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#iron man powers & abilities
DnD character concept: Artificer
So, despite my interest in DnD I have never had a chance to play it. This means jack shit to my fantasy, which immediately latched to the whole concept and started imagining characters, locations, etc.
So i just decided to go through the classes and come up with some interesting concepts for them. Let's go alphabetically and start with the Artificer.
"The clockwork heart"
Cracked glass and bent gears. Pocket watch dropped by a careless nobleman, stomped and forgotten, picked up and traded by a curious kid. Traded for what — you don't remember. The glass is removed, the shards are melted and cover is reformed anew. The gears are taken out one by one, by steady hands holding the tiniest of pincers. There is rhythm and order to things. You know that. You feel that. Hands keep moving, pick up the pieces and slot them into their place. A clank of metal, a tug of a spring, a turn of a screw. Then another. Three more and the hands rest. The ticking is rhythmical, steady, but something is amiss. Your eyes follow the hands with curiosity, watching what they will do next. After a brief pause the cover is removed again, the edge of a spring is bent just a tiny amount and everything is covered again. And pause. The ticking continues, but there is a note there now, one that you feel more than hear. All is right. Your hands rest. For now, the panic subsides. But soon the the chaos will become to much again, demanding to be ordered, to be fixed, and the hands will start moving again. You hope you will find something to fix by then. The ticking inside you used to be soothing, calming, reassuring, but lately you can barely sleep, as it grows louder and louder with each passing day, and subsides ever slower.
There was an explosion. Or so you've been told. You were an apprentice to a talented artificer, helping them make their ambitions a reality, push the limits of what is possible, weaving magic and technology together in ways you couldn't imagine. You weren't as well educated, as experienced, as driven, but you were talented and willing to put in the work. They inspired you, and though it was hard, you kept working. But days, weeks, even months prior to that day turned into a blur, with shattered fragments flashing in the dark. Fire. Pain. Sound. Hands. Their voice. You were found in the smoking ruins of their laboratory, alive but covered in bruises, cuts and burns. One wound was different — a big scar on your chest, almost healed, but one that was not there just a day ago. And the artificer was nowhere to be seen.
Days spent trying to remember what happened, you finally realized: whatever you did together, whoever made a mistake, you paid for it with your life. You remember dying. And then their hands, their voice, arguing with someone. You don't know what your master did to save you, but you are alive, and they are gone. And where you once heard heartbeat, you now hear ticking of gears and twisting of springs.
But as the days kept flowing, you understood that that's not all that changed. You see the world differently, understand it more clearly, sharper, ideas filling your head and your hands being more precise than ever. You build things you never thought you could. Except that you are getting less and less certain, if it is an ability, or a compulsion.
What you don't know, is that your master did not save you, or build the heart that keeps you alive. You were not a victim, You were a sacrifice. A price that your master paid for their communion and ascension with something beyond your comprehension. But whatever it was, it wanted you alive. It gave you this heart, it filled your head with ideas and kept your hands steady. And as you encounter more danger and make mistakes, as you fall in battle and come close to death again, even after your allies bring you back, even after you heal, you feel the ticking getting louder. And one day, as an dagger cut your hand deep as it could, as you were pushing the assassin away, you could swear that instead of the white bone, under the blood flowing from your hand you saw a dull shine of bronze and gold.
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cowboyhorsegirl · 1 year
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i'm just saying if they AREN'T supposed to engage in a torrid love affair then WHY would both of their suits only allow you to see their eyes i mean it's the victorian buildup of lust of it all
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hohuios · 9 months
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Tag drop: 2/2
#[ visage. ] you know another man as good looking as i am? the correct answer is no; by the way.#[ mini study. ] is it decided from when we're born then? ones born without much power are fated to be stamped out by you?#[ meta. ] one who's let his soul rot can't measure up to someone with a real soul just by getting power. that's not how it works down here.#[ essence. ] it’s a cruel and random world. and yet the chaos is all so beautiful.#[ humans. ] you think humans are weak. yeah; their bodies lack the physical ability of demons; but they posses something that demons don't.#[ demons. ] he understands love; so he'll make it fine as a human. the only things i choose to exterminate are demons.#[ rebellion. ] i always wondered; why did my father give me the rebellion? if the yamato can separate man from devil…#[ sword of sparda. ] he split his power in three parts. one bore his own name; the second blade was named to embody retaliation...#[ yamato. ] ... and the final blade was named to embody a god of death.#[ sparda. ] why do you refuse to gain power? the power of our father sparda? / father? i don't have a father.#[ eva. ] she loved humanity; a demon and her children. it's far out of reach now; that warm smile from my childhood.#[ vergil. ] jackpot! -- why you gotta leave me hangin'? we used to love saying that. / i have no recollection.#[ nero. ] i should thank you. / that'd be out of character. maybe you should just throw an insult my way instead. / that sounds better.#[ patty. ] well patty; if I'm not mistaken this is one time that i might owe you a little thank you.#[ trish. ] if you get sick of it; you can always come back here. / why that's uncharacteristically kind of you.#[ lady. ] can i come along? / do what you want. but don't expect to get paid.#[ morrison. ] damn; you make me wait forever and then you go making selfish requests. / sorry.#[ v. ] for a second there I thought you were gonna shish kabob me. / i know how stubborn you can be.#[ mundus. ] again i must face a sparda. strange fate; isn't it? / strange and ironic that it will end the same way.#[ syd. ] well then strong and gentle lord dante of the 'real soul.' you'll let me live even now; won't you? just like you did before.
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eggluverz · 7 months
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Dan Feng's disciple! Reader x Dan Heng IL Synopsis Idea: She tried to stop them from taking him away from her, she really did. But Jingliu and Jing Yuan were quick to stop her. She spent so many nights alone... Until she saw him. The man she loved and would give up her life for. She's not letting him slip away from her this time. Thank you~~❤️
AFTER ALL THIS TIME
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PAIRING. dan feng x f!reader; dan heng x f!reader
WORD COUNT. 3,741
SUMMARY. you were the great imbibitor lunae's disciple. he trusted you with his life and you with his. but when the time came, you weren't able to save him. what happens when you run into his reincarnation years down the line?
SOF'S NOTE. i had so much fun writing this!! i wrote it 2 days ago now but i just haven't had the time to post it t-t but i'm finally moved into my new place and managed to squeeze this post in <3 i rly rly enjoyed writing this so i hope y'all enjoy reading!! and special ty to the anon who requested this!! ^-^
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The art of cloudhymn magic was difficult to master. Even as a high elder yourself, there were intricacies you could not figure out on your own. But you trained daily, practiced in seclusion, and read all the books passed down from the most renowned masters. 
Each day, your knowledge grew. Your natural talents aided you in perfecting your own personalized form of cloudhymn magic.
Still, Dan Feng noticed flaws in your execution. Movements that should be more precise, patterns that should flow more intricately. You noticed him silently watching you on the vast training grounds. He wasn’t much older than you, yet his magic was already intricately refined— The makings of a leader to the Vidyadharas.
He saw great power within you, he told you in passing as he took you under his wing. There was much you could gain from him, he promised. 
Years went by as you studied under Dan Feng. He has many supporters and people who looked up to him, but he only allowed you as his disciple. You were the only one who could rightfully address him as master. 
As he grew in his status as a member of the High Cloud Quintet and later the Imbibitor Lunae, you too grew in your mastery of cloudhymn magic. You were able to learn Dan Feng’s signature combat skill of deflecting iron, making arrows of most enemies fall flat at your feet. But your skill shined in the illusions you were able to create. Not even the Imbibitor Lunae was as skilled in that art as you. 
Your power grew and as such, Dan Feng recognized you as more of an equal than a disciple. Out of respect for all the teachings he imparted on you, you still called him master. There was no way you would reach your level of strength in this short amount of time without someone like him fostering your talents.
Along the way, you found yourself viewing him as more than your master. When he began treating you as someone who matched his power rather than someone with much to learn, you were able to feel confident in all your abilities.
One late night, Dan Feng took you to his sacred training grounds for a sparring session. He had just returned from a stressful battle and while the casualties were low, they were more than he felt comfortable with. 
“If anything happens to me, at least I will know the Vidyadhara will be in good hands,” Dan Feng commended as you blocked the tip of his spear from grazing the base of your neck. 
You quickly shifted your gears from defending to attacking, knowing if you let Dan Feng get too many attacks in, he would be almost unstoppable. Spinning your spear in your hands, you imbued the weapon with water and launched it directly at your master’s chest. 
A normal man would have fallen dead before even realizing you attacked him, but not the Imbibitor Lunae. He sidestepped, the scene appearing like a mirage due to his speed. 
“Nothing is going to happen to you, master,” you scoffed. “You’re the strongest Vidyadhara alive. Not even I could defeat you in battle.”
He hummed, tapping his spear to the back of your neck, signaling you lost this spar. “Battle is not the only way someone can fall.”
Wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead, you sighed, sauntering away from him and back inside his living quarters. “Continuously speaking of your self-proclaimed inevitable downfall is unbecoming of you, master. What would the people think of a disciple who follows someone without faith in his own ability to live?” 
Dan Feng chuckled softly. “A pitiful disciple, is what outsiders would say.” You nodded and he stopped you in your tracks, running his index finger against your jaw. His fingernail dug into the bottom of your chin to lift your head until your burning gaze met his sharp one. “But we never cared much about what outsiders think, did we?” 
You placed your palm against his chest, feeling the detailed fabric of his garments. They were thick yet light, a sign of great craftsmanship that only the highest of elders could afford. You allowed your hands to roam along his body before Dan Feng grabbed your wrist, his long fingers wrapping easily around its circumference. 
He smirked. “Wait until we’re indoors, my beloved.” 
“Yes, master,” you complied with a roll of your eyes before releasing the front of his outwear. You held complete respect for the Imbibitor Lunae, and you revered him as such. But those moments when it was just you and Dan Feng—just you and your partner—you weren’t one to shy away from meeting his biting remarks. 
This night, like many, led to moments of passion on the silken sheets draped over Dan Feng’s mattress. It was a mixture of love, respect, and the intense craving for more. 
Your master, the Imbibitor Lunae, a member of the High Cloud Quintet— Dan Feng was many things. But most importantly, he was yours. 
Until he wasn’t. 
No good thing was meant to last, Dan Feng once said during an endless night of reflection as he laid in bed beside you. Friendships, relationships, entire civilizations, built to be destroyed from the start. 
No good thing was meant to last. But he would fight his damned hardest to ensure they did. 
And for once, his hardest wasn’t enough. 
It was the middle of the night when your living quarters were barged into. You woke with a start and noticed Dan Feng quickly wrapping your robes around your naked body. 
The noises weren’t at the bedroom yet; you heard the thuds from outside and you immediately called for your strongest weapon. Noticing even the slightest of your movements, Dan Feng softly placed his hand on top of yours. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. 
Your eyes widened, wanting to ask what he could’ve possibly been thinking. There was a large group of men outside with hostile intent, did he not want to protect himself from an attack? 
“I am going to see what they need,” he said calmly, pulling you into his arms and leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Please, stay here for me.”
A few members of the High Cloud Quintet—Dan Feng’s closest friends that easily became yours as well—were staying at the guest chambers at the Imbibitor Lunae’s invitation. At the commotion outside, Jingliu came in with a groggy look on her face, tired from being woken up, but not an ounce of surprise in her. 
Dan Feng nodded to her and a silent Jing Yuan that filed in behind her. “Jingliu, Jing Yuan… Make sure she stays out of harm’s way.”
“Of course,” promised Jing Yuan, a soft smile painting his lips despite the sad look in his eyes. 
As he spoke, the doors to the bedroom burst open, a trio of Vidyadhara Preceptors breaking down the defenses you and Dan Feng had set. Your spear was in your hand in an instant and you tightened the knot on your robe with your other hand. 
Dan Feng stood straight in high alert, though his expression remained as one of nonchalance and arrogance. “Can I help you?”
Without a single moment spared for niceties, the Cloud Knights charged in to grab the Imbibitor Lunae. The Preceptors sent chains of rope instead of metal to wrap around Dan Feng. Your eyes blazed as you immediately called upon your cloudhymn magic. Water danced around your spear in sharp droplets, and you pointed it directly at the Head Preceptor. 
He narrowed his eyes in your direction. “Stand down, or you will face the same punishment.” 
“That’s only if you can beat us,” you laughed with disdain. Despite the big group, you were certain you and Den Feng had the ability to hold them off together. 
“Don’t,” Jingliu called out, gently placing her hand on your shoulder. “We can’t help him anymore, Y/N. Not after what he did. Don’t get hurt in the crossfire.” 
You knew what Dan Feng had done. For Yingxing. And you both knew the crime he would have to commit to help his best friend, but you never imagined the punishment would be so severe. A crowd of Cloud Knights and even a group of the Vidyadhara Preceptors here, together, all to subdue the Imbibitor Lunae. 
But it didn’t matter the crimes he committed or the consequences he may have incited through his actions. None of it mattered because he was your Dan Feng. Your master and your lover who you would protect with your entire life. 
Unfortunately, Dan Feng seemed to know that, having gotten Jingliu and Jing Yuan here to hold you back.
Before you could move, Jing Yuan held your arm back and prevented you from using your spear. Your eyes widened in shock. 
“Jing Yuan…?”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s too late for Dan Feng, but not for you.”
The Cloud Guards briefly turned their attention towards you and the members of the High Cloud Quintet. Their swords raised as they noticed the fire in your eyes. 
Dan Feng snarled when he saw their focus on you. “If you hurt her, you will all pay,” he warned, his voice a low growl that would’ve made an ordinary man quiver. He began to move his arms in a way that could only be described as the start of a cloudhymn spell and in an instant, all eyes were on him. The ropes tightened, restricting his movement in a way that caused immense pain. 
“I love you,” were Dan Feng’s last words as he was forced out of his own estate. “Take care of yourself, my beloved.”
“Why do you speak as if you’re going to be gone?” you cried, refusing to believe someone as strong as your master could be subdued even by a group as large as this. “I’ll come get you—!”
You felt the sharp point of a sword on your neck as you summoned your spear. The nick was only a warning, but it was enough to draw blood. Your eyes widened and you stilled under the mercy of Jingliu’s weapon. 
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You cannot.”
Feeling helpless and pathetic, all you could do was fight to not lose consciousness as Jingliu swiftly knocked you out. 
Your eyes drifted open and shut, your hand that was wrapped around your spear instantly loosened and the weapon that contained so much power fell at your side like a dull needle. 
The next time you woke, you were at your own residence. You had left this place to have a sanctuary with Dan Feng. Your sanctuary that was invaded, attacked, and taken from you. 
You went back on forth between two states of mind. One was complete and utter numbness at the loss you suffered. The other was uncontrollable pain and sadness. 
You spent your days and nights crying, refusing to see a single soul. You turned your meals away even when your loved ones begged you to take a bite. There was a hole in your heart at the thought of your master’s punishment. 
In your eyes, Dan Feng’s own best friends betrayed him, betrayed you. And after that night, you knew you would never want to be in contact with any of them again. 
To save a life, to save a friend who no longer regarded Dan Feng in the same light… You never could have imagined the punishment would be forced reincarnation. 
Uncontrollable sobs racked through your body, throat hoarse from the amount of crying you’ve done for weeks straight. It wasn’t only forced reincarnation, but also torture and imprisonment you knew he was facing. 
You had the strongest Vidyadhara alive as a master, yet you failed to learn enough to save him. When it mattered most, you couldn’t help.
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. Those thoughts ate you alive before you were able to finally continue on with your life. 
You were no longer a Xianzhou resident. You refused the help the Vidyadhara with any advances in medicine and combat, keeping any profound knowledge of cloudhymn magic that Dan Feng shared only with you to yourself. The Preceptors couldn’t be trusted with anymore power. They had made themselves and enemy to you. As did the Cloud Knights, and inadvertently, the Cloud Knight General himself. 
Still, you tried not to let the hatred consume you. Vengeance would only breed insanity. Your mind would be consumed with sorrow and pain and you would never be able to heal. 
Dan Feng wouldn’t want that. 
You had to continue to live, for the both of you. 
Using your privilege as a Vidyadhara, you were able to travel around to different planets with relative ease. There were so many things to experience, such beautiful things to see—when you weren’t tangled in constant politics and battles. Your only wish was that Dan Feng was here to explore the universe with you. 
There were places where he didn’t need to have the pressure of the world on his shoulders. He wouldn’t be Imbibitor Lunae. He wouldn’t be a member of the famous High Cloud Quintet. Instead, he would just be Dan Feng, and you would get to explore the world as such. 
You wondered if his transition into the modern world would have been as smooth as yours. As you reminisced about your past, a nostalgic smile formed on your face. 
As you walked around this new city, you stared up at the flurries of pink and purple in the sky. The scenery was amazing here. With vast bodies of water and a bustling area of commerce and entertainment on the shorelines, you couldn’t help but look around in awe. Amidst your sightseeing, you felt yourself run into someone, dropping the map you held in your hands. 
“Oh!” you gasped in surprise. “I wasn’t looking at where I was going. I apologize.” 
“I wasn’t looking either,” the stranger said in response, picking the paper map up for you before the wind could sweep it away. “Here you go.”
As he handed you your belongings, you finally managed to get a good look at his face. Surprised by what you saw—what you felt—you accidentally dropped the map once more. 
The man gaped at you before hesitantly reaching down to pick up your map once more. This time, he held it instead of giving it back.
“Would you like your map back?” he asked slowly, this expression unsure.
The memories of the past slammed into you as you looked into his turquoise eyes. The bright green burned into yours. This man in front of you did not have the characteristics of a Vidyadhara. He did not don horns, a tail, or sharp ears like he once did. But there was no doubt in your mind— This was Dan Feng. At least, the person that emerged from Dan Feng’s forced reincarnation.
Tears started flowing down your face as you wondered what to say. Should you even say anything? You didn’t want to lose him again, but you wondered if the man in front of you would even want to get to know you. Dan Feng was a high elder, a powerful one at that. This man must’ve had some dreams about his past life— What if they were bad? What if they were all of the punishment? The crime? What if no part of him remembered you?
As you stood there, stuck in your thoughts, you noticed the stranger staring at the horns on top of your head. Then, at your tears. 
Without saying a word, he seemed to understand. “I’m not him.”
Your breath caught in your throat and you felt choked up. You knew that. Of course a reincarnation wouldn’t be your Dan Feng. But would it be close enough? 
Shaking your head, you scolded yourself internally. This man is not Dan Feng, he said so himself. And it would be twisted to project the qualities of your lover onto him without even getting the chance to know him.
“I know,” you said sadly, a disdainful smile on your face. “I just…sensed some of him in you.”
He nodded, a guarded look on his face despite the tilt of curiosity from his neck.“What were you to him?”
You smiled sadly, clutching the map in your hands and relaxing again. “His disciple. A close friend,” you said. You gazed into his eyes with an unwavering look. “His partner.” 
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
He hesitated for a moment, looking around the area. You were at the beachside with patches of sand, grass, and pavement lining the ground. “Would you like to sit somewhere and talk?”
Deciding it would be rather tiring for you to stand and talk all day, you agreed with his suggestion. Silently, you walked over to the sand with Dan Feng’s reincarnation in tow and took a seat. The ground was warm and soft as you ran your fingers through the rocky granules.
As you watched the waves crash against the shore, you felt your body relax. Cloudhymn magic often   well with the element, and you found you had a natural affinity towards it yourself. 
After a few moments passed, you figured that, since he wasn’t Dan Feng, it would be rather rude of you not to introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
He gazed out into the water before turning his head to you. “Dan Heng.”
Although you attempted to hide your amused grin, you felt the corners of your mouth lifting upwards. “Creative.”
He shrugged, fighting off a smile of his own.
“So, Dan Heng… Do you remember anything about your past life?”
“Some things,” he admitted, resting a palm on the sand behind his back. “None of them are good.”
You frowned. There was no doubt you blamed the Preceptors for that. Dan Feng lived years and years of life, love, and even sorrow. But for his reincarnation to only know him as something negative? That didn’t sit well with you. 
“Although, I have to wonder,” he continued, gazing at you with an inquisitive look in his eyes, “if he was capable of love and partnership, could he be more than the arrogant criminal my memories have painted him out to be?”
You softened. Any hatred he felt towards Dan Feng wasn’t his fault. And he was certainly struggling as Dan Feng’s reincarnation. 
“He was certainly more than a criminal,” you promised. “More than the Imbibitor Lunae, even. Dan Feng was a real person who experiences emotions and feelings, like any other.” 
Dan Heng’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. 
“If you want to learn more about him, I’ll always be here for you to ask.”
“And if I don’t?” 
You smiled sadly. “As much as that pains me, it’s your right. Each Vidyadhara can choose how much of their past they want to remember or embrace— Or if they want to start anew completely.”
“I do.”
A long exhale escaped your mouth as thoughts of your past filled your memories. You made no mistake— The man in front of you was not Dan Feng. Dan Feng was deceased, and holding on to any hope would only be futile and lead to more main. 
Instead, the man in front of you was Dan Heng, a reincarnation of Dan Feng. A Vidyadhara who deliberately chose to not incorporate his past life into his current. And that was okay.
“I am remorseful,” you admitted. Dan Heng nodded in understanding. “However, I am comforted knowing his reincarnation is here, and he looks happy. Dan Feng would be happy for you.”
He laughed quietly. “I find that hard to believe.”
You gave him a look. “You don’t know him like I do.” 
“Yes, you’re right.” 
Dan Heng sighed in contemplation, conflict evident in his expression. You weren’t sure what exactly what he was thinking, but you sensed deep turmoil within him. It was only natural, you assumed, after something he had such conviction for was shaken at its very foundation. 
“Do you want to board the Astral Express with me?” he asked hesitantly. 
You blinked at the sudden question. “Pardon?”
“Sorry,” said Dan Heng, clearing his throat. “That was impulsive.” He paused before continuing. “From talking to you, I gathered that maybe you’re being held back by your past, too.”
Your eyes widened in surprised. You didn’t except him to be so blunt. Perhaps he had some similarities to Dan Feng after all. 
“If you’re lost or want a place to call home, maybe you can pay it a visit,” he offered nonchalantly. “We travel the universe and occasionally assist some planets. I have a feeling you’d like it.”
The Astral Express? You wondered how a place like that would be. For so long, you’ve been traveling alone, avoiding the Xianzhou and even some Vidyadhara who might know of your existence as Dan Feng’s disciple and lover. 
A part of you longed for a social connection again— A place to belong. 
After some thinking, you asked, “Do you want me there?” 
“Yes— As Dan Heng though,” he reminded firmly. “Not Dan Feng.”
You laughed in amusement. “Good. I’m interested in getting to know your new life, Dan Heng,” you said, extending your hand out for him to shake. “Thank you for inviting me in.”
He took it gently, his hand lingering on yours even after the handshake was over. “Maybe you can tell me more about Dan Feng once we arrive at the Express. The parts that aren’t so bad.”
The look on his face told you he was genuine. You smiled. “I’d love that.”
Understanding passed between the two of you as you sat there in contentment. The wind whirled around you and the steady sound of the waves soothed your soul. 
“I want to learn about Dan Feng’s life,” concluded Dan Heng, unwavering. “Still, I think it is best if we look forward to making new memories of our own more.”
You nodded in quiet agreement, eyes never leaving his. 
The past was something you held near and dear to your heart. Dan Feng was someone you would always love and respect. But perhaps the future would have more in store for you, if you only allowed it. 
And as Dan Heng smiled his small smile and offered you a hand up from the sand, you thought, This time, you would. 
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remlionheart · 11 days
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Can you do a Chuuya x fem reader where her bra can be shown from her white shirt?
pov: you request a simple spicy lil fic from me, but my manic brain is physically incapable of not giving it an entire backstory and plot and making it at least 4k+ words (thank you so much for this idea tho, it was super fun to write! ღ)
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* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *
Sex, Money, Feelings, Die
*:・゚✧*:・゚✧ My first attempt at Chuuya smut (and goddamn, do I love that angry lil man ★~(◡‿◡✿). New to the city, you're coerced into working for the PM after a drunken night out. Scared and now in the heart of one of Japan's most notorious criminal organization's headquarters, you decide to reclaim some of your power by ~*teasing the absolute fuck out of Chuuya Nakahara~*. 4.8k words. Porn with a plot. I can't even lie, this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet while writing, lemme know whatcha think. luv u ღ *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
When you'd first moved to Yokohama 2 months ago, you had promised your parents that you'd be safe. That you'd find yourself a decent office job to afford you a lofty apartment and that you'd be settled in relatively quickly. You'd pictured yourself walking amongst tall buildings on your days off. Exploring the city with your coworkers on the weekends. Living instead of just existing in your small hometown.
You thought you had your future all mapped out and maybe you did, but those dreams of normalcy were all but destroyed the night you crossed paths with Koyo Ozaki.
She had noticed you from across the bar, quietly observing the way you'd been drinking by yourself all night. It was odd to see a girl with your beauty and lack of abilities so confidently roaming downtown alone. She wasn't sure if you were brave or naive, but the moment you took a seat next to her to thank her for the whiskey and coke she had ordered you, she realized you were the perfect blend of both.
She'd spent the next hour chatting you up, effortlessly coaxing information out of you without you realizing it. She'd offered you an administrative assistant role for the group she worked for, describing it as a "lucrative" and "underground" organization. You were in no position to say no, especially after spending the last month relentlessly applying to jobs with little to no luck.
You woke up the next day musing about silly things like fate and serendipity as you raided your closet for the perfect first day outfit. You felt like this was your big break. The first stop on the roadmap of adulthood that you'd created for yourself. You ironed a pair all black slacks, pairing it with a white-button up quarter-sleeve shirt, and your favorite suede Mary-Janes. Optimism swirled through your head as you eyed yourself in your bedroom mirror that night. You were determined to be so good at this job.
You showed up freshly showered and prepared when you arrived at the sleek, high-rise building. Ozaki waited for you out front with a rather intimidating dark-haired man who introduced himself as Mori, head of the fucking Port Mafia.
Your anxiety rose with each step you took behind them, quickly realizing that this was not the run-of-the-mill clerical job you had envisioned while hazily chatting with Ozaki over whiskey-neats. This was an underground criminal organization full of some of the strongest ability users in the world. You had absolutely no idea why you were here. Why you'd been selected, let alone trusted, to work alongside these people.
You were given your own small office, equipped with a bare desk and landline phone. Mori told you to stay put, explaining that you were to stay out of sight until further notice. You were essentially there as a cover-up.
Apparently, they'd been scouting for girls like you. New to town and completely clueless. They wanted to bring in a handful of these 'administrative assistants' to help keep up the illusion that this was just another ordinary building in the business district of Yokohama and nothing more.
Mori left you with a curt warning about the temperament of the other Mafia members and a haunting, "Welcome to the team." as he closed the door to your office and disappeared down the long corridor. Your heart was slamming into your chest, your anxiety growing the longer you sat. You were angry. Disappointed in yourself for being such an easy target.
You sat for at least an hour staring at the wall in existential dread, wondering what you'd done to end up here. Wondering what you were going to have to do to get out now that you were here. Even if it wasn't necessarily a "job", it still didn't seem like something you could just casually walk away from.
You were in the middle of the Port Mafia's headquarters and you were rightfully, terrified.
The sound of two muffled voices pulled you away from your thoughts while you froze in your chair, realizing that they were right outside your door.
"You're fuckin' with me, right?"
"No, that's really where they're keeping her. She's going to be a fulltime member."
"A member?" it was the first man again, his voice full of shameless snark and volume as he laughed at the idea. "A Mafia member with no ability? C'mon, Akutagawa. Even Mori isn't that stupid."
"There's going to be more, she's just the first to show up."
Tension crept along your spine when both voices came to a curious stop, one quietly scolding the other before the heavy wooden door began to creak open.
A pair of azure eyes stared back at you, disheveled shoulder-length red hair draping off of one shoulder as he mumbled, "Holy shit."
The taller of the two, draped in a long black coat, tried to pry him away, but he shrugged him off with an irritated. "Chill out, I just wanna introduce myself to her."
The dark-haired man scoffed and continued down the hallway while his ginger companion closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of you looking back at each other skeptically.
Despite his height, he had a powerful demeanor. A blend of apathy and cockiness that exuded off of him as he carefully made his way towards you. "So, you're the new girl, huh?"
Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back at him, your words suddenly stuck in your throat as his foot made contact with your desk.
You managed a nod, remembering the way Mori had advised you not to engage with the other Mafia members, but what were you supposed to do when you were suddenly locked in a room with one?
"God, we really can't just have one normal day around here, can we?" He sighed, almost seeming embarrassed as his shoulders dropped and he leaned against your desk in the spot next to you. "Stealin' girls out of bars? Tch, the hell are they thinkin'?"
His opposition to his boss' plan made you relax a bit. It was the first time all day that you thought you might make it out of here okay.
He picked up on your apprehension rather quickly, taking his hat off and setting it down before extending a gloved hand out to you. "Chuuya." He said simply.
You stared at him for another moment or two before introducing yourself, trying but failing to mimic his nonchalant tone.
"Hey," He said, lightly nudging your foot with his, "You're gonna be alright. I'm sure this gig will only last for a couple of weeks until they move on to their next big, idiotic idea."
"You think so?" It was the first time all day that you felt like you could breathe.
"Trust me, Mori's plans are always changing. He'll probably cut you a fat check for hush money and then send you on your way sooner than later. Just lay low in the meantime, yeah?"
Your eyes were still locked as you nodded at him again, giving him a feeble, "Okay... Yeah, I can do that."
"Good." He smirked, pulling himself away from your desk.
You watched him pause just before exiting the room. He turned around to face you again, his gaze landing a bit lower than your eyes this time.
"And maybe uh -" If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that you saw a flash of red flare across his cheeks. "Maybe don't wear that bra with a white shirt next time."
Out of all of the anxiety and fear that you'd been drowning in over the last few hours, your choice of outfit had been the very last thing you'd considered worrying about until just now.
You looked down, noticing what he meant as you saw the dark, lacy fabric of your Victoria's not-so-secret peeking through the white of your blouse. Your tits were pushed perfectly together, nearly on full display through the sheerness of your shirt.
He flashed you another faint smirk before clicking the door shut, once again leaving you to your own crippling thoughts as your head dropped into your hands.
What an absolutely mortifying first day.
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
The next few shifts were a blur.
You'd clock in. Sit for what felt like an eternity in your bleak little office. Leave mid-day to grab lunch at a cafe across the street. And then head home 9 hours later despite the fact that you’d hardly done anything.
You'd learned to bring in books and cross-stich patterns to keep yourself busy throughout the day instead of rotting away at your desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if Chuuya was right and there really was a big check waiting for you around the corner, you'd decided that it was worth it to see this through. Because no matter how nervous you got each morning, the painful truth was that you couldn’t afford to turn down easy money.
By the end of the week, you found yourself doing more than just sneaking in romance mangas to make the job more bearable though. You were doing everything you could to gain back even a semblance of power.
If you had to be here, you had decided that you were going to make it everyone's problem.
With the ginger's words still fresh in your mind, you made it a point to wear darker bras. Tighter blouses. Shorter skirts that barely covered your ass. It had almost become an inside joke with yourself at what a distraction you'd become to the Port Mafia. Maybe couldn’t make these men fear you, but you could certainly make them trip all over themselves any time you entered the building.
You'd hardly been able to keep a straight face yesterday afternoon when Akutagawa's coffee fell from his hands and cascaded around him after he saw you walking down the hall in black knee-high stockings. You'd finally managed to make everyone here as uncomfortable as they'd made you and it felt good.
You were half-way through the iced matcha you'd picked up on lunch, sitting with your feet propped up on your desk as you continued to embroider the word "fuck" in pretty, cursive letters next to a pink and yellow flower when a knock arrived at your door.
You quickly stashed the circular cross-stitch pad in one of the desk drawers and straightened your back as Tachihara poked his head into your office. "Yo, new girl. Nakahara wants to see you."
Your brows knitted together as you looked back at him in quiet confusion.
No one had ever requested to see you in the time that you'd been here. Even in your attempts to disrupt their daily tasks, they'd still not bothered to learn your name. But now... you were expected to go see Chuuya... in his office?
"Why?" It was the only question you could think to ask.
"Dunno," Tachihara shrugged. "but I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's kind of an asshole." And with that, you were once again left alone and anxious.
You took a breath, standing up to smooth down the fabric of your skirt before venturing down the hallway.
You did your best to push Tachihara's warning out of your head, reminding yourself of the kindness Chuuya had shown you on your first day while your heels clicked across the marbled floor.
Maybe he wanted to tell you that he'd talked to Mori and that your time with Port Mafia was finally up. Maybe he wanted to hand deliver the check you'd so desperately been waiting for. Maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Whatever it was, you were holding onto hope that there wouldn't be any more bad news.
You let out a sharp exhale as you rounded the corner and found yourself standing in front of his office. You gave the door a light tap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve when he finally appeared.
His eyes traced over you slowly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he counted not one, not two, but three undone buttons along your blouse that revealed the deep-purple push-up bra decorating your chest.
"Get in here."
His tone was clipped, dripping with what felt like vexation as he closed the door behind you.
His office was much bigger than yours, adorned with high-rise windows that overlooked the city and pristine black marble flooring that matched his leather furniture. The room was dark, just barely lit by a lamp on his desk. You wondered how it was possible for him to get any paperwork done in here but then promptly realized that with his ranking, paperwork was probably far beneath his paygrade.
Still not entirely sure how to approach the situation, you hesitantly took a seat on the over-sized armchair across from his desk.
"Quick question," he said, standing in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, his voice still riddled with irritation. "What does the phrase 'lay low' mean to you? Because I can tell you right now, this ain't fuckin' it."
Your pupils widened, his words hanging heavily in the space between you.
Your mouth opened and then closed again, too focused on the way he was staring at you to form a proper response.
"Is it -" you wavered, mustering up all the courage you had to try and play this off as innocent confusion rather than what it actually was: sarcasm. "Is it my outfit?"
If looks could kill, you would've been 6 feet under.
Chuuya's eyes darkened, a flustered hand rubbing feverishly over his face as he struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't sure if you were trying to piss him off or if you were just genuinely the dumbest girl he'd ever come in contact with.
"Yes," He said with all the restraint he could possibly manage, his teeth nearly grinding together with each syllable. “The outfits are getting out of hand. You've gotta stop."
You were playing a dangerous game, but you were slowly starting to realize that you were... winning.
"What's wrong with them?" you asked, pretending to cover your chest in embarrassment.
You wanted to hear him explain it. Hear him tell you in his own words that you couldn't wear short skirts anymore because it was causing too many unexpected erections around headquarters.
"I -" The poor redhead looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm if you kept this up much longer.
He snapped his eyes shut and let out a frustrated exhale, his hand now bawled into a fist at his side. "Listen, a lot of the guys around here have... noticed you, okay? And I can't take one more day of hearin' those fuckin' assholes talk about how they caught a glimpse of your ass in the break room. Got it? I'll buy you some new clothes if I have to. Just please, no more shirts like this, alright?"
He was actually bargaining with you. Entering the third stage of grief as he tried so hard to keep his cool. To keep his eyes locked with yours and nowhere else. To explain all of this in the nicest way he could.
It was in that moment that you realized where the real source of his trepidation was coming from.
Hearing his coworkers ogle over you was probably annoying for sure, but the more damning, infuriating fact of the matter was that he was ogling over you too. And he was fucking tired of not being able to get any work done when he knew that you were right down the hall. He was pissed that he had to come into his office every morning and lock the door just so he could jerk himself off to the idea of you.
He was in so many words begging you to stop because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take seeing so much of your body without being able bend you over his desk like he did in his mid-morning daydreams.
He was losing - both his resolve and this game at an alarming rate.
"Hmm," you hummed, toying with a pen you'd found wedged between the cushion of his chair. "Well, I'm sorry. I just like feeling pretty before I come in. I didn't know it was creating such a problem for everyone."
The wheels in Chuuya's head were spinning.
Emotions weren't his strong suit and doing these mental gymnastics with you was making him need a cigarette.
"It's -" he sighed, groaning as he forced himself to backpedal. "It's not your fault. I mean, you do look pretty, y'know. It's just... distracting, is all."
It was hard to hide your smirk.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't think he was a bit distracting himself, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.
"Okay, well," you conceded as you began to stand up. "I’ll wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow then.” You shot him a small smile as you got to your feet, "Promise."
He looked marginally relieved by your understanding. "Sounds good." He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck while following behind you as you made your way out of his office.
But just before you reached the door, you accidentally dropped the pen you'd been fidgeting with. Bending over without warning so that your ass was right in front of him, peaking out of your skirt as he walked straight into you, his hips suddenly meeting yours.
You thought he might actually kill you this time with the guttural noise of frustration that escaped him.
He grabbed you by your shoulders the second you were upright again, spinning you around so that you were forced to face him.
“Okay, seriously." He said between gritted teeth. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the unfettered anger flicker through his blue eyes.
It was a stupid move, you knew that before you did it, but you didn't expect it to draw this much of reaction out of him. His restraint was lost. Composure long gone while he waited for you to say something with his face mere inches away from yours.
"Sorry," You lied, "It slipped out of my hand so I -"
"Bullshit." He snarled. "Enough with this innocent act. What do you want out of this, huh? For every guy in Port Mafia to want to fuck you? Is that what you're gettin' at here?"
"No." Your head shook before you even had time to think about what you were about to say. "Not everyone..." Your eyes were still glued to his. "Just you."
You didn't know what you were doing anymore or where all of this recent shamelessness had come from, but there was something about being here that made you feel like you could do anything. Be anyone. You weren't sure if it was the power or the crime or the ungodly amount of money that Port Mafia was raking in, but the collective feeling of chaos that these walls housed was finally latching onto you too.
You didn't even flinch when you said it, instead continued to stare at him unapologetically, noting the way his grip had tightened around your shoulder the longer he looked back at you.
"What?"
If the wheels in his head had been spinning before, they were now fully off the ground, exploding into the air as his gaze drifted along your face. Searching intently to make sure you were actually being serious this time before he went any further.
"You really want me to fuck you that bad?" he asked, the warmth of his mouth now ghosting yours.
The question went straight to your center, wetness seeping between your legs as you nodded back at him.
Truth be told, your midmorning fantasies while cross-stitching the last few days hadn't been much different than his.
The gravity manipulator's fingers were suddenly tangled into your hair, his body forcing your back against the door while his lips collided with yours.
"Y'know you could've just asked instead of doin' all this bratty shit, right?"
His mouth was warm, his movements somehow urgent and careful at the same time as his hands wandered along your curves.
You smiled against his lips, letting out a breathy, "I'm sorry." as his palm began to graze the inside of your thigh.
"No, you're not." He smirked, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth before biting down with just the right amount of pressure. "But you will be."
You let out a small whimper as he placed his free hand under your chin, moving your head to the side so that he could continue his descendent down your neck.
His leg wedged itself between yours, brushing against your clit while his mouth worked along your collarbone.
You were too lost in the feeling of it all to realize that he'd been leaving a trail of meticulously placed bites down the nape of your neck. Bruises in the shape of his mouth that he knew everyone would see.
"Chuuya -" you tried to protest, but it was more of a moan than an objection. "You - fuck, you can't -" You grinded helplessly against the firmness of his leg. Hips rocking back and forth, desperately trying to gain friction while he kept on nipping away at you.
"What's wrong, babe?" he purred against your sensitive skin. "You're wearin' a turtleneck tomorrow anyway, remember?" his breath fanned across your chest as he ripped the remaining buttons off of your shirt. A gloved hand palming at your chest, sliding your bra down so that your tits were fully exposed for him before you felt his tongue glide across your nipple.
Tachihara was right, he was kind of an asshole. But for some terrible reason, you were living for it. Almost embarrassed by how bad you wanted him. Wriggling against him and riding his leg. Whining while you let him leave visible marks on you and destroy the only clothing you had.
"C'mere." He pulled his head away from your chest, swiftly grabbing you by the arm and leading you back to his desk. He picked you up with ease, shoving a binder aside to sit you down in front of him.
"Spread your legs for me." His voice was heady, eyes glossed over with lust as you complied with his demands.
He held his hand up to his mouth, removing his black glove with his teeth before pushing your skirt up and sliding your underwear to the side. He bent over slightly, running two rough fingers along your clit as he watched your nails dig into the edge of his desk.
"Fuck," he groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you. He'd barely done anything and you were already soaked, your pussy practically throbbing for him. “You really do want me that bad, huh?"
“T - told you.” You whimpered, your head tilting back as he drew slow, blissful circles around you.
He kept up the same pace, basking in the way you were so easily falling apart for him.
“Chuuya, please.”
A smirk tugged viciously at the corner of his mouth, slipping a finger into you this time as your walls swallowed him. "Please what, baby?"
You may have had him in the first half, but you were now on the losing end of this game. Forgetting how to speak altogether as you watched him part your legs even further, bending all the way down to rest his head between your thighs.
You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressing against you. The heavenly lines he was drawing uppp and downnn your center with his middle finger still sliding in and out of you. He was generous in the way he handled you, making sure he didn't miss a single spot. Lapping and slurping up every bit of cum he could as he added in another finger. Groaning against you the louder you got for him.
The only word you seemed to be able to remember was his name, repeating it over and over while your nails lodged deeper into his mahogany desk and your body shamelessly grinded against the warmth of his mouth.
You were in a delirious daze, losing yourself completely to the way he was devouring you.
He could feel you getting close too, noting the frantic rhythm of your hips. The gorgeous, fucked-out noises you were making for him. The death grip your walls suddenly had on him. He knew you were right there, right where he wanted you.
"Chuuya, 'm - I -"
Your legs were locking around his head, shaking uncontrollably as your hand ran through his hair.
He'd never admit it, but he almost could've came at the sounds you were making alone. The pouty way that you called out his name each time his fingers plunged into you was almost enough to drive him over the edge. You were so pathetic and adorable and he was determined to make everyone in Port Mafia hear just how needy you were for him.
As much as he wanted to edge you for what you'd done to him, as much as he wanted to make you beg and plead for him to let you cum, he couldn't fucking pull himself away from you. He was just as lost as you were, drowning in your cunt and not at all wanting to be saved.
His tongue didn’t leave you until he was absolutely sure that you'd ridden out every last wave of your orgasm, still pumping his digits in and out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.
He came up for air with an exhausted smile, wordlessly coaxing your lips apart with his thumb before bringing the two fingers he had fucked you with into your mouth. Letting you clean off the blend of slick and salvia the two of you had created together.
"See how fucking good you taste?" he panted. "I think this is gonna be a real problem for both of us."
An enamored shade of pink brushed across your cheeks as he dropped down onto the chair across from you, running a tired hand through his hair.
"At least I won't be here much longer, right?" You said, playfully kicking his leg with your foot.
"Oh yeah," he smirked. "That actually reminds me..." Your eyes widened as he shifted around to dig an envelope out of his pocket. "Mori wanted me to give this to you."
Your hands trembled, opening it as delicately as you could to make sure you didn't rip anything when a check for 1,490,200 yen fell into your lap.
"Think that'll be enough to buy yourself a shirt that fits?"
Your eyes snapped towards him in disbelief, your pulse ringing through your ears as you tried to process that you'd somehow made this amount of money in a little over a week.
"Is this -" You stammered, thinking back to what he had told you when you first met. "Is this like a severance check then? ...Hush money or whatever?"
"Tragically, no. Mori wants you to stay."
Your hand instinctively flew up to your neck, covering the love-bites that the redhead had left you with, horrified at the realization that everyone was going to see them. Even more horrified at the fact that they had probably heard how you’d gotten them.
"What?"
"Yeah, he said somethin' about you how you've been 'boosting the morale' around here."
Your head felt like it was going to explode.
You had not only been marked by Chuuya Nakahara, but you were now being asked to stay in Port Mafia.
You couldn't decide which was worse.
"So... that means..."
"Yep. We'll be seein' a lot more of each other." He confirmed while checking his watch. "But hey, you better get outta here, Rando and I have a meeting in 10 minutes."
You looked down at your lack of clothing, the spit and cum that was still stuck to your skirt, the obscenely noticeable bruises that he'd so proudly gifted you with.
"Give me your shirt." you demanded.
"Nah."
The grin he shot you was so cocky, so vile, so... hot.
"Chuuya." You whisper-shouted, biting back your own stupid smile. "Be so fucking for real right now, I can’t go out there like this.”
“Shoulda thought about that before you put on that skimpy-ass outfit I guess.” He shrugged.
You hopped off his desk, straddling him in his chair as you forcefully began to undo the buttons along his collar.
The room filled with suppressed laughter, neither one of you able to contain it anymore as he finally conceded, wrestling you off of him. "Alright, alright, chill. I have extras in here, hang on."
You both stood up, your eyes locked on him while he walked over to an expensive looking armoire in the corner of the room.
He pulled a white shirt that resembled the one you were wearing earlier off of a hanger and brought it over to you, guiding your arms up so that he could put it on.
His movements were calculated, almost thoughtful as he dressed you, adjusting it so that it covered up most of the damage he'd done.
"There." He said, double-checking his work. "Now get out of here before I decide to rip that one off of you too.”
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Part 2! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
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katakaluptastrophy · 2 months
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Continuing to think about the horror of what happens to John, and the horrors of love...
When Alecto has first been created, she says to him "I picked you to change, and this is how you repay me?" and "What have you done to me?"
They're heartbreaking questions she has every right to ask, but there's something awful and ironic about them too. Because John also might have asked "what have you done to me?"
It's easy to get distracted by the cartoonish awfulness of John's own narration: "talk about police abuse", "come on, love. Guys as careful as me don't have accidents," "love a working tram system." But all of these comments come after moments where John has unwittingly come into proximity with violent death, an experience he repeatedly likens to having drugs forcibly injected into him; an omniscient, dream-like, out of body experience that seems to propel him forward through his basest impulses. The first time this happens, he's brought back from "the verge of something insane" by being shaken violently by P-. Lines like these aren't revealing John's diabolical plotting. They're a man who would rather own atrocities as premeditated than admit that he was losing his grip.
The second is when he encounters the soul of the earth. His human mind makes contact with the incoherent, furious soul of a planet. In any other context, this would be straightforwardly Lovecraftian. And everything he describes after that is full of elipses, jumbled, and detached. His friends are shot by gun-toting cultists and he says it was like a dream.
Hearing the earth screaming, feeling his friends' deaths under his skin like a drug, he might well have asked "what have you done to me?"
Alecto said to him, "I picked you to change, and this is how you repay me?" But as everything collapses, John says:
"I thought you were going to take me, somehow. Purge me. Use me as an instrument. But you didn't say anything...I was babbling, Show me. Come on. I'm ready. You kept screaming and screaming..."
John has spent months becoming something terrifying, an entity with yellow eyes and uncanny powers. He's discovered that death has an overwhelming impact on him that he cannot fully control. Everyone was relying on him to do something. And he did so many things: well-meaning things and stupid things and things that were lashing out in rage and frustration. Hundreds of people have died because of him. His friends have died because of him. Surely, surely there was a point to this. Surely there was meaning. Surely whatever did this to him, made him into this, had a greater plan.
But there is no plan. There is no great revelation. He tries to hurt the earth, to provoke some kind of answer, but the screaming continues. And when P dies, the person who snapped him out of it the last time, John lets go and the whole world dies.
John is kneeling on the grass vomiting up dirt and tearing out his own ribs, saying "there was still too much of me that was just a human being...", trying to swallow the soul of the earth. And by the end, the one shred he has to hold onto is a memory of playing with a doll as a child. That, and his anger...
The earth tried to reach out in the only way it could, amidst its incoherent suffering. And John tried to use the abilities it gave him, but he was only human. Fallible and proud and angry.
She said, "I still love you." And the horror; the horror of love, the horror of this story, is that to begin with they did this to each other.
To be clear: I don't mean to diminish the awfulness or the very specific forms that John's violence against Alecto takes, and continues to take across the story. I don't mean to excuse his own self-mythologisation. I certainly don't think he's blameless for the decisions he made and the agenda he pursued. But if there's one thing that happens over and over again in TLT, it's that the horror of love is not a one-way street.
And I wonder, in light of what we now know about the permeability of the soul, quite where John ends and Alecto begins. And when that blurring began...
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ew-selfish-art · 8 months
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Dpxdc (sounds like a bad joke) AU: A Cat, an Amazon and an underage Dead kid walk into a bar...
Selina Kyle was on official Catwoman business on the Coast of Greece, though of course she told her currently on (off again on again) boyfriend Bruce that it was just a girls weekend away. A particular jewel came to mind and it needed to be hers, ancient Obsidian carved with symbols of power (and yes, one of the symbols happened to be a cat.)
Selina knew she was getting close to the artifact when Diana Prince showed up. The no-good goody-two-shoes museum curator seemed to have a will of iron, and each time they crossed paths, the tall beauty had some passing remark about Bruce (which was really starting to get under Selina's skin) and the fact that they were just friends. Who does this chick even think she is? Just because she can speak fluent Greek, knows Selina's boyfriend's favorite bedtime story to read his kids, and has an ass that just won't quit doesn't mean she's better than her!
Selina is going to (remind herself frequently that women in competition is just a factor of the misogynistic capitalistic society they live in) do her best to keep under the radar, steal the artifact fast, and then make Bruce propose to her.
But then this weird scrawny kid shows up and asks if she's seen something of his. Selina is on the street, sitting at a table outside the local cafe conveniently located across the street from the auction house holding the artifact, when he approaches. He looks like he could be one of Bruce's kids, made distinct by his very nervous demeanor and shrunken shoulder's attempting to make him look smaller. Briefly, he tells her about a piece of black glass that has a few drawings of his on it, about the size of his palm, and may or may not have some lingering ability to... he doesn't finish his sentence.
Diana was walking across the street to go into the auction house... but to Selina's chagrin, the tall could-be-a-model crosses and approaches them instead. Her eyes are settled on the young man, and he's nervously asking her something in Greek. (How did a kid with a midwestern accent speak fluent greek?) Diana explains that he must have gotten a replica of the item showing in the Auction house somehow, and the kid looks like he's eaten a sour lemon all of a sudden.
A projectile comes hurdling at them a mere moment after the kid's cold breath becomes visible in the hot greek sun- Diana braces the impact for them both, her golden bracers revealed from under her sensible work blouse sleeves.
"Oh! You're Wonder Woman!" The kid gleefully exclaims, which makes Diana and Selina both die a little inside, before adding: "Hey, no worries about this guy, I got 'em. But could you grab that chunk of obsidian for me? It's mine and I'm seriously in hot water for having broken my cro- er- for losing it in the first place. Thanks!"
He suddenly bloomed into white hair and green eyes, a dark suit appearing from nowhere, and flew towards the threat. Wonder Woman didn't spare a single word on Selina and chased after him into combat.
Selina sipped on her coffee and, upon finishing it- casually got up, went to the auction house, and stole the Obsidian. Finders Keepers.
It was the late afternoon when Diana walked into the Bar right behind Selina with the teen at her side. He looked nervous but was eye-ing the bottles on the wall as much as he was trying to look intimidating to her. Diana looked annoyed at best, and not just with Selina.
"I think we should have a little chat, sound good to you Kitten? Princess, did you want to stay to talk too?" Selina's famous cat like grin on full display.
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esouliie · 2 months
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– TEARS ON THE GRAND PIANO
– pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader (MINI SERIES)
– synopsis: moving on from the only person you’ve ever loved is proving to be hard… so hard that hiring an escort seems to be the only way forward.
– warnings: poor dialogue lmao but my excuse is that it was written a while ago, offensive language, word count: 3K
– Prologue | Chapter 1
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13TH NOVEMBER 2022
You were pretty sure your face was melting off with the way your cheeks burned against your hands. Your jaw ached tremendously from clenching, each muscle protesting against the pressure of the emotions welling up inside you.
The room felt like a pressure cooker, and the silence was the ever-tightening lid that threatened to explode at any moment.
The weight of awaiting unspoken words hung in the air, creating a palpable discomfort that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. Seconds stretched into minutes, each passing moment intensifying the unease.
Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this standoff… of sorts.
Joining the Avengers four years ago wasn't anything you would’ve expected for yourself. Raised as a normal teenage girl in a quiet suburban household, with a normal life planned ahead of you, you never imagined that your destiny would lead you to the extraordinary world of superheroes.
Tony Stark, the genius behind the Iron Man suit, approached you with an offer that would change your life forever. He explained that the world needed new heroes, and your unique abilities were the missing piece they had been searching for. After some hesitation and contemplation, you decided to accept the invitation to join the team.
And here you are - now a grown woman - sitting across from the same Tony Stark. His jaw was slack, eyes wide to an almost inhuman degree. For a man who had faced gods, aliens, and powerful foes, the revelation seemed to have caught even the Iron Man off guard.
To put it shortly, he was stunned. Such an uncharacteristic reaction from the philanthropist.
“What did you just say?” He finally managed to answer.
This was supposed to be easy; simple enough to not stress you even more, but you should've known that nothing comes easy with this man.
“I think you heard me, Tony.”
“Yeah, but I never thought I’d hear that… come out of your mouth.” He slaps his hand against the chair excitedly. He was both amused and bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.
“I mean, everyone thought you were a virgin, with the lack of relationships over the years, but I guess not, huh?”
His laughter irritated you no doubt.
Despite being twenty-three years old, your teammates, in their misguided assumptions, were certain you were a virgin. It was a label that stuck, fuelled by your shyness about your personal life. No one ever dared to inquire about your relationship status, but subtle concerns were shared between them, creating an unspoken curiosity.
In reality, your heart harboured a secret love for someone you couldn't have – a person who existed in the realms of impossibility. It was a love that had silently grown over the years, nurtured in the shadows of silent words and unfulfilled desires.
“So, you want me to set you up with an escort?” He asks, humour still evident in his voice.
You nod, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation washing over you. Your eyes briefly met his before retreating to your fidgeting hands, the room still echoing with his laughter.
“That’s fine. But first, I need you to answer some questions.” Tony continues, his tone shifting to a more serious note.
Confusion creeps across your face as you tilt your head, thrown off course by his unexpected shift in seriousness.
“First of all, why?” He inquires, leaning back in his chair and studying your reaction.
You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much you should reveal. "It's complicated. There was someone… but the feelings weren’t mutual, and it’s time to move on. I thought this might be a way to help me do that."
Tony raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Feelings, huh? Well, I'm all ears. Spill the beans. Who's the lucky guy?"
You sigh again, knowing that this part might complicate things. “It’s not something … I just don’t think-,” You don’t want to tell him, it feels all too frightening, “I can’t say.”
He hums lowly, observing your obviously nervous state.
“Okay. What’s your preference?”
Your confusion grows.
He sighs, “Male or female?”
He asks so simply whereas you’re caught off guard.
Your ears burn in embarrassment as the implication dawns on you. You knew this would have to be spoken about at some point, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
“Uh, I t-think, female.”
Tony can't help but wear a sly grin. “So not a virgin and not into dudes. No wonder you shot Sam down.”
The mention of Sam makes you cringe, recalling your first encounter with the man who couldn’t take a hint that you were definitely not interested.
You attempt to regain your composure before warning Tony to be serious, but he interrupts your process, seemingly already moved on from your revelation.
“Anyways, what else?”
Again, you’re stumbling over how to answer but he saves you this time, deciding to lighten up on the teasing.
“I’m talking physically. What would you want her to look like? Tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead?” His hands move drastically as if sculpting an imaginary figure in the air.
You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was serious. "Does it matter?"
“Well, yeah, escorts are usually pricey, especially the ones I use to hire so… you might as well fuck someone you’re actually attracted to.”
He was right. It would cost a fortune for a high-end escort. Given your public image and the constant scrutiny you faced, you realise that anyone you brought into your private space would need to be discreet and accustomed to the world of celebrities. There would be NDAs to sign, and security measures to consider, and the whole process seemed more complex than you had initially thought.
“Assuming you want an escort for that?”
His words interrupt your thinking. He had a knack for understanding things without needing them explicitly stated. It was both a blessing and a curse. The fact that he guessed your intention to hire an escort without you saying it out loud was both impressive and mildly embarrassing.
Your blush deepens.
“I’d prefer her to be taller than me, brunette, green eyes.”
His grin slips slightly, realisation sinking in. Your preference seemed to match the appearance of a certain witch.
“Simple enough.”
“And also, old- actually, she can be my age, but I’d prefer an older woman.” You add, unknowingly unravelling another layer of mystery to your request.
Tony hums.
“Preferably not American, maybe like European, or…”
It couldn’t get any better for the man. The quick panic in your eyes, let alone the twitch in your lip, helped finalise his theory.
But ever the optimistic, there’s no way he’d caught that slip.
There are a lot of tall, brunette Europeans in America.
Surely.
He rests his head in his hand, feigning false nonchalance, “Sounds familiar.”
Oh.
Wanda Maximoff arrived in America with a heavy heart and a troubled past. The scars of Sokovia and the loss of her brother, Pietro, weighed on her soul, but she was determined to forge a new life. She was haunted by the memories of experimentation and the pain that had been inflicted upon her throughout her life. The scars, both physical and emotional, served as a constant reminder of the darkness she had endured. Yet, as she stepped onto American soil, she felt a glimmer of hope.
Hope for a new life.
Almost every day, she participated in training sessions to harness and control her formidable powers. Vision, an android and fellow Avenger, became her mentor and confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly to channel her abilities, turning the chaos into controlled strength.
Her dark eyeliner that used to coat her waterline thinned with each passing day. Her green eyes, now a striking contrast against her porcelain skin, began to reflect not only her pain but also the resilience that lay within. Her long, brunette locks remained a constant, gracefully cascading down her back.
The Sokovian Accords had torn her away from your life, but Steve Rogers, the man with an unyielding sense of justice, had set her free. She had been detained, left to rot in chains and a power-disabling device. But now, she lived in the shadows, on the run from those who sought to control her immense power.
The next time you saw her was on the battlefield in Wakanda. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the Wakandan landscape, and you found yourself standing amidst the chaos of the battlefield. The air was charged with tension, tangible electricity that mirrored the clash between the forces before you. Amid the chaos, you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, moving with purpose and grace.
Wanda. The woman you once knew as a fiery teenager, full of anger and confusion, had transformed into someone entirely new. Her crimson hair, cut to a length that framed her face, caught the fading sunlight as she weaved through the battlefield.
The old Wanda you knew was gone and yet she was still as beautiful. Still the same Wanda you were in love with.
Even so, she was your best friend.
The age difference never seemed to matter; you clicked in a way that transcended space and time. To you, her friendship was everything. And yet, as life unfolded, so did the unexpected twist of emotions that left you utterly devoted to her.
But your love was unrequited. She fell for Vision. The robot born from the mind stone, the same stone that granted Wanda her powers. They clicked instantly.
Unrequited love can be a heavy burden, and you carried it silently, painfully. From a distance, you observed the deep connection between Wanda and Vision strum stronger. Your heart ached, knowing that you never stood a chance against the android who had become the love of her life.
Her space and time.
And then came Westview. It hit you like a tidal wave of sorrow. Wanda, now known as The Scarlet Witch, had created an alternate reality in an attempt to find solace, to build a life where she could have everything she ever wanted. It was a bittersweet revelation - she had her family, but it was a fragile illusion. Life had decided to take everything good from this woman and that included her husband and twin boys.
Learning about their fates left you shattered. It had been a while since you cried over Wanda. You felt so much for the witch. To you, she deserved the universe but for all the time you knew her, she had only experienced pain.
It was a heartbreaking paradox - the one who could rewrite reality couldn't escape her own suffering.
Tony moves closer to you, breaking you out of your trance.
“You could always look for her.” His hand hovers over yours, unsure.
“No, I couldn’t,” You whisper gently, afraid your voice will betray you, “I don’t want to.”
He doesn’t say anything as he moves back to his original position, battling with himself whether to accept your defeat or encourage you to fight for love.
“Okay. I'll look into it.” He answers shortly.
“Thank you, Tony.”
You really do appreciate his help. He has always been there for you, a fun yet steady presence in your life. He had guided you through tough times in your career and offered a shoulder to cry on when needed. In many ways, he was more than just a friend – he was like an older brother.
“It won’t take long for me to find your woman. So make sure you’re ready for the best night of your life.” He concludes by flicking his tongue grossly between his pointer and middle finger.
But he’ll always be a pig.
--
15TH DECEMBER 2022
A few weeks later, you found yourself in the penthouse suite of one of Tony’s infamous drunk hotel purchases- The Ritz. He had managed to find an escort that fit your preferences within the same night, but due to conflicting schedules and multiple anxiety attacks, you pushed the date back as much as you could.
Tony helped you understand all the unspoken rules of high-end escort services. For high-risk clients, such as yourself, it’s imperative that a fake name is given.
Monica Dunn.
Tony said you didn’t look like a Monica but you didn’t care. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t an escort’s job to care what name their clients use.
Afterwards, NDAs are usually signed, despite the use of a false identity, just in case the escort discovered who the clients were, and sold the information to the press.
This has happened before. You giggle, remembering the scandalous article about Tony and his rendezvous with an escort that gladly divulged a particular fetish of his.
Five minutes before the agreed meeting time, the front desk rings, informing you that your guest had checked in and was on her way up.
You pace around the front door, nursing on the almost empty glass of wine. Soft music playing through the TV just outside the large conversation pit, a sunken enclave surrounded by plush, velvety sofas and cushions in hues of deep royal blue and silver. The pit was nestled in the centre of the room, creating a cosy and intimate atmosphere.
Perfect for tonight.
The suite’s architecture was utterly beautiful. The walls were adorned with gilded frames housing masterpieces of renowned artists, and the floors were covered in an expanse of soft, ivory carpet that allowed you to sink your feet into its embrace. A grand chandelier, dripping with crystal prisms, hung majestically above the conversation pit, casting a warm and gentle glow over the entire space.
Residing in front of the large glass windows, a grand piano stood proudly, its polished surface reflecting the glimmering chandelier above. Your eyes were drawn to it, a majestic instrument that seemed to beckon you with its silent invitation. Unable to resist its allure, you gracefully make your way towards it. The rich scent of aged wood and varnish envelopes you. Fingers delicately glide over the smooth keys, feeling the cool touch beneath.
You sit upon the plush bench, posture adjusting with the grace of a seasoned pianist. You begin to play, letting your fingers dance effortlessly across the keys. The room fills with an enchanting melody, each note resonating through the space. Lost in the music, you start to hum along, your voice blending seamlessly with the piano's tune.
The same tune you wrote for Wanda all those years ago. It's been a while since you’ve played this song. You’re not even sure why you’re playing it now.
The keys dip. A sombre note rings true. The music swirls into a reflection of your emotions, a silent expression of the feelings you had kept hidden for so long and how they remained unbound.
“That’s beautiful.” A voice broke through the harmony, pulling you out of your musical reverie.
Startled, you turn to find her standing there, in all her glory.
And time ceases to exist.
She stands tall. The red hair that once defined her is now a rich, deep brown, still its usual thickness and tied into a high ponytail that exudes a casual confidence. Bangs frame her sculpted face as a gloss stains her lips. She looks different. You can't help but marvel at the maturity that now graces her features. There's a certain grace to the lines that weren't there before, a subtle testimony to the experiences that have shaped her.
The room becomes a backdrop to the flood of memories rushing through your mind. The air is thick with festering emotions as you look up at her, trying to process the unexpected reunion. It's been years since you last saw her, and the wounds of her departure still linger.
You don’t say anything but she does. She steps closer, eyes flickering over your stilled hands on the instrument.
She laughs, and familiarity strikes as she recalls the tune you were playing. "Is that the song you were writing that night?"
The question hangs in the air, summoning memories of the last time you shared your dreams and melodies, the things that mean most to you. She was your muse and you had bared your soul to her in your music. And now you’re trapped between the resonating notes of the piano and the echoes of your past.
For a moment, you struggle to maintain composure. Indifference projected as a firm shield, a sort of defence against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.
"It's just a tune." You reply nonchalantly, trying to downplay the significance of the moment.
With that, her gaze intensifies, a shadow of uncertainty rushes across her features.
You can't help but feel a sense of curiosity mixed with a tinge of unease.
All this time that has passed and now she decides to come find you.
You don’t understand why she’s here.
She goes to speak but you interrupt her. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”
She’s lost for words, not even fully sure herself.
“I came to see you.”
Wanda sees the strain on your face. She didn’t have to read your mind to know you were in turmoil. Without much thought, she gently cradles your face in her hands, thumbs tracing delicately over your lips, and you lean into the touch, momentarily forgetting everything that’s occurred over the last few years.
This doesn’t last long. The warmth of her touch turns cold, and you stand up abruptly, the piano bench skirting backwards loudly. Anger simmers beneath the surface.
“Don’t touch me.”
You don’t expect it to hurt as you see the pain your words cause her.  
“Seriously, Wanda. Why are you here?” You continue, voice thick with led.
Wanda sighs, unwilling to lie to you anymore. “Tony sent me.”
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sepherinaspoppies · 18 days
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Only If For A Night (i/iii)
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pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader
summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.
warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !
wc: 4,027
series masterlist
my masterlist
pt2
notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).
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She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)
She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)
Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)
She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)
Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.  
She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)
George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.  
Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible. 
‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’
“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico. 
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It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.
“Umm… I- I’m sorry?” 
The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful. 
“The bus–” 
She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude. 
She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.    
“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her. 
“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her. 
A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.
“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear. 
The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting. 
“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin. 
“Yes, almost like I've lived through it” 
She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid. 
The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.” 
Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news) 
“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?” 
She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!
But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away. 
“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.
“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist. 
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Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance. 
She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision. 
Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.
From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection. 
She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)
“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together. 
“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile. 
The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.
In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies. 
In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run. 
She ignored it, again. 
“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)
She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit. 
She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.  
Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze. 
“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen. 
She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore. 
She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family. 
A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood. 
She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have. 
Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys) 
Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair. 
Silver. 
Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?” 
Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.
Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth. 
Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight. 
“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.” 
Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.” 
She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.
Not now. Not ever. 
She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so. 
“I don’t—” 
“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye. 
She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.
“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.
She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist. 
“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.” 
Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…
There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down. 
She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.” 
Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her. 
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Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)
Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.
The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)
Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)
It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…
But not to Alyssandra.
Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp. 
However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic. 
“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.
All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully. 
Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic. 
“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out. 
She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.  
But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative. 
“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red. 
“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe. 
She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic. 
Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand. 
Blood. Her blood. 
Run! 
“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face. 
“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor. 
“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…” 
She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there. 
Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)
“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)
Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.” 
She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.” 
There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned. 
Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.” 
Fuck. 
“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?” 
Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one. 
She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass) 
“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.” 
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mochirimochi · 5 months
Text
Somewhere Safe
William Afton X Reader
I wanna smash the pervy dilf in the rabbit suit ok?
-This is now officially part 1 in a series!-
p1 ● p2 ● p3 ● p4
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You just need somewhere safe to hide from your abusive ex. Unfortunately for you, you're about to stumble into the arms of something much, much worse.
18+ Minors DNI.
~3700 words, no use of y/n
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cws: abusive relationships, degradation kink, breath play if you squint, smut, rough sex, EXTREMELY dubious concent, a sprinkle of spanking
You can also read on ao3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51567985
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Your arms shake as you push up the rusted steel door that separates the pizzeria from the outside world. Every clatter and rumble of the metal makes you flinch and sweep your eyes over the abandoned side lot. There shouldn’t be anyone out and about to catch you at this time of night, right? Regardless, your heart pounds as you force the heavy door up, inch by agonizing inch. As soon as you’ve made enough space for your body you toss your bag under and swiftly crouch to follow it. 
Breaking and entering is far from your typical Monday night activity, but circumstances have left you with little choice in the matter. You need somewhere you won’t be found, somewhere no one will think to look for you. A dilapidated former birthday attraction certainly fits the bill, you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned the place to your ex before and if you have he probably won’t remember anyways. 
You give the door a tug to close it behind you, flinching as it slams back down into the concrete, and pick your way through the broken glass of the entryway. The smell of mildew is heavy in the air, clawing at your lungs and making your eyes water. This place used to be so vibrant and full of joy once upon a time. You’ve attended many a birthday in the restaurant that stretches out in front of you, even had a few of your own. This place had always been a favorite of the local parents due to its… generous wine portions and the ability to outsource their children's supervision. As a result it had been a kids paradise, the ability to run wild while mom and dad got lost in the sauce on a Saturday afternoon? Few things could rival that sense of freedom for a kid. Ironic as it was considering what had come later, it had always been a place where you felt safe and happy. Maybe that was why you’d chosen the pizzeria when you needed to hide from your abusive boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend now you suppose. It wasn’t like you had any plans to go back to the man after tonight. 
You give yourself a shake, attempting to bring yourself back to the moment at hand. This isn’t exactly the time to be spacing out after all, you’re technically committing a crime. Actually, there isn’t anything “technical” about it, you’re definitely breaking multiple laws right now. You shoulder your backpack and cast a glance toward the stage, it’s concealed behind a dusty red curtain but you can practically picture the animatronics behind it ready to jolt into song and dance just like they did years ago. You wonder if the owner removed them when he shut the place down. If you pull back the curtain will you find the shabby remains of your childhood heroes? You shiver, maybe it’s best not to find out.
If you remember correctly, the staff always entered and exited through a door next to the prize counter, maybe you’ll find a staff room with a couch through there. It seems like as promising an idea as any so you flick on your flashlight and make your way past the dining area and through the arcade. Sure enough, you’re greeted with a “staff only” sign and an unlocked door to boot. 
The hallway beyond is dark, lacking any of the color of the show floor. Interestingly, flickering yellow bulbs hang from the ceiling sporadically. The emergency power must still be on in this part of the building, you reason as you cautiously move through the hallway. You round a corner and let out a yelp as you collide with something huge, brown, and strangely soft. The impact knocks you off balance and you land rather gracelessly on your ass. It takes a moment for your brain to comprehend what you’re looking at as your gaze travels upwards over pudgy brown legs and a round plush stomach.
“Fredbear?!” The exclamation comes out before you really have a chance to think. “How in the world did you get all the way over here?” Your heart, which has been about ready to leap out of your chest, slows as you take in the animatronic. It’s in surprisingly good shape considering the state of the rest of this place. You push yourself to your feet and take a few steps back. “I can’t believe they actually left you guys here, you’d think they’d have moved you. Poor guy, all this time stuck in this dingy old hallway.” 
It’s strange when you really think about it, who would leave him just standing in the bowels of the restaurant? It seems like an awfully strange place to just leave your star animatronic, rushed closure or not. After a moment, a distant memory of the animatronics being wired to wander through the pizzeria comes back to you, in fact now that you think about it you can remember getting a big warm hug or two from the Freddy animatronic. That would explain it, maybe his circuits got damaged over time and had triggered that unique function. 
“Sorry to bug you big guy, I promise I’m not here to cause trouble. I just… needed somewhere safe.” Not for the first time that night you feel tears well in your eyes. “Nope, I am not going to cry over this. Not happening, you didn’t see me cry as a kid and you’re not gonna see it now.” You blink the tears away and the absurdity of your situation finally hits you. Not only are you hiding from your psycho ex and breaking the law for the first time in your life, but you’re also talking to a decrepit old robot like it can actually understand you. You heave a shaking sigh to ground yourself and pull your shoulders back. This might be your lowest moment but you refuse to let yourself wallow in it. With a determined huff you give Fredbear an affectionate pat on the arm before moving further into the building.
Before long you stumble across the staffroom, a long cluttered room with an extended plexi-glass window looking out into the hallway. Maybe at another time the window would serve to make the room feel brighter and bigger but now the dust covered plastic is shot through with a spider's web of cracks that barely allow you to see into the room. The door is unlocked though, and after a few quick shoves the warped wood releases its hold on the frame to allow you entry. Luckily, the room seems fairly well preserved and you spot a few dusty but intact couches pushed up against the wall. Jackpot. The exhaustion you’ve barely been keeping at bay all night hits you like a freight train and you lurch across the room to the couches. You collapse onto the nearest one, sending a fine cloud of dust into the air. You can’t bring yourself to care as you curled into a tight ball, finally letting sleep take you.
William watches the security cameras with curiosity as you wind your way through the building. Normally the animatronics would have taken care of any intruders well before they got to this point. This is new, novel even. He leans forward at his desk, squinting at the video feed in an attempt to get a better view. His jaw almost drops when you collapse onto the couch and fall still. Even through the grainy monitor he can tell that you’ve fallen asleep. What in the world is your deal? Who in their right mind would break into an abandoned establishment of dubious repute only to take a nap? He clasps his hands in thought as he watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. This calls for a more… hands on investigation.
A tickling in your nose rouses you from your slumber and you begin to sneeze yourself awake with surprising force. You check your watch, barely 4 in the morning. You’ve only slept for an hour at most and exhaustion threatens to pull you back into sleep. It might too, if not for the insistent vibration of your phone in your pocket. You flip the cursed thing open without hitting the button to answer, bracing yourself for what you know you’ll see. 
Unsurprisingly, you’ve got 53 unread texts, 20 missed calls and 16 voicemails. You don’t need to check the contact info to know who they’re from. Against your better judgment you navigate to your sms messages and begin to read through the backlog when your phone finally stops buzzing. Some of the texts are pleading, others threatening. A few texts claim to “love you so much” and be “so fucking sorry”, while others rail at you “you fucking bitch” and “how dare you fucking run off like that?”. The messages paint a grim but unsurprising picture, a picture that’s unfortunately all too familiar. You raise your hand to the tender bruising that you know must be beginning to come to the surface on your neck before you navigate to your most recent voicemail. You flick on the speaker before staring into the green light of the screen. 
“Where the fuck are you, you fucking bitch?” You flinch as an angry voice fills the room. “You think you can fucking run away from me? You think you can fucking end shit? You’ve got another thing coming to you, used up fucking slut. The next time I lay eyes on you you’re fucking dead, you hear me? Run the fuck away from me again and see what happens. I’ll-” You don’t give the voicemail a chance to run its course. With a raw, frustrated scream you launch the phone across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying clatter. The battery and casing skitter across the floor and the voicemail cuts out abruptly. Not satisfied with just cutting the bastard off you stomp across the room, still screaming, and smash your foot into the body of the phone. It gives with a satisfying crunch and you roar as you kick it for good measure, sending the now useless device across the room once again. All the fear and rage of the last few hours overcomes you and you let yourself scream until you run out of breath.
Suddenly a flash of something yellow through the hallway window catches your eye. You push your hair out of your face as you try to catch your breath, attempting to squint through the aged plexi-glass. A hulking, inhuman figure stands on the other side of the window, seeming to peer back at you. For a moment neither of you move, it seems to be taking you in as much as you’re taking it in. The strange standoff breaks when the figure, still indistinct through the dust and cracks in the glass, starts to move slowly and methodically towards the staffroom door.
Finally your brain springs into action. Shit. Whatever that is, it’s not good. You sweep your eyes frantically around the room, weighing your options. Any windows to the outside are boarded up, and the only door in or out is the one the massive yellow figure is making its way towards. The only viable option seems to be to take the defensive. There’s a tiny kitchenette against the wall, and you rush towards it in desperation. Frantically, you yank open the drawers in search of anything you might use to protect yourself. The best you can come up with is a wooden spoon. In another situation that might be laughable, but you can’t take a moment to consider how absurd you look brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. The rattle of the doorknob tells you that you’re out of time.
Whatever you had expected to be on the other side of that door it certainly wasn’t a massive yellow rabbit suit. It’s huge, so large that it has to duck to get its ears under the door frame. As it tilts its head to take you in, your blood runs cold. You hold your ground as the thing stalks closer, its movements slow and deliberate as it moves towards you. 
In a moment of desperation you launch yourself forward, attempting to dodge around the looming figure and make a dash for freedom. You don’t have a chance. A pair of strong arms wrap roughly around your waist, jerking you back with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your makeshift weapon clatters to the floor. A dark chuckle rumbles from the depths of the suit as a hand drags its way from your waist and up your chest to grab your chin.
“What. Have. We. Here?” The voice that comes from the suit is deep, taunting, and undoubtedly mascuine. He punctuates the last word with a rough but controlled yank, pulling your chin up and your head back into his chest. You whimper as it strains your already aching neck. With your head tipped back you can see the yellow rabbit head looming above you and it tilts to the side again as if in curiosity. “I asked you a question.”
“I-I-...” You can barely get your mouth to move and you lick your lips in a desperate attempt to draw words from them. Your obvious fear draws a satisfied hum from the depths of the suit and the hand on your waist tightens noticeably. The hand on your jaw however, disappears. You pull in a shaky gasp and buck your head forward in an attempt to build up enough momentum to break free. The vice-like grip on your waist is unaffected and your captor grunts in amusement. 
A rustling above your head draws your attention and you look up to realize that the hand that had just been holding your jaw captive is running along the neck of the suit. With a single, deft movement the head of the suit comes off and your captors face is revealed. There’s an almost rugged handsomeness to his mature features, graying stubble covering his cheeks and eyes that in another life may have looked almost kind. The expression he’s peering down at you with now is anything but kind or gentle though. There’s a hunger there, and a barely suppressed rage. He places the head on a nearby table and returns his hand to your jaw. With agonizing languidness he leans forward and presses his lips to your ear.
“Who gave you permission to sleep in my restaurant?” 
You gasp as his stubble rasps against your jaw and his hot breath ghosts across your face. 
“I’m sorry. I just needed a place to stay. I’ll leave right now. I’ll-”
He cuts you off. “A place to stay, huh?” His lips are still brushing against your ear and despite yourself you feel a chill run down your spine that has nothing to do with fear. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with that absolute delight of a man on the other side of the phone, would it?”
“He’ll kill me.” As soon as the words come out of your mouth you know they’re true. Honestly, you’re lucky to have survived him this long.
“Oh, little mouse, what makes you think I won’t?” The grip on your jaw releases for a moment and you hear something fall to the floor. When it returns it’s a very warm, very human hand that takes its place. His other hand briefly lets go to do the same and you can feel his nails digging into your flesh as he presses you against him. 
“Please.” It’s barely more than a whimper as the hand at your jaw dips to circle your neck. “I just needed somewhere safe.”
“And you chose here? Bad luck.” He presses his nose to your jaw and draws in a deep, ragged breath. “But you know, we might be able to work something out.” The hand at your waist begins to travel, burrowing its way under the hem of your shirt before splaying wide across your stomach. His long fingers barely brush the underside of your bra but you feel the heat of them as if there’s no fabric to separate you. “I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you put out in the cold.”
“Anything.”
William can barely contain himself. The feeling of your trembling body in his arms is oh so delicious and your intoxicating scent floods his nose, every breath sending a thrill through him. You’re so soft, so malleable, so utterly breakable. It’s brilliant. 
Using one hand to keep you pinned against him he uses the other to work his way out of the suit with practiced skill. Initially he’d just wanted to watch you, figure out the enigma that was your survival after breaking into his restaurant. Normally people don’t last for more than a few minutes. But you’d dithered around, chatted up his ace in the hole, and then taken a nap? He couldn’t contain his curiosity.
The phone call had derailed his plan and given him an idea. Sure, he had planned on killing you once he’d solved your mystery but maybe there were other things you could be useful for. There was something captivating about you, and the perfect leverage had just fallen straight into his lap. 
He makes quick work of the suit, and soon he’s reveling in the feeling of your body against his. 
“Anything?” He asks, stroking his thumb gently over your jugular before giving your throat a controlled squeeze. Your startled gasp is almost enough to send him reeling. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little mouse.”
This is wrong. Everything about this situation is wrong.
And yet, your body seems to have some of its wires crossed because it is not getting the message. The only thing you should be feeling right now is fear, and sure, there’s a very healthy dose of that tying your guts in knots but beyond that there’s an underlying current of heat. None of what’s happening should be causing your core to tighten, and the goose bumps forming on your neck should be from terror.
But they’re not.
His hand drifts up even further, pushing your bra up and out of the way to capture the smooth skin of your breast in his hand. You can’t help it, you roll your hips back into his, pushing against the hardness that’s growing there at an almost alarming pace. He growls behind you, pulling you even closer to grind against your ass.
“So that’s how it is?” His voice in your ear is even deeper now, heavy with lust as he gives your breast a hard squeeze. Even you’re surprised when you let out a wanton moan. “Imagine such a dirty fucking slut falling right into my lap.” His words have you clenching around nothing and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel conflicted about your body's reaction. He releases your breast and his hand burns a trail down to the top of your jeans, he flicks the button open with ease and slowly undoes your zipper. Then he stops, his hand ghosts over the crotch of your jeans before it stills. You let out a needy whimper that you barely recognize as your voice.
“Beg for it, little mouse.”
You groan, canting your hips forward in a desperate search for pressure. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, fuck me.”
His control seems to snap and he spins you around before shoving you across the room and face down into the couch, barely giving you time to yelp in surprise. He pulls your hips into the air before yanking down your jeans and panties in one harsh motion. The animalistic groan that escapes him at the sight of your dripping pussy sends a shock of arousal through you. He grabs a globe of your ass in each hand, digging his fingers in so hard that you gasp. His nails bite in deep enough that you’re sure they’ll draw blood. 
“God, look at you.” He grunts, releasing your ass and stepping back as if to admire the view. You hear the clinking of his belt buckle and wiggle in anticipation. “What a fucking freak you are, so fucking wet and ready for a strange man in an abandoned building.” He lifts his hand and lands a stinging blow on your ass. You flinch and yelp at the unexpected pain and he does it again on the other cheek. “Dirty slut.” The sting brings tears to your eyes, but it also causes your arousal to coil even tighter in your abdomen. 
Suddenly and without warning he grabs your hips and slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. You scream as he stretches you, your channel burning around his thick cock. “Take it.” He grunts, slamming into you. All you can do is whimper in response as he sets a punishing pace, thrusting into you again and again. The burn eventually melts into a building and rising heat that threatens to sweep you away. 
Your scalp stings as he tangles his fist in your hair and yanks your head back, changing the angle so that he drives impossibly deeper into you with every stroke. Any train of thought you may have been able to carry is lost as he bombards you with pleasure. Your eyes roll back as your hands desperately grip the couch cushions. A few more thrusts and you’re coming undone, screaming out your release. He follows close behind you, letting go of your hair to grab your hips again. His fingers bite into you as he pulls you back against him, trapping you to him as he fills you. 
“Fuck.” He grunts, his voice raw and his hands trembling at your hips. You both still for a moment and your brain finally starts to realize what you’ve just done. But in the throbbing, warm throes of your afterglow you can’t seem to bring yourself to care how truly fucked up this situation is. When he finally releases his vice-like grip on your hips you groan at the loss of contact.
The chuckle that he gives is warmer than any of the others so far, and he gives your ass a final squeeze that you could almost consider affectionate before he steps away.
“Yes, I think we’ve come to a satisfying agreement.”
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I don't know what came over me last night, but this was the result. I've never written smut before, but I sure have read a lot so hopefully it's enjoyable.
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All Funk, No Punk - Still Hobart Brown
Gold chains instead of silver spikes. Gator shoes in place of thrifted boots. And an afro bigger than Hobie's -
Spider-Funk is Hobart Brown - Earth 831
Hobie Brown maybe Artie's chiller, rougher, and louder self - but somehow, they get on like a cop car on fire (or whatever the saying is).
And Artie Brown maybe Hobie's cockier, flirtier, and flashier self - but they just tell people they're twins.
Or at the very least - they call each other 'brotha' and 'bruv' all the time.
When people ask about the accent thing - you know, Artie being American, they say 'Ever seen The Parent Trap?'
[A LONG ASS post - Below is Artie's Origins, Fighting Style, Relationship to Hobie, and how he got recruited - All About the Brown Bros! Artie & Hobie, FunkPunk!]
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It's Hobie 2 - Electric Bugaloo!
And just when Miguel thought he could only stomach one of them.
Though he calls himself the older brother, being born over a decade earlier, Artie is Hobie's less mature, more materialistic, but just as kind variant.
He's a pacifist instead of an anarchist - Full of Soul instead of bursting with Rock.
And he still hates cops.
Origins:
When Artie was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1969 - the first thing he did was burn his draft card. Then he joined the Black Liberation Army.
He wasn't the only one - Artie was part of the almost half a million draftees to do so.
And then President Osborn was elected.
To fill the gap in enlistment, Osborn came up with a solution.
V.E.N.O.M - A highly toxic, unfeelingly aggressive, and wildly bloodthirsty symbiote. A solution to the protests and draft dodgers.
Engineered by Oscorp - if you didn't induct yourself as a soldier, the V.E.N.O.M would make you one. And suddenly his friends were disappearing one by one.
A subtle but sudden-onset disease, the V.E.N.O.M variant was nearly undetectable, very persuasive, and incredibly effective.
More primal than animalistic, the symbiote's function didn't raise one's bloodlust, - instead it lowered, and at worse cancelled, your empathy. The symbiote subtly normalized dehumanization - attacking neurons in the cerebral cortex to destroy one's capability of empathy, compassion, and at times - recognizing faces. Able to follow commands without a second thought - the perfect soldier. Convincing the host of necessary order and their own biological superiority, over the course of 72 hours the host would lose their ability to recognize the people around them as anything other than sub-human. In 138, V.E.N.O.M turns you into an animal. In 831, V.E.N.O.M turns everyone around you into an animal.
It could make anyone into an unfeeling, unrelenting soldier - no guns needed.
The best of them got sent overseas to the War - and the rest, he turned on the people, hunting down all those who dared to dodge their call.
While on tour in DC, Artie was bitten by a radioactive spider, as he attempted to burn draft papers at a government facility.
He burned the papers. Plus he got some sick powers out of it. Plus Plus he gets to beat up The National Guard on a weekly basis. Ain't that a score.
And Hobie may hate the name Spider-Punk (or so he says), but Artie loves being Spider-Funk.
He calls them Funk & Punk. Hobie calls them that too, but like in a cool ironic way.
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Artie & Hobie:
Personality:
Hobie knows that Artie is going through his 'Pavitr Phase', so he cuts him some slack. Artie's only been Funk for a year and some change.
He's got more Ws than Ls, so he's always one to be a bit cocky and reckless - though never at anyone's expense.
He's more talkative than Hobie - and WAY more flirty than Hobie, ready to wink at anyone willing to stare.
Like Hobie, Artie has his own groupies. And the pair on campus do get stares (and whispers. and giggles); Two 6'5 dudes with enough hair to cause an eclipse, walking around in loud ass boots, they're sure to draw attention.
Something Artie loves.
Artie considers himself a Ladies' Man. And a Man's Man. And what gender you have to offer really. (He's still a 'Hobie' - he doesn't discriminate)
He's got a waterbed in his boathouse, shag carpets, and wine at the ready. He loves sweet-talking people, and showering them in compliments. Whereas Hobie's love language is Physical Touch, Artie's is Words of Affirmation.
But all Hobie has to do is open his mouth and Be British and suddenly Artie's date is swooning and he's like 'Brotha, I'mma need you to shut the hell up for a second right quick.'
If you hang out with them, get ready for Hobie hanging off your shoulder, while Artie is in your ear complimenting your outfit.
Fighting:
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Artie's fighting style is a lot more fluid than Hobie's with a lot of martial arts involved - similar to blaxploitation movies of the era.
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Hobie thinks he looks bloody ridiculous meanwhile Artie is like 'if dem damn jeans weren't so tight maybe you could get like me and have some flair in your fight, my man.'
He also has an INCREDIBLY MEAN backhand.
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Ideology:
The two of them are fairly close, hanging out with each other a lot. Though the two of them are fairly different. Artie is far more pacifist than Hobie, but that doesn't mean he's above violence.
He's just not one to talk about it, or threaten it. He's more of the 'let people talk - don't start none, won't be none'. Camp - and he'll almost never throw the first punch. Though he absolutely considers intimidation, selling hard drugs, and fucking with the general population 'starting some'.
Their ideology may clash heads everyone once in a while, but they hardly ever fight. At all. Instead, they have frequently heated, in-depth debates.
Artie may not be as radical or educated on things as Hobie, plus Hobie has ten years of extra history to pull from, but the two of them do it often, and it keeps them spry.
The only problem is, they get so into it, it SO HARD to understand what they're saying. Accents, slang, cutting each other off, roping other people into the conversation to back them up. It's WILD.
Artie is a lot more materialistic than Hobie. Not as critical of capitalism, Artie likes to game it rather than complain about it.
Unlike Hobie, Artie LOVES the finer things in life, and spoiling those around him. He likes gold over silver, and wears more rings than spikes.
He's a bit full of himself, and he carries a rag in his pocket to whip blood off his nice white boots. Something Hobie wouldn't be caught DEAD doing.
And Hobie clowns him for it everytime. Artie doesn't care. 'True playas never play sloppy.'
But how can he afford all of this? Well,
He's not as uhh,..honest as Hobie. But he has a heart of gold (get it?). And he never lies just to lie - if he's doing it, it's probably for work, or to Miguel, because he does not respect Miguel.
Artie be stealing. He's a master at sleight of hand. If it's a big corporation, it's free game. He never steals money - but to put it concisely: He's a smooth mfer.
He likes gold - he thinks it looks nice. But he knows for a fact that the worth of it is completely manufactured my human and capitalism, and that it's literally just a pretty metal.
He knows that paying hundreds for a chain or gold is exploitative, especially when it's stolen to begin with. So to him, it's justifiable, gimmie.
He also does it mostly for fun, a magic trick - in the same way Hobie makes stuff 'disappear' while talking to Miles, and doing hand tricks.
Artie does that, but more often, and more skillfully.
He doesn't do it all the time, but the first time he did it in front of Hobie - snatching Hobie's homemade watch of his wrist - Hobie was genuinely surprised.
Mostly he does it to make things disappear from your hand, parts he finds lying around, and playing pranks on people like Miguel. Generally, just being a lil shit.
He's a sweet-talker and a big steppa.
Unlike Hobie, Artie knows better than you force his way in. Artie slides in. He can talk them in to anywhere.
He'll pretend to be someone else, pretend to know someone else, steal passes and key cards to get in, and try to attack from the shadows when he can.
In battle, Spider-Punk is the louder, chattier, more immature one. And Spider-Funk is the chiller, sarcastic one.
Like twins, the two of them have their own in-jokes, and they hang at each other's places all the goddamn time. Though they live in different universes and decades, Artie & Hobie are kinda a package deal.
They may not always be together - they both got their own shit to do and they're not actually brothers - but if you hang with one, it's only a matter of time before you meet the other.
"Why is your brother American?" "Divorce." - "Adoption." ........ "Adoption." - "Divorce." "One of you or the both of you are lying."
Diane & Artie & Annie -
[This section is about my main OC Disco-Spider Diane, and her variant Annie P. Disco-Spider is Hobie's....something and they are happily....a something]
Every Hobart needs his Diane, and Artie is no different.
Artie & Diane:
And like usual, it all starts at the beginning.
Diane was the one to recruit Artie - because of course she was. And Lyla had told her two things: He was a guitarist, and his name was Artie. That's all she needed to know.
Lyla wanted it to be a surprise.
She snuck back stage to his show, brushed off the nearly palpable feeling of deja vu in the air, broke into his dressing room, and then tried to flirt him into joining the Society. Easy peasy.
Diane is a very oblivious woman. They spoke for nearly 10 minutes - and Artie decided to hear her out. He sat down on the couch in his dressing room, pulled back his hair and-
Diane goes -
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"Hobie??? Is that you?! Oh my goodddd, you look so cute! Your hair!! Hobarrrrt - Why you ain't say nothing, had me standing here doing all this."
Speech completely forgotten. Mind you, she still hasn't explained anything. Diane is destined to freak out every Hobart she meets.
Artie is starting to think he should stop flirting with weird ass groupies that break into his dressing room.
Diane takes out her watch, the watch he doesn't know she has. She pulls up Lyla, the AI he doesn't know she has. And Diane asks her -
"Lyla! Does Artie stand for-" "It does!" "Oh my god!!! That makes this SO much easier! You're soo sweet, awww!!" "You know I saw the mission and thought of you-" "Am I on drugs right now?"
Needless to say - Diane's recruitment was successful.
Diane and Artie actually get on well, really well. Like weirdly well.
Artie and Diane are both extroverted, flirty, and a bit full of themselves. They're expressive, and more into their hair than they're willing to admit. They're perfect for each other - and people notice.
And Diane finds it a TAD BIT WEIRD
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I mean, the differences between her and Hobie is what Diane loves about them - they're like sugar and spice, PB and J.
Sometimes Artie and Diane may accidentally finish each other's sentences - and Diane will be like 'Hey don't do that :)'. Other times, Artie will playfully be like 'Why are you standing so close to me, mama?' Just to piss her off.
Of course, Diane thinks he's 'cute'. But not Hobie Cute. And unfortunately, he 'speaks American'.
Besides, Hobie is the only Hobart for her.
Artie is definitely into Diane, but more in the 'she's a catch I would go for' kinda way. He did hit on her a couple times early on in their situation - but once she made it clear that she was 'seeing Hobie', he took the hint.
There's no jealously there - Hobarts are incapable of it. In fact, he's kinda proud the only other guy who could pull the hot girl is ..another him.
Now, Artie is a lot more like a big brother, kinda like the ones Diane grew up with in the Panther's house.
He's protective of her, in a 'Be mean to her and I'll deliver an ass whoppin on a plate' way. He thinks she's cute in the way a platonic sense, and finds her groupie mode to be as amusing as it is adorable.
It's ironic though that his ACTUAL girlfriend is - well, Diane's Opposite.
Artie & Annie:
[This section is shorter, and will be longer in Annie's post]
Diane Pastors is Annie P. is Mod-Spider.
Artie's girlfriend, Annie is the farthest thing from Diane while somehow still being just as big of a diva.
An avid feminism campaigner and modern woman, she would never be caught DEAD hanging off of Artie like that. And she can't stomach Diane all that much.
Hobie, Annie HATES. And not in a coy way. She thinks he's obnoxious - she calls him a poseur. She thinks he's a scrub.
Her & Artie are in a committed relationship - officially boyfriend and girlfriend. And instead of Annie, Artie is the one who wears her name on a chain.
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Just like Diane and Hobie, Annie and Artie have a musical duo - called ModFunk.
We're almost done I PROMISE.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Random Details:
Artie's design is an inverted version of Hobie's, but it's also inspired heavily by Jimi Hendrix, mainly this photo on the left.
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Right is an example of Artie's Style. His universe has a paint-marker aesthetic, a lot more colorful and soft than Hobie's, with dripping paint and splatters, but it tones down a lot - like Gwen's.
Artie plays Soul, Jazz, and Funk.
He has a band with his version of Daredevil, Felicia Hardy, and Captain Anarchy.
Artie has killed cops - and soldiers before. But he doesn't see it as a big deal. He hates cops, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't discriminate. Ass Whoopin's for everybody.
He DOES pull his hair back, his face isn't covered all the time. Maybe 80% of the time.
He can get around with Spidey Sense, so he doesn't care much - he loves his fro and is always picking it out.
He Pavitr are like best friends. Pavi and The Brown Twins get LOUD AS HELL when all together.
Gwen thinks he's an absolute goofball - So Artie tries his best to make her laugh. She seems like she needs it.
When not on stage and in battle, he prefers to play an acoustic guitar, which Hobie doesn't like playing. His acoustic is also blue.
Him and Hobie can play on each other's guitars, but it sounds very trippy, and VERY VERY weird, abnormally so.
If their heads are covered, or hair done like each other's, they can seamlessly pass as each other.
Hobie SUCKS at an American accent - but somehow, he can mimic Artie's perfectly.
It's the same for Artie - sucks at British, but can speak like Hobie.
He loves chocolate candy bars, Hobie likes fruity candy.
They do write songs together and go to each others shows, though they don't ever really perform together.
They wrestle A LOT
Artie is a genius as well, and they work on mechanics together, Artie is great at math specifically.
He and Hobie do each others hair care and help oil each other's scalps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So uh.....that's Artie :) The guy
If you made it this far THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING ME - Artie platonically gives you a red rose.
ALSO TELL ME Why I tried to draw him like Jimi Hendrix But he looking like the Jackson 5 IM SO SORRY YALL
Here's OG Hobie as a thank you! Just imagine two Hobarts standing on either side of you both tall and with big hair and touchy and talkative as fuck Diane is living the DREAM let your OCs be happy
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Bye.
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januariat · 5 months
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venturing onto the uncertain ground of having a batman opinion here, but i personally kinda hate when he turns into Iron Man Lite. as in, having a technological answer for everything, or being an inventor/engineer on par with tony stark. he's a genius for sure and he does engineer various gadgets/weapons etc., but to make that his primary skillset ventures too far into tony's territory for me. I much prefer bruce as a sort of Sherlock Holmes-who-can-fight-really-well; where his main strengths are his deductive/observational powers, his ability to read people and plan contingencies, and his martial arts prowess. His tech should be secondary, the cherry on top. it's less exciting to me when batman beats a villain because he built a gadget or because he outfitted his batsuit to be basically just another iron man armor, and more exciting when he beats a villain because he outsmarts them- whether that's through investigating them or through orchestrating events to exploit their weak points.
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alstors · 16 days
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CH. 1. I EAT DICKWADS LIKE YOU FOR BREAKFAST
♪ ︱SUMMARY… The misadventures of a sinner who is bored to death in Hell.
♪ ︱PAIRING… Alastor x Afab!Reader
♪ ︱WARNINGS… NSFT. Canonically foul language. Religious themes. Vox. Sex jokes and passes. Slowburn. Reader uses they/them pronouns, but has female anatomy. Reader has voice related power, and is an overlord– their appearance changes but is super vague except on the color of the scleras to be left to your imagination.
♪ ︱NOTE… Word count is around 3k. Kind of fillery near the end but things will pick up next chapter.
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“Mon dieu, shut the fuck up already,” you snap, looking at the demon in front of you. He’s been going on non-stop since you’d shown up at V Tower to meet with Velvette– and per his usual fashion– he’s being overly obnoxious about his dislike for you. 
“What?” Vox feigns a slight innocence when posing the question. “I’m just saying you can’t teach an old dog new tricks!”
You raise an eyebrow before waving your hand with a grin, “Ironic considering you’re the eldest of the Vee’s. Taking away your voice sets you back to when film was silent. Try learning to talk now, old dog.”
His mouth parts to rebuttal, and his lips move but no words leave him. While you didn’t actually take his voice, you did temporarily render him unable to use his vocal chords. It should buy you enough time for Velvette to come and get you. You hope it’s sooner rather than later, knowing Valentino can show up at any given moment as well. You didn’t like either man. Both in some way, shape, or form, remind you of a time when you were human. That’s a time you found little joy in. 
Everything had been different for you the moment you wound up in Hell. While some saw it as another place to be chained, you saw it as an opportunity to seize control. You refused to be as weak as you were when you were human– a mindset that had surely paid off well. After all, you started off as a mere sinner and were now throwing down with the Overlords of Hell. 
“It’s about time someone shut him up,” a woman’s voice spoke up as Vox angrily failed his arms and tried to shout at you. “Poor timing though, his boy toy’s throwing a tantrum over his star employee.”
Vox dramatically puts on a face of defeat and throws his hands up before stomping off. You don’t bother to hide your amused smile before turning to Velvette, “Let’s get started, shall we?”
The trendsetter knew something was up when you had requested to meet with her under the guise of learning how to work modern technology. While her only current issue with you is your wardrobe, she didn’t feel it was her place to teach others and couldn’t help but feel you had ulterior motives. The only reason she accepted was due to Vox wanting more information on the Radio Demon, Alastor– where is he? When will he return? Does he even plan on coming back? Though she’s not the one to get involved in a pissing match, Alastor’s potential return could change everything that had been worked for in the past seven years. 
While Velvette had never personally met you, she’d heard rumors. You and Alastor go together like gin and juice– both rising to power too quickly, using whatever means necessary to collect souls. Some say he has you on a leash, using your abilities to make himself more powerful and frightening. Others argue it’s the opposite since you’re more suited for the spotlight. Vox swears up and down you’re the reason he refused to join the business and kept him confined to the past. But, nobody knows the truth of your relationship with Alastor, and nobody ever will. 
“Did you really have a change of heart, or is there another reason you came here?” Velvette finds herself asking once the two of you reach her office.
You reach into your pocket before handing her a phone– one that looks relatively new, “Much to my annoyance I was given a job that requires the use of this fancy voice box.”
“Ah, so the Radio Demon finally returns?” She gets straight to the point, trying to read your expression to see if you give anything away. 
“I don’t think I like what you’re implying,” Your head tilts to the side slightly and you blink before straightening up. “My reason for this meeting is not as juicy as you’d like it to be– sorry. I’m afraid it’s been years since I’ve heard from Alastor. I’m simply helping the Happy Hotel try and get its start. While I don’t have my own show or station, is the… what’s the term? ‘Mobile web’? A good place to start? Who better to learn from than the best?”
She’s heard of this hotel, but only in a laughable sense. Yeah, the Princess of Hell may be the one running it, but surely no demon in their right mind actually believes their souls can be rehabilitated. Though, if a player as big as you is involved, there must be something more at stake. If you’re truly as nasty as the rumors claim, this isn’t something you’d do out of the kindness of your own heart. 
All Velvette can do is take you at your word, albeit with a snide comment. Any more questioning about Alastor could end in some form of altercation, and blatantly trying to pry further into your business doesn’t look good. She doesn’t trust you, but you were seemingly up front– and she can respect that. She swiftly decides she only has one condition for helping you: get a new wardrobe. 
You wouldn’t be doing that– especially since there was no real deal being made– but, you tell her what she wants to hear anyway. While you couldn’t call this a game of chess, since this is a civil meeting, you could call it a game of strategy. Velvette was smart enough to question your motives, but not your reasonable answer. You had gotten what you came for the moment she brought up Alastor, and you were now fully interested in what you could learn. While Alastor refuses to learn about the new technologies, you were a bit more open– especially if it meant Velvette handing you the very thing that she could be outdone on. You still don’t enjoy that you’re doing this, and Al is going to owe you big time. While he’ll probably argue that he didn’t ask this of you, he’ll pay you back eventually. 
So you lean forward once Velvette begins to explain the basic functions, knowing in just a few days the fun would truly begin. 
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By the time you had learned everything you needed about today’s technology, your head felt like it was on fire and you were irritable from the overload of information. Of course, it would be your luck that upon trying to leave, Vox would once again intercept you. If you weren’t keen on maintaining business relationships with the Overlords, Vox would be another victim the second he opened his mouth. How fortunate for him that he just so happens to be in a position that keeps him safe– for now.
“Leaving so soon?” He questions, his tone mocking. “We didn’t even have the chance to catch up!”
You let out a sharp laugh, “Ha! You must be confused. You and Alastor were pals, not us. Don’t act familiar. If you want to know something, all you have to do is ask. If not, I suggest you get out of my way. It’s been a long day, and if I don’t get a glass of brandy soon I will get nasty.”
“Oh please, you’re just like him,” Vox loses his friendly persona. “Those stuck in the past are no match for me. You should know. After all, you were there, weren’t you?”
The reminder of Alastor’s near end ignited a spark of rage you hadn’t felt in years. Your eyes narrow, scleras glowing red at his words. Your shape begins to morph until you stand taller than him, and the brief shock that literally travels through him is enough to have your lips curling into a grin. Your voice seems almost enchanting, even though venom drips from every word you speak next, “You should really heed when you’ve been warned, palooka. It’s never too late to learn to respect your elders– it’s a lesson I’ve taught many times. Step out of line again and you’ll see just how easily I can eat dickwads like you for breakfast.”
Vox, despite wanting to speak his mind, says nothing. You can see the fury behind his eyes when he steps out of the way. His actions are not his own, thanks to the musically influential sound of your voice taking control. He has no choice in letting you walk out without any further comment– which you think is fitting seeing that he’s the one normally using his power to influence others. It’s a small taste of his own medicine, and hopefully the warning he needs to realize that he is the one who is not a match for you. 
In Hell, the Overlords get their power from owning the souls of others. But, not you. In fact, there was a time when people questioned what exactly you were and where your power came from. You are no different than the other sinners. You just choose to make deals for voices instead of souls. People are more willing to trade because the idea is less threatening than the thought of signing away their soul. A voice is potent, and carries more weight than the average person knows. They inspire, create magic, and shape change. To own a voice was to own the holder’s will. It is the very muscle of the soul, which made you believe it carried far more power than anything. 
Ever since you first showed up, Hell had been your playground, and you made it clear with how quickly you’d made a name for yourself. With Alastor not far behind, the two of you became a force to be reckoned with– but also the focus of the rumor mill. You only tolerate what you hear because the look on people’s faces when they realize everything they know is wrong brings you great satisfaction. That small spark you managed to get from Vox fed you well until after you reached your speakeasy.
You knew there would be denizens at the door in the morning– pissy that it wasn’t open tonight– but you want to go to bed on a high note. 
Unfortunately, someone seemed to have other plans. 
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard a tune from you,” a retro-esque voice speaks with amusement, pointing out that you were humming as you entered your upstairs apartment. “You must have had a good day. I’d love to hear about it.”
You flipped on your light, seeing him sitting perfectly poised on your couch. His lips stretched into his signature grin and his eyes relaxed as if he was enjoying the silence.
“I’m sure you would,” you retort, seemingly unphased by his sudden appearance. However, you are surprised to see him, especially after so long. There’s a lot of things that suddenly rush to your mind, but you know that no amount of questioning will get you an honest answer. “It’s been a while, Alastor.”
His ever-present smile widens, “Now, now, is that anyway to greet an old friend?”
You hum in amusement as you debate on whether or not to humor him. After all, it’s been years since you’ve seen him– but you aren’t sure that his absence is something you can merely just forget. Though, could you say for sure that he’d ever open up about it? Quickly, you decide that the matter isn’t worth pursuing. You’d only be opening a door to straining your relationship with him, and what would people say when they learn the Radio Demon is back but has not been seen with his best known comrade?
So, you sigh dramatically and plop down on the couch beside him and throw your arms over his shoulders– not missing the soft squeak that escapes him, “Oh, Al. You’ve been gone for far too long! You up and left lil ‘ol me here all by my lonesome. I could just kiss you if I wasn’t so mad.”
Alastor laughs– genuinely and without his filter– and gives you a light squeeze before letting you go, “You’ve been watching those pictures shows, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” you flash him a grin. “I’ve even thought about trying my hand at acting. I think I’ve got a knack for it.”
“You certainly have a presence that befits the big screen. Why, I might even find myself purchasing a television should you choose the glitz and glam of show business,” he jests as he stands up. “But, I have a better idea.”
You groan, knowing he was about to drag you into something you wanted no part in, “How about we discuss it tomorrow? I would like to go to bed. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
He squints at you for a moment, “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight my dear, I look forward to hearing what you’ve been up to recently.”
You can’t help but to think he may short circuit when you tell him what exactly has been keeping you busy.
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“Are you fucking with me?” 
The question leaves your mouth before you can think about what you’re asking. The sight before you was one you absolutely did not expect, and left you wondering just how badly his fight with Vox left him. Surely his opponent had to have fried a few of his wires, right? There was absolutely no way the Radio Demon was interested in the Happy Hotel without there being something in it for him. Granted, you had told Velvette you were in on this scheme, but that was just so she would get you up to speed on today’s tech. You never imagined you would be eating your words the way you are now. 
Alastor chuckles as the two of you walk up to the door, “I’m afraid not, sweetheart.”
You huff in annoyance, but stand up straight when he knocks on the door. A brief moment passes before the door swings open, revealing an upbeat blonde who’s face immediately falls when she sees who you two are. Then, the door shuts before Alastor can even finish saying “hello”. You nearly snort at his abrupt pause, ready to turn and leave when the door opens again. 
The Princess of Hell stands only two inches taller than you, and looks a lot more pliable than someone of her nature should. When Alastor manages to get inside only seconds later, you realize that she is not just weak, but also a pushover. It’s no wonder why nobody takes her seriously. In Hell, if you’re not powerful, you’re at the bottom of the food chain. While everyone knows that Charlie Morningstar holds power as great as her parents, the fact that she’s never once used it to her advantage proves that there’s no visible backbone in this girl. Your lip almost curls in disgust. She reminds you of a time when you were that soft. 
You follow Alastor inside, allowing him to speak since he has yet to tell you what exactly your role would be. Though, the more he drones on about entertainment, the more you begin to suspect he wants you to be the face that represents him. As much as you want to be mad about him dragging you into this with no say, it makes your lie to Velvette null and void. You just never envisioned that this is what he had in mind when he wrote that he was coming home soon and you would have appreciated a discussion beforehand. 
Though, you do have to admit you’ve missed the way he’ll put on the ritz in order to make a deal or gain favor. While nobody in the hotel is buying his act, the princess is adamant that the whole point of this place is to give people a chance– even if those staying aren’t in it for their own redemption or “can’t” be redeemed. 
“We know why he’s here,” Vaggie, Charlie’s girlfriend, points out before turning to you, “but not you.”
You almost laugh. While it was natural for you and Alastor to evoke fear in less powerful demons, she’s radiating hatred. She is not afraid of you. She’s livid that you’re here. You can suddenly understand Alastor’s outlook on this hotel. It will be very entertaining. 
You raise a brow in response to her statement, “Surely if you know as much as you do about the Radio Demon, you know that we’re pretty much a package deal.”
“So you’re fucking, huh?” Angel pipes up from his spot on the couch, leaning forward with his head in his hands as if he’s waiting to hear all the hot gossip. “Ain’t no way a total babe like you is with a creep like that for any other reason than good dick.”
Vaggie turns to him, appalled at his bold statement. But you laugh before leaning down and hooking a finger under his chin, “Curious are we, wise guy? Think you’re any better?”
“You, uh, offering to let me find out?” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. 
A high-pitched frequency fills the air before Alastor manifests beside you. With an annoyed huff you let Angel go and fold your arms over your chest. His smile is sharp, but his gaze tells all. Annoyance is clearly written in those red eyes, and it’s directed at both you and the porn star. Apparently, only Alastor is allowed to have fun. You have half a mind to leave and let Alastor run this circus alone, but something more than loyalty begrudgingly keeps you rooted in your place. 
“I think not, my feminine fellow,” Alastor cuts in, only to be sized up by the other man. 
Angel’s grin turns into a smirk, “What if I sweeten the deal? I can suck ya dick?”
“Ha!” Alastor’s eyes glow for a split second before smuggly replying with, “No.” 
You roll your eyes, following Alastor as he drags in Nifty from who knows where, and Husker from some back alley casino to be hotel personnel. The latter of the two being royally pissed that his leash was being yanked by his owner. With him being away for so long, you wonder how free all of the demons in his hold had felt during that time. How laughable that Husker is the one he picked out of many. You can tell by the look on his face one Angel approaches that he’s gonna have a long eternity helping poor sinners try and rehabilitate themselves. 
A fleeting thought passes through your mind as Alastor puts on a show that only Charlie is eating up, one that makes something twist in your gut and wish it had never crossed your mind.  Could a soul like yours ever be worthy of redemption?
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♪ ︱ TAGS [02/50]… @eveningatthemoviesnetwork @themovingcastlez
If you would like to be tagged please send an ask or comment on the masterlist (linked above)!
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amevello-blue · 3 months
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Things in Rise that Echo 2003 TMNT
Hi Ame here back on my bullshit-- getting right into it. I can't remember where or who said it, but one of the creators of Rise mentioned that 03 was their favorite iteration, and it really shows sometimes. Spoilers for 03 and Rise below ;)
The first thing that comes to mind is Shredder. "But Ame, 03 Shredder was a little alien guy-" NO I'M TALKIN ABOUT THE ORIGINAL SHREDDER. In 03, Ch'rell took on the mask of a well-known boogeyman at the time; the Shredder, who was a demon that had lived 1,000 years ago. Oroku Saki was a man who defeated the demon alongside the rest of the Ninja Tribunal, and after he defeated it, became possessed by it after falling prey to its promise of power.
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The most obvious I think are their markings. In 2003 they use 'chi' to give them mystic abilities. It's the act of becoming one with the world around you, but it also seems to work when you are connected to the people around you. Even the medallions over their chest mimic the Hamato symbol that glows on Rise's chest when activating their ninpo.
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Their markings even mimic each other (except for Raph, whose Rise version doesn't have any markings, which is a travesty). Leo has slash-like marks, Donnie has geometric marks, and Mikey's got a lot of circles!
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NOW OKAY THIS ONE'S A BIT OF A STRETCH, BUT-- Leo has made portals with his sword before! Specifically, he held one open with it.
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It's the little things <3
Like the ghost of dead Hamatos coming back to assist their rat sons in the final moments :)
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Some more small things! Raph and Donny's brains being rifled through! (Which also happens to 2012 Mikey)
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Raph's and Leo's shoulder! (Hard to get a good shot of Leo's, thanks 4kids) Ironically both happening at a moment where Leo has "failed" to protect his family.
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Rise Mikey being the "greatest mystic warrior" reminds me a lot of what is alluded to many times with 2003 Mikey; he's very good at what he does! He's a Battle Nexus Champion! He's the one who can channel chi the best! He could surpass Leo even in skill if he actually applied himself, but he doesn't. Because he just doesn't find it fun. But it's shown a little in the episode Same as it Never Was, where he's able to dispatch a whole group of guys with guns all on his own, including three armored cars and a HELICOPTER.
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Also making comparisons between 03 SAINW!Mike and Rise F!Leo losing their arms is kinda a stretch but I'll point it out anyway.
And speaking of the movie. My absolute FAVORITE thing to compare is the Krang of Rise to Sh'Okanabo of 2003's Fast Forward season. It's like they took all the concepts of Sh'Okanabo and made it BETTER. Everything was executed SO MUCH BETTER.
Gooey tentacle villain? Check
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Weirdly organic flesh ship? Check
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Alien invaders turning people into drone versions of their species? Check
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(Also side note about that one, I think it's hilarious that in 03 Raph's the only one who DOESN'T get Kanaboe'd but in Rise Raph is the only one who DOES get Krang'ed.)
Taking over structures with their goop? Check
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And finally. Small boy son that is a descendant of Casey Jones. Check :)
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cheesus-doodles · 2 months
Text
Wish
Reincarnation AU! Yandere Gojo
Masterlist | Reincarnation AU Masterlist
found myself in kind of a slump just trying to write anything, please have this in the meantime - will also be trying to answer some asks soon while i work on the longer pieces
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tw: violence against reader, mentions of torture, blood, dead dove do not eat
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I'll grant any wish you have. That deceptively loving coo was something you had heard countless times before, combined with a gentle comb of his hand through your locks.
Sure, Gojo, would come your predicable reply, complete with a roll of your eyes, before you go back to whatever it was you did for work.
Good looks, money, power - Gojo Satoru always had had the world at his fingertips. And it would have all been yours, everything mortal possession he owned. He hadn't even asked for much in return, just your utter and completely loyalty and obedience to him. In exchange for the sun and moon, any wish that you had granted at the drop of a hat, that much seemed like a rather paltry price to pay, Gojo would think.
Yet here he was, the sorcerer mused, as he drove another nail straight into your shin almost absentmindedly, the spurt of blood that came rocketing out a tantalising shade of crimson. Your shaky gaze shot up to meet his instantly, pupils completely constricted as tears were forced from the corners of painful red eyes; your cries and whimpers had long died away despite your current obvious suffering, raw throat having lost its ability to produce any sound louder than a grunt.
Leaning over to peer down at you with those infinite crystal eyes, Gojo didn't seem the slightest bit affected by your twisted expression. "See anything yet?" The question was followed by a giggle, the look on your face already telling the man everything he needed to know. Despite your understandable fear of him, you still showed no sign of recognition of the presence of curses all around you, and that was unacceptable.
He did need to make absolute sure that you had complete belief in souls that you could reincarnate back as a curse after all, and there was no way better way than to let you see one for yourself. Some real-life ghouls would definitely make quick work of turning a disbeliever into a believer.
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The night outside was quiet, the ominous heavy clouds that threatened to spill at any given moment a perfect reflection of your current grim predicament. Picking up another nail, Gojo made sure to show it to you before he selected a new spot for his gruesome art, this time driving it into the top of your arm with a whistle.
He didn't want to do this, the white-haired man assured himself, that much he would swear to anyone that would care long enough to listen. Out of all the souls that roamed this mortal plane, you were the last one that he wanted to hurt, let alone kill. Not his beloved darling, his soulmate. But you left him no choice. He simply couldn't let you go, not with the way you lived in his head rent free, haunting his every thought.
Maybe, perhaps if you had been a sorcerer in this life, things would have turned out differently. You would have looked up to him as the world's most powerful sorcerer, would have been taken in by his abilities and the weighty clan name attached.
But that was fine.
"Don't worry," the man patted your mangy hair, gently rubbing two matted locks of hair apart between his fingers. "Everything'll be fine."
It'll hurt for now, that much was certain, but your pain and suffering wouldn't be for naught. Being on death's door was one way for normals to see curses, and he would make sure that your agony would be over quickly.
Taking a glance up at the starry sky that blanketed the empty skyline, Gojo breathed, the fresh air a welcome change from the iron scent of stale blood that clad his clothes. You only ever made a single teasing wish of being immortal to him before, over a cup of coffee at a cafe, before you laughed it off - and you had never made another wish after that. But Gojo was benevolent.
Once your soul was reincarnated as a curse, he was sure he could find some old tool in the depths of his clan's treasuries to force you back into your old body and grant your wish. Plus, it would be so much easier to bind you to him when you weren't quite human, and you could spend the eternity of your next life with him.
Win-win.
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mrs-illyrian-baby · 6 months
Text
The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 1
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Rules to Follow | Loki x Reader
The Avengers bring you to the compound after a series of odd events draws their attention. Life seems to be looking up, until your abilities start to show again.
Chapter warnings: 18+ for implied sexual content, false/medical imprisonment
Series Masterlist
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The cold, bleak conference room was a welcome balm against the uproar of the last two days. 
You weren't sure how it happened. One minute you were furious, staring down from the balcony of your flat, anger bubbling through your veins. And then you were watching a row of cars burn in the car park below. 
Maybe you would've gotten away with it if the weather was bad. If less people had been around. If it hadn't gone viral on TikTok. If it was the first time you'd done something weird. 
It wasn't unusual for people to have strange powers, not anymore, but there were certain rules to follow. Rules that included not setting cars on fire and frightening passersby. Rules your grandfather had set about staying in the flat and controlling your emotions, taking your medicine and laying low. 
A hand snapped in front of your face.
“Okay kid, spill. What are you?” Tony asked. 
“Uhm, I’m not anything at all?”
“No, come on. Setting shit on fire, what’s that?”
“Monster, alien or wizard?” Sam piped up.
“I swear to god Samuel quit it with that,” a pen flew across the room with surprising accuracy and embedded itself in the wall behind Sam’s head.
You’d seen them on TV, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Black Widow, Hulk, Vision, Scarlet Witch and Iron Man. It’d be cool if you had any idea why you were here.
“Mr Stark. I didn’t even know I was doing it until it was too late. I don't know how it happens, but I promise I’m not a threat. It wasn't deliberate, you have to believe me." Your voice wavered, tears pooling in your tired eyes.
“Tony, let her sleep. She can use the spare room on our floor. We’ll keep an eye on her”
“Thank you Mr Rogers” you choked, wiping your eyes.
“Steve, please” his face was soft, reassuring.
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It took an hour to find you something proper to wear.
A day to get your room fixed up, belongings brought from your little flat in London and new furniture procured
A week before you ate with the team, although you watched them from a safe distance. 
A month before you really spoke to anyone. Eventually they called in a therapist. 
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The compound was nice, spacious and modern. There was no work to do, like at your grandfather's flat, just lots of questions that left you tired and disoriented. 
Lauren the therapist was the only person you'd really communicated with, even though you were sure she was relaying the information back to the Avengers anyway. 
"So from what I can tell, she's around twenty five to thirty." Lauren addressed the room, taking in the gathered Avengers. "The details of her life are very hazy, she lived in that flat you visited, Steve, with her Grandad. I know she cared for him and he died some months ago leaving her the flat in his will. She takes medication every day." Laura turned to Bruce "I hope the few I managed to pass on were helpful, so you can refill her script when she needs it." 
"That's the thing," Bruce said, "I can't work out what she's been taking. I've had FRIDAY take scans and vitals, asked Dr Cho, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her." 
"Because she takes her pills?" 
"No, Steve, there's just - there's nothing wrong with her. Her temperature is a little elevated. But that's it, not a dangerous amount. I'd just say she runs warmer."
"So what's in the pills?" Tony asked, leaning over Bruce to look in the manilla file he had spread open on the table. 
"If I didn't know better I'd say something alien."
"But you do know better…" Tony prompted. 
"Adgardian maybe? But in a bottle from her local pharmacy. The name on the bottle’s been scratched off and I couldn’t find anything like this on any pharmacy database."
Tony and Steve turned to Natasha and she nodded. She'd not been able to find anything either.  No phone, no social media, home schooled. Sam suggested they do it the ‘old fashioned way’ and started to encourage Lauren to bring the woman out of her room to spend time with the others in hopes she would make more friends and let more information out.
As you spent more time with the group they found you brought a strange sense of calm, arguments stopped as you approached the table, worries about missions faded away. They even spent more time together as a team organising movie nights and parties, sitting together and being more tactile.
That’s when things started to get very strange.
The old evening routine of everyone slinking off to their bedrooms had been replaced by an easy comradery and then a fizzle of excitement started to build. The music seemed muffled and even Steve and Bucky’s heads felt fuzzy, drunk.
“Let's play spin the bottle!” You declared, downing your beer and lining it up on the coffee table. Before anyone else could fully agree you had flicked the bottle, everyone watched it slow until it came to a stop in front of Wanda.
“You girls don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to,” Steve said. But you shook your head. 
“I don’t mind if Wanda doesn’t… I like girls too and it's just a game, right?” you shrugged.
You leaned over and kissed Wanda quickly on the lips, noting the frisson of tension that built when you pulled away. 
Sam went next, “your lucky night,” he laughed before pulling you in for a kiss. 
The next spin was Natasha and somehow no one was surprised when it landed on you again. Natasha leaned in close but, before her lips could meet yours, you tilted your head to whisper in her ear, “I know there’s someone else you want to kiss, you don’t have to." Natasha blushed, but pressed a warm kiss to your lips anyway.  
“Did you rig this bottle?” Steve asked, picking it up before spinning. You, again.
Bucky put his hand on the bottle. “I wonder who” he laughed, but you had noticed his eyes move across the circle to the red headed assassin. 
As he leaned in for the inevitable kiss you put your hand up, hiding your mouths, “she’s a good kisser,” the words were out before you could stop them. Bucky pulled back, frowning.
“Who?”
You didn't answer, but your eyes danced across the circle to Natasha, studying Bucky's face as he followed the line of your sight. With their eyes locked you placed a chaste kiss on Bucky’s cheek.
You felt dizzy, only two beers in, but your head was swimming. The rest of the group weren’t fairing any better, both girls falling asleep and the boys nodding back against the sofa. Quietly you removed yourself from the pile of blankets and slunk back to your room. You hadn’t meant to say any of that, but you could feel it deeply, so deeply the words had bubbled out before you could swallow them back down. 
That night your sleep troubled you, the room was too warm making you sweat and writhe in the sheets and dreams of the Avengers flashing behind your closed eyes. 
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The next morning no one could make eye contact, each team member focusing on their coffee or toast, eyes down.
When you sat down the same static spark of electricity seemed to move over the kitchen island, making everyone squirm and move in their seats.
Eventually Wanda completed the group, walking in red faced and nervous as she looked around the kitchen before visibly relaxing.
“Oh, we all had the same dream!” She exclaimed “I don’t feel so bad now.” She said, cheerily. 
“Wan, you’re not meant to read our minds,” Natasha protested, covering her ears as if that would make any difference at all. 
“Can we not talk about it,” Bucky grumbled, looking away from Natasha.
“But you slept, Bucky, isn’t that good?” At least Wanda was happy, you felt hot and sick “you didn’t have a nightmare like usual, you had the same …”
“Enough,” he snapped, slamming his spoon into his bowl a little too hard, milk splashing on the spotless counters. 
“Your dream was different though,” Wanda put a hand on your temple despite your attempt to squirm away, “yeah, yours was very different. And so was yours,” She pointed at Natasha who looked over to Bucky without thinking.
Wanda squeaked, a hand over her mouth “But Bucky, yours was just like…”
“Thats enough, ” Steve stood hands on the counter, “we need to figure out whatever is going on here,” everyone looked away blushing as he crossed his arms, Captain America voice in full effect. “For goodness sake, I’m going to speak to Bruce.” 
Steve stormed out and a rush of air moved across the island as everyone breathed out. Wanda let out an awkward laugh, head down so she wouldn't catch the eye of her teammates and left the room. 
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After that incredibly awkward breakfast you began to pull away from the more open group spaces and started to spend a lot of time in the lab with Bruce while he tried to synthesise your medication. The small unlabeled tube of pills one of Stark’s assistants had packed for you was now empty. But all Bruce had been able to discover was a heavy sedative.
“You shouldn’t have even been able to walk around taking something that strong." He took his glasses off to rub a hand over his face, the fatigue of a sleepless night of experiments catching up to him, "you feel okay now?”
“Yeah”
“But you’re an inch taller than yesterday you said?”
“I’m an inch taller than I was this morning.”
Bruce rubbed his hand on his face, dangling his glasses from the other hand.
“Okay, walk me through what happened again”
“So I sat next to Captain Rodgers and Sergeant Barnes in the kitchen and when I stood up I was an inch taller, I could tell because my jeans were too short.”
“That’s not how growing works,” Bruce took a seat beside you and huffed out a breath. 
“I know that I’m not doing it on purpose”
For the last few days you had been slowly growing the trait of anyone you were in close contact with. It was unnerving everyone, looking up and seeing their eyes glowing back, or their hair colour tinged in highlights around your face. But worse still was that there was no clear explanation, none that you could or would give. 
It wasn’t the only change the team had noticed. Wanda, Nat, Sam, Steve and Bucky spent the most time together and they had all spent the most time alone together with you. But after only a few days they refused to even enter a room if you were there, prefering to skirt around the edges or take a different route.  
They couldn’t forget the night when they played spin the bottle, in fact they had thrown away all the beer of the same brand and there had been no more team evenings suggested. 
When you were alone with them a tension seemed to fill in the air. Steve had shifted your training rotation so that no one was ever left alone in the gym with you. Sam admitted you’d almost kissed last time you were alone and, red faced, Wanda agreed. Natasha and Bucky had also blushed, looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes. They complained that you kept trying to make them stand next to each other, and had even locked them into a cupboard 'by accident’ while pretending that you were unable to find the key until Steve freed them.
You couldn’t seem to control the feeling either, a primal urge inside of you growing the longer you were without your tablets. Growling and clawing until you had to excuse yourself and take a handful of the sleeping pills Bruce had given you. 
Wanda admitted, as you escaped the building tension for the last time, that this was when her dreams were the most extreme and everyone nodded along. Their nights filled with vivid, primal scenes, moaning and panting, the touch and taste of another filling their senses. 
And, though you could hear them talking about you, you could never admit that your dreams were different, that you saw yourself orchestrating their dreams like a puppet master, like a god and you’d wake in a cold sweat. 
Frightened, they placed you in the medical wing, a secure room with two way mirrors, sound proofing and, most importantly, a lock. Bruce told you that it was somewhere safe, where you could withdraw from the medication that was dwindling in the little orange bottle. But Tony was relieved that the team could relax now without you around. 
Alone, you took another sedative and rolled over in your plastic bed, under the thin sheet, and cried. 
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The last time the team had met someone who had so easily got inside them and changed their dynamic, they had ended up with an alien invasion. Steve was sure you weren’t in control, thinking about your embarrassment and desperation when Bucky and Natasha were locked in the cupboard, how quickly you left the room whenever the conversation became heated. He was sure, sure , you were safe, that it was just a side effect of whatever you’d been taking all these years and that given time everything would go back to normal. 
Tony, however, was taking no chances. 
“We need to call Thor.” He suggested as they watched you through the mirror, you were reading a book and running your finger over your lip as you concentrated. With each pass of your finger your lips changed colour, working through shades of pink and red. 
“What can Thor do?” Bruce had had enough stress for one month, thank you very much, and was much happier handing out medication until they could find somewhere else to send you. All he needed to do was refine some samples and he’d be able to remake your medication and then he could give Fury the go ahead to have you moved. 
“He can bring Loki,” Tony said, jumping up to sit on the tall lab counter and tossing a few blueberries into his mouth. 
Bruce looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that a good idea? The man’s mad.”
“I don’t want to see him anymore than you do. But they could help us figure out if this is magic like them, or a mutation, or if…it’s something else. Then you can pack her off to whichever medical facility you think is appropriate.” Tony waved his hand around in the air as if to demonstrate the unknown fears they all shared. “She shape shifts, Bruce. Loki can do that. And the manipulating thoughts and feelings? Maybe she can learn to control it. We need her to control herself and maybe, maybe , if we’re nice enough, she’ll want to help us too.”
“Do we really want Loki to teach her that, how do we know we can trust him?” Bruce cringed, thinking of the havoc the man had wrought, even if he was being manipulated. Loki was powerful, who knew what he could achieve with a little planning. 
“Thor can help keep him in line,” Tony seemed confident and although his confidence was often catching, Bruce still felt the deep simmer of apprehension sitting low in his gut. 
“At least we’re not fighting like last time,” Bruce sighed heavily, the memory of his last encounter with Loki still fresh in his mind. 
“No, but the sexual tension is killing me. We need to end this.” Tony laughed, thinking back to the red faces of his colleagues and their lack of enthusiasm when he suggested they get drunk and play spin the bottle again. 
“Okay, fine, Tony, you win. Call Thor.” Bruce sighed, leaning forward onto the counter and resting his head in his hands.
“And Loki?”
“And Loki."
<;< Masterlist
Part 2>>
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