#[[ there it is. youre welcome. i suffer for you ]]

[harunayuuka2060]

Cater: I think MC has an admirer.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: Excuse me?

Cater: I mean, they're lowkey cute, y'know?

Cater: Sure, they've got a weird appetite, but that can still be charming for others.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: Who is it?

Cater: Silver.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: No. That's not possible.

MC: *their hands got spiked by the hedgehog, and they're still holding it*

Silver: ...

Silver: Are you okay?

MC: Would it hurt him if I try to pull my hand out of his spikes?

Silver: ...

Silver: Both of you will suffer from pain.

MC: ...

MC: Oh. *to the hedgehog* I'm sorry, little fella.

Silver: Were you trying to hunt him?

MC: No. Hedgehogs are protected species, right? Even if he looks good to eat—

The hedgehog: *makes soft, irritated noises*

Silver: Pft— *chuckles*

Silver: Let me help you. Father will be worried if he sees both of your hands bleeding.

MC: Okay! Thanks, Silv!

Silver: ...

Silver: *smiles* You're welcome.

[ariaste]

Anatomy PSA for IWTV fic writers

The femoral artery runs deep, closer to the thigh bone, so I don't think you reach it with vampire teeth unless you, like, chew through probably more than an inch of muscle.

When you are having your vampires sexily biting each other on the inner thigh, they are more likely going for the great saphenous vein. Illustration from wikipedia -- the great saphenous vein is the blue blob on the right hand side

Ur welcome Signed, I did research on this for a fic once and now I bear the burden of knowledge and suffer accordingly

[pitchsidestories]

under the mistletoe II Ellie Roebuck x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2032

summary: With a little help of Ellie's and Reader's Barcelona teammates a near kiss on Ellie's return to the pitch turns into a real kiss at the team's Christmas party.

author's note: Dear readers, we hope you had a wonderful Christmas, whether you celebrated it or not. Enjoy reading ! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

19 months had passed since Ellie had suffered a stroke, there were days the English goalkeeper believed she wasn’t able to make her return in goal, but her will was stronger and tonight marked her emotional return.

Ever since the blonde joined Barcelona in the summer, you witnessed her achievements as well as her struggle first hand. Both of you were in recovery together for different reasons, yet it made you bond over the similar situation.

As the season changed from summer to autumn, you went from being regular teammates to friends. Now that winter had arrived in Spain, you wondered whether the two of you could be more for each other.

The football game against Real Betis turned out to be a solid win for Barca with Esme, Caroline and Ona scoring.

Much to your own dissatisfaction, Pere substituted you at the end of the game. He told you he didn’t want to risk anything after your recent comeback but was happy with your performance. 

The words of your coach calmed you down a bit while you sat down to watch the rest of the game including the only goal from a Sevillian player. The team celebrated it like their own little win, immediately your eyes went to look for Ellie’s reaction who was clearly frustrated by it.

Nonetheless, it was a win that meant so much more because the goalkeeper had returned to the beautiful game she loved so much.

After the game officially ended you immediately ran on the pitch to jump into Ellie’s open arms. “Congratulations, babe. We're all so proud of you,’ you whispered in her ear, ignoring the fact that your lips were almost touching her in a perfect kiss.

The English woman beamed at you: “Thanks.”  Her face literally lit up and competed with the beauty which were the glowing and colourful windows inside the Sagrada Família. For a moment both of you forgot you were still surrounded by people until Kika reminded you.

“Move over, we want to hug Ellie too!”, the Portuguese forward chuckled amused.

Slightly embarrassed, you release yourself from her embrace, feeling your cheeks turn fiery red at her comment.

Many team-mates followed the striker and hugged the goalkeeper, who responded with a warm smile and said thank you, girls.

” You’re welcome, we've been waiting for this moment, and it hasn't disappointed us”’ replied Kika in a friendly tone

Curious, Keira asked her friend, whom she had known for so long at this point: “How does it feel to be back?”

“Unbelievable. I'm glad I can share this with you in the team too”, Ellie replied gratefully, hugging her sideways, knowing that the older midfielder wasn't so keen on physical affection.

Nevertheless, Keira was incredibly touched by the significance of the moment they were able to experience together: “You deserve to be here on the pitch again after all you’ve been through.”

“Stop it, Keira, or I'll cry”, the younger English woman warned the older one, tears of joy already forming in her blue eyes.

“Oh, sorry, don’t cry, please.”, the midfielder begged.

To save this situation, you suggested: “What about a group hug and no more tears for tonight?”

“Promise.”, Ellie said as the team hugged each other tightly to celebrate her return once more.

“Good.”, you nodded satisfied.

The wholesome moment was only interrupted by Mapis voice: “Girls? Don’t forget about the Christmas team dinner!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there.”, you promised as you all finally started to let go of Ellie again.

The blonde goalkeeper smiled: “Yes, I will convince Keira to join us.”

Her lionesses teammate cringed at that: “I hate Christmas parties.”

“But you love me, so…”, Ellie blinked at her innocently.

Keira knew she couldn’t disagree so she just groaned: “Ugh.”

“Count us all in.”, you laughed before you all started heading towards the dressing room to change. One by one, they all started to leave the stadium until only Mapi and Ingrid were left.

“Ingrid, you noticed that earlier too, right?”, Mapi asked impatiently, once the door fell shut behind Irene.

The Norwegian nodded: “Of course, amor.”

A smile spread on the Spanish defenders face: “I have a plan.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes.”

“Tell me.”

Mapi just shook her head with a conspiratorial smile: “You will see. Let’s go buy some mistletoes for the Christmas dinner.”

“Mistletoes? I think I know what you have planned now.”

“It’s the season of love after all.”, Mapi winked.

“And we saw that they almost kissed on the pitch.”, Ingrid added.

“Exactly. Now let’s go, we have to prepare everything.”

When you arrived at Mapis and Ingrids apartment, the Christmas party had already started. Most of your teammates were already there, standing in the middle of the room with drinks in hand. It looked like Mapi and Ingrid had to move some of their furniture to accommodate the number of football players they hosted.

You immediately spotted Ellie standing to the side, talking to Kika.

“Hi.”, you greeted your teammates.

The goalkeeper quickly pulled you into a hug: “Hey. You look pretty.”

“Thank you. I love your outfit.”, you replied politely but truthfully.

“Thank you.”, Ellie smiled back. “Who hung up all those mistletoes?”

You followed Ellie's gaze to the ceiling, where sprigs of mistletoe hung at regular intervals.

“Mapi? Ingrid?”, you suggested with a shrug but you also couldn’t hide how impressed you were with their decorations. They really went all out for the Christmas dinner.

As if she had been waiting for it, Mapi appeared on your side with a smirk: “Oh, don’t you two know what tradition wants from you?”

“We do but we’re not standing under one.“, Ellie replied laughing.

You nodded in agreement: “Exactly.“

Mapi raised one eyebrow at both of you: “At least you know, in case you find yourselves under one.“

Keira stood with her back to the wall, studying the parasitic plants above her with wide eyes: “I’ll make sure I won’t move for the entire evening to avoid standing underneath them then!”

“And how are you going to get your food?”, Ellie asked, her warm laughter filling the air.

The English midfielder replied with an embarrassed smile: “Well.”

“I can bring you some.”, the goalkeeper offered then gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Thank you,’ Keira muttered, incredibly grateful for their friendship, which has lasted since their time together at Manchester City. 

Still smiling the blonde answered: “You’re welcome.”

“When’s the dinner ready? I’m getting hungry?”, Kika changed the topic swiftly.

“It should be done by now.”, Mapi and her girlfriend quickly left their seats and went into the kitchen to fetch the festive meal that everyone was waiting for. Inside there was a buffet there every guest could get what the heart desired.

Just outside the door, the Spaniard stopped and looked up at the ceiling with a dreamy expression on her face. With a mischievous grin on her lips the defender added: “Oh, look, Ingrid. A mistletoe right above us.”

Ingrid’s green eyes lit up with amusement: “You’re such a dork, Maria.”, the Norwegian mumbled into the older woman’s ear before kissing her despite the teasing comment.

 “You love it.”, Mapi observed confidently.

Her younger girlfriend admitted: “Maybe a little bit.”

“Want to get some food too?”, Ellie turned her face towards you beaming.

You nervously push a loose strand of hair behind your ear before answering: “I do, but the mistletoe.”

“We can avoid them.”, the blonde offered conspiratorially with a wink.

“How boring!”, Mapi threw in.

 Ignoring her teammate's words, Ellie stood up and took your hand as you followed her: “Come on.”

“You can go first and then I’ll follow you. Oh, uhm sorry.”, you apologized with heated cheeks while you stumbled into the goalkeeper who caught you without a problem, but now the mistletoe was hanging right above you, waiting for the next act to unfold.

You both didn't see that Keira was the one who was inconspicuously pushing you. Later in the evening the midfielder would explain her reasoning behind it to bring you figural speaking closer together.

In the present moment Keira waved it off nonchalantly: “Don’t worry about it.”

“‘Well, you know the tradition, I guess we...”, began Ellie, her cheeks colouring slightly pink as she felt all her teammates’ eyes on the two of you.

A gentle reminder came from your lips: “I mean no one’s forcing us to.”

“I’m aware of that, but what if I want to do it.” Much to your own surprise, she made this quiet confession, which rekindled the sparks between them.

“Maybe, I want it too.”, you agreed flustered.

A shy smile spread on Ellies face: “Close your eyes.”

Without hesitation you did as you were told, waiting patiently for what would happen next. You almost flinched when Ellies lips lowered down on yours with the softest touch. You didn’t dare open your eyes, in case she might stop.

Only when Ellie finally pulled back after what felt like minutes, you finally blinked and found yourself too close to her face. She studied you in anticipation but you had no words except for: “Oh wow.”

“That was…”, Ellie started, clearly unsure how to put her own feelings into words.

“Absolutely delicious. Can I have another taste?”, you asked with an innocent smile.

The goalkeeper nodded happily: “Yes, maybe in the kitchen without all those eyes staring at us?”

You couldn't help but notice the slight blush on her cheeks.

“Okay.”, you agreed and followed her into the kitchen, ignoring all the other mistletoes on your way.

“Ellie, don’t forget my plate!”, Keira called after the two of you.

The goalkeeper shrugged and continued her way: “Sorry, I have to go.”

Keira pouted from the other side of the room: “Rude.”

“Young love, what are you going to do about it, right?”, Mapi grinned as she joined the midfielder leaning against the wall.

Ingrid appeared on Keiras other side, handing her a drink: “Thanks for your help, Keira. They really needed that push in the right direction.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kika held a plate out to her: “Here, Keira.You can have a bit of my food so you don’t have to starve because of those two lovebirds.”

“Thanks, Kika.”, Keira smiled, gratefully accepting the offered food.

“No worries.“

While your teammates stood outside gossiping, you and Ellie were alone in the kitchen. Every surface was covered with food or bottles but you didn’t mind. It was just you and her and no one else.

“So when did you first-…”, you started but stopped immediately when you realized that Ellie said the same thing at the same time.

“No, you go first.”, she insisted.

You cleared your throat before replying: “I’m not sure when it was. But I like your vibe and how positive you are even with everything going on.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“I just have so much… love and respect for you.”

“And I loved that you didn’t pity me. You just welcomed me with open arms. And I like that you don’t hate it when I take photos of everything and that you’re able to just enjoy the moment as it is.”, Ellie answered, surprisingly passionately.

“You’re so sweet, Ellie.”

You watched her face suddenly light up with a smug smile: “And you know what they say about me. I’m a keeper.”

The joke came so unexpected that you started to giggle: “Then I’d like to keep you in my life.”

It was Mapi who softly knocked against the kitchen doorframe to receive both of your attention. “Hey, just letting you two amantes know that we’ll start playing games soon.”, she informed you with a wide grin on her lips.

Ellie quickly promised: “We’ll be there soon.”

“Perfect.”, the Spaniard nodded in satisfaction.

Innocently, you placed a finger under the taller woman’s chin so that she had to look into your eyes when you said: “You know, Ellie, I think there’s another mistletoe right above us.”

“Looks like I’ve to kiss you again.”, the goalkeeper replied happily.

Her lips felt incredibly soft against yours as they met in a tender kiss.  Warming both of your hearts on a cold December evening.  

Christmas/Winter Oneshots

if you enjoyed this story reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated !

[heich0e]

The troops file into the capital city in a slow, splintered march.

What's left of them, anyway.

It's a stark, bitter difference to the way they'd filed out a fortnight prior, dressed in full regalia and their heads held high as they set off to serve their people under the eye—in the name—of their king. The same king who watched on placidly from the palace's main gate as their procession filed past, a sight that only made the soldiers' valour swell as they marched away into battle.

Compared to that departure, with its fanfare and optimism, this seems almost a different group of men entirely.

And their beloved king is nowhere to be seen.

You're the only member of the royal family, or even the higher court, who witnesses the return of the troops at dusk. Pressed against a pillar near the gate, bathed in shadow, you watch the men trudge past the palace towards the military armoury on the other side of the city with your breath caught in your throat.

It's quiet as they pass, just the sound of boots shuffling lethargically over cobblestones, and the occasional warble of pain from one of the sick or injured. The city hasn't come to welcome them home. You wonder if these broken men are grateful for it.

Towards the end of the short procession, a sudden incident causes the group to slow. A soldier has collapsed to the ground, the few behind him stumbling over his pitiful figure, cursing at him as they go. You watch a few men kick the already suffering man, whether by accident or maliciously you can't be sure. The small, wounded man rolls onto his side, and you catch a glimpse of his face in the waning light.

You gasp.

"Stop. STOP!"

You throw open the gate before you, rushing out into the street.

There's confusion for a moment in the wake of your exclamation, but as the group of soldiers realize just who is racing towards them—the hood of your cloak falling back in your haste—they freeze in shock. The men drop (at least as much as they're able) to their knees when you reach them.

You crouch over the supine body in the street, your heart in your throat.

There's blood on his lips and up close you can see it's staining his shirt at the base of his throat, an unsightly rust brown streaked with fresh crimson. Old blood dried and wetted again with new. He's either ill, or gravely wounded—possibly both—but you can tell he's been coughing up blood for days.

You try your best to ease his head into your lap without harming him, bringing him to rest upon the pillow of your skirts rather than the filthy stone of the street.

"Your majesty..." you look up at see a higher ranking officer dismounting his horse hastily, his face stricken with fear. He dips in a stiff bow. You can't help but notice how unharmed he appears. "Whatever brings you—"

"This soldier—" your voice breaks, and you pause to suck in a breath. You run a hand across the face in your lap, wiping some blood from his lips with the edge of your sleeve, and take a moment to collect yourself. You look up at the officer again, meeting his gaze resolutely. "He's just a boy."

The officer looks shocked; less remorseful than he does guilty.

"He's a foot soldier, your majesty... there are many young men his age who serve the—"

"He is not a young man. He's but a boy. A child."

It's true, the figure you cradle in your arms is a boy no more than twelve, his body slight in every way but for the baby fat still clinging to his bruised cheeks. The child groans, still clinging to consciousness by its final fraying threads, and more blood trickles from the side of his split lips.

You hold him closer, patting his cheeks again, unsure of how else you can possibly soothe him.

"What's wrong with him?" You ask the increasingly nervous officer above you as whispers begin to circulate amongst the surrounding troops.

"H-he's... the battle was... our enemies outnumbered us."

"Is he injured?" You press, unsatisfied with his reply. "Or has he taken ill?"

"I-" The officer stutters. Looking around for support from any fellow soldiers, though none come to his aid. "He's—"

"His name, then?" You ask again, your fury growing. If this commanding officer cannot relay the details of this soldier's health, the least he can tell you is this.

The officer struggles to meet your gaze.

"Your highness—"

A familiar voice sets your teeth on edge, bile creeping up your throat.

You turn your face towards the side gate of the palace where you'd previously been hiding, and see a crowd of household staff watching you with their hands over their mouths in dismay at the impropriety. Before them stands Geto, with that same infuriatingly even expression on his face he always seems to wear. A smile with no warmth behind it.

"—whatever are you doing out at this time of night?"

You say nothing, your teeth locked together under the vice of your jaw.

You cradle the boy in your arms closer to you.

"The king will grow worried if you do not soon return to your quarters," Geto goes on to say, stepping slowly towards you.

The king.

The man Geto Suguru and every one of these brutalized men serve.

Satoru.

"Take this boy to see the court physician," you tell Geto.

"The military doctors are highly skilled, your highness," the advisor standing over you replies, still smiling blithely. "All of our soldiers are in their expert care."

"I want him to see Shoko," you repeat yourself, your voice trembling not with fear but with indignation.

"Shoko is unable to see to this soldier," Geto replies easily, brushing off your request again. "She's traveling north at present, and will not return for at least three nights."

"I want him to see our doctors," you hiss through your teeth. "He needs to be seen."

"Your highness," Geto crouches down to your eye level. Your hands shake as you hold the boy in your lap. "There is no help that our doctors can offer this young man any longer."

You look down, and feel a rush of nausea.

The boy in your arms has gone utterly, terribly still.

It's all a blur after that.

Other soldiers gather around, prying the boy from your unwilling grip. You're helped up off the street, wracked with tremors that threaten to ground you again, and a touch—heavy and unpleasant—supports you at your side.

There's blood drying to your hands. To your sleeves. To the rustling fabric of your skirt.

Inside the palace, the staff who had watched the ordeal unfold all quickly scatter, scandalized whispers spreading in their wake. There's not a corner of the palace that will not know what's just transpired by the time the sky goes fully dark.

Geto stays by your side as he escorts you back to your quarters, his hand still at your waist, treading slowly down the sumptuous halls of the palace. Bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight, you can feel the cold, crystalline eyes of the royal portraits which line the walls watching.

"Unhand me."

Your voice is flat when you find it again, but it still rings clear without waver.

Geto obeys your command, his touch slipping from your waist as he takes half a step back from your side.

"Your maids are preparing a bath for you, your highness," Geto's tone is far too conversational for the circumstances. Too silky for the tackiness of blood between your fingers. Too gently for how rubbed raw you feel. "A doctor will be by shortly after to offer you a sleeping remedy."

"I do not need a doctor," you reply, a lump forming in the back of your throat and bitterness coating your tongue. "That boy is the one who needed aid, and was denied it."

When Geto says nothing, you stop walking and turn to face him.

"Take me to see the king."

Just for a moment, the man before you's expression slips. His smile falters.

"The king is—"

"Suguru," you cut him off before he has the chance to make an excuse. Before he has the opportunity to deny you something you did not ask. "Take me to see my husband, now."

[s0fter-sin]

idk why it wouldn’t let me answer this @kissmesharman but i absolutely love this, ghost not knowing how to process his omegan traits, to allow himself to be the one who is vulnerable and be protected instead of protecting is so ‼️ being soft, being open and accepting always came with consequences; it was always met with pain and betrayal and you only have to learn a lesson so many times before it sticks

the insidious ways roba and his ilk tried to force him into complacency, using their pheromones and rumbling and scruffing to trick his instincts into submitting- all they did was make ghost bury his omega so deep inside, he almost laughed at the irony of his own burial. even after he’s exhumed, he doesn’t hear it for years; naturally doesn’t heat even without suppressants, doesn’t purr, doesn’t feel that innate safety an alpha’s presence is supposed to bring

just being near other designations calms you down, whether they’re family, pack or even strangers thrown together in too-cramped barracks. it levels out your hormones, gives you people to act your instincts out on, and it’s never a surprise to walk into the cherries’ barracks and find them all tucked inside the resident omega’s nest; discordant purrs and chuffs layering over each other, too-big feet tangled together, still young enough for the milky smell of pup to cling to the edges of their scent especially clumped together like this. a lot of them won’t make it through selection, won’t find pack in each other but it’d be cruel to strip them of this simple comfort

ghost hasn’t stepped inside a nest in almost a decade

hasn’t felt the desire to build up softness and safety, to spread that feeling of home to the 141 even after he admits to himself that they’re pack. even after months of rejection - growling at soap’s happy chuffs whenever he saw him, pumping off bitterly aggressive pheromones to drown out gaz’s pack?home?safe?good? scent until he knew the beta felt sick with the sour poison, avoiding price whenever he was in pre-rut despite it being the most tempting and warm time of year for an omega to be near an alpha, those days before the terrible need when alphas are all affection, rut drunk with the happiness and safety of pack - they still welcomed him with open arms and bared necks as if he were a second pack alpha and not an omega

he’ll posture and loom over any unfamiliar presence, anyone that could potentially be a threat to his pack; his growls a thunderous undercurrent that shakes the very ground and makes anyone who hears it submit on instinct. soap and gaz happily submit to him; almost vibrating in place when he scents them, enduring their appeasing nibbles and licks at his hidden mouth, falling to heel whenever he decides to take over a situation. price shows it in other ways; nose blind after too many breaks and too many cigars, he lets ghost gentle him when his stress reaches its peak, hangs his head and just breathes as ghost threads his fingers together and cups them around his neck, squeezing his scent glands with his palms. ghost bumps their temples together and they’ll just stand there until the burnt scent of tension leaks out of the air

they’re not shy with their submission until most people just assume ghost’s an alpha based purely on the actions of his pack

they’ll never point it out, but the 141 has never suffered for lack of a pack nest. bc ghost unknowingly makes individual nests wherever they go

he’ll push soap into the comfiest sofa cushion after scoping out a safe house, tug gaz’s jacket straight when he uses it as a pillow and eye mask in one, pace in front of the bedroom price claimed to ensure his pack alpha is safe inside his den. he divies out rations, always opens them and switches the desserts so gaz and soap don’t argue over who got the better one; takes the instinctual first bite of anything scavenged or hunted to know it’s safe just to wait until everyone’s done eating and full before taking his own portion. they all present themselves for ghost’s inspection after missions; lets him run his hands and nose over them to check for injuries and it’s ghost who more often than not ends up taking care of them instead of sending them down to medical

they’ll never tell him, never make him face his own behaviour before he’s ready to come to terms with it himself. as much as ghost’s convinced himself otherwise, his omega is alive and well and his pack will welcome his shy return whenever he feels ready to step back into the light

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in Dec 2024. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup here. You can find my other fic recs here. Although I'm not yet ready to get back to podcasting, I do want to acknowledge all the great fics I read this month. Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments!

- Louis / Harry -

🌲 Be There by @mission2feelike

(NR, 179k, kid fic) The one where their family has been torn apart and their hearts broken, but an accident, a snowstorm, cinnamon rolls, and the adorable Josie force Louis and Harry to finally face the truth, and each other.

🌲 You Should Be Here With Me by @lululawrence

(NR, 34k, football) Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table.

🌲 Your Reign is Free (to give along to Santa) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 28k, humor) It’s Christmas Eve. It’s a totally normal Christmas Eve. Harry and Louis have some friends coming by, and some totally normal birthday and Christmas plans. It’s a totally typical totally normal Christmas Eve. A fic that takes place over 24 (+1) hours where surely everything will go totally to plan.

🌲 Runaway Bride by IceQueenRia

(E, 22k, omegaverse) Suffering an injury while coming to the rescue of some of the kingdom’s orphans, Harry is welcomed into the castle and finds himself face-to-face with Prince Louis himself, praying that he won’t be recognised as a member of royalty.

🌲 Restlessness, Snowman Cookies, And A Realisation by Candy_Kittens / @candyfloss-kittens

(NR, 8k, omegaverse) While Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn take the kids out for a few hours to some Christmas fair, allowing Harry to have the house to himself for a bit, Harry decides to make some snowman themed Christmas cookies and some chocolate fudge for Louis in an attempt to ward off this odd restless and off feeling he’s been having lately.

🌲 I'll be happy, happy once again by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down

(M, 7k, fake relationship) After being unceremoniously dumped, Louis has no choice but to go along with his best mates' plan to find a date for Lottie's party.

🌲 Day Eighteen: Elf by 28goldensfics / @28goldens

(E, 6k, fantasy) Harry gets much more than he bargained for when he decides to steal from Elven Lord Louis during his Christmas gala.

🌲 I Can Pull It Together by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 6k, body worship) the one where Harry accidentally discovers a new part of Louis he really, really loves.

🌲 There Is Just One Thing I Need by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(G, 5k, flight attendant Harry) Louis doesn’t want a lot for Christmas apart from getting home in time to see his family. Then, he meets Harry.

🌲 Shaking In The Shockwave by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 4k, phone sex) the one where Harry is still reeling and heartbroken after discovering his fiancé has been cheating on him. So in a moment of desperation, he decides to spend the weekend at a self-pleasure hotel. As it turns out, the gorgeous blue eyed man at the front desk is more than willing to help distract him

🌲 Let Me In One More Time by @homosociallyyours

(E, 3k, girl direction) At the last minute, Harry's mother springs a bunch of new guests on her for their Thanksgiving meal. When Harry hears that the eldest daughter, Louis, will arrive early to "help" she's not exactly pleased.

🌲 hear my belated regret by theankletattoo / @peachade

(E, 3k, omegaverse) they find love in each other on a vacation.

🌲 Honk by @allwaswell16

(M, 3k, soulmate goose) An omegaverse, soulmate goose fic for the holidays

🌲 Early Bird Gets The Worm by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(E, 2k, voyeurism) Harry uses his binoculars to watch the hot neighbor boy jerk off but it's not his fault really.

🌲 when you don't want coffee by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 2k, coworkers) Two men who are too dumb to use their words but totally have crushes on each other. Featuring Niall as Captain of the ship ready to save it from sinking at any cost.

🌲 Zero Day by @haztobegood

(E, 1k, getting caught) Harry and Louis are thru-hikers on the PCT.

🌲 The Unselected Journals of Louis W. Tomlinson - Vol 1 by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 1k, epistolary) The Wandering of Things was not new, nearly two years into living here. However, the, uh, nature of this particular thing was quite different.

🌲 freaky friday by @tracksuitponytail

(E, 1k, body swap) It’s Friday the 13th—a day like any other for Louis until he wakes up in the middle of the night... in his best friend's body.

- Rare Pairs -

🌲 Welcome to My Candy Store by mmaree / @zqua1d

(E, 9k, Zayn/Liam) “This is no ordinary toffee apple,” the woman dressed as a witch tells them. “It's a magic wishing toffee apple.”

🌲 Couldn't miss this one this year by yourlionheartx / @djtommotomlinson

(G, 3k, Liam/Louis) All year Louis has been chasing this gorgeous guy he met at a ski shop. It’s Christmas and he’s decided it’s just time to let it go. He's spending Christmas on his own this year.

🌲 pumpkin spiced regret by @disgruntledkittenface

(M, 1k, Harry/Louis/Nick Grimshaw) You know what they say: If you can’t take the heat in the kitchen, masturbate in the guest bathroom.

[3amfanfiction]

Father MacTavish

Johnny MacTavish x you Synopsis: Nothing but religious vibes (gross) sorry guys. Father MacTavish is fed up with you flaunting yourself at every opportunity. He decides it's time for you to be shown how to be properly pious. Cw: power imbalance, religion, corporal punishment, dubcon, oral, shoe humping. This is definitely a case of another cake so thank you to everyone who's written lecherous priests before me.

Father MacTavish was a handsome sort. With his bright blue eyes and the way he filled out his dark vestments he knew he drew the eye of his followers—men and women alike. He both welcomed it and tried not to take advantage at the same time.

Even still, he had been known to slip. He was only human after all but as the Good Lord said, we are all worthy of forgiveness for our sins. We must simply ask.

He tried to remember his own mortal failings and to be gentle on his parishioners when they inevitably fell to temptation. Whether that be envying a neighbor's sudden windfall or taking the Lord's name in vain, he tried to be lenient when they told him of their sins. Tried not to lose his temper on his flock that was his to lead.

That all went out the window when someone had temerity to throw themselves at him though. Him, a man of the cloth, and some trollop wanted to be lewd in his presence? Wanted to flash an unseemly amount of thigh when they crouched down to pick up a fallen piece of paper, their breasts pushed up to their neckline in an effort to entrance him?

No. He wouldn't abide by it.

Some things simply went too far.

He drew you aside one day after the sermon, ostensibly to speak about an upcoming program the church would be putting on in the coming months. You had always been eager to help with any functions the church hosted and this time was no exception.

"Father, how can I help you?" Temptation is the sign of the devil.

"If you're not too busy my dear, I was hoping you could come by tomorrow evening? There's some logistical help I need and I know you'd be just the person for the job."

"Of course, Father MacTavish. You know I'm always available for anything you might need."

You smiled up at him, eyelashes fluttering around your pretty eyes. Even now you worked to entrance him. Temptation and lust rolled into a single pretty package attempting to sharpen your teeth on him.

"Wonderful, come find me when you get here and we'll get this all straightened out properly. Enjoy the rest of your day, my dear."

That night he prayed for the Lord's guidance as in all things. He knew he was prone to mortal failings like the rest of his flock and so looked to the Lord for assurance.

He thought back on the way your plump hips had pressed against the thin fabric of your skirt, the line of your panties showing you had forgone your slip when dressing for the day. Such immoralness filled him with emotion and he was reassured he was on the correct path.

It was his job to guide his flock out of the darkness and into the light. Satan was clearly digging his fingers into you if this was how you acted in a house of God. He wouldn't let your soul suffer eternal damnation when he could save you with a bit of discomfort now. Ending his prayer he was filled with a sense of resolution.

It was settled then.

The next evening saw you walking into the empty church in another tantalizing dress. The flowing skirt ended right at your knees, giving glimpses of your thighs with each step, a siren call of harlotry. Had you no shame? Flaunting yourself in front of a priest. It was another sign that you needed him. Needed him to guide you.

"Father MacTavish, I'm here as you requested," you chirped. "How can I help?"

Guiding you towards the alter he watched as you took in the rice spread across the ground, generous handfuls thrown against the shining wooden floor, laying in wait.

"It's how I can help you, my lamb. You've fallen to perversion and as the shepherd of your immortal soul, it is my responsibility to guide you back to the light. Now, now," he hushed you with a raised hand as you started to protest, "I know the truth of it and I care not for how it came to be. My only concern is where we go from here."

He watched you struggle, clearly wanting to argue but too cognizant of your respective standings to put up much fuss. There were glimpses of a true, pure spirit under the cover of your prurience. He would soon have it shining for all to see.

He watched as you acquiesced, having mentally run through all the arguments you could make and his likely rebuttals. This was his duty to you and he would see it through, no vacillation would change his mind.

Finally, you sank to your knees, kneeling on the grains of rice with a wince.

"You may begin your prayers, my child. I'll be here with you."

As you clasped your hands and began your recitation, he watched you. He watched the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the way you shifted on your bed of rice, trying to find a comfortable position but each shift only making it worse, the way your face crinkled in discomfort, voice hitching with a shuddering exhalation of your words.

Even now you maintained your aura of enticement.

He began to have a reaction of the body, his cock thickening and pressing against the placket of his pants. He widened his stance, giving himself some relief from the pressure. The church was silent aside from your words, the cadence of them lulling him into a familiar headspace.

It was jarring when it was broken.

"Father, how much longer am I to pray?" you pleaded, looking up at him with watery eyes from the continuous pain of the hard grains pressing into your delicate skin, voice slightly raspy after your lengthy prayers.

"Even now you try to beguile your way out of a required lesson." Disappointing. He had had higher hopes for you. "I had prayed this would be enough for you to see the wickedness of your ways but if I must go further then I will. I won't shirk in my duty to your soul, my child."

With a world-weary sigh he moved behind you, fiddling with the front of his pants as he went. He dropped to his knees, chest to your back, and placed heavy palms on your shoulders holding you steady.

Pressing firmly into your back, he said, "Just know this doesn't bring me any joy. This is the Lord's decree and I carry it out as I carry out all my tasks. With surety that my actions will ensure your place in our Father's home when the time comes."

Sliding his hands down he came to a stop along the outsides of your thighs. Grabbing fistfuls of your skirt he began to lift.

"Father MacTavish!" you yelped, hands dropping to try and keep the fabric in place.

"Continue your prayers, child," he dropped his gathered handfuls and reached out, encircling your wrists with warm, thick fingers before moving your hands back to your front to be clasped again. "The sooner you properly repent, the sooner your lesson will end."

He pressed his palms to your hips, waiting until you shakily restarted up your prayers before tugging your skirt upwards once more, pausing each time you did. He looked down as the soft fabric raised above your backside, smooth skin covered by a thin pair of panties—all that was keeping you from him.

Your voice stuttered to a stop as he dipped his hand between your thighs, stroking from your clit through your dampening slit, your underwear slowly darkening as he pressed it ever so slightly inside of you before withdrawing. You squealed in shock as he pulled back to swat a quick palm to your swelling clit.

"Why must I keep repeating myself? What is it I told you to do?"

"Y—you told me to keep praying. Father." you stuttered, tongue tripping over your words in your shock.

"And did you forget the words to your prayers?"

"No, Father."

"Then continue."

As you once more began to recite your orisons he returned to his stroking—a steady draw from clit through slit, the gusset of your panties all that separated him from your skin. Your warmth radiated through the fabric now dark with slick. A wet rasp heard during the lulls of your speech as he dragged his strong fingers over the cloth.

You were soaked by the time he deigned to pull them to the side and repeat his actions, this time dragging through damp curls before your plump lips spread around the tip of his fingers—nothing to shield your most intimate place from him.

He restrained himself at first—never pushing inside, just a slow drag of skin against skin as he spread your wetness across your folds. You squirmed in place, caught between the pain of kneeling and the pleasure he was providing. A hitching of your hips before a shuffling of your knees.

Your gasped protests as he eventually sunk his finger in to the knuckle did nothing to deter him. If anything, the resultant wave of heat that made its way through his body confirmed he was on the right path. He must show you the sins of the life you were leading.

It was his duty.

One finger quickly became two became three. He pressed and caressed, stroking along the delicate skin of your insides, fingers catching on a sensitive spongy bit that had a strangled gasp slipping from your lips. He played you like a harp—never ceasing, never faltering.

Your slick dripped down to his wrist by the time he deemed you suitably prepared. Holding your panties to the side he notched his tip against your opening and pressed inward, his fingers clenching and tugging at your dress where they were clutched at your hips. He struggled to maintain his composure at the feel of your wet heat. The slick press of you stroked along the sensitive skin of his cockhead, stirring him to greater heights with every centimeter gained.

"I cant, Father MacTavish it's too mu-ch!" you ended on a yelp as he took your distraction to push in another inch, drawing back and pressing forward in a sawing motion, teasing you with the possibility that he might seat himself fully each time. Your slick covered his cock, allowing each subsequent stroke to glide more smoothly than the last.

"This is to be your lesson. When you act like a whore you will be treated like a whore. You worked so hard to draw my eye and now you have it," he asserted with a curled lip.

Pushing firmly one last time he pressed his hips to your backside, sliding deeply inside you as he kissed your cervix. Tears fell from your eyes in sheets, a constant outpouring at the overwhelming sensations as you scrambled for purchase.

"I do this to save your soul, child, now be a good lamb and take it," he snarled and snapped his hips into you with force, a smack sounding with each meeting between the fat of your backside and his pelvis. He maintained his rhythm for a few moments before coming to a standstill, pressed deeply inside of you.

"I don't believe I told you to stop your prayers," he sighed. "This reminding is becoming quite tedious."

He reached down and pinched harshly at your clit causing you to squeal and attempt to buck up, away from his grip. He followed along with you, keeping an unyielding grip on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you'd been crying before you were downright sobbing now.

"I'm sorry Father, it's just . . . it hurts. The rice hurts."

"If your dress wasn't the length of a whore's then this wouldn't hurt nearly as much. You would've had a soft layer between you and the rice but you wanted to flaunt yourself in God's house."

Sniffling, you started up once more—a hitching recitation echoing off the ornate walls of the church, the only sound beside the rasp and clap of skin on skin.

He made a game of it. He knew he shouldn't, that this was a lesson for his one of his flock and not something he should be using to entertain himself but he found himself falling into a pattern. He would pick up a steady rhythm of thrusts—allowing you to catch your breath and for your speech to take on a steady cadence before driving forward with vigor, punching into you with sharp, biting thrusts causing you to lose your breath and your place. He wanted to see if you could maintain your composure through your trials.

You hadn't yet.

It was during one of these stretches that you began to tense up, pushing back to meet him with each drive of his hips as if you were chasing something of your own. With a reedy cry you came, squeezing around him rhythmically as you stuttered to a stop, too caught up in the sensations to continue speaking.

He froze—a thunderous look crossing his face.

"Did you just find release around my cock?" he hissed in shock. "And I thought we had reached the end of your depravity."

He didn't give you time to plead your case, resuming his thrusting and ignoring your pleading as he pressed through your over-stimulation and built you back up towards another release. He clenched his hands on your hips, your dress crinkling between his fingers.

With each firm pull back onto his cock the fabric of along your chest pulled taut, inching downward towards where it was being tugged. You choked as the fabric finally gave way, sinking down below your breasts to allow them to spill out of the low neckline. Your lack of bra ensured they swung madly to his tempo.

You were just beginning to flutter around his length, muscles dancing to a beat only they knew, when he stopped completely and pulled out, ignoring the breathy what? you squeaked out.

Pulling back, his thick cock fell to the side, smearing your wetness against his furred thigh and trousers as a heavy plap was heard. Rising with a grunt he moved around to your front, looking down at you kneeling on your bed of rice. What a picture you made. Your breasts spilled over the top of your dress and your face was shiny with tears, eyes red-rimmed and glossy.

Beautiful.

"Oh my child, look at what a mess you've made of yourself." He reached out to wipe away a tear, "I know this must be difficult but we must preserver through our trials in order to find the Lord's grace. Now—open," he commanded, tapping the tip of his cock against your tear stained lips, "and put that provoking tongue out."

You sniffled and opened your mouth, hesitantly sticking out your tongue as he'd commanded. He waited and watched as drool collected and then dropped off the tip. Pressing forwards he dragged his sensitive head along the muscle. He sighed in relief at the sensation, teasing himself with a side-to-side caress before he slid into your heat.

He bit back a groan as the wet sensation swallowed him, watching as you made a slight face at the combined taste of you. He rocked himself forward gently, allowing you to get used to the sensation before slowly deepening his strokes.

Slowly sliding down to the back of your mouth, he held there for a moment, letting the drool gather as you fought not to gag around his length. Your lips were smooth where they had stretched wide around his girth, jaw mostly likely already aching.

Pulling back he let you catch your breath, swallowing and coughing as you received unobstructed access to air. He caressed the side of your face gently.

"You look so beautiful like this," he hummed, "practically angelic. Do you feel you have learned your lesson? Have you come to understand God's will?"

When you nodded furiously he smiled fondly and slid his foot forward, shiny black shoe coming to rest comfortably between your spread thighs.

"I am not completely without compassion, my child. Go ahead, you may use my foot to bring yourself to release while you continue."

It wasn't surprising how quickly you shifted to rest your covered center over the tip of his shoe, mouth opening as you leaned towards him, looking to have him in your mouth once more.

He reached out to hold onto the sides of your head, guiding you to his preferred tempo as you humped shamelessly on his foot. He knew his shoe would be shined slick by the time you were done.

After having teased himself for so long it was no shock how quickly his own release was on him. He held onto it with gritted teeth as he watched you climb towards your own high once more, waiting out your convulsions before pulling back to paint your breasts with his spend. He watched them glisten, dripping white as he caught his breath.

Tucking himself away he helped you to your feet, tweaking your nipples before he pulled the fabric of your dress up over them once more, covering the evidence of his release with the cloth.

He wiped your tear-stained cheeks with fondness, "There, there, no need for further tears. It's over and done with, my child, nothing further to worry about."

He guided you to the entrance of the church after you had composed yourself, eyes still puffy and red-rimmed but clear. He kept a hand placed low on your back to steady you.

"I trust you've learned the errors of your ways?" When you nodded firmly he smiled warmly. "Good. Then be at peace in the Lord's forgiveness."

He ushered you out of the church and closed the door behind you, never knowing you were mentally going through your dress options, already planning on a shorter length for this Sunday's service.

|||

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[xiaobaosnoona]

Noona's 2024 Drama Wrap-up

Yeah, so don't expect me to make sense, I just need to gush my entire soul out about the dramas that kicked butt for me this year. Also gifs.

Atomic bomb of the year: The Untamed (2019)

The show that altered the chemistry of my brain completely and threw me into an obsession so serious I pulled several people down with me (you're welcome and I am sorry). A chinese fantasy drama that centers around a young man who wants to do what's right even if it costs him everything (and it does), and his soulmate who loved him through two lifetimes. Censored bl that feels zero censored because of the brilliancy and hard work of the cast and crew. Clearly a labour of love for everyone involved. Impossible to water down into a blurb, watch it and you'll understand.

Love blorbo of my life: Li Lianhua

No one else made me fall as deeply as Li Lianhua of Mysterious Lotus casebook (2023). This cynical, too clever, highly whumpable lying liar got me in a chokehold and has yet to let go. His love language is to push people away, but thankfully some people are hard to get rid of. Deserves to be lovingly wrapped in a blanket and fed chocolate until his sadness passes (or possibly forever).

The one I never thought I would love: DMBJ/Lost Tomb franchise (2016-2024)

Hi, hello, what the hell happened? This show kinda took over my life and I am seriously confused (standard dmbj experience). One of the queerest shows I've ever laid my eyes on featuring one of china's most famous m/m ships; Pingxie. Filled to bursting with adventure, conspiracies, tomb shenanigans, snakes and the best character dynamics I've ever seen on the small screen. Don't expect everything to make sense, just enjoy the ride. It's a hoot.

I cried my face off because of this: Fangs of Fortune (2024)

This made me suffer from dehydration, flailing arms with feet kicking, and severe gif-making-syndrome. Stunning Chinese fantasy with characters that will unapologetically roundhouse kick you in the heart. Repeatedly. Very queer and doesn't even try not to be. Did I say stunning? The cinematography and costumes are so fucking beautiful that this alone brings tears to your eyes. Just watch it, I can't possibly explain what it's about without starting to cry again.

Has a dear and special place in my heart: Oh no! Here comes trouble (2023)

So well written I want to chug vinegar because I didn't write it myself. Some of the best character dynamics known to man, fantastic stories told with a supernatural twist and (you guessed it) queer vibes that will smack you in the face. Has a wonderfully dumb and grumpy ml that will make you love him unconditionally in a very short amount of time. The drama deals with heavy topics, like grief and abuse, and balances it out delicately with ridiculousness and humour.

Favorite BL: History 3: trapped (2019)

The cutest little twink police falls in love with the mob boss he's been trying to catch for four years. Adorable low-spicy Taiwanese bl that utilizes the often seen het-romance drama tropes in a low key hilarious and endearing way. Enemies to lovers? Uhuh. Grumpy/sunshine? Mhm. Catch the love interest in your arms as they trip and fall? Yup. Everything wrapped in soft romantic lighting as you stare into each other's eyes? Yesss. And do i love it? FUCK YEAH. Actually does have a pretty solid plot as well, which made it a real home run for me.

Underrated gem: 19th Floor (2024)

A less queer version of Spirealm (but watch me try and find every queer crumb in it if it kills me). Got me on the edge of my seat most of the time, had characters I loved dearly with great development, adorable bromance with cheek smooches, and het-romance that didn't make me want to scratch my face off. FL kicks serious ass and is allowed to be unapologetically herself throughout the whole show. Also this show has Bai Shu and that is always a win.

[luminouslumity]

Last time summarizing The Odyssey song-by-song!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

THE CHALLENGE: For the past several years, Queen Penelope of Ithaca has kept the unwanted suitors at bay by weaving and then undoing a burial shroud meant for her father-in-law, Laërtes, and by the time we meet them, they've already been made aware of the trick. Shortly after Odysseus' return and having had a dream of an eagle killing a gaggle of geese, Penelope has the suitors compete for her hand via an archery contest; specifically, whoever can string Odysseus' bow through a dozen axe heads wins.

HOLD THEM DOWN: The suitors are still scheming to kill Telemakhos even after he returns home from Sparta, but they end up reconsidering it at the urging of another suitor named AMPHÍNOMOS (Ἀμφίνομος).

ODYSSEUS: Immediately after completing the challenge, Odysseus shoots an arrow into Antínoös' neck and reveals his identity in the process before killing Eurúmakhos. Telemakhos kills Amphínomos after the latter tries attacking Odysseus, and even Athena joins in the fight. Soon, all of the suitors as well as their accomplices are dead, including the goatherd MELÁNTHIOS (Μελάνθιος) and his sister MELANTHṒ (Μελανθώ).

I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER: Odysseus and Telemakhos actually reunite prior to the slaughtering of the suitors, but before that, upon his return to Ithaca, he initially doesn't recognize his home due to Athena disguising it. Then he comes across his patron, who has taken the form of a young man. Eventually:

At his words, Athena smiled into his eyes. She took his hand, and changed her body to a woman’s: beautiful, tall, and skilled in all the arts. Her words were light as feathers.

“To outwit you in all your tricks, a person or a god would need to be an expert at deceit. You clever rascal! So duplicitous, so talented at lying! You love fiction and tricks so deeply, you refuse to stop even in your own land. Yes, both of us are smart. No man can plan and talk like you, and I am known among the gods for insight and craftiness. You failed to recognize me: I am Athena, child of Zeus. I always stand near you and take care of you, in all your hardships. I made sure that you were welcomed by the Phaeacians. I have come here now to weave a plan with you and hide the treasure which, thanks to me, they gave you to take home. I will reveal the challenges you face at home. This is your fate, and you must bear it bravely, not telling any man or woman that you have finished wandering and come back. Suffer in silence, bear their brutal treatment.”

Afterwards, Odysseus—now disguised as a beggar—takes shelter in the hut of the family swineherd, EUMAIOS (Εὔμαιος), and it's there father and son finally reunite; it takes a bit for Odysseus to reveal himself, but when he finally does:

“Stranger, you look so different from before. Your clothes, your skin—I think that you must be some god who has descended from the sky. Be kind to us, and we will sacrifice, and give you golden treasures. Pity us!”

Long-suffering Odysseus replied, “I am no god. Why would you think such things? I am your father, that same man you mourn. It is because of me these brutal men are hurting you so badly.”

Then he kissed his son and cried, tears pouring down his cheeks; he had been holding back till then. The boy did not yet trust it really was his father, and said, “No, you are not Odysseus, my father; some god must have cast a spell, to cause me further pain. No mortal man could manage such a thing by his own wits, becoming old and young again—unless some god appeared and did it all with ease. You certainly were old just now, and wearing those dirty rags. Now you look like a god.”

Artful Odysseus said sharply, “No, Telemachus, you should not be surprised to see your father. It is me; no other is on his way. I am Odysseus. I suffered terribly, and I was lost, but after twenty years, I have come home. As for the way I look—Athena did it. The goddess can transform me as she likes; sometimes a homeless beggar, then she makes me look like a young man, wearing princely clothes. For heavenly gods it is not difficult to make a mortal beautiful or ugly.”

With that, he sat back down. Telemachus hurled his arms round his father, and he wept. They both felt deep desire for lamentation, and wailed with cries as shrill as birds, like eagles or vultures, when the hunters have deprived them of fledglings who have not yet learned to fly. That was how bitterly they wept.

Interestingly, Homer notes of Eumaios and Telemakhos:

Amazed, the swineherd jumped up, letting fall the cups in which he had been mixing wine; it spilled. He ran towards his master, kissed his face and shining eyes and both his hands, and wept. Just as a father, when he sees his own dear son, his only son, his dear most precious boy, returned from foreign lands after ten years of grieving for his loss, welcomes him; so the swineherd wrapped his arms around godlike Telemachus and kissed him, as if he were returning from the dead.

With tears still in his eyes he said, “Sweet light! You have come back, Telemachus. I thought that I would never see you anymore, after you sailed to Pylos. My dear child, come in, let me enjoy the sight of you now you are back. Come in! You do not often come to the countryside to see us herders; you stay in town to watch that evil horde of suitors.”

Speaking of reunions, Odysseus also very briefly does so with his faithful dog ARGOS (Ἄργος), albeit from a distance, as showing any outward affection would give away his identity. Still, the dog passes on peacefully, knowing his master is home at last.

After he arrives at the palace, very few treat him kindly, with Antínoös and later Eurúmakhos hurling footstools at him at separate times, as well as another suitor named KTESIPPUS (Κτήσιππος) throwing him an ox hoof. The only exception when it comes to the suitors is Amphínomos, who actually considers leaving after being warned, but Athena makes him stay.

Still disguised, Odysseus briefly talks to Penelope, who confides in him of her suffering and even offers to give him a bed, but the king declines. He does however ask to have his feet washed, and that's when he reunites with his old nurse EURUKLEIA (Εὐρύκλεια), who is quick to recognize him due to the scratch on his foot, the very same one he'd received as a child from a boar while hunting with his grandfather Autolykos. Another, PHILOÍTIOS (Φιλοίτιος), also agrees to help in taking back Odysseus' home alongside Eumaios, each even getting the chance in killing a few suitors with the king and prince.

WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH ME AGAIN: After the slaughter, Eurukleia informs Penelope of Odysseus' return, but the clever queen sets up one final test:

Penelope said shrewdly, “You extraordinary man! I am not acting proud, or underplaying this big event; yet I am not surprised at how you look. You looked like this the day your long oars sailed away from Ithaca. Now, Eurycleia, make the bed for him outside the room he built himself. Pull out the bedstead, and spread quilts and blankets on it.”

She spoke to test him, and Odysseus was furious, and told his loyal wife, “Woman! Your words have cut my heart! Who moved my bed? It would be difficult for even a master craftsman—though a god could do it with ease. No man, however young and strong, could pry it out. There is a trick to how this bed was made. I made it, no one else. Inside the court there grew an olive tree with delicate long leaves, full-grown and green, as sturdy as a pillar, and I built the room around it. I packed stones together, and fixed a roof and fitted doors. At last I trimmed the olive tree and used my bronze to cut the branches off from root to tip and planed it down and skillfully transformed the trunk into a bedpost. With a drill, I bored right through it. This was my first bedpost, and then I made the other three, inlaid with gold and silver and with ivory. I stretched ox-leather straps across, dyed purple. Now I have told the secret trick, the token. But woman, wife, I do not know if someone— a man—has cut the olive trunk and moved my bed, or if it is still safe.”

At that, her heart and body suddenly relaxed. She recognized the tokens he had shown her. She burst out crying and ran straight towards him and threw her arms around him, kissed his face, and said, “Do not be angry at me now, Odysseus! In every other way you are a very understanding man. The gods have made us suffer: they refused to let us stay together and enjoy our youth until we reached the edge of age together. Please forgive me, do not keep bearing a grudge because when I first saw you, I would not welcome you immediately. I felt a constant dread that some bad man would fool me with his lies. There are so many dishonest, clever men. That foreigner would never have got Helen into bed, if she had known the Greeks would march to war and bring her home again. It was a goddess who made her do it, putting in her heart the passion that first caused my grief as well. Now you have told the story of our bed, the secret that no other mortal knows, except yourself and me, and just one slave, Actoris, whom my father gave to me when I came here, who used to guard our room. You made my stubborn heart believe in you.”

With husband and wife reunited at long last, Odysseus tells Penelope his tale, including Teiresías' prophecy.

Afterwards, Hermes leads the suitors to the Underworld, where Agamemnon expresses his jealousy over Odysseus having had such a loyal wife. Back in the mortal realm, Odysseus finally reunites with his father, but it's brief, as word has gotten out of what had happened to the suitors and now their own fathers crave vengeance. EUPEÍTHĒS (Εὐπείθης), Antínoös' father, is among the dead, and it's mentioned that all of the rebels would have met the same fate as the suitors were it not for Athena's interference. And so ends the epic on these final words:

“Odysseus, you are adaptable; you always find solutions. Stop this war, or Zeus will be enraged at you.”

He was glad to obey her. Then Athena made the warring sides swear solemn oaths of peace for future times—still in her guise as Mentor.

[void-dwelling-snail]

Okay so chat. Can we all admit that Hesitations by Fangclub is so Wild Life Mumbo coded?Cause it literally is and I had a divine vision in the car tonight about it. Hi, welcome to my Ted Talk. My screaming into the void and breakdown of the song and lyrics is below the cut. Also before I start my yapping I would highly recommend listening to the song. It’s such a banger istg. Also i think it’s obvious but this is all C not CC. Anyways my yapping starts now >:)

okay so. I’m gonna assume you’ve heard the song already? Now I really want to break the song down lyric by lyric and maybe I will. Idk yet. But starting with Verse 1: Congratulations,,You really hit your mark,,Self-medicating,,To reignite your spark. Honestly I really interpret the first 2 lines as Mumbo congratulating Jimmy on not being out first. Cause really, Jimmy did hit his mark of not being the first out, and generally from what I’ve seen in the fandom, the Canary curse may be broken. Now the second 2 lines may be a stretch but, I kinda read that as a continuation of Mumbo still talking about Jimmy, with the self-medicating being Jimmy’s praying to the watchers to help with the curse. I mean it checks out, he’s been out first in most of the seasons and to deal with this canary curse of always dying first is to pick up a faith in the Watchers. That’s where the line To reignite your spark comes in. He started praying to the watchers to reignite his spark. To help him survive. So far this is all looking very nice and it all has symbolism and it all connects. So yippee!!

Moving onto the chorus that follows: My hesitations,,Will never let me go,,Burn our confessions,,My hesitations. Okay so when these lines clicked that’s kinda when i started going hmm chat I’m seeing some connections here. Specifically with the line My hesitations,,Will never let me go. Now correct me if I’m wrong but was Mumbo not killed by his hesitation to kill Jimmy? Think about it. If he had gone and sent that tnt minecart to kill Jimmy, he wouldn’t have been in such a rush to try and get Gem instead, right? His hesitations will now never let him go. His hesitations killed him. Those hesitations perma killed him first and the Watchers will never let him go now, taking him as the new canary. Honestly this is just my opinion, but I love the idea of Mumbo being the new canary. Like if Jimmy's curse really is broken, I would love it if Mumbo became the new canary. I just think that would be so silly but moving on. ,,Burn our confessions,,My hesitations. Honestly chat, this one isn’t really lining up for me so if anyone has any ideas please let me know. And agin the hesitations that ultimately led to his death.

Verse 2 is also where i go a bit feral with the lines: The isolation,,The only life you know,,Your method acting,,Is gonna kill us both. Okay so a few things before I go into the lyric breakdown. The main reason I highlight the lyrics as different colors is so A I’m able to break them down easier, and B is so that if I feel like one section from a verse feels different I can isolate it. This is a case of reason A. So back to analyzing lyrics, I'm reading it as this verse being about Grian. Think with me for a moment. The isolation + the only life you know roughly equals the experience of being a watcher. From most fanon interpretations, being a Watcher who also used to be a player is very lonely and isolating and with Grian seeming to lean more into the watcher/admin role this season, it works perfectly. He’s reflecting on what being a watcher and an admin is like, and in the next bit of lyrics are detailing the consequences of it. Once again I'm asking you to hear me out. Your method acting,,Is gonna kill us both. And it did kill them both. Well not both but it killed Mumbo multiple times. Maybe it didn’t kill him permanently but the multiple times where Mumbo came running to Grian when he was on fire, starving, and Grian was unaware of his suffering. Remember that clip that had floated around from Grian’s episode 2 where he was tabbed out doing admin things as Mumbo sat there starving to death and actively informing Grian on it? It might not have killed Grian then but it definitely killed Mumbo. I feel like I need to clear up the method acting bit now. So we know how Grian tries to hid his Watcher-y-ness and in a way you could say he’s method acting to appear like a normal player. Eh eh, you see what im sayin!! Anyways, Grian’s complete focus on the admin role and to appear as a normal player ultimately left him so locked in that he didn’t hear his friend's pleas for food and help until it was too late.

The chorus continues here and its the same as before so skipping to the Bridge, (guys i'm gonna be real idk what a bridge is in a song, im just looking at what the lyric website says and it says that this bit is the bridge so.) and the bridge is just: I tried to figure it out, but it figured out me,,,I tried to figure it out, but it figured out me. So there’s just one line here repeated so i guess that makes my life easier lol. Anyways this bit, to me, read as Mumbo’s obsession (not really but words are failing me rn) at the beginning of each session to find out what the wild card was. He tried to figure it out but he never really succeeded, did he? The wild cards always came before he was really ready and he eventually found out what the gimmick for that session was.

He refrains the last bit and boy is it easy: My hesitations,,My hesitations,,My hesitations. His hesitations ended up killing him in the end. His hesitation to fulfill the canary curse killed him. And that’s about it for my wonderful song and lyric breakdown. There was another chorus after this but it was the same as the other ones so i'm not gonna re type that whole bit. Seriously tho this song makes me go so crazy… i hope i was able to make you all a bit crazy too :333

[leeny-leens]

Finals Week or Final Week? | B.Z. x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Blaise Zabini x fem!Reader

Summary: Studying for your finals with your best friend takes an unexpected turn.

Warnings: Reader has anxiety about exams, swearing, mention of wanting to marry rich and murder your husband

Content: oblivious Reader to some extent, lots of fluff, Blaise is Italian, they're in love your honour, Blaise being an attentive king, not proofread or edited

WC: 3k

AN: My first time writing for Blaise and I low-key hate the end?? but oh well. Interaction of any kind is super appreciated <3

“That's it,” you declared firmly “I'm dropping out.”

“No.”

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You wanna hear it in Italian? No,” Blaise didn’t even bother looking up from his desk when he answered your question, having had this conversation 14 times and counting in the last three hours.

“But Blaise,” you whined, getting up from your desk and flopping on your bed dramatically. “I can't do this shit anymore! I'm too young to be suffering like this.”

At that, he finally gives you a silver of his attention, briefly looking up from his Arithmancy textbook to raise his eyebrows at your theatrics. “Relax, you're gonna be fine,” his words did absolutely nothing to comfort you, and you found yourself sighing in defeat. “What if I marry a rich old man and kill him for his money?” you mumbled, already imagining how you could pull it off. Pansy would surely help you hide the body, and Draco or Theodore could set you up with some rich, pureblood asshole in need of a wife. Lorenzo and Mattheo would probably be down to aid you in the murder plot, so really there wasn't much that could go wrong here.

Blaise finally put his book aside, his full attention on you as he turned your words around in his mind. “Really? You're gonna let the last seven years go to waste and marry rich instead?”

It was a rhetorical question, you knew that, but it was a welcome opening to procrastinate on your studies so you opted to engage in this silly argument with your best friend.

“Absolutely, it's less exhausting and sets me up for life,” you replied, your voice harbouring an edge of challenge, as if beckoning him to counter your statement.

Blaise wasn't one to entertain bullshit, not with his friends, not with his acquaintances. He found it to be a waste of time and energy, energy he could be using on far more efficient things like himself. But somehow, somewhere along his time here at Hogwarts by your side, he found that entertaining your bullshit wasn't quite as bad as he thought. The absurd thought of you going through with the marriage and murder scheme drew a chuckle out of him, the sound low and rich as it pleasantly echoed in your otherwise desolate room.

“What? Are you making fun of my future career Zabini?” you asked, clutching your chest dramatically as you sat up in your bed. He shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “No, never” he replied, sarcasm dripping so heavily from his voice it was basically a slipping hazard.

“I’m just surprised you think getting married, killing someone and hiding it is somehow less exhausting than studying for your finals,” the mention of your fast approaching finals exams immediately killed whatever inkling of joy you'd fostered with the light banter between you, your head falling against the headboard with a groan.

“Don't remind me,” you grumbled “’Mso fucked Blaise, ‘m gonna fail and repeat the year.” When he realized that there was some sort of conviction in your tone, he stood up from the desk, approaching you on the bed. You had closed your eyes, mumbling to yourself about how worried you were about the exams and all the things you had to finish until then.

You could feel the bed dipping under his weight as he sat down, and you instinctively moved to make place for him. It was a habit really, you were so used to make space for Blaise in your life that you never had to think about it. When you walked in the hallway, you always left enough space for him to walk beside you. At dinner, there was always enough space for him to sit, just like in the library or in classes or even the common room. You couldn't quite remember how life was before you started making space for Blaise Zabini in it, but you weren't about to change that. You liked the way he took up so much of your attention, even with his quiet demeanor and biting remarks, and there was nothing quite like watching him sprawl out on your bed on a Friday night when you were hanging out together, just the two of you.

And just like you had learned to make place for him, he had learned to make exceptions for you. He didn't tolerate bullshit unless it was you, he didn't bother entertaining people unless it was you and he most definitely didn't initiate physical touch, unless it was, of course, you. Just like that, you felt his warm hand capture your chin, tilting your head to the side so you were facing one another. “*Principessa*,” another exception he made for you; the petname he'd given you after you forced him to watch every single Barbie movie with you back in third year had stuck all the way until now. “Open your eyes and look at me,” his voice held no bite and no anger, yet you couldn't shake the anxiety that settled in your stomach as you cracked your eyes open to look at him.

The darkness in his eyes was all-consuming, like a black hole sucking you in and leaving you breathless, unable to think about anything but him. Any thoughts of school or exams were banished in the close proximity of him, the warmth of his body seeping beyond the thin layers of your clothing and settling deep into your bones.

“You're going to be okay,” he said after a few beats of silence. Each word came out slowly over his lips, yet he said it with so much trust and belief, as if it was a fact he knew wouldn't change. “You're going to pass, and you're not going to get bad grades in any subject,” his hand released your chin and settled atop your hand instead. He was perceptive, too perceptive for his own good, so of course he'd noticed you pulling at the flesh around your nails, a nervous habit you'd had ever since you were a child. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his thumb tracing over your knuckles in a soothing motion that almost brought tears to your eyes.

“Really?” you asked, your voice shaking more than you'd like. You thought it was stupid to get upset about this, dramatic even, but you couldn't help yourself, not when he was looking at you with such warmth and affection. It was like all your defenses melted under his gaze, reducing you into a gooey, emotional mess that you couldn't control.

A small smile tugged on his lips, and briefly you wondered how it'd feel to have them moving against your own, but you quickly threw that thought away. Now wasn't the time to wonder how kissing your best friend would feel like, not when you've known said best friend for the last seven years of your life and had the best friendship at stake along side your sanity and your entire academic career.

“Yes, really,” he said, in that warm tone that made your heart stutter and your brain fuzzy in the best way possible.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, absentmindedly biting it as you tried to even out your breathing. You couldn't cry, not tonight when you already had a stressful day behind you. Crying would only fuel your misery -and the murderous headache building up behind your temples- and there was no way you'd try to make it any worse.

Blaise’s eyes focused on your lips, and as if possessed by something else, his free hand came up to your mouth to gently pull your lip free from the destruction of your teeth. “Don't do that,” he murmured, “Your lips are too pretty."

You stared at him wide eyed, unable to process what he just said. Did he mean it in a friendly way? Or was he thinking about you the same way you'd been thinking about him for months now, wondering what your lips felt on his?

The silence between you two was tension filled and heavy, not a word spoken as you relished the warmth and proximity. Schoolwork was the last of your worries when Blaise was eyeing your lips with such fixation and hunger. Perhaps it was your imagination, but you could swear that he leaned down just a bit, enough for the scent of citrus and musk to envelope your senses.

His hand cupped your cheek, the touch tender and uncharacteristically unsure, as if he was scared you'd pull away at any moment. Blaise was the most confident person you've ever known, his words carefully chosen, his actions well thought out and never faltering in the face of the unknown. But this? This was completely new to him, something he'd never thought he'd actually do, there wasn't an an ounce of his usual self assured demeanor behind the feather light touches. To his surprise however, you leaned into his hand, your eyes staring up at him with the same hunger he displayed. You'd never once shyed away from him, too entranced by the enegamyic allure he exuded, and you found yourself pulled into his orbit once more.

His face was closer now, so close you could see the gold specks in his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and affection in a way that had your heart aching for him. His eyes flickered from your lips up to your eyes, searching for any hint of protest or dissatisfaction in your expression. When you managed to give him a light nod, answering the unspoken question for your consent, it was all he needed before he closed the gap between you, his lips tenderly pressing against yours.

The kiss was tentative and light, as if the both of you were in disbelief about this. It couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds, yet when he pulled away, you could swear hours had passed by, any sense for time malfunctioning from what you just experienced.

“Blaise, I-”

“I like you,” he cut off, not giving you any time to make excuses or apologies like he knew you would. “I like you so much more than I should like my best friend and it's driving me insane.”

Your throat went dry at that, your mouth falling open and closing again as if you were a fish on land. Could this be real? Or were you just hallucinating from the stress?

“Is this my finals week or my final week? Am I hallucinating?” you whispered suddenly, completely catching him off-guard. He blinked at you, once, twice, before throwing his head back with laughter.

Just then you realized that your response to his confession was completely ill fitting and the blood rushed to your face. “Don't laugh!” you exclaimed, hitting his shoulder with mortification “It's a reasonable deduction when you're suddenly confessing to me!”

To his credit, he tried to calm down from his sudden outburst quickly, his eyes staring at you with clear amusement. “It isn't sudden when you think about it,” he mused “I've always liked you, always gave you special treatment that no one else gets, principessa.”

Your mind cycled through all the instances Blaise had gone out of his way, and out of his comfort zone, to do something for you; too many to count you just realized. He was a well-mannered person overall, yet his words and action around you had always been just a bit kinder, a bit more vulnerable, reserved for you alone.

Your face burned brighter at the realization. God how could you have been so oblivious? You were sure everyone else had seen it, but you were too stuck in your head to see the way he looked at you, to notice the way his touch lingered just a bit too long.

“God I'm so stupid sometimes,” you mumbled in response, eliciting a chuckle from him. “That's okay,” he said with a teasing edge “I like it when you're stupid like that, makes it more fun to bully you about it.”

Any sort of protest or reply died in your throat when you felt him lean into you again, his lips brushing against yours gently. “May I?” his voice was low and quiet, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

Instead of replying, you set your hands on his shoulder, pulling him closer to crash your lips against eachother, satisfied at the surprised noise you drew out of him.

The kiss this time was firmer, more steady with a simmering heat below the surface. The awkwardness of teeth and lips clashing against one another didn't bother you one bit, it only made it more exciting when you finally found a rhythm that you both followed as your lips moved in tandem against one another.

Both of his hands settled on your waist, his thumbs caressing your skin through your clothes in soothing circles that had you blanking out. He was everywhere; his scent, his warmth, his lips and his hands driving your mind into a maddening blank state with not a single coherent thought left in it.

It could've been a few seconds or an eternity, but when you pulled apart, you were both gasping for air, eyes wide open at what had just transpired.

“I like you too,” you suddenly said, realising you'd never replied to his statement. “So much that I don't know what to do with it,” the hint of vulnerability in your voice didn't go unnoticed by him, his expression immediately softening. This was uncharted territory for the both of you, the promise of what you could be staked against what you already had.

“It's okay,” he whispered, his voice nothing but warm and affection filled as he took your hand and held it to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. “We can take it slow, do it our own way yeah?”

“Even if I wanna go out with you but ‘m too stressed to think about anything right now?” you asked, causing Blaise to shake his head in amusement. “Then don't think about it yet, I'm not going anywhere,” you couldn't help the smile that overtook your features, grinning at him with glowing happiness.

“You're so fucking sappy sometimes,” nudging his shoulder playfully, you half shoved him off the bed to get up, laughing at the dramatic protests as he faked a fall to the floor.

“Only for you, ungrateful wench,” he huffed, grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the floor with him. You landed on top of him, shrieking and thrashing in protest as you demanded he let you go.

You tried to escape his grasp, yet there was no use struggling against him, his arms wrapped too tightly around your waist, keeping you firmly against him.

“I need to get back to studying,” you mumbled once you ceased your protests, sighing contently when he bang rubbing your back gently. “Actually, you need a nap,” he chided. You eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he would suggest a nap when you had mountains of study material to get through. There was too much to do, and too little time, you couldn't afford slacking off now. “You have a headache, a really bad one at that,” he clarified, causing your eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

“How the hell-”

“Your eyebrows,” he added with a smile, gently massaging the spot between them, “You always furrow them when you're having a headache and you've been doing that more and more for the last hour.”

No words left your mouth at that revelation, at the sheer amount of attention he paid to you. You didn't even know you did that, yet here he was, paying attention to every detail about you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You expected the gesture to make butterflies flutter in your stomach, but instead you felt a sense of calm wash over you, secure in the knowledge that Blaise had always known you, always seem through you even when you tried to hide.

There was no use arguing with him about this, he allowed you to move away from him before tugging you on your feet and gently pushing you towards your bed.

“C’mon,” he said “I'll sleep with you if you want, that way we're both taking a break.” At that, you did settle into your bed with a little less grumbling, moving over to allow him to lay down beside you.

It wasn't the first time you both shared a bed; it had become a routine for you, sharing your space together no matter where. So the moment he settled into it behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

His warmth and scent, coupled with the quiet sound of his breathe, were the perfect way to lull you into sleep, the pounding in your head becoming nothing but a dull ache as your eyelids grew heavier.

The last you felt before slipping into a pleasant sleep was the press of his lips against the crown of your head,the chase kiss warming you from head to toe as you sighed blissfully.

Perhaps Blaise was right; you wouldn't fail your exams after all. When you woke up, you'd get back to studying and trying your best, and while you weren't sure if this was the last of your emotional outbursts surrounding the academic stress, you were sure Blaise would be there by your side. That thought was what accompanied you into your dreams, pleasant and warm sensations easing your mind.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

First off, as the year comes to a close, I want to say a few words of thanks. You see, I came back to fanom this year, not knowing my place or if I could find a place for me again.

Instead, one thing lead to another and I found a new fandom. One that, for all of it's toxic reputation- one very well earned thanks to a vocal subset within the fandom- has been ever so welcoming to me.

It has been that welcoming nature that has driven me to write over half a million words in the last twelve months. It is the eager interaction with artists and writers that the Hazbin Hotel fandom carries at its very core that makes it so much more than the negative reputation it has amassed.

It is the passion and drive of the fandom that has encouraged and rewarded me to write things I'm uncomfortable with, to write things I don't personally like or understand. It has driven me to challenge myself and broaden my writing horizons.

With that, I will be taking a short break. Just a few days where I'll be prioritizing myself, rotting on the couch, watching tv and resting. While I have enjoyed the countless challenges that Kinktomber and Smutmas provided me with but the reality is writing what amounts to a fic every other day while running a long series and having people waiting on another long series- it isn't sustainable.

So I'm going to take a few days, rest and I will be back with healthier writing habits. Just in time to drop the New Year's Kisses

While I have nothing but love for the Hazbin Hotel Fandom, there is something I would like to address. Below is a fraction of the asks I have gotten this last week. I get these types of messages a few times or so a week, nearly every week.

Why am I showing you this?

You see, I've said often for the last year that I get hate. It's a terrible side of the Hazbin community and while I suspect I know who sent at least one of these messages, and others that I have not shared. Some of it is, I believe, targeted harassment from people I once counted as friends or in the case of others, was on a friendly basis with.

That being said, in sharing these, I am breaking my own rule. You see, as a personal rule, I do not respond directly to anon hate. I do not discuss it in detail, I rarely even share it in screenshots with my friends.

There's a reason why I have this rule. You see, in sharing of anon hate, you give it life. You fan the flames. Your friends and your readers are called to defend you. It creates a storm of attention for the senders who observe from the sidelines.

The reality is- we as a fandom decide what is acceptable within it. We do not have to accept this toxic behavior. We do not have to share it. We do not have to give it life.

An abuser thrives off the power they have over you. They thrive off your reactions. They thrive of your pain. They thrive off knowing they can control the fandom, who is posting in it and what.

Personally- I do not give them that power in my space. Honestly, I recommend you don't either.

Their words mean nothing. Their hate? Worthless. At the end of the day, they're trying to crush you because they see something in you that they wish they had.

I see writers and artists leaving this fandom left and right in response to hate so here I am, airing my own dirty laundry to show that these disgusting little mites within the fandom- they're coming after more than just you. They're coming after more than just the ones sharing the hate.

If you're getting messages like these, reach out to your friends and fellow creators within your network. Lean on each other. You don't have to give it air and you also don't have to suffer in silence.

I am blessed to not have to suffer in silence. I've got @redvexillum and @nyx-umbrakinesis and many others who stand beside me, who stop me from feeling like I'm drowning in hate and burning this whole thing down. Because of their support, I don't need to respond to the hate directly.

But for you- my fellow writers and artists, I'm sharing it this one time as a reminder that you are not alone.

So may your new year's resolution be to stay, to continue creating and to continue being something they are jealous of.

May you shine bright in this upcoming year, Mama Kit

[rjthirsty]

Kintsugi

Kintsugi is an ancient Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. The gold creates visible seams where the cracks once were. This celebrates the imperfections of the pottery rather than hiding it.

I received this fanfic from @wistfulwanderingone as a Secret Santa gift, and when I tell you that I teared up several times, I'm not joking. She has given me permission to post and name the fic, and Kintsugi was what I thought of at the end of the story. That's how this fic makes me feel. Like Clavis is piecing me back together with gold to celebrate everything I try to hide.

I'm chronically ill, as some of you might know. Wist knows. She is also aware that I'm bed bound often. Sometimes for days at a time. It's hard to be seen as more than my disability, especially when my illness controls so much of my life. But, while it is part of me, it is not all I am. It has been hard to accept that this year, but I'm working on it. And I know Clavis (and Wist, and all my friends) are behind me to remind me that I'm still wonderful even with my imperfections.

Thank you, Wist, for the beautiful gift. It was so personal and thoughtful and I was literally just complaining about how hard it is being sick during the holidays. And then you gave me this. And it's perfect.

The room is quiet except for the faint crackle of the fireplace, casting warm shadows on the walls. Snow blankets the palace grounds outside, muffling the world in a soft hush. You sit nestled in a pile of blankets, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that refuses to lift. Your gaze lingers on the window, where frost has painted delicate patterns on the glass, and you wonder what it would feel like to be part of the life outside those frosted windows—free, light, unburdened.

It’s been days since you left this room, the weight of your chronic illness pinning you down like a cage. The days have blurred together into a slow, muted haze, a rhythm of stillness you’ve almost grown used to. Almost. A sigh escapes your lips, soft and wistful, filling the quiet. You’re so lost in thought that you barely notice the door creak open—until his unmistakable voice breaks the stillness.

“Ah, my poor, suffering muse,” Clavis exclaims, sweeping into the room with all the flair of a traveling performer. “Still sulking in here, I see. I was starting to fear you’d been devoured by this cocoon of blankets. Shall I prepare a eulogy?”

The tension in your chest loosens, almost imperceptibly, as you glance over at him. A faint smile tugs at your lips, unbidden but welcome. “I’m not sulking. I’m just…tired.”

Clavis crosses the room in a few long strides, his golden eyes soften as they sweep over you, taking in the weariness you can never quite hide from him. It’s a look that makes you feel seen—truly seen—in a way that isn’t suffocating or pitying. “Sulking, tragically fatigued—semantics. Worry not, for your savior has arrived.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, already fighting the pull of a smile. “Clavis, I don’t need saving. I just need rest.”

“Rest?” He clutches his chest as though your words have mortally wounded him. “Oh no, no, no. Rest is for mere mortals, and you, my dear, are anything but mortal. You’re practically divine.”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. You roll your eyes, pretending to dismiss him, but already you feel something shift in the room—the heaviness inside you loosening, just a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’ve come with a mission,” he declares, dragging a chair to your bedside and plopping into it with far more drama than necessary. “I’m going to make you laugh.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. No one else bothers with this—this effort to distract you from the heaviness that fills the room. “Clavis, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“Oh, but I do,” he interrupts, his tone shifting to something more serious beneath the playful lilt. “You see, your laughter is my favorite sound in the world. And the fact that I haven’t heard it in a whole day? Why, that’s a travesty. A true tragedy of epic proportions.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “As if that’s a travesty. Do I need to buy you a proper dictionary?”

“As if I’d read something that boring.” Clavis shakes his head, tutting like a disappointed teacher. “And let’s not deflect, my love. Full disclosure: I’m not here for a polite chuckle. No, I demand the real thing—the uncontrollable kind of laughter that leaves you gasping for air. The kind that makes you wonder if you’ll survive the sheer joy of it.”

Your heart warms, despite your exhaustion. He’s ridiculous—insufferably so—but there’s something in the way he speaks, in the light in his eyes, that makes you feel like you’re more than this room, more than this illness. Like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

True to his word, Clavis dives into his antics with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission. He recounts exaggerated tales of palace mishaps, complete with elaborate gestures and voices for every person in the palace. His impersonation of Chevalier—smirking and sly, his voice an octave too high—nearly makes you choke on a giggle.

“And then,” he continues, launching into a pantomimed escape, “I, ever the hero, evaded Chev’s villainous clutches with unparalleled grace and daring!” He stumbles over the rug, nearly losing his balance, then bows with a flourish. “Ah-ha! And thus, a legend was born.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to escape. It doesn’t work. The sound bursts free, light and unrestrained, and you feel the smallest weight lift from your chest.

“Ah-ha!” he exclaims, pointing at you as though you’ve just confessed a great secret. “But no, that won’t do. A giggle? My dearest darling, I demand full-blown, uncontrollable laughter. The kind that could summon Chevalier himself, just to tell us to keep it down.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re radiant,” he replies smoothly, leaning in closer. His words send warmth blooming across your cheeks. “But I digress. Back to the mission at hand.”

He pulls a small, poorly wrapped package from his coat pocket, holding it out to you with a flourish. “A gift for my one and only.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing. “You brought me a present?”

Of course,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But beware—it’s no ordinary gift. This one is…revolutionary.”

Curious, you unwrap it to reveal a snow globe. Inside, a miniature replica of the palace gardens sits encased in glass, complete with tiny skaters gliding on a frozen pond. You shake it gently, and glittering snow swirls inside. It’s beautiful—breathtaking, even—but before you can say as much, Clavis leans closer.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, touched.

“Ah, but you haven’t discovered its true charm,” he states, his voice low with mock suspense. “Turn the little lever at the bottom.”

You do, and the melody that follows is anything but elegant. The tinny, off-key tune crescendos into a jumbled cacophony of squeaks and clangs, pure absurdity. Your eyes widen, and before you can stop yourself, laughter spills from your lips. It’s loud and genuine, the kind of laughter you haven’t felt in weeks.

“There it is!” Clavis exclaims triumphantly, pointing at you like he’s just won a grand prize. “The fortress is breached!”

“It’s awful!” you gasp, shaking the globe again as the absurd tune restarts. “Who thought this was a good idea?”

“Clearly a genius,” Clavis replies, looking utterly pleased with himself. “I made it specifically for you. A one-of-a-kind masterpiece, for my one-of-a-kind love.”

You laugh again, your body lighter than it’s felt in days. His antics are absurd, yes, but they’re more than that. They’re a reminder that you’re still here, still capable of joy. And when he looks at you—his golden eyes warm and bright—you feel seen in a way you haven’t in a long time. Not as someone to pity, but as someone worth every ounce of his energy.

“Clavis, this is—”

“Brilliant?” he interrupts, tilting his head like a smug cat. “Oh, I agree. But don’t let me sway your opinion. Go ahead, laugh some more. It’s my favorite part.”

The hours slip by, each moment brimming with more of Clavis’s relentless antics. He begins with an over-the-top reenactment of how he supposedly triumphed over Leon in an epic snowball fight, claiming victory not just with skill but with the “tactical brilliance of a true general.” His makeshift cape—a blanket he pilfered from your bed—is tied dramatically around his shoulders, fluttering with every exaggerated gesture. In his hand, a sugar cube serves as his noble weapon.

“And then,” Clavis declares, leaping atop the nearest chair with the grace of a performer on stage, “when all seemed lost, when the forces of nature turned against me, I made a daring move! A single, decisive strike!” He hurls the sugar cube onto the bedside table, where it lands with an unimpressive plink. “And just like that, Leon fell before me. And I? A hero crowned by destiny!”

This time when the laughter bubbles over, it doesn’t feel so foreign anymore. Each laugh feels more natural than the last, weaving itself into the fabric of the evening, no longer leaving room for the shadows that usually cling to you. Your cheeks ache from smiling, and you revel in the feeling. “I don’t think Leon would agree with your version of events,” you manage, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Ah, but history belongs to the storytellers, my dear,” Clavis replies with a wink, his grin sharper than the frost on the windowpane. “And fortunately for the world, I have an exceptional gift for embellishment. It’s a heavy burden, being this remarkable, but someone must bear it.”

As if to punctuate his words, he picks up another sugar cube, examining it with mock seriousness. “But wait,” he says, his golden eyes narrowing conspiratorially. “This is no ordinary cube of sweetness. This, fancy fiancée, is a weapon of unparalleled power, forged in the icy winds of battle. A true artifact of destruction.”

You shake your head, still smiling. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the tight grip of exhaustion momentarily loosening. “You’re impossible,” you say, though your tone holds no real rebuke—just warmth.

Clavis gasps, clutching the edge of his blanket-cape as though you’ve mortally wounded him. “Impossible? My dear, I am legendary.” He straightens with a dramatic flair, his makeshift cape sweeping the floor as he strikes a pose. “A true visionary never limits himself to what is merely possible. Why settle for reality when imagination is so much more thrilling?”

The absurdity of his words pulls another laugh from you, one that shakes the remnants of the fog you’ve been drowning in. For a moment, you’re not the sickly figure confined to a room—you’re just you, laughing at his ridiculous antics.

But Clavis isn’t finished. In an unexpected move, he drags a chair toward the window and flings it open, letting in a gust of icy air that sends the curtains billowing. You shiver instinctively, clutching your blankets closer as the cold nips at your skin.

“Behold!” Clavis exclaims, pointing dramatically to the snow-covered gardens below. His golden eyes glitter with excitement as he straightens his posture, looking every bit the theatrical knight he imagines himself to be. “The battlefield of legends! Where courage is tested and heroes are made! But fear not, my love—I shall defend your honor!”

Before you can stop him, he flicks a sugar cube out the window. You track its arc through the air, and to your horror (and slight amusement), it lands squarely on Prince Gilbert’s shoulder as he strolls below.

“Clavis!” you gasp, caught between laughter and panic.

Gilbert pauses mid-step, slowly brushing the sugar dust from his shoulder. Even from this distance, the chill of his predatory smile sends a shiver down your spine.

Clavis freezes for half a heartbeat before shutting the window with a flourish, leaning casually against the sill as if nothing happened. “Well, that was unfortunate,” he remarks, the slightest twitch of his lips betraying his amusement.

“Unfortunate?” you hiss. “You just sugar-bombed Prince Gilbert! Do you have a death wish?”

Clavis turns to you with a grin that’s far too relaxed for the gravity of the situation. “Darling, life without a little danger is simply dull. Besides,” he adds, with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ve always been curious about his sweet tooth. Consider it an experiment in diplomacy. I’m practically doing Chevalier a favor.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands, but even then, you can’t stop the laughter that spills out, bright and uncontainable. It fills the room, a sound that feels out of place after so many days of silence. The world outside your window is still heavy and cold, but in this room, warmth floods in. 

“You’re going to get us both killed,” you manage between breaths, your voice tinged with exasperation.

Clavis wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. The gesture feels grounding, safe.  “Don’t worry, my love. If it comes to that, I’ll charm my way out of it. Or…” He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll say it was your idea.”

You swat at him, your laughter spilling over again, but this time it’s not just his words that fuel it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the center of his universe. The way he knows exactly how to lift the crushing weight you carry without making you feel small. His devotion cuts through the haze of your illness in a way nothing else has.

Clavis watches you, a look of unguarded affection softening his features, and you realize his joy isn’t just in hearing your laughter—it’s in knowing he’s helped you reclaim it.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “That’s the sound I love most.”

Your laughter fades into something softer, more fragile. “Clavis…”

“Do you know what your laughter does to me?” he asks, leaning closer. His golden eyes are warm, searching yours. “It’s the most perfect sound in the world. Joyful, bright, and just a little bit mischievous—just like you. It makes me believe there’s magic in this world after all. And trust me, I don’t say that lightly.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion. Your cheeks flush, and you glance down at the blankets covering your lap. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“No,” he says firmly, his voice gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “Not about this.” He sits beside you, placing a gloved hand over his heart. 

For a moment, the world feels impossibly quiet. Clavis reaches out, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek in a rare gesture of tenderness.

“You’ve been through so much,” he says softly, his grin fading into something more serious. “And yet, you still laugh. You still shine. That’s what I love about you. And I swear, I’ll keep giving you reasons to laugh as long as I’m breathing.”

The weight on your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. The room feels lighter, brighter, infused with his warmth and presence. You lean into his touch, letting the moment wrap around you like a balm.

The day fades into evening, the golden light of the fireplace softening the edges of the room. The warmth flickers across Clavis’s features, painting him in shades of amber that seem almost otherworldly. You’re tired—bone-tired in a way that feels insurmountable—but your heart feels lighter, buoyed by the warmth of his presence. The ache in your limbs is still there, the heaviness of your illness lingering like a shadow, but for the first time in days, it feels bearable.

Clavis lingers by your bedside, his golden eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, but not in a way that stings. It’s a gentle kind of scrutiny, one that doesn’t search for flaws but treasures. No one has ever looked at you like that before, as if you’re more than just the sum of your weakness and weariness. His gaze sees you—not the fragile shell you feel like most days, but the person you’ve almost forgotten you are.

“Rest, my lovely lover,” he says softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips lingers like a promise, grounding you in the moment. His voice is low, coaxing, as if he’s whispering a secret meant only for you. “And when you wake, I’ll be here to make you laugh all over again.”

The corners of your mouth lift into a faint smile, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a strain. Clavis’s devotion is a strange thing—intense, unwavering, and entirely consuming. He doesn’t just want to ease your pain; he wants to rewrite it entirely, to fill the cracks in your world with light and laughter until there’s no room for the darkness to creep back in.

As your eyelids grow heavy, you feel the edges of your mind soften, the weight of your body giving way to the pull of sleep. The warmth of the blankets surrounds you, but it’s his words that linger, wrapping around your heart like the coziest of comforts.

You realize, in that hazy space between waking and dreaming, that you believe him. You believe in his promise to stay, to bring you laughter when you feel like you’ll never smile again. You believe in the joy he carries, the way it spills into your life like sunlight breaking through clouds.

With Clavis, there will always be laughter—unpredictable, unrelenting, and healing. There will always be joy in the smallest moments, like the off-key melody of a snow globe or the glint in his eye when he’s plotting his next ridiculous scheme. And, most importantly, there will always be love—the kind that sees every broken part of you and holds it close, never letting go.

You drift into sleep with that certainty nestled deep in your chest. The world outside is still cold and quiet, but here, with him, there’s warmth that promises to last.

[kallie-den]

Lifestyle Takeover Ch. 2

Vivienne is drawn to Mel's side by her curiosity regarding Emma - but in the presence of her favorite bimbo, will she be able to stop herself from slipping under Mel's sway?

This is a commission from Neana, and a sequel to Lifestyle Journalism! Previous chapters can be found under the same tag

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—

Why was she here?

Vivienne Gilbert kept turning that question over in her head as the elevator slowly carried her up toward Melanie Adams’s penthouse. There was nothing particularly strange about the sequence of events that had brought her here. Early that morning, one of her mindless personal assistants had put a call from Mel Adams through. Mel had invited Vivienne to her apartment to continue their talks. Vivienne had accepted - and now, here she was.

But… why?

Why had Vivienne accepted the invitation? Why had she even taken the call? There was nothing for them to talk about. Vivienne had already given that irritating nepo baby her final answer: there was no way in hell she was going to let her mothers acquire Vivienne’s company. So why had she come here?

There were lots of possible reasons, of course. Foremost amongst them was idle curiosity. Maybe Vivienne simply wanted to see more of Mel and the way she lived. Or perhaps she suspected Mel had an improved proposal for her. Possibly, it was a ploy. There were all kinds of ways in which dragging out negotiations could serve her interests.

And yet, deep down, Vivienne knew none of those things had motivated her decision. On the phone, Mel had been insistent - and Vivienne had ended up saying ‘yes’. It was as simple as that. For most people, that might have been completely innocuous. But Vivienne feared it was something as dangerous as it was humiliating: a moment of weak will.

Vivienne Gilbert did not - could not - suffer moments of weak will.

And that prompted another fear: the fear that she had been compromised. Conceivably, Melanie Adams could have found some way to bring Vivienne under her psychological influence. Efforts like that were practically routine between hypnogarchs. Vivienne herself had dealt with more than one rival using mind control. Like all rising hypnogarchs, she had defenses - but all defenses had their potential weak points. So what if…

Vivienne shook her head to snap herself out of it. No. It was impossible. Vivienne was made of steel, and Mel was nothing more than an over-sheltered whelp. There was absolutely no way Melanie Adams had gotten into her head.

Ultimately, Vivienne decided that there had to be a far more benign explanation: she’d accepted the call and the invitation because she was in a good mood. And she was in a good mood because of Emma’s personalized video.

Ever since last night, when she’d received a private, cheerleader-themed thank-you video from her absolute favorite OnlyFans star, Vivienne had been on cloud nine. She couldn’t have asked for a greater gift, or a better way to relax. After listening to that video, the rest of the evening had passed by in a pleasant, stress-free haze. All Vivienne remembered was that she’d spent most of it working out some pent-up physical need.

Not the most dignified way for a high-powered CEO to spend her time, perhaps. But a very, very welcome way.

In fact, Vivienne had done the same thing that very morning, before dragging herself out to Mel’s building. It was a rare indulgence, but one she just hadn’t been able to resist. She didn’t regret it either, even if it had left her just a touch disheveled and more than a touch late. Watching Emma’s video again had put her in a delightfully pleasant, upbeat, relaxed - and slightly horny - mood.

One of these days, she was determined to focus hard enough to pay attention to Emma’s words all the way through.

But there would be time for that later. For now, Vivienne just needed to get her head off her pillow so she could make the most of this little meeting.

By hypnotizing Melanie Adams.

Whatever the reason she’d agreed to come here, Vivienne had made up her mind not to leave empty-handed. She touched her hand to the outside of her suit’s jacket pocket, and felt the familiar outline of her pocket watch within. It seemed only fair. If Melanie Adams wanted to play power games, she was going to find out just how much it was possible to lose. Vivienne doubted the trust fund brat had any real defenses, and having their daughter under her sway would make taking on her mothers that much easier.

She’d hardly be Vivienne’s first conquest. She relished opportunities to get her hands dirty. This one was going to be easy.

Her confusion and doubt set aside, a thin smile came to Vivienne’s face as the elevator arrived at the top floor. She stepped out of it and presented herself at the door to Mel’s penthouse suite. Immediately, it opened, and once Vivienne saw who was there to greet her, her smile dissolved into an expression of open-mouthed shock.

It was Emma.

The Emma. Emma, the OnlyFans model Vivienne adored. Emma, the woman she’d spent all night and all morning frantically getting herself off to. Emma, the glorious bimbo she’d only ever expected to see through a screen, on a website - only now she was here, in the flesh, flashing Vivienne a brilliant, winning, ditzy smile.

“Hi!” Emma said, voice irrepressibly bright and bouncy. “You’re… um… Mel’s guest, right?”

Vivienne nodded dumbly.

“Well, what are you just standing there for, silly?” Emma giggled after a moment. “Hurry up and, like, come in!”

Without speaking another word, Vivienne nodded and followed Emma inside. The whole time, her mind was racing. Half of it was frenzied speculation. Why was Emma here? What was the nature of her association with Melanie Adams? Had she brought her here for Vivienne? How did they know about her fascination with Emma? What should she do? Should she say something? Ask?

The other half was equally frenzied fangirling.

It’s Emma. It’s actually Emma. The Emma. My Emma. Oh god. She’s right there. She’d said ‘hi’ to Vivienne. Vivienne could reach out and touch her if she wanted to. Would she sign something for her? Oh god. She’s so hot. She’s even hotter in person. Oh god. Oh god.

She really was even hotter in person. Looking at her on a screen, in a highly polished piece of video content, it was easy to gloss over Emma’s sheer physical perfection. Her clear skin, her sleek, blonde hair, her perfect, hourglass figure, and the hints of toned muscle underneath - all of it was truly unbelievable. Vivienne found it hard not to be dazzled by Emma’s raw beauty and sex appeal. Her outfit - a simple sundress, albeit one that was cut low and very, very short - was far less salacious than the kind of slutty workout clothes Vivienne usually saw her in, but that didn’t make Emma any less stunning. If anything, it enhanced her allure - plus, there was something utterly precious about getting to see her like this: casual, domestic, offhanded.

Just like the video, it was something none of Emma’s other fans would ever get to see.

Vivienne was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for Mel’s invitation.

“Vivienne!” Melanie Adams rose to her feet as Emma led Vivienne into the living area of the apartment. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course,” Vivienne replied, because she didn’t know what else to say.

As she watched, Emma rushed to Mel’s side and stretched up to kiss her cheek, a big, dumb grin on her face. Envy hit Vivienne like a wave - and she wasn’t even sure who she was jealous of.

An instant later, her corporate instincts kicked in. She couldn’t let it show. Her envy, her desire - any of it. Not even the fact that she knew who Emma was.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Vivienne added, before nodding toward the bimbo. “And… who’s this?”

Silently, she prayed her voice didn’t sound as robotic out loud as it did in her head.

“Oh, this?” Mel’s grin was wide and proud as she slipped her arm around Emma’s waist. “This is my lover - and my pet. Emma.”

Emma let out a sickeningly sweet giggle and pressed herself to Mel’s side. Their body language, the looks on their faces - it was obvious they were in love. And from Emma’s videos, Vivienne knew there was only one person Emma felt this way about.

Which meant Melanie Adams, her corporate enemy, was Emma’s mysterious mistress.

For a moment, Vivienne was speechless. Her instincts screamed at her that something was wrong, but she suppressed them. Her security and anonymity were perfect. There was no way that anybody could know, least of all Mel. There was no reason for anyone to even suspect. This was all just one big coincidence.

But, god, what a coincidence.

“Pleased to meet you,” Vivienne said stiffly.

“You too!” Emma sang out, and her voice was so bright and carefree, Vivienne couldn’t help but freeze in her tracks as words from the video came back to her.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

Vivienne blinked. She needed to focus.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Mel suggested.

She gestured to one of their couches, clustered around a coffee table. Vivienne obligingly sat herself down at one; Mel sat at the next couch over, and Emma immediately went to perch beside her owner.

“So,” Vivienne said deliberately. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

Mel held up a hand. “First things first: refreshments. It’s the least I can do, after dragging you over here. Would you like something?”

Vivienne shook her head. “No, that’s-“

“Hey, doll,” Mel interrupted, turning to Emma. “Bring us out some glasses and a pitcher of water.”

"OK!”

Emma sprung to her feet once more, and headed towards the kitchen. Normally, Vivienne would have bristled at having her objection brushed aside so casually, but the simple sight of Emma walking away from her silenced any complaint she might have raised.

Her ass. It took the words right out of her.

In just a few moments, Emma returned, with glasses and a pitcher set on a tray. She smiled at Vivienne as she set it down on the coffee table before handing out the glasses and pouring each of them a glass of water.

Vivienne’s mouth went dry as Emma bent at the waist in front of her to pour her drink. She could see down Emma’s dress. All the way down. And the bimbo wasn’t wearing a bra. It was all Vivienne could do to keep her eyes from bulging. Emma’s plump, round tits bounced and jiggled with her every slightest motion, and beneath those, Vivienne could even make out the outlines of Emma’s toned abs. The camera truly didn’t do her body justice.

“Vivienne?” Mel prompted. “You were saying?”

Vivienne blinked. She scolded herself for getting distracted. “I was just…” She frowned. “No, you were telling me why you invited me here.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Mel just kept smiling. “Well, it’s simple. Like I told you yesterday, I think we really do have a lot in common. I was hoping I might persuade you to see it that way too, if we spent a little time together.”

“Please.” Vivienne snorted derisively. “You just want to persuade me to sell out to your mothers.”

“I won’t insult you by denying an ulterior motive,” Mel replied. “But I can’t force the legendary Vivienne Gilbert to do something she doesn’t want to do. You have nothing to lose - and everything to gain, if you come to see how mutually beneficial some of our proposals can be.”

“Not likely.” Vivienne pursed her lips. This was a waste of time, and she had plenty on her table. Under normal circumstances, she might have simply stood up and left. But…

Once again, Vivienne found herself glancing at Emma.

“But,” she said slowly, “perhaps you’re right. It’s not often I get to enjoy a casual drink with another woman of our station.”

“Right!” Mel beamed at her. “It should be fun.”

Vivienne nodded as she sipped at her water. Her inner fangirl couldn’t help but want to spend more time in Emma’s presence. And beyond that, she was desperate to know how an inexperienced mind-controller like Mel came to own such a wonderfully trained and presented bimbo.

“Well,” Vivienne said, for want of something to say, “if you have proposals, I may as well look at them. I assume you’ve improved your offer?”

“Of course,” Mel told her. “Anything less would be churlish. Emma, the papers on my desk.”

“Sure thing!” Emma announced, as she bounced to her feet. She soon returned with a stack of papers, but before she could present them to Vivienne, they slipped out of her grasp and ended up scattered across the ground.

“Emma!” Mel scolded, although none too harshly.

“Oopsie!” Emma squealed bashfully. “Sorry! I’m, like, sooo clumsy sometimes.”

Vivienne felt her cheeks starting to glow pink. She couldn’t help it. Emma was just so cute.

“Pick those up,” Mel ordered. “Quickly.”

“Yes, Mel!” Emma chirruped.

She fell down onto her hands and knees, and started scrambling to gather up all the sheets of paper she’d dropped. This time, Emma was largely facing away from Vivienne, but that didn’t make the spectacle any less mouth-watering. As the bimbo bent over, the hem of her sundress rode up over her hips, exposing her ass. Vivienne utterly failed to avert her eyes as it swayed from side to side every time Emma moved.

Somehow, Emma managed to make even picking up papers look both sexy and joyful.

Maybe it was the damp spot of wetness staining her panties.

“Here!” Emma announced after a moment, looking up. “I think I got them all.”

“Oh, babe.” Mel laughed indulgently. “Put them in the right order too.

“Right!” Emma giggled again. “Good idea!”

Emma set the papers down on the floor and started sorting them, peering at each of the page numbers in turn. The sorting, though, wasn’t what had Vivienne spellbound.

It was the way that the damp spot on her panties grew when Mel told Emma what to do.

Vivienne shivered. That kind of pleasure-obedience conditioning was routine. Vivienne herself had done that to dozens of women. But here? Now? It was mesmerizing.

She needed to pull herself together, but instead, she was thinking about last night’s video again. How wet had Emma been under that cheerleader outfit while she’d been chanting?

“Here!” Emma said as she rose to her feet and handed Vivienne the papers. Vivienne took a drink of her water to cover her embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she replied, and made a show of looking at the proposals in her hand. In that moment, she couldn’t imagine anything less able to hold her attention than a bunch of numbers and figures.

“So?” Mel asked, after a moment. “What do you think?”

“I…” Vivienne tried to make herself focus. It didn’t work. All she could think about was Emma. “Well, I’ll have to get my analysts to run some of these numbers for themselves.”

“Of course.” Mel nodded gracefully. “There’s no rush. And honestly, where are my manners? Forcing all this business on you right away. I’m sure we can find something more interesting to occupy us.”

Vivienne nodded agreeably. She made to sip at her water again - only to realize her glass was already empty. Mel noticed right away.

“Emma, please give our guest a refill.”

“Sure!”

“No, that’s really not- oh!”

Instinctively, Vivienne went to wave Emma off, but Emma had already sprung into motion. In the brief mismatch of intentions, Emma’s hand slipped, and she ended up spilling water from the pitcher all over herself.

“Emma!” Mel sounded mortified, although she was still smiling. “You’re so clumsy today.”

“Oh my gosh!” Emma gasped. “I’m, like, so so sorry! Did I get any on you?”

“That’s alright,” Vivienne said faintly. Having her favorite model apologize to her was such a strange experience. “I don’t think you-“

She paused as she looked down and noticed two things. Firstly, a small stain on one of her pant legs. And secondly, the way Emma’s soaked dress was turning translucent.

It made for quite the sight.

“Here.” Emma was already surging forward, a cloth in her hand. “Let me clean you up.”

Before Vivienne could stop her, Emma was on her knees in front of her, lightly patting at her clothing. Vivienne felt faint. It was practically a dream come true. She couldn’t believe that Emma, of all people, was fussing over her like this.

“There!” Emma giggled after a moment. “All good.” She looked up. “Did I, like, splash you somewhere else?”

I don’t think so, Vivienne was about to say. But the fawning, adoring look in Emma’s big, gorgeous vacant eyes stole her breath away. She desperately needed to compose herself. And as soon as possible, she needed to watch that video again so she could work out some of this frustration.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

“Amazing, isn’t she?” Mel asked. A strange grin was on her face.

“W-what?” Vivienne started, embarrassed.

“Emma.” Mel nodded to her bimbo as Emma rose and went to sit back down beside her. “You seem quite taken with her.”

“I…” Vivienne’s mind raced as she searched for something she could say. “She’s… a fine specimen,” she grasped, after a moment. “Your handiwork?”

“I had a little help, at first,” Mel admitted. “But I like to think I’ve been taking good care of her ever since.”

“Certainly,” Vivienne found herself saying. She couldn’t bring herself to utter a word against Emma’s condition - and besides, there were a thousand questions she wished she could ask.

“I’m surprised, I admit,” Mel commented. “I noticed your tastes seemed to skew a little more, well, secretarial.”

"It’s true,” Vivienne acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate other angles.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to convince you,” Mel said wryly, before looking at Emma with an expression of great fondness. “I think bimbos like Emma are just wonderful.”

"That’s your specialty?” Vivienne asked. She was hanging on Mel’s every word. She needed to know how Mel had made Emma so perfect.

“Yes, I think so,” Mel mused. “I just can’t help it. It’s how happy they are. Know what I mean?”

Vivienne nodded. She’d never cared much about the happiness of her brainwashed peons, but there was something undeniably charismatic about Emma’s irrepressibly upbeat demeanor.

“I think of it like a gift,” Mel went on. “A blessing, really. I love that, with Emma, I could take away everything that was troubling her. Every worry. Every care. Every source of stress or doubt. And in their place? Nothing but simple joy - and one simple purpose: us.”

Emma was just sitting there next to her, smiling and humming, as if the conversation was going straight over her head. Vivienne was captivated.

“Sometimes I wonder about how it must feel,” Mel said. “Don’t you?”

“No,” Vivienne lied. “Of course not.”

Yes. The question had started occurring to her ever since she’d discovered Emma. That morning, it had been on her mind constantly. The mindset of a giggly bimbo like Emma was completely antithetical to Vivienne. The curiosity was only natural.

At least, that was what she told herself.

“I imagine it must be wonderful,” Mel said thoughtfully. “I mean, just look how happy she is.”

Vivienne frowned. “It’s undignified. Humiliating.”

“Not to her,” Mel countered. “Things like dignity never even cross her mind. She’s just happy. Aren’t you, Emma?”

For the first time, Emma tuned into their words. “Yes, Mel!��� she replied brightly.

“That’s part of it,” Mel continued. “Being able to cast aside preconceived values like those. Wouldn’t that be a thrill? Wouldn’t that be liberating, even?”

"I hardly think…” Vivienne hesitated. She found herself thinking about Emma, on the video, jumping and cheering. Hadn’t she seemed so free?

Hadn’t Vivienne felt free, cheering along with her?

“I’m sure it feels amazing,” Mel decided. “Nothing to worry about. No stress. No responsibility. Isn’t that all the more appealing, to women like us? Hypnogarchs, I mean. We have so much weight on our shoulders. We need to be on guard all the time. It’s so exhausting, isn’t it?”

Vivienne really did feel exhausted. She hadn’t had as much sleep as usual. When she spoke, she had to fight to suppress a yawn. “It’s part of the game, Mel. If you don’t like it, all you have to do is give up playing.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mel just smiled disarmingly at her. “Come on. You can tell me. There’s no one here to listen - well, except Emma, and she’s not telling. It gets to you too, doesn’t it? It must. Beneath the whole ‘woman of steel’ public image, you’re just as human as the rest of us.”

“Of course,” Vivienne had to concede.

She glanced at Emma. The bimbo was just staring at her, eyes wide and eager and guileless. It was like she wanted to hear Vivienne’s answers.

“Then even you can see the appeal.” Mel’s voice was surprisingly nice to listen to; Vivienne hadn’t noticed that at first. “You’re a rising star, Vivienne. Even you must have moments when you wonder if you’re good enough.”

“I…” Vivienne wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“I know I do,” Mel offered. “My mothers have these sky-high expectations of me. It’s crazy. There’s so much to think about and manage. So, sometimes, when I’m watching Emma, and she’s working out, or stretching, or posing for the camera, I can’t help but be a little jealous.”

Vivienne found herself nodding.

“Yesterday, she was recording some video - for her OnlyFans, I guess,” Mel mentioned offhandedly. “And she was chanting something so silly! What was it… ‘One! Two! One! Two! Emma’s the only one for you!’ Something like that, anyway.”

Vivienne shivered involuntarily. Her cheeks started to turn pink.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Mel laughed. “But just imagine being able to say something like that to all those people, without a single reservation or inhibition. Without being smart enough to worry. When I think about it like that, it makes me wonder if Emma’s the real winner in our dynamic. You know?”

Once more, Vivienne nodded.

“One! Two! One! Two!” Mel chanted half-heartedly, a bemused look on her face. She rolled her eyes indulgently at Emma, before suddenly turning to Vivienne. “Hey, why don’t you try it?”

Vivienne almost choked. She shook her head. “What? No.”

“Come on,” Mel needled. “I already embarrassed myself with it! It’s more fun than you think. Right, Emma?”

“Totally!” Emma agreed at once. “You gotta give it a try!”

“Well…” Vivienne found herself hopelessly weak to Emma’s pleading. And besides, the cheer was already on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken. She already knew how good they could feel. What was the harm in it? “Fine.” She allowed herself a thin smile. “But just once.”

“Yay!” Emma cheered. Vivienne’s smile widened. Emma’s enthusiasm was infectious. As she and Mel watched, Vivienne sat up and cleared her throat:

“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”

She froze. It wasn’t just the words - although the fact that the other chant had slipped out certainly was mortifying. It was also the sheer, unmistakably excitement that filled her voice as she chanted. She hadn’t sounded like a powerful CEO begrudgingly indulging an acquaintance. She’d sounded like she was having the time of her life.

She’d sounded like Emma.

As Vivienne blushed, both Emma and Mel simply clapped and cheered. That didn’t help with the embarrassment, even if the bright smile on Emma’s face did fill Vivienne with a warm glow.

“’Emma’s the only one for me’,” Mel quoted, grinning. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“I didn’t mean…”

Vivienne paused. Her denials just made her sound weak. Saving face in front of Melanie Adams didn’t matter. What mattered was getting a grip on herself. Vivienne still couldn’t afford to be so scatterbrained in front of a rival hypnogarch, even a mere wannabe like Mel. It was Emma’s video. It had to be. She’d been listening to it far too much, without enough sleep. It had left her exhausted and distracted. Even now, she could hear the words echoing over and over in her head.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

It was ridiculous. Vivienne needed to focus. She needed to assert herself properly. And she knew the perfect way.

Vivienne slipped a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingertips around her watch.

“You know, Mel,” Vivienne began, pushing Emma’s silly cheer to the back of her mind. “You really do seem enthusiastic about all this.”

“Do I?” A playful look appeared on Mel’s face.

“Oh, yes. Certainly. Your passion is obvious.” Vivienne was relieved at how easy it was for her to find her flow. She hadn’t lost her touch. “But there’s more than just admiration, isn’t there?”

“Is there?” Mel cocked her head.

“Yes,” Vivienne told her. “You sound like you want to be a bimbo, Mel.”

“Want to be a bimbo?” Mel echoed. “Why would anybody want that?”

Vivienne smiled to herself. Mel had taken the hook.

“Isn’t that what you’ve just been telling me?” Vivienne carefully modulated her voice to form a subtle but irresistible rhythm as she spoke. “For the blissful, dumb, mindless relief of it. To be free of all your worries and cares.”

“Free of it all.” Mel nodded agreeably. “Free of stress. Free of inhibition.”

“Right,” Vivienne nodded. She was surprised Mel wasn’t putting up a little more resistance. She really was naive. “If you were a bimbo, you could just… you could… um…”

Vivienne frowned. The words just wouldn’t come to her. That was unusual. For a hypnotist of Vivienne’s stature, weaving an induction out of their conversation should have been child’s play. Instead, Vivienne’s head just wouldn’t clear. No matter how hard she tried to think, she found herself distracted by the insistent, rhythmic chant burnt into her brain.

One, two, three! One, two, three!

“If you were a bimbo,” Mel supplied, after a moment, “you could just worry about looking hot and shaking your pretty little ass for your owner.”

“Right.” Vivienne blushed slightly, both from the images of Emma filling her head and from the embarrassment of needing help from her prey. “No more expectations. No more pressure. Just looking hot. Just exercise, and makeup, and pretty clothes…”

She trailed off briefly. Vivienne was suddenly dazzled by how right Mel had been earlier. In a sense, being a bimbo truly was something to envy. How long since she’d had time to devote a day to worrying about makeup and pretty clothes? Her assistants took care of most of that for her, so she had more time for meetings, and press briefings, and answering emails…

For things that just left her even more exhausted.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Vivienne pressed on, through the fog of her own confusion. “To just sink into that blank, blissful, bimbo headspace. To embrace being dumb for a change.”

“Being dumb?” Mel echoed again. There was a strange, keen look in her eyes; Vivienne wondered if she was already going under. “What’s so good about that?”

Vivienne seized upon the opportunity to explain. “It’s simple,” she said slowly. “When you’re dumb - when you can’t think - it only takes one little thing to take up all of your attention. No distractions. No bothersome thoughts. No stresses or worries. Just… um…”

It happened again. Vivienne fell silent as her attention wavered. Once more, Emma’s face and the blissfully dumb way she’d danced and cheered on the video were all she could think about. When she tried to form words, that ridiculous chant threatened to slip out of her mouth again.

“Just a blissful, blank, empty, bimbo mind,” Mel supplied. Her voice was so very soft.

“That’s right.” Vivienne seized her suggestion gratefully. “Just a blissful, blank, empty, bimbo mind.”

“You only need to think about what feels good,” Mel added.

“Only need to think about what feels good,” Vivienne told her.

She frowned. This didn’t feel quite right. It was so frustrating to feel so fuzzy and distracted at such a key moment. But there was nothing to do but press on.

“Here,” Vivienne said. To her own ears, her voice sounded slower. That was strange. “Let me show you.”

Fortunately, long practice proved sufficient to overcome her fatigue as, in a single, slick motion, she whipped her pocket watch out of her pocket and set it into motion in the air between them. Vivienne was pleased to see Mel’s eyes immediately fixed on the swinging object.

“There,” Vivienne instructed. “Look at the watch, Mel. Let it hold your attention. Let it drive all those other thoughts away. Focus on the watch.”

Mel simply nodded. “Focus on the watch,” she echoed.

If Vivienne hadn’t been completely focused on swinging the pocket watch, she might have rolled her eyes. It was astounding how defenseless this girl was. She would never be a hypnogarch. Better she be taken into Vivienne’s care.

“Focus,” Vivienne repeated. “Focus on the… on the…”

Her words died away. She was finding it difficult to keep the pocket watch swinging as she usually did. It was robbing Vivienne’s concentration; between that and Emma’s cheer, she could barely think.

“Focus,” Mel reminded her.

Vivienne nodded. “Focus,” she said slowly. “Focus your eyes on the watch. Let it drive all other thoughts out of your head, so you can focus on your mind on just one thing: you want to be a bimbo.”

“You want to be a bimbo,” Mel repeated.

“That’s right.” Vivienne allowed herself a small smile. It sounded completely backward when Mel said it like that, but a foolish mistake from a hypnotic subject was of no consequence. “You want to be a bimbo.”

She risked a glance at Emma. Emma was still perched next to Mel, seemingly lost in her own happy little world and entirely oblivious to what was happening to her owner. Yet again, Vivienne was struck by how wonderfully carefree she seemed. Vivienne herself felt as though she’d briefly touched upon that headspace while watching Emma’s video. What would it be like to exist like that permanently?

“You want to be a bimbo,” Vivienne insisted, turning her attention back to Mel. “You will be a bimbo.”

“You will be a bimbo,” Mel echoed back to her.

Vivienne frowned. Mel’s rote repetition was really starting to bother her, but she couldn’t seem to pinpoint why. Her head was getting foggier than ever. She was struggling even to string her sentences together. But she had to keep going. Vivienne’s style, as a hypnotist, was blunt and firm. She loved to impress her will upon her subjects. In a battle of wills, she never lost.

All she had to do was keep believing that.

“Imagine it for me,” Vivienne told Mel. “Imagine your thoughts becoming slower and slower. Simpler and simpler. Imagine how hard it would be to concentrate on anything difficult. Imagine…” Her brow furrowed. “Imagine…”

Glancing at Emma had been such a distraction. Suddenly she was having a hard time focusing on Mel. Emma’s presence was such a distraction. She was so perfect. So hot.

“Imagine how good the smallest little things would make you feel,” Mel suggested. “The color pink. Your own body. The beat of some fun music. Imagine how joyful those would be, if you didn’t need to think all the time.”

“Yes,” Vivienne agreed. She let out a plaintive little sigh. “Imagine… imagine that.”

“Imagine all those pressures and expectations, slipping off of your mind,” Mel went on. “Imagine how free you’d feel. Too dumb to worry. Too dumb to care. Too happy to let anything trouble you.”

Vivienne’s brow twitched again. Something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. Just keeping her pocket watch swinging was now taking all of her concentration. She couldn’t see the watch’s face, but her gaze was fixed upon its back, on the way the reflection of the lights above glinted and shifted on its metal surface as it swung.

“Yeah…” she found herself saying. Suddenly, everything was warm and heavy. Her voice. Her eyelids. Everything.

“Good,” Mel murmured. “Don’t worry. Just keep focusing on the watch. Keep it swinging. Nice and slow. Nice and even. Letting it take up all of your thoughts.”

“Yeah. Yes. Right. Focus… on the watch.”

That sounded right to Vivienne. Focus on the watch. That was all she needed from Mel. It was nice to think that focusing on her watch was all Vivienne needed to do.

“You… want to be a bimbo,” Vivienne said, after a long moment. She thought that was important.

“You want to be a bimbo.” Out of the corner of her eye, Vivienne could see Mel smiling as she spoke. “That’s right. I know it must be so hard. So exhausting. Being in the lead all the time. Being responsible for so many people. Needing to watch your back every moment of the day. Maybe that’s why you want to be a bimbo. Maybe, deep down, you just want to set it all aside.”

Vivienne twitched abruptly. Mel’s words felt like they were going right through her, setting off a sudden wave of alarm and nausea.

“I…” she bleated. “I… no… that’s…”

Part of her was crying out for the relief Mel promised. But another part of her was screaming that she’d never let it go. Her position as CEO - stresses, worries, responsibilities and all - was her pride. They were part of her, and so was her ambition. For Vivienne, giving any of it up would have been like severing a limb. It was unthinkable.

No matter how good it would feel.

“Calm down,” Mel soothed. “Breathe. Nice and deep. Focus on the watch.”

“No,” Vivienne replied, a little stronger. This wasn’t right. None of it. She needed to find her rhythm again. She needed to hypnotize Mel. Not this, whatever this was. She started blinking, trying to peel her eyes away from her own pocket watch.

“Focus on the watch,” Mel repeated, urgently this time. For the first time during their meeting, she sounded genuinely unsure of herself. That uncertain tone in her voice energized Vivienne. “I need you to… damn it… Emma, could you?”

She gestured, and Emma immediately rose to her feet. Vivienne gasped when the gorgeous bimbo stepped over toward her and sat down beside her on the couch, so close she was practically draped across Vivienne’s lap. She stopped struggling. The simple fact of Emma’s presence, of Emma’s touch, was dazzling.

Emma was so hot. So amazing. So perfect. Seeing her on OnlyFans was nothing compared to this.

“Tell her, Emma,” Mel urged. “Tell her how good it feels.”

“Sure!” Emma let out a light giggle and turned to Vivienne. “Um, well, she’s totally right! Being a bimbo feels fantastic.”

Vivienne whimpered. Her willpower was fading. Somehow, when it was coming from Emma, she just couldn’t fight it. Emma was all of her longing, condensed and made manifest. She was irresistible.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

“I, like, don’t really remember too much about how I used to be,” Emma whispered into Vivienne’s ear. “I mean, most times, it feels like I’ve been Mel’s bimbo since, like, forever! But, um, sometimes? I get these, like, bad dreams, about being all boring and stressed out and stuff.”

Vivienne was hanging on her every word. How could she not? Emma was her idol.

“And… wow,” Emma sighed. “In those dreams, I’m always sooo miserable. And when I wake up, I really, like, don’t miss it. Y’know?”

Shivers raced through Vivienne. She’d never really bothered to consider who Emma might have been before her bimbofication. The prospect that she’d been someone much like Vivienne, at least in temperament, was instantly intoxicating.

“It’s sooo much better this way,” Emma drawled. Her lips were so close to Vivienne now, practically kissing her ears as she poured in her words. “Trust me! You trust me, right, Vivienne?”

Vivienne couldn’t help nodding eagerly. Emma, the bimbo superstar, had said her name. She’d actually said her name. Vivienne’s stomach filled with butterflies.

“Yay!” Emma exclaimed. “So just listen to her, m’kay? Mel is sooo smart. So much smarter than us, anyway.”

Than us. A whimper escaped Vivienne’s lips. She couldn’t tell if it was a protest or a girlish squeal.

“You love doing whatever I tell you to,” Mel broke in. She sounded calm again. In control. “Don’t you, Emma?”

“Of course!” Emma replied instantly, eagerly. “Obeying Mel feels sooo good. So much better than, like, having to think for myself. That gets soooo hard. So much better than having to worry about what all those other people think.”

“All you have to think about is me,” Mel said firmly.

“All I have to think about is her,” Emma repeated. She sounded as intoxicated as Vivienne felt. “Looking hot for her. Shaking my pretty ass for her.” She giggled. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yeah…” Vivienne breathed.

She couldn’t help it. Deep down, she longed for what Emma had. For that simple, dim-witted, obedient, joyful bliss. And now, as her head spun with fog, another element was being added to the mix: Mel. When Emma explained it like that, Vivienne just couldn’t keep it separate.

Being simple and dim-witted, for Mel. Being obedient to Mel. Being joyful and blissful, because of Mel.

“Let’s face it, Vivienne,” Mel told her. “You’re just not good enough.”

Vivienne tensed again. That was the one thing she never wanted to hear.

“But that’s OK,” Mel assured her at once. “Even if you’re not good enough to be a hypnogarch or a CEO, you’re good enough for me. Good enough to be a bimbo.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Emma whispered to Vivienne. Vivienne was instantly spellbound; how could she sound so happy about that? “I had to try sooo hard, all the time. Until Mel set me free.”

“Don’t you want to be free, Vivienne?” Mel asked.

“Don’t you want to be free like me?” Emma added.

Vivienne paused for a moment. Then, she sagged. She slumped back onto the couch, and the arm holding the pocket watch threatened to drop.

“Yeah…” she sighed dreamily.

She’d never imagined defeat could feel like such a relief.

“Good,” Mel praised. “Then I think this should actually belong to me, shouldn’t it?”

Mel reached forward and plucked Vivienne’s precious pocket watch out of her unresisting fingers. She kept it swinging just as Vivienne had, following the same rhythm, but it was now perfectly clear to both of them who was really in control.

“Are you ready to go all the way down for me, Vivienne?” Mel asked her.

Vivienne knew what that meant, and shivered from hot licks of humiliation - but only briefly. She was done fighting. She wanted to be like Emma. She was accepting that - at least subconsciously. She nodded.

“Then you already know what to do,” Mel told her. “Three… two… one… zero.”

As she counted down, Vivienne felt her thoughts fade. When Mel said ‘zero’, Vivienne went completely limp. Her eyelids fluttered for the briefest of moments before they fell closed. She fell back, letting the soft, comfortable couch catch her. She surrendered, and let a blissful, empty peace settle across her mind.

For the very first time, Vivienne Gilbert was truly and completely hypnotized.

Only after several long seconds could Mel bring herself to let out the breath she had been holding. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. She’d ensnared Vivienne. It was more than she’d dared to hope for - but once the tension passed and it became clear she had won, Mel found herself laughing helplessly.

“Did we do it?” Emma asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” Mel replied jubilantly. “Yes! Oh my god. Yes, we actually did.”

Emma smiled, then pouted at her. “And… did I do good?”

“You sure did, my love.” Mel bit her lip, and beckoned Emma back to her side. “Come here.”

Emma giggled and practically threw herself at her owner, leaving Vivienne slumped and entranced alone on her couch. “So, like, what now?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” Mel replied thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how much of this she’ll remember, or how much of it will take. It takes more than one little trance to break a woman like her - but I think she’s ready to take the first few steps into her new lifestyle. At least, once I figure out what those should be.”

“Wow.” As she sat across her lap, Emma looked up at her owner with awestruck eyes.

“Yeah.” Mel giggled. “But before that, I think you deserve a little reward.”

“I do?” Instantly, Emma’s eyes were shining. “Yay!”

Mel put her hand on Emma’s hip and squeezed playfully, provoking an eager squeal.

“Absolutely. You did amazing - plus, seeing my perfect little bimbo help bring down Vivienne Gilbert was incredibly hot.”

They kissed - a long, drawn-out, passionate kiss that immediately threatened to turn into something more. After enjoying the make-out for a few moments, Mel used her grip on Emma’s hip to spin her girlfriend around beneath her, straddling her in the process. Emma submitted to her without hesitation, of course. Mel used her free hand to pin Emma’s wrists to the couch above her head, and let out a throaty, lustful purr as she brought her lips to Emma’s neck.

Hypnotizing Vivienne had seriously gotten Mel in the mood.

But before the two of them crossed the threshold into uncontrollable passion, Emma threw a glance across the room at where Vivienne was still sitting, limp and senseless. Mel paused, curious.

“Hey,” Emma said slowly, breathlessly. “I think I, like, have an idea for what her first step should be.”

Mel drew back briefly, keen to indulge her beloved bimbo. “Oh yeah?”

“Her clothes are, like, sooo boring,” Emma complained. “How about you take her out shopping and give her a makeover?”

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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Finally, special thanks to Neana for commissioning this story!

[vaguely-concerned]

the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)

[zeb-z]

also can I just say. the difference between the joy of fit and bagi having a full day with blue, getting acquainted with the base, reuniting with their loved ones, all relieved to have more materials and more of a team - and then the absolute misery of etoiles and roier, moving the few valuable possessions red has to a new base that got immediately discovered anyway, losing all their gear, getting it back, then burning it themselves before killing eachother, is just so fucking funny. the new blues had freshman orientation while the new reds had a trial by fire canon event