Ah...I feel so ancient. It has been nearly three years since I last wrote anything for this fandom at all... What odd memories it dredges up...(wince) It seems to mostly be a haze of bad grammar, sketchy ideas, and lack of even a hint of shounan-ai to get reviewers to stop by.

My how the seasons have changed. (The fall apple has become a cider? Hmm...sounds appropriate.)

Nyami-chan,

Consequently, due to your tender age, m'dear, your birthday gift shows a most abhorable lack of your standard mature-rated plotless fangirl fodder. (What can I say? I AM a villain after all. (smirk)) I know, I know, it's atrocious for any eighteen year old not to be writing massive, meaningless PR0N for the delight of fangirls of like ages to you and me both, Nyami-chan, but sadly, as you already know, my ability to maintain a straight face while writing undignified squeaking, shuddering, and standard euphemisms for portions of the anatomy is sadly lacking. (ahem) That and I prefer a slightly more...subtle approach...and I like to let people draw their own conclusions--hence most people think I'm quite a bit more perverse than I actually am, because innuendoes are so much easier on my already rather questionable mind than...((cough) how to put this) er...sweaty snugglebunnies? (Oh, you'd be amazed at some of the euphemisms I've dealt with... (weary sigh)) But you already knew that...

But nonetheless...I can only hope that despite the lack of truly questionable matter (if physical evidence is what you look for, at least...) you will find it enjoyable, Nyami-chan. I present to you a shared-body bronzeshipping fic. I've poured both time and soul into its crafting, so I can only hope it proves a delight to you.

Happy fourteenth birthday, "Hikari-dear." (evil smirk)

(Rishid only wishes he was getting bronzeshipping for HIS birthday...everyone knows Rishid supports S'n'M, secretly.)

Your loving "yami",

Neurofeces (aka "obseletevulture" aka "skunky" aka "Yami Marik")

As for any other possible readers venturing into this particular fandom, and my humble little corner in particular, welcome, little puppets. Pay no attention to the author's confusing, purple-prosaic prelude, simply enjoy or loathe as you please. (smile smile) And don't be afraid to drop a review--a little ego inflating never hurt anyone, right?

Story time-frame: Before Malik's landfall, so to speak. We're referring of course, to pre-blimp battle city. (ah...my childhood memories...(sigh) The many long hours I spent trying to get my face to do what Yami Marik does effortlessly...(shrug) Geek kid. Self explanatory.) We have a purple-cloaked, rod-wielding, semi-teenaged protagonist on our hands, battling his inner demons whilst caring for his own personal hygiene matters (at the least he's an admirable multi-tasker) in a slightly influenced take on how Malik's last lamentable crack-brained scheme came about.

Marik: Nyaaa! (makes a gleeful face)

Bakura: (crosses arms and scowls) Oh stop scaring the populace already. This isn't about you.

Malik: (glares) Quiet, you fool! You don't even show up!

Marik: (cakles) Ah yes, you should run of and cause yourself trouble in a back alley right about now...(grin)

Author: Er...well...actually it's a bit early for that.

Bakura: Just who are you supposed to be?

Author: Er...the author?

Bakura: the...author...

Marik: Ah, the one who brings glory to our...crackbrained schemes. (

Malik: My motorcycle!

Author: Ah! Later! Later! (waves hands worriedly)

Marik: He does go off into a back alley...

Author: Well... (eyes Bakura) I guess so...but he's just waiting for Malik's motorcycle skillz to show up.

Malik: I have motorcycle skillz right now!

Author: (hastily appeasing) Yes...well...you show them later, and-Oh Bakura, for Heaven's sakes, run off and wait in that alley.

Marik: HA! (Cackles and points)

Bakura: Bah. (sulks quietly in the background)

Warnings: Well...the rating's for the most occasional dropping of a bit of light profanity. If you are underage and feel yourself quite capable of handling a little profanity, and a little light perversity on the part of Marik, then there should be nothing to fear, really. (sighs lengthily) Fie on me for corrupting delectable little preteens...where e'er they might dwell. Ah well. If they've been in this fandom at all before me, they should know better by now, or still be dealing with guilt. Bah. Fear not, loving children. I'm mostly harmless. (grins toothily) Perhaps there is an undercurrent which adds to the rating, but that may or may not be evident to most readers, so the rating of "T" is more of a "just in case" precaution.

Begun: 1:51 AM on 6-13-07

Completed: 1:34 AM of my eighteenth birthday in fact-- 6-24-07

(This goes to show what happens when the author gets inspired--lack of sleep ensues. Also ensue a bit of marveling at the lack of life that keeps a perfectly healthy eighteen year old girl inside when she could be enjoying worldly pleasures due to fresh "legality" of all sorts of pleasurably sinful distractions.)

Bah. "Fragment (consider revising)" I mock thee.

Dedicated: (obviously) to NyamiRose. The best-sport of a Malik RPJ-er who could have ever fallen gleefully into my villainous clutches. (literarily speaking, that is.)

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Puppet

-Neurofeces

-o-O-o-

"Damn you, Damn you..." Malik hissed, clutching at his forehead wretchedly. "Leave me alone...I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone!" He screamed the last. The room swam dizzyingly as he sank to his knees, panting from his outburst and fiercely rubbing at a temple.

Mad. They'll all think I'm mad...

No. They wouldn't think anything. They were all just puppets. They didn't think anything unless he ordered them to...and indeed, he'd pushed them all away the instant he'd felt the tug of pain at his temples, the restlessness of the thing inside him. He was safe from presumptions...for now. That was for the best--it meant he could at least focus on the present problem entirely.

Once it had been his own anger, hadn't it? How could one's anger literally control them? Literally think and feel and mock...? It was impossible... And it was similarly impossible for him to keep his temper if every single one of his plans insisted on falling apart so easily--so of course, it had only been a matter of time as long as things kept going wrong...

Sooner or later it would have happened again...

Why here, and why NOW?

"Why...sh-should I?" Slurred the words from his own mouth, impossibly warped, but still somehow indignant, with a teasing, mocking edge he could hardly believe could spill from his own lips. Malik shook his head, clutching at the millennium rod for support as he gasped back air, trying to bring control of his own mouth back to him. It was more intimate than anything, more than a physical act of being spoken into by another's mouth since it used his own lips against him, forming and shaping them while his body still insisted on reporting every sensation with a shock that translated as a foreign action. It was exactly because of that strange intimacy that it felt like an act of equally strange violation--done against his will, though it always was.

"You're...never alone."

No. NO. I am NOBODY'S mouthpiece! Not the Pharaoh's, not yours--never yours

He'd long since learned that struggle on his part could tire them both...so of course he wouldn't make any instant stolen from him easy on the thing that attempted to steal it from him...but that was the least he could do as long as he still felt anger at the sensory violation, tortured by his own lips and his own warped voice merely in the act of lack of control...

"You...can't do anything for yourself, can you?" Slurred the voice again, from his own lips, the mocking edge turned almost contemptuous, as only he could truly hear the minute variations of that voice and read them for what they were--it was his own after all, wasn't it? He could feel his own lips form the sneer after all...

Malik clapped a hand over his mouth, shuddering. He felt his hand struggle to lift itself away. "Do you really think that will work?" Rebuked the voice reproachfully. "Get out." Malik snarled, wrenching his head around, and clapping the hand over a temple where he felt the strange, stretching seep, the overlap of another soul struggling to possess his body, fighting against his angry snatchings to tear it out. Anger could draw it out in him, of course, but once he was angry and it was busy, it was at his mercy--it was his body, no matter how badly that thing tried to clutch on to it and claim it as its own. His hands ached from how hard he gripped at the gold of the millennium rod. The rod could control anything...except this...except what that thing did when the rod was in its possession...

"This body is mine. You have no part in it." He snarled. The voice laughed, with his own vocal cords, his own throat. He felt the ache from having his voice warped in ways his body wasn't used to, the dull pain the laugh caused, blossoming in him. "Ah, but I do have a part in it. I want what you want. Consider me the solution..."

Malik bit his tongue fiercely, angrily, not caring that he hurt himself in doing so--he'd hurt the thing in him too. Indeed, he felt his lungs breathe in abruptly, in a surprise that wasn't his, a hand going to his mouth without him willing it and bringing out blood. He could feel the incredulity as his own eyes stared at the blood as though it were not his own..."Come now...I've really done nothing that you wouldn't." An edge of wounding now to the voice beneath the currents of rebuke and dark, wicked amusement. It always seems to laugh at me... Malik lost his patience at the words--that was an outright lie..."You killed my father." He snapped at himself, for lack of another place to direct it. He managed to stumble back to his feet, staggering.

"He hurt you." The voice replied, surprisingly simply, and almost reasonably. "That doesn't mean I'd kill him!" Malik snapped back, finally finding himself a mirror so he could look at something, and perhaps glean a little more out of the expressions he could only otherwise feel twisting his own face around. "It's not so simple as to just kill those who damage me. It's far better that they serve me and pay back their time in the shadows where they belong." Malik snapped at the mirror, aware that he would indeed look mad to anyone who chanced on him like this. But the thing in him wasn't as intelligent as he was, he knew that much. It could be controlled, and manipulated...

Because I know you...you're just a twisting on me, on my anger and cruelty, nothing more--nameless and less than human. You're a tool and a curse, nothing more.

As though Malik felt qualms about using others anyway...

Sure enough the face warped, golden symbolic eye flickering at his forehead as he stared, static prickling in his hair, though it didn't rise--already it was weakening. The lips twisted into a strange grin he didn't recognize as his own, though he recognized by now the wideness of the twist, the cruelty of the curled corners. Fingers pulled the purple from his shoulders, before he could even control his own lungs long enough to gasp in surprise, fingers touching his tattooed shoulders--fingers that were his own, and yet had an alien feel on his skin...

Despite the shock, something in him remained calm, watchful...mocking even...

If the Pharaoh doesn't control me, what makes you think you can?

Malik wrenched his fingers away, angrily. "Nothing here belongs to you! Don't you touch me!" Malik felt his own lips sneer as soon as his words left them, felt the fingers return, fighting against his commands to his own body to tear them away. "When he put this on you he created me..." Whispered the voice. Malik shuddered at his own fingers. "This part of you...is mine..." It whispered with strange urgency. Malik could see his own face tilted back towards one shoulder--as though the thing inside him thought he was somehow just standing over one shoulder, just within eyesight...

"It's the pharaoh's mark." Malik spat back, hatefully. "Not yours." Now the face set with his own alienated features soured, fingers pulling away and clenching. He could feel the set of his own teeth tight against eachother in anger, bared before the mirror. "And what has he brought you? Nothing but pain!" Spat the voice. "Painful or not, no more of me belongs to you than it does to him. You know I hate him, what would prevent my hating you as well?" Malik snapped. His own eyes seemed suddenly amazed by the triumph in his face as he said the bitter words--all his, or was it? He wasn't sure whether it was him, or the voice inside of him that marveled how alike the smiles were...

Malik turned away from the mirror angrily; his tongue was beginning to ache from where he'd bitten himself.

Suddenly the tongue itself became alien, licking his lips with a strange smile... "What would you prefer? To hate me too? I could change that, I think..." Fingers traced a line down his stomach. "This is a fine body..." It murmured. "Stop that!" Malik growled, biting his tongue again. The voice laughed quietly, once more, a hand rising to Malik's face, knowing he could feel the fingers as his own, and yet as somehow alien... "If...my protection of you doesn't convince you-" Malik wrenched control away, laughing. "Protecting me... Odd. I was under the impression that Rishid did that." The thing wrenched his face in a grimace at the other man's name. He could feel the discomfort in the thing's voice. "I could have you belong to no one then...would that please you?" The voice was teasing and low again, not waiting for a response. "You'd belong to nobody but yourself then, not the Pharaoh, not your sister, not centuries of ritual, not...Rishid..." The voice was especially contemptuous on that final name, though the fingers on his face were almost caressing as he spoke with his own twisted, warped voice...

Malik scowled and wrenched down the hand from his face, the cold of the porcelain sink digging into his back. "And not to you." He snapped back at the thing inside of him. There was laughter. "So you belong to me?" It questioned again, sounding delighted. "Never." Malik hissed. The thing in him was too pleased to argue, though, musing to itself. "You could free yourself from me as well, perhaps, though I hope not." It curled his lips into a grin. "It would be like...killing you."

Ah yes, wouldn't want to kill my personal demons, now would I? Malik thought bitterly, sarcastically.

The hand crept around his bare waist, settling fingers finally on the imprint of the Winged Dragon of Ra. Malik's head turned despite himself, to look at the backwards image in the mirror... "One by one." The voice whispered tantalizingly, smiling at him again in the mirror. "All of the gods will be put in your fingers, and the pharaoh will be gone..." The fingers crept over Ra, over Slifer, over Obelisk. Malik's other hand clenched the porcelain lip of the sink angrily. "Once he is gone...this part of you will only be mine..." Malik despite himself retorted. "What of my wanting no one over me? That would include you." The face smiled again, catlike. "I have nothing of my own, Malik. Not even a name. My existence is you...is it so much that I ask for this piece of you?" The fingers traced the lines of ink on his back: Ra, Slifer, Obelisk. "For what I could offer, is it so much to want the piece of you that created me? You would have everything, and I would be content..."

Malik shuddered despite himself, baring his teeth. "I created you--a mistake perhaps, but what's done is done. As for giving you my body--as though you deserve any piece of it--" His lips curled in a sneer. "I'd rather die." He spat. The hand dropped, face turning away from the mirror, features arranging. "...I ask for little." Replied the other voice finally, angrily. His fists suddenly clenched again. "If you will give me nothing, I will take it all!" Growled the voice, Malik angrily pushed back the forces that held his hands steady, grasping aimlessly for the razor in the sink, and brandishing it before his own startled eyes. "If you want anything, even existence, you'll do as I say!" he snapped. His fingers struggled against the alien urge to toss it away, but he managed to hold the razor firm before him as his headache worsened and again he felt the seep of battling soul from body.

"Do as you say?" Replied the voice in amusement. "I've always done, not what you say, but what you want." Malik's hands trembled as he gradually found himself overpowered, fingers loosening. "I know you best of anyone--I am you after all. A piece of you...and you certainly don't want to die..." Malik struggled. "You don't have the strength to kill yourself..." Murmured the voice soothingly. "Aside from the fact that you're far too intelligent for that...and too ambitious." Malik felt the razor drop from his fingers, and he slumped against the porcelain of the sink in an elaborate expression of defeat, knowing the thing would think him exhausted.

Sure enough, ironically soothing fingers traced his face, assuming he'd been too harsh. "Once the Pharaoh is gone...you and I will be free." Muttered the voice.

Malik twisted his lips.

I'll be free when you are dead, and the Pharaoh as well...

"No. We won't." Malik said coldly, straightening. It was like a fire...take away its fuel and it suffocated...all he had to do was purge himself of anger... "I can hardly exist with you in me as it is, and I can't have you ruining my plans." The thing in him struggled as he closed in on it, sealing it away again within himself--much harder to do without Rishid, but not impossible all he had to focus on was calm--difficult, yes, but not impossible, especially with the sea bobbing now-imperceptibly beneath him. "You can't exist without me, so you'll do as I say, or I'll destroy you."

The thing struggled for a struggled surfacing, growling in irritation as again, there was the seeping struggle, escaping from temple to temple. "If that's what you want, then I'll destroy you, and we'll see who can't exist!" It snarled. Malik sneered in reply, almost laughing outright in mockery of what it often did. "Go ahead and try. You're nothing without me, without my body, without my mind..." His own lungs hissed rapid breath as the thing struggled, fighting to overpower him one last time. He put his own hand lightly to his forehead, feeling the pulsing of the eye flickering. "You're safe though...as long as you don't struggle...as long as you do what I say."

The voice gave a final hiss. "Not what you say." It rasped. "What you want."

Malik shut his eyes. "Yes." He acceded. "...What I want." The voice gave a final hiss, fading away into dormancy again.

Malik opened his eyes, glancing in the mirror, face flat and unreadable. He gritted his teeth angrily. "What I want is to be in control. And as long as you exist..." He lowered his head, quieting, aware that the thing inside him couldn't hear him "As long as you exist...I'm not. Not fully..."

I'd like someone to turn around and say they won't do as I ask...or as I want...

He smiled faintly, humorlessly, glancing at the mirror, at the rod gleaming harmlessly against the chipped plastic taps.

If you want to be free, you won't just have to destroy the Pharaoh...you'll have to destroy me...And if you're me, then owning another person, or even a part of another person, won't be enough. You'll want your freedom...and...you'll try to destroy me in the end to gain it. It's the only thing you can do.

He shut his eyes, trickling water over his face, silently.

And if you ever realize that...and I can stop you...I'll have to destroy you before you destroy me...

He opened his eyes, smiling faintly.

Nobody's ever cared enough to try to stop me for any reason other than their own goals...You should be grateful. It's like love...nobody would ever try to destroy me to free me...you should be grateful, you foolish bit of anger.

He stared.

Or would you take on destroying me, not to free yourself, but to free me

He stared for another moment, then caught himself, with a glance at the leaking tear-like lines of black trickling down his face in the lines of gravity on his wash-water. He dried his face with a towel absently, unheeding the fact that he was leaving watery gray smears of kohl all over the towel--a fresh one would be there the next day, and he wouldn't be the one to have cleaned it, so what did he care? He wiped his eyes clean, rattling around just as automatically for fresh kohl.

No...Self-wishes would win out for you as well, in the end, just as they would for me when I destroyed you. You'd have no choice...even you with all your claims of selflessness would merely be as selfish as I am in the end...

His back gave a flash of pain and he flinched, feeling the thing moving about inside of him, like a restless sleeper...

Malik frowned, uneasily, putting his fingers to his back before he thought what he was doing.

He gritted his teeth and pulled his fingers away with a hiss of anger at himself.

Of course--nobody who could stop him would be able to stop the thing inside him... So the only thing that could stop him...

Was the thing itself...

Malik stared ahead aimlessly for a moment, blinked once, slowly, then began methodically applying black to his eyes.

He won't do it of course...Isis hates me...and Rishid's too accustomed to following me...so there's nobody...

His lips curved upwards humorlessly.

Of course he won't do it...for all his threats, he's just another puppet like all the rest. He's just a tool. Sometimes he follows me, other times I'm his puppet as he crusades in the name of my wishes.

The humorless smile faded as he stared at his reflection sourly wondering if there was even the slightest chance those eyes were being seen through by another without his knowledge.

Perhaps I can't control him like all the others...but...he still will not do anything I don't want him to...

Nothing I'd never even considered, myself, that is...

Malik frowned at himself distastefully in the mirror. The reflection scowled back.

He has no soul, and he has no will aside from what he can leech off my own.

Malik put down his hand, disgusted to find it was trembling. He scowled at it as though it might stop if he did. It didn't of course.

Simple enough to him, perhaps, to say he'd do what I "want"...I'm the one who doesn't know whether I want to be damned or saved!

His trembling fingers stopped as a thought struck him.

I do not relish having the choice made for me, either, as to which I really want...but if I do what he wants...perhaps he can be easily bartered with…easily manipulated when he feels himself secure...

He idly ran the razor half-dry over the line of pale hair struggling to survive on his upper lip, glancing to see if any stray hairs caught the light when he was finished, and running over those that had attempted escape.

Perhaps I can bargain with him…it…whatever it is...

He lifted one arm and then the other, likewise checking for hairs. Those both seemed adequate for now.

But first...I must have something it would very much want...

Several moments staring ahead provided him an answer.

"...You!" He said into the empty air, scowling. "I have something for you! A name!" The thing in him was motionless. A surge of irritation ran through him. That was enough to make it shift. "A name." He snapped. "It's what you want, isn't it?" There was another seep as his temples and he felt the thing sweep into him again. "A name?" Asked the voice, almost groggily. "Of course a name." Malik snarled. "I said that. You are Marik now. You have an identity. You are separate from me. Doesn't that please you?" He challenged. There was a low rumbling noise of contentment. "A name..." It repeated slowly in the harsh voice crafted from his own throat.

Laughter burst from his throat in a sudden near-mad motion. "Thank you. I'll cherish it." Sneered the voice. "What I want is a body, not a name." Malik crossed his arms. "And what I want is to rule. As Pharaoh." The voice hissed once at Malik's response, surprised by what was being asked of him. "I'll need more than a name to do that." Marik grumbled. "We can discuss those terms later." Malik snapped at himself.

Marik seemed to consider. "You want my power, then?" He sounded almost amused. Malik felt his own lips curl in Marik's grin. "Very well then...if you call me...Mariku." The voice--Marik--laughed again. "If you croon it like a pleasured lover, perhaps... It still wouldn't be enough, of course..." Marik added wickedly, trailing off in an unspoken "but...".

Malik gave a snort of irritation. "If it gets me what I want, I don't care. I said I would discuss other terms with you later." He spat. Marik smirked, licking his lips. "And the body?" Malik's lip twitched. "I said we would discuss it later." Marik snorted. "Thanks to you, we lost Slifer. You should not be dictating me orders just yet, Malik." Malik gritted his teeth. "You will get me Slifer then and Obelisk, and then..." he faltered despite himself. "Then you can claim this mark...Mariku." Marik curled his lips again into a grin. "Hmph. Certainly not the proper tone I had in mind...but...As you wish...then, let me put forth to you, our next plan, little Malik..."

Malik listened...to a point.

"No!" He snapped. "I will not sacrifice Rishid-" Marik interrupted him in a growl. "He looks the part. He will be a distraction. Why should he be any different than the puppets you sacrificed?"

He's my brother, that's why...

Malik swallowed hard, holding his tongue. He'd allied himself with this thing... if Rishid was the cost to his freedom...

Unease stirred in him.

He would only be acting...for one duel at the most...Nothing could possibly happen to him...

"They will be...doubtful...He may need the Winged Dragon of Ra to complete the disguise." Malik murmured, gazing at his own face in the mirror. It changed. "Not the real god." Marik snapped back at him distastefully. "You can't afford to risk our last of the gods when already you have erred so greatly against us. Duplicate the card."

Malik felt bile rise in his throat. He flinched. Duplicate one of the sacred god cards?

"Ah? You fear the god?" Marik whispered, sounding amused. "Do you doubt I can protect you?" Malik glared at the mirror. "Yes. Yes I do." He said flatly. "Were you of the power of gods, you would not still be in me, Marik." Marik curled his lips. "My name, Malik, my name--a bargain is a bargain after all." Malik hissed a breath of irritation between clenched teeth. "Mariku." He corrected in an irritated growl. The smile curved his lips a moment before he fought it down to snap "I care nothing for the Pharaoh, but I respect the gods-" Marik cut him off with a riotous laugh. "You cheat, you lie, you steal souls, and enslave bodies, and yet...you have qualms about reproducing the image of a god?" Malik's eyebrow twitched. He didn't answer. "Have your puppets reproduce the card." Marik whispered with a grin. "It matters little what happens to them, right, Malik?" Malik frowned, despite himself, uneasy. "They're just puppets..." Marik urged, sounding delighted.

Malik took in a shaky breath. "If anything happens to me, or Rishid because of this-" Marik snorted, cutting him off. "Of course, you shall cast me out to the shadows without a second thought. I know." Marik stared at him now in the mirror, teeth gleaming. "And should you fail on your half of this little bargain, this agreement between us, I do the same to you, little host."

Malik stared blankly, quiet a moment, then he spoke again.

"I will be Pharaoh." he hissed curtly. Marik laughed quietly, wickedly. "Of course, dear Malik. Of course." he purred back in turn, hands feathering over the tattooed contours of shoulderblades.

Now we see, Mariku, which puppet is first to turn and destroy the puppetmaster behind him as he realizes his path to freedom...

He tried not to notice the almost caressingly sensual hands, the satisfied laughter echoing from his own throat, but nonetheless, not under his control...

The last thing I need...is for you to tangle my strings with yours...

I'll only be free when you're in me no longer.

-o-O-o- Finire -o-O-o-

Ah yes...rather short (especially for me) with only the most implied hints of tantalizing bronzeshipping...perhaps not what Nyami-chan had in mind when she asked for bronzeshipping, but...what worked out in my mind in any event. (shrugs and sighs) C'est la vie. I can only hope is satisfies you, Nyami-chan, otherwise I can only imagine what dreadful punishments might be in store for my poor defenseless Marik character.

Marik: (cackles and stage whispers) Quite the dominatrix...

Malik: Shutupshutupshutup!

Marik: What do you expect my dear? Breakfast in bed?

Malik: (turns green) I'm a vegetarian...

Marik: (evil grin) Not anymore.

Malik: (gapes speechlessly at the perversity)

NF: (standing by grinning awkwardly in the background and taking notes)

Bloat the author's ego!

GAME OVER: INSERT COIN