#From The Room Bellow show my beloved

[moonchild-in-blue]

Anyways. If we are going to cry, then let's cry about this instead. Thank yeww.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

At the Emperor’s Word -Viktor x Reader x Jayce

Summary: Sneaking around the academy after hours sounds like a good idea right up until you get caught; then, it becomes a great idea.

Pairing: Dom!Viktor x Sub!Reader x Switch! Jayce

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit (PwP)

Tags: Threesome, Kissing, Handjob, Voyeurism, Obedience Kink, Praise Kink, Slight Cuckolding, Edging, Degradation, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Masturbation, Voice Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Lap Sex, Light Punishment Kink, Big Dick Viktor, Pet Names, Begging, Slight Choking, Vaginal Sex, Teasing, Rough Sex

Notes: A little fashionably late, but here is my absolutely filthy piece in celebration of Viktor’s birthday 🎉!! Viktor, my dearest, thank you for being my beloved husband and the devoted father of our many children. Glorious ovulation everyone ✌️💕.

You try to stifle a chuckle.

“Jayce, we can't-”

He's warm, so warm. You always feel yourself melt under his touch.

“C'mon, just a minute…” he insists.

You can't help but giggle breathlessly as he brings your hand into his pants, a large hand wrapping your fingers around his already half-hard cock. His body presses yours against the workbench, the firm wood digging into your lower back. His other hand slides against the fabric of your skirt, cushioning the strain, and not so subtly placing his palm over your ass.

He nuzzles his face against the top of your head, letting out a pleased groan when your fist starts moving. You suppress another laugh, trying your best to remain quiet, but you're positively enamoured of those sounds he makes when you touch him. Without even seeing his face, you know the content smile hasn't left his lips; he's so easy to please.

He's twitching under your grip, gripping your cheeks to the rhythm of the strokes. You quicken the pace, and he lets out a low moan that echoes through the empty lab.

This wing of the academy is always empty at this time of night, but there's something exciting about having to stay quiet. You can feel how close he's getting, the slight rutting of his hips a now familiar sign. His breath hitches, he's almost there, just a little more-

“I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

You yelp in surprise, pulling out your hand from Jayce's pants so fast your arm hits the wooden desk behind you. Jayce lets out a confused, frustrated shout at the sudden loss of friction as you wince in pain.

There, at the entrance of the lab, stands a looming figure, holding one of the large doors partially open. The light from the corridor obscures his face from the darkness of the lab; but there is no mistaking who this silhouette belongs to.

Viktor makes a single step forward, the metallic sound of his crutch against the tiled floor making you wince, as he lets the door close behind him. The room falls into obscurity again, the pale glow of the moon and the distant city lights only faintly shining through the windows.

“Ah, Viktor!” Jayce almost bellows in an overly cheery tone, walking backwards to put some distance between the two of you. “I- We were waiting for you! Got a bunch of interesting notes about today's experiments to show you !”

Viktor's face is blank, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in cold annoyance. He is neither amused nor does he seem the believe Jayce's jovial act. He nods curtly at the other man's pants, which are obviously, painfully unbuttoned. Jayce cringes as he quickly stumbles to reattach them, sliding the buttons in the wrong slits. You're frozen in place, eyes wide in fear, incapable of looking away from Viktor's frigid expression. But his focus is not on you; it's on Jayce.

“So,” he starts loudly, not bothering with whispers, “You barely spend any time working in the lab anymore. You have not even checked any of the upgrades I have suggested for the hexgates in the last month.” His voice is apathetic and dry, and his eyes narrow when he says the next words:

“And this is what you've been up to?”

Jayce opens his mouth like he's ready to argue, but the glare from his work partner seems to change his mind. He lowers his head silently, like a puppy being scolded. Viktor's golden pupils slide to you, and you now understand exactly why Jayce prefers looking at the floor.

“From Jayce I could expect,” Viktor remarks, the weight of his stare making you shrink, “but from you? I'll admit I'm disappointed.”

You bow your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks are burning, and you know there's no way to pretend like this is only a misunderstanding. You wish you could vanish on the spot.

Jayce, always the hero, comes to your defence quickly: “Viktor, it wasn't her idea-”

“I'm so sorry sir,” you interrupt him, stepping forward. You know Viktor well enough to recognize he's not a fan of poor excuses or avoiding accountability. “I swear this internship means the world to me. I know how many other students dream of working on hextech. It won't ever happen again.”

He seems pleased by your answer, although his expression stays perfectly stoic.

“That's good to hear,” he hums, walking closer to the both of you. He stops a few feet away, a ray of moonlight passing through a coloured beaker catching in his auburn hair. It illuminates him in an eerie, reddish glow, like he's not quite human, almost a phantom. “Well then, do not let me stop the both of you. Keep going, as you were.”

You have to assume he's joking, even if his tone sounds anything but, and you let out a confused, nervous giggle. But he isn't laughing, and neither is Jayce.

“Viktor…” there's uncertainty in the taller man's voice. It's not fear, or alarm, but he's apprehensive about something.

Viktor lets out a small sigh of lassitude, discontent evident. He looks at you again, with these amber eyes that make you feel like the world around you vanishes. Like there's nothing but him, and the words about to leave his lips.

“It would appear my partner is suddenly hard of hearing. Were my instructions unclear to you as well?”

You swallow. Your lips feel dry. Jayce is still unmoving next to you, still as a board, watching your interaction with his lab partner with an uneasy look.

“…No sir,” you mutter, just loudly enough for both men to hear. Viktor gives you the shadow of a smile.

“C'mon Viktor, you've humiliated her enough,” Jayce argues softly, raising his hand in a gesture of peace. But the other man has clearly decided Jayce hasn't gained his favour for the night, barely sparing him an icy glare.

“I do not believe I was talking to you,” he states matter-of-factly. The man of progress makes a strangled sound of protest, clearly insulted, but Viktor seems to have all but forgotten about him, now. It's back to only you and him, and the teasing smile dancing on his lips.

“He's always like this. Begging for attention,” Viktor tells you in a tone of confidence, like the topic of the conversation isn't standing less than a foot away from you with a baffled look on his face. “One has to wonder if he is compensating for something, but I figure you are in a good position to tell, right?”

You can’t prevent the corners of your mouth from lifting at the underhanded jab; Viktor seems emboldened by your reaction, voice louder when he continues:

“I certainly hope he's been more of a gentleman to you than this. Or does he only bend you over in our lab like an animal?”

The comment is enough to pull Jayce out of his stupor, and he raises his arms in protest.

“Hey, I'm not that-” he starts heatedly.

“Jayce.”

It's just his name; nothing else. You've said it to him hundreds of times. But there's something different in the way Viktor says it, the slow pronunciation of the syllables, the hardness of the accent, the deepness of the voice. Whatever it is, Jayce is compelled by it just as much as an order. He stops right in his tracks, his arms falling uselessly back to his side, like a dog listening to a command.

Viktor hums in approval, but his stare is no less punishing.

“I was not talking to you. When it is your turn to speak, you will know.”

Jayce's mouth is slightly agape, his eyes wide, an expression you can't quite read on his face; but he obeys. He stands there like a puppet, unmoving, drinking Viktor's words. You can't help but notice the still present strain in his badly buttoned pants.

The thinner man's gaze softens once more as it falls on you. He makes another step forward; close enough that you could reach him with your hand if you tried. He looks at you encouragingly: “Answer the question, sweet thing.”

The room feels like it's shrunk to barely a tenth of its size. Your breath has become shallow without you noticing. But isn't quite from fear anymore.

“T-twice in the lab before,” you stutter, the embarrassment of recounting your adventures to your direct supervisor burning your cheeks. The arousal in the air is undeniable now, and he's visibly aware of it. “And in the library. Once in my bedroom.”

Viktor hums pensively, studying your answer. It almost feels like you're passing some kind of final exam; the world's most sexually charged exam, undoubtedly.

“So he is aware of the basic notion of privacy behind closed doors, then,” Viktor concludes, the thin smirk now fully on display. “Who would have thought.”

He doesn't look away from your eyes when he finally speaks to the other man again.

“Jayce. How close are you?”

You glance at the taller engineer; he's started palming himself through his pants, his breathing irregular. His hair is dishevelled from your previous activities, and his cheeks are a bright crimson against his caramel skin. He's usually so dominating, on top of things, handling you like a chiffon doll up and down his dick with that cocky smile of his. You've never seen him like this; flustered, desperate, seeming so small despite all of his stature.

“Pretty close,” Jayce almost moans out, voice raspy for exertion. He's biting his own bottom lip so tightly it might start bleeding. “Just a little more.”

Viktor finally gives him a slight smile, though it's dripping with self-satisfaction. He's close enough to you that you can smell him now, that you could brush away the wayward strands of hair on his forehead. His face has been marked by the passage of time and countless hours of work, heavy bags under his eyes, cheeks almost gaudy. And yet, there is no sign of him ever losing control of this moment. Nothing could change the hypnotic power of his eyes, the controlling tone of his voice, or the subjugating effect of his slightly crooked smile.

“I suppose we should oblige,” he suggests lightly, his free hand brushing your cheek. His fingers are thin and lithe, cold against your skin, and you lean into the touch. He gives you a moment to pull away, if you want to; but you don't.

The kiss is slow at first, gentle, just the way little girls dream their prince charming might one day give them. He lets you decide when to pick up the speed, and you initiate after a few seconds by slipping your tongue in his mouth. It's messier, now, teeth clashing every now and then, saliva pooling where your lips meet. He tastes nothing like Jayce, his flavour of dark coffee and fresh mint; Viktor is sweet, like milk and honey, like a slice of lemon cake in the summer heat.

When he pulls away for air, you feel like time has started to move once again, as if you've just emerged from a dream. He's smirking confidently, still, but not entirely unfazed; his pale cheeks have turned pink, his breathing is slightly laboured, and there are traces of smudged saliva on the corners of his mouth.

A foreign whine makes you both turn towards Jayce, who is clearly on the edge of orgasm. He's abandoned any pretence of innocence, his cock fully pulled out of his pants as he rubs it furiously, eyes locked on the two of you.

“Stop,” Viktor only says.

Jayce groans in frantic frustration, slowing his rhythm but incapable of removing his hand. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his tip almost a painful red.

“No, no, c'mon V, don't do this. Please keep going,” he begs, looking at you with pitiful eyes, pleading silently. You want to touch him, to let him touch himself. But you know it's not your decision; it's Viktor's. And he's made his ruling, so you're not about to get on your research director's bad side again.

The head engineer offers a proud smile at your lack of answer to Jayce, the kind he usually reserves for reports submitted in advance or ingenious schematics. You recognize him more like this, strict, but never unappreciative of your efforts. He never forgets to slip a word of encouragement when you're stuck, never hesitates to reread your notes with you when the math isn't quite adding up. The cold anger seems to have fully passed, and now only the teasing, taunting satisfaction remains.

“I believe you may have forgotten that as per her contract, she is my assistant. Meaning she is under my direct command.”

He's looking at Jayce now, whose hand is still wrapped around his length, but unmoving. His cock is twitching in his grasp, desperate as the rest of him. His whole body shifts to the rhythm of his respiration, large shoulders slumped in defeat. Viktor doesn't turn to you when he asks you the following question, choosing instead to stare deeply into Jayce's citrine eyes.

“Is that not correct?”

You don't hesitate with your answer this time.

“Yes sir.”

His focus is still on the other man, but he strokes your cheek again with his left hand. He rests his weight comfortably on his crutch, like he doesn't have a single worry in the world in this moment.

“Good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten at that. That voice could tell you to find a way to harness the power of the goddamn stars before figuring out the hexcore, and you would comply.

“Jayce, could you bring the chair over here? The larger one.”

Viktor points with his chin towards a wooden chair with a flat backing, in a corner of the lab. Jayce looks back and forth between the chair and his partner, like he's unsure if he's joking or testing him. When no additional directions come from Viktor, he sighs in discomfort, clearly disgruntled, unceremoniously shoving himself back in his pants to go fetch the chair. The thinner man hums in appreciation when he brings it back and places it next to him.

“Thank you, Jayce.”

He sits, using his crutch for balance as he shifts slightly to find a comfortable position. His hand leaves the burgundy handgrip, instead settling on the metallic upper section. He looks like the king of a forgotten kingdom, resting on his wooden throne, sceptre in hand. You and Jayce, his obedient consorts, can't do anything but await his next command.

It comes in the form of a simple motion of his hand, beckoning you closer. You only stop when your legs bump against his, standing above him. His fingers caress the fabric of your skirt studyingly, like he's committing the feel to memory. They eventually catch on the waistband, tugging it questioningly. His golden eyes look up at you, the colour of the sunrise etched in his pupils. You nod earnestly in approval, and he lowers the skirt down until it reaches your knees, letting it fall to the floor. You're suddenly very thankful you dressed up this morning knowing you would see Jayce.

The design is simple, a line of flowery lace hugging your hips, and curving to the shape of your ass. It's the kind of thing Jayce loves; he'll even make you keep your panties on sometimes as he fucks you, just pushing the bottom of the fabric to the side to fit himself inside you. It's the lace he can’t resist, you think, the way it barely covers anything and rests against your skin like a present for him to unwrap.

It doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Viktor, but you can tell he’s still appreciative, cold hand sneaking under the lace to squeeze a cheek firmly.

“This is fucking torture,” Jayce groans in complaint, standing still just barely a few feet away. He's obviously aware he's not supposed to interfere with the two of you, or to touch himself for relief, but the glistening sweat on his forehead and down the prominent vein on his neck indicates how difficult this is for him.

“And you should know better than to have sex next to a table covered in explosive materials and one-of-a-kind prototypes,” Viktor retorts, sparing him a slightly displeased glance. “What if you had broken something irreplaceable?”

Jayce seems genuinely embarrassed by that; he may not show it as often these days with how busy he is, but you know he still cares about the academy's research and the state of hextech.

“I'm sorry Viktor. I wasn't thinking…”

“I am aware you were not thinking. And that is exactly the issue. You forget how much of our profession relies on thinking, not talking.”

It's crystal clear that's going to be the end of the conversation, for now. Viktor's fingers slide to your hip, following the shape of the panties until your inner thigh. A small tap with a single digit tells him everything he needs to know.

“Look at this,” he smiles, taunting but affectionate, “Already so wet just from a kiss. Or was it the sound of my voice that did it, I wonder.”

Both, it's both, and every single thing that has happened in this lab since he entered it. You tremble when his finger moves slowly against the damp fabric, not quite oversensitive, but a little on edge.

“I, um-” Jayce hesitantly speaks up from the side. “I fingered her a bit earlier. I… think she should be alright?”

This time, Viktor doesn't reprimand him for talking; he seems surprisingly pleased, eyes boring into yours for confirmation.

“Is that so?” he exhales softly.

You nod breathlessly. Why is it always so difficult to talk when he's studying you like this?

The teasing finger slips under the fabric, gently making its way into you. You let out an involuntary sound of eagerness as he verifies if you've been loosened up, analyzing you with the precision of a machine. He removes the digit with a crooked grin when he judges you've passed, and you whine at the loss; it was barely anything in the first place, but it soothed the feeling of total emptiness in your core.

“Color me impressed,” Viktor declares, half genuine, half mocking. “I do not think I have ever seen Jayce do his work in advance.”

Said man groans in defeated complaint:

“You're turning her against me.”

Viktor lets out a wry snort:

“You do that well enough on your own. You touched her without even making her cum?”

He pats your pussy comfortingly, and you almost sing to the feeling. Your panties get lowered swiftly, and you discard them with little decorum. Viktor's assertive expression has softened enough that you feel emboldened enough to try to join in the banter:

“Jayce thinks foreplay is watching him get undressed. He's not exactly an expert.”

Viktor laughs at that, a charming and genuine sound, and you feel yourself glow with pride. The topic of mockery doesn't seem as pleased, his cheeks red, his lips thin:

“See? Told you. You've already worked your fucking magic on her.”

Viktor starts unbuttoning his pants, the teasing smile still etched on his angular features. His fingers work nimbly, swiftly, with the precision only the best engineer in Runeterra could muster in such circumstances.

“It is not magic, Jayce. Simply talent and practice.”

He does quick work of lowering his pants, just enough to expose his underwear. The confirmation that he is indeed not as unbothered as he still may seem is poking through the fabric. Judging by the defined outline and the sizeable tent, you can instantly confirm a hypothesis you've had since the start of your internship: the Assistant to the Dean of the Academy is packing.

He's not unaware of it either; his golden eyes follow the movement of your own, playfully examining your reaction. It's different from Jayce's endearing ego and constant need for praise; Viktor knows his worth, but he revels in the admiration, the stares filled with awe and devotion.

If Jayce needs to feel worthy, then Viktor needs to feel wanted.

He finally frees his cock from the restrive fabric, letting the member bob slightly. He's not even fully hard, and he's huge, the length imposing, the bulbous tip a pleasant shade of pink. The skin is as pale as the rest of him, blueish veins marking it like porcelain; only a few well-trimmed auburn curls at the base remind you he's not sculpted from actual marble.

Jayce lets out a low, tentatively playful whistle as the other man’s slender fingers wrap around the shaft.

“Flattery will not get you far, Jayce,” Viktor comments absentmindedly. “You and I both know this is nothing you have not seen before.”

He moves his hand in an open, loose fist, evidently without any real intent to finish himself off; not with the way he's made you stand right above him, not with how he's looking right at you. You swallow with difficulty, licking your lips for moisture. The energy between the two of you is tangible, electric, as he keeps working himself tantalizingly slow.

“Darling. Sweet thing. Do you want this?”

You nod vigorously, the words stuck in your throat again.

“Tell me, then. Please. Tell me how much you want this,” he requests, and it's hard to tell whether that's an order or a plea with the way his voice lowers, just barely louder than a whisper.

You feel like you're high, your mind a jumbled mess of adrenaline and lust. There are no sentences that could possibly express how he's got you under his spell. How many times have you imagined a scene like this, in only a year of being his assistant? The stolen glances, the passing touches, you had no reason to believe they were anything more than figments of your lustful imagination. The very idea that he could be the one doubting your interest in him is laughable, and yet his gaze is probing you for a response, his lips parted with bated breath.

“I want this. I want you,” you swear to him, staring back so deeply into the amber irises there could not be a single question left. “Please, sir.”

You bring a hand to the crook of his neck; the coolness of the skin under your palm, the sharpness of his collarbone against your fingertips, the beating of his heart below your thumb. He has to know this is real.

Viktor smiles slightly, the little mole above his lips shifting alongside his dimples.

“I would ask you to be weary of my right leg, then. It is not quite as strong as it used to be, although that is not saying much.”

You've never seen the emotion that crosses Viktor's face in that moment, gone in under a second. It's so subtle one might have missed it; bitterness, regret, defeat. The tragedy of a man brilliant enough to change the whole world, but who wouldn't live long enough to see it. If Janna truly watches over the lost children of Zaun, then she is turning a blind eye to the brightest of them all.

You could say something, try and comfort him, but you choose not to. There's nothing that can be said to change things; there’s only the present, and there are only actions.

You sink down on him slowly, the both of you moaning in unison. You can't help the array of whines escaping your pinched lips. The heat from where your bodies meet is overwhelming, the stretch delightful and filling. He's not fully inside you and you're already wondering how much more you can take. It's dizzying, the pain making you grit your teeth, but you persist, fingers clenching on the back of the chair. When you've fully bottomed out, you let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Viktor soothingly pats your back, and you hang on to him for dear life, wrapping both arms around his back.

“Are you alright?” he whispers softly, worry evident in his voice. You want to answer, but you're quite certain if you open your mouth you'll only get confused gibberish out, because fuck, he's filling you so much it's hard to even think. You shift your grip to his shoulder blades, trying to anchor yourself, absentmindedly noticing the cool feeling of metal under his uniform. You trace the intricate patterns with your fingers to ground yourself, recognizing the shapes of bolts and screws, as you feel your breathing slowly even out

“I’m ok,” you eventually manage to exhale. “I just- need a second“

Viktor makes an understanding hum, his hand caressing the valley of your back like you're doing with his, his strokes mellow. He moves his head slightly to look at Jayce behind you, throwing him an irritated glare.

“So much for your preparations,” he points out with irony.

Without needing to see him, you know exactly the kind of disgruntled face Jayce is making: “She only needs three to fit me, you're just stupid big.”

“I can move,” you interrupt them, the pain now only a vague tingle; all that remains is the yearning for him.

You place both hands on the back of the chair to balance your weight, being careful of Viktor's weaker leg. You bring yourself up slowly, tantalizingly, before letting yourself fall back on his length. There's no other way to describe the broken moan you release than dirty.

“Eh,” Viktor remarks slyly, groaning when you start moving again. “S-she does not seem to think it’s stupid.”

You fuck yourself on him with abandon, fast, rough, not caring of how debauched you may look. If anything, Jayce seems very appreciative if his moans and curses are any indication.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants somewhere behind you, too far to feel his warmth, but close enough to hear he's pumping himself to the same rhythm you're riding Viktor. “You're doing such a good job taking him, princess…”

He's truly begging when he calls the other man's name again, delirious from the unending edging:

“V, please, make her turn to my side, I have to see her face.”

Viktor's hooded eyes bare into yours, his raspy pants echoing through your head as you thrust up and down his length.

“Do you think he is truly sorry, now?” he asks, the ever-teasing glimmer in his pupils shining despite the clear physical effort from his body.

You can't even remember what Jayce has to be sorry for; you whimper a positive ‘huh-uh’. Viktor nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck for a moment, gently bitting the sweaty skin in a surprising hint of possessiveness, but he does finally agree to free Jayce of his torture.

“I will trust your good judgment. You can come here, Jayce.”

You yelp in surprise when two strong but familiar hands suddenly grab you at the waist and turn you around, almost pulling you off Viktor's cock and into a messy kiss. The slight tickle of Jayce's stubble is pleasantly itchy, his tongue desperately searching for more of your taste. You moan wantonly against his mouth when you feel Viktor twitch inside you, but the man under you doesn't seem fully pleased: a thinner but firm hand brings you back against his chest, and he throws Jayce an irritated glare.

“I give you an inch and you take a mile. Typical,” the older man accuses him with a bitter tone, his accent more pronounced, rigid. “You do not get to touch, and you are only allowed to cum on her.”

His lips come to your ear in the ghost of a kiss, velvety smooth:

“Would that be agreeable to you, sweet thing?”

You just know you want to keep going, really; so you do exactly that as a reply.

This position is harder for movement, since without the support of the chair’s back, you would have to rely on putting pressure on Viktor's knees. Thankfully, with Jayce’s proximity, you can use his muscled chest for balance. He certainly doesn't mind being used like this if the expression he’s wearing is any sign: his entire face is crimson, his eyes heavy, laboured breaths escaping his abused lips. He's still following your pace, pumping up and down every time your ass meets Viktor's hip bones. It has to be painful by now, with the way he's been rubbing himself raw for so long without release, but he's either too entranced to care or getting off the burning friction

“So obedient,” Viktor praises you, his free hand moving to your lower stomach, long fingers digging gently into your skin; you wonder if he’s trying to feel himself move inside you. “We might still be able to make a top student out of you. What do you think, Jayce?”

Much like yourself, Jayce seems beyond the capacity for words. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you, like he wants to take you off Viktor's lap and fuck you right on the floor. But you both know he wouldn't do that without Viktor's approval, at the risk of getting on the other man’s bad side again.

Viktor's cock hits a peculiarly sensitive spot inside you and you cry out from the sudden shock, loling out your tongue involuntarily. Jayc makes a strangled sound at the sight, and it visibly takes all his self-control to not shove himself into the warmth of your throat.

“For once, I cannot get you to talk when I actually want you to,” Viktor tsks in disapproval, but it's clear he's not frustrated; rather, he seems to enjoy the trance-like silence Jayce has been reduced to.

“F-fuck, I think this is the hottest thing I've ever seen,” the younger man sputters, delirious, his fist moving with a frenzied pace. “I can see your cock in and out of her every time she bounces like that. Her tits look so good…”

You recognize that slight pitch in his voice, the rumbling in his throat; he's close again.

“What else?” Viktor hums, not letting him have a moment of respite. You can hear ragged gasps next to your ear, parts of heaved curses indicating he too is nearing his end, but he's still firmly insistent on being the one in control of it all.

Jayce whines in struggle, but it's hard to hear with how loud the sound of your own moans echo in the room. You've been using Viktor's cock to hit that one spot over and over, chasing your high without restraint, the familiar clenching of your walls maddening.

“She looks all fucked out. Like she -fuck- like she's so close to cumming around you…”

The other man seems pleased by that if the way you feel him twitch inside you is evidence. “Good observations,” he replies in playful irony. “Perhaps there is still a scientist in there.”

The hand on your stomach leaves its comfortable position to wrap around your neck, the pressure light, just barely restricting airflow.

“Sweet thing,” he calls out to you once more. “You can pick up the pace a little. I want you to never look away from Mr Talis's eyes.”

It's a hard request to fulfill considering how badly you want to squint your eyes shut in the agonizing pleasure; but you try your very best, unshed tears of exhaustion starting to pool and blurying your vision.

The sight of you so desperately trying to obey Viktor's order to focus on nothing but him is what finally undoes Jayce, who lets out one final loud curse:

“Shit-!”

He cums all over your academy blouse with a shout, little droplets reaching as high as your chin. It barely takes three more thrusts against Viktor for you to join him, crying tears of relief as an intense wave of bliss rocks your entire body. With your limbs reduced to nothing but putty, your head falls forward in exhaustion, thankfully stopped by Jayce's strong torso; the fabric of his dress shirt feels like satin against your face, burying your sobs.

Viktor takes a moment longer to reach his peak, fucking into your exhausted body with concentration, thick eyebrows furrowed. It's too much, too rough, and you throw your head back to whine against his neck pitifully. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath before he finally unloads into you with a long groan.

“Shh, good girl,” he compliments you soothingly as his warmth settles into your core, kissing your neck leisurely in praise. “You have done so well.”

He bends your head back slightly more to catch your mouth in an open-mouth kiss, slow and tired, sloppy from your mutual exhaustion. Jayce groans, his hand somehow still on his softened cock, pumping it lazily; his stamina is utterly unbelievable.

“Okay, actually, this might be the hottest thing I've ever seen,” he comments hoarsely, absorbing the way your tongue dances with Viktor's with every inch of his capacities.

Viktor concludes the wet kiss with a small peck on your lips, smiling as your head falls back on his shoulder in fatigue, your eyes shut close.

“Because you managed to get yourself all over her?” he throws back at Jayce, as calm and confident as if he hadn't just made you go through the most intense orgasm of your life. “Your ego will never cease to impress me.”

The stars behind your eyelids are still spinning; you weakly try to move an arm, finding it almost completely unresponsive.

“Sir?” you ask, and you almost don't recognize your voice with how rough and broken it resonates in the empty lab.

“I think we have reached the point where you are allowed to call me by my name in private,” Viktor amusedly hums close to you.

“Viktor, I…”

You want to open your eyes, to look into his golden eyes again and see the way he looks right after sex, but they're sealed shut from how worn out you are. “…I don't think I can move right away.”

That earns you a content chuckle from one man and a disbelieving laugh from the other.

“Jayce,” Viktor asks, now with a tone of request rather than command, “be a gentleman for once and carry her to her bedroom. The poor thing is exhausted.”

Jayce snorts, for once tonight the one hitting back with irony:

“And whose fault is that?”

Viktor’s fingers, still loosely wrapped around your throat as lightly as feathers, slide down to massage the tender muscles at the base of your nape. You moan brokenly into the touch. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

“Undeniably yours. I am not the one sneaking around in the academy for nefarious purposes,” Viktor retorts playfully, tiredness noticeable but skillfully hidden in his voice. “But if you were to have a bad idea like this once more… I believe I can offer you my services as her supervisor. For both your sakes.”

[selkiechild4998]

Winter Days and Fond Memories

It took me way too long to write this! I've been wanting to write Tezomega stories for so long and this one just came to me! I hope everyone enjoys it!

TW- None

Genre- Fluff

Wordcount- 1,041

The winter months were long and dark within the Ministry. The tour season was over; the ghouls were allowed to rest and return to their duties, and Papa was back to work. Or at least he should have been hard at work. Instead, Terzo lounged in his bed, buried underneath the heavy purple and black comforter, his head resting back upon his plush pillow. The drapes around his dark rococo king-sized bed gently bellowed from the gentle breeze that came from the space heater plugged in nearby.

Terzo adored the coldness of winter, from the winter outfits he would show off, to simply enjoying the quiet morning that follows after a snowstorm. But there was one thing he adored the most about the chilly weather.

"Papa? Are you awake?" the voice of his beloved guard ghoul broke the silence of the room when he stepped into the bedroom, the bells hanging from the doorknob jingling softly when the door was opened.

"Omega, amore, you're letting the heat out," Terzo sleepily whined, drawing a soft chuckle from the ghoul as he stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's almost the afternoon, Papa," Omega smiled as he made his way to Terzo's bedside, his spaded tail gently wagging back and forth as he walked.

"Yes, and?"

"Sister will be mad if you sleep in further."

"Then let her be mad," Terzo brushed off, "She'll still find something to complain about."

Soft chirps came from Omega as he gingerly pulled the slightly translucent drapes back to look at Terzo, "Yes, but I don't want to see you two argue again," he worried.

"Amore, I'm still Papa. She can't do a thing to me," Terzo smiled before outstretching his arms to his ghoul, "Come, lay down with me. I know she's been working you to the bone, Omega."

Omega knew what Terzo was doing, that sirens call as he beckoned him to join him in the sea of blankets and pillows. A stronger ghoul would ignore that call; to continue to insist the man get up to start his day. Omega is not that ghoul. With a low rumble in his chest, he let himself be pulled onto the bed, mindfully kicking his shoes off and placing his silver mask on the nightstand before he nuzzled his face into the crook of Terzo's neck.

"That's my good ghoul," Terzo cooed, wrapping his arms around Omega's shoulders, the praise making Omega chuckle softly.

The two stayed like that, simply enjoying the other's company. Omega's constant purring lulling Terzo to a half awake, half asleep. Omega was almost put to sleep by Terzo gliding his hand through his silvery white hair, his fingertips occasionally tracing the base of his horns. That simple action always melted the ghoul, making all the tension in his shoulders and bat-like wings just fade away.

"Remember when we first met, amore?" Terzo's voice eventually broke the silence.

Omega's ears perked at the question, "Yes, why do you ask?"

"Just reminiscing," Terzo smiled, "You used to be so small," he giggled.

Omega couldn't help but smile. His mind went back to the day he and Terzo first met, with him standing by his mother's side within the Ghoul Den. He remembered how nervous he was, gently holding onto her leg with both his arms and his wings when Sister approached with Terzo.

"Pandora," Sister greeted, "I see you were informed about this meeting."

"Yes, Sister," Pandora nodded, her tail staying wrapped loosely around her son.

Sister simply nodded, soon looking down at the small quintessence pup. "Hello, Omega," Sister greeted, kneeling to the kit's eye level. "I have an important job for you," She explained, Omega's ears perking up. She then gently nudged the human boy at her side forward, who looked more curious than scared of the ghoul. "This is Terzo," She introduced, "I want you to protect him. From now till he's older. Can you do that for me?"

Omega felt anxious at the request. He was a runt, the smallest pup in the Ministry, and Sister wanted him to protect someone? He could hardly protect himself. But he still felt some strange draw to Terzo, looking at the human who was just as small as him, just as fragile. "Y-Yes," He timidly answered.

"Good," Sister smiled, gently patting the pup on his head. "Pandora, I trust you can supervise the two for the day so they can get to know each other?" She asked, standing once again as she looked at the tall ghoulette.

"I'll keep my eye on them, Sister," Pandora nodded, smiling when she saw Terzo curiously step closer to Omega.

"Good. I have a few things to deal with. I'll be back by five," Sister nodded, "Be good, Terzo."

"I will, Mama," Terzo nodded with a boyish smile. "Wanna play?" Terzo asked when he looked at Omega, and the pup's ears perked.

"O-Ok."

"Ok! Tag your it!" Terzo giggled, tagging Omega's shoulder before running off with a giggle.

Omega was unsure for a moment, looking up at his mother. "Go on," Pandora smiled warmly, "You can play." And with that, Omega gave chase after Terzo, the two giggling and squealing as they played their game of tag.

"You were such a nervous pup," Terzo chuckled as he looked up at his ghoul, "And now look at you. My big, strong, diavolo," He giggled as he cupped Omega's cheeks within his hands.

"And you are, and still quite the troublemaker," Omega smiled, gently leaning towards Terzo's touch as his tail curled in delight. "I remember when you used to think you were a ghoul," He lightly teased.

"Hey! You promised to never mention that!" Terzo giggled as he squished Omega's cheeks together, making the ghoul warble with laughter.

"I remember no such promise," Omega smiled.

"You really are a diavolo," Terzo pouted, but that pout didn't last long when Omega leaned up, tenderly pressing his lips against his.

"Si, but I'm your diavolo," Omega smiled against Terzo's lips, purring happily as Terzo pulled him into another tender kiss, the two melting back into the bed as the snow fell peacefully outside. The two ignoring the world outside to simply enjoy the cold winter together.

[canyonkingdom]

love i share

(robocar poli oneshot)

(tw: illness, depression, assisted $u|c|d3)

It's the dawn of my creation. The moment I opened my eyes, the world felt otherworldly.

The first faces I saw were of shock,

but they were basking in unmasked love.

They were my family. Poli and Roy served as my older brothers full of responsibility dare they take up. Amber was my mentor, my undying platonic strewn over. (And whenever leaking spur, my mind was all about her uncontrollably.)

I had been the cheery little brother my team, my family, had grown to see. We were happy on our own, but felt happier ruling over the town. Superiority at its finest is when we plead our strength. We have arms and legs while the inept citizens have wheels to compensate.

We were cars, robots, robocars living until the day we rust hundreds of years later. And there was our leader, our stunning, intelligent, beloved leader. She was a human, unlike all of us superiors, but we grew to love her as part of our team.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

She called me Helly. I was the most loved, yet most hated. Childlike and preserved I show, her tiny hands roaming my metal frame as she looked for imperfections.

She was a mother.

Only pure sweet I felt, none drenched in bitterness. A holding hand reaching me out, tenderness when I touch.

Us four do her every bidding. Independent we are, yet dependent on love. She nurtured us despite her lackings. Every rescue, a fresh coat of paint. Every accident, kisses goodnight. We were grown and we cherish a mother's love dearly.

One dawn in October, I scurried to the control room like a lost rat. My mind didn't fathom any activities yet I felt energetic. I was halted by a ear piercing scream.

Mother woke up. I snuck to the door, peeking slightly. Breathing so fast she did, her hair unkempt. Her hand wavered to the air, looked like she was touching something.

Or someone.

"Is it my time now?" she asked bewilderingly.

Slowly, she nodded, I could feel tears running through her. She sighed, yet a big grin flashed on her face. Light through the dusk basking in the headquarters. I felt confused.

I brushed it off soon after.

I should've come back to it.

It deeply hurt us when October came.

"Tuberculosis." I wish I could unhear the doctor's stern words.

How couldn't we notice? Her frequent coughs, fevers, tiredness; Smart us robots are, we aren't devoid of knowledge when in need.

"It has spread outside of her lungs." I forced a sob. "There's a chance she may survive, but I believe it's by a wide margin."

Doctor's appointments mother always missed, as she never came, seeing herself perfectly fine. She didn't care about her deteriorating immune system, even if she couldn't stand up no more. I should've suspected something when she always tightly gripped her chest, wheezing in clear out of breath state, yet I failed to see her pain amidst.

"How much is treatment gonna cost?" Amber asked. Her eyes glowed with hope despite the previous words.

"It's three thousand dollars for the medicine, and if the patient wishes to be confined, it's twenty three thousand."

"That's pocket money!" Roy bellowed a laugh to lighten the grueling mood. "We'll do it-"

"No."

She was smiling.

"I refuse to take the treatment." She repeated in a longer statement.

The doctor was impaled with sympathy.

Arguing aroused at home. Once a happy household drowned in bickering.

"Why would you refuse treatment, Jin?" Amber asked devastatingly. Her voice cracked every cry and her anger chilled me inside. Laidback once now fuming.

Comfortable in her orange pajamas, "I would still die in a few years even if i take the treatment." her voice was small, weaker than of Ambers.

"But you would still live longer..." my voice quivered when I said that statement. I wanted her to live yet I wished for her death.

"My decision." she simply said. A small smile she wore. Her tired eyes extenuated her frail body.

Poli and Roy didn't talk to her out of anger, only when there are rescue missions. Amber frequently tried to get her to reconsider, yet she stayed true to her word. Mourning was pain in their vocabulary.

But I only wished her best.

She still ran the rescue station beneath her crumbling health. Rescue missions continued, the town blissfully unaware of her sickness. Her pain left ignored. Countless pleas made; yet she never complied.

"Please, Jin. Poli and Roy only want you to get better." Amber tried hard, downward spiral ensues.

"They should respect my dying wish." her lips were chapped as forced a smile.

Nothing was the same.

Arguments erupted about her illness I tend to stay sway from. I cower every shout, I fly away when glass breaks. My fingers touch the outskirts of town, where I banter with the inferior townsfolk.

"Wanna play ball, Helly?" Annoying voice Bruner used, I refused instantly. I'm weeping in my own sadness.

I stood at the edge of the cliff, admiring the stars above. I saw her eyes glowing in the stars. Her smile a million stars I felt.

I felt her love.

Yet I can never feel it.

The undying pleasure where love once shined basked in underlying darkness. Depressing environment I flew in, blooming flowers wilting.

Poli and Roy became distant. Sad glares chipped up their frames, dipped in hatred. They didn't speak with her (I didn't understand how they could leave her love untouched.) and came to the headquarters less and less. I worried for them, but I didn't care.

They left her.

Amber stayed, health deteriorated. Her tears made her rust, bright paint once ladled in sad rustic orange. I kept her bright, painting over the scars. Yet they still persisted. Her pain leveled with the tuberculosis.

They couldn't take care of themselves no more.

Thankfully, the missions died down. I became Amber's nurse, ironically. (Mother didn't want a caretaker watching her every move.) Calm her premature tears, engine oil leaking, I become despondent seeing everyone lose hope in my eyes.

I was in the repair center, she looked me dead in the eyes. I didn't feel love pulsating from her veins.

It's sad.

It's been months. Mother's health is down the drain. Amber was getting better, her mental state didn't. Her days spent by looking over the port, finessing the sea. She shouted at me when I disrupted her peace of mind (which it wasn't, she went insane). Amber long ago stopped convincing mother to take treatment.

I have been on her side since illness shown. Making small talk, and didn't rush her need to get treatment. I only wished her wish to come true, live her best life as I serve her day and night. But her love never bloomed once again, like a wilting flower, bits chopped.

It was a cold October night, I finished my patrol immediately going back to her side. I'm greeted by Amber in the door, her eyes sunk, her metal rusting once more. I smile at her dearly, and she smiles back. I make my way to her room.

"Helly," she says bluntly.

I open my mouth to speak, yet interrupted. "Meet me at the garden, strictly midnight." her frail voice reminds me.

This was going down a dark path, but I trust my guts, trust her mind. Her body was of thin breadsticks and a orange bonnet she wore, lost of all her hair. Yet one sweet smile still remained on her face, though pale and wrinkled.

Midnight came by. I spot Amber in the race track. She was sobbing. She was always like this and I leave her be. I fly to the garden solemnly, spotting her amongst the array of flowers.

I retract my propeller as I land. It was so peaceful. She was looking at the sky above, twinkling stars and the glowing moon. I love seeing mother happy.

She looks at me. She smiles. "You came."

"I always will." I reply.

"Helly, do you know why I didn't want treatment?"

I sigh. "Why?"

"I wanted to die, Helly."

My eyes widen with that answer. Never did I see her as suicidal, she showered us with her affection and never showed herself her own. I felt terrible, rust crawling through my metal frame.

"Don't think about it the wrong way," she sighs heavily, "I love all of you, Poli, Roy, Amber, and especially you. But-" she paused.

"Why?" I blurt out painfully.

"They're calling me, Helly. Heaven." angelic tears, "My dad, he's calling me. I've got to leave this world."

Her dad has been a controversial topic. Like her, he had gave her love, looking up to him. Yet he died, sadly.

"Why?" I repeat, more sincerely.

"I miss his love, Helly."

Her painfully stupid but passionate decision shot daggers through my running engine. Death called her attention and was willing to sacrifice it just to feel love.

I forgot she was a real human, one that was amazing.

"I'm sorry," I say,

"I love you," I mutter.

She died, her glow fading in my arms. Her skin as pale as snow. Amber wailed so hard, cursing the world. I felt tears streak my frame.

Mother was a joy.

"I promise," the sweet dripping from her voice, "I will never leave you." Her love bloomed.

Lies.

For once, I hated her love. Selfishness engulfed her being. We wanted her to be okay, and she didn't consider our feelings in the matter. All she wanted was to feel love.

Love.

Poli and Roy returned for the funeral. Awkwardness ensued when we sat together. Though they were deeply cracked inside, they found a way to smile. All of us. Amber's rust didn't show.

"How are you?" Roy asks, his voice husky from crying.

"You left us." Amber mutters harshly.

"I'm sorry." Roy sobs, "I- i'm sorry, I was angry a- and I didn't- I didn't fucking- fuck!"

Poli kept his cool, weeping in silence.

Her dark umbre casket lowered down and covered in dirt. Flowers dumped at the grave. Poli on his knees, begging for forgiveness. I stood there blankly.

Life never returned to normal, for me. Poli and Roy wiggled themselves into Amber's forgiveness, yet I enver forgave them further. They were stupid for even returning after leaving her for a simple misunderstanding of decisions.

Yet the only reason they returned was because of,

me.

Their stupid asses will never know. Never further looking at the autopsy report. They will never know her smile when I wrapped my arms around her neck, the crack of her bones, how I sobbed on her body throughout the night. When Amber found it, she was speechless. Thought she died of her illness.

I hid the autopsy safe in my room, none suspecting a single thing.

That night, she was persistent.

"Kill me, Helly."

Her love blinded me.

I felt it.

Her love, shining once more.

I watched Poli, Roy, and Amber hug each other goodbye. I watched the consequences of my decision thrive.

-///-

I cried a little while making this and that says a lot

pls don't cancel me /j

[thewatcher727]

Sonic X: Gotta Go Fast Again - Chapter 24: Knot What They Seem

64.media.tumblr.com

Sonic X: Gotta Go Fast again is a thrilling continuation of the beloved anime, promising action-packed escapades and heartwarming moments as our heroes embark on their next chapter! Available for Reading on AO3 & FF!

FanFiction:

Archive of Our Own:

Preview:

Sonic crossed his arms with an air of smug satisfaction. "Well, as my friends, it's gonna be tough finding out who's who. So, I called for some help."

Tails leaned forward as much as his bonds would allow. "Who did you call?"

Right then, the unmistakable screech of tires was followed by a loud crash outside. Tails' eyes widened as he recognized the sound of metal meeting metal—someone had just hit the X Tornado.

As if on cue, the door to the workshop slammed open with enough force to wake the dead, or at least startle a few dust bunnies into fleeing. A familiar, grating voice bellowed, "The Chaotix are here!"

Knuckles' jaw dropped in disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me," he voiced his thoughts, his words dripping with exasperation.

Sure enough, Vector strutted in, dressed like he had raided the wardrobe of every noir detective film ever made. His fedora was tilted at a jaunty angle, and his trench coat swished dramatically with each step despite the complete lack of wind indoors. Charmy buzzed in after him, looking like an overly caffeinated sidekick, while Espio somersaulted into the room, striking a ninja pose that seemed more suited for a martial arts film than a detective case.

Tails blinked slowly, his eyes moving from the theatrical entrance of the Chaotix to Sonic's beaming face. His voice was a mixture of disbelief and resignation as he asked, "You called the Chaotix?"

Sonic's grin widened, if that was even possible, as he turned back to his friends. "Of course! They're completely unbiased in this situation. Plus, they work cheap!" he explained, as if it was the most logical decision in the world to call a trio of bumbling detectives to solve a case of supernatural identity theft.

Charmy flew closely towards Tails, looking embarrassed. "Um, so… funny story," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think I sorta… crashed into the X Tornado? Just a little."

The workshop's living room, already a scene of comedic chaos, descended further into absurdity as Vector dramatically shed his noir detective costume. With a flourish that would make a magician envious, he somehow produced an evidence board from thin air, its sudden appearance eliciting a collective blink of confusion from the tied-up audience.

"Time to solve the case of the copycat!" Vector announced with all the gusto of a game show host revealing the grand prize.

[terrence-silver]

What would Terry’s reaction be to finding Beloved with another man?…

---

Of course his first instinct was to kill. Maim.

Avenge. Mainly himself.

Settle scores.

Achieve prime control by digging his fingers into your neck until your ligaments snapped in half and then deal with the lowlife punk schmuck you were shacked up with at The Montrose, downtown West Hollywood. Destroy their mediocre little life, one bit at a time until they begged for release he wouldn't give them. Margaret, by extension of his private investigators told him exactly where to find you. The location to where you were tracked. Followed, when you thought you were being clever, unseen, outsmarting everyone, never realizing his many eyes were always on you.

He takes the Rolls Royce there.

Has his chauffeur driving him out. The aesthetic choice was deliberate. He'd go down there calmly, in high style, a man of the world, well dressed, poised, like he was doing no more and no less than attending some high stakes business meeting. A conference. And he was, in a sense. Revenge was business and his business was revenge, today of all days, as he calmly strides of the stairs on the third floor, polished leather shoes against the floorboards, adjusting his golden cufflinks, the puzzled front desk receptionist at the dingy hotel eyeing him like he just saw the fucking Pope enter the venue premises. Yeah, it is simple as knocking on the door marked AB19 and you open, thinking he's room service undoubtedly, find yourself in a state of partial undress, wrapped in a bathrobe, looking pale. Terry was convinced it was a far greater fright to come face to face with him than being caught cheating. But he's cool, simply grabbing the door's frame from the top, using his height to his advantage once you try to close it shut in front of him and he strides past you with ease, looking for a chair to sit down on, inviting himself inside, never asking for permission, pulling a monogrammed silken handkerchief under himself as he does, sprawling it out, as not to get sullied, the keys to your room promptly tossed on a nearby end table with a metallic, resounding clamor that shook the foyer.

There's a creature on the bed, just like Terry knew there would be, rolled in post-coital bedsheets, looking even more befuddled than you were; an emotion clearly replaced by fear once the door shuts behind his stride and two realize you were just caught. What? Did he interrupt something? Terry crosses his legs, nonchalant. He would deal with this punk later. It would be a pleasure.

-"C'mon! Don't stop on my account."- He fishes a golden cigar box out of his inside pocket, ensuring that the suit he wore was the picture of flattery on him, looking for a cutter and a lighter, pushing the tobacco between his lips, nonplussed. He already broke half of the furniture back at the mansion earlier today when his detective handed him the photographs of you with this...thing, staring at him from the mattress, shaken. He got ahold of himself by the time he arrived here, hot waves of wrath rolling off of him until there was nothing left but stony determination. Now was the time to play his frosty disposition and play it masterfully. -"I wanna watch."- Terry utters that line like it was nothing at all, and it wasn't anything at all. He's watched people fuck before. People watched him fuck before too. He's just never watched someone that was his fuck someone else before, was all. That's why all his discipline is employed, never to show an emotion. Never show mercy. Not now.

-"Terry, I, how..."- You stutter uncomfortably, finally able to muster a word or two, still processing he was here at all. Least of all, that he was asking what he was asking.

-"I said, I wanna watch."-

He repeats, matter-of-factly, feeling himself grow icy cold at the idea his explicit order was being questioned at all, letting the smoke bellow out of his nostrils in floating circles, pointing a ring finger vaguely at the nobody fucktard you choose to do him in with. How your standards have fallen. You wanted to learn a thing or two about humiliation? Fair enough. Terry Silver was here to do the teaching. This would be one of many demonstrated lessons. The first one. The prologue. Round one in the ringer.

-"So? Put on a good live performance."-

He twirls his hand in the air for emphasis, relishing in your embarrassment, so thick he could practically cut it with a knife and eat it for breakfast with an entrée followed by the main course in the form of your bleeding heart, feeling his jaw tighten to the point he could imagine himself capable of biting through the concrete walls of the room filled with cold anger, eyes searching for an ashtray and in finding none, he simply allows the searing residue from his cigar to fall on the carpet along with a curtain of red embers. He could burn this whole place down and he'd be fully justified in doing so. But, no, Terry didn't deal in impulsive anger. Terry only got angry when he decided it was time to --- deciding when it was useful --- and now wasn't the time. He ironically needed to be perfectly level headed now. And so, he was.

-"Terry, listen, we can go outside and I can explain ---"-

You try desperately to placate him and your creature scurries nervously, collecting their shit from strewn over the floor, ready to run. Make a dash for it. -"I'll leave, man."- They make a pathetic attempt and fail. -"Bullshit you will. Class isn't dismissed and recess hasn't started."- Terry doesn't raise his voice, refusing to blink. Doesn't give anyone in the room the satisfaction of finding him affected and out of control. Instead, he adjusts himself and sinks deeper into the trusted old cuck chair --- of course every hotel had one, but this time, he tended to see it as the seat of command, pointing at the bed, refusing to address the creature personally, instead, doing it through you as mouthpiece, courier and vessel. -"You tell them, they'll be a good robot. Do exactly as programmed."- Terry instructs, never taking his eyes off of you. Sure, yes, he considered violence as his first incentive, but this? This was so much better. You wanted to be an adulterer and now it was your chance do to what an adulterer did best, with him as witness and coordinator, learning a lesson you'd never forget; that regardless what you did, you belonged to him. Now and always. -"And after you're done,"- He warns, wagging his finger. -"You'll pack all your crap up and you're coming home with me."- Disbelief. Terry reads disbelief in your eyes when faced with those words. Like a part of you thought that fucking someone else would finally liberate you from him as your last way out. That you'd get rid of him. That he'd be disgusted, angry and done with you to the degree you'd walk free, even if walking free came with certain amounts of pain stemming from his ire, truly showing how desperately you wanted freedom at any cost. If that was your reason behind tactically doing this then you were dead wrong --- you grossly miscalculated --- because giving you exactly what you wanted was too damn easy.

No.

You'd stay right where you belonged --- with him.

Denied of the very thing you were reaching for forever.

And Terry would enjoy that so much. That would be his revenge.

-"Chop-chop! Get to work."- Terry claps his hands, balancing his cigar between his index and middle finger, mustering a dry chuckle, feeling himself like spectator at the Kentucky Derby bidding on a race horse from the jam-packed audience, watching you exchange silently horrified glances with the schmuck on the bed who was still trying to figure out if this was real or an elaborate joke. Was no joke. Didn't you tell them about him? No? Terry wanted to watch you fuck the prick. He wanted it to last long. Torturously so. Terry wanted you to feel his gaze on you as you did, unable to escape. Feel every bit of discomfort, unease, objectification and suffering you could until you finally tapped the fuck out and found that this was only the beginning. That there was his car waiting downstairs and that you'd be going back with him. That you would pay for what you've done. That you'd realize what 'nothing is for free' really meant. That he would ensure your paid your dues for this betrayal with every inch of your being until it left a mark on your very soul. When you refuse to move, Terry decides, now's the time to raise his voice and his tone is laced with crude laughter as he does once both you and the shmuck nearly jump out of your skins. -"With conviction!"- Terry yells, as you reluctantly approach the bed, finally moving, even if it was at a snail's pace, wholly shaken and shivering. He smiles. Good. Perfect. This would hurt you, sure. But, no more than it would hurt him.

He takes another long, hard drag out of his cigar, filling the room with smoke.

[thelayersoffear]

Reincarnation: Layers of Fear/HSR

"I've run around my house God knows how many times, but it's done nothing to bring them back!" The man bellowed, standing in the decrepit underbelly of his house. "There has to be a way!"

From the darkness, an ominous yet familiar voice spoke. "Oh, there is a way. But it bears a heavy price. Can you bear to give up everything you worked for, just to reunite with them?"

That caused him to pause, mulling over the options. As desperately as he wanted to be a great artist in this life, that dream had died. At this point, he had lost everything that ever mattered to him. Could he sacrifice his talent and fame for a chance to have his family returned?

He grit his teeth, but had his answer. "…I can."

Behind him, the man could feel a rush of cold air, even though he was in the basement of his house. Of course, it didn't come from outside, but from the being that was standing behind him. He felt the train of her coat on the floor brushing past his feet, but he didn't dare to look.

Her voice grew closer. "It will cost everything, but it will grant new life."

"…new life?" The painter asked hesitantly.

"Yes. A fresh start; isn't that what you want?"

He clenched his fists, still hanging at his sides. "But she…she'll be safe?" He asked, worried given the fate of his beloved wife.

"Oh, she will be. She'll thrive in a musical career beyond the stars." Suddenly, the man could feel those icy, gaunt fingers clutch around his shoulders. "Just what she always wanted."

While terrified, he kept looking straight ahead. "All right then, what's the catch?" He declared, knowing a deal with the Rat Queen always came with strings.

A deep chuckle emanated behind him. "You will become a nondescript man whose only mission is to save her homeland. You'll succeed, but it will cost you your life. Hardly anyone will remember you, and your beloved will carry on without you by her side."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Is that the deal, then? A life for a life?"

"That is the exchange. Do you choose to take it?" Her hands on his shoulders tightened.

There was a long pause as he considered the options. Despite this second chance, one of them could not survive. Of course there couldn't be a true happy ending. But this was the one chance for her dreams to come true, even if it meant doing so without him.

Shaking a little, he nodded. "…yes I do."

"Then it is done." The room began to swirl about them, and before the Painter could register what happened, everything went black.

~~~***~~~

"To the imperfect…tomorrow." Gallagher spoke into the wind. He had said goodbye to the Astral Express and the Halovian siblings as they made their return to the sweet dream in order to stop the Stellaron. It was out of his hands now, and unfortunately, he wouldn't live to see the conclusion.

He wasn't sure where he was going to end up after death, but one thing was for certain. Quietly, he spoke out last phrase out loud, directly to the woman he had harbored feelings for over many years, yet had not uttered a sentence or acted in any way to show it.

"No matter where I am in the future, I will definitely still hear your singing."

[tailorvizsla]

Title: Spanking Alor Pairing: Dezha (M!OC) x You, Dezha x f!Reader Word Count: ~950 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, spanking, masturbation Author's Notes: A smol blurb for my beloved Heater ❤️ also forgive me for the horrible title i could not think of anything else to name this 💀💀💀💀💀 📚My Master List📚

In all the years you have known Dezha, you have never seen him with a frown on his face. Sometimes his smile is a bit dimmer than usual, and maybe he waits until he puts his helmet on to frown, but he's never shown you a negative emotion before. He's easy going, but he's not a pushover. He's charming and sweet and was once so very single…at least until he met you.

Today is basically the same as every other day - he's been up since the break of dawn. First comes training with Paz, then he comes back to the karyai to work out duty rotations, and then he spends the rest of the morning putting out any fires that pop up. Metaphorical and literal. The afternoon is spent working with Armorer, Paz, and the other tradespeople to make sure the Tribe's supplies are well-stocked. Once your work is over for the day, you decide to go see what your beloved is up to. He's standing in the hangar, staring at the once-orderly chaos in front of him. 

You smack him on the rear and he jumps a little. He blushes as he looks at you.

"Hey," he says. "What brings you here, cyare?"

You shrug and look back at the mess.

"Nothing," you respond. "What's…uh…going on?"

"We are missing an entire box of grenades," Dezha says. You lift a brow. 

"How?" you ask slowly.

"They've been missing for a week, apparently," Dezha sighs. "Looks like whoever was on duty in the armory forgot to log it. Paz is on a rampage because he thinks the kids have them."

The big blue verd in question is bellowing at someone. That someone is practically cowering in front of him. Paz is extremely displeased with the situation.

" - gonna go search this entire fucking Covert from top to fucking bottom and if you do not find them by the end of the day, may Kad'Harangir have mercy on your fucking soul!"

"Wow, I do not want to be that idiot," you say. "Wanna do dinner?"

Dezha nods.

"Sounds good," he says, his cheeks still flaming pink.

You grin at him and slip your hand into his. Then you lead him to your shared quarters, where he frowns and looks quite confused. 

"...did you cook?" he asks slowly.

You roll your eyes as you pull him into the room. His eyes widen in understanding when you start unbuttoning your top.

"That kind of dinner," he says with a charming grin, his hands falling to his belt. 

When he comes to steal a kiss, you let your hands fall to his ass and you squeeze firmly. Then you smack him gently, making him inhale. Your brow goes up when you realize he is rock hard and grinding into your lower belly.

"Looks like someone likes being spanked," you tease. 

To your surprise, he only turns red. Oh, fuck yes, you think to yourself, as you release him. Dezha has always concerned himself more with your pleasure than his own, often neglecting himself to make sure you cum. Now that you know what gets him flustered…you already have plenty of ideas of what to do with your beloved.

But for now, you're going to show him a good time before dinner.

"Hands on the table, Dezha," you say.

"What?"

"Hands. On. The. Table."

He obeys, giving you a confused look over his shoulder.

"Move them and I stop," you say.

"Stop wha - oh!" 

Your hand delivers a firm smack to his round butt cheek. You pause for a few moments to let the sting die away. Then you smack again, smirking when he fails to smother the next moan. His fingers flex as he digs his fingernails into the wood, but he doesn't move from his spot. Again, and again, you continue smacking his bottom, overlapping each one slightly to tease and torture his tender skin.

"Never thought you'd enjoy being spanked," you whisper to him. 

Standing behind him, you wrap your arm around his midsection, your fingers falling to his thick cock. Your brow goes up at just how hard he is. With each pump of your hand, his skin grows stickier and wetter. When his hips start rolling forward, you grin and use your other hand to smack him across the bottom.

This time, he moans.

You grin and squeeze his cock on the next pull, earning yourself a muffled curse. As you spank harder, his moans grow louder, and after just a few minutes, Dezha starts gasping your name out.

"Fuck, I'm - I'm gonna - "

"Cum for me, Dezha," you whisper against his shoulder. "Let go, cyare."

You smack one last time and he finishes, his cock bobbing in your hand with each spurt of cum. Your hand stills when his body relaxes in your arms. Then he starts to move.

"Did I tell you to move?" you ask, and he immediately puts his hands back down. A laugh escapes you as you let go of him. "I'm just playing, cyare. You can move, if you'd like."

He turns around. He's a rumpled, disheveled mess. You never thought he looked more beautiful before. You pull him down for another kiss as he tucks himself away. As he's working to deepen the kiss, your stomach lets out a very loud growl, making you giggle into his mouth.

"Food?" you ask, earning yourself a pout from your Alor. "It'll give you plenty of time to reload."

He considers your words for a moment before he nods.

"That sounds like a plan," he says with another one of his charming grins. He leans in to press a searing kiss to your lips. When he draws back, he whispers against your lips. "I plan to take my time with you tonight."

You grin - Dezha never breaks a promise.

[duamuteffe]

Stream of consciousness getting everything out below the cut.

This past week has been the damndest yoyo. I finally got all my books in storage (aka my folks' basement)

There's 83 boxes of them, plus the four I'm taking with. We wanted to leave by the end of April but that's coming faster and faster and there's still so much to pack. I can't get Fi's strangles vaccination until the 27th unless I want to pay an extra hundred dollars for the farm call. My mother and uncle are selling the land I spent half my life on and love more than any other place on earth because none of us have the money for the property taxes. I was gutted. I've bellowed and sobbed. I've read Pema Chodron endlessly until I stopped thinking about jumping off roofs. (Mine still needs a coat of tar before we can sell. We need three days without rain to do it. How are we ever going to get out of here by the end of April if we can't get it ready to sell?)

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

I'm finding comfort in the oddest places. The Allegheny Mountains are older than the rings of Saturn. They were the height of the Himalayas before the evolution of bones. Losing access to 92 (beloved precious) acres on the top of one mountain won't alter the power of a chain of hills 480 million years old. It's everywhere down there. I can follow the river and feel it everywhere (maybe someday we'll have the money for a little camp past Nebraska Bridge so I can smell the trees and earth and not have to be close enough to the Farm that my heart threatens to break again) Every inch of the place is inscribed in my memory in full 3d and surround sound

I will carry the place for the rest of my existence. And then my mother says there was a rifle stashed away for me - eight years since my grandfather's collection went to auction because my grandmother's sanity broke down in the wake of his sudden death and all of us kids were left without the (antique, carefully selected) rememberances I knew he'd wanted us to have. For eight years I had thought them all gone, just the memories of shooting skeet with my grandmother's 20 gauge (should have gone to Suz, they loved her as their grandchild as soon as I brought her home, and man was she good at tagging clay pigeons with it, there's photos of her at my wedding in her pretty dress showing how it's done) and plinking at soda bottles full of water with lever action Winchesters that were carried on saddles in the Old West (the boys should have gotten one each, the heaviest for Pat, the middle for the Doc, and the lightest for my amiable ex) They were all gone, I was told, but someone stashed one away for me. She's had my step-cousin-in-law bring it up so I could have it. The oldest one, and the most beautiful; 1760's or thereabouts, stock made of solid tiger maple from back when the trees were four feet across. Barrel forged by a patient smith. Carried to hunt for food when this country was still a colony. Too fragile by far to fire but one of Pappap's favorites; I remember how tickled he was when I told him the one I saw in the Royal Armouries wasn't nearly as nice.

I asked if the same step-cousin-in-law could be asked to bring Pappap's canoe up to my folks, and if my mother could grab a few small items from the house and she said yes, so I don't have to go there to the house where Bummy and Pappap aren't and haven't been for a few years now, and walk around in the places they're not, and have to deliberately choose a last time to stand in the field and then leave forever. The last time I was there it was a good day. It was sunny and spring and the leaves were just out, and a good friend and I were clipping small new branches from the apple trees for her to try and root (those 150 year old apple trees, will the new owners keep them? The one tree still gives the best pie apples ever grown and the russet tree gives crisp tart apples that are best after a hard frost. They could live another hundred years if tended.) I can live a lot easier with that having been inadvertently my last visit. I don't think I can go there ever again now, knowing it's the last time.

We're going to another farm to try and keep it going, I remind myself. If I can't keep my own best place I can do my damndest to help friend-family keep theirs. It's so beautiful there. There's so much to do. I'll have meaningful work again. No more retail hell. A garden. A couple of goats. Some bees. Two dozen horses to help care for. My mare, with all the turnout her little feral heart desires. Maybe she'll recover enough from the fractured hip by Fall for me to ride her again. I saw Mrs. Edwards in a dream and asked her and she smiled at me. I'm taking it as a good sign. There is so much awaiting us once we get unstuck from here. The Doc can hunt in the Fall. We can fish all summer in spare moments (Pappap said he was going to teach me to use the old spincasting rods he had from his father; they run differently from modern ones, and we didn't end up having time but I can learn online.) Unless my brother contests we're getting Pappap's canoe, and we'll haul it up with us and put it on the lake. It's sturdy enough to go fishing from. There's so much yet to do.

"When you see the Southern Cross for the first time/You understand now why you came this way/'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small/But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day"

We're going to be okay. I repeat it a lot. We're going to be okay. "Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

It's falling apart. It's coming together. There's so many moving parts, so many ducks not in a row. But we're going to be okay.

(Knock on wood)

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Otis)

Here is another snippet from Chapter 1!

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will go up on AO3 in June or July, then get updated every 2 weeks.

It was a raucous early afternoon in the newest dive bar on Clover Street. The establishment had a name under the prior owner—who met a pitiful and entirely predictable end—but someone had stolen the sign. The new owner had not yet bothered to name the place, and money to be spent on a sign was better spent on protection money to avoid the predecessor’s fate. The bar was instead marked by a crudely painted tankard on the front door, only partially covering some of the obscene carvings that still showed through the newer image.

The interior was no better. The underlying smell of rotted food and spoiled beer had permeated the entire establishment, though it was barely perceptible over the more recent smell of vomit and piss lingering at the edges. Black stains along each corner made clear that no owner had ever bothered with more than a cursory wash. Mismatched chairs, tables, and benches scattered about in a haphazard manner, rearranged by the patrons as they saw fit. Stains of red, brown, and black splattered across the gray wood. A few low booths filled the far wall, running up against the bar on the left.

Ten-odd mercenaries at two center tables were already deep in their cups, gladly tossing down coin to celebrate some recent payday. They had been cycling through several ballads, and they had only just gotten to a local favorite, their drunkenness matched only by their fervor as they hammered the table to keep the beat. Without any accompaniment, the melody was far more menacing, as was appropriate.

“There beside the singin’ river That dark mass of men were seen! Far above their shinin’ weapons Hung their own beloved green!”

One of the scarred men jumped up and bellowed the next lines to rile the others.

“DEATH to every foe and traitor! Forward! STRIKE the marchin’ tune! And hurrah my boys, for FREEDOM! ‘TIS THE RISIN’ OF THE MOON!”

They roared and howled and sang the chorus before continuing to the next verse, some of the other clientèle humming along. The unimpressed bartender did not mind the revelry, so long as they kept the coin flowing. Any patrons that cared about the rowdy band of marauders had long since left anyway.

So when a brawl suddenly broke out between three of them, the barkeep only sighed, the bystanders jeered, and the other mercenaries laughed until one was knocked out cold, the second conceded, and the third—bloodied face and missing a tooth—demanded another round at the fallen’s expense and hoisted the unconscious loser into a booth before the group launched into yet another song.

Days like this were exactly why Otis Brunkel was pleased to have based themself out of Shadycreek Run.

Otis was a halfling with wild, dark hair and bright brown eyes sitting in a corner booth near the bar, facing the door with a crazed grin. They had a gaunt face, and their normally sallow complexion had gone ruddy from drink. Dark leather armor covered their simple cotton and wool clothing, a crossbow at their side. Numerous inch-long scars marked the palms of each hand, though the left had far more.

A mood was upon Otis for now, and it would probably last a few days like the last time. It felt good. Everything would feel good—until it didn’t. Until then, everything was entertaining, a potential fight. That would be so fun. It would be great.

But Otis had to pick carefully without someone else to watch their back. The Run was not the place to go wild alone.

Not in such an open area, at least.

Currently, Otis was whistling along to the song, bouncing a leg and fidgeting with their hands as they scanned the room with manic eyes, keeping watch for potential activities. They had just lifted their tankard for a drink when some jackass that had walked in earlier suddenly took the seat across from them.

“Seat’s taken,” Otis hissed without breaking their smile, taking stock of the newcomer.

He was human, his coloring the only clue that he did not belong in the Run. He was pale, freckled, and redheaded with blue eyes—a Zemnian, so he must have been from the Empire to the south. Otherwise, his sunken eyes, unkempt beard, battered brown coat, worn clothes, and well-worn layer of mud would have him looking perfectly at home in this shithole.

Otis noted that he did not seem to carry any weapons, though there were strange bulges under his coat. There had to be something stashed in there, considering how thin the man appeared. He also had bandages wrapped around his forearms. Maybe a dealer of some kind.

“Ja, by me,” the man replied flatly with a Zemnian accent. Called it.

Otis snickered. A human with a spine! They liked it. They liked it. “What d’ya want, then?”

“You are Otis of the Tombtakers?” the man inquired. “I am Caleb Widogast.”

“Depends on why you’re askin’, Caleb Widogast,” Otis responded with a widening smile. Oh, they hoped it was something interesting. The few that asked for Otis because of the old gang usually had something to do with the Orders or with old friends or with old friends.

“My companions and I need some help,” Caleb explained. “You see, we were traveling with—ah, a mutual acquaintance, and then we ran into trouble. We would like your help in retrieving those we lost.”

Otis scanned the bar quickly and spotted the others without issue. They stuck out so readily. A dark-skinned human woman with a staff and wearing far too much blue; a Cobalt Soul something-or-other for sure. Too much color for the Run. Next to her was a rugged female dwarf in dented plate armor with numerous weapons at her side. She was a local, no question. Next to them was a… what’s the word? Furblog or something. Part-giant part-fey cow person, because sometime a long time ago, some people got really adventurous. Dark fur, and they looked lost as shit. And Otis almost missed it, but there was definitely a goblin hiding in the back. They all looked sad, beaten, and bitter.

Who the fuck did Otis know that would hang out with these losers?

“I mean, you’re not wrong, you look like you could use some help,” Otis cackled before taking another drink. “But who’s this mutual acquaintance?”

“A certain purple tiefling with red eyes,” Caleb replied quietly, glancing around warily without turning his head.

Otis locked their eyes on Caleb’s, all their shifting and twitching stopping as their grin widened as far as it would go, a low chuckle almost leaking into a feral growl. That humming heat that ran through their veins from the mood had collected entirely in their arms, ready to burst into some violence. Oh, it felt like the Pattern had come back for a second, thrumming and tingling in all the best ways in their brain. They missed that.

To Caleb’s credit, he did not flinch away from Otis even when most would. But there’s no way Lucien would spend time with a sorry looking man like this, even if he was alive. What’s the game here? Did he come back after all? Or was that spell-spitter bitch from Rexxentrum up to something? Or the Jagentoths?

“What’s this, then?” Otis pressed without blinking. “How do you know him?”

“We met him a short time ago and had been traveling with him,” Caleb explained quietly, not looking away. “We did not know much about him, but we have been helping each other, and then he was taken. Another acquaintance of his had previously told us about his old gang based out of this town, and asking around got me pointed in your direction.”

“Who said that?” Otis asked rapidly.

“Cree, a tabaxi in Zadash.”

“How long ago did you meet our acquaintance?”

“Perhaps a month or so by now.”

“Say his name, then, if you know him so well.”

Caleb hesitated, now looking around more overtly before turning and whispering, “Lucien. Nonagon.”

Otis cackled madly and clapped their hands together once harshly. They needed the sting, something to loosen the blaze burning in their arms. Yes! Lucien was back! He had to be!

But taken?

“Taken by who?” Otis demanded, their eyes narrowing slightly.

“The Iron Shepherds,” Caleb answered stoically. “They work for the Jagentoths, I believe.”

“Fuckin’ figures it’s the slavers,” Otis barked a laugh, finally breaking the stare. “Was it the bounty or because of Reese? Oh, nevermind, it’s probably both. Lucien’s never been one to get in trouble unless it’s a landslide of bullshit all at once.”

Otis liked this one. Caleb had balls. He didn’t flinch, waver from fear, or shy away from strangeness. Yes, yes, even a sorry group like his could be useful to Lucien with an attitude like that.

“We know a little of the bounty,” Caleb said, “but nothing about ‘Reese.’ What do you know? It may be important for recovering him and the others.”

“There’s an outstanding bounty for blood magic wielders, probably some necromancer up to the same old shit,” Otis explained, interrupting now and then to snicker. “Top coin if you get a live one back to the right people in Rexxentrum, and a modest sum for dead ones. It’s been floating around up here for a while, but only a few groups are riled up about it—like the Jagentoths. Reese Jagentoth is an old thorn that Lucien never got around to dealing with. There was always bigger shit to handle first. So it sounds like both those threads caught up to him. I wouldn’t put it past Reese to try to fuck him up and then turn him in for the pay.”

“You… find this funny?” Caleb asked, looking confused.

“Of course, of course!” Otis giggled. “Lucien’s gotten out of worse anyway, like being dead. Hells, I’m looking forward to seeing him riled up over the offense. Bastard hates slavers, hates the Jagentoths, hates the Orders, and all the problems that come with them. Gather all those in the same place and he’ll carve up everything himself. Ah, it’ll be so fun to watch that.”

“The Orders?” Caleb questioned.

“The Claret Orders,” Otis elaborated. “They’re the ones that train in blood magic. They’re underground because of these sorts of bounties. We left forever ago, but there’s no escaping their crap.”

Caleb sighed deeply and hesitated, “You should know, there is a… there is a chance they may have already killed him. He was gravely wounded when he was taken.”

“Eh, he’s been dead before,” Otis replied blithely. “The Nonagon will return. He said it himself, he did, and it sounds like he already managed it at least once. We’d just need to get him to Cree. She’ll be thrilled to fix him up again.”

Caleb seemed disturbed by that. Interesting. How much did Lucien tell them? Oh well, Otis will find out from Lucien. He’s back! Now there was work to do! Jagentoths to fuck up! Slavers to slaughter! Good, good, yes, this would be good. The burn in their veins felt so fucking good.

And once Lucien was done with these loose threads, the Tombtakers could get to work in Eiselcross.

“So, will you help us retrieve him and our other companions?” Caleb requested. “We’ve already scouted the location. We have one more stop so we can prepare, and then we were planning to infiltrate their nest tonight.”

Otis smiled rabidly, eyes bright and wide, fire coursing in their blood, “I’m in.”

[thoughtfulangeltidalwave]

You and Me (Part 15)

The Mile was alive that morning as Delacroix proudly followed Paul out of his cell. Mr. Jingles was perched in his hands, tiny nose twitching, completely unaware of the weight of the moment.

Y/N stood outside her cell, arms crossed, watching as Del cradled the little mouse with careful hands. His face brimmed with pride as the rest of the guards murmured their good lucks, offering him small, fleeting smiles.

“He’s gonna love him, Boss Edgecomb,” Del said, his accent thick with excitement. “That man from Washington, he’s gonna see what a good boy Mr. Jingles is.”

Paul forced a small smile. “I’m sure he will, Del.”

Del nodded eagerly, as if trying to convince himself. “Gon’ put on a real good show, ain’t we, Mr. Jingles?”

The mouse let out a tiny squeak, as if in agreement.

Y/N kept her expression neutral, but inside, her stomach churned. Del was so hopeful, so eager to show off his beloved companion. He didn’t seem to realize that none of this would change what was coming.

As Del stepped through the front door, disappearing down the hall with Paul, the silence that followed felt suffocating. Y/N hated it. The waiting. The inevitability of it all.

Then, suddenly—

“Toot-Toot comin’ out!”

The shrill voice rang through the Mile, shattering the stillness. The office door swung open, and out strutted Toot-Toot, puffing out his chest like a performer about to take the stage.

Y/N furrowed her brows, confused, but before she could say anything, Toot-Toot bellowed, “Prisoner comin’ outta his cell!”

Brutus and Dean stepped out of the office behind him, arms crossed, shaking their heads but saying nothing.

Toot-Toot took a slow, exaggerated step forward and pointed towards Del’s cell. “Outta your cell, boy! Walkin’ the Mile, walkin’ the Mile—straight and true.”

Harry and Percy appeared as well, Percy smirking like this was the best entertainment he’d had in weeks.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. 

“Best you stay scarce today, just some important routine work” Harry said lowly to Y/N as they passed her.

“Get right with Jesus,” Toot-Toot continued, still striding forward, mimicking the weight of chains on his ankles. “Gotta get right with Jesus.”

Y/N was dumbfounded, she had no idea what was going on or why Toot-Toot, the prison janitor she saw rarely, was yelling down the mile.

As the group of men disappeared through the office Y/N heard a dark chuckle from her side.

“Gettin’ ready to fry him now!” Billy smirked

Y/N froze in realisation of what was happening, and, choosing to ignore Harry’s words made her way towards the office.

She’d never walked down the corridor which led out of the guards office — hell she was rarely in the office — but she pieced it together when she stood just in the door of the execution room, watching the men preform their practice run.

When Toot-Toot reached the chair he slumped into it like it was a throne as he was strapped in by Harry and Brutus.

“Roll on one,” Percy said.

The guards barely reacted. Brutus was finishing the last few straps, Percy had his arms crossed with an almost smug expression, and Dean was staring straight ahead. None of them had noticed her yet.

Toot-Toot grinned, tilting his head back. “Any last words?”

Percy straightened, stepping forward. He placed a hand over his heart, drawing in a deep, affected breath before saying, with the same exaggerated cadence, “Any last words?”

And then—

Toot-Toot grinned. “Yeah, I wanna fried chicken dinner with gravy on the taters, I wanna shit in your hat, and I got to have Mae West sit on my face ’cause I am one horny motherf—”

“Alright here we go” Percy said loudly. 

“Sheeit,” Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but he was smiling.

Dean exhaled through his nose, amused but reserved. “Y’all take this too far sometimes.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She wasn’t going to look. She told herself that. She should just walk away.

“Roll on two!” Percy announced, Y/N’s heart dropped as she watched the man in the chair writhe and jerk in the chair yelling and screaming. 

Brutus rolled his eyes, his voice lower but still audible. “Long as he dies clean.”

“Yeah. Long as he dies clean.” Harry agreed.

Y/N’s stomach turned. They talked about it like it was routine. Like it wasn’t a man they were talking about.

“How was that?” Percy asked turning to the rest of them as Toot-Toot continued to preform.

“Yeah just make sure you get that head strap good and tight cause he’s gonna buck” Dean explained, Percy listened to him nodding.

Her chest tightened. She felt like she was suffocating. When Too-Too finally stopped and they began to unstrap him her voice, cut through the room quiet but sharp.

“This,” she said, her tone cutting through the air like a knife, “is disgusting.”

A hush fell over the room.

Dean and Brutus turned, surprised to see her standing there. The other guards shifted uncomfortably. Even Toot-Toot, who had been so animated just moments before, sat there stunned before bursting out laughing, “did ya enjoy the show sweetheart! We gonna do it again if you wanna keep watchin’, or I can entertain you in other ways if you want!”

Y/N stared at them, her expression unreadable, then turned on her heel and walked back onto the Mile. She had barely taken two steps before she heard Dean’s voice behind her.

“Y/N.”

She ignored him, her blood still boiling.

“Y/N!”

His tone was firmer this time. She almost stopped but refused, she wanted to get as far away from that room as possible.

“Y/N” he snapped finally catching up to her grabbing her wrist and turning her to face him.

“WHAT?” she yelled.

Dean sighed breathing deeply, taking his hat off and throwing it on the table before running a hand through his hair. He stepped  closer to her.

“You can’t just storm off like that,” he muttered.

She scoffed. “And why the hell not?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Because this is still Death Row. You think this is the first time we’ve done a run like that?”

She clenched her jaw, her voice low and heated. “So that makes it okay?”

“It makes it necessary.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Jesus, Dean.”

“You don’t get to be angry at them for doing their damn jobs,” he snapped.

“Their job? Their damn job Dean?” She exclaimed stepping closer too. Her nostrils flared. “That wasn’t a job. That was a goddamn show” she snapped shoving him back.

“They were laughing, Dean. Laughing.”

Dean exhaled sharply, taking a moment to regain himself, but as soon as Y/N turned to walk away again he quickly stepped in front of her. “Do you think we like this? Do you think any of us enjoy what we have to do?”

She didn’t back down. “Sure looked like it.”

His jaw tightened. “You have no idea what it’s like.” He said as he pointed at her.

She slapped his hand away just as quickly, “And you have no idea what it’s like to be on the other side of that goddamn chair,” she shot back.

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t know what kind of hell this place is?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “You sure as hell don’t act like it.”

Dean inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

She turned to leave for the third time, shaking her head as she went.

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist before she could get away.

She spun back, yanking against his hold, but he didn’t let go. “Let me go, Dean.”

“Just listen to me.”

“No.” She pulled harder, her teeth bared.

Dean stepped closer, his height towering over her, his grip tightening. “Y/N stop!” 

But she wouldn’t, she was desperate to get away, away from Dean and the rest of them, away from the memories of her husband, away from it all.

She shoved him.

Dean stumbled back a step nearly falling, his eyes flashing with something raw.

“Don’t touch me,” she seethed.

His jaw worked, his chest rising and falling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re blind,” she shot back.

“Well why don’t you just go back to your cell where you belong” 

A beat of heavy silence. Her heart dropped… she couldn’t believe him.

Dean’s eyes flickered over her face, frustration mixing with something else—something deeper. But she wasn’t going to wait for him to figure it out. Without another word, she turned and stormed to her cell.

Dean let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face.

Shit.

He watched her go, his stomach twisted in knots. He hadn’t meant it like that. Hadn’t meant any of it like that.

But the way she slammed her cell door shut behind her told him she wasn’t going to forgive him anytime soon.

[piperjistic]

Note: Tender Asriel + Fran (When first get together) Frans pronouns: sir/sire/sireself

Sea Bed

They lay in bed as the wind howls outside. The ocean roars, sending waves to crash and ripple against the rocks of the shore. The sky was dark and battered down everything underneath in rain. Like the rocks, it does not bother the two. They kindle together close like the fire blazing away in the fireplace in front of the bed.

The two that lays in bed is of human and siren. The human, old yet far from frail, curls closer to his beloved, whom very old yet never could be frail, hummed pleased.

They’ve grown content of the sound over the years. From above and below. It was calming, noise that resides in the background for them. If there was no sound, it meant something was wrong. However, tonight with the crashing and bellows, everything was perfect for them.

Fran open sir eyes and graze sir fingers across his uneven stubble, to twirling the ends his bushy mustache that mimicked bushes sprouting in all directions on the beach. His lips twitch into a small smile. Sir voice sweet as sire open sir lips.

“May I show you something my love?” He hum, sir eyes watch every movement sire fisherman makes, from breathing to adjusting. Asriel glances up to sire, his hand gently touching the others that lingers on his chest.

“Of course…”

Sire inhales his scent from his hair, rosemary bathed in crispy sea salt. Sir lips curve into a small smile. Lifting the webbed hand resting on his chest, Fran rubs sir thumb and pointer finger, a drop of water forms. Only a size of a pea before rolling around in the siren’s hand, absorbing more moisture and growing in size. The sea creature glows gentle shades of pink and purple, humming as the water drop swirls into a small cyclone, glowing hues of blue. Its size sprouts from the palm of sire hand as it grows wider.

The fire flickers from the magic, taken aback. It returns to normal as a sphere of seemly cloudy water, rippling above sir hand, yet has the luster of a freshly farmed pearl.

Asriel doesn’t pay attention to the magic trick, his eyes only on his darling siren. The warm glow from the corals and barnacle dotted around sir body. He hardly could take his eyes off her, maybe it’s the music or the heavenly glow that enhances sir natural beauty.

Fran nudges him, he blinks. His self-induced trance no more. She chuckles as he shifts on sire to stare at the new object.

The misty water clears and lies an image. A rather shallow yet firm barrel sponge, brownish-red as a faded penny that’s been left on the dock for endless years that sits ruggedly on the sand bed as minnows swim by.

The short walls allows for him to see more within. It isn’t much by the look of it. Simply tall blades of seagrass threaded around the stalks of mushroom coral flushed in green and marroon strikes as if it was a underwater watermelon latched to a flat rock underneath them pads the hollow inside.

Accompany by erect tube sponges branching over rocks, skin coarse with nubs, prickled around in a wide oval around it all, yellow dotted each opening of the sponges.

Behind it all was what he could identify an elephant ear sponge. Big and wide, stretching out like an elephant’s ear that’s decorated by small holes in a bright peppy orange, alive as ever, curling in flaps over the back side as coverage and shade.

Sponges was the bulk of the bedding(?) it seemed. Asriel leaned closer, intrigued by the culmination of sea life.

“Here… here is my bed.” His hand reaches out, only a finger touching the pearly screen. Asriel says nothing, though tilts his head to see more. “Deep under the waters, on the bottom where shells and bone rest… There is where I sleep.”

Sire relinquishes it to him, which draws both of his hands underneath the floating orb as if it would shatter or collapse under one.

Fran laughs once more, lighthearted and amuze, voice echos through the room. Like fire, Asriel swoons, eyes back to sire. Though that’s shortly lived as sir directs his chin with the tip of sir webbed fingers to the pearl.

Curls closer to him, hooking arm firmer arojnd him as a finger swipes at the water screen, image blur to another. This contains not just the seabed, but sireself as well. Laying and rolling on whatever comfort Fran seemed to find, fingers entwining with the seagrass as sire curls together. Sir eyes were close, letting bubbles stream sir breath.

“It isn’t as soft, isn’t as warm…” Sir finger fiddles with his brine-blasted goatee, gently tugging the scruffy patch of hair downwards.

“Unlike here, where comfort and warm are abundant with your blankets and pillows.” Sir lauded. The siren’s tail creeps over, uncoiling briefly to slither around the humans hips, a brief flash of cold from the coarse hide meeting his own warm tan skin travels up his spine. He shivers. The crusted nubs and shells fitting perfectly in the dips and wrinkles in his skin, snuzzled warmly. Gentle to not break his mortal bones. He clears his throat.

“May I say something?” Sir eyes lit up.

“Anything.” He glances up from his cap and shaggy white hair, eyes gleaming brown, reminding Fran of mussels who in time make the most precious pearls for the world to see.

“Will you eat me?”

Sire laughs. “Of course not… If I wanted to, I would have long ago…” Sire muses.

“You know, you’re a lot more cuddly and affectionate than I expected.”

“Humans make many assumption about my kind, my Love.” The siren blesses the man with a kiss on the side of his forehead, he hums delighted.

“And whilst you are certainly correct in some things, rarely do you seem to take into consideration how incredibly precious our mates are to us, and how much of an influence you have on our behavior.”

Fran gently takes his hand from sir chest and brings it to sir head as sire bows towards him. He feels sire inhale deeply. His hand hovered over her head where purple frilly lace weaved around some of the harder yet stubby corals sprouted upwards as if it was a crown and throw in the occasional seashells, it was a beautiful ecosystem of its own, hues of a fuchsia sunset fuchsia and tiny hints of a deep violet sparkling around.

Before Fran, he never planned on touching a siren, especially on their heads. But now, he still believed he would never touch their heads considering the last time he saw someone attempt to, they all almost drowned him, baring their fangs and claws, eyes even slitting. It was terrifying, and he knew sire wouldn’t hurt him, but it still gave a clear warning of what not to do.

“I know you’ll be gentle.” Trusting half-lidded eyes stare at him as sir grinned.

“… You sirens always avoided things touching your heads though… but-“ He inhales. “-alright.”

He inhales again, hesitating, before placing a hand to sir head, which made him raise a brow. Yes, it was slightly more textured as more sandy bits were trapped between the corals and it was moist…. But it was also strangely soft. His hand didn’t sink like quicksand so it wasn’t as soft, just soft enough to hold its form like a wet noodle. Fran’s breath hitches. A minute passes in silence. The siren breaks it, closing sir eyes. “Good, do not fear it Asriel my dear… it will not hurt me…. Now rub.”

The sound that came next, made even the fire silent. Fran purrs, loudly. Asriel eyes widen, mouth in a O, his cheeks warm as the blazing fire, and his ears the color of corals among sire body. He didn’t stop.

Sir purr drowned out the storm, and the look on sir face? Well, it was bliss. The siren cooed and purr, baring fangs in a toothy smile, eyes unfocused at the ceiling, hands clasp together. Even her instinctive responses are sweet melodies. Asriel swore he was as red as a lobster now. He still didn’t stop and wore a toothy smile himself. Sire deserves this… this bliss.

When he strung harder with his thumb against them, sir tail tightened around his aged hips and squeezed the air out of his lungs, he snatches his hand back. He might of gone too far, indulged too much? But… Never in his years would he expect to hear that from a siren, like this. Lying bed, cuddling on a stormy night, warming each other…. Wrapping sir tail around him as he rubbed sir head.

That seemed like a set up… for something else… he may or may not would be interested in. He would never say to anyone. Age doesn’t cure instinct, he would say.

It takes a moment of fire crackling and thundering from the weeping storm clouds before they engage again. Sir chuckles, hearty and loud. Not loud as before of course. Fran saw her human’s flustered face, and it was perfect. Asriel is never one to express such emotion, so to her that meant the same to what this meant to her. Sir gently grabs his hand in one, kissing a knuckle. The other guides his chin forward towards sire as sir stares at him lovingly. “Only you get to do this… No one else.” He licked his dry lips, awestruck and stifled.

“Only you will be coiled around to the end of your days, only you will share my bounty that isn’t a siren in my quartet, only you will get to hear my darkest secrets and only you shall I lend all my power to…. Only you make me feel this way.”

Sir hands slither to cup his cheeks, rubbing the wrinkles and freckle. Fran leans in, closing the gap between them. He follows sire lead. His lips taste of mint and rosemary. Sire’s of salt, grindy like sandy, and sweetly nutty. Huh…. He doesn’t mind though. Rather he indulges. Maybe it’s because of her alluring beauty, maybe it’s his tastebuds are past its prime, starting to fail him. It doesn’t matter.

“I could give you pearls beyong your wildest dreams, drag people to do your bidding, you never have to work anymore…”

“I don’t need pearls or extra helping hands when I have you.”

“Oh my young soul Asriel…”

“Besides… its my turn to entice you.”

“Oh?”

“Whenever you need to sleep, whenever you want to sleep… this is your bed. You bed by the sea, and can still be with the sea…”

Sir squeals, baring sire fangs with glee.

Fran grasp his hands and squeeze. The fire flickers violently as bubbles shed from coral openings on the siren. They pop only moments laters, sire sealing anymore escaped magic.

“Thank you mi amor…. I’ll treasure this— No, I have treasured this… this means more than you know…”

“Of course…”

Lightning strikes, the light above flickers before popping. They don’t flinch however, rather they share another kiss with the fire only illuminating each other’s features. They storm may rage on, but it could never erode their seabed.

Person A: “You know, you’re a lot more cuddly and affectionate than I expected.”

Person B: “Humans make many assumptions about my kind, My Love. And whilst you are certainly correct in some things, rarely do you seem to take into consideration how incredibly precious our mates are to us, and how much of an influence you have on our behaviour.”

[astriasstar]

Excidas

—————————

“My beloved Xix…please don’t cry…I will see you again I’m sure of it…”

—————————

“Your highness!! Excidas did it!! She sacrificed herself for the underworld!!”

“What?! No she couldn’t have! She was just with Xixyeon!”

“He went with her! And now he’s trying to save her soul!”

“Preposterous! Stop Xixyeon at once! If you succeeds he would have broken a heavenly law!”

“Yes sir!”

—————————

“I will cleanse the underworld and put it back into balance with the love you have given me and shown me, but Xix…oh my lovely Xix…please don’t give up on love as a whole once I perish…”

A gasp can be heard though the room along with the rustle of sheets. Heavy breathing ensues as Xixyeon tries to calm himself down from dreaming of an old memory.

“Excidas…Excidas love…you always feel so close in my dreams I can almost touch you…”

Xixyeon stared at his hand then tightly closed it into a fist.

“But in reality…you’re the person most farthest…”

—————————

“Excidas, what are you looking at?”

“Oh hello Xix, come here I want to show you something.”

“Are you looking down at Obscura again?”

Excidas nodded enthusiastically peering down at Obscura bellow through the clouds specifically looking at Vescua.

“The land is prospering again…do you think…they’ll recover..?”

“Yes, I believe they will. Even without the gods help they will be more prosperous than before, we stopped the rain for them. Now they have to forge the future of Vescua.”

“You always know the right words beloved. I wouldn’t expect less of a song bird.”

Xixyeon smiled endearingly at Excidas and she smiled widely back at him, the world could feel the power of their love and it started sprinkling stardust down to Obscura.

Xixyeon wakes up in a flash after the memory fades away, he’s holding his head in his hands he gave a grimace of pain.

“Ugh…another…memory…Excidas…why do you haunt me so…are you really…never coming back to me…?”

—————————

“Xixyeon! What is wrong with you lately?! You keep making such half assed decisions lately!”

Xixyeon grumbles upon hearing Eris’ shouts.

“Obscura is in trouble! Don’t be slacking now! Come on pick yourself up already and make solid decisions!”

He pinches the spot between his brows with his fingers.

“I know I know…I must be more perfect with my actions. I’ll be working overtime, don’t wait for me and enjoy your dinner.”

Xixyeon begins walking away a hand on his head as he hears the voices of the world crying out to him. He sighs.

“I wonder…can you hear them too…?”

—————————

“No…No! Not again! She shouldn’t have to do this!”

“It is not your choice Xixyeon!”

“You can’t make her sacrifice herself again there has to be another way!!”

“There is no other way boy! This is her decision and the only decision there is! You should be thanking this woman instead of going against her if you love her!”

Xixyeon paused when the king had said that. Love…but is love really sacrificing…? Does love have to have sacrifices…? No, no it shouldn’t. Not in Xixyeon’s mind. Xixyeon clenched his jaw and squeezed his hand into a fist. And turned away from the king walking out of the throne room.

“Excidas should not have to sacrifice her soul over and over again just to satisfy the world…once was enough…”

—————————

“Xix! Xix? Helloooooooo? Obscura to Xix?”

Xixyeon blinked a few times when he saw a hand wave in front of his face and he looked up from his documents to see Eris.

“Oh it’s just you.”

Eris scoffs.

“What do you mean it’s just me? We’re married now you know and you’ll still treat me like a rodent. Hmph!”

Eris playfully crosses her arms and she looks back at Xixyeon noticing his downcast look.

“Hey what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about the incident 500 years ago again…”

Xixyeon scoffed and he fixed the papers on his desk a little more aggressively than his natural behavior, a scowl present on his face but the sadness in his eyes never leaving.

“That is of no concern to you Eris. Keep your nose out of my thoughts.”

He abruptly stood up after putting the documents away and he strides out of his office. Eris could only watch him leave a hand reached out in his direction but he was already gone. She put her hand back at her side and squeezed it into a fist.

“You’ll never accept me and look at me the same way you did with her…will you Xix…?”

—————————

Xixyeon sat in his room looking out the window and up at the stars.

“You always liked looking at the stars…I wonder…are we looking at the same sky right now dear…?”

He sipped wine from his glass while he continued to gaze at the stars and reminisce about his past love.

“Tell me Excidas…what is the point of wearing this crown and having the title of king if I can’t even manage to protect the person I love dearly? Would you laugh and call me a fool like you always did? Would you tell me I should protect everyone and not just you? You were always a mystery to me…would you…be sad to know I accepted this marriage…?”

Xixyeon’s gaze shifted to the glass in his hand, he noticed something drip down onto the rim of the glass and his eyes widened as he used his free hand to wipe one of his eyes. He had been crying. He chuckled softly at his own sorry state.

“Back then I never wished to be king unless you’d be my queen, It was a childish wish, but it was one I wanted to fulfill. And even though you do not have a crown, you will always be my queen.”

The tears wouldn’t stop streaming out of his eyes and he grunted In frustration of his inability to make them stop.

“You, goddess of life, managed to capture my heart and keep it as yours. But…is yours still mine?”

—————————

“Excidas! Why are you gazing up at the sky?”

Excidas turned to look at Caelus, the question reminding her of Xixyeon’s long ago and she smiled at him.

“I heard a wish from the clouds above.”

“You mean you heard a gods wish?”

Kaida raised an eyebrow looking at Excidas as she took a sip of her tea.

“Precisely.”

—————————

“Dear Xixyeon, though you may not be able to hear my wish as I know you’ll be drowning yourself in the voices of the world and even your own work I would still like to say it. You may be an icy uptight cold god, but you are a god that has my heart. Nor will it change, just wait a bit longer beloved.”

Excidas peered up at the once sunny sky that is now pitch black with twinkling stars to illuminate it. She was smiling as she made her wish, she just hopes it was received.

—————————

End.

Hope this is enjoyable to read even if it is just OC’s and sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. 🥰

[sethnakht]

I'm so glad to find someone else who's seen it! I've only seen it once — the DVD won't play in my region code — but remember finding it fascinating, both structurally and as a historical document (with much, some extremely disturbing, left to unpack given who made it and when). Shaw hated it, iirc.

Some memories that may be misremembered details - would love love your take on what is actually in the film:

Eliza speaks a fantasy argot of Berlin and Vienna dialects (Jenny Jugo, the actress, was Austrian), which has a slightly alienating effect, as though to suggest that this story cannot fully translate, ie. could never have taken place anywhere but England. Or maybe it's a Brechtian touch from the film's director, Erich Engel. (There's also a really weird choice regarding Sie/du usage between Higgins and Eliza that I don't remember well enough to mention in more than passing but that did seem like a cultural translation error.)

In the play, Eliza sends for a musical instrument, but it's never specified in the text what Alfred ends up bringing to Wimpole Street. In this film, I seem to remember it being a concertina (a bellows-driven free-reed instrument with buttons at the ends). Smaller than an accordion and thus easily portable, developed independently in England and Germany, the German concertina has an association with dance music and the working classes. (Both the Dutch and English films also give her a concertina, iirc — the instrument plays a huge role in the Dutch film, and you can spot it in her rooms in the English one.) In any case, she plays and sings a raucous song written for the film, "Ich bin lustig ob ich Geld hab' oder keins", "I'm jolly whether I've got money or none". The song potentially says as much about Germany in 1935 as about this specific iteration of the character — it has fatalist, devil-may-care lines like, "ich bin lustig ob die Welt zum Teufel geht" (I'm jolly if the world goes to the devil), etc.

Higgins twice invokes Schubert's "Ständchen" (Serenade), once on the piano and once, whistling, after returning home from the ball. It's a wistful love song — softly imploring the beloved to listen, to come out, to not fear being overheard — that would have been instantly recognizable to a bourgeois audience raised on Romantic Kunstlieder. This marks a change from the 1912 play, where the crew is implied to have gone to see the new Puccini opera set in the wild west; Higgins whistles an air from that opera after coming home (ironically, since it's a piece about a woman cheating to win a bet and save the man she loves). Perhaps there's irony in having German!Higgins reference a song about being overheard, not least because he never sings the lyrics, only plays/whistles the melody — thus going over Eliza's head.

Much is made of the fact that Eliza took a boy with her on her initial taxi ride to Wimpole Street. Alfred implies a fairly young boy in the play; here he turns out to be a blond, strapping fellow named Johnny. While Eliza goes in to ask for lessons, Johnny waits outside for an all clear signal, like a kind of bodyguard, adding an element of mistrust to her character as well as independence (she has the means to threaten). Overall, Jugo's Eliza seemed to me a good deal less vulnerable than the Liza of the play (where there are hints that other flower girls bully her, where she specifically wants a taxi ride in her new clothes to get her own back). Johnny reappears in a couple of other scenes, including as an ice cream vendor at the first outing taken before Mrs Higgins' at home, the horse races, but I forgot what he says or does, exactly; part of his purpose iirc is to show that Eliza can seamlessly code switch. In terms of the scene, was it that someone tried to walk off with ice cream without paying for it? I seem to recall Eliza demonstrating she can hold her own — springing both physically and verbally into the fray — only to begin speaking high German again once the disgruntled toffs (Higgins) appear.

Alfred ends up lecturing for a temperance society, I believe. Altogether they make something more Brechtian of him, at least in my memory — and wasn't there an extra scene including Eliza's sixth stepmother?

Another added scene is right before the ball — it shifts the balance of power (Higgins is never particularly in control in this film, however, iirc). Higgins is in a state, he comes out from his room upstairs in his dressing gown with his face almost totally masked in shaving cream and bumbles down a long set of stairs to interact with Pickering. I forgot why — maybe helping Pickering look for the ball invitation, which both have misplaced. Eliza then joins them, but not before looking down on them from above. There follows a scene where she immediately solves their problem, then asks for advice on what to wear — maybe which earrings? — and offers three options. Is that right? Or is it two? Higgins is iirc useless at fashion but does inadvertently reveal that he finds her smile charming. The posing of three options — or maybe it's two, and Higgins gives a third — is also used at the very end of the film.

After the post-ball fight, Higgins doesn't storm off to bed; instead, as you mention, he wanders into Pickering's room for reassurance. There I seem to remember he sits at the window, staring at the moon (another German Romantic association, like the Schubert), and wonders whether Eliza's rage is anything he can trust: whether it's something she copied from a book or whether her soul has really been transformed through the experiment. Pickering is astonished. I wish I had access to a screenplay or screencaps for this sequence to recall what he says exactly in the German. I remember thinking Gründgens sold this scene — in part because there's tension and intimacy with Pickering, in part because he's so incapable of expressing himself except in literary abstraction.

The final act includes several major changes. Mrs Higgins' artistic Chelsea drawing room has become a lakeside villa, Freddy is there playing lawn games and the mandolin? (I have a weird memory of a ukulele?) and setting up a boat, Higgins shows up and immediately has a cocktail I think? Maybe? Once alone with Eliza, and faced with the prospect that she'll marry Freddy, he leaves off some of the insults and challenges her — does she really think these people will accept her once they learn the truth of her origins? Eliza is initially dismissive, maybe? but ultimately decides to tell the truth over lunch with the Eynsford-Hills, causing a minor sensation and prompting the whole family to up and depart. Freddy bounds back and shouts to Eliza from outdoors that he doesn't care and wants to marry her anyway. Higgins congratulates her on her splendid honesty (as though to finally acknowledge that she's won the bet, though of course he's egged her on to do this with a kind of bet of his own). Eliza once more poses two/three questions; she asks him whether she ought to marry Fred or do something else, and he asks her to do neither and come back, and the film ends.

Very curious how much of this is made up on my end, and to hear more of your thoughts!

got my hands on German Pygmalion from 1935🦫

[wordgirlprompts]

Becky/Wordgirl invents a third persona for the purposes of clandestine spying on the villains via signing up to assist them with their schemes; she rapidly becomes the most beloved and appreciated minion in the whole Fair City villainous underbelly, and Charlie, Meatloaf, General Smoochington, and Leslie all try and make her go away.

Hehehe villain found family lol

- The villain's schemes and plans have been getting more and more difficult to outmach. Its actually becoming more of a challenge to beat them which is the last thing Wordgirl wants. So as she was venting this to Scoops and Violet, Scoops piped up and put in his few cents on the matter. "Why don't you go undercover to gather information? A lot of my favorite journalists did that too get info they otherwise couldn't get otherwise.". Which this imediatly sprang a lightbulb into Wordgirl's head.

- With some training from Scoops on what and what not to do as a villain and a information gathering spy, they eventually came up with Becky's new third identity. Melony the Minion. A young girl who's a fair city villains fan who wants nothing more then to be just like her favorite villains, in that she applies to as many villains as she can and then spreads her appointments throughout the week Including weekends (But also trying to stay away from villains who might know her as Becky, so she tries to keep her distance from Victoria, Tobey and Eileen.)

- She basically wears whatever the villain's want her to as uniforms, so with Twobrains she wears the standard uniform like Charlie and Meatloaf, with Butcher she wears a little butcher's uniform with a white apron and paper hat, with Chuck she doesn't wear a uniform and just wears whatever she wants (Which is usually just her standard clothes, but with a hoodie, fake glasses and her hair in a ponytail.), with Mr Big she wears a fancy suit, and with all the others she wears whatever she wants.

- Her job consists of carrying heavy objects, remind her bosses of important tasks, going on errands, helping out with chores in Chuck’s case, answering Ms Question’s questions, locking Dave out of the copy shop so he doesn’t mess with LRW’s copier (Sabotage their plans) etc. 

- Whammer tries too teach her how too wham, it goes as well as you expect.

- “Melony” had this spirit and can do attitude about her that just made her a pleasant presence to be around, always lit up a room over time.  She was a great conversationalist, always had a quip for everything, always had something to add to the conversation and it was like talking to an old friend.  

- Soon she became more then a minion in the villain’s and Becky’s pov.  Chuck would invite her to play videogames with him, Twobrains would invite her to watch TV dramas with him just like he would do with Meatloaf and Charlie (Though most of the time, they would just complain on all the inaccuracies in the show or movie), when Mr Big found out she had a passion for horse figurines he started buying some for her here and there.  Becky on the other hand is honestly having fun with all this, as long as she signs out when the project is nearly done, she can swoop in as Wordgirl and stop them.   It was like playing pretend for her then an undercover mission

- Becky has been noticing glares from Leslie lately, she kinda jocked it up too her worrying Melony taking her job away from her as Mr Big’s 2nd in command (which Becky has no intention on doing so since this mission is only temporary). But once they had a time alone together without Mr Big in the room, Leslie bellowed “So Wordgirl, how long do you plan too keep working in villainy”

- Becky forgot Leslie was the one with the only braincell in the show

“Whhhaaat? Pbtff I’m not Wordgirl, I mean why would Wordgirl work for a bunch of villains, doesn’t that kinda go against her whole thing. Didn’t think of you as a joker, Leslie.”

“That’s what’s i’v been asking, Wordgirl. You’re the number one most respected minion in the whole Fair City criminal underbelly. I mean there wasn’t one until you showed up but still. Surely you would have quit while you were ahead considering you’ve most likely memorized our patterns by now.”

“It started off that way… But I don’t know in all honesty. I guess even though this is like my third secret life so far, i feel more like myself then I am when i’m Wordgirl. For a criminal underbelly, everyone is pretty laid back and nice too each other in their own way. I don’t want too pursue villainy, don’t get me wrong! But this has been strangely therapeutic. I guess a downside is I have too fight myself not too correct mispronunciation or define words heh… Are you going too tell the others?”

“I appreciate the extra help, so i’m going too enjoy this while it lasts. Also i’v tried, no one listens to me because they like you too much. Actually all the minions and 2nd in commands in the city have tried getting rid of you.”

“Even Meatloaf and Charlie?!”

“Especially those two.”

“How did they know??”

“I told everyone because you have the same voice, same hair/eye color and same spunk. Also no child can lift a ten ton crate of machinery.”

“Remind me too never go near you when i’m in my other secret identity.”

- This was a sign Becky had too resign from being a minion, it was fun and educational but the fact all underlings have been trying too get rid of her was a sign that she should leave before things get ugly. She had too lie and say she was transferring to a different city. Some villain bosses just sadly asked too call them once in a while and too not be a stranger.

- Just so you know Bob protested this from the very beginning, I just didn’t know what too do with him

Maybe I should make more dialogue for this ask because cute villain and Wordgirl interactions are just immediate euphoria for me  

[elysianightsss]

When Dusk Begins

Part six

Warnings: fluff, little bit of neck kissing

SERIES MASTERLIST

After a crazy night, and a crazy party. Some time had passed. Larry had left the museum, a while ago leaving you to come in every night and check on everything, not that you minded. He’d been too busy lately to join you.

Ahkmen’s hands caressed yours gently, both of you sitting in the hall of ocean life, the big blue whale hanging from the ceiling flapped his tail bringing a nice breeze throughout the room. Ahk sat behind you, your head laid back on his shoulder as you sat in between his legs.

The beautiful exotic fish swam around in their tanks, it was such a good idea for a date. Ahkmen seemed so so proud of himself that he thought of the idea.

“This is so nice.” You sighed, your body aching from a long day at work. Your new job in New York was amazing, but it came with a lot of paperwork. That meant tension in your neck and back, which Ahk was more than happy to massage out for you earlier.

“Indeed it is.” His arms wrapped tighter around you. “Did you hear anything more from the board of the museum?” He asked.

“No, they barely listened to me when I tried to get them to change their minds. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to keep your family here.” You turned your head to look at your beloved. He smiled sadly at you.

“This isn’t your fault my love. People make decisions that affect others.” He cupped your face gently bringing his lips to yours in the most wonderful way. “There isn’t anything anyone can do. The suns coming up.” He whispered pressing one last kiss to your lips before getting up and heading toward his exhibit.

The next night you entered the museum to find Larry playing tug of rope with Rexy. The big bone dinosaur flung him halfway across the room, just as Larry landed all the boxes sprung open. Everyone began climbing out of said boxes.

“Lawrence! Good to see you, lad!” Teddy, on his horse as always, bellowed at Larry with a gleeful expression.

“Yeah, you too Teddy.” Larry shook hands with the president.

“The guardian of Brooklyn has returned.” Ahkmenrah rounded the corner with a smile and hope shimmering in his eyes. He immediately spotted you, his grin widening as you got closer. Ahk wrapped his arms round you with a peck to your forehead.

“Hey Ahk. Hey, look McPhee told me what’s going on around here. I had no idea.” Larry said.

“Indeed. A lot had transpired Lawrence since your last visit. One would say that-“ a phone beeping interrupted the man on the horse. “Oh, cricket.”

“Hey! Bocephus! Little help over here!” Jed’s voice came from a small box over in the corner. Jed and Octavius climbed up onto the ledge of the box.

“Well lookey here, if it ain’t Mr. Big-in-the-Britches himself come back just in time to see us off!” Jed scoffed.

“Yeah, Jed, I heard. I don’t even know how this happened.” Another beep from Larry’s phone, he fished it out and began looking at it.

“Yeah, Yeah real mystery how this happened.” Sarcasm dripped from Jed’s voice. “Maybe the answer’s on that magic buzzing box there in your hand. You weren’t here, Gigantor! That’s how it happened! Ain’t no mystery!” Jed shouted.

“Guys it’s okay, I’ll call the board in the morning I’ve got some pull now.” Larry said.

“I already talked to the board, they wouldn’t change their minds.” You spoke up scowling at the man. Ahk pulled you in tighter.

“I’ll handle it. We’re gonna be okay here.” Larry turned back to look at the miniatures.

“We? Do you hear that? Did you hear Daydream Johnny? There ain’t been a we ever since you put us on the pay no mind list. And that’s a cold place to be, boy.” Jed glared.

“Larry what’s done is done. Even the glory of Rome had to come to an end.” Octavius chirped.

“Come with me.” Ahk whispered pulling you away from the big group discussion.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I couldn’t keep listening to that.” He spoke solemnly. His family was leaving, there was nothing you could say or do to make him feel better.

“I’m so sorry Ahk.” He sighed bringing you into his arms just as Teddy and Sacajawea riding Little Texas rounded the corner leading everyone else.

“One last stroll together?” He offered. We nodded joining Atilla in the line and began walking around.

The sad goodbye had you crying for your friends and Ahkmenrah’s family. The next night you visited the museum and Ahk didn’t wake up, nor did Teddy or any of the remaining exhibits. The tablet had gone with the others, you had been going crazy. Was the other night the last night you’d see Ahkmenrah again? You weren’t told that. You never got to say goodbye. It wasn’t until the second night, very early in the morning, that you saw him again.

You helped him out of his coffin, he looked just as confused as you did. “I don’t understand the tablet’s gone.” You said causing him to frown.

“Gone?” He questioned, your attention was caught by the sound of Atilla and the cavemen. “They’re back?” His hand grabbed yours as he began running into the main section of the museum.

“Y/N!” Atilla screamed as you got to the bottom step of the staircase. You hugged the big man, Dexter jumping on Ahkmenrah.

“What happened?” The Pharaoh inquired, and Atilla began to explain. You of course only heard gibberish but you trusted Ahk to tell you later. Indeed he did.

“Your Brother? As in the man we saw back in Egypt?” You asked.

“Yes him. He’s gone now it seems.” Ahk answered.

“Are you okay?” You cupped his cheeks.

“Never better. My family’s home.” He smiled.

——————————

Larry had sold his company and payed the museum to keep it open. It was amazingly busy, so many people as you weaved your way through the crowed. You spotted your boyfriend talking to some family’s, Dexter holding the golden tablet next to him.

“My parents gave me this tablet over 3000 years ago entrusting me with one my people’s most prized possessions.” Ahk spoke with such pride.

“Does it do anything?” A little girl asked.

“Do anything?” Ahk questioned.

“Yeah. What’s the point if it doesn’t do anything?” An older girl said with a snotty attitude.

“Tell em.” Dexter whimpered.

“Actually, it has a magical power that brings all of the exhibits to life.” Ahk spoke with a glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice.

“No really, what’s it do?” The girl answered back in a bored tone.

“Nothing it’s just for decoration.” Ahk slumped causing you to bite your lip stifling the giggling threatening to slip out.

“I knew it.” The younger girl whispered to the elder.

The only downside to this was less one on one time with Ahk, you were allowed to sneak off into the night guard office now and then but you longed to see him more often. By the time the museum closed for everyone to have their own time, you were at home asleep for work the next morning.

Tonight was an example of your one on one time. Just before the grand reopening of the newly renovated Hayden Planetarium, Ahk had pulled you aside kissing you instantly. “Hello to you too.” You panted as his lips caressed your neck gently. Gasping his name out.

“Good evening Setepa-i.” He chuckled against your skin. Before you could giggle Ahk fell to his knees with a groan. In shock you put your arms around him watching as his moment of weakness passed.

“What happened?” You rushed out worried.

“I don’t know.” You looked around to ask for help when your eyes caught the tablet.

“Ahk.” You pointed out. Helping him to his feet he moved over to the Tablet only to see part of it a blacky, dark green moss.

“What the hell.”

“I’ll tell Larry.” He was running off before you could answer. You frowned at the golden device with uncertainty. What had happened to it?

Larry and Ahk’s footsteps sounded behind you. Larry clicked his flashlight on inspecting the tablet, “have you ever seen it like this before?”

“Never.” Ahk replied. “This corrosion, it’s never happened before. It’s always been exactly the same.”

“I wonder what’s up with it.” Larry frowned.

“I have no idea. And to be honest, my father knew the secrets of the tablet better than I did. Unfortunately, he swore he’d never reveal them. He never did.” Just as Ahk finished his sentence, the corrosion spread, the pharaoh falling backwards. Larry caught him in time bringing him back to his feet.

“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting him for any form of injuries.

“I’m fine beautiful.” He pecked your forehead.

“Just take it easy out there tonight. Fifteen minutes till show time.” Larry said walking out of the exhibit like a man on a mission. “We’re gunna figure this out tomorrow.”

“All right.” Ahk agreed glancing worriedly at the tablet before following.