit you. You hear him start to gulp down your blood quickly, feeding much more than he did yesterday. The pain sears through you like a hot branding knife.

Your eyes shoot wide open and fear takes over every last thought. You feared that if he fed like this for much longer, his venom would enter your system, beginning your change. Your head pounded away and your vision began to blur. You grab onto the handle of the knife tighter in your other hand, knowing you have to act now or it’s going to be too late.

He takes a pause and takes his fang out of you, taking a look at your fragile and weak state. He grabs your face, making you look right in his dangerous eyes.

“Jesus, I don’t think I can ever get enough of you. You’re absolutely delicious,” he growls.

You whimper out in agony, not ready for him to take another bite. He lets go of your face and sinks his teeth in your fragile flesh once again and drinks more. Your body felt limp and your breathing was labored, you knew there was not much more time for you.

You cry out again and feel the tears fall down your face. You knew it was time. You mustered every last ounce of strength you had left in your body and took a deep breath. In one fluid motion, you pierce the blade into his neck, forcing the knife to go as deep as it will go, and watch as blood seeps down his skin. He makes a loud gasp followed by a groan and lets go of your wrist. Still having a hold of the blade, you pull down on it as you get off of him and try to make your escape. He falls back onto the couch and groans loudly.

Your legs can’t keep up with your thoughts and you stumble at every other step you take. Your vision was doubled and your head felt like it was going to burst open. You can see the front door, or at least you think that’s the front door, and hobble to it as quickly as you can. You fall and the cold marble floors make you feel paralyzed. Your blood smears on the floor and leaves a trail behind you. You had no more strength in your legs and could only crawl from here on out. The door seemed closer and you could taste freedom.

Suddenly, you feel a hand grab a fist full of your hair, and your body gets thrown against the banister of the stairs. You gasp as more pain radiates through you and through heavy eyes, you see Raphael walk toward you. You can see him pull the knife out of his neck and he grunts as he does so. The clank of the knife hits the floor and he kneels in front of you. His blood was still gushing down his neck and he looked like he was about to go on a rampage. His hand wraps around your neck and pushes you up against the railing.

“You fucking bitch! Did you think that was going to hurt me? For a second I thought I could trust you!” He yells, tightening the grip he has on your neck. You gasp for air and try to push his arm off of you but it's no use. You’re so weak you can barely keep your eyes open. He shakes you, making you look at his bloody red eyes.

“You’re going to clean this up. Guess I’m not giving you a choice anymore; I’m turning you now. Drink. Now.” Raphael commands, pushing your head to his neck.

The metallic smell of his blood filled your nose and it felt like you could vomit. You groan in protest and try one last failed attempt to get free from his grip. He doesn’t let you move and pushes your lips into his bleeding neck. You try to keep your lips shut, hoping none of his blood will be tasted.

You feel your body weaken and your eyes droop heavily, no longer being able to keep your body working properly. His fangs enter your neck with a crunch and the front door bursts open. Your body goes limp and your head hits the floor. The taste of blood hits your tongue and you try to spit it out. Through blurry vision, you see Elvis standing there in the doorway, eyes red and his face and hands covered in blood.

“El…” you weakly whimper, feeling your eyes close and your world start to go black around you.

Pain ached through your bones and you didn’t want to open your eyes. You were too afraid the pain would only get worse and be too much to bear. You hear a loud beeping coming from the side of you and you feel something covering over your nose and mouth. Moving your fingers, you felt rough sheets and a cold shiver ran through you.

Slowly, your eyes flutter and the bright luminescence of the overhead lights burn your eyes. You wince and slowly lift your hands to your face but cry out in pain. Cold hands grab your wrists and you scream, afraid it is Raphael who has you in his clutches. You thrash your hands and head, trying to get him off of you quickly.

“Baby, baby it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t move too much, you’re going to hurt yourself,” a man’s voice says. The southern twang in this man’s voice made your heart flutter in ways you couldn’t describe.

“Baby, open your eyes. Please, let me see those beautiful eyes,” he pleads.

You take a deep breath, hoping this was all a bad dream. Your eyes flutter open once again and try to adjust to the harsh lighting.

You look up into gorgeous cerulean eyes, soft and loving. His black hair fell in small strands on his forehead and he looked at you like you were the only soul on earth. The glint of gold that hung around his neck sparkled even in this lighting.

Elvis.

God you missed him. He looked like an angel standing over you. Maybe you had died and gone to heaven. You had always thought he looked like an angel, too perfect to ever be real and living on this earth. Maybe, just maybe, he was your angel and was ready to guide you into the next life.

You raise your hand slowly up to his face, caressing his cool, sculpted cheek. You sigh when you feel he’s real and not some hallucination.

“El… you’re here,” you whimper.

He smiles at you, letting out a relieved sigh, and softly caresses your face.

“Yes baby, I’m right here.” He coos. He hums pleased and kisses your forehead.

Your throat hurt when you tried to speak but you wanted to talk to Elvis. Ask him all these questions that were floating in your fuzzy head.

“El…w-what,” you hoarsely say and start to cough. You reach for your throat and feel it burning. It hurt like never before and then it hits you.

Did Raphael turn you?

You grab onto Elvis’ forearms tighter, fear encapsulating every fiber of your being. You try to clear your throat to try to speak again but it hurts too much. He calms you down, hushing you softly and tenderly.

“Shh, baby It’s alright. Don’t talk I know your throat hurts. It’s okay now, you’re safe,” he assures you.

It still didn’t answer your question. Were you turned? Was this what it felt like? The burning and the pain that you are dealing with right now?

Your eyes plead for more information from him. You needed answers.

The door swings open and you cry out, scared it was someone coming to hurt you. A woman in a nurse's uniform comes in with a clipboard and stops in her tracks when she sees Elvis hovering over you. He slowly stands up and straightens out his jacket.

“Not now. Come back later,” he instructs. Without blinking, she turns around and closes the door.

You look up at him and stare, watching the power radiate off of him so easily.

You wince as the pain in your neck increases and grab for his wrist. He looks down at you concerned and kneels down again next to you. You groan in pain and your eyes are full of panic.

He calms you, rubbing his hand in your hair, pushing the loose strands out of your face.

“Shh honey stay calm. You’re alright. You lost a lot of blood, you almost died on me,” he says weakly, tears pooling in his eyes.

“You’ve been out for a few days honey. Your body was so weak. He nearly broke you…” he says through his teeth. You feel tears start to form in your eyes and the throbbing pain on your neck doesn’t cease to stop. Your fingertips lightly graze the bandage on your neck and look up at him with concern.

He closes his eyes like he’s in pain too, rubbing circles on your hand.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he did this to you. I should have protected you.” He says sorrowfully, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. Your heart pounds frantically, scared that your worries have come true. He turned you.

He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“He didn’t turn you. I got there just in time. I’ve never seen such horror… What he did to you… I’m just so glad I was able to stop him,” he says with a sigh.

“The way he bit you, caused a lot of damage. He bit too deep and it leaves a mark on the skin when a vampire does that. That’s why it hurts so much to speak. He was trying to mark you… as his…” he growls. Your tears fall freely and sigh in relief and pain.

You weren’t a vampire at least. But now you carried Raphael’s bite mark. Making it known that he bit you and to taunt Elvis about it forever. You’re heart sank, not only did the pain that wracked through your body hurt, but your heart ached for Elvis. This couldn’t have been easy on him seeing you in this condition and now have to deal with another man’s bite mark on the woman he believes is his Chosen.

You sniffle, wishing you could talk to him and ask him more but you felt so tired and knew it would only cause you more pain to try and speak. He wipes some of the tears away from your eyes and smiles at you.

“Don’t you worry about a thing baby. No one is going to hurt you now. Raphael is… taken care of.” He assures you, looking away momentarily. You were relieved to hear such words and it gave you a bit more ease to relax.

“Please, rest honey. I’m not leaving your side. When you feel well enough to travel, we’ll head home to Memphis okay?” He asks with a smile. You nod your head and feel your eyes grow heavy, no longer able to fight the need for rest. You feel him kiss your hand and you fall back into the peaceful arms of sleep.

Tagging:

@powerofelvis @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @loving-elvis @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog. @myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything . @ohjustpeachy

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7 @lettersfromvenus @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley @iloveelvis @rjmartin11 @that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938 @50sexyshadesfashionista @oldh0llyw0od @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

#elvis presley #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis imagine #vampire elvis #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #70s elvis #sinned awakening #elvisaaronpresley

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quartz-eye · 2 months

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Give my boy back his pills😭🙏

An that one desert duo/life series marble hornets au by @wickerfox

I had this with Tim saved so I just had to do it yk

(Jk it's Marble Desert AU LMFAO I had to)

I REALLY RUSHED THIS CUZ ITS 2AM BUT I REALLY WANTED TO DO IT IFNORE HOW SHITTY IT LOOKS 🙏😭😭😭😭

#marble deserts #gtws #doodle #goodtimeswithscar

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xhanisai · 9 months

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TEACHERS AU FIC

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette

Prompt - Teachers AU (please click on link for short context of AU)

Summary -

"Y-You said that twice. The last one." She couldn't look away from his hypnotizing eyes, completely submerged by his spell and she wanted nothing more but to stay like that forever if she could have it her way.

"I did, didn't I? Speaking of kissing..."

Oh no.

'Please don't say it. Please don't say it. PleaseDon'tSayIt-' Unfortunately for Marinette, luck often deserts her side when she isn't decked up as Ladybug and today was no exception.

"Yesterday night, just before you finally went to bed, you kissed me." Ah, SHIT.

"We kiss all the ti-iiiime, Chaton-"

"On the lips."

~(x)~

"Madame. Dupain-Cheng! Please be careful!" Cried one of her students as Marinette raised herself to her tippy-toes on the ladder, trying to reach for the items on the high shelf that was required for today's lesson. She took the time to flash an encouraging smile at her worried students, hoping that it will soothe their anxiousness before turning back and continuing to reach closer and closer (whilst simultaneously cursing her tiny, barely five-foot-something frame despite being in her early twenties). The special box of expensive paints that she bought with her hard-earned money just for her beloved students alone was scarcely grazed by her wiggling fingertips and just as she managed to successfully grab it-

SKKKKKKKKKKKKKRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

'SHIT!!!'

The agonisingly painful feeling of her ankle twisting against the direction of her bone was what she registered first before the sound and movement of the ladder tipping towards the ground, the heroine in disguise was barely able to catch her breath as she found herself plummeting downwards at high speeds without even given a chance to even brace herself or cover her head-

"MARINETTE!" Her entire body quaked almost painfully as she landed in a pair of strong, familiar arms and all the air was knocked out of her chest when the impact sent them both crashing onto the floor with the man ensuring that he took the brunt of the force, cradling her head with one hand and wrapping the other securely around her torso. The ladder slammed down hard literally millimetres away from her saviour's head, leaving behind a deafening sound against the hard, marble floor and causing everyone in the vicinity to flinch by instinct. A stunned silence was next to spread across the classroom and the only thing that Marinette could focus on was catching her breath and the feel of her hero's heartbeat battering his chest. "Thank you for bringing me here on time, Lola," Adrien finally murmured, sending a relieved look to the student who was responsible for bringing him here in the first place, her gut feelings having had feared the worst the second her teacher began to climb up the steps of the ladder which therefore made her act as a precaution. "Ma Princesse? Are you okay?" His voice grew incredibly soft and concerned when he sat them both up, cradling her face with both his hands tenderly as his scared emerald greens scanned her entire body for any injuries or discomfort; her stylishly loose clothing made it quite hard to make out anything much to his slight annoyance but he had some semblance of level-headedness to not tear off her shirt to check thoroughly (last time he did that after a really brutal Akuma battle, she almost bit his faux belt tail off in pure rage because it was her favourite blouse that she made from scratch that he shredded into pieces and because of that, she didn't even talk to him for an entire three hours). "You're not hurt are you? Can you move your limbs? Is your vision okay? Can you hear me? Marinette-"

"I...I'm fine!" She managed to squeak out but then a burning, harsh pain followed and her ankle throbbed achingly in a manner that felt like knives digging into the marrow of her bones. Marinette was too slow in hiding her grimace and the second that her partner spotted the expression, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion and clenched his jaw. "I really am okay, Adrien! You can put me down, hahah! Look- your students need you. I can see at least six of them spying through the door, wondering where you've gone." "Monsieur. Agreste! I saw Madame's ankle twist on the ladder when she fell! She's definitely hurt." Another student quipped, challenging his teacher's pouty look of betrayal with a defiant tongue sticking out of his lips. "Please make sure she stays in the nurse's room too! Last time she escaped after having that horrible dizzy spell and tried to teach us with her head on the desk!" "Sam! You're just trying to get out of the quiz I prepared for you all to take- WHOA!" Not able to finish her light scolding at her shit-eating, grinning student, Marinette found herself easily scooped up by Adrien, bridal style and her entire face went as red as her alter ego's suit. The love of her life simply frowned at her, displeased with the fact that she foolishly attempted to hide her injuries from him, again. And that she wasn't being careful. Again. "I'm taking you to the nurse's office. No argument." He ignored the way she pouted even further and crossed her arms childishly, turning to her smirking class and paying no mind to their excited murmurs. "Please make your way to my classroom and complete the assignments that Madame. Dupain-Cheng has given you. Single file, no running or loud chattering in the corridors, please. Thank you all for your maturity and for trying your best to look after your teacher."

"Sure! Please look after Madame. Princesse for us, Monsieur!" If students were to spread gossip about how bright red Adrien's ears turned when he fast-walked out of the room, he can just claim that it was the weather. Even if it always only turned red whenever he was flustered or embarrassed. ~(x)~ "One of these days, My Lady...one of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack with how easily you find yourself in such dangerous situations as a civilian alone. I can't even count on both hands on how many close calls we've had this morning alone with you getting hurt or worse!" If he was decked up in his suit of destruction, his faux feline ears would have been plastered themselves against his soft, golden hair (which was now quite dishevelled thanks to the number of times he's run his fingers through them anxiously). "Do I need to actually take my class' silly suggestion and wrap you up in some bubble wrap so that you can actually be safe for longer than five minutes?!" He was holding both her hands now, pressing them against his throbbing chest all whilst his eyes held a frenzied spiral that could rival Marinette's whenever something didn't go according to plan. Luckily, she knew very well how to alleviate her Chaton's worries, slipping one hand out of his protective grasp and placing it on his jaw sweetly which prompted his tense shoulders to soften. "Now, that's a bit too extreme, isn't it?" She smiled, all traces of her previous annoyance completely gone as she relaxed against the pillow on the bed she was placed upon. Marinette gave his cheek a soft squeeze and it took her everything to not let out the kettle-like squeal that wanted to seep out of her mouth when Adrien pressed a loving peck against the palm of her hand.

"If it'll stop accidents like this from happening again, I will do it." The gleam in his emeralds had Marinette swallowing harshly because dammit, all it did was set fire to her trembling heart and it took all the restraints she had in her entire lifetime to not beg her partner to ravish her senselessly. She felt like a young teenager from the way the overwhelming emotions crashed and fought against one another in her veins but the ever so slightly calmer, more mature side of herself, helped her stay grounded. Even if said mature side was like a thin, weak dam that was ready to give out to the torrent of flustered feelings that wanted to rush out so badly (why can't she just be cool and collected and easily normal for once in front of her partner!?). "Since you're always here to catch me or save me on time, I don't think such precautions are necessary, hm?" Little did Marinette know that her soft, warm tone was doing nothing but causing her partner to internally explode with gooey lovesickness, testing his own restraints from getting down on one knee and begging for her to become his wife (for real!!!). He opted to quietly cough into one fist instead whilst averting his gaze for a flicker of a second. "...That may be true." He then leaned in closer, his brows furrowed once more. "But can you at least try to be more careful? Please? I hate it when you get hurt or when you're in any sort of pain." The watery, kitten eyes were back and Marinette couldn't even comprehend how a hot, stupidly good-looking, grown man like him can also be so fucking adorable. Neither of the duo paid any mind to Plagg's scoffs and off-handed remarks as he lounged lazily on the nearby desk, practically draping himself over Tikki whose quiet giggles were like quaint windchimes. "Of course, Adrien. I don't like getting hurt either, hahah!" She flicked his nose endearingly, her eyes crinkled with laughter and her bow-shaped lips a beautiful smile that never ceased to steal his breath away. "Hopefully this isn't just a ploy to avoid having to save the city as Mister Bug again by yourself~" She teased, delighted with the way he squawked in protest and the way his kissable mouth drooped into a dramatic pout. "Kidding~!"

"You're so cruel." He poked her nose, face still wearing the mock frown and then he leaned in even closer till their noses were a hair away from grazing. "The Parisians will never be at ease if only one-half of their favourite married couple is available to fight the Akumas." His eyes turned devious, knowing he had his Lady trapped with the way she gulped audibly. "But then again...then again, I guess it is a very, very good way to fuel the very popular 'ladynoir baby' rumours that have been going around lately." "I-I-Is that so???" She was turning beet red now, her baby blues finding the little Gods that were lounging a little away from them more interesting than her partner's smug, shit-eating grin. "Purr-fectly so. Another layer to hide our secret identities that will not only fool the public but also Le Papillon too." One of his hands was now resting on her thigh, his eyes hungry for the taste of her lips and something so much more sinful. "I could fan the flames without saying a word. Maybe kiss your stomach in broad daylight...wander around in the baby aisle at the shops in my catsuit...give the Akumas ten times more hell if they dare to even touch you...kiss your stomach..." "Y-You said that twice. The last one." She couldn't look away from his hypnotizing eyes, completely submerged by his spell and she wanted nothing more but to stay like that forever if she could have it her way. "I did, didn't I? Speaking of kissing..." Oh no. 'Please don't say it. Please don't say it. PleaseDon'tSayIt-' Unfortunately for Marinette, luck often deserts her side when she isn't decked up as Ladybug and today was no exception.

"Yesterday night, just before you finally went to bed, you kissed me." Ah, SHIT.

"We kiss all the ti-iiiime, Chaton-"

"On the lips." As if to emphasise his point, he tapped her own rosy pair with his pointer finger and then proceeded to drag her bottom lip down ever so slightly. His face continued to hold the essence of his devil-like side but the curiosity and raw hope burned brighter in his features, giving her a glimpse of his vulnerable side. "Why did you kiss me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"W-We've kissed before on the lips too!" "To break each other out of spells and enchantments during Akuma battles, yes. To keep up with the illusion that we're married as Ladybug and Chat Noir to the city, yes." He tapped her lip again. "But this is the first time that Marinette Dupain-Cheng kissed Adrien Agreste on the lips with no prompting and no plans involved. And it wasn't just a quick peck- it was a nice, long, sweet kiss. Why?" He's given her no room to run or to hide both physically and metaphorically. He was merciless despite the way her complexion has bloomed in a shade that was outstandingly red and he was determined to find out the truth right there and then. All she needed to do was to finally confess how madly in love she is with him (how she's been in love with him since the day they first met) and then she'll finally be free of the secret's weight. However, she also has zero experience with even being attracted to someone, let alone falling in love until she met him and the idea of taking such a huge leap of faith from the comfort that's loving him secretly absolutely terrified her. How would he react? What would he say? What if he rejects her? What if this tarnishes the amazing relationship they currently share as both their civilian selves and heroic selves? What if this changes everything she ever knew and loved in the worst ways possible? Marinette just couldn't fathom the idea of losing this amazing, wonderful man who has brought light to her once static world and she would rather hide under a rock for the rest of her life than confess to him just how much he means to her. She was frightened of the unknown and even the sight of his kind, comforting face wasn't enough to give her the courage to speak the truth. .

Little did she know, Adrien was stuck in the exact same boat too- the blond just as bamboozled with how he's fallen so deeply and so preciously in love with his talented, insanely intelligent and breathtaking partner (as if he was born just to love her). Though, with the way she kissed him the other night and held him as if he's the one thing she loves more than life, he was given newly found confidence to actually address it and ask about her intentions behind it. Unlike Marinette who prefers to follow her brain and avoid as many risks as possible, he very much preferred to follow his heart and take on all the risks that are thrown at him if he thought it was worth it towards the end. And loving Marinette Dupain-Cheng is worth everything to him. "That kiss made me really happy, you know. Really, really happy." He added, hoping that it'll give his Princesse the morale to answer (praying to every single omnibenevolent deity out there that he really wasn't just seeing things, that his feelings may actually be mutual all along). The determination that was quick to place itself on her face made his heart skip many beats and when she finally opened her mouth to talk-

"AKUMA ALERT! AKUMA ALERT! PLEASE EVACUATE THE PREMISES OF THIS BUILDING IN A CALM AND SAFE MANNER!

PLEASE EVACUATE THE PREMISES OF THIS BUILDING IN A CALM AND SAFE MANNER!"

The deafening blare of the school's alarm rang through the entire building which was then followed by an explosion and high-pitched screaming, coming from the other side of the architecture. Adrien silently cursed the villain of the day for their terrible timing and he certainly wasn't blind to the relieved sigh his partner let out, his brow twitching with irritation whilst she had the gall to look sheepish.

He was absolutely, definitely, NOT going to let her get away so easily just like that. "Pass me your earrings. You hold onto the ring and Plagg will look after you. You cannot even stand, let alone fight in this battle, Marinette." His tone left no room for argument, the duo quickly exchanged their miraculous and the taller of the two transformed into Mister Bug. He checked the scene outside through the window, his heart lightening with the sight of the Akuma rampaging with a giant paint gun and heading towards the tower (which meant that his partner will be safe and sound in the building as he fights). "You've got this, Chaton." Though her face was still coloured with a sakura hue, the grin she wore was reassuring and her baby blues held an encouraging twinkle on his behalf. She believed in him. "Stay here and stay safe, ma Buguinette." By instinct, he bent down to kiss her head, earning an adorable hum from his delighted partner (and continuing to ignore Plagg's snarky commentary). Before he could leap away with a quip laced with puns and a single swing of the powerful bandalore, Mister Bug was shot with a sudden idea. . "Adrien? What's wrong? Do you need me to join you as Lady Noire after all- mMMMPH!?" Marinette was met with a hot, steamy kiss by none other than the love of her life and all she could do at that moment was flutter her eyes shut and melt and enjoy the delicious sensation like a young teen experiencing her first kiss. His gloved hands cradled her face protectively as his eager lips parted hers over and over again, tracing the rims of her rosy mouth with his greedy tongue, all whilst breathing in her pleasant signs and the spiced vanilla scent that always lingered on her skin. "A-Adrien?" He didn't give her a chance to take another breath as he captured her kiss-bruised lips once more, chasing after her tongue in her mouth and deepening the kiss in a manner that sent dangerously amorous thoughts and feelings through the both of them.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, she was so sweet. Reluctantly, Mister Bug pulled away from the kiss (his mind practically throttling his heart from pressing any more of his impulsive buttons for the sake of Paris and its citizens). The smile he wore was borderline Satanic and the sight of Marinette's dilated eyes, flushed face and bright pink lips only filled him with enough glee to last him at least nine lifetimes. 'Mon Dieu...she looks like se-' He didn't dare to finish off his hormone-riddled thoughts, knowing fully well that if he stayed here for a second longer, he wouldn't be tearing off Marinette's shirt to check for any injuries this time around. "What was that for?" She asked, all whilst looking so freshly kissed and so dazed and just so dreamy. Her eyes sparkled in all the best ways possible and the urge to kiss her all over her face was so strong, the hero had to dig his fingers into the palms of his hands to stop himself from getting so distracted and to focus on his half-baked plan. That's right. "If you tell me why you kissed me, I'll tell you why I kissed you~!" His cocky answer was more than enough to snap the heroine out of her stupor, her face reddening all over again with both embarrassment and exasperation, unable to believe that her stupid, silly partner was now resorting to this level of playfulness to get what he wanted. He didn't let her even splutter out an answer or a retort, pausing by the window with a smile that was downright demonic. "Also, if the Ladyblogger asks me why you weren't present at the battle, I'm going to tell her that you're carrying twins~!" "What!? That's a stupid idea! I don't even look pregnant, let alone with twins! How are we going to explain the lack of a bump to the public if you go around saying stupid things like that!?" She honestly should have expected what he said next after that mind-blowing kiss he gave her. "Then I guess we should start making babies tonight to make it true~" . And then he was gone, leaving behind one bright red-faced Marinette Dupain-Cheng and one cackling little God of Destruction. . . . "Plagg...does this mean that...Adrien likes me...?" . Plagg proceeded to stop laughing. . . . ~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #teachers au #ml fanfiction #ml fanfics

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profoundbondfanfic · 7 months

Text

Untouchable

Untouchable by EllenOfOz (@ellen-of-oz) Rating: Mature Word count: 9k

Dean's life is coming undone. Castiel has proclaimed himself their new god and fucked off to make war in Heaven, while back on Earth, Sam's losing his marbles from Hell-trauma. All Dean can do is work to restore his baby, and try not to think about how much he misses his angel. How much he longs for a little taste of Heaven...

For all the years I’ve been in fandom, I have to admit that I’ve stuck mostly to AU’s, especially when the show was still airing. Since it’s ended, and since joining this blog, I’ve expanded my horizons to canon fics, whether it’s canon divergent or not. But something that’s filled the void since the end of the show has been fix it fics, for obvious reasons. This week, I have another fix it… but this one is for season 7.

Season 7. Fifteen-episode gap. That’s all I’m gonna say. And I didn’t know I needed that to be fixed until I read Untouchable by EllenofOz. Set at the beginning of season 7, we get a front row seat from both Dean and Cas’s pov’s, which is as agonizing as you’d expect, considering what they’re going through. Cas is running around full of souls and Leviathan, and Dean’s going through it as he puts all his emotions and energy into fixing the Impala after the demon’s flipped it over. Sam’s waking up from his hell coma and things are just bad and this author lets us know how Dean’s feeling, including his secret feelings for his best friend, who is currently killing religious leaders and causing overall mayhem in Heaven and on Earth.

One of the great things about this fic is the author lets you Choose Your Own Adventure, basically, encouraging the reader not to venture past chapter three if you’re happy with how canon went. If you’re remembering that fifteen episode desert devoid of the third main character, then you can proceed to the final chapter which will give you the happy ending both Dean and Cas deserve. I highly suggest reading all the way through.

Also if you’re a Swiftie, this fic was written for the Dean Cas Bang (Taylor’s Verison) and is loosely inspired by the song of the same name, and has some great art included. Enjoy!

#destiel #fic rec #mature #<10k #canon verse #canon divergence #fix it #angst with a happy ending #coda #other media #pining!dean #godstiel #author: EllenofOz #Untouchable

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beeshoesometimesdraws · 14 days

Note

Can you please word vomit about your god au?

Hehe >:)

Imma organize this by god so that it doesn’t confuse my brain

Sun aka Crown ☀️

The eldest sibling, God of the day and sun and all associated with it

He/Him pronouns, AroAce

Crown is full of energy and seemingly always happy though there is a side of himself that he doesn’t openly present to his followers; just like the sun his warmth is pleasant and comforting…though it can still burn

Crown is the most beloved of the gods due to his association with the sun and his gifting fire and thus light to mortals and he is also the most involved with his followers, coming down during the day to interact and celebrate with them in his mortal form

Crown’s temple of worship aka his “party palace” is set in a desert oasis and is the most pristine and elegant looking of the gods’s temples with a garden full of palm trees and succulents and other desert plants and pools of crystal blue water and walls and pillars made of sandstone and white marble

He is one of the most powerful and influential of the gods and his strength and skill with fire, being able to produce and control even the wildest and hottest of flames, is well revered amongst the other gods

He is always very warm, even in his mortal form, and the angrier or more upset he gets the hotter he runs and the brighter his eyes burn, like mini suns

All of the gods have several forms (though they can technically shapeshift into whatever they want), one of which being their “under cover” forms—usually animals—which they use to blend in with mortals without drawing attention

Crown’s “under cover” form is a sand viper an indicator of his true personality

Moon aka Tide 🌙

The second eldest, God of the night and moon and all that is associated with it

They/He pronouns, bi

Tide is calm and levelheaded, rarely anything ruffles them, and they are quiet, not talking often unless they want or need to, the polar opposite of Crown

They do not show themselves as often as Crown though on nights where the moon is full and bright without a cloud in the sky, Tide will come down and celebrate with his followers—he often will just stand and observe though it is on these nights where he can be the most talkative if he’s in the mood

Tide’s temple of worship is by the sea, built with white quartz and black marble and decorated with shells and softly glowing lights in the shape of stars and constellations and a circular ceiling with the night sky and the moon phases painted on it

Being the opposite of Crown, Tide runs cold and when he is angry he becomes frigid as if he himself is covered by a layer of frost

Tide’s “under cover” form is an orca

Eclipse aka Shroud 🌑

The “youngest” of the three, the God of energy and trickery, the in-between

He/Him pronouns (agender)

Shroud is a complex character—he’s mysterious and elusive, only making an appearance every few years during a total eclipse and even then he doesn’t stay long, just like the eclipse itself; no one really knows how he is (other than his brothers) but there are many rumors

His appearance is seen by many as a bad omen and he is said to be a harbinger of misfortune and evil though people often irrationally fear things they don’t understand and his appearance is far more intimidating than the other two which only furthers this fear

Though he is also known to be a trickster and those few who have gotten a close encounter with the god all have varying things to say of his nature, as if he’s an actor who flips characters on a dime

All of the gods radiate an aura (like Crown being hot and Tide being cold) of some kind and Shroud’s buzzes and sparks with energy, like an exposed wire full of bolts upon bolts of hidden power

Shroud’s temple of worship is set in desert of black sand (based on the black sand beach) and it stands tall and ominous over the dunes with black stone walls and floors and pillars made of black and gold marble and a long hall illuminated by candlelight leading to a tall throne with the symbol of the eclipse at the top

Shroud’s “under cover” form is a scorpion (specifically an emperor scorpion)

That’s all I have rn, sorry it took so long I got very distracted- *sweats*

I liked including the descriptions of the temples because I think it’d be boring to just say “oh yeah they have a temple yeah that’s it” lol

Also there are other gods though I’ll share stuff about em once I’ve figured more stuff out >:)

#bee talks #bee rambles #god au #dca god au #dca sun #dca moon #dca eclipse #fnaf god au #dca fnaf #dca fandom #bee’s god au #ty for giving me an excuse to infodump about this au #not tsams related

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pisupsala · 1 year

Text

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 6 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.3k

Library

Chapter 6 - It’s Just The Time for Dancing

The next few days pass quietly for you. Which is a good thing, really. Your lip still hurts from biting it so hard. Luckily, it didn’t swell much. You need a few days to get back into your daily routine, making sure you are where you are supposed to be, and you’re seen by the people who need to see you. The tram driver on your morning route, the lady at the bakery on the corner, your co-workers as you clock in, the security guard reading the newspaper under his desk—everything is normal, everything is routine, everything is as it should be.

Except for the American pilot you have hiding in the loft. But no one needs to know about that.

You exhale heavily, puffing out your cheeks as you look at the wet streaks your mop leaves on the marble floor. Finally back on the evening shift, you spend the hours after dark mopping floors, dusting shelves, wiping down desks, swiping ration books, polishing brass doorknobs, collecting forgotten cups, forging two new identity cards, dusting shelves and taking out the trash.

It’s an unpopular shift for many reasons. On a bad day, you’re cleaning until midnight. And it’s generally a creepy place. The Ministry of Interior is housed in an imposing, modern-looking building that, at best, looms ominously over the city from its position on top of one of the hills surrounding the river valley. And at night, when the building sits deserted, a chill sets over the place. Many of your coworkers speak of strange sounds, like the ghostly ticking of typewriters echoing through the halls and strange shadows moving in locked rooms.

You don’t mind, though. Possibly because you were the source of those phenomena. The national police and gendarmerie are headquartered here, and for all the reorganization for efficiency in the last few years, civil servants will always be too overworked to really notice (or care) about small discrepancies in the paperwork. Or they are crooked, which makes getting ration books near child’s play. Plenty of crooked cops sell them on the black market, so they usually keep a stack stashed away somewhere—a somewhere you’re bound to find as a cleaner—and it’s not like they can report them missing.

And it’s really nice of them to have all the forms prepared like that—it saves you a lot of time filling in travel permission forms, adding a stamp here, making a file disappear there, and creating two new identities with legit personal numbers.

Because all the forms are the same and most people working here fill them in on autopilot, they most likely can’t recall which they actually did, or which might have been slipped into there by you. The efficiency of the system has made it so monotonous that it dumbed everyone involved down, ironically.

It’s the day shift that generally gives you the shivers. When the place is filled with men and women with sour faces and their ill-fitting suits, complaining about the workload, dutifully submitting their reports on people and signing off on another arrest, another cog in the machine of the regime.

No, you’ll take ghosts over those beasts any day.

Carefully reaching under your tabard apron, you adjust the ration books tucked between the waistband of your skirt, making sure your sweater is covering them. First, you have to finish mopping this hallway, and then you will wipe down the desks in the offices on this floor, paying extra attention to the desk of the officer handling identity cards.

You take your time mopping. It’s natural to want to work fast as the adrenaline starts pumping in anticipation of… well, committing a crime. Even if you believe it’s for the greater good, identity fraud is not a small crime. Besides, the more people filter out of the building, not wanting to spend a minute more here than necessary, the less noise there is.

The empty, almost gaping halls and cold marble floors might feel might be spooky in the way they eerily echo the smallest sounds, but they also make it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on you.

Slowly, lowly humming, you work your way down the hall. The dirty water sloshes in the metal bucket as you carry it into the stairwell, leaning your mop against the wall. You wait for a moment, listening for any sounds from the other floors. It’s quiet. Good. Fishing a dusting rag from your apron. Time to get those desks cleaned.

By the time you reach your destination, your heart starts beating harder. You force yourself to breathe calmly—don’t let fear rule you. You’re going to need a steady hand.

You wait a moment in front of the office door. Still not a sound.

Now you hurry. With quick movements, you pull out registration forms from different folders, so the ID numbers are not consecutive, and therefore will be easier to… lose in the filing system. Sitting down at the desk, you stretch and flex your fingers.

Calm.

You start diligently filling out the forms on the typewriter—the quicker, the better, because this is the noisy part. New names, new birthdays—new people. Carefully, you unscrew the cap of the too-fancy fountain pen, hesitating for a small second before copying the signature from one of the other papers on the table with a flourish. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t look quite perfect—actually, it’s better. It bears every mark of a hastily processed form by an overworked civil servant trying to get home at the end of the day, the authentication stamp smudging the still-wet ink, mindlessly filed away in the wrong folder. Everything just deliberate enough to make it look indistinguishable from regular incompetence.

You hesitate to remember when your brain switched gears like this, always looking to find a loophole, always looking to find a way around other people and essentially exploit their behavior. In high school, you once cheated on a biology test by peeking at your deskmate’s test paper. It was an inconsequential pop quiz. The deskmate in question was your best friend Eva, who would later get into med school. But still. You barely slept for the rest of the week until you got your grade because you were so scared the teacher knew and was going to fail you publicly.

It feels strange. Foreign. Like that fear you felt so profoundly at 16 was only a pebble skipping in the pond. You mull over the hollow feeling as you start filling in identity cards with a neat looping script, where it feels like that same pebble has been sinking deeper and deeper into dark dread. Every time you think you might have found the bottom of your greatest fears, something inevitably happens that pulls out the rug from under you.

Like Rooster.

His very presence feels like another rug pull.

And to your growing annoyance, despite every problem he poses, instead of working on some sort of solution, your mind wanders to that warm skin, that crooked, cocky smile—and god, that broad chest, those powerful arms, how comfortably close he seems to get to you and how some part of your brain is itching for more.

Just as you finish up, leaning your elbows on the polished wood as you resolutely screw the cap back onto the fountain pen, almost as if you’re hoping to screw a top onto your wandering thoughts.

You hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps, that are too close for comfort. You were so lost in thought you didn’t notice. Shit.

As you shoot up from the chair, swiping the identity cards from the desk and stuffing them into the waistband of your skirt, you hastily straighten your apron. In a flurry of movements, swiping the forms off the desk and stuffing them in the back of the first open file drawer, you go to grab your dusting rag, but with that, knock the fancy fountain pen off the table.

As the black pen with the fancy gold trim clangs loudly against the marble floor, you see the cap pop off in an almost comical, slow-motion way. The black ink splatters out over your shoes and socks. You curse, wide-eyed, ducking behind the desk, desperately trying to mitigate some of the horrendous mess you just got yourself into. The ink is staining your fingers and palms as you try to hide the absolute massacre you just caused. Your blood is rushing in your ears so hard you cannot even hear the footsteps anymore, and you can only hope that they passed you by now, that they didn’t need to be where you are, and they didn’t see you in the first place.

“Is someone in here?”

You are pretty sure you can feel the blood physically drain from your face—the deafening rush is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The security guard, who is usually halfway down a bottle of cheap liquor at this hour and somewhere off in dreamland, has decided tonight to actually do his job.

Slowly, you get up, clutching the pen between your ink-stained fingers. You want to look up and see how the guard reacts, but you force yourself to keep your gaze trained on the toes of your dirty shoes.

You are known as the slowest cleaner. Kind of clumsy. That’s why you’re typically the last to leave. You don’t discourage the rumor—even though it stings. Sometimes you lean into it. Every time you feel a little bit less like yourself.

“Miss Anna?” The guard doesn’t even seem surprised. His voice sounds like brittle paper—he is an old man, after all. Back bent and fingers almost pulled into claws from a lifetime of heavy labor, his uniform seems to hang off his wiry form. You don’t actually know his name—the rest of the staff just refers to him as the gamekeeper, after the brand of cheap herbal brandy he seems to favor to keep him company on the night shift.

“I’m sorry sir, I…” You trail off, jerking your hands slightly in a graceless motion, drawing attention to them. “I just wanted to take a look.”

“Oh, you unlucky girl,” The guard sighs, part empathetic, part exasperated. “Clean up, you are going to miss your last tram.”

You nod, hurriedly starting to clean the mess with your dust rag.

“Is your bucket in the hall?” The guard asks, not unkindly. “You can mop up the mess quicker.” Nodding, you start moving towards the door, where the guard is still standing. He looks up and down at you, clicking his tongue as his gaze lands on your splattered shoes. “Just a bit of vinegar when you get home, and blot it out carefully.” He offers, in an almost fatherly tone.

“Thank you, I didn’t know that,” You smile awkwardly. “I thought I just ruined these.”

Water and soap work just as well, you know, but it’s best just not to say.

“Run along now.” He dismisses you as he starts down the hall, the other way from you. “People might get suspicious if you hang around too long.” The gamekeeper croaks, not looking back at you.

Your luck is up for tonight.

***

Bradley is bored.

Never in his life has he been this bored. In school, in detention, church on Sunday, every endless ocean crossing, where there’s no land in sight, and he’s just surrounded by a wide expanse of nothing on the horizon. Because at least there are always people around.

In his plane, up in the sky, he is pretty much alone. But even there, he can see his fellow aviators whiz by, he can hear their chatter on the radio. Even up there, he is never truly alone.

He doesn’t like being alone.

He also doesn’t like being bored. But the small room under the roof has little in the way of entertainment for his lonely days. Finally, he has a place where he can recuperate in peace at least.

It’s been over a week now.

Recuperating means laying in bed mostly, starting at the ceiling. The pain is getting less, but his energy is falling too. Sometimes Bradley moves through the room, leaning out of the small window, smoking. There’s not much to see but other rooftops, a few church spires on the horizon, and the blue sky.

He tries to stretch his sore muscles carefully, almost scared he’ll lose every part of his health (and vainly, physique) if he stays idle too long. There’s nothing much he can do about his ribs, the dull ache gets a little less every day, but they take a long time to heal. He has time in spades, he thinks bitterly. Bradley’s ankle was a different story. It looked horrendous in the first days he got to the safe house: swollen, hot, blue-ish bruises forming under the skin.

As your cool fingers graze over his ankle, you tell him to keep it elevated. If it doesn’t get better in a few days, you’ll find someone to help. Bradley doesn’t want his ankle to be broken, but he likes your soft and kind touch. He craves more of your touch. It’s in such stark difference to your serious expression and earnest tone.

When he’s alone again, sometimes he thinks of home, allowing himself to finally dwell on some thoughts he buried a long time ago. It’s strange—Bradley traveled many places with the Navy, never feeling particularly homesick. Probably because deep down, he was always convinced he’d return. He had to, right? It’s bad luck to dwell on death, but it’s foolish not to fear it. But now… now he’s dwelling on it. The thought of never seeing his home again, never visiting his parent’s grave again leaves him feeling hollow.

And guilty.

He meant to visit the grave site before he shipped out to Britain, but a particular blonde and bourbon caught his eye and he decided to wallow in that, rather than his own grief. Now there is no blonde, no bourbon, just him.

And sometimes you.

You are like a breath of fresh air.

Sure, you still don’t smile much—not as much as Bradley would like any way, and he entertains himself by getting a reaction out of you. But he looks forward to the moment when he hears your footsteps coming up the stairs. It’s been only a week and something, but Bradley is pretty sure he could pick out you padding up the stairs—gracefully, determined—in his dreams.

You bring him books to pass the time. They are old, dog-eared copies, some passages highlighted with a pencil, little notes in the margins in neat script, sometimes long-winded, sometimes no more than an exclamation mark or little cross. Bradley spends almost as much time reading as half daydreaming about you sitting at a desk, or sprawled out on a sofa, tapping a pencil against your lips, mouthing the words on the page. There is nothing particularly scandalous about those daydreams, if anything they feel strangely homely. Comforting. You’ve spent hours with these books, and they’re keeping him company now. A little bit like some part of you is with him all day. He likes that.

It’s small comforts until he hears your footsteps come up the stairs—sometimes you come around dusk, other times you keep him company in the morning.

You never tell him anything about what you do, or where anything comes from, dismissively waving your hand in reply, face unreadable. Food appears at his door every day like clockwork, but you stay mum on how it gets there.

When Bradley looks over your ink-stained fingers one late morning, catching them as you wave them through the air in that practiced nonchalant manner, he runs the pad of his thumb over the faded ink and red skin—you’ve clearly tried to scrub it off unsuccessfully—a beat of silence passes between you.

You can feel it in your bones.

Bradley notices how your palm flexes under his touch like you want to touch him back. You’re looking at him, lips parted ever slightly, breathing shallow.

“What did you do?” He asks softly, inadvertently breaking the spell. Bradley tries to ignore the sting as you immediately drop your hand from his, averting your gaze. Every time he thinks he might have found a way in with you, like he just about manages to catch a glimpse of what you are like underneath all the bits of untruth, diversion, and armor you seem to have wrapped around you, you seem to pull up your walls even higher.

The next few times you come to visit, you keep your distance from him. You ask about his ankle, but your hands stay put.

“It’s getting better.” He looks at you pointedly, sitting up in the bed. You don’t move from the chair at the small table on the other side of the room. “The swelling is as good as gone, and it doesn’t hurt when I walk.”

“That’s good.” You sound at least a little bit relieved. But you still don’t move from your spot.

That’s okay, Bradley tells himself. The why has him conflicted. Is it okay because you are his handler, and more interested in staying alive than him? He respects that, even if he’d still like to tease you a bit anyway.

A darker side chimes in: it’s okay. He can wait—snug on his perch. He’s a patient man.

And they always come to him in the end.

You will come to him.

Guilty, he shakes off the thought as soon as it rises. That’s not fair. It’s not a drunken tryst in a bar where he doesn’t have to think about what makes you tick, what makes him tick, and it’s mutually understood that that moment will be all it’ll ever be.

This is different. He depends on you. He can’t get a grip on you.

And quite frankly?

It scares the everloving shit out of him.

It exhilarates him.

“You look pretty nimble on your feet now.” You comment as you come into his small room one early evening. It’s sometime in late February, meaning Bradley has been missing in action for a month.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready to dance again.” He smirks, playfully extending his hand to you. Of course, you skillfully parry his gesture. There’s a playful glint in your eye as you shoot him a stern look. Undeterred, Bradley tucks his hand back into his pocket casually, as he watches you move around the small room.

“I got you something, Rooster.” You start, a little hesitantly. That catches Bradley’s attention. You are rarely hesitant when you speak to him—if you don’t want to answer or talk, you usually just don’t. “A few somethings, really.”

Somewhat bashfully, you hand him a large can of peaches. Fruits in winter wartime are somewhat of a rare treat, and typically when you happen upon some you use them for trading. It’s good to be in people’s good graces, or even better, have them owe you a favor. But this time, you figured Bradley might appreciate them. And you kind of want some yourself.

That’s the reason you kept the peaches. Right? You kind of want them, but you’d feel bad not sharing. And Bradley is the one cooped up in a safe house for weeks now. You’d be going stir-crazy in his position. Even though he appears as annoyingly positive as ever when you see him.

“Nice, where’d you get these?” He weighs the large can in his hand, his eyes keenly following your fingers as you unbutton your coat and unpin your hat, gently putting them away on the neatly made bed. You meet his gaze, before you force yourself to look away again.

“I brought two forks.” You reply instead. “You have a can opener here, right?”

“Yeah, it’s on the table.” As he puts the can down, he frowns for a moment. “Do you ever get tired of deflecting every other question?”

It comes out a bit sharper than Bradley wanted it to, and judging from the surprised look on your face, it cut a bit deeper than he had wanted it to. Your eyebrows raised, mouth open like you’re about to say something, but you seem to have frozen in the moment.

Tired? You think. Try utterly exhausted. Not one version of your life is authentic or complete—the handler, the roommate, the cleaner, the neighbor, the coworker, the friend, the daughter—you keep secrets from everyone everywhere, tell so many lies that it’s like you’re living all these different lives, and by god, you so desperately want to talk to someone about everything. But you can’t. You can’t even bring yourself to answer the most basic questions anymore without going down a list in your head if it’s safe to share that information or if it’s just easier to let a lie roll down your tongue instead.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you actually rendered speechless,” Bradley jokes lightly, breaking the too-long silence, trying to inject some levity back into the situation, almost nervously looking away from you and focussing on opening the can. You blink slowly and lick your lips. You want to tell Bradley about everything, what you really think, what you really feel, so there’s one person on this goddamn earth who will actually know you. But you bite your tongue and shrug instead.

“I would have actually answered you this time.” You reply, trying to match his joking tone. Bradley grins at you, as he places the opened can in the middle of the small table, and pulls out one of the chairs, gesturing you to sit down. Unable to keep a smile from tugging on your lips, you sit down, and Bradley pushes your chair in.

You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your stomach.

Sitting across from each other, fishing slices of peach out of the opened tin, Bradley can’t help but study you. You look relaxed—chin resting on your palm, foot tucked under your leg on the chair, taking a small bite from the peach slice on your fork. Bradley is leaning on his elbow, bent slightly forwards, toward you as he casually lifts another slice out of the can. He is dressed so casually, his white shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. He seems perfectly unbothered to sit around with his undershirt on display—you can’t even complain. You’re just glad he isn’t going around shirtless. Right?

It’s one of those strangely intimate moments, that if it weren’t for the reality of the situation, could be… almost romantic. At a table together, sharing a dessert (of sorts), and talking about the books Bradley has been reading. You try not to have your mind addled by the notion that this is the closest thing to a date you’ve been on in almost two years. You try not to let the flutter in your stomach grow every time he says your name in that deep, velvety voice. You try to keep your heart from jumping in your throat every time he catches your eye with that lopsided grin on his face to see if his joke landed.

“There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” Best to get back to business. “Now that you’ve healed enough to walk again-” “And dance again.” Bradley interjects playfully, leaning just that little bit closer to you over the small table.

“...and dance again.” You deadpan, the soft look in your eyes taking the sting out of your words. You sigh lightly before you continue. “You need to learn your way about the city. Where to go, where the escape routes are, and look like you belong when you walk around. We might get into a situation where there’s no one to take you, so you need to be able to do this by yourself.”

Bradley frowns. “What do you mean, if there’s no one to take me? Aren’t you supposed to be my handler until…”

He trails off, seeing the pained look on your face. You don’t say anything, and Bradley is actually grateful for that right now. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat a bit awkwardly.

“So, uhm -” You shift in your chair, sitting up a bit straighter. “I brought you some things. A map—wait, let me get it.” You get up, feeling strangely anxious. You grab your purse off the bed and take it back with you to the table. “So, here’s the map. It has the most important things, like the train stations and major roads marked.” “Thanks.” Bradley nods as he takes the map from you. He recognizes your neat script on the map, marking several landmarks. “Anything I should pay special attention to?”

You feel relieved Bradley is not joking right now.

“Mostly these two train stations and the surrounding areas. Either of these will most likely be part of your escape route.” You bend a bit further over the table, finger tracing the two marked points on the paper. Bradley feels like he should move back a bit, as he already knows that if he looks up now, your face will be close to his. He isn’t sure you are all that aware, focus on the map between you. He should really be a gentleman about this, but he’s also enjoying your proximity to him, and he’d like to enjoy it a little bit longer.

In the end, you make the decision for him, leaning back again.

“How quickly do you need me to have this memorized?” Bradley asks, looking up at you. You avoid his gaze. “We’ll start with the first route to the main train station tomorrow, so the sooner, the better.” You reply, still not looking at him, but rather at your own hands as you fidget. It’s strange to see you nervous, and Bradley wonders what is making you so anxious right now.

“I also got you new papers.” You push a small booklet toward him.

“Oh, you got me like a fake identity and everything?” Bradley curiously leafs through the booklet.

“Yeah, it’s legit as far as most police will be willing to look.”

“So what’s my cover story?” He asks curiously, a smile playing over his face again.

“It’s nothing special, so don’t read too much into it,” You shrug, trying to stop yourself from talking too fast. “It’s best to stay close to the truth anyway. When we go out, you still can’t talk, so I got you veteran status. We should be able to chalk it up to shell shock or something if we get stopped.”

You pause as Bradley nods.

“Also we’re married now.” You blurt out. Bradley’s head shoots up, eyes wide. “I - I mean our fake identities are married.” You amend, lamely.

You cringe, it seemed like such a good idea when you forged the identification cards, but now you’ve said it out loud, it almost feels like an admission of… something. To your mortification, Bradley just starts laughing. Of course. It’s preposterous, after all. He only likes to tease you, and you deluded yourself into thinking he might actually have any feelings for you. This means you must admit that you’ve developed feelings of your own.

Preposterous, indeed.

“Well, I suppose I could do a lot worse than you, sweetheart.” He is still laughing. You have difficulty wiping the hurt frown off your face, so you just look away. There’s absolutely no reason you should be taking this so personally, but you are embarrassed that Bradley laughing actually… hurts. It feels like you’re being rejected.

“I do have one question.” He adds, as he stops laughing, voice a lot more serious. You scrape together the courage to look at him, mouth set in a hard line. Bradley has a completely serious look on his face. “Why, pray tell, are we married, Anya?”

You take a breath, trying really hard to keep the hurt and embarrassment from creeping into your voice. “Because it looks weird for a man and woman to walk together without talking. No one will buy we’re friends—let alone dating—if we walk around mutely.”

“Fair,” Bradley admits. “But we have a bad marriage, then?”

“What?”

Bradley is momentarily taken aback by your sharp reaction, but grins at you anyway. It seems like this whole situation has you a little off-kilter, and he wants to rock your boat just a little more to bring the spitfire out. You look so offended, lip curled up in disgust, that the suggestion that your marriage must be bad. It’s adorable.

“We don’t talk, so our marriage must be bad, right?” He questions, doing his best to be serious.

“You think not constantly talking equates to a bad marriage, Rooster?” You question him back, a cutting edge to your words. Bradley loves how riled up you suddenly are.

“I think communication is important, Anya.” He replies smirking, leaning forward again. He’s pretty sure he just saw your eyebrow twitch.

“I agree, but being comfortable in silence together doesn’t mean there’s bad communication.” You retort in a low voice. You have no idea how you got to discussing what entails a good marriage instead of exit routes, but it has your stomach in twists. Bradley seems all too comfortable. Ass.

“Of course, and there are plenty of other ways to communicate.” If at all possible, Bradley’s smirk grows. The implication of his words hangs heavily between you. You should pull back now and end this conversation. This is probably what he always does, you think bitterly. There’s just no one else to focus his attention on. But you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting to you like that.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough how compatible we are, Rooster.” The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. You close your eyes for a moment to stave off the crushing embarrassment, before resolutely getting up, smoothing down your skirt, absolutely not wanting to sit here while Bradley laughs at you again.

There’s no use in editing your words, backpedaling that that was really not what you meant—it will only make it worse, and you will inevitably dig yourself into a deeper hole with him. Bradley gets up from the table at the same time, grabbing you by the elbow as you move past him. You inhale sharply as his large warm hand wraps around your arm.

You tug your arm sharply, but you don’t really stand a chance against Bradley’s grip. He’s not even holding onto you that tightly.

“Let me go, please.” Your voice is flat, words measured carefully. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Rooster. But I’d like to go home now.”

Bradley’s heart sinks a little bit. There it is again, your walls pulled up higher than ever before.

“It was just a bit of fun, Anya.” He tells you softly.

“Of course.” There’s a forced airiness to your tone. You jerk your elbow again, and he lets you go this time. You move past him, grabbing your coat and hat off the bed, before turning on your heel and going straight for the door. You snatch your purse off the table as you try to keep yourself from sprinting to the door.

Hand on the doorknob, you stop for a moment. Letting out a deep sigh, you turn around. You are overreacting.

“Sleep well, Rooster.” You tell him genuinely. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, face concerned. When your eyes meet, his lips quirk back up into a smile. A nice smile this time. You feel your own lips pull into a smile in response as you turn away again.

Everything about him is so magnetic, it’s pulling you out of orbit. You know it’s because you’re allowing yourself to become too comfortable around him. But he makes it so easy.

“Sleep well, Anya.” He tells you in that same deep voice that makes your insides quake as you slip out of the door.

note | It's been a while~ sorry <3 more will be coming soon.

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lokislastlove · 2 years

Text

What’s Mine (Dark!Eddie Munson x Reader) part 2

Warnings: Noncon, Vampire AU, blood, death, smut, public sex.

Notes: So I finally understand why it’s so hard to finish a god damn story when you have so many WIPs. I finally finished this, mostly for the AO3 people but here it is anyway. ❤️

Part 1 Here

🩸

“So now that you’ve taken what you want… what are you going to do with me?” You ask bitterly as Eddie rolls off the mattress and pulls the black Metallica shirt over his head.

He smirks as he buttons his pants and tugs his hair out from under his collar, but doesn’t look at you. The satin sheets slip along your skin as you try to cover your naked body - not that it matters as he just spent the past several hours tasting every inch of you.

“If you think one night is all I want, you are seriously underestimating me, princess.”

He walks over to the French doors he left open and shuts them just before the glow of the morning sun starts to break along the hilltop.

“I haven’t even seen how cute you look in chains.”

He locks it with purpose and you flinch at the way the deadbolt handle breaks off. He lets it fall to the floor and looks at you over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll come back to fetch you when it’s time to eat.”

Your lip curls in disgust and he snickers to himself as he heads for the door to the stairwell.

“Behave yourself,” he teases as he shuts the door behind him.

You toss a pillow at the door in frustration and fall back onto the bed. How did this happen? Not even twelve hours ago you were fantasizing about a life of luxury… now you wish you could be back in your little studio apartment with nothing but a shitty job to look forward to on Monday. I guess this is what you get for never saying no to a favor.

The thought brings your friend to mind… Star. How could she do this to you? She looked scared, but she knew. She knew what they were and she helped them.

Rage boils in your stomach and you kick off the blankets. You stomp over to the door and grunt as you tug on the handle. You hear the wood groan under the strain until it eventually sprinters around the edges of the handle.

“Holy shit,” you look down at the ornate knob balancing in your hand, “what the...”

You let it fall to the ground with a thud and quickly pull on the silver beaded dress, leaving the underwear in pieces on the floor. You tiptoed down the spiraling stairs until you eventually come to another wood door. You press your ear to the grain and listen for signs of life on the other side.

After a few moments of silence you turn the handle and follow the embroidered runner down the hall. The morning light is just breaking over the mountains and you hiss as you pass a window. It doesn’t set you aflame, like you had expected. It’s more like the hot scorching of the desert sun in the heat of summer, intense and unpleasant. You squint as you pass, blocking the rays with your hand and push on despite the discomfort.

You wet your lips as you come to the end of the hall. It opens on a cavernous mahogany and marble space with a balcony overlooking the grand foyer below. There is a scent in the air, familiar, yet you can’t identify it. It makes your mouth water and despite your best judgement, you follow it.

Like a moth to the flame, you tiptoe down the stairs and find a set of double doors left slightly ajar. Your mind grows hazy as you near, as though the smell takes over all your other senses, numbing them until you are drooling with ravenous hunger.

So. Impossibly. Hungry.

“I thought I told you to stay in your room?”

His voice cuts through the buzz in your ears, and the fog lifts instantly. You blink as you stand in the doorway and take in the horrific scene before you. The larger dining tables are broken to create make-shift body racks leaning along the walls – six all together. On each is a party guest, unconscious and hanging upside down as they are slowly drained of their blood.

You gasp at the sight of them still twitching while their life trickles neatly down the table into a tub on the floor. Your instincts pull you in different directions, one has your feet itching to run while the other leaves you salivating.

Eddie saunters closer, hands out and head bowed, looking through his lashes as he coos at you. “It’s ok, Princess… I know it’s all a bit overwhelming.”

You shuffle your feet as he gets closer, still unsure which direction you want to go. Your eyes dart between him and the viscous red pool, shuddering temptingly with each languid drop.

“What’s wrong with me?” You whimper.

“You’re transitioning. This is a very important step… whatever you do next will shape your whole future.”

“So I get a choice?” You look at him sharply.

He cocks his head to the side with a half smile, “well, for now, sure… but let’s not be too hasty.” He takes the last few steps and gently grips your arms, rubbing your skin soothingly with his thumbs.

One of the guests gurgles, flinches and chokes on their own blood before stilling completely. The human part of you fills you with pity and a sob catches in your throat.

“I can’t. I won’t.”

Eddie let’s out a disappointed huff and his hands grip your arms tight, “you’re just not ready yet. That’s why I asked you to stay in the room.”

“No, no, no,” you panic, pulling against his superior strength. “I can’t. You won’t make me do this.”

Eddie tries to hush you. He gets one hand under your chin and tries to pull you into an embrace but another steel grip on the back of your head pulls you painfully backward. You cry out in surprise, follicles burning as they threaten to rip from your scalp.

“What’s this, Eddie?”

You blink away the tears as you grab at the hand at the back of your head, looking up at the glowing blue eyes and platinum blond hair of David. That same malevolent smirk dimples his stubbled cheek, but there is a fire in his eyes that lets you know he’s far from amused. His gaze sends a shiver down your spine that has you longing to return to Eddie’s embrace.

“David,” Eddie warns.

“I thought you said you’d take care of her?”

“And I did,” Eddie’s half yells before taking a calming breath and trying again. “She’s half, she’ll transition soon.”

You quiver at the thought but in the fear of the moment if the choice is dying or becoming one of them… well, you’re definitely not ready to die.

David let’s out a hollow chuckle, “well, no time like the present.”

“No!” you scream as he drags you into the dining room towards the closest guest.

No matter how hard you thrash his hold is unwavering. A few of the other vampires look up to watch you cross the room, they throw back their heads and laugh when you plead for their help. Adrenaline floods your veins as the pungent scent of blood gives you a heady buzz.

“Just a little taste is all it takes,” David whispers into your ear. “Try it.”

Your eyes roll as your inhibitions and doubts wash away with his words. All you can think about is how badly you want a drink. David releases your hair and bends to pluck a gold chalice from the floor that they had stolen from the fancy display case. He dips it into the crimson stained vat and holds it out to you.

In your haze you don’t notice Eddie step up behind you, or the disapproving frown as he watches you take the goblet. You bring it to your lips with glossy eyes while your nerves spark in anticipation of the mouthwatering taste.

It is a euphoric experience, like every mortal craving you’ve ever experienced swirled into one, satisfying every inch of your tongue and throat as it fills your body. It takes mere seconds to percolate through every cell. You imagine it’s as close as you can get to divinity. You feel like yourself, but enhanced, exactly what it must be like to be a god.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh in delight before quickly emptying the cup.

David chuckles darkly as he watches you fall to your knees to scoop up another cup full and down it just as quickly, droplets dripping from your chin in your haste. “I think I see the appeal, Eddie. She really is quite something, isn’t she?”

A heat rushes through your extremities, the more you drink the warmer you feel. But it’s not just warmth it’s power. Distracted by the new sensation, you miss Eddie’s low growl as David slowly squats down and runs a finger along your jaw, catching a runaway drop.

“That’s enough now. Too much will make you sleepy and we still haven’t been… properly introduced.”

The cup slips through your slack fingers and clatters loudly to the floor. It feels as though a veil has been lifted and you look down at your hands in horror, you had lost yourself for a moment there.

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing that wasn’t going to happen eventually. Clearly Eddie wanted you all to himself,” he looks pointedly at the man behind you. “But that’s just not how things work around here. We’re a family, right boys?”

Whooping and laughter echoes around the room in response, making you flinch. You can feel your body changing and it’s enough to distract you from the tension growing between David and Eddie.

“And families share… right, Eddie?”

Before you can process his salacious tone you are knocked over and pushed aside as Eddie lunges for David. With a wild howl Eddie pins David to the floor. David tries to get a word out, his face twisted in surprised anger, but Eddie quickly slaps his ringed hand over his mouth.

“Man, I think we’ve all heard enough out of you,” Eddie snarls.

You watch with wide eyes as they start to levitate off the floor, but Eddie maintains the upper hand, careful to keep David mute throughout their struggles. Three of the others rush over, angry and poised to intervene.

“I think I’m done being your bitch boy, David. I’ll start my own little family and you’re not invited.”

The three growl lowly at his threat and one quickly bends to collect you from the floor. He wraps his thick fingers around your throat and shouts up at Eddie.

“That’s enough. Let him go or I tear out your girlfriends throat.”

Eddie hisses over his shoulder when he spots you, fangs displayed and eyes black. He instantly throws his head back and lets out an inhuman shriek, so high it’s almost imperceptible. Moments later there is a distant whoosh and cacophony of quiet squeaks, whatever it is its coming fast. A sequence of doors slam open in the empty halls of the house and within seconds a swarm of black bursts into the dining room.

Thousands of large leathery black bats swirl around you. You panic as the flap of their wings overwhelm your senses only to realize they are clawing at the men holding you. They roar with anger as Eddie cackles and turns back to the fuming blond beneath him.

You duck from their clutches in the chaos and hide beneath a pile of rubble in the corner, watching the madness unfold.

“Don’t watch, Princess. You don’t need to see this,” Eddie calls over his shoulder before diving toward David’a neck.

You hear the bite, a muffled gurgling scream followed by a dull thud. You uncover your eyes as David’s head rolls across the floor, his dull eyes unblinking as they stare past you. David’s body then falls to the floor and Eddie lands on his feet with a cheeky bow, face sticky with blood.

Eddie strolls over casually while the other three howl and struggle with the vortex of his winged minions. You don’t know whether to fear or admire him as he holds out his hand for you.

He offers a gentle smile and an encouraging nod. “Come on, Sweetheart. Time for our own adventure.”

You look at the men screaming and trying but failing to flee from the bats who keep them suspended in agony, then to the decapitated head of their leader only a few feet away. If he wanted to force you he could. Probably better to stay on his good side.

Finally, you take his hand and he pulls you to your feet. He cradles you against his side, curling his arm around your waist possessively.

“What about them?” You ask as he guides you toward the door.

Eddie smirks then whistles. The bats quickly scatter and fly around the room before busting through one of the stained glass windows. The men fall to the ground, bloody and weak. They look up at you and Eddie right as the last bats flutter out the window, leaving behind the golden morning sun. The vampires barely have time to realize what is happening before they sizzle under the rays screaming as their skin blisters and blackens. They scramble out of the light and into the shadow, hissing and wailing like injured beasts.

“They’ll be alright in time and now they know better than to try to follow us,” Eddie smirks while you look on in horror.

“Is that what will happen to me if I go outside?”

“As soon as you drank from that goblet you transitioned to full vampire. You’re a creature of the night now, princess. Just like me,” he guides you down the hall as reality sinks in.

“And the bats? Will I be able to do that?”

He chuckles and kisses your temple fondly, leaving a sticky residue you choose to ignore, “I discovered my ability not long after I changed. David had the power of persuasion, that’s why the others feared him. But I was getting tired of his games… then you came along and now everything feels different.”

“I didn’t … I didn’t ask for any of this,” you mutter sadly.

“You didn’t have to, I felt it the moment I saw you. You were destined for me. We can do whatever we want, go wherever we want. The world is ours.”

It’s a promise that terrifies and thrills you. The remnants of your humanity are fading, you can feel it. With every passing minute the guilt and fear weigh a little less and the anxiety that plagues your mind quiets, leaving behind a confidence and power you never thought possible.

—

The pulsing base from the wall of speakers shake the balcony railing as you scope the neon splattered nightclub. The black lights give everyone a purple hue, they teeth and eyes glowing in the darkness. The scent of their blood just beneath that fine layer of supple skin, moistened by the sweat from their erratic dancing. It’s intoxicating.

“How about that one?” Eddie whispers in your ear, his denim laden embrace closing you in and pinning you to the cool metal railing.

You peek over your shoulder and follow his eye to the tall man patrolling the edge of the dance floor, like a shark tailing it’s prey. His pointed glower is anything but friendly but he’s well built, lean muscles that are well fed and tended to regularly. They are always so tender and rich.

“Mmm,” he hum appreciatively. “Definitely a finalist.”

You lean your head into Eddie’s as he nuzzled your neck and rests his chin on your shoulder, “so which one were you looking at?”

His voice is deep as his hands run down your sides and pull your hips back against him. Your hips move slowly with his as he pretends to dance to the music, his bushy hair hiding the way he sucks and nibbles on your neck.

“Which one?” You echo breathily, distracted by his expert tongue and the way he sucks on that one spot that makes your knees weak. “Oh – uh. God… all of them smell so good. It’s all so good, Eddie.”

He nips your ear hard and curls his hand up to grab your chin. Forcing your face forward, he holds you there as he hisses, “I’m not letting you leave this balcony until you decide.”

His other hand slips down to pull up the hem of your short black dress, allowing him to palm your ass. He gropes you hard, pinching and spreading you apart until he has you moaning for more. You arch your back, rubbing your ass against his cool metal belt until he releases himself with a quick zip and slides easily inside of you.

You let out a long low moan as he fills you. It’s such a natural feeling now, you can hardly manage half a day without your cunt dripping at just the thought of it. Thankfully, he rarely makes you wait that long.

“In fact, I don’t think I’ll let you cum until you decide which little morsel down there you want to bring home for dinner.”

“Eddie,” you whine through his long, slow thrusts.

“Go on,” he says.

“I can’t think straight like th – “ you gasp when he adjusts his hand to around your neck and squeezes sharply.

Your eyes roll and you scan the crowd rapidly. You need to cum. He’s denied you all day and now with his cock deep in your cunt and your head dizzy from the tantalizing scent, you are ready to explode. You whine, hands grasping the metal bar as a tall sweet-faced young man catches your eye.

The way he runs his hands through his thick hair and that gentlemanly smile has you biting your lip. He’s definitely athletic, but not bulky and confident but unassuming. You breathe in deep through your nose, he smells better than anyone else here.

“Him,” you moan as Eddie ruts into you with subtle determination, not that he cares if you get caught.

“What was that? You pick someone?” Eddie teases, pounding into you hard as he looks down at the crowd. “Speak up, princess.”

You growl and release a hand to point down at the crowd, “him!”

Eddie slows as he narrows his eyes at your final choice. Then to your utter bewilderment he starts to laugh. A deep maniacal laughter.

“What?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You sure know how to pick ‘em.” He laughs and releases your throat so he can push you forward, bending you over the railing. “Now cum for me.”

Your confusion is forgotten as he grips you by the hips and fucks you raw until you cum with a squeal loud enough to catch the attention of several people below.

“Good girl,” he coos and fixes your skirt. “Now go get him. I’ll meet you at the car.”

You brush back your hair and smooth down your top, clenching your burning thighs as you descend down the rickety metal staircase. You float through the crowd, peoples heads turn to watch you as you brush by. You smirk at their goofy smiles and dazed eyes as you drag your fingers over their sweaty chests. You never particularly wanted to be noticed or admired, but with your new life comes new desires.. and more importantly new powers.

Manipulation and hypnosis is fairly standard for all Vampires, but your allure in this form exceeds any others. You could commands this entire room of people if you so chose. You could make all of them desire you, follow you, kill for you even. But tonight you just want him.

He senses you coming when you are halfway across the room, turning away from his date and slowly moving toward you. You meet in the middle of the dance floor, the crowd still swaying to the music, but he stands still as if entranced.

“Hi,” he says dumbly.

“Hello,” you reply with a charming smile

“I’m Steve,” he holds out his hand.

“Steve,” you let his name roll across your tongue as you try to resist the urge to sink your teeth into him. “Come.”

Without further instruction you turn on your heel and head straight for the exit. People part for you without prompting as Steve follows close behind, deaf to the cries of outrage from his former date. He’s yours now and you have a feeling this one might be something special… someone worth keeping.

The door slams and you grin wide at Eddie waiting for you with the car door held open. “Princess,” he smiles and helps you inside before turning to Steve. “Harrington! Long time no see, man.”

Steve looks from you to Eddie. “Munson?” He asks in quiet confusion.

“Come with us, Steve,” you lilt, curling a finger wantonly as Eddie pulls open the back door for him.

“That’s right, big boy. We’ve got big plans for you tonight,” Eddie teases with a wink as Steve crawls into the back of the car.

You eye Steve in the rear view mirror, his brown doe eyes stare longingly at the back of your head. Already completely smitten and you barely had to say a word. Eddie slides into the drivers seat and rests his hand on your thigh.

“I don’t know, Eddie. I think Steve has potential for more than just one night,” you bite your lip, fighting the grin while Eddie raises a brow. He smirks as he takes the wheel and steers for home… Eddie never could say no to his princess.

#dark Eddie Munson #vampire Eddie Munson #dark Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x reader #vampire Eddie Munson x reader #dark fic #stranger things #vampire AU

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wickerfox · 2 months

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More Marble Deserts au doodles featuring hands down my favorite Jay line, Jimmy as Hoodie, and the iconic Shirt

#marble deserts #marble deserts au #desert duo #marble hornets au #my art #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming

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symphonic-scream · 1 year

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Okay

Phantom Pirates au time

This would be a Persona 5 (Royal) Pirate au, and I'd love to make it a full fic but I've got my plate full for now, however, as always, I'm super down to chat and post about it here

So, without further adieu, it's pirate time

So it all starts with a boy, and a ship. No one knows the kid, where he comes from, or how he managed to acquire such a fine vessel. Most guess that he must be about 12, smudged with soot and sporting a bright yellow scarf

He dreams of a life on the high seas, of adventure and doing what's right to the end. However, no child could manage a ship the size of the Velvet Room all on his own, and finding a crew that matches ones ideals would be a hard task.

...or would it?

A young man is sentenced to death, sitting in a damp, solitary cell awaiting his trudge to the gallows. Falsely accused, no fair trial in sight. He stares up at the stars through the bars at night, and wishes that he could be given another chance

Two foreigners fall under the thumb of a business they hadn't intended to be sucked into. In order to save their own skins, they hand over their only daughter to be bought or sold, to be done with however her buyers please. She cries silently at night, dreaming of escape and loving for herself

The streets are a dangerous place for a youth. His father owed a debt, one his mother payed for with her life. Left on his own, an injury rotting away one foot, he stole to pay for a shabby peg, his meals. Treated like a rat scurrying under the feet of the townspeople. He prays for a chance to make them all pay, to bring hope to those like him

Each is given a chance, an offer from a small boy; Join his crew, help his cause, and a life of glory will await them on the other side.

And how could they say no?

Within a month, an infamous sex trafficker finds his fort burning up around him, cowering in the shadows of three figures; one with a false leg, the image of a skull painted over his face; a woman in a red leather corset, fire spreading with each snap of her fingers; and a man in a long, dark coat, the burning flames of rebellion in his eyes

Suguru Kamoshida burns that day, but the evidence of his crimes does not. That is the day that whispers start to spread, about a new pirate crew, one to be feared;

The Phantom Thieves of Hearts

In a port a few months later, they pick up a new member. A young artist, who reveals all in his work, being hunted after revealing the sins of a baron in a public portrait. Cornered by guards in what he believes are his final moments, the young man accepts his fate. However, his time has not yet come. A figure in a tall dark coat comes to his aid, and he makes a deal with a young boy with a yellow scarf

Left to die, bleeding out on the sand of a small island, a young woman cries for her sister. She'd gone blindly down the same path that had gotten her father killed, and had been named a military deserter for maintaining her morals. Shes found there, on the brink of death, a wound from a musket draining her life away in her gut. A young boy patches her up, and accepts her vow to repay them for her life, fighting by their side

Stowed away below the deck of the Velvet Room, they stumble upon a girl. Small, frail, terrified. Her death is sought after by many, as she carries the last proof of the crimes her mother died trying to bring to the light. Making a deal with the youngest Phantom comes easily to her, an urge for vengeance fresh in her heart.

A young royal, heart and soul locked away in her father's palace, promised to a man whose eyes boil with sludge and sin. Both ignore the calling card sent their way, and their fortunes burn around them in the dead of night, the blood of their hired guns soaking the marble floors. Smoke fills the locked tower, the door flung open. The heiress is escorted back to a ship she's only dreamed of, and given a choice. For her, it is an easy decision to make. She shakes the hand of the young boy with the deadliest of pirates at his back

Twin performers, hair as red as the dawn, favoured throughout the lands for their talent. However, their troupe leader owes money he does not have, and the elder erases the debt with her own blood, spilled unwillingly one cold night. Framed for her own sister's murder, the younger is forced to flee. Starving in a port not known for its generosity, she finds a young boy staring down at her with the bluest of eyes. When he offers her a chance to make things right, she takes his hand

Their Monikers, spread through carefully painted portraits posted after shabby wanted posters made their debut, spread fear among those that do wrong.

Joker, a man who is as deadly as he is mysterious, always heading the Phantom charge in the dead of night

Skull, who man's their canons with a deadly force, just as loud and bombastic as the artillery he fires

Panther, a beauty with flames that dance from her fingertips, flint sewed into a pair of rose gloves

Fox, as handsome as he is beautiful, hidden in the shadows, master of disguise

Queen, her shots always deadly accurate, blood red eyes haunting survivors until their final breath

Oracle, a mastermind in her own right, planning each heist and raid as easily as planning what to eat for dinner

Noir, a deadly force that spills blood with glee, fighting with elegance, grace, and rage

And Violet, quick with a blade, her hand always steady as she drives it through another victim's chest

They are the Phantom Thieves, pirates of the Velvet Room.

Anyways yeah so there it is. What do y'all think? Thoughts? Ideas? Questions? Please I wanna talk about this

#persona 5 royal #persona 5 au #persona 5 #p5r au #p5r #p5 #p5 joker #ryuji sakamoto #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #makoto niijima #futaba sakura #haru okumura #sumire yoshizawa #phantom pirates au

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star-keepr · 9 months

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hi this is a silly stupid fic I thought would be cool to write but please be warned when I write gore I spare no details, @x-ca1iber has had to learn this the hard way so please proceed with caution <3

(btw I have no idea if anything like this has been written before so if it has been I apologize in advance)

credit to @clownsuu I believe they're the one that created this au

TW!!! gore, pain(lots of it), sharp objects, fear, mafia(?), guns, death

Welcome To The Family - Y/N x Mob au Wally

Today was the day of your 'interview', you knew you couldn't miss this one as it was extra important. Being part of a mob wasn't exactly anything new to you, although it had admittedly been a while. You would have stayed with your own, if they weren't all shot down by a rival gang. The only reason you survived was because your mom was good enough to hide you while the whole ordeal went down. They aren't fond memories to think back upon, and now that you're thinking about it, you start to become a little nervous. Would a mob accept a member of a former rival family? No, no, you've gotten this far. The boss would have definitely said something by now if you weren't welcomed.

The gloomy city streets glistened a little from being coated in a fresh layer of rain in the buttery colored streetlights. You didn't want to check the time due to your hurry, but from looking above at the dark cloudy sky you guessed it was around 10:00 pm. This part of town was always deserted, everyone knew it was gang turf. That's what made you so unnerved to return here. Just little you wrapped in a concealing coat silhouetted by flickering streetlights.

Eventually you made it to the building you were instructed to enter, it's a little old looking like an almost abandoned apartment. You knocked on the door. No answer. You waited a moment, then tried hesitantly to knock again, but before you could, the door cracked open to reveal a tall green man with... did he have four arms?! He gave you a suspicious glare through the small crack with a single eye.

"Name?"

"Y/N L/N. I'm here about the job offer?"

You hold up a rather elegant looking card with the boss's info on it, a surefire way he told you to get into the building if his bodyguards didn't trust you. The door opens up a bit more as the tall green man (you think he's some sort of caterpillar??) takes the card and inspects it thoroughly, looking over both sides like his life depended on it. After a very long and suspenseful moment, the caterpillar looked back at you, handed you back the card, and stepped aside for you to enter.

"Follow me."

The inside of the building extremely contrasted its outside, as the inner workings of this place were very clean and fancy. A chandelier above, marbled quartz flooring, and a big staircase in the middle with what seemed to be more quartz for the railings. The stairs were covered in velvet, and felt soft under your worn out shoes. You now feel extremely underdressed, even the green man leading you is in rather dapper attire. There were doors at the sides of the giant hall that you assumed lead to other rooms, and while you listened carefully you could hear... at least two people yelling in one, a tv show blasting from another, a man screaming for his life in another, and you swore there was a gunshot noise that wasn't from the tv.

The green caterpillar stopped to turn and wait for you, you hadn't noticed you stopped mid-staircase to take in all the sounds and sights. You look embarrassed and quickly catch up with him.

A few more staircases and a rusty elevator ride later, and you soon both arrive at the boss's office. A weird sense of dread seemed to suddenly coat you like a weighted blanket, but you did your best to shake it off. The caterpillar seemed to notice this, and while he was obviously not one to talk much, he patted your back gently as he opened the door.

"Just be cool."

As if the building itself couldn't get more luxurious, the boss's office was no exception. Comfy velvet chairs, custom carved desk and shelves, and in the middle of it all a rather peculiar looking man with his attention focused on whatever papers he had in front of him. The caterpillar stays by the door, but upon realizing the boss didn't notice you come in, he knocked lightly on the doorframe, causing the man to look up. Wow, what a sight! You had seen and met him before of course (otherwise you wouldn't have gotten this job offer), but there was something so magical seeing him in his true environment. When you met him he was disguised as a painter at a local café. No more façade now though. His curly hair was tied into a loose ponytail, and he wore a loose dress shirt with suspenders and faded pants that seem to have once been colorful. The most notable feature however, besides the piercing stare and rings on his fingers, was his lack of two eyes. One seemed to be sewn shut with a long nasty scar running through it. It gave you the creeps. Then, with a voice as smooth as honey, the man spoke.

"Ah, hello doll. I'm so glad you decided to accept my offer."

His words felt cold as they slipped into your ears. His small smile, while an attempt to be a warm one, just looked sinister. You force a little smile back.

"Come, sit, I'm so excited to learn more about you."

You didn't dare disobey and quickly took a seat across from the man. You were both aware of how powerful he was. He reached down to open a drawer, pulling out a file with info in it. As he opened it and began to read, you realized it was a file on you. How the hell did he even get that?? Isn't that only for government clearance?!

"So, I hear you've had some experience with a... 'family' like this before?" He says this from behind the file, setting it down open-faced to look you in the eyes once more.

"Yes, I- well- I have. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what happened to them though..."

The man had both fists under his chin listening intently and calmly.

"Which one? You'll have to humor me, doll."

"Do the... [lastname]s ring a bell?"

He seemed to perk up at this.

"Oh yes, I knew the father quite well. I thought they were all killed though. I suppose I'm mistaken."

"I was the only one to survive."

"Tsk tsk. Too bad. Now I understand you were.. a bit smaller back then? Still an adolescent? Do you think you'll be able to improve upon being here should I choose to let you be a part of this family?"

You nod confidently.

"Yes, sir. I've been a hitman ever since my family's massacre, I've learned a lot and I know I'll have a lot to learn from here."

"Of course, the assassin gig... so I trust I won't need to go over any basics with you then? Checking if you know how to pick a lock, if you can disguise yourself, et cetera?"

"No need."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Good... Well, I see no reason yet as to why you shouldn't join us, although I hope you know that you'll have to quit that assassin job. And... one other thing."

You heard the caterpillar shuffle behind you, and upon looking you noticed he had locked the office door and was now standing in front of it. You started to get a little unnerved, but you said nothing as you turned back to the boss.

"What... what's the 'other thing'?"

He smiled to himself and got up from his desk, pulling out a little wooden box.

"Well, anyone can say they're loyal to us. I must admit I trust you more than a few of the other family members, but it's just a formality to *prove* you won't leave or betray us."

You start to squirm in your seat a little, curious as to what he could mean.

He removed a scalpel from the little box and held it up in front of his scarred closed eye.

"I'll have to take your eye."

A wave of fear washed over you as those words escaped from his sly smile. You thought about escape but then remembered your only way out of the room was blocked by the caterpillar man.

"Don't worry, it's a simple procedure, everyone else has done it and they're fine..."

The boss muttered in a soothing, almost singsong way as he began to put on surgical gloves.

"Wait...! Is this really necessary?? I mean, you said it yourself, I'm pretty trustworthy-"

You began to try and bargain with the man with a shaky voice, it's almost hard to believe he's being fully serious about this. Maybe.. maybe it's just some sick prank? Yeah, they must just be dunking on the new guy... at least, you prayed that's what it was.

The man then stood in front of you, scalpel in hand.

"Stay still, I need to find a way to do this neatly.."

He muttered, testing the scalpel at different angles just inches away from your eye. You couldn't help but shake now.

"Wait, you're serious? Am I going to get some painkillers...?"

The man chuckled softly.

"Oh doll, it wouldn't be a pledge of your loyalty if you didn't feel the pain..."

He placed a hand gently under your chin, the other poised in the position he wanted with the scalpel.

"Now this may sting a little... oh, and please try not to scream too loudly. We don't want to alert any others."

You couldn't help but flinch away. The boss noticed this and lowered his hands patiently.

"Now now, you have nowhere to escape. And just think, a whole new future is waiting for you just a few slices away."

You cup your hands over the eye he was aiming at shaking your head a little and backing up.

"I- I just- I've always been weird with eye stuff, I couldn't even get contacts in without chickening out. I don't know if I can do this."

The man just smiled softly.

"It'll be over before you know it, I promise doll."

You take a moment to look around you, thinking deeply.

"I-... I don't have a choice, do I?"

The man sighed lightly.

"I'm afraid not. I've learned that just getting it over with is better than letting the fear consume you."

You were still shaking as you looked down into your hands. You really didn't have a choice now.

"O-okay..."

You almost couldn't believe yourself as you shuffled back to the chair and sat down, it was almost as if another entity was controlling you, something with a higher presence. The man gently placed his hand under your chin once more, the other poised above the target.

"Take a deep breath in three, two..."

(okay here's the really gory part so just another fair warning)

Before you could think you felt the sharp blade of the scalpel plunge beside your eye into the socket. You let out a yelp as it moved, this was... so much more than a little sting. You didn't know whether to close your eyes or keep them open while the boss worked, both options were unbearably painful. Bloody tears immediately filled your vision, and it was starting to go red and fuzzy as the scalpel made its way deeper into your eye socket. You did your best not to scream, not to move, as you knew it would only make the process more painful, but damn was it difficult. You could hear as the blade severed the first of several nerves in the back of your eye connecting it back to your brain.

"You're doing great doll, keep being as still as possible for me..."

Another few nerves were severed, and you immediately lost sight on your left side. You were silently crying now to somewhat replace screaming, fat blood-mixed tears flowing down your cheeks. The last few nerves were severed, and you didn't feel your eye anymore. You obviously still felt immense pain, it just didn't stem from your eye itself anymore. Your vision was dizzy and blurry now, and you could just make out the man's hand reaching into your eye socket and pulling out something white and overbearingly bloody. Everything sounded rather muffled and distant now, but you could tell he was happy from his tone.

You then felt the sting of a needle, some cotton, then some gauze being wrapped around your eye.

"You did so well!"

The man chimed, looking down at you. You could see the blood stained clothes and gloves.

"Welcome to the family."

#welcome home au #welcome home mob au #welcome home mob au wally #welcome home mob au howdy #welcome home fanfic #welcome home mob au y/n

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chelleinyy · 6 months

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Your Fault (BGTW)

To Lawson, it was justice, but to others, it was the worst that could have happened. Among Lawson's "enemies," the Rochesters faced particularly harsh treatment, with Lawson denying any member of the family the freedom to walk unhindered. Despite Bernadine Rochester's innocence, she becomes ensnared in Lawson's grasp, apprehended alongside her family. Worried for her well-being, Arthur Wright decides to intervene, but this choice comes at the cost of a falling-out with Lawson, which breaks all bonds.

Author's note:

This is part of a Capitol Peak AU that @asharkapologist and I made. It's called "Blood Goes to Waste" or BGTW for short. Simply said, the remaining Rochesters do not have a happy ending and are sentenced to death by guillotine.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

PHYSICAL AND VERBAL VIOLENCE, ABUSE OF POWER.

(!!) Spoilers for Mysteries of The Past.

Word Count: 4,462.

The sun had set below the horizon, and many of the staff had already left city hall. Evening had arrived, and it was at this moment that Arthur stepped through the entrance. Patiently biding his time since the early afternoon, he had awaited the opportune moment when city hall would be sufficiently deserted.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Arthur greeted, nodding to the scattered Corps members stationed around the doorway. Some responded with a nod of their own, while others remained impassive.

"Why the late visit, Chief Wright?" asked a soldier.

"Meeting with the mayor," Arthur explained. The soldier acknowledged his response with another nod, permitting Arthur to pass through the doorway and into the hall.

Arthur felt a sense of relief at the limited presence of the Corps within city hall during the night, with fewer soldiers conducting patrols. A formidable number of Justice Corps members stood sentinel on the entrance steps, enough to dissuade any casual onlooker from approaching too closely. But when evening fell, the Corps had begun their shifts, patrolling the city streets.

Arthur had lingered in the vicinity for such a duration that even Jaubert, in his rounds, passed by without much notice. The recollection of their brief encounter, which was thankfully short, lingered in Arthur's mind. He had been interrogated about his presence outside his airship, to which he replied that he, too, was conducting street patrols. It wasn't entirely truthful, for it could have been Bontemps or Madeline in his stead. As the chief of the Flying Squad, Arthur's duty to the regime involved submitting detailed reports on his team's activities, just as Lawson wanted it.

"You're meant to coordinate your team's movements, Chief Wright. This is within the capabilities of your men," Jaubert had pointed out, ever so astute. "Is this a matter I should bring to the mayor's attention?" he had added.

Disagreeing with the Inspector, Arthur had partially disclosed the truth, explaining that he awaited entry to city hall, aware that Mayor Lawson was occupied with numerous responsibilities. Jaubert, slightly mollified, tempered his suspicions.

Strolling through the hallways of the building, Arthur cast a glance at the walls adorned with red banners, each proudly displaying the gold justice insignia above paintings. In some corners, the statues of Lady Justice now brandished swords, her arms extended evenly to wield both the sword and scales. The change struck Arthur as rather unsettling, especially in the dimly lit corridors of city hall, creating an eerie effect.

As he made his way toward the mayor's office, situated on the top floor, he climbed the marble steps, and he couldn’t help but sigh heavily.

"These staircases are hardly well lit," Arthur muttered. "Lawson seems to be turning city hall into a dim lair. Judge Takakura laments that the only light source here is when you draw back the curtains, a preference that apparently suits Lawson's taste."

As he passed by windows, Arthur observed that the view provided a clear sight of the city below. Now he understood the strategic window placement and why Lawson always insisted on keeping the curtains open.

"The architects of this building certainly did their work well," said Arthur, glancing around. "But this regime makes it rather unsettling. Unfortunately, Lawson is beyond paranoid."

Arthur, though hesitant to voice it aloud, knew that his statement held truth. The regime was stringent, with Lawson being the staunchest advocate of justice even before his mayoral term. Both he and Lawson had promised change, a better Concordia. They both agreed on that.

However, in this regime, the anticipated change was far from an ideal Concordia. Arthur would never know if he and Lawson had shared the same vision when discussing a corruption-free and crime-free city. There were no jests in those conversations, for those were always hopeful, ideas that could be considered goals. Ambitions that slowly became reality as Lawson always won the positions he signed up for.

It was evident that Lawson got what he wanted. Arthur couldn't ignore the palpable power imbalance. Lawson handed out, or rather barked, orders to his men, and the Corps never acted without his directives, except for Inspector Jaubert, of course. Lawson reassured them that the Justice Corps was akin to the Flying Squad, a similar branch of security. Arthur saw little resemblance.

Lawson favored his own men, entrusting them with orders more than the Flying Squad. Were they not up to his standards? Despite the Flying Squad's proven capabilities, even before Lawson became mayor, Arthur perceived that, in Lawson's eyes, the Justice Corps held a higher standing than the Flying Squad.

"I sent him a letter beforehand, notifying him of my arrival two days prior," said Arthur, upon reaching the top floor. "Even this morning, I dispatched a telegraph."

Surveying the landing, Arthur noticed a further dimming of the light. Proceeding toward the east wing, he reached the end of the hall where large mahogany doors stood. Those doors led to the mayor's office, and fortunately, there were no Justice Corps officers flanking the entrance this time. The memory of his previous visit, even for the mundane task of submitting reports to Lawson, still left Arthur uneasy. Day and night, Justice Corps officers roamed the corridors of city hall.

In the dimly lit hall, as he approached the office, an office clerk carrying a suitcase and a handful of documents briskly advanced toward him, calling out.

"Chief Wright?" asked the clerk, gesturing toward Arthur.

Arthur looked at the clerk and nodded.

It seemed the clerk had been expecting him and reciprocated the nod. "Mayor Lawson received your telegraph, sir. He instructed me to ask you to wait outside his office. He's currently in discussion with Madame Umbright."

A twinge of impatience surfaced, and Arthur crossed his arms. He disliked being kept waiting, and he knew Lawson shared the sentiment. The clerk made it clear that Lawson had received his message in advance, and yet this delay persisted. Compounded by the fact that Arthur had been waiting since the afternoon, it was a test of patience. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be prudent to disclose to the clerk that he had been outside city hall the entire afternoon.

"Understood, miss. How long must I wait?" Arthur inquired.

"The meeting is nearly over," the clerk replied. "Madame Umbright is quite persistent about going through matters repeatedly."

Bowing to Arthur once more, the clerk continued her path toward the opposite wing of the hall. As she moved farther away, Arthur heard her fading footsteps as she descended down the steps. He resumed walking toward the door, and the voices within became audible as he drew nearer.

Hastening his steps, he approached the door. Just a few more meters, and he pressed against the wall, awaiting Judge Umbright's exit. Behind the mahogany, he caught sentences, fragments of Lawson and Umbright's conversation, though the door muffled their voices, rendering them indistinct.

"The arrests have surged, Mister Mayor. Takakura keeps complaining..."

"I know he keeps complaining, ma'am. You don’t have to–."

"He does not see that his duty is to dish out sentences that those criminals deserve!"

"Madame Umbright, do not think I have any suspicion against the man."

"Then do something!"

"I believe we can conclude it here…"

“Arrests,” whispered Arthur, who was now listening intently, but could not hear anymore, since perhaps Lawson and Umbright moved a distance away from the door.

The conversation eventually hushed, but it didn’t need to continue for Arthur’s stomach to twist nervously; he knew of the rapidly increasing number of arrests, for even the most minor offense would be considered against the regime, and could even hold the person responsible a life sentence.

Arthur stood in silence near the door, tapping his foot impatiently. The snippets of conversation, though fleeting, left him feeling uneasy. It served as another stark reminder of what he abhorred in this regime—the relentless arrests. What had become of fines and custodial sentences? Even the most minor offense could result in a fifty-year sentence, and Arthur knew that Judge Takakura did not endorse such severe sentences. Punishments are now what they call it. The judge had complained outside the courthouse, asserting that the sentences he handed down were coerced. Arthur knew of the arguments that the judge had gotten into because of this, even being called out by the Corps. Oppressive, but to Lawson, it was justice.

These actions in the regime could reduce someone to a pitiable state. The laws wielded an iron grip, plunging many into poverty. Coupled with the state of law enforcement, it was all lamentable. Arthur vividly recalled witnessing a destitute man being escorted away by the Corps for the offense of stealing bread, pleading for mercy.

It wasn't just the common Concordians who had to be wary. Lawson's political adversaries, though already dealt with, were faring poorly. Lawson had ensured in his speeches that their images would be remembered as enemies of the state, emphasizing how he purged their corruption from Concordia. Arthur had received word from Bontemps earlier that former Senator Malcolm Rochester had been relocated to another prison within Capitol Peak. Alongside him were other Rochesters previously arrested, including Larry and Horatio Rochester. All three were implicated in various deaths, with the latter two personally committing murder. Given Lawson's perspective on the family, the outlook for the entire Rochester family was grim.

Bernadine, unfortunately, might spiral into a relapse if she got wind of the news regarding her family. Arthur, deeply concerned for her, made a point to check on her weekly. Despite being proven innocent to the mayor, the downfall of her family had brought her shame.

Bernadine was the primary reason why he had approached Lawson in the first place.

Over the past three weeks, nearing a month, Arthur hadn't received any word from Bernadine. Lawson's incessant orders kept him occupied, limiting communication to letters and telegraphs, both of which remained unanswered. Whenever possible, he attempted to locate Bernadine, even visiting her estate, only to find it locked and deserted. Searching all of Concordia for her was an impossible feat, even if he desired to do so.

A troubling thought nagged at him. A troubling thought persisted. Lawson harbored no kindness toward any Rochester, regardless of their actions. The same applied to Bernadine, merely because of her last name. Arthur knew they had proven her innocence, and Lawson was aware of it.

Lawson knows she's innocent; my best detectives have proven it. Could he—

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. He refused to entertain the thought. Lawson, as uptight as he might be, could still be reasonable. Bernadine's own uncle had tried to confine her at Gryphon. She was innocent and had nothing to do with her brother's actions.

Arthur knew she loved her nephew, Archie, but such love was not a crime. Despite his disdain for Archie, Arthur acknowledged Bernadine as a caring aunt who treated her family with love, not as accomplices to sinister schemes.

Yet, a sense of unease lingered. Lawson remained skeptical, even after they had irrefutably proven her innocence.

"Arthur Wright?"

Arthur turned to the woman who had opened the door, giving her a curt nod. "Madame."

"You better make haste, Chief Wright. The mayor does not like being kept waiting," said Umbright, clutching her bag. "He certainly does not appreciate me bringing matters of concern. Says that he knows…"

Umbright continued to mutter to herself as she walked into the hallway, leaving Arthur standing at the door. Something about the woman made her unpleasant, Arthur thought. Her high-pitched voice and over-the-top attitude were enough to infuriate the mayor, despite his similar demeanor.

"Come in, Chief Wright," called Lawson from the office. "I want to make this brief; it's rather late," he added.

Arthur took a breath, steadying himself before entering the office. Smoothing a crease on his coat and hair, he walked through the doors, then shut them behind him.

The mayor's office looked different too. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, but it was certainly unlike what he was accustomed to. Lawson's large desk faced an expansive window, offering a view of the dimmed city below. The right wall was adorned with a bookshelf, while on the opposite side, the insignia of the Justice Corps, along with the symbol of Concordia, adorned the wall. The bust of Castletown that once sat in the corner had vanished, replaced by a table stacked with thick books and a statue of Lady Justice. Surprisingly well-lit, the room featured a chandelier on the ceiling and lamps in the corners, ensuring it stood in contrast to the rest of city hall at night.

"Arthur," came Lawson's voice from behind his desk, where he extinguished his cigar.

"Good evening, sir," said Arthur, bowing respectfully. "My apologies for disturbing you at this time—"

Lawson dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Cut to the chase," he snapped.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur approached the desk. "I came here with a concern."

The mayor raised his eyebrows. "And what is it exactly?"

"To be succinct, sir, our team lacks information on certain aspects of our duty. Arrests, orders—we are in the dark."

This was merely a guise for his true intentions. Arthur didn't want to risk an immediate argument or disagreement. He had to handle this skillfully, hoping Lawson wouldn't easily see through him.

"You are to act based on the orders given by me or when Inspector Jaubert claims they come from me," Lawson said coldly.

"We've noticed a diminishing prominence," Arthur continued, feeling his hands tighten behind his back. "We fulfill our duty, but it seems cooperation between the Flying Squad and the Justice Corps is scarce. We don’t seem to share—"

Lawson raised his hand again. "Did I not say that the Justice Corps is a security force similar to the Flying Squad? Then why do you question it?"

"Sir," Arthur began firmly. "What I mean is that we are not equal in the information given to us, and it not only hampers our duty but personal concerns as well."

This was it; Arthur had to know about Bernadine. No matter if he escalated this cover-up, Lawson would get frustrated either way.

"Personal?" Lawson asked, narrowing his eyes.

Arthur moved closer to the desk, placing his hands on its edge. "You are aware of how I feel towards a certain woman, right?"

“Say what you mean, Arthur.” Lawson said coolly.

“I’ll say it loud and clear. Where is Bernadine? I've checked every source I have, and the only answer I've received—"

"Are you suspecting me?" Lawson asked, his voice rising.

Arthur clenched his hands on the desk. "Yes, I am," he said firmly. "You know of my courtship and her innocence. So answer me. Where is she?"

A tense silence fell between the two men, the desk serving as a barrier. Arthur expected an immediate response from Lawson, given his usual demeanor. However, the mayor appeared momentarily taken aback before placing his hands on the desk, clasping them together, and fixing a cold gaze on Arthur. The silence became more unnerving as Lawson refrained from speaking, a stark contrast to his usual outbursts.

"You're not as well-informed as I thought you were,"

Frustration surged within Arthur. Hadn't he just emphasized that the Flying Squad lacked crucial information compared to the Corps?

"Of course I'm not!" retorted Arthur. "Were you not listening?"

"And you are aware of my thoughts on Rochesters?"

Arthur felt a sinking feeling, a sudden realization dawning on him. Yes, he knew Lawson's sentiments toward the Rochesters. Unclenching his hands from the edge of the desk, his eyes widening. Lawson didn't refer to her individually; instead, he spoke of the Rochesters as a collective, all bearing the surname and facing imprisonment.

"What have you done?" Arthur asked, his voice trembling.

"I thought you were aware," Lawson responded coldly. "She has been arrested."

A moment of stunned silence passed before Arthur released his tight grip on the desk. No, it couldn't be true. What would happen to her?

And in the next instant, he screamed in the mayor's office.

"WHAT?! You did what?!" exclaimed Arthur, stepping back from the desk, eyes fixed on Lawson, struggling to fathom the words he was hearing.

"She's done nothing wrong! Absolutely nothing! I demand to see the reports. This can't be—"

"Who are you to make demands, Arthur?!" Lawson interjected sharply. "Miss Rochester stands accused as an enemy of the state, a criminal!"

"Pray, tell me, Lawson, precisely what crimes has she committed with her own two hands?"

Lawson rose, his hand reaching for a cigar case. As he lit up, Arthur fumed. No matter the number of cigars smoked, Lawson's expression betrayed calm.

"Did you not learn from the incidents in Ivory Hill? The Rochesters have been the root of every political uproar," Lawson asserted, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"Those were the individual Rochesters who faced justice! We apprehended them, the Rochesters were finished, that was the end!"

Lawson scoffed, regarding Arthur with disdain. "Finished or not, my conscience does not permit criminals to roam free!"

"Bernadine is innocent of her family's sins! She bears no guilt!" Arthur argued.

"They're all rogues! Every last one!" Lawson shot back.

Another tense moment of silence ensued, devoid of any calm. The situation was spiraling toward an argument, and as Arthur watched Lawson take a drag from his cigar, he stared at the mayor with disbelief.

"The Rochesters have caused enough havoc in this city," Lawson declared, resolute. "I won't let any of them undermine the progress I've achieved. Including Bernadine."

"Just because others in her family were criminals doesn't make her one!" Arthur said furiously, pointing accusingly. "You saw the evidence—it spoke in her favor!"

Lawson glared, offended. Extinguishing his cigar and tossing it aside, he advanced towards Arthur, who retreated towards the door.

"Accuse me like this? You're blinded by a misguided sense of justice!" Lawson thundered.

"Hypocrite!” Arthur snapped. “Your justice is just a mask for your thirst for power. You're trampling over innocent lives in the name of progress!"

“You’re a fool, Arthur! Oblivious to the reality of the world!”

“Oblivious? You’re the one who’s blind! You’re madder than those in Gryphon Sanctuary!”

Lawson seized Arthur's arm, his grip firm and his expression thunderous. Arthur felt no fear. Instead, he harbored nothing but disdain and abhorrence for the man standing before him.

"Do you forget all my past deeds, Arthur?" Lawson spat. "It was because of me that Gryphon Sanctuary is now a haven of safety! Because of me, the innocent were spared from the corrupt staff wreaking havoc. I'm liberating Concordia's citizens from any further corruption that could subject them to oppression!"

Repulsed, Arthur wrenched his arm free. "I can't fathom the city you envision, Justin! Not like this!" he yelled.

"You're the one blinded, Arthur! You always have been!"

"The only blind one here is you! Trampling over everything in your path!"

Lawson's fingers grasped Arthur's collar, causing a momentary fear in Arthur that his grip might escalate to a more dangerous hold. In response, Arthur quickly seized the wrist of Lawson’s hand that had a firm grip on his collar.

"Do you think you can barge in here and question me?" Lawson shouted. "You, who can't even control his own people!"

“So you are aware!” said Arthur, attempting to pull himself away from him. “You've become everything you swore to fight against. She would be ashamed of what you've become!”

“She?!”

"You did it for her! Abigail—do you think she would approve?"

Lawson’s gaze did not soften, but his eyes widened at the mention of Abigail. Sensing a momentary lapse in the grip, Arthur extricated himself, casting a defiant glare. The words were harsh, yet undeniably true, as Abigail's memory contradicted Lawson's actions.

“How dare you utter her name?” Lawson hissed. “She's irrelevant to this!”

“And so is Bernadine!”

“Except she was blameless, murdered by miscreants I aimed to eradicate!”

Arthur shook his head. “Abigail would lament the monster you've become. You manipulate her memory to justify your reign of tyranny!”

Turning away, Lawson clenched his hands on the edge of his desk. Unsure if remorse or restraint played across his features, Arthur continued the verbal spar. Lawson spoke, voice laced with anger.

“I thought you were there with me? Watching me build all of this?”

Arthur's hand found the door handle. "Abigail's memory was your anchor. The reason you advocated for justice. But look at you now—"

Lawson turned around, his expression murderous. For the first time that evening, a clear tinge of fear crept into Arthur's senses. It wasn’t wise to finish the sentence, knowing that mentioning the mayor’s deceased fiancée touched a deeply personal nerve.

"Her memory propels me to cleanse this city," he snapped angrily, "to mold it into a place she'd be proud of!"

In return, Arthur scoffed. "Is this what she would be proud of? A man who ruins lives in the name of progress? You've strayed from the path, Justin!"

Lawson snatched an inkwell from the clutter of his desk and took aim; A determined Arthur, anticipating the impending onslaught, swiftly dodged the threat–

"You think you know me?! Abigail's memory propels me forward, and I'll be damned if you exploit it against me!" The inkwell crashed, missing Arthur by a hair's breadth, its contents splattering across the room. In the heat of the moment, a weighty book hurled dangerously close to Arthur's head–

Aghast, Arthur watched Lawson seize more objects from his desk. Sensing the inevitable, he braced himself for what lay ahead. In a final note before he left, Arthur flung open the door, locking eyes with Lawson for one last moment.

"Reflect on that memory and see if the driving force behind your principles aligns with who you truly are!"

As he bolted the door, Lawson hurled an old pocket watch in Arthur's direction. The door shut behind him, and the sound of shattering ceramics echoed as it collided with the mahogany surface. Racing toward the staircase, Arthur could still hear Lawson's enraged shouts amidst the sounds of breaking glass.

"Do you fancy yourself the moral compass, Arthur? You're no different from the rest of them!"

Hurriedly hastening down the staircase, Arthur winced at the pain in his shoulder. Without a backward glance, he darted away from city hall, taking the outdoor steps and veering right towards a street adjacent to the airship. His sprint led him to an alley, where he pressed against the wall to catch his breath. The ache in his shoulder intensified.

“What—?”

Glass shards had pierced through his sleeve, infiltrating the fabric and inducing bleeding. Perhaps it was the inkwell or that pocket-watch that caused it. He sank lower, struggling to comprehend the situation. Clutching his wounded shoulder, he drew a breath, looking around for any sign of the Corps.

As the pain persisted, Arthur buried his face in his hands.

Bernadine, arrested. What awaited her?

Arthur couldn’t shake off the feeling of foolishness. The answers, Lawson's warnings—they were all there. Yet, he chose to be skeptical. How could he have been so naive to think this regime wouldn't impact her severely? Where could she be? As long as she remained within Lawson's grasp, harm, or worse, loomed.

“No!” Arthur exclaimed, refusing to entertain thoughts of a more dire fate. This was already the worst—the worst for Bernadine.

However, if she was imprisoned, it meant something else.

She wasn't the sole Rochester in custody.

No wonder her brother had been relocated, along with Larry and Horatio. Lawson had gathered the remaining family members in one place. If Bernadine, though innocent, was arrested, it meant either Rockley or Veronica was captured too.

But what would happen to Bernadine?

Lawson claimed to seek justice, to eliminate criminal actions. Yet, he chose to involve the innocent, merely for being part of a controversial family?

What had he become?

Arthur winced once more, the pain in his shoulder courtesy of Lawson now a sharp sting. He needed to return to the airship. Never in Arthur's wildest scenarios had he considered that Lawson would resort to physical violence. There was that one occasion during Lawson’s term as deputy mayor when Senator Rochester dragged him into a fistfight, yet Lawson was never one to initiate such brawls.

And now, the onslaught of Lawson's aggression replayed in Arthur's mind—the relentless barrage of objects hurled at him. An inkwell, a weighty book, a pocket watch—all wielded with the intent to inflict harm upon him.

Rising from his disoriented state, Arthur staggered toward the airship. The skirmish had left him drained in every sense.

- O -

Heaving for breath, he glared at the firmly shut door. Anger surged within him like a tempest. How could Arthur betray him like that, uttering those unforgivable words? There was no doubt now—they were no longer comrades. Lawson wished he could've done more; Arthur deserved every blow he could deliver.

The challenge to his authority, the defiance, and the mention of her name disgusted Lawson.

Arthur, once counted among his staunchest supporters, had now turned against him.

How could he?

Surveying the disarrayed room, he saw that his office bore the struggle. Ink splattered in one corner, book pages strewn across the floor, and shards of broken glass scattered about. Among the wreckage lay an old pocket watch, now broken.

Approaching the mess by the door, he knelt and picked up the pocket watch.

It was old, the one he always wore before becoming mayor.

The same one Arthur had gifted him years ago.

Examining it, he felt the shards of glass pierce his hand that held it. As he gazed at the engraving on the back, the words read:

Ambition paves the path.

The watch was a token from Arthur during his days as a student attending law school. A time when Arthur believed in him. They corresponded regularly, almost everyday. Arthur had taken the effort to commission the design and quote himself.

Arthur had faith in him to shape a better Concordia—for the citizens.

Standing up, he glared at the watch. Any sentiment toward Arthur fueled his rage. Not after what happened.

Approaching the window behind his desk, he opened it, peering outside. With one final look at the watch, he clenched it, hoping it would shatter in his grasp.

"I don’t know you, not anymore."

With those words, he flung the watch into the dimly lit streets. Although he couldn't see it, the faint shattering noise confirmed the complete destruction of the watch. In the morning, Concordians would unknowingly tread over the remnants, not taking any notice that it bore a struggle. He would never see it, nor Arthur, anymore.

#criminal case #criminal case mysteries of the past #justin lawson #arthur wright #au/bgtw #made a tag for this #my fic #the girls are fighting #/hj

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