#work but i think i like the idea of him getting playing card tats on his ears would be cool ^_^ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Unspoken

Summary: Dean is cursed with the inability to speak unless a cure can be found. It begins to wear on him in more ways than one...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language

“Stay down,” said Dean, aiming his gun at the witch.

“Why don’t you shut up,” she said, throwing something at Dean. You both shot and she was dead like that but Dean had a hand on his throat, turning to you with a bit of panic in his eyes.

“Dean!” you said, expecting him to start gasping that he couldn’t breathe but it never came. Dean only continued to claw at his throat, opening his mouth and staring at you. “What’d she do?”

You watched him move his lips and even his tongue but not a whisper came out, no sound at all. He looked like he was trying to shout but there was nothing, Dean spinning around.

“You can’t talk?” you asked, Dean nodding as he found a piece of paper and a pen, jotting something down quick.

Can breathe. No talking though. Find spellbook.

“Alright. You look down here. I’ll take upstairs.”

About an hour later, Dean was poking his head in a room, tossing a notebook at you before walking away.

Found it. Doesn’t mention anything. I dealt with the witch. I grabbed the book so let’s go home. Maybe Sam can figure it out.

“Well, I’m sure this will be an enjoyable drive home.”

“Wait. So you can’t talk?” said Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and rested his head on his hands. “Really?”

“Yes, Sam. He’s cursed or under a spell. Help me figure this out, alright?” you said. Sam held up his hands, chuckling a little. “Sam.”

“Hey, compared to the usual crap that happens to us, at least this isn’t so bad, right? It’s not trying to kill him at least,” said Sam.

Dean sighed but gave a half-hearted smile and nodded. He waved and you followed after to the library, each one of you heading off to do your own research.

Hopefully you could find a cure soon.

Four Months Later

Sam was off on another random lead that probably wouldn’t pan out. You’d managed to find a nice and easy ghost hunt but you couldn’t even drag Dean along with you. That was your rule. It was too dangerous to bring him along when he couldn’t talk. It was strange how everything around him seemed to mute. Plates didn’t make noise when they stacked together. Chairs didn’t scrape along the floor. The shower was silent whenever he took one.

He was like a ghost. Except those made sound on occasion.

“Dean. Let’s get out of the bunker, go do something fun,” you said, poking your head in your room. Dean was nowhere to be found. You checked the garage next, Baby still parked in there, no sign of him. “Dean! Where are you?”

You hoped that didn’t make him mad. He’d been having a bad week. Worse than normal which was saying something. You knew he was reaching his breaking point even if he kept it to himself.

“Dean,” you said again, wandering to your old bedroom, finding him sat on top of the bed, staring at you when you walked in. “Baby. What-”

He tossed his little whiteboard across the room and you took a seat beside him, Dean turning his head away.

“I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a kiss. “I know this is hard and I miss talking to you. So let’s talk, okay?”

He tilted his head and moved to stand but you kept him in place.

“Maybe the conversation is going to be a bit one sided but we can still talk, can’t we?” you asked. He nodded, looking over to where he’d thrown his whiteboard. He went to grab it but you shook your head.

“What?” he mouthed. You pressed your lips to his, gently laying the two of you back. He blinked when you moved away, eyes watching your hand slide up into his hair. Your fingers ran through his stands, green eyes flickering up and back to your face. He was thinking, trying to understand as you grabbed his shoulder and moved his head, resting it closer to your own. You smiled as he kept watching you, still thinking.

“For all the things I hate about this situation, you know what I love? Whenever I tell you how amazing you are, how wonderful and good and handsome and strong and intelligent and witty and awesome you are, you can’t make that tsk noise or scoff or sigh or grumble or interrupt to tell me I’m wrong. You have to sit back and take it,” you said.

He gave you a bitch face, rolling his eyes as you kept playing with his hair. He started to nuzzle into the touch though, his face turning soft.

“I love you,” you said. He nodded and pecked a kiss on the top of your nose, big green eyes staring softly. “I know you love me too, Dean.”

He let out a silent breath of air, pulling you flush to him.

“I don’t care what happens. I’m with you,” you said.

He smiled and grabbed your hand, pressing it flat against his chest and over his heart. You felt his heartbeat and smiled.

Two Months Later

“Dean! Lunch is ready!” you shouted from the kitchen. “Bacon lettuce tomato with extra bacon for you!”

You waited a beat, no tuft of brown hair coming around the corner. You grabbed his plate and drink, carrying them out to the library where Dean was researching again.

“You want to eat in here?” you asked. Dean lifted his head and shook it, waving you over. “You don’t want bacon...okay. That’s not concerning or anything.”

He tapped his book and you set the food down, peering over his shoulder.

“A transference spell? You want to transfer it to someone else?” you asked. Dean nodded, tossing his whiteboard at you.

We can’t break it so let’s move it. Move the spell to someone it won’t affect, like someone in a coma that’s never going to wake up. You think that would work?

“Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea,” you said. “Lunch first and then we’ll see if it’s possible.”

“It was a good try,” you said that night. Dean was in the gym, smacking hits against the punching bag. “We’ll get your voice back.”

He looked around the bag, taking deep pants, hitting it once more.

“Dean,” you said, his face scrunching up as he swung again. Hard. He did it a few times, the bag bouncing around, Dean not letting up until he was breathing hard, falling down onto his butt. He shut his eyes and put his head between his knees.

You sat beside him, Dean letting you pull off his boxing gloves. You frowned when you saw he’d cut up his knuckles.

“Let’s clean this up,” you said when his breathing was more even. He followed you to the kitchen, his head low as you wiped down the cuts and dried it off. “I can’t imagine how hard this is. I can’t. But if you need to go and let your anger out, you will do it the right way. Tape up your hands next time, Ali.”

He nodded, glancing up through his eyelashes.

“What would you like for dinner?” you asked. He shrugged. “Pizza?”

“Uf,” you heard him say, both of you wide eyed. “Igaf!”

“You can talk!” you said. Dean did a fist pump and jumped up and down, his sneakers making the cement floor smack. “Sammy! I think the curse is broken!”

“Really? That’s awesome!” he shouted back, wandering into the kitchen after a moment. Dean was still making baby noises though and he was quickly frowning. “So it’s been about six months. Could have been a timing thing.”

“Yeah,” you said, staring at Dean.

“Ea,” he said, pouting. “Ea icese.”

“I have no idea what he’s trying to say,” said Sam.

“Dean,” you said.

“Ea,” said Dean, finding one of his white boards laying around.

I’m trying to say Dean Winchester. That’s all that comes out. It’s like my mouth doesn’t know how to make the sound.

“Y/N. This may sound strange but...I think I know what the witch did,” said Sam. “I read about it like, years ago.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Sam,” you said, Dean throwing up his hands.

“Infantiliccum curse. Six month initial period,” he said.

“Well what is it?”

“I think Dean is very lucky that witch only decided to mess with his voice,” said Sam. “It basically reverts whatever the witch chooses in the afflicted to become that like an infant. Babies can’t talk right? Dean couldn’t talk. The other sound thing might have been a side effect.”

“Yeah but he knows how to talk. Why-“

“Yeah, he does but this is the part Dean’s gonna be pissed about. There’s another six months before it fully wears off,” said Sam.

“Ic uns!” said Dean, his face scrunched up. “Fff mfh uc afh!”

“Pretty sure there was an f bomb in there somewhere,” you said. Dean nodded, glaring at Sam.

“Hey, I said fully reversed. Maybe now you can like, learn to talk again in the meantime,” said Sam. “Get some phrases back.”

Dean growled but he still smiled at being able to make sound.

“I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll pick it up fast.”

“I know this one’s hard,” you said about a week later, holding up a flash card.

“Owiop,” said Dean, opening his mouth wide. “Owiop. Uckin etter. I ate tat etter.”

“L’s are hard. Come on. Tongue up behind your teeth, narrow your cheeks in and drop your jaw. Lollipop.”

“Ollipop,” he said with a bit of a smile. “Oll...Lol...ipop. Loll...ipop. Lollipop. Uck it L’s. I ot tis now.”

“You want to take a break? We’ve been going all morning,” you said.

He just smiled and stared at you.

“I love you,” he said, no struggle this time.

“Been waiting a long time to hear that again,” you said, kissing him for a few long moments.

“Tank you,” he said. “Th...ank you.”

“Thank you for trying. We keep working it and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” you said.

“Love you,” he said, kissing you again.

“I love you too, Dean. Even when you couldn’t say it, I knew baby. I always knew.”

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #dean supernatural

1K notes · View notes

yejiroh · 3 years

Text

Curses Come

Inumaki x GN! Reader

A collab with @decayedz ! Go check out their version as well as their other works!

Read their version here!

Authors note: Y/n's jujutsu was also their idea, as was the general story! It's not as long as I intended it to be, what with the new restrictions (screw you tumblr). Also, join the discord! https://discord.gg/JakszaDk

Synopsis: After many asks to hear them sing, Y/n complies, bringing a horde of curses to them

It was a late school night, and the students of Jujutsu Tech were crammed into one of the many unoccupied dorm rooms. Cards lay scattered across the floor, the occasional shoe here and there. Empty drink cans, chip bags, and phone chargers had been forgotten, 7 people crowded on the one sofa, bored.

Nobara sighed. “It’s not even 10 yet and we’ve already played all the fun games- any other ideas?”

No one answered for a moment, then Yuji snapped his fingers.

“I got it! We could just invite Gojo Sen-”

Cutting him off, Nobara slapped his arm. “NO! Absolutely not! This is OUR party. Besides, Gojo Sensei would just make things weird.”

Chiming in, Megumi added, “He has blackmail on all of us.”

“Tuna tuna.”

“Truth or dare? But that’s so boring!”

“We haven’t played it yet Kugisaki. And we’ve got a pretty interesting bunch, wouldn’t you say?”

“Tuna tuna!”

“Oh yeah! Y/n, you’re pretty good at singing, aren’t you?”

The L/n clan, muses of the jujutsu world, known for their voices. They were essentially, curse magnets; their job was to attract the curse magnets; their job was to attract the curses for the others. It got the job done, and it saved time. Y/n L/n had an especially strong voice as well.

Backing away from the others, y/n waved their hands fast.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea- I’m not even supposed to be talking so much. And uh, I’s getting late yeah? Maybe we should all go to bed.”

‘Well, that, and I REALLY don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Toge,’

“Oh, come on, please? Just a little tune?” Yuji’s eyes were wide, and the others looked expectedly.

“I…fine. Only 5 minutes, and we have to go outside. “

The group cheered, and they headed out.

***

The night sky was gorgeous, its many stars sparkling dimly from the distance. Y/n shivered as a cool breeze passed through.

“Guys, I really don’t like this.”

“It’ll be fine!”

Toge tugged on Y/n’s sleeve; ‘it’ll be fine’.

As they sat down, Y/n looked around at their strong friends. Closing their eyes, they released a deep breath. Hey would be fine.

As soon as Y/n began to sing, they al relaxed. It was as if all their desires were being fulfilled in that moment, the highs and lows of their voice. It needed no words, just the simple, ‘la la la’ was enough. Waves of cursed energy passed through them all, feeling like that wave that would sometimes pass you when you entered a new room.

They all tensed, feeling the curse energy immensely as Y/n’s voice travelled throughout the premises.

They were not alone.

Yuji tugged at his collar. “At…at least we know it’s not Sukuna, right?”

“…Salmon.”

Y/n stopped abruptly, eye wide and looking towards the forest.

They were not meant to fight. They were only a magnet. Well, tats not entirely true, the L/n’s could fight…just not like everyone else. Toge put a hand on Y/n’s shoulder, looking at them with soft eyes.

“Bonito fla-“

A loud screech boomed over the trees, and trendels of smoke rose over their heads. Where were the teachers?

An ugly curse, emerged, swollen and blistering skin covering its body, irregular horns protruding everywhere.

“NnnRrahdhdisz….”

Y/n paled, backing away.

“I told you guys this was a bad idea! Look what I’ve done I’m so-“

“Y/N! STOP TALKING!” Nobara clamped a hand over her friend’s mouth, muffling their panicked cries.

But the only ones who could actively fight were Toge, Yuji, Panda and Megumi.

The curse took a step forward, extending a disfigured purple hand.

“NnnnUuuusggg.”

Y/n stood up, about to take a step back when she hit something.

“Pretty”

They were surrounded.

“Y/N!” Yuji quickly swung a fist, hitting the horned curse in front of him as more and more curses spilled out.

“Where’s Gojo Sensai? “ Nobara questioned, back to back with Maki.

“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULD HAVE INVITED HIM!”

“OH PLEASE YUJI, THAT PERV WOULD JUST TAKE OUR SKIRTS AGAIN!”

Before any mire comments were made, something darted between them all, speeding to Y/n and the other curse. Letting out a screech, it attacked the other curse, dragging Y/n along as they fought. A knarred horn scraped Y/n’s head, blood slowly seeping out as the curses grappled with one another.

Breathing fast and heavy, Y/n closed their eyes tightly. This wasn’t the first time a curse had come to them, but it was the first that two would fight one another instead of just attempting to eat them at the same time.

‘No good…I cant get-‘

A scream ripped through Y/n’s throat as one of the curses dug a nail into their thigh. Tissues, muscles, and fibers were all ripped like paper, and the blood seeping out fell out fast.

Again, another nail came in to pierce their flesh, coming in close-

“Don’t move.”

The curses stopped abruptly, and Toge quickly went to grab Y/n before they hit the grass. Blood pouring out gently, Toge examined the wound as Y/n closed their eyes tightly. It was no good. Tearing his sleeve, he wrapped it tightly around their leg,

Picking Y/n up gently, Toge tucked their head into his neck, feeling their tears of painnfall on his neck.

They knew the risks and still asked their friend of something that made them uncomfortable. Never again. Toge knew the importance of voice, neither of them could really talk- even if for different reasons. Even if Y/n was less cautious of it.

Whispering various ingredients, the equivalent of sweet nothings, Toge ran through the forest, hurrying to get back to his friends. Who knew how many more curses had come?

A tug on his shirt; Y/n looked anywhere but at Toge.

“I’m sorry Toge…”

“Mustard leaf.” ‘It’s okay.’

And it would be.

And it would get better- after they had gotten rid of all the curses that had come.

#collab #inumaki x y/n #gn reader #jujutsu kaisen #discord buddies #jujutsu kaisen x reader #inumaki x reader #meena

166 notes · View notes

couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 4 years

Text

Ya know, I truly hope Miss Renesmee Carlie Cullen fully dedicates herself to just....being as out there and iconic as possible

first things first- ANYTHING with the loch ness monster on it, she owns. Posters, shirts, jackets, shoes, folders, buttons, iron-ons, there is always at least 5 pieces of Nessie merch on her at all times

once she gets old enough to start high school, the cover story is her and Edward are siblings that Carlisle and Esme took in, and sometimes her classmates will ask her what her biological parents were like and she will flat out be like 'oh, they're vampires' and Edward and Bella are like. 5 feet away trying not to scream

every Halloween she'll show up to school in an elaborate Nosferatu costume

goes out of her way to photobomb people in increasingly ridiculous ways so there will Always be a photographic record of her and in like 100 years she can get a huge kick out of teens on the internet trying to make a conspiracy about her

joins as many school clubs as she can, even if she has no interest in them- she just Really wants a concrete record of herself to exist lmao

ICONIC at school theater though. One of those demon theater kids that come to rehearsal purely to cause chaos and nothing else, but her voice is incredible so she secures every lead. One time she somehow managed to star in a show while also playing in the school band for it- her classmates still have no idea how she pulled it off

Always brings blood out in public in a CLEAR THERMOS and it stresses her family out so much but everyone else thinks she's just like, weirdly into tomato juice so the Cullens can't stop her

to everyone's surprise...her biggest chaos enabler is Jasper lmao. everyone thought he'd be a logical, responsible uncle but they're just. A Problem together. He'll 100% assist her in any prank she wants to pull, he gets her fake id's when she wants to sneak into a club with friends, he bails her out of jail without telling her parents, they figured out if she gets high and he reads her feelings he'll get high too and it's. So fucking funny.

she's always carrying some random instrument around school- like for a while it's a guitar or a harmonica, fine, but then she'll start lugging a cello around, a tuba (she doesn't even play, she stole it off a guy who was annoying her) and it escalates until one day she's wheeling a piano around the building. no one's even sure how she got in in the doors of the school. She keeps running kids over in the hallway with it

You know the Catherine Tate Lauren Cooper skit with David Tennant? Where she's being a terrible student and then perfectly recites Shakespeare? 100% Nessie

when she starts getting dates Jacob keeps trying to wing man and be over supportive and give her a ton of girl advice and it's embarrassing as hell so one day when he was on a spiel about How To Woo A Lady she looks him in the eyes and goes 'oh really? did that work on my mom?' and the Cullens fucking LOSE IT. Jacob had to go live in the woods for a few days because he couldn't cope

Emmet and Jasper: arrive to school in their jeep. Rose and Alice: arrive in a convertible. Edward: arrives in his dumb volvo. Bella and Jake: arrive to school on motorcycles. Nessie: arrives to school on a unicycle while juggling

one year she ended up getting nominated for prom queen and Edward read the minds of the teachers tallying the votes so he knew she won and he and Bella were so excited!! they're like we're gonna take so many pictures of our baby looking like a princess! And then she emerges from her room, actually drenched in pigs blood. Like she just did it to herself and went to the dance and accepted her crown like that

she regularly commits crimes against fashion. If she comes out of her room and sees Alice contemplating turning herself over to the Volturi, she KNOWS she's picked a great look

somehow gets ahold of Aro's cell number and sends him selfies of her blatantly breaking vampire laws captioned 'whatcha gonna do'. he keeps blocking her but she keeps managing to get through to him somehow

she illegally sells soda out of her locker and does people's homework for cash, while also paying other people to do her homework for her. she organizes every single senior prank. she's never gotten a detention in her whole immortal life because every teacher just Adores her for some reason

had 100% used her powers for deserved evil before. Like, if someone's being a dick at school, she'll sneak into their room at night and give them nightmarea threatening them to be a better person lol

sometimes she'll show up at the hospital unannounced and ask Carlisle, in front of his coworkers, 'yo can I raid the blood bank?'

her bedroom looks like a library. every wall, floor to ceiling books.

she's been publishing trashy romance novels under a fake name for almost 40 years now and no one in her family knows

one birthday Jacob takes her on a trip to vegas and they get wasted, at some point they were laughing about how ridiculous their lives are and they're like 'wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if we had a baby'. they then black out, hangover style, and wake up like a week later with a payment on her card to a fertility clinic. Jacob's like 😱 and Ness is just like 'you get to be the one to explain this to my parents'

Their kid is absolutely hilarious, they were correct, and at some point they realized 'wait...drinks blood..doesn't sparkle...can shape shift...we've somehow created a classic pop culture vampire' lmao

Edward had to threaten them to get them to not name the kid Vladimir

Also to be clear: Nessie and Jacob have the EXACT same dynamic as Will and Grace. that's canon.

says its her goal to star in a live action all female production of mamma mia and Carlisle is like 'honey you know you can't do anything on broadway or in hollywood' and she's like, 'no, in real life. I'm gonna go to greece and attract a bunch of women with abba songs' and he's like,,,,,ah

she loves all music but she goes out of her way to Only play stuff she knows Edward hates lmao

one day she remembers she doesn't need to breathe and can see under water and just. books herself a ticket to scotland and Finds The Loch Ness Monster

she actually personally finds a lot of monsters and cryptids like her hybrid aura just attracts all kind of weird shit and she LOVES it. She stops writing trashy romance novels and starts writing autobiographies of her traveling and hanging out with paranormal beings and everyone just assumes its fiction so she becomes a best selling fantasy author lmao

100% she's very into witchy stuff and only like...half in a trendy way. She's like what if on top of everything I've got going on I can cast spells? Think I deserve that power

when she's a couple decades old she catches Edward looking grossed out one day and she asks him what's up and he's like 'I really dont need to hear what creepy teachers think about my daughter' and she's like. oh. Dad we are gonna get SO MANY pedophiles arrested shdndjdn she gets him to expose teachers and she baits them then calls the police. queen.

She finds out she can get tattoos but they fade completely out of her skin within 5 years so she's always getting crazy tats

posts selfies on social media of her just like. hanging out with mountain lions or chilling on top of the space needle. her classmates think they're all photoshopped obvi but it drives her family insane

imagine you're 15 and you're on a nice hike in the woods and you come across your one classmate half naked, sacrificing a bear in some ritual, blood dripping down her face, bigfoot chilling on the rocks behind her filming the ritual on her phone...like on one hand, what would you do, but on the other hand. you've known this girl for a bit and you aren't surprised at all

anyway. stan Nessie Cullen.

#twilight saga #renesmee cullen #nessie cullen #breaking dawn #twilight #molly mumbles

2K notes · View notes

dontcallmecarrie · 3 years

Note

can we get a little taste of what would happen if someone tried to get justin assassinated and very nearly (as in he needed hospital close) succeed? like justin's reaction at how close that was 👀 family/friends reaction 👀 what would happen to the person who hired someone to hire someone to get rid off justin so they wouldn't be traced back to the incident except the people in justin's sphere of influence are all smarter than that ok? even if somehow this attempt went over everyone's head in such a way that no one noticed until it the deed was done. imagine if it was justin's DAD. OH. THE DRAMA. OH THE TRAUMA maybe. 👀

...I get the feeling that you really want to see these characters in a very different genre than what No Hero is turning out to be.

Mainly because the above situation is something I'm not sure I have the energy to tackle, and I applaud your imagination because I wouldn't have even thought of it in the first place.

See, early on is when Justin's probably most at risk in this AU; while his charisma never wanes, his network is something that grows as time goes on. Early on, before he's made his alliances and started really building his network is when Justin's at his most vulnerable— but even then I don't really picture him as getting in nearly as many sticky situations as Tony would've?

Bear in mind that Justin's reputation as a responsible, hardworking dependable guy started very, very early in this AU. Since his boarding school days, even, and some of those kids [...other than Victor, because of obvious reasons] probably later on went to invest in his company as shareholders, etc.

But.

Beyond that, remember that at the end of the day, Justin Hammer is the only son and heir of one of the biggest names in the defense industry.

...suffice it is to say that it takes a very special sort of stupid to want to piss off the guy selling you your guns.

Especially when his main competition has ridiculously high standards for anyone who's not the U.S. military.

So all in all, it's in nobody's best interests to hurt Justin; not when they've got a good thing going on, with a very reasonable businessman who knows how to play the game, and when to look the other way.

This is all a long way for me to say that even before Victor von Doom showed up again, Justin already had people willing to do him favors. Tit for tat, and all that. Victor's different in that any favor would be of a different sort of stake, with a different price; after all, he's no longer in need of weapons. Not anymore, at least.

So if someone was foolish enough to put a hit out on him... I'd think that there would be enough groups who prefer the status quo the way it is to give him a heads up, and look into taking out the threat themselves. Oh, and of course, expect a few very nice discounts afterwards. That's how I'd see something like this going.

Before Cabal was a thing, anyway; after that... woe betide whoever wanted to mess with him, because Justin has friends in very, very high places and I'll just leave it at that.

As for if Justin's father would try to pull something like this...

Hmm. You know, I honestly don't know anymore. Hammer Senior's the type of guy who's very big on appearances, and while he might not have liked being essentially ousted as the CEO of Hammer Industries, part of him was honestly pretty impressed at how his son handled the who fiasco— to the point that he wasn't even mad when he left.

Bear in mind that Justin's father is a piece of work: he's incredibly sexist, of the "dear god why hasn't he been fired ye— oh he's the owner, oh, okay, fuck this I quit then" variety, cheated on his wife for what was probably the entirety of their marriage and is just generally the embodiment of that one stereotype about trust fund brats because he's old money but that doesn't mean he knows what he's doing.

Part of why Justin caught everyone's attention at first was because he was, well, basically the exact opposite of his father: responsible, level-headed, hardworking, and competent. To be honest, there were probably some people who side-eyed him and his father and went "who the fuck knows where he gets it from, because it sure as hell ain't his old man" because of it— because other than genetics, there wasn't much else the two had in common.

It's why Justin had such an easy time becoming a CEO despite doing everything he did to get there— all he had to do was prove he was a better candidate than his father, and since his father set the bar so low, well... you get the idea.

As for Hammer Senior, in all this: let's be honest, the man stood to benefit either way. Because part of the deal for his publicly "gracefully stepping down" meant he got a very nice paycheck, and an early retirement to do whatever the hell he wanted. And, since Justin had masterfully orchestrated everything to make their family come out of it smelling like roses, it wasn't like he had any hard feelings about how he got there.

After all, that's how he raised his son.

...now, if anyone actually met Justin's father, that'd be another mess entirely. Their family in general, for that matter, but emphasis on their father because again, the man is a piece of work who cared more about appearances than anything else, and the older Justin got, the less and less they respected him.

It doesn't help that both of their parents are homophobic, and Justin's sexuality [...not to mention the gender thing, which is a whole other kettle of fish] is something these two are still unhappy about but forced to live with— though at this point, Justin's father has convinced himself that his son is just being a good, celibate Christian [Justin: ...that's hilarious on a number of levels], while his mother has just taken to pretending it's not an issue in the first place.

At this point, it's just something they have to live with, because Justin is the only child they're willing to acknowledge that acknowledges them back. So it's not like they've got many options with how to pressure him, not that they're able to at this point.

Not when he's an adult and an ironclad reputation that, in turn, makes them look good as well, because obviously they did a good job at raising him, didn't they, if he turned out so well?

So this is the stalemate they're at right now: a tension no healthy family would have but is the only thing they know, and the bitter knowledge that there's nothing they can do about it, not when Justin holds all the cards these days.

#No Hero [Downward Descending]#I got an ask!#Naught replies #replies

22 notes · View notes

esmealux · 3 years

Note

I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

#deckerstar fanfiction #two part drabble game #writing #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #established deckerstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #some point in the future #deckerstar fluff #fluff

30 notes · View notes

originalwinnercheesecake · 3 years

Text

Chain of Iron Theories on the Killer’s 5 victims

tinSo we know that the chain of Iron will have a mysterious killer who will kill 5 shadowhunters. Here are my theories on who will die.

1.) Maurice Bridgestock

Lets start with the obvious first, of course this man will be killed. He is Inquisitor and that is a powerful yet cursed position, take it and you will die a horrible death. I am hoping he dies pretty early, because I have a feeling until then he will be gunning for the Fairchild family. Remember he and his wife were the ones who really wanted Charles and Ariadne to marry. Charles and Ariadne were originally friends, who both figured that being forced into a hetro marriage was inevitable and that they could both do worse. Charlotte and Henry gave there blessing because they thought Charles and Ariadne were actually in love. Once Charles told this parents that he and Ariadne weren’t they immediately gave him permission to break the engagement and gave their blessing for him to marry someone else (who he doesn’t love either, Oh poor messed up fairchild family). This infuriated Bridgestock. Charles and Charlotte know to avoid him unless it is for official business, done in public, with witnesses. Does Matthew? Chapter 4 is called “The King is Dead”; so maybe the Inquisitor is the “King” listed. The next half of that phrase is “Long live the King” symbolizing the transition of power, so that would mean choosing a new Inquisitor. The most obvious ones to get the promotion is one of the TID dad’s given how close they are with Charlotte and the sway her vote would give. According to the cards it looks like she gives the position to Will (cough Gideon would have been a way better choice cough), we will see how that goes.

2.) One of the Wentworth’s

The Wentworth’s will have importance in the COI.They have been referenced and set up like the Lightwood’s in CWA. We know at least 3 of their names, we know that Martin Wentworth is kind of a thorn in Will and Gabriel’s side. We know that Piers and Rosamund have a... tense relationship with our mains, but do have their own friends and seem close to each other. Honestly with how much this family is mentioned/established I was thinking for a while that it would be just like the Lightwoods in CWP. Like maybe Piers was Eugenia’s ex boyfriend, maybe he had wanted to marry her but bad stuff was happening at home, his dad keeping secrets, and he couldn’t get blessings. Then that snip-bit at the party came out and I read about Eugenia being done with suitors and Piers hitting on Catherine. Piers still may be Eugenia’s ex, and he may trashed her rep and then moved on to courting his sister’s best friend. If so and he dies I will not miss him.

I would say Rosamund is pretty safe. She has a fiance now, and is planing her wedding. Wedding are actually great places for interactions and drama. Rosamund is good friends with Ariadne. Maybe Ariadne will try to bring Anna to the wedding, or maybe Ariadne will have Eugenia ask Anna to accompany her to the wedding, because Anna is less likely to say no to that, and then use that as a chance to “win her back.”

3.) At Least One of The Carstairs Parents

Risa Included. We all care about this family, we all wish their troubles could be over, and tat things and the next two books could be rainbows and sunshine for them. And we all know that will not happen. Terrible things will befall London. Elias is unbalanced from PTSD and weak from detoxing after years of addiction, Sona is weak from a difficult pregnancy/ recent childbirth, Risa is a mundane and lacks the ability to kill demons. They don’t have a lot of friends, all three are old. It is not fair and I hope whoever dies is at least given a good death.

4.) Cecily Lightwood Nee Herondale

I hope I am wrong, please let me be wrong. The family tree and CWP2 epilogue say that she will live through this, but those were written 7 years ago and are no longer accurate. The Second book always has one tragedy that will emotionally destroy us and leave us crying till the third comes out. It is unlikely that all The TID gang will live through another series. Other people have been guessing Gideon, but his branch already lost Barbara in COG2. In a book with so many nuclear families why kill from the same one twice? No it won’t be Gideon. After careful analysis I have determined Cecily is the most likely of the one to die.

First off Cecily didn’t come into TID until the final book and she was mostly squeezed in as a secondary character. That means that CC put less time and development into her and while she probably likes her, is maybe less attached to her. Secondly Cecily is some one very important to Both Will and Gabriel, two people Tatiana hates more than anyone in the world. She also played a key role in Killing the Lightworm, she caused it to wound itself to were Gabriel was able to kill it. For Tatiana Cecily would be three birds with one stone. Another reason she might die is Cecily is the only one of The TID characters who I cannot find any information on what her job/role in the clave is. Everyone else has a job listed, is seen investigating or talking at meetings, Cecily is just a mother, okay the best of the TSC mom’s. But having to take so much time off shadowhunting to raise her children might have put her out of practice, and having such a strong bond with her children, nieces, and nephews would make it all the more heart breaking if she died. One final reason is that unlike her Gabriel does have an overall arch. He idolized a fantasy of who his father was, had that come crashing down, then wanted to become someone different. His wife dying would put Gabriel just were Benedict was when Barbara Lightwood the first died: A single father with three kids, one of whom is coincidentally about the same age as Gabriel was when he lost his mother.

I love Cecily and writing this has made me very say (Please let me be wrong about her dying) but moving on...

5.) Tatiana Blackthorn Nee Lightwood

She will die. Tatiana probably joined Belial willingly, she probably does not see it, but Belial is not her ally. The truth is she is just as much Belial’s pawn as anyone he has tricked. When he is done using her and no longer has any use for her, he will kill her to keep her quiet. She will probably die last, her blood is Jesse’s and can be used as a sacrifice. She dedicated her life to resurrecting her son so she could have him back, and she will die with the knowledge that she has doomed him to Belial’s plans.

Bonus 6.) Charles Fairchild

Charles will not die. I originally I thought he might, but he is actually necessary as a foil/parallel to Matthew. Two brothers who grew up in the same family, yet have personalities and struggles that are literally flip sides of the same coin. Cassandra Clare has said she is planning on “developing” their relationship. She has also said Charles will be away for a lot of the book. So that does not leave a lot of space for this development in COI, and Charles has to make it until COT. I believe that he will disappear. No one will have any idea were he went or why, His parents will send out a search, while that is taking place Charlotte task Matthew with assisting her the way Charles usually does. Matthew will hate it. He will hate the piles of work and stuffy meetings; he will hate having less time to see his friends; and especially the cranky, foul mouthed, horrible politicians he has to deal with instead. As time goes by and the Killer at large Charlotte will become more desperate to find her older son. When she cannot find him her and Henry will start to fear the worst and cry over it at home.

Matthew will eventually start looking into his brothers disappearance, not because he misses him, but their parents are miserable and Matthew is tired of having to do Charles chores. He might learn Charles and Alastair were “good friends” before and try to force information out of Alastair, Que to him learning one of his brothers secrets. While I do think Matthew will be the one to find Charles I do not think it will be until the end of COI or early COT, when Matthews life has morphed into a much bigger mess than it was before. I also do not think Charles will be in the same... way as he was before his disappearance. There will be a whole new list of issues when the brothers meet again.

53 notes · View notes

bananaapplewaffle · 2 years

Text

Book Three Part 3: The Merchant from the Depths

Leona I am seeing shit in your room

what's the meaning of this

NOT ME IMMEDIATELY THINKING ITS A ROMANTIC EVENING

Tit for tat

Unless you have a keyblade and can just wack'em around

I have shit to do today, Leona. Of course I'm up on time.

MANG SHUT UP

rolls eyes in this is my house

One Day Remains

We're screwed.

Oh wait, I told them my plan.

My ngga what yowling did you do?

Alright y'all here's the mfken situation

and that's that

I mean...this is only plan b.

Plan a was murder.

Thanks Jack. It took a lot of convincing not to go with plan a

DON'T SAY THAT SHIT SO FUCKEN LOUD

DAMN

TIME FOR SOME GOOD OLE FASHION BREAKING AND ENTERING

Me and Ace

on the same wavelength

He's a good fucken actor, I'll give him that

EWWWWW

ITS TRITON

WELL SHIT

My mans is still going

NOT A FUCKEN MOVIE

asdsak;dlaskd;lakdask;ldk;l

WELL SHIT SQUARED

Them: "Alie, what's the plan?"

Me: ":)"

Them: "They're screwed."

NOT ME GETTING THE SAVANACLAW TO STIR THE POT

FUCKEN RIOT

LEONA MY BELOVED BITCH

We already got the shit

My nggas

Not Ruggie being a compulsive pickpocket

500 TO 600 HUNDERED

DAMN

"What did mew say?" LMAO GRIM

>:3c

Of course it was my idea, dearest Azul.

smiles in agent of chaos

I am a villain and a damn good one.

Awwww me and Leona are friends

AWWW THE BABY IS CRYING

AND THE HOLLOW BASITION LIKE MUSIC IS PLAYING

Because you're an annoying little shit, Azul

Overblot is like a mix of turning into a Heartless and Persona 4's Shadowself

YOU GOT GOT

...Floyd is big pissed

WELL

HELLO DARKNESS MY OLD FRIEND

Floyd this isn't helping

Also!

They have purple eye-something (liner or shadow)!

Also also!

I've noticed that when Jade talks, he tries to keep his teeth from showing as much.

OOOOOOOOOO LOOK AT THE SEA WITCH

Oh we're just getting straight into this

HP REGEN???? UGLY

Nah nah who the hell is helping me with their Dorm Uniform Leona

I wouldn't have been able to do it without you, Aidan!

BULLY HIM HARDER

FLASHBACK TIME

Oh damn, little kids bullied him? That's the worse. Not a filter in sight,

Then maybe stop being mean to him???

2 + 2 = 4 y'all come on

Girl what the fuck is an octopus pot?

oh.

Damn that Overblot was so crazy he's whole hat disappeared.

WHERE IS EVERYONE'S HATS

FLOYD SAID: "CRINGE"

Not Grim being the voice of reason

Everybody's getting got left and right

Yeah like

What's the point of being shady if your work is super detailed and put together.?

Let me see the picture of the baby

babies actual since Jade and Floyd are in it too

Such a round boi

Deuce you can't really hide your delinquent past since you have a sort of Delinquent Mode

I see everything

Ruggie who the fuck says that

Where the fuck is Crowely

FUCK IT LETS GO RIGHT NOW

AND YES LEONA THAT MEANS YOU AND RUGGIE TOO

Oh fuck

I forgot this cat belonged to the streets

DON'T YOU FUCKEN DARE

SPIT IT OUT

Yes, he has no manners

Leona if you don't fucken-

WE'RE HOME

MALLEUS

LMAO HE'S FUCKEN RUNNING FROM SEBEK AND SILVER

oh wait...

so Sebek is also Fae? It's the non pointy ears that throw me off

Girl why is the mirror glowing

HIS MAJESTY

MICHEAL MOUSE

WHO LEFT AQUA IN THE REALM OF DARKNESS FOR 1O YEARS

RICKY RAT

Oh god more people are going to just start coming to my house

How did we get on their good side like this

Why is Triton that buff?

JACK ASDJLASDKLASDJASKLD

Noooo

Nooooo

I WANT OCTO-AZUL

Girl you mean the fork

my ngga its a fork

You can't just erase the physical parts of your past. People still have their memories you know...

awww i'm at the last part...

oop girl phone finna die

DO YOU HAVE MORNING TEA MONEY, GRIM

So wait

$300 for the one point $6 and about $240 for three point $15

don't come for me math is not my passion

jfc

WAIT GIRL THEY'RE TWO DIFFERENT CARDS

OMG

SHOULDA BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FROM THE START

GRIM DO YOU HAVE EXTRA DRINK MONEY

NOT YOU TOO ACE, DEUCE

How sweet of Jack to help

GRIM GET OFF THE TABLE

sneaky last bit of the song slowing down there

I mean if he makes the funds, he can have the branch café built on sight

offer jobs to the student

its really not a bad idea

OH A SNEAK PEAK OF THE NEXT BOOK

HELLO

UMMMM

SUNSHINE BOY KALIM

oooh this has something to do with Jamil's Unique magic, no?

I think it's talked about in one of the Vignettes...

YEP THAT MFKEN LAUGH AT THE END

JAMIL BITCH

Anyway now that the main story is done! Let's warp this up by saying

Um chile the whole thing with mirrors and the latest update regarding Dark Road

I am looking closely

Twisted Ramblings

#waffle plays twsted #twisted wonderland #kingdom hearts #khux

3 notes · View notes

theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 4 years

Text

I am Drunk on Wine, Drunk on You

Summary: Mammon and You share a weekend ritual of drinking together at night in his room, and every time you leave bits and pieces of your clothing, accesories, books in his room. And then you leave bits and pieces of your heart in his, letting him piece together the bits and pieces of your love for him.

A/N: Wrote this with the alcohol coursing through my veins and I love Mammon so much. This ones for the jaded adults trying hard to maintain hope in this era.

Tags: everything that entails loving mammon. Yearning, Pining,Longing, Two awkward idiots in love, rip to babylonians but we're different.

The thing about being a 20-something working adult was that there was beauty in a routine that rarely ever changes. Daily hygiene, dress up, eat and then fight the battle to get to work on time. Routine was what you clung to when you arrived in Devildom. A semi-welcome break from the muddy waters of corporate work.

And so, you started drinking with Mammon. In his room, by the pool table, trading stories while he taught you billiards and you let his warmth seep into your body. That was how it began, a weekly ritual between him and you, drinking and playing billiards, cards and drinking games. Letting worthless secrets and thoughts out in the open. A fakery of camaraderie until he asked you a question three months in Devildom. You had been closer then, close enough that you can wrap your arm on his waist and he'd welcome it.

"What's it like, up there in the human world?"

He looked so soft, leaning casually on the other end of his couch, at home, at ease, and it made your heart stir. The usual fondness that tends to erupt in your heart where Mammon is involved.

"Messy. Bright. Loud." You answered, "It's like the streets of Devildom at night but twice the crowd most of the time."

His eyes dimmed at your shitty answer and you scramble to bring back that bright look at his pretty pretty eyes that always took your breath away.

"Let me take you." You scramble to say, "Let me take you up there."

A promise of sorts.

A drunken promise of sorts you want to fulfill as his eyes turned bright and your arms are suddenly filled with a happy drunk Mammon. And you want to badly kiss him so much but you don't. Not like this, not in this way so instead you hold him tight and tell him all the things you want to do with him up there.

In the wee hours of the morning, you tuck him in. Like always since you out drank him, and like always you leave a thing of yours in his room. A small and shiny flower hair tie that caught his eye, you know with certainty it'd find itself back in your room with another thing that Mammon owns.

One among many that he owns, one among many that litter in your room and you treat as yours. Lucifer sees you leave Mammon's room and raises a brow at you,

"It's almost morning" He tells you pointedly.

"And its a weekend" You retort, alcohol coursing through your veins that makes you care a little less, gives you the courage of a leopard.

And he lets you go, like usual. Like a well practice routine that lets you not question the things you aren't ready to face. That you'd probably never want to resist.

You made it back to your room, and you make a quick work of your clothes and sink in to the covers of your bed. It smells of Mammon and it lulls you back to sleep.

Tuesday arrives and you have to defend your idea to RAD's Student Council. A field trip for entirety of RAD to see how much human society had changed ever since their access had grown limited. Solomon and your contracted demons; Mammon, Levi, and Beel agreed with you.

But you know its Lucifer and Diavolo you have to win over, and law school prepared you for this. Talking with the ruler of Devildom and his advisor is almost nothing to the panel that had to judge your oral revalida. An exchange of words, hidden barbs, and negotiation where everyone already knows the outcome.

Diavolo says yes, and Lucifer follows. You smile and thank them while ignoring their knowing looks. What is not said and asked are not the truth unless said otherwise.

You don't look at Mammon as you make your way out of the room.

The trip to human world is chaotic and fun. The brothers surround you at the start and after careful scheming, your group dwindles down until its just you and Mammon. You hold his hand, tuck it in your coat's pocket and enjoyed Japan's early spring. You squeeze it twice and wait for him to squeeze back.

You try not to think deeply at the painful lurch of your heart when he squeezes back and says nothing. You are fond of him, in his silent moments when he lets himself be soft and puts down the sharp and blunt edges he wears as a demon. You lead him here and there, buying him trinkets and unmindful of the dent it would make in your bank account.

You give him gifts and hope that, like the things you leave in his room, this would remind him of you. When the year ends and everything becomes uncertain.

The two of you end up in an upscale Izakaya, one with private rooms and discrete staff. Mammon takes pictures to brag and you indulge him, let him order to his heart's desire. And like always you share stories, you give him disconnected anecdotes of your life, let him see the person you once were as he tells you stories of bygone days.

Things from human history told from the perspective of a demon. And as you listened to his story with an unknowing gentle smile on your face, you feed him your favorite dishes. Unlike you and like most demons, Mammon doesn't get drunk on human alcohol just like how demon drinks don't affect you.

And Mammon looks at you as words tapers off his mouth, and you are still foolishly smiling at him, tender devotion in your actions and heady unmasked affection on your eyes that catches him off guard. Suddenly, the air in the room grows hot and Mammon wants and wants you this way, unguarded and so different from your usual persona. He likes this version of you that only comes out on the weekend with alcohol streaming through your veins.

'I love you' He thought.

Hands gently tucking in stray strands of hair behind your left ear. He lets his fingers gently trace the slope of your face and watches as your eyes flutter shut and Mammon cups your face with his hand. Tenderly and ever so gently rubs his thumb on your cheek.

You held his hand and kiss the palm that holds your face.

"Let's head back?"

He smiled and holds you close as both of you stumble through the crowded night streets of Shibuya. You tuck yourself close to him and for now the words left unspoken are enough. You both had all the time in the world.

So you take it slow and savor this sort of moments where only Mammon and you seemingly existed.

And then the switch happens and suddenly you are out of time. Lucifer's trust had meant so little to you, until suddenly it is the very thing that you need to succeed. And for the first time, fear grips your heart as you hold Mammon's hand and head to the castle.

'Time,' You thought 'I need more time'.

Beyond out rightly admitting that he was the best, beyond the games,beyond the well-practiced dance of push and pull you had with Mammon and his brothers, you badly want to tell him those three words stuck in your chest and hidden at the back of your mind. Three powerful words that would give him power over you, that would let him realize the depth of your regard for him.

But you had ran out of time and there is only a shaky promise of return. And the countdown happens so fast, too fast, and you want to cry and scream and break things apart.

You died and you returned.

You were a human and suddenly you were not.

You had lost your Mammon and gained a new one.

Crying felt pathetic, Screaming sounded painful, and breaking things felt like a chore so you drink. Not wine, but demon vodka that only leaves a burning line down your throat and nothing else. You drink at the Fall every Sunday.

You go to RAD the next day, routine barely changed with the tenuous addition of Belphegor. He clings to you and you let him with polite detachment. You fall back to your routine and try to not let your heart break with every differing habit this Mammon had compared to yours.

Friday nights are gone and you've stopped leaving bits and pieces of yourself at his room. Because just as he isn't your Mammon, you weren't his beloved human.

And in the cold air of your room, with alcohol coursing through your veins you dream of him.

Lucifer finds you, after the half-anniversary party. Having an after party of your own consisting of crows that you remembered as the ones Mammon commanded, he sits beside you and glances at the untouched glass of flavored vodka beside you. You hand him an unopened bottle and pat the seat on your right.

Lucifer doesn't say anything and takes your offered drink. He takes a long drink and you watch him, equal parts curious and searching. Before you would have not cared of this unmentioned and apparent disadvantage, before you'd have started a verbal battle of sorts with someone who'd match you tit for tat but in a short span of time things had changed.

So you remain silent and instead glanced at the empty space on your left.

"As you humans would say, 'A penny for your thoughts?'" Lucifer finally said as the ice on the untouched glass clinks against the side.

You don't answer immediately and Lucifer waits.

"Are you familiar with Les Misérables?" You asked, still not looking at him.

And Lucifer humors you, "I am vaguely familiar of it."

"Then are you familiar at the end of it?"

He shakes his head and you continue, " To quote Victor Hugo, 'When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit.' end quote."

You wait for him to absorb what you had just said and when ample time had passed, you asked "Do you believe that the same thing could apply between a demon who had come to love a human, a human who in turn loves them back?"

At this you looked at him in the eye, and Lucifer sees all of you in that moment. The scarred and tired soul in you, the naïve and bold soul in you that burns bright, he sees the dichotomy of your soul and feels the black tar in his veins drum loudly.

He is equal parts terrified and excited of what you might do. The implications of your words.

"If it was you...perhaps there is room for another miracle."

You blinked at him in surprised before you give him your most genuine smile in a long while. And Lucifer knew, as you walked away with your back straight, that another end had begun.

He lets you go.

The Tower of Babel was said to be humanity's downfall. A desire to build something that could reach God and pierce through the Heavens. The desire to be equals with the assumed creator.

A group of humans punished to never speak the same language and yet years later it hardly mattered to those who persevered.

In this, your actions and plan, as far as Solomon was willing to be concerned about metaphors was your own Tower of Babel. A plan to undo what his contracted demon, Barbatos, had done. It was insane in theory but as you drew upon his collected knowledge and built upon it from your own unique perspective he was convinced that you'd beat the odds.

It was insane and yet as days passed and turned to weeks and weeks into month you were proving him wrong. And Solomon had never felt much excitement until now, it had been so long since he saw such an interesting phenomena that he had ended up helping you more that he should.

For right in front of him, was a human attempting to be God.

There had always been a price to pay, the world at its core functioned as such. A well integrated ecosystem that work best when things were given and taken in the right way, with the right price, at the right moment.

You played God by recreating, with mixture of Alchemy and Necromancy, to get your real body back. The one you knew Belphegor had happily mutilated and thrown at Mammon's arms.

And as you inhabited it again, you knew what price you had to pay, and as you stared at the version of you that belonged to this reality. You let yourself exhale a shaky sigh before making a break for it. It had taken you so much effort to conceal this from Barbatos and the Celestial Realm and thus by virtue the very consciousness of this world.

You laugh at the irony of simultaneously having time and not having it as you ran through the streets of devildom and into the House of Lamentation. You were high on adrenaline, as you desperately wished for it to work.

You cared only for the end result, ignoring the looks of pedestrians and then the demons you cohabited with for 5 months. You opened Mammon's door and headed straight for the door beside his car that you went through.

You knocked thrice and opened it.

Desperate and willing the world to work itself to your favor.

You stepped in and darkness greeted you.

In your absence, Mammon had relearned the cruelty of being the one left behind. He remembered with each passing moment ,as he looked at the traces of you left in his room, the pain of heart break.

He plays with the ring you left behind, a memento of your parents' once perfect marriage, and recalls the way you had slipped it on his finger long ago. When you had caught him snooping around your room, and instead of calling Lucifer to enact punishment you had taken your mother's ring and given him your father's.

Gently holding his empty left hand and sliding it on his ring finger. The soft rays of the moon illuminating you, and giving the gold ring a soft gleam.

"Keep this," You had said "Maybe this time it would work out."

He hadn't dared to question what "it" meant. Because he hadn't been prepared for the way you had looked at him, he wasn't ready for your affection at that time. Too pure and kind, as if he was the Warrior that he once was in Heaven.

Not the fallen, broken pieces of him that was a hollow facsimile of who he used to be. So he had said nothing and decided to let nature take its place and fell in love you slowly, steadily, with each bits and pieces you had given him. In the disjointed stories of who you used to be and who you were now.

And now he laughs, broken, at the irony of it all. At his naïvety that he would get to keep you and this time no promise would have been broken. He looks at the ring on his hand, a perfect match of what he wore on his left and he lets his tears fall.

You had been gone for too long.

Barbatos and Diavolo welcomes you back and you smile at them. With all of your teeth and let your divinity leak out. The playing field had changed once more and you were no longer a pawn.

They let you leave the castle with a shaky truce and thinly veiled threats.

When Mammon wakes up his lights are off and he is on his bed. He stills when he feels the bright aura of divinity, close to God and yet not.

You see the Celestial Warrior that once was and you see the Fallen Warrior and understood why he was the second strongest.

"I'm back, Mammon."

And the lights turn on and you find yourself pinned under him as sobs wracked his frame. Your heart that had been moved by him long ago aches and all the longing, yearning, and pining you've had settles as you reached out for him and held him close to you.

"Why?" He asked.

And you knew that he knew you were no longer fully human.

"It was the only way to give everyone a happy ending" You answered even if you knew that you had change everything beyond imagination.

And Mammon lets you keep your lies because he had already pieced together the bits and pieces that made you. He had seen you and understood you and thus he had come to know you.

Because at your core, you were just as greedy of him as he was of you. Perhaps this was not the redemption Victor Hugo had spoken of, but such things matter not when you were Mammon's God, His Savior and Redemption.

#mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #obey-me-mammon-x-reader #drunk writing #mobile update #fixed #obey me

162 notes · View notes

joshslater · 4 years

Text

Russian Dolt

Another Hank collab. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was just about ready to give up and head back to the hotel. I’ve spent 16 years being a sales representative across Southeast Asia, and I know all the regional variations on the prostitutes fairly well. Here in Manila, a Russian girl would go for at least twice the price of a local. A Malay girl would go for a discount. But too much of the same old thing grows boring, and that’s why I was out in the bars tonight instead of just calling an escort to the hotel for a “massage”.

I wasn’t sure what I was after, to be honest, which was part of the problem. Maybe a threesome? A gymnastics girl doing tricks for me – and on me? I’ve heard that in some countries the Olympic teams even earn some side money in brothels. I’ve never found it myself, but that would be something different at least. So far nothing I had found had really turned my crank. I was polishing off a mediocre whiskey when I was approached at the bar by the man.

The guy was younger than me, maybe 25, and looked very Russian. Buzzed hair, tank top, tight jeans, flip flops, cheap tats and the don’t give a fuck attitude that their entire nation has adopted since they lost the Cold War. He smelled of smoke and cheap cologne. He looked to be in great shape. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

“I overheard you speaking of freak sex, yes?”

The accent was heavily Russian as well. This could be exactly what I was after, but it could also end up with me robbed and dead in a ditch.

“What’s it to you?”

“We have proposal. Have you had sex as not you?”

Despite the hot and wet climate, I could feel a wall of heat radiating on my other side as one real furnace of a man stepped closer to me. I turned my head and looked right into a black tank top. It was filled with a huge pile of meat. I looked up at his face and he made a silent nod. Perhaps not as stereotypically Russian, but still very much old Soviet stock, and presumably lots of old Soviet hormones, not all his. His muscles seemed to have muscles.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Sex as not me?”

“We have a thing that lets you do sex as if someone else. Understand? You could be me?”

“I could be you? Who would you be?”

“I would be you, for short time. Very short. Then you as me do any things, dangerous things. Nasty things. But safe for you. When finished, you are you and I am I.”

I was thinking really hard on how this scam worked. Was this just going to trick me out of 5000 pesos, or was the end goal to take me for all I was worth? The setup was intriguing. Performing sex as someone else… I’d certainly never tried that before. I didn’t want to let fear hold me back, in part because I knew, loathe as I’d be to admit it, that it often did.

“What kind of nasty things?” I finally answered.

“Many different things. You chose. How about fucked by wrestler?”

He gestured towards the pillar of meat on my other side. That surprised me. Back home where I grew up there was a lot of "God hates fags" and crude gay jokes, but I always thought it was a bit obsessive. It's a free country so they can do whatever they want, as long as they keep me out of it. I’d never had sex with a man before, obviously. Never even considered it. I was about to protest how I wasn’t a fag, when a small little voice at the back of my head pointedly said “Damn straight, but apparently he is one.” Well, if I was going to be someone else, then why not go for something truly wild and different? Something I would never put my own body through.

“How does it work? How do we do it?”

“We put your body somewhere safe. To keep your mind off it. Then we swap. When you are done, we swap again. 3000 pesos per hour.”

Twenty minutes later, if even that, the three of us were standing in my hotel room. The lobby was deserted, save for the night manager who gave us a disapproving look on our way to the elevator. On the way up, I made a quick estimate of what everything I brought was worth. I only had my carry on, some clothes, my laptop, cell phone and travel wallet. If I was completely cleared out by these guys, I could stay an extra day, have the cards blocked and reissued, use insurance to buy replacements, and be on my way. Not much to lose, really.

The big hunk of meat was Boris, because of course he’d be a Boris. He didn’t speak any English. The sleazy guy in the wifebeater was Mikhail, and he was now explaining the details of how he proposed we do this. He had a handcuff with a really long chain, so I could be cuffed to the bathroom water pipe and still make it to the bed. This would allow Mikhail, in my body, to stay securely in the room, watch TV, use the bathroom and such and such while I was out in his body. I was full of doubt. Step one really can’t be that I chain myself with handcuffs to the bathroom pipes? Mikhail saw my hesitation without me saying anything.

“You want to see first, yes?”

“Please.”

From his pocket he pulled out two thumb rings. They were plain iron rings with no inlays, but with engraved symbols running around them, which gave them a brutish look. He gave me one.

“Sit down. Put it on, right hand.”

I did as I was told, and nothing happened. He sat down next to me on the bed and unceremoniously slipped on his ring. Instantly, everything shifted a few feet to the side, and I suddenly looked out of his eyes instead of mine. It worked. It felt amazing.

His body was in such great shape. I ran my hand over the buzz cut stubble on my head, feeling the prickliness of it against my palm. Then, swiftly, just as quickly as I had jumped into his body, I was back in mine, looking at my hand. Mikhail had just removed the ring.

“You can see it works. You want to continue, yes?”

I sure did. I could scarcely believe this technology was legit. Perhaps it was magic. I know, magic isn't real, but then neither are body swaps. I put the ring back on, and wow, the rush. I was back in Mikhail’s body.

Mikhail patted me and got up. It was so trippy to see my body moving next to me. He quickly locked the handcuff to to his left wrist and then stepped into the bathroom to attach the other end of the cuff. He then stepped out again and gave me the key.

“Here, keep this safe. My suggestion would be to put it in the room safe, so you don’t lose it in the excitement.”

To my shock, he was talking fluent English now, without any accent.

“I will do,” I answered, immediately laughing a dumb Russian laugh. Wow, how stupid my own voice sounded. I sounded just like Mikhail in voice, accent and whacked English.

I immediately realized that whatever these rings did wasn't simply placing my brain inside Mikhail's body. That would just change the voice. But to also changed my accent and even words and grammar, which hinted at something more complex. It somehow both frightened and excited me, and I felt a stir in my pants. I wondered what else would be different, what else this body I now inhabited might be made of.

I put the key and my wallet in the safe, and locked it with 7478. Same code as my old phone, based on the Boeing 747-8 plane. As an international businessman I've had many trips on those. Boris started moving and ushered me out of the room, almost impatiently. As the room door clicked shut, I realized that I’m standing outside of my room with no key, no ID, a different body, and next to this oversized hunk of meat. I reminded myself that I can, at any moment, just remove the ring and appear back in the room. I could then open the safe, grab the key, unlock the shackles on my own body, and pretend like nothing had happened. As long as I have my hand free to remove the ring, there is no need for a safe word tonight. I chuckled with Mikhail’s voice at my own internal pun.

The feeling was amazing, getting accustomed to the body. I could tell my first thought was spot on: this bod was in great shape. It was lithe, almost sprightly compared to where I was at normally. Toned and packed with just enough firm muscle to have a bit of a swagger, it seemed. As we strode out of the hotel and into one of the waiting taxis, I ran a hand through my buzzed hair once more, feeling the spike of the flat cut against my palm. I tugged a little and played with the studs in my ear lobes.

Is this how fags felt, I wondered? Are these sort of bodies part of where their pride and sex drive comes from? I hadn’t given any thought before to the idea that men who are attracted to men might find their own bodies hot, too. I looked down at my forearms, noticing the fit power in them, the veins lightly popping. It did look good to me. I could feel queer thoughts, but I wasn’t ashamed or repulsed by them. This wasn’t me, but I could tell it could be very hot to play the gay. And looking at my arms, I felt an erotic buzz. I was starting plump up a little. I was legitimately turned on.

“In Soviet Russia, you not find faggot. Faggot find you!” I said out loud, laughing, thinking that I sounded even dumber than Mikhail did in this voice. One of my favorite jokes finally had a body worthy of it. Both Boris and the driver ignored me.

I suppose Russians didn’t usually make such a classic Russian joke, did they? Or did they? This really was the most out-of-body experience I’ve ever had, quite literally. Talk about risk versus reward payoff. I had to do it again.

“In Soviet Russia, big dick find you!” I found myself slurring, stupidly, and just hearing the ridiculous accent come out of Mikhail’s mouth, a mouth that was mine for the time being, made me snort with laughter again. I didn’t expect that the first few things I’d be doing in this body would be laughing my ass off. It was truly surreal. But it was hilarious, I mean, wow. Maybe it was my way of trying to find my sea legs after such radical change.

We arrived at a different hotel only 15 minutes away from mine, but looking at it they couldn't be further apart. If Mikhail and Boris looked seedy in the lobby of my hotel, they would appear posh in this neighborhood. I was still not used to this body, and wobbled a bit getting out of the taxi. Boris stopped and waited by the hotel entrance while I made a few jumps to test that everything is fine.

“Boris,” I say, my voice reminding me of some squirrel and moose thing – Natasha – Rocky and Bullwinkle – I can’t get over this accent –

“Boris, where is room?”

I find that I almost have a feel for the way the Russkies talk, I think, and that if I just roll with it, I’ll be able to work with it almost effortlessly. Boris started leading me into the hotel and down a hall. He stopped by a door and opened it, with a real key. Not one of those card reader doors. He entered the room and I followed.

First thing I did was to swagger on over to the mirror. I didn't get a good look while in my room before Boris ushered me out. Yeah, I pretty much looked amazing. This body, or whatever sense of sexual desire was in this bod, recognizes male beauty in a way that wasn’t apparent to me at all as a straight guy. This body is fit, it is toned, it is more tanned than I would have expected from a Russian guy. He must have been in The Philippines for a while now, I figured. The tats, which I thought looked like cheap pieces of shit from a budget tattoo parlor before, looked masculine, tough, and sleazy.

I looked like the mirror image of a guy who lived to fuck, drink, smoke and party, I thought- And I could feel that I was craving a smoke, too. But man, that mirror… I was boned, totally erect over a man for the first time in my life, even if it just was myself, in a way.

Mikhail had been wearing that rich brand of underwear to try to act like he was worth something, I suppose. What’s the name of it? I can’t even remember, not being an underwear type myself. To me, despite whatever he must have spent, the briefs and tats all just made him look cheap and trashy. But I liked it. It’d be perfect for tonight. I fully intended to take advantage of it all, go out for a while, have fun and bring someone back tonight. If things stayed chill, I was ready to fuck. Boris looked bored, and wasn’t even really watching me, so I was guessing things were cool.

I recalled Mikhail had blurted something out earlier about “Fuck Wrestler,” which I presumed meant Boris. And I had been thinking maybe I’d do that, initially, not really being sure what I’d do. But now that I was attracted to men, apparently, I really just didn’t think Boris was my type. Or this body’s type. Or whatever. He didn’t seem to be into me, either. I like the look of Mikhail’s body for sure, and it’s almost mesmerizing to me. Breaking away from the mirror is a bit of a challenge, I notice, as I put my tank top back on. Maybe the old line about Narcissus isn’t so far from the truth after all.

“Boris, I want to go to bar,” I said. “Gay bar. You know where?” “да,” the oaf answered.

I understood it as "Yes", of course, but I understood it in a fluid way. Could I speak it, too?

“Вы можете общаться со мной на русском языке?” I blurted to see if he could understand me. My own words sound like something an insect would come up with. They buzzed. They sounded slushy, and they sounded like shit. I really don’t know how folks can speak such an ugly language, how anything could evolve in such a strange way.

“да.” he said again, without any emotion.

There’s some male jewelry on the counter, I noticed as I started to turn out the lights. Dog tags, a pendant. I picked them up and put em on. Looks good- Wonder if Mikhail walked around with that, normally. The whole walk to the bar, I couldn’t help but to act cocky, shifting my posture, feeling playful with this body. Boris, as I found out by trying to chat him up, despite him being a man of few words, did have a pack of cigarettes to help me out with. Soon I’m bumming a couple off of him, and as soon as I could get away with it outside of the lobby, I light up.

The guys walking around Manila that we passed – some are kind of, I don’t know how to put it…not ugly, but not really attractive. I wasn’t really drawn to the girls, I noticed, but not the guys either, all that much. Some of them caught my eye a little more than others. I hoped when we got to the bar that I would find one of the Russians I was expecting to be there. Was that what my genes were hunting for, or was that what I just was expecting to find? A Russian? Would I be attracted to a German, a Frenchman or an American if I ran into any? Good luck picking one up with this voice, I thought to myself. But this is a sexy body. I bet I could pick up a lot of different kinds of guys. Gays aren’t really known for being particular, I thought. At least they’re known to do a lot of depraved shit with anyone. They aren’t like women. They have it easy, so I should too.

The thought of trying to hit on a guy, though I had no clue how to do it, seemed amusing. I felt a tinge of nervousness, but then I remembered this isn’t my real body. I could say anything. There’s a wallet in these jeans and I flipped through it. Was that arranged? There’s enough cash in there, 400 pesos, to drink for a while depending on the prices. I wonder if Boris would loan me more, but how smashed would I really gonna get? It should be more than enough.

Soon we were in the bar. I eyed the field. I spotted my prey almost instantly. Dark beard, full, thick. Bomber sunglasses tank top, twists of tribal tattoo down one arm. I wondered what sort of guy wears glasses in a bar, and I was thinking, fag guys do. And that’s you too, fag boy, so hop to it. And it was alluring, even as I knew it was done for affect. I didn’t care. He was hot.

I didn’t sit down by him right away, though. Boris and I took a spot at the corner, by the entrance. Soon enough, though, I wink at him on his way to take a piss. Why not? Nothing to lose, man.

Once he was out of sight Boris stood up, and surprised I asked him if he was going to leave. I kind of expected he would stick around to make sure I didn't do anything too stupid with Mikhail's body. He smiled for the first time, patted me too hard in the back, responded "Ты справишься" and left. And with that I was on my own.

Well, that’s all fine with me, because I was worried these guys might think I already scored Boris or something. Didn’t want that crimping my game. I was totally comfortable on my own, too. Fuck, it’s not my body. Still can’t get over how liberating it was to just know it.

The night got rolling, more folks were trickling into the club, and Bomber Glasses and I were talking, finally. He is German, but does speak some English. This body did the work for me, I thought. He was into me. I couldn’t help but be fixated at his beard, man, and the chest hair that foofed out of the top of his tank. He has a dog tag of his own around his neck. It’s all so sleazy and fucked up. It’s weird, knowing that what once would have repulsed now allured.

Soon he was buying me a drink. I wondered if I was attracted to powerful guys, as this was the first one who caught my eye out of the bunch, not that there were many to choose from. He was at least a good three inches taller than me. Darker complexion. Thicker hair, and of course that beard. That chest. Mine’s got just a little fuzz. I started to wonder if Russians were a hairy people compared to Germans. I didn’t think they really were, but some definitely are. The train of thoughts caught me by surprise. I’ve never before considered how hairy guys are. Must be the fag in me for sure. Wondered what mixing with this body for the night is gonna do to my mind, long-term. You know, like what if it’s like the long-term effects of a powerful dose of shrooms? That might not be good, depending. It felt OK in the trial swap we did earlier, so clearly it reverts without any seeming issues, but then that was just after a few seconds.

No time to be nervous, though. I wanted to get my money’s worth.

Now the guy’s looking at me, intensely, right in the eyes over drinks, and I was feeling like maybe the gays have a point about wanting their public display of affection. I was feeling like if this guy wanted to fuck out in the streets of Manila with me, I’d do it, despite the filth and chaos. By the time he was kissing me, right in the bar, and I was feeling his thick beard press into my jaw, and we’re speaking our stupid, malformed English to each other, all I could think about was the hard cock that might end up in my ass tonight if this kept going well. I wantws this guy to come back to the hotel with me.

“You and I,” I said, between kisses. “Go wild, with sex, you make sex with me. Hot as sex,” I went, fascinated by the chest hair he was got spilling out of the neckline, rubbing it with my fingers, playing with it, all as best as I could. He was trying to slobber on my earlobe stud and probe my tongue with his ear. We’re making a scene in the bar. I couldn’t care less. He stripped my shirt off right then and there in the bar so he could see my chest. He was playing with my pecs, rubbing the muscle, slapping my firm belly, my firm biceps. “Flex for me,” he commands. I've never done that in my life before, and don't really know how, but somehow I manage to make some tight abs for him. He is lost in admiration, I could see.

We walked out the backdoor of the club, his fingers in the back pocket of one of my jeans, not just kinda steering me, as I’m rather sloshed, but claiming me. Showing who is the top. He squeezed an ass cheek through the denim, and I loved it. He leaned in for another kiss. It’s a steamy night. I needed a smoke, so I lit one up, buzzed up, feeling dreamy as hell, wondering what "nasty things” would actually going to be like. A cock up my ass? I could take one, fuck if I care. Sounded glorious right then. I wondered if I could feel that desire in my ass that they supposedly get? Not yet, I thought, searching my thoughts to see if I felt anything, and decided that maybe it’s because I haven’t tried it, yet. I wanted to try it. This German guy, a man, had me feeling like a creature of beauty. I felt beautiful in a way no woman had ever made me feel before.

I can scarcely remember the walk back to the hotel, for all the alcohol, hormones and groping. I remember wanting to be rather cautious the whole while. Manila is just loaded with chaos, deep pits and potholes you can step into, nothing in the way of sidewalks, not to mention motobikes and jeepneys. The hotel was much too close to bother with a cab.

I remember thinking that the longer I stayed in this body, the more risk I was taking, but I’d come this far tonight and intended to finish it. We didn’t set a time limit. “When you are done” was the deal. That made sense, as they got paid by the hour. They’d want to give me time to fuck until I’m sick of it, presumably by dawn at the latest, and I would obviously want my body back. This set of jeans didn’t even come with ID, and most of my few bucks had already been spent at the bar.

As for the sex, this guy was experienced. I figured as much, but found it out fast once we were in the bedroom together. I mean, I had barely latched the door behind me when he really flaunted his power, flipping me right around, pressing my back up against the door, passionately taking my jaw in his big hands and kissing me, licking me, tenderly and firmly, all at the same time. It’s hard to describe. He was even licking up my neck in broad strokes like I’m a fruit that’s ripe on the vine. It was hot. I suppose I must be a fruit, at least for tonight, haha. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, on my breath. I wanted to hear my dumb, hot, sexy Russian voice again. I was fumbling to get him out of his tank, which should have been an easy move, but I was too drunk.

“Chest, man,” I said. “You hairy, man. You are hairy. It’s hot.” I sounded like an idiot, I know, but it’s hot to hear my voice, too, my slurring, Russian voice.

”Yeah, boy,” he went, feeling up my pecs. I liked being called boy by this guy. Made me feel young, sexy, which I am. And I knew it.

He was practically ripping me out of my briefs and threw me on the bed. He got me naked, and he has got coke. It’s not my body, I think. I knew what to do, believe it or not. I've been to the bars around Wall street and seen what happens in the men's room. So I snorted up a line off the glass counter, walked over, naked, lit up a cigarette right in the room. Didn’t see any non-smoking signs, at least. This isn't the kind of hotel that bothers with smoke detectors. He slapped me on the ass and I couldn’t believe this was me, just hanging out casually, naked with a guy who’s occasionally slobbering all over my lower jaw.

I snorted another line. I felt amped, like coffee, only crazier. I took more at once. With a cross-fade like this, I know it’s more dangerous. Not my body, not my problem.

He was wrestling me down. I loved the feel of my muscles pushing back against his, and I loved trying to toss him, to pin him down, but he was stronger. We wrestled a lot that night, playful. I was so drunk it didn’t really hurt even when he threw me to the floor and body slammed me. It’s just fucking fun, don’t know how to put it, that state when you’ve got adrenaline and passion and lust and a few drugs pumping through your veins.

Man, his cock was a thick one. At one point I remember him shoving his hand in my ass, licking and slobbering all up in my crack, and I’m just on hands and knees, drooling, playing with my own dick as it flopped around and dangled down, making slimy fish line circles of pre-cum in the carpet. Although most dicks in the world are uncut, it somehow felt wrong that my dick now was one of them. Like peeing with boxers on. I was on my haunches, and he was fucking the living shit out of me. It hurt and I yelped out, but guy knew what he was doing, I told myself.

At one point, I half cum, forcing myself to hold it back, not wanting the experience to end so soon. “Try,” I said to him, stopping, getting up off my knees. “Try not to cum,” I said. I had pulled back, hard, using my groin muscles to stop it so I could save my load. A minute later I was good to go again. He put a cock ring on me, telling me that will shut the dick up. I don't know if he brought it or if he found it in the room. Everything was a blur. “You are my pet now”, he told me. He was pushing me down, going for my armpits, slobbering and licking all over them. I had no idea men did that. I was shocked, but it felt great.

There were other surprises. I didn’t expect to be gagging on his thick cock, or expect that he’d seemed to want to pleasure in making me choke on it. But I sure as hell did choke on it. “Spit on it,” he ordered, so I did. “Lick,” he said, so I did, licking my own spit on his cock. I was slobbering up his cock as much as I could with my tongue, thinking that must be what he wanted. It felt good to do. I mean, what an iron rod, what a maypole. This was better than eating pussy, I thought, for sure. I wondered if I’d feel that way tomorrow, realizing I wouldn’t, so I’d better make the most of it now. This would have just seemed sick to me yesterday.

“Fuck me, fuck hard, fuck my ass,” I said to him. My ass had almost started to throb after getting fucked for a while, and it was starting to feel almost empty when it wasn’t getting fucked. Crazy but true, like I wanted him in there. I wondered if this was the prostrate being activated. I could feel it, almost like a heartbeat or something, inside my ass. “Put it in,” I said, wanting him to fuck me more, wanting to understand these sensations better. My ass was sore and yet it just felt so good. Fuck the pain away, and why not?

We took a breather and it was hard to even keep my hands off him for a little while. I wanted to at least massage his shoulders, wrap my arms around him, stroke his legs. If I didn’t have a life of my own, a successful, straight life, I could almost love this guy. The feelings were just so intense, drunk as I was. Probably the alcohol was causing the feelings, but did it matter? He was so beautiful to me. He made me feel sexy. We knew what to do with each other, even as new and awkward as I surely was. The dumb Russian voice Mikhail had was awkward, so fuck if it would matter if my technique was, too. This was all for my excitement, not for the sake of the performance, I remembered.

How long did we fuck? It must have been hours. Time passes at such strange rates when you’ve been partying. I remember my cock being sore, the skin rubbed raw, the thing just aching from the weight of the cock ring, swollen up, but not wanting to stop. I wasn’t sure if I could even get the ring off at this point, drunk as I was. Fuck the pain. “Harder,” I grunted at one part. “Fuck me harder. Deutschland!” I shouted, playful, in lust, this German sex king… my own command sounded like a woof. I really was his pet. But he was also mine.

I didn’t just pass out, I blacked out. I blacked out hard.

I was utterly confused when I woke up in a hotel bed, but then memories started trickle in. The body swap. I clearly was still in Mikhail’s body, I knew, because I could feel it. I felt sore. Wait, why was I still in Mikhail’s body? Looking around I could see I was in the bed in his shitty hotel room, no German to be found. I got up while the whole body was screaming in agony. The bed sheets were pretty much ruined with semen and other fluids. What a mess. My head throbbed with a hangover worse than I have ever experienced before. I stumbled over to the mirror.

Young, muscled, and well-hung were the bright side of what I saw. Everything else I saw in the mirror disgusted me, even more now than when I swapped into it yesterday. I was naked except for the thumb ring and a cock ring. The dick and balls looked bruised, a dangerously purple color. I tentatively touched the dick and pleasure tinged pain shot through my body. It was swollen and had a dull ache, but a small part of me even wanted to play with this dick some more, as I was still horny as fuck. I didn't remember cumming. I didn't even dare to think about the agony it would be to remove that cock ring. I needed to recoup.

I knew Boris and Mikhail were basically showboating a lot of this from the get-go, but after all that, I was really tired of this immersive experience shit. I didn’t know where the German went. I didn’t know if he even kissed me goodbye, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This was the wildest trip I’ve ever been on, and definitely worth it. But I didn’t want to deal with this body. I didn’t want to be a fag any longer. I reached to remove the thumb ring when a sudden fear came over me, like I needed to think this through. I paused.

When I remove the ring, where would I end up? Strapped to a cross in a BDSM dungeon? In a Filipino jail? Who knew what sort of Willy Wonka arrangement these guys had in store for me? Hopefully this is just part of the game, or it’s something else that I’m not thinking of. I was trying not to panic. I was not feeling amused anymore. I just wanted out.

I was hungry, thirsty, sore, emotionally drained, horny, and I had a godawful craving for a smoke. Whatever they’ve done to my real body, it couldn’t be any worse than this.

I removed the ring.

Nothing happened.

I screamed. I punched the wall. I screamed ‘fuuuuuuck!’ until I was sobbing on the filthy bed. I was reduced to a crying mess, not surprisingly.

This is my body now. A trashy fag’s body, with an unrelenting sex drive, a smoking habit, a drinking habit, and I no doubt more addictions waiting to be discovered. No surprise he was eager to ditch it. I'm sure my hotel room was cleared out by now, the credit cards emptied to the limit. What would I do with the stuff there anyway? Clothes that doesn't fit and a passport I can't use. This is who I am now, and there is no way to even begin to explain it to anyone, without seeming like a madman.

I really needed a smoke.

204 notes · View notes

jawritter · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 4

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Donna

Word Count: 1513

Warnings: Fluff, hint of reader insecurities. I think that’s about it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 5 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

One thing you learned about living with Dean Winchester in the time you’d spent living in the bunker was that there was always a chance for random, crazy antics to happen, and it was best to just roll with it; because once Dean got something in that pretty head of his there was no changing his mind. It was best to just let it happen, no matter what it was, no matter how crazy it was, just let him get it out of his system.

When he came bounding into your room like a small, overly hyper child on Christmas morning, pounced on you like a tiger and then commenced to shaking you until you woke up with a start, proclaiming that you needed to get dressed so that the pair of you could get on the road, it was very obviously one of the times you just needed to roll with it. There wasn’t a chance you could sour his good mood. You would never forgive yourself, and he was evidently very excited about this trip.

It was freezing of course, and if you had your way you would have been happy to just stay in bed, but it was something about that sunshine-filled grin of his plastered across that freckle dusted face that pulled you out of your warm bed, and into the Impala without much of an argument. The more awake you became the more contagious his evident excitement was, and by the time the pair of you had stopped for breakfast outside of the Minnesota state line, the anticipation was killing you, so you asked him again that morning for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“Dean, what are we doing in Minnesota, and just where are we going? Did you find a case? If so I could have packed my own bag, you didn’t have to sneak into my room at some unlawful hour in the morning to pack for me before waking me up.”

Dean just grinned at you over his coffee mug, mischief written all over his face, and his eyes lighter than you had ever seen them. Maybe it was the shirt he was wearing, but they just seemed brighter this morning.

“Not telling sweetheart, you will see in just a few minutes, we have to meet someone here, and then we will be on our way, but I will tell you that this is not a case.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out Donna’s distinct accent pierced the air from behind you, “Hey you two,” and Dean was on his feet engulfing the woman in a bear hug.

Donna laughed and swatted him off playfully, reminding him she had a gun in the process as you greeted her with much the same enthusiasm as Dean. It had been a long time since you had seen Donna, and it wasn’t under the best of circumstances the last time you all had been together.

“How the hell have you been, woman?” you asked as she slides into the booth next to you, and the waitress brings her over a cup of coffee for her.

“Great! Doug asked me out about a month ago, and between the occasional small hunt, my day job, and him I’ve been pretty busy. How have the two been? I admit Dean’s phone call at almost midnight the other night surprised me,” she said, smirking at the elder Winchester like they were sharing some great big secret. Dean just chuckled into his pancakes as they were sat down in front of him, the waitress setting an equally large platter in front of Donna.

Donna was clearly a regular here.

“So, Doug finally coming around to, ya know, all this?” Dean asks with a mouth stuff full of pancakes, waving his fork around the table as if to state something obvious to anyone but listening ears from other patrons. Clearly he was trying to deflect the subject from Donna’s previous statement.

“Yep, surprised me too let me tell ya, but he seems to be coming around. It’s always shocking at first ya know.”

“Well what about Jody and girls?” you cut in, cutting your omelet with one of the plastic forks in front of you. “I haven’t seen them since that hunt in Georgia last summer.”

“They’re doing great! I think Kaia and Claire will end up at the altar before long, and Jody isn’t excited about the new hunting couple talking about taking the big leap, she thinks they’re too young, but I think it will be good for them.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean quipped, whipping his mouth with his napkin, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before going back to the female version of himself who was stuffing her face with equally as much food as Dean.

You personally had no idea how the hell she did that, you’d be sick for days if you ate that much sugar in the morning.

The conversation flowed easily between the three of you, catching up on hunts, friends you haven’t seen in a long time, and just life in general. It was normal, it was nice. Things like this were a luxury a hunter rarely ever got in this life, just a breakfast with friends, and if Dean had driven all this way just to do this with you, you would have been grateful, but when Donna stood from the table to hug Dean goodbye after hugging you, she handed him a set of keys, and said, “You two love birds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” with a wink that made Dean blush, DEAN, and walked away, leaving you confused and staring at Dean with mouth agape.

Your eyes met his with shocked amusement as he stuttered on the spot and Donna walked away cackling. When he saw you staring at him he recovered, clearing his throat and throwing his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards Baby, apparently determined to act like nothing had ever happened. You let it go. You knew you could really poke fun at him about it, but it was better to file it away under later blackmail.

“So, what’re the keys for?” you asked Dean, as he continues deeper into the frozen state, humming along with the radio as if he didn’t have a care in the world, it was an amazing sight.

“For this right here,” Dean states proudly, pointing to what you quickly recognized as Donna’s cabin. Your eyes traveled between him and the cabin.

“Really?”

“Yup,” Dean said, getting out of the car and you followed him, letting him take your hand and lead you into the cabin Donna had eventually warmed for the two of you once she knew you were coming. “This is day 10. We’re gonna be staying here, just the two of us until after Christmas.”

You turned to him in utter disbelief at what you were hearing. You and Dean, just the two of you, for ten whole days? Could this be real?

“I thought you could use a real white Christmas, and what better way to experience that than a snowed-in cabin in Minnesota; lucky for you I just happened to know a friend who had one to spare.”

You closed the distance between the two of you, throwing your arm around his neck and hugging him tightly, which he returned without hesitation.

“Oh my God Dean! This is perfect!” you tell him, releasing him from your grip and beginning to look around the cabin. It was perfect, and with a little decorating it could be very pretty with some Christmas decorations, and if you could talk him into it, a tree.

“Only thing is there’s only one bed in the place, but if you're uncomfortable sharing then I’ll take the couch.”

Your throat closed up for a moment, and you swallowed hard to get your voice to work again. Dean Winchester in your bed was something you had always dreamed of, the question is could you survive it actually happening?

You couldn’t make him sleep on the couch for ten days, and the bed was plenty big enough to share.

“I’m okay with sharing Dean, It’s not like you got cooties are something,” you play, hoping to hide your racing heart and the fact that your mind had suddenly turned to mush.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you like my cooties,” he said, winkie at you.

Suddenly it was your turn to blush as a wide victorious smile spread across his face.

“I’m gonna go grab our bags so we can get settled,” he announces before turning to disappear out into the cold.

You look around at what was going to be your little slice of Heaven for the next ten days with excited apprehension. There was so much that could happen in ten days, but if you didn’t get your feelings under control for a certain green-eyed hunter, you didn’t know how happy of a Christmas you would be able to have when he flat out rejects you.

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@bobbie3939

Twelve Days Of Christmas Tag List:

@440mxs-wife

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester series #dean x reader #dean x you #dean series #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #jensen ackles #x reader inserts #jawritter #twelve days of christmas

81 notes · View notes

unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

Harlequin Valentine

Neil Gaiman (1999)

It is February the Fourteenth, at that hour of the morning when all the children have been taken to school, and the husbands have driven themselves to work, or have been dropped, steambreathing and greatcoated, at the rail station at the edge of the town for the Great Commute, when I pin my heart to Missy’s front door.

The heart is a deep dark red that is almost a brown, the colour of liver. Then I knock on the door, sharply, rat-a-tat-tat!

And I grasp my wand, my stick, my oh-so-thrustable and beribonned lance, and I vanish like cooling steam into the chilly air…

Missy opens the door. She looks tired.

“My Columbine,” I breathe, but she hears not a word. She turns her head, so she takes in the view from one side of the street to the other, but nothing moves.

A truck rumbles in the distance.

She walks back into the kitchen and I dance, silent as a breeze, as a mouse, as a dream, into the kitchen beside her.

Missy takes a plastic sandwich bag from a paper box in the kitchen drawer. She takes a bottle of cleaning spray from under the sink.

She pulls off two sections of kitchen towel from the roll on the kitchen counter. The she walks back to the front door.

She pulls the pin from the painted wood – it was my hat pin, which I had stumbled across… where? I turn the matter over in my head; in Gascony, perhaps? Or Twickenham? Or Prague?

The face on the end of the hat pin is that of a pale Pierrot. She removes the pin from the heart, and puts the heart into the plastic sandwich bag.

She wipes the blood from the door with a squirt of cleaning spray and a rub of paper towel, and she inserts the pin into her lapel, where the little white-faced August face stares out at the cold world with his blind silver eyes and his grave silver lips.

Naples. Now it comes back to me.

I purchased the hat pin in Naples, from an old woman with one eye. She smoked a clay pipe.

This was a long time ago.

Missy puts the cleaning utensils down on the kitchen table, then she thrusts her arms through the sleeves of her old blue coat – which was once her mother’s – then she places the sandwich bag with the heart in it determinedly into her pocket, does up the buttons - one, two, three – and sets off down the street.

Secret, secret, quiet as a mouse I follow her, sometimes creeping, sometimes dancing, and she never sees me, not for a moment, just pulls her blue coat more tightly around her, and she walks through the town, and down the old road that leads past the cemetery.

The wind tugs at my hat, and I regret, for a moment, the loss of my hat pin. But I am in love, and this is Valentine’s Day. Sacrifices must be made.

Missy is remembering in her head the other times she has walked into the cemetery, through the tall iron cemetery gates: when her father died; and when they came here as kids at All Hallows’, the whole school mob and caboodle of them, partying and searing each other; and when a secret lover was killed in a three-car pile-up on the interstate, and she walked until the end of the funeral, when the day was all over and done with, and she came in the evening, just before sunset, and laid a white lily on the fresh grave.

Oh, Missy, shall I sing the body and the blood of you, the lips and the eyes? A thousand hearts I would give you as your valentine.

Proudly I wave my staff in the air and dance, singing silently into the gloriousness of me, as we skip together down Cemetery road.

A low grey building, and Missy pushes open the door.

She says Hi and How’s it going to the girl at the desk, who makes no intelligible reply, fresh out of school, and filling in a crossword from a periodical filled with nothing but crosswords page after page of them…

The girl would be making private phone calls on company time if only she had somebody to call, which she doesn’t, and, I see, plain as elephants, she never will. Her face is a mass of blotchy acne pustules and acne scars and she thinks it matters, and talks to nobody.

I see her life spread out before me: She will die, unmarried, and unmolested, of breast cancer in fifteen years’ time, and will be planted under a stone with her name on it in the meadow by Cemetery Road, and the first hands to have touched her breasts will have been those of the pathologist as he cuts out the cauliflower-like stinking growth and mutters, “Jesus, look at the size of this thing. Why didn’t she tell anyone?” which rather misses the point.

Gently, I kiss her on her spotty cheek, and whisper to her that she is beautiful. Then I tap her once, twice, thrice, on the head with my staff, and wrap her with a ribbon.

She stirs and smiles.

Perhaps tonight she will get drunk and dance and offer up her virginity upon Hymen’s altar, meet a young man who cares more for her breasts than for her face, and will one day, stroking those breasts and sucking and rubbing them, say, “Honey, you seen anybody about that lump?” and by then her spots will be long gone, rubbed and kissed and frottaged into oblivion.

But now I have mislaid Missy…

The stench is unbearable, heavy and rancid and wreathed on the air. The fat man in the stained lab coat wears disposable rubber gloves. A dead man is on the table in front of him.

The fat man has not noticed Missy yet. He has made an incision, and now he peels back the skin with a wet, sucking sound, and how dark the brown of it is on the outside, and how pink, pretty the pink of it is on the inside.

Classical music plays from a portable radio, very loudly. Missy turns the radio off. “Hello,Vernon.”

“Hello, Missy. You come for your old job back?”

This is The Doctor, I decide, for he is too big, too round, too magnificently well-fed to be Pierrot, too unselfconscious to be Pantaloon.

His face creases with delight to see Missy, and she smiles to see him, and I am jealous; I feel a stab of pain shoot through my heart (currently in a plastic sandwich bag in Missy’s coat pocket), sharper than when I stabbed it with my hat pin and stuck it to her door.

And speaking of my own heart…

Missy holds out the plastic bag, “Do you know what this is?”

Vernon peers at it closely. “Heart,” he replied. “Kidneys don’t have the ventricles, and brains are bigger and squishier. Where’d you get it?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me. Doesn’t it come from here? Is it your idea of a valentine’s card, Vernon? A human heart stuck to my front door?”

“Don’t come from here. You want I should call the police?”

Missy shook her head. “I guess not. With my luck, they’ll decide I’m a serial killer and send me to the chair.”

Vernon: “Let’s see… adult, in pretty good shape, took care of his heart, cut out by an expert.”

I smile proudly at this, and bend down to talk to the dead black man on the table, with his chest all open and his calloused string-bass-plucking fingers.

“Go ‘way, Harlequin,” he mutters, quietly, not to offend Missy and his doctor. “Don’t you go causing trouble here.”

“Hush yourself. I will cause trouble wherever I wish,” I tell him. “It is my function. But, for a moment, I feel a void about me; I am wistful, almost Pierrotish , which is a poor thing for a harlequin to be.

Oh, Missy, I saw you yesterday in the street, and followed you into Al’s Super-Valufoods and More, elation and joy rising within me. In you, I recognized someone who could transport me, take me from myself.

In you I recognized my valentine. My Columbine.

I did not sleep last night, and instead I turned the town topsy and turvy, befuddling the unfuddled . I caused three sober bankers to make fools of themselves with drag queens from Madame Zora’s Revue and Bar.

I slid into the bedrooms of the sleeping, unseen and unimagined, slipping the evidence of mysterious and exotic trysts into the pockets and under pillows and into crevices, able only to imagine the fun that would ignite the following days as soiled and spilt-crotch fantasy panties would be found poorly hidden under sofa, cushions and in the inner pockets of respectable suits.

But my heart was not in it, and the only face I could see was Missy’s. Oh, Harlequin in love is a sorry creature.

I wonder what she will do with my gift. Some girls spurn my heart, others touch it, kiss it, caress it, punish it will all manner of endearments before they return it to my keeping. Some never even see it.

Missy: “Shall I incinerate it?”

“Might as well. You know where the incinerator is, and I meant what I said about your old job. I need a good lab assistant.”

I imagine my heart trickling up to the sky as ashes and smoke, covering the world. I do not know what I think of this, but, her jaw set, Missy shakes her head and she bids goodbye to Vernon the pathologist.

She has thrust my heart into her pocket and she is walking out of the building and up Cemetery Road and back into town.

I caper ahead of her. Interaction would be a fine thing, I decide.

Fitting word to deed I disguise myself as a bent old woman on her way to the market, covering the red spangles of my costume with a tattered cloak, hiding my masked face with a voluminous hood, and at the top of Cemetery Road I step out and block her way.

Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous me, and I say to her, in the voice of the oldest of women, “Spare a copper for a bent old woman, dearie, and I’ll tell you a fortune that will make your eyes spin with joy.”

“Here.”

And I have it in my head to tell her all about the mysterious man she will meet, all dressed in red and yellow, with his domino mask, who will thrill her and love her and never, never leave her (for it is not a good thing to tell your Columbine the entire truth), but instead I find myself saying, in a cracked old voice, “Have you ever heard of Harlequin?”

“Yes,” she answers, “character in the Commedia dell’arte . Costume covered in little diamond shapes. Wore a mask. I think he was a clown of some sort, wasn’t he?”

I shake my head, beneath my hood. “No clown,” I tell her. “He was…”

And I find that I am about to tell her the truth, so I choke back the words and pretend that I am having the kind of coughing attack, to which elderly women are particularly susceptible.

I wonder if this could be the power of love.

I do not remember it troubling me with other women I thought I had loved, other Columbines I have encountered over centuries now long gone.

I squint through old woman eyes at Missy; she is in her early twenties, and she has lips like a mermaid’s, full and well-defined and certain, and grey eyes, and a certain intensity to her gaze.

“Are you all right?”

I cough and sputter and cough some more and gasp, “Fine, my dearie-duck. I’m just fine, thank you kindly.”

“So. I thought you were going to tell me my fortune.”

“Harlequin has given you his heart. You must discover its beat yourself.” I hear myself saying these words, angry at my trickster tongue for betraying me.

She stares at me, puzzled. I cannot change or vanish while her eyes are upon me, and I feel frozen.

“Look! A rabbit!”

And she turns, follows my pointing finger, and as she takes her eyes off me I disappear – pop! – like a rabbit down a hole.

When she looks back, there’s not a trace of the old fortune-teller lady, which is to say me.

Missy walks on, and I caper after her, but there is not the spring in my step there was earlier in the morning.

Midday, and Missy has walked to Al’s Super-ValuFoods and More, where she buys a small block of cheese, a carton of unconcentrated orange juice, two avocados, and on to the County One Bank, where she withdraws two hundred and seventy-nine dollars and twenty-two cents, which is the total amount of money in her savings account, and I creep after her sweet as sugar and quiet as the grave.

“’Morning, Missy…” says the owner of the Salt Shaker Café, when Missy enters.

My heart would have skipped a beat if it were not in the sandwich bag in Missy’s pocket, for this man obviously lusts after her, and my confidence, which is legendary, droops and wilts.

I am Harlequin, I tell myself, in my diamond-covered garments, and the world is my harlequinade. I am Harlequin, who rose from the dead to play his pranks upon the living. I am Harlequin, in my mask, with my wand.

I whistle to myself, and my confidence rises, hard and full once more.

Missy was saying: “Hey, Harve. Give me a plate of hash browns, and a bottle of ketchup.” “That all?”

“Yes. That’ll be perfect, and a glass of water.”

I tell myself that the man Harve is Pantaloon, the foolish merchant that I must bamboozle, baffle, confusticate, and confuse.

Perhaps there is a string of sausages in the kitchen.

I resolve to bring delightful, disarray to the world, and to bed luscious Missy before midnight: my Valentine’s present to myself.

I imagine myself kissing her lips.

There are a handful of other diners. I amuse myself by swapping their plates while they are not looking, but I have difficulty finding the fun in it.

The waitress ignores Missy, whom she obviously considers entirely Harve’s preserve.

Missy sits at the table, and pulls the sandwich bag from her pocket. She places it on the table in front of her.

Harve-the-pantaloon struts over to Missy’s table, gives her a glass of water, a plate of hash-browned potatoes, and a bottle of Heinz 57 Varieties Tomato Ketchup.

“And a steak knife,” Missy said. As Harve turned, I stuck out my stick.

He stumbles. He curses, and I feel better, more like the former me.

I goose the waitress as she passes the table of an old man who is reading USA Today while toying with his salad.

She gives the old man a filthy look. I chuckle, and then I find I am feeling most peculiar. I sit down on the floor, suddenly.

“What’s that, honey?” the waitress asks.

“Health food, Charlene,” Missy replies, “Builds up iron.” I peep over the tabletop.

She is slicing up small slices of liver-coloured meat on her plate, liberally doused in tomato sauce, and piling her fork high with hash browns.

Then she chews.

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My valentine’s jest somehow seems less funny.

She pops another scrap of raw gristle cut small into her mouth, and chews it hard, before swallowing.

Charlene, the waitress, goes past once more, with a pot of steaming coffee. “So what’s with the raw meat? You anemic?”

Missy replies, “Not anymore.”

And as she finishes eating my heart, Missy looks down and sees me sprawled upon the floor.

She nods. “Outside. Now.”

Then she gets up, and leaves ten dollars beside her plate.

She is sitting on a bench on the sidewalk, waiting for me. It is cold, and the street is almost deserted.

I would caper around her, but if feels so foolish now I know someone is watching. “You ate my heart.” I can hear the petulance in my voice, and it irritates me.

“Yes. Is that why I can see you?”

“I guess.” I answered. “Nobody’s ever done it before.” “Take off that domino mask. You look stupid.”

I did.

“Not much improvement,” she says. “Now, give me the hat. And the stick.” “I would prefer not to.”

Missy reaches out and plucks my hat from my head, takes my stick from my hand.

She toys with the hat, her long fingers brushing and bending it. Her nails are painted crimson. Then she stretches and smiles, expansively. The poetry has gone from my soul, and the cold February wind makes me shiver.

“It’s cold,” I say.

“No.” Missy replied. “It’s perfect, magnificent, marvelous, and magical. It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Who could be cold upon Valentine’s Day? What a fine and fabulous time of the year.”

The diamonds are fading from my suit, which is turning ghost-white, Pierrot -white.

“What do I do now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role… a lovelorn swain, perchance, mooning and pining under the pale moon. All you need is a Columbine.”

“You are my Columbine.”

“Not anymore. That’s the joy of the harlequinade, after all, isn’t it? We change our costumes. We change our roles.”

She flashes me such a smile, now.

Then she puts my hat, my own hat, my harlequin-hat, up onto her head. “And you?” I ask.

She tosses the wand into the air: it tumbles and twists in a high arc, red and yellow ribbons twisting and swirling about it, and then it lands neatly, almost silently, back into her hand.

She pushes the tip down to the sidewalk, pushes herself up from the bench in one smooth movement.

She says to me: “I have things to do. Tickets to take. People to dream.” Then she leans over, and kisses me, full, and hard upon the lips.

Somewhere, a car backfired. I turned, startled, and when I looked back, I was alone on the street. I sat there for several moments, on my own.

“Hey, Pete,” Charlene calls from the doorway, “Have you finished out there yet?” “Finished? Finished what, Charlene?”

“C’mon. Harve says your ciggie break is over. And you’ll freeze. Back into the kitchen.” I stared at her. She tossed her pretty hair, and, momentarily, smiled at me.

I adjusted my white clothes, the uniform of the kitchen help, and followed her inside.

It’s Valentine’s Day, I thought.Tell her how you feel. Tell her what you think . But I said nothing, I dared not. I simply followed her inside, a creature of mute longing.

Back in the kitchen, a pile of plates was waiting for me: I began to scrape the leftovers into the pig-bin.

There was a scrap of dark meat on one of the plates, beside some half-finished ketchup-covered hash browns.

It looked almost raw… but I dipped it into the congealing ketchup and, when Harve’s back was turned, I picked it off the plate and chewed it down. It tasted metallic and gristly, but I swallowed it anyhow, and could not have told you why.

A blob of red ketchup dripped from the plate onto the sleeve of my white uniform, forming one perfect diamond.

I called across the kitchen. “Hey, Charlene, happy Valentine’s Day. And then I started to whistle.

2 notes · View notes

lord-explosion-baku · 6 years

Text

If He’s The Cold Then She’s The Disease pt. 2

Pairing: Todoroki x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, angst

A/n: This is a prequel to my fic Dancing’s Not A Crime tat will ventuay it off to be a alternate story for Todoroki. I kinda half assed this so I APOLOGIZE

Part 1

Todoroki’s POV

L/n, I’m so glad that we’ve somehow managed to have found each other again. My friendship with you meant everything to me in elementary school and it means even more to me now. I’ve wanted to tell you since the moment you bumped into me for a couple weeks now that I-

Dear Y/n, it’s so funny that we ended up in the same class!-

Todoroki crumpled yet another piece of paper up and through it in his trash bin. He felt hopeless. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get the right words out so he thought he could put it in the letter. He was used to writing formal letters for school but never has he written a confession. He didn’t know if he should make it lighthearted to bare his soul. Even then, would you even reciprocate his feelings? Or would you laugh in his face? No, you would never do that but even the thought of politely turning him down gave him an awful knot in his stomach. That shouldn’t matter. He couldn’t live with himself unless he told you how he felt. He picked up his pen again.

Y/n, the energy around you bring light into my life everyday...

“So how was the food?” Mr. Akabane swooped around your table, collecting your empty plates.

“Trés magnifique!” You smiled up at the proud man, patting your napkin to your mouth.

“Ahh, merci beaucoup, mademoiselle. It is my pleasure to serve such an iridescent couple! I’ll just be leaving the check here, but take all the time you need. Would you like me to fill up your glasses?”

Todoroki took the check in his hands and slid his card in, handing it straight back to Mr. Akabane.

“What? Shouto, you don’t have to do that!”

“Such glistening courtliness!” Boomed Mr. Akabane, taking the checkbook from Todoroki’s hands. “And they say chivalry is dead!” With that, he disappeared back into his cafe.

You made a mock scowl at Todoroki. “I’m getting it next time,” you mumbled and he couldn’t help but smile at you. Even when you were annoyed you were so cute.

“You’ll have to be quicker to grab the check next time,” Todoroki sipped the last of his water.

You played with a loose curl seemingly lost in thought. Todoroki was trying to decide if this was the right time to give you his letter. You slammed your hand to the table “I know how I can pay you back!”

“You really don’t have to-“

“I wanna show you something!”

You pulled Todoroki by the wrist a couple blocks away from Mr. Akabane’s cafe. Whenever Todoroki asked where you were going, you would only say that it was a surprise. You made it to an official looking building.

“You wanted to show me a library?”

“Shut up, of course not.”

You walked around the building until you came to a black gate that that kept you from the stairs that lead under the library. “Are you too full to be mischievous?” You asked, gesturing to the tall gate.

“Never,” Todoroki said preparing himself to jump.

You threw your pack up and over the gate and followed it. Todoroki was close behind. You skipped down the steps and tried the door. It was locked. “Reserare*,” you whispered to the knob. There was a click and you held the door open for Todoroki.

“You couldn’t have used that on the gate?” Todoroki jokes as he entered the building.

“Forgive me, for being fun.”

It was pitch black and Todoroki was enveloped in the scent of rose and he could eat the sound of a stream. You bumped into to him while walking in. Pushing him along you made your way to what you were pretty sure was the center of the room. You held on to Todoroki. He could eat your channeled breathing. He waited for you to speak, to move your arms, do something. You were so close to him. He relished your embrace but he hated it being able to see you, not being able to know what was going on. Todoroki reaches into his bag. “Y/n-“ He began.

“Shhh,” you interrupted. “Just give us a moment.” Todoroki felt you press your head against his chest, humming softly. Todoroki could feel his body warm up. You lifted your head off his chest. “Sorry,” you whispered, “it takes me a moment to preform magic like this. In lumine*”

Orbs of light flooded from your chest dancing around the two of you and flying away towards black lamp posts, illuminating the room in floods of blue and purple. In the middle of the room sat a white metal bench with a floral design running along the back. A creek rode around a white rose garden, beautifully illuminated by the violet and cyan lights.

Todoroki doin around in awe of his surroundings. “Y/n, how-? What is this?”

You were shuffling around in your bag to retrieve your journal. “This belonged to the old librarian. She really liked gardening. With her quirk, she kept this underground garden alive without needing sunlight. She was really nice and let me come in here while she gardened. She passed away about a year a year and a half ago though. So I come here sometimes and do some upkeep.” You flipped through the pages of your journal, walking towards a bush that was dropping with some roses shriveling up.

“They’re dead,” Todoroki stated, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You hummed, “They’re not. They just need a little tinder love and care.” Your gentle fingers landed on the image you were searching for. “Ah! How could I forget this one? Spiritus vitae*!” A swirling of energy entered the room and suddenly your hand were glowing with a yellow light. You traced your glowing fingers up the stems of the bush, allowing the plant to spring to life and the flowers to bloom bright and shining.

Todoroki’s eyes widened at your display. You had just brought an organism back to life! You were sighing and humming to yourself as you nearly danced to the next plant. “Oh!” You said when your hand stopped glowing. “I was hoping it would last longer! Well, I can just use it again! Spiritus vitae!” Your hand glowed again, this time brunch brighter. You traced a rune into your thigh to elongate the spell.

The energy in the room seemed to get heavier while Todoroki felt so much lighter. He watched you run your hands across the grass as red mushrooms and mustard seed followed your path. Soon your whole body was glowing, twirling around lighting up the room. Todoroki never saw anything so spectacular.

You fell to the floor, laughing, asking Todoroki to join you. He laid next to you and watched your balls of flight fly up and high in the room, playing around with each other like fireflies. He turned to you. You were just as mesmerized with your works as he was. You looked back at him, smiling, your e/c eyes nearly glowing along with everything else in the room.

“Do you like it?” You asked.

Todoroki gulped. “I had no idea you could do things like this.”

You laughed. “It’s not all about fighting and trying to be the number one hero, you know.” You were staring at him biting your lip.

Todoroki slipped his hands into his back. “Y/n, I have something I need to-“

“Wait!” You said placing a light hand on his face. The energy spilling from your touch make his skin tingle in a sort of relaxing way. It’s like he didn’t have any anxieties, any worries in the world.

You ran your hands over to his ear, pushing his hair away, your face only a few centimeters away from his. “Is this okay?” You asked leaning in even closer.

“Of- of course.” Todoroki could feel his body nearly vibrate as he took in your sweet perfume. Your lips pressed against his and he felt secret hymns pour from your soul. Your kiss was soft but a sort of power surged through him when he kissed you back. He ran a hand through your hair and a sort of glittering powder dusted off of you and onto him. You were sitting in his lap now, deepening your kiss, laughing slightly when you realized you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. Todoroki didn’t let you pull away. He already had a taste of you and he needed more. He cupped your face, pulling you further into him, running his tongue along your lips. His hand ran up your back underneath your shirt, gently pulling at your skin. You unbuttoned his shirt and placed kisses along his chest, leaving marks of your light on him. Upon seeing that you fell back into his hold, letting out wistful laughter.

The glow of your body had finally started to fade, along with the rune on your thigh. You winced, holding your head.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I just- ahh, I think I’m getting a migraine.” Your globes of light were bursting into dust around you, sprinkling down on you and Todoroki like snow. “Um... I think I should take something or drink water,” you winced again. “It hurts a lot, Todo.”

“Do you think you can stand?” You nodded and he helped you up. “Do I need to take you to the ER?”

“Definitely not, I think I just need to... maybe...” your knees gave out. Before you could touch the speckled grass, you were in Todoroki’s arms. He’s never seen you so helpless before... fainting right in front of him. His eyebrows pulled together as he carried you back up the stairs, freezing and breaking the gate lock open.

He carried you all the way back to your place, explaining to Aizawa what had happened, not mentioning the kiss. He allowed Todoroki to lay you on your bed. Todoroki thought about leaving the note with you then and there but decided against it. There is a time and place for everything. Instead, he kissed you on your forehead and bid you a good rest.

Aizawa thanked him for being you home safely. Todoroki walked home wondering about the day, about your quirk, and about the kiss. Though he was elated it happened he wasn’t sure now if it had been you genuinely expressing you feelings for him. He made a deal with himself never to mention it to you unless you wanted to talk about it. He would only be a good friend to you until then.

Little did he know you were stuck in bed with your hand on your head, trying not to cry, full of shame and guilt.

Reserare- unlock

In lumine- to light up

Spiritus vitae- breath of life

Tags for EVERYTHING: @yandere-inamorata @doriichii @miitaart @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @ask-mekakushi-dan-kido @wickedlewicked @chickennuggetsarequestionable @nevermorelanore @kpanime @ayeputita @captain-sin-allmight-queen @diisasterbii @iceformer @meganofmars @colagirl5 @colorbookshd @grimmjadeskye @sm0kingcrack @sarcastictextstuck @zellllyyyy @psionicsnow @mynahx3 @andie-in-tumblland @iamthe-leaf @midnightfeline666 @bungou-stray-alies-tales-of-aly @rubyred-28 @kattariapenn @heypartypeps @quirktaker @thecryingsombra @smbody-stole-mycar-radio @rubycubix @bokunoheroes-stories

#bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha reader insert #mha #my hero academia #reader insert #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #if hes the cold them shes the disease #mine #angst

216 notes · View notes

flatstarcarcosa · 5 years

Note

10-20 for you and rust or negan please!!!

i’ll do half and half!! o/

also putting under a cut b/c its long uwu

Negan:

What’s something you and your f/o disagree on?

we argue a lot about allocation of resources and also his ego. really dwight and i are the ones that run things behind the scenes, negan’s just the one who gets to do all the yelling. when the saviors were first becoming A Thing so to speak he was definitely in control and had the right ideas, but everything went to his head with being The ManTM and sometimes I have to try to remind him we’re supposed to be helping people, not just playing dictator. also I vehemently dislike the points system because it’s just Capitalism 2~~! and i think it’s imbalanced but I’ve yet to win that argument.

Do either of you want matching tattoos? If so, what would you get?

negan thinks matching tats are cool, i think they’re really bad. im also not willing to risk getting sick and fucking dying off of dirty tattoo equipment no matter what everyone else is doing so that is an argument he never wins. (i personally also think he would be a big baby when it comes to getting a tattoo, since comic!negs doesn’t have any)

Do you and your f/o like to dance together?

naaaah. i’m sure negan would go all soft for that kind of thing but neither one of us have any rhythm and i’m just not into it regardless.

When (if) you and your f/o live together, what thing do you always have to have in the house?

toilet paper. a good portion of the odder things negan demands from people comes from him having seen me struggle (and in some cases get really sick) from not having it when it was just the two of us. he thought i was being whiny at first about the toilet paper until not always having it resulted in me getting laid out with a massive UTI once due to the slightest less-than-sanitary conditions setting my whole system off.

he’d rather other people think he’s a weirdo than watch me get that sick again. (he also doesn’t like me being that sick because it reminds him of lucille. he can’t do much when i’m already sick, but if he can prevent me from getting sick in the first place then he’s damn well gonna.)

Who gets scared and calls the other to kill a spider?

MEEEEEEEE. negan doesn’t understand how the damn zombies don’t bother me but if we end up in a house that has spiders or roaches i will quite literally scream my head off. on more than one occasion he thought i was getting attacked just to find me scrambling up the nearest high surface and pointing at the bug until he does something about it.

raid and ortho and other types of pesticides usually end up on the list of shit he expects his people to come home with.

Rust

What’s a movie you and your f/o like to watch together?

jurrasic park. rust isn’t big on movies in general but he does enjoy a good flick about man’s hubris fucking everything up, and i for one, like dinosaurs and am gay for jeff goldblum so it works out.

Which one of you spends the most money on the other?

rust probably by virtue of him having more money than i do. he has a steady job with CID, + lots of stashes of cash that he lifted here and there during his UC/Narco days. i on the otherhand am a “freelance” investigative journalist/photographer that likes fucking off and getting stoned. it’s a very fancy way of saying unemployed. he also doesn’t let me hustle people as much as i used to once i move in with him just because he doesn’t want to constantly be playing the “state police” card when i get into trouble because of it.

come 2012 the situation’s kinda reversed. he blew through a lot of his money between his 8 year breakdown and subsequent obsession with solving the yellow king murder(s), and i ended up getting a stable office job because i needed that sweet, sweet health insurance.

What animal can you and your f/o agree on being the cutest?

dogs. i also highly enjoy my pet frogs and think they’re adorable. rust insists he doesn’t like the way they look at him and that they’re clearly planning something, though he’s willing to admit the last part is probably just his paranoid tendencies.

Who’s the best at comforting the other when they’re afraid?

we’re both pretty shit at it due to the fact that we’re on the same level of emotional incompetence. rust doesn’t admit to being afraid of anything (until his big 2012 revelation anyway) and neither do i. we just dig deeper into our maladaptive coping mechanisms and it becomes more of a question of who can pull the other one out.

95 rust spends a lot of time pulling me out of mine, and then from 02 to 04 i spend a lot of time literally having to chase him out of his, and by 2012 im still cranky that i had to go all the way to fucking alaska to snap him out of it. we compromise for a bit and live off the grid in washington until he decides to head back to Louisiana in 2010. we both get a bit better after that, with him mentioning he’s terrified he wont be able to bring down the tuttles and their whole ass cult, and i have to make him realize that yeah, he probably wont. thats just how things are, but at the very least he can do something against them, which is better than ignoring the whole issue. he also has a lot of guilt after bringing down childress that he didn’t notice it sooner.

“i talked to him,” is all he says sometimes. “he was right there in front of me and i had all of the information about the man with the scars and i walked away.”

i have to remind him that at that point in 95 he didn’t have all the information and that as good of a detective as he is, he isn’t omnipotent and there’s no way he could have known the random dude on the lawn mower was the ‘green eared spaghetti monster’.

Do you and your f/o play video games together? If so, what games?

it’s less playing together and more of rust just halfway paying attention as he works on other things. he gets into casual mobile games once they start becoming a thing, mostly puzzle games because they keep his mind occupied. a lot of times if i’m stuck on a mechanism in a game, like say the puzzles in uncharted or something similar, he’ll get exasperated with my frustration and just take the controller and figure it out for me. i get so annoyed that he can figure shit out in a game he knows nothing about in less than ten minutes after just watching me try and fail to open a hidden door a few times.

Do you two like pineapple on pizza or no?

pineapple on pizza is DISGUSTING but rust is also not picky and will frequently eat it just to watch me gag. he’ll make direct eye contact and everything because he’s a sadistic asshole.

also i feel like negan probably unironically loves it because he tends to have shit taste sometimes.

#memes #ship: far from any road #ship: you me and lucille #fordcortinamkiii #*asks

1 note · View note