Summary: 3 men, different fates, but connected strongly in one single purpose – to take revenge. Story about 'Jack the Ripper' killing in London in 1888 and different kinds of fascination; driving people… crazy! Disclaimer. Oda's.
Warnings: About all the shit I like to put in fics so much. Blood, death and sex. Don't like it don't read, but if you like it then please review.^^*
I took also many liberties as to events, people and times overall.
Written as a challenge by Lolly Dream, though I made it quite plotty and still have few more chapters in store to satisfy the lemon-lovers here and there.^^
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Bloody fascination
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1. Chapter.
Imagine beauty like no other, but not in a human flesh rather… in the things that hides underneath it.
Imagine beauty on the outside also and who is the most eager to see what's inside of him, but never dared, because he wasn't crazy enough for now to do something stupid to oneself…
But imagine when suddenly you're out and when the constricting you pretenses in this world are gone. Someone next gives you that freedom which you craved for all those years.
And no matter how you found yourself in here, and if the person dragging you to this place is sane, but… when he starts the act you can't help but enjoy sweet torture and sick pleasure he is giving you.
You crave it.
-xx-xx-
He felt hunger.
A craving so unimaginable and strong that it was a wonder he held back this long.
A sweet forbidden temptation.
A longing like some evil seed that planed itself in the very core of your heart.
At first it's just a feeling – it's there, but with time it starts sprouting. The roots are going deeper and deeper and they pollute, overcome and make your heart bend to their evil will.
That's why you follow it blindly. Not right away and not without any resistance, but… you can sense it's just a matter of time before you're gonna brake and follow this alien sensation which holds your heart captive in its icy fingers, squeezing from time to time reminding you – I'm here and you I won't go away no matter how much you fucking wish for it.
There comes a time when you don't know what to do. A breaking point that states clearly – or you're gonna follow your instinct finally or you're gonna suffer till the end of your miserable life, full of regrets 'I should've done that when I still could'. And so… here comes the time when there's not even a second option in your head anymore, you feel a sense of humiliation – I couldn't hold back anymore – but you also feel a sense of freedom which is like a high tide swallowing you whole, and finally releasing you cleaned, out of breath but immensity… happy and satisfied on some primal level that we all have hidden deep inside.
It makes you think – Why the fuck I held back for so long?! – and you realize your worries were pointless. Of course others could look at you weirdly if they knew what lays under those hooded eyes and snort at you with disgust if they knew what really makes you feel… alive.
But you stop caring for others and putting up any pretenses. He makes you realize - it's all fucking pointless if you don't do what gives you real satisfaction! And you realize it with all clarity how much you were haunted by it; by the want to feel real satisfaction, but you couldn't reach it and you're immensely grateful you met him.
He was the one who told you – throw down the knife and throw away the eating your soul alive thoughts. Live and if you help me take my revenge I'll help you take yours!
Months passed since them. You got to know him more. And you went back in time with your thoughts - he was also the one who knew you better before you even met him, kidnapped you at some point, made a deal with you, freed you, bend you to his will but at the same time gave himself to you.
Freely. Unconditionally.
And you knew…
No matter how fucked up...
It's love.
-xx-xx-
Body slicked with sweat. Straining to the point of breaking. Trembling like a leaf on the wind. Hair in disarray, plastered to the face and curling at the ends where it drank too much perspiration and was dumped so much that the bright blond color turned to the one of a wetted yellow little chicken. Eyes were clouded with pleasure and… other stimulating him things at that.
The matt ivory skin color was now reminding the polished gem when additionally poured with water and droplets of liquid were marking its path and hanging onto its surface. Arms above the head crossed at wrists and bound by white piece of sheet. Legs were bent in the knees; thin straps wrapped around them above and under not allowing him to straighten them up. He was made to crouch on the chair, his ankles bound to its front legs.
And fuck, he enjoyed it.
Being on mercy of the other.
He had yet to find the one who would make him want to give in actually. But the one sitting before him on the bed with evident smirk and hungry eyes while enjoying very much the show the blond man was presenting him, made all of the feelings inside of him totally worth it.
He basked in the angry, and totally purposeful but still teasing, submission.
Though his mind and ego felt uncomfortable in the beginning but still, his heart didn't lie. It beat so hard waiting in exciting anticipation for the next move of this sweet and evil sadist before him. Gods! Maybe some drugs were still in his system, but fuck it all, if anything more haven't happened in next few seconds he was fucking going to rip all of the bounding him things off!
Frustration from lack of outside stimulation was getting to him more and more. It was pushing his mind into the land of agonizing balancing on the blissfulness but not perfect fulfillment yet, that's why so fucking frustrating! Sweet Jesus! It was the most addicting pleasure mixed with ideal dose of pain he craved for all those years to find. But there was no man with balls and character who would dominate him, made him into the panting mess he always secretly dreamt to be made into.
And he loved it. Loved all of the things that made him crave for something unattainable, more strongly and like a starved beast. That was some kind of the sick aftertaste from those months of going hungry on the streets when he was young, stupid and rebellious. He enjoyed the moment when the 'hunger' was at its max, because when he finally got to taste the goods … it was like liquid ecstasy injected into his veins. For only those fucking maddening few second he was even capable of torturing himself.
But it was the very first time he let someone other do that to him. And his hurried breath, panting and small cut off gasps indicated in how much bliss he was in and how much more he wanted to feel…and better it be now!
"Ungh!" He voiced his frustration in an almost defeated sigh. The man came closer to him and loosened up the silencing him cloth.
"What do you want?"
"Fuuh…The exact same thing… you want to do, fucking tease," he smirked and looked into those deep dark eyes boring into his own blue one and he poured whole of his intent into his look and said in a low voice resembling more animalistic growl. "…So you could fuck my brain's out!"
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3 months earlier
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On the hard stony surface laid there young man.
Chill was slowly but surely spreading over his body though the thin piece of sheet that was draped on something frighteningly reminding a tombstones and giving him only a false impression of warmth and coziness.
How the fuck did he found himself there was beyond his comprehension at the time. And also he assured himself when he would finally put two and two together he'd gut the fucker who left him there on something frighteningly reminding a fucking tombstone.
He saw enough of them to realize what he had under him without needing to make sure some more and that's why he was sitting there rigid and unsettled by the discovery.
Between streets aux Fers and de la Ferronnerie in Paris on the le Cimetiere des Saints-Innocents closed now few decades ago there were many tombs, with stony coffins and the body of the dead inside as he has once seen on his very own eyes, unfortunately.
It was many years ago when he was young and often run away from his home suffocated by people who lived there or just existed for the sole purpose of gaining information, position, blackmail material. There wasn't a fight for throne anymore, nation revolted somehow fed up with their lords and took ruling in their very own hands and for many years 'the Louisette', meaning the guillotine was one of their main attractions or pass times in Paris and was put often to use mainly for criminals and for those who opposed the new order.
People were kind of used to death. To see it happening publicly before their very own eyes, not sparing the royalty or also the silent death, behind the closed doors of their houses. Though the public executions weren't done on a large scale anymore, but the memory stayed with people.
If people could get used to the sight of poverty so the dead bodies are no exception. Since Gallo-Roman days, for many centuries on the Cemetery of Innocents were buried generations of Parisians. Almost 2 mln people were buried there already and when some of the crypts collapsed and the stench of putrefaction and the danger of epidemics were so great that people not protested but revolted… it was closed. But when he was a kid he hid there few times from searching him royal guards and he remembered that one peculiar day till now.
He was sitting for 2 hours with a dead body of a skeleton who looked like he was laughing. It was unnerving, especially since the skull had a wig or it were still roots of hair sticking to the bone and making the skull look ridiculous. He later remembered the name and date engraved on the tombstone. Year of death 1838, at the age of 33, monsieur Brook Bones. Though it wasn't pleasant memory but he couldn't help but laugh on the coincidence of the name and the picture of bones before him.
He wasn't a person of a faint heart, but it made him squirm in his place knowing that probably someone's remains are laying under the thick stone, he was sitting at the moment, and ready to jump out in a surprise. Like some Zombies. Not like he believed such exist, of course, and he even preferred them than those hairy and leggy little monsters. He turned around and cast a look around him searching for the clues if they're anywhere near him, but he didn't saw any even faint spider's web and he sighed relieved.
You may wonder why he was so focused on the place where he woke up, but he was unable to go anywhere else, because of light shackles bounding his wrists and not giving him enough range of movement. They were long enough to let him sleep there peacefully, but he couldn't stand up because they were impaled next in the stone wall not far from him.
It's been good few minutes since he woke up in this place. He opened his eyes to find that it was sunset as he gazed at the curtains that blew with the wind. He wiped the rest of the sleep from his eyes and sat up, noticing by the size of his room that he was no longer at his place in his manor.
He sat there in confusion and shivered when he felt the cold prick his from the opened window. The whole shitty room felt like ice. He froze as he realized he is wearing his night shirt and a pair of cotton trousers he used to push them into high leathered boots, though now they were nowhere to be found and he was at the same time without his weapon.
He remembered now: he remembered briefly waking up when someone grabbed him, and quickly falling back to sleep. He remembered smelling something sweet and unnatural. Chloroform… The lingering groggy headache and nauseous feeling in his stomach were enough to confirm it.
Merde! (Shit!) He'd been kidnapped!
The sun had nearly set, and the room was dim with nothing but a few candles lighting it.
He swore quietly and bent one knee, sliding one bare foot up the cotton sheets he was lying on.
He sighed irritated.
"Where the hell am I?"
"I brought you to my place. Temporary one, but it's good than nothing." The voice was heard from the inside of the room.
He looked up, trying to find the origin of the voice. He turned his gaze to the window, thinking inwardly that he was possibly the reason the window was open. "What the hell do you think you're doing bringing me here in the middle of the fucking night and making my ass freeze to death, batard (bastard) ?! ...Wait. Your voice…Do I know you?"
"What a mouth on you, Prince Sanji of Bourbon, or do you prefer to be called - Duke of Burgundy?" a gruff voice mused from beside him.
The said man froze entirely and took in a deep breath.
It was supposed to be a secret he stayed in London, so how the hell did the man recognized him?! He even went as far as cutting his hair and reverting its color to blond one making sure he won't be recognizable anymore…so pourquoi (why) ?! Slight panic started to form inside of his heart, but it soon was replaced by anger that someone must have sent a private detective after him and somehow the bastard got lucky and recognized in him a former duke from France who's been missing since few months ago.
The curtains suddenly blew more air in and the man decided to close the window seeing Sanji shivering lightly but still visibly. He closed it and then proceeded to do the same with curtains but only half way so the light of a surfacing shinning moon won't irritate them, but give a pleasant mystery shine around.
"I'm sure you've got a lot of questions to ask, but know I mean no harm… And yes, we've met before. I'm surprised you could sense it by only the sound of my voice. Let me heat the furnace. As a doctor I wouldn't want anyone to catch a cold when I'm present." The smirk and slight mocking tone was evident in the speech, but there was also a playful familiarity that made Sanji frown at his lack of recognition as to who is this bastard and what does he wants from him.
The man dressed in black approached the almost extinguish fire and placed a few pieces of wood over the half-extinguished flames. He made sure the fire won't die down and satisfied turned to the bound blond man and showed to him his face.
"Do you remember me now?'
Sanji was speechless for a moment, because yes he fucking recognized the man, but why the hell the other kidnapped him and what for, was making him more unsettled than the discovery who it was alone.
"Doctor Law. I remember you." He stated it like it was obvious, but the wariness could still be heard in his voice.
"Hn, yes. Quite the peculiar circumstances connected us when we met for the fist time," said the doctor while making himself comfortable on the chair in front of the Duke Sanji, "though I was greatly saddened by your disappearance thinking something happened to you, but I'm glad my worries were unfounded." He looked at Sanji's pale skin and bright blond color remembering how he looked good few years ago when he still wore them long and dark, but he thought those blue, piercing eyes along with blond hair really fit him. He was interrupted with his ogling by suave words of this French aristocrat.
"Hmph, C'est des conneries (that's bullshit). I appreciate greatly your help back then, but I won't let myself be engaged in any shady dealings if that's what you want to talk about judging by your lack of manners and kidnapping your guest while saying 'I mean no harm'." Came the mocking reply only slightly painted with French accent, but the blond's tongue was more quicker and trained than that of a lizard. Law smiled to himself at the comparison. He wondered briefly what other uses would be of such sharp and unforgiving mouth. But as soon as the thought planted inside of his head he pushed it to the back of his mind to consider it later…and at more appropriate time.
"Hm, your duel with monsieur Jabura was indeed quite the show considering the highest elite was present at the party. Though I'm not surprised it was all hushed up, but I don't think anyone would believe at that time that it's you who would be victorious. Delicate flower of the—"
"Ta gueule! (shut up!). Je m'en fou…! I don't give a fuck about what others think about me!
I'm not some sickly princess who needs to be taken care of and the bastard had it coming after trying to beat up my friend and scaring my…"he suddenly stopped and in less aggravated fashion and ended the sentence with something akin to defeated fondness, barely heard above the whisper "lady… lady Nami."
Law observed closely every facial expression on Sanji's face and every gesture he made. That was it, he mused to himself. The same defeat in the eyes he saw in the man before him, previously one of the most wanted parties in France and presently a run away, he thought he reminded him of himself just about those many months ago. But it was different now, because he wasn't full of uncertainties anymore – he knew what he had to do to relieve himself from feeling like this and for that he needed to gather more people who would help him along the way to accomplish it.
That's why he started searching for such people, like long forgotten acquaintances who owed him and the perfect person fitting as his right hand or more like partner in crime – was the Duke of Burgundy who not long ago lost his fiancé due to unfortunate accident.
But that was the story newspaper "La Justice" has written, the truth was she was killed by one of the figures who had enough power to swipe the case under the carpet and put it under the complete case file. The anguish Sanji must have felt Law understood very well, he also had a unsolved matters that according to law were as good as finished, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he got the fucker who murdered his friend - Jewelery Bonney, nurse at the London's Hospital and one of the closest people he knew.
"What would you do…"he paused at that letting the words hung in the air between them and making sure Sanji was focused on his words instead of self-loathing 'I should have been there'.
Law sighed deeply. Now to the hard part. He pulled a large case file along with the key to the chains and threw them both into the hands of the blond man who caught it swiftly but with slight surprise in his eyes which soon turned to shock when he heard the next words falling from Law's lips.
"What would you do if I told you I knew the person who killed Nami Mikan?"
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London, 8h September 1888.
Rain poured down, sometimes followed by fog and chilly air, in other words it was typical weather in capital of England. It was nothing unusual at this time of a year – in islands of Great Britain it was not unusual in any season to be exact.
The streets were plain and dirty, the same could be said about most of the people living there, of course those from poorer parts of the city. But overall London was dominated by darker and less catching colors making the weather give the scenery even more depressing look than it was in reality. But people can get used to anything like times often showed that.
Put them under harsh circumstances and they'd even bring out more of a sleeping and hidden potential than if they were having an easy and free life; full of bright colors and fresh sheets every night to sleep on.
Maybe that's why the country with gray and gloomy weather rose to be one of the leading and most advanced ones on whole world. Harsh environments could push people to their limits and made them dream. And bigger the dreams and ambitions followed by 'what do I have to loose?' attitude can crumble all walls.
And such people go and conquer the world.
The big one by volunteering and engaging in the events for glory of the Kingdom and also by doing something new and creative in the small world round their own living place in close society.
But there's also stagnation. What happens to those who have no money, no education, nowhere to live or no one who will hire them? Propaganda in Old World made large masses of people go to New World blinded by the dream of freedom, free land and wealth. So you could say the natural selection took place through all those few centuries since the America has been discovered. I wouldn't go that far and say the ambitious ones left their homelands in search for adventure, because those ruthless, cruel and conceited also went there to make lots of money by tricking others.
Survival of the fittest.
But no matter what country or land, people are the same, only the language they speak with differs, because their fears and wants are the same.
For instance - everyone fears death.
And for 3 months in 1888 fear and panic stalked the streets of London's East End...
Whitechapel in the East End was like a festering sore on the face of Victorian London in the late 19th century. The overcrowded population lived in hovels, the streets stank of filth and refuse and the only way to earn a living was by criminal means, and for maybe women, prostitution.
But it was a very risky job, to say it lightly, at the time. The victims of a serial killer called by people Jack the Ripper were all prostitutes. But there was probably no man or woman who didn't fear to walk on the roads of East End at night.
People were scared.
Rightfully so, because the next thing they were wondering about was… who would be killed next if Jack the Ripper's tires of killing whores? Chill was running down everyone's bodies in that time. Please God, don't let it be me or my children! – everyone must have thought.
"Daily News! Daily News! Shocking reports! The body of Jack's the Ripper second victim was found! Only in Daily News! ...Buy now!"
People were dying to know more. To see it with their own eyes that it was true and who was it this time and maybe to regain a little hope seeing if by any chance the police managed to get any clues, but it was all in vain, because the serial killer wasn't stupid to let himself be identified so easily.
And so 3 months of anxiety begun.
People were unsettled and their thoughts constantly went to the disturbing news. But life must go on and they needed to make a living somehow too even with the constant fear for their lives, but if they haven't made money somehow they wouldn't be able to eat. And so they went to do every day's routine.
On the road splashed into a puddle lay one of the many newspapers with headlines saying about the first 6 Football League matches are played in England, and the body of Jack the Ripper's second victim, is found.
Her body was found in a passageway behind 29 Hanbury Street, her few possessions laid next to her body, head was almost severed and her stomach torn open and pulled apart. Sections of skin from the stomach lay on her right and left shoulder, a mass of intestines. Part of her vagina and bladder had been carved out and taken away.
Reading all the macabre details made the single thought circulate over and over inside of the citizens of London. Who would to be next…?..God save us all…
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Side note: Today's the 66th anniversary of the heroic act of people - Warsaw Uprising. A struggle by the Polish resistance organization, the Home Army, to liberate Warsaw from Nazi German occupation during World War II.
Over 85% of the city was destroyed by January 1945, when the Soviets entered the city. 63 days of fighting by civilians without any help from Western Allies. The Home Army desired a pro-Western, democratic Poland, but the Soviet leader Stalin intended to establish a communist, pro-Soviet regime against the democratic wishes of my people.
150,000–200,000 civilians killed, 700,000 expelled from the city.
"God, honor and Fatherland" - Glory to the Heroes.
Warsaw – The City of Ruins – you can watch the first digital reconstruction of the destroyed city on (only trailer for now)
Some of you may also know Sabaton – Swedish power metal band they sing in English especially about the events of II WW. They wrote two songs about Polish Spartans and their sacrifice – "40:1" and "Uprising".