#mistress noir could do whatever she wanted to me just saying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

18 with winnix for the kiss prompts please!

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy 💋 (accepting!) 18. kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

this definitely... escalated far past where you wanted/needed it to go, and turned into more of an exploration of their post-war relationship, when winters joins nix in new jersey... i had fun with it, but oof, did it ever kinda spiral. there’s definitely kissing towards the end, though, so i hope you enjoy!!

To be fair, Nix never promised him an enjoyable night.

His first pitch was “a party”. Dick, who’s had enough experience with the sort of parties that go on in Nixon, New Jersey, replied that he had paperwork to catch up on. It was a good excuse because it wasn’t a lie. Nix brooded for a solid thirty seconds before popping back up, smile bright, to declare, “an evening affair, then, and you’re my date. You have to be, since I need one, and I haven’t got anyone else.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What about that girl, the one with the — the red hair —?”

“Hah,” replied Nix, in a flat tone that suggested his redheaded girlfriend was ancient history.

“One of the lobby girls, then.”

“Hah.”

“Blanche?”

“Hah!”

“I’m sure your mother would be honored to go with you.”

Nix had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling down, laughing.

By the time he regained his composure, Dick was pretty much resigned to accompanying him for the evening. He’s never been able to say no to Nix anyways, even during the war. Being home — Nix’s home — and seeing him in his element — for better or worse — just makes it harder. Something about Nix in the bustling atmosphere of the New Jersey social scene is beguiling, electric, and a bit haunted. Like watching a film noir, Dick can never look away.

He doesn’t expect to have a good time. Nix’s parties are not designed to be good times for people who don’t smoke, drink, or gamble. Nix was kind enough not to remark on the novel tucked into the inside pocket of Dick’s suit jacket as they strode up the walkway towards the roaring party. Loud music blared from open windows; lights and laughter twinkled from beyond the spacious French doorways. It was only nine o’clock, but Dick could feel exhaustion creeping up on him already.

“Come on,” Nix encouraged, guiding him into the townhouse with a proud hand on his elbow. “Let’s set you up on a nice sofa and find a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries, just for you.”

The one thing Dick will credit Lewis Nixon’s parties for — they’re never stingy with the cherries.

Now, three hours into the affair, he sets aside his most recent soda and scans the crowd. As the hours wind away, the raucous group has started to thin out. Either the partiers are headed somewhere else, or all have appointments to keep in the morning, because they show no signs of lingering into the early hours. Dick can be grateful for that much, at least. Those types of parties typically end with him dozing on a stranger’s sofa until he has to steer a very drunk Nix into the back of the waiting car at 3am. Dick has suffered through enough late evenings to never want to see another one again — though, time after time, he ends up coming out for Nix.

It seems like a quiet one tonight, though, thank goodness. The music has faded to a lull, someone thrumming out a thoughtful tune on the piano. The rowdiest partiers have taken leave, and all that’s left are Nix’s regular companions— the home’s owner, another Ivy League man Nix knows well, along with several of his mistresses; a few other Nixon Nitration folks Dick vaguely recognizes, and their dates; Nix’s sister Blanche, leaning languidly over the piano in a shimmering silver dress; and Nix, sprawled in a chair, top buttons of his shirt undone and hair disheveled.

He looks utterly debauched, and something about it thrills Dick. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course, but Nix in his sanguine element is magnetic. He’s like a panther — sleek and relaxed, dangerous under a veneer of nobility. No matter how much he’s had to drink, Nix’s dark gaze is always piercing; he always seems to know something the rest of the room doesn’t, and sometimes it plays on his lips like a hidden treasure.

He’s smirking like that now, and the smirk’s trained directly on Dick… and he can’t look away. It’s impossible. Even if he wanted to, Nix reels him in with that penetrating gaze. It’s all Dick can do to sit up straighter, pretending he is comfortable in this rakish crowd, the only one sober and the only one out of place.

“Speaking of saints,” Nix says at once — loud enough to cut in on whatever theological ramble his Yale buddy was in the middle of, “here’s one now. Sitting in front of us. Dick, come here. Show these fellows what a true Saint Augustine looks like.”

Dick would rather do anything else… but he’d cross a mountain for Lewis Nixon. Crossing the length of a trashed ballroom is only a bit more challenging. He comes to stand at Nix’s side, clearly uncomfortable, while Nix’s friends take him in as though seeing him for the first time this evening.

“You know I’m not Catholic, Lew,” he tries to quip, to break the tense mood. Nix’s hand catches his, squeezing lightly, and Dick’s own unease only grows.

“Neither am I, but we’re pretending for tonight. Gives all the sinning a bit more zest, you know?”

“Sure.” Dick’s hand comes to rest on the back of Nix’s chair, unconsciously craving something to do. One of the host’s mistresses, with bright red lips and sharp eyes, doesn’t miss it.

“Ohh,” she hums, like the word is a wave she must ride to the shore. “Don't say it, Lewis. This is your handsome date?”

Something about the way she says it has Dick’s shoulders tensing in instinctual alarm. Maybe Nix has had far too much to drink, or can read this crowd too well; he doesn’t even flinch at the implication.

“Afraid so,” he replies, a hand creeping up Dick’s sleeve. “Nice enough to hang around all night, even though he’d rather be back home pouring over... productivity reports. Employee reviews? Staff... surveys?”

“Something like that,” Dick says.

“Something like that.” Nix’s hand runs up and down Dick’s arm, blatantly fond. It takes everything in Dick’s power not to tense up.

None of the assembled crowd seems bothered by such a display, however. Nix’s friends exchange knowing looks, smirking around lit cigarettes or crystal glasses. One woman languidly kicks her heels onto her date’s laugh, shaking her head. From the piano, Blanche runs a hand over her glossy hair, gaze sharp on her brother and his companion. “He’s out of your league, Lewis,” she chimes. Her smirk is catlike, voice like molasses dripping onto spring grass. At times, she looks dangerously like her brother, and Dick isn’t sure how to handle either of them.

Nix’s grip settles around Dick’s upper arm. “Isn’t that the truth?”

When Dick looks down, Nix is looking up. Something about his whiskey-bright gaze knocks the breath from his lungs. It’s too… soft, too tender. Too intimate for this party, to exist among strangers. Nix’s grip on his bicep is firm, and Dick has no desire to pull away. He doesn’t get the chance to question — not even a flicker of uncertainty, a breathless what's he doing — before Nix gives a tug, and Dick all but tumbles into his lap.

He regains his balance like a newborn colt, to the bubbling laughter of Nix’s audience. His cheeks flare, bright red; Nix’s touches, usually so welcome, now linger on his skin like a hot iron. He’s straddling his best friend’s knees, Nix’s arm wrapped around his to steady him, and it’s all Dick can do not to leap back to his feet to salvage whatever slim slice of dignity remains.

“Nix,” he says, voice low in warning.

“Relax, Dick,” he answers, equally softspoken. “It’s all a game. Don’t you see? None of it really matters.”

It matters to me, he wants to say... because Nix has never held him without it mattering, has never caressed him without every sensation engraving itself permanently into Dick’s memory. Nix has never… not mattered to him. Some part of Dick, an small yet insidious murmur, wonders when he became insignificant to him.

The way Nix caresses his face is anything but meaningless, though… as is the way his dark gaze lingers on his lips, simmering for so long that Dick can feel its heat. Nix’s thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, and instinctively Dick draws back.

Something hurt flashes in Nix’s eyes. Dick cannot feel guilty. He doesn’t want this — can’t Nix understand that? Not here, not now, not putting on a show for an audience. Not when Nix is whiskey-soaked and careless, so far gone that Dick could get drunk off the taste of him. If this is a game, Dick doesn’t want to play.

“Father isn’t around for you to give a coronary, Lewis.” Blanche’s voice echoes as though from the other side of a tunnel, practically bored. “Save it for the next family dinner, at least.”

Gradually, Nix’s grip on Dick’s waist loosens. His touch pulls away from his face, finding Dick’s hand instead. He raises it to his mouth and lets it linger there — a sweet mockery of a kiss — before releasing Dick entirely.

Dick pulls away, regaining his posture and his dignity. The eyes of the room are all on him now, as surely as they were on the jazz singer earlier in the night. He can’t take their weight, or their curiosity. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead, he brushes himself down and murmurs an excuse to Nix. “Just going to get some air.”

Nix doesn’t try to stop him.

Stepping out into the cool night is like being released from prison. Dick braces himself against the stone railing of the townhouse’s balcony, gazing at the gravel drive only a few feet below. He could jump it, if he really wanted to — easier that than going back inside and leaving out the front door, wrangling Nix away from his clan. They’re not so far from home — he could walk it, in an hour or so. The fresh air would do his head good. At least in the dark, no one would be able to see him, to wonder and scrutinize…

His mind has gone to a strange place now, and is twisting itself in tangles. Recognizing his own impossible daydream, Dick sighs, slumping forward. A hand finds his hair, rumbling it. For a long moment, he only breathes, focusing on the autumn air filling his lungs and the crickets chirping in the night, to drown out the storm raging inside.

His nerves are too taut not to notice when someone comes up behind him… but the scent of perfume is familiar, so he doesn’t jump. She sidles up alongside him, inhaling softly in the night air; she blows out the same way Nix does, from deep within her chest. When Dick raises his head, Blanche is not focused on him at all, but looking ahead down the driveway.

“Planning your escape?” she asks lightly. Her mulberry lips curl upwards, without the chore of looking at him. “I don’t blame you. That was painful, in there.”

Dick arches an eyebrow. “You felt it too?”

She has a drink in her hand, but the glass is empty. As Blanche’s attention drifts to it, she seized upon the olive, still speared and languishing inside the glass. With delicate, manicured fingers, she plucks it out and scrutinizes the tiny fruit.

“You can’t let him bully you, Dick,” she says after a moment. The scent of wine may be heavy on her breath, but her words are perfectly sober. “He doesn’t mean to, but it’s instinct around these people. They all like to show off, and he’s proud of you.”

Dick’s brows furrow. He’s not some brand new car, or a gold-plated watch. “Why?”

“Because you’re nothing like them.” Blanche’s dark gaze flickers up to him; for the first time tonight, Dick feels entirely seen. Her lips purse, like she’s fighting back a smile, but something in her eyes reminds him of loneliness. “You don’t belong in this set… and that’s nothing against you, darling, only what you know as well as us. My brother prizes you so highly; he’s proud that you’re here, that you’re with him, that you give him your time and agree to accompany him to these parties, even though you’d much rather be doing anything else.”

Dick’s lips purse. Blanche waits a moment, as though expecting him to protest… but he has nothing to say.

“Rich little boys love their toys. You need to remind him that you aren’t one.” Her fingers drum against the rim of her glass; each clink-clink-clink pierces Dick’s nerves like shrapnel wounds.

“He doesn’t mean anything wrong by it,” he protests, because he knows Nix well enough to understand that.

“Of course not. If he didn’t care about you…” Blanche’s words trail off, along with her gaze. She drifts back out to the driveway, painted lips pursing like she’s considering something far away. After another silent moment, she glances at Dick once more. “Last chance to run.”

Dick smirks. “I’m considering it.”

Blanche sighs into the night, pushing her folded arms off the railing and stepping back. Dick no longer feels inclined to stand out in the darkness, alone. As she steps back into the well-lit hallway, he follows her.

When they reenter the lounge, Nix is holding court, in the middle of an animated story Dick’s heard before. “— of course, I couldn’t have known there was a cat involved, otherwise I’d never have set foot in the apartment. So I sit down on the couch and the damned thing launches at me, yowling like a bat out of hell —“ He cuts off, mid-flail, gaze landing on his sister and companion. “Ah. Was wondering where you too made off to.”

“Nothing untoward,” Blanche drawls, slinking back towards the bar. “I offered, but Dick’s too upstanding.”

Nix locks onto Dick, and again, his gaze is painfully warm. Dick feels the same way, like a furnace is burning under his collar. Uneasily, he lowers himself onto a settee at the far edge of the room, back to the door so he won’t be tempted. So long as he’s in Nix’s sightline, his presence counts… but he doesn’t have to make himself the object of a crowd’s fascination again.

Nix understands, in that easy way of his. His lips curl up in the slightest smile, before he turns back to his audience. “As I was saying…”

His story winds on for a little while longer, before he grows bored with it. By then, the crowd has grown equally bored with its malingering, but still too languid to get up and do something about it. One of the women slips behind the piano and tries to start up a dancing tune, but no one bites. Her song devolves into something slower, more thoughtful. The host pours himself another drink from the bar, and doesn’t offer to serve anyone else; his mistresses chatter in an undertone, lipstick stained crystal glasses sitting beside them. Nix reclines back in his chair, perfectly debauched. His hair is a ruffled mess, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. The top of his shirt is still open, carelessly displaying his collarbones and a flash of dark hair across his chest.

You’ll catch a chill, a voice in Dick’s head that sounds too much like his mother chides. He’s seized briefly with the inexplicable, intense urge to cross the room and lean over Nix to close the shirt himself. It passes, of course, and he politely averts his gaze.

Perhaps he’s doing too good of a job not looking at him. “Dick,” Nix finally says, from right behind him. “Ready to go?”

A wave of relief washes over him. He hasn’t wanted anything so badly since his discharge papers. “Let’s go,” he replies, rising to his feet.

They pay polite goodbyes to their host; Blanche waves them off with an eyeroll for Nix and a blown kiss for Dick. Then, finally, they leave through the front door, and slip into the night.

While they drove here themselves, Nix is in no state to command the car. Dick is already prepared to take the wheel, when the valet steps up with keys in hand. “Do you require a ride home, Mr. Nixon?”

Dick’s surprised gaze swivels towards Nix, as if to ask do we? (He’s still so unused to the world of chauffeurs and butlers, and every encounter leaves a foreign, coppery taste in his mouth.) Nix dwells on the offer for a moment with lazy-eyed disinterest, before shrugging and gesturing the valet towards his car. “Why not? Roy likes to be generous. Let him do us a favor for once, huh?”

Dick, who has never personally done Nix’s friend Roy a single favor, just nods.

Nix’s car is sleek and expensive, a top of the line Plymouth Deluxe in glossy black paint and felt seating. Dick has sat in the passenger’s seat enough times that sliding into the back feels like a mistake, something to double back and correct before he manages to embarrass himself. Nix slides in right behind him, not giving him the chance. The scent of car freshener can’t disguise the stuffy air in the back of the car; there’s not much separating the back from the front, but the forward row of seats stretch up, practically creating a barrier to separate both ends of the car in half. Dick hears the driver slide in up front, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see.

“Turn on the radio, will you?” Nix requests as the car stirs to life. Obligingly, the driver turns a few knobs; what threatens to become an awkward silence immediately finds itself drowned out by a staticky love ballad.

“And when I kissed you, darling It was more than just a thrill for me It was the promise, darling Of the things that fate had willed for me…”

The timing is astonishingly poor. Dick slumps back against the seat, all but defeated. At his side, Nix chuckles.

When Dick looks over, it's impossible to catch his eye. The night is too dark, and these roads aren’t well-lit; shrouded by shadows, Nix’s eyes are two black holes, drawing all trace of light into them and holding it hostage. Dick catches a flash of something pearly, which must be the jagged cut of Nix’s smile; the silhouetted shoulders rise up and down, in what isn’t quite laughter.

After a moment, Nix goes still. Dick can’t see, but he knows he’s being watched.

“Well?” Nix finally says. “When are you going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

Dick turns his head, looking out the window nearest to him. “Never occurred to me, Nix.”

“Maybe not to say it, but you were thinking it. Come on, Dick.” A smooth-palmed hand finds his in the darkness. Dick allows it. “I knew I screwed up the moment you pulled away. Knew it as soon as I saw your face, really, but damn me if I know how to stop… come on, that’s what I bring you to these things for. To keep a leash on me.”

Dick thinks Nix’s social circle picked up on that, at least.

He doesn’t realize how tense he’s gone until Nix’s thumb strokes along the back of his knuckles; his hand, Dick realizes, has gone stiff as a corpse’s, gnarled with tension. When he looks down, he’s suddenly ashamed. He tries to pull away, but Nix holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sudden and sincere.

“You didn’t do anything,” Dick replies. “If I didn’t want to be there —“

“You don’t want to be there. You come to these awful things for me, even though you can’t stand it, and you’re a fish out of water the whole time. I’m being cruel to you. Downright uncharitable! And you know the reason why.”

Dick’s gaze is drawn back to him again. This time, as a flash of light passes through the car, he glimpses Nix’s face — eyes bright with drink, devastatingly earnest, his lips curled downwards and jaw tense. He’s handsome without trying… and cruel, too. More careless than he realizes.

Blanche’s words echo in his ears: rich little boys love their toys.

“It might be a game to you, Nix,” Dick says softly, “but it isn’t to me. Whatever show you were putting on in there�� I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Nix is silent for a long moment. The air between them is thick as curdled cream. “I understand,” he finally says. “I… I get it, Dick, christ. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Of course he knows. Doesn’t Nix realize he doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone, just do Dick will stand by his side? Doesn’t he realize the whole reason Dick goes to these parties, time and time again, is for him? Because he’d shatter the entire world and piece it back together, fragment by microscopic fragment, just to make Lewis Nixon happy?

“It’s never been a game to me, Nix,” he says softly.

In the darkness, Nix’s hand finds his again. This time, Dick squeezes tight.

He doesn’t know exactly how they come together, what magnetism pulls them or the way their bodies fit together. His shoulder presses up against Nix’s; his fingers find the threads of Nix’s hair; Nix’s thigh is a solid weight as it drapes over his own, his skin is warm, and suddenly Nix is practically in his lap.

It felt better this way. Dick likes the cover of darkness, is painfully grateful for it, just as he is of the way his hand fits over Nix’s hip. He likes holding him so much more than he likes being held… and something in the sigh Nix breathes against his lips suggests he likes it this way too.

“It’s not a game to me either, Dick,” he murmurs. “You matter too damn much”

The distance between them closes on its own will. Nix tastes like whiskey and coffee and August twilight; his lips are smooth, gliding over Dick’s own as though he’s wet them a dozen times since their conversation began. Their embrace is tender, but the hand gripping Dick’s shoulder is desperate. When Dick sighs against Nix’s lips, he utters a soft noise, almost like a whine. Dick’s fingers run along his scalp, soothing the dissatisfaction away.

“I much prefer this,” Dick mutters. “It suits us both better… privacy.”

“If it suits you,” Nix replies, “that’s all I need to know.”

It’s not perfect, and it’s not quite laid to rest… but they make it home at a reasonable hour, and Dick holds Nix in the privacy of their own home. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

#winnix #my writing #richard winters #lewis nixon #blanche nixon

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corruptedcaps · 4 years

Text

Phone scam

Vicky was getting close to publishing her expose about a new sex phone line scam. For months she had been gathering interviews of men who had been conned into giving away their savings to sultry voices who brought them to climax.

The company, Darkest Desires, had seemingly sprung up over night and immediately began separating men from their money. What was the strangest part was even though the men were now flat broke none of them regretted doing it, they all just wanted the ability to talk to their ‘Lady’ again. Lady Annabelle, Lady Florence, Lady Jasmine, each man had their individual con artist. The men were addicts.

Vicky was just typing up the final paragraph when her phone buzzed. It was a number she didn’t recognize but picked up anyway.

“Hello is this Victoria?” Said a feminine voice as smooth as silk on the other end.

“This is Vicky yes.” The journalist corrected the other woman.

“Excellent. I am Mistress Noir, the owner of Darkest Desires. I know you are writing a story about me and I think it would be in everyone’s interest if you came and worked for me.” The Mistress said matter of factly. Vicky was taken aback.

“I’m sorry Ms Noir but that‘s not -.” Vicky began but then found herself unable to finish as a sudden incredible surge of pleasure entered her body.

“I take your silence to mean my little phone virus is doing it’s job and is giving you a taste of what all the men felt. Of course this is a special strain that I reserve for potential recruits.” Noir said in a way that Vicky could tell she was smiling on the other end.

“H-how are you doing this?” Vicky said finding it hard to say words as her pussy became wetter and wetter.

“Lets just day I found a way to turn my voice into an incredibly sexy weapon. If you join me you’ll be able to do the same. But for now just relax and let the virus do it’s work.” Noir said.

Vicky wanted to put the phone down but the pleasure was too intense. It was lighting a fire in her she didn’t know she had.

“Ohhh fuck this feels soooo good, I want to cum so badly!” Vicky moaned down the phone.

“I know it does babe and you will not be able to cum until I say so. When you agree to join me you’ll get what you desire.” Noir spoke like a snake in the garden.

“No! I won’t! I can’t! Ohhhh but I must! It feels too good, I need the release! Ok I’ll do it. I’ll join you.” Vicky said unable to fight anymore.

“That’s all very well and good but I want you to beg me. I must make sure you are serious, that you can commit to being a bad bitch. That you will manipulate men, that you will drain them of everything they have. That you can be the mischievous whore that aches to come out.” Noir said teasing her.

“Oh please Mistress let me join you. I’ll be whatever you want me to be! I’ll be as bad as you desire. I want to wrap men around my finger. I want to make them cum on command like the bitch I know I am deep down. Please Mistress I beg you!” Vicky said moaning.

“Say you’ll serve me. Say you will be Lady Victoria! Then you will be free to orgasm.” Noir commanded.

“Yesssss I will serve you Mistress. I will be Lady Victoria!” Vicky screamed. As soon as the last words left her mouth it felt as though a great explosion went off in her underwear. It was as if every sexual encounter she ever had was combined into one huge orgasm.

She would of fainted if her body didn’t suddenly undergo a rapid transformation.

Her ponytailed hair unfurled and cascaded down her back becoming long and thick. Her tits became two large mounds of flesh that you could rest a drink on.

“Oh god yesssss this feels even better than the orgasm. Make me even hotter Mistress!” She moaned.

Her face got covered in expensive makeup while her lips grew double in size. Her clothes warped into two tight pieces of black latex that clung to her body while letting her now perfect stomach peek through.

Her mind meanwhile was changing too. Her previous feeling of righteousness and justice for all was replaced with a selfish need for money, clothes and sex. She smiled to herself as the new thoughts entered her brain.

“Now Lady Victoria how do you feel?” Noir said over the phone.

“Like myself. Thank you for this gift Mistress, I am really to get to some nasty work.” Victoria purred.

“Love your enthusiasm but first thing’s first, rewrite that story of yours to now be a glowing recommendation of Darkest Desires. I want every man who reads it to be bankrupt by the end of the week. Then get your hot ass over here so we can ‘break’ you in.” Noir said with a sudden urgency in her voice.

“With pleasure Mistress.” Victoria said biting her lip as she hung up. She was going to like her career change.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #evil bitch #cc200

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kittensjonsa · 4 years

Text

When you watch something (not telling you what it is) and it screams Jonsa and won't let you rest until you let it out.. another sub/Dom jonsa fic with Sansa holding the whip this time.

Summary: Sansa has deep seated issues she needs to work on thanks to a recent trauma from being mugged in an alley. But sometimes, it takes more than just therapy. BDSM-ish.

One-shot, I leave the rest to your imagination because I think.. we all have different versions how this could go.. 💦 and unfortunately, I am not a good enough writer to explore these visions and putting them into words lol.

Safe Word

Dove.

Little bird. Those are the words that spring to mind as Sansa sees the forms before her. It is strange, having to fill out forms and giving strangers a piece of her life before she gives all of herself to another. Well, almost.

He did come highly recommended. Sansa looks out the window from the lounge sofa she finds too comfortable to be filling out forms in.

Also, this is a sex club.

“You will keep my details private, right? I mean, I'm here because.. you know,” Sansa's voice trails off, wondering if she should explain at all. The lady with bright purple hair and blonde streaks looks up from Sansa's forms, only to smile at her, subtly hinting how she has encountered many a red-faced first timers like Sansa. Only thing, this time it's different. I'm different. Not like the rest, Sansa mumbles in a small voice in her mind.

“Miss Stark, I can assure you have our strictest confidence. Besides, your therapist made a call earlier this week to let us know about… your case. Don't worry, she didn't say anything, she just asked for Jon to help you. And that's enough for us to know. And, yes this is only between you and us,” the lady assures, the piercing on her lower lip quivering as she smiles again at Sansa.

Oh right, yes. My case.

Sansa nods and glances at the black tinted glass doors behind the counter. Sansa wonders what awaits her, come the day when it beckons.

“We'll give you a call once we've set up your appointment. You'll hear from us in a few days.”

Sansa heaves a sigh of relief and manages a polite grin. “Right, thank you. I'll.. wait for your call then, Miss Val,” Sansa addresses her after a quick glance at the name plate. Val nods and waves her goodbye and calls for the next one in line. Sansa gathers herself and leaves, regretting what fresh hell she had gotten herself into.

The hours ticked by at first when Sansa found herself in bed and staring at the ceiling. When sleep finally came, the nightmares took over. Sansa had tried everything from herbs, to tinctures and sleeping aids. None helped, because none of these, not even the anti-anxiety medication gave her the peace that was robbed from her, one fateful night in an alley. There were so many things Sansa realised, in retrospect, how the night could have gone differently. If she had taken the train instead of walking to the bus stop, if she went home on time instead of staying back an hour later, if she hadn't answered that goddamned phone call from her ex. But it only wrecked her inside and turned her stomach into knots every time she walks down that particular memory lane. Six months later, Sansa still finds herself in her nightmares, crawling in that alley, bruised, battered and mugged.

Seeing a therapist was the last resort. Describing and reliving the experience again was painful but gradually it eased, no longer was Sansa sobbing at the end of a session, thanks to Dr Carr, her therapist whom had provided an outlet Sansa didn't know she needed. Slowly, the sessions grew less arduous. The nightmares lessened somewhat though haven't ceased completely. Perhaps it was only thing that caused great concern, seeing what little sleep she'd been getting. Six months since a deep, restful sleep, Sansa recalls.

“There's a deep anger that needs to be resolved. Pure rage that I feel needs to be addressed here, Sansa. As someone, I think, who rarely expresses such an emotion, I can imagine this must be quite difficult for you,” Dr Carr suggests, tapping the end of her pen onto her notepad. Sansa sighed as she brushes off some imaginary fluff from her skirt.

“Might I suggest something? You might think this is quite strange but I feel it can be freeing for you. It's.. an acquired taste and you don't have to if you don't want to but perhaps you may want to consider letting all this anger out? On someone.. who is willing?”

Sansa raises her eyebrow at the 'willing' part. “You mean find someone to beat up?”

A wistful tilt of the head tells Sansa only one thing. “I don't recommend this method to anyone but I feel that you, Sansa, will find that it helps. I'll write down the address so you can decide for yourself. Now, before you say anything, I'd like you to approach this with an open mind. As open as you can possibly be.”

“What is it that you suggest, Dr Carr? I'm all ears.”

An address with a name. Jon Snow. Château Noir. Sansa answers back with a questioning glance. Sounds mysterious. Another therapist? Am I that hopeless?

“He's highly recommended. I heard of him from someone in my circle. He does… very particular work. And he has helped one of my former patients it seems, last I heard. So, moving forward.. I think you might want to try him.”

To do what exactly? This is uncharted territory. Sansa's mind wanders off to the darkest bits she was brave enough to muster.

“He's.. a provider of services for a small part of the community, whom I suppose require an outlet for their.. inclinations.”

Sansa's eyes widens at the statement and Dr Carr quickly adds, “Please, bear in mind that I do not in any way think that you have such inclinations but rather, been pushed against your own free will to a corner you no longer have space to move in. And it is affecting you more than you can cope. Am I right to say that? And I think one of the ways we can break out of that space.. is to face it head on, in a safe and controlled environment. I heard he's very professional. Would you at least think about it?”

Seven o'clock. As always, she is on the dot. Sansa fidgets with her jacket, hoping she was properly dressed for .. her meeting. A good sized room filled with contraptions Sansa thought she'd only seen in movies. The kind with mediaeval torture segments. Sansa quickly realises how this was probably a bad idea. But she had paid for it, that and also not wanting to face a disappointed Dr Carr, after the arrangements she had made.

Together, they both had made good progress; this is just a step further, she thinks. Still, torture devices aside, it was a cozy room otherwise for conversation if nothing happens. If she doesn't want anything to happen, that is. Sansa finds some small comfort how the lighted candles seem to brighten up the otherwise dim room, and a soft scent lingers in the air. Sandalwood? Rose? Sansa tries to guess, occupying herself while waiting.

The door creaks. A head of inky black curls and a boyish smile greets her. Sansa gasps. He isn't at all like how she imagined. And good-looking. Dr Carr didn’t mention that.

“You must be Sansa Stark. From Dr Carr's office?”

Sansa nods and gingerly reaches out to meet his hand. She quickly looks away, out of courtesy. Perhaps also out of shyness and embarrassment. Quite the impression, and straight to business.

The harness strapped across his broad sinewy shoulders and chest made her jaw drop. And the crotchless leather trousers. Good thing he has briefs on, as Sansa's eyes dart back to the floor.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Jon Snow. And I'll be your sub tonight. At your service, whatever you need.”

Sansa sucks in a deep breath and blinks at the sight before her. All right no conversations then. Willing party. For fuck's sake, get over yourself and get it over with.

“Umm.. okay. Right.. oh, do you have.. a safe word?” Sansa remembers to ask, putting her bag down and removing her stifling jacket. He smiles again, his eyes shining in the poor light of the room. They gleam with anticipation. Somehow, Sansa had a feeling he had been waiting for her arrival, the moment she stepped into his lair. His castle. Strangely, not an ounce of fear filled her body, but something else entirely. Something hot and heady, as her breathing quickens.

“Well, thank you for asking. I do have one. It's.. crow.”

Sansa watches him slide across the room to a standing handle bar that stood chest high. A pair of shackles sit ominously on the handle, waiting to clamp on the next poor soul.

“Okay. But.. hold on. Don't you want to ask me questions? Sorry this is my first time, I don't know how this works,” Sansa apologizes as Jon stands behind the handle bar.

“Ahh, yes of course. But later, if you'd like. Sometimes, thinking about it, hampers.. the process. I know it is your first time. Don't worry, I'll lead you into it. Just.. tell me what you want to do, how do you feel and why you're here. At least that gets the ball rolling, no?”

“Well.. well-I'm here because I need to let some anger out,” Sansa stammers, suddenly feeling very large, self-conscious and awkward.

“Okay.. and why are you angry? Did someone take something from you?” Jon prods, his voice and tone as soothing as Dr Carr's.

“Yes.. yes. And he hurt me... He beat me. He left me for dead in an alley.. I had to crawl home, no one helped me..”

Jon keeps quiet as he watches Sansa, his heart slightly heavy. Poor girl. All the more she needs this, he thinks.

Sansa stops, the rage Dr Carr was talking about had finally reared its head. Ugly and snarling and all Sansa wanted to do was to smash its head in. Indeed, this is exactly what she needs.

“Well then, Mistress. Shall we begin?”

Sansa looks up from the floor and sees Jon already shackled to the handle bar.

And a loosely coiled whip hanging at one end.

---

Note: Dr Wendy Carr is a character who is a psychologist on Mindhunter and I adore her (and aspire to be like her one day). So much so that she deserves a place in my fics lol. Sorry, she's not an oc 😂 if you're wondering.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #crossover insert #i had to write this for some reason #it wrote itself tbh i just typed #modern jonsa au #male sub female domme

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perfeggso · 4 years

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week III pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 9.3k

If he didn’t think too hard, Yuta was elated. He’d righted his wrong, put his desires on the line, and gotten the boy he’d been lusting over for two and a half weeks not just to reciprocate, but to come undone in his lap. As he would say, mission accomplished.

Still, if he did think about it, he was worried. As he’d expected, he and Taeyong being an item was distracting to him at work. All those little moments when Taeyong caught Yuta’s eye and Yuta would suppress his impulses before they had confessed started blossoming into full-on flirting – or worse, makeout sessions in the car or in closets at headquarters. When Yuta was alone, instead of strategizing for his mission, he would find himself strategizing how to keep everything adequately under wraps for him not to become a liability to the organization or to his men. He even sometimes worried that he was taking advantage of Taeyong.

This was all in the three days following the party at Johnny’s bar. By the fourth day and the end of the week, Yuta resolved to go easy on himself. Taeyong had given every indication of enthusiastic consent, and continued to give it, and Yuta figured once he got used to being with Taeyong, the butterflies would dissipate, and he’d be able to focus again.

Yuta sat at his desk, legs crossed on the buffed wood, throwing his pen up and practicing catching it while pushing himself side to side in his swivel chair. Taeyong was in a seat near the window, messing with his nails and making absent-minded ‘beep’ ‘boop’ noises to occupy the time.

Yuta sighed. They were at a weird midpoint in their work where they had enough information to have a plan but not to act on it. Most of the acting would happen in the week and a half leading up to the Mitsubishi meeting. On top of that, he and Taeyong couldn’t get up to anything because they were expecting a report from Johnny soon.

“What if she doesn’t bite?” asked Taeyong, ceasing his strange little symphony.

“Hm?” asked Yuta, not sure what he was referring to.

“Sana. What if she doesn’t decide to flip when we confront her? What if she stays with Yamaguchi and they still get into the meeting?”

“That’s not anything you need to worry about, Taeyong,” Yuta tried to explain, setting his pen on the desk with a clack.

“But, I mean, I’m involved now,” Taeyong insisted. “So, wouldn’t it be good for me to have an idea?”

Yuta smiled, acknowledging the merit in Taeyong’s point. “Okay. Basically, if she doesn’t side with us, we’re screwed. We’ll just have to send a large delegation to the meeting and hope we can offer enough perks to get the board of directors to agree to our demands over Yamaguchi’s, and convince them that Yamaguchi’s scheme with Miyazaki’s mistress is real.”

Taeyong rolled his ankles around, looking preoccupied.

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything, Yong. I didn’t want you more stressed out than you already are.”

Taeyong leaned forward, elbows on his knees and jaw in his hands. “No, it’s alright. I think it’s better for me to know.”

Yuta smiled, appreciative. “That’s why we’re going to make Sana flip. We can’t afford not to, and she already hates the Yamaguchi-gumi for screwing up her life, so even if she thinks we’re just as despicable, at least we haven’t proven it yet.”

Taeyong cringed. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Yuta checked his watch after a brief silence. It was 4:40 p.m.; Johnny was supposed to have been there ten minutes ago. “Where the hell is he?” Yuta grumbled.

“Johnny?” asked Taeyong.

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you that?”

Taeyong shrugged. “Maybe.”

Yuta thought he saw concern flicker over Taeyong’s face and reasoned there might be a cause for Taeyong’s spaciness that he wasn’t picking up.

“Taeyong?”

“Yes Shategashira !”

“Come over here for a minute, will you?”

Taeyong hopped to his feet and walked over to the desk, leaning against Yuta’s side of it. Yuta remarked to himself that the etiquette he had always insisted on regarding his desk was quickly going out the window.

“What is it?” asked Taeyong. Yuta slipped his hand into the other man’s, squeezing and swinging their arms in a soft rhythm.

“Is everything alright?” he asked Taeyong. “People still treating you well? Are you getting enough rest? I’m not overwhelming you, am I?”

Taeyong laughed. “Not at all. You’re – everything’s really good, and I like all the attention you give me.”

Yuta felt a flash of fondness overcome him. Lord help him.

“I’m glad.”

“There is one thing I’ve been wondering about though,” said Taeyong, starting again at the nails on his free hand.

“What’s that?”

“I was just thinking,” Taeyong began, ��what is Momo going to do? Like, I presume that she knows about you but, how does that work for her? Is she going to hate me? Is it going to be weird if I have to talk to her any time soon?”

Yuta looked at Taeyong, head cocked to the side like a question. “Why would it be, if you know she knows?”

“That’s just it – I’m not sure!” Taeyong blurted. “I just feel like it would be. Like, it’s kind of a big sacrifice for her, isn’t it? And here I am, getting to do what she would if – if you were like, wired different or something.”

Yuta dug a nail into Taeyong’s palm, getting his attention. “Yonggie, none of that is going to happen, alright? I wanted her to tell you but since you’re worried and bringing it up, you should know that she’s similarly wired .” Yuta emphasized the last part to mock Taeyong for his awkward use of euphemism. Taeyong looked confused for a moment, and Yuta watched in amusement as he worked through what he had just learned.

“Oooh…” Taeyong puzzled. “Oh! Well, that’s a coincidence.”

Yuta laughed. “It’s not a coincidence, Taeyong, it’s the reason for our arranged marriage.”

Taeyong pushed off the desk and started to pace. “This makes so much sense, now!” he said, making Yuta laugh harder. “Ooookay.”

“So, will you calm down?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong nodded, settling back in his chair.

“By the way,” Yuta offered, “how would you feel about going out this weekend?”

“Out?” Taeyong pondered, “like, clubbing?”

“Yeah,” Yuta said, hopeful.

Taeyong smiled, practically buzzing in anticipation. “Sounds fun!” he said.

“You can come over to my apartment after, if you want.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Yuta guffawed. “Oh dear,” he said, shaking his head.

“This a good time?” came Johnny’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Yuta pushed himself into a more decorous sitting position. “ Douzo .”

Johnny slid open the door and stood in the entryway, saluting and wearing a beige suit and orange shirt with wide lapels. To Yuta’s surprise, Mark was with him.

“Phew,” jested Johnny, “I was worried you guys would be going at each other.”

Yuta rolled his eyes “Want to get hit?” he asked, figuring that would shut his friend up. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Taeyong blush.

“No, sorry, Shategashira ,” said Johnny, sitting in the chair across from the desk and holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m done.”

Yuta smirked, allowing himself some slight irritation but knowing this was all in good fun. He addressed Johnny.

“Why is Mark here?”

Mark, who was still standing, awkwardly not knowing what to do with himself, opened his mouth but was cut off before he could answer.

“He was getting bored and Haechan was there to fill in for him,” Johnny explained, as if that was supposed to be satisfying. Yuta shook his head incredulously, frustrated by what his men’s lack of discipline represented more than its actual consequences. In reality, it didn’t matter all that much if it were Mark or Donghyuck at that post – Donghyuck would have likely just been hanging out in construction projects, otherwise.

“What was Hyuck doing there?” asked Yuta, simultaneously reasoning himself out of being strict. “Oh, whatever,” he allowed before anyone could answer. “It’s fine; just try to stay at your posts.” He turned his attention to Mark. “Alright?”

“Yes, Shategashira !”

“May I proceed with the report?” Johnny asked, both eyebrows raised and hand poised at the entrance to his jacket pocket. Yuta nodded and Johnny pulled out a cigarette and lighter, getting himself a smoke before he continued.

“So,” said Johnny, “I just got off the phone with Kun. He’s going to be arriving with the Triad delegation this weekend so that they can have plenty of time to strategize, prepare, make sure our priorities align, etc.”

“Perfect,” Yuta remarked. “Do they need an escort for when they get in?”

“Kun said that would be appreciated,” replied Johnny. “However, if one is unavailable, his men are trained to defend themselves.”

Yuta rapped his fingers against his desk. “I’ll contact him and tell him that I’ll do it. I want to make sure they know they’re valued. Anything else on that?”

“No, Shategashira .”

“Alright. What did you find out about Sato?”

“He’s a simple case; got a gambling addiction,” Johnny explained.

“Sounds like your kind of guy,” said Yuta. Johnny laughed. Taeyong yawned in the corner, rolling his wrists around to get rid of the stiffness he was surely feeling. Yuta’s throat tightened up out of affection. He couldn’t wait for the weekend.

“What time is it now?”

Johnny checked his watch. “4:52, Shategashira ,” he reported.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any to head out,” Yuta figured. “Goro hasn’t sent in anything else that needs to get done, anyhow.”

Johnny stood, still holding his cigarette and pulling a pair of keys from his jacket pocket. “Can I offer you guys a ride?” he asked. “I think we all live in the same direction.”

Johnny’s car was an orange 1980 Honda Prelude with five seats that he kept parked in the underground lot below headquarters. Yuta leaned around to check on the two men sitting in back and almost broke into laughter. Johnny’s tiny car had five seats only in theory; Taeyong and Mark’s knees were nearly colliding in front of the center seat.

Johnny lowered – or more accurately, dropped – himself into the car, hand steadied on the steering wheel since it was also a bit short for his 6’1” frame to enter comfortably. He pulled out the vehicle’s plastic ashtray and stamped out the end of his cigarette.

“ Yoshi , are we ready to go?” he asked, revving the engine.

Everyone responded affirmatively and all at once, and Yuta found himself wondering, had his been the type of family to go on road trips for vacation, would it have felt a little something like this?

“Now, Taeyong, you’re going to need to give me a little guidance here,” said Johnny, pulling onto the street. “I don’t know your address.”

“Okay!” came Taeyong’s voice from the back. He was seated diagonally from Yuta, and Yuta thought he could feel his gaze almost devouring him, but he decided to feign ignorance and not return the look. He wanted Taeyong frustrated for this weekend.

Taeyong gave up and averted his eyes out the window, breath fogging the glass’s interior as its exterior beaded with a slow-moving kaleidoscope of raindrops.

“Johnny,” began Mark.

“Mm?”

“Did Kun say who’d be coming with him?”

Johnny’s brow furrowed as he ticked up the speed of the windshield wiper. “I have it written down, but I can try to remember off the top of my head for now. Let’s see. I think Yukhei, Ten, Dejun, Sicheng, Kunhang, and Yangyang are supposed to be his entourage. That could change though – or he could bring more. I just know he’ll be there, and Yuta’s supposed to meet him at Narita this Saturday.”

“Wow,” said Mark as Yuta thought he felt knees bumping around against the back of his seat as if he were in front of a child on an airplane. “I haven’t seen those guys in forever; since I was a kid, practically!”

“You’re still a kid,” Johnny deadpanned.

Yuta watched Mark roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. “At least I’m not a shatei anymore.”

The sun began to dim as they rolled through the streets of Aoyama, casting the neighborhood in a shimmery palette of greys and yellows. Wet cement, soaked tree trunks, café windows, umbrellas: grey. Ginko leaves plastering the sidewalks, neon signs, reflected headlights, and traffic signs: yellow. Johnny clicked on the radio which was playing “midnight cruisin’” by Kingo Hamada.

“So,” Taeyong began, “these Triad guys, they’re basically us but in China?”

“I suppose so,” said Yuta. “They run a similar business to us out of Hong Kong since the mainland Triads got pushed there twenty years ago. They have even better international connections than us, though. We’ve been trading between each other forever, but we’ve always run the risk of getting our ships searched and taken in by the authorities. That’s why they want in on the Mitsubishi deal. Both the Chinese Navy and the Maritime SDF have been upping patrols in the South China Sea and that means inconvenience for us unless we can piggyback on legitimate business.”

Taeyong looked nervous, his knees pulled together and his thumb nail wedged between his teeth. “I see,” he said. Yuta knew that he and Taeyong were well past the stage of pity, but he still couldn’t help the pangs of responsibility he felt every time Taeyong seemed to remember what exactly he’d gotten himself into. Moments like this made Yuta feel like he was going cold from the inside. Here they were, sitting three feet away in a car with two other people, not even having properly fucked yet and Yuta was already worried about losing what they had. Once Taeyong completed his mission he would have the choice to go back to his old life, and even Yuta acknowledged it would probably be in Taeyong’s best interest to do so, but what if leaving Inagawa also meant leaving Yuta? He had too much firsthand experience with that exact scenario to feel secure.

They dropped Mark off at his apartment, then Taeyong directed Johnny the rest of the way to his. Once there, Taeyong slipped out of the idling car into the rain, immediately getting soaked due to his lack of rain gear. His dark hair flattened, luminous, against his forehead and the black button-up under his oversized denim jacket clung in a way Yuta would not be able to forget any time soon.

Before Taeyong could scurry too far away, Yuta grabbed the crank on the interior of his car door and rolled down his window, ignoring Johnny’s grumbling that he was going to ruin the upholstery.

“Taeyong,” he called through the screen of raindrops. Taeyong turned immediately, a warmth in his face which thawed the chill Yuta had sensed before.

“Yes, Shategashira ?”

Yuta smiled. “C’mere,” he instructed, and Taeyong jogged his way back to the car until he was folded at nearly a 90-degree angle to lean into Yuta’s window. Yuta could see the soft expanse of Taeyong’s torso clearly down his collar. Fuck . He placed a finger under Taeyong’s chin and looked into his eyes, which had gone as glassy and round as the puddles in the uneven sidewalk in front of Taeyong’s building.

“Remember what I said about this weekend?”

Taeyong bit his lip and nodded, searching Yuta’s face.

“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Yuta.

“Okay!”

Johnny sighed, looking pointedly out the opposite window. “Let’s hurry this up, lover boys,” he quipped.

“Ignore him,” Yuta told Taeyong when he noticed the other man’s eyes straying in embarrassment. “You’ll be on patrol tomorrow without me, so I’ll swing by around eleven at night to take you somewhere fun, m’kay? Just be ready by then.”

“M’kay.”

Yuta pulled Taeyong closer for a chaste kiss, then mercifully let him go to escape the rain.

“Now, go get yourself into something warm and dry!” he yelled, smiling as Taeyong practically bounded towards the door of his apartment.

“Aye aye, Shategashira ,” Taeyong responded.

Johnny turned back to face Yuta in mock frustration. “Will you close the window now?” he asked, and Yuta couldn’t help smiling while cranking it back up.

“You guys are cute,” said Johnny, as if commenting on the heavy rain. He didn’t seem to have any intention of starting the car.

“I’m glad you think so,” Yuta responded, cautious.

“Where are you taking him this weekend?”

“Out,” said Yuta. “In Yokohama. A place where no one knows who I am.”

Johnny nodded. “I don’t doubt that you’re being careful,” he said. “I’m just concerned for him.”

“For Taeyong?”

“Yeah,” Johnny expanded. “He’s so new at this; does he know what officially joining would even look like? Someone needs to have that conversation with him.”

“ I’m going to have that conversation with him,” Yuta practically hissed. This was not the discussion he wanted to be having.

Johnny sighed, shifting into drive, “Okay,” he said. “I trust you, Shategashira .”

“Good,” said Yuta. “You shouldn’t have to assure me of that.”

***

Yuta looked at himself in his full-length mirror, doing a little spin and checking over his shoulder to get as full a view as possible. He’d sent Taeyong to go on patrol with Donghyuck and Mark for the day while he stayed at headquarters talking to Doyoung about finances.

He’d gotten home, cooked himself some packaged curry, and shut himself in the bathroom on a whim with a tub of black Manic Panic. Yuta was growing sick of the white hair, and even though he was confident that no one at Copycat knew him or would be a threat, he still felt more comfortable with a less eye-catching hairdo. It had seemed like a good idea, especially since Yuta’s nerves were still a bit on edge after the assassination attempt. It had seemed like a good idea, that is, until the chemical fumes in his bathroom were almost enough to make him pass out and he had to scrub the dregs of the dye out of his bathtub once he was done.

But that was a few hours ago and now, with his hair newly monochrome and slicked back, and the bathroom aired out, Yuta was feeling much better. He had a cassette of R.E.M.’s “Murmur” blasting from the Hitachi TRK-7020H he kept next to his bed, dancing around to the music and sipping from a tumbler of whiskey as he got ready. He wanted to take his time picking a good outfit, knowing this would be one of his last opportunities for real fun before the Mitsubishi deal. Eventually, he settled on a black leather blazer, black pants, white leather boots, a black and blue button-up, and a chain necklace.

He turned back around to face himself in the mirror, sneaking a sip from his glass and examining the layers of bandage wrap he’d wound around what parts of his chest and lower neck were exposed.

His watch said it was 10:30. Time to go.

***

Yuta got to the front door of Taeyong’s building at 11:07. He buzzed the dial for “Unit 127, Lee,” and after an electronic screech that made Yuta’s eyebrows raise, startled, his date’s voice came through the speaker. Even through the crackle, he sounded bright, like he was bouncing around on the other end.

“Yuta! I just saw you pull up!” Taeyong giggled. “Be down in a minute.”

Yuta smiled to himself when Taeyong hung up. In stark contrast to yesterday’s downpour, this was a mild, early November night with a full moon and a soft breeze shuffling the bushes outside the apartment and making Yuta’s skin tingle. As he waited, Yuta pondered the tile exterior of Taeyong’s building and how desperately it needed washing. Then, he looked up to the sky where wispy clouds were curling in the moon’s glow like steam over a cup of coffee. He wondered to himself what that sky would look like out in the countryside, where there was no light pollution and the entire Milky Way would have undoubtedly unfurled overhead for the mortal onlooker. He wondered what that moon looked like to his family in Osaka.

The front door opened, pulling Yuta out of his ponderings. Taeyong smiled and Yuta momentarily forgot to breathe. His hair had been coaxed lightly off his forehead with some hair gel, and he wore a translucent lavender turtleneck, an oversized houndstooth jacket, black jeans, and sneakers. Yuta couldn’t have designed a more fantasy-worthy man himself, and Taeyong seemed to notice the reaction he’d caused, because he grinned wickedly.

“Hi,” he said.

“My god,” said Yuta, regaining his composure and returning the wicked look right back. “I didn’t think you could get any sexier.”

Taeyong smirked, sticking his chin out so he was looking at Yuta from under hooded eyes. “I could say the same about you, Shategashira . Especially like the hair.”

Yuta chuckled, moving in slowly to peck Taeyong on the lips. He wanted to do more, but even though the street was empty, he didn’t wish for any of Taeyong’s neighbors to see. Also, he reminded himself, there would be plenty of time for that later. Yuta watched as Taeyong’s eyes flitted quizzically over his collar. He lifted a slender finger to trace over the flesh-colored bandages underneath.

“What’s up with these?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand in his and guided it back down between them.

“They’re for covering my tattoos,” he explained, assuming that was obvious.

“I know, but Yutaaa,” Taeyong whined, “your tattoos are so hot.”

Yuta burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I don’t want to risk it. Can’t have anyone assuming I’m trouble.” Yuta narrowed his eyes, trying to look sinister like a yakuza in an anime or something. Taeyong didn’t seem to buy it.

“Aren’t the bandages suspicious in and of themselves?” he queried.

“Sure,” Yuta said, “but they’re not proof.” Yuta pulled a dramatically pitiful expression. “I could be recovering from a traumatic car accident.”

Taeyong giggled. “Yeah,” he said, “recovering at the club.”

“Listen,” Yuta insisted, “just think how much fun you’ll have peeling them off me tonight.”

Taeyong bit his bottom lip in anticipation and Yuta let go of his hand. Yuta thought if he was going to survive waiting for Taeyong until they got to his bedroom, he’d need a lot more drinks at Copycat. Still, the nervous glint in Taeyong’s eyes told Yuta that having patience would make tonight so much more satisfying.

***

Copycat was a notorious gay club in Yokohama. Those in the know would recognize it for outlandish parties, drag queens, mysterious drugs, and letting people in strictly based on their looks. It was a bit out of the way, being in a different city, but Yuta decided the loss of convenience was worth the safety. They listened to The Violent Femmes’ self-titled album on the forty-minute drive there, as it had recently become one of Yuta’s favorites for amping himself up. In the car it became clear that Taeyong had pre-gamed because he was much more forward than usual. He told Yuta he’d missed being with him all day and offered him road head. As much as Yuta would have liked that, he had to explain that he’d already had a drink too and couldn’t afford to get pulled over.

The two of them made it past the line easily and slipped their way through the black box of a club. There were shards of mirrors stuck to the walls which reflected the multicolored lights that flitted about the space. Go left, and one would be face to face with a wall of caged dancers, go right for the bar. They went right.

Yuta decided to order for the two of them.

“Taeyong,” he half-yelled over the music. It was “Sex (I’m A…)” by Berlin.

“Do you want beer, or do you want vodka?”

Vodka was the obvious answer and pretty soon, they were downing a suite of shots one after the other.

The DJ must have been really into Berlin, because the next song that blared through the speakers was “Pleasure Victim.”

Yuta’s eyes bugged out when he heard it, and he hastily slapped several yen on the bar, pulling Taeyong to the dance floor.

“I love this song!”

“I can see that,” said Taeyong, tittering as he let Yuta drag him into the center of a mass of bodies, both of them being jostled in a way that would have been dangerous if they were just a little drunker. The synthesizer in the song complemented the dreamlike aspects of the dance floor (the lights; the glitter), and helped Yuta forget the baser aspects (the grime; the smell).

Taeyong looked ethereal under the twisting colors and the silver confetti that started to fall, reflecting his gorgeous face ad infinitum. The thrum of the base in Yuta’s spine and ears made him feel like he was underwater, his movements so slow and heavy in comparison to the music.

Yuta couldn’t help himself – he was enchanted. He pulled Taeyong so close that they were writhing against each other more than dancing, and planted a searing kiss to his mouth. Taeyong tasted harsh, like all the alcohol he’d been drinking. Yuta felt him pressing against his chest, trying to wriggle out of the kiss and when Yuta pulled back in concern, he was overwhelmed with fondness. Taeyong panted, offering a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he explained. “I couldn’t breathe.”

Yuta just laughed and pulled Taeyong close again, and the two opted to grind on each other rather than kiss for the time being.

Yuta murmured into Taeyong’s ear. “Do you come to places like this often?” he asked.

“Every now and then,” answered Taeyong. “When I wanna find someone to take me home.”

Yuta hummed. Taeyong’s body against him was making him feel like oil floating in liquid. “Say we didn’t know each other,” he began as the music switched to Lime’s “Come and Get Your Love.” “If you saw me from across the dance floor, would you try to get me to take you home?”

Yuta heard Taeyong laugh – felt the vibration of it in his neck. “I’d do everything I could to make that happen,” Taeyong answered, dropping kisses to the skin just above Yuta’s bandages.

“I’d come over to dance with you, and you’d no doubt reciprocate, cuz you would’ve had your eyes on me all night. Am I right?”

“Of course you’re right,” Yuta confirmed, dragging his hands shamelessly over the back of Taeyong’s body.

Taeyong trailed a smile over Yuta’s skin. “Then I’d make sure you couldn’t rest until you’d brought me back to yours and taken out all your frustrations on me.”

Yuta growled as Taeyong pulled away. His face was flushed. It looked like the stains left on your hands after eating cherries. His eyes had gone glassy from intoxication and the edges of his mouth curled in an adorable smile. Yuta couldn’t believe his self-control that he’d managed to wait this long to fuck him. God…

Taeyong bit his lip as he swayed his hips to the music. “But we could…we could make that happen anyway,” he offered, going bashful for a split second before drawing a couple fingers over the skin under Yuta’s bottom button. “Right, Shategashira ?” he whispered for good measure.

Yuta grabbed Taeyong’s wrist. “You’re a menace, you know?”

Taeyong cocked his head and spun around so his back was against Yuta’s chest. He kept his eyes on Yuta, batting his lashes innocently.

“It’s just what you do to me,” he explained.

Yuta could only shake his head in disbelief as he wrapped his arms around his dance partner.

***

The restroom at Copycat was cleaner than Yuta would have expected; at least as far as he could tell under the dark lighting. The almost surgical white tiles which lined most of the space were shockingly devoid of even marker graffiti. So was the red of the dividers between stalls and urinals.

Yuta stared into the mirror as he washed his hands. The empty bathroom gave him a familiar liminal space feeling as Madonna’s “Lucky Star” echoed from the dance floor, dreamlike, and he had the impression that should he walk back out the door, he would find himself in a dark void rather than a physical, tangible environment. Maybe it was all the vodka, or simply the temporary damage suffered by his eardrums that made everything sound faraway.

As Yuta shook his hands dry, a tall man in a shiny black suit with a buzzcut strolled in and made his way to the urinals. Yuta didn’t think anything of him, until he decided to strike up a conversation. Yuta watched the man’s back in the mirror.

“Having a good time out there, boss?” asked the man’s back.

Boss?

Yuta ignored the quarry, figuring it was just drunken banter, and he didn’t have the nerves for that. He started towards the door.

“Hey, it’s an innocent question.” The man’s voice came now from just behind Yuta, insistent. Apparently this guy wasn’t planning on washing his hands.

Yuta paused. “Fun!” he repeated, almost mockingly. “Yes, I’m having fun, thanks.” Yuta moved to leave but his interlocutor blocked the door.

“That boy you got with you’s a real nice piece of ass, I gotta say. You got me jealous.”

Yuta glared, his wits forcing themselves about him as he hoped desperately that he hadn’t left Taeyong in a dangerous position. He needed to be getting back.

“I’d prefer you didn’t refer to him like that,” Yuta said coolly, trying to defuse the situation.

“Oh, you got feelings, I see,” said the guy in mock apology. “He your boyfriend?”

Yuta reached into his jacket pocket and the man jumped, moving out of the way and opening the door for Yuta to walk past. Yuta pushed out a clipped breath, glad he hadn’t needed to resort to threats of violence. Still, how had the man anticipated what Yuta had been reaching for? It was probably the bandages giving him away. The man trailed after Yuta once in the hallway outside the restroom.

“Alright, sorry, sorry. Listen, so you’re having fun with your boy toy out there. What if I told you I had something that could make it even more fun?”

Yuta refused to look at the man. He almost never did drugs stronger than alcohol and nicotine. Having taken part in illegal drug smuggling and sales, he knew what kind of weird and dangerous ingredients people passed off as “the real stuff.” Not to mention his oath to Inagawa which forbade it.

“No thank you,” he said plainly.

This guy would not give up.

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even heard the whole pitch. I’ve had nothing but stellar reviews and – and it boosts your sex drive like, it’s incredible! Don’t you wanna check it out? I just gotta go get it out of a back room; you two can follow me there!”

Alright , thought Yuta, that’s enough . He grabbed the guy by his collar and pushed him against the wall. Despite his impressive height, he was thin and Yuta gained confidence when he realized how little this man could actually do to challenge him. He didn’t have the reflexes of an experienced criminal. Still, he was likely an inexperienced one.

“Go push your shit on someone else,” Yuta insisted, an implied threat of harm hanging in the air. When he was sure the bothersome man was sufficiently flustered, Yuta stormed away and plucked Taeyong from where he’d left him at the bar and where he had thankfully remained. Taeyong was about to down a Jell-O shot when Yuta arrived.

“Thank god. Let’s go.”

“Hm? What about this?” Taeyong asked, referring to the shot.

Yuta shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this place,” Yuta asserted. “Let me take you home.”

Taeyong didn’t argue with that logic, as Yuta knew he wouldn’t, and they weaved through the crowd and slipped out the back door into the cool air. Yuta hadn’t been aware of how sweaty and disgusting he’d become until he had the breeze there to remind him. He heard Taeyong let out a whooping noise at his side.

Taeyong practically sprinted the couple blocks back to the car, still buzzing with booze and dancing, and Yuta had to work to keep up. Once in the vehicle, Yuta used the car phone to call a designated driver service.

Yuta hung up. “They’ll be here in ten minutes,” he relayed.

Taeyong arched an eyebrow. “Ten minutes, huh?”

That’s all he could get out before Yuta was cutting him off with a kiss.

***

The driver followed Yuta’s instructions to park around the corner from Yuta’s place. He lived in an adjoined but separate wing of the Inagawa-kai mansion in Ginza. The main structure of the building resembled a scaled down Samurai castle painted black. Yuta had lived there since he came to Tokyo when he was fifteen. At the time, he was placed in the mansion proper, where he struck up a quick friendship with Oyabun Hirai’s daughter, but also felt constantly surveilled. Now, as an adult in his own sectioned off wing, he could come and go as he wished, with whomever he wished. Having lived there for ten years, Yuta sometimes didn’t notice the building’s slightly threatening grandeur. Yuta was reminded by Taeyong’s shocked expression when they turned the corner to see it.

“You live here?” Taeyong gasped.

“I forgot you’ve never needed to come to the mansion,” Yuta reasoned. He pointed to the much smaller and plainer structure tacked on to the side of the Oyabun ’s residence.

“I used to. Now I live there.”

Taeyong’s eyes scanned the building before him in wonder. “Still…”

Yuta laughed, grasping Taeyong’s hand. “Alright enough gawking. Let me show you inside.”

Inside was equally stimulating to Taeyong apparently, who began spouting variations on “wahhhh!” the second Yuta had opened the unit’s purple door and let him in.

Yuta’s apartment had three rooms not counting the bathroom; each with a distinctly different style which worked well alongside the others, nonetheless. The one into which the front door opened and in which they were standing was the kitchen/dining area. It was a galley kitchen with a wooden table and chairs and patterned wallpaper with fruits on it. To the right opened a traditional tatami room where Yuta kept his sofa and TV.

Yuta laughed at Taeyong as he nearly bounced off the counter space, letting his fingers titter over spice containers, an ashtray, plastic flowers; whatever he could get his hands on.

“I’m glad you find my apartment so entertaining,” Yuta quipped, a bit confused.

Taeyong shrugged. “I really like this,” he explained. “Getting a little peak at my Shategashira ’s personal space. It’s not what I expected.”

What had he expected? Black paint and walls of katana and guns? Yuta asked as much.

Taeyong laughed breathily. “Not necessarily. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

Yuta’s skin was getting itchy as he eyed the door to his bedroom on the far wall.

“Okay,” he allowed. “Follow me.”

Yuta and Taeyong made their way to the door and once on the other side of it, Yuta again observed Taeyong’s reaction. He drank in the space, black chambray wallpaper, red moldings, and silky purple sheets on the bed all being slowly processed. Yuta knew his taste sometimes delved into extremely tacky territory, but his bedroom décor made him feel like a badass and he hoped Taeyong would understand the vibe he was going for.

“This is a little more what I was expecting,” admitted Taeyong, finally.

Yuta smiled, catlike, and closed the door, caging Taeyong in against it. Taeyong’s breathing faltered for a moment as his eyes fluttered shut. Yuta drew in a deep breath, the smells of the club mixing on Taeyong’s skin with his cologne and the natural scent of his body. Yuta kissed at the hinge of Taeyong’s jaw as Taeyong shucked his jacket.

“I’ve been hoping for this since we first met,” Yuta admitted, running his hands over Taeyong’s figure for the nth time that night. Taeyong preened under the touch, beginning to lose himself for the first time with the knowledge of what this was all leading up to.

He sighed, a half-smile gracing his lips.

“Please, do whatever you imagined, Shategashira ,” he almost panted. “I want you to show me everything you’ve thought of doing to me.”

Yuta smirked, planting a hard kiss on Taeyong’s lips.

“That would take a while,” he said slyly when he let up, “but I’ll give you a taste. We’ll have opportunities to get to the rest later.”

Yuta watched in satisfaction as Taeyong visibly shivered. He stepped away until the backs of his knees were brushing his bed.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sweetheart?”

Taeyong obliged immediately, dropping his shirt to the floor and standing against the door, laughing his way into a nervous smile and crossing and uncrossing his arms. Yuta bore his gaze into him, and Taeyong quieted his movements in response.

“Good boy,” Yuta murmured, pleased when he heard Taeyong gulp down a groan in response. Yeah, he’d had a feeling…

He slipped off his jacket, instructing Taeyong’s to stay put as he folded it in half and set it on a chair in the corner. Taeyong took it like an order, with a “yes, Shategashira ,” that was so cute it made Yuta’s stomach churn. He made his way back to the man he’d left by the door, wrapping his now half bare arms around him. He noticed that Taeyong was chewing his lip hard enough that it looked painful.

“You okay?” he asked, petting his right hand over Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong released his lip, eyes fixed on Yuta’s face only millimeters from his.

“Yeah,” he breathed in confirmation.

“Good.” Yuta walked backwards towards his bed again, guiding Taeyong forward with him and stopping only when he was sitting and Taeyong was climbing up to straddle him, neither breaking eye contact the entire time. Yuta placed his hands over Taeyong’s hips.

“You seem a little nervous, baby,” he ventured.

Taeyong smiled. There we go. “You make me nervous, Shategashira . But, in a good way.”

Yuta smiled back. “I didn’t seem to make you nervous earlier,” he jested.

“The alcohol is starting to wear off now,” explained Taeyong.

Yuta sighed, dropping a quick kiss just above Taeyong’s belly button. “Tell you what: why don’t you tell me what you want right now, darling. Forget the things I’ve imagined. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“M’sorry,” said Taeyong, eyes darting off to the side, and Yuta shook his head.

“Don’t be. Just name it and I’ll give it to you.”

Taeyong’s eyes returned to Yuta as he drew his lips into the softest smirk.

“Well first of all,” he began, “I want to undress you and take off your bandages, like you promised me.”

Yuta was more than happy to oblige. He let Taeyong surround him, crawling over the bed to different sides of him to get the angles he needed to unbutton his shirt and peel off the wrappings, slowly revealing Yuta’s tattooed skin. Taeyong hummed to himself as he worked, insisting Yuta relax and stay still, and placing soft kisses to each section of flesh as soon as it became accessible. Yuta felt like he was floating with Taeyong tittering about and mouthing at him. At the same time, it was teasing him into impatience.

When Taeyong finished, he threw the bandages to the ground and placed his hands on Yuta’s shoulders to steady himself as he leaned forward, observing the ink figures that covered Yuta’s entire upper body; dragons, flames, and Oni practically crawling out from the waist of his pants.

“Shit. That looks so painful.”

Taeyong yelped in surprise as Yuta grabbed his face and pulled him in for an upside-down kiss. When Yuta pulled away, he took advantage of Taeyong’s disorientation to turn around and chase him back on the bed into the pillows.

“It was,” he confirmed finally, giggling, and pretty soon he had Taeyong laughing too.

Taeyong regained his composure and worried his lip between his teeth again for a moment before speaking. Yuta couldn’t help noticing the flush that had taken over Taeyong’s face, neck, and chest.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

“I want to feel you inside me,” Taeyong almost whispered. “And I want you to take over now.”

Yuta felt his dick twitch at Taeyong’s words. He settled his expression and let out a deep breath.

“Okay, baby,” he said. “Then I need you to take off your pants.”

Taeyong obliged easily as Yuta stood and removed his own, then pulled a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

Yuta looked quizzically at Taeyong’s sudden nakedness. He was so beautiful.

“You weren’t wearing underwear?” he teased and Taeyong demurred.

“No,” he admitted, and Yuta caught Taeyong’s eyes grazing over the less dense tattoos which continued over Yuta’s lower body.

Yuta shuffled back onto the bed between Taeyong’s legs.

“No wonder you were in such a mood earlier,” said Yuta, almost coldly. “You’re my naughty boy tonight, hm? Spread your legs.”

Taeyong shuffled his legs wider, his hardening cock wobbling with arousal.

“Mmmmmm mhm, I am,” Taeyong groaned as Yuta coated his fingers with the lube, smirking to himself. Taeyong sounded wrecked already from all the intimacy and the light dirty talk, and Yuta hadn’t even properly touched him yet.

Yuta scooted in closer and circled Taeyong’s entrance with his pointer finger, eliciting a gasp from him.

“You’re so sweet, it kills me,” Yuta murmured, and with that he looked Taeyong in the eyes and pressed his finger in. Taeyong keened, panting.

A few minutes later, Yuta was stretching Taeyong with three fingers, admiring the man beneath him as he rocked himself lightly into Yuta’s thrusts with one bent leg as an anchor. He had his eyes shut forcefully and chewed on his thumb nail, clipped, muffled moans emanating from the base of his throat.

Yuta’s cock was straining against his underwear and leaving a wet mark on the fabric. He was so turned on that he would almost have been satisfied just watching Taeyong ride his hand all night. Almost.

“You take my fingers so well, baby,” he teased, brushing over Taeyong’s prostate and causing his eyes and mouth to drop open simultaneously in pleasure. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

Taeyong bucked his hips as he dropped his hand from his mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he repeated as if in a trance. “Please, Shategashira .”

He mewled as Yuta withdrew his fingers, clenching around air, and then again when Yuta removed his boxer briefs. Yuta was naked save the chain he’d been wearing all night, reveling in the image of it swinging while they fucked.

Taeyong shimmied himself down into the bed until he was lying down, his arms bent and framing his head on the purple pillow.

Yuta lined himself up and pushed slowly inside, groaning when he bottomed out. He watched Taeyong’s stomach flex as he got used to the stretch and steadied his shallow breathing. Yuta ground his hips experimentally and Taeyong whimpered.

“Mmm, you feel so good around me, baby.”

“You feel good too,” Taeyong reciprocated. “I – ah – you fill me up so well.”

Taeyong reached his arms out in a fidgety motion and Yuta obliged him, leaned forward until Taeyong could wrap his arms fully around him. He took one of Taeyong’s nipples into his mouth, catching him by surprise as he began to thrust and bit down, making him whine.

Yuta wondered where Taeyong had been all his life. Sure, it sounds cheesy, but it was true. Taeyong was so tight and warm, it made him crazy, and he let the most endearing string of curses and breathy moans fall past his lips as Yuta fucked into him with increasing insistence.

Yuta pulled himself back upright so he could get a better view of the man under him, thumbing over the nipple that was still wet and inflamed from his mouth. Taeyong’s skin sparkled with sweat as he knit his brow and sent his fingers absentmindedly to his mouth. Yuta reached down and moved Taeyong’s hand, replacing it with his own, and the look Taeyong gave him when he reopened his eyes made Yuta feel a telltale clench in his gut.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructed.

“Yes Sha – Yes, Shategashira .”

The slap of flesh on flesh grew louder, mixing with the metallic sound of Yuta’s chain and filling the space as Yuta thrust hard enough it would probably leave Taeyong with bruises. Taeyong drew in a breath and let it out as a broken sob.

“I’m so close,” he warned over Yuta’s fingers.

Yuta wrapped his hand around Taeyong’s cock, which was angry and straining at this point, pumping him in time with his thrusts to the best of his ability. The movements were slicked by the precome that Taeyong had been dribbling consistently over himself.

“Ah, thank you, thank you, thank you…” Taeyong repeated as he bucked jerkily into Yuta’s touch, his hands wandering in spastic fits over his own heaving chest.

“You’re going to come when I tell you to. Okay, darling?” Yuta sing-songed.

Taeyong sobbed again as Yuta dragged his thumb over the head of his cock. “Yes, Shategashira .”

Yuta shuddered, nearing his own climax. He thrust deep into Taeyong, abusing his prostate as he pressed his thumb into Taeyong’s slit.

“Now, baby. Come for me.”

Taeyong wailed as he came a moment later, streaking his stomach in pearly white and huffing from all the energy he’d expended.

Yuta’s thrusts grew more erratic and his voice came out like gravel. “Fuck, baby,” he said, “you did it just when I told you to. My good boy. I wish you could have seen how incredible you looked.”

Taeyong shook his head in embarrassment against the pillow and threw an arm over his face. He kept spasming now and again from aftershocks and from Yuta still fucking into him.

“Thank you, Shategashira . I wanted to be good for you.”

Yuta let out a gut-punched sound at that. “I’m gonna come now, sweetheart,” he informed. “Where do you want it?”

Taeyong’s voice was barely there as he answered. “Inside. Please.” That alone was enough to push Yuta over the edge.

He kept grinding his release into Taeyong once he’d come, bringing himself down and pulling a new string of whimpers from the man below.

“Aah, that was so good, baby,” he said dreamily. “Let me see you.”

Taeyong removed his arm from his face, and what Yuta saw sent a residual wave of pleasure all the way to his toes. Taeyong’s cheeks were red and shiny, not just from sweat but also from the small collection of tears that had welled up at the corners of his eyes and started to spill over.

“Oh, baby,” Yuta cooed. “You look so pretty like this, it’s unreal.”

Taeyong spasmed. “Please…”

It was a bit unfair to Taeyong, who hadn’t been introduced to Yuta’s sadistic side in bed yet, but Yuta couldn’t stop himself from continuing to grind in and out of Taeyong’s entrance just a little longer than was obviously comfortable, egged on by the tears and by the little noises Taeyong kept making. When Taeyong started begging for real, he finally decided to give him a break and pulled out.

By the end of the night, Yuta was completely whipped, for better or for worse. Sometime during their post-fuck cuddling, Taeyong had informed Yuta that he liked it when he told him what to do, liked being bitten, and that as much as it had made him sensitive and squirmy, he’d have been okay if Yuta had continued to overstimulate him. The conversation turned to other things they might like and soon enough, they were both recovered enough to get hard again. Using some of what he’d just learned about Taeyong to his benefit, Yuta sat the other man on his lap and jerked him off with one hand while wrapping the other around his neck. Taeyong came over Yuta’s fingers, licked them clean, and returned the favor with a blowjob. By the time they were done and somewhat cleaned up, both men collapsed in a heap in Yuta’s now slightly sticky bed. Yuta let Taeyong cuddle into his side, thinking to himself that he was going to need to figure out how to make this work.

“How long did these take?” Taeyong asked, tracing a finger over the Oni on Yuta’s sternum.

“I got them over the course of five years, so it’s hard to say. Maybe, 100 hours?”

Taeyong raised his head in shock and Yuta laughed. “No way.” Yuta nodded. “And it really hurt?” Taeyong asked, eyes wide.

Yuta adjusted his head on the pillow, taking a drag of the cigarette he had perched between his fingers.

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s pretty unpleasant. They’re not normal tattoos, either.”

“How so?”

“You get them done with this sharpened piece of bamboo and no modern equipment. It’s the traditional way for us. Someone’s granny does them; I forget who she’s related to.”

Taeyong finished tracing the Oni and moved on to the flaming border next to it. “Do you think I could ever get one? Not like, the whole thing – just something small like what Donghyuck has.”

Yuta felt the familiar pang of nervousness he got every time he thought about Taeyong’s future with the Inagawa-kai and, by association, with him.

“Mm,” Taeyong acknowledged. “Well then...”

“Have you thought at all about it?” Yuta ventured, immediately wishing he hadn’t when he felt Taeyong tense. Still, he knew the question would have eaten at him either way.

“A little bit, but I haven’t come to a decision,” Taeyong explained. Yuta took another drag and offered his cigarette to Taeyong, who took it, to Yuta’s surprise. Taeyong tried smoking it and started coughing on the exhale, scrunched his face up in distaste.

“I don’t know why I try it every time someone offers me one. I never like it,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Yuta with a laugh. “Anyway, mind giving me some insight into your thought process?”

Taeyong settled back into Yuta’s side. Yuta could feel vibrations in his ribs as Taeyong spoke.

“Well, as I imagine you understand, officially entering a life of crime or whatever is pretty intimidating even if you’ve never operated in the mainstream. It’s a big commitment. At the same time, I don’t really have anything waiting for me on the other side.” Taeyong flushed. “Besides, I’m really enjoying being with you.”

Yuta blew another puff of smoke as some bittersweet feeling kicked around in his stomach.

“Don’t let me be too much of an influence on your decision,” he advised. “We can be together anyway. I mean yakuza don’t usually date other syndicate members anyway for…obvious reasons.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong mumbled. “That’s true. But I promise, no matter what I decide, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.”

There was a short silence where Yuta reveled in listening to the slightly off rhythm of his and Taeyong’s breathing.

“Yonggie,” he began again.

“Yeah?”

“Want to hear about how I joined the Inagawa-kai?”

Taeyong turned on his stomach and placed his chin on Yuta’s chest. “Sure.”

“I grew up in Osaka, where my father worked for an Inagawa outpost. When I was a teenager, he got killed on the job. I was devastated. He was the person I admired most in the world. I didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body because my dad was the center of authority in our house and I thought he was the greatest person who’d ever lived. Anyway, when he died, I still wanted to be like him and tried to join the Inagawa in Osaka in his memory I guess, but it didn’t work out.”

Yuta paused for another drag. He continued.

“That was because the rest of my family took their grief in a very different direction. My mother and sisters blamed the syndicate and wanted to cut all ties to it, so that would rule out me becoming a yakuza, you know. I figured though, that anything my father would give his life for must be worth something, right? One of his old friends who knew Goro set me up to move to Tokyo and the rest is history. I wouldn’t say I got disowned for my decision, but I rarely talk to my family and going home would just be too unpleasant to stomach. Me being gay didn’t help either.” Yuta chuckled wryly.

“I bet,” said Taeyong. “That’s really rough though. I’m so sorry about your dad.”

“It’s all worked itself out, more or less,” said Yuta. “I still miss him though. But this is all to say that you’re the person who knows best for you. The syndicate can be a great place to find community and purpose when you don’t have that anywhere else, I’ll give it that, and that’s how most of us ended up where we are. But, you have to be okay with the violence; both the threat of it against yourself and those you love and that you will inevitably perpetrate against others.”

Taeyong nodded, his eyes fluttering down to Yuta’s chest. Yuta figured that was enough heavy talk for one night. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed and grinned, ruffling Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong smiled back.

“I’ll shut up now,” Yuta said.

“S’okay,” replied Taeyong. “Yuta?”

“Yah?”

“Can – can I stay the night?”

Yuta balked, scratching his nails over Taeyong’s neck. “Of course!” he said. “I didn’t think that was even a question. It’s too dangerous for you to go back to yours alone in the middle of the night, anyway.”

Taeyong looked relieved and he nuzzled up into Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he’d said that Taeyong’s sweetness was killing him. He only worried he might not have the natural disposition for his current line of work.

“Thanks, Shategashira .”

Yuta spluttered, poking Taeyong’s nose. “Of course. Besides, anyone who’s that good a lay deserves to spend the night.”

“Aww,” said Taeyong jokingly, “good cause you owe me anyway, I think. I hadn’t been fucked for a while and now my ass hurts.”

“I will not apologize for breaking you back in the correct way,” said Yuta, turning out the lamp by his side, and Taeyong swatted his opposite shoulder.

“Whatever, just cuddle me and I’ll get over it.”

“Get some sleep, baby. We’ll take my car to the airport tomorrow and we need to leave around eleven.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about the Triads,” admitted Taeyong, voice suddenly breathy with fatigue.

“You won’t once you’ve met them,” Yuta joked. “Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

Yuta struggled to sleep at first, still exhilarated by the night’s events and unable to shake from his mind the memory of how good Taeyong had looked under him – better than he’d even imagined. The only thing which helped pull him under was the quiet rhythm of Taeyong’s sleepy exhales.

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graglithans-library · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Paris, Fur-ance Ch 3: Kitsunes, Flea Markets, and Scheming

Nazuna explains some things to Kagami and her mother and gets some explanations in return.

Meanwhile, Shirou gets to do his thing and starts searching for his charge and her friend.

The staff of the Tsurugi household could be considered both exceptionally efficient, and indescribably unflappable. It was due to those traits that the servants didn’t even bat an eye at the sudden addition to the household’s occupants. It was Kagami’s posture that let them know the police wouldn’t be needed, as she lacked the degree of tension they would have expected, should this other girl have been unwelcome. Doubly so for Mistress Tsurugi herself. Blind or not, had this extra guest been a threat, Tomoe would have had her at swordpoint by now.

Which is why they did nothing to disturb the three as they sat in the living room, discussing the situation over tea.

Setting down her cup, Tomoe’s face scrunched in thought. “So, you’re from a place called Anima City, which is located just off the coast of the Japanese mainland?”

Nazuna nodded after she had a small sip of tea. “That’s right.”

Kagami looked at her ears as they twitched through the long pink hair. “And you’re a... beastman?”

“Yep.” Nazuna smiled and raised an eyebrow at Kagami. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us. Pretty much the whole world knows about beastmen. Or is Paris truly that isolated right now?”

Looking down at her tea, Kagami grimaced. “I am truly sorry, Hiwatashi, but-”

“Nazuna.”

Startled, Kagami raised her head to look at Nazuna again. “W-what?”

Raising a hand gently, Nazuna kept smiling. “If it’s okay with you, just call me Nazuna.”

Blushing a bit, Kagami nodded. “R-Right,” Kagami muttered before she took a moment to clear her throat. “Nazuna, I’m not sure how to tell you, but the closest thing I have ever heard of Beastmen would be in fictional stories and myths.” Nazuna’s eyes widened as Kagami continued. “I thought you were a Kitsune when you appeared in our living room.”

Nazuna’s eyes moved to her own fuzzy hands, and a melancholy smile fell onto her face. “There are days I wonder that myself.”

Tomoe raised an eyebrow as she turned slightly from her tea. “Why would you? Were you not born this way?” Kagami winced a bit at her mother’s bluntness, but Nazuna looked relatively unfazed.

Staring down at her tea, Nazuna looked like she was starting to get lost in memories as she gently shook her head. “I know this may come as a shock, but I used to be a normal, everyday human.”

Kagami didn’t know she could get more surprised. “Really?”

Tomoe’s voice carried a small hint of steel. “Those are very steep claims, Ms. Hiwatashi. Especially after having felt your hands myself.”

Sighing, Nazuna set her cup down as she looked up. “I know, so please, let me explain.”

Nazuna took a deep breath to calm herself as she picked her tea back up. “About a year and a half ago, I was meeting up with my friend on the way to school, when a bus failed to stop in time, and we ended up in an accident. My arm was shattered, and my friend’s leg was actually worse. The damage was bad enough; we needed surgery to have a chance at a normal life afterward. We both had to get blood transfusions as a result, which would be completely normal in any other situation.”

She paused to take a sip before she continued. “That was where our lives, unfortunately, took a turn. It was due to a mixup with the blood packs that we were given something other than our blood type. Instead, it was a regent of beastman blood that was being used to test experimental drugs. Nobody noticed it had even happened, and we went on with our lives as normal. Until one day, after we were better and I had managed to land an audition,” Nazuna gestured to herself and smiled sadly, “this happened, right where everyone could see. I didn’t even get through the day before I was being loaded into a van and taken away from everything I knew.”

The sight of Nazuna’s sorrow was heartbreaking, and at that moment, Kagami envied her mother’s blindness. She wanted to know what was causing such pain but wasn’t sure if she should ask. When she couldn’t think of anything else, she decided to bite the bullet. “Can you not change back?”

“I sort of can. I can make myself look human again.” Nazuna took a moment to breathe before in a pink flash that rippled up her body, she shifted back into human form; pink hair turning orange except for a red streak in the front. “But on a genetic level, I’m still a beastman. This is just a disguise I can use.”

Tomoe spoke up with a frown. “And your friend? Did they?”

Nazuna nodded, then remembered that Tomoe was blind and blushed. “Yes, she turned into a beastman too. It happened only a day or two after me, but I didn’t find out until a few months ago. Though, instead of a fox, she turned into a tanuki.” An amused giggle escaped her lips as a memory came up. “It’s kind of fitting, considering her more eccentric personality. Always rushing into situations and jumping to conclusions without thinking ahead. There was one time when she tried to transform back into a human by putting a leaf on her head doing a backflip. Everyone still teases her about that.”

________________________________________________________________

Roaming a random street in Paris, Michiru sneezed hard enough; she almost lost her human disguise. “Someone’s talking trash about me, I just know it... Probably Marie. Stupid weasel-mink hustler.”

________________________________________________________________

“I see.” A rare smile came to Tomoe’s lips as she hummed. “You sound very fond of this friend.”

Nazuna’s face sobers as she nods. “I am. Michiru is like the sister I never had. She was the only friend I had growing up, and she supported me so much, even when I told her about my impossible dream of becoming an Idol. We did everything together.” Sighing, she slumps back into her seat, turning to look at the door leading out of the room. “Which is why I hope she’s alright.”

The three sat in silence for a while. Tomoe respected the need for a break, and Kagami was unsure what to say. At least she was able to gain a name for this friend of Nazuna’s. Michiru. She certainly doesn’t sound mature from what Nazuna said.

It was Tomoe that started the conversation anew, breaking Kagami from her thoughts. “I take it this has something to do with how you got here?” She pulled out the dart that had once been stuck in Nazuna and placed it on the table.

Nazuna’s face fell as she looked down at the dart. “That’s correct. We were on the rooftop of a skyscraper when this strange man attacked us. He was wearing a full-body suit and a mask that hid his face entirely. He said he needed our ‘assistance’ for something, but when we told him no-.” She trailed off, glancing away from the dart and holding one of her arms.

Kagami looked at her with concern before putting a finger across her lips in thought. “Could this have been an Akuma’s doing?”

Raising an eyebrow, Nazuna looked over at the fencer. “Paris has demons running free?”

Tomoe chuckled a bit at that before standing. “It seems it is our turn to explain some things.” gesturing for them to follow, Tomoe led them out of the room and down the halls. “To answer your question, yes and no. We of Paris currently have a problem with a man calling himself Hawkmoth. He has been abusing power, powers he should not have, to create Akumas, which he then sends out to seek Someone with negative emotions. When they do find Someone, they give them frightening abilities and warp their mind into committing evil acts and obeying Hawkmoth’s orders.” They paused for a moment at the front door, Tomoe nodding, and one of the assistants bowed before walking away. “Our family, like many, have felt this touch before.”

Kagami looked down with a grimace as she tried not to look at Nazuna. “I am ashamed to admit that I was Akumatized twice so far. Both times, it was Ladybug and Chat Noir that had to bring my rampage to an end.”

As a car pulled up and the passenger door opened on its own, Nazuna looked to Kagami with confusion. “Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Kagami nodded and gave a small smile. “The protectors of Paris. They use ancient artifacts known as Miraculous to give themselves superhuman power, and use that strength to protect this city. It is actually the same pair of Miraculous they use that Hawkmoth seeks, as every Akuma under his control demands them.”

Nazuna wasn’t sure how to appropriately respond, so she just looked at the city that sprawled before them and picked up her jaw. “And here I thought Anima City was lively.”

“Indeed. However, this is where I must cut our conversation short. I have business I must attend to.” Stepping into the car, Tomoe sat in the first seat but held up a hand when the two girls tried to follow her in. “Kagami, do your best to assist Ms. Hiwatashi. If her friend was with her when she was brought here, it is likely they are somewhere in Paris as well and will be unable to communicate with anyone.”

Kagami bowed to her mother and smiled. “Yes, Mother. I will do my best.”

Tomoe’s car pulled away, and the two stood looking out at the city. “You know, I always wanted to come to Paris one day. I thought any chances of that had been ruined when-” Nazuna’s face fell as dread washed over her. “Oh, no... I just remembered Michiru hates transforming into a human. Knowing her, she’s probably running around with her tail out.”

“With her-? Oh, you mean she’s still a tanuki.” As Nazuna nodded, Kagami frowned in concern. “That... might cause a panic.”

“We should find her before she gets into any trouble.”

“Agreed.”

________________________________________________________________

Whatever Shirou had expected when he tackled his perp, it certainly wasn’t this.

Shifting back down to being merely a wolfman and not a full-blown wolf, Shirou sighed. He looked over the city of Paris from a perch he hadn’t been to in almost a century. Paris... that level of distance being covered with teleportation will make catching this guy the hardest case I’ve had yet. He put a hand to his chin and hummed in thought. Worse, he did something to Michiru and Nazuna. They were alive, which means he wants them for something. But what?

A gust of wind blew by and ruffled the fur on his chest, making him sigh. “Hopefully, the flea market has trench coats.” Looking over the city again, he closed his eyes and inhaled.

His eyes shot open as he fought back a snarl. Not even a single beastman!? How!? Not even World War II was like this. Just what did these humans do to cause this?

A thump came from behind him, and he could smell the human before he landed. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you to get down. Tours are closed for the day.”

“Human. Where are the-” Shirou turned and glared, only to pause at the sight of the leather-clad boy. He looked at the kid with annoyance and noted how he was armed with a baton. He also saw how he was trying to avoid using his left hand. These humans send a child to fight when injured? Just how barbaric has France become since I last visited?

As Shirou’s eyes bore into him, the kid twirled his baton to hold at the ready, narrowing his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what kind of effect you’re under, but I’d rather not see if your bite is worse than your bark.” And he makes puns. “Besides, I need to make sure that Tanuki isn’t giving my partner any trouble.”

A growl escaped Shirou as he looked towards the boy. Eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, the wolf man’s shadow loomed over the boy. “Where are they?”

A spark of fear wafted off of the kid before he jumped back to get some distance. “Hey now, no need to bare your fangs.”

Shirou really was trying to calm down, but knowing that Michiru and Nazuna were being kidnapped right when he had tackled the perp, only to find himself a moment later dealing with some punk, was doing little to help. Shirou could feel the rage, but a flash of Michiru’s face in his memory made him calm down, if only somewhat. Still, he had a more critical matter to figure out. “I won’t ask again. The tanuki you mentioned. Where is she?”

He could tell how well practiced this boy was at hiding emotion behind a smile. “Not sure, but if you think I’m going to let you run around terrorizing Paris, you’ve got another thing coming.” With a lunge, the kid swung his baton right for Shirou’s head. Shirou didn’t even blink as he darted past the boy, got behind him, and caught the baton on the backswing. With a twist, he disarmed him, spun him around, and jabbed the staff into his gut, sending the boy sprawling onto his back.

Looking down at the kid, who was groaning as he pushed himself back up with a look of surprise, Shirou jabbed the baton into the grate beside him and sighed. “I have more important things to worry about than dealing with you. Stay out of my way.”

Shirou leaped off of the platform and landed on the ground with a thump before looking around. “If I remember right, the flea market was in that direction.”

In a few minutes, Shirou had made it a few blocks away and stalked the shadows of the alleyways. It wasn’t too hard to find the flea market, but he now had a new problem.

If he shifted back to human form, he’d be naked.

Seeing a man about his build walking closer, he sighed and waited by the mouth of the alley. The poor sap didn’t even register what had happened as he was dragged into the alleyway, and Shirou knocked him out. The dress jacket itself was somewhat tight, but Shirou put on the clothes anyways before taking enough Euros to reasonably barter himself some clothes, even if they wreaked human scent.

Even now that he was at least mostly clothed, Shirou’s internal thoughts found the whole situation oddly familiar. Reminds me of 1926. That was an eventful year. Never did catch that guy who stopped Mussalini’s assassination.

It didn’t take long for him to barter a new trench coat and some cheap shirts and slacks. He almost ended up having to buy sequin disco pants until he saw the less expensive pair he had on. Never again. And if Barbara still has that picture, I’m deleting it and her phone .

Once dressed in the new clothes, he left the borrowed pair on the unconscious guy that was still in the alley. Stepping out and heading a small way down the road, he flagged down a police officer and told them there was a guy knocked out in the alley, probably mugged. The officer just nodded to him with thanks before taking off to check on him.

Shirou sighed again and headed back to the Eiffel Tower. Once he was at the base, he took a deep breath through his nose.

The smells were still human, but now he had an idea of what scent to track.

The smell of that boy from earlier was still on the higher platform, but it trailed off in two directions. The older smell went over the roofs towards what he remembered as residential areas, while the other bounded off towards a business district.

Following the older trail, he found himself at a school that had police at the front gates, talking to who he assumed was the staff. From what he could glisten around the corner, some students were missing, and something about a demon terrorizing the students.

He took another whiff of the air and smiled faintly as a familiar scent caught his nose.

It was only a moment before he was off again, trailing after a certain Tanuki.

________________________________________________________________

Screaming in frustration, a man in a dark room punched the wall, leaving cracks splintering up the concrete. “Stupid wolf! I was this close to finishing this!”

He took several deep, heaving breaths before he stalked to a computer and pulled up his chair. “Whatever. Sure, that mangy mutt managed to send all of us across Paris, costing me a crucial component, but that’s fine.” A twisted smile started to grow as several screens flickered to life. Two of which had what he wanted to be shown. In one, a young girl in a red jacket was running down the streets of Paris looking for Someone. Another showed a girl in a long skirt that was doing the same.

He paused at the sight of the second one for a moment, grabbing his chin as a third girl came into the picture. “It looks like they’ve made a friend already.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he fought back a laugh.

“Perfect.”

#Chapter 3 #Fanfic #Miraculous Ladybug #Brand New Animal #BNA

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redinkofshame · 4 years

Text

Kirkwall Noir

I tried to combine traditional Noir with Hard in Hightown to bring us Varric Tethras, Private Eye. These thirteen codex-sized chapters are filled with drugs, sex, violence, and old timey slang. I’ll be posting one a day on tumblr, and then I’ll post them all at once on AO3.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Chapter Six

I spent another couple of hours at the Hanged Man that night, talking up the girls. They weren’t very forthcoming, and though I suspected they knew more I couldn’t get a peep out of them. And I never did find a chance to set the record straight with Marigold. Discouraged, I gave up and headed to the flophouse I was staying at.

There was a message waiting for me from Officer Valen. She must’ve forgiven me, because she’d got on the horn to let me know Guillaume’s funeral was tomorrow afternoon.

I crashed the services the next day, staying in the back and out of sight. You could learn a lot at a funeral if you were lucky: a pretty young thing unrelated to the family could be a mistress, an angry son could have been out for revenge, a smug business partner could be getting their share of the cut, a spouse could fake tears for any number of reasons.

I wasn’t particularly lucky that day. The services was a who’s-who of elite in Kirkwall, but none of them acted like they had particularly strong thoughts about Mr. de Launcet’s passing. They were just here because it was expected of them. The deceased’s children appeared to mourn appropriately, as did Dulci — besides, she was the one who’d hired me. Captain Jeven was present, but that was to be expected during an on-going murder investigation.

I did manage to get a finger on Emile, though. I could see why Isabela had turned him away. He had beady little eyes and a wispy mustache, and a head of reddish hair except for his shining bald spot. I made my move as his father’s casket was lowered into the ground. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly as I approached.

He turned, surprised. “Oh. Thank you, sir. Did you know him?”

“‘Fraid not. I’m Varric Tethras, the private eye your mother hired to investigate.”

“Oh, I see. She didn’t tell us she hired anyone. Are you working with the police?” He looked up at Jeven when he said it, and I caught a glimpse of the captain glaring daggers at me. Huh.

“You could say that,” I said. It wouldn’t be true, but he could say it. “I’m sure she just didn’t want to worry you. Parents will do anything to protect their kids, you know. Whatever it takes…”

He nodded blandly, face bland. Maybe he didn’t know about the blackmail, then.

I kept pressing. “But I guess you’ll know all about that soon enough, won’t you? You’re about to have a little one of your own, after all.”

“Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Tethras. I’m not married.”

“No, of course not. Not yet, anyway. But I heard a rumor about your ‘relationship’ with a girl from a certain speakeasy. Don’t tell me you’re not going to make an honest woman out of her? What was her name again?”

His eyes went wide, his pasty face even paler. “She’s—she’s pregnant? I can’t believe Ne—”

“Mr. Tethras!” I winced as Dulci’s shrill voice interrupted her son. Damn. “What do you think you are doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m just here to pay my respe—”

“It looks like you are questioning my family. I know it was you that broke into my husband’s study — my grandson saw you. You have no right snooping around like this!”

I spread my hands harmlessly. “Snooping is in the job description, ma’am. I’m just doing my due diligence.”

“You are trying to point blame at my family. Listen to me: it was not one of us who did this. I hired you to find my husband’s killer, not to cause trouble!”

#Varric Tethras #Kirkwall Noir

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melodiouswhite · 4 years

Text

Inconveniently a mermaid

Gabriel John Utterson was just done with his work, when he heard his telephone ring from the other room. Odd. Who would call him at this hour?

He went to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Mr. Utterson. Pardon me for the late intrusion.”

“Poole! Good evening? What's the matter?”

“You have to come immediately. It's an emergency. Something happened to Master Hyde and I don't know what to do.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes at most.”

“What's going on?”, Utterson demanded to know immediately after arriving at Jekyll's villa.

“Follow me, Sir”, Poole replied and lead him through the house. “I called Her Ladyship and Dr. Lanyon as well”, the butler told him on the way, “They too will be here soon.”

Utterson nodded in acknowledgement, before impatiently asking: “Now, what happened?”

Poole stopped in front of the bathroom door and sighed: “See for yourself, Sir. But I must warn you, the sight will be shocking.”

With that he opened the door.

The lawyer's eyes immediately fell onto the bathtub. What he saw was shocking indeed.

“What the-?”

Utterson had no idea what he was looking at, but he didn't like it.

Judging by the long, café noir brown hair, it had to be Hyde. But Hyde was … a mermaid? Why the hell was he suddenly a mermaid?!

Mermaid-Hyde was staring at him with tortured, frightened eyes. His fishtail was way too big for the bathtub and he was rattling for air.

“Help me …”

Yes, that definitely was his voice, albeit slightly distorted.

Utterson frowned at him. “What happened to you?!”

“I … don't know”, Hyde wheezed, “But … it hurts … I can't … breathe … help … make it … stop!”

The lawyer turned to Poole. “Do you know a body of water that isn't as dirty as the Thames?”

Before the butler could answer, hurried steps resounded from the hallway and Lanyon burst in, Lady Summers on his heels.

But when they saw it, they stopped dead in their tracks.

“Ach du grüne Neune!”, Lady Summers gasped.

“Mr. Hyde, is that you?”, asked Lanyon incredulously.

Hyde nodded weakly. If he hadn't been in such agony, he'd probably have given a snappy retort.

All at once several servants rushed into the room with buckets of water and changed the water in the tub. In the fresh water, Hyde relaxed and submerged as much of himself as he could.

The other three and Poole stepped closer.

Now that they had full view, Utterson could see that Hyde's body was a fishtail from the waist down. His belly was white, the rest of him a greyish green. His skin was covered by a relief of dark green, meandering lines and speckles. There were a lot of fins on his back and sides, even his ears now looked like fins (and moved like it too). His tail was very long, muscular and big. On his sides, Utterson could see several pairs of gills that pushed out waste water with Hyde's every breath.

He sighed sadly and caressed the wet brown hair of his unfortunate lover.

Hyde lifted his head and looked up to him unhappily. His eyes were now completely black, safe from the pupils that were of the shrill acid green his irises usually were. The poor brunette choked back a sob and leaned into the tender touch for a moment. Then he submerged the lower half of his face again.

“He can't breathe air anymore”, the lawyer told the other two. “We have to do something. He needs to be brought to a close-by body of water, before he suffocates or dries out.”

“Obviously”, Lady Summers agreed, “How about the Thames?”

“The Thames is too dirty”, Lanyon objected, “That would be like standing in a cloud full of toxic smoke. He would die from all the rubbish and manure.”

“True, but we need to find him a reliable source of fresh water that's rich enough in oxygen. And of course, big and deep enough for him to hide – no pun intended.”

Hyde wound himself in the bathtub, making the water splash. When he gripped the edges of the bathtub, the other three could see the lappets between his fingers.

Carefully, the black-haired lawyer touched one of these web hands. It twitched at the contact, but the brunette seemed to relax considerably.

The skin under his hand felt a bit smoother and more taut than human skin.

My dear Edward, my poor sweetheart …

“Mister Hyde”, Lanyon spoke up again, “Do you or Jekyll have any ideas?”

The mermaid– no, merman paused for a moment, before lifting his head out of the water again.

“He says … the Serpentine … would be good … for now”, he gurgled. Then added pleadingly: “Help us … please … I'm dying …”

Then he slouched back in.

Lanyon frowned. “The Serpentine isn't deep enough.”

“No, but it's big”, Lady Summers argued, “He could move far enough from the shore for no one to notice his movement in the water.”

Utterson turned to the others. “Whatever, we need to get him there as quickly as possible.”

“But we can't transport him per coach. He'll be dead ere we've made it there”, Lanyon pointed out.

A high-pitched, frightened whimper came from the bathtub and the lawyer went back to stroking the brunette's hand.

Suddenly, Lady Summers clapped her hands. “I have an idea! All we need is-”

Like on cue, her butler Sameer Singh walked in. “You told me to come here, after my chores were done?”, he inquired.

Lady Summers nodded. “We have a serious problem here”, she told him and pointed to the tub.

The Indian stopped short, but recovered almost instantly.

The Lady looked at him expectantly. Then she said something in Hindustani, probably briefing him on the situation. The young butler understood and stepped up to the bathtub. Then he proceeded to baffle almost everyone by effortlessly lifting Hyde out of the tub.

“Didn't this house have a balcony on the roof?”, he asked.

“Yes”, Hyde choked. “Big one …”

All of the sudden, Poole piped up: “One moment, please!”

Then the elderly butler wrapped his master's alter ego into a dropping wet blanket.

“Better?”

Hyde smiled gratefully and nodded.

Utterson sighed: “Up to the roof then?”

So up to the balcony they went.

But in the door, the lawyer hesitated. He didn't want to go out there. It was so awfully high. But he knew what was about to go down and he needed to be there, for-

He pulled himself together and followed onto the balcony. He came just in time to see the Indian butler lift off from the ground.

Oh right … he can fly …

Hyde shrieked in fear and clung to the … uh, whatever the butler was. A demon or something, Lady Summers had once mentioned.

He turned to them for a last time.

“You get him there as quickly as possible”, Lady Summers ordered, “We'll follow after with the coach. Bring him to that small bridge that separates Hyde Park and Kensington Garden. We'll meet you there.”

The Indian nodded, then he took off with insane speed.

Utterson prayed desperately that the wind wouldn't harm his beloved at the speed the butler was carrying him through the air with.

“Come”, Lanyon spoke up, “We need to hurry.”

The other three dashed out of the house, where Her Ladyship's coach was waiting, then drove off.

Once arrived at the bridge, they joined the butler, who was waiting for them.

But of course he was standing on the bridge alone and it was too dark for them to see anything in the water.

“Where is Hyde?”, Utterson asked anxiously.

“Mr. Hyde is swimming around right under the bridge”, Mr. Singh told him, “He's feeling much better now that he has a bigger bathtub.”

The lawyer would have laughed at the word 'bathtub' being applied to such a big pond, but he was too nervous.

Damn, I can't see anything!

Lanyon turned to the butler. “There are still people in the park. How did you manage to get him there without anyone noticing?”

The butler shrugged. “Rakshasa magic. I cast an illusion. They just saw a seagull carrying a fish.”

The hoary doctor sighed. “I refuse to think further about it.”

“Good decision”, Singh replied drily.

Utterson didn't listen any further. He bent over the railing and cried out: “Edward? Can you hear me?”

“Not so loud!”, Lady Summers hissed and pointed at a group of men, who were walking along the strand. “It's still over an hour until the park closes!”

“Good grief. I'm casting another illusion”, Mr. Singh sighed and snapped his fingers.

His mistress bent over the railing as well and stared into the water.

She must have sent out a telepathic call, because Hyde popped his head out of the water in almost an instant.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Hyde?”, she inquired worriedly.

“Better”, he rasped. “Jekyll too.”

“That's good”, Lady Summers breathed in relief.

Hyde dived under again, only to startle them all by leaping up and holding onto the railing.

Utterson immediately cupped that greenish face and kissed the cold, wet lips.

Hyde kissed back and allowed the lawyer's hands to caress his cheeks, before letting go and sinking back into the water.

When his face came out again, he reached up and Utterson took his webbed hand.

He looked so incredibly unhappy with the entire situation, that the lawyer's heart shattered into a million pieces.

“We'll find a way to undo this, Edward”, he told the brunette softly. “We'll turn you and Henry human again and then you can go back to doing the things you love. I promise.”

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #Mr Utterson #Gabriel John Utterson #utterson #Hastie Lanyon #dr lanyon #oc #Poole #uttersonxhyde #jekyllxutterson

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homesception · 5 years

Text

May 31, 2013 - part 1: wherein Lobac eats a cookie.

To be fair, it has been like two hundred years since my last update. That’s a pretty good nap. Just means I’m all the more rested to work on new stuff, right? I mean, I need to keep a spritely pace up if I still plan on catching up to Lobac’s liveblog before said liveblog catches up to the comic. Which for sure is still an actual thing at all, and not a bit of exclusive humor between friends.

Last time Lobac was getting into some theory crafting and analysis of the classpect system. I didn’t have much to say about that at the time, particularly not much that wouldn’t qualify as spoilers, so iirc I was mostly just responding with random thoughts and video links, half of which are dead now. There was a bit left over looking at the troll’s perster names, which was also good stuff, but lacking anything coherent to say about it, I’ll just gloss past the rest of that post, apart from:

Lobac said:

Thank you all for sticking around °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

As if you could ever get rid of me. ~{@PQ}~

Moving on, we rejoin the comic with PM visiting the Black Queen to retrieve the mysterious GREEN PACKAGE, which had been impounded by agents of the Black Court as a result of a traffic violation. The Black Queen cuts an imposing figure, and Lobac is, of course, duly imposed.

later, Lobac said:

Are those… tentacles ( ´ _ ｀) I thought only the imps were affected by the prototypings?

OH SHIT OH SHIT THAT LOOKS SO COOL HOT DAMN (゜▽゜) Wowow look at her joints! Look at all the carapace-y stuff going on there!

These days, Lobac’s soft spot for this particular sort of shiny, black, possibly betentacled monster-type aesthetic is well documented. I’m pretty sure she would have loved the black queen’s design even if it wasn’t just objectively cool as hell, but that certainly doesn’t hurt. I’m kind of sad that we never got a proper fight scene out of this particular version of her.

That’s not a spoiler is it? I’m pretty sure that’s not a spoiler.

Yeah, the random objects the kids threw in the general directions of their seizuresprites are directly affecting the final boss. NOTHING COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG HERE EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE

I don’t see the problem here. Nothing the kids could possibly put in those sprites could be at all unsettling or dangerous.

haa haa. hee hee. hoo hoo.

Her face is so weird though It’s Jaspers-shaped, and her eyes are constantly narrowed, I can’t even tell whether it’s in distaste or amusement

Why not both?

Andrew sure is proud of that hand’s close-up She’s not even dramatically pointing she’s literally just saying “yeah I dunno anything about that kinda shit you best go down there and ask my pretty princess, I mean, subordinate”

It is a pretty great hand, honestly. I think this particular image gets called back to a few more times yet.

Yeah Rose! You go and fulfill your as of yet unclear vaguely Seering-related destiny

Yeah, Rose! Get on that, maybe!

ROSE NO YOU ARE 13 THAT IS GONNA TASTE AWFUL TO YOU Heh I legitimately don’t know whether her mom would be proud of or disappointed in her if she could see her now Is this an act of defiance or emulation Just silly teenage antics, probably, but I’d like to think she misses her

Rooooooose Rose nooooooooooooooooo （ ´ω｀） Ehehe I love how the artstyle turns super silly to reflect how upset/surprised she is

These two panels constitute one of the most iconic funny moments in the comic. It works really well. Shoot, I should have done the post topper-edit based on these, huh? Oh, well. The one I already did took like four hours, mostly due to my extreme rustiness, so I’m not going back now.

Otherwise, I also like to think of Rose missing her mom here. Maybe not admitting it to herself, but still. I also still ascribe to the “everything Mom ever did was 110% unironic, Rose made up the whole passive aggressive conflict between them in her head, her mom wasn’t passive agressive she was just a bonkers drunk rich lady” headcannon that I think I spoke about ages ago in this very liveblog.

Anyway, yeah, this is both a hilarious joke and a fantastic little character moment for Rose. Another contributing factor to Rose being my big early favorite with a seemingly insurmountable head start in the ‘best character’ race.

Actually, lately, since the end of the comic, she’s been gaining ground again for me? I mean, one of the trolls definitely surpassed her for most of my Homestuck fan life, but... eh, whatever. There’s no way I can getting into how my feelings about those characters developed over the comics life without being way more spoilery than even I’ve already been, so that kind of talk will have to wait for later. Even if later means ‘years from now’ or ‘never’.

BOO FUCKING YAH, IT’S THE WHITE QUEEN Or Windswept Questant, for now She’s also as of yet uncorrupted by the kids’ silly sprite shenanigans

Lobac had been waiting for this reveal for a while, I think.

PM: Command John to put the carved tablet into a pyxis.

You follow the command telling you to command John to put the carved tablet in the pyxis and type, “John, put the carved tablet into the pyxis.” You successfully do that, and he successfully does that too. Everyone is friendly and cooperative.

Ah yes, you so rarely get this kind of friendly cooperation from narrators these days

It was a rather uncommonly tidy sequence, for this comic.

Shit I just remembered those typing hands we saw when trying to name Jack, the reader is like a physically present entity??? Maybe???

What prompted this thought? The earlier black queen hand image hanging in your head, then a bit about narrators entering text, and that old bit just pops up? It’s cool how brains work, making intuitive connections and all that.

What if we eventually zoom out to reveal a human exile commanding everyone. We’ve only been watching that human mess around up until now. The real story begins when they just suddenly go “whelp that was kinda fun. gotta look for food tho” at an incredibly dramatic moment.They turn away from the console. And then we watch them slump through the desert for thousands of pages and their journey of introspective self-discovery is the actual story. Yes.

Shit, Lobac just predicted the whole narrative! No point in continuing this liveblog, I guess. “[#P%]t

Well, obviously this means that WV has an uncanny knack for distances and PM has one for sounds AR can probably track down crimes by their scent He’s like McGruff the Crime Dog, but a little less fluffy

I used to love McGruff the Crime Dog. Until I grew up and realized he was a tool of THE MAN.

dear gOD SHE REALLY IS PUTTING JACK IN DRESSES (*≧▽≦)ﾉｼ He and Slick are basically the same person, right? Oh man he is gonna stab the shit out of her one of these days

~{%|%}~

Jack Noir, more like JACK NO. NO YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE OUT THERE MURDERING PEOPLE AND FROLICKING THROUGH THE STREETS WITH YOUR ASSHOLE CREW. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS IS PATHETIC o(`д´ ｡)

I’d say this is a “be careful what you wish for” moment, but I think Lobac knew exactly what she was doing here.

Ticket? Oh, this thing. Ha, ha, look at that, you are holding a ticket. How did that get in your hand? It belongs on the desk with the others. No, you are not here to pay a parking ticket. You explain to the frightening man that you are here to pick up that green parcel.

GIVE ME A C! GIVE ME A U! GIVE ME A T AND I AND E! sheeEEEE’S A CUTIE!!!!

Honestly, they’re all cuties. the cuteness of the entire cast, even the villains mostly, in both visual depiction and personality, really is a big selling point of the whole comic.

There was a time when I wasn’t super into cute things. I was never viscerally opposed to cuteness, never when through a virulently anti-girly-stuff phase, but these days I’m MUCH more into things being cute. I just like cute characters! Sure, I like things that are somber and spooky, but the best is when they’re somber and spooky AND super cute!

Like, Hollow Knight. That whole game is like exactly my favorite aesthetic these days. Sad and morose and dark and adorable.

But more often than not homestuck still comes pretty close to that ideal. You just want to hug the shit out of all of these doofuses, a few stab wounds here or there be damned. Speaking of stab wounds...

WHOOPS TENSION. THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT. I DO NOT ACTUALLY WANT YOU TO START KILLING PEOPLE OK

Maybe Lobac didn’t know what she was asking for earlier.

Wait, the crowns, what the fuck, he wants her to KILL THE KING AND QUEEN??? SHE’S JUST A MAIL LADY ヾ(´･-･｀)ノ”

How does he even know she’s desperate enough to kill people just to get one package?

The PARCEL MISTRESS departs with her mission of double agency. You wonder if she’ll actually be so foolish as to attempt to uphold her end of the lopsided bargain. You make a policy of handing out a REGISWORD and a HITLIST to just about everyone who enters your office. But you never think anyone’s actually going to GO THROUGH with it.

What a phenomenal asshole That explains that

pretty much. As for the box itself...

Yeeeeah you’re not actually gonna show me so, go ahead, taunt me, get it over with

PFFFFPFPFPFPFFF WHAT SOMETHING COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS APPARENTLY? NOT AS RIDICULOUS AS HIS FACE THO. Magnificent asshole cutie

Hahah, \[&P%]/

Anyway, at this point the action cuts back to the kids, and that seems a good a time as any to take a break. I could just save this as a draft and finish the rest of lobac’s post later? I mean, then I wouldn’t have to take extra time for another panel edit? But I kind of want to post something now, so I guess well do this one in parts again. part 2 scheduled for, let’s be ambitious and say may 2022

How did I ever use to have the time for this blogging shit? I’ve been working on this for like six hours, and only got like a third of the way through one update? I guess I was just younger then.

I’m so old now. Time just gets away from me.

And my back hurts all the time.

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #homestuck liveblog liveblog #lobac #chaos chaos #i can do anything #apparently tumblr mobile displays #this neatly and cleanly formatted post #as a nightmare mishmash of different font sizes #and text styles #with no particular marcation for quotes #oh well #if you're 'reading' this on mible #i'm sorry #it looks fine on desktop I promise you

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animatical-fandoms · 5 years

Text

Upcoming Fanart Info!

I finished my @kwamiswaps week art a few minutes ago, and boy let me tell you, it took forever. It’s just tagged and put in my queue for each day (I think each is scheduled for like 9-10 AM or something my time? So a few things to note about each character if y’all are interested, I have basic info below the cut about each swap and my basic headcanons about it.

If I tagged you below the cut, it means I used your existing au as inspiration for some of my designs in the coming week, and I wanted to credit you as inspiration before my queue catches up!

Tikki

Adrien - Okay just, whatever happens in canon, all that I ask is that Adrien calls Mari “Chaton”/”Kitty” it will warm my dead, dead heart understand?

Alya - basically my personal design for @lunian‘s Ladybird AU. It’s awesome, go read their comics and stuff! I just like Alya’s Rena cape thing, so I went for ladybug wings - Fennette will be a thing too for Trixx’s day!

Nino - The fact of the matter is in this AU, Mari was like Nino is the responsible level-headed person of this friend group he’d make the best superhero and gives him the ladybug miraculous. He and Chat!Adrien are the best of friends, and Adrien lowkey crushes on him almost as bad as Mari!Ladybug.

Chloe - yeah, my interpretation of the wonderful @zoe-oneesama‘s Scarlet Lady AU. My version of Marigold will get featured, too :)

Luka - Plain and simple, Master Fu showed up a few years earlier, and ran into this kindhearted musician before Mari. TBH Luka is one of my faves, so he’s going to show up for the majority of the week because I loved playing around with designs for him

Felix - He doesn’t get cursed with bad luck, but with a kwami that insists he be responsible and help poor Lady Noir (Bridgette) break her curse. He’s gentler, kinder as a bug than as Felix, always happy to help others and to calm akuma victims after a fight. He’s drawn to Lady Noir, ever melancholy and mysterious, and lets himself loose with an edge against Bridgette because that’s how he’s always been.

Plagg

Marinette - Again, based off of the canon leaked art. I just really, really hope she’ll call Adrien some version of My Lady, and make at least one cat pun, either unintentionally or specifically for Adrien’s benefit so he can squeal over it.

Alya - Instead of Master Fu picking Adrien, he asks New Ladybug who she would like by her side. Obviously Alya is the first choice, and she’s ecstatic to be a superhero, keeping the Ladyblog focused on Ladybug because, you know, she can’t record herself. Nino and Adrien crush HARD on the new superheroes, and while that frustrates Mari, Alya is absolutely delighted.

Nino - Adrien pulls a Marinette, afraid that he’ll get caught since he’s under so much scrutiny as a model with a ton of visibility, and though it physically pains him to not fulfill his magical girl dreams, he knows Nino would be an amazing hero. Nino takes it in stride, and he and Mari!Ladybug are the bros to end all bros. Alya, crushing on Chat!Nino, creates both the Ladyblog and another blog dedicated to Nino’s alter ego. His thought? Best girlfriend ever.

Chloe - I don’t really know how this would happen unless Adrien did the above, but with Chloe, thinking her confidence would be an asset? Mari as Ladybug would be irritated by Mistress Noir, but it becomes a series of growing moments for Chloe, because she gets to see what a destructive force she really can be on people’s lives and gets better at the Friend Thing.

Luka - My boy omg this one was fun to draw. So

Bridgette - Reverse PV like Luka’s - Bridgette thought her luck was bad enough with her being unable to speak at a normal pace and pitch in front of her crush, not to mention her clumsiness makes her look like a fool in front of him during their dance classes. Now she’s cursed with a tiny god of destruction and a Perfect Superhero Partner - well, at least her clumsiness disappears when she’s Lady Noir. A shadow to Lordbug’s light. She knows it’s as hopeless to try and break her curse with him as it is to get together with Felix, so she just stands aside as his protector.

Trixx

Marinette - See the Ladybird AU with Alya; I couldn’t help myself!

Adrien - In the world where Alya is Chat and Mari is Ladybug, the two need help against the multiplying twins, same as before. Except Mari goes to lonely Adrien who she knows would be amazing.

Nino - The above babysitting disaster happens to be Nino’s little cousin, Chris, rather than Alya’s sisters, so Mari offers the fox miraculous to him. He and Adrien get to be bros for all sides of the mask. Alya makes an entirely new blog dedicated to the new fox.

Chloe - I really don’t know how she would get her hands on the fox, unless she made like Queen Bee and stole it, which I suppose is plausible. Maybe I can do way better than Lila because I won’t be faking it kind of thing?

Luka - He probably would get this if another akuma was the reason they needed the Fox - maybe if Fu gave it to Ladybug while his mom was akumatized and he was worried about everyone’s safety.

Felix - He was free of the Black Cat’s curse, and the miraculous could no longer be his. It got passed to Adrien through Fu without him knowing, and as soon as he sees his little brother vaulting across the city in a catsuit (without stripper boots, what the hell Plagg why did you make me suffer this way) he storms up to Fu’s place and says give me the fox those are children my god and becomes Mentor #1 to the new Chat and Ladybug. Naturally, no one catches on that he’s himself. He’s a professional at this secret identity thing.

Wayzz

Marinette - In the world where Nino and Adrien are Ladybug and Chat respectively, Alya has been chosen as the fox. During Anansi, though, she’s captured - so Nino’s like omg Marinette could be the turtle and Marinette, upon receiving it, is having major panic mode set in, but you know, she does her best. Adrien takes a look at her protecting them and is like omg my Lady, a la Alya knowing exactly who Carapace was, but he keeps it to himself, and becomes more comfortable and flirty with Mari.

Adrien - Don’t know if this fits in with any of the others . . . but probably Chat!Chloe verse, and Marinette is like please can you be my partner forever

Alya - Instead of her getting kidnapped during Anansi, it’s Nino, since Nora had a beef with him being too girly. She totally saves him and fangirls over being a superhero and he just knows.

Chloe - How did this happen? I’m not even sure. But her being on the defensive is so out of character that I can’t even begin to rationalize it.

Luka - Both Alya and Nino are unavailable during Anansi, so Marinette is like, Luka was super helpful on the boat and is super nice let’s do this.

Bridgette - Fox!Felix verse - she sees her boyfriend, who was once Chat, as a fox teaching the two bb heroes the ropes. She goes to Fu, stands in the door with her eyebrow raised. Fu had meant for her to succeed him as guardian anyway, and she takes up a job at his place so he can still hang out with Wayzz. She becomes Mentor #2 and is basically Mulan in fighting style - totally unexpected strategies. (It’s her fault that identity reveals happen, idk how, but it is)

Pollen

Marinette - Marigold from the Lady Scarlet universe!

Adrien - From the universe where Chloe ends up as Chat, Marinette is super protective of this sunshine bee boy

Alya - Marinette actually? Gets the Bee Miraculous to Alya instead of losing it to Chloe?

Nino - Mari’s mind goes to Nino instead of Alya when the Bee is needed, and she makes it to him.

Alix - After seeing her do so awesome with Reverser, Marinette turns to Alix for help as the Bee.

Max - well, I don’t have too much of a headcanon for him, but kwamiswaps did a fanfic, so that’’s what this design is for! (I did little suspender stripes without meaning to omg I really do like how it turned out)

Dusuu

Marinette - I suppose in this AU, the Peacock wasn’t damaged, just disappeared - and, while visiting Adrien for a study session, she ends up with a new bird friend.

Adrien - He inherits it from his mom okay??? Like, Fu has it and knows and is like your mother would have wanted you to have this. And this pisses off Hawkmoth to no end because he thinks whoever stole it is Definitely Not Adrien and is disgracing his wife’s name and just more angst than I expected for this Bird Boy (which, of course, makes the running gag that he’s allergic to feathers hilarious - Dusuu does make him sneeze if they get in his face, but when he transforms he doesn’t have his allergy.

Alya - Swap the Peacock for the Fox - let’s just say Hawkmoth had a direct source to mess with Lila. Instead of illusions on the night the twins start multiplying, she creates a summoned creature to lure them all together.

Nino - The Peacock was damaged still, but Nino was willing to risk that to save his girlfriend and the city.

Chloe - Somehow, since the Mayor was friends with Gabriel and his wife, he ended up in possession of the Peacock before Gabriel knew what it was. Chloe gets her hands on it relatively at the same time she would have gotten the Bee and is just as Extra.

Jagged - Who knows? It was necessary to make this once it was suggested. Let it happen. He deserves to be a flashy birb.

Nooroo

Marinette - Mayura is the main villain in this universe, and Emilie is comatose because of a damaged Ladybug Miraculous. Adrien is still Chat, but he makes “my wings” and “my little butterfly” comments rather than “My Lady”. Gabriel has Nathalie generally doing his dirty work, and he calls Emilie his lady. It’s very sad and angsty. Mari uses her friends’ best qualities to fight against the beasts Mayura creates.

Adrien - He’s been Chat for some time, but now Gabriel has been revealed to him and Mari, and he gets really, really angry, and steals the miraculous as Adrien. This is a Problem. Plagg is concerned Adrien is getting too angry to deal with powers of destruction full-time, so Adrien brings him to Fu and alternates between Plagg and Nooroo, and he confronts Gabriel a lot as the Butterfly because betrayal reasons. Ladybug is concerned, but she trusts him and that’s what gets him through.

Nino - He is So Supportive of his friends, okay? He gets chosen as the Butterfly holder when, say, Bridgette has the Turtle and they manage to take it from Hawkmoth but still need help getting the Peacock or some other stolen one.

Chloe - Okay, this version of Chloe does not get a redemption arc, like, ever - she’s Hawkmoth. Straight up. She starts every akuma purposefully, becomes a villain, etc. Don’t ask why; I don’t know - attention? I prefer Redeemed!Chloe, but I feel like she’d totally be past saving as this particular supervillain.

Kagami - She’s a fencer, the Butterfly has a sword/cane, it’s a match! Adrien gets to pick some new holders in my personal headcanon. Let’s say while the Mouse and Snake go to Mari and Luka, they get the Butterfly so Adrien chooses Kagami because she tried to help him and she wouldn’t let her emotions get in the way when she chooses people with her powers. (I didn’t like my original Alya design for the butterfly, so we get Kagami instead!)

Felix - Brother!AU. He was Chat Noir when he was younger, has been abroad with Bridgette, and comes home to see the canon situation. He is Not Fooled by Adrien, Mari, anyone - he’s been there, and he has distance of not knowing most of the people involved, so he gets very, very, angry. He knows his father is Hawkmoth. So he steals the butterfly and sides with Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are both thankful but confused at this new Butterfly who’s So Angry - Adrien doesn’t figure it out, but he comforts Felix without meaning to and Felix is so touched. Felix eventually reveals that he knows who the previous Hawkmoth and the current (insert villain name) is - Gabriel Agreste. Obviously disbelief and angst, but he reveals himself and is like I am the last person to want Gabriel to be a supervillain so yeah and Agreste brotherly bonding and HawkDad butt-kicking and there.

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thenovelartist · 6 years

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The Love of a Cat, Chapter 19

Marinette spent the next day barricaded in her room. The prince. Oh, she had married the prince.

She nearly started crying again at the thought.

What was her luck? Honestly, just as she thought she could be happy with him. Just as she was beginning to believe she truly could become Lady Noir. That she could be his wife. That they could start a family. And the rug was ripped out from under her as it turned out he was a man she could never have.

A knock resounded at her door. “Marinette,” Alya’s voice rang out, heavy with concern. “Marinette, please open up.”

“Come in, Alya.”

Though the mirror of her vanity, Marinette watched Alya step inside. “What’s wrong?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

“Who said anything?” Marinette countered.

“You should know better than to think you have to say anything at all.”

Marinette bit her lip to withhold the tears, ones quickly loosed when Alya placed comforting hands on her shoulders. “Tell me, girl.”

A shaky sob escaped her, and Marinette covered her face with her hands before the rest of the tears erupted. Alya bent over to wrap her arms around her best friend, allowing her to just cry it out, no matter how long it took.

“I love him,” Marinette eventually sputtered out. “A-a-and I can’t h-have him.”

More tears poured out of her. Alya did her part as supporting friend, rubbing Marinette’s back in soothing motions. “Why not?” she inquired gently. “Why can’t you have him?”

“He’s the prince.”

At that, Alya stiffened. She put Marinette at arm’s length. “What do you mean?”

Marinette wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve. “He’s the Prince of Paris, Alya.” She sniffed, then rubbed her cheeks again. “He’s Adrien Agreste.”

Alya’s brow pinched together. “He’s…what? No. The prince is lost at war.”

Marinette frantically shook her head. “He’s not, Alya. He came back. A wreck, but he’s back. His father sent him here to heal. It’s his mother’s estate.”

“Lord Noir…is…”

Marinette nodded.

Realization dawned on Alya’s face. “You’re a princess.”

“That’s the problem!” Marinette cried, her face growing redder. “I can’t be. I’ll ruin him. I’ll be the mockery of the kingdom. Once this gets out to his father, he has every right and all the power to annul the marriage, which he will do to salvage his son. Which leaves me where? His mistress? The most I could ever be, which would still leave him in shambles and make me truly dishonorable. No. He has to disown me in order to save any reputation he has. Let the scandal die with Lord Noir. I’ll bear that burden, but he—” Marinette choked as tears began pouring from her eyes. “I can’t let him do that to himself.”

Alya didn’t know what to do with her crying friend other than hold her and rub her back reassuringly in hopes she’d quiet down. “I…” Alya eventually said, “I want to say that you deserve better than that. That you rightfully deserve to be the princess. But, girl…I hate to say this…but this is one of your wild ideas that might actually have some truth to it.”

Bitter words but true nevertheless.

“It hurts, Alya.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I love him.”

“I know you do.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“I do!” Marinette argued. “It would be easier to let him go.”

Alya had no words to say to that.

“After all this,” she mumbled, bitterly, brokenly, “after all the effort he put in…he saved me from marriage to Theo, from being…” She couldn’t say it. “And then…then he goes and makes me fall in love with him and…and it’s just a game because I…” she sniffed. “I’ll never be able to be his wife.”

“He must love you, though,” Alya argued, desperately wishing to give her friend any sliver of hope. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have wooed you.”

“Don’t say that, Alya,” Marinette begged. “Please, don’t remind me. I just want to forget everything he ever said to me. It only makes it hurt worse.”

Alya sighed, at a loss for what to do. “Tell you what,” she said, a plan hatching in her mind. “We can take a walk through the gardens later today once I’m done with my chores. We’ll get you out of your room, into the sunshine, and just walk or talk or whatever you want to do. All right? I’ll meet you there at three. How does that sound?”

Marinette stared at her friend hesitantly.

“Come on,” Alya coaxed. “You know I’m right.”

It took a while, but Marinette eventually relented. “Okay.”

Alya patted her cheeks affectionately. “That’s my girl. Now, do you want me to bring you up lunch? You skipped breakfast.”

Marinette bit her lip in deliberation. “A little something might be nice.”

“Okay. I’ll be back up in a moment. And don’t forget about our walk.”

“I won’t.” At the very least, that was the one thing she would try to remember.

She purposefully wanted to be late. The very last thing that she wanted was to be alone where Adrien could find her and talk to her. She couldn’t handle that right now. She just couldn’t.

So, at one minute till three, she slipped from her room. She hurried as quickly as possible out to the gardens, careful to peak around every corner and check every hallway as she did. She couldn’t risk being careless and running into him.

At last, she made it out to the gardens, and she seemed to be in the clear. No Adrien in sight.

But no Alya either.

Marinette frowned. Of course her friend would be late the one time she didn’t want to be alone. Alya must have gotten hung up on her chores.

A bit frustrated and a hint nervous, Marinette made her way to the bench hidden among the bushes and flowers. The one covered by ivy, where she and Adrien sat and just talked…

No, she scolded herself. Bad Marinette. Don’t think about him. Don’t think abo—

The sound of footsteps broke her from her thoughts. But they weren’t light like Alya’s footfalls. They were heavy, thick-soled boots coming towards her. She scrunched lower on the bench. Please, not Adrien. Please not him!

“For the record, Alya told me to be here,” the man’s voice said. Not Adrien.

Marinette looked up.

Nino.

She didn’t know if that was better or worse.

He stood beside the ivy canopy, not moving towards the bench to sit even though there was plenty of room.

“Can I help you with something?” Marinette asked, unsure of what to say.

“Just to listen,” he answered. “Adrien came to me yesterday and told me what happened. He’s really shaken from it. And trust me, it takes a quite a bit to shake him like that.”

Marinette’s brow scrunched together as she frowned. “What?”

Nino nodded. “I’ll tell you that I’ve known Adrien for several years now. I know a lot about him, from the weight his promises hold to the depths of his compassion to his ability to bear anything. And I mean anything. So when he comes to me at a loss for words, sitting the foot of my bed most of the night while begging like a lost dog for me to help him out, I know something’s wrong.”

He sighed, shifting to lean against the ivy trellis.

Marinette finally snapped from her stupor to point to the seat beside him. “You can sit, if you’d like.”

Nino shook his head. “I don’t have much more to say.”

“Then don’t let me stop you,” she replied.

He gave her a half-smile before he grew serious again. “When I found out that Adrien had married you, I was shocked to say the least. When Kim and I confronted him and he admitted that he didn’t tell you his true identity, I hounded him for it. But, then he countered me saying that you had gone through so much that he didn’t want to put any more on you. That being Lady Noir so suddenly after what had happened was enough. That telling you would only hurt you in the end. What he right to think all that?” Nino shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if you should let him off the hook for this. But I do know one thing: he did it because he cared. And he still does care. Very much if the scene in my room last night was any indication.”

“Yes, but this isn’t about him caring about me,” Marinette countered. “It’s about him, and what I’ll do to him if he claims me as his princess. Nino, you can’t let him.”

Nino’s brow quirked. “Why not?”

“Because I’m a baker’s daughter,” she said. She swallowed down as much of her emotion as possible in order to continue. “I’m not royalty. And before you say anything about being Lady Noir…pretending to be a lady is one thing. Pretending to be a princess is a whole other.” She took a breath. She could do this. She could do this… “If he claimed me, his reputation and the kingdom’s reputation would be ruined. He can’t do that. He can’t sacrifice that much for me, no matter how much he cares.”

Nino stared at her long and hard, absorbing her words and mulling them over. “Then I best remind you of one thing about Adrien: his words mean everything to him. Vows are unbreakable in his opinion, as they should be anyway.”

“Then I’ll release him from the vows,” she cried. “I’ll demand it. Please, Nino. Tell him that. Convince him to let me go.”

Nino sighed. “No.”

“No?” Marinette repeated.

“No,” he repeated, his voice soft and kind. “Marinette, I’ll admit that when you came, I had my doubts about you. I thought Adrien’s good soul finally bit him in the end. But I was wrong. And your true selflessness toward my best friend, especially after learning who he is, only heightens my respect for you. So no. I’m not going to convince him of anything you said because he would hate the idea, and frankly, so do I. Not when you’re probably the biggest blessing that got bestowed on him.”

Marinette was left shock still on the bench, her mouth slightly open but no words coming forth.

With that, Nino tilted his hat in respectful parting. “I’ll leave you to think on that.” And then he left.

It took Marinette a good fifteen minutes to pull herself together and retreat back into the house. She felt numb walking back up the stairs. Would no one in this house listen to reason? She had to do this. She had to.

“Right this way,” Alya’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Thank you, miss,” a kind voice replied. A tapping sound echoed down the hallway, like a cane against the hard floor. Curious, Marinette hustled toward the front of the house, peeking out from her hiding spot behind a corner.

She gasped at the sight of the bony, gray-haired man trembling down the hallway. He paused at the audible sound and turned, revealing a smiling face with a gray beard. “Marinette.”

“Mister Fu,” she greeted, coming out to properly greet him.

He turned around, limping on his gimpy leg, relying staunchly on his cane. “Why, what a sight seeing you here. And in such a lovely gown.”

Marinette smiled, pretending she hadn’t just been stressed a mere moment ago. “Thank you.”

His smile widened. “You know what would really make that white gown stand out?” he said, making his way towards her. “A pair of red earrings. Such a stunning color, don’t you think?” With that, he gave her a wink, fully aware of their little secret.

Marinette’s grin turned pained. “Hardly. I only wear lucky objects.”

He rose a single brow. “Really? Red is known to be a very lucky color.”

She shrugged. “I think lucky objects can sometimes be mislabeled.”

Mister Fu seemed to ponder this. “And sometimes,” he said. “I think that maybe one cannot call their luck too early. Sometimes they have to face some hardship in order for their luck to truly be appreciated.”

With that, he chuckled. “But I am not here to talk. I am here to heal.”

“Oh,” Marinette realized. “Were you called for Alix?” Suddenly, her brow furrowed. “I wasn’t even aware you were in the area.”

His eyes gleamed. “A very kind young man bought a ring from me in return for enough money to buy passage to my home here. Emeralds to oppose rubies. A balance, don’t you think?” With that, he winked and turned back towards Alya. “Now, young lady, I believe you were showing me to the injured.”

Alya struggled to hide her confusion. “Of course, sir. This way.”

#the love of a cat #miraculous ladybug #ML #Fanfiction #Marinette Dupain Cheng #poor girl #Alya Cesaire #is the best friend ever #Nino Lahiffe #is a great friend too

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victorianoir · 6 years

Text

The Detective and the Embezzler, Part 2

Here’s the second part to the chapter I put out last week, dear readers!!

If you want to read part 1, or any other parts of The Detective and the Tech Guy, you can do so by hopping on over to the tumblr MASTER POST for the story. Or you can read it on the fanfiction.net site: HERE.

Enjoy, my friends!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Ugh, this is bumming me out.”

“What?”

“This timeline I’m being given is so shitty. And I feel like I have a lot to do. And they’re actually doing a pretty good job keeping their affair quiet, in spite of how chatty they were with us at Sir Sensei’s the other day.”

“Well, they’re bound to slip up, right?”

“I don’t know. Penny sort of seems like the brains. She must be handling details. She’s the smart one in this whole situation.”

Penny Havert didn’t have much of a criminal record, Sarah’d discovered, which either meant this was her first offense, or she was good at not getting caught. Whether she actually cared for Pendleton or not, Sarah had no idea. Nor did she care. Penny was orchestrating most of this, but they were both going down. Hopefully. If she did her damn job.

“Sarah, what if—and hear me out—neither of them are the smart one in this whole situation?”

“Oh. Yeah. Good point.”

Her boyfriend chuckled as he lowered half of a four egg omelet onto her plate with a spatula, heading over to his own place at the coffee table and sliding the rest of the egg out of the pan onto his plate.

“I still think it’s rad how you figured out who his mistress is, you know,” he said, heading back towards the kitchen, putting the pan in the sink and grabbing the plate of bacon, before tugging his apron off and tossing it on the counter on his way back to the couch.

She smirked. “It’s scarily easy to get a hold of someone’s credit card if you hang around a restaurant. Wear a white button up, black slacks, and an apron, walk over and grab the check with their card, and bam.”

He shook his head as he plopped down next to her on the couch, setting the bacon down between their plates. “I bet it looked so cool and spy-ish, though.”

She snorted, shaking her head.

“So what d’ya got?” he asked. “You said you’re bummed out. Gimme the deets. Maybe I can help.”

Maybe a few years ago, she might’ve been miffed if one of the men she dated had plopped down wanting to “help” with a case—if she ever told them anything about her cases, which she never did. But Chuck had proven he wasn’t just a nerd who’d seen a lot of noir movies with detectives and hardboiled lawmen. He was actually incredibly good at thinking outside of the box, and she’d learned over the past few days especially that he could be a massive asset. Even if sometimes his ideas were absolutely wild and out of left field, it got her mind going.

“Right. So I’ve been tailing both of them for a few days now—I know how that sounds, like I’ve duplicated myself, but I just mean I followed him one day and her the next.”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry, I’m just a little fixated on the idea of there being two of you. Is it too stereotypical dude-ish of me to say that’s hot?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“Back to my investigation,” she said pointedly, aware of the fact that she was doing a poor job of ignoring his flirtation. She took a large bite out of her breakfast, leaning forward to keep the long string of melted cheese from getting stuck on her chin. “She went to the bank that day, and she withdrew a lot. I don’t know how much, but it was enough that it took the teller a while. I’m sure it’s an account he’s been transferring money into for her, but I need to prove that somehow.”

Chuck huffed. “I’ll think on that.”

She clicked around on her laptop and turned it towards him on her lap. “In the meantime… So, look at this email Mestik sent me. He forwarded Pendleton’s travel itinerary for a business trip, like I asked him to. This says he’s going to Atlanta. As in Georgia. That’s not Miami. See? LAX to Atlanta with a layover in Chicago.”

“Why did they tell us Miami, then?”

“Maybe they’re just lying sacks of shit.” He chuckled at that. “She gave him an annoyed look about it. I dunno if you saw that. Maybe that’s where she wanted to go and instead she’s stuck going to Atlanta because of his work so she’s pissed.” She shrugged.

“Atlanta doesn’t sound so bad.”

“If she was looking forward to beach time, it’s probably not preferable.”

“Good point.”

Sarah nibbled on her lip, turning the laptop back to her. “I’m going to ask Mestik if Thomas has charged anything else as an expense yet. And I need to know if Penny is going to be on the flight with him, even if her portion isn’t being charged to Mestik Insurance. Nobody’s that stupid.” She huffed. “But I need to do it quick. I’ve only got a week and a half to solve the case.”

“What? Why only a week and a half?”

“Because if I don’t solve it by then, I’m going to have to go to Atlanta to tail these assholes, and I really don’t want to do that.”

“Why? Might be an interesting place to go.”

“Atlanta is fine, but that’s an expense I’d be charging to Mestik, add on top of that whatever expenses Thomas and Penny charge to the company while they’re on their romantic getaway. If I figure this all out before the trip, I save Mestik a lot of unnecessary expense, not to mention his niece’s husband doesn’t get to go off to some other city to knock knees with his mistress on his uncle-in-law’s dime. It’s the principle of the thing.”

She felt Chuck reach over to tenderly stroke his fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear and she smiled a little at him.

“For the record, I love that you’re a P.I. who’s on the up-and-up. Like, not a hardboiled P.I. who’s kind of in this murky grey area of morality, but a genuinely good detective trying to help her client.”

She gave him a look as she sipped her coffee. “What makes you think I’d ever be hardboiled? Seriously, baby, you watch way too many of those movies.”

“Maybe, but you love that I’m such a dweeb fanboy about your career choice. Don’t deny it.”

“Oh, I have no intention of denying it. You’re the cutest person on the planet when you geek out about the dumb letters on my office door. But still…I’m serious about this, Chuck. A week and a half. I need to do this right.”

He swiped a hand in front of his face, sobering up completely. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m with you.”

Sarah froze then, an idea hitting her.

“I just need to figure out where Penny is going. Duh. Wherever Penny goes, Thomas goes. As far as they know, nobody knows about Penny Havert and wherever she ends up, we’re going to find him there, too. But how do I know where she’s going?” She nibbled on her lip.

“Well, how do you even go about finding that out? Gonna steal her computer or something?”

She shook her head, and then a slow, mischievous smile stretched over her face. “No. But you’ve given me an idea…”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Chuck looked up from his desktop screen as his assistant poked his head in after a quick knock. “Yeah?”

“Sarah’s here.”

“Oh, good. Thanks. Send ‘er in.”

Sarah smiled at the bespectacled man as she swept past him with a thank you and some weird handshake they’d concocted over the last couple of months and stepped inside, not saying anything until the door was shut and they were alone. And then she pulled a smartphone he’d never seen before out of her pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Thomas Pendleton’s phone,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

Chuck’s eyes practically bugged right out of their sockets as he sat up straighter and spun his chair towards her. “What? How’d you get his phone?”

“I stole it. The guy kept setting it down everywhere he went and looking away. It was so easy. I don’t even know if he even realizes now, an hour later, that it’s been stolen.”

She rolled her eyes, but he was still stuck on the fact that his girlfriend had just stolen someone’s phone.

“And now you’re bringing stolen property into my place of work. Wonderful, great, thank you so much.” He gave her a teasing grin as she scoffed, walking around his desk and plopping down on the edge of it. “So what’s on it?” he asked, reaching up to take the phone.

She held it away from him. “You aren’t officially my partner or even my assistant, and I’m not sure I should even be sharing this info with you, Chuck Bartowski, heir of Bartowski Electronics Corporation.” He liked how flirty she was being. In fact, he’d go so far as to say he loved it. But it made him wonder if doing things like this made her a little cocky…or, as Morgan would say, randy. He couldn’t blame her, exactly…

“You could always make me your partner.”

“No.”

“Assistant sounds good.”

“You’re my big-brained boyfriend and that’s it.” She cocked an eyebrow.

“You share info about your cases with all your boyfriends?”

“Mmm, no. Just you. You’re the smartest boyfriend I’ve got at the moment.”

“Out of how many?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You bad girl,” he teased, biting his lip, narrowing his eyes, and grinning.

When she got a certain glint in her eye, he felt like his prior thought about her being cocky wasn’t all that much of a reach. “If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll let you help me call the phone numbers on here.”

Chuck sat back, away from her, and glared. “Ohhhh okay I get it now. I thought you were being all sexy and flirtatious with me because—never mind what I thought,” he said quickly. “But you’re just trying to get me to help you call a bajillion phone numbers to find out who his contacts are.”

“No, most of his contacts in his phone have labels and names. But he’s made over fifty recent calls to numbers that aren’t labeled and I do need help with that.” She sighed and put Pendleton’s phone on his desk. “This sucks. Back when I was at Pinkerton, I’d send it into our analysts and they’d come back with a list within a day. Ugh, it was so easy. Now I have to go all old school and actually call the numbers.”

Chuck shook his head with an amused huff. And then he stopped, an idea coming to him. “What if you didn’t have to do that? Even though you aren’t with Pinkerton anymore?” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Chuck held up a finger and spun back to his computer, clicking around until he got onto the Google document where he kept a list of projects his employees were working on. He scrolled through as he felt Sarah sidle up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, leaning over him and dropping her lips to the top of his head.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A top secret list of all of B.E.C.’s current projects, or at least…potential projects.” He tilted his head back and raised his eyebrow up at her. “This is super secret stuff. Feel special, Sarah.”

She giggled. “Oh, trust me. Not a day goes by when I’m with you that I don’t feel special.”

A slow grin grew on his face as he looked up at her. “That was pretty damn sappy and I dug it.”

Sarah leaned down to kiss his lips with another soft giggle, and she stood up again, squeezing his shoulders. “I figured you might. But why is this list going to help me?”

“Oh. Right.” He sat up again and kept scrolling. “These are the things my employees are working on outside of the everyday tasks their job requires of them. Things they pitch to me and my team…Well, mostly my team. I have a lot of employees and I can’t be one on one with all of ‘em that often. I see the prototypes when they seem viable enough to maybe implement them under our brand. But I seem to rememberrrr…hmmmm…” He found it. “Ha!”

He spun to his phone and picked it up, paging his assistant.

“Yeah, Boss…”

“Would you please get, um…” He glanced at his screen. “Phoebe Butler on the phone for me? I have no idea if she even works in this building. Does she work in this building?”

“Uh…I’ll find out, Chuck.”

“You’re the best. Thanks.”

He hung up the phone and turned his chair to look up at Sarah. “While we wait, how are you planning on getting the phone back to Pendleton?”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m meeting Mestik for coffee tomorrow morning, hopefully with some more info than I had for him last night,” she huffed. “I’ll just give it to him and let him slip it back in the jerk’s desk or something.”

“Good pl—”

Bzzzzzz!!!

Chuck gasped theatrically for Sarah’s benefit, earning a chuckle, and he smacked the speaker button. “Did you find her?”

“Her desk is on the third floor of this building, and I’ve got her on the line right now. Um…she sounds…nervous. So maybe let her know she isn’t fired. Wait…she isn’t fired is she?” his assistant asked.

Chuck laughed. “She isn’t fired. But thanks for the head’s up. Transfer her over.”

“On it.”

He grabbed the phone receiver and held it to his ear.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

She heard Chuck come in the door, the rustle of whatever he was carrying, and then the slam of him kicking the door shut as she poured over the notes she’d taken from tailing Thomas Pendleton and Penny Havert for the last few days.

“Hey, how was the store?” she asked, looking up from where she was draped across his couch.

“Okay, I can’t do Trader Joe’s anymore. I just can’t. Or, like, maybe I can take a Lyft there next time? Because parking is like… And I’m not trying to go to Disneyland on a Saturday, here. I’m not trying to wait in line for five hours. I just want to get some groceries on a Saturday. They need to fix their shit.”

He dropped the reusable bags on the counter and huffed.

Sarah giggled to herself and sat up with a soft groan, putting her paperwork down and going around into his kitchen to help him unload the groceries. “My poor guy, braving the weekend health food crowd so that I can have delicious lamb ribs for dinner tonight.”

His arm wrapped around her from behind as she took a bag of lettuce out, and he kissed the side of her face with a “muah”, before shifting his lips to her neck. “I’m going to bake the hell out of those ribs and I’m going to enjoy them, too, damn it.”

She giggled again.

They unloaded the groceries in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Chuck looked up from where he was sticking a few things in the fridge. “Still trying to connect the dots on that case?” he asked.

“Mhm. Well, I mean…Phoebe’s number tracking program helped a lot. Now that I know Thomas has been in contact with both Penny and that travel agency, I at least have a bit of a lead.”

“Who uses a travel agency, though? I know I said this before,” he said, shutting the fridge, “but, like, really. A travel agency? You can easily do everything through your computer and talk to zero other humans. How is that not the best choice?”

Sarah laughed. “That’s just it. I thought the same thing, but I did a bunch of research today while you were out running errands. Guess who owns that travel agency…”

Chuck stopped halfway through folding the now empty bag and looked up at her. “Oh, do you mean the cleverly named travel agency, ‘Go There’? That one?” He made a pfft sound and shook his head.

She laughed again. “Yeah. That one.”

“Who owns it?”

“Brett Smith.”

Chuck made a face, then grabbed another bag to fold it up. “Am I supposed to know who this is?”

“No, I mostly just paused for dramatic effect.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Brett Smith attended Texas Tech the same four years that Thomas Pendleton was there. They were both business majors and they were both a part of the Sigma Delta Alpha Nu Epsilon whatever-the-fuck fraternity there. I don’t remember the name, but it’s the same one. And I found a picture of them on the alumni website at their ten year reunion that happened a few years ago.”

“Great work, gumshooooe,” Chuck drawled, pointing. “No, seriously. That’s legit. So his frat buddy owns ‘Go There’. God, it’s so bad.”

“It’s terrible,” she agreed.

“And, what, he probably thinks that’s a pretty safe way to go, right? When you’re booking a vacation with your mistress, go with your bro. Don’t tell my wife, right, brah? Bro Code.” Chuck grabbed her hand and did a lame excuse for a high five with her. “Dope.”

“Okay, you’re a doofus. But that aside, you’re right. Those are my exact thoughts. Uh…in not so many words,” she said, giving him an amused side-eye. “There’s no paper trail—well, the online version. The travel agency has the paperwork but he trusts his frat bro to keep all of that safe. My only problem now is how do I get in there to get the itinerary for Thomas and Penny’s real vacation?”

Chuck shrugged, leaning back against the counter and popping a grape into his mouth. “Easy. Wait for ‘Go There’,” he rolled his eyes, “to close for the night, break in through the air conditioning system, crawl through the ducts, lower yourself Mission:Impossible style into the room where they keep their records, and take pictures of it with your ballpoint pen that’s actually a camera. Boom. Done.”

Sarah just looked at him for a moment, almost impressed. “Wow. I was really expecting a legitimate idea that would actually be helpful…the whole body stance and your delivery was that good.”

He smiled around the grape and shrugged again. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you have anything else to add?”

“Um…I’ll think on it.”

She sniffed in amusement and wadded up a produce bag, throwing it at his face as he laughed and batted it away. She left the kitchen and walked back to the couch, plopping down. He sat beside her and swung his legs around to drape them over her lap, laying his head against the armrest. She began rubbing his leg muscles in that way he liked and he sighed, his eyelids fluttering.

She’d been to that same store on the weekend before and she knew he wasn’t just being melodramatic. It was a damn trial getting through there. But the food was amazing and so was the price.

“I mean, is there a way to get them to give you the itinerary? So you don’t have to break in and steal it?” he asked.

“There must be. I just haven’t thought of it yet—Wait.” He sat up quickly, staring at her and waiting patiently for her to continue as her mind went a mile a minute. “I might’ve just thought of it. I’d need a really good cover. And I’d have to sell it.”

“A cover? Like…incognito?” He gasped and it was so boyish and adorable. “Like a disguise?!”

“Maybe not that intense. But I am going to need to figure out how to forge an ID and business cards so that I have some way of proving who I am.”

He blinked. “Who are you?” He shook his head. “I mean, I know who you are. I just mean…who are you supposed to be?”

“Mr. Thomas Pendleton’s assistant, of course. Just need to make a few changes to the business trip itinerary for the boss man.” She smirked flirtatiously.

“Okay wait. Are you flirting with me, or are you going to try to seduce Brett Smith?”

She smacked his shoulder hard as he laughed. “I’m flirting with you, you ass!” She laughed with him and shook her head. “I just don’t know how I’m going to make business cards and forge an ID in such short notice. I could use my own ID, but it’s still a Chicago driver’s license and I’m not sure I want my real name anywhere near this.”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t really want the name Sarah Walker to be in their minds for when all of the shit hits the fan for their buddy Tommy,” he said, and he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed. She thought it was a bit of protectiveness, something she hadn’t necessarily seen from him before. And, to her surprise, she liked it.

“Know any forgers?”

“I might. And he has access to an ID card printer.”

Sarah gaped at him. “Wait, seriously? I was joking. You really do?”

He shrugged. “You want an ID and some business cards or no?”

A slow smile grew on her face and she had the urge to kiss him. Alas, it would take some acrobatics to do so and she didn’t have time to waste, so she just winked instead. “Take me to him.”

XOXOXOXOXOXO

“Don’t ever stop surprising me, Tech Guy.”

She heard the wonder in her own voice as she watched Chuck fiddle with the ID card software on the system. He was meticulously building a California driver’s license for her, even superimposing the shiny golden gate bridge decal into the background of the card. He had his own license propped on the keyboard so that he could copy it as best he could.

“I’ll do my best, Sarah Walker, P.I.,” he muttered distractedly.

“Seriously. When I asked if you know any forgers, I had no idea the forger you knew was…you. What, did you do this for a little side cash when you were in college?” She snorted, but then his hands stopped what they were doing and he snuck a look at her over his shoulder, his features pinched.

“What if I said yes?”

She stepped around his chair and looked down at him. “Did you really?”

“Listen, those Beverly Hills brats had a lot of money and they coughed up big bucks for fake IDs so they could buy brewskies for their dumb parties. My dad was struggling and it was a help.”

To say she was shocked was an understatement. “You forged IDs for kids to buy beer? Also, did you just say brewskies unironically?? That feels like the more important question. Strangely.”

Chuck laughed, but there was a thread of nervousness in it. “Oh, I said it with complete and utter irony, trust me. And um…to that first question…yes…I did.” He winced. “It was easy, fast cash. And erm…I don’t do it anymore. Except, well…right now. I’m doing it for you right now. In the belly of Bartowski Electronics Corporation on a Saturday afternoon when it’s completely abandoned. Because I am not stupid.”

Sarah gaped at him. “Oh my God.”

She read nervousness in his face then as he swallowed, and she quickly dove in to put her hands on his shoulders. “Wait, wait…What d’you think, I’m gonna turn you in to the LAPD or something?” She giggled as he gave her a bit of a dark look. “Chuck, come on. It’s not like you’re a serial killer. You maybe contributed to a few alcohol poisonings, but teenagers eventually find a way to get alcohol anyway, so whatever.”

Chuck grumbled and went back to work, the dark look fading a bit at least.

“This is actually kind of amazing, if you think about it,” she said, still completely gobsmacked to have learned this pretty important tidbit about the man she’d thought was such a saint before today—well, in all the ways it mattered, at least. She stepped back behind him and slid her arms around his neck, cuddling him and pressing her cheek against his. “I’m in a very serious romantic relationship with a criminal. Maybe I am a little bit of a hardboiled detective. And you, my good man…You’re my nerd-fatale.”

He burst into laughter and shook his head, shifting in the chair to face her a little better. “I’ll take it, and gladly, but I also promise that in spite of my…checkered past…” he said with a smolder, and she snorted, “I would never lead you down any dark paths, or use you for my selfish whims…”

She growled, sliding her fingers into his mess of curls and tightening her grip, tugging his head back teasingly and meeting his laughing brown eyes with her blue ones. “That’s what they all say…in the beginning…”

Their lips met then, and she tangled her fingers of one hand in his hair, sliding the other around his neck, deepening the kiss. When she felt him sweep his tongue against hers, she pulled back quickly, even going so far as to put a good two feet between them, leaving him sitting there with a put out look on his face.

“Wha—why?” he whined.

“We have work to do.”

“No. But—No, why?”

She giggled. “Listen, buster, I’d like nothing more than to utilize this strange little illegal forgery den as a setting for a seriously hot private eye and nerd-fatale encounter, but first I need that driver’s license and those business cards.”

Sarah couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as his shoulders slumped and he turned back to the computer. She leaned in and hugged him from the side, kissing his temple. “I mean…there’s always…after…”

Chuck’s head snapped up as he gave her a wide-eyed look. A crooked smile tilted his handsome mouth for just a split second, before he dove back into his work with a vengeance. “One driver’s license for Jennifer Burton, coming up.”

XOXOXOXOXO

Sarah heard the door to the outer office open, then the shuffling of feet, and finally… “Miss Walker?”

Letting herself half a moment to take a deep breath, Sarah stood from her desk upon which she’d set up all of her materials, and walked to stand in the doorway of her personal office. “Mr. Mestik, good afternoon.”

He clapped his hands together upon seeing her. “Afternoon, Miss Walker. My assistant said you needed to see me as soon as I was able to come.”

“Yes. Thank you for coming so soon, sir. Come into my office.”

“Yes, uh…Of course. Thank you.”

He followed her into her office and took a seat in the chair across from her, on the other side of her desk. “I gotta hand it to ya, Miss Walker, you’re always prompt. This looks like…well, it looks like evidence.”

“Yes, well…My time is valuable, and yours is even more valuable.”

He nodded.

“Can I get you some coffee or…?”

“I don’t drink the stuff,” he said, waving his hand. “Trudy has weaned me off of it with tea.” Greg Mestik smacked his lips with a disgusted face. “But it’s better for my heart. I guess. So they say.”

“Understood. Well, let’s get down to business, then, Mr. Mestik. There’s a lot.”

“By all means.” And then he paused, his dark brow turning down, a frown on his face. “Is it worse than the news you gave me the other night?”

She’d told him about Penny Havert the Mistress the other night, and he’d wanted to see the proof, so she’d been forced to give him the photographs she’d taken. His response was… Well, angry would’ve been an understatement.

“I’m not sure.”

He sighed. “Just give it to me straight. Am I being swindled?”

“In no uncertain terms, sir, yes. You are. Now, I couldn’t tell you that for sure before because I had to collect evidence sufficient enough for you to go to the authorities. I planned on making sure you got that before the business trip to Atlanta, because…Well, there is no business trip to Atlanta.” She grabbed the folder in the corner of her desk, then turned it towards him, putting it between them and pushing it closer to him.

“No business trip? There’s a conference on insurance and marketing there. He practically begged me to let him be the one I sent, said he needed to brush up on…What’s this?” Mestik asked as she flipped the folder open and showed him a travel itinerary that looked very different from the one he’d emailed her a few days earlier.

“Thomas Pendleton purchased two plane tickets to Miami through a travel agency.”

“Miami? What the shit? And he used a travel agency? What is this, nineteen-seventy-five?” He shook his head, then scratched the back of his neck. “I’m very confused. What is all of this?”

“I used a very precise, rather genius computer program that a, um, friend created to figure out whom all of the unlisted phone numbers in Thomas’ phone belong to.” She took the suspect’s phone out of her bag and slid it across to Mestik. “There’s that for you.” His eyes popped. She probably should’ve warned him that she’d stolen his niece’s husband’s phone, but oh well.

“It’s supposed to be used as sort of a telemarketer deterrent, but it gave me a list of individuals and businesses he’s called in the last few months. A month and a half ago, he contacted a travel agency called ‘Go There’��I know, it’s a really great name, right?” When Mestik didn’t respond, she cleared her throat and continued. “Anyway, he used this particular agency because an old frat buddy from college owns it. He thought it’d be a lot safer and leave less of a paper trail doing it through someone he trusted rather than online. That whole Bro Code thing, I’m assuming. But it’s really easy to get around the Bro Code, I’ve found. I just pretended I was Thomas’ assistant and I needed them to change part of the trip. I had them email the itinerary to an address I created for this purpose exactly, and then I called them back and had them change a small enough detail in the plans that neither Thomas nor Penny would notice. I have the flight information, the hotel information—a suite overlooking the Miami bay, cocktails on the terrace every afternoon at the same time…which is…strangely precise, but whatever…uh, the rental car information. There’s also a reservation for a boat tour of the Florida Keys. A reservation for two. The dates coincide with the exact dates of the seven day trip to Atlanta he told you he was going on.”

She sat back and took a deep breath, letting Mestik look through all of it himself. The frown on his face grew deeper and deeper as he flipped through all of it.

“Swimming with the dolphins, is he?” He chuckled mirthlessly and then sat back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, you got evidence that he’s a lying cheating son of a bitch, but what about the money he’s stealing from me?”

She slid another file towards him. “Thomas Pendleton’s income doesn’t match the amount of money he’s been putting into three different banks systematically for a while. He then transfers the money into a fourth account, slowly but surely, and Penny withdraws. She’s the one whose name and money went towards air fare, the hotel suite, the reservations, the rental car, everything. Although it isn’t her money, it is your money, Mr. Mestik. Open that file. Inside is the concrete evidence they’ve been embezzling from Mestik Insurance. Redirecting client payments to their own pockets. Once you get the LAPD involved, they’ll have much more freedom as far as being able to go through private files to bring Mr. Pendleton down.

“Yes, of course you’re right.” He looked haunted.

“For what it’s worth, Mr. Mestik, I’m sorry. It’s hard enough to see actions like this from a valued employee, but I can’t imagine how much worse it is with family.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about him. I just didn’t want Irma hurt. This is awful.” He let out a long sigh and then shook his head. “You did exemplary work, Miss Walker. Thank you. I’m passing your name on to colleagues, you can be sure of that.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Mestik. Thank you.”

Sarah waited for almost a minute, as he sat there buried in his thoughts, looking very troubled. And then she quietly gathered the evidence into a neat stack, and eased them into a carrying case. Eventually, he lifted his gaze to hers and she continued. “Here’s all of the evidence I’ve found and notes I’ve taken. It should be more than enough to convince the LAPD to continue my investigation and make an arrest.”

“Thank you, Miss Walker.” He stood again. “Especially considering in just a few days, I would’ve been sending that little shit on an all-expense-paid getaway with someone who isn’t his wife.”

“I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. I also, erm, didn’t want to have to go to Atlanta or Miami. That would’ve been expensive for you as well.”

“Yes. Thank you. I…hope I can also count on you…” He cleared his throat. “…keeping things under your hat about this. It is already going to be difficult enough for Irma without extra…attention.”

“I have a strict policy of complete secrecy. I used to work with Pinkerton, Mr. Mestik, and they taught me how best to stay out of the way of the press. I assure you, I won’t be talking to anyone.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Good good. Oh! Yes. Payment.” He went into his blazer jacket and pulled out a checkbook, leaning over on his desk and writing it out. “I take it the amount is still the same as the one you gave me before…?”

“I’m not charging you for any extra expenses. Same amount. Thank you, Sir.”

He looked pleasantly surprised and relieved as he looked up at her, and then he bent to his task again, finally tearing the check out of the book and handing it to her. “You do excellent work. And you’re kind. I’m grateful.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mestik. And I hope everything turns out okay.”

“Me, too.”

They shook hands again and the man smiled, picking up the carrying case with all of the evidence the LAPD might use to arrest his niece’s husband. He walked to the door and pushed it open, moving into the outer office. Sarah slid into the doorway and watched him as he opened her outer office door. His shoulders were slumped and he was moving so much slower.

And for the first time since she began this case, she was starting to come to terms with the emotional and mental toll her findings would have on an entire family. Her chest throbbed a bit as he shut the door behind him and she let out a long breath.

She lifted the check Mestik had written her and she eyed the zeros, letting herself have just a moment of celebration, before she composed herself again and grabbed her jacket and bag. She had work to do.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

Chuck had just finished arranging the gardenias in the vase he’d purchased at a corner store when he heard the door to Sarah’s agency open. “Oooh! You’re back already!” He lunged for the doorway to her personal office. “I have a surprise for y—You’re not Sarah. Hi.” He cleared his throat and stood up straighter, running his hands down the front of his T-shirt.

He eyed the man standing at the entrance to Sarah’s private investigative agency. He was even taller than Chuck, which was…something. And he was built like a tank, his hair cut close to his head, his features twisted in what seemed like a permanent state of distrust or disgust…maybe both?

And then he went into his pocket, looking around the place and letting go of the door so that he could step inside. “No, I’m not Sarah. She ain’t here?”

“Uh, she ain’t—isn’t. Can…Can I help you?”

“You her assistant or secretary or somethin’?”

Chuck pulled his lips between his teeth and winced, then made a popping sound. “Um, no. No, no. I am her boyfriend. Heh. She just solved a case and I snuck in here to put flowers on her desk. Sort of a congra—”

“I don’t care. You know when she’s gonna be back?”

Chuck frowned a bit. “No. I mean…soon maybe?”

“Not a very good secretary, are ya? Hope she doesn’t pay you a lot.”

“She doesn’t pay me anything, because I’m not her secretary. I’m her boyfriend. Are you just not listening to me?”

“Guess not.” He finally pulled his hand out of the blue windbreaker he wore and Chuck was sure for a second that it would be a gun and he was about to be shot in his girlfriend’s P.I. agency. But instead it was a badge. And Chuck noticed there was a gun in a shoulder holster, before the man pulled his jacket over it with a grunt.

“Detective Casey, LAPD. I need to talk to your boss as soon as possible, kid.”

“She’s not my boss—You know what? Never mind. I give up.” He went to the nearby desk and grabbed a notepad and pen from the drawer. “You have a number where she can reach you, or—”

“Move.” He was easily shifted out of the way by one hand on his shoulder. The detective scrawled a number down on the notepad. “Have her call me there the moment she comes in. Tell her to ask for Detective John Casey. Got it? Can you handle that much?”

Chuck had to force himself to remember the man had a pair of handcuffs somewhere and a gun, and his bail could easily be what Sarah spent her Mestik case paycheck on instead of building up her business like she planned to. And instead of reacting, he just nodded, keeping his annoyance from his face. “Yep. Got it. Will do. Uh…Sir? Detective, ahem…Detective Sir.”

“Casey.”

“Yes. Sorry. Detective Casey. Is Sarah…Is she in trouble for something?”

The man let out an amused grunt and ran his eyes down his tall, lanky frame, very blatantly surveying him. “She ain’t in trouble. Just need some information about a case. Filling in some holes, that’s all. Why?” He grunted again, humor in his face. As much humor as the man was capable of, at least. “You got a crush on ‘er?”

Chuck narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Mmmmm. Again, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Heh. Whatever you say, big-britches.”

Well, at least this time he acknowledged the words that had come out of Chuck’s mouth, even if he apparently didn’t believe them.

“Just make sure she calls. I don’t wanna hafta come back here.” The man flicked the pen in his hand at the desk, apparently not caring that it rolled right off the desk and onto the floor, and then he was gone, leaving the agency door slamming hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Okay bye,” Chuck said to no one in particular.

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chiseler · 6 years

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STEVE COCHRAN: The Rough and the Smooth

The Chase (1946) opens with a broke ex-serviceman finding a lost wallet, plump with cash and bearing the name and address of its owner, Eddie Roman. Being an honest guy—or, as Roman’s sidekick puts it, a “silly law-abiding jerk”—the vet goes to return it. As though wandering into an opium trance, he enters a classical-rococo-tropical mansion, a fantasy of vulgar magnificence. The front door is bedecked with cherubs’ heads (one of which swivels to reveal a peep-hole framing the unmistakable eye of Peter Lorre). The dazzling white interior is cluttered with marble statuary on pillars, crystal chandeliers, antique chairs, banana trees, all slashed by thin bars of sunlight falling through white shutters.

Eddie Roman, a Miami gangster, is at home amid this surreal decadence. We first see him sitting regally in a barber’s chair, crowned with a pearl-grey homburg, intently studying his pencil-thin mustache in a hand-mirror. He has reason to look pleased as he contemplates his handsome face, its square-jawed and thick-browed swarthiness lightened by limpid eyes and a deceptively sweet smile. Absorbed in admiring his appearance, he pays no attention to the girl kneeling at his side giving him a manicure, until her file slips and nicks his finger. “I’m sorry, Mr. Roman, you moved,” the frightened girl gasps. “Yeah, but you didn’t—fast enough,” he replies, knocking her to the ground with a casual blow.

With a different actor, this whole set-up—the flamboyant interior decoration, the classical allusions, the dandified sadism, the ever-present sidekick played by Peter Lorre—might come across as heavily lavender-tinted. But Eddie Roman is Steve Cochran, who plays it straight in more ways than one. Cochran grew up in Wyoming and had worked as a cowboy before trying his hand at acting, but Hollywood took one look at his oily black hair and arrogant poise and pigeonholed him as a mobster. He took to the role with a patented brand of velvety menace, concluding that the way to play heavies was to assume that his characters had done nothing wrong, as they themselves would no doubt believe. Not for him the noir torments of guilt or anxiety or haunted memory. His gangsters were slick and unfeeling, and when he came to play deeper roles in films like Tomorrow is Another Day, Private Hell 36, and Il Grido, he plumbed the specific melancholy of men whose inchoate vulnerability is forced through the conventional expressions of machismo.

He was born Robert Alexander Cochran in 1917 and adopted the name Steve while acting in stock. (It suits him, perhaps for the same reason Lauren Bacall assigns it to Bogart’s Harry Morgan in To Have and Have Not, giving it a distinctive inflection that conveys, “You’re an overconfident jerk—if only I didn’t find you so attractive.”) Cochran left college and headed to Hollywood convinced he could be a movie star, but despite his looks and confidence he was no overnight success; it took seven years of provincial theater (including Shakespeare in Carmel) before he finally scored a contract with Goldwyn in 1945. The Chase was his first decent break, after a series of small parts in Boston Blackie programmers and Danny Kaye vehicles.

Directed by Arthur Ripley and gorgeously shot by Franz Planer, The Chase is a baroquely convoluted adaptation of Cornell Woolrich’s The Black Path of Fear. The centerpiece is an extended dream sequence that eschews the usual cinematic clichés but unsettles through jarring plot discontinuities; a maze of dark, disorienting spaces; and inexplicable poetic images like the woman weeping at a table bearing the half-eaten carcass of a watermelon, like something out of a 17th century Spanish painting. The film’s seemingly normal hero (the ex-serviceman, played by Robert Cummings) turns out to have a fragile mind prone to sudden white-outs. He’s almost as passive as Eddie Roman’s imprisoned wife (Michèle Morgan), who drifts around the mansion in draped Grecian gowns and a fog of hopeless terror. What she’s terrified of is her husband, and Cochran makes you believe that Roman is capable of even worse cruelty than anything we see him do. The calmer he is the more anxiously we wait for his outbursts of violence. His light voice, sweet smile, and hypnotic stillness create a deliciously sinister effect. Here and elsewhere, there’s something about the way Cochran’s hazel eyes catch the light, with a gleam that can register as tenderness or threat. It’s hard to pin down this luster, and that’s one of the best assets a movie star can have—some small thing that can’t be explained.

Though the bulk of his work was in B movies, Cochran appeared very briefly in Goldwyn’s great triumph, The Best Years of Our Lives (1946). Near the end of the movie, the beleaguered former airforce captain played by Dana Andrews—an intelligent, serious man stymied by a bad marriage and a humiliating job as a soda jerk—walks into his apartment to find another man lounging around in his shirtsleeves. It takes only moments to register the kind of heel he is: a self-satisfied, flashily handsome guy in a loud pinstripe suit, smoking and chewing gum and condescending to his married girlfriend’s husband. It’s his job to embody the crass, unscrupulous side of postwar life, the veterans who aren’t haunted by what they’ve seen, the operators who see money “lying around” for the taking. Cochran nails the type in under five minutes of screen time.

Virginia Mayo plays the wife he’s fooling around with, and they were paired frequently in the late forties, both typed as low-class, sexy but vulgar. They’re forgettable in A Song is Born (1948), Howard Hawks’s lifeless musical remake of Ball of Fire, but wonderful as a pair of greedy, backstabbing lovers in Raoul Walsh’s White Heat (1949). Cochran is “Big” Ed, a discontented second-banana to Cody Jarrett (James Cagney), who taunts him with sneering air quotes around his moniker. Cagney’s majestically psychotic performance fills the movie like a bellows, as he crumples inward under the pressure of his migraines and then explodes in gleeful violence. Big Ed is his opposite, cool and smooth, his stolid repose off-setting Cody’s trip-wire sensitivity. Cochran looks fantastic in a dark suit with a black shirt and light tie, and his best moments are tiny touches like the way he loudly spits out his gum before kissing Mayo, or blows smoke sideways in a beautifully nasty, smirking close-up as he quietly threatens to tell Cody who killed his mother if she walks out on him. If Cagney is white heat, Cochran is black ice.

He played a variation on Big Ed the next year in The Damned Don’t Cry (1950), one of those fun, full-throttle Joan Crawford vehicles that follows a woman as she claws her way out of dreary poverty, attains a pinnacle of penthouse luxury, and plunges from there into the abyss. Starting in the Texas oil fields, she winds up as the mistress of a racket boss (the terrifying David Brian), who sends her on a mission to spy on one of his regional under-bosses, whom he suspects of plotting to take over. That would be Cochran, who is not satisfied with the desert fiefdom where he lounges around swimming pools in white terry-cloth robes and saunters around nightclubs in loud sport jackets. He’s not a bad guy here, especially compared with Brian, but he remains devoted to the one Big Ed calls, “a very good friend—me.”

Cochran’s philosophy of playing heavies as though they were blameless did not mean he tried to make them sympathetic; indeed, it’s the utter remorselessness of his bad guys that makes them so bad. Still, it can be hard not to root for him in formulaic “crime does not pay” flicks like Highway 301 (1950), which opens with not one but three state governors solemnly addressing the camera, and then smothers all the action with heavy-handed voice-over. It’s tempting to just turn the sound off, because the film looks terrific, darkly glistening with rain-wet streets, sleek curves of forties cars, the matte sheen of good suits and perfect fedoras. Cochran, as the leader of a heist mob, wears an arrogant sneer as stylishly as his overcoat. When his girlfriend whines about feeling bored and neglected, he says coldly, “Why don’t you do something about your face? That ought to keep you busy for a few hours.”

He took a break from suave gangsters to play a cowardly redneck lout in Storm Warning (1950), an “exposé” of the Ku Klux Klan that proves nothing is more pusillanimous than Hollywood when it thinks it’s being courageous. Cochran cited the role as a favorite; he recalled being terrified by Klan demonstrations as a child and spoke of wanting to show how “shabby” they really were, of his pride at striking a small blow for racial tolerance. He was clearly sincere, and he later attended the 1963 March on Washington with fellow progressives like Marlon Brando; unfortunately, Storm Warning makes no mention whatever of the Klan’s attitudes towards blacks or Jews, depicting it as merely a racket to extort money from gullible hicks.

The film is further compromised by shameless plagiarism of A Streetcar Named Desire, with Ginger Rogers visiting her pregnant sister (Doris Day), who dotes on her crass but hunky working-class husband. Cochran, wearing a white t-shirt and sucking on a bottle of beer, lays on the dumb rube act a little thick, though at least he does not come off as a Brando impersonator. After a beautifully filmed opening in which Rogers witnesses a Klan killing in the deserted streets of a Southern backwater, and a powerful scene in which she is bullied into lying under oath about what she saw, the film turns luridly exploitative. Rogers is spied on and assaulted by her drunken brother-in-law, then publicly whipped at a Klan rally. This pushes the film’s wrong-headedness to absurdity: the culmination of the Klan’s evil is an attack on a beautiful blonde white woman.

In the 1950s, Cochran got tired of playing heavies and biting the dust in every movie; unhappy at Warner Brothers, he left in 1952 to form his own production company, producing a few change-of-pace films like Come Next Spring. But one of his very best roles came at Warners in Tomorrow is Another Day (1951), an unusually subtle and character-focused B noir directed by Felix Feist. Here he sheds his usual self-assurance to play a rough, unfinished man, drastically inexperienced and socially awkward—and does it beautifully. His character, Bill Clark, was sent to prison at age 14 for the murder of his abusive father. Released at 31, he’s a child in a man’s body, touchingly naïve but also insecure and truculent, readily falling back on violence.

Like Rip Van Winkle waking to an unfamiliar world, he wanders around town in a cheap, unfashionable suit, carrying his few belongings in a cardboard box. He’s drawn first to the new cars, studying one with boyish wonder; then to girls, hesitantly trying to follow one in the street. His uncertainty and sulky defensiveness are painfully exposed, whether he’s being teased for ordering three pieces of pie in a diner, or stumbling sheepishly into the dime-a-dance Dreamland, where ten cents buys sixty seconds of feminine company. Here he is easy pickings for Kay (Ruth Roman), a gorgeous, hard-shelled bottle blonde who demands trinkets in exchange for her time. When he obediently returns with a wrist-watch, she rewards him with a peck on the cheek and a “Thanks, Jim.” Still smitten, he shyly kisses her hand, and on learning she doesn’t get off work for hours, mutters, “I’m used to waitin’.”

When Bill and Kay are mixed up in a killing, he panics, knowing that with his record he’s a “dead pigeon.” They go on the lam, but their route takes them far from the usual lovers-on-the-run formulas. Without a car of their own, they sneak into one of the vehicles being towed on a tractor-trailer, hop freight trains, and hitch a ride with a Joad-like family on their way to a lettuce-picking camp in Salinas. They start out hostile and bickering, and when Bill proposes in a motel room he does so by handing her a ring and saying churlishly, “Pawnbroker gave me a good deal.” But though he implies that marriage is a sacrifice to necessity, the truth is that he desperately wants her and has decided this is the only way he can get her. In the scene that follows, as they lounge on a bank above the railroad tracks, he tells her about the murder of his father and about his years in jail, where he earned ten cents a day as a welder. “You worked a whole day,” she says wonderingly, “Just to dance a minute at Dreamland.”

Bill asks his bride if she thinks people change, “I mean, inside.” She does: dying her hair back to brunette, switching her name to Kathy, she emerges from her cynical shell. But Bill never seems to change; in the end, when he’s betrayed by a friend and threatened with going back to jail, he reacts with blind anger and panicked violence. This incorrigibility coexists with his gentleness: when Kathy tells him she’s pregnant, his sullen face delicately opens into an angelic smile, but not long after she has to shoot him to stop him from killing the sheriff who comes to arrest him. The ending of the movie is a cop-out, but the revelation that the whole saga has been driven by mistakes, lies, and misunderstandings has a certain fitting irony.

Cochran drew even more deeply on this strain of confusion and sorrow in Antonioni’s Il Grido (1957), another movie about life on the road. The title translates as “The Cry,” and the film is essentially one long, muted howl of loss. Dubbed in Italian, Cochran plays Aldo, a simple working man who has lived for years in a common law marriage with Irma (Alida Valli), with whom he has a daughter, Rosina (Mirna Girardi). The movie opens as Irma, without warning or explanation, tells Aldo she’s leaving him for another man.

Like Bill Clark, Aldo is a muddled mixture of gentleness and violence, an aching wound papered over with inarticulate masculine pride. His reaction to Irma’s rejection is baffled and ineffectual; his instinct is to lash out, but he pulls back from hitting her. Later, desperate to assert his authority, he beats her in front of a crowd of townsfolk, but it’s he who comes away looking weak and defeated, having now sealed their estrangement. Taking their daughter, he sets out on an aimless journey, a futile search to replace what he’s lost.

The real star of Il Grido is the wintry landscape of the Po Valley. Nothing could be further from the Italy of vacation fantasies than this grey, muddy, industrial wasteland. Thin, bare branches are traced on the fog, sprouting from pollarded trees like amputees’ stumps. Desolate fields of rocks, marshes, and flat sodden riverbanks are made even bleaker by factories and construction sites, gas stations and refineries. The relentlessly overcast, drizzly weather is like an expression of Aldo’s numb, mournful mood. Cochran’s face, beginning to look worn, blends in with the landscape; he’s still ruggedly handsome, but stripped of all glamour and self-assurance, an ordinary man suddenly adrift with no bearings.

Aldo is hardly a model father, as he subjects his little girl to a tough and lonely life on the road, but there are moments when he comforts her with heartbreaking tenderness, and you always feel that in his fumbling way he is doing his best for her. (Still, it’s a relief when he finally sends her back to her mother.) The structure of this episodic film comes from Aldo’s encounters with three different women, each a possible but ultimately inadequate substitute for Irma. A former girlfriend (played by Betsy Blair) and a sexy young widow who runs an isolated service station both offer him refuge, and he has a torrid affair with the widow, but both times he drifts away. He has the chance to go to Venezuela, but inexplicably tears up his papers. He winds up with a prostitute who suffers from malaria, huddling in a leaky hut made of reeds and filled with acrid smoke. Amid this wretchedness, he remembers visiting a museum with Irma, a poignant revelation of what she represents in his barren and messy world.

He is inconsolable, and the life and purpose just drain out of him, leaving him an empty husk. In the end, Aldo returns to the town he left, to find it roiling with mass meetings over land seizures, a chaos of bulldozers, ruins, blazing fields and armed police. But for Aldo, the last straw is seeing, through a window, Irma with her new baby, annihilating his hopes. It’s hard to think of another movie in which someone essentially, and convincingly, dies of love.

Steve Cochran had a great deal of practice at dying; having succumbed onscreen to many predictable violent ends, he topped them in 1965 with one of Hollywood’s most legendarily bizarre deaths. That he was only 48 is tragic, but that he died aboard a yacht with an all-female crew is irresistibly titillating. None of the young Mexican women (whom he had hired, allegedly with a view to making a movie about a real yacht captain who had an “all-girl” crew) knew how to pilot the boat, which drifted for ten days off the coast of Guatemala after Cochran unexpectedly fell ill and died of a respiratory ailment. This story left a somewhat lurid stain on his life, though it seems to have been nothing but a publicity stunt gone terribly awry.

Alas, Cochran’s off-screen behavior rarely enhanced his reputation for seriousness. He seems to have been amiable and well-meaning, and neither his chronic womanizing nor his penchant for reckless driving and flying were anything out of the ordinary in Hollywood. More damningly, Don Siegel claimed he had trouble catching Cochran “even slightly sober” during the filming of Private Hell 36 (1954), though you’d never guess this from his sharp, nuanced performance as a corrupt cop in love with a nightclub singer (Ida Lupino, who co-wrote the script). His character, Cal Bruner, is callous, vain, and morally shifty—a plainclothes dick who tackles and fatally shoots a robber, then readies himself for a date with perfumed aftershave while complaining that the “miserable creep” ruined his new suit. He’s a guy on the make, lightly detached from everything except his own concerns. Yet when Cal falls for Lily, a canary with an exhausted voice and bone-dry sense of humor, he becomes someone we care about. He has better taste than we would have expected (Lily—who seems older than Cal, though Lupino was a year younger than Cochran—is no brainless babe), and more substance.

“You know, somewhere in my dim past I seem to have heard this before,” Lily deadpans when Cal makes a pass. “I’ve said it before,” he replies readily, “To all shapes and sizes. Only this time I mean it. Don’t ask me why.” Cochran and Lupino have serious chemistry (the scene where he unties the halter neck of her dress and massages her naked shoulders is a classic of Code-era steaminess), but Cal and Lily also connect on some deeper level, making us believe these two what’s-in-it-for-me types surprise themselves with genuine feeling. When he sits at the bar watching her croak out a hard-hearted ditty called “Didn’t You Know,” his eyes brim with a clear, soft light. In this part, Cochran layers cool selfishness and tender warmth so closely, nothing thicker than a razor could separate them.

by Imogen Sara Smith

#Imogen Sara Smith #The Chiseler #Steve Cochran #noir #Ida Lupino #Alida Valli

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