Summary: The disconnect between Harvey and Harv's thoughts grows beyond what TwoFace can keep track of themselves. But they should've known they couldn't trust anyone to do the thinking for them. One rat down, he wonders about returning to arkham... no! No, he'd have to find another way to bypass this mental block.
Tags: Hypnotherapy (not necessarily accurate), attempted use of DID terminology (I apologise if I use them incorrectly - please correct me in the comments), gender neutral reader, and SFW angst.
(For anyone not into hypnokink, "'tist" refers to the hypnotist in a given dynamic. Usually the dom is the 'tist, but not necessarily)
(Again, this is a general TwoFace rather than any specific universe, but I pulled Dr. Tompkins and Harvey's past experience of hypnotherapy from BTAS.)
(I will also be using the plural and singular mix of pronouns like in the last fic, though the fact TwoFace uses more singular pronouns in this fic indicates more of a split. They are taking turns rather than co-fronting as much this time.)
Banner by @sister-lucifer and @thecutestgrotto
"Why are we here?", Harv grunted. Staring down the door to an office he hasn't visited in a long time. Longer than he can remember... but Harvey can.
"Funny, you should already know since it's your fault we even came here!", Harvey snapped back in a snark hiss at his co-front's predictable bluntness. It wouldn't be the first time they pulled in opposite directions, but they've always been painfully aware of each other the whole time. Now it seems they rarely share the room and have to guess what the other was up to. Harvey truly didn't know what Harv did, only what he himself didn't do.
He didn't leave a diary of all their plans lying about their hideout. He didn't go around putting his fingerprints on all the commissioner's dirty laundry. He didn't unload that gun into their second in command!
And unfortunately Harv felt too defensive to explain anything.
For the longest time, keeping secrets seemed impossible in such a cramped consciousness they shared. However, without either of them realising it, that impossibility became far too possible. Plans made of patchwork communicated in a laggy game of Chinese whispers between Harvey, their lacky, Harv and back. With holes in their memory like moth-eaten clothing, thoughts falling through the gaps. They didn't work well at the best of times before, but now? They aren't quite sure how it happened, but their dynamic duo was dissolving into a partitioned pair.
So, in lieu of answers, making the most of his fleeting time at the wheel seemed the best option. A brisk get away to the only place he could find real help when Harv was more than he could handle. Lesley always did have a way of making Harv talk...
Some part of Harvey worried what this change meant. Was their control of this body not as evenly split as they first thought? Once he'd managed to skip an entire day in the blink of an eye, he knew they couldn't wait for this to resolve itself. They needed help and fast!
"I don't know where you get off doing things behind my back", Harvey said, still reeling from the last mess he had to clean up. Instinctively rubbing his thumb over where he had to scrub the blood off before coming here. Shirt un-tucked and suit unbuttoned in their rush to change, knowing their other suit was still left crumpled in the bottom of their wardrobe, blood stains embedding themselves deeper with every passing minute. Hair and hands still damp with soapy water they didn't bother to dry off.
"Says you! You're always talking over my head and telling half-truths.", and the worst part was, he wasn't wrong. At times it felt like they each really did only have half a mind, like somehow only Harvey ever made it through law school or had a seat at the table at any given meeting these days. So it wasn't as if Harv's frustrations were unfounded when he huffed, "Mind filling me in next time you decide to go walkies? You may enjoy having your brain switched off, but I don't!"
"Oh, so you do know where we are?", Harvey pressed, as much as Harv realising where they are might compel him to turn tail he couldn't help but rub salt in the wound and make clear exactly what awaited Harv because of his monumental cock-up. If Harv couldn't be trusted with their mind, then Harvey had no choice but to hand it over to someone else! He'd never admit it, but it was him (not Harv) that took a liking to drink for that very same reason. Only thing holding him back is how much power drinking himself silly gives to Harv, at least this way he can switch of without that risk.
"Never seen it from the outside, but yeah. Can't mistake the door of that damn shrink's office. Hated talking to that bitch...", Harv's venomous hiss more fearful than threatening. Cornered.
"Well, that 'bitch' is exactly who we need to see right now so you can-"
Meanwhile, sat at the clinically sterile, empty desk of the former Dr.Tompkins was a fresh face. Eye-bags dark like the wet ink from their only recently awarded degree. Enjoying what was a quiet afternoon of paperwork following only a handful of appointments earlier that day. Now disturbed by the muffled bickering just outside their door.
No one was scheduled for this afternoon. Odd. Maybe their colleagues needed their help with something? Neither voice sounded familiar though, and the silhouette appeared remarkably... singular, for an argument between clearly two people. Better go check to see what the fuss is about...
Pushing up from their chair with a creak, their office mostly unchanged from when the previous doctor sat in their place, each foot step similarly creaking with the weight of the shoes they were attempting to fill. Even the name on their office door hadn't been changed yet.
So when they opened the door, it shouldn't have been surprising that the man behind it looked just as shocked as they did.
"Hello? You can come in if... you..." came the tired yet soft, lilted voice of the therapist who'd sat impatiently waiting for the chatter to quieten down, expecting no new patients today let alone him, "oh dear."
"You're not Dr. Tompkins", Harvey said quite plainly, sounding a little put-out. It had been a long while since his last visit, and in his desperation to find a solution to their "problem" he hadn't bothered to do any official paperwork to book this appointment. Or else they'd see it wasn't Lesley who'd be greeting them today.
Looking down at the good doctor with a look of sincere confusion, they took a moment to process this slight change in plans. Weighing up the risks of abruptly leaving to go find who they meant to see today versus taking a chance with a new face. They could at least try. Strangely, a twinge of recognition flashed behind their eyes. That voice...
"So? Where is she?", Harvey asked, hoping maybe they'd just missed her or she'd simply moved office. Unfortunately...
"Oh, uh, she retired soon after I started working here. Were you, um, one of her... patients?", the doctor's hesitation made clear how scared they were to have one of Gotham's most infamous rogues turn up unannounced. Something that was almost always bad news, to be fair. It was easy to forget they might not be the most welcome company, having not returned since well... they were a different man.
It's unsurprising that Lesley's replacement wouldn't know she was once Dent's hypnotherapist. Back then, the PR nightmare he tried desperately to avoid was still tightly under wraps. Nobody but Bruce knew. And even as his worst impulses came to glaring light, all the public knew was that the acid attack incited this schism in him. Not that it had been there since so many years before, ready to boil over if given the opportunity. Would it make a difference to fill-in this new therapist now? Probably not. His demons were now as plain as his face after all.
"...Something like that", they said as they stepped into the office, gently nudging past the new doctor. Too preoccupied with the flood of memories this room washed over them, heavy yet soothing. Torn between the comfort it gave Harvey and the anger it stirred in Harv. This place, a temple to everything they were and everything done to tame what Harvey didn't want to be. A blanket. A snare.
"C-Come in then! I don't actually have any patients booked in for the rest of the day, so you came at the right time", they stammered, unsure what to make of the predicament that had just fallen into their lap, the kind that surely required a delicate touch. For their own sake or TwoFace's? They weren't quite sure, so erred on the side of caution, "Tell me, what would you like me to help you with?"
"Him.", TwoFace said bluntly, tones clashing like a voice crack.
"Could you elaborate-"
"Make him shut up.", there it was again, the cracking. They were finally, truly, in the same room! Stepping on each others toes with every word.
"I-I'm not sure I understand...", now settled back into their desk chair and TwoFace settling into the rather uncomfortable chair that replaced the old chez lounge they remembered, beginning their session before even thinking about it.
"We've been forgetting things. (He has) (What?!)", words and thoughts flowed seamlessly for them, unable to tell who said what aloud, "What I remember, he forgets and what he remembers, I forget. Neither of us feel in control and it's driving us mad! (It's your fault!)"
Feeling wholly unequipped, overwhelmed frankly, the good doctor thought to refer them to one of their colleagues - Arkham, even - but a mix of sordid curiosity for the rogue and pity at the mess he spilled upon their lap made them reconsider it. Their scope of practice did technically include patients like him, he's just... unique, shall we say? That said, their seemingly stress-induced memory problems weren't entirely alien. And at the very least it couldn't hurt to try and understand their concerns better and help them relax if that's all they're after?
"Tell me the last thing you remember, if you can?"
"Which one of us?", they said, talking over each other again. If it were possible you swear they'd be giving themselves intense side-eye right now. Instead they kept their eyes averted as if avoiding their own gaze.
"I -sorry- I should have asked your names. That might make this easier," you apologised, though it wasn't as if they'd made much of an attempt to leave room for introductions or pleasantries so far either. Making him extend that extra courtesy felt a little ill-advisable right now, so you held your tongue.
"My name is Harvey... Dent. I did think you might've already known that given how public my -uh- y'know-", he pointed at the dramatic scarring marking his "bad side" to speak for itself. Truth be told, despite how big the story was at the time, you'd completely forgotten who TwoFace used to be. Well, still is, but only in the technical sense.
"Of course of course, but I get the impression your companion goes by another name, correct?", you clarified.
"'Companion'?! 'Leech' more like! His name is Harv", adding 'big bad' in front felt embarrassing even if it felt apt. No, right now he doesn't deserve to be granted any power, even nominally.
"Interesting comparison to make. Do you really feel that you and Harv have a parasitic relationship?", you gently pried, hoping to get a footing in their case.
"If you're done speaking for me, I'd like to throw my own two cents into the ring", Harv's scarred hand fished through their pocket for their iconic coin, beginning to flip it with clear irritation, "Let's make one thing abundantly clear Doc, we share this body, this mind - always have done! And we... we don't understand why that's stopped", he paused again, slowing down his rant to a more somber concern, "Why we feel stuck with our half and unable to piece the two together. Hard to work together when you work different shifts, ya know?"
"You mean you aren't doing this on purpose? You aren't just giving me shove out of my own head so you can be at the helm for good?", Harvey argued, clearly uninterested in his alter ego's sincerity and committed to his own assumption of Harv's guilt. A hunger for power, for control. A hunger they both shared, even if Harvey would hesitate to admit it. They grabbed the coin mid-flip. Forcing attention back to themselves.
"Oh and I bet that's exactly why you came here while I was out, right? So you can snuff me out and have your head 'back'? News flash, kid, this head was never fully yours to begin with!", Harv was yelling now, shaking. What at first seemed like anger soon revealed the thinly veiled panic that it was. Something you could perhaps sooth in a rather cynical attempt to gain their trust, or at least Harv's.
"No-one is getting 'snuffed out'," you interjected, "now, Harv, what was the last thing you remember from the last time you woke up from one of these 'black-outs'?"
Harvey shifted uncomfortably, feathers ruffled at the fact you asked Harv before him, but having the patience to wait his turn. Clearly itching to interrupt with his side of the story as Harv spoke, "Aside from waking up here, the one before that was in the middle of a conversation with Mags-"
"-yeah, and then you shot him!", and there it is.
Harv was quick to defend himself, "You weren't there, you don't know!"
"I know I woke up with the gun in my hand and blood all over our suit!", Harvey doubled down.
"Who fucking asked you?! I wasn't done!", Harv swore, stiff scars straining with the force of his scowl like old stitching barely holding their face together.
"I know you aren't, that's exactly why we're here; so you can't keep fucking up behind my-"
"Let Harv speak, Harvey. Who is 'Mags', Harv?", you bring the conversation back, more sternly than you'd been up until now. Finally feeling like you had some footing in their quarrel.
"Mags -Magpie- was our right-hand man. Was a big help when all this started, helped us keep track." Harv subtly clenched his fist, as if to hide a greater release of anger at the memory, "Then I find out he's been stealing shit, ratting us out to other gangs, taking advantage of the gaps in our memory, nearly getting us killed. So, yeah, schoolboy's right."
A smile pricked up on their face, one of shared smug satisfaction and of defiance. Both feeling right. Harv finished with a firm declaration, "I did shoot him. Call me crazy but I don't like a rat throwing us both under the bus!"
Something didn't add up. Did only Harv know that Mags was a rat? Was Harvey upset out of ignorance or did he know about Mags and just wanted to handle him another way? Whichever it was, the conversation quickly derailed again as Harvey kept talking over Harv trying to explain himself. Time to intervene, again.
"Harvey, it is technically your turn to talk now, but I believe you've told me most of what you remember already. The gun, the blood... coming here.", you start, hoping to get things back on track.
"If you'll let me speak uninterrupted for a moment, I'd greatly appreciate it" you nodded as Harvey continued, "In fact, I was kind of hoping you could keep him quiet for me in general."
"I knew I couldn't fucking trust you! You're so damn predictable. Well, shows how much you know - you'd be dead without me! And fuck you too, Doc, you ain't gonna do shit to me!", Harv snapped, forcing them both off the chair to stomp closer to your desk.
"You're right, Harv, I won't." you say, trying your damnedest to keep cool even as your heart thumped through your chest, "I can't actually."
"Dr. Tompkins could. Tell us -tell me- where to find her and we'll be out of your hair.", Harvey kept pushing, inching forwards and leaning over your desk. For as scary as Harv could be, Harvey wasn't far behind.
"I don't know where she lives, unfortunately for you. And even if I did, tracking her down won't make a difference. Hypnotherapy requires trust. Trust that Harv clearly isn't ready to give, and from the sounds of things, I don't blame him."
By now Harvey loomed mere inches from your face, shadow encompassing both halves of his. A few seconds of silent intimidation, baring into your far less effectively than he had hoped. He wouldn't push it, not this, so he fell back to give you back some space. Harvey was speechless. It was rare people didn't share the same fears as him, about Big Bad Harv. Friends, enemies, all shared common ground in their apprehension towards him. What he might do, what he has done. Enough to know when he, Harvey, was speaking, they at least stood a chance of appealing to reason. So would plead or beg or gamble if it was him talking, not Harv. Why then, were they so adamant Harv should be left alone? Why?!
After a minute or two of silent deliberation, you chose you next few words carefully, "I don't mean to assume anything, but when you were her patient was it before becoming-"
"Yes, yes it was.", Harvey answered quickly, still a bit flabbergasted by your resolve.
"Right. That might have changed things then.", you added.
"Why?"
"Well, for one, back then I assume you were less evenly split? If Harvey was the only one technically being hypnotised then it may have been easier than trying to trance you both at once, as I'd be doing now."
"Then do it one at a time.", Harvey insisted, clearly growing desperate.
"Or don't do it at all!", Harv finally chimed in, desperate himself but for entirely different reasons. More akin to a cornered dog at the vet.
"You don't get a say in this-", Harvey snapped again.
"Like Hell I don't! You know the rules...", rolling the coin through their rough fingers, Harv held it up as if to tauntingly remind Harvey of his own compulsions. Order. Fairness.
Sucking in a sharp breath of frustration, Harvey begrudgingly nodded, "Fine. Good side, we proceed. Bad side, we leave. Happy?"
"Very.", Harv's curt response tipping off that their 50/50 odds weren't entirely enough to put them at ease, but at least their decision would be final. No more bickering, just a simple granting or withdrawal of consent.
Less than a second - and it's over.
Bad side.
"Well! It's been terrible meeting you, Doc, but at least you probably won't ever see us again! Goodbye", they slammed the door on their way out, itching to leave. Their words filtered through gritted teeth. Harv's beaming grin and Harvey's scornful grimace, seething. Harv may have gotten what he wanted, but if their split is as severe as they said then you doubt it'll be long before you hear their discordant knock on your door once more.
"You know... their voice sounded familiar!", Harvey mused, trying to make the most of this spell of serendipitous unity they had before what they feared would be another blackout for one of them. Intangibly, yet viscerally, they could feel the next blackout approaching, like the crackling of a phone signal about to cut out. Asking questions compelled answers, kept them in-sync. But only up to a point.
"Why do you think I didn't immediately walk us out of there? They weren't your old shrink, so maybe they'd listen to me and they did - go figure.", Harv grumbled, not entirely satisfied with his small victory in going another day without some doctor trying to get inside their head just because Harvey is fine letting them in. The fact that is the first thing he tries the moment he isn't there to stop him sent a chill down their spine and Harvey felt it too.
"You could've told me! Are they someone you met while I was "out"?", Harvey tutted.
"No!", Harv rather defensively answered, but quickly back-peddled, "At least I don't think so? You do realise we could've just met them in passing a while back together, right? Not everything you forget is something I specifically know!"
Strange that they both found the doctor's voice familiar while holding so little common ground these days, especially as neither knew where from... Their face was new, that's for certain. They couldn't put their finger on why, but their voice was so... comforting? No, that wasn't quite it. Soothing? Well if that were true, maybe Harv wouldn't have kicked up such a stink. No, they're probably remembering someone else's voice.
For now, they'd have to call an uneasy truce. No Mags to keep tabs on their paper trail, no clear way to sew their psyche back together, taking turns indefinitely until they figure something out... or one of them never wakes up.
"I know, no harm in asking though."
Note: I like to think of Harv as more cynical than Harvey. Street smart and suspicious, though edging into paranoia which partly contributes to why he's more quick to violence. He's seen Harvey be used like a tool far too many times to fully trust his admittedly more educated judgement.
Also, I apologise for switching between third person and first person perspective for the reader insert. I try to keep it consistent but sometimes I mean to start a scene from TwoFace's perspective (so the reader insert is "they"), only to gradually shift to the reader's perspective (when I start using "you"). It's a bad habit I'm trying to fix so I sincerely apologise where it has cropped up and I have forgotten to edit into the correct perspective.
ORIGINALLY I was going to keep the split very strict. It was orginially going to just be Harvey knocking on the reader's door. Begging to be hypnotised to keep Harv under control, panicked and covered in blood. I may write that version out again for those who like that idea. Something like, "Where's Dr. Tompkins?! Please, I need help - I can't control him myself anymore, Doc, please!" while grabbing at the reader's suit.
However, instead I ended up with them arriving before the split has become more extreme. Being on the tail-end of a more gradual shift and a rare moment with both of them back in the room. The starker split coming in part 2 and scaring the shit out of Harv (basically being the reason he comes back, realising they need each other). I think that could still work with the alternate version, it would just play out slightly differently. Lmk what you think? x
Summary: Pent up from dealing with nosey reporters breathing down his neck and unsatisfied with sharing the spotlight with you, Vincent sought to kill your career in a different manner... One that would leave you dead in the eyes of viewers, and allow him to let off some steam while he's at it!
CW: Heavily implied SA, hypnosis, gaslighting, manipulation, vomit, intoxication, misogyny, breeding kink, degradation and slight body dysmorphia.
(Meant to write this after a different fic but inspo for this one came faster so consider that other WIP a prequel to this I guess!)
Dividers by @the-fashion-icon
"-and that's it for tonight folks!", your dashing new co-host Vincent announced as the live-studio audience cheered. It'd gotten busier since he'd taken over from the old host under... unfortunate circumstances. You're just glad the light fixtures were repaired before you returned from your vacation that week! His death seemed so... sudden? You hesitate to say 'suspicious'. These things happen after all, but... Vincent seemed almost like he was expecting it to happen. So ready to take up the mantle of talk-show host barely a day or two after the tragedy.
You'd been quiet the whole show, still processing your grief. It's not like you knew the guy, not really, but he certainly didn't deserve to die like that. Felt odd, unnatural even, to see someone else in his place even if Vincent really did fill his shoes to a T. The way he spoke and dominated the set really took you aback! Admittedly, it was a welcome change of pace. You really felt like you carried the show up until this point, so a break was desperately needed. It was bittersweet though, that it happened like this.
Seemed like only yesterday he was only a weather-boy. Never even heard of anyone climbing the work ladder so quickly. Took you years to score any background roles in even lesser known shows, taking ad roles and modelling gigs, whatever was available really. But slow and steady wins the race sometimes, building up a portfolio and enough eyes spotting you in the background to think to cast you for anything bigger. You may have been aiming for Hollywood, but in all honesty you could quite happily cap your career here! A bit less demanding than some of the other studios you've worked with.
Taking your leave, you peaked back at Vincent who was still lingering at the edge of the stage, basking in all the cheering that trailed on much longer than it ever did before he came along. It was honestly quite adorable, seeing him beam with such an earnest smile. Until today, you only really crossed paths fleetingly in the studio. In those brief moments though, you never saw him smile, not really. Always overly preoccupied. With what, you couldn't say, but having met him now he seems much more pleasant company than you'd ever expected!
Just as you were gathering your things ready to leave, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you spin around only to see Vincent standing there panting as if he'd just ran to catch up with you and his hair slightly disheveled.
A bit of a surprise in all honesty. No one at the studio ever really cared to speak with you much outside of work and honestly that's how you'd prefer to keep it. Can't have any rumours circulate, as they so easily do, if you're seen alone with anyone important. Even work-dos felt a little risky in that regard since alcohol was so often involved. You worked far too hard up to this point to lose it all to some scandal!
Still, by his haste you assume it must be something important.
"Yes? What do you want?", you asked a little more curtly than intended, exhausted from processing all the recent changes at work. If this was more bad news you swear-
"Wanted to make sure you're holding up alright after... y'know...", he trailed off but he was still smiling. Maybe still stoked from a good first day of his promotion, but felt wildly inappropriate given his question.
Trying to shrug his hand off, but his grip on your shoulder didn't let up, you curtly (on purpose this time) retort "I'm fine."
"Really? You're in such a hurry to leave already, I figured something must be up", he kept going in faux-concern, trying to coax an answer out of you despite how obvious it was that what positive impression he'd made during the show was quickly souring and would moreso if he didn't let you go soon. What's up with this guy? Seemed reluctant to leave the audience a second ago, what changed?
"I..." Not wanting to cause a commotion and perhaps out of exhaustion, you conceded with a deep, relenting sigh, "I am genuinely holding up just fine. You did great out there! Thank you." Staring back, a tenseness in his whole demeanour lingered even as his smile softened. At least he seemed satisfied enough to loosen his grip and let you finish doing up your coat. The silence that fell over you both, save only for the dimming murmur of other studio staff and equipment, was comfortable but short-lived.
Vincent, ever eager to break the silence, chimed in, "Must be awfully strange working with someone else now, huh?"
Despite his body language clearly signaling for a response, anything to work with, you flat out refused to play ball and just focused on checking you had everything ready before heading for the nearest exit. No matter how faint he made it, the barely audible groan you heard him huff under his breath was unmistakable. "I really think we need to work on our chemistry if this is gonna work.", he sighed.
He was right. You may have had reasons for being quiet today but that couldn't last forever. Sooner or later you'd have to re-establish a good dynamic, a new dynamic. Even if it had to be forced, but at that point at least it'd be contained to the set no matter how you go on outside the studio. Perhaps you're too quite to judge him. Hasn't technically done anything wrong, just caught you at a bad time. Finding time to work on your chemistry is honestly better than the quiet weekend you had planned anyway. Maybe over coffee? Couldn't be anywhere too public though, Vincent may be no James Stewart but he had enough lady fans that might recognise him if they tried their "chemistry building" anywhere too public. He had to realise what that could stir, right?
As if he'd read your mind, and promptly disregarded it, he made his own brazen contribution, "How about I take you down to Movers tonight? My treat! I feel like we started on the wrong foot, but I promise I'll put my right foot forward-". In one smooth motion, he had your hand in his then spun you around and caught you just as you felt off-balance. The sudden switch had you blushing before you could think what just happened. Not only that, but the way he'd caught you had you looking up at him closer than you'd ever been before. Close enough to finally notice his eyes weren't the same colour, how odd yet... beautiful. Easy to lose yourself in for just a moment, a second too long perhaps as you snapped back to reality and shoved him off you (and yourself down to the floor).
Without missing a beat, he reached a hand down to help you back up while his other hand sheepishly rubbed the bad of his head. "That was... a little too forward of me-"
"You think?!", you mutter, put-out by the pain in your rear. Though whether it was more your own or him was debatable, you didn't fall that far after all. Reluctantly, you reach your hand up to take his. If he really thinks you'll spend an evening out on the town with him, even if it was technically for work, after this he's damn delu- He reached further forward than you expected, grabbing your wrist and whispering something that cut your reservations short. Wait, what did he say?
"Um, yes?", you felt yourself say as you dusted yourself off.
"Wonderful! I'll drive, I don't mind staying sober tonight."
"You know, I've never been here before.", you mentioned off-handedly as you two settled into a small booth with a view of the small stage but otherwise tucked away. Marveling at the decor, you'd always passed by this place but never had a reason to go or anyone to go with. It felt intimate yet buzzing, perhaps because it was a Friday. It was early enough in the night that the chatter was fun but not chaotic. Pleasant background noise that only added to the music. Luckily no one was waiting at the bar when you walked in, so Vincent was able to sneak in the first round within the first couple minutes as you got settled.
You raised an eyebrow once he brought them over, scoffing, "Going a little hard and fast, don'tcha think?"
"Well you looked pretty tense at the studio, so I figured you could use a drink!"
He had a point. The fact part of that tension was his fault seemed to go over his head, but you had no obligation to humour him. Gently pushing your rob roy away, you crossed your arms on the table and got straight to business. "So! Let's just... I guess we should just start over, right? I would say you need no introduction but as a formality, tell me a bit about yourself." Seemed he didn't need much prompting, because for the next half-hour or so he gladly blabbed and bragged about himself. The fact he used to be "-just a weatherboy-" came up about three times and you felt your eyes wonder in boredom by the fourth.
Catching on, he stopped himself and gestured for you to carry on the conversation instead. The boredom had you reaching for the rob roy so by the time he was finally done you were a few sips in already. "Sorry, I'm just so happy to be here, getting onto the show I mean, still can't believe it!". For as much as him clearly loving the sound of his own voice grated on your nerves, he did genuinely seem pretty excited. Which was cute honestly, like a puppy, if he had a tail you're sure it'd be wagging. Something to work on, but you're sure he'll settle down once he's been on the show for a while.
Clearing your throat with another sip of your cocktail, the thought of what to actually say about yourself hadn't particularly crossed your mind. Sure, you've had a pretty good life but what was there to really write home about? Still, something was better than nothing so you say, "Well, I've been in the 'biz for a bit longer than you have. Did a lot of acting gigs but never manage to land any major rolls. Had my heart set on Hollywood for a long time, but I think there's nothing wrong in settling for what I've got. Best job of the lot so far honestly."
"I'm honestly surprised, you look exactly like the kind of American beauty they're looking for. Plus, you carry yourself so well! I bet you could waltz into MGM, demand a leading role and they'd give it to you on the spot!", he gushed. Frankly you were conflicted. There was and would be so much more to your success than just looks, but you had to admit it's been a while since someone complimented you like that. Face flushing red, you waved away his overblown flattery,"No, no, if I was actually that good an actress they would have scouted me years ago..."
"You never know - sometimes you just have to take what you want in life, or else it never happens", he said. Something about his tone seemed sincere but contemplative. Whatever was on his mind, he wanted it gone fast. Vincent practically downed his drink, and was already up to get another before you could even suggest you get this round instead. Despite you only having drank about a third of yours. You weren't made of money, but you bet Vincent wasn't either, wouldn't be fair for only him to be paying tonight. Plus, you wanted something sober this time. If he at least asked you what you wanted then maybe you wouldn't be so anxious to catch up with him at the bar. Reaching out you whisper, "Hey, you got the last one remember? I can get this!"
Turning to you, he brushed off your offer and asked, "I said it was my treat, didn't I? Not much of a treat if you're still paying for it, now what would you like?"
You'd barely finished your last cocktail, so you erred on the side of caution, got a soda and stayed at the bar until it was poured. Talking all the while to ease the tension that arose from your obvious, lingering distrust of him. Once you two finally sat back down, Vincent eyed your remaining drink from last round. "I thought I was our designated driver?", he joked with a smile.
"And yet you downed a cocktail just now-"
He cut you off, "-mocktail, don't worry."
"Did you mean it? About me being a star if I really wanted?", you said after a moment of awkward silence.
"Of course! In fact, I know I'm a lot newer to this but I'm sure I could pull a few strings if your heart's still set on Hollywood?", Vincent leaned forward, his demeanor more intense than before. He was serious? You... you aren't quite sure what to make of this. You'd done so much to work your way up on your own that it almost felt like cheating to get a foot in the door that way. But... when will you get an offer like that again? Maybe he's just talking out of his ass and this was just more flattery. Your indecision was painted clear as day all over your face as you mulled over his words with each sip of your drink. Wasn't long before it was empty and you were left with only your half-drunk cocktail from before.
You never really give him an answer, but it seems you didn't need to. Sensing your hesitation, he gave you some space, leaning back and resuming his more relaxed demeanour from before, "Think about it, you don't have to answer right away. I wouldn't blame you for wanting to stick with what you've got."
Nodding, you set your empty glass aside and look back at him. You still can't get over how striking his eyes are. Not wanting to be rude, you tried desperately not to stare but you couldn't help yourself. He didn't seem to mind though, didn't look away except to take a sip of his drink every so often. You were both talking, but about what you couldn't really say as it all flowed in one ear and out the other so seamlessly as time passed like warm sand through your fingers. His once drole rambling now drew you in with each word, soothing your anxieties about tonight. Glancing down, you could see a freshly made glass of your favourite cocktail had been brought over. When did you order that? Wait, does Vincent know it's your favourite? Did you bring it up while you were lost in conversation? Another glance, showed a couple more empty glasses beside it. When did you drink those?
By this point, you couldn't tell if it was him or the alcohol making you blush. And quite frankly, you didn't care. You felt... good. Great even! The bar had gotten more lively and the band was playing even better than before, finding yourself tapping your feet to the beat without thinking. All the buzz got you restless and you stood up a little too fast. Staggering off-balance, leaning on- oh! Vincent was already up and ready for you to lean on, letting you melt into his shoulder. The music was a bit too loud for you to say with certainty, but you swear you heard him chuckle. You guess you did get a little carried away...
"Come on, let's get you home safe", he snaked his arm around your waist as he helped walk you back to his car. Barely, -how long have you two been out now? Two hours? Hardly kept track between all the drinks and chatter- yeah, barely two hours ago you would've shoved him off from a hug let alone the rather intimate hold he had you in right now... but you didn't. All you wanted to do was sink deeper into it. All too soon, you both reached his car. A much more modest thing than you expected, given how much he liked to show off. Groaning at the cold when he gently pulled you off him so you could get in. You slumped into the front passenger seat, mumbling an apology about how much of a mess you must look right now. Soon after that you passed out; pretty much the instant the car door shut.
"Thank's for driving me to work today, you're a life-saver!", you thanked Vincent as you got into the passenger seat. Might've been easier to fetch your car over the weekend, but he was busy and you didn't particularly need it urgently anyway. Friday's "chemistry building" went better than expected, the bits you remember anyway. You'd been meaning to ask about that actually-
"So... about Friday...", you began only for the car to suddenly grind to a halt.
"Sorry, something ran across the road, what were you saying?", Vincent innocently asked as he slowly eased the car back into motion again. Whatever happened, it completely threw you off. "Don't worry about it.", you hand-waved away the non-starter of a conversation only for Vincent to re-ignite it himself with an enthused gleam in his eye, "Oh! You mean about getting you on the silver screen? It's no trouble, really. Just say the word!"
The shift to him steering the conversation yet again felt as jarring as the sudden stop a moment before. You'd completely forgotten about that, the promises he made. Though it would do a lot to explain why you'd been daydreaming you were dancing on some fanciful set over the weekend. Clearly mulling it over in the back of your mind even if the memory of his exact words had grown fuzzy - the hope it stowed in your heart still simmering away. If he really meant it... maybe you should accept? No. You've been given false-hope before, and thinking your current job is on the way out will do nothing but hurt your performance. It's how you lost gigs before. People bailing before they deliver. No he was definitely bullshitting. You've tried too hard to get here own your own and he really thinks it's as easy as sweet-talking a couple of producers? You may have made a bit of a fool of yourself on Friday, but you aren't that much of a fool! As much as you wanted to seem grateful, the remnants of a scoff leaked out of your voice as you politely declined his "generous offer".
"Well, if you're sure then I can't force it! Won't lie though, I think it's a bit of a waste...", his shimmering green eye tore from the road for just a moment, giving a brief but no less venomous side-glance. You worried he might take it personally, but it's less work for him, right? Still, not wanting to sour the remainder of the drive too much, you chipped in a little token of praise to soften the blow, "Besides, you make this job pretty damn great already. Just wouldn't be the same without you." That ought to do it. Was it flattery? A little, but he was no stranger to dishing it out when it suited him either. Plus, it was true for the most part. Hate to admit it, but he's grown on you.
The rest of the journey was pretty quiet after that. Vincent kept a slight smile strapped to his face, but you could see it fade after every red light. With little to say but still itching to escape the silence, you turned the radio up and tried to make like the traffic was interesting enough for it to occupy your full attention until eventually, finally you made it to the studio on time.
Despite the awkward start, whatever progress you'd made on Friday really paid off! Conversation ran smoothly. Naturally enough you'd think you were thick as thieves! Unlike before, Vincent took more of a backseat. Content to let you speak and bouncing off you instead of railroading the conversation. An oddly comforting return to form that reminded you of before- ah, you'd forgotten about that. The moment it hit you rung loud in your sudden silence. Not wanting to throw things off-kilter, you pivoted back to Vincent. You're not sure what exactly he said, but the next thing you knew - the show was already over, the live audience in the process of dispersing and Vincent was guiding you towards the break room with a light hand on your shoulder.
Rubbing your head, something stung. As you neared the window, in the reflection, you spotted a light scuff on your head. Had you knocked it when you 'came to'? Barely felt like you were there, out of body but in the room watching Vincent shut the door behind you both. His fingers glided across your back and circled the nape of your neck before gently pressing you down into a seat at the table. Something weighed you down, your neck drooping like cattails over still water. That is until you felt Vincent's hand cup your chin and tilt it to get an eyeful of, well... you!
His expression wasn't the warm gleam of seeming admiration he'd donned that night. No this one was far more... analytical. Coldly scanning your face as if to check for any faults. Entirely unflattering and would've made you feel especially self-conscious if the growing haze you found yourself in wasn't dulling your thoughts on any of this. Satisfied with whatever he was doing, he withdrew with a smug nod and sighed, "Good, it still works".
'Works'? What on earth does that-
*BEEP*
An inexplicable feeling of whiplash shook through you for a moment, followed by a wave of confusion. The sound of a car horn that just rung loud and clear seemed out of place... until you noticed your hands clasped around the driver's wheel of your car. Panicked, you swerved out of the way of a car you nearly drove straight into point-blank. What the hell was that?!
After a few more swerves as you centered yourself in the right lane, you took a couple slow and steady breaths. Still shaking from the virtual heart attack you suffered from managing to fall asleep at the wheel by the looks of it. Only once you'd had a moment to quell your heightened nerves did you realise the car radio was on, but set to the most random frequency you don't remember ever setting it to. Just sounded like static and, stopping to listen more closely, a soft, dull pulsing that easily faded into the white noise. Words from the adjacent channels melting into an unintelligible garble, yet you understood it perfectly. Your concentration began to waver from the road again...
NO!
You slapped the radio off as your grip tightened around the wheel in a choke hold, gripping for dear life. Not once did it loosen, even an inch, the whole way back. Driving like an old biddy on a Sunday morning, wondering if you really almost died earlier tonight. As soon as you rolled up your driveway, safe and sound, you shook that thought hard and fast from your head. Hands still shaking well into your nightly routine, enough to spill some of your nightcap before you could even try and take a sip. So preoccupied with morbid what-ifs that deducing whatever led you to that point slipped your mind entirely. Guess you really were just that tired. On that note, despite everything, you managed to settle back into the sleep you clearly, desperately needed. Hoping tomorrow, Vincent might be so kind as to drive you to work again. You didn't trust yourself behind the wheel after tonight, not for the time being anyway. You trusted him.
With a rested yawn, you basked in the bright haze of sunlight streaming between your blinds like a gentle wash of warmth to greet you 'good morning'. Feels nice to wake up slow for once, with only the peaceful hum of distant traffic instead of the painful ring of your alarm clock through your skull that snapped you out of bed for work each morning. The weekend couldn't have come sooner!
Lazily you glanced to the side where your glasses and calendar sat, rubbing away the sleepy dust with another comfortable yawn. Work is so hectic you forget if you've made weekend plans a lot of the time, but that's what calendars are for! Let's see... Wait. You blinked, picking up your calendar. A trail of Xs only ending at Thursday? Wait, what day is it?
You frantically feel for your diary. More of a notepad for work really. Frantically flicking through the pages until you reached this week and... the notes end on Wednesday. It's Thursday. FUCK!
Launching yourself out of bed, you throw on your old reliable blouse and skirt. Only this time, they weren't so reliable. Lately you've noticed the waistband of your skirt seemed tighter and you felt a bit bloated, nauseous even. You were already running late for work having somehow slept through your blaring alarm clock. Maybe just... call in sick? No, you're sure it's nothing. Besides, if you wanted to stand a chance of still arriving on time you had to be decisive. A last minute call was the last thing you wanted after the series of blunders you've had to phone in this month alone. What's up with you?
No matter how hard you try, doing everything right, you've arrived late to more shifts than you have on time this past week alone. With one last once-over at your rushed makeup and hair, you bolt out the door. Praying you make it to the studio only a couple minutes late. Looking at your watch though, you knew you wouldn't be there 'til gone midday. Vincent must have came and went. You don't blame him honestly. Only so long you can wait before the carpool has to move on. It's been a hot minute since you last drove to work. If you weren't so focused on at least attempting to make it to work today, you'd second guess if you were too out of practice at this point to get there at all. Worth a try at least.
Long story short, your car now needs a paint-job.
"Look what the cat dragged in! You look like shit.", Vincent looked you up and down with disdain like you were a wet dog treading on fresh carpet, though his gaze seemed to linger on your midriff just a little too long to go unnoticed. And was that... a smirk? You already felt like shit, he didn't have to rub it in! It wasn't just him though, all your colleges looked put-off by how strangely unkempt you were. Definitely growing tired of your regular tardiness by now. Thinner than thin ice. You couldn't go on set looking like this, but before you could find a restroom to recoup in, you felt someone grab your wrist and drag you on set. The disorientation of it all, not to mention the bright lights and the whirlwind of emotions from the tailspin this morning put you in made that hint of nausea from before bubble back up. Taking a deep breath and trying to feign composure as best you could, you put on a smile.
You made it. Barely, but you made it!
What used to be a joy to do, the job you loved, in this moment felt tortuous. Whatever time was left in the day was short, a blessing and a curse. Just needed to make it through this and you can think about how you'll fix everything afterwards.
Soon enough, everything wrapped up and you were finally away from the cameras again. Like clockwork, you searched for your co-star Vincent. Partly to go over the next script and partly for the reassurance you've grown accustomed to seeking from him lately. It's funny, you never needed that sort of thing before he came along, but you guess you couldn't have asked for what you didn't know you needed. As so often happened now, you couldn't find him - he found you!
Immediately you felt the tension you'd been holding onto all day ease out of every muscle in your body as you heard Vincent call out, "Hey, ______! 'you coming to the work party tonight?"
There's a work party?
"Uh, yeah! Of course!", you lied. Well, you guess it's not lying if your plans change as you say them. You had no plans tonight, but you guess you do now!
"You're going to go out there, and act like nothing happened. Because nothing happened, isn't that right? What happened? Nothing."
-SNAP-
You gladly drank down your third flute of champagne. The night may still be young, but you weren't and you damn well wanted to feel like you were! Work dos like this Christmas party were never really your speed. Something you avoided, even, if you could help it. This year was different. Call it a quarter-life crisis, poor judgement or whatever else. You had a good feeling this one would be different. Maybe now that you've hit your stride at work, you wouldn't have to worry about the rumor mill with its brown nose to the grindstone looking to tear down yet another woman's hard-earned career. No, this time would be different.
Feels like Vincent's confidence is rubbing off on you. Maybe. Though no one could out-do him there, for better or worse. Guy seems to know how much the network has to thank him for, especially now. Taking up the mantle of show after show, bearing the brunt of tragedy like a champ! Maybe that's just it. In the wake of all this tragedy, seeing more of your co-workers perish, you should make up for lost time and finally get to know everyone still here. And you had to admit, it was nice to finally let your hair down around them for once.
Being around Vincent without so much as a whisper going around about you two did wonders to reassure you that you may have been on your guard all that time for nothing. Although he disappeared earlier that evening... You think you remember him telling you why, but can't quite remember the wording exactly. You'd blame the booze, but your memory's been oddly spotty recently. Didn't really bother you that much until you started losing your train of thought on set a couple times too many. When you spoke to a doctor about it they found nothing wrong particularly. Chalking it up to stress and suggesting you take a break from work for the time being. Obviously that's completely out of the question! Luckily they finally let up once you told them you lived alone and had no plans to marry. Sending you on your way with some drug called "Miltown" instead. Work wasn't that stressful honestly, but it couldn't hurt to give it a try if it meant your career stayed afloat. You'll take some in the morning.
By now quite a thick layer of your lipstick caked the rim of your glass and a few stray hairs dangled by your temple. Pulled loose by hours of lively chatter and laughter, though once in front of the mirror you looked more a wreak than you reckoned. Lipstick smudged like you'd had your lips on more than just glass. Hair barely still held by the pins that now stuck out from their once elegant arrangement. Bra strap visible by the shoulder your dress now sloped off slightly. Why did no one say anything?! Forget food stuck in the teeth, this was so much worse! And so much more obvious, surely! Was this a prank? Oh god you hoped this was prank. Rummaging through your clutch bag for lipstick to touch up your face with a damp tissue at the ready to dab away the smears, you snagged the pill box as your hand retracted. Knocking it to the floor. Odd, felt open? Hurriedly picking it back up, you saw two pill slots were already empty.
Panicked, you fixed your outfit and hair as best you could, before rushing out of the party to try and make it home to escape embarrassing yourself further. On your way out you passed by everyone you'd been happily conversing with all throughout the night. Only now they judged with side-glances or averted their eyes entirely... Whispering amongst themselves too quietly for you to hear, but you didn't need to. Every word unheard still felt as damning as it would be if it was plastered over the morning paper!
By now you're sure the pills you must have taken started kicking in as a wave of nausea washed over you. Before you'd barely even made it through the back door, without warning, everything came gushing out. Splattering onto the floor and all over your once pristine shoes! A moment later, you couldn't keep the floodgates from bursting open as you started sobbing uncontrollably... Utter hysterics you could hardly understand the exact cause of! God, what was wrong with you?!
Out of nowhere, from the dark of the back alley you stumbled into in your botched attempt to preserve your dignity and escape the party, Vincent's voice came clear as day. For a moment, his warm voice wrapped around you like a blanket... until you realised what he actually said. "I know what you did." Not a single word made sense at first. Yet as time ticked on, you began to remember...
This can't be happening.
The headline splayed across the newspaper crumpling in your shaking grip made your heart sink like an anvil. Some part of you knew this was going to happen, sooner or later, but to see it written out in bold ink made the past month of denial shatter into a million tiny pieces. And every single one reflected back the ugly truth. Loud and clear... Your career is over. Overnight, what seemed like baseless gossip had spiraled well out of your control. Photos of what you now realised were the first signs of your baby bump had made the rounds and people speculated, as you feared, about your personal life. About how you fucked your way onto the show. Nothing but looks and nepotism to your name. No merit. Had you realised any sooner, you would've aborted before any of this mess even started. How it slipped by you for so long still weighed on your mind. How?! You couldn't go back right now, even if you hadn't kept it you couldn't. The studio wouldn't take you. Add to that, there were even talks of Vincent taking over to run a one-man-show!
You hate this... You hate that you did this to yourself.
Staring vacantly into the mirror after tearing your eyes from the newspaper, unable to bare reading any more. Heavy bags under your eyes from the last few sleepless nights caring for a stranger's baby. Your figure completely ruined. Belly overstretched, now sagging with excess skin. Breasts lewdly engorged with milk that managed to stain every top you wore. Hips widened from the exertion of childbirth and new layers of fat piled on in ripples. You closed your eyes to imagine where you'd still be if you'd kept your legs closed. Then the wailing started again. Again and again and again! You can't think anymore, no peace, no quiet! You... You think you'll just try to ignore it for now. Somehow.
With your eyes still closed, your thoughts drifted back to Vincent. Just imagining him dampened your thighs in an instant. You dragged yourself out of the bathroom and fell onto your unkempt bed, sheets still unwashed after a month on maternity leave. But you guess that's not what this is anymore. It's your life now, no work, no leave, no nothing! The thought weighed you down as you sunk into the bed, hands feeling down your alien body, exploring its new softness until finally reaching your clit.
The wailing was getting louder, harder to ignore but you had to. You couldn't take hearing it anymore! Shoving your head under the covers to at least try and block it out. Soon though, you were able to focus on yourself... and Vincent. Picturing him curled up under the covers with you, cupping your face to you could stare into his enchanting eyes. Praying he'd fuck you. Make you feel like none of this was happening. Wishing it was his baby you'd had and not some random producer's you'll never see again. Who can't even support you because he died so soon after your fling. What were you thinking? You could've still been in the studio right now with THE Vincent Whittman! Instead you're stuck here touching yourself to him from afar.
Unsure if it was the fatigue, the shame or something else, the wailing started to fade into the distance. Muffled under layers of rose-tinted arousal and denial. You were close. It felt so real, imagining what it would be like if you two had fucked. The fantasy growing indulgent and inescapable. Your whole body clenched at the thought of Vincent cumming deep inside you.
"V-Vincent!", you gasped, before melting into your third orgasm that morning...
Summary: A snippet of Vox losing his marbles before the finale, talking to himself with other characters' voices.
Dividers by @blinkees
(@cutebird Hope I did ok on this one ^^')
'I don't have to watch it to know it's laughably mediocre!'
'Oh my god babes, the hate train is already trending - not had this much traffic since the princess' live fail'
'Don't listen to them baby, they're just messing with you... but yeah that show is so bad.'
Val didn't have to say it, to state the obvious, he wasn't an idiot. He shouldn't even feel the need to reassure him, does he look that pathetic to Val?! Not that any of Alastor's poking even applied to him. He doesn't write, shoot, or review most of the shows his network broadcasts unless he's personally starring in it. It's a reflection on HR's poor hiring decisions if anything! He'd been meaning to cut back on staff anyway since his plans needed funds diverted elsewhere...
Snapped out of his thoughts by the light pressure of Val's hand on his shoulder. Turning back he could see the look of sincere concern across his face, but further still were Al and Vel snickering in the back. Exploiting hate campaigns, going so far as to engineer them before the object of hate was even created sometimes, this was nothing new. Not even ones directed at VoxTek IP. It gave the illusion of transparency and rapport with their audience, and kept their staff alert to changes in viewership. Still, this one felt... counterproductive. At least while he's at her ear like a snake!
Swatting Val's hand away, Vox hissed,'-as if I would ever listen to him.'
After the initial hurt at being treated like some annoying bug, Val quickly shifted, eyebrow raised in doubt.
Flustered, Vox couldn't help the defensive splutter that tumbled out in lieu of an apology, 'This would all be a lot easier if neither of you listened to him either!'
'Who says we are, V?', Velvette promptly retorted with a dismissive tut. Without skipping a beat, she returned to typing out practically a novel's worth of rage-bait, courtesy of Alastor no doubt. Each little tap of her nails grated on nerves like an irregular drip he couldn't place. He swore he saw her smirk a little, knowing her words dripped with sarcasm. It stung to see them gel so well. They really could make an incredible team if Al wasn't so determined to tear them apart! Why did he have to look at him like that, smug little prick!
That loathsome smile only widened as Al snidely added, 'Exactly! I'm just yapping, since you haven't given me much else to do here.'
Practically twitching from how smug he sounded, Vox didn't even stop to think before blurting out, 'Oh! You want something to do? Try Val's studio, plenty to do there!'
Taken aback by his, albeit predictable, disregard of his own say about any of this, Val whined,'Hey! Don't make me babysit that thing! ¡Ese imbécil extraño va a arruinar el metraje a propósito, estúpida perra!'
Before Vox could retract his impulsive comment, Val was already out the door. This time Vox was the one reaching out for his shoulder, only now he could barely reach it before Val forced him back with a flap of his wings without even turning back and continuing his march down the hall. Before he could zip through the cameras to block Val's path, he changed course and made haste to his office where at least Shock.wav would be happy to see him. But not before trying to have the final word.
'You know what? Say whatever you want - I don't care!'
'You don't doubt me, do you shock.wav? No you don't, no you don't! ~', Vox cooed, his face pressed into the bulletproof pane of shock.wav's tank. "Happy place" isn't quite the phrasing he'd use, but watching his pets swim by reliably soothed his simmering rage. With a mournful sigh, he knew Val was only trying to do the same, but... the last thing he needed was for anyone, let alone Val to even think he is so pathetic and weak as to need help right now!
For a moment, he grew high off the thought of what it might feel like once Heaven is his -theirs-. Angels too enthralled to fight back, enamoured gazing up at him -them-. Maybe then Alastor would have nothing he could possibly use against him -them-, no doubt about his -yes, his- worth, his power -not theirs-. High off the imagined glorious, pitiful sound of him begging for mercy.
The thought of going back down to apologise to Val for earlier briefly crossed his mind, but what would he say? Val would probably insist he's obsessed with Al again. Of course he isn't! If anything, Al is obsessed! Obsessed with running his mouth with anything in the hopes it might get under his skin. Well, it's not working! He probably wouldn't even appreciate the gesture at this point, what with how much he sulks in his little passive-aggressive way. The haphazard apologies and clumsy insults flowed through his mind so naturally he hadn't realised he'd already began to verbalise them.
'I've had it up to here with this shit! Just let him go or shove him in a janitor closet or something. It's bad enough you already spent so much time obsessing over the hotel when we need you here, but now this?'
'I know you need me, but I don't need you the way he says I do. I could do all this on my own if I wanted to!'
'Bullshit!*Unintelligible "Spanish"*'
'You wouldn't even know what to do with all that power, let alone how to get it... Maybe if you two weren't dragging me down and playing his game then maybe we'd already be up there!'
'Val's right V, you need us just admit it-'
In such a large, empty room, each voice echoed so much louder than the last. All he could see was Val, Vel and him. Completely oblivious to shock.wav hovering by him behind the glass, watching him, unsure what to make of the scene. His vocal recognition thrown off by the torrent of other voices playing in quick succession. The aperture of his monocular camera narrowed in on Vox scowling at nothing. Shock.wav's metal snout tapped the glass as he pressed in close.
It was then that Vox finally caught himself. The cacophony halted by emerging static, lightheaded and shaken. In the pause, he caught shock.wav's looming stare. He'd never seen shock.wav look at him like that. As if to reassure them, he cooed 'Who's a stupid fossil? Alastor is! Yes he is!~'.
Al's probably sat there now, telling Velvette how she, '-would make such better use of that power than Vox', or joke about how, '-you bring so much more to the table than those two', or-
He stopped. This is his game. This is what he wants, isn't it?
And it was... it was... NO it's not working!
'You think you're so fucking clever, huh? Well, I can tell you right now you can keep trying... It's fun even! To see you try and think you even have a chance of playing me. YOU HEAR THAT AL!'
Summary: In an effort to avoid your problems, you take an impromptu road-trip down the US' forgotten highways. Unfortunately for you, one of them is this cop's favourite race track...
(There is no way in hell Jack doesn't live for car chases. Wouldn't put it past him to set them up just for an excuse to get the thrill of the chase on the job while he waits for next year's "trip". Maybe turn his sirens on to see who accelerates and then gun down the road for them!)
CW: Cops being bastards, predator / prey dynamic (honestly there are nearly no Jack fics on here but they should all have this tagged because no way is that not his primary / favourite kink dynamic), injury description, breathplay, handcuffs, human ashtray, gunplay, and rape / non-con.
Banners by @pixopix and @renyanovyn
Ah, the open road! The air, though dry, was indescribably refreshing after what you'd been through. Especially at night. The oppressive heat giving way to the cool hum of cicadas calling out into the darkness in a percussive choir that blended seamlessly with your engine's rumble. Felt safer to ride now, when you could comfortably layer on the leather without baking. Enough motels and gas stations still dotted this near-abandoned highway for you to rest comfortably throughout the daytime. No one knows you. No one bothers you. Cash over credit. The closest feeling to disappearing you can get...
You'd forgotten what it felt like to not need to be anywhere. Or anyone. Felt odd to say, but you think you've gone a full day without actually talking to anybody. And it was... nice. Just alone with your thoughts, and even they were pretty quiet now.
Just as you were spacing out, something unexpected rose from the darkness. Distant sirens whirred. And were getting closer...
Your first thought was to gently veer off to the side and let them pass. But another thought made you hesitate - why were there even cops all the way out here? Nearest town is too far for any cop to reasonably be on patrol at this hour, let alone at what you now registered as practically top speed! Panic possessed your nerves and made you grip the accelerator for dear life, cursing yourself as you did so. Way to make you look guilty! Although you'd already set off, you couldn't be certain they were chasing you. Still, some part of you felt it in your gut that that's exactly what they were doing!
You're not sure how far you stayed in limbo, barely making an inch of headway away from that damn cop, but with the rate you were burning fuel you knew your tank would run empty far too soon. Worse still, the worries you were trying to leave behind came back in full force... wait, could you get arrested for missing rent? Or pissing off your family, or-
*BANG*
Thoughts racing faster than your motorbike, sending you into a tailspin so fierce that for a moment you barely registered being airborne... until your helmet smashed into the dirt a second later. The guttural roar of your busted bike's engine still whirred wherever landed. Rubble and sand making a hellishly coarse belt-sander against your leather duds, cotton cut beneath where it had completely worn-through and began to stain yellow with the beginnings of weeping wounds. Everything hurt.
The visor of your helmet completely smashed on impact and a shard poking through threatened to skewer your eye as you blinked in shock. Luckily the rest of your helmet stayed pretty intact, but hung far too heavy as you tried to push yourself up off the ground by your aching forearms. Something felt broken, but the adrenaline and throbbing pain coursing through your system made it hard to tell exactly what. You barely managed to shift onto your knees with a pained groan before those damn sirens caught up behind you.
SHIT! They're not slowing down - you've got to get off the road!
Curling in on yourself and kicking at the ground to make you roll over the curb, you brace yourself for even more debris catapulted your way once they pass... but they didn't pass. Slowly easing on the breaks as the police car came to a complete stop barely a few meters away from where you lay hunched in agony. Hadn't even considered they might crash too if something's there, wincing at the thought of being hit by their car in the fallout.
Soon though, that thought fizzled out with each daunting tread of the approaching officer that had emerged from that unscathed car. Part of you hoped they'd gone "oh shit" and were coming over to assess the damage, but they seemed in no rush to help at all. Walking with the slow, methodical pace of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.
Everything hurt.
You didn't want to move, fear and confusion possessed you like a deer in the headlights. Blinding as they were, you willed yourself to stare down what you're up against.
Seeing him right there burned any trace of naïve hope you had that maybe this was a misunderstanding. He was here for you.
You weren't quite steady enough to stand yet, the start of what felt like concussion pulsed through your skull and your vision was going hazy. Or was that fear? It was getting harder to think, but you didn't have to while your instinct forced your arms to drag the rest of you across the dirt. Away from him. Pitifully slowly.
"You're in bad shape..." Nothing about his tone sounded sympathetic. More like an assessment, an amused one at that, "People keep going missing around here" he was getting closer, "you should really be more careful-"
All that pain from before bloomed like smoke from a freshly sparked ignition as your legs surged with newfound strength to duck away from his outstretched hand that was mere moments from grabbing you by the collar. Stumbling with the first few steps, you quickly forced yourself into a sprint upon hearing his heavy footfalls behind you. Faster and faster... No matter how much faster you push yourself to run, he always managed to stay right behind you. Only barely missing each time as he swiped to grab at you. Through the thick haze of panic, you swear you hear him laughing! Was this a game to him?!
Pain radiated from every twitch of every fiber of your being pushed to the limit. Every moment you strained to push yourself forward feeling like jagged, splintering cracks spreading through your shattered body. All too soon, it broke.
Exhaustion sapped your strength, and before you realised it -there was none left. Knees buckling as you crashed into the coarse dirt a second time tonight. Wailing in agony at the newfound pressure of him tackling you to the ground, making the grit dig deeper into your existing wounds. You could hardly breathe under the full weight of him over you, wheezing with every strained gasp. It made the sound of his heavy panting seem to taunt you, drunk on the crisp night air you struggled to even taste.
"Can't breathe? Let me help you-"
His words barely registered as the pain, exhaustion and lack of air starved your brain, but before you could fully black-out you feel the man's weight lift from your back. Pulling your hair, entangled in his fist, back with it. The hard clink of cold metal against your teeth jolted you awake, forcing your mouth so stay open as you heard a click behind your head fastening the open gag in place. Hands instinctively reaching up to claw at the leather strap and pry it off in the split second his hands were occupied, but the struggle was short-lived as another clink of metal made your heart sink. A pair of handcuffs tightened around your wrists so tight your circulation narrowed to a drip-feed, your hands already going numb with pins and needles by the time he yanked you up by their chain. Forcing you onto your knees before him.
The position was oddly relieving since your leather knee-pads survived the crash pretty well and there was nothing to aggravate the wounds you sustained on the rest of your body besides the open air, dulling the overwhelming throb to a more mild ache. Air finally had a chance to reach your lungs, and in your desperate attempt to recover the wind that was knocked from your lungs in the scuffle, you spluttered and felt your throat grow dry without a means to shut your mouth. Then the subtle click of a lighter grabbed your attention. Soon polluting the beautifully crisp night air with acrid smoke. It tickled the back of your throat even more, and without the ability to cough properly, all you could manage was a hoarse croak.
Looking up, you had a split second to brace yourself as you saw him lower the glowing tip of his lit cigarette and press it firmly into your exposed tongue. Unable to muffle your cry at the sudden, burning pain, he laughed as he blew the smoke from his last drag over your scrunched-up face. The smoke made your eyes sting and start to water as you reflexively shut them, turning your head away only for him to grab your chin and force you to look back up at him again. Smirking at your feeble attempts to flinch away. You could hardly feel grateful for finally being able to breathe again now that it'll mean what you fear will come next will be all the more painfully vivid. He wanted you to be awake for this!
You aren't sure when you started shaking, but you were now.
"Already so scared?", he growled with a teasing lilt to his voice, then you heard a click by your ear, "I haven't even done anything...," you felt cold gun-metal press into your temple, "yet."
You dare not look. You know exactly what's pointed at your head. Heart pounding through your skull as you felt him gently push the nuzzle harder into your skull. Cold sweat dripping into your open, gagged mouth like a bitter appetizer.
"It's a good thing I found you, all the way out here. Road's in some disrepair, would be a shame if you died out here all alone." something about the way he said that last part made it clear he had no intent of letting you leave, you knew it already, but some stupid part of you wanted to believe that if you did whatever he asked then he might let you go. "Now you have a choice, the gun-", he dragged the nuzzle over your cheek as he spoke, until it brushed your dry lips, making them sting even more, "-or me."
Unable to speak with the gag in, you frantically nodded at him, trying to make it look like you were gesturing towards him, but all it did was make you look even more pathetic. Soaking in your anxious desperation, content to watch you struggle to give a coherent answer.
"That wasn't a yes or no question, Sweetheart ~"
Words and gestures failing you, you shrivel up in shame at how pathetic you know it'll look, but resolve you life is worth more than your dignity in this moment. You lean forward, trying to brush past the gun's nuzzle. Sticking your tongue out as far as it will go to lick the fabric of his crotch, tracing your tongue up the zipper until it snags the toggle, looking up at him all the while. You could feel his cock twitch threw the fabric, hopefully an unspoken approval of your answer and not him getting off at your humiliation.
"Hmmm..." he seemed to be mulling it over, like he was deciding something as trivial as what to have for dinner and not your goddamn life in his hands! Suspense had you in a choke-hold. Come on, come on-
"Need to see if you'll do a good job first."
What? But-
Before you could protest, the gun was back in your mouth. Nuzzle shoved deeper in than before and inching further down your throat. You spluttered and gagged at the sudden intrusion and the shock of even embarrassing yourself like that not paying off. At least he won't shoot, yet.
It didn't take much to spur you to start bobbing your head, the threat of a lead kiss was enough.
You couldn't pull your eyes away from the gun, now pushed so far in that his knuckles brushed your chin. Watching his trigger finger like a hawk, anything that even remotely resembled a twitch prompted you to go faster and suck harder. In the moments he would draw the gun back out if it seems you need to catch your breath, circle the rim of the nozzle with your tongue. As if stopping the show for even a moment might put him off enough to shoot.
By now your jaw was locking up and your mouth ached with the strain of being forced open for so long. Face drenched in a mix of sweat and now - tears. Please don't shoot. Please don't shoot. Please don't!
*BANG*
In one swift motion, he withdrew the gun and shot a round in the air so quickly you didn't realise it wasn't you he shot at first. Ears ringing all the same and mind clouded with too much fear to tell the difference.
...Until you felt his cock rest on your face, slathering pre-cum over your cheek. Unsure of what possessed you in the moment, but you felt the urge to run your tongue along his length and rub into it like you were glad it finally replaced his gun.
"Fuck... You really want it that badly?", a devious trace of carnal hunger flickered in his eyes, he could barely contain it after that.
You were so fixated on avoiding a bullet to the brain earlier that you hadn't even considered the alternative. Stomach sinking with dread as you second-guessed your survival instinct. The force of feeling your jaw fight against the metal ring keeping it open made you moan in pain and desperation, trying to close your mouth before he could slide in - but it was no use. He wasted no time waiting for you to adjust, filling you up to the hilt even more than the gun did. Shallow thrusts made what few breaths you could take with the gun nonexistent, now wholly reliant on breathing through your nose. Still choking on the spit that was forced out of you each time his thrusting hit the back of your throat.
Slowly his fingers snaked through your hair so gently it was almost soothing, like he was petting you in encouragement. Only for his grip to tighten in an iron grip, pulling from the base of your scalp so you couldn't move your head even an inch from his control. Unsatisfied with the pace you'd set, he used this newfound grip to push you down deeper until your nose pressed into his abdomen. You're not sure why, but you're surprised by how soft it is, making oddly welcome cushioning from his otherwise brutal assault. The back of your throat, bruised and sore, wasn't so lucky. Even without the gag, you aren't sure you'll be able to speak for a while after this...
It was even harder to breathe now. Hearing his guttural panting again felt like him taunting you with how easily he could. You could tell by how his pace was faltering and his thrusts became sloppier that he was about to come. Holding out what awareness you had, you try desperately not to black out too soon.
Luckily, you wouldn't have to wait much longer as he swiftly withdrew, making you gasp at the sudden wash of air down your oxygen-staved throat. In doing so, choking a little after you accidentally inhale some of his cum shot all over your face. Watching it dribble into your mouth and ebb down your tongue like drool. God you must look so stupid right now. Eyes still half-lidded in your breathless haze.
A flutter of hope blooms in your chest as you feel him unbuckle the gag, sliding it loose from your aching mouth that trembled with relief. Was he finally done using your mouth? Using you?
So distracted by your newfound excitement at maybe getting out of this, that you don't notice him step behind you and hook a finger around your cuff chain. Gun primed in his hand, ready to shoot again as it's now pressed gently into your back. Not enough to cause discomfort, but just enough for your to know it's there. Confused and panicked once more, you whimper, "B-but I thought-?"
"Yeah, you thought.", he barked. Tugging down your pants and pushing you back towards the police car he came in. Instinctively you strained against your bindings to pull your arms free to brace yourself, facing down the car bonnet you knew he was about to shove you into. Your futile squirming unintentionally doing more to excite him than set you free, making him shove you harder into the cold metal hood. With nothing to slow your descent your ribs took the full force of the impact, winding you with a tortured wheeze.
Muscles sore, exhausted from the onslaught, you could only assume what was coming next. That is, before you heard him zip himself up against and the clink of his re-fastened belt... What?
His weight shifted away from you to rummage inside the car for something. This could be your chance! He was right there, but he was finally off you. No matter how hard you tried though, the beating your body has taken already made sitting up to make a run for it almost impossible. Clearly he knew this too, as he seemed in no rush to detain you further. What was he even looking for (did you really want to know)? Straining to look back for once, instead of flinching away with eyes closed, you could see him leaning over the passenger seat and reaching for something in the glovebox with a couple cloths hanging from his back pocket. With a satisfied grin, seems he found what he was looking for and quickly returned his attention your way.
Your confusion must've shown clear as day on your face. No words were needed to explain his intent as he raised the can of gun oil into your view. Taking his time to lather it liberally over his pistol, rubbing the grime-stained cloth along it slowly and methodically. All while keeping his eyes locked onto you, soaking in the dread his new intent donned on you. With what little strength you had left, you frantically shook your head as he poured an excessive amount of the oil over your backside. Dragging his nails over it to create more agonising wounds for the oil to agitate, laughing at how much the pain made you clench. Forcing your already under-prepared hole even smaller. The smell of the oil was acrid and harsh, and stung the moment it made contact with your exposed, sensitive entrance. The claggy viscosity feeling worse the more he slipped a finger in to push the "lube" in further.
Not even having the strength to resist anymore, your body relaxed not in pleasure but complete and utter fatigue. The moment it did, he circled his finger as if to probe for any fight left in you. Without much more than a twitch in retaliation, he huffed in satisfaction as his finger retracted and the gun readied at your entrance. Its angular metal scratched along every in of you. The oil doing nothing to soften its edges, but more than enough to make its insertion swift and harsh. Jolting your body back into action as you'd thought, you prayed, it had finally gone numb. Your whole core erupted in unrelenting, all-encompassing flame as he fucked the pistol into you without mercy.
Only minutes must've passed but each second felt like an eternity of agony. His pace only slowing to switch hands before resuming their unforgiving assault. The whole time, you tried to beg. Tried to make any sound, but between the ringing in your ears and his own sadistic rambling, you aren't sure anything made it out.
Eventually, finally, he slowed down. Mercifully giving your body a moment of rest. He wasn't saying anything...
Was it over?
*BANG*
Bonus art because I was on the fence about focusing on knifeplay or gunplay (could do both but I like to think his knuckleduster-knife is for special occasions / when he's not technically on-duty). Was also unsure if he would be more likely to set up a trap (hidden spikes) or get a kick out of shooting the tire of whomever he's chasing. I reckon it would depend on if he's hopped-up on cocaine that shift and wants to see how well he can practice his aim while still driving. Like the modern equivalent of an archer on horseback.
Also some sketches because I like the lineart better than the final shading because mine defiitely needs work (but it's worthwhile to practice so I made full colour versions for the fic).
So this was originally going to be slightly different, but then I split the tourist aspect and the biker aspect of my initial fic idea into different fics, but I saved what I'd written of the original in case y'all wanna read it!
(Wrote the content warnings preemptively, so a lot of them don't apply up to the bit I wrote.)
Summary: Having been lucky enough to grow up in an accessible city with lot's of public transport, you forgot that isn't the case everywhere. Luckily, someone's volunteered to be your chauffeur.
CW: Somnophilia, stalking and phone sex (sort of).
Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @youre-ackermine
5 minutes.
That's how long the bus was supposed to be. More fool you, of course you'd end up standing there like a lemon for a solid half-hour before finally calling it quits. You sigh heavily as it dawns on you that you really should've known better than to expect the scant bus services in this new city to be just as good as the ones you grew up with. Spoilt with consistently punctual public transport - practically unheard of here. A fact you didn't quite take on board before deciding to move.
You would've given it more thought, but with how unstable home had gotten even staying in the same city as your family seemed like a bad idea. You'd hoped the bus services would be enough, but the few stops that are dotted around seem only there for show to give the illusion of walkability. Worse still, the road outside your apartment was a pretty busy thoroughfare. One of the other drawbacks of a car-centric city you didn't think about before your rental contract was already signed. The blaring roar of tires on tarmac masked any of the usual sounds of footsteps that helped you gauge your surroundings, forcing you to rely on what narrow field of vision you retained. What a pain...
At least this stop was just outside your new apartment complex. Defeated, you drag your cane gently as you turn. Only for it to soon knock into something solid. What the-
"Sorry Kid, just came to ask if you needed a ride somewhere.", came the distinctly gruff voice of your landlord,"The buses have a tendency to miss this stop since they changed the routes around." You hadn't heard him approach, had he been waiting there a while?
"Why didn't you mention that earlier? It's cold out here!", you grumble, crossing your arms in a huff. Honestly a little frustrated with him for leaving you to stand there like a fool for so long!
You hear him shuffle, the fold of his leather jacket making it seem like he was fidgeting until you felt the warmth of it wrapped around your shoulders, taking the edge off the frigid evening air. Had you realised your comment on the weather would be taken as a request for warmth, you might've kept your mouth shut. The gesture seemed a little more intimate than you'd expected, you almost handed the coat straight back if it wasn't for how much you actually needed it. Your fingers had started going a little numb, having not dressed for the weather since the summer heat had persisted a little into September. Until tonight, that is.
"Oh! Um, you really didn't have to. I should probably just head back inside anyway, I can get the groceries tomorrow.", you mumbled, still a little flustered. Truth be told, you really should go. What with an empty fridge awaiting you if you went back now, having only just arrived today. Barely even had time to fully unpack yet.
"Are you sure? It's really no trouble.", he insisted.
After an awkward few seconds of silence, mulling over his offer, you sighed, "Actually, that'd be really helpful - thanks."
Your landlord took a moment to consider how best to guide you to his car. Honestly the hesitation was appreciated, given how many people just grab your arm without asking and fully expecting you to be grateful for simply assuming you needed their unwarranted "help". Ordinarily it would be easy enough to just follow behind him, but the overwhelming rumble of cars made that a little more difficult. Besides, in this instance you really wouldn't mind the contact... wait, it's far too soon for you to feel like that about your landlord of all people!
"Right. It's just around this corner, need a hand?", he asked. Nodding, you felt him gently rest a hand on your shoulder before walking you over to where his truck was parked. By how much of the traffic noise it blocked as you reached it, you could tell it was big. A little impractical as a city car, must drive further out pretty regularly then. You felt him let go, giving you space to get in yourself. Only once you felt your landlord get in the driver's seat did it dawn on you how cozy the space was. You shuffled in your seat to stare out the window, hoping to gauge at least a few landmark to refer to later. Big bright signs or colours that could stand out for you. The more that passed by, the more you marveled at the scale of the new city. It wasn't "big" by any means, but it was so spaced apart. Roads like impassable rivers with no over or underpass, pavement so wide you could practically drive on them like another car lane... Yeah, you really didn't think this move through.
Trying to mask how much you were starting to regret your decisions, you looked back at your landlord. He probably won't be able to drive you everywhere, right? Taxis might be too expensive to keep taking. Maybe after this trip you should just stay in your apartment until you can find someone willing to drive you around? No clue if your room-mate might. She was on her way out the door just as you arrived. Seemed nice enough, but it'd be a lot to ask right out the gate.
Before you'd even finished mulling over your options, you felt the truck come to a stop and your landlord crack open the door.
"We're here, need help getting out?", he asked.
"Nah, I'm good. Um, thank you, by the way. I don't think I could've gotten here myself.", you sheepishly admitted. Only a small corner-shop would've done the trick, was this really the nearest supermarket or was he just making sure you went somewhere that could cover all bases? A sweet gesture, if an unnecessary one. Still, no need to look a gift horse in the mouth. You'd almost forgotten you were still wearing his jacket until the cold air hit your hands and face but not the rest of you.
As you both entered the store, you were hit with a wall of bright LED light. Blinking a few times, you could make out the outline of the isles ahead. This place was also, like the rest of the city, overwhelmingly massive. Suddenly you were very grateful to not be here alone, navigating this place could take hours without knowing the layout.
"So, what do you need? I can cover this.", he said quite nonchalantly, as if food prices weren't currently through the roof.
Stunned, you shook your head in protest. You can't quite tell if this was just a polite gesture or if it was anything more than that. That said, you weren't exactly in a position to refuse right now. Still need to find work somewhere local that's accommodating and only barely afforded your down-payment before having to crack open the savings you'd accumulated back at home. It seems your landlord could at least suspect you were only refusing out of courtesy though, as he guided you through the store to get everything you needed. Even a few little bits of home decor and kitchen ware you hadn't thought to pack in your hurry to escape your parents. It was... honestly pretty sweet of him to even think of that!
Despite your protests, he ended up paying for all of it. You dare not check how much it costed, especially with all the extra stuff that were essentially gifts on top of paying for a fortnight's worth of food! Even helped you unpack it all as you got in. Helping familiarise you with your new apartment, opening cabinets you couldn't reach. It felt a little embarrassing to still not quite reach the top shelves as an adult. In fact, as you went, you realised there were quite afew things that could do with adjustment to make things easier to reach or navigate. As if he could read your mind, your landlord offered to make those little adjustments for you! You had no idea how you could pay him back for the food, let alone all this!
At the very least it felt the least you could do is return his jacket. For now, that seemed to be enough. A polite nod is all that was needed as he left for his own apartment... Wait, you didn't even ask his name! Well, at least you could almost be seeing him again, you can try and remember to ask him then.
A banging on the door woke you up. What time was it? You felt for your mobile phone, an old-ish model with braille buttons and decent text-to-speech. You'd fallen asleep listening to one of your many audio books, frankly that's mainly what your phone is used for these days. That and telling the time. Usually your phone's alarm would wake you up, who would be knocking so early if it hadn't rung yet? Then again, you suppose a 10am alarm is quite late by most peoples' standards. Your wired earbuds were sprawled loosely over the pillow. One too many times losing your wireless earbuds taught you never to use them ever again. Sure, you could find them, but that was an extra bit of faff that just wasn't worth it, especially if they fell out in public! Plus, it felt a little safer going around with older tech. No-one seems to want to steal it, invaluable in a new, unfamiliar place.
Although it had been a couple months, you were still finding your feet somewhat. You'd given up trying to make use of the buses around here, but did manage to familiarise yourself with the first few blocks around your apartment complex. Enough to easily make your way to the local mini-mart on your own, especially if you carefully planned to go outside of rush-hour so the ambient noise level was low. You'd not needed your landlord's help much since your first day here, but he always offered to drive if he caught you on your way out. It was sweet, but you wanted to exercise at least some autonomy instead of relying on him all the time.
You swear he's caught on to your routine now, what with how consistently he's been right there by the doorway ready to help carry your stuff back to your apartment. The thought was as flattering as it was disquieting. You're sure he was just trying to be accommodating. This isn't the most accessible apartment complex after all, so the help was appreciated here and there. And it's not as if he's unique in wanting to help you. Plenty of people don't even bother to check if you need help before inserting themselves into your business or, worse still, grabbing and dragging you around without asking. So at least your landlord had the sense to offer help that was actually helpful.
In fact, he helped you find work at a local diner! Kept an eye out for who was hiring in case some businesses didn't take online applications. It was within walking distance too! You guess he picked up on the fact you felt awkward asking him to drive you there and back every shift. One big step towards independence. It seemed he genuinely cared about you getting to live the way you wanted, even if at first it was a little overbearing. The job seemed perfect! Mostly relying on you having a decent memory and spacial awareness, both of which you had in droves. Some of the regulars took quite a while before even realising you're blind! But then again, they're probably more focused on the food than the staff.
Shuffling off the bed, you groan at the stiffness in your limbs. You felt like you slept well, so how? A chill in the air alerted you to the sound of curtains floating in the cool morning breeze, the sound of passing traffic far louder than it should've been. You don't remember leaving the window open last night, but that would certainly explain why you felt to stiff! With a yawn, you lazily shut the window - getting some of the curtain caught in the frame. With the unwelcome chill, you really didn't want to get undressed, even if only briefly so you were properly dressed for whoever was at the door. So, you shrugged on the fluffy dressing gown you kept by the bed and sleepily sauntered over to the front door of your apartment. It's proabably your room-mate anyway, back from an all-night bender, so your barely-kempt state shouldn't be a prob-
Clicking the door open, there stood your landlord. Clad with a bulky tool belt and a big box of stuff.
You felt your face heat up immediately with embarrassment.
"I-I uh...", you stuttered, not really paying much mind to how revealing your pjs and robe were until just now. And with the cold air, your nipples were probably visible through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you tug at your robe to fully cover your chest and finally tie the belt to keep it securely closed.
Trying to play it cool, you try thinking of something to say before landing on, "Hi there... you! I never actually caught your name? Heh..."
"It's Don", he said, curtly. Perhaps trying to make the moment pass quicker. His eyes were averted, clearly picking up on your embarrassment and not wanting to add to it. You held the door open a little wider to let him through, almost hiding behind it. Startled by the sound of a sudden thud as Don set down the box inside the apartment. By the way its contents clattered, you could tell there must've been some metal parts, screws and maybe a few bits of wood in there. When you made light remarks about things being too high or a little less tactile than they could've been, you didn't realise Don would take that as such a swift call to action. It was honestly quite flattering that he cared enough to try and adjust things so promptly.
Barely a minute after shutting the door, he'd already gotten to work. By the time lunch rolled around, he'd already re-coloured all but Lucy's room. Contrasting colours that you could easily make out instead of the drab, flat white palette it had before that felt like feeling through fog to navigate. The motion sensor lights he added after that seemed a bit over the top, but would make things so much easier! On top of all that, he added to some of the kitchen wares he'd gotten you the day before were clear colour-coded labels to tell everything apart at a glance. By the time the evening rolled around again, he was nearly finished! If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to impress you.
You brought over a fresh cup of coffee for Don as he worked on installing new locks on the window. The one that managed to get open during the night. By the way he was grumbling, he seemed bothered by something. You wondered what was wrong with it? Seemed perfectly secure when you closed it this morning, you must've just forgotten you'd opened it the night before...
Setting the mug down on the bed-side table, you sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to him work. For the most part, you'd tried to keep out of his way for most of the day. Always been something expected of you back home. To stay out of the way. After a full day of work though, it felt neglectful to leave him alone for that long. You guess you just weren't sure how to act around him. Not after he's been so chivalrous without so much as a 'thank you' demanded in return. You'd like to feel anything but suspicion towards this undue generosity, but you couldn't relax until you knew exactly what Don's intentions were.
As you heard him set his tools down and breathe a sigh of relief, you popped the question, "I don't mean to be rude, but why have you done all this for me? Seems a lot of money and effort for one tenant." It was hard for that to come across as anything but blunt. Rude even. But he seemed to not be bothered by it and answered in earnest.
"I meant to get all this done before you arrived. You mentioned your sight's impaired when we were sorting your lease, but I just didn't get around to it and well... I felt guilty for not sorting it sooner", he sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his head.
It had been a few months, you supposed.
Seemed reasonable enough, so you said, "I guess that means you've made up for it now, you won't have to go out of your way to help me. I think I can handle things from here".
Don seemed hesitant. Like he was thinking of something to say in protest, but ended up accepting you were probably right. With a sigh he replied, "Well, if you're sure. I guess I should leave you to it." With a nod he took his leave so you could enjoy your newly renovated apartment. Wow... he'd really done a great job with it! Looks like it's always been this way, and it felt so nice to not have to feel for the light switch in the dark!
As you returned to bed you noticed Don hadn't touched his coffee, which had long gone cold. Seems a shame, but if he didn't want it then you guess it could be your morning coffee tomorrow. Lord knows you'll need it for your work shift ahead. You can't quite put your finger on it, but this past week has felt... off.
'It's probably nothing', you think as you nestle deeper into the bed sheets and try to get some sleep.
"It's probably nothing", Don grumbled to himself as he inspected some strange scuff marks on _______'s windowsill. Truth be told, he knew it couldn't be nothing.
Since _______ began walking to work, after they insisted he'd done enough to help them already, something's just been off. He knew better than to be overbearing, but that did nothing to quell his suspicion that someone might be stalking them. Always the same figure that would be just far enough behind them to be innocuous when they turned the corner before ______ would reach the front door, then re-emerge to go past the line of sight of the main security camera roughly and hour later. Without fail. Looking back through the footage the other night, it was clear they'd been doing this for the past month. Don mentally kicked himself for not picking up on this sooner.
Although he was genuinely overdue on the accommodations he intended to make for _______'s apartment, he had other motives for making them now. It was unclear if that creep found a way into their apartment yet, but motion-sensor lights should force them into the light if they do. Originally, that was the only security measure he planned to make. Maybe an extra lock or bar or two for the windows. After spotting those scuff marks though... paranoia got the better of him. He had to check every nook and cranny if that fucker might be hiding somewhere in the apartment.
Not wanting to panic _______, he tried to make his search quick and quiet. Finally checking the last and most obvious place... _______'s wardrobe.
Yanking the doors open, a wave of relief washed over him as only clothes and mothballs greeted him. That is, until he spotted a couple Polaroids in the corner. Slightly crumpled, like they'd been in someone's back pocket. Bringing them up to his face, he felt his heart sink. They were pictures of ________! Naked. One in the shower and the other while they were asleep...
Just he felt the blood drain from his face, the bedroom door's creak snapped him back to attention as _______ reentered the bedroom with a fresh cup of coffee. They'd learnt how to make it exactly how he liked it from their first couple shifts at the diner. When he still used to pop in for a coffee just to see how they were getting on. It was sweet, honestly. Despite knowing they probably couldn't see the pictures he was holding, he still felt the need to hide what he'd found. And the effect it had on him. Horrified at the sight of his jeans growing tighter. He closed the wardrobe and returned to the windowsill. Crouching down as if tinkering with the lock, but really it was to hide his growing erection.
Luckily, it seemed ______ hadn't noticed the pictures. So Don kept up the facade of usual busywork while he ran through a plan in his head, though some of it slipped out under his breath. The stalker might be gone for now, but he'd be back soon enough and he had to be ready when that happened. He had some spare security cameras he could install... no, that would be a massive invasion of _______'s privacy! But if he didn't, that creep might do far worse than take pictures of them...
The argument breaking out in his head obscured most of what ________ said to him, only catching "-why have you done all this for me?". He paused.
Honestly? He wasn't sure... He'd like to think he was just trying to be professional, doing his job and all that, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Still, he couldn't help but rely on that as his reason when he answered. About wanting to make up for the late accommodations. But he wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to them. Again the thought of cameras circled in his mind as he excused himself from their apartment, tools in-hand.
If he worked quickly he could have them set up by tonight...
The night was still.
Traffic slowed to a trickle as the street lamps flickered outside their apartment window.
Disturbed by the creak of bending plastic and metal as your stalker worked to bypass the new locks. Only slowing them by an hour from their usual midnight rendezvous.
"This is new ~", Peter hummed to himself as he nestled back into _______'s wardrobe. He wondered if maybe they'd caught onto him. New locks were an obvious choice, but why cameras? Seemed a little redundant when the details would be obscured for them anyway. Though some part of him chuckled at the thought of the footage needing to have audio-description and how it might describe him. This almost certainly wasn't his Darling's handiwork. So who...?
What amusement the cameras stirred had quickly turned to anger at the thought of someone else watching them. Stalking them. Whoever it was must've taken the Polaroids that managed to slip out last time he was here. Oh when he finds out who's been watching his beloved he swears to god he'll-
Then he got an idea.
He may not like someone else watching his Darling, but he could still stake his claim over them so that wouldn't matter anymore.
Emerging from the wardrobe, he sauntered in front of where he knew another camera had been hidden in the bedroom, glinting subtly with the light of the street lamp outside. He'd spotted it on his way in through the window. Making a show of announcing his presence to whomever was watching. As if to say, "Come get me, I dare you!". Even if he got caught, the commotion would alert his Darling and they would have questions about how whoever is watching them knew he was there. So... Let's see if that pervert has got the guts to catch him at the risk of their own culpability.
That lanky piece of shit!
That ugly mug was sneering at him straight through the bed-side camera. Don had retrofitted _______'s alarm clock with it, partly because it was perfectly positioned where he could keep an eye on the wardrobe and window without catching too much of a glimpse of _______. Their dignity was worth preserving after all. Every nerve in his body screamed to get up and make a run for ______'s apartment now he knows the stalker's in there! Torn between gathering evidence and making a citizen's arrest!But that would almost definitely wake them up, then the whole point of the cameras being to catch that creep without compromising _______'s peace of mind would fly out the window.
So far, their stalker hadn't done anything. At least, not that he knew of besides taking pictures and the break-in itself. All the time spent ignorant while this had been right under his nose made his head spin with everything he might've done already. Maybe he's only holding back now because he's realised he's caught on?
Don glanced at the Polaroids he'd kept amongst the disorganised paperwork on his desk. Why did he even bother keeping them? 'Evidence', he guessed... That didn't feel like the honest answer though, did it? Biting his lip, he knew exactly why he kept them - the same reason he conceded to setting up those cameras despite his better judgement to find other ways of gathering evidence. He may not be willing to admit it just yet, but seeing _______ exposed and vulnerable like that, well... it made the last few months' worth of bottled up lust and affection finally rise to the surface. Worst of all, it was clear that creep knew it. The way they smirked darkly at the camera as they made their way to ______'s bed. Closer and closer...
Don's grip tightened around the arms of his desk chair in a choke-hold, wishing it was that creep's throat! Torn between bolting to _______'s apartment and waiting to have enough footage to get him behind bars! As their stalker rested on the bed, he leaned over to adjust the camera to face ________ deep in slumber, before letting his hands roam all over them. Gently enough for them to barely stir from their deep sleep, but still uncomfortably sensual. Especially as he lingered for far too long over their chest and groin, earning a quiet whimper in response. Hearing those sounds fall from their lips stirred his frustration into a whirlwind. He knew their stalker would be long gone by the time he made it to their floor let alone their bedroom. And that bastard knew it.
Letting out a tortured groan, Don shuffled in his seat as he pulled out his mobile and flicked through all the contacts he had on speed-dial. His son, his ex-wife and ________. He'd kept it there in case they needed picking up last minute or help with things, officially anyway. So far he'd only ever received calls from them, never really having a reason be the one calling before. But oh was he glad he'd saved it. Quickly pressing the call button, hoping it would be enough to wake _______ up.
It wasn't.
Before it even had a chance to finish ringing, the creep picked up the call. For a moment they sat in silence, deadlocked. Truthfully, neither really wanted to wake them. As if to taunt him, the creep lowered the phone to ________'s lips. Their gentle breathing in stark contrast to the growing tension over the phone line. Turning mild static into painfully sharp din. Don felt himself tense up as he heard ________'s breath hitch with unconscious arousal at their stalker's touch. For an agonising minute, Don felt paralysed. Transfixed at the show that creep was putting on, resenting how much it aroused him. He must've been breathing pretty heavily, because soon the phone was brought back up to the creep's face and he muttered under his breath, "Oh, you really like that huh?". The smirk in his voice was infuriating.
For the most part their stalker had remained out of frame, but by the way _______'s body was gently rocking forwards he could tell that bastard had started to grind into them. Only stopping once or twice when they stirred to turn over, their sleep disturbed but not fully disrupted. Briefly entering the frame to plant gentle, possessive kisses down their body. To Don's shame and humiliation, he felt his hand linger over his belt buckle, itching to release the throbbing erection it barely confined. Knowing the moment he did, all bets were off. All that fanciful talk of dignity and protection. All of it hollow if he gave in and let himself enjoy their violation. He can't! Can he? Barely able to tell apart the tension in his head between those of his other.
Unsure how long he sat there, but soon enough his patience wore thin enough to fray from the lust cutting through every fiber of his being. With a metallic clink, that bastard won. He just didn't care anymore. Practically tearing his jeans open to finally pay his body the attention it's been screaming for. The guttural groan that he'd held back for what felt like hours came roaring out, loud enough to be heard through the phone. For a moment, their stalker had to halt his conquest. Might've won the battle with Don but the war wasn't over yet. The sound of Don's primal moan threatened to wake ________, and neither of them wanted that, not now!
To Peter's surprise, _______ stirred awake. Groggily shifting their weight onto their elbows as they slowly sat up, blinking away sleepy dust with a yawn. Frozen in place, having missed his chance to leap from the bed out of sight. Sat there praying it was too dark, and they were too blind and tired to see him. Only for their attention to be diverted to the faint sound of Don's faint moans and growling through the phone. Long since lost in the moment, no longer even watching the security footage. Letting out a low whimper as he moaned, "_______!"
That seemed to snap them awake, as they reached for the phone. In the panic, Peter took his leave while they were distracted and slipped back into the wardrobe. Watching with baited breath for that pervert to be caught. One less obstacle to worry about!
Summary: Making the most of a quiet night in, you curl up on the sofa to watch your favourite nature documentaries. Unbeknownst to you, tonight you were someone else's entertainment...
CW: Stalking, predator/prey (primal) dynamic and sexual themes but no actual smut
(Reader is femme but uses gender neutral pronouns)
Dividers by @huraxy
One foot in front of the other.
Each step ached with the weight of a day's work. A throbbing pain that no doubt will spread into a pulsing headache if you don't collapse onto something soft in the next five minutes. You knew it was a risky, even stupid idea to move into a new town for uni before even looking for work first. So desperate to just find something that you didn't stop to think if it was worth it. Something within walking distance. Between shifts and assignments barely a hair's width of room was left for well... life.
Thankfully though, you were nearly home. What counted as "walking distance" was perhaps further out than most would bother with. Between fuel costs, insurance and just plain old being bad at driving, you stubbornly insist on going by bike or foot. Unfortunately though, some twat stole the front wheel of your bike last week. Not the bike, just the wheel! Already the pigeons have made a latrine of your bike where it still stands chained by the bins at the back of Dad's Dang Diner. Wonderful! Granted, you'd been meaning to hit the gym more often but never had the time, so the added exercise of walking there and back is at least a welcome substitute. Although lately it's become more of a jog as autumn dawns and the sun keeps setting sooner and sooner each day. Seems silly, but you can't shake the feeling someone's following you each time you head home...
You've never liked the moments you'd have to stay still, fiddling with keys or fumbling for your wallet. Even before this daunting paranoia set in, you hated how vulnerable you felt. Looking over your shoulder, only to see nothing. Then checking again to be sure, only for the sight of nothing once more making you wonder if you're starting to go mad! Finally you find the right key for your run-down apartment complex and practically fall through the door with how much force you put behind it in your haste. Just as quickly you pivot round to slam the door securely shut, only to immediately regret it as the guilt of disturbing the rest of your neighbors hits you just a second too late. As if to compensate, like silence would cancel out that slam, you tip-toe the rest of the way up to your second-floor apartment. With it being so late, you should have thought to be more considerate but the haze of exhaustion from such a busy day made it hard to think.
You're far more careful with your apartment door. Not just to avoid any further noise, but also out of fear of breaking it. Flimsy plank of MDF that it is. It's a wonder your landlord hasn't managed to crack it even a little with how hard he knocks when rent's overdue. On the plus side, it always gives you time to brace yourself if someone's coming down the hall. A necessity whenever Lucy stumbles back from god know's where...
Sighing, you flick on the kettle and take a moment to stretch out all the tension that had built up throughout the day. One of these days you need to get a proper massage, but money being so tight as it is the thought of it makes your stomach sink with how much splurge like that would shrink your food budget. Lucy may not be able to chip in financially, but if the racket she and her "study buddies" make most days is anything to go by then she may actually do a competent job loosening the knots in your back! How exactly you were going to bring any of this up would be another matter, one you didn't have the energy to mull over and which was immediately forgotten upon the kettle coming to a boil.
Nights like these, quiet and peaceful, were rare. Lucy, what little you saw of her, always managed to make her presence felt. Stray laundry scattered about the living room, the faint whiff of weed wafting from her window, and of course the obnoxiously frequent banging in every sense of the word which made falling asleep a struggle. Your earplugs may be fit to block out the noise, but nothing could block the bed-rocking from reverberating through the walls just enough to feel it. It's hard to feel welcome in an apartment you barely feel you own.
You'd always ended up keeping very few posessions... At first, to make moving out from home with minimal notice as easy as possible. Then simply because you've barely had the money to buy anything but necessities. The few that have stuck might go for a pretty penny now. Nostalgic twenty and thirty somethings with cash to burn and nothing better to spend it on. You've listed a couple of your old DS games, plushies and CDs, which each got snapped up almost immediately! Weirdly though, all by the same person it seems? You suppose it's not that strange if they're a lover of old toys, none of which you have time to play with even if you care to anymore. Still, not everything was worth selling.
It did at least seem like you had the apartment entirely to yourself. Not that you could think of much to do given how little of the evening you'll get to enjoy before needing to hit the hay ready for an early start tomorrow. Still, as you pour yourself a cup of mint tea you plod over to the telly cabinet to rummage through some old DVDs you brought with you when you moved out. A whopping great brick of a DVD folder, filled to the brim with every David Attenborough documentary you could find over the years. The spongy casing starting to peel and the zip long since busted from years of use. Although Lucy's telly didn't have a DVD player, you figured out how to retrofit it with one, much like you had your laptop. Something about physically having your favourite comfort shows on hand even if the internet falters or streaming services decide to delete them out of the blue is a comforting level of certainty which you sorely needed to ground you with how chaotic life has been lately.
Tracing a finger through the "pages", you land on The Hunt. Hard to say why, but something about getting to see precious wildlife get to live another day (either by finally eating or fleeing from a maw) was oddly reassuring. Like a slightly morbid reminder that you'll find a way through hardship, even if just barely. At least, that's the nicest reason to come to mind. Truthfully though, you suppose it scratches a similar itch that true crime does for some people. Morbid curiosity of the tragic, deadly and dangerous. It always felt in poor taste though, hyping up these real killers while ignoring the very real victims. At least directing your fascination to the natural world assuaged your guilty pleasure somewhat, even if on some level you understand those who obsess over criminals.
At least it's undeniable your fascination with wildlife wasn't just a substitute for more questionable interests, the natural world as a whole captivated you like nothing else. Frankly less appreciated facets of it like fungi and plants held most of your interest, though animals seemed to trust you far quicker than you'd ever expect. On quiet mornings or on your lunch break when the sun's out, basking in the glow of pollen and mayflies while feeding birds and rodents in the park made you feel just like Snow White - as silly as it sounds. You know these creatures would happily go on without you, so perhaps it's somewhat selfish to want the comfort their attention brings. Still, moments like that kept you going through the worst days.
Snapping out of your musing, you dim the lights and slide the DVD into its player and nestle yourself deep into the sofa with your mint tea cupped closely up to your face. Its pleasant scent clearing your sinuses as you breathed it in deeply with a sigh.
There they are! Snuggled up so adorably like a sleepy little seal!
The sight of them made Peter's head spin with want and adoration, nearly throwing his balance off the balcony. He tried to keep his body firmly away from the door frame, but couldn't help leaning his head further forward to take in all their radiant beauty. Even disheveled as they were from a long day at work and slightly smudged makeup, they managed to make it seem so elegant. Their work shirt replaced with an oversized crop top that sloped off their shoulder to expose some of their perfectly soft skin... Oh how he wished he could just slide open the balcony door and nuzzle into their delicate neck. Perhaps nibble on it, leave some marks too...
With fall rearing its head, the cold made his nightly hobby a lot less comfortable, but he knew he'd grow numb to it in time. For the moment, the fire they stoked inside him kept him more than warm enough. Time sure flies! Seems like only yesterday he saw them at the diner for the first time, the way they smiled with their eyes which glittered as they flitted from table to table. Glasses which slunk to the bridge of their nose while their hands were occupied to the nines with several tables' worth of trays. They'd usually be saddled with all the more manual labor around the diner. Taking out the trash, cleaning up messes, carrying an impressive number of plates at once... practically carrying the diner all on their own! Their thick, muscular upper body perfectly complimenting their soft, marshmallow like thighs. Made all the more alluring by the diligent way they carried themselves, striding with the grace and power of a dancer.
He sighs longingly at the memory of them practicing in the nearest studio to their apartment, having not had the money to go in a while. Seeing them hoist themselves up the silks and fly like an angel, his angel... His heart skipping a beat when they'd suddenly drop. Even if it's controlled, even if they know what they're doing, the thought of them getting hurt or, god forbid, dying in an accident never fails to put him into a tailspin. Selfishly he's glad they haven't the money to go to classes for the time being. One less thing to worry about hurting his precious love. Even so, the joy it clearly brings them is one he so badly wishes to re-create. Maybe he could build his own rig back at the cabin? It'd have to be outside for it to be tall enough... He would definitely have to keep watch so they don't use it as a ruse to run away and who would he be to turn down a private show from his angel? Every single one for him and him alone...
Just as he felt drool threaten to ebb from between his lips, he shrunk back into the shadows and gulped it back. A shadow of fog from where he breathed so heavily was left on the glass of the sliding door. They nearly saw him! Tucking his gangly limbs out of sight he waited for the coast to clear, only for their encroaching shadow to grow ever larger. Shit... They must have noticed the fog! Shit shit shit-
Having them this close to him, even if separated still by the glass between them was nerve-wreaking. Each heartbeat rung through his ears so loudly he wondered if they could hear it through the glass. Then, with a click, the balcony door slid open and they stepped out into the cool fall air. The confused panic in their frantic searching was palpable. Staying low to the ground, Peter crawled just below their field of vision. Barely a hair's width away from their beautiful thighs hugged by plush, corduroy leggings like a layer of soft fur... His hand froze mid-reach, barely holding back the urge to grab their ankles and pull them into the shadows with him. Bending them over the balcony as they embrace each other for their first kiss under the stars... but not tonight. It was too soon for that, sadly.
Shrinking back, he watches as they, shivering from the cold, give up on their search and return to the warmth of their living room, to which he let out a long-held sigh of relief. That was close. Too close.
Right now would be a perfect opportunity to leave. They already suspect something, it wouldn't be wise to chance the rest of the evening without being discovered. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Eyes still fixated on them as they settled back into the sofa, distracting themselves from their worries with some TV. Admittedly, Peter wasn't really paying attention to whatever they were watching. Only enough to remember what they like. They really like their nature documentaries, huh?
Despite how close a call tonight was just minutes ago, he couldn't help but feel himself sink back into the glass. Hypnotized by their effortless perfection.
Maybe it was about time he moved to a better hiding spot...
"Polar bears, on average, succeed only once in 20 hunts."
The familiar voice-over helped calm you down a bit. You're sure you must be seeing things, maybe a bird flew into the balcony door and left a smudge mark while you were at work? You could've sworn it wasn't there earlier though...
"If the hunter is skinny, like this one, that may not be often enough."
Re-focusing your thoughts back to the telly, you can't help but sympathise with the bear as you feel your stomach growl. Time to go on a "hunt" of your own and see if Lucy's eaten all the bread, again. Yanking the freezer door open to bypass the frost which threatened to seal it shut, watching all the little flakes of ice scatter to the ground, you're relieved to see at least half a loaf left. The local bakery usually gave away or massively discounted the bread that was about to go bad, so freezing it meant you weren't just buying a loaf of mold by the morning.
"All she can do is keep trying."
You snap off a slice from the ice-brick of a loaf and, as you shove it into the toaster, you rummage around in the fridge for some butter but come up short. Dammit Lucy... You suppose you could have it plain or maybe fry it with some salt and oil? No, can't be arsed. Looking at your sad little slab of plain brown bread as it pops out of the toaster, you grumble back to the sofa, nibbling at it like a disgruntled mouse.
"To prevent her scent from betraying her, she makes a wide sweep to get downwind of the seal."
Crumbs spill everywhere as you plop back onto the sofa with a huff, unsatisfied with your meager midnight snack. The smell of slightly burnt toast overpowering what was left of the mint tea. At least it's getting to the good bit...
"Getting close."
You've seen this scene play out an embarrassingly large amount of times. You feel the voiceover fade into the background as you feel the day catching up with you, sinking into the sofa. Tiredness threatening to overtake you.
"She's now right behind the seal."
Peter looked down at them from the edge of the sofa. Managing to scale across from the balcony to their bedroom window and sneak in behind their line of sight. A hand cupped to his mouth to quiet his heavy breathing and keep any drool from dripping onto their hair as his hand grew wet with each pant. They were right there! He could just reach out and...
*Achoo*!
Startled by the sneeze, he flinched back, only to melt at how cute it was, like a little mouse's squeak. He should head back, leave them in peace, but all the weeks of painful yearning were taking their toll and desperately needed release. Their figure was slumped over the arm of the sofa as if on the brink of slumber. Maybe he wouldn't have to hide after all...
"Incredibly, she caught the seal underwater"
Though he couldn't see their eyes he could tell they'd fluttered shut, leaving what remained of the toast to slip from their hand onto the floor as their chin slipped from their palm. Head hanging heavy to the side, leaving their neck temptingly exposed. Their angelic figure lay so peacefully sprawled across the cushions, vulnerable and exposed... It took every ounce of restraint for him to not reach over and rip their clothes off then and there! Not content to waste such a perfect opportunity though, he made his way around to the front of the sofa to kneel down by their side. Taking a moment to worship her in awe, unable to hold himself back any longer, his hands gently traced along their side feeling every inch of their curves...
"It's only small, but even so, its blubber alone will contain one hundred thousand calories, enough to sustain this bear for a week."
He had to savor this. Who knows when he'll next get an opportunity like this. He could only hope it was sooner rather than later. Every inch felt like velvet under his fingers, even where their soft edges hardened into dense muscle. Each and every fiber relaxed and limp. They were so perfect like this! Floating in their dreams like an angel. And to think he was considering staying outside all night in case he got caught! Sometimes it paid to take risks. Just as he thought that though, they stirred underneath his touch and shuffled away from it. Maybe they weren't as deep asleep as he thought, so he quietly arose to hide back in the closet as he had so many nights before. What was perhaps the most blissful night of his life so far was drawing to a close, but he prayed it wouldn't be the last.
"And, in that time, she might even catch another..."
Summary: The long road to heroism turned out to be pathed in far more blood than Shinso could've ever expected. So much so that he questions his own integrity as a hero. As far as you know, he's only second-guessing himself playing the villain in your roleplays. It wouldn't be long before you both learn just how different Shinso is from a real villain...
CW: Needles, corruption, sexual themes, drug-play, body horror and dollification (kinda?)
Reader's quirk: "Babel" - They can read, speak and write all known languages. That includes living and dead languages, but not fictional ones. Initially dismissed as simply being hyper-verbal until their miraculous proficiency of all sorts of languages was discovered. (Based on the phenomenon of people waking up from a coma or suffering brain injuries and suddenly being fluent in languages they've never heard/learnt. This phenomenon isn't fully understood, but for the quirk I'm guessing all human language shares some common genetic lineage that can be passed on and reactivated.)
Their mother's quirk ("Polyglot") allowed her to speak any language but not read / write it, while their father's quirk ("Scribe") allowed him to read / write any language but not speak it. They ended up teaching each other their favourite languages. Their mother dubbed a lot of shows and their father translated many books, but after meeting they started mutually translating and dubbing audio books, which kick-started their mum's career as a voice actress and their father's career as a writer! Both of which come through in the reader's own choice of hobbies.
Dividers by @rowanswritin and @strangergraphics
"But it's been ages since you last used your quirk on me!", you playfully pouted, arms crossed in faux-frustration.
"And I'd like to keep it that way!", Hitoshi retorted, quite plainly. Though it was clear by his heavy sigh that your pestering was beginning to ware his nerves.
You try to avoid pestering him to brainwash you, knowing how much of a sore spot using his quirk for anything but diplomacy and heroics tends to be. Though the odd occasion he finds himself willing to explore its other uses are times you long for, you can't force them to come any sooner. Patience is a virtue after all! One Hitoshi has helped you cultivate, largely through his frequent deployment overseas. An invaluable asset for de-escalation, keeping an otherwise boiling pot of a world at a mild simmer.
It was fun for the first few years, seeing the world, feeling important... he needed to learn the local languages and study the voices he needed to mimic where he'd be deployed. Each mission a fun adventure you got to tag along with him on as a translator of sorts! Should've figured the good times wouldn't last... One too many villains, a religious cult if you remember rightly, took you for ransom. By that point he'd become quite the polyglot thanks to you, and any further consultation needed from you could be done over the phone - a safe distance away from any danger. It wasn't worth the risk to have you with him on the field, not anymore.
Now you sat alone, as you so often did these days, passing the time with whatever company needed a good translator. Though these days most companies used AI to do that, so outside of part-time language tutoring and helping Hitoshi perfect his international diplomacy, your quirk functions as nothing more than a party trick. What's really kept you going while Hitoshi's away for weeks at a time for the past couple years has been making up new languages of your own and writing stories around them! Perhaps you went a little bit overboard with some of them, at least the publishers seemed to think so, but at least Hitoshi appreciated your little passion projects! Like clockwork, you'd have another ready for him to bring along on his next mission to make the long flights and long nights that little bit shorter. After all, it wasn't like this longing is one-sided. His isolating work visibly taking a toll on his psyche, even if your presence does wonders to mend it whenever he finally catches a break.
A question that dances in your mind whenever you think of him, and had done even back when you were just colleagues, has always been...
"How could I have gotten so lucky?"
Working with someone so cool, so kind, so smart... with such a powerful quirk, one that just so happens to suit your kinks like a velvet glove. The first time he used it on you, even though you knew it was coming, felt like an electrifying rapture shocking your system. Were you able to move in that moment, you have no doubt you would've sunk to your knees, hands hiding your face in embarrassment. None of which would've been necessary to convey how his quirk was affecting you, given the deep blush that radiated across your face regardless. Since then, a little exercise you two did between missions was mimicking the voice of whomever you were talking to in-person or on the phone, like a game of werewolf. Lately it's barely been worth playing, because his masterful mimicry has become almost impossible for you to discern.
Perhaps, to answer the question, it was your own voice that had entranced him, much like his own did you. A native tongue like no other. Once he'd grasped the basics of a handful of languages, you had the habit of speaking to each other in random languages. Originally to practice for his work, then to keep your heart-to-hearts and in-jokes private, then... Well, by that point you reckon he just liked hearing you speak. Even if it was just to hear your voice, you appreciated how deeply he seemed to listen. Letting you run your mouth for hours on end about anything and everything on your mind. Softly, smoothly, like a siren song only he can understand. Now that you were closer, he often asks you to whisper sweet nothings in the languages he thought sounded the most beautiful to hear you speak.
Oh, the brief moments you cherish together are bliss...
But that only makes his absence more painfully palpable. Day by day wading through the thickening silence. Calls growing more infrequent as the risk of them being traced back to you and endangering you becomes greater. And even when you are together, he's been less willing to use his quirk on you lately. Did something happen?
"I'm sorry...", you said, perhaps a little preemptively.
"For What?", Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at your apologetic shift in demeanor. Even if he wasn't in the mood right now, simply asking isn't a crime. "Look, I enjoy our little role-plays for the most part, but I'm starting to feel like you don't want me to be the one controlling you."
That took you aback, 'don't want him'?
"Obviously it's just a role, and it is fun for me, but...", he trailed off, caught up in his own conflicted thoughts, not finding quite the right way to word his frustrations just yet. The pause his rumination brought made the air hang heavy with dread, had you gone too far? You always try to re-assure him during aftercare that nothing he does to you is real, that it doesn't make him any less of a good person. Or less of a hero for playing the villain for you!
"I-I can play the villain next time, and you can capture me! I don't mind switching things up so you get to be a hero when we play.", you sheepishly proposed, hoping the solution would be as simple as that. The suggestion wasn't a bad shout and he did seem to like it by the way his eyes lit up as he heard it. Even still, there lingered a weight on his chest that has sat heavy on his chest for a long while and he was desperate to finally shed it.
"Sounds fun, but what I was going to say-", he took a deep breath, the sight of which compelled you to hold yours; "-is that you always seem to want me to play the villain. I don't feel like myself in those moments, yet I feel... like I'm actually hurting you. No matter how much I try, it's getting harder to feel like it's just a role I'm playing. Is this how you see me? Or do you want someone else entirely? Who's so much crueler than I could ever pretend to be..."
Those last few words echoed in your mind, never managing to fade even as you began to try and think of what to say next. As much as it pained you, it wasn't far from the truth. Heck! Part of what got you abducted by that religious cult, the same one that drove Hitoshi to convince you to stop tagging along with him on missions, was their penchant for using quirks similar to Brainwashing. What can you say? You have a soft spot for it, to your own detriment, and he knew it! Still... it didn't stop you from feeling guilty for projecting that onto him and overstepping his boundaries, if unintentionally.
"Shall we, um...", you reached a hand to paw at your hair, as if doing so might coax the perfect words you needed to say out from between the strands. For all your ways with words, Hitoshi deserved more than fanciful deflection. Imagining him using you to meet his basest, most sadistic desires... That's your groin talking, not a reflection of him! You project your kinks onto people you find attractive, rather than those kinks reflecting them as people. You know he knows that, this isn't the first time you two have discussed this. He must need to hear it, from you, however many times it takes to reassure him he's still a hero and that none of what you do together means he's a villain deep down. Right, you know exactly what to say now!
Just as you were about to break the silence - Hitoshi's work phone rang suddenly, startling you and making Histoshi grimace at how your relationship will once again be put on hold by work. With a pained sigh and a quick exchange of glances as if to say, "We'll finish this later", Hitoshi answered the phone.
"Yes, Sir?", silence hang heavy as a no-doubt hefty assignment was relayed to him. Each second felt agonisingly long with how much you strained to retain the perfect words you'd only just managed to conjure! Sod's law dictates you'll have forgotten them all by the time his call is up. Wouldn't be the first time...
"Yes I can be there by tomorrow," He flitted his eyes briefly back to you with an apologetic expression, one which you should be used to by now but with how brief his visit has been already the sting of it never seems to lessen. Resigned, you nod, to which Hitoshi signs a 'thank you' your way and says, with much apprehension, "No, that won't be a problem." before hanging up.
"Goddammit", he sighs.
"It's fine.", you lie. He knows it's a lie. Honestly you aren't sure why you bother saying it every time something like this happens. Perhaps because if either of you admitted how much it hurt then he might end up quitting, and then the guilt of abandoning his hero duties and all the effort it took to attain them would set in. Then... back to square one again, you guess.
As you'd feared, some of those perfect words have already slipped your mind. Desperately, you blurt out the rest, "None of my kinks are a reflection of you. Frankly, I'm not sure where they came from or why I enjoy them so much, but I'm grateful that you've humoured them for me. I just find villains... hot, at least in theory. And since you're, well... I guess my brain put two and two together and just imagined you as a sexy villain. You don't have to play that role anymore, that's never been who I see you as even when you played it well!"
He gives a half-hearted chuckle, staring vacantly at the floor. That's the problem, he did play it well. Too well. Why couldn't he shake this feeling of guilt? Of shame? Truthfully he wasn't sure quite what it was, but it was clear that time would do more than words to clear his mind of it. Or make it worse. Words failing you both, you let silence settle over you like a weighted blanket. Slowly easing the tension between you dissipate enough to pull each other into a loving embrace, warm and comforting.
You both wished this moment would last forever...
But, as needs must, you reluctantly parted and mournfully watched Hitoshi make his way to the bedroom to grab his work bag. Barely having had a chance to unpack before needing to leave again.
"Target is in sight!", Hitoshi relayed over his receiver. Strange to think he's only there to "talk" to someone, albeit from a distance. Almost felt like he was taking aim to fire, and in a way... he was. The way his quirk made them effectively brain-dead until instructed otherwise was the perfect solution after widespread protest forced the International Intervention Alliance (essentially the UN's Safety Commission) to adopt less lethal methods of eliminating villains. At first he was more than happy to be that solution, stopping military coups dead in their tracks, domestic terrorists attempting to organise the massacre of whole neighbourhoods, sex traffickers who felt untouchable... but it seemed like the good done in the early days was an induction of sorts, to ease him into not questioning more dubious acts of "peace keeping".
Peace keeping missions like the one he was about to complete, brainwashing a democratically elected presidential candidate about to win by a landslide if the briefing he got was correct. The "problem" with them, at least according to the IIA, is that they were proposing some very 'radical' changes that risked bodies like the IIA and other hero organisations being de-funded in favour of bolstering infrastructure like free housing, reformed education, and environmental protections. Frankly he had to hold back his laughter when he heard them describe his target. Really? THIS is who they feel threatened by enough to send him, their "secret weapon"? Looking at his target, their smile, one so filled with such endearing, sincere hope for the future he was about to reluctantly rip away.
"Something wrong?", his boss questioned, interrupting his thoughts, seemingly irked by his pause of contemplation - of hesitation. Hitoshi took a long, deep breath and began carefully tuning his vocal modulator to sound like one of the journalists interviewing them in their imminent victory lap. Here we go again...
"What do you think will happen once you de-fund the IIA?"
Instantly their target's movements cease, bar a slight tremble and their expression falling to a dull, blank stare. A far cry from the promising, joyful figure who held themselves so high just moments before. The choice of circumstance for their brainwashing was quite deliberate, though rarely would it be so public. While they may be on the younger side for a politician, they were still in the right age and weight range to plausibly have a stroke. Wouldn't you know it, a stroke looks strikingly similar to his brainwashing! From the outside at least...
'Fall', he commanded, to really sell the act.
Everyone near enough to try rushed to catch them. Most missions only required him to be deployed, but he had to be sure no one realised he's even here for this one. Instead, his boss sent undercover backup to drag their target away this time, under the guise of rushing them to hospital. It wasn't until about an our later, when their target was finally "eliminated" that he was given the all-clear with the words, "Great work, Nighthide!". The same words that once filled him with such pride and joy, now just left him with a hollow pit of shame deep in his gut. His "Hero" name never seemed so fitting, in the worst way possible. God he felt so... dirty. He shouldn't have agreed, not to this mission. Never mustered the courage to defy orders or turn down a mission, given how hard he worked to earn his place in the organisation. Frankly, never felt the need to until this past year of psy-op after psy-op.
If only _________ knew what went on in these missions, in his "Hero" work. Bless her heart, thinking it was only their role plays that had him second-guessing his own morals. Still, it wasn't as if he could tell her about any of this, she only saw the good days when they were still working together in the field. Every mission was always kept under wraps, not even family could know what went on - the IIA would know if anything leaked. Even she couldn't possibly reassure him what he was doing now was anything but blatant corruption. Was this how Lady Nagant felt? How Hawks felt? God it was so long ago since he thought about his old mentors. Aizawa... What would he think? He only ever knew him after he began work as a teacher, it was easy to forget Aizawa spent most of his career operating completely independently. And he's beginning to understand why...
With heavy feet and an even heavier heart, he dragged himself forward. Anywhere but here. A performative act, given another agent teleported heroes like him to and from missions to avoid being traced, but it was the only thing he could think to do amidst the dissociative storm circling his mind. Unfortunately, a far more dire mission awaited him upon his return to an empty home...
"The next station is...", chimed the announcer over the train's intercom. Just five more stops to go... and you bet reaching each one would feel like an age. Not that you minded too much, given it granted you more time to keep reading your book. Well, fanfiction... smut, it was smut. Most Heroes pay no mind to what their fans (heck, even some of their enemies) write about them, but you admit it still felt like a guilty pleasure of yours to read. Occasionally peeking at what other people have written for "Nighthide". You giggle at the name, far too edgy and brooding for the sweetheart he's turned out to be. Relishing with amusement at people's guesses over how he might act in a relationship or during intimacy, when you know full well the answers to both. It was sweet, and somewhat intriguing when someone would hit close to the money. Though none of them could've guessed how much of a cunning linguist you've helped him become!
For all the stories you wrote in your spare time you rarely contributed to the mountains of hero fanfiction out there. Villain fanfiction, however, was a semi-regular indulgence of yours. Unlike heroes, villains tend to pay more attention to what fans write about them, since some see it as a way to gauge what buttons to press to recruit naive fans into their antics. A risk you were fully aware of, but one you felt fairly ambivalent about - given how well versed you are in the art of psychological warfare and stealth after your time working for the IIA. The stark contrast those days have with your current, mundane domesticity felt like a joke. Barely anyone even knows your old job as Hitoshi's translator even existed since your contract with the IIA included an NDA.
Oh well, at least you're getting some recognition as a small-time fantasy author. It's not much, but it makes commuting to your day job as a language teacher a little easier. You'd never really payed much mind to the fact you can't drive until now. What with how extensive public transport has been where you live, you've never felt the need to drive. Even when working in the most remote locations in your old job with Hitoshi, you both were either flown or teleported to where you needed to be! Right about now, squashed uncomfortably tightly between sweaty strangers and their bulky backpacks, you were seriously considering learning to drive. But for now, distracting yourself with smut would have to suffice!
Even today, most teachers who still read smut or who are discovered to be kinky are shunned to the point of it risking their job. Yet it came in handy in your career, strangely enough. You discovered one of your favourite fanfic authors was one of the students in your class. Initially it was merely a strong suspicion, since the oddly specific phrases they asked for help translating ended up in a fanfic of a notorious villain from China, who later attempted to recruit that student. Admitting how you knew who kidnapped them was a bit embarrassing, but it proved invaluable to the police to bring them home so you're glad you did!
Even still, you had to quit because the school didn't want word of one of their teachers being an avid smut reader to tarnish their reputation, so you've moved to gig-work. Essentially as a personal tutor, rather than a full-time teacher. Often leading to your commuting distance and hours to be unpredictable, but work is work you guess - and you need the money. You'd think for all the good work Hitoshi is doing for the world that they'd pay him more, but no. "Hero work is its own reward!", only goes so far - the cheap bastards!
You sigh, having unintentionally killed the mood enough to make you stop reading. Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you idly stare around the train at nothing in particular. And yet... Something particular you see, there amidst the tightly packed cluster of bored commuters you spot an unnerving figure staring straight at you!Instinctively you look away, as if acknowledging his presence might provoke him to approach. The urge to keep flitting your eyes back to him, just for a second, only to snap them back to the ground was overpowering. Compelled, maybe by fear or by curiosity, to keep checking he was there - that he hadn't inched any closer. Whatever you'd hoped to accomplish from your dance of nerves, you didn't expect him to be smiling the next time you checked. Seemingly taking great pleasure in seeing you fumble at his mere presence.
Just as you felt panic begin to overtake you, relief washed over you as the intercom announced "This stop is Central Station, alight here for-"
Finally, you're here! Desperate to leave, you pushed your way through the crowd to get off. Feeling elated as the fresh air fills your lungs after such a claustrophobic journey, you forget your footing for a moment. In your hurried escape, you stumble. Only for someone to fortunately catch you! Stunned by the fall, time slows. Each second feeling like viscous droplets dripping through your mind, which grew foggier with each drop. Other passengers flow past you like a parted sea, only acknowledging your presence insofar as it inconvenienced their exit. As you regain focus and steady your footing, you clumsily turn to thank whomever caught you. Only for your heart to sink like an anchor upon seeing the unnerving man from the train staring back at you, now mere inches from your face!
Even this close, it was hard to see clearly. A cloth mask covers his mouth and nose and further still long, dark strands of hair fell over his face like a hood, obscuring the rest of his features. Despite barely being able to see his eyes, you could feel his stare burning into you - along with what felt like a set of claws digging into your back. Not thick enough to be like a heteromorph's animalistic claws made of keratin, these felt thinner, sharper... like syringe needles. As the thought crossed your mind, you felt them pierce through the cloth of your jacket and into your back. Slowly digging in, the pain caused you to wince.
Flailing to get away, you accidentally push your back deeper into his piercing grip. "P-Please...", you tremble, "Let me go!"
To your horror, a voice you recognise responds, one you haven't heard in nearly a decade. Vlatko Uros, The "Doll-Maker". One of Hitoshi's early targets that was done for sex trafficking, among myriad other charges. He chuckles, "Ah, so you remember me? How sweet!", you hadn't noticed his other hand was free, which stroked up your body and snaked its way under your chin. "Because I certainly remember you...", he purred, his purr twisting into a growl as he dug the needles deeper into your back, causing you to wail in pain. Or it could have, had he not pressed his palm over your mouth. You weren't sure if it was the fear, pain or something else causing your head to spin, but soon you could feel your knees begin to buckle as your limbs grew weak.
"That's it... let everything fade away...", you heard his voice echo, growing more distant with each passing second. Before long, you were limp in his arms...
Dinner was getting cold.
Hitoshi figured _________'s absence was simply a case of her being at work, running errands or fun with friends, the perfect opportunity to surprise her with dinner upon his return from his last mission. A comfortable setting to bring up his decision to quit, and hopefully reassure her about their talk from before he left. Not wanting to be rude, he waited an hour before tucking into his own portion - slowly picking at it, the meat tough and dry from how many times he's had to re-heat it while he waited. By now it's been sat on the table for over two hours. None of the messages he sent have been read. Their neighbour hadn't seen _________ all day, not since they greeted her as she left for work yesterday. He didn't want to panic, but the worst explanation loomed over him like a growing shadow.
As he got up to leave for the police station or nearest hero agency, his phone rang. Fumbling to fish it out from his pocket, his eyes lit up with hope as he saw the caller ID - it was _________! Without any hesitation he answered, "Hello! _________! Where are you?". There was an extended silence that seemed to go on forever, before he finally heard a voice, but not the one he'd expected. A muffled, sinister voice replied, "Nighthide..."
He grit his teeth as he realised who had answered. Uros...
"Where is ________? What have you done with her!", Hitoshi tried desperately to keep his composure, wishing he didn't feel so helpless. Whoever had ________ now knows it's him, so he can't easily dupe them into being brainwashed. Luckily, tracking the phone signal is easy enough, that's at least a start.
"Oh, nothing much... I just gave her a little injection."
The moment Hitoshi heard that last word, he nearly dropped the phone in his rush to reach her in time. Before Uros' quirk, his venom, has enough time to fully re-wire her brain into his puppet. When they initially caught him, they couldn't save a lot of the victims they set free. By then their whole body and mind had been re-wired, effectively making them stringless marionettes when he isn't near enough to control them. Even after years of physiotherapy and medical intervention, very few regained any semblence of independence and remain in full-time care to this day. He can't let that happen to __________!
In a panic, he frantically spewed question after question, partly to gage more information while he traced the call and partly in a vain attempt to catch them out. Even if brainwashing them wouldn't do much to help _________, it could at least keep any further harm to a minimum, he hoped. Soon though, the tracking was complete. He couldn't afford to waste anymore time! Not even stopping to lock the door on his way out, he belted it to the roof and put all his training to work. Using his scarf to throw himself from building to building, gaining speed, eyes scouring for exactly where the call was traced back to.
Uros hung up the phone, quite pleased with himself for baiting Nighthide so easily. He's always been a hard one to track down, but you were not Nighthide. Ever since he got paranoid about your safety and insisted you stay "out of harms way", it ironically made you even easier to track down by the likes of him once he got out. You'd think practically lobotomising dozens of victims to then exploit for sex slavery would net oneself a life sentence, but no! Released on "good behaviour", and a pretty bribe or two... Either way, he knew the simplest way to finally get Nighthide out of the way for good would be to lure him into a trap. All he had to do was find his precious little lovebird. Oh, what a delightful little paper trail she left! All those naughty little villain fantasies may not have been about him, but it provided an amusing read thinking how compliant you would be as one of his slaves. From there, tracking your IP was a walk in the park and shockingly careless for someone with your credentials.
Looking you up and down, he honestly was quite impressed with the restraint he was exercising. Having not even laid a finger on you after the initial injection, other than tying you up until the venom takes full effect, he reckoned there was enough time for him to play with his new toy before Nighthide arrived...
With a devious smile, he said, "While we wait for your little hero to arrive, I think I deserve a little... entertainment.~"
+++ NSFW SCENE - skip to next purple dot banner if needed! +++
Your hearing had began to noticeably muffle over the past few hours, but his sinister tone came through clear as day regardless. Adrenaline overran your body, but with barely any control of your muscles remaining, it had nowhere to go but your heart - which beat so fast your chest grew tight from the pain.
Suddenly, you felt your body move. A brief flash of strength, one you thought was voluntary at first. A show of resilient rebellion against his venomous control. But as you tensed with all your might, garnering not even a twitch in response, horror and dread seeped in. Tainting what meager resolve you had into pitiful paralysis. You wished you weren't so shockingly easy to subdue, but for all your time on the field, you were only really there to teach Hitoshi and the other agents languages and were so separate from any combat so much of the time that you were only taught the basics. All of which became redundant the moment he injected that damn venom straight up your spine!
That first movement wasn't a fluke though. From your last encounter, it was hard to tell exactly how his quirk worked, but with a second, then a third jolt, it started to paint a grotesque picture... The movements felt abrupt yet loose, as if he was puppeteering your flesh with strings pulled too taut. Head kept foggy so no remaining thoughts could translate to anything but the mildest action unless directly controlled by him. You felt all tension in your jaw slowly loosen as it hung slightly open and eyelids drooping to a perfect sleepy doe-eye. To your disgust, you felt drool begin to slowly drip from your lip.
Quite pleased with how things were 'progressing', he felt certain you were no longer able to run away and so knelt down to untie you from the chair. After all, you couldn't put on a show for him bound up like that! Even if your futile thrashing earlier was quite amusing. Since your body had long grown numb, you could barely feel the change in pressure as he loosened your bindings despite the deep marks they left. Without warning, you felt your body jolt to attention as if re-animated.
"Oh how I've missed this...", he grinned.
Pulling up the chair he'd tied you to, he settled into it much like a king would a throne; calm yet imposing. Wordlessly he nodded, and your hands seemed to understand the cue before your brain could register it. Still a little stilted, your fingers fumbled over your shirt buttons, managing with much effort to undo them and slide your shirt to the floor. Sluggishly you felt your body sway as your hands glided down the curves of your body until you reached the hem of your trousers. Even as you struggled to pull them down, your body was forced to keep your rear front and center. A striptease of all things? You couldn't imagine anything about your movements being sexy in this moment, as unnatural as they were. Yet the very robotic nature of it all seemed not to bother him. In fact, if his vulgar expression was anything to go by, that might've been the point!
Even if your face couldn't move to reflect the turmoil that besieged you in your humiliation, tears were still able to well, turning your glazed eyes glassy like polished opal. "Beautiful...", he purred. The beauty of your pain stung like a searing dagger, twisted deeper with every bit of praise your captor had the gall to bestow as they tortured you! Worse still, much of it resembled things Hitoshi told you. When he'd concede to brainwash and "torture" you at your discretion. You thought it felt so tantilisingly real in those blissful moments you shared, but now... Now it was clear just how tame it was compared to the real thing. God, you just want it to stop!
Sensing resistance in wake of your distress, he attempted to quell your mind in other ways - control disguised as comfort; "You know, my venom isn't permanent" Tracing his needle-like fingers across your shoulders, circling her as he spoke, "At least, depending on how many times I inject you. Each dose conditions your nervous system to respond to my control, rather than your own. I'm not exactly sure how many doses it takes for one's body to grow fully dependent on my control to function, and I'm willing to bet Nighthide doesn't either. You still might have a fighting chance! How about that?"
"иди дођавола", you manage. Good, at least you have enough of your faculties left to insult him in his own tongue. You aren't sure if he was ever aware of your quirk or what you were doing with Nighthide other than being his confidant, but anything that could throw him or potentially make him more willing to divulge his plans under the assumption that anyone watching wouldn't understand them was invaluable. Surprised, you truly caught him of guard!
"Паметна девојка… али не задуго! Не након износа који сам вам дао.", his smug grin widened at your growing look of abject horror.
In truth, the dose he injected, especially so directly to the nervous system, should have been enough to render you practically brain-dead by now. Perhaps he was getting rusty, it has been a while since he'd last used his quirk, and he usually targeted people already weakened by the world. It was true it did ware off with time, but we wasn't taking any chances. Only a fool would consider Nighthide an easy fight, even without a quirk suited for combat, his skill and compensated for that tenfold. Good thing he's gotten him all riled up - hard to be stealthy with a clouded mind, like a bull in a china shop...
Time was running out!
From the looks of things, he was hiding out in one of the condemned buildings at the city's outskirts. As he got closer, he could make out the decrepit sign outside. An old Love Hotel? Feeling sick to his stomach, he feared the worst. In his haste he hadn't stopped to consider how he would land. If his trajectory was anything to go by, he was flying feet first through one of the second story windows!
With both arms raised to protect his face, he braced himself and smashed straight through. Skidding to a stop with shards scattering around him. Once the dust had settled, he listened for any sounds that might give away their location. Besides the eerie creaks of the old structure and the light rustle of leaves in the breeze outside, it was more hushed than snowfall. Nothing. Then...
A creak - above him!
Not wanting to announce his approach, he cautiously climbed back out of the window he'd just smashed through and scaled up to the one above. Feeling for the edge of a window panel, he nudged it open and subtly placed a two-way radio inside the room. Listening in, he could hear their (very one-way) conversation. From the sounds of it, you were already struggling to speak. 'Hang in there...', he pleaded.
"By the sounds of things, your little hero has come to save you, though I remember him being stealthier than that... Didn't even see him coming when he destroyed my business and ruined my life! And now...", he leaned in close, stroking your cheek, and whispered, "I'll ruin his!"
Your nerves felt like frayed threads. The whole length of your spine burned with a sharp, twisting pain, working its way up your neck to the base of your skull which hung heavy and tilted to the side. You could barely muster the strength to flinch away, so channeled it to the only part of your body his venom hasn't quite taken over yet.
"Y-you... You won't get away with this...", you manage to croak.
Unimpressed but very much amused, he laughs, "How cliche... Is that really all you can think to say? God, my venom must have reached your brain already!" As if to confirm his observation, he traces the tips of his needle-like fingers across the bare skin of your arms, tearing through it like a seam ripper! No reaction. Not even a flinch.
'No!', Hitoshi felt his patience snap, his composure slip, and his restraint leave every fibre of his body. That bastard is dead! In a flash his lashed forward, constricting her captor's neck like a snake, tighter and tighter... Too possessed with a primal, protective instinct to bother preserving what little element of surprise he had, he clawed his way through the window and growled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Knowing better than to answer once his bindings were loosened enough for him to even attempt to speak, he just sneered in viscious contempt for an old enemy. Silence settled over the room as Hitoshi waited for him to cave. Needless to say, his patience had grown scarce the moment he touched __________.
Blinded by sheer elation you furiously fight against your invisible restraints to throw your arms around him, managing only a weak twitch. Why hasn't he moved either? Has he already been injected?You can't risk your captor digging his claws into him. As merciless as he's been in making you his puppet, you had a feeling what awaited Hitoshi would be even worse... That was, until you noticed the glass lodged where he must have broken his fall, not track marks as you had feared. Everything happened so fast you hadn't realised Hitoshi had already captured him! So why was he so still? His focus locked not on you, but your detestable captor. That look in his eyes... You've never seen that look before, not even on the field. Venomous and vengeful.
"If you don't speak up now-", he re-fastened his choke-hold sharply and angling upwards slightly, were he any less restrained then it'd barely differ from a noose, "Then forever hold your peace"
As long as Uros remained in control, he stood a chance at snuffing him out once and for all! Nighthide would have to let go eventually, but no sense in waiting for that... wait, where is his gun? He could barely move his neck to look for it, clumsily feeling for it in his coat while his legs flailed like an overturned beetle's. Nighthide won't actually kill him... right? He's a "hero"! He hated how quickly he was losing leverage, but at least he still had a hold on _________. Time to put that to the test...
You strained to speak, even moreso than before as if pulling apart ethereal threads that had sewn your lips shut. You had to snap him out of it! Maybe if you let Hitoshi take control of you it could loosen Uros' control? No way of communicating your plan, but you had to try it! Any way out of this except murder! He'd never forgive himself! Just... Have to... Speak!
Barely a squeak whimpered out before some invisible force compelled you forward, abruptly stopping once your foot knocked into something cold and metallic - a gun? Even without Uros' control, you picked it up in a heartbeat, something to maybe shoot a hole through Hitoshi's scarf, or startle him into letting go, something, anything! Though the moment you did you wished you hadn't. As you cocked the pistol with a click, realising Uros was still in control. Desperately fighting to keep your aim away from them as you felt to nozzle inching towards Hitoshi. No... no! You attempt to backtrack and drop the gun, only to find your grip locked tight around the trigger. You feel your finger twitch-
*BANG*
Violently snapped out of his wrathful trance with a bullet to the shoulder, the pain forcing Hitoshi to flinch. Only for a second. Long enough to grant Uros a window of opportunity to grab at his bindings and pull them loose but not quite free - entangled and gasping for air.
"Шта дођавола није у реду са тобом?", Uros sputtered, face slightly purple.
No words. Nothing came but shallow, quickened breaths as Hitoshi attempted to process exactly what just happened - what he was about to do... Letting his scarf fall to the floor, he stared down at his trembling hands. Eyes fixated yet unseeing. Though the blood on his hands was his own, in his guilt-ridden delirium it could've been anyone's. Uros', one of his targets, ________'s... Was he really so quick to abandon his morals? No... It would've been to protect _________. If he hadn't hurt her then, then... Oh god, _________!
While he was distracted, Uros clawed his way to his feet with a hand clasped around _________'s neck! He'd taken the gun back for himself, which was now aimed squarely at Nighthide. Had Uros aimed it at _________'s head, he might have panicked, but he finally started feeling like himself again. With a clear mind, he stared down the barrel. Now he knew exactly what to say, "Do it. Or do you need ________ to pull the trigger for you... again?".
"УМРИ ВЕЋ!"
And there it is!
The stupid bastard could barely move his finger with how swiftly brainwashing took effect. As his limbs fell loose and limp, Hitoshi had to lunge to catch you as you were finally freed from Uros' grip, at least physically. Anxious to make sure you're ok, he lays you down relieved to see the steady rise and fall of your chest. Something was still wrong though, you still hadn't said a word in minutes and your pupils weren't responding to light. Uros' venom had done too much damage, he was too late...
That bastard still has control. Wait... he does still have control. If Hitoshi could make Uros somehow relinquish that control from the inside, then maybe there's still a chance. He wasn't sure if it was possible, or what he even had to say to do it but... he had to try!
After a deep breath, he focused everything on drilling deep into Uros' mind. If there was a way he could nullify his quirk, even with the venom still flowing through her veins, he had to do it. Despite the uncertainty of it all, he commanded with as much authority as he could muster, "Let. Her. Go."
There was an ominous pause as Hitoshi waited with baited breath to see if it worked. Suddenly, Uros dug his needles deep into _________'s neck. He grabbed to pull them out to no avail, until he noticed the colour of their contents had changed. Watching them inject a strange, clear liquid instead of the usual purple venom. An antivenom?
Once seemingly all of the antivenom had been exhausted, Uros withdrew his hand and resumed the stance of a dead-eyed thrall. A much more fitting punishment than stooping to murder, giving him a taste of his own medicine!
With that, he waited. And waited. And waited... Soon enough the sun sank below the horizon, blanketing the three of them in a serene amber glow. After putting _________'s clothes back on, he couldn't bring himself to move from where he was kneeling. __________'s head laid upon his lap as he stroked her hair. Partly to comfort her in case she was conscious all the while, and partly for his own sake. A therapeutic distraction.
As the cold of night set in, Hitoshi realised the state of his wounds. Finally moving, if only to tend to them. Thank goodness for his utility belt! While the glass shards in his arms and legs were easy enough to pick out with tweezers, his shoulder definitely needed stitches... She really did a number on him! Hopefully she won't feel too guilty about that once this is all over. It wasn't her fault after all.
Before he'd even finished bandaging up, ________ bolted up, gasping!
"Fuck! Fuck...", she cried, sinking into herself.
Having regained lucidity, Hitoshi rushed to embrace you. The deep, heavy pressure quelled your shaking to a mild shiver. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was joy to finally be able to hug you again - maybe he'd finally lost it! Either way, he had to laugh. Hugged him tighter, letting him cry into your shoulder. Happy to be yourself again, to feel your body as your own, to feel him right there with you...
"Let's go home", you whispered into his chest, hearing his heartbeat slowly grow steadier.
"Yeah...", he sniffed, helping you to your feet. You both take a final glance at Uros.
"We should stop by the police station first.", you suggest, exhausted with the slight damper it put on things. An extra duty before you could both truly rest.
"Yeah...", he sighed, "He's their problem now. I... Can I confess something?"
"Anything!", what could he possibly have to confess after practically laying his soul bare to you with actions today alone? Regardless, just hearing his voice made anything he had to say worthwhile.
"Um... I think I'm gonna quit. The IIA, I mean. I'll still be a hero, but on my terms. I know you've been wanting to visit Japan for a while... maybe I could introduce you to my old mentor while we're there?"
Words failed to capture just how ecstatic you were to hear his "confession", you couldn't help but throw your arms around him once more. And it was clear by the way he hugged you back that he understood.
(So this ended way fluffier than intended! Originally the reader was going to be permanently debilitated by the venom and Shinso would become her full-time carer. Occasionally using his quirk (at her request) to help her with things like dancing together! Happy to write that alternate bittersweet ending if y'all would like it :3)
Summary: Who knew rogues enjoy a hookup now and then too? However, what seemed like a night of fun with a dashing Rogue soon became more than you can handle...
CW: Bad jokes (silly bad, but bad nonetheless), flirting, dub-con (internal / narrative discussions of consent and power exchange) becomes non-con, slight petplay, edging and blindfold.
(Also fan-art, yay!)
(The first half is more of a slightly romantic night out, while the second half is smut, because of course this one's divided in two!)
Dividers by @strangergraphics
You bent down over the table.
Billiard table, that is. Readying your next and hopefully final shot, eyes deadlocking the eight with the most focus you'd ever felt while three pints deep. Shifting at the pace of a mildly caffeinated sloth.
And still, you miss.
By the time you pick your pint back up to down the remaining half, your friend had already made the winning strike. God dammit, you bought the last round! And the first one before you even agreed to play. If they insist on another game against you, you're going to accuse them of extortion!
"My round then?", you shrug, trying to look like less of a sore loser. Unable to fully mask your sneer when they waved you off without to much as a 'please' or 'thank you'. Is this for the time you wiped the floor with them at air hockey and got pretty much a free night out aside from the arcade tokens?
The bar was getting crowded. A few out-of-towners on a hen-do waddled in like a bunch of flamingos; feathered and pink and leggy. Shedding feathers like confetti, still dancing as they waited. If it weren't for the fact you were dressed so starkly different from them, you'd join in or convince them to join you at the table and humble your friend. Beside them, the usual crowd of bozos getting wasted now that it's finally Friday. The regulars, perched on their worn down wooden stools like unmoving gargoyles holding down their fort of empty glasses.
Didn't feel like playing another round while you waited for the crowd to dissipate, so squeezed between them to make your way through towards the beer garden. Hoping the fresh, well fresh-adjacent given it's still a smoking area, air might sober you up a bit and fix your losing streak. As expected, the titchy, dingy courtyard was already occupied with some very disgruntled smokers. What looks like the bride-to-be furiously texting, making the ash of her cigarette shake off all over her shoes with each tap. And a handful of thuggish-looking stooges chatting amongst themselves, keeping each other lit despite the light rain that rolled in.
Bit awkward lingering here alone. After barely having popped your head through the door, you were already turning back- *clink!*
Flinching at the sudden feeling of something cold spilling over your front, you instinctively apologise to whoever just bumped into you - who then tuts at their own mistake before pausing. A slight splash soaking their own shirt. A two-tone shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Drawing attention to the unusually hairless, hardened skin that spread up their arm from the hand gripping their now only half-full pint. Wait a minute. So accustomed to habitually avoiding eye-contact, the most obvious hint at who was stood right in front of you completely passed you by. Until now.
Holy shit. You heard he drank here occasionally, but you'd never actually seen him around despite being somewhat of a regular. Although you'd already apologised, you felt compelled to do so again, "Y-You're Two-Face! I-I'm so sorry, your shirt- let me get you another drink-"
"It's fine. I've got a spare", he said, plainly.
Of course he did, probably packs a pair of everything. Bit of that goody two-shoes boy scout still in him. Or maybe it's just for the bit? A compulsion either way.
Not wanting to stay in his way, you step aside to let him join who you presume to be his lackies waiting for him outside. But he didn't move. Just laid a hand, his good hand, on your shoulder, making you flinch.
"Looks like you could use it more than me though", he remarked, looking down at you, a smile creeping onto his face in a lop-sided smirk.
Following his gaze down to the spill that ran down almost your entire front, soaking it through enough to reveal a bit of your chest underneath which it clung to like cling film and about as opaque. And here you thought nothing could make you feel any more flustered than you already were. Star-struck and fearing for one's life feel almost interchangeable in Gotham, at least when it came to encountering its colourful rogues gallery. Some, like Dent, teetered on the edge of mob territory and the more they tipped to that side of the underworld the more fame turns to infamy. It's partly why you lingered here so long, this shitty dive bar of all places to call your local. Part of you had been itching to make his acquaintance, even if you knew it was probably a bad idea.
While completely distracted with nerves and your own embarrassment, Two-Face disappeared past you into the beer garden briefly before returning with that spare two-tone shirt of his. Draping it over your shoulders for you to shrug on at your leisure, giving you extra coverage as you hastily buttoned it up to cover your dampened clothes. Baggy enough to resemble more of a thin jacket or a dress of sorts. You never thought yourself particularly small, but you certainly felt so in this moment.
"I... are you sure it's ok for me to take this?", you ask.
"Hm...", he sifted in his trouser pocket for his iconic scratched-out two dollar coin, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it up. Watching as it land clear face up in his palm, "Good side - you can keep it."
For whatever reason, that little gesture sent you reeling with warmth flushing your cheeks like you'd just downed a shot of whisky. Snapping you out of your nerves into something much more pleasant but no less overwhelming. So when he asked if you'd like another drink, since he was getting a fresh one for himself anyway, you happily obliged.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god-
"Pick your poison, Sweetheart!"
"Um," You were drawing a blank, still so star-struck, but spotted what one of the ladies from earlier was holding and without thinking said, "double G & T?"
He lightly scoffed at your choice, "Is that a jab at me?"
Oh shit, you didn't even think about it. Quick to defend yourself, you're relieved when he starts laughing in earnest. No offense taken, it seems. For someone notorious for his anger, he sure seemed calm. Calm before the storm maybe, or did you actually manage to catch him on a good day? The bartender seemed to know better than to keep him waiting though, and ignored several disgruntled patrons to take your order the moment Two-Face so much as raised a finger.
An awkward silence settled between the two of you, letting the swell of music and conversation behind you fill the gap while you waited. With each passing moment, more laughter was matched with hushed whispers as more people noticed who'd just joined them at the bar. Some in awe, much like you, others with fear or disdain. "What is he doing here?"
If you could hear them, so could he.
You turned to watch his expression, a much easier task while facing his good side as you were. You doubt any of this is new to him. Slight twitches betrayed his efforts to control his temper. Seems the patrons may be too dumb, or too drunk, to think to avoid saying anything snide within earshot. You spotted his eyes dart to the right in a glare at the guy next to you both, clearly peeved that you snuck in your order from under him. Instantly backing down the moment he realised who was staring him down.
Oh this was bad.
Distracting yourself, you watch the bartender at work, spilling a fair bit of your gin as they measured it out. Nerves making their hands tremble as they rushed to not keep you both waiting too long. Nowhere you looked gave anything to break the tension until you were startled by the feeling of a hand grazing your butt. You initially turn towards Two-Face, only to find he had his arms crossed impatiently on the bar counter. Then who?
"Heeey, Dollface-", you barely had time to feel uncomfortable at the very brazen invasion of personal space about to happen, before the tension in the room from before snapped in a cathartic strike to the stranger's face. Over faster than you could blink. The guy staggered backwards from the force of Two-Face's scarred fist into the patrons behind him, who were more than happy to make space for the two of you, before finally landing on the floor. Allowing you both to make your way back with your drinks unimpeded.
You couldn't help but feel a little bad for the guy as you stepped over him. Wrong place at the wrong time to flirt, even if you didn't appreciate it either. Thinking about it, Two-Face didn't flip for that punch. Must've been the last straw after all that murmuring at his expense. Wasn't there a more private or "rogue-friendly" bar he could go to? There had to be, right?
Reaching the cool shelter of the smoking area outside, those thugs from before were indeed his lackies. Should've guessed from their strictly black and white dress code, but it wouldn't have been the first time you saw a stag-do fashioned after one of the rogues so the real thing wasn't your first guess. Leaning back against the cold, dirty brick wall, you politely declined the fancy cigar offered to you by one of them, which Two-Face happily accepted instead. Taking a long, deep drag and exhaling out all that anger from before, calming himself down. Clearly not in the mood to ruin a night that'd barely even started.
"So, come here often?", he asked, in earnest. You couldn't help but smile at how cliche that was. The corniness of it chipping away at that intimidating image of him in your head ever so slightly into something more human.
"Quite. Usually only to play pool, but feeling a little bored of it now-" shit, you'd completely forgotten about your friend. To be fair, they may have seen you with Two-Face so it's not like they're going to give you shit for abandoning your losing streak. They'll find other people to play with no doubt, or head home early since they're a lightweight anyway.
"Honestly I think I should be asking you that question. 'Half moon', on second avenue? Felt like you'd turn up sooner or later", you remarked, perhaps revealing your interest a little pre-emptively without even thinking about it until the words already slipped out.
"You say that like you were waiting for me", he winked, "This ain't the only bar in Gotham that suits me, bit out of the way but my usual's being... renovated."
You could guess what that actually meant. Shot up by a rival gang, busted-in by the cops or Batman, or actual renovations. Either way, you knew better than to pry even if he was turning out to be more stable than you ever anticipated. It made talking to him so much easier as the night wore on. You ought to know better than to divulge anything personal to a wanted criminal, but you couldn't help it and he seemed more than happy to listen. Usually you drink faster than anyone, but being so lost in conversation made you slow down to a drip. Hours passed before only just needing a top-up.
Two-Face got through his cigar before even touching his drink, so downed the last of it to catch up with you once he noticed you'd finished with a satisfied gulp. Something seemed to play on his mind, like he was mulling over a decision. What it was, you couldn't say, but it was clearly difficult enough to warrant another coin toss as he dug around for it in his pocket. Your lingering sobriety fought the urge to catch or bap his coin mid-air like an annoying cat when he flicked it up. Even though you had no clue what he was deciding, you still watched with bated breath for the verdict.
Good side, again. He'd definitely perked back up as he asked, "Wanna get the next round somewhere else? I know a great place a couple blocks over."
Without thinking, you nodded. Fully enamored with the prospect of a night on the town with one of Gotham's most infamous rogues. Being as skint as you were, you'd barely gotten to explore Gotham much despite living here for years! Two-Face gave a nod towards the door after catching his henchmen's attention, signalling them to clear a path through the busy crowd inside. You wondered where he'd take you. musing at the many forms a rogues-only bar could take. You doubt he'd take you to one of those though. Doubt it's wise to bring any civilian there that's not a prospective goon, and something tells you he's not looking for hired help right now. Still, what if he was? Your thoughts running away with you as you tailed Two-Face out the front door.
You wondered where he could actually take you. Most rogues had the luxury of being able to hide under a civillian identity (even if a slight disguise and fake name may be needed, like in the Riddler's case), or had enough power (like The Penguin) for their escapades to not impede their leisure, but Two-Face? Short of wearing one of those painfully claustrophobic skin-masks or plastic surgery, such a luxury was out of his reach. How could he still go out drinking at regular bars like it's nothing, then? Maybe that's why he still kept his goons around? To keep harassment at bay. Or maybe this is his equivalent of a work party?
You'd heard rent on venues previously hit big name crooks have lower rent, owing to the increased risk of residual hazards and booby-traps more gimmicky types like the Riddler and the Joker are known to leave. And often those places already had something notable in their location or name that put a target on its back, making it a self-fulfilling prophecy. Or an economic loophole you reckon some have exploited. Maybe that's how the Half-Moon started?
Sure enough, it wasn't a rogues-only bar he took you to, but one you'd still have a hard time getting into regardless. Two-Face waved off his goons to carry on their night elsewhere. The building looked odd, like half of it abruptly cut off to expose its harsh metal framework that opened into a much grander beer garden than the Half-Moon's cramped, dingy outback. Glowing with the warmth of old neon signs they must've found in a junk yard and fixed up for decoration. The half still intact being what remained of one of Gotham's old banks that nearly burned down after some robbers tried to blow open the safe with dynamite.
You'd always walked passed it and wondered what it was like on the inside. Delighted to see that the bar was in-fact located inside the old partially-blasted bank vault! Looking around, it certainly was quieter than almost everywhere else you passed on your way here. But still had a pleasant level of chatter that gave a convivial atmosphere as you sat down on one of the plush leather sofas. Sinking into it - into him.
He didn't move away. Seemed to welcome your touch even, letting you fall onto his shoulder as he sat back.
"Pick whatever you want, this one's on me!", he said.
You genuinely felt bad having him buy another round, so in the spirit of fairness (one you're sure he'd appreciate) you asked, "But you got the last round?"
"I'm a man of my word, unless you wanna flip for it?", he insisted, smirking at that last part.
Having said that, a particular cocktail caught your eye. "Dynamite", you smiled at the brazen allusion to the site's history and even moreso once you saw how strong it would be. Nothing on the menu had a price attached, you dread to think how expensive everything is and quickly rescind your offer, "Actually, yeah let's make this your round."
The night and conversation flowed as smoothly as the liquor. Each drink you ordered was small but hit like a freight train. With flavour as much as alcohol content, making you want more. Barely realising just how much you were drinking until you were five down the drain and stood up for the bathroom, stumbling as you did so.
Harvey caught you by the arm, "Careful, you've had quite a lot. Wanna call it a night? Want me to take you home?"
Maybe it's because you're drunk, but you couldn't tell if he meant take you back to yours or to his. Nodding either way.
Looking back at your table, he'd had about as much as you did! Empty glasses filling the small space, when a shining glint flashed in the corner of your eye... the coin!
Abruptly you turned back to retrieve it, surprised Harvey hadn't noticed it slip from his pocket. As you got closer and inspected it, however, not a scratch nor a scuff decorated either side of it and what you assumed was one coin turned out to be two. Looking back at Harvey in confusion, a wave of relief washed over you as you saw him fish out the real coin from his trouser pocket to show you, "I always give a $2 tip"
In your drunken state, the words immediately twisted into the most immature double entendre, and you scoffed at his otherwise innocuous statement, which seemed to put him off slightly. Clearly not getting the joke. Just as you about to comment on how "cheap" that'd make him, you hiccuped. Now he was laughing! Without knowing, in retrospect, you just dodged one heck of a bullet. Or fist, rather.
The way home was a blur, but eventually you collapsed on what you assumed to be his bed. Whether this was his actual home or just a hideout was unclear, though the blacked-out windows and general drab decor had you lean more towards hideout. Fair enough. He did only meet you tonight after all. He didn't join you for quite some time, drifting in and out of sleep as you tried to stay awake until he joined you on the bed. But he never did.
---SMUT BELOW THE BANNER---
When sunlight finally crowned the horizon in a glorious golden hue, gently stirring you awake, you blinked. Confused at first at your unfamiliar surroundings. Only to bolt upright once you remember who you'd spent the night with. Clothes from the night before still on, if a bit crumpled. Aftertaste of stale alcohol stained your morning breath. Stretching, you noticed no soreness lingering from the night before. Where was Two-Face?
"Catch-", Two-Face flicked his coin your way with barely a second to react, but despite that, in your fumbling, you managed to catch it! Guess that solves that mystery, but only left you with more questions? This... This is his actual coin, scratches and all! Why would he give you this? What is he expecting you to do with it? You looked back up to him expectantly, hoping for some guidance, so he clarified, "Last night was fun, but we got the feeling you wanted more from it and I wanted to wait until you were sober to get started."
Oh! Was this... was this him trying to make a move? Honestly a lot jankier than you'd imagined he'd be. Although everyone seems to imagine the that glamour helps them shine in the spotlight is something innate about being a "rogue" and not something carefully performed. Looks like he hasn't slept, just changed out of the clothes you accidentally spilled his drink on last night. Reeking of cigar smoke and bitter coffee that clung to him like a loose, scruffy jacket.
"That and...", he trailed off, not lost in thought so much as cut off by them abruptly, "we- I shouldn't have been drinking at all, really."
The once very slight shift in his demeanor snapped suddenly, his voice devolving into more of a growl with every word, "You really have no idea just how difficult it was to hold back last night... From taking you and fucking you the moment we had you all to ourselves!"
Slowly shrinking back towards the headboard of the bed as he stepped closer, you half-think to throw his coin back in his face and make a run for it, but felt frozen, unsure what to do. Isn't this exactly what you wanted? What you expected? Why was it so scary, now that he's actually here, near enough to-
He grabbed your wrist. No matter how hard you thrashed you couldn't break free. Coin still in-hand as you clawed at him with your free hand, trying to push him off. Only for him to grab your free hand, holding both wrists above your head now.
"We need you to be in control for a bit. He won't listen to me and I don't trust him to go anywhere near you, so please-", the fist that once burned your wrists in a twisting vice-like grip now softened into a gentle squeeze,"-if you use the coin, he has to listen to you. We have to listen to you."
Stunned. His words not fully processed, you watch as his hands finally loosen, letting you feel his coin's newfound weight in the palm of your hand. As you sat there, not once taking your eyes off of Two-Face, you rolled the coin between your fingers as if the motion would grant you the guidance you both needed. You'd have to frame each command like a question, with room for either side to not be catastrophic to you. Or him. You'd barely scratched the surface of this man's psyche, so trying to think of anything that won't set off his alter ego is like trying draw a map in the dark!
Binary choices. That's all you needed, all they needed. Right, you've got one. After taking a long, deep breath to calm your nerves, you speak as clearly and steadily as possible, "Good side? You let me leave right now. Bad side? You can keep me here-", you glanced at the bedside alarm clock; eleven twenty-two am, "-until noon." *Flick*
Time seemed to slow down. Barely an hour still felt like far too long to spend in the company of someone's violent alter ego. So when the coin landed bad-side up, your heart sank. You hadn't even considered what else you'd wager next. That was was rather open-ended anyway. Either you say willingly, or be forcefully restrained to stay put if that's what it'd take to keep you there.
You heard him tut at the outcome despite it being in his favour, clearly disappointed with how small a window of time you'd snuck into the wager. Clearly "rigging it", but beyond his grumbling he stayed put. Still, although he was waiting for further instruction, you knew you couldn't keep him waiting. Nothing about the first wager said anything about not acting in any way they wished during those forty-odd remaining minutes. Think, think-
"Ok, um, let's set some ground rules. If you want to do anything to me, even just a peck on the cheek, we have to flip for it. The coin's verdict is final. But if I don't want you to do something, or you don't want me to do something to you - either of you - then we don't flip for it; we say the safe word-", you think for a moment, 'pineapple' seems a little too silly for the situation you're in but maybe that's exactly why you should use it? Only for it to be superseded in silliness by the first thing that came to mind upon spotting some decorative miniature scales of justice atop the chest of drawers across the room, "'Objection!'".
For a moment, you caught them off guard with your choice of safe-word. Only to then be invigorated by the realization that, according to your perhaps ill-thought-out rules, they would be able to decide the next coin toss! Lurching forward, making you yelp and trapping you with his limbs anchored either side of you, but not an inch technically touching you - true to your word - he eagerly spat, "Good side? You let me rip your clothes off! Bad side? You have to take them off yourself-"
"Objection!", you cried.
"What? My wager is fully within the rules you set - flip the damn coin already! Or am I going to have to flip it for you?", he snarled, hand already hovering over your chest, ready to rip it open.
"It isn't and you know it! Get your hands off them!", that softer, more gentile voice from last night. The punch he dished out to that guy at the bar flashed before your eyes, wondering how he'd manage to do the same when it's himself he's fighting with.
"Oh yeah? Trying to look heroic in front of the merchandise so they like you enough to let you fuck them willingly? HA! Try it, short-ass! As if you can actually stop me-"
He flinched backwards, hands spread open and shaking like they were fighting to close back up. Seizing the opportunity, that paralysing fear from before gave out just enough to let you make a break for the door and- *THUD* You felt the full weight of Two-Face's body tackle you into the door, slamming it shut. The force of the impact making your ears ring as a painful pulse throbbed on the side of your head that now left a mark on the wood. The weight of him pressing you into it, keeping you pinned there. Augh, fuck! That hurts...
"Now, now, it's not fair for you to go against the rules either," he sneered. At first, you thought you heard wrong, but as he continued to talk in that same, more tempered voice, dread filled you as you realised they were both intent on keeping you detained. A weak sob escaped you as you felt the rough skin of his scarred hand brush gently against your cheek, wiping away your tears. Maybe it was the pain, or the returning fear, but you you couldn't stop shaking even as he tried to comfort you. Letting his hand trace the side of your face, moving to play with your hair a little. His hot breath tickling your ear as he shushed you quietly.
You flinched at the feeling of his hand untangled itself from your hair to press into the back of your neck, instinctively holding your breath - assuming the worst of his intent. But his grip never tightened. Just slowly glided south until it reach your detained hand. The feeling of cool metal almost didn't register as something was slipped into your palm, until he gently closed your fingers around it. Whispering, "You dropped this..."
You couldn't help the warmth that spread over your cheeks. Flush with a beautifully electric sensation from the purr of his voice, and his willing restoration of what power he wanted you to hold over them both. The weight of the coin, though physically negligible, was heavy in your hand. Watching with cautious curiosity as you slowly held it up for them to see. Their knees buckling in tandem with the raising of your wrist. Once fully kneeling, you couldn't quite tell if they were looking up at you or the coin. Or if that distinction even mattered.
Something between a whimper and a growl was all you heard from Two-Face while he patiently waited for you to decide the next wager, like an excitable but ultimately obedient dog. You had no intent of undressing for him. As smitten as you were with the idea of throwing yourself at him at the first sign of reciprocation last night, this changed things. Unsure if it was fear, pity, or something else entirely, you felt wholly unequipped to be the dominating force he's explicitly asking for. Still, part of you still hoped for that dangerous night of passion you'd hoped last night would become. How wise it was to still want that, how fair it was to guide Two-Face into it now that he was at your mercy, well, you're not sure you want the answer to that if there was one.
"Can I be frank for a second?", you start, only to be rudely interrupted.
"Ask the coin", they instinctively interjected.
"That was a rhetorical ques-", you sigh, "You know what? Fine."
A thought occurred to you. You didn't necessarily need to qualify which side corresponded to which outcome. Heck, you'd already flipped before you could think to specify that. You were in control. They willingly made sure of that. So, perhaps against the spirit of your own rule set, you decided to be frank regardless.
Captivated by Harvey but expecting Harv's intervention. Were you really attracted to them if it's only part of one or the other but never the whole? You felt guilty, saying any of this out loud, to their face no less! But it was the truth.
"I...", you thought for a moment, how to phrase this, "-was hoping for something... more last night. I respect your very sensible decision to cap things where they were while we were both so drunk, but I can't lie I was a little...", again, what's the word, "-disappointed?"
"See? I told you, we should've just grabbed 'em while we had the chance!", Harv spat at Harvey, who remained oddly quiet given how quick he was to argue before. That can't be good...
This whole setup was to help Harvey keep Harv on a figurative leash. Even if it would bind them both. If he was willing to share the more literal chains of his alter ego, maybe that's how you could stay safe even if Harv tries to push back. Eyeing two-toned tie hung loosely round his neck, you had an idea!
"Ok, next wager-", the conflict brewing behind those eyes was halted as their attention was snapped back to you, "-good side? I undo your tie and use it to bind your wrists...", you tentatively watch for his reaction, gauging exactly how far you could push the odds in your favour. How helpless he was willing to be... Until finally settling on, "Bad side? I blindfold you with it." *FLIP*
"Ha! How is a blindfold worse than tying us up?", he seemed to think for a moment more. Letting the coin spin like his whirring thoughts in free-fall. Then it dawned on him... If he's blindfolded, he can't see the face the coin lands on.
He can't see the face the coin lands on!
It almost didn't matter that it actually did land bad-side up. He couldn't stop you with his hands tied, literally, if it first landed good-side up and you then flipped to blindfold him again. He could scream "Objection!", sure. But despite the part of him that demanded fairness screaming from within the depths of his psyche, that's not what he wanted to listen to right now. He made sure the scales were tipped today. And it scared them. Scared Harv especially. Good.
Panic clearly sinking in, they shifted uncomfortably as if his tie was cinched tighter than before. Even as you loosened it gently from his throat. Taking agonising leisure in your slow wrapping of the thick fabric over their eyes. You felt Harv's hand reach for your wrist, but Harvey's quickly grabbed a hold of it before Harv could stop you from tightening the not you were fastening at the back of their head.
Harvey's grip tightened. Nails digging into the skin of his scarred wrist he kept practically strangled, the way it flinched and twitched like a squirming vermin. A grimace playing on their lips like one was fighting the urge to laugh in the midst of a funeral. Clearly hushing any and all complains Harv was itching to spit at you both. Managing, "You- The FUCK! They can't just- WE NEED THE COIN-!"
Until now you never really felt it was your place to intervene in their little quarrels. But given how much effort it was clearly taking for Harvey to keep a lid on Harv's onslaught of complaints, there was no way he could even try to open his mouth to talk back without it opening the floodgates for Harv to talk over him entirely. Now, you think, it's time for you to interject, "Boys! Boys..."
Their attention snapped back to you, halting Harv in his tracks, however begrudgingly. You purred, pleased Harv was still proving to be so obedient despite his brattiness, "Now that you're nice and blindfolded... I think I'll give you that strip-tease Harv wanted to flip for, as a treat!" Harv groaned. Perturbed more than titillated by your teasing. Even still, you couldn't help but notice the tent in their trousers grow noticeably at the invisible show before them. Sounds of the fabric of your clothes folding, falling...
Wait, weren't you trying to give yourself leverage to escape? This... this was necessary! To assuage any suspicions you might make a run for it, for now. Right?
A shiver ran cold down your now bare spine. The act of undressing far more revealing than any lack of clothes could ever be. It wouldn't take much for them to stand back up and regain full control of the room, of your body, even while blindfolded. It was their hideout after all. Who knows that weapons - what toys - they might have at their disposal you wouldn't know where to even look for? The thought made you instinctively scan the room for anything that could grant you the advantage you needed, but it looked barer than your naked ass.
Musing to yourself, rubbing over the rough etchings he'd made in the worn metal like the half-thought out graffiti carvings a schoolboy would make into the wood of their desk, you wondered how it never occurred to Harvey to call his alter-ego "(Old)Scratch". Given that's exactly what his bad-side is on their beloved coin. The Devil. Evil. Perhaps too lofty. Likening himself to the devil himself. Maybe some part of him knows not everything we repress is strictly "bad". Or it could be he simply isn't the religious sort despite the "In God We Trust" emblazoned upon each face. On this false idol you so carefully wield in this moment of weakness he's so unwisely shared. You may have no ill-intent in mind, but you could only imagine the trouble he'd find himself in if he happened to choose anyone else. A lesser known rogue looking to make a name for themselves, perhaps?
"Augh, get on with it already! If we don't get to fuck you by noon, I'm gonna fuckin' shoot your sorry ass!", Harv screamed. Fully unrestrained despite Harvey's best efforts. Having surely grown exhausted fighting against him. Looking with such pleading puppy-dog eyes at you to help him handle Harv's looming outburst.
Fear fully setting back in, you regret de-robing now. Especially doing so as slowly as you did. You could feel Harv's smirk without even having to look. But you wished you had, as you felt your balance falter, collapsing forward. Barely catching yourself before impact, augh - ow! Vulnerable with your ass stuck high in the air, a detail you only noticed when you felt Harv's rough palm squeeze it without hesitation. He tripped you up, the bastard!
To your horror, you heard the coin bounce from your grip, then roll far out of reach. Away from both you and Two-Face.
His weight shifted squarely onto your upper back now, as if leaning over. Grabbing the coin. Fuck! There goes your leverage. Sealed by the shrill sound of them flicking the coin sharply into the air. Though seemingly not for any wager, as it was soon followed by another coin toss. Then another, and another. No, he was taunting you.
"We don't need our eyes to see where this is headed. 'Can still feel what side it lands on if I'm the one flipping it.", Harv declared, taking charge. Oh no.
"We were supposed to let them use it!", Harvey pleaded.
"Yeah, but then I realised justice is blind. I don't like a cheat. And I know you don't either.", Harv pointedly remarked. Given his often vulgar disposition, it's easy to forget how observant he can be - how well he knows himself. Something even "healthy" folks of Gotham rarely share.
Nothing. Harvey had nothing to add or argue, nothing convincing anyway. Harv having the last word never boded well.
The blindfold was a step too far. You shouldn't have pushed it - maybe you should re-assure them that they'd get to feel the side it landed on? No, you could still lie. Hand them whatever side you wanted them to see. And then they could snatch it back still. For all his flaws, for all their bickering, to his credit, Harv actually seems to give a shit about what happens to Harvey.
But not to you...
It hurt to look back with Harv's weight pressed into your shoulder now, but you doubt it'd do much to see what you could already feel him doing. Hand -no, hands- greedily groping your trapped body, a thumb snaking underneath the waistband of your knickers. Practically tearing them off with how hard he yanked!
"HEY! We never agreed to do anything like this! Flip for it. This isn't something you get to decide!", finally, Harvey found his voice again. But his interruption did nothing to keep their hands at bay.
"We both want this. We don't flip for things we agree on."
Your heart sank below the dirty floor you were pressed into, the weight of those words laying heavier over your chest than the two of them. It was pretty obvious how easily Two-Face could've had you wrapped around his finger last night, given how enamored (whether that was with him or simply the notion of a night of passion with a rogue) and drunk you were. All he would've had to do was ask. Why didn't he? Did he really think you'd refuse? Certain enough to not even try?
"I never agreed on doing it this way!", panicked now, you could hear it in his voice how tearful Harvey was getting.
"HA! Like it matters.", Harv spat. You try to cough a retort out but can barely find the air to breathe, let alone talk. "They'd never let you anyhow..."
You feel the sudden force of the coin being haphazardly shot straight into the back of your head as you felt them shift like one of them was trying to throw the other off balance. Like he was about to force them to flip for it. Snatching it back up so fast they left scratch marks.
"See! Landed good side up, that means-"
"Doesn't count!"
"Of course it counts! Give them back the coin!"
"That didn't count, this counts-"
Another flick.
This time, when it lands you swear you hear Harvey gulp. Mouth going dry from whatever verdict they silently agreed upon.
...
"...I'm sorry."
No-
Barely a moment to react, you felt Two-Face release their member and pull down your pants, positioning with no preparation. The only mercy being the lifting of their body-weight off your chest, gasping more for air than the pain that soon followed.
Some part of you wonders if the blindfold helped Harvey make peace with his worst impulses. Let him not look them in the eye. Only feel the pleasure he could steal from you without baring witness to the fallout as he laid waste to your body.
Rolling you over, you notice the blindfold has slipped. Now moreso resembling an eye patch draped loosely over Harvey's good eye. Letting Harv get the eyeful you starved him of earlier in your teasing. He loved this. Couldn't get enough of the sight of you, bashful, bruised and broken. He was in control. Not Harvey, not the coin, not you. Big Bad Harv.
Eyes squeezed shut, you couldn't bare to watch either. Wishing you'd just passed out before they could do anything. Wondering if they'd still be willing to let you go as you agreed, despite everything. Shame twisting your stomach as you wonder what else you expected to happen when you practically threw yourself at him, but shaking that thought away as soon as it came. This wasn't your fault. None of this had to happen.
Through all your tears from the pain, the sheer force behind every thrust, every clawing grasp, you saw Two-Face's crooked grimace. It doesn't look like Harvey's enjoying this, even if they both wanted it. Was he even here right now? It was hard to tell from the outside, but even if he was he wasn't putting up much of a fight. But you can.
Harv may be in control, but he seems like he's still the more reckless of the two. Spotting the glint of the coin by your side. Must have slipped from his grip while his focus shifted entirely to you. How to grab it without stirring suspicion? Your hands were free, so you did the first thing that came to mind and began to stroke along Harv's side. Trying your best to compliment his rough ravaging with much softer sensuality, feeling him twitch and growl in response.
"Oh? You finally starting to get it?", Harv purred. Much to your chagrin, they must have taken your touch as some form of positive reciprocation, as you heard the much breathier moans of Harvey rouse once more. He's back in the room. Feels almost cruel to have given him false hope like that, even if unintentionally.
The more you stroked, the more they became distracted with pleasure - both of them. And the more both of them were distracted, the less hold Harv kept over the room. Letting your free hand gently mirror your touch on Harvey's side, hoping it would mask your other hand's shift away from them and down. Fingers hurriedly skirting the carpet for the coin, knowing every second was a knife's edge between freedom and further entrapment.
Just a little further...
GOT IT!
You didn't hesitate to hold it up in triumph! Declaring your reclamation of power, perhaps foolishly prematurely. They didn't notice it at first, too lost in your touch. Only realising after their head tilted back far enough to let their blind-fold slip from their face limply to the floor. The relieving sight of you, grip firm on the coin once again and even firmer on him as you shoved him off you while he's off kilter. Exactly the sight Harvey needed to see to feel emboldened to take speak up again.
"You've had your fun. Now let us have ours...", he hissed at Harv.
You gulped as you heard this, wondering what he meant exactly, but it shouldn't come as any surprise that Harvey's idea of "fun" was much tamer than Harv's. Like himself.
Lending a hand to help you up after the battery from before, but lying back himself - as if to invite you to walk all over him. Tempting, but you weren't in the mood anymore. Even if the pathetically meek sight of him lying there like that amused you to no end. Noticing your implicit refusal, they panted, "We don't have much time left... what do you want us to do?"
Like every wager before, your every choice carefully deliberated. Taking your time, this time with no intent to tease, deciding exactly what you wanted. Without stirring Harv to retaliate too much, something they could both agree to even humour.
"I want you to occupy yourself while I get dressed and ready to leave. Good side? You get an extra twenty two minutes to do that. Bad side? You have to rub one out in less than five."
That seemed fair to you. The illusion of choice without sacrificing your prompt escape while honouring the first wager you made. They were already palming themselves barely a second after getting off you. Prone and feverish before the coin even landed, rearing to go nice and fast even as the coin landed good-side up. So you took your time getting dressed again, a strip-tease in reverse. Watching them bite their lip at the sight of what was about to be out of reach.
Harvey's desperate whines interwoven with Harv's hushed moans grew more unsteady with each minute, reaching a fever pitch before abruptly being halted in a clumsy attempt to edge himself as many times as he could manage before you could leave. You wondered if, in this sensitive state, the slightest touch of yours would be enough to make him cum. So close to escape as you are, you didn't dare take that chance in case Harv (driven mad with desperation) grab hold of you again and ignore the first wager entirely. Could he even do that? Or was it only Harvey that cared about being true to his word?
This whole affair, last night and especially this morning, as been so much to process all at once! What made him feel so comfortable being so vulnerable with you? Or is this just one of those instances where it's easier to open up to strangers than close friends? You'd feel flattered if you weren't so overwhelmed.
Feeling a tad guilty, and, to your shame, a little turned on by the ordeal, you snuck in one little, final wager. To give him the permission he so sorely sought from you all this time. Still some part of you wanted to make this a punishment, for what happened, but it twisted into a reward the longer you fiddled with your buttons. Basking in the sight of Two-Face fully spent. Still down on the floor, eager to be at your mercy. With a smirk, playfully rolling the coin back and forth edgeways along the side-table you purred, "Aw... You want to cum so bad, huh? Well... I might just be able to help with that... Let's see what the coin says! Good side? You get to cum. Bad side? You have to edge until I return."
Would you even return? Practically an invitation for him to hunt you down the moment you leave. Maybe you'd like that... Before you could let yourself dwell on that last thought, you spin the coin on the side-table like a top, waiting for it to fun out of steam and fall flat. Realising only you would be able to see the face it lands on given TwoFace was far to bound by his own intoxicating over-stimulation to move to check. But, you didn't have to lie. This time. Good side.
"Your lucky day... cum for me-", you barely even had to say the words. They were fit to burst and wailed with the beautiful feeling of release! Making a complete mess of themselves as thick spurts of hot thick cum spurted out over their belly, slowing to a dribble that lingered even as you got ready to go, their twenty minutes almost up. So distracted with the sight of him, you almost forgot to hand him back the coin, but took a moment to look back at the mess you'd leave him in for just a moment before playfully tossing it back.
"Catch!", you said in jest as you flicked the coin back to Two-Face on your way out. His $2 tip.
Extra: Ngl I partly modeled my Two-Face drawings on Daniil Dankovsky. And it was quite intentional for the emphasis to be on Harvey's good side, to reflect how the reader sees him. Rose-tinted. Could not resist the urge to draw that one throwing meme. May have noticed some drawings looking cleaner than others. I tried different shading as I went, basically. Sorry for the inconsistency, hopefully I will settle on a style I prefer going forward - this was just impulsive practice ^^'
Also just noticed that while I didn't draw the pictures in order, you can still kind of tell what order I drew them in based on how much solid shading vs soft shading I do. The earlier the picture, the smudgier the picture.
No but genuinely, I keep trying not to smudge the shading but besides the close-up it feels... off. Lmk if y'all have a preference. Smudge or no smudge? Also, of course I gave him sleepy eyes. Dude has many reasons to be tired, the fact I find it sexy is besides the point!
Tried to essentially draw a stand-in Two-Face. Most people think of Arkhamverse or btas's Two-Face so he's heavily modeled around that but tbh I really like Absolute Two-Face's design too. I'm also just realising I think I burnt the wrong side, but I'll keep it as is because it being on the wrong side is kinda funny.
Only ended up the art in the banner FOR the banner, since I didn't like how the portrait turned out / was undecided on my Two-Face design when I drew it, but here it is:
Summary: While the reader rests, her fellow English Roses stir in her absence. Their usual duties disrupted by Fowler's newborn vigor as of her arrival. Typically Mary serves as Fowler's go-to sacrificial lamb, but that morning Lizzy offered herself in her place when she sees Fowler about to torture the reader. Remembering exactly why she'd avoided Fowler's attention all this time...
TW: Sexual themes, breath-play, begging, and general religious fuckery.
Pt. 1 here
Pt. 2 here
Dividers by @roseschoices
Lizzy couldn't sleep.
She often couldn't. A light sleeper at best, but this night even the twinkling of stars in the clear night sky felt like an agitating strobe taunting her from the heavens. The warm summer air feeling like a stale miasma that caught in her throat the deeper she breathed in a vain attempt to quell her nerves. It was almost funny, Mary's snoring was strangely calming by comparison. A reminder of her presence. Each breath of hers sounding slightly wheezy tonight, Fowler must have really done a number to her chest and back. An obvious observation, given she had just been tending to her wounds before bed. As with almost every night before.
Dabbing each cut and bruise with a rag soaked in what meager disinfectant she could make from the sake they shared with Fowler's prostitutes. Sparing some to drink as a makeshift painkiller, which Mary gladly indulged in between hisses as the disinfectant worked its magic. Her shaky hands causing some of the disinfectant to spill onto her clothes, which still stank faintly of it. Somehow, hearing Mary wheeze now stung more than seeing her stumble in as a battered wreck earlier. She could patch her up as best she can every time, but the damage will always last. Someday, she knew, would come a day her best efforts won't heal her.
Why must she always throw herself at his feet? Mary's but one person, no matter how hardy she reckons she is. Lord knows she can't work miracles, and there's only so many miracles she could pray for on Mary's behalf. She swears her prayers must have been heard on at least a few occasions. Rarely can she stomach a peak into the dungeon, even when it's not in use, but its proximity to the chapel makes some gruesome affairs hard to ignore. The depths of depravity and anguish she's seen Mary endure is nothing short of biblical. Sympathy aside, she knows were it not for Mary then she, Daisy and any other poor soul unlucky enough to spark Fowler's ire would have to endure that same torture. The last time that happened, well...
Her trembling hands fondled the rosary she hid beneath her garbs, less because of any explicit rule to keep it hidden and more a need to keep it close to her heart. As if on autopilot, she made her way to the chapel as she did most mornings. Almost as if the sun may not rise unless she prayed that the lord willed it to, even if she knew it must. Usually she'd make a detour to the kitchen first to gather up a little something for Mary to eat in case she was left in the dungeon overnight. It was a welcome change to not be sleeping alone for once, courtesy of Fowler getting his sadistic urges out of his system unusually early. One would wonder how a man like Fowler could even sleep at night, but his nocturnal tendencies seem to speak for themselves.
An unfortunate consequence of his near nightly habits is that Lizzy often guides herself to the chapel not by memerising the winding passageways that led there, but instead by the sounds emanating from the dungeon like clockwork. Finishing up just in time for the birdsong to begin, a jarring choir to cleanse her palate. Tonight her memory had to finally step-in, which actually led her to take a few wrong turns before finally reaching the chapel. Not even the birds had stirred yet, leaving nothing but the creaking floorboards to keep her company. And him, of course. Ever loving, ever looming.
As she knelt among the pews, gazing up at the carved carcass of Christ nailed above the alter with eyes half-closed, she could feel Mary's scathing nihilism get to her. Unsure if all her prayers were what kept her alive, or if their dismissal is what perpetuates her suffering, something she had no intention of testing. On which note, she began her morning mantra...
"Almighty God who seest that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves; keep us both outwardly in our bodies, and inwardly in our souls; that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
Her hands clasped tighter, as if the silence that followed her prayer proved the futility of her faith. On some level, she knew it, but it was the one thing that still granted her some semblance of dignity. Not her maintaining faith in the Lord or Church, but her continued role as a nun. Tending to Mary and other servants' wounds, cooking extra food from the kitchen for those in her care, praying on their behalf, mending their clothes, etc. Any task she could take on that resembled her old duties in the convent helped distract from the fact her new official role was as Fowler's.... "plaything". A role that she has thankfully gotten to neglect for some time, thanks to Mary, and which she fears _______ may not be fit for.
As if she spoke of the Devil - the heavy, daunting, unmistakable footsteps of Fowler arose from the end of the hall, alongside what sounded like a heavy sack being dragged across the floor. That can't be good...
Against her better judgement, she crept up to the chapel doorway to peak down the hall. Almost immediately, Fowler spotted her and greeted her with a knowingly vile smirk.
"Good morning, Sister Elizabeth!" he jeered.
She knew he played into her duties as a nun like it was some sort of amusingly pitiable delusion, but if that's what it took to keep his interest in her at bay then so be it. She frowned, "Yes, it has been a good morning thus far. May I ask what you've got there?" She knew very well what he had there, now that she had a closer look. The outline of her old servants garb in tatters and a limp head of messy hair, clearly _______ run ragged and unconscious.
"So you haven't met her yet?", Fowler's mocking tone irked her to no end, though she tried to hide it. Clearly in vain though, as his smirk deepened, satisfied with how easily he got under her skin. "Sorry to disturb your little chat with the lord, but the wine seems to have worked a bit too well on this one. Thank you so much for that little recipe of yours, it works wonders!"
Recipe? What recipe? Her mind scoured for what she could've possibly given him willingly. Then it dawned on her... the dwale? How could he have gotten the ingredients for that here?! She'd only managed to spare a handful of them she'd smuggled on her way here to use in emergencies, which he hasn't touched (to her knowledge), so how?... The distraught confusion he drew out of her with so few words tickled the base of his soul. Oh the guilt on her face was priceless!
'Oh _______, I'm so sorry!', she thought, distraught that her remedies were used for such selfish, evil indulgences, let alone by Fowler of all people! He can't of been dragging her to the chapel. What? Was he hoping to wake her with pain in the dungeon? ________'d barely been here a day! She can't just stand by and let him drag them there!
Fowler reveled in Lizzy's anguish, watching her twitch with grief and anger for just a moment before he continued towards the dungeon. Suddenly, Lizzy lept to hastily block his path, compelled as if her body were possessed to do so. She'd never been so brash in a long while, not since he crushed her hands to bits. He'd thought he'd broke her, but so glad he hadn't! This was going to be fun...
(NSFW scene; skip if you'd rather not partake.)
"Volunteering as tribute, Sister?", Fowler said, barely leaving a second before casting _______ aside like a rag-doll to grip Lizzy's neck and drag her back into the chapel. Despite the sinking dread she felt as he dragged her body to the alter, she didn't fight back. Not if it risked him turning his attention back to _______, still unconscious in the hallway.
"On your knees, Sister", he growled,yanking Lizzy down by the neck, buckling her onto her hands and knees coughing and gasping for breath. "Look at me!", he grabbed her chin harshly to force her to comply. Her little holy charade was cute, but it got old quick. The mix of fear and hatred looked absolutely beautiful on her. Admittedly, her purity was part of what was so fun about her, a cruel bit of false hope he perpetuated by keeping that little bit of her intact. Wielding the threat of its ruin like a collar and leash around her neck. Speaking of which...
Fowler traced the tips of his fingers over her collarbone where her rosary barely peaked out, coiling a finger around to deftly coax it from under her uniform. "Did you think this would save you?", his grip loosened to let the beads slip through his palm, grasping it once more upon reaching the apostle's creed. Pulling it taut to squeeze the sides of Lizzy's neck and forcing her forward, her face barely inches away from the knot of his robe's belt. Her chest heaved as each breath grew more laboured than the last. Head sagging heavy over her shoulder as a dull fog enclosed her aching skull.
The beautiful sight of her fighting to maintain her balance not at all discouraging Fowler from quenching the remaining flow of blood to her brain with the rosary in the slightest. If anything, seeing her so quickly slump into a heady stupor compelled him to pull it tauter. Bereft of air, her body grew heavy as clay - begging for Fowler to breathe life back into it again.
And that he did.
With barely a moment's notice he let go, her body collapsing to the floor, too weak to even lift her head let alone kneel. She wasn't sure how long she lay there for, but between deep gasps for air she could faintly hear Fowler circling her. Watching her.
"You know..." Fowler trailed off, "when Heiji had said he'd found a lady of the cloth up for sale I found it such a beautiful irony." He leaned down to stroke her cheek, working his fingers behind her ear to enmesh in her hair. Unceremoniously he dug his claws into her scalp and yanked her up by the hair, forcing her awake with the ache of it. Her pleading scowl denoting that her full, furious attention was back at him. Perfect. He continued, "Seems not even England's own are safe from the Tudor lust for pillage and plunder. Willing to cannibalise itself for gold to toss at another enemy. Doubt the money he paid for you is enough to rebuild your old monastery - but what a fat sum for the abbot to run away with, eh?"
Lizzy rarely dwelled on how she got here. Why would she? One day she was tending to the monastery's garden and blessing weary travelers seeking sanctuary; the next her room was exposed to the elements. Books and beams charred to bits and nothing of the monastery's holy relics left but the sun-bleached shadows on the walls they once adorned. While some of her sisters stayed to help repair the ruined remains, most fled to the few monasteries yet untouched by Henry Tudor's warmongering greed. One by one though, with barely a hope of normalcy left to cling to, they each were sold into contract work. Lords who thought themselves above the Lord.
"Now, since you're practiced in the ways of worship-" he began untying the belt of his robe, which slid aside gracefully - a stark contrast to the vulgar bulge it revealed, "I have something in need of your... blessing". His hands weren't really necessary to uncover the thick cock barely contained by his breeches.
She froze, it had been so long since she last serviced him, it was almost a lost art. Not only that, but she'd had the mercy of a blindfold each time before, shielding her from the harsh reality in front of her - even if the unmistakably horrid taste of him lingered long thereafter. Noticing her hesitation, Fowler resumed that same old mercy, tying his robe's belt across her eyes into a makeshift blindfold as she's so accustomed. "Now, petal, you finally ready to do your fucking job?"
Fowler was done playing games, he needed release and she knew it. Taking one last deep breath, Lizzy wrapped her lips around his throbbing cock and began sucking with all the energy she could muster. As good as it felt, it would take so much more to pull even a whimper from Fowler, so she gradually picked up the pace. Hardly a minute into it, and her jaw was already aching. She couldn't really complain about being so out of practice, but damn did it hurt.
Not at all satisfied with her pathetic attempt at a blowjob, Fowler gripped a fistful of her hair and rammed his cock down her throat as deep as it would go. In and out, like a roaring tide during a storm. Each thrust made Lizzy gag, she could barely breathe! Within a minute of Fowler keeping his pace, Lizzy started to black out. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt the sting of a slap to the face as Fowler pulled himself from her mouth, "Don't go falling asleep on the job, Sister, understand?".
Barely with it, she nodded. Unsatisfied, Fowler slapped her again - this time garnering a yelp from Lizzy, "I could end you with a single thrust to the back of your throat. Now, be a good girl and beg me not to... beg like your life depends on it!"
Her mind raced, faster than her mouth could keep up. Fumbling and stammering between pleads and whimpers. She begged, "Please My Lord, have mercy on me! I beg of you... please don't kill me!" Her hands grasping at his loose robe in a show of desperation, garnering nothing but an unimpressed tsk from Fowler, "I know you can do better than that Petal... I've seen you beg more fervently in here for a heartier supper than you're begging for me now!" He leant in to grab for her rosary yet again, this time swiftly pulling it off her neck with a snap. A couple beads spilling onto the floor before he wrapped the remaining chain around her wrists to bind them together in prayer.
Panicked, she pleaded, "No, NO! My Lord please, I meant no disrespect I swear! Forgive me. Every breath, I cherish it as if it were my last, were it not for your benevolent mercy. Please oh PLEASE, have mercy on me My Lord!" That at least drew a smile out of Fowler, if a faint one. Fearful her pleas were insufficient, she began to pray;
"O Lord, my God, Thou art to me whatsoever is good. Remember me because I am nothing, I have nothing, and I can do nothing. Thou alone art good, just, and holy; Thou canst do all things, Thou accomplishest all things, Thou fillest all things. Turn not Thy face away from me; withedraw not Thy consolation, lest my soul become as a thirsty land to Thee. Teach me, O Lord, to do Thy will; teach me to live worthily and humbly in Thy sight!"
By the last word her hands were visibly, profoundly shaking. To say she feared Fowler for the longest time would be an understatement, but in that moment her fear overshadowed all other thoughts. And Fowler could hear it...
"Good, Petal."
Her trembling sigh of relief echoed throughout the chapel. A pleasant calm... before the storm.
"Now, open wide for me-" still with his grip on her hair he easily pulled her head to attention, though hardly needed to as she now willingly parted her lips for him, "That's better, my dear ~"
With her eyes closed she fully lost herself in submission, loose and limp. Were it not for the slight pressure she could feel pulling at her scalp she'd swear her body was moving on its own and not puppeteered by Fowler. Back and forth, back and forth...
Soon all sense of time melted away. Maybe her mind and body had shut down, exhausted with panic. Perhaps she had truly began to accept it, relaxing into her role... NO! Her body stiffened with resistance, causing her to gag and force Fowler's cock from the back of her throat. But by then she'd served his needs, cum spilling from her mouth and dripping all over her garments. She could barely believe the sight of herself, disheveled and desecrated.
She hadn't a second to process what happened before Fowler had cleaned himself up and re-tied his robe. Her stare hardly seeing that the blindfold had been removed, everything still a-blur.
"Clean yourself up, you look a mess", he said so nonchalantly as if the entire morning hadn't happened. As if _______ wasn't still laying there, having not stirred from her drug-induced coma. As if she hadn't just thrown herself at his feet to stop him dragging her away to the dungeon. Then the birds, in their ignorance, began to whistle.
Mary woke with a start.
Patting the straw mattress beside her. Her eyes unseeing, sewn shut with sleepy-dust and by the impulse to shield herself shield from the blinding sunrise. Feeling for her friend in the fabric, but finding nothing. Panic forced her eyes open to search for her. The room haunted by her absence, where...? The Chapel. Of course, bless her heart. The realisation of her morning habits quelled what anxieties had welled in that brief moment of terrible isolation. She'd be back soon enough. Praying her heart out for the lot of them, no doubt.
A sharp twinge forced Mary on her back once more as she tried to sit up. Every inch of her upper back and chest ached. Breasts abused, back torn open like a scratching post and she could've sworn the sharp, broken edge of a cracked rib or two was daring to pierce her lung if she dared rise too quickly. Easy does it now...
With a painful grown, Mary brought herself to her feet. Leaning on the wall every inch up. Little by little. She hadn't a crutch, so the wall will have to do. If the bustling just outside the door was anything to go by, the day's chores had already begun and she had missed breakfast. Dammit. She was no princess, but no sense in wasting good food - she needed it!
As if on queue, her stomach growled like a wretched beast, guttural and feral. 'Hush!', she hissed. She could last until midday, she reckoned. Just needed to... rest a bit more than usual, just not here, not alone. With aching shoulders she limped her way against the wall towards the kitchen, guided by the scent of the delectable bone broth stewing with the remnant's of Fowler's meaty supper from the night before.
The cook seemed to notice her struggling a lot, peeking up from his grand cauldron to shed a pitiful look of sympathy. "あなたはお腹が空いているでしょう？ほら、どうぞ!", he scooped a bountiful heap of bone broth for her to drink from. Warm and filling, just what she needed. Collapsing onto the wooden bench, she cupped her hands and gratefully accepted his gesture, "感謝に候ひます!" she exclaimed with joyful relief.
The broth was perhaps a tad too hot for consumption quite yet, but her aching stomach demanded sustenance! Other than the slight burn to her already desensitised tongue on the way down, all she felt was the pleasant (if bland) flavour of the broth. While so preoccupied by her food, she hadn't noticed Elizabeth's return. Even as she reached her bench and sat upon it with the weight of the world strapped to her back, making it creak evermore indiscreetly. One would think she'd gone deaf!
"Hey...", Elizabeth rested a quivering hand on Mary's shoulder, startling her and causing some of her broth to slip down the wrong hole. Choking it down, she coughed, "H-hey Sister Elizabeth, slept well?"
"You know I won't have", she retorted - some humour to her tone, though minimal.
Wanting to keep the mood light, Mary snorted, "No rest for the wicked, eh?", earning a light chuckle from Elizabeth. Music to her ears! She finished her broth as the two of them basked in each others' company in pleasant silence. A welcome respite from their daily trials. Soon enough though the silence was broken by Mary, with a concern that increasingly weighed them both down, "You think _______'ll be alright?"
"Lord knows, Mary. Lord knows...", Elizabeth mumbled, knowing exactly who knew.
Summary: After the long, tempestuous journey across the world, the reader is finally delivered to Fowler's Fortress. Much to her surprise, she's not alone in her predicament - sharing quarters with two other English maidens all in the same boat as her. Soon the reader warms up to their comradery and finds comfort in an otherwise isolated existence. It isn't long for that warmth to be disrupted though, after all Fowler has a new toy to break-in.
Part 1 here
TW: Blood, mentions of torture, and implied r*pe.
Dividers by @roseschoices
A sudden stomping on the cargo hold trap door shook ______ awake with a start, dislodging dust from between its slats into her barely open eyes and forcing her to wince. With barely any time to stir, she blinked away as much of the dust as she could and began feeling for her discarded rags in the dark of the cargo hold. Boxes, sacks of grain and salt, various goods they had the poor sense to trust her with surrounding her. She was already in this deep, what could sneaking some sups from a wine barrel do? Lord knows she needed it on those long nights at sea. Barely a blanket to cover her when the damp cold of the sea and scurrying rats made sleep more a chore than a relief. Slowly she felt the sleep deprivation get to her.
One of the crew-mates took pity on her and lent her his hammock every so often, in exchange for her company - at first. Soon the odd caress became the odd kiss, and the odd kiss became the odd grope, before eventually he needed more. Were it not for the captain discovering their little arrangement, well, she didn't want to think about that now. Despite how it felt in the moment his brutal intervention was not out of any real care for her well-being, at least no more than it was relevant to her "value". The Sheriff's "associate" needed her in pristine condition in every sense of the word, or that contract she signed at the start of all this would be voided and her execution back in the British Isles resumed!
That brief respite of comfort was worth every grab and shove, she had to tell herself. Still, with the barracks off-limits once again she needed to seek comfort elsewhere - so she snuck a candle into the cargo hold. No need to spare a hammock or light a room no person would be kept in - just cargo, like her. Which made her wonder if she'd get to sleep in barracks or a barn wherever that damned Sheriff's "associate" was. Must be halfway across the world by now, surely! They've sailed for what seemed an impossibly long time, she half-expected to emerge to see the ship teetering on the world's edge, circling it indefinitely just to drive her mad with cabin fever and scurvy as a penance for her petty thievery.
Come to think of it though, the boat did seem remarkably still this morning. As if each ware on her patience was audible, like a chisel etching its way into brittle wood, ______ finally heard what she'd been yearning for yet dreading all these months.
"Oi, get up! We're here.", cried the gruff voice of one of the crew-mates, clearly half-awake himself.
She clambered up the ladder and had to firmly shove the trap door open to shimmy her way out, immediately having to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight as she steadied herself. It's so... warm! The air humid yet tranquil with only a gentle sea breeze to stir it, almost granting relief from her dread with a brief sense of placid optimism for what awaited her. Once her eyes had adjusted and she followed the crew to the deck's edge, the blessed crest of the horizon welcomed them - adorned with glorious mountains and greenery. Were it not such a steep drop, she'd leap from the ship and kiss the ground beneath her feet right then and there!
For all her exotic surroundings, she found herself taken aback by something far more mundane - a familiar sight, a crow! Just like the ones she knew back home! Perhaps the Sheriff and crew had been pulling her leg and they'd circled the earth around and around to disorient her, were it not for how unusual all the flora looked.
"...Where?", she asked timidly. Bracing for confirmation that her cabin fever had tricked her eyes, so a second opinion seemed necessary.
Nobody bothered answering her, oh joy! Well, they could tell her anything and what reason would she have to doubt them? Being much more worldly people than her humble self. Still, they could've at least pretended to treat her with respect, just once.
Her gawking had transfixed her so thoroughly to the land in front that she hadn't yet noticed the grand fortress looming overhead just behind them. Once she thought to gander the other way,the sight of it startled her! With how it stood so far above the waters, how exactly were they meant to dock and unload the, um, "cargo" into it? Her answer soon came, once the crew helped her down from the deck by the anchor rope. A few meters from the hull was a large metal grating, revealed now that the tide was out. Despite how hefty it appeared, even the lankiest crew-mate could lift it with ease. One by one like a convoy they ferried barrels and sacks of cargo through the dank passageway. Explains why the crew was so impatient towards her wake, who knows how much longer they'll have before the tide returns to drown their passage and anyone still inside. Its claustrophobic confines laden with the thick stench of brine and... oh god what was that stench?
The convoy's steady pace faltered as something cracked beneath her feet, something rigid yet... fragile. Hold on-
Even in the dim light of the captain's lantern, it was enough to send a surge of nausea through her gut and chills down her spine. Bones! Those were human bones! Suddenly what delight the sight of land had brought just minutes ago now sank into the ground like a pathetically limp puddle, soaking her feet and weighing down her gait. She didn't want to go in there, not into that fortress! A small battalion's worth of crew stood between her and the grate that lead them here. If she kept quiet and crept past them, she could try escaping into that beautiful forest!
As if the captain could hear her thoughts of descent, he caught her peering past the crew towards the fading light of the outside. Without hesitation, he grabbed her arm and yanked her closer to him. If his grip is anything like the Sheriff's, what little energy she had wouldn't be enough to break her free. Breath quickening, panic flooded her heart and soul, which fluttered like a bird straining against the net that snared it. By the time they finally reached the door, she was so faint that the captain had to practically drag her along by the arm.
The next hour melted away into a blur. Dissociating felt like the easiest way "out" of her situation right now. The exchanging of hands, being led through the winding, maze-like hallways, all of it felt like a strange, waking dream. It all went so fast that she hadn't even realised they'd made it to Fowler's chambers, were it not for the unexpected, gentle yet firm grasp of a large, warm hand on her chin snapping her out of her daze and directing her gaze up at the impressively built and well-dressed man before her.
Before she could orient herself, he gently turned her head either side, inspecting her visage. A curt, smug grunt seemed to signal his approval.
"Heiji Shindo, you've done it again! Even when I turn my nose up to all the wonders you bestowed me already at my feet, you continue to deliver! A sweet taste of English Rose...", the man spoke with a strange amalgamation of an Irish and high English accent, his hand traces from her chin up to her ear and delicately enmeshes itself in her hair. The months spent at sea weren't kind to her hair, which was now darkened with grease and uncomfortably matted in places. Its only saving grace was the linen scarf that hid the bulk of it so only wispy fly-away strands and the coiled ends were on show. Were any part of ______ appealing to this man, it surely wasn't her hair, not in this state. Even still, he seemed amused enough just playing with it for a brief moment. It felt... actually quite nice! His touch more tender than the manhandling the crew dealt her on the way here. Was this the Sheriff's "associate"?
So lost in bewildered thought, she hadn't noticed the man standing beside her were it not for his presence being announced by name just moments before.
"I like to think I've come to know your tastes well enough by now", Heiji said with faux-humility.
"That you do! That you do...", his gaze traced the length of her body much like his hand did her hair, "Clean her up, and see her to her quarters. I'm sure the others are eager for company", his tone seemed to drop quite noticeably colder, like his jovial exchange with Heiji was entirely performative. Was the tenderness performative too?
She would have plenty of time to dwell on it as she's carted off, descending down the cold stone servants' steps to her quarters and the shared washroom. Not by Heiji himself, who'd long parted from you back when the floor was still wooden, but who seemed to be more servants. Unlike the crew that brought her to the fortress, these people were timid and gentle, heads always bowed down as if a single inch higher would cost them their neck. Perhaps it might... the thought unconsciously prompted her to shrink down in turn. When they reached a crooked wooden door the servants gestured for her to enter, pushing the door ajar. When she didn't move, they spoke a strange language, similar to the one she'd heard the people sat with the Sheriff speak back at the Woodward farmhouse. When she still didn't respond, they tried again, this time in what sounded like an attempt at english, "P-please".
She felt embarrassed to be so blunt. Flustered, she nodded and head inside. It was dark, bar for a small, barred window through which the gently rising tide could be heard. The passage is sealed, she's trapped here. Lining the walls either side of her were two "beds", essentially straw mats with pillows. Each big enough to fit two people perhaps. Cramped, but a far cry from the discomfort of the cargo hold. There were scattered belongings beside each bed. A hairbrush, a comb, needles and thread, a slightly bent carving knife, two satchels and two piles of clothes. She didn't remember carrying her belongings into the fortress, but here they were! Dumped amongst what looked like the belongings of two other people. One of the crew must have brought it in while she was being inspected.
She wonders what might have happened if he didn't approve of her, or was even repulsed by her. Would she still get to fulfill her indentured servitude? Would she be condemned back to Britain and await execution? Would she be executed here? No, no. They wouldn't waste such a long sail across the world just to "discard the goods". No use dwelling on it, she supposed. Best get herself cleaned up and await instruction. Now, where is...
The door creaked open, "Oh!", the soft, warm voice of a lady chimed from behind her, "Do forgive me, I didn't realise they would replace her so soon! Oh dear, you do look exhausted."
'Replace her'? Who?
It seems _______ is an open book, her puzzled expression a dead giveaway.
"You're the new English girl for Fowler, yes? He doesn't keep many of those", her voice caught in her throat as if the words choked her, "It's just me, you, and Mary. There was also Daisy not too long ago but, she...", tears began to well, clouding her eyes with a glassy dew, but never fell. Sucking in a deep breath, she sighed and perked up as best she could, "Well, enough about that, I'm sure we'll get to know each other in time. What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't - It's _____, and yours?"
"Elizabeth", she blurted clumsily, which was rather endearing given the insincerity of almost everyone she's known for the past year or so. Her mother and auntie throwing her to the wolves in the end, the Sheriff playing the fool to catch her in the first place, her conniving crew-mates weaseling any touch of her skin they could get when she was desperate for rest, Heiji and, um, "Fowler" was it? Their strange dance of fanciful deceit. Yes, compared to all of them Lizzy was a ray of sunshine!
Much like ______, Lizzy wore a head scarf, only hers was black much like a nun's. In fact her entire garb was more modest than ______'s own. It could be nerves, but her hands did seem to be shaking an awful lot. In fact, she could've sworn some of her fingers were crooked. She wasn't sure why, but ______ felt the need to hold them. Tentatively, she gently cupped them together. They were cold to the touch, even moreso than her own, her skin much rougher and more calloused than she ever expected! The gesture seemingly caught Lizzy off-guard, but she didn't protest. Slowing her breath, she sighed, "Thank you".
They both stayed there a moment. Not feeling a need to leave yet, it felt nice to just feel safe for once. _______ felt... safe here. But, as with all things, the moment passes and she remembers Fowler demanded her to be cleaned up. She can't say she disagrees with him there, months worth of odor and grime had embedded itself in her chemise - now stained a grim yellow tint - and caked itself thinly across her skin. A nice hot bath sounds really nice right about now. Heck, even a cold one does!
Parting hands ______ asks, "Uh, where can I get cleaned up in this place?"
"Of course! It's this way-", Lizzy hurriedly showed her to what looked like a large washroom, large enough to bathe ten or more servants at once! Steam rose readily from the water's tranquil surface, clouding the air with a humid glow. It felt heavenly! Not knowing any better, ______ began already stripping her garments - forgetting Lizzy was still beside her, who blushed deeper than the red of Fowler's robes at the site of them. Only once she was down to her chemise did she realise her bold mistake and hastily apologised, matching Lizzy's blush.
"It's fine, here-", she hands her a fresh set of garments, "These are mine, I was just returning them from the wash room when you showed up. I'm not sure if you've been given your own uniform, so you may borrow mine". With that she scurries off and shuts the washroom door behind her, leaving ______ alone in the dim torchlight. For how many the washroom had space to accommodate, she had it all to herself. A welcome bit of privacy after months of having to pick between a cramped, pitch black storeroom, and the crowded sausage-fest of the barracks.
Finally some peace...
Well, as long as it lasted.
The door slams open -abruptly awakening her from a pleasant nap (wait, when did she fall asleep?)- and a stocky woman barges in, dripping with sweat and smudged with blood from the various wounds weeping across her body. Jesus, is she alright?!
Her wounds and evident limp didn't stop her from swiftly de-robing and plunging into the bath with a gravelly sigh. The feeling of the hot, soapy water on her wounds must've stung, because she winced soon after. Some of the blood from her wounds radiated across the water, guiding her gaze to ______, sat at the opposite end. "Huh?" she mumbled, _______'s unexpected presence throwing her for a moment.
"Oh, right! New girl! Welcome to hell!", she gleefully cried, her smile pulled aggressively taut and wide as if to juxtapose her dire greeting.
"Um... t-thank you, I guess? I take it you're Mary?"
"Damn, know me already? Aren't you clever", she said, plainly.
With how over the top she was being, it was hard to tell if she was being sincere and running on adrenaline, or just being dramatic, so _______ neglected to retort her comment. Honestly she left her a little dumbfounded. Her accent wasn't too dissimilar to ______'s, a fellow fallow of the midlands. Though, she did sound a tab bit more northern, perhaps Yorkshire? She wonders where exactly she's from, how long she's been here, if they might've crossed paths before? A stark contrast from Lizzy's soft west-country accent.
The growing silence between the two of the seemed to unsettle Mary, who filled it before _______ could finish your thoughts. "Sorry if I startle you, I just... needed to get out of there, y'know?". Her tone had softened, along with her posture. Maybe it was just adrenaline.
"Out of where?", she realised the moment it left her lips that she probably shouldn't have asked in case it ruined what peace Mary had found just now. No doubt she'd find out soon enough anyway since she's now in the same boat as her.
As feared, Mary stiffened back up and snapped, "Don't worry about it"
Fowler sat in the dungeon, carefully wiping the blood off his various instruments one by one. He had servants for this task, sure, but on a quiet afternoon with no other duties, sometimes he liked to savour it. In fact, he was almost tempted to let the specs and splatters of blood that now decorated the cold stone floor and walls stay there. A foreboding feature rather than a mess. Then again, the notion that his hand held the both power to brutally rip the life force out of someone and the power to wipe it clean off the face of the earth without a trace just as quickly was a high no drug or mountain could surpass. For today, he's chosen to personally scrub all trace of them from the dungeon. Simply because he can.
There was another reason this time though. It needed to be prepared, ready to be christened with a new rose he's yet to deflower. The past few months with just the two remaining girls had been a bore, one too mouthy, the other too quiet, enough that even he felt he was losing his creative edge. After all, there may be more than one way to skin a cat, but only so many. Novelty had a knack for bringing out the best, and the worst in him. Breaking in a new toy as it were.
With the sun beginning to set, _______ should be about ready. It was about time for supper, but he knew it wasn't the food he was hungry for...
God, it felt to nice to finally be clean again! ______'s thick hair takes much longer to dry than most, so it's dampened the top of the uniform Lizzy lent her a little. Hopefully she won't mind too much, she seems like a kind soul. Currently, the three of them were sat together amongst Fowler's other servants, wolfing down some sort of... soup, she thinks?
"Hey, what is this? It tastes a bit salty..." _______ asked Mary, who seemed to be the most fluent and convivial with the other staff. She looks over her shoulder at ______'s question, eyeing your barely-touched soup.
"What? Don't you like it?", her tone seemed half jest half concern. After all, _______ hadn't eaten much since she arrived, she couldn't afford to be picky.
"It's not that, I'm just curious", she says, though really she wasn't keen on it.
"It's ramen, a sort of broth with bits in it. Like gruel, but better!"
So still basically a soup. She never really liked gruel anyway so Mary's explanation didn't help much. Well, it's not that bad. She wonders if they have bread or cheese here. Seems strange to go without it. _____ eats everything but the broth itself. Despite how filling it is, she still felt the months worth of undernourishment catching up with her. She wonders if she even has the strength to see through her contract. Best not to think about that now, just have fun and rest before the work really begins.
Just as she was getting up to join Lizzy and Mary back in their shared chambers, one of the more formally dressed servants stops her and gestures for her to follow him. Back upstairs already? Well, Fowler did say he wanted her cleaned up, so she guesses it's time to head back. Still not sure exactly what her duties entail. Vaguely, she remembers general servant duties being described when the Sheriff read the contract to her, but it's all a little fuzzy.
She didn't remember the route to Fowler's quarters being so long. Now that she's fully with it again, every nook and cranny reveals its bizarre architecture. Everything ornate, but just... off. Like it's booby trapped. While her paranoia may not be justified, it would explain the state she met Mary in. Though why anyone would need to booby trap the inside of a fortress (rather than just the outside) is beyond her. In fact, the route in was itself strange and daunting. If that's the only way out, then maybe it's not protecting its residents from any external threat, but trapping whatever danger lurks inside from getting out?
Step after step, door after door, hall after hall later, they finally reach Fowler's chambers. As she enters, the servant who brought her here closes the door behind her. A subtle *click* instantly made her stomach drop. They locked the door? Why?!
Not wanting to appear too perturbed by it, she takes stock of her surroundings. The room seems much grander than it did when she was there last. Perhaps helped by the fact Fowler was already sat at a table by the fireplace, rather than looming over her. A spread of meat and various roast veg and a decanter of red wine decorated the table, seemingly untouched by Fowler - who gestured for her to sit down across from him.
Hesitantly, she obliged. Flattered by the decadent generosity of it all, if a little confused. Still unsure if he just wanted company, or if she truly was being invited to join him for dinner. Looking expectantly at him, she wasn't sure how to ask if the food was truly for her without coming across as ungrateful. Her hesitency was enough though, because soon enough he gladly said, "Tuck in, you must be famished after your long journey here!"
Wanting not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she tucked into a little bit of everything and relished the familiar flavours after the meager soup she'd had. Each bite washed down with a heady gulp of rich red wine. She'd expected Fowler to start eating too, but he just sat there seemingly content to watch her eat instead. His stare bore deeper and deeper into her psyche as she ate, unnerving her with each bite she took, his intent unclear yet palpable. Soon enough, she was full. At least, put off by his overwhelming presence enough to feel full. Not having the food to focus on, she flounders, grasping for something to say but never quite finding it. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Satisfied with watching her squirm without so much as a word or touch on his part, Fowler finally broke the silence.
"Figured you might be a little homesick, I am sometimes, so I had something made specially for you just in case"
They'd barely met and it already felt like he knew her inside and out. Perhaps she's just simple? Would make his seeming sixth sense feel less supernatural, which is comforting... right? Suppose it's a kind gesture, sweet even! But if there's anything her old life taught her, it's that nothing ever comes for free. There had to be a catch. ______ decides to, perhaps foolishly, begin her inquiry, "This is more than I ever could've expected and I am truly flattered, but I still don't understand why you're giving me such special treatment?"
To that, he let out a low chuckle which sent shivers down her spine.
"Trust me, the others were treated just the same as you.", he lifted the blunt of his steak knife to turn it on its point, round and round as if to mimic the cogs turning in his mind. "Being a servant of mine does take some... adjustment. I like to make sure you have the strength to see through your contract. That is, if it isn't extended." He grinned quite devilishly at that last bit. He went on, "A clause of indentured servitude is that the contract may be extended as a penalty for transgressions such as theft, murder, or pregnancy".
She had a fair idea which two were most likely to have kept Mary and Lizzy here. God, how long have they been here? The bones that lined the tunnel she came in flashed in her mind, some unusually small. She hadn't dwelled on it at the time, but...
Without thinking, she stood up from her chair, unnerved by it all. As she did so, the almost whole decanter of red wine she'd drunk then hit her like a brick and she had to steady yourself on the table, far closer to Fowler than she ever intended or would've liked.
Feigning hospitality, Fowler gently rested a hand to her back to steady her. However, soon his hand snaked down around her waist, caressing the curves of her body. An oh so familiar touch which made a sinking realisation dawn on her - she never really left the ship, did she? At least, not in a way that mattered. Barely with it, she faintly heard him let out a low growl before blacking out.
Fowler's Flower Pt. 1 - Uprooted
Abijah Fowler x servant! Reader
Summary: Fueled by anger at what the English / Tudors did to him, Fowler keeps a handful of English Roses to take out his sadistic tendencies on as a form of passive retribution. The reader is a commoner caught stealing during a feast and is offered an indentured servitude contract as Fowler's servant by the town Sheriff as an alternative punishment to execution (the punishment in England for theft at the time). Takes place before he stopped using the dungeon, so before 1647.
Dividers by @roseschoices
It's ironic that such a man as Fowler, starved of stimulation and novelty, would become dull to both. To the point that he began to crave the mundane and familiar, a taste of home. For these rare occasions were mistresses shipped over from the English Isles along with the two beeves he brought for milking. As good as cattle, and just as hardy. For they had to last as long as he needed them, indefinitely. At least in principle.
Night after night spent shackled and beaten in the dungeon, but eventually their bodies would cave even as their eyes bled with life and spoke every curse their throat could no longer even whimper. Their attire stained progressively deeper shades of red before rendered entirely black and blue by the end of it.
Perhaps fortunately, then, it wasn't often that Fowler found himself craving the touch of an English maiden. He'd only need a handful, and could bare to wait a while between shipments if he exhausted them sooner than intended. Sparing however many from his ever expansive "imagination" which so often craved exoticism instead, an ever rarer commodity when grounded at one station for decades at a time.
His spring pilgrimage alongside a ready supply of local flesh at his associate's behest somewhat sated his frustration and brought some respite from his cabin fever, but this supply was always quickly burnt through and the delights of the pilgrimage soon stale and forgotten. The girls brought in being too fragile and easily broken to enjoy for long. And while the heady high of seeing his dissatisfaction being met with swift replacements and adjustments instead of outward (though still very apparent) disgust and horror at what he costed the brothels in blood did amuse him, he still needed toys not trinkets.
To feel the slight more effort it should take to make them break. Still like porcelain, but not as precious as bone china. And all the sweeter to hear crack at the hands of someone the English so often spat at in all his years over there. Ideally someone he could even tangentially say was directly culpable for manufacturing the suffering he endured, but good graces with people like that was what kept his pockets lined fatter than the breadth of the Atlantic... so commoners would have to do.
"You boy, bring us another round!", another sloshed patron blurted, barely holding onto his pint which dangled loose from his fingers with his arms snug around his mates' shoulders, keeping him afloat from practically drowning in ale. His clearly costly cloak now soaked damp in the stuff both by his own inebriated hand and that of his well-to-do peers. They had all gathered to generously shower their decadence like a fountain of obnoxious charity upon the Woodward Farmhouse, as the town's representatives had done every Easter since its construction. A tithing of sorts, to be sure the wood about St. Ann's well stayed pleasantly pristine for all to enjoy its miracle water.
Inside the farmhouse the air sat thick with tobacco smoke, stale breath and abuzz with disorderly glee as folks stumbled to and from the bar back to their tables. Barely holding together the clusters of steins they brought. Every round overflowing with beer. Each haphazard step tipping more of the precious brew onto the floor which lay already slick with the spillages of other patrons. Ironically making those who'd mustered the audacity to clamber onto the tables and dance of steadier stance than anyone else there. Even as the more lively maidens among them began to gladly chant,
"My granny is sick, and now is dead,
And we’ll go mould some cockle bread.
Up with my heels and down with my head,
And this is the way to mould cockle bread!"
-before either being curtailed mid-chant by a stumble off the table's edge or being hastily ushered down by their attending kin before they could so much as bend to reach their skirt's hem, let alone perform the dance that accompanied the chant. Faces flushed red with embarrassment rather than intoxication.
As appreciative as the Woodward and nearby townsfolk were for the funding, that didn't make their rowdy display any less exhausting to accommodate. What it DID make was a perfect distraction for opportunists like _______ to swipe every loose coin and discarded luxury the nobles might lose track of amidst their merriment. Not that they'd miss any of it, mind. They came here to walk out bellies full and their purses spent, and that's exactly what they'll be by day's end.
Having waited until the festivities were well underway, the greatest challenge (besides remaining unseen, a fairly easy feat given how blind drunk all but the staff seemed to be) became dodging wayward hands flying or being crushed if any brawls broke out or someone proved too unsteady even when idle. As the thought passed _______'s mind, some poor sod began to tip backwards from his chair and nearly onto her had she not skirted so quickly past them. An amused cheer resounded across his table at the sound of him crashing onto the stone floor, much like was customary to do when any crockery shattered in a tavern such as this. "Lightweights...", she muttered so herself, smug with the fat payout the day's already granted her. Enough that there was barely any space left to covertly tuck anything away. Might be worth heading home and stowing away what she had to free up space again. Maybe just another handful...
Taking a moment to pause and see who had anything by their side or on the floor that she could swipe on her way out, she started thinking of all the food she could afford and store for winter with what she's already accumulated. Even if prices inevitably rose again because of yet another crop failure. Or because of more people flooding the town and driving up demand after being enclosed on by the damned Willoughbies like hers had been in Sutton Passeys. Or whatever war the powers that be demand the food should be diverted to instead. She won't go hungry, not this time!
Just as she felt drool begin to well up in her mouth, she spotted a particularly well dressed gentleman just past the open door laying down a round for his table. The two men sat beside him were oddly dressed, in much plainer clothes than the puffy, blouses and jackets expected by the feast's usual attendees. Come to think of it, she didn't recognise any of them from previous years. The man who brought the drinks didn't look rich per-say, but was certainly smartly dressed. Hair dark brown cut to shoulder-length and a feathered cap atop his head. Perhaps a merchant? The other two had a strangely cool tinge to their skin and such dark eyes it was as if their pupils were as wide as a rabbit's and hair dark to match, styled much higher and tighter than their fellow's loose tie-back. Their robes more like a shawl with sleeves and less gathered. Unrecognisable patterns resembling a grid of angular flowers dotted the fabric, but beyond that little decoration darned their outfits. Remarkably modest given their company and the occasion.
As she sauntered closer, she attempts to fain disinterest by periodically gazing about the place and hums along with the raucous singing blasting from within the farmhouse. Every so often darting a glance at the table both to scan for goods and to take in more and more odd details they noticed about the people sat there. In spite of how shoddy her attempt at "acting natural" was, it shouldn't matter as they surely should be too drunk to notice her pinch his coin pu-
"There it is!", a hand had grabbed her wrist before she could register what happened. She froze as the Englishman tightened his grip on her wrist before plucking his coin purse back from her aching hand, "Thought someone might have nabbed it there for a second, thank you kindly for returning it to me..." No manner of tugging freed her from his grip, which kept her uncomfortably close, her frantic squirming further broadcasting her guilt as the thief in front of his associates, who simply stared unbothered. As the man turned in his seat to face her, she could see the ornate badge pinned to his breast pocket and his less ornate but still remarkably well-kept attire... a uniform?
"This isn't the usual way I'd spend Easter, but word is this feast has been swarmed with thieves these past few years," he snaked a hand under her chin and held it there, forcing her to keep eye contact, "I'd be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to lose something valuable tonight... would you?"
With that he let go, and her wrist practically flew free of his grasp. Rubbing it gently to sooth the sore mark he'd left, she hastily scampered off to hide her stash somewhere safe. Who was that? Who were they? Those people? Was that their first round? Of all the tables she picked a sober one last, fantastic!
In the mad dash back home, she hadn't noticed the trail of coins she was leaving behind like breadcrumbs leading back to Lenton village. Some coins dropped on the heads of sleeping vagrants and children playing nearby snatched up what they could once they realise what had littered the ground, scrubbing off the mud that now caked each coin. Unknowingly covering _______'s tracks, at least through the main street, but still too preoccupied in their frantic gathering to notice which alley she'd darted through next.
Pushing through her backdoor and clambering for somewhere to hide the goods (or herself) her hands spread wide, feeling the floor for any loose boards. In her panic the floorboard she lifted to stuff the goods under got jammed slightly out of place, and no manner of prying could correct it while in such a state. She'd force it back into place once she'd calmed down. Before she could, though, a daunting knock at the door could be heard. Timidly she peered through through the window. The unnerving man from earlier. How did he know where she went?
Doesn't matter. Just keep quiet and unseen and he will leave. Hopefully.
The man knocked more forcefully after a minute or two of silence. Then again... and again, before finally sighing and demanding, "If you don't open the door you WILL be arrested. You know the charge for theft. Open. The. Door."
Keep quiet.
Luckily the feast had most people out and about for the day, but a worrying patter of footsteps upstairs tore _______ between trying to sway the man to let her go, hand herself in, or let him loudly break down the door and potentially rope in her kin with her punishment since the stash she added to could be implicated as everyone's under the roof. She'd weaseled herself out of tighter situations before, but that was when she was alone. It's all different now! What-
Her indecision was cut short by the abrupt kicking open of the door which slammed hard onto the cold stone floor, small fragments of wood breaking off at point of impact with the hinge swinging loose like a doomed man's head. Her decision was already made. She held in her yelp, mustering a whimper, but the sound of the break in already alerted her kin upstairs who clattered downstairs, only to stop at the top step, the eldest of them immediately recognising who was at the door.
"Sheriff! What a lovely surprise, what brings you to our humble abode?" Playing dumb was never her grandma's strong suit, as senile as she was she wasn't ignorant by any means, the darting of her eyes hinting as much. The awkward silence lay like an unmoving layer of fat over water, hardening as the room grew cool with the Sheriff's imposing demeanor freezing everyone in place. His eyes scanned the room, flitting between faces before landing at the jammed floorboards by the stairwell. His attention drawn by the faint glint of sparkling gold. Raising a finger to the gap, he asked, seemingly to no one but clearly directed at _______, "Is this yours?"
Shifting in place, _______ was about to say "N-" but her aunt interjected, "It's mine. My dowry. My husband, his family wouldn't let him marry a vagrant but he brought what he could and married me despite their wishes." Her stunned confusion blatantly on display, _______ caught herself and nodded along with the best slack they had. God bless you Auntie, I owe you one.
"That looks like far more than eleven pence right there. Rather risky to keep such a valuable asset on display right by the back door, don't you think?"
Saving face her aunt doubled down, "Well... that's why it's exactly where a thief wouldn't think to look! You see?" attempting to look chuffed with herself, forcing a confident grin as best she could.
"I DO see, so you're saying you can think like a thief, eh?", a smirk crept up on the Sheriff's face, something he'd clearly been holding back the whole time he'd been standing in the doorway, blocking our nearest exist. "And uh, Ma'am you do realise vagrancy isn't exactly... appreciated, well, anywhere in God's land? You look able-bodied, I assume you've made yourself useful since your marriage?"
The questions stewed in their minds, bringing their patience to a boil. Days spent toiling at the spinning wheel, knitting until the skin on their fingers thickened into boot leather. 'Made yourself useful?' as if the Sheriff himself wasn't a bloated mouthpiece for the inept aristocracy that didn't so much as blink before they shoved people like them off of land they'd subsisted on for centuries, for what... aesthetics? So they didn't pollute their lovely view? _______'s fists clenched, tighter and tighter with her family glancing over and back like if they looked away too long she'd set ablaze.
"YES. They have..." _______ said firmly through gritted teeth.
Closer and closer, the Sheriff stepped, circling _______ as her kin hugged the banister like a lifeline. Wanting to hide back upstairs, but not wanting to abandon their child to the whims of the law. After tracing her curves with his gaze up and down, he crouched to pry open the "dowry". As he did the metal caught the light, brilliantly gleaming in the spring daylight. Certainly not rusted. Not in the slightest. The kind of money no one has touched in years. Could be a dowry, then. Could be new, counterfeit (more likely, he thought). Could be the pretty pennies of the drunken nobles who needn't worry about directly paying with money but once in a blue moon.
"I'll ask again... is this yours?"
A trap. She wasn't sure how, but the way he phrased it made it seem like any answer she'd think to give would lead to a trap. Yes, and that could be an admission that she'd stolen it. No, and that could be admitting it's not hers and she stole it. Please Auntie, please, you or grandma. She wished they'd speak for her, like they always did, now was the time but they stayed quiet. This time it was her gaze flitting to them, back and forth as they evaded hers. The Sheriff reached down and pinched a coin from under the floorboards, rotating it to catch the light, eyeing it closely. Not counterfeit. The real deal... He chuckled, bemused by their awful attempt at saving face.
"I know it's not yours. I just needed to see if it was all of you who needed executing, and not just this-" he grabbed _______ by the forearm, raising it like an unwilling volunteer, "-skank here I caught in the act!" Despite being but one man, running from the house didn't seem wise, where would they go? Hide? He could just nail the door shut and burn it down with everyone still inside. He didn't need to shackle anyone to keep them right where he needed them.
"Please, I asked her to do it - we needed the money!", Grandma blurted, hoping to help. Honest to a fault. Auntie shot a death-glare at her, not in anger but fear. Now they absolutely would be implicated in the theft, not just _______! Desperate, she kept going, "She was only doing what she was told. If you should prosecute anyone, it should be me, I'm culpable." Her frail, old form gently slinked down the stairs, leaning on the banister for balance. Before she even reached the last step, the Sheriff -raising a palm to halt her- refused.
"How noble, but you're already on death's door you old Crone. It wouldn't be much of a punishment at this point."
Offended wasn't quite the word. Disheartened? Shocked? It didn't really matter. An embarrassing withdrawal; Grandma held herself by the bottom of the stairs not sure what to do with herself anymore. The Sherrif's smugness grew, seeing them all so flustered and disheartened. While he couldn't change the law (legally speaking, they deserved death), anything he offered would seem better at this point, and that's exactly what he needed. Or rather, what his associate needed...
Unfortunately, only one here would be suitable for his associate's tastes. The other two were clearly too worn and delicate to withstand a long-term tenure with his associate. No, only the skank will do.
"Tell you what! Unless you'd rather let the gentlemen back at the farmhouse sober up, realise they've been robbed blind and let them hunt you down... I have the means to make it look like you're as good as dead and they'll be none the wiser!", he paused, as if waiting for someone to question his proposal, but all that rose was curious silence amidst a flurry of glances between the three women as if performing furious wordless debate amongst themselves. He continued, "I can redistribute the evidence accordingly, and you'll be long gone from the reach of any gallows rope."
"Banishment, then? To where?", _______ demanded, exhausted with his drawn out charade.
"Oh, nowhere you'd know. A land in the far East, but don't worry! If anything, where you'll be is far grander than this... dusty hovel.", he said, gesturing about the place. _______ could feel their brow twitch, if he was so disgusted by their humble lodgings he shouldn't care what they stole, they clearly need it and couldn't afford anywhere "better".
"Since you stole a hefty sum, you can pay it back by working under contract as my associate's servant. With how much is here, I'd say it should last roughly...", squinting, he sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "fifteen years".
"WHAT?" _______ yelped, "You've got that wrong, surely?"
"It's adorable how you think you grasp the severity of your situation, when you clearly don't.", he scoffed before letting out a small chuckle. Reaching in a hand under his cloak, he pulled out what was presumably the contract and unfolded it to show only _______.
"Do you intend to only spare her?", tentatively asked her Auntie, voice hushed like her words might kill her if she spoke them any louder.
Again, he scoffed, "The old Crone there isn't worth the trouble of an execution, and she", he pointed right at _______'s face, barely a centimeter from slapping her as he did so, "Is young and clearly fit enough to work this contract as written. YOU are neither. I'll give you a chance to live by still confiscating the evidence but any suspicions that lead back to you shall leave your fate thrown to the wolves. Tag along if you wish but I doubt you'll be of much use to my associate."
A chance to stay and live, especially while Grandma (sturdy as she was) would still be here in need of care, even if it was but a chance and not a certainty seemed too vital to cast aside. No, better she be here for Grandma rather than risk both herself and _______ dying and leaving her to fend for herself. "I'll... stay, thank you."
_______ shot her a desperate glare, pained and conflicted. She can't really be serious? The contract was still held there, the Sheriff growing impatient, so she took it from him to glance it over.
"...", she looked back up, "You do realise I can't read this?"
Snatching it back briskly, he began to read aloud the contract in full, she assumed. The terms seemed fair. Room, board, food, pay contributing back to her debt she owed the nobles, doing general duties expected of a servant / maid, even tending a garden of sorts? It seemed strangely described and involved caring for some animals? Her family did pasture sheep they made the wool yarn from that they weave for a while so, that shouldn't be too hard.
"Now, normally you'd sign your name, but since you're illiterate I'll just sign your name on your behalf. What was it again?"
"_______"
"No, your full, legal name."
Confused, she repeated, "_______"
"Right..."
Summary: The Big Tops are tossed into yet another absurd adventure, but luckily it seems Caine is feeling especially generous today! But what at first appears to be a relaxing farming adventure soon takes a turn for the worse, as the farm is plummeted into darkness by a giant swarm of killer bees - and their Queen...
CW: Choking, anaphylaxis, and bees?
(Ok so this was meant to be a KingerxNPC!Reader fic buuuuut I got carried away basically writing a fan episode of the show with just as much focus on the other characters as on Kinger until the shit hits the fan. Will write an actual KingerxNPC!Reader fic in the future, sorry for this!)
(Second thing - sorry for this being long, I had always assumed the "keep reading" thing was automatically applied to longer posts and did not realise it was something I could and would have to add manually. I am still pretty new to tumblr and even newer to fic-writing. If it came across as me trying to clog up your dash, that wasn't my intention I am so sorry ^^')
Dividers by @saradika-graphics and @thyming
"I can't stay in here forever, I know that...", Kinger sighed, not quite to himself even while alone in his impenetrable (pillow) fortress. The past few days had made keeping it together especially difficult. For whatever reason, Caine insisted on making the last handful of adventures all take place in the dark. A neon motorbike race set in a digital void, a creepy underwater(?) adventure in a submarine with no portholes, a few set in space where they had to collect junk from abandoned buildings... Was it deliberate? Does Caine know how the darkness helps him remember? Not that it really mattered, the effect was the same regardless. He could almost feel his wife's presence, sat there next to him in the comforting dark of their pillow fortress. Feeling for a hand he knew wouldn't be there, he settled his palm on a nearby cushion as a pale substitution for a hand to hold. He knew he couldn't stay here, but felt too paralyzed with grief to leave. Every time he fled to the light felt like forsaking Queenie to the cellar all over again. Buried deep. And deeper still each time.
In his somber reminiscing, time slipped like sand through his fingers. Nothing to mark its passage, like a ship in the night. He felt himself relax, sinking into the wall of pillows...
Before he had time to register anything, his weight toppled the delicate walls of his fortress! Collapsing around him - a flurry of feathers and fabric. With nothing to shield him from the light anymore, the colours so bright they hurt to look at, he clenched his eyelids shut. However, it only took a couple blinks for his eyes to adjust. His mind soon followed - wiped blank by the technicolour dreamscape that engulfed him.
What was he doing? In his idle wondering he could just about pick up Jax's voice in the distance and felt compelled to make his way towards them like a moth to light.
"Rockin' the same fit again I see?", Jax smirked at Zooble. His lilted tone one that could easily be mistaken for flirting, but was instead just plain teasing - the added flare just there to get under their skin. It was true, Zooble had kept the same horns and limbs on for the past few days, a fairly rare occurrence but not one usually worth commenting on. Any contentment with any given assortment of parts felt fleeting at best. Frankly the limited stock of replaceable parts is what kept them rotating looks. With a frustrated sneer at Jax's snide remark, they turned to walk away before Caine could emerge to rope them into another "adventure".
How disappointing... not even Zooble felt like throwing him a bone today. His usual go-tos for torment, Gangle and Ragatha, were nowhere to be found. Pomni pries too much for comfort, even if she means well and Kinger, well, hard to be amusing when you don't even realise you're being mocked. Better have a damn good reason for leaving him alone to stew in his boredom and... thoughts. Taking another shot at some light, distracting fun, he called out, "Does that mean you're starting to like those parts? Kinda suits you! Very..."
His tone seemed fairly genuine! Admittedly it took them off guard, enough to make them stop walking and wait for him to finish. Unsurprisingly though, they should've known better than to listen, since it seems this was just another one of Jax's pointless games. "What? Very 'Mr Blobby meets Salvadore Dali'?", Zooble groaned, already exhausted with the conversation.
They took the bait! Surprising, Zoobie was normally smarter than that but he wasn't complaining, "...I was gonna say 'pretty', but now that you mention it-"
"Oh, f+ck off!", without hesitation Zooble resumed their march back to their room. Frustrated with themselves as much as anything, and Jax's prodding wasn't helping!
"Whaaaat? You don't wanna look like a work of art? Hello!", he yelled after them, desperately hoping any panic was masked by his tone, but it was getting harder to quell with each step they took. Soon even the pattering of Zooble's clunky footsteps faded out into dull silence. Would it kill Caine to maybe have some ambient sound effects in the Tent? Knowing him though, he'd make it a leaky tap or jarring bird noises or something similarly unintentionally uncomfortable.
Even still, he let the silence wash over him, basking in its perfect stillness if only to have something to focus on-
"JAX!", Kinger yelped without warning! Wha- When did? Was Kinger behind him the whole time? Whatever, at least it was something to distract him for now.
This is the tenth time Zooble has re-organised the toybox this week, as if each time they rummaged through it they might find something new - something better... but there never was. What is even the point of having all these spare parts if none of them feel right? All of them look impractical, disproportionate and just downright stupid! Half of the "useful" parts like their spatula hand aren't even fit for purpose. Otherwise they'd have at least a couple tools to try and attempt to make their own. But no, it's all just flimsy plastic. Typical.
Zooble slammed the lid to the toybox shut, but the mish-mashed haystack of parts overflowing from the box all kept the lid from fully closing. Again, they tried forcing the lid shut, but to no avail. Again, again, and again! Until their simmering impotent rage boiled over, buckling their knees as they collapse in exhaustion over the box. At least their weight kept the lid down...
Rolling to their side they catch a glimpse of the mess they've made of themselves in the mirror, not that anyone would be able to tell besides themselves. And Jax, apparently. As their absent gaze slowly sunk to the floor, they spotted the cracked remains of Gangle's plastic happy mask - now in two just like her comedy mask so often was. It managed to find its way back into their toybox after she threw it out of bounds. Even though it was a bust, they couldn't bring themselves to get rid of it in case Gangle ever felt ready to try it again. Now they guess she never will.
"I'm sorry Gangle...", Zooble sniffed. Wait, they're crying? When did that start? With a long sigh, Zooble slowly picks themselves up and lifts a "hand" to wipe away the tears that so swiftly snuck up on them. As they did so though, it seemed their private moment of insecurity wasn't so private.
"It's o-ok, Zooble!", Gangle said with quite a shaky voice, clearly on the verge of tears herself but surprisingly not of sadness. Or at least not her quintessential tragedy mask's tears. Stood tentatively in the doorway, seemingly split between asking for permission to enter and rushing to hug Zooble. "I heard some loud banging like when Kaufmo, um, a-and wanted to make sure you're ok!"
Bless her heart, Zooble couldn't imagine abstracting. Not over this, and not while Gangle's still here. They'd almost forgotten how much they enjoy making art until joining Gangle in her doodling. Sometimes they even helped them design a body that they might actually like! Not long ago their drawing sessions expanded from pen-and-paper to something closer to their old job as a tattoo artist, drawing on each other with whatever pens still had ink in them. Caine had a habit of not restocking any supplies around the tent, so suggesting arts and crafts themed adventures usually made him generate the stock they needed to take back as "souvenirs". Since Zooble rarely ever willingly partook in any adventure, anything they suggested was almost always taken on-board if it meant their co-operation. The little doodles of anime characters on their parts may not have fixed them, but they made them just a little more personal, y'know?
The thought made Zooble unconsciously rub their wrist, right where Gangle had drawn a cute little bow to look like a bracelet. "Don't worry about me, it's nothing that serious I just...", Zooble sighed, knowing their words won't assuage the anxious dread clearly lingering behind Gangle's smile, "...wished that I could make my own parts. Why do I have to be stuck with these?" They abruptly gestured with clear vexation to the jumbled mess of parts spilling out from the toybox beside them.
A little started by the sudden spike in volume, Gangle took a moment to stare at the various pieces before landing on her old happy face. The sight of it bringing an unexpected smile to her face, faint but heartfelt, "Maybe you're not? Caine never said you couldn't make your own-"
"Yeah, but with what?", Zooble interrupted. Never intending to be so snappy, but it slipped out.
"I'm, uh... I'm not sure...", her feeble tone made Zooble's heart sink. She was just trying to help and they just had to thank her by yelling back. Gangle of all people puts up with so much already, what with Jax being Jax. Sure Ragatha looked out for her here and there but it really feels like they're often the only one actually standing up for her. A snide remark from Jax would be nothing, but from them? Hurts far more to hear it from a friend.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you...", Zooble gently brought Gangle into a warm hug. Well, as warm as plastic and ribbon could be. "We'll find something-"
"-in the amazing maze of maize I made!"
What the?-
Caine announced, obnoxiously loudly and seemingly out of nowhere. Not out of the ordinary for him, granted, but always unwelcome. At this point Gangle had grown wary of whatever Caine cooked up and had fostered the courage to opt-out alongside Zooble in favor of their now fairly regular art sessions. If he was showing up here specifically, there had to be a reason, surely.
"Is this another one of your adventures or are you just bored... or both?", Zooble asked with a raised brow.
"I'll have you know I am never bored! Not when there's adventures to be had!", his so very unsubtle nudging for them to join in was really starting irk them.
"Have fun with that! Me and Gangle are gonna go draw together, bye.", much like with Jax earlier, Zooble turned to make their way far in the opposite direction. Sweeping Gangle along beside her so she wouldn't be left to deal with him alone, even if she took a second to keep pace. But they guess Caine's feeling especially insistent today that they play along, as he materialises right in front of them a second later, looking increasingly frazzled.
"Don't like the maze idea? How about Spudsy's again? You liked Spudsy's!", he blurted, frantically.
"I said I 'didn't hate it', not that I'd like it enough to want to do it again!", Zooble shot a slightly guilty look at Gangle, given it was her suggestion, only to be met with a similarly apprehensive look at the thought of going back to Spudsy's, "You keep re-using adventures and NPCs - I bet you haven't made a single new thing since you last opened the suggestion box!"
"I do so make original things, look!", Caine spat, yeeting his notepad at their faces which then lay sprawled open by their feet. Every page adorned with doodles of bees. Bee after bee after bee...
Furrowing their brow, Zooble commented on the obvious, "Those are just pictures of bees..."
"Well, excuse you! As if you could draw anything better!", he hissed, pouting.
As much of a petty dispute as this was, Zooble couldn't help but feel a little perturbed by his oblivious remark. Both them and Gangle were artists in their own right! The evidence of which not only peppered each of their rooms' walls, but also their bodies now. All of which Caine ignored, but what else should they expect at this point? It'd be more surprising (even mildly concerning) if Caine paid close attention to them as people. He may have all-seeing eyes dotted across the circus, but that didn't make him omniscient(thank f+ck)!
To Zooble's surprise, Gangle stepped forward to retort,"We absolutely can draw anything better than you! Just look at Zooble! Notice anything new? That's all my work!" To which Caine crossed his arms and floated disconcertingly closer to Zooble to inspect Gangle's work. Whether from Gangle's unexpected assertiveness, the attention brought to their body, or Caine's dizzying circling of them, Zooble couldn't help but feel flustered. Thankfully though it was short-lived as Caine came to an abrupt stop and took a deep, dramatic breath...
*Pop!*
He vanished abruptly. Ok then? Hard to tell if his sudden leave was out of upset or not, could he not face the fact one of them was a better artist than him? At least he was out of their hair now and they could finally hang out in peace...
"-and that's when I said!- I said...", Kinger trailed off. Jax had long since stopped listening and was growing increasingly impatient waiting for anyone else to come by for him to pester. Honestly the only thing keeping him there was a need for distraction, so for once Caine would actually be a welcome sight-
"Did somebody say: Insect collection!?"
"No Kinger there's no inse-", Jax groaned at the drole repetition of Kinger's seeming obsession with insects, only to have to make a double-take as he saw Caine floating above them both. "Wait, Caine?!That was you?"
Caine clicked his fingers and magically poofed everyone (except Zooble and Gangle) into the room in a flash! All of whom took a moment of bewilderment to look around before realising it was just Caine summoning them for yet another adventure...
"That's right! Today's adventure is:
Harvest Season in Moondrop Basin
-which is absolutely NOT from the suggestion box and is completely, one-hundred percent my very own amazingly original work!"
For once, Ragatha seemed to perk up at the idea. For once, Caine seemed to earnestly be suggesting something chill and wholesome! It would be nice to go back to a farm, one with only the parts she remembers most fondly. The horses, the chickens, the lovely butterflies and fields all around... at least, she hoped that's all there would be. Knowing Caine though, there would be a catch. She'd had a lucky run of several adventures by this point, managing to avoid the horrors of Mildenhall Manor and end up with a lovely tea-party instead! Only time would tell if her hopes lulled her into a false sense of security or not...
Looking around, Pomni and Kinger may not have shared her enthusiasm but certainly seemed open to the idea of a farming adventure! The only one disgruntled by such a "boring" premise was Jax, unsurprisingly. If he wants blood, death, and humorous gore then he should- He should... nevermind. As long as he didn't go out of his way to ruin her adventure, he could do whatever.
Hoping to gage if this actually was what she thought it was, she timidly raised her hand and asked, "Is this like my farming suggestion? Will we get to ride the horses?"
The unintentional implication of Caine's lack of originality caused him to wince, but nothing he couldn't brush aside. He continued in his bombastic announcer voice, "There will indeed be horses! And chickens, and butterflies to catch and fields of wheat to frolic through if you're feeling extra rebellious!"
At that resounding (albeit back-handed) confirmation of her hopes, Ragatha couldn't help but feel genuinely excited to finally get to go back to the farm! Well, at least a farm even if it wasn't quite like the one she remembered from her old life. Still, it was a welcome change of pace. So much so that she felt herself beam, the most genuine smile she's had in, well, she's not sure how long! Unfortunately, as ever, Jax had to ruin the moment and honestly looked wholeheartedly perturbed by her sincerity. Had he never seen it before? Perhaps not...
As Caine opened the portal to let them begin their new adventure, he hastily ran through one last tid-bit of information like a rapidly relayed terms of service, "Just don't forget to pay back your debt to the Queen Bee or else she will-" They had all stepped through the portal before Caine could finish. Only Pomni seemed concerned though. Since Jax couldn't care less, Ragatha was too enamoured with the idea of the farm that awaited her and Kinger had spaced out completely.
The scene before them was a... a wondrous one! At first the bright sunshine was blinding, but as their eyes adjusted the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds overlooking lush, sprawling fields came into view. There seemed to be a sparkle in the air with the glitter of pollen floating wistfully around them, emanating from all the fruiting crops before them! Fluttering about was dozens of butterflies dancing among the flowers like little fairies spiriting away the day. All the while a warm hum in the air that could've been the breeze, leaves or bees welcomed them to the farm. For the first time in a while, everything felt... peaceful. Seems Caine can in fact make decent ambient noise, in which case now was the perfect time for Jax to sit this one out. Laying down in the long grass to let the others busy themselves with whatever silly nonsense Caine had cooked up for them.
As the portal closed, the shabby barn housing a handful of rusty tools for them to use came into view, to which Ragatha marched single-mindedly towards, eager to get going! Trailing behind her was a rather anxious Pomni, struggling to shake what Caine mentioned right at the end about a "Queen Bee". Figuring sticking with Ragatha might be the best course of action for now until they figure out how this game works and how exactly they "pay" their supposed debt they have. In her haste though, she left Kinger behind and anxiously looked over her shoulder to check that he was ok - only to see him happy as Larry catching butterflies with a net he found... somewhere? At least he seems fine for now.
Overlooking the beautiful basin was an opulent, golden castle jutting out of the cliff-side like an ornate jewel of pure amber and gold glistening in the sunlight. To and fro flew hundreds of rotund, fluffy little bees patrolling the land for flowering crops to pollinate. For their kind service, in return, all farmsteads must pay their share of gold to you - the Queen Bee. Each region had a patrol assigned to it, and it seems the one assigned to "Raggedy Farmstead" were coming up short. Not a single spec of gold! A few too many bad harvest seasons had run their coffers dry and unless they made haste with this year's harvest then you may need to start seizing their goods for liquidation...
"Our apologies, your Highness!", the patrol of worker bees bowed before you as one, like a flying carpet, their voices inaudible to all but you. So sweet of them to worry about such things, after all it wasn't their fault! It was those lazy little layabouts that hadn't paid! They had been overdue to pay back their debt for months now. You like to think you're a patient person, but for the good of your people they needed to pay.
Knitting your nubs together in contemplation, you sink into your thrown to consider how to make those negligent farmers pay their dues. Rising from your throne you gently raise a hand to garner the attention of your subjects. Wordlessly, you point in the general direction of the debtors - effortlessly beckoning your subjects to swarm that farm!
"Thanks for helping me with the harvest, Pomni! I know it's a lot of work without much of a reward other than these silly gold points, but don't ya just feel like it's...", she stared across the field at their work, stripping the entire length of the field clean of anything that looked harvestable, basking in its completion, "...worth it, you know what I mean?" Despite the silence stretching on for a long while, it wasn't an awkward one. For once Caine might've actually made something legitimately nice! Fun even! Pomni felt a smile creep up her cheeks. Hard to believe an adventure actually helped anyone here find some solace or peace, rather than pushing them further past the brink, for once. She couldn't say she enjoyed it as much as Ragatha, but if she's happy then that was enough.
In a way, Moondrop Basin reminded her of the stargazing adventure they had during that strange lightning round a while back. That one was probably her favourite, even if Jax and Ragatha dampened the mood a bit. Especially the insects. Maybe Caine re-used the assets he used for the flora and fauna of the stargazing adventure for this one too? Might explain why everything has a glowy quality to it depsite the bright sunshine... At least, the sun was shiny just a minute ago? When did night fall? There was barely a cloud in the sky just now, so how?-
Looking up, Pomni found her answer...
A black mass of... something, extended across the whole sky, blocking out the sun! A strange hum radiated from it, writhing with hundreds of, wait, are those bees?! A swarm. A whole swarm! The sight of which paralyzed her dead in her tracks from its biblical scale! Flashbacks to Mildenhall Manor and the peril she faced with Kinger flooded her mind at breakneck speed, fearing the worst of what Caine had in store for them. Was this the Queen? Had they not paid their debt? They didn't even know what to pay it with, let alone how!
"Uhh, Ragatha? You might want to take a look at this!", she called out, knowing Ragatha had marched on ahead. Far too occupied to have noticed the change in scenery until now. Pomni tried to run, but her legs felt like cement as the thickening cloud of darkness engulfed the farmstead like a blanket of smoke. It was only once barely a slither of sunlight could permeate through that Ragatha seemed to snap out of her happy reverie.
"Huh, that's weird. Who turned out the lights?", as soon as Ragatha's absentminded observation left her mouth it dawned on her just how odd it sounded. Turned off what? The sun? Even night-time would have at least a little light! What about those pretty fire... flies...Oh. She finally looked up only to see nothing. Instead hearing a now deafening reverberation of hundreds of thousands of bees now encasing the farmstead like a tomb. Their tomb.
They could just about make out each other in the darkness, crawling over the muddy grass as if the earth itself would protect them from whatever was coming. Soon bumping head-first into one another, they stayed put for quite a while, waiting for the swarm to swallow them... but it never does! It seems once they'd surrounded the farm that they stayed put, as if awaiting further instruction. Until then, that at least gave them time to try to cobble together a plan!
"Ok, I think they've stopped! What are we gonna do?", Pomni whispered. Although she'd grown somewhat competent at being a levelheaded counselor of sorts for everyone, all that composure left her the moment it became clear Caine intended this as a horror game. Why can't he just let them be happy? No tricks, no twists, no nothing - just this once! But, now that their happy little mirage had dissipated into a much more familiar, more frightening affair, at least they had a better grasp of things to come. A few long moments passed before Ragatha collected herself enough to respond, "I... I'm not sure...", knowing it would do no favours for Pomni's anxiety, she blurted out something, anything that came to mind - "I guess we should try and find the others?"
Shouldn't be difficult, all things considered. The ranch was roomy, but not so expansive you could lose yourself in it. Jax is probably still napping somewhere amongst the tall grass, so literally stumbling into him wouldn't be hard but also probably wouldn't be that helpful. Gangle? Zooble? No, they were sitting this one out... Kinger? Oh god, Kinger! It's dark! Dark enough that he's probably starting to remember things. They can't let him deal with that alone!
As if her thoughts rung out loud, clear as day, they saw their shadows begin to stretch before them. Wait, shadows? Could it be...? Turning around, Pomni's face was awash with a sudden hopefulness while Ragatha's lifted with only mild surprise, only to see Kinger glowing as they'd thought... but not by holding his breath, not intentionally. Choking.
A large, insectoid creature had its grippers locked tightly around Kinger's neck as he flailed to break free. When Caine mentioned a "Queen Bee" she'd assumed they'd be more like his bee doodles, or the Candy Queen from Candy Canyon - cartoony and placcid! This... this was practically a xenomorph! If it weren't for the deep golden striped which shimmered with Kinger's light, their black lines and eyes would blend perfectly into the darkness created by the swarm. Practically invisible, were it not for Kinger's convenient ability. How did Caine expect us to deal with this? This is ridiculous!
"KINGER!", Pomni cried and lept forward to try and pull him away from whatever had him in its grip. Arms wrapped tight around him, no matter how hard she pulled she couldn't break him free. Soon she felt her feet lift from the ground, lifted higher until she was level with the creature's eyes. Which studied her closely without letting up its grip on Kinger in the slightest! A few more agonising seconds passed, enough for Pomni to notice some of the gold points from earlier had spilled to the ground beneath Kinger. A few more painful yanks from the creature jostled a handful more out of him before it scooped them up off the floor, its second set of forelegs coming into view like a pair of poised cobras which slithered swiftly out of view again to stuff the gold into some sort of hidden sac under the creature's velvet exoskeleton. Having bled Kinger dry (so to speak), the creature tossed him aside carelessly and reached forth to grab at Pomni's own neck!
Finally her legs were freed of their mental weights and flight swifftly kicked in! Ducking beneath the creature's now free forelegs before grabbing Kinger's hand to pull him out of harm's way. Still so shaken up and weak from the near suffocation, even if they technically couldn't die of oxygen deprivation, the feeling... the pain... it was still so real. Kinger couldn't lift himself much off the ground as he coughed between haggard breaths. Barely a second later the creature had closed the gap and was looming over them menacingly with arms outstretched to grab her! She... She had to run! Looking back one more shameful time, she ran. Ran as fast as she could as far away from the creature as possible. Leaving Kinger behind. She would find the edge of this swarm eventually, right? She can still save him if she hurries!
Faintly behind her, she could still hear Kinger gasping for air and Ragatha crying out as she too is caught and mercilessly rattled by the creature for all the gold she had. All of which soon became muffled by the ever-growing sound of the swarm surrounding them. She must be close! Before she knew it, she hit the "wall". Crashing through layer after layer of soldier bees that sprung into action on contact. No amount of flailing could save her from the torrent of stinging that followed. By the time she eventually broke through the venomous, perilous wall, she could already feel her skin grow taut with inflammation as the stings reared their ugly head. Her eyelids both threatening to seal shut with how puffed up they became, but she forced them open just enough to know for certain she'd made it out. Sunlight! She'd finally hit sunlight!
"Oh hey! How's the farming going?" came the unmistakable, snarky voice of Jax. Clearly unphased by the situation bar the brief twitch of amusement as he snorted at the site of her puffed up character model, "You look like a beachball Pom-Pom!". Leaning laxly against a nearby tree, chewing on a stem of wheat with no regard to the state he'd just found her in.
"JAX! We need your help!"
After what felt like an eternity collapsed on the muddy ground, coinage raining down upon him haphazardly as the creature shook the last of Ragatha's gold points from her, they were finally left alone. Out of all of them, Ragatha had definitely accrued the most gold points. It took at least twice as long to bleed her dry. If the creature had targeted her first, maybe her coinage alone would've been enough to cover the debt and no one else needed to get hurt? Now, they were both hurt. Practically mugged! What was he saying? Ragatha doesn't deserve to get hurt even if it did spare him and the others!
One minute he was in a pleasant daze catching butterflies. At least, trying to catch butterflies and missing most of them, hehe... and the next? Well, he hardly had time to notice the swarm approaching until he caught a net full of the poor creatures! Practically ate through the netting! Despite how little he'd earned in gold points, that little blunder seemed to be enough to draw the Queen's ire; hurting her subjects, albeit unintentionally. He was still somewhat out of it even as she reached for his neck. Only once he was already choking did he truly wake up, eyes wide at the sight of the Queen. It was more etymologically accurate than he thought Caine would be capable of recreating, though still fantastical in its monstrosity. Jarringly real juxtaposed against the cartoony surroundings of most adventures. He swears he never programmed anything like that into the circus...
He hardly noticed Pomni and Ragatha show up until he was already cast aside. Thrown to the ground like a tattered rag-doll... which brings them to the present.
"Are you alright, Ragatha?", he asked. He would call it a rhetorical question, of course she wasn't alright after that -he wasn't- but the oppressive silence was deafening and needed to be broken. Still shaken, she only nodded, barely visible in the darkness. Death being an impossibility here didn't mute the fear of death. For as long as they are human, how could it? As if by instinct, he checked her over for any injuries. Only finding the odd ripped seam and some stray stuffing, mostly from scraping the ground after being tossed aside by the creature.
What was the endgame here? Would the creature just leave once they got enough gold like some sleeping dragon? Would make sense. If they'd acrewed enough earlier on then maybe they'd be done already and the creature wouldn't be so angry. Maybe he could check how far they have to go and tweak their gold point stat? Focussing for just a moment, Kinger rubbed his hands together as he mentally strained to picture the file that stat would be stored in.
Confused, Ragatha stared at whatever Kinger was doing. Awe lighting up her face as coins fell from between his palms like a fountain of gold. Before long a pile had accumulated under them large enough to glow warmly like a small campfire. It was oddly comforting.
As the last of the coins spilled from his hands, Kinger gave them a quick shake as if to cool them like he'd been smelting the gold directly through his fingers. For all Ragatha knew, he very well could've been! It was only once he saw all the gold they needed laid out in front of him that he realised he might not have thought this through. That's a lot of coins to carry! As he reached to scoop up a handful, they disappeared as a light ding could be heard much to his relief. It didn't take long to scoop up the rest of it. It would've taken even less time but as Ragatha kneeled down to shovel some of the gold points herself, Kinger stopped her.
"We only technically need one of us to deliver all this.", Kinger nodded to the pile of coins, catching a glimpse of the rips in Ragatha's character model, "You took quite a beating from that thing earlier. If they're still angry, I don't want that to happen to you again. I can handle this."
"W-wait why? You don't need to do this alone!", Ragatha grabbed his robe, clinging to it like a buoy in the ocean which the black void the swarm created might as well have been... The motion tugged at her ripped seams. She couldn't blame him for trying to be considerate and have her avoid being the punching bag of yet another adventure, but that didn't mean he had to be either! Still, it wasn't worth fighting about if he was sure, she thought as her grip loosened.
"I know I don't, but I think Pomni needs your help more than I do. She ran off somewhere alone, probably to find Jax. Find them and you should be safer as a group. We can stick together until then.", Kinger reassured her as he held his hand out, for comfort as much as anything. Neither of them had any idea where the creature went, so finding Pomni was as good a plan as any in the meantime. Feeling through the darkness as they walked, Ragatha felt a sharp sting as they brushed against the wall of worker bees encasing the farm.
"Ow, f*@k!", she hissed, flinching. "I-I guess this is the edge, think we can make it through?"
Puzzled, Kinger reached into the buzzing mass himself - only to get stung too. Worth a try. Thinking for a moment, he then began de-robing himself. Despite the lack of real nudity in this digital world, Ragatha couldn't help but protest.
"Kinger! You don't have to do this either!", she insisted, eyes averted even though there wasn't anything to see.
Unphased, Kinger held up his robe and waited for Ragatha to accept it. Which, slowly, eventually, she did.
"Wrap it around your head and keep your arms tucked in. You might still get stung but at least this should help. I have a feeling you'll be safer outside even if Pomni isn't there, wait for her.", with that he waited for Ragatha to do as instructed before gently nudging her into the wall of bees.
Standing there, it had been quite a while since he last took his robe off. He'd almost forgotten that he could! Wait... how come he could take his robe off but characters like Jax and Ragatha can't take off their clothes? Seemed silly to be fretting about the little details at a time like this. It was kinda nice, like a larger pillow fort. He couldn't claim to be truly scared. Even after being attacked like he was, the darkness that blanketed everything helped calm him town and clear his head. It was probably best that he handle this. Caine usually wears the genres of his game on his sleeve so to speak, to have a tonal shift built-in like this was concerning to say the least. How could anyone trust that he wouldn't pull the same kind of stunt in his later adventures now? Poor Ragatha. She looked so excited for this one too!
A few minutes passed without so much as a peep beyond the background hum of the surrounding wall of bees. As far as he knew, he was the only person still trapped on the farm. The swarm probably follows its queen, which means the creature probably is still here. Somewhere...
ƬǶƸⱤƸ ƳⰙꓴ 𐤠ⱤƸ
Oh no.
He felt your looming presence arrive behind him. Knowing what was coming, he braced himself to be yanked up and rattled all over again so he could just get it over with! But nothing happened. No hand swooped down to throttle him like before. Perhaps it was foolish, but he felt compelled to turn around as if it might give him an answer for the delay. Before him stood the intimidating Queen Bee. You looked down at him with a much softer expression than before.
Ɩ Ƕ𐤠ƲƸ ƇⰙ𐒄Ƹ ƬⰙ… 𐤠ꝒⰙȴⰙƓƖⳜƸ
Apologise? For wha- well, all that.
ƳⰙꓴ ƊƖƊƝ'Ƭ 𐒄Ƹ𐤠Ɲ ƬⰙ ǶꓴⱤƬ 𐒄Ƴ ⳜꓴƁʝƸƇƬⳜ, ƊƖƊ ƳⰙꓴ?
Huh? Oh that! Kinger shook his head. A little surprised at how benign the Queen turned out to be, for now at least. Perhaps Caine just didn't think this part of the adventure through and overdid it with the monster designs. Still, he would've figured Caine would jump at the oppertunity to showcase his bee doodles in an adventure where they played a fairly big role?
The Queen shuffled on the spot a little, looking away. Were they... embarassed? He can't shake the feeling that he's had this conversation before. The way they looked in the darkness, even their rampage over such a misunderstanding, it reminded him a lot of-
Ɩ'𐒄 ⳜⰙⱤⱤƳ
The words didn't sound like they were coming from the Queen Bee. Queen-Bee... Queenie?
The sight of this creature, just an NPC surely(?), stirred up that memory quicker than he could think to stop it. Like he was back in the pillow fort all over again, only this time if he held out his hand... there would actually be another to hold.
Without thinking he reached up to cup the creature's "face". What was he doing?!
The moment seemed to last forever as it replayed in his head. Bringing the comfort is always has since the day she abstracted.
Soon a warm buzz rose and a golden glow rise from where his palm rested. Well, guess that's why he was there. To pay that debt so they could all finally wrap up this adventure. Almost felt silly getting so sentimental for something that only resembled her, but he could swear he felt her there - returned to see him one more time...
Once the gold ran dry, it was over.
A jarring, overly loud celebratory sound effect played across the map as the swarm dissipated and he felt the Queen break contact. Practically evaporated by the light that flooded in afterwards. Now he stood alone in the middle of the field, with the rest of the team calling from the other side by the exit portal that popped up.
"CAINE!", Ragatha gasped through the portal as she fell through it with the rest of them, "What the hell was that?!", she cried, desperately trying to sound far more firm than she ever knew how to be. Soon though, her scowl melted into a mournful frown at the whimsical daydream lost to yet another one of Caine's stupid, arbitrarily dark "twists". Not that any of her distress particularly phased Caine one bit, who had already forgotten about her as the procession of exhausted and rattled players slowly treaded past her without so much as a word. She could feel him watching their every move, his unblinking eyes assessing their deflated posture and sullen faces as if it were resoundingly negative consensus of reviews for his latest awful game. While it was hard to say if anything they said in the past had sunk in, it really did seem like their dissatisfaction was starting to get to him... Usually he would've chimed in with an awkwardly worded greeting by now, but today - only silence.
Having calmed down enough to do more than just shriek in anger, Ragatha rubbed her shoulder gently to comfort herself and continued, "I... really liked the farm idea. I liked it a lot. And I guess it just felt like the whole 'debt collection' thing felt a bit... unnecessary? And kinda put a damper on things for me, ya know?"
Looking up at Caine, who finally seemed to be listening, she waited for any kind of response. An apology even! But no, that would've been too much to ask for now wouldn't it? Instead she guessed they would have to make do with a small semblence of regret on Caine's face, as he half-heartedly tried to cap-off today's adventure on a more cheery note.
"Welcome back my, um, crystal moths and cracker-jacks! Heh...", he announced in far less enthusiastic a tone than any of them might have ever heard, apart from Zooble. It being abundantly clear that no amount of nonsense nicknames and enthusiasm could save this little blunder. So now was about the right time to settle for the next best thing - not thinking about it! To which Caine whisked himself away in an instant, eager to escape the sorry state of affairs he caused.
With any luck, Kinger will have forgotten everything by the morning. For his sake...
It was only once Gangle returned alone to greet the lot of them that even a smidgen of sympathy was shown. Bless her fragile heart... She couldn't bare to see Gangle's comedy mask break for her sake, so flashed a half-hearted smile her way to at least attempt to assuage her sympathetic sorrow. Wordlessly, Ragatha walked over. Arms heavy by her sides until she finally reached Gangle, threw her arms around her barely existent body of ribbons, and began to weep.
Summary: Whether by design or by accident, your character has an unintelligible voice. (Un)Luckily for you though, that makes you the perfect blank canvas for Caine to project all the praise he's been desperate to hear all this time onto you!
CW: Scopophobia, stalking, anxious attachment, and yandere(?)
*The character is called "Blip" but obviously that's just the name assigned to them in the circus, a reference to "Bip the clown" (Marcel Marcau) who was a famous french mime who coined mimery as "The Art of Silence!" Also some metahumour about being a "blip on the radar" as a one-shot character x *
Dividers by @lunaridae and @sister-lucifer
*POOF*
...
"Oh hey! Someone else got got!"
What?
"Pomni, looks like you might have a doppleganger!", the same voice from before chimed in again, an amused lilt to his voice. His whole casual demeanor completely throwing off what small semblance of clarity you had when you, well, appeared here out of the blue. No matter how many times you blinked, the jarring technicolor dreamscape never faded even slightly. But as you resolved to close them, shutting out the overstimulation to let your mind breathe, you gleaned a glimpse of what led you to this strange strange place... It felt like a real, physical place but unlike any you'd ever known. One moment you were donning a decrepit old headset you're surprised didn't fall apart the moment you picked it up, the next you were... here?
You felt like you came here for something specific. You had a purpose; what was it?
"Hey... A-are you... ok there?", you heard someone else ask.
Letting the light back in, with a flinch, you opened your eyes sore and straining to take in what was far too much from barely a second of looking. To your confusion, though perhaps not (given your surroundings), the people(?) reaching out to you were just as abstract and colourful as the new world you found yourself in. One, a lanky purple bunny accompanied by a stout clown of sorts, who seemed genuinely concerned.
~Oh! Yeah, I'm fine~ You said, or at least you thought you did. But all that came out was garbled static! For a moment you wondered if you might've just been disoriented from the tonal whiplash of plummeting from what you're sure was the real world to here, but trying again made no difference.
"God, they kinda sound like Orbsman but abstracted... can NPCs abstract?", the bunny guy said, seemingly only to himself, annoyed at the voice (or lack thereof) you found yourself with.
~Oh for f*ck sake! Why can't I speak?!~ you groaned, more frustrated than panicked. Not that the clown girl (Pomni, was it?) could tell, clearly. Fortunately, you happened to know sign language from the brief time you spent teaching yourself "code languages" back when you were obsessed with the idea of being a spy or codebreaker... only to become neither of those things. It wasn't much, but just about enough that if they know any ASL or BSL themselves then they should understand just fine.
"I'm not sure what's going on, but my name is-"you start to sign, only to pause as you were about to spell out your name.
Oh God, you were drawing a blank. Come on, why can't you remember?! First your voice, now your name... what other faculties could possibly fail you next? Even if you could remember, it seems by the blank expressions on their faces that neither of them understand sign language! Great... Guess you're going to have to play charades today. How would you even mime what you're feeling right now, something indescribably through charades, that's for sure!
Just as you were about to attempt to scream, yet another character pops into existence above the three of you. A horrifying maw with eyes and a suit - whatever panic had subsided soon returned with a vengeance as you reeled to hide from this surreal abomination! With nothing to hide behind, all you could manage was curling up into a ball onto the ground with your eyes sealed tightly shut again.
"Oh! I thought another NPC had slipped through again, but this clearly isn't orbsman!", the creature theatrically swung its cane to point directly at you, "No no - this, my Tumbleweed Tombraiders, is a new player!"
Unimpressed, the two answered, talking over each other, "Yeah... we know."
Impatient and curious about your lack of a response, the creature prodded your head with the nub of its cane. Quite hard actually! Ow... You groaned as your stirred to attention, unfurling from your shoddy cocoon. Forgetting you still can't speak, the sight of the creature above you makes you blurt in fear, ~Oh my god!~
"Oh dear, looks like you're having a bit of trouble there, Friend! Let's fix you right up-", with a flick of the wrist and a twirl of his cane a flash engulfed you, briefly snapping your muscles stiff with what felt like an unmoving seizure - back stuck straight and arms held unnaturally high to your sides. Were you... A-Posing?! The mental whiplash the creature forced upon you may have only lasted a second, but the fact it happened at all, well, shook you to your core. Wary, you let out a shaky ~What did you just do?~, only for your frustration to resurface with a vengeance. All that for nothing? Are you joking?
The creature looked puzzled more than anything. Barely a hint of concern passing by those unnervingly unblinking eyes. Instead, it just scratched its "temple" and said, "Hm, that normally works... Oh well!"
With another flash, the creature left. Though its absence did nothing to quell the disquieting dread it caused simply by existing.
Wondering back through the same technicolour tubes that looped around the circus tent high above the usual "living" quarters, you reveled in the sound of just your footsteps echoing through it and the light scratches of pen on paper as you scribbled away. You'd found it discarded outside Zooble's room, but when you knocked to return it Zooble waved it away, almost like they didn't want to be anywhere near it. Odd. It's just a notepad filled with doodles of bees, is it cursed or something?
Initially you'd started wandering around in search of its owner, but after coming up short for nearly an hour, you couldn't help but want to add to it yourself. Even adding little moustaches and tiaras to the existing bee doodles. Letting out a small giggle, garbled as it was, it seemed to catch someone's attention. Through the thick plastic walls of the tube, you heard a muffled "There they are!" a gloved hand phased into the tube from below, pulling the rest of Caine up with it.
At first you thought his name was a pun, since he always kept a cane on him, but no apparently it's Caine - as in the first murderer, not ominous at all! True enough, he had his cane with him. At least it's not a hooked one. You got a feeling that he'd use it fairly liberally on the lot of you if he did. Without hesitation he snatched the notebook out of your hands, slightly pulling you up with it before it slipped from your grip.
"Ah, you found my notebook! Thank you, Blip!", he said, reaching down from his floating perch to pat your head - to which you tried to flinch away but his arm cartoonishly extended to still reach you. As he inspected the notebook, be paused, "Oh no-" Flicking through the pages, his eyes widened at the sight of some of his beautiful art being defiled with your clownish graffiti, "-who could've done this to my beautiful art?"
"Art"? That seemed a bit of stretch, but it was at least cute. Despite how silly it was, Caine seemed genuinely distraught with the state he found it in. Although he'd grown less monstrous as time went on, you still aren't sure you've ever seen him angry and aren't exactly keen to find out now but... He looks so pitifully sad over this, you couldn't help but want to fess up to your handiwork.
With a sigh, you rub the back of your head and sheepishly admit guilt for this unforgivable vandalism with a simple sign, a single finger pointed at yourself. For all Caine's ineptitude at picking up signs so far, he at least understood that one. Bracing for his wrath, you were instead met with the sound of further page-flicking as Caine reached your wholly original works. Settling on a page adorned with doodles of all sorts of flowers from peonies to daisies, he tapped the nub of the pencil on the page and asked, "Did you draw this?"
Sheepishly, you nod.
"Very impressive, but...", he began, twirling the pencil between his fingers in contemplation, "Did you really not like my drawings? Is that why you scribbled all over them?" There was a tearful tremble to his voice. Of all the ways he could've reacted, you didn't expect him to be so... meek?
A twinge of guilt weighed on the back of your mind like a paperweight, keeping all your previously frantic thoughts in order. The panic that so consistently haunted you in Caine's presence seemed to dissipate as he hovered there oh so timidly, fumbling with the notepad and pencil. Thinking about it, shaking your head could mean both 'yes I did not like your drawings' or 'no I did not like your drawings' and neither would communicate how you actually felt about his adorably simple doodles, so you slowly reached forward for the notepad - adding a curt nod towards it to make it easier for Caine to understand.
Gently tugging it from his grip, you start flipping through it for a blank page. You may have reveled in the joy of drawing earlier, but it just dawned on you that you hadn't tried communicating in writing yet! Zooble, Ragatha and Gangle made an effort with your signing and Pomni got the gist of your gestures, but Jax, Kinger and Caine definitely needed some other way to understand you. Gangle had her sketchpad, sure, but it was one of the few things that you've ever seen actually make her happy. Felt a bit selfish to hog it when it you have other ways of communicating. Looking up at Caine though, despite him eagerly retrieving his notepad from you just now something about how easily he let go of it gave the impression he wouldn't mind that much if you used it.
After a few moments, you turned the pad around and held it up for Caine to read.
You figured keeping things simple would be best. Not exactly writing War and Peace here! Not to mention with how small the notepad is you don't have much space to work with. Even still, you could've made the font bigger, if for no other reason than to keep Caine from needing to hover uncomfortably close to read it. Luckily he opted to gently take the notepad back for a moment while he stared at what you wrote. You weren't sure if he simply was struggling to read it, or if he was re-reading it over and over.
Before you knew it and much to your shock, his eyes began welling up with tears. Flustered, you looked around in a panic - unsure what to make of the situation. Was it something you said?
Caine had really only ever reacted to things that clearly upset him by blanking, glitching or yelling (in Zooble's case) so what would he do to you now if he's upset?! Bracing yourself, you close your eyes... only for several seconds to pass, with nothing waiting for you when you opened your eyes again. Just Caine, still stock still staring at what you'd written.
What residual apprehension you had towards Caine may still have been lingering, but it was weaker, so you slowly, gently, quietly crept closer to rest a hand on his back. For all you knew it would startle him rather than comfort him, but you weren't exactly adept at navigating situations like this, so you plucked the notepad back out of his hands. You couldn't at first, his grip having grown tighter as a clutched it close to his face, but with a few more tugs you freed it. That seemed to snap him out of it somewhat, as he turned to what you write another message.
Now it was his turn to panic. Furiously shaking his head and holding up both his hands to reassure you, finally having snapped out of his tearful trance. "No, no, my dear! Nothing of the sort!", he blurted.
He paused.
"It's just been... quite a while since anyone's complimented my work."
You had to admit the last few adventures left you feeling a lot more drained and bored than they perhaps should have, so no surprises there, but has it really been that long? You kind of liked the one where you were all basically fairies collecting magical macguffins, or the one where you you basically got to duel with plasma pool noodles for an afternoon! You guess those were a while ago though and nobody else liked them and you didn't think to give any feedback at the time so...
~I kind of liked- oh shit, right.~ you said, forgetting you still had no voice. Well, not one that anyone could understand anyway. With Caine finally slowing down from his usual energetic persona, now might be the best time to try signing with him since there's every chance he was just distracted before.
"I liked a few of your adventures! I just didn't know how or when to tell you.", you signed.
Caine didn't answer, though he was staring at your hands the whole time. Your heart sank a little as he tilted his head in confusion, "Why are you doing that?"
Frustrated, you reach for the notepad again and impatiently write -
You turn the page.
Another page.
"Oh! Does that mean you've been trying to tell me how amazing my work is the whole time?", he gleefully gasped, eyes lighting up with the high of yet more praise. Endless imaginary compliments he could project onto any time he saw you signing around him. Effortlessly swaying his opinion of you to your favour!
Despite him completely missing the point of what you just said, you still nod. A little too exasperated to correct him and honestly relieved at how "well" this all went after assuming the worst.
At that, without warning, Caine pulled you into a tight hug! The sentiment was sweet but the close contact was unwelcome. Attempting to push yourself out of his grip, it took a lot more effort than expected to finally free yourself - enough that you needed a moment to catch your breath after all the air had been squeezed out of you! You kind of expected Caine to then vanish as he usually did after interacting with any of you, but he didn't... instead floating there just above you, looking down, hands clasped, expectantly. Maybe he wants his notepad back?
You extend the notepad towards him, but he holds up a hand in protest.
"You can keep it! Since you like my creations so much, you probably want to keep them to admire later, right?"
No. But you couldn't say that.
Not after how much you'd unintentionally raised his hopes just now! Besides, you did want to keep the notepad to draw in and help if future NPCs (or Jax) couldn't understand you. So, reluctantly, you nod again.
You wished you hadn't, in hindsight. Him trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder at every line you etched into the page on the long walk back to your room, all of that pales in comparison to how constant his presence became from then onwards. Every morning, he woke you up first. Every night, he tucked you in last (if he even did that with any of the other characters at all!). Anything he said, he expected something out of you in response. Although a few of the others tried their best to vouch for you, he wanted to hear it from you. The notepad you'd enjoyed filling with anything your heart desired was now exclusively reserved for the words Caine wished to hear and his own additions he thought you'd appreciate but didn't.
"Glad to see it looks like those parts are really starting to grow on you, Zooble!", Ragatha earnestly remarked, although the attention brought to their body was uncomfortable to say the least.
"Uh... Yeah, it's easier to sign with these... Keeps Jax from commenting on whatever me and Blip talk about.", Zooble explained quite plainly. Honestly it frustrated Zooble to no end that Pomni and Jax still hadn't bothered to learn ASL even though they already had the perfect hands for it. Wouldn't be surprising if Jax did in-fact know it so he could eavesdrop on Blip, but fain ignorance so he'd get to watch Blip humiliate themselves in a one-sided game of charades trying to talk to him. Ragatha and Gangle couldn't sign even if they tried because of their hand shape, but at least they made an effort to learn from a listening standpoint. It felt kinda nice to have someone else around who's as frustrated as they are with the form they've been given. Truth be told, the hands they'd taken to using for ease of signing really weren't their favourite. Ugly and bulky - like foam pointers crossed with those clapper toys that rattled with each motion! Still, it's worth it for some semblance of privacy in this polka-dot penopticon...
That is, whenever Caine wasn't around. Well, he was always "around" but there's a difference between knowing he's vaguely somewhere in the circus versus him hovering over them like an annoying pop-up ad for whatever next "adventure" he's cooked up. Lately though, they barely seemed to catch a break from him, not while Blip's around anyway. Trailing behind them like a weightless ball and chain. Always blabbering on in a one-sided conversation like a ventriloquist with their dummy, stuffing words in Blip's mouth they're sure they'd never say. Singing his praises about each and every adventure, and generally coming off as far more bubbly than their face could ever keep up with.
Occasionally trying to speak their mind, but with Blip's voice still busted and Caine watching their every move except their signs - Caine was as good as blind. On the bright side, it's meant that Blip could curse to their heart's content and the filter would never catch a single word! The only gestures that seemed to register for him were thumbs up or thumbs down, more or less. Giving at least the illusion of sincerity when asking for Blip's input on anything.
Whatever he saw in them, it sure kept him busy... which was fine with Zooble, since it kept him off their back for the most part. Having not been asked to join in on any adventures for a solid month by now! Some much-needed relief, even if they did feel a tad guilty that it's saddled Blip with having to effectively babysit Caine almost all hours of the day and night. Just having him pester Zooble a fraction of that time was enough to drive them up the wall! Who knows how long Blip will last at this rate... so every so often (like today) they like to check-in on blip - even if it means having to put up with Caine's company for a hot minute.
For good measure, Zooble convinced Ragatha to tag along for... moral support, they guess? Lord knows they'd need it if Blip abstracts one of these days. Caine may be able to reverse the early stages of abstraction, but you never know if that'll be enough. He can be... a lot. For anyone. But Blip? Something tells me the only reason they haven't complained yet is because they physically can't, and no doubt doesn't want that to be the only thing they did in the brief windows of peace they were granted when Caine disappeared to fully focus on making adventures. A small mercy from all this being how much his new obsession has slowed down the rate he pushed out more adventures.
Well, truth be told Ragatha begged to come along. Blip still being a newcomer has her all worked up to ease their transition into the circus. Feels like a futile ritual, knowing how it turned out for Jax, Pomni and frankly themselves and Gangle too, but they didn't have the heart to shoot down what little hope Ragatha held onto still. Bless her. At least she's trying!
Even now as they solemnly trudge their way down the corridor, the weight of players that she "failed" mounted high upon her back. Each cross they passed warping memory lane into death row. She knew none of this is her fault, right? People slip through the cracks, and you can only reach your hand so far in before you risk fall in too.
Looking over, Zooble caught a glimpse of Ragatha's dour dread dragging down her smile. Maybe they should've checked in with Blip sooner, it wouldn't feel like they'd neglected a friend. But neither of them were exactly keen to re-kindle Caine's interest in making adventures. Peace was such a fleeting thing that they couldn't help but let time slip by, just a little, to cherish it. Lord knows they needed it.
"Y'know Ragatha, if uh...", Zooble started, trailing off as they wondered how exactly to phrase this best,"...if they aren't feeling great, it's not your fault."
Ragatha flinched. Dammit, still didn't word that too well.
"What I mean is, if anyone is to blame here it's Caine. Not sure why he sought my approval for anything before, but it seems he's looking for it from Blip now and, well, he can be... a lot.", Zooble explained, though it may not have been as reassuring as they intended - given all they got in response was a weak nod.
Soon enough, they reached Blip's room. Softly, Ragatha gave a gentle knock on the door. Hesitant, they waited a second to listen for Caine's voice, hoping they were lucky enough to catch her in a moment of peaceful solitude... Seems they weren't so lucky. Caine's unmistakably bombastic voice only slightly muffled by the door. There's a fair chance they wouldn't be heard if they tried knocking unless they really put some force behind it. With a sigh, Zooble balled their "hands" into firm fists and pounded the door with all the force they could be bothered to muster. Already tired, knowing this wouldn't be a simple courtesy call and instead snowball into what felt like a long-winded, unskippable cut-scene.
Barely a second into the second knock, Blip's door flung open to reveal Caine hovering over Blip who sat stiffly on the edge of their bed, avoiding eye contact with Caine and clearly not paying attention to anything he was saying. Not missing a beat, Caine stopped abruptly mid-sentence to yank the two of them into the room. Would it kill him to move more... naturally? Better yet, stop dragging each of them all about the place like rag-dolls! This place felt uncomfortable enough to exist in without the added burden of him being able to override their limbs at any moment!
"Long time no see, Zooble! What brings you to my humble abode?", he chimed as he lowered himself to sit beside Blip on the bed. Uncomfortably close, though Blip didn't seem to mind, or if they did they didn't bother moving.
"Your humble abode? Isn't this Blip's room?", growled Zooble, their patience already worn thin.
"Technically, this whole circus is my abode so I guess that makes it amazing instead!", he said, completely missing the point as he rested an arm across Blip's shoulders,"Right, Blip?"
That physical contact seemed to finally shake you out of your trance as you flinched away from his touch. Having never quite gotten used to his presence no matter how much of a constant it had become. His monstrous maw still making your stomach churn from the body horror of it all. At least he didn't have any fangs, so him being so close like this still mostly felt uncomfortable rather than actively threatening. Still, you couldn't fathom what exactly he saw in you? At best you were seemingly a mirror to talk to himself through, and at worst... well, who knows what went on behind those beady eyes of his.
Zoning out seemed to be the easiest way to preserve your sanity. Although sometimes it lead to you getting lost in your own thoughts for better or for worse. Often "waking up" once an adventure has started or after being teleported to somewhere random. Rarely did Caine ever leave of his own accord, instead only taking the hint once one of the other humans, like Zooble, stepped in. At times, that has meant whole weeks have slipped through your fingers before you even realised it. Time barely felt real in the world you left, but now? It might as well be non-existent!
You swear you must be going mad. Each time, right before you're sure you're about to lose it, that unnatural sensation, almost like a reset, you felt back when you first arrived would flow through you like the reviving jolt of a defibrillator - followed by a moment of fitful confusion as you tried to remember where you were, disheartened to still find yourself in the circus. Did Caine... "save" you in those moments? Death seems such an abstract concept in a digital world such as this, but it really felt like each time you felt you were falling through the endless depths of your mind... Caine reached in to pull you back out. Your life in his hands, if only for a moment.
Glad for the company, you smile meekly at Zooble who signs "Are you ok? You looked really spaced out."
"I'm fine for now, please can you make him go away?", you sign back, growing increasingly aware of Caine's eyes intensely boring into you, clearly trying to read what you're signing. Having signed so many times to him before, surely he had to have picked up on some of it? You really couldn't read his expression at the best of times, but its blankness this time made your mind run wild with anxiety. Would he be angry? What would he do if he was?
Soon you got your answer...
~Wha-huh?~ you yelped as you felt the bed beneath you vanish into nothing, replaced with an endless expanse of inky black nothingness. The cellar. Why on Earth were you in the cellar?! Checking yourself over, you sighed with relief to see you hadn't abstracted. So wait... why are you here then? There beside you was Caine, and behind him a wall of frantic, glowing neon eyes. All the players who couldn't stand another day in the circus. Players like you, if you weren't careful. Looking around in a panic you saw no sign of Zooble or Ragatha, who Caine presumably left behind in the circus tent. There was no doubt, his rage was solely and squarely directed at you. Fruitlessly you flailed to flee from the cellar, from Caine, but managed only to float in a tailspin with no distance made between you and him.
Now knowing he clocked your desperate plea for help to Zooble, desperately start trying to explain yourself. Hands trembling and fumbling over themselves with each haphazard motion. Barely any coherence to your words. Nothing you signed seemed to assuage his dwindling patience, forcing you to your knees in desperation as you begged with clasped hands for mercy!
"Please Caine! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by what I said, I was just tired!", you pleaded, glitched sobs interrupting each word.
After what felt like an eternity, Caine's scowl finally softened a little to one of frustrated disappointment. "I expected better from you... I really thought you were warming up to me!", he confessed in a low tone.
...What? Was he kidding?
Speechless, you stared at him agape in disbelief. Was he really that surprised you weren't thrilled with his company when all it has ever amounted to thus-far has been you assuming the role of an overflowing receptical for his stream of consciousness. You would be grateful for all the times he's saved you from abstraction, were it not for the glaring fact that he was most certainly the primary cause of you doing so in the first place!
"Caine...", you finally still yourself enough to start signing clearly again, "...I have barely had a single day of peace since I came here. You never listen to me. All you ever seem to want from me is praise, even if it's not even real. I... I want to make you happy, but... I just can't. Not like this!"
Each word spilling like a torrent through the cracks of a broken dam. You could barely control it. Everything slipped out before you had a chance to think.
A familiar numbness started creeping into your limbs. Oh no...
You look down, only to see the beginnings of abstraction eating away at your avatar - into you. Desperately you reach for Caine, a pleading look in your eyes. Hoping, begging he would snap you back to 'normal' like he always did. Even if you always hated how it made you feel. Even if you resented the fact he was the reason you needed to be 'de-bugged' in the first place. Even though you know this will just keep happening if you returned to the circus. It's crept up to your neck now, leaving only your face unscathed.
Finally Caine slowly reached forward to cup your cheek, eyes glazed over like he was trying desperately to mentally disconnect from everything that's happening. Everything you said. Slowly, he whispered, "This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? I'm... sorry."
As he tried to let go, you grabbed his hand and pulled him back. Causing his hand to glitch slightly like a painful, powerful static shock which seemed to reverberate through the entire circus. Using his other hand, he clicked to debug it - but not you. Tears welling in his maw, he looked back at you one last time... before disappearing from the cellar, leaving you to finally abstract and be swallowed by the darkness.
Edit: Completely forgot but originally Blip was going to actually be giving feedback to Caine because they themselves were a game dev and heard about C&A and wanted to investigate it as a case study, buuuut then I kinda forgot about that and made it way more of Caine being so desperate for approval that most of it is projection and attaching himself to Blip - as opposed to genuine interest on Blip's part (as I originally meant it to be)... oops ^^'
(The fic also reads much better in darkmode so if you've read it in light mode and the banners and notebook writing look a bit off then that's why ^^')
aka Hydrogen_Purroxide @vilevv - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
