#The trophy wasn't simply meant for us

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

"Dad?"

"Mmh?"

"We haven't talked about dating..."

That alerted Fleamont. He knew his son was growing up, he was getting taller and taller each day. Fleamont noticed the way his voice was deeper and he no longer had a baby face. He was slowly turning into a man.

But Monty figured he still had time to enjoy his little boy. Time flew so fast.

"That's because you weren't interested about it before" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Monty remembered well how James declared he'd never have a girlfriend, back when he thought girls were weird and disgusting.

Oh how Effie and him had enjoyed those moments.

Now, James was noticeably blushing.

"There's this girl..."

"Oh, there's a girl..." Monty blinked as he prepared himself.

"I used to call her Carroty because she is a ginger" James explained as he pushed his glasses up "We used to fight a lot. She called me a toerag idiot...I love getting under her nerves, because she is cute when she is angry..." he grinned.

Fleamont smiled.

"Then at the beginning of this term, I asked her out and she tossed me a piece of pie in my face"

"Tough temper, ha?" Monty snorted "Probably you deserved it"

"I just simply asked her out!" James protested.

"Did you ask or demand?"

James frowned "There's a difference?"

Fleamont's chest glowed. It was adorable that James was naive and innocent about this matter. He was so young. Just fourteen. Fleamont remembered he didn't even think of girls at that age. His son had too much to learn.

"Oh yes" he said as he moved in his seat, getting more comfortable to face the boy "I know you, and you are not familiar with subtlety"

"Well, thanks for that!"

Fleamont smiled.

"What do you feel for this girl?"

James got even more scarlet.

"I think she's pretty, sort of..."

"Sort of?"

"And I like how she yells at me because she is cute when she's angry" he continued "And I think about her a lot... Not that often... But frequently... I don't know!"

James leaned closer with a bit of desperation.

"What's your advice?"

Fleamont wasn't an expert on women really. Both of the birds he had been with had flirted with him first. But when it came to giving advice to his son, Fleamont gathered all the wisdom he could.

"Listen, James" he started and the boy's eyes illuminated. When he was little, he used to think Fleamont was a genius and his dad's words were law. Fleamont was glad that he provoked that on him.

"You're a kid, there's a long way for you yet" he added "But a girl is not a cool item you spot in the market and want for yourself... It is like a trophy, you have to fight for her, you have to do things right in order to gain her attention. It requires patience and intuition"

"Patience?"

They both knew James wasn't an expert in that.

"Lots of it. But it is like rugby, you have to act when it is necessary, when it is your turn, not when it is not"

"So, I don't ask her out again?"

Fleamont giggled "I think you should go step by step first. Get to know her better, what she likes, what she doesn't. Test the waters, see if she might be interested... Then act" he explained "Like in rugby, you don't make a movement until you're sure it is beneficial for the game... Strategy, my boy"

"Strategy" James beamed.

"Yes..."

James raised from his seat. Sometimes it was overwhelming how much energy this kid had. He got it from Effie surely.

"Thanks Dad!" James exclaimed "I am gonna call the boys so they can help me plan a strategy to win Evans"

"It was a metaphor, James. She is actually not a bloody trophy" Fleamont explained but his son was already climbing the stairs.

"Yeah, yeah! Thanks Dad!"

Fleamont sighed "Ah, he'll figure it out eventually"

It was just the beginning. James was having baby steps yet. He had no idea what a relationship meant. What it felt like to actually fall in love. And to share a life with a woman.

James would grow up someday and would find the love of his life. And he would have to live new experiences, to mature and build a family.

But there was a long way for that yet. Fleamont was thrilled, he wanted to support his Jamie in every step of the way.

Aaah girls... Romance... Love... James had to learn a lot.

Effie was going to be thrilled as well when Fleamont told her.

[hgfictionwriter]

Gravity

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie was the love of your life. And you'd like to think you were hers. Even if you can't be together, life gives you moments where you find one another again.

Warnings: Angst. Smut. Longing, passionate sex. Cheating.

A/N: I know angst wasn't high on the poll, but I did get a couple of asks for it and sometimes I'm just drawn to it!

"Any interest in grabbing coffee this weekend? I'm in town for a tournament."

You exhaled wearily as you read the message from Jessie. There was a time when seeing her name on your phone would've fill you with elation and bring a smile instantly to your face. Those days were gone.

There were many times you swore you were going to block her number, but you could never bring yourself to do it, or truly, get anywhere close to it. Years had passed and she still had a hold on you. And seeing as she messaged without fail anytime she was in town - and on birthdays, and Christmas, and milestones - perhaps you still had a hold on her.

She'd been the love of your life once. Maybe she still was. But her career had taken her around the globe and from your embrace. She'd loved you deeply, too, you never doubted that. She'd pleaded with you to come with her, but you couldn't leave. You had too much here and if you left solely for her, no matter how much she meant to you, you'd lose yourself and it'd ruin you both.

So while she climbed podiums and lifted trophies, you stayed. You tried to move on. You were seeing someone now, in fact. Not the first and not the last. But anytime Jessie came to town, your life as is now always faded away and you let her back in. And it wasn't that you didn't care for your girlfriends, it was simply the fact that this was Jessie, and nobody could compare.

Your insides churned, your conscience trying desperately to hold you on moral ground, but memories of Jessie flashed through your mind and suddenly you missed her so much it hurt.

"Sure. When are you free?"

-------

It was never just coffee.

True, you caught up. You heard about her latest competitions, the team, her family, new hobbies, and she was equally curious about you - your work, how was your family, your friends, were you sleeping enough.

You purposefully didn't mention your girlfriend, and if she had anyone, she didn't mention them either.

"Do you have plans after this?" She asked, looking up at you through her eyelashes before refocusing on her cup, which she idly played with.

"No. What about you?" She looked back up at you and the feeling inside of you was instant.

"No. Evening's free to do whatever." You held each other's gaze. "I've missed you," she confessed in a quiet voice, gaze unwavering.

You gave a subtle shake of your head as a bittersweet smile crossed your lips. "I've missed you, too." She exhaled, you weren't sure if it was relief or regret. Regardless, she sat back and spoke again.

"Want to go for a walk?"

You nodded.

You both knew you were going to the park to your bench without saying a word about it. You ignored how your arms brushed against one another's as you walked. When you reached the bench, you sat down together, far too close.

She talked and though you listened, you couldn't help but think back to how you used to go to this park on dates. You'd sit on this bench and she'd retrieve snacks she'd packed for you both. You'd kiss her between bites and you swore you were looking at your future wife.

You were pulled back to the present as her fingers brushed against yours. As always, you didn't pull away. Instead, you laced your pinkies together and looked over at her.

"Do you have your own room?"

Her expression faltered briefly, realization as to why you couldn't go back to your place hitting her. She recovered swiftly and gave a faint smile.

"Being captain has its perks."

--------

Her door clicked open and you collided into one another, falling through the doorway in a hungry kiss and a desperate embrace. You pressed her against the wall hard, but kissed her harder, your arms wrapping around the back of her neck as her hands wandered over you in a needy frenzy.

"I missed you so much," you whispered. She was already starting to lift your shirt over your head and you had no desire to stop her.

"I missed you too," she returned as she started to kiss down your chest and unbutton your jeans. "I was so happy when I learned we were playing here. I've been thinking of you non-stop."

You sighed contentedly as you started undressing her as well. It didn't matter how many times you saw her undressed, she still took your breath away. However, seeing each other as infrequently as you did, it was obvious to you how much more toned and defined she'd become over the years. She was truly a sight to behold.

Soon she was kissing you and pushing you further into the room. You bumped into the desk, the lamp and other items rattling as you did so, but it didn't deter either of you and instead she lifted you onto the surface.

"I dream of you," she said in reverie as you spread your legs for her and her fingers immediately nestled themselves between your folds, thoroughly slick with your arousal for her. You wrapped your arm around the back of her flexed shoulders and tilted your hips towards her. She smiled at the invitation.

"I want you inside," you told her. You were aching for her. "I've been waiting too long."

A subtle gasp fell from both your mouths as she wasted no time and sunk into you to her knuckles. Her knees gave slightly as you enveloped her tightly in your warmth. She rolled her head against yours.

"Oh God, it's been way too long."

"I need you, Jess," you told her and she locked eyes with you. She obliged you immediately, withdrawing to the tips of her fingers before plunging back in. Your head fell back and she began to devour your neck and pump in and out of you.

"Fuck me," you said and she clutched you tighter to her.

"You know this isn't just fucking." She corrected you, her voice firm as she urged you to look at her. When you did, you saw that familiar intensity and longing. You worried one day you wouldn't see the emotion behind her eyes, but for now, you did.

A mixture of sounds soon filled the room. Gasping breaths, moans, the rattling of items being jostled on the desk, and her thrusting in and out of you to the hilt.

At one point, Jessie stopped to pick you up and carry you to the bed, laying you down near the edge and climbing on top of you, entering you easily once more. Your mouth fell open as she filled you again and you wrapped your legs around her.

You were rising steadily towards your climax as she pumped into you, the bed shifting under the force of her thrusts. She had an arm under your back and clutching your shoulder, holding you close to her. Her fingers dug into your skin almost painfully, but you invited it nonetheless.

"I miss you all the time," Jessie whispered as she fingers curled into you further.

"I miss you, too," you told her, ignoring how suddenly you began to feel an all too familiar stinging behind your eyes. "I can't forget about you. Or us." She held you even tighter and her strokes become somehow deeper and stronger.

The proclamations from either of you weren't new, but they hurt just the same. When you weren't with her, it was a like a low, dull pain - one that eventually you could ignore in its constancy. Being with her again though, brought that pain anew - a fresh wound that burned and ached in her absence until it grew dormant once more. Then she'd text. And the cycle would start again.

She was inevitable. But you didn't want to let her go.

A cry fell from your lips as she brought you over the edge. She rocked into you and whispered sweet nothings tenderly in your ear. When she eventually pulled back to look at you, the glistening sheen of her eyes wasn't lost on you. You kissed her sweetly.

"I love you," you told her as you cupped her cheek. She smiled, her lip trembling just so and her eyes glistened more.

"I love you, too."

You pulled her down into another kiss, your fingers now in her hair and you shifted your weight to roll you both, now Jessie on her back. She looked up at you with the same love and adoration she always had.

Life wasn't fair. But it was merciful at times.

You began kissing down her body, taking your time as you reacquainted yourself with her subtle curves and definitions. Eventually, you took a step off the bed to kneel in front of her.

She moaned pre-emptively and you smirked at how she ran her hand through her hair.

"You know I miss the way you taste," you said as you began kissing your way up her thighs. Again, she moaned deep in her chest.

You inhaled her scent and a shiver of anticipation went through you. You hooked your arms underneath her legs and leaned in, laying your tongue flat against her core before trailing upwards with a light flick of the tip of your tongue. She shuddered and gripped the sheets in her hands.

You dipped your tongue into her entrance and couldn't hold back a moan at how she tightened around you. You began to trace up and down her folds, pulling them into your mouth now and then and suckling lightly.

She moaned and writhed on the bed and you reached out to grasp one of her hands. She clutched you tightly.

Done with your teasing, you leaned in and began to lap at her. A loud groan fell from her mouth and she bucked her hips up into your face. You pushed her back down and began to flick your tongue over her clit.

"Oh my God," she panted as she ground her hips into the bed and then up into your face. You smiled into her with appreciation and began to suck on her clit as you traced a finger around her entrance.

"Oh God," she repeated, bringing her hands up to cover her face now as you teased her. You ran your fingers through her wet folds, getting your fingers slick with her arousal before you sank your fingers into her.

"Y/N." Your name fell from her lips in a strangled moan as she tensed up, her hands now balled into her fists against her eyes.

"I love you, Jessie," you said before pulling her clit into your mouth once more and slowly, deeply pushing in and out of her.

"Oh fuck," her voice was tight and shaky. She took a few sharp breaths before reaching down blindly, palming at the bed and looking for your free hand. You grasped her hand and she gripped you desperately.

Your name was on her lips again as she rocked her hips up into you and you served her unwaveringly. You wanted her to know that she was the only one on your mind. You wanted her to know that it was different when you did this for her. It was special. She was special.

Eventually, her hips began to buck erratically against you and you felt her tighten around your fingers. You adored how you felt a rush of her juices run down your chin.

You gave her a few moments even after you felt her relax into the bed. Even though her body had grown listless, her hand still gripped yours and you didn't let it go as you climbed back onto the bed to lay with her.

You held each other for what felt like ages. You wanted to stay like this for as long as possible, but you were both torn from your private world when your phone began buzzing across the room.

She inhaled deeply, your head rising on her shoulder as she did so.

"I guess you have to go?" Though she tried to keep her tone even, the lament in her voice was evident.

You tucked your head into her chest and pulled her closer. "I don't want to."

She embraced you tightly and kissed the top of your head.

"I don't want you to either."

Eventually, the buzzing stopped. Although neither of you had moved, the reverie had been broken as reality continued to encroach on you.

"I won't be playing forever, you know," she eventually said, her voice small now.

You nodded against her. As much as it was true, it was a fantasy that you couldn't let yourself indulge in.

"Do you know when you'll be back?" You asked, already knowing the answer. She shook her head with an inaudible sigh.

"Call me when you do come back," you said quietly as you lay a lingering kiss on her chest. She pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head once more.

"I'll be counting the days."

————

A/N: Part Two is available here.

[creedslove]

POOL PARTY ☀️

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Even though you're sick, you still went to Pedro's pool party - which you discovered was made only for you, you don't feel well, but you can't disappoint him by not taking a swim with him

Warnings: fluff with no plot, just fluff, a teeny tiny bit of angst and sexual tension, but again, fluff

A/N: this is silly and lame and definitely not the kind of story I usually love writing but I am sick and I need comfort so someone bring me pedro pascal over here so I can hug the hell outta him and tell him how precious he really is

2.4k words

You spent the whole morning thinking of a way you could say no to Pedro.

From the moment you woke up and felt your throat itchy at first, only to feel it burning and finally going completely sore in the symptoms of inflammation you were already so used to, to the sneezes that annoyed you every couple of minutes and the overall feeling you had just been hit by a truck made it pretty clear it was not the ideal day for a pool party.

You cursed yourself, the weather, your life, everything. Out of all the days in your life, why did you have to get sick exactly the day Pedro had invited you - and begged you to show up to a pool party?

You and Pedro were… complicated.

You were friends, like, real good friends at first. And then you became a couple, but you two decided being a couple wouldn't work. You hated the exposure he had, it wasn't his fault of course, but it baffled you how he handled going out for a coffee, for lunch, or simply walking down the street and being photographed and filmed all the time. You just didn't like the feeling you would have to watch your back every time so you could have a tiny bit of privacy. No holding hands, no kissing, just walking around like two acquaintances, either that or having your photo all over gossip websites, comments bombarding it all the time calling you and Pedro horrible things, fans claiming to being jealous and hating you for dating him, as he was supposed to be theirs and no one else's. It was too much.

On Pedro's part, it was hard to balance a relationship with his working schedule, he worked hard and that meant he was most of the time unavailable, unless you traveled with him to where he was shooting, which was impossible because you had your own life, your own job and as much as you would've become a trophy wife for him and only Pedro, you guys never got to this point.

The affection, the attraction and the spark was still there, so even after you broke up, you decided to be friends again.

But maybe, just maybe, you hugged too much, cuddled too much and kissed too much as friends.

And that was why most of his co-stars hated you.

Pedro always tried to be as discreet as possible, he never admitted bluntly though you never directly asked, you didn't have to, you knew him enough for that. He was a flirty little shit, he was handsome and sexy and they were always gorgeous. It was obvious he very often had affairs with them. And if he was in a near enough location and asked you to visit him, or if you bumped into each other at a restaurant or even if you went to a dinner party at his home and they happened to be there, they immediately hated you.

Not because of you though, you always acted nicely to anyone and it would be no exception to them, but you wouldn't kiss their ass just because they were famous either.

Of course you would keep your distance from Pedro if they were around. You wouldn't hug him as much or hold his hand but there was something there and neither of you could control it.

It was always exchanged glances, or inside jokes, it was obvious to everybody but the two of you, you were just two stubborn idiots in love.

You hadn't seen each other in over a month, he was all over the country working, shooting, attending events and you were on you well-deserved vacation, so when he finally went back home, he'd texted you about the pool party he was hosting.

Pedro knew you loved pool parties and you had spent countless hours swimming in his, so he was just so excited to have you over, he forgot to mention a small detail: you were his only guest.

You were also so eager to see him, you missed that man dearly and you thought he would be in Cannes enjoying the high life but when he told you he was back home you couldn't control your excitement. If it were up to you, you would've gone straight to his house or welcomed him at yours, it didn't matter, just to see each other. But the weekly appointments you had got the best of you and you forced yourself to wait for the weekend.

And then you woke up with a cold and you wanted to cry in frustration and sadness.

You could just not show up, but that was really not an option, and you could also tell him you were too sick to go, the only thing you'd have to face would be his puppy brown eyes looking at you as if you'd shattered his heart, and you didn't want that.

So you grabbed all the cold meds you had at home, took them in one dose, packed yourself a bag with your clothes and drove to his house. You figured Pedro would be distracted enough with his guests and he wouldn't mind if you just chilled on his couch, maybe watched something on TV and had some snacks before heading home, plus he would understand if you didn't dip yourself in the pool. Besides, if by any chance any co-star of his were there, he would probably pay much more attention to them in their tiny bikini than you anyways.

So when you arrived there and realized you were the only one, you thought you were too early or maybe you'd misread the invitation and screwed up the dates?

But there he was, Pedro in just his shorts and shirt, with a wide smile welcoming you to his place.

Your heart skipped a beat, he was so handsome and though he knew the effect he had on women - and men, and everybody really, you felt your heartache to know he didn't acknowledge how painfully handsome he was. He didn't see himself the way you did, and it was a shame because you saw him like the best thing that happened to you.

You couldn't help but smile back at him, grabbing your things and exiting the car.

He waited for you with his arms open, because Pedro didn't do formal greetings, he did hugs, and you loved it.

You flew to his arms and squealed as he wrapped his strong ones around your body, lifting you up softly and twirling you.

You giggled as he put you down and watched you. He really watched you. Taking his time observing you, as if you hadn't seen each other in years, when in reality it had been what? A month? Six weeks?

Still, you were so happy to be next to him you almost forgot about your cold. Almost, but eventually, you felt another sting on your throat and groaned frustrated, which made Pedro frown.

"I almost didn't make it, Pedro… I woke up like that" you said and pouted. He knew how much you hated getting sick. Not that anyone liked it, but you hated it, you often got so angry and cranky you couldn't even describe. You even avoided people when you were sick, as you didn't want to take down on them, but you could that to Pedro, you never avoided him and you were never rude to him.

He cupped his cheek and gave you such sweet lovely eyes.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, querida… you look a little pale, do you wanna lie down?" You chuckled how he offered you to lie down but didn't ask if you wanted to leave, because you knew there was no way he would let you leave.

You shook your head and entwined your fingers "it's alright, but I don't think I'll swim today" you smiled at him and looked around, looking for other cars, but there was only yours and Pedro's there. "Where's everybody?"

Pedro scratched the back of his neck and chuckled "well, you're the only one I invited…"

"Pedro, you do know the meaning of the word party, right? If it's just me, then why did you say there was a party?"

"Well, it is a party for my favorite girl…" he said adorably and you just couldn't resist him.

"Oh cariño" the nickname always brought a blush to his cheeks "if I weren't sick I would be kissing the shit outta you!" You laughed and walked inside with him.

Pedro's arm was tight wrapped around your waist as you eyed the pool and turned to him "you decorated the pool!!! You didn't have to do that!"

"Yes I did because it was supposed to be a pool party! I just didn't know you would be too sick to get inside" Pedro unconsciously stared at you with his puppy eyes and it made you feel guilty.

It was a very hot day, you were already sick, what could go wrong? It wouldn't get worse than that, would it?

So you sighed and smiled at him "fine, I guess I can't get sicker than this, so I'll get changed, will you wait for me to get inside?"

He nodded excitedly and grabbed himself a beer.

You ran to the bathroom, already familiar with his place and opened your bag, seeing the two options you brought: a bikini or a swimsuit. You went for the bikini, it usually made you shy to wear it among many people, but there was only you and Pedro there and well, since you'd seen each other naked many times, it wouldn't be a big deal.

You quickly changed and walked outside with your sunblock as Pedro had certainly forgotten his.

He was sat by the edge of the pool, feet dipped into water and wearing only his trunks.

You stood still and watched his body, he was looking so fine. He always did, but ever since he started the preparation for his new movie he got even more attractive.

You reminded yourself you were there to enjoy your friend's company and not lust after him.

You joined him and smiled "hey there handsome" you winked and coughed a little, feeling shy to be sick like that and got some sunblock on your hand, spreading it over his shoulder "you need to take care of your skin, handsome" you said sweetly and leaned in, which Pedro corresponded but frowned as you pecked his forehead instead.

He groaned softly and took some sunblock into his own hands and did the same on your back, mirroring your moves as you felt his big hands over your skin. And his hands were pretty big, almost as big as his…

You stopped yourself there and saw he was staring "maybe you should get this top off, you know, so you can get sunbathed properly" he suggested and you rolled your eyes.

Suddenly Pedro hugged you as tight as he could and threw himself into the water, dragging you with him as his weight caused you to fall.

He was so boyish you couldn't help yourself but laugh, seeing him swim towards you and wrap his arms again around your figure, pulling you closer.

Pedro was flirting with you as much as you flirted with him and though you shouldn't keep on doing that, you couldn't resist him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your back to the edge of the pool so he could sustain your weight with no trouble. He laughed softly "I missed you a lot, princesa" he whispered and kissed your neck, making you groan, taking your hands to his cute wet hair and giggling.

"Fuck Pedro, don't tease me" you asked and saw him looking at you, he was admiring you and leaned towards you, but you quickly moved your head away, avoiding his lips and received disappointed eyes.

Your heart clenched, you didn't like seeing him like that, you would never refuse him, but you didn't want to kiss him, you were sick and he would get sick.

Pedro, on the other hand, felt disappointed. You'd been distant from him, you wouldn't kiss him and in his mind you had probably met someone better than him, even if your legs were wrapped around his body, sometimes it was so hard for him to believe you liked him.

His gripped around your body loosen and he sighed, letting go of you and looking down "sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable" he said in a low tone but your hands quickly held his head in place.

"No honey, it's just that I am sick, if you kiss me you'll get sick too, and it's gonna be a problem for you when you go to work again" you tried to reason him and saw how his eyes softened.

His hand cupped your cheek and he swam closer again, one arm around your waist and ready to kiss you…

When you started coughing and couldn't stop.

You quickly turned away, your body shook as you were positive you had a fever now. You thought you couldn't get worse than you already were, but guess what, you were wrong.

"Shit, baby girl, come here" Pedro said, as he had managed to get off the pool and held a towel, helping you climb up the steps and wrapped it around your body.

"You take a warm shower and you'll lie in bed, got it princesa?" You nodded, shivering and walked back to his room.

You didn't take long in the shower, though the warm water felt really good as it poured down your body.

You managed to put your clothes back on after drying yourself and smiled as Pedro waited for you.

He made sure to get you comfortable in your bed and joined you. His arms were wrapped around your body and no matter if you told him many times he should stay away so you'd get him sick, he still refused it.

He held you close and rubbed your back up and down, making sure you were covered and warm.

"I know you don't wanna kiss me, but I was wondering if we could maybe go on a date, like a proper one, what do you say?" He asked with a small blush spread across his cheeks and you couldn't believe how sweet Pedro was, and for a second, you wanted to be selfish and kiss him as deep as you could, even if it meant he'd get sick later.

So you did it.

If he got sick, you'd take care of him, like he was taking care of you.

_____

A/N: idk I am just sick and I want Pedro to take care of me 😭

[slashthrashandcrash]

Give us the dad thoughts please!

HERE ARE MY DADDY JOHNSON SR THOUGHTS..................

So it's heavily implied enough that Daddy Johnson was a war vet, and most likely the war he would have served in was Nam. If we assume Danny is like 30 in 1993, he would have been born 1963-ish, which would have been smack in the middle of all that. We don't know when his dad enlisted or was discharged or how long he served though, but clearly not all the way through. Could have been honorably discharged after 10 yrs, could have gotten a purple heart after a year, who knows--

But I'm also thinking about Mama Johnson. Danny did not spawn into existence as we all might like to believe. Daddy Johnson had to have met a girl long enough to get a kid out of her and keep him, but also Danny never seems to harbor any resentment towards women or mommy issues or anything of the sort, which leads me to believe she was out of his life completely when he was still a baby. Did she willingly leave? Did she die? Did Daddy Johnson have a say/hand in her abandonment? Because also think about that fact that he kept his son and raised him as a single father, in the 60s no less. Not unheard of but definitely uncommon, and Danny clearly had a level of respect for him even if he thought his dad was crazy and made him his first victim.

A theory I read on Reddit that I really like is that Daddy Johnson wasn't actually training his son to be a ruthless serial killer, he was just a war vet telling overly graphic stories with enthusiasm to his young child, hoping to turn him into a "real man", maybe steer him into the same path of enlisting in the military to get a taste of the violent action. Yes, he was still psychopathic and got way too much enjoyment out of his time during active duty, but he only killed when he had a license to do so overseas, and he yearns for the freedom of those glory days again. But Danny was the one that took those life lessons too literally. He was a child raised on his father's PTSD, of course he's going to idolize this way of life his old man seemed to thrive in. He made those foreign stories a reality. He wasn't meant to take those lessons to heart unless he had a gun in another warzone on the government's dime.

And then a bonus idea...we know Danny has white skin by virtue of a few sleeveless cosmetics, but we can't say for certain he's 100% Caucasian, especially without a face model. There could be a very real chance Danny is half Vietnamese, curtesy of his father's rampant debauchery during his enlistment that earned him his own personal war trophy to take home. But the fact again that Daddy Johnson kept the baby and raised him alone without any outward hostility (abusive, yes, but not because Danny was unwanted) tells me he was willing to be a father, maybe simply because it was a son.

[wisp-wandering]

For those of you who don't understand Taco’s complex character, think she's a straight up terrible person, or just want to know my view on her... this is the chapter for you! I will be going over analysis, psychology facts, and head cannons that align with her character.

Let's start with copy and pastes with Ideas I've already conveyed in other media's;

(This is me):

How come nobody here actually sees II in the light of a *REALITY SHOW*. A thing that's meant to bring out the worst in people? Like genuinely it makes me so frustrated that people can't see that. Characters like Steve Cobs/Walkie/Springy have no excuse, as they were never shoved into the environment. But the Gameshow was not only nonconsensual but offers 1 MILLION DOLLARS. in the light of 2011? THATS A LOT OF DAMN MONEY. most gameshows offer 10k, or 100k? 1 MILLION IS A LOT. Just to put it into perspective try to imagine the difference between 100k and 1Mil in marbles.  the human brain simply can't process that high of a number.

Onto the psychological effects. IT CAN PUT HIGH STRESS ON IT'S CONTESTANTS. and I'm just gonna say it right now. What Balloon, Trophy, and Taco did isn't that bad. LIKE I SWEAR. PSYCHOLOGICALLY IT MAKES SENSE FOR THEM TO USE STRATEGY LIKE THIS. The only thing I'll call Them out on was their rude comments and nature after the fact, but you also have to realize it's to exaggerate their negative antagonism towards the other contestants. In a game show like that it invokes behaviours that would otherwise not be part of their character. Trophy can be seen being a better person once not in the Gameshow. Cheesy was rude as shit until he wasn't in the Gameshow, Balloon reflected on his character when he wasn't in the Gameshow, Taco— oh! Would you look at that! Became better when she wasn't in a game show! Sure she acted shitty in some cases, but that was when money was still put on the line. I'm absolutely furious people can't realize that the Gameshow invokes that behaviour. Nobody cancels people from survivor when they act shitty. In fact, they Invited the shitty people TO PLAY AGAIN??? AND PEOPLE ROOTED FOR THEM??? People actually need to look at it from a bigger perspective.

Taco has conveyed the thing I've believed and tried to communicate on multiple occasions. THE GAMESHOW BRINGS OUT THE WORST IN PEOPLE!!! The only problem is that SHE DOESNT BELIEVE SHE HERSELF IS EFFECTED SIMILARLY. She's been berated and convinced she's a horrible person, and that she needs to act the way she does because that's who she is. Taco probably thinks she deserves what she's gotten, and was always too scared to confront Pickle directly. She probably thinks she needs to have circumstance around her change in order for her too aswell, considering how she wanted to go back with the Time Machine, but, when confronted by Mepad she denied it. I feel like the plot is pointing towards a situation where she tries to save everyone, and when confronted by Microphone she breaks down and curses herself out for being a horrible person, friend, and other things similar. Microphone and Pickle. Creating a situation where they show Taco that the game made her the way she was too. That she didn't have to be the villain.

Notice how Taco never blamed Mephone directly for the shortcomings of others? Sure she did say it was for his entertainment, but never that it was his fault. She blamed the game. Something NO OTHER VILLAIN HAS DONE. She taking account for her mistakes, THINKING ITS HER. And not stressful circumstances! She doesn't understand she's not a villain, She's just *human* (or object for that matter). A living breathing being. Mistakes don't make you the bad guy.

Also saying Taco has no will to make try and apologize for the sake of others is stupid too. She clearly wants to. She REALLY does. She's scared to hurt them, she's scared she will hurt the again.

(Spoilers for a Spider-Man no way home)

Its a similar trip to what happens at the end of Spider-Man NWH, she isn't going back because she thinks she's protecting them from herself. She genuinely believes she ruins everything she touches. She tried to do so by sabotaging the challenge!

Taco didn't really manipulate Microphone—??? I know what you're gonna say. "Ohh!! Wisp! Yes she did!!!" But— I mean... Rewatching it? If she is— it's... more of peer pressure than direct manipulation??? I mean. She never forced Microphone to do anything. Applauded her input... LET MICROPHONE LEAVE? There was no guilt tripping or alienation, Direct threats to Microphone and her friends. It was more so pressure about the game. Which was— probably Taco perceiving herself as still in the competition. Needing to out smart the others to get Microphone further. Taco seemed to admire Microphone's pacifist nature after a while. And I believe when she Attacked the aliens in ii14, she acted out of blind fear, like an unexpected twist in a challenge. You could tell her initial reaction wasn't malice, it was more of a natural response. She was more protecting Microphone than anything else. Trying to get her out as fast as possible.

I myself have been through a manipulative relationship, and... While I know all experiences aren't the same.

It doesn't feel malicious. Taco felt genuine. She wants to protect others from her own mistakes and herself. She's unknowingly putting others first! She doesn't even realize it! Taco is trying to be a villain only to mistakenly be good, and when she tries to be a hero, she's mistakenly bad... I feel bad for her. She doesn't understand she... Has it right now. It's sad...

What about the situation with balloon?

Well...

She tried to convince Mic to harm him, but never threatened Microphone or herself. Nor did she try to alienate balloon to make it more appealing. Taco pointed out a situation and gave a morally Grey solution. But she never forced Microphone to go with it, she just warned her of potential consequences.

People often mistake her strategy with manipulation. When... Taco didn't really manipulate anyone. She pretended, and provided input. Knowing actions have consequences from her own experience.

Taco is experiencing the "illusionary truth effect" otherwise known as "gaslighting":

(Online statements)

—...However, repetition itself should not serve as a signal of truth, since it does not add anything new to the conversation in terms of credibility. For this reason, the repetition bias is also called the "illusory truth effect"

the fact that repeated presentation of information or items typically leads to better memory for the material. The repetition effect is a general principle of learning, although there are exceptions and modifiers

In relationships, an abusive person may use gaslighting to isolate their partner, undermine their confidence, and make them easier to control. For example, they might tell someone they are irrational until the person starts to think it must be true.

It is a psychological FACT that if one, or other's repeatedly give you information, even if it's false, eventually your mind will begin to perceive it as true. It's why bullying can negatively effect someone, or even just simply saying, "hey fatty" as a joke. Even if you're the skinniest human being on the planet, If you or another says say it enough, the subconscious will inevitably perceive it as true, despite if you know it's false. Even something stupid, like, "The sky is red." Well, no. The sky is blue. You think. But, if someone were to bash that into your skull every day. Ranting on about how the sky IS RED. You're mind will betray your knowledge.

Everyone constantly talks about her in a bad light. Say she's horrible. A good for nothing liar. She's going to perceive it to be true in the end. And she has...

Saying Taco is nothing but a terrible person, and a villain just isn't true. She's an Anti hero, anti villain AT WORST. Not to mention her childish decisions and mind sets make her seem in her teen years, as per my head canons. That only makes her mind MORE malleable and vulnerable. Taco is a complicated Character. But that doesn't mean she's the worst human on the planet. Please, if you don't agree with what I've said, before you berate me, rewatch the show, or atleast look up the psychological effects and other such I included in this rant. I may add onto this in the future, so keep an eye out for a future Taco analysis.

Thank you for your time.

[senka-mesecine]

thoughts on a fic of the reader drinking with Barnes and getting handsy? :0

Tennessee Whiskey.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

gif by the wonderful @woman-with-no-name

---

-"Coffee, Sergeant?"-

Holding a canteen by its metal handle, the heat of the tar black beverage twirls and dances straight into the precipice of your nostrils when you approach Barnes with an inquiry, nose pointing at the bottle of Jack in his hand, already halfway drained. He was downing spirit like it was water. -"To take off the edge from that?"- You clarify once he gives you a look to establish exactly what you meant; usually no valid sign of inebriation on him even after severe alcohol intake --- even his gaze was as focused as sharp as ever; two piercing needles in a frame of blue. Three empty bottles surround him like so many captured trophies. -"I ain' even drunk yet."- He teases, slightly smug, and you believed him. You believed that liquor was like a river under the bridge for Barnes; it just flows away somewhere, washing over him and through him, leaving him keen, alert old self where it would wreck anyone else.

-"I know."-

Like a good sport, you let him have his point because it was truthful.

No use in denying it.

Fact is, you were convinced if he was handed a rifle he could just about shoot a pigeon in the eye flying even in this state.

-"Pretty fascinating, three bottles of Jack in."-

You have to assess, allowing a slight bit of amusement, however well meaning, to slip past the perimeter of you mouth. -"I'd be tipsy after one bigger swig."- You joke setting down the coffee canteen; nobody asked you to make one and certainly not Barnes himself, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't do this simply because you wanted to. For him specifically. -"Your constitution's really something."- You add as a way of a tiny tease and the gaze he gives you is inexplicably matter-of-factly, like he wasn't even going to deny it, however wordlessly. That's how Tennessee men are like, you borderline imagine him saying in the most puffed up way conceivable. At least Bob was, that's for sure. -"Still. Here you go, in case you change your mind. It's black, piping hot and it's strong."- You gesture to the coffee next to him set down on closed ammo crate. No milk. No sugar. -"You drinkin'?"- He asks, seated down on a collection of sacks serving to barricade up the premises of the foxhole, his legs sprawled out on the bare ground. Yeah, you came here looking for him to this lonely part of the camp. You understood most people here at base would almost call you a fool for searching for Barnes when it wasn't even absolutely necessary, warning you that if you go looking for the devil, you're likely to find him too. -"No, sir, sorry. More leftover for you."- You go the route of diplomacy and political correctness. No drinking on the job for you. Not to mention, however tempting the idea, you weren't lying or being overly humble; you'd probably be knocked out after two major swigs. Didn't possess Barnes's uncanny ability to hold his liquor. -"Straight from the bottle ain' for everyone."- He cocks his head ragging you. -"Same goes for them metal canteens."- He adds with a drawl pointing his chin at the coffee you've left him with, not a single sign of slurring from his lips. -"946ml's gonna knock'ya straight into next Monday and then you'll be useful to no one 'round here and I can't stand slackers."- He prods staring straight at you standing over him and somehow, merely the thought of disappointing Barnes leaves you crestfallen. You loved him. It was why you were disguising your partiality to him with the act of serving a superior officer coffee as mere deference.

His eyes linger during a moment of silence like he knew.

Barnes always stared at you like he was privy to your deepest secrets anyway.

-"Ever drink from sumn's mouth?"-

Your breath hitches in your throat not unlike an unchewed morsel of food.

Wait? Did you hear that correctly!?

-"Sir?"-

You stammer out, nearly choking.

That's...not where you figured this conversation to go; At best, you hoped you'd be dismissed, at worst, you figured he'd tell you to scram and leave him alone.

Barnes says nothing, he only glares --- he didn't like to repeat himself.

So you decide to answer the inquiry you've more than heard.

-"No?"-

You manage, admittedly awkwardly, chuckling. What a notion.

Was that slang for something? Drinking from someone's mouth? No? No, it wasn't.

It was very literal.

-"Thinkin' 'bout givin' it a shot anytime soon?"-

He continues and you swear you spot the hint of a grin, the image of his parted lips, the liquor warmed up by the cavern of his mouth and his swirling tongue allowing your own to exchange the fluid unwittingly makes you fidget. Sure, you thought of Barnes in colorful terms before, to put it lightly. For a long time, in fact. Although, you always figured you were allowed your own private musings, hearing them vocalized this openly and plainly --- was almost like being smashed across the face with a bag of bricks. You feel the blood accumulating at the tip of your scalp, leaving you woozy yet seemingly firm because you had to be --- last thing you wanted was for him to see how affected you were.

You straighten and smoothen your uniform, trying to maintain composure, bidding yourself not to look at his chest. You don't even notice when his hand put down the bottle of whiskey and reached forward to grab you by your arms and pull you down next to him, holding you in place, firmly, in front of him, on your knees. On attention. He was touching you. He was actually touching you. Squeezing. -"Sir, you're inebriated and it isn't right. For your sake, I mean."- You try to stay sane and level headed even though you realized your voice came through in breathy gasps, taken aback to the degree you felt your heart pumping in your chest, causing you to be overtaken by a confounded mix of shock and need. You could practically smell the liquor on him along with the bitter taste of tobacco and malt; on anyone else the pungent, salty scent of sweat would've been disgusting, but on him? You feel lightheaded. Maybe you were simply being biased. -"Y'think I'm gonna regret and beat myself up for kissin' Miss Daisy Sunshine with a mouthful of Whiskey when I sober up and go mopin' 'bout it to sumn'? Like all these cocksuckers wouldn't kill to be me right about now?"- He assesses stiffly; wasn't the lulling sway of liquor speaking through him. It was outright no-nonsense bluntness. Barnes was determined and focused as only Barnes knew how to be; you lower your gaze from the ardent task of staring at his scarred mouth not daring to meet his eyes when he was this close to you, subjectively fearing you'd get incomprehensibly burned by something if you did. You feel yourself grow red. Miss Daisy Sunshine? You're on the verge of smiling. -"No."- You respond weakly, having no strength or willpower to be any louder or more resolved right about now. No, you didn't think he'd go around complaining, no.

Just the thought of Barnes thinking kissing you would be the envy of the whole camp has something coiling around in your gut.

Flattery.

He was flattering you.

You felt flattered.

It was exactly what he wanted you to feel, you understood.

It was intentional.

He was always intentional.

-"C'mere."-

He pulls you closer, leaning back against the wall of sacks, practically tugging and pulling at the forearm of your fatigues, one hand letting go of you to take a swig of his bottle again, scar-riddled lips puckered as he holds his mouthful there. Tentatively, you get close until your nose was practically touching the side of his face and the push along the back of your head by his arm is unexpected but not unwelcome as the floodgates of his mouth open around yours roughly and the searing Whiskey's gone past your teeth, sliding off of his tongue into you. You swallow, unwittingly, the suddenness of the contact sending the alcohol rushing down your throat before you can cough forth the burning sensation only to realize Barnes has kissed you with his eyes wide open, never even blinking, as on guard as a snake --- once he separates himself from you, he's as composed as ever. -"It's the right dosage for'ya."- He teases, fully unfettered while you were there, woozy, wiping the side of your cheek of stray droplets and saliva, coming to the conclusion you were still held in the vice grip of his arms. He really had you use his mouth as a cup to drink from. Your tongue's numb and burning, but it was more than worth it. Barnes takes another swig, pinning you down with his gaze cast your way across the brown glass of Jack Daniels he was lifting and you understood what that meant. It was the equivalent of another shot being poured for you.

The coffee's cooling on the ammo crate, forgotten.

You figure it'll be long since cooled by the time you were done.

[thecameronchronicles]

Rings

TW: Spanking. Language. Smut. Anal play.

SUMMARY: JJ's rings and the talented fingers beneath…enough said…

JJ Maybank x Kook Reader!

WORD COUNT: 1600

REQUESTED

Reader asking JJ to spank her with his rings on instead of taking them off

Rings

Tungsten and steel became your two favorite elements as you focused on them wrapped around the fingers you knew so well. The faint salty taste of his fingertips or the plunge made of those same devoted digits sent your thighs to press together at the sight. Even if such thoughts were forbidden as your financial rivalry meant you were natural enemies. A title forgotten at the same moment of that first kiss two months ago and each and every way he'd made you come since. 

And God, you needed it now. 

"Fuck…." He groaned as you pulled his bottom lip with your teeth. The softest of groans expressed in the same moment he pulled you harder against him, enough to feel the cold metal of his rings to your bare cheeks. The most wicked of ideas returning to your mind. 

"I know that look, princess…what do you want?" There held limited capabilities within your car. But with the spacious backseat, you managed to make do until now. A heavy makeout session that allowed a veil of anonymity to those in passing and your sweater and his belt discarded through lustful fingers. 

"You know the deal. For us to keep doing this, we have to be honest."

"I want…" You knew he meant his words. If you weren't raw and direct, he would simply drive you home and you'd be left kicking yourself following a lackluster orgasm of your own fingers. Nothing felt like him. And it was what sent you to silence your embarrassment. 

"I want you to spank me…" He grinned, dimples on full display, as he slid over to the center of the backseat so you could lay over him. 

"With your rings on…" He paused to the way he began to unscrew them from his fingers. 

"It's gonna hurt…"

You turned back over your shoulder to face him. 

"I know…" The most devilish of expressions facing him. A siren's stare welcoming the pain as he bit his bottom lip and slowly nodded. 

"Well then…I won't apologize…"

"Good…" You turned back to the window, preparing for the sensation, as he slipped your shorts down to your knees. Unintentionally locking you in place with a grin that informed you he was shameless to this. 

"You don't even have to be quiet…lucky you…" He rubbed your furthest cheek, a moment of sweetness before the first strike. An addition of weight caused by the rings worsening the sting left behind as he breathed deeply to his own high he got from touching you. For controlling you. For you allowing it. A perfect little Kook princess submitting to such a punishment per your own request. 

"That wasn't a request." A sharper force made you wince. 

"Good girl…let me hear you…you wanted this, sweetheart…" Another strike. Another force. A new palm to the same cheek and a rub made to the fresh welt would begin a pattern until it drew sweetbitter. A wince now interrupting those once saccharine whimpers of excitement and pleasure. 

"You think you can still sit?" You nodded as he struck you again. This time, your grip on the door tightening. 

"Then we ain't done." You lost count to the sporadic pattern he made against you. The heavy blow of each ring fell as you were certain the design of each would be left as an imprint. A trophy. And that thought alone made you clench with each coming point of contact. 

"You're getting a bit restless…" You nodded as you felt two were fingers at your core, aware how he had them in his mouth a second prior. 

"JJ!" You gasped as his palm rested on your split, two fingers diving into you as he offered a reprieve for you to focus on only his fingers. One pumping after the other as you fantasized about it being him. That perfect cock, just out of reach. You would have taken it anywhere just to feel him. 

Absolutely anywhere.

"It would be so fucking easy to slip these fingers a bit higher…Wonder what sounds you'd make for me then…" You bit your bottom lip at the thought. It should have made you cringe, and yet it made you clench. 

"Ooh…you like that. Huh? My dirty little princess wants my fingers in this tight little ass?" You nodded, unaware of just what you were agreeing to before the force was made. The pressure made you gasp in surprise. 

"Oh shit…you're even tighter here…fuck…" He groaned, his finger circling your inner walls as you rode back into him. 

"Imagine how I'd feel inside here…you wouldn't be able to keep quiet even if you tried…" 

"Please…JJ…I want it…" 

"You want me to fuck you?" You nodded but only found another slap. And another. Three and then four as you lost count. Every strike making you bounce against him and warranting the most illicit and carnal of moans and whimpers he wanted in perpetual repetition. 

"Keep going baby…you feel so good wrapped around my finger…" You couldn't explain why but this made you close to combust. Without a single sensation to your clit and you were nearly pouring down your own thighs. 

"JJ!"

"Yes?" 

"Fuuuuck…" 

"Making a mess, sweetheart…"

"I want to come! JJ, please…"

"Yeah? Not sure I'm convinced…" 

"I'll do anything you want.."

"I already am…"

"Ahhh!"

"I love how you come for me…" 

"I need you inside of me…ALL of you!"

"Not this time, sweetheart. I want you to come over my lap…without a finger anywhere you're used to…maybe two…" a second finger made you shriek. The stretch delicious as he spat between his fingers. 

"I hate making your ass hurts but damn, it sure is pretty all marked up by me…gonna be even better when I come on it…" 

"Yes! Please, JJ! I need to feel you!"

"You're so desperate, baby…"

"I am! Please! I'm so close!" He relieved you of all sensations before setting you between his thighs. His feet pinning yours at each seat as his clean hand came to your clit. Two fingers pumping inside as his palm made circles of your sensitive bud. You rose in front of him, every motion too much as you longed for that pressure again. It made everything deeper. And you wanted it-needed it. 

"My ass…please, JJ…"

"Too sore, baby?" He asked as your motions came down to him, his cock rubbed between your ass as you moved. 

"Put it in…please, JJ…I want it…"

"You aren't ready for that, princess…" 

"I can take it…" 

"You were coming the second my finger was inside of you. That's no fun. Gotta train you. Don't worry…you're still gonna come all over this fucking back seat…" He tormented you by slowing his fingers but playing with your clit. Hitting it as if to punish you. Every strike made you jolt and rub against him again. 

"I'm throbbing for your sweet little pussy baby…she crying enough for me yet to take you without hurting you?"

"Yes!" You groaned as he thrust you over the console of the car, cock thrust before that force between your cheeks returned. 

"Fuuuuuck…." 

"You like that, princess? Like my finger right there?" He asked as he kept his thumb in place. 

"How about this one here?" You were already coming. One hand to your clit, another making circles within your ass, and his cock battering into you. 

"Pinch your nipples. I want you to come so fucking hard you might even squirt for me…" You obliged. Every nerve on fire as he fucked you between his fingers. Every motion made with strategy as you pushed back into him. 

"JJ…"

"I know baby…let me have it…"

"JJ!!" You warned, slightly louder. 

"Good girl…my good dirty girl so fucking close for me…" 

"JJ!!!!!!" You cursed, your body unable to ensure another sensation as you spilled over that edge. His thumb plummeted deeper as you gasped, his fingers quickening at your clit as he rose into a bend over you. 

"JJ! It's too much!"

"Not for my girl…you're doing so well…just one more for me…I'm so fucking close…" he began to fuck you with his thumb. Your ass desperate for all of him, but swallowing each thrust with greed. 

"You're gonna make me come again…"

"Good…I want to share…" His face contorted at your shoulder as he plummeted into you, bottoming out. 

"I'm gonna come…" But you weren't allowed to feel his rush as he kept this to your ass, shooting his release at the perfect slot. 

"Hold yourself open!" He demanded as he hit your ass the warmth making you shutter with need. 

"Keep it open baby…I'm not done with this little hole…" his fingers returned. Manipulating you as you made the most guttural and desperate of sounds as you shook into another orgasm. 

"Cry it out for me…" 

"Touch me!"

"Nope. Just wait baby…" your hand reached to your sex, pulsating enough to come if simply blown on. But he was determined, swatting you away.

"Don't hold back…let it happen…"

"JJ!"

"Let go, princess…let me…Yes!" You shivered, your legs already drenched, but this stained you to the floor. 

"Yes! Keep coming baby…oh fuck…" 

"JJ!"

"Keep squirting baby…look at this beautiful mess…" you were sore and tired, but his touch was electric. Orgasm overlapping another as you coated the console, the scene coated with more cum than you thought you could possess. 

"Fuck!" He breathed deeply as you came for that last time, resting back at his chest. His rings rested on your thighs as you shuddered as she pulled them wide again. 

"You still want me to fuck you that way?" He asked not needing to validate as you hesitated. 

"Please…" You nearly whined.

"Bend over the seat. You're still not ready baby, but I'm cleaning up this mess…"

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel@phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK MASTERLIST

JJ MAYBANK 2ND MASTERLIST 

JJ MAYBANK AND KOOK READER MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

Yandere!Loki x Cat!Male Reader Chapter 1

what happens when you want to make a catboy fic but also a more serious fic but dont want to write two fics? this is what happens. This was also a little test for me to see if I could find a way for catboys to be serious in some way.

warnings : blood (quick mention), themes of memory loss, mention of murder/death

Names used : Y/N, 'cat burgeler', 'little thing', 'little one', 'pet', 'sweet pet'

vaguely spicy, theres tension but no one is touched in that way.

Read over by me and corrected with the help of an app.

1,571 words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You don't remember much of anything before your time as a thief really. You remember being a child but there is such a large gap in your memory. Like it had all just disappeared. Besides being young, all you know is that you were cold and alone and discovered rather quickly that the stars, as beautiful as they are, were not a kind place. So you found your own place among the dark, forging your own life when no one would lend a hand. You knew enough of your existence before your thieving began to create some sort of life before all this. You knew you were from Midgard, you knew you liked the music from that planet and you knew that killing came easy to you which probably meant something not so good but you didn't like to dwell.

None of that was important right now. What was important was that you had a job to do. Recently you had struck up a deal with an anonymous buyer to infiltrate the trophy hall of Odin and bring back a treasure. This statement was rather confusing, usually, people want something specific, but after some prying, you found out it was simply because the buyer wanted to gloat about having something from Odin's halls. This would be difficult. Difficult for someone who wasn't you, that is. You managed to slip your way into the castle easily enough and once at the doors to the hall there were no guards. Immediately something felt off and the hair on your neck stood upright and your fur bristled. Your ears folded back and pressed against your head but you pushed on, pressing your palm against the door, claws out and ready to strike. Standing there, just down the steps was Odin himself accompanied by the guards you presumed were intended originally to sit outside the door. "Oh for fucks sake" You huffed, rolling your eyes as the All-father stood calmly, staring. His lack of anger frightened you somewhat. "Did you not think we would see you," Odin spoke, voice echoing. Your tongue rolled over your sharp canines and you avoided the All-fathers gaze. "Well I knew it was a possibility but you didn't seem to at first.." you huffed before carrying on. You dragged your hands down your face, claws now retracted. "I should have seen this coming" You groaned and Odin hummed "Yes, you should have." You shot him a quick glare. "If you go without a fight we will discuss your sentence and perhaps give you more mercy. The only crime you have currently committed is breaking and entry and while you may have intended to steal you have yet to. " Odin stated and you thought about it for a moment. After a moment of silence you gave a wicked grin, baring your teeth like a snarl, your pupils thin slits and your claws out and sharp as ever. "Go big or go home I always say." You snap and rush toward the two guards. Quicker than they can blink your hand is wrapped around the wrist of the guard on the left, twisting and causing him to yelp and his hand to tense into a claw, dropping his spear which you gladly took. A little too focused on the first guard, you held the spear like an axe over your head but before you can swing it the second guard cleanly punches you in the face. You gasp, dropping the spear and hunching over, holding your face as bruises already begin to spring up along your cheek and blood begins to leak from your nostril.

"I think that's enough of that." The All-Father calls out and reaches out, gripping the scruff of your neck, leaving you to dangle helplessly while the guard you had previously attempted to fight pulled your hands from your face and put cuffs on your wrists. "We have no more empty cells, your liege. Where should we put him?" The second guard asked. Odin hummed. "Put him with Loki, give my son some company. I also fear anyone else may simply kill our cat burglar. " The guards both snickered at the comment and you rolled your eyes as you were ushered out of the hall.

You didn't speak a word as you were dragged to the dungeons, barely even looking up from your feet. Your mind did wander though, to this 'Loki' fellow. You had heard the name, obviously, he's a God, and from what you heard he wasn't half bad looking. You'd never say that to him of course.

When you finally came to the cell, you still didn't look at anything but the floor, not even a glimpse at your new roomie, far too embarrassed over the whole situation. "We are going to open this cell. If you try anything, your sentence will be doubled. Got it?" The guard to your left spoke. "Of course" Oh my. That was certainly a voice. Silky smooth and deep with the tiniest rasp on certain letters. Gorgeous. Your ears flicked up for just a moment but promptly folded back down to fain being uninterested. Loki chuckled and you had to swallow, hanging your head completely down with your mouth slightly agape. My God, if this was his voice what was his face like? You heard a 'shiing' and stumbled ever so slightly as you were guided into the cell, immediately whipping around to glare at the guard both out of anger and also to avoid looking at the man you'd be staying with for a little longer. You kept your eyes on the men as they left, slowly taking steps back from the yellow sheen of your cell's borders. You took another step, then another, then another- warmth pressed against your back and you tensed, practically growing an inch as you straightened out your back and turned, stumbling away from what you bumped into. Green eyes gazed down at you like daggers, beautiful, beautiful daggers. A small gasp escaped your lips and you took another step back. Loki's hands were folded behind his back and he took a step forward, leaning slightly closer. "And who might you be, little thing?" He hummed and you felt yourself melt. You blinked quickly, shaking your head and rubbing your face. "Stop that." You huffed and glared up at Loki with a stern expression. Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing in confusion "Stop what? Asking for your name?" He hummed curiously and you rolled your eyes, swerving around him to move around your shared cell. He turned to follow you with his eyes. "No, I know about you. You're all magic and tricks and shit and clearly, you're trying to use one on me. " Loki raised an eyebrow "I believe you are simply paranoid. " He stated bluntly and you huffed. "Now, I asked you a question. " The God said and you finally answered, "You can call me Y/N." You stated, finding a place to sit in the corner of your cell, knees to your chest and tail curled around you. There was a moment of silence before you heard Loki's shoes tap against the smooth floor, coming closer to you. He crouched beside you, his legs slightly spread and arms resting over his thighs. "What?" You spoke. "Look at me," He said. You did not. Before you could protest he reached out and grabbed your jaw in his frigid hand, turning your head for you. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but if he saw he ignore it. "I've never seen something like you before." Your face may be held towards his but you kept your eyes away. "Eyes on me," Loki said, low and commanding, and for some reason, you couldn't help but do as you were told. The minute you held eye contact your pupils widened as if to take all of his beauty in they had to grow in size.

"Look at that" Loki whispered breathily, almost praising. "A minute ago they were thin as paper. " He commented before continuing. "You are a Midguardian but... you are more than that. What are you truly I wonder?" Loki muses before letting go of your face and sitting beside you as though nothing had happened. You turned your head to look at the floor in front of you and your pupils became slits once more. "Curious. " Loki hummed beside you and you groaned. "I'm not some pet to observe Loki. " You huffed and Loki let out another warm chuckle that caused warmth to burst throughout your chest once more. "I cannot help but observe, pet" Your cheeks flush at the nickname but you groan to fain annoyance.

"I see the flush of your cheeks, little one. " Loki hums and stares, you can see him doing so from the corner of your eye. You hum and shuffle, turning your back to the God. You gasp, tensing as you feel Loki's index finger run over your spine, starting low and rising. His hand found its place in your hair. You opened your mouth to protest but your words were silenced by fingers running through your hair, scratching at your scalp. Before long purrs rose from deep in your throat and you began to go limp. "That's it.." Loki cooed lowly, using his other hand to guide you from your curled position to instead lay your head in his lap.

"Sleep, sweet pet."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

check out my pinned post for some guidance on how to request one shots or story ideas <3

[belmottetower]

ur post about jamie’s loan has me thinking soooo many thoughts but the main thing im confused about is this: how was jamie able to get on the starting line-up so quickly after returning from his loan to richmond? city obviously hadn’t originally intended to recall jamie for a while as of 106 — jamie’s loan being pulled and him actually being sent back is presented like a surprising piece of information for everyone in the team, and i just can’t interpret that as “his contract was expiring soon, he just went back a week earlier than normal”. it felt like ted (at the very least) was setting up jamie to stay for a while after that, both strategically and socially. so, if he had spent much less time in richmond than intended (and thus probably developed a lot less than intended), how did he manage to start in richmond’s relegation match? it could have been city trying to give him more minutes against a lower ranked team, but then why would they start him AND let him play the whole game even after it was tied 1-1 if he’s not a consistent part of the starting line up? im a silly little american who knows nothing about european football, but it just doesn’t make sense how jamie could go from “we’re going to give you so few minutes that we basically have to loan u out or else you’re just wasting time” to “you’re going to be on the starting line up/close to it” so quickly once returning to city? was it just him learning to be a team player or is the show just getting fuzzy w the details? (also that was so long im sorry this is just a Very Specific Question and im trying to get it across properly)

This is referring to things from my earlier loan ask, so linking that here.

First of all, I am sure that Jamie's loan was meant to go until the end of the season. However, a loan can be terminated at any point during the season if both parties agree to it. So in this case, City saw he wasn't playing every possible minute with Richmond and they said to Richmond, "if you aren't going to play him, we want him back. We'd rather be the ones training and not using him if YOU'RE not going to use him." They were the ones that instigated the recall of Jamie, Rebecca just simply had to agree to it on behalf of Richmond and Jamie goes home. (Let's not worry about the fact that his agent would have been involved in this process because 2 seconds of digging in that direction makes the plot fall apart.)

But Jamie had been playing for Richmond for almost a full season at this point, from the summer of 2019 to what has to be around the February of 2020. He was there for over nine months of the season, and he went back to City when they only had a couple of months left.

In 1.08, when he visits Keeley, it's late March and he tells her that City were in town playing West Ham. He says "I had ten touches, I had two completed dribbles, and in the 89th minute they let me take a free kick." This implies to me that he was being brought on as a substitute at that point. Because ten touches, for a forward, is not very many during a full 90 minutes. And then the "They let me" in terms of taking a free kick sounds to me like he's still very much not a major power player, more like he's been given a chance, like "give the kid a turn, see how he handles it."

But it still feels to me like City valued Jamie as a player, and when they got him back after around nine months of a loan, they decided to give him a few more chances and see what he could do. And if he's succeeding for them in games as a sub, it's more likely that he will start the next match.

And the thing about the Richmond relegation match is that it's implied City had already secured the Premier League title, weeks before. They are not awarded the trophy at the end of the match. They're not celebrating having won the League. There's no commentary from Arlo and Chris about how City need this to secure the title, unlike they way they explain it in 3.11 and 3.12. So Ted's dressing room speech about giving the champs 90 minutes of hell implies to me that City were ALREADY the league champions, that they'd won it a little earlier in the season. Hopefully it's clear to everyone by now that with a league table, this is pretty common, if someone gets enough points that it is mathematically impossible for other teams to catch up. 

In real life, this year City won the league with three matches left to play. And in this circumstance, once the thing is already won, Pep will shake up the starting line ups quite dramatically and give different players the chance to play. For example, Cole Palmer, who I mentioned in the other post? He started for City in their matches against Chelsea and Brentford at the end of the season, AFTER City had already secured the title, when there were no consequences to City winning or losing. They won against Chelsea and Palmer got an assist on the winning goal, and they actually lost to Brentford in the final match of the season but it didn't matter. Pep uses a high rotation anyway - City does not have a fixed starting eleven, it changes all the time, Palmer has started a handful of other matches in various competitions - but this is very likely what happened to Jamie in terms of the Richmond match. It's the only match we know for an absolute fact that he started in for City, and it's probably because it was a game where the line-up could be changed around and experimented with to give different players opportunities, because they weren't "playing for anything."

Basically, in summary - Jamie played for Richmond for 9-10 months (depending on how early he came in preseason.) By the end of that stay he had played a lot more minutes by then than he ever had before even if he didn't get to stay the whole length of the season. City knew he'd improved and recalled him, deciding that if Richmond weren't going to utilise him, they'd prefer he be with them in Manchester to use when they want. They start using him as a sub in the last couple of months of the season, and he proves himself to be a valuable player for them. So he gets to play more minutes, maybe gets subbed on earlier each game, and eventually he gets to start a few matches, especially ones after City has already won the title and Jamie gets to play the match just for the experience.

In terms of being a team player, I fairly strongly believe that at City, this would have been a given for Jamie no matter what. Jamie got full of himself playing as a 1-up-front striker at Richmond, maybe in a 4-2-3-1 formation, but that's not how he would have ever played at City. Pep's favourite formation during that era of City is 4-3-3 and that's what Jamie was playing in for the Richmond match, he was part of a line of three (the formations are on the Arlo White cheat sheet) against Richmond's 4-4-2. City in this shape favours high possession and passing, so Jamie would have to have been succeeding within the style Pep wanted, i.e., being a team player and passing a lot and not acting as an individual star taking control of the match.

Jamie at Richmond was a selfish player largely because he didn't see the other players as good enough. He saw himself as a cut above them and their only value was to facilitate him in taking control of the match. He's not actually wrong about the skill level objectively, and even Roy admits it in 1.04 - that he knows he should be passing to Jamie but he can't stand Jamie's attitude about it. Because shaping the team to facilitate a star striker like that is not inherently bad football, not if the player isn't a cunt about it - it's a bit like what we saw with Zava, which looked ridiculous to us as viewers but was not actually a situation that anyone other than Jamie resented because Zava made the others feel valued, even if it felt fake to us. But look. Footballers do understand that some players are just better than others, and if your star striker is a nice person who makes everyone feel valued and treats people as proper teammates, there's nothing wrong with the tactic being "get the ball to that person and let them take charge." 

Richmond was Jamie's first taste of being that heroic superstar, where he was the one with all the glory, and because he didn't see the rest of them as on his level, he became a bad "team player" due to not recognising the part the rest of the team played in his success, or helping them improve (playing with people better than you should make you better, generally!) or believing that any of the others could achieve anything. He felt he was doing it all by himself. And George Cartrick clearly also had no interest in training the team in any other way. Very much "just get the ball to Tartt, he's the only one who's any good, and try not to fuck up in the process" as opposed to using Jamie's prowess to elevate EVERYONE. 

At City, where Jamie probably wasn't the best player on the team, where the standards were more equally at his level or better, this factor is not an issue. That's not how Pep trains them, it's not how Pep thinks. Jamie knows that he's not the solo star there. He knows that all the other great players will be contributing to making things happen, that everyone is smart and talented and aren't going to fuck up. Whether he liked it or not, he would have had trust in the way that playing style works, knowing that it's what's being asked of him from Pep and what the situation calls for. But Jamie didn't trust the Richmond players to be good enough to contribute. We see this Sam a lot - his attacks on Sam are often because Sam has failed to put a pass where Jamie wanted it, or missed a shot in training, or whatever. This is not an excuse for his behaviour but it is clear evidence that Jamie is frustrated because the rest of the team isn't at his level. And unlike season 3, he has no interest in working with them on improving, or showing them how best to play with him. Being a good team player isn't always about sharing the ball equally or whatever, it's about working as a team to feed each other's strengths - that's how season 3 Jamie can be both a team player and a total star player at the same time.

Honestly, to me, Jamie making that extra pass in 1.10 wasn't anything to do with Ted, aside from narratively for us as viewers. That's just how City plays football. That's Pep's influence, not Ted's. Ted sees it happen and thinks he's done something to change Jamie's attitude but in my opinion, Jamie is just playing the way Pep wants him to, because he actually values Pep's opinion about tactics in a way he didn't value Ted's. 

There is no way in hell Jamie went from age 13, or whenever he was scouted, to age 23, being a consistently selfish ball hog style player at Man City. Lots of players want to be stars, but I believe that the level we see in season 1 is just how he thought he needed to play at Richmond, because he felt like he was the only one who knew what he was doing and making anything happen on the pitch, and then of course he liked how it felt to have all that attention on him. But the way Jamie was playing at Richmond is simply not how City play football, and season 3 makes that canon to the Ted version of City too, not just an unfounded real life football comparison. City in the show are coached by Real Pep and play Pep's version of total football. That's what Jamie was doing when he made the extra pass,  and it's his experience with Pep's total football that allows Jamie to help Richmond so much in season 3.

[mintyisms]

The Neopedia Starters Pt. 3

taken from articles H-L of neopets’ neopedia

"Do these caves have no end?"

"As if those dungeons have ever been able to hold me."

"Imagine you and your pet nestled in a small, snow-covered valley, surrounded by beautiful, majestic mountains."

"If you want to compete, you'd better hone your skills at the lake. It's huge and always frozen over, so there's no excuse!"

"They simply cannot stay here any longer. They're eating everything!"

"If you listen intently on a quiet summer night, you can still hear an occasional giggle coming from deep within the doughnutfruit groves."

"Your spies are misinformed. I'm nearly finished."

"How do I know it wasn't you who wrought this foul magic upon them?"

"The world is full of danger...but there is always hope."

"You are exactly five seconds too late."

"Remember, kids, don't go into dark, scary places on your own!"

"That's a long way from home."

"It's my personal opinion that your tiara is totally overrated and, not to be crude or anything, but it makes your head look very wide."

"Well, I'm off to get my 14 hours of beauty sleep."

"I've got to get up early and see the doctor about this twitching in my ear."

"It's still too early for most adults to be up."

"It's a really long walk, and it's not a good idea to leave a shop full of magic unguarded for any length of time!"

"I made my usual inspection of the weapons room. Everything was in order."

"To receive that coveted trophy from the mayor is a very great honour indeed."

"Knowledge is a gift that can never be returned."

"Never trust the surface-dwellers."

"My name is not important, but I bring you a gift."

"Bring more food!"

"Ahoy, the life of a buccaneer is the only way to be livin'!"

"I limbo until you drop."

"I guarantee that my customers only receive the finest in desert earthenware."

"Judging by the abundance of bryophytes, there must be plenty of moisture here..."

"As long as your money's good, I see no reason why you can't join us for a friendly little game."

"What's the story with this friend of yours? I don't think I like him so much..."

"Shade and water are definitely precious commodities here."

"Eeewwww, sick! Gross bugs!! Get your spray out!"

"You can learn a lot about a person by what they collect."

"That bicycle meant everything to me. I don't know what I'll do without it!"

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Fae and Far Between

⚔️ All Previous Parts Here ⚔️

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: future ABO, Viking Col, fae Dom, Big Sad™️- I'm serious guys! Pain ahead!, waking up alone, depression, fear, physical violence (against Dom), threats of death, threats of war, desperate boys, surprise revelations, new hope, PTSD, panic, fear, missing each other, revelations of murder (past tense but a lot), trophies from a killer, more death threats, holding someone against their will, sexual assault threats ☠️ rating: mature (because of threats let's say verging on explicit to be safe) ☠️ ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

Kol'son woke with a start, he hadn't meant to fall asleep at all but there was something so comforting about being buried balls deep inside his lover that he couldn't help drifting off between rounds. He'd had a plan to bed the boy as many times as he could in the day they had left but at least they'd gotten a little rest to last them. Or so that's what he thought as he blinked his eyes open and took in the room that felt far too cold. It had been filled with warmth since the fae appeared even though he ran cooler than most. His fire lamps were out as he glanced around. He felt frozen, even his cock where it laid sticky with drying cum felt cold though it still should have been plugging his prince full. "Dom?" He asked softly but his stomach was already sick with the truth. There was no sign of his mate anywhere besides the drying fluids on his body and the tattered tunic on the floor. At least it seemed he'd taken his necklace and… and the fur he kept on his bed? How had he wriggled it out from below him?

That didn't actually matter, at least not in the moment. What mattered was that his thrall had decided to sneak away so they wouldn't have to see each other break and that wasn't fair. It wasn't just his choice. The chieftain growled as he pushed himself out of bed and found his clothes. He'd chase the fae down if he had to, he couldn't just run away and leave him without a farewell. For all the pain that welled in his chest that felt the worst. He wanted every moment he could get with his boy, he didn't care how much it destroyed him to watch him walk away. He could find him. He had to.

-An hour before-

Dom felt terrible sneaking out from his master's bed but he knew it was the only way they could truly part and do as they were supposed to, but the moment he was out the door he froze. The enemy clan was racing around about something, everyone was out in droves and it sent a wave of fear through him but… he had to leave. He could sneak around them all. He just knew it. Besides, they all thought he was a thrall, they wouldn't care what he was doing. He could always just say he was going to clean the fur his leader loved so much. Of course he only made it a few feet before he felt someone step on his second skin from behind him as if it were a fucking rug. A rage burned through him and he turned fast- coming face to face with the woman stealing his future. In the daylight she was still gorgeous but the evil was more evident. She matched her father. He dropped his eyes, trying to treat her as the queen he supposed she would be soon but it raised bile in his throat.

"Where are you going? I hope you're not trying to escape. That wouldn't be kind to your master." She purred and he swallowed his anger.

"No ma'am, I was simply going to wash 'is blanket. I'll be back before ya know it." He tried to keep his voice even instead of screaming at her like he was desperate to. He wouldn't cause more trouble for his lover. He just had to take solace in the fact he could still feel Kol'son's cum dripping down his thighs. He had him first. He had his heart forever.

"Hmm. Don't bother. He won't need that disgusting thing. I mean… when we're married. I don't like it. Just return to your chieftain and tell him daddy has to go home. He'll have to come to us. The rules are still the same but… something came up. Too bad too. He's pretty." Her whiny voice couldn't mask that she knew something she wasn't saying but when he looked up to meet her gaze her eyes were hard. Impenetrable.

Against all the knowledge in his mind telling him he could make everything so much worse he took a step closer, almost ready to fight the bitch stealing his life. He didn't blame her before but he certainly did now. She shouldn't have touched what's his. "I'm guessing you've always been told how beautiful you is, and tha's all you base ya life on. I ain't even gonna promise tha' won't last because maybe it will. But I can promise you- Kol will never look at you the way he does me." It was a simple insult but one he knew would get to her. What he wasn't expecting though was the slap across his face or the way she pushed him to the ground. He sat there, thankful to have fallen on his second skin where he had it wrapped around his shoulders and he took a breath, ready to get his ass kicked. He couldn't get his daidí in even more trouble.

"Excuse me, our chieftain wouldn't like you hurting what's his." He sighed when Aud stepped between them, a broom in her hands as if she'd use it to defend him. He was thankful for her but what he saw next almost took his breath away. Helga and a few of the other bed thralls that had hated him since the day he showed up joined her, standing between him and their soon to be queen.

"I don't think you want to do this girls. I could have you killed." Megna huffed and Liv laughed as she knelt down to help Dom up.

"You could try but you'd be amazed what men would forgive to keep their favorite cunt. Isn't that right Helga?"

The blonde winked, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped even closer to the woman they were protecting him from. "Can you smell daddy on me, my queen? I know what he thinks about your happiness, do you really think he'd give me up for you? I made that man see heaven last night." Dom had never found himself so thankful these women were well trained whores because it truly seemed to make her think twice.

"It doesn't matter anyway. You'll see. This isn't over." She huffed but finally walked away when some of her clan called her near.

Aud came to Dom, the other girls stepping back and giving him pained smiles. Maybe they didn't like that he'd replaced them in Kol's eyes but for better or worse they all loved their leader and they didn't want to see him hurt. The only female friend he'd made besides Inga hugged him tight and the other girls stood guard as they cried silent goodbyes to each other. He couldn't make himself talk and she couldn't seem to either. Somehow they all just knew he was leaving. "Tom's waiting with Modig I think. I'll… gods. Why am I so choked up about a silly little bed thrall?"

Dom couldn't help but laugh and he kissed her cheek, finally making himself let her go. "Love you too Aud. Girls, fank you. I… I 'ope you'll take care of 'im for me." It broke his heart to say but at least he was more okay with the thought of them making love to his mate than that bitch. The devil you know- he supposed. He kissed both her cheeks and tried to bless her future in a way he'd heard about growing up before he turned and ran down the trail to the shore. Any moment his man could wake up and he didn't think he could leave him if he saw his face again.

It didn't take him long to find Tom waiting for him on the path but the hurt he could see etched on his face as well was almost too much. His kin had left his only home and followed Dom because they were like brothers but they'd been without for so long. They'd been wandering. This was the first place they'd found that could be a new home and it was hard for them both to leave it- for maybe a similar reason. Mod was behind the selkie, his eyes filled with tears but Tom's silver ones were just lost. The man didn't cry easily. He felt like he'd interrupted an intimate moment but he didn't know how to leave without making it more awkward. "I'm sorry." He whispered, taking a step back and he gave Modig a gentle nod. He would give them a moment to say their goodbyes before he would say his own to the halfling. Gods he'd miss him. As he started back on his way to the shoreline he heard the madman call out for him.

"Dom wait- I- shit I think I figured it out!"

☠️⚔️☠️

Kol was hit with a wave of confusion as he stepped outside his home. The place was quiet in a way it shouldn't be with an extra clan around. It didn't matter though, what was most important was finding his thrall and holding him until the moment they had to part. He might even bend him over his knee like he threatened for this. How dare he take his choice away. He spotted Inga and he raced for her, his heart in his throat as he stopped her from her chores. It was already dusk and he knew they didn't have long. He couldn't handle this. "Have you seen Dom?" He knew his voice was trembling but he couldn't help it. Everything was driving him mad.

"Breathe Feilan. He… I saw him- he went to the water." She sighed after a moment, wishing she could make everything better. She'd been trying so hard to figure out something to fix it all but she didn't think she had much. At least not in the way of proof- if anything she had rumors and fears but perhaps it was too late for anything else. "Kol'son, I need to speak with you. It's about your uncle." She explained, her own nerves putting a shake in her voice. She had always tried to love the man- they were kin after all but Bjørn had taken everything too far for the last time. She just hoped her nephew could believe her and stop what was happening before it got worse.

Kol'son furrowed his brow but shook his head. How could she worry about fucking Bjørn when he was running out of time with his lover? "Later okay? Find me later? I need- I have to- Fuck I swear I'll listen." He vowed before running away from her like he had when he was a child in trouble. She tried to call after him but nothing would stop him now. He had to find his boy. She'd fix it though, she'd figure out a way to fix it. She just had to.

The chieftain made it to the shoreline in record time but he didn't see his love anywhere. He didn't know how long he ran one way and then the other but there was no sign of him. The longer he looked the deeper his heart sank until it was so heavy it weighed him down and his knees buckled, taking him to the ground. "He was like this too. I mean, not as dramatic but… are you going to beg your gods to change fate?" He didn't normally attack his best friend but when he felt a palm on his shoulder he burned with so much anger he grabbed the madman's wrist and flipped him over. All the breath was knocked out of Mod's chest and he glared up at his kin but he didn't fight back. He knew the poor bastard was broken.

Kol scrambled to crawl above him, his heavy hands curling around his brother's neck but he didn't squeeze. "I already fucking did! They don't listen to me! Do they listen to you? You're a seer aren't you? Closer to them? Answer me Mod! How do I fix this?" His voice broke, he'd already screamed at his gods the night before and got no relief. He knew he wouldn't get it from trying to strangle his best friend either but part of him wanted the man to fight back. To hurt him.

Warm hands pulled his wrists until he wasn't choking the halfling but for just a moment the fae was holding him. "I can't fix it. I see… I saw death around him. I thought if he left it would go away and he'd be safe but Kol'son- I saw something else…" He trailed off and the leader knew it was serious. His brother never called him that, he wouldn't use his full name unless it was important.

He blinked the dirt from his eyes and sat back, completely ignoring where he was positioned above the man. They'd wrestled their whole lives, this was nothing new. "What?" He prompted as his friend pushed himself up a little, Mod's hands gently taking his inked forearms again. The guy was obviously terrified to speak.

"I felt life. New- um... new life." Mod tried to say simply but his brother was anything but that. The man was incredible at ignoring things he didn't think he could accept and he knew he'd have to explain better. "I had sensed it around him for a few days. Life and death, as if both were a possibility and I thought it was just… a flip of a coin but when I saw him earlier- the- the life was centered. It wasn't just a possibility anymore."

Kol had thought he was already scared enough, that there was no way he could be more frightened but- "No. You can't mean- it's too soon. Shut the fuck up!" Before he could stop himself he was backhanding the halfling, the man he trusted most in this world besides Dom. Someone pulled him off before he could do more damage and when his gaze cleared he saw two men he barely recognized.

"Stop fighting those you trust most. You know the truth already. We're only here to help." The one with a shaved head said as Kol pulled away and stood, brushing himself clean.

"Who the fuck- wait- you look like Dom." He growled, stepping closer to the dark haired newcomer. His lips and eyes were lined in darkness and he knew without asking who he was facing. The fae who'd been busy this whole time- "Ådam."

"Yes. I don't know what my kin said of me but I've been trying to help fix this since I heard Benji talking to Mod about it. I don't just abandon my family."

Kol'son arched a brow but he didn't say anything. He just hoped the creatures around him had some saving grace. "I'm not related to the forest clan but- these two are and through your family it seems…" Both men looked to Mod with a soft look as if the chieftain wasn't the only one about to get news. "Your aunt was mated to the forest king's sibling. Though he's been lost for many years they still care for her. Through Modig you are connected to them and they wish to help. There aren't as many as there once was but they number enough to help you win this war. As long as you wed the siren and accept the clan as family. They wish for both Mod and Dom to be seen as your equals and if so- they will call you brother. They don't want any part of your land, they just want peace which they'll never have with only humans who wish to steal our magic."

Kol didn't know which part hit hardest, that the man he called brother was truly his kin by blood, that he knew what Dom truly was, or that with the fae he could win the war. Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a sound behind them from the water. He turned fast, all his blood rushing from shock as he watched a seal he knew he'd seen a million times… open? There was a shine of small lights in the air around it but as it pulled itself on land a- a human stepped out. No, not a human. Tom. Kol'son knew when all of this was said and done he'd pass out from too much information and it didn't get better when his friend- his cousin ran for the man that the seal just birthed but he knew better. The seal hadn't birthed anything. The fae was the animal.

He'd heard stories of different magical creatures all his life that he had trouble believing but all at once he was faced with so much truth. Dom was a seal that he was sure he'd pet before, his sea friend that he treated like a pup and the fur that he had been gifted one day was the only reason the boy had come to him. Gods, the fur he'd wiped cum on more times than he could count was his lover's second skin. But- there were more important things. He was pretty sure.

Tom walked up to him looking grumpy and scared. The first was normal but the second was new. The fae was always pissed off. "Did he find you?" Tom huffed, pulling his fur over his bare shoulder. No wonder they'd both been naked when he met them. Fuck he had to focus.

"Who?"

"Dom you fucking-" The fae took a breath and poked him in the chest. "He went to find you to tell you he was with child. Mod saw it." While Kol knew already there was something terrifying about someone saying it so flat out and he felt his knees go weak.

"No. I… Mod just told me. I didn't see him when I-" The fear in his soul tripled. If Dom had gone back but they didn't pass each other then where was he?

"Chief. You know what else I saw." The seer whispered, even he sounded truly scared. "Would they take him?"

Kol'son wanted to deny it but he knew better. Harald wanted to destroy his happiness and he'd already promised to give Dom to someone else. He'd said he would give them the day but obviously something had changed. So much had changed. Gods it wasn't just his lover he had to find. It was his child. He had a child. He didn't have time to think through his answer, anything had to be better than what was happening and the fae promised he got to keep Dom. "Tell your master yes, my cousin and my mate will be my equals and I would welcome his help to save the next in line. We must save Dom. I… I have to go. Meet me there?"

☠️⚔️☠️

Dom had searched the whole village for his lover. He didn't know what they would do to save their people but he couldn't leave without at least telling Kol the truth. His palm dropped and pet over his belly as he wandered past the huts he knew. He knew logically they were still only starting to form but it didn't matter- he couldn't stop touching them. It was his only part of Kol he had left. There were a few rooms he hadn't checked yet and he hoped perhaps he'd find his master either in his parent's room or talking with his uncle. He tried the latter first, and as he stepped through the door the place was exactly as he thought it would be. A drunken bear's hideaway. It was covered in trinkets from fights he'd won- little things that made him feel like a big strong man. What caught his eye most was an armband much like what Kol'son wore around his arm but the letters read something slightly different. He knew from what little he'd learned to read of their language that it was the old chieftain's. It was something Bjørn could obviously possess as a family keepsake but the blood he found on it made him shiver. Was it a way to keep his brother's memory alive or…

"You shouldn't touch what isn't yours boy. My nephew hasn't taught you shit. You like my trophies though?"

Dom startled at the voice behind him and he turned fast but his fur was jerked from his hold. He felt naked in front of the man, clad only in the shift dress around his hips but the Bastard stared at him as if he could see through it. "Trophies?" He couldn't help but ask.

"From my kills. I keep something from every battle I win. I suppose you'll do for my newest, they promised I'll get you." Bjørn grinned down at him and he shivered under the glare, stepping back and trying to get away but the man had his fur.

He couldn't even process the rest of the threat, he was still stuck on something he couldn't understand. "But… tha's your brother's?" He tried for time and the bastard laughed.

"I thought with his wife gone he'd get himself killed sooner. She was an accident of course but… I don't like people telling me 'no', especially women." He paused, giving Dom a once over that turned his stomach. "I had to take care of my brother myself and now his fucking brat. All I ever wanted was to be the ruler here and now I will be. I don't know why that stupid Feilan would pick you over her but now I get you both. They'll kill the first son and with it that whole stupid line, leaving me in charge finally. Thanks to Harald our people won't even think twice." Dom knew he must be absolutely shit faced and so proud of himself if he was spilling so much but at the thought of losing Kol he placed his hands over his stomach protectively. Probably the dumbest thing he could do.

"Please-" He whimpered as he stepped back and tripped over a chest, falling on his ass but he still tried to scramble away.

"Looks like I have one more to snuff out before I get to lead. Too bad, I wanted to take you apart more slowly." The bastard purred, reaching to grab his ankle and tug. In the next moment he pulled so rough Dom's head caught hard against something wooden and sharp and he felt a warm trickle of blood before the room went hot and dark around him. No matter how hard he fought he couldn't stop himself from passing out and the last thing he saw was Bjørn undoing his own pants. "I suppose I can have a little fun first though, see what the fuss is about- siren bitch." And the room went black.

Author's Note/Tags: @manicpixiedreamb0y @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @cole-way-iero28 @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

I know it's a LOT but we're almost done with the Big Bad™️ Just trust me okay? I swear it will get better soon! 🖤☠️

[cienie-isengardu]

Arla - Mandalorian name?

ARLA FETT was first presented as as unnamed Jango's sister in Jango Fett: Open Seasons comics mini-series

then properly introduced as Arla Fett in Republic Commando: Order 66 & Imperial Commando: 501st)

Jusik squatted down and resorted to a little mind influence, the most benign, to make her realize he meant her no harm. It was worth trying even if he was stretching their luck. Something told him he had to, and maybe it was simply that he'd walked by one inmate too many. "Ner gai Bard'ika," he said. "Tion gar gai? Gar aliit?" He'd told her his name was Bardan, and asked her name and her clan name. She stared at him. It was as if she didn't believe what she was seeing, or hearing. "Arla," she said. She glanced at the nurse as if the woman was eavesdropping. "Neyar gain Arla Vhett." It wasn't Mando'a, but it was close enough for any Mandalorian to understand. Jusik turned slowly, still squatting, to look at Skirata. The old sergeant's face was a study in suppressed shock. [...] "So who is it?" Vau asked plainly irritated. Mird watched the woman with head cocked tail slapping. "We'd better have a good reason for taking a psychotic killer with us tonight." "We have," said Jusik. "That's Arla Fett-Jango's missing sister." [RC:O66]

and who at some point became a member of the Mandalorian Death Watch (a group that killed her parents while hunting Jaster Mereel and True Mandalorians on Concord Dawn)

Jusik steeled himself to look. He was expecting worse. He wasn't sure if the dark brown mark was a tattoo, or a scar, or a branding mark, but he knew exactly what it was because he'd seen one only hours ago, or a version of it: the Death Watch emblem, the ragged winged W shape. It didn't surprise him. She'd been spoils of war as far as they were concerned, an animal to be used, and marked as their property. "A surgeon can remove that," Kina Ha said. "Would that help?" Arla pulled down her shirt again. "You don't get it. You can't guess because it's so bad." "Whatever it was, you were a child of fourteen, Walon tells me. When we're adult, we look back and judge our childhood actions by unfairly adult rules." Arla didn't turn around. "It's not a wound or a humiliation. It's a badge." "Explain." "After I was kidnapped, after it stopped being a nightmare, I stayed with them. I became one of them. I stayed. I could have run away. But I stayed." [IC:501st]

So whatever she was a direct descendant of Mandalorian Fett clan or she just "joined" Mandalorians, she can be count as one of them.

The newest sources material introduced two other Mandalorian women of the same name:

ARLA SHALE (source: SWTOR short story "Seeing Red", can be read here)

Ballag started picking fights and spilling blood to prove his strength. The latest and most daring trouble was with Clan Shale. They were an old and respected clan with the trophies and glory to prove it. The body on the screen deserved a better death with a better enemy. “What do you expect with Ballag running them?” Rass said. “He’s going to run Nerak into the ground if he keeps this up.” He scoffed. He didn’t like Ballag. Too stubborn to lead, too stupid to see it. “I’ve spoken to Arla Shale.” Jekiah said. “Fought with her during that raid on Darvannis. She’s solid but won’t let her people be treated like this. It won’t end without a lot more bodies. With Mandalore gone, we need to stand as one.”

and

“A duel?” Arla asked, her lined and scarred face betraying no emotion. Without a moment of consideration, she nodded to Jekiah. “As the Arbiter decides.” No hint of fear in her eyes, only steely certainty. Ballag hesitated. He stood a head taller than everyone. His eyes were an uncanny yellow and flicked from Jekiah to Arla, the tiniest hint of unease in his gaze. Arla was experienced- maybe not faster, maybe not stronger, but Ballag would have to be a blind to consider her an easy target. Arla arched an eyebrow at the pause.

ARLA HA'RANGIR (source: SWTOR)

The closer thing to ARLA in Mando'a dictonary I managed to find is the word MANDOKARLA which means to having the right traits / spirit for Mandalorian.

So I guess we can assume Arla is an old/ancient mandalorian name?

[victorywithremy]

prompt 004 - a gift of abundance

It felt strange to sit in that temple in front of a statue of his mother- those huge, golden wings of hers flared out behind her. So very, very much like his own. Her sword was at her side and the other hand held up that crown of victory. He hadn't come here a lot- even less than he should. He's oh so aware of the fact he'd made no real attempt to try and connect to his mother like some of the others had done. The truth was that the idea of an actual, proper family wasn't something he really knew how to have. A mortal mother- let alone one who was a goddess wasn't something he could really comprehend. He could barely remember his own parents, it was like shadows dancing on a wall in his mind anytime to think about them. He had two fundamental truths about himself. He had worked for everything he'd gained in this life himself, and he knew who he was at the core. Everything else was...water vapor at times. Able to be washed away in a moment if he needed to. He could charm anyone and play the part as easily as breathing.

He glanced towards his fellow demi-gods as they talked and whispered to their godly parents and took a deep breath before he glanced up at the statue of his mother.

"You know I should be like some of the others here- Just say hello and offer up whatever gift they found. Instead, I find myself being here and just...sitting in this anger I didn't even know I had, mother. ' Remy took a deep breath before he went on. He could feel that annoyance he hadn't even really thought about bubbling to the surface." I thought finding out that I actually had someone, somewhere would make me feel...complete. Some golden truth that was finally being revealed. Some lost part of me would finally be filled. You know? The shiny gift box at the end of a very, very long fucking journey to get here. And instead, it's just a puzzle box full of more questions. What was the point of just...discarding your children out into the world like that? To let us flounder and suffer? The cruelty of that is utterly mindblowing even for the stories of Gods. And then I find myself walking in your footsteps without intention. Did that make you laugh? Does it make you proud? Victory after victory. Case after case. Are they now your wins over mine? Some fucking power I didn't ask for? Is everything that makes me something worth in this world because of you??." The Englishman could feel his accent slipping as he talked, moving away from that posh, pretty accent he'd kept for so many years and into that more harsh, rougher tone. "What good are parents who do not care that their sons live on the streets? Or fall through the cracks of a mortal life that is clearly not meant for them? I hope you know that your cabin is filled with trophies. It's like being compared to a thousand brothers I never knew all the time. A thousand bars I have to reach. Or a thousand chances at fucking failure" Remy could feel his voice rising to the point that it echoed around the temple before he took few deep , short breaths and glanced around- he could feel a few demi-gods already looking his way. It wasn't a good look for him. The last thing he wanted was for being to be concerned.

So instead he was just going to bite his cheek before reaching into his bag to pull out his offering. It was the very, very first award he'd ever won when he'd lied his way into a private school. He'd forged the documents and somehow, it had all worked out. Perhaps once again just because he'd had a lucky roll of the dice. It was a small, simply shiny silver pin from being the lead speaker in a debate club. His first real, proper victory. He held it in his hand for a moment, teasing his fingers over the small silver circle for a moment, thinking back on how he'd run circles around those poor little rich boys before he just flicked it into the fire in front of his mother's statue. An offering was given as directed. Remy just flicked his eyes up at that statue, letting that gaze linger for a moment before he stood up and strolled towards the exit of the temple.

He needed some air.

[popculturebuffet]

Sam and Max Save the World Retrospective: The Mob, The Mole and the Meatball (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy freelance police and welcome back to my retrospective look at Telltale Sam and Max! We're onto chapter 3!

Chapter 3…. is my faviorite so far of the four chapters i've played so far. (And I didn't skip one i've simply played ahead a bit into Abe LIncoln Must Die! ), having the bets ballance of the truly amazing writing with gameplay. I rarely had to turn to a guide, with most puzzles being the right ballance of challenging while still being fun to figure out. So join me under the cut as our heroes have to play some wack a rat, fake a murder, and join the mafia to find a mole.

Chapter 3 opens with our heroes getting their usual assignment from the Chief: his mob in the infamous toy mafia , a bunch of standard mafiso who wear teddy bear heads, has gone missing so our heroes head to Ted E. Bear's Mafia free playland and Casino.

Part of why I love this chapter so much… is the setting. The combo of a chucky cheese with a casino (having a slot machine and poker but also using tokens, having a buffet (that's of course closed), and having a wack a rat machine) is genius and the singing heads offer it. There's also the fun easter egg of pulling your gun.. which naturally gets every gun in the place trained on you.

There's also the fun of a simple gag: your code words are "does the carpet match the drapes?" which naturally gets a lot of great responses and somehow dosen't get our heroes hit in the junk.

What's fun is the activites are two simple but fun ones: the first is a mini game wack a rat which while challenging, most of it is from the fact i'm playing on switch and the game wasn't reofrmatted from being clearly meant for mouse. It's still hilarious.

The meat though is a showdown with cardsharp Lenoard Steakcharmer whose just.. a delight. From his obviously shady apperance, to his relationship with his dead mom, Leonard is eaisly the highlight of the chapter. The trick with this puzzle wasn't figuring out how to beat him, you get an ace in your office, so it'eas easy enough to see that's how.. the question was how. The dealer refuses to use it as they already have five and there isn't an option to let Max jam it down lenoards throat and steal his ten million tokens. The actual solution though is awesome: ther'es a reflective clowns nose over the entrance, tha'ts not only how lenoard can see your cards, but how you beat him: you slap the ace up there, he assumes you have one, and thus folds…. netting our heroes their prize and leonoard some therapy. Everybody wins!

The next challenge is getting in which is easy due to Leonoards close compettition, the bug.. which being bosco is a LITERAL bug. Bosco has also installed an anti-delivery system as the toy mafia keeps trying to put things in. Gee I wonder if that'll be important later.

The Bug is fucking great, having apparently been to nam.. and look if I have two comedic weak spots it's cocaine and people having been in nam, so of course I loved him. He's also the funnest item to use so far as he's versatile, able to copy dialouge from people, and thus it makes his use trickier in a fun way: you have ot figure out both where to plant him and who to have himc opy. It comes into play more next time but given most other items are just "use them whent he plot says so" it's a nice change of pace.

With him we can get into the back office and Don Ted E. Bear is impressed with our work, and thus gives us a few assignments before we can join the family, none of which are plesant and two thirds of which threaten our friends: whacking Sybil and delivering the hypno bears from last chapter to bosco. You also find the one from last chapter in your closet which is .. there. It'd be werid if I didn't mention the closet but after last chapter's trophy and especially with the next one, it's a bit underwheming as a souvineer. The third chapter is the titular meatball: the mafia's treasured hoagie has been stolen.

I tackled the last one first as it was the easiest to figure out: they mentioned the theif would be fencing it… and in a nice chekov's gun that for once isn't as obscure, we naturally only know Jimmy.

What did suprise me was who was selling it, Lenoard, who I was delighed to see again and have a tense standoff with… only to find out his gun is a pop gun and thus Max easily solves it with a violence. Seriously finding out of all the options that was the one that solved it was hilarious. The game uses the fact you expect something more complicated.. only for the simpliest solution to be the easiest, thus making all the time attmepting ot talk him down funnier. We leave Leonoard beat up and thus have our first item.

Next is Sybil. Her new career is witness for hire, which unrotuantely means the mob wants her dead and has her monitored. The how is complicated as she refuses to fake her death, but figuring it out was satisfying: she constantly lifts a mug.. which is interactable. So you simply steal it for a second, fill it with ketchup at boscos and then shoot it, making it look like they got her. Bloody hilarious. Career wise it's the weakest so far, so not much to say. Same with french bosco, which really speaks to how fun the ted e bears setting and the actual puzzles are this time: our two allies aren't at their best but what we have to do is so fun and clever it dosen't matter.

For Bosco it's simple: use a magnet we got earlier on his camera afte rdistracting him. Simple stuff but still fun to pull off and his bafflement at them delivering while his back was turn is great. Also with Btads now focused on merch entering, you can shoot up the place, which is always fun.

So with all three jobs done, we get inducted into the mob.. and get a shocking twist I should've seen coming from a mile away: THE MOB'S HEAD IS THE MOLE. And of course he's a literal mole. Unfortunately this outs us to the mob's head, and thus we end up having to run. This leads to a fun chase sequence as WE'RE being chased this time. After taking out the mob behind us with some obstacles.

So it's onto the final puzzle: dealing with the mole himself in his spooky factory, where he's making about 80 dozen teddy bears to ship out and brainwash the populace. The good news is his main weapon is brainwashing our heroes to work in his factory.. and both our heroes are immune.

(Wah wah)

Sam because of his hat and Max.. well originally I was just going to shrug but the more I thought about it the more I realize there is a solid answer: Max's mental state is so erratic and deranged brainwashing has no effect on him. I mean think about it: his reaction to most horrors he faces is "again again". Some things truly creep him out, sure, but his thought processes can sometimes be so alien that the hypnosis would likely have to be specifically catered to him to work and even then i'm not sure tha'td be possible unless the person desinging said hypnosis was someone on Max's level of psychosis… like say the Joker.

Anyways this leads to a fun bit where you have to fake max's death (using Lenoard's popgun, a nice literal chekovs gun) then figure out how to destroy the machines. The solution.. is clever: you get a screwdriver and previously the one armed bandit slot machine I almost forgot to mention , that gives no prize and only gave one when used as a hiding place for the meatball sub, and use it to alter one of the bears and thus use the Mole's hypnosis plot on him, causing him to wreck the factory and our heroes to exscapte the twisted burning wreckage as they do every tuesday. OUr heroes pat themselveso n the back but like last time it's clear this sin't over as one of the mafiso bears takes off his head and calls the mysterious mastermind behind all this to trigger plan B.

Next Month: Our heroes must be bad enough dudes to stop the president, then presidential canditate the lincoln memorial… by having Max run for president, a classic case of the solution being far worse than the actual problem. Until then thanks for reading.

[arcanepactguile]

MOVED TO @arcanepactguile-scribes

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒊.

Alastor hadn't ever thought of searching for a reclusive location to isolate himself, whenever he was either no longer able to cope with the frustrating dramas at Charlie's Hotel — or if he simply needed to surrender himself to his own personal thoughts, without the fear of nosey neighbours (chiefly Angel Dust and sometimes, Husker ). Playing the twenty million question game was not just becoming a bore, the constant pseudo interrogations infiltrating the peace when you were trying to relax at the bar or in your own room. Nobody in the Hotel understood one thing about privacy.

That was why currently, Alastor had sought the easy answer through one of the tomes squirrelled away in his collection. There was no point checking Mayor Rosie's connections (and likely trophies) when he had the solution the whole time he's curated his own personal library. The Radio Demon's mirror Shadow only conjured when he was specifically summoned for It, there wasn't any risk of getting interrupted by a third party. 

For what felt like the first time in his Afterlife, Alastor's thoughts were his own; hours ahead of him, excluded in all the ways that mattered to him from social gatherings and occupying the same room with other people who was making it their day's agenda to get under his skin.

The magick portal closing shut as soon as his heel had left the barrier separating Pentagram City from… wherever this new environment was situated. The coordinates in the tome’s instructions seemed not unreliable, but unrecognisable. So long as the secretive region was well isolated, providing the Radio Demon the privacy he’d missed from his time in the bayou of New Orleans, it would serve him well.

If only Alastor had done a thorough query of the tome’s origins, as well as the destination the portal had led him to — maybe he’d have disregarded the cloak and dagger theatrics, stayed home instead with an extra bolt on his door.

Stepping lightly down onto the soft grass, the immediate impression Alastor got was the definitive sense of loneliness. 

There appeared to be no activity from a single living being. Other than the droning and chirping of the usual suspects: insects, there seemed to be virtually no life whatsoever. Considering this as a perk, the less likely to be interrupted or bothered by another soul Sinner or beast,

A few more tentative steps into the wide clearing, then Alastor’s furtive movements turned to a livelier gait. 

It was going to be perfect.

A second beneficial use was as a contingency plan, set aside for the troubles that the stag Overlord's seasonal Rut entailed. A Mate was desperately needed. The actual act of Mating — procreating, that is, wasn't required to satisfy the unstable hormones that flooded Alastor's system and transformed him into a most disagreeable, brooding sex partner. The Radio Demon's bitter attitude and overall hostility towards his Hotel's tenants often left them reeling, collectively agreeing he was far too irritable and prone to outbursts to be tolerated in good company. 

Not that Alastor really minded whatsoever his supposed allies thought of him, but he couldn't stand to hear “Smiles, you need to get yourself LAID, it'll cure what ails ya ” from the condemned spider porn star one more time. 

Stooping a little to pass through the hollowed trunk of a massive dead tree, or UNdead — it's roots and branches were showing subtle signs of life, it's peeling bark shifted by itself as Alastor carefully crossed through to the other side. This side of the tree was less appealing; the thick cobwebs filling the other half of the exit, the lack of cocooned meals in the weaved strings were hardly considered as anything more than a pathetic effort by the resident arachnids. It had never occured to the hotelier that the significance of the undisturbed webs meant no taller animal or Hell’s population had ever treaded this fine line separating civilisation from the banished wilds. 

Thinking of Angel Dust automatically straight away after that fleeting train of thought, Alastor was let down by his apparently poor control in curating inside his head the relevant and interesting subjects that did not revolve around his bothersome tenants. 

Shaking his ears to loosen up the stray cobwebs sticking to his fur and antlers, the deer demon had almost immediately arrived at what he wanted to refer to as the Rendezvous, 

This detached part of the heavily wooded forest was briefly mentioned in the tome. For what purposes it existed for, he did not know. All that mattered was that the lore book had identified it as a ‘ great wellspring for dark hearts’, If the author was meant to have inferred danger, that lackadaisical way to address the enigmatic cave was not it. 

Crossing the threshold from the lush green of the forest into the dark, dry confines of the cave, was almost like crossing the boundary segregating the swamp attached to his personal quarters at the Hotel. The sudden drop in temperature from a slight rise of humidity and heavy forest to a dry, cool claustrophobic change of scenery had amounted to what was nearly perfection, Incredibly isolated, difficult to find, liable to remain undisclosed in other grimoires and maps, the hidden cave had easily drawn the Radio Demon's attention. The winding path leading through the cave’s narrow tunnel had nearly convinced Alastor to turn back, seek somewhere else to let off steam — but for the sudden opening of the next tunnel mouth yawned wide to reveal an enclosed grotto within it's cold walls. 

The dimly glowing sigils burned into the walls of the rock inside were a clear indication that their presence both confirmed the book’s trustworthy status, and the sure warning that the sigils were there for a reason. The symbols bearing strong resemblance to known confinement spells trapping a lifeforce within the boundaries, as a self-taught practioner of the occult, Alastor should have reconsidered the wisdom of exploring a cave that was supposed to remain undiscovered and ostracized for the being that inhabited it. 

The stone cold to the touch, remarkably clean for a cave system, Alastor had surmised after he had finished studying the chamber from his place at the tunnel’s entrance, his eyes roving over the cave from top to bottom carefully. The clean sweep of the unimpressive cave led to nothing questionablt.  While it was a little dark, and the Overlord's cervine eyes adapted for nocturnal ventures, a wide sinkhole had split open a cavity in the ceiling. Shafts of sunlight beaming down to the sandy floor, the light softened a little by the thick foliage growing in to fill gaps in the natural skylight, the rays had dissipated the damp inside the chamber, making it much more pleasant than the entrance’s tunnel, there seemed to be no dead ends branching off from this chamber.

As he had noticed earlier, there was missing the standard IDs of a cave — bones from dead animals, mold, a water source, cavern wildlife, past signs of occupation like carvings or symbols added to smoother patches of wall other than the binding sigils lining the natural tunnel.

The only two things of recognition, nevertheless interesting, were a mass of plants and roots filling out one corner of the chamber, and an absurd sight in his direct path.

Situated in the center of the cave was a tokenistic tree stump that would have looked more at home in a child’s picture book. Completely overgrown with climbing ivy, flowering blooms, and the iconic fungi Fly Agaric. Or more accurately, Hell’s idea of the fairy tale toadstool.

The scene looked ridiculous. An actual, true tree, once alive and growing inside the murky gloom of a cavern formed within a mountainside. The picture just looked so peaceful, what with the psychedelic colours of the flowering plant life and the toadstools, the ground resembling something like quicksilver ground up and sifted through a fine sieve to become a dense carpet of stunning grains of sand. It looked too good to be true,  the attractive sight.

Approaching the tree stump, smiling wryly, looking down into it's curiously scooped out top; he had half expected it to have on offer three bowls of porridge. 

On behalf of all critics condemning impulsive pilgrims and travellers, abandoned orphans or whatever else the cliched origin story was their excuse for stealing enchanted food from villains, Alastor hadn’t realised how strongly a simple temptation such as this innocent looking sap would be so alluring. The Radio Demon was captivated by the spring of what looked to be pure honey. Or something else very much like it — the perimeter of the hollowed bowl cut into the stump was filled with a semi-translucent sap, the liquid clear of impurities usually associated with natural honey or tree sap. No dirt, husks, twigs, seeds, insects, or fibres. 

Four or five vines had tapped into the edge opposite the deer demon, their tapered tips mistaken to belong to the other plants swarming the base of the dead tree, yet upon any closer scrutiny you would have noticed that none of the other plants and mushrooms were anywhere close to touching the innocent looking sap.

Finding the ‘miracle’ too charming for his tastes, Alastor had sidled past the attractive spectacle, and returned to the original path he had wanted to entertain in his new private exclusion.

Friends with benefits wasn't a foreign phenomenon to the stag Overlord. Moreover, it was becoming a burden ; solace through his pet Husk, a romp with Angel Dust, or something naturally depraved with either Lady Rosie or the Queen of Hell herself, Alastor was finding it difficult to keep his disorganised mind in order, too many strings attached to trip over, a lot of risk. There was always something preying on the Radio Demon's overwhelmed brain.

Too stressed to fuck, too stressed to find relief elsewhere, the black magic practioner had been too glad to find an answer inside a book.

No attachments, no other souls involved. Just him and his regular shadow, not the supernatural conjuration of his Mirror double.

The strain of being unable to find relief in both the usual and unusual avenues had become too much, too oppressive, and it had driven the sullen buck to this outrageous instant-fix solution of a simple, private sanctuary.

Stripped from the waist down, the deer demon had arranged his clothes and shoes aside on top of a stone, a superstitious feeling encouraging him to put them further away from the suspicious tree stump.

Crouched, kneeling on one knee, Alastor had rucked up the hem of his coat and shirt to bunch higher above his waist, the coattails flipped back to drape over his back and shoulders. It didn't matter that his aim was a little too enthusiastic, enough momentum for the skirts to wind up as a crude hood. Snagged on the tines of his miniature antlers, at least it served an unexpected support by holding the coat out of harm’s way. 

Bent double, resting his forehead against his raised knee, Alastor had his eyes squeezed shut as he worked hard at sustaining his erection. One hand was busy trying to pump his cock; fingers curled around the base, the deer demon was stroking himself, sweeping his thumb over the top of the shaft, his claw tips tickling and trailing up the underside. Sliding his palm up in more frequent strokes, squeezing at the tip and simultaneously rubbing the tingling tip, repeating this pattern hadn't taken long for a steady pulse to start, his breath quickening. 

His upper groin and belly cramping, shivers of delight budding in the pit of his abdomen, the buck's doe udders were beginning to take shape — the bane of his existence when sexual intimacy was the order of the day.

The swell of pink mounds were slowly growing; a milk bag comprised of twin sacs throbbing as they filled with milk, the supple flesh inflating around the base of his hardening cock to nudge it's underbelly. Moving his hand further along to his aching cockhead to adjust for his udders grazing the heel, the puffy organ was eventually distracting his concentration away from pumping his length.

Sinking his upper canines into his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him, Alastor abandoned his leaking member to cradle his pulsing udders with a hand, theother left to idly stroking his neglected length. Grown attentive to how his unnatural anatomy required routine to manage it's needs even out of his season, the deer demon's frustration therein lay with the difficulties bolstered by servicing himself solo. The end results were not just more rewarding — the entire journey was the deal maker. Milking himself was becoming more of a chore than a joyful experience to look forward to. However it was hard to express milk on his own, the sheer embarrassment associated with a partner trusted to keep his secret was a moodkiller more often than not.

Stroking his soft flesh, periodically kneading and palpating the  swelling mound, using thumbs and forefingers to tweak the teats — the first drops of milk welling up in their tender tips were visible. The steady throb in his loins spreading, the weight of the burgeoning milk was an encouraging sign. Biting his lip harder, ears swivelling forward, Alastor grunted, tilting his hips forward and frantically pumping a singular throbbing teat — at once, a jet of milk squirting, the short stream arcing to splash onto the fringes of the leaves and vines pooled on the sandy floor, fat droplets spattering the wizened larger roots and fronds dipping under the weight.

A loud gasp, his body frozen solid for a beat: then the buck resumed stripping both teats at the same time. Dropping his raised knee to kneel, thighs spread, the deer kept his fingers idly stroking the undercarriage of his warmed udders, continuing to pump both spongy teats to express milk in rhythmic kneading. Inconsistent yields of milk were the results of the impatient milking, random bursts of milk expressed to repeatedly splash onto the awakening plants.

Totally unaware the touch of his fresh milk had revived a camouflaged beast dozing in amongst the leaves and vines, the roots and fronds that had been inadvertently soaked in the aimless sprays of milk absorbed the frothed liquid. 

Seeing stars behind his pitch black lids, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the Radio Demon was unable to witness the skulking tentacles slithering towards him through the silvery sand. Bumps and lines of sand were boring towards the unwitting deer demon, the maze of crisscrossed tentacles burrowed below the surface resembled an electrical conduit — the nearer the hidden tendrils came to touching Alastor's knees and hooves, several lines spreading to sweep behind the preoccupied Overlord, the thicker the tentacles’ bulk became. The thicker they became, the more sand trickling off their sleek bodies were risking a premature reveal of the creature.

Panting softly, Alastor's fingers soon slicked with more froth as his body was slowly yielding his rich milk, the flow of oxytocin was dumbing the Radio Demon's senses. Warnth radiating out through the demon's entire slim frame, forks of tingling fire and electricity clawing at the centre of his brain, pounding heart, and in his gut, the strengthening arousal merging with the feel-good hormones was dulling his reaction to a firm touch caressing his thighs.

Eyes snapped open, peering down at the odd sensation, the sedated buck was startled to see the petals of a yellow and black striped flower swaying back and forth — beads of nectar seeping, petite droplets landing on Alastor's knee, the flower was the head of a slender vine, it's length arched upwards like a disturbed snake, bands of black striping it's streamlined body. 

The colours of a wasp, signalling danger, yet the Radio Demon was unable to help himself — stilling his jerking motions, the Overlord slowly reached out a hand to caress a petal, marvelling at how such a beautiful thing could live in a dismal climate such as this cave.

Suddenly, the delicate flower shuddering, the petals furling to fold in on itself; the compressed bud rippling open wide, stretching it's lips back, it threw itself forward to spray golden pollen pointblank into the Radio Demon's pensive face. 

Reeling back in shock, throwing a hand back to land heavily on his ass and palm, twisting his wrist, the side affects of the pollen weren't in effect until after Alastor had sneezed — unknowingly drawing in more of the potent toxin into his body, absorbed straight into his lungs and lingering in his throat. The pollen had been ejected with the nectar pooling in the bud’s hidden maw, effectively sticking the dust to Alastor's face and airways.

They were inducing a tingling sensation, crawling up from his chest and nose to cover his pecs, and face in full. Blinking hard to dislodge some stuck pollen, utter disbelief visible, Alastor didn't see the myriad of tentacles swarming around his inert body, essentially cutting him off from the rest of the cave; piling atop of each other in a circle, like a castle moat. 

Whilst a castle’s invading force sometimes came from the rear, a premeditated offensive to catch the garrison inside off guard, a front assault was preferred. Approaching a potential ally this way had much better success in forging a give-and-take relationship than by pure deception. 

Sitting up, propped by his hands sunk into the sand, thighs and shoulders spread, in lifting his gaze Alastor was met face-to-face with something he wasn't expecting to see. 

Where there used to be a huddled mass of ambiguous plant life, in the center a large mass had manifested — risen out of the ground, grains of sand still rolling off it until a shake of it's leaves rid itself of the fine sediment, the thick vine was coiled into a circle, half it's bulk buried in the ground. Uncoiling, at the tip of the vine was suspended a pulsating membrane encasing a bulging sac supported in the middle of the limb’s tip, throbbing gently. A soft glow of diffused blue light alluded to distorting the shape of the sac as the Radio Demon continued to stare at it dangling inches away from his face, he found he couldn't move. Webs of veins pulsing all over the Lantern’s translucent membrane, the light source within was a blinding radiance. 

The softened glow was growing stronger, the sac's vague outlines growing fuzzier and less distinct as the webbed bulb began to pulsate, tiny shafts of lightning-blue light racing up the web-strings connecting it to the vine, Alastor was transfixed, hyperventilating. Rendered immobile by the unnatural light’s power, the deer demon's vulnerabilities included his natural aversion and weakness to artificial light, but particularly the strongest light of any origin. It was an embarrassing, primitive trait carried over by Earth's cervine vulnerabilities. 

The buck’s jaw hanging agape, drawing in a steady flow of air in rapid heaving gasps, Alastor's pupils were in the process of dilating when the lantern-bulb abruptly shone a dazzling light directly into it's prey's eyesockets. 

The neon blue emittance rippling in the air like the marbled lightshow on water’s surface, casting light and shadow shimmering over the Radio Demon's paralysed expression, stunned by the unrelenting performance. An extremely strong wave of tranquillity was enveloping the Overlord; the droop of his ears flagging, his face grown impassive, the sag in his shoulders, the tension leaving his body in pulsating waves of submission beginning from his ears down to his hooves. Even in the end, his tail had stopped twitching, the tremors from his frozen panic attack subsiding to a subdued state.

In Alastor's eyes, a psychedelic vortex matching the black and yellow bands of the toxic flower were swirling. The monster's Hypnosis had tranquilised the Radio Demon, his secret vulnerability to vivid lights an accidental advantage for the plant. Lulled into a completely passive state, the conditions of which remained to be seen, and any problems corrected.

The light in the web softening back to it's inert state, the Overlord remained where he sat, immobile and patient. His abandoned masturbation had left his swollen milk bag throbbing with want, his softened cock seeping fluid. The bloated teats were leaking bubbles of milk on every deep inhale Alastor took, the buck’s conquered mind incapacitated to do nothing but obey the predator's instructions, his new Master, 

Lamenting the last time it had sustained a reliable source of sustenance to keep itself alive, imprisoned in it's cave, the monster sought to reach a compromise of forging a symbiotic alliance with the deer demon — taking nourishment for itself, and in exchange rewarding the oblivious sinner. The Hypnosis was a delicate art; different triggers were likely to disable it's hold on the buck's brain, and there was also the dangers of it's new pet’s mental strength in rebelling.

To the creature, that was already water under the bridge. It was easy enough to resubmit the Radio Demon to it's will.

The buried tentacles rising into full view, no longer camouflaged, the tentacles whipped forward and coiled themselves around Alastor's limbs and body without haste. Staring ahead into nothingness, Alastor's eyes were vacant, the vortex of colours steadily spiralling in his eyes. He could feel the sleek bodies twining around his limbs, their nudges and tightened grips. A pair of tentacles had wrapped around his shoulders to pitch him forward, pushing his lax body unceremoniously to the ground. His coattails falling over his head, shrouding him in complete darkness, in time this was going to be in hisfavour. Arms flung out, the upper half of his body fallen into the bed of roots and flowers, the sharp thorns sliding away to avoid pricking Alastor's precious skin. Slim vines were gliding up his limp arms to explore his slender frame, propelling themselves along with gentle kisses from rows of suckers lining the vines. Leaving no mark behind as they curled around whatever obstacle they found; shoulders, throat, ears, antlers, focusing heavier on probing his sensitive nipples and navel. Whilst they were teasing his prickling flesh, coaxing muffled moans and squeaks from under his hooded head, the other tentacles hadn't even stopped their own agenda. 

Arcing up to coil around the joints of Alastor's hips, these tentacles hoisted his rear skywards to rest his weight onto folded knees. With no clothing below the waist to wrangle, the vines holding his pelvis in position, two extra tentacles swooped between the buck's spread thighs from behind to take care of the rudimentary reason why it had overpowered the Radio Demon. 

It had been years ever since the monster had a last goodfeed. Overwhelmed by the richness of the Overlord's unusual milk, getting it's first taste from the stray squirts as Alastor pleasured himself, it was longing to taste him again, 

It was absolutely pivotal it looked after it's new Pet, and over time diligently work on him to remain a permanent source of sustenance whenever it bade him to heed it's commands.

Waiting impatiently below the Radio Demon's belly, droplets of escaped milk sometimes landing on a quivering tendril, the last trio of tentacles were converging on the buck's offered rear.

A tentacle loosely draping over Alastor's buttocks to play with his limp tail, nosing through the underbrush to fluff it up, prompting a shiver down Alastor's spine, the two others slithered up the Overlord's taint to nuzzle and palpate the tender flesh.

The abrupt kneading between his inner asscheeks prompting Alastor to rock forward, gasping urgently, at the same time his udders had heaved from the much needed stimulation. Heat rising off his inflated taint, the bulge filling out between his inner thighs to encompass his heaving udders, the tentacles did not let up studiously rubbing his pinked flesh in a downwards motion to induce the yield of milk. 

Under his belly, the organ filling up with the nourishment his Master was sorely craving, the impatient twin tentacles finally had their cue to feed. 

Shooting upwards, the slender tendrils whipping around the bloated teats, ravenously began yanking on the fevered flesh, initially tugging to express milk without having much luck. The rough pulls and twists were frightening Alastor, even still in his meditative Trance, the Radio Demon cringing with a frantic bleat of pain. His stomach cramping, the jostled udders full, drew up to retreat, pulling the latched tentacles with the instinctive reflex. Heaving again, the buck crying out softly, the stubborn tendrils did not let go — tightening their grip, they renewed their hurried tugs, but now fallen into a steady pace of pumping from the base without gliding down to the tips.

Doggedly clenching the base of each teat in unison, to eject milk upon each painful stretch of the sacs to be nearer the ground. The unyielding stretches weren't suitable for the buck's anatomy; shortly, the deer's swollen milk bag, full of milk, were blushed a pinkish-red surrounding the nipples. Each quadrant was visibly throbbing, veins protruding, Alastor's arousal blossomed with the relentless oxytocin dumbing his entranced senses even further.

Rhythmically tugged, each quadrant out of sync against it's twin, the creamy jets of milk were not utilised to their full potential. The stronger streams were saturating the sandy ground almost as heavily they fed the multitude of new tentacles and roots weaving below him, coiling and slithering together as they drank in the sprays of fresh milk. Sheeted in the freshest of nourishment, it was some time before the flow was distinctly thinning. 

The blue-tinged milk was not yielding as heavy a load as the onset of stripping had achieved. The cramps jarring the shrinking udders were becoming more frequent, the supple flesh flinching harder when a tendril was stretching it to force more yield. The recoil of Alastor's stomach heaving for the final time, his overmilked organ blushing rouge, the stir of the Radio Demon's back and shoulders were a warning sign pointing to the Overlord's Hypnosis waning.

In time to feel the acute burning, outstanding throbs in his nether regions; the pulses of deepest pain congregated below his navel, his leaking member twinging, all at once Alastor had bolted upright — however groggily, nearly losing his balance. Rocking back onto his haunches sluggishly, bent double as his brain was spinning r, Alastor struggled to piece his mind back together.

A curious, persistent pulling sensation on his pounding organ had him look down, and resisting the bile rising up in the back of his strained throat as he stared in dismay at the chilling spectacle at his groin. 

A wriggling mass of vines were trying to drink the spilled milk slicking his painful udders; a few younger tendrils feeding off the slick of precum and milk off the velveteen flesh, their rows of suckers undulating the blushed sacs as they slurped. Drinking directly from the source, three larger tentacles were attempting to suckle one swollen teat. The single largest tentacle had a nipple for itself: curled around it, it had penetrated the gaping sphincter to nurse greedily, it's tapered nose swelling as it gulped hungrily.

The shock of being used as a milking cow when he had blacked out, the Radio Demon's memory foggy, was wearing off as he studied the nursing, surprised how his second impression of the horror hadn't hit home until that largest limb had let go, racing up the buck's gaunt stomach to try again for milk by plunging it's nose into his navel. 

Eyes trained on the erratic tentacle, Alastor's laboured breathing shot up a few decibels as his panicked squeal barely conveyed his fear. A hand shot out to grab the wriggling limb, Alastor yanked it away, his movements manic at first but weakened by the forced exertions on his drained body. Panting, watching the tendril squirm, Alastor was uncertain. 

What to do? 

The other tentacles were hellbent on suckling his spent organ, the rhythmic sucks on his overmilked teats were nonetheless alleviating the unbearable pressure inside. Milk dripping onto his sweaty palm from the squirming limb thrashing about in his hand, Alastor's sleepy thoughts were drifting again. Shaking his head, rubbing the heel of his free hand into his eyes, the buck couldn't quite comprehend the unusual merger of total relaxation and a growing sense of unease. Looking back to his captured tentacle, thinking back to how all of this had even taken place, the Radio Demon couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. 

Despite all the precautions he had taken, trouble seemed to sprout wherever he went, whatever he did.

Another large vine snaking it's way over to him, the shifty movements catching the Radio Demon's eye as fronds moved suddenly, at first he had presumed the limb wae heading to take the prior one's place. It seemed as if all the limbs belonged to one creature — they definitely moved independently, but neighbouring tentacles would occasionally react in advance to another’s actions, long before Alastor had guessed their intentions. IT’Sintentions. The creature's activity was synchronised, orchestrated. These vines weren't individual minds, but one. These newcomers were slowing their progress, cautiously curling up between the Overlord's spread thighs to wait. 

Lost in his sleepy musing, biting back the urge to simplylay down, the enthusiastic tentacle eventually slid itself free from his weakening grip. Slipping down to reclaim it's pride of place, the hungry creature recommenced suckling on the flushed teat; enveloping it with it's petals, inside it's maw a wisp of a tongue lashed out to penetrate the star-shaped sphincter, enthusiastically pulling on the bag to induce more milk. 

That was the last straw. Briefly indulging in the depravity of letting himself go to be drank dry from a harmless plant, really no different to cutting your finger and watching the blood drip into a flytrap, the ebb and flow of blissful pleasure being milked an addiction — allowing the creature to claim him was the dividing line.

The final vestiges of hypnotised dozing thrown off, the excited suckling on his overstimulated organ compelled him to act. Rashly, and sealing his fate. 

Snarling, the Radio Demon he grabbed for the distracted vine between his legs and held it down with both hands into the ground, scattering theother tendrils that were listless until this new provocation. It was a clumsy move, but the deer didn't want to damage himself, lest the plant fight back by biting, If it even had teeth. 

The tentacle’s earnest nursing was interrupted, the lips tugged free, saliva moistening Alastor's swollen organ, but the creature had already composed itself for the counter attack. Resistance was inevitable. But with care and consideration, it was determined to keep the Radio Demon for it's own. 

Crushed under the buck's weight forced down into it, the other end of the tentacle wiggling like mad, the thing's mouth convulsing, spat out a thinned spray of regurgitated milk, the demon's weight pinching off it's extended throat inside the vine.

The Radio Demon's reprieve was fractured by his heedless compulsion to resist the gift of unparalleled pleasure before the monster had even tried to ‘convince’ him properly. 

The raucous commotion that followed Alastor's single act of disobedience was calibrated accordingly, the vulnerabilities of his body frailer than the creature's, wielded against the thawing of the demon's body and mind.

Distracted by his efforts to stop the thrashing tentacle still drooling milk under his hands, feeling the icy fingers of fear shadowing the sharp jolts of adrenaline carving into his woozy brain, he was taken by surprise in an instant. 

The creature had been studying his behaviour the wholetime, anticipating some form of rebellion. Acting swiftly to correct it's new Pet's insubordination, it had whipped tentacles over to seize Alastor's wrists, the serpentine appendages climbing up to engulf both of Alastor's forearms together from wrists to elbow in a cruelly tight sleeve. Alastor immediately letting go, the crushed tendril yanking itself free backwards from his splayed hands, Alastor's sharp cry was broken with a grunt — more vines had erupted from the silver sand from behind and were coiling around his thighs to pull together, bulging his throbbing udders to press into his stomach and the rear exposed between his asscheeks. 

The Radio Demon's limbs locked together in a tight embrace of vines, forced onto his hands and knees, the first punishing smack fell across his exposed buttocks, eliciting a pained BLEAT from the deer. The slim tentacle had whipped his naked backside, the sharp sting of the first lick quickly blossoming with the next three spanks, faint red lines emerging on his pert buttocks. Rocked forward with every spank, Alastor had cried out, hot salty tears stinging harsher than the impromptu spanking did. The humiliation. The creature evidently was intelligent. No dumb creature ever had the capabilities to anticipate, plan ahead, punish, or train, like man did.

Because that's what it was doing. Training him.

Breathless, Alastor squirmed, leaning forward to stretch his back, to dodge the stinging smacks, his coat still snagged on his antlers xnd held up as a hood, leaving his body naked from tve waist down.

The Overlord’s struggles was in vain: ever observant, the creature lifted his bound arms higher above his head in a dizzying shift of positioning, two of the tendrils waiting at his knees darted forward to encircle Alastor's waist; seizing his bristling tail to haul upwards in a stretch, the spanking tentacle let forth a shorter frenzy of four more licks, before stopping altogether. 

The blush on Alastor's cheeks cherry red in the middle, encompassing the cleft splitting his buttocks pressed in together by the restraining tentacles, the circle of disciplined flesh was beginning to fade. Fire burning where the slim tentacle had smacked him, the horizontal lines fading too but lingering longer than the surrounding blush. Spanked from the left and from the right in alternating hits, flexing his buttocks only rekindled the warmth filling his ass.

Blinking back salty tears, gasping, Alastor tried to think clearly again. He tried, But it was a fight, harder than the physical confrontation that had just occured. Flinching on the outside as the disciplinary tendril tenderly caressed his throbbing rump, inwardly Alastor's pronounced fear was losing the fight against his nightmarish ordeal. The epicenter of his suffering was of his abused udders; the creature, having had a taste, and then some, was invariably addicted to the sweet richness of his fresh milk. It appeared that every time he haa fought back, resisted, the creature had retaliated — actually punished him. 

But what happened during his black out, riddled with amnesia…?  

Was nursing all that had happened? The silence inside his own head was simply too loud — the strengthening pain in his pulsating udders, begging to be relieved of his new milk coming in, the overstimulation warring against Alastor's fear of reprisal and the unknown, what happened while he was out, the affectionate nuzzling at his tender teats brought the Radio Demon back to the world of the living. 

The two largest of the nursing tentacles had returned; arced up to nuzzle at his aching milk bag. Their tapered noses nudging the warm teats, wisp tongues flicking out to lap at the new beads of milk bubbling from the gaped sphincters. 

No matter how much he was milked, past the point of pain and unbearable arousal, the surge of oxytocin flooding dousing his fevered, frantic thoughts were a cure-all. Lids sliding to half-mast, the Radio Demon's shoulders listing, a distinctly fiercer nudging at his filling organ had stirred the sinner awake to buck in alarm, or at least try to. Arching his back, tail and ears bristling in fear, Alastor clenched his stomach and leaned away to break off the connection, but straightened up as the disciplinary tentacle swung back to deliver another round of four quick smacks to his burning ass, pulling another bleat of pain from the deer. 

This happened again, but a volley of eight further spanks at the first sign of resistance — the Radio Demon pulling back, squirming, cursing outloud, bucking his hips to deter the tentacles every time they had descended to nurse, they only making it as far to lick the sore flesh, or curl a tongue around the teats.

Feeling like he was destined to be perpetually abused if he continued to disobey, at long last the Radio Demon relented. 

Never showing any hints of fear, the two tentacles moved forward to begin over again the nursing. Taking a teat each, the tentacles peeled back their petals to swallow the swollen nipples, down to the base. The wisp tongues inside gliding into the gaping sphincters, tickling along the internal channel, proceeded to suckle Alastor. Studiously pulling on the udders to emphasise the natural stimulation for an uninterrupted milk yield, the subsequent familiar wet suckling sounds of the fervent drinking had pushed the Radio Demon into a drunken stupor.

Thoughts hazy, dazed again, Alastor's eyes were closing in the overwhelming bliss. The strict attention to looking after his painful sacs were unrivalled; having somebody (or something) feeding on him had NEVER felt like this before. Never. 

Wagging his tail sleepily, a frantic beat whenever a greedy tentacle had yanked harder on it's prize, Alastor was only dimly aware of new sensations. More tentacles had joined them, however they were rising to settle themselves up along the Radio Demon's trembling body. Ignoring the tremors quivering his scrawny frame, these sinuous vines unfurling an array of whiskered feelers, felt along his sweat-slicked skin to probe and palpate his body. Stomach, nipples, navel, collar bone, his cock — they all tenderly stroking in sync with each other as a singular mind — rubbing his prickled flesh to calm him, as the milkers persisted drawing down milk, sucking harder now as the buck's udders swelled.

The creature and the demon were approaching an unspoken negotiation — milking in return for unbelievable pleasures. 

Bypassing the Radio Demon's dubious thoughts, the level-headed thoughts, by harnessing his body's primal desires for milking the creature was satisfied the demon was under complete control. Using pleasure against conscious thought, Alastor's will was being stripped down to an empty shell of the sinner he was before opening that spellbook. As he was doing now, the deer trying to process the waves of pleasure pulsating in his loins apart from the bubbling feeling of mistrust, as if in slow motion Alastor's eyes were travelling up the swaying length of a strangely familiar tentacle emerging from the dense matt of foliage in front of him. 

Looking up, the same thick vine from the start — the Lantern Controller, was weaving to and fro, pulling Alastor into watching it's tranquil movements. The emergence of this vine felt like he had seen it before… it's colouring, and the bulb at it's muscled tip, were intriguing. Captivated by the strange limb, his weakening jaw sagging open, the wrinkled web of veinr on the sac suddenly peeled back, revealing once again it's Hypnotic eye. 

A beam of light firing straight into the Radio Demon's retinas without warning, as it had done so earlier, the light sent the Overlord into a second Trance. Hypnotised, the yellow and black vortex of circles radiating from his pupils shrunken to slits; at a firm nudge to his bottom lip — the deer demon stretched his jaw open, permitted the pass of a more sinuous tentacle into his waiting mouth and over his tongue. 

Settling it's length onto the buck's tongue, it rippled twice, and started slowly pumping a sweet necter straight down into the demon's throat. 

Closing his jaw, sealing his parched lips, the placid Overlord began sucking on the warm tendril, eagerly swallowing each mouthful of the honeyed sap. The fluid went down quickly, bringing with it a warmth spreading to his core as he sucked on the muscle hungrily. It was as if had been dying of thirst and starvation for days. The harder he sucked, pushing his tongue along the pulsating length to coax a faster flow, the warmth budding inside his gut was rolling out to swathe him in a suffocating embrace of unrefuted arousal. 

The intoxication was uncompromising — regardless how energetically the tentacles nursed, the Aphrodisiac siphon pumping him full of undying want; it didn't seem enough, never felt he had even crested the uphill climb to gratification.

Alastor's mind was emptied of anixties, worries, straying thoughts, clear-headed concerns. The Hypnosis spell lulling blunting his razorsharp thoughts, transforming the esteemed Overlord into a softly bleating mess, the vortex in the buck's eyes were spiralling into tighter circles as the Hypnosis Lantern slunk back into the depths of the plants, various tentacles and bobbing flower blooms beckoning the deer demon to submit. 

The limb throbbing inside his mouth done, it withdrew with a slurp, trailing broken strings of nectar and saliva as it disappeared with the Controller vine.

Swallowing hard, lazily swiping his tongue over his dripping lips, Alastor did as he was told. 

The lengths encircling his limbs carefully releasing his body, obediently Alastor arched his back, stretching himself to ease the tension leaving his joints locked and aching, when casually the mass of tentacles rushed him in a deluge of overcrowding limbs and bodies. 

The suckling tentacles barely fast enough to remove themselves from the fray, slithering out of the way, several tentacles dived to ensnare the Radio Demon's limp body. Wrapped around his waist, chest, pinning his arms to his sides, more of them had his head and neck in a stranglehold; their sleek scales caressing his cheeks and thrumming neck, pressing in on his beating pulse. Forcing him to be readjusted onto his shoulders upside down, more tendrils supporting the bow of his back when his pelvis dipped forward. Making a strangled noise, half rumbling purr-half groan as they hugged him tight, the free vines pulling his thighs to tug his legs forward to hang limply over his upturned face. Placed on his upper back, shoulders wrapped inside coils of vines and roots, the Radio Demon's thighs were spread, the pink valley of bulging udders filling out his taint stretched taut from the unyielding strength of the creature. His tail dangling behind, the snowy underbrush explored momentarily by a curious tendril, before it rejoined the group surrounding his puckered entrance. 

Heartbeat quickening, Alastor's plaintive bleats were heartening, the endless spirals in his hooded eyes turning faster. A new tentacle shifting forward, nuzzling at the deer's abandoned milk bag, as a group of four or five others probed the deer's resilient hole — plucking at the puckered flesh, lapping wet tongues, rubbing the twitching flesh in tighter circles, Alastor was too desperate to be mounted to withstand waiting any longer. Twisting his body, the demon bucked wildly, startling some vines away, spurring the few left to plunge into his tight hole without hesitance — and without objection from Alastor. 

Tipping over onto his side, the vines coiled around his neck drawing in tighter in forewarning, Alastor didn't care, didn't notice the gesture. Lowing like a cow in heat, repeatedly, the deer kicked one leg at the ground, pawing the loose sand frantically with a hoof, sending a shower of silver into the air. His other leg was cocked, spasming, folding in tight as his tendons and muscles contracted. Held aloft on by own will power, lusting for a mating, it invited a couple of new tentacles crossing over to snake over his hip, across the juncture joining his inner thigh to the heavy milk bag, and up that leg’s buttock to hold his cocked leg up, steadied if not for the rhythmic bounce of his leg as four tentacles wrestled each other to push into Alastor's spasming ass as a singular entity.

The Radio Demon's entrance was being stretched to new limits, his ring whitened as the wriggling vines pushing together burrowed inside it's Pet’s warm cavity. Undulating, more agitated, each individual tentacle more or less filled Alastor's rear with the same length as another, stretching his core in spite of the spasms clenching down on their slippery scales. A final push had their thickening girth popped past the buck's fluttering hole, wrenched a keening wail from Alastor. 

Even so, the intense pain strengthening inside his throbbing backside, bearing down on the squirminu intrusions: Alastor was madly wagging his tail in overjoyed delight, Rolling his tongue out lewdly, salivating profusely, Alastor panted hard as the four tentacles propelled themselves to passionately thrust into him, rocking his surrendered body at a erratic pace. 

A solitary limb pumping wildly in and out, out of turn amidst the other vines similarly pumping randomly, violent penetration was inflaming the buck's arousal, feeding the flames to lick at his hardened cock, his full udders. Of which the blushed organ was leaking heavily, froth trickling from the bloated teats as he was fucked hard.

Savoring the fullness of his stuffed ass, the vines buried inside him pumping tirelessly, the Radio Demon's arousal was constantly stirred by his roiling stomach: the gulped aphrodisiac bubbling, supplementing his enervated body with nutrients to prolong the deer's milk coming in, and sustaining his lust for the fuck. 

The creature was likewise engrossed in not breeding, but fucking the deer demon until his udders were full to burst, brimming with the milk it was hooked on. Stalling it's next feed was necessary, if it wanted to  succeed at manipulating the hypnotised demon to do it's bidding without protest. Good behaviour needed to be rewarded, conditioning the demon to do as he was told, but also instigate the encounters. 

The Radio Demon's cock leaking fluids, a sticky trail smeared along his belly, the member stiffened without any direct stimulation. Whining, Alastor rutted his hips, keening for some friction — even a little was going to be appreciated over his new Master continuing to ignore it. Squirming in place, licking his lips, Alastor heaved a heavy sigh as finally a lonesomr tendril reached out to wind around his pulsating length, tightening around the root and tickling the flushed head with feelers. The creature was enjoying the alkaline taste of the buck's thickened precum; squeezing it's hold, it slid up and down to milk it's Tranced Pet’s cock just as it had milked his bloated sacs.

His arousal spinning out of control, the excited pumps on his erection in step with the four vines embedded inside his rear was getting too much for him to process, unlike the time before. 

Filtering the excitements that was rendering him inconsolable was to no avail — spasmodic jerking fallen to complete submission, the vines’ bodies picking up the pace in fucking it's Pet savagely, Alastor's passage was convulsing around their mingled bulk. The Overlord was panting loudly, features contorted as he let the creature's limbs embrace him tighter in a definitive clutch of feral lust, the knot in his groin expanding to pass the unsatisfied palpitations into his throbbing sacs.

One tendril sinking further to anchor itself to Alastor's pelvic floor, the other two limbs rotating their determined pumps cooperatively, the fourth limb was furiously rubbing the bulge of the demon's overly sensitive gland — the concentrated rubs in concert with the rhythmic rocking inexplicably drove the demon's arousal over the edge.

It had felt like the buck had bolted headlong over a steep clifface; the subsequent high from surpassing the highest peak he had ever known, then the pit of his stomach suddenly falling as his senses plummetted, the Radio Demon's cervine bawling was drawn out, as his body abruptly contracted. Violent shudders quaking his sweat-bathed body, his hot passage fluttering and hugging the quadruple of slicked limbs, the creature rode out Alastor's denied climax in good humour. 

Teasing his throbbing prostate by grinding a tentacle into it, pulling another involuntary contraction or two, Alastor's cock was spilling ropes of cum into the sand, the creamy seed splattering over his trembling abdomen and the arrangements of feelers and suckers caressing and suckling his damp skin. The buck's nipples grown hard and peaked from the heavy overstimulation, pectoral muscles clenched, the hard lines of the demon's throat were strained as he gasps sped up, harrowed moans trailing to periods of silence as he was milked arduously.

Gliding through the buck’s sweat plastered hair and fur framing his twitching ears, a matched pair of bulbs curled into his warm ear canals to sink in warily — their deflated tips pushing past the bends of the snug channel to press against his eardrums. The quiet rustling of tiny leaves and wisps branching off this pair of insidious vines were trembling, their feathery touch against Alastor's scalp inconspicuous amongst the excitement of the chaotic breeding.

The other vine hadn't given up on his twitching length; milking it for all he’s worth, squeezing out diluted ropes of seed, then sparse spurts, then in the end his seed dwindled down to bubbles of pearly fluid oozing from the gaped slit.

Breathing fast, the spirals throbbing in chorus with the steady throb rooted in his groin, Alastor's low moans followed the creature's insistence on weaving it's buried limbs together to plug Alastor's full ass; stiffened, the unfathomable pain was reworked as intense waves of pleasure, the Hypnosis transforming the painful twinges of Alastor's stretched hole into bursts of unmatched rapture. 

Flicking his ears, exhausted, Alastor stiffened briefly as the undulation spreading his core was taken over by a fresh flurry of activity at his groin. 

Oxytocin flaring yet again, Alastor's milk had been complying with his overstimulated body’s susceptibility to nursing. Producing new milk as he was forced into arousal, the persistent nuzzling and suckling tricking instincts to let his milk down. It was as exactly as the creature wanted — sending wizened tentacles to latch onto his swollen teats, Alastor involuntarily pulling in his stomach, starting, before breathing out to offer his full organ, bleating quietly. The fresh pair latched on, they were ravenous, tugging on the blushed pulsing bag to express his delicious milk in hastened pumps.

The frantic sucks were a carthasis, lulling the buck into his dazed trance. Riveted to the euphoric sensations of being drank from, the ceaseless pulls on his full organ, the wet lips kneading, the tongues rubbing the sphincters to let forth more nourishment. It remained instrumental that as long as the deer demon was capable of yielding milk, conditioned to do it without reluctance, the plant monster was glad. The milk flow was irresistible; residual white froth in rivulets coating the buck's billowing udders, the reddened blush was irrevocably spreading. 

The diminishing udders were due to be depleted at sometime during this encounter. The yield dwindling to thinned, then absolutely nothing; the inflamed flesh no longer supple but waxen and taut, cringing, Alastor's ever increasing winces and grunts had finally erupted as a wild thrash. Bucking, sending the insatiable tentacles loose, their milk-veiled forms hesitant, then darted forward to pass an attempt at nuzzling him again — rubbing the seam and swells of the overstimulated udders, Alastor's voice cracked as he resisted, kicking his bound leg in anguish, feeling the pain of being overmilked come rushing back in a torrent to break the Hypnosis, 

“No, STOP — YOU DARED TO —”

The bi-coloured vortex in his eyes spinning faster to vanish completely, as fearful comprehension sunk into the Radio Demon's embattered brain, upon looking down and back at the source of the intensified hurts, his quickened assessment of the scene was quickly dealt with. 

In a panic, incensed that he’d been taken advantage of, the Radio Demon bucked harder, his inner walls bearing down on the rigid vines stretching his throbbing ass. Giving great heaving gasps, arching his body, at long last the four tentacles buried pulled out wetly, looping over themselves on the ground. 

Awkwardly, in trying to stand up, his legs feeling like they were wholly made of rubber, he pitched straight onto his front because he’d even made it up onto his elbows. Although clarity was returning to his focused eyes, pupils shrinking in anger and upset, he hadn't been aware that more vines were entwined around his arms pinned straight to his sides, fists free to scratch or clutch at nothing but either the empty air or his own thighs. Tail rigid, a flashing white flag of danger, Alastor tried again to hoist himself up onto his haunches, wrenching his tight shoulders left and right to shake free the tightening embrace. 

The creature had been quietly tracking it's Pet’s movements, analysing his body language. It had come to the conclusion that it's still-in-training slave was new at obedience, and needed another push onto the right course if he wanted to live, alb it brainwashed into believing it was through his own unconditioned choices.

Emboldened by the loud silence in the wake of his resistance — having found the reserved strength within himself to at least roll onto his painful stomach and then back onto his knees, however bent low, fighting for breath. The overlong drain on his body's faculties had taken quite a lot out of his energy. Forced to let down more milk than he was ever accustomed to, his pulsating udders pounding with both want and yearning for a reprieve, trickles of milk were dribbling from the swelled organ to puddle into the sand and spent seed. 

Wrinkling his nose at the stink of his cum and enriched milk, Alastor was venturing to explain why this can't everhappen again, a touch of hysteria in his voice as a suspicious second voice inside his head tried to convince him with —

“Why not?” 

The Radio Demon got as far as opening his mouth when one of the overlapping vines slapped a fat tip over his lips to silence him with a wet slap — his thoughts weren't allowed to linger, the suspicious voice proposing to the confused demon:

"You loved it. 

You want to ask for more. 

You are not happy unless you are being milked. 

You are not calm unless you are being bred. 

You crave both or you will never know peace again.” 

Blinking away tears, striving to make any sense of it all, the fog hovering over his delirious thoughts still, the Radio Demon felt the true electrifying sensation of fear when the strange voice repeated it's mantra, not in a droning timbre but a pleasant lilt.

“But — “

“NO," the unseen Voice instilled with a flat warning, echoing that very same mantra again, Alastor cocking his ears to decipher whomst the voice belonged to, the tendrils knotted inside his ears a forgotten presence —

“If you are not being milked, you will be PUNISHED. 

Disobey me, and your punishment will HURT. 

You do not want to disobey. 

You do not want to be punished. 

You will feed me what you owe, or you will be punished.  

Here, you can find out right now.

You had disobeyed, so you have earned your punishment. You will learn that punishment is bad. 

You want to be GOOD.” 

Apt to resist in ordinary circumstances, even if he were muzzled with a plant monster's tentacle like the present, Alastor wanted to profess that he couldn't offer milk if his body was replete of food, of bed rest — but the monster was already on the move. 

Whereas the mysterious Voice was deliverance, infusing the rattled Radio Demon's stricken consciousness with an overwhelming sense of ( manipulated ) reason and wisdom, Alastor's forgotten judgement had failed to convince him this was out of his control. He had been trained to believe this rendezvous with his newest confidante was the salvation he’d been hunting for. 

Whilst the deer demon felt that the Voice had a firm grasp on what was right for him, the demon's shuttered imagination had never pictured what sort of punishment it was going to be.

Even so, Alastor wasn't about to surrender; half of his mind was fixated on the searing pain in his belly, the deep hunger for his own intake of food, and an intermission from feeding a plant. Rolling his hips, the buck growled, in a forceful effort to disturb the vines’ hold on his pulsing teats. It wasn't the right answer to the persuasive voice inside his head. 

The waiting tentacles behind Alastor rising, they seized the distracted buck around each clenched thigh — propping him to be held face down, ass up, on his bruised knees and his thighs spread to expose his gaping hole, tail listless.

Drops of milk darkening patches in the sand, the third vine formerly dedicated to massaging his prostate, drew back sharply before swinging to smack the deer demon's bared entrance, the ring of muscle fluttering as the stinging swats slapped the tender flesh. Red lines briefly glowing down the swollen bulge of his pinked taint merging with his wearied udders as he cringed in reflex upon each  spank.

Alastor's miserable wails were crisp and reaching several octaves higher as the spanking carried on. Wincing violently on every humiliating wet smack, the recoil vibrating throughout his enervated udders to jostle his softened cock, spurts of milk splattered his belly as a tendril lost it’s grip. Heat was pooling in his gut, the heavy spanks sending bolts of pain centred on his spasming ring, the limbs’ swift pace stopped at a count of thirteen rapid swats.

Breathing raggedly, the Radio Demon urgently trying to pull his scattered thoughts together, he’d cried out as another whiplike smack bounced his ass as he had instinctively pulled away from the displaced sucker reaching out to latch again, the flagging pain in the teat spiking as the vine licked the dilated sphincter to coax out more milk. 

Defeated, or more realistically, trained well, Alastor sunk forward to lay on his chest, wanting to let sleep take charge if he was going to submit to the feeding. In spite of the buck’s tiredness, the creature couldn't drink with the demon flat on his stomach, or be forced to stand. In the time spent once they were to part ways, it was going to have to resolve that problem for the future.

A gentle tug on the buck's tail, and Alastor obediently lifted his ass, sliding back to prop himself on his knees again, yet without the support or imprisonment of the disciplinary tentacles. The pounding aches in his groin and belly hadn't subsided, not yet, occasional contractions of Alastor's barren milk bag even convincing his new Master that he had no more to give, he was truly and utterly spent for real this time. The demon's stomach was rumbling frequently now, needing food of his own, it’d been so long without a proper meal over the duration of the forced milking. Stimulated lactation was an easy feat; sustaining it without the right precautions and fuel made it impossible if not unbearable.

Unravelling it's limbs around Alastor to set him free, momentarily — nudging him to roll over onto his back of his ‘own volition’ with a firm push into his side, shortly Alastor was engulfed by a mass of swarming vines. As the various feelers, suckers, and plain tendrils sloughed off the remnants of the bodily fluids leaving his flushed skin tacky in place of the original mess, Alastor's mind was ablaze. 

Tomorrow.

Soon. 

He had to come back, visit again. Supposing the monster wasn't pleased to see him, after his disrespect? Alastor thought he was thinking clearly, patient while the plant removed traces of their coupling from his body; wincing as it's sinuous limbs caressed his tender body, tweaking a particularly sore spot where his spent cock was flaccid against his empty bag. Already he was feeling an insatiable loss, and he hadn't even left yet.

The thrill of seeing the creature again was coursing through his fatigued body, sitting up with a pained groan to accept the offered bundle of clothes he had folded away neatly before embarking on his “solo’ masturbation agenda.

Of course the Radio Demon hadn't recognised that the plan to return for servicing was of the monster's own invention: the implanted pollen infused inside Alastor's body was maintaining a solid connection with the plant, even with the substantial distance taken into consideration. 

The creature was, meanwhile, tracking it's Pet’s eye movements, his body, assessing the effectiveness of it's Hypnosis. It knew it's Aphrodisiac nectar was a sure thing, and combined with the influence it wieldec through it's binding Light, it was confident it's Pet was planning on returning at the same time the next day. 

In the middle of cleansing the buck's body, it's feelers still embedded inside his cocked ears were whispering direct commands to the malleable demon. Establishing the necessary Hypnosir anchors, bolstering the connection between pleasure and pain — affectionately caressing a bruised teat, vacillating from circling his clenched entrance to cursory plucks at his hardened nipples, the final caress was focused on his worn-out length. Imbuing the Radio Demon's mind with poisonous thoughts — he WANTED to come back, if he ever wanted to anything enjoy anything again, strictly from being milking here — it elaborated on it's grand scheme by slyly letting go a portion of itself to crawl inside the distracted Overlord’s coat pocket. 

The vines and tentacles withdrawn, sliding back into the depths of the foliage covering the cave’s gloomy corner, getting to his feet Alastor had no inclination that the instructions bestowed upon him were anything but his own. 

The silence inside his muddied thoughts was thoroughly authoritative. Loathe to leave, however late it was, some hours had passed — extending a hand to conjure a portal back to his private sanctuary, looking back on the imperturbable plant lurking torpidliy in it’s corner, Alastor felt indebted to his Master acting as his saviour.

Safeguarding their big secret was a daunting task. In the early hours of the next morning, adding an extra gift to the original command was an afterthought, Alastor's idealistic plan was thought to be welcomed by the creature.

After purchasing the original instructed ‘gifts’ he felt was appropriate ( another deception, an implanted suggestion ) was likelier if he were to make his sojourn into the city a private affair, avoiding questions by the Hotel crew. 

It was none of their business what the hotelier was up to in his spare time. 

DAY II

His eyes on the gifts he’d brought — one he had brought along with good intentions, the two other gifts that were in actuality a direct order. Indirectly proffered, the whispers in the Radio Demon's ears were gleaned as his own voice. Succinct as the Voice was, the Hypnotised Overlord had welcomed it. 

Crossing the threshold from the portal inside his Hotel room opened up directly into the mysterious cave, Alastor had felt his gifts would assuredly be welcomed. Only a night had passed, although the hours after dawn broke were fleeting, to the demon it certainly felt like an age already. Time was being wasted — precious time put to better use submitting under the enigmatic creature's firm touch, the buck eager to relive that rapture all over again.

The demon's thoughts were electric this time, as he entered the cave, the portal melding shut behind him. Everything was happening too fast, too much to process, to proceed with a clear head. 

After he had fetched the items he had promised himself to introduce today, Alastor had spent less than an hour at the Hotel's bar in the lobby before he felt the strings beginning to tug, a persistent nagging background noise that may have had something to do with the fact of the matter that he was categorically tipsy. Not pickled, not like his bartender the perpetually soused gambler, nor the spider demon who dabbled in every vice at least oncebefore it was bedtime.

The Radio Demon was sipping from a glass of deserved rye when he'd felt the call.

Pushing away from the bar, taking his drink with him, prompting a quizzical look from Husk and an amused smirk from Angel Dust, the hotelier returned to his room — only to find nothing amiss. Nothing was out of place. There wasn't even the presence of magicks in the air, at least nothing that the Overlord could discern, sober or out.

Setting his now empty shot glass down on the vanity table, Alastor reaching down into the nondescript brown paper bag left on his chair, he took out the first purchased gift to trial it.

Straightening in front of the three mirrors atop the antique vanity, Alastor reached behind his neck to slip on and fasten the buckle of the black leather collar he had bought. The silver tongue wasn't quite so easy to buckle himself, unseen but navigating by touch behind his neck as he watched his reflection in the mirrors. Not even his Shadow doppelganger had been invited to the secretive meeting, nor told about it. Upon his return from the cave yesterday, Alastor was fairly strict in the clean up and eradication of proof that the sinner had been anywhere exciting or controversial.

Lifting his gaze to study his reflection, trailing clawtips over the conditioned leather, following down the curves of the accessory to the D ring resting over the hollow of his throat — snapping the clip of the matching chain leash onto the ring, a smooth voice was without warning filling Alastor's engaged thoughts with the first instructions of the morning. 

Left hanging over the back of the chair in front of him, the Radio Demon's coat was folded in half; a lump shifting inside an inner pocket as the creature's drone-tendril continued to speak. It had made sure first, scanning the room with it's own private magick, to confirm the buck's private sanctuary remained private with nobody else sharing their company.

The lump moving, pulling itself to reposition it's discreet body closer to Alastor's to enjoy the faint heat rising off the demon's body, it's Voice was intoned with enthusiasm — chiefly, entrancement, It wanted to talk of the ecstasy the deer demon was exager to revisit, the new secrets awaiting him, how he would do anything to ensure the second rendezvous was going to even surpass expectations over the first. 

Mind cluttered with everything the creature had given him, recalling not the trauma buried beneath the carefully concealed suppressed memories but the paradise that cave had bestowed, Alastor's attention was gravitating toward the respite the new safe haven lent him. In spite of the unknown thing living in his coat pocket interjecting his concentration on his reflection, suggesting why not drop in now, nobody would be missing him for daylight hours at the most, the clock was ticking… Groggy for reasons unknown to him, his brain fogged up beyond comprehension, Alastor had last night wearily climbed into his welcoming bed as soon as he had returned from the other place that he’d now come to regard as sacred. It's sanctity was to be closely guarded.

Sleeping off the hours of forced milking and orgasm control, the Hypnosis and Aphrodisiacs had taken a heavy toll on the Radio Demon's body. Not used to that much intimate activity acted out on a dime, the deep exhaustion he’d succumbed to the instant he’d gathered himself on the still-made bed, the thing waiting quietly in his coat’s pocket had briefly left the confines of it's chosen prison to explore once it had felt satisfied the Overlord’s deepened breathing verified his slumber.

Comprised of a single tentacle, the piece of the creature had ventured forth to explore the Radio Demon's naked body on it's own, in the dark. 

Completely blind without eyes, it didn't need those primitive organs to see — touch and the power of knowledge was enough.

Slithering, it had determined the edges of the warm body ahead, and determined it's entry point. After so many years exiled to the cave, it needed to sustain itself in the time spent apart from it's main body. Otherwise, it feared it may die out here, too far away from it's body to reunite for refreshment.

Wriggling into the sliver of a gap between rumpled bedding and the buck’s motionless body, the lone tentacle squeezed it's way under it's pet's sleeping form to find a teat. The spent organ shrunken back to it's regular state, the warm organ was however flattened between the weight of his pelvis and the unyielding mattress. Latching onto the first teat the tendril had found was a feat in it's own right; leery of waking up the deer demon, the tendril’s placid suckling was circumspect. Some milk was coming in — the undulation of it's svelte length pressed into Alastor's bony hip and inert udder were unnoticed, nothing of importance to stir the exhausted Overlord's slumber. Breathing deeply, sleeping on his stomach with his arms hugging a pillow to bury his face into it, his sleep wasn't restless. The buck's tail motionless as well, only the slightest indication of his back rising and falling gave away that the Radio Demon wasn't actually dead.

After unable to quench it's desires out of greed rather than truthful hunger, the tendril had sought out the other teat after shortly exhausting the supply in the first quadrant, a sleepy murmur from Alastor had the tendril wriggling back to retreat back to his coat’s pocket.

Upon waking at early dawn, then feeling the beginnings of restlessness, Alastor had noticed the faint throb in his groin, and had leaked a little milk in the night. Embarrassed as this was most definitely not the first time it had happened, after bundling up the soiled sheet for laundry, Alastor had spent time in the shower before getting ready and embarking on the quick excursion into the city for the three gifts. 

The thing in the pocket had accompanied him all the way, and slyly manipulated Alastor's perusal of the BDSM accessories by discreetly touching him through his coat. Either a caress of a hip, or below his navel, recognising the erogenous zones as convenient triggers to work up the Radio Demon's anchored instructions to return to his Master for his rewards. 

A short layover was squeezed into Alastor's shortened time left, purchasing the third gift. The shop and the gift itself, the thing did not understand, but it let him splurge because it made the Pet happy, and keening the Pet happy was paramount to guaranteeing the prized nutrients rich nourishment for itself. The milk it had stolen last night as enough to live on, for the course of a morning, but no longer than that. Maintaining the Radio Demon's simmering arousal was a task better suited for it's main body, in private.

It hadn't any suspicions when Alastor had left his coat behind when he decided to mingle with the other Hotel tenants, a decision the creature was happy to oblige. Left alone to think, it had nothing to do but wait for the deer demon's return so it could instil on him the time had come to recall his promise.

That was why the creature had called the Radio Demon back sooner than it had anticipated, panicked by the fading familiarity of the Overlord's drunken condition. 

Now, reassured that all was well, it wanted to guide the sinner's thoughts back to it's selfish agenda. 

Giving the chain leash a tentative tug, feeling the change in it's weight as he straightened it hard enough to exert pressure on the back of his neck, the hidden thing spoke aloud for the last time, the briefest flicker of remembrance sparking in the buck’s blank eyes. 

“Caged like veal.”

The old-world phrase was all it took for the Radio Demon's pulse to beat hard, sweat prickling the nape of his neck, the leather collar wicking. 

Hurriedly shrugging his coat on, still oblivious to the piece of the creature hiding within it, Alastor picked up the heavy paper bag and summoned the portal that bridged his personal quarters to the safe haven. 

Threatening his first visit back to the cave through a stumble after stepping down from the shimmering portal, quick on the recovery, the Radio Demon's scrutiny of the dim cave was pointless — as soon as the portal evaporated, a strong pair of arms had pulled the Radio Demon into a fond embrace from behind.

The muscular limbs had crossed over the unsuspecting sinner's chest, gliding one large hand down Alastor's stomach, stopping to fondle his crotch shamelessly: the other hand brought up to caress his chest, fingers extended to delicately pick up the chain leash Alastor had left draped over his shoulder. Tracing the lines of the individual links one by one, as if counting them, the figure looming behind Alastor hadn't yet properly introduced itself — but it needn’t have. In the seconds that followed, a pair of tentacles had slunk from the creature's manifested humanoid facade to writhe through the thick fur framing the deer demon's fluffy ears, slithering inside to pick up on communicating with it's Pet — and imbibe him with further demands. 

Clutching the paper bag, Alastor was distracted from presenting the gifts inside it, tipping his head back as the creature's fingers roamed all over his body, fingertips lingering over his chest and belly, the growing bulge in his crotch.

Inside his head, the Voice spoke, acting as if on behalf of the waking desires coming to the surface of Alastor's buzzing mind, his burgeoning arousal stirred by the creature's humanoid form tantalisingly toying with Alastor's hardness.

“You haven't been milked for hours. 

You are desperate for the reprieve. 

It is inconceivable you have waited this long. 

You will never wait this long again. 

You WILL submit to milking, for without it you will suffer unimaginable loss. 

You will not know happiness unless you are being milked. 

Strip.” 

Tilting his pelvis, giving a soft moan, the Radio Demon pushed his groin into the creature's splayed fingers, eager to relieve the pressure that hadn't even yet begun in his rousing sacs. Shifting the paper bag to one hand, pushing his monster's hand out of the way to get to his belt, the Radio Demon fumbling in his hurry to unbuckle his pants one-handed. Hooking his thumb under the belt and waistbands of his pants and briefs, managing to drag them down halfway off one hip, Alastor postponed undressing to unveil the last of the gifts, including the impulsively bought surprise.

Unrolling the folded top and reaching inside, the amused buck had just brought out the new bottle of whiskey sat inside the aluminium  wine ice-pail, the glass still cold — as the two of them were busy enjoying each other, the bipedal monster had started moving the sinner toward the corner where it's real form lay waiting, vines and tentacles gliding out to make furrows in the silvered sand, stopping at the toes of Alastor's hooves.

Previously exhilarated by the unfaltering tremors in it's Pet's thin frame, playing it's fingers over the exposed skin of the buck's midriff as he pulled his shirt free of his pants and belt, an excited shiver rippling through the deer demon's body, the monster hesitated.

It's face canted alongside Alastor's, it's impassive shadowed features twisting into a look of concern, of suspicion… The scent of alcohol wa  acrid on the Overlord’s exhales, the repulsive aroma bringing with it a burst of ajger into the creature’s incensed expression. Seizing Alastor's wrist with it’s own hands, it had by accident made him drop the liquor bottle, the whisky falling from Alastor's grasp to the ground and shatter in two as the fragile glass struck one of the sharp rocks fringing the plant’s groundcover amassed in the corner.

Whilst most of the whisky was immediately soaked into the ground, the sand darkening as the liquid disappeared into the earth. More than a fair amount had splashed, spraying as either droplets onto the leaves and flowers, or nearer to the aroused couple’s crowded feet as heavier splashes. 

As soon as the whisky landed, a haze of smoke steamed up from the sizzling plant, it's skin burning under the spilled whiskey, vines and roots hurriedly drawing back in mingled alarm and searing pain — blooms closing up tight, tentacles coiling into a ball, the monster's humanoid form pulling back on Alastor to retreat a pace from it's injured real self pulling itself back into a dark cavity crack behind a curtain of vines.

At it’s unspoken behest, a team of sinuous leafed vines from the quivering mass of plants huddled in the corner whipped forward to anchor the deer's ankles in place, at first Alastor was too shocked by the rush of events to properly understand just what had happened. In his excitement to please the monster, unaware at the time it had possessed the ability to transform a part of itself, the Radio Demon had wanted to toast the success of their new partnership, in the traditional way. The bucket belonged to the original instructions, but the whisky was his idea. A stupid one.

Eyes sweeping over the plant’s defensive posture, the flowers now invisible, the leaves furled tight, the Overlord was evaluating the distress his last gift had invoked, purely by accident, when a sharp yank on his leash had brought him to stand up on his toes, his pointed hooves sinking a little into the dense sand. His wrists growing numbed and tingling where the monster gripped his arms, it's free hand was finishing the job of stripping Alastor — tugging his briefs further down to cinch around his spread thighs, unzipping the fly, the bulge of his roused udders spilling out partially, his cock softened on the middle seam, the thing in his coat pocket was leaving it's safe space to enforce the Rules. 

Further yanks and bold wriggling under his clothes were torlRn at  he stitching, the seams flapping back to fall at his braced hooves, the vines dragging his ruined coat away to clear the ground.

The Radio Demon shuddered, recognising the incoming discipline, however his panic-stricken thoughts were focused on the conventional method of spanking.

Elongating as it wriggled, then shrinking back, then all over again, the piece of the creature creeping over the loosened strap of Alastor's belt onto his hip, then making it's way south. Disregarding the rise of the udders when he sucked ina deep breath, the thing continued downwards to follow the seam of the organ, resolute.

Shifting uncomfortably in the creature's grasp, the feedback of the detached tendril squirming under his tightened milk bag to slip between his thighs was almost too much. Jerking, a swift swat from the creature’s hand jiggling an udder, Alastor crying out, to close that door on the invasive thoughts filling up his distressed mind it was too late. Squirming in place, panting loudly as he rolled his tongue out to drool, it was impossible to ignore the lone tentacle probing at his clenched painful hole, Alastor whimpering as the probing worked at his throbbing  entrance still hurting and raw from yesterday’s brutal  multiple penetration; an over-excited nuzzling at his rosebud until the Voice hushed into his ears — “ALLOW ME” — so the Radio Demon meekly obeyed, relaxing his body to permit the tentacle entry.

Burying it's nose in, the thing propelled itself inside, making sure that half it's length was left outside Alastor's fluttering ring, anchoring it's tail to the slope of the buck's taint.

There, it began to rub furiously at the Radio Demon's prostate, feeling it immediately respond to the abrupt stimulation inside and out.

The Radio Demon had instantaneously bore down on the wriggling intrusion, gasping, rolling his hips forward until another smack to both udders elicited a pained groan. Breathless again, Alastor’s lucid thoughts were ablaze, his untrained hole shuddering, arousal radiating from the rubbed prostate into his lower gut — the swell of his udders tightening, heat rising, the deer demon couldn't do anything but allow the tentacle to abuse his prostate, massaging it in order to expedite the production of milk. It was by far the fastest way to encourage it; regular nursing was second, but the most natural, A deep blush reddening his cheeks, salty tears burning, Alastor's limp ears shook as the subtle rocking of his pelvis grew from a succinct tremor to a rhythmic and feral pace.

This was all about punishing the Radio Demon, for jeopardising a collection of his milk. Tainted with alcohol that clearly hurt the plant, overstimulating the buck to force a yield out of him before the proper harvest could commence, was a great opportunity to better train the demon about the simple rules guarding their tradeoff. Refusing to let the deer enjoy the crude milking, the tentacle barreled past Alastor's threshold for it by insisting on rubbing that knot even after the Radio Demon had came on his own belly. Ribbons of seed splattering his stomach and heavy udders, the relentless undulation inside his spasming hole was fraying Alastor's endurance.

Frantic moans trailing off, Alastor's chest and bely heaving, finally the separate tentacle had ceased it's ministrations. Absolutely still inside the deer demon's rear, Alastor's arousal past it's peak, it's intensity leaving him disorientated and limp, the stuffed feeling from having the thing plugging him like an ordinary butt-plug was building up the impression that he was truly owned, claimed exclusively. 

Breathing hard, his pulse slowing down, the Voice in his ears answered the unspoken questions that the creature had predicted the  sinner was going to say. The vines rustling amongst his thick fur, gently rubbing in circular motions the tensed muscles pinning his ears back, it's tone betrayed by the hard edge of flint as it whispered it's next commands. 

“You know you've been a GOOD BOY. You had only made one mistake.  

You will pay for what you owe. Again.  

Every time you waste milking, you will be Punished. 

You will visit me if you want to be milked. You will not know happiness until you do.  

Now, you will pay your dues. 

Obey.“ 

Whining plaintively, Alastor knew the discipline was deserved, he had to endure. But that knowledge didn't lessen the pain it caused him, the unwavering implications that by trying to do right by his master, that he'd made things worse.

Made to lean forward, the monster's hands guiding the demon's to brace against the close cave wall, claws splayed and his legs tugged further to stand shoulder-width apart by the vines securing his ankles to the ground firmly without any slack. Then, those adept fingers reaching around the Radio Demon's hips to yank his pants and underwear firmly down to pool around his knees, locking his posture to stiffen as he faced the wall — his skin prickling with anxiety as he felt the monster's wet tongue flick at the juncture of his neck, the vines cradling his head growing still as the monster made a series of deliberated movements behind him. 

Bent forward slightly, Alastor kept his eyes locked onto a random spot on the wall; pulse racing faster, fear rising, Alastor did not object when the monster lifted his tail to expose his buttocks, the authoritative handling sparking a violent shiver up his spine. Chewing on his bottom lip in apprehension, the Radio Demon tasted the metallic tang of blood when he'd suddenly bitten it as a slender tentacle was gliding down between his asscheeks, moving into the cleft separating his inner thighs and arcing up in front to cradle his full udders, it's tip nosing his navel absently. 

In the same movement as if it were an individual limb, the monster had dropped one hand to fondle the Radio Demon's right udder, thumbing the fat teat to tease out a dollop of cream. The other hand supporting the buck’s upper half with a solid hold on his leash bringing his head back, Alastor hadn't any idea what was going to happen, but therein was the strength of the new Pet’s resolve that regardless whatever his master did to him, it was deserved, And Alastor had made a promise, as he closed his eyes tight, readying himself for the incoming pain, that he would never cross the creature ever again.

“I know you won’t,“ that Voice intoned with a higher level of smugness, as the creature brought back the tentacle splitting his buttocks to press it's smooth skin into Alastor's taint, Alastor's dread spiking — “ You will learn the hard way to understand good manners.” 

Without another ounce of warning, the monster suddenly drove the single tentacle back to sweep between Alastor's legs, effortlessly grinding it's sinuous muscle back and forth rapidly to floss the incredibly tender curves of the buck's throbbing organ and cleft, the vigorous pumping prompting Alastor to rise up higher on his toes — except he had only succeeded in pitching forward by a fraction of what he wanted to do, his keening whines bursting into wretched BLEATS, miserable gasps interjected as the creature's fingers encircled a bloated teat to painfully milk it directly over the aroused tip. Pinching the twitching sphincter shut in recurrent motions, timing the forced extraction with the frenzied but evenly paced thrusts of the tentacle dividing his inner thighs and asscheeks.

The rough thrusts were rocking the Radio Demon on his hooves kept firmly planted, more vines creeping up to ensnare more of the buck's trembling calves. The incessant friction was chafing the deer demon's sensitive flesh, the soft skin rubbed raw and throbbing with combined want and pain altogether stupefying the humiliated demon. 

Each pump unified with the strong fingers and thumb periodically squeezing the teat, fresh — but liquor-tainted — milk was streaming out in spurts, painting the cave wall white with the foamy milk. Alastor couldn't help watching himself be forced to let his milk down, watch how his precious fluid was being wasted all because the Overlord had no sense of self control. It was supposed to be reserved for feeding the creature — not mindlessly thrown away.

The puddles of milk was starting to spread, the squirts of the new feeding the mess to inch outwards along where the rocks were breaking up the foot of the wall. 

The Radio Demon's organ becoming warmer, the pinched teat blushing a darker pink as the digits stubbornly continued to pull on the irritated flesh. The sore organ divided by unspent lust and forced milking, Alastor was squirming, arching his back in order to gain a reprieve from the punishment. 

The monster refused to give into It's Pet's pleas, intent on chasing up the inexcusable discretion bringing an alcoholic beverage to ‘share’, or drink it alone. The alcoholic content was more than inappropriate for plant-life — It had to make sure that the wilful Radio Demon nevermade a mistake like that again.

As the punishment went on, each forward thrust of the tentacle compressing the buck's udders to express milk with a hard pinch, only one of the two teats were seen to. The pain was intensifying for him, as was the visuals of spilling so much, yet the creature was unemotional and expressionless. 

Smelling the odour of booze on It's Pet's breath was due to trigger another round of discipline, most likely repeat the milking on the other full teat — but the monster had considered Alastor had by now repented for his crime, strove to fix his outstanding flaws. 

The Radio Demon was panting feverishly long after the monster had ceased the discipline; slipping the tentacle to embrace the pulsating udders, curling it's tip to rub consoling caresses into the abused flesh. Broken out in a cold sweat, Alastor winced, straining to hear the next bit of advice from the strange Voice.

None came.

A tickling feeling creeping up, Alastor hadn't bothered to tear his gaze away from the shock of the milk plastered over the well. He knew the touch well. 

It belonged to a cluster of tentacles making their way up his body, twining around his trembling legs and hips, darting to possessively cradle his drained organ, sweeping over his leaking cock and lovingly stroking his lethargic body. Ignoring the sheet of milk glazing his resilient flesh, kneading gently the sore areas where the rough thrusts had bruised his skin, Alastor was too tired to reconsider the brazen moans of gratitude, the appreciation for teaching him better manners — rolling his hips, softly grinding into the fondling tendrils, a swift smack stinging where his thighs met his buttocks quickly stopped that — a new touch tracing his dry lips had the deer demon loyally part his lips obediently to admit the ribbed siphon.

Pushing past over his tongue, settling over the rising swell at the back of throat, a stiffened jolt of the siphon-vine and it was shortly after pumping a constant stream of it's potent Aphrodisiac.

Gulping down the sweetened, warmed nectar like it was going out of fashion; lips pursed around the thick shaft, leaning more forward earnestly, kneading his claws into the solid rock, Alastor's long tail was wagging excitedly, his ears pinned back and quivering with the shivers tingling his whole malnourished frame. The lewd gulps were loud, unabashed; Alastor drinking the esteemed reward with abandon,  lids half-lowered in ecstasy as he drank.

The tendrils affectionately caressing his shrunken bag were lively, the opposite of the Radio Demon's drowsiness. The progressive rubs were easing the buck's tension, encouraging the feel-good hormones through the stirring of new milk production, and feeding the impoverished buck with a one of a kind nectar that would break his addiction to liquor. As the demon continued to suckle, rivulets of the golden nectar winding down his jaw line, attentive tendrils sweetly stroking his undulating throat with knuckled tips to assist with the hastened swallows like the Overlord didn't know how to quench his thirst. 

Another knuckled set gently nudging an awakened teat to test his resilience — the heat pooling in his gut was filling, the surplus Aphrodisiac strengthening the demon's arousal as efficiently as it satisfied his hunger for a feed. 

An Indignant growl when the siphon eventually withdrew, one of the tendrils curled inside an ear moving fast to pinch, Alastor relented. 

Feeling nausea sweep over him briefly, licking his lips nervously, Alastor turned his head to follow the first instruction since the retribution’s scolding had ended; the vines securing his ankles loosening to free his legs.

Indisposed to move, a firm tug on the leash had the trained Radio Demon moving there and then. No hushed commands were given, no prompt directions to guide the way — only the unyielding tug on his chain had the Overlord moving of his ‘own’ volition.

Following the taut chain was the only guide he needed; walking steadily, albeit slower than presumed because of the rough punishment, the wet clothes sticking to his skin in perspiration and spent milk.

A stop was made on the way back to the monster's den — the leash grew slack once they had reached the tree stump in the center of the cave, and a second harshertug on the chain bade Alastor to hold his shins tightly, bending over to present his faintly blushed backside to the stump.

It wasn't the stump itself that moved — it was only a dead tree — the monster Itself taking a pace back behind Alastor, dipping a free hand into the bowl of nectar, it brought up a palm of the amber fluid to slick the buck's painful rear, and deeper between his spread thighs.

The cold sap oozing, it slid into every crevice, cooling the inflamed skin where the tentacle flossing had rubbed raw. Grimacing, Alastor's strangled gasps were hoarse, accepted as simple reactions to his seared flesh slicked with the curative sap, arching his back as the monster slid two fingers into his anus to rub more inside. The greased fingers working at his inner ring, occasionally spreading him, Alastor had to suppress the urge to ride those questing digits, the temptation lost partially because he understood it’d turn out to be a savage spanking, and partially because the fingers exited to tease his taint, rubbed hard into his responsive body. The sap sticky, only a handful of the Aphrodisiac dripping off his warmed udders and inner thighs, the monster finished mitigating the worst of the pain with a few more lingering rubs before a tap above his tailbone together with a hearty yank on the least prompted the Radio Demon to stumble forward to follow.

There was no hesitation even as the chain, the monster at the other end of it, pulled him across the thick bed of vines and roots, the plants moving out of the way where necessary to permit the Radio Demon's sharp hooves bared clearance to step.

At the back of the cave’s corner was a darker space, previously disregarded as shadows from a crack in the rockface.. This was not so. Concealed behind the heavy layer of greenery and climbing roots, revealed a dark tunnel. The cavity was just slim enough to admit a single body through, one at a time; the monster went first, leading Alastor by the leash. Navigating the darkness within was effortless due to the sinner's nocturnal eyesight, his lens flashing green as he looked up from the bare terrain of the smooth ground to meet his Master's — the creature blank, internally conscientious of any alarming signs the Radio Demon may not have disguised in the fallout of hid impromptu punishment.

The deer demon's own expression was undeniably anxious, but it belied an eagerness to please. Looking forward to a reward after the brutal punishment, the distinctive absence of the Voice was in light of the heartening developments from hereon then was overlooked as meaningless, It surely meant he had done everything right. 

The nectar massaged inside him a distant ache as he moved, his steps grown more critical, stooping lower to enter the narrowed tunnel, at times turning halfway to pass a sharp outcrop, the demon and the monster emerged into an open space not as tail as the main lair’s cave, but more open with no jutting rock formations or dead trees, except for a newly formed addition to the monster's home at the other end. 

Not exactly in the middle of the claustrophobic room, but it had space all round the sides, so the new structure was recognised as none other but a milking stall.

The stanchion was raised off the ground by less than a foot, a slope at the open mouth of the stall free of debris. Smooth ground, hardpacked soil instead of the glistening sand, the stall in particular bore a substrate of softened moss-covered turf, possibly something better described as peat than solid dirt. Stray roots arcing over the gnarled wooden slats making up the two side boards; these flanked Alastor as another stern tug on the chain motivated him to enter the stall, going down onto his knees, then reaching the other end on his hands jointly. The end of the stall was open save for two thickened boards adjacent to the buck's encroaching antlers, as soon as his head was past the gap both plankr at once slotted sideways parallel to the trapped Radio Demon’s upturned neck, acting as a yoke to keep him pinned in place.

Surprised, pulling back with a start, a panicked bleat escaping his still-Aphrodisiac moistened lips, the subsequent dropping of the Hypnosis Lantern had materialised out of the darkness, casting it's strong light directly into the Overlord's stricken face.

Pulling back again, rattling the stuck-fast boards with his shoulders, it was a fleeting moment of despair before Alastor fell straight back into the Trance, the stiffness leaving his clenched fingers and limbs, his paled features smoothing out into a docile expression, his incensed shock dissolved into submission.

The Lantern held it's position, mere inches from the enamored Radio Demon's face, lighting up his face and body through the gaps in the stall’s frame. The chain leash clinked as the monster drew it higher to loop under and over the tie-railing above, the loose length dangling to Alastor's left out of reach outside the enclosure.

Inevitably, the same yellow and black swirling vortex returned to Alastor's transfixed eyes, the lids widened as if he had without warning absorbed some incomprehensible morsel of knowledge that the creature had gifted, knowledge that was indispensable. 

The spirals swirling, no begging or an end, the Radio Demon's vacant stare did not move from the fixed target dawdling so close to his face. The colour returning to his cheeks, the stripped emotions welling up inside, Alastor hadn't even noticed when additional tentacles had slipped down and up his pants’ legs, severing the fabric at the seams to drop away at his knees, other vines manifested to yank his waistband lower to bunch as far as they could go, stretched around his bent knees. The nectar had turned his skin glossy, the reddened blush of his rear and the slope of his udders disappearing between his thighs quickly covered by the growing mass of vines enveloping the buck's body — eliciting a startled noise from the deer demon as a pair of thin feelers were gliding over his back to arc under his ribcage, his back stiffened as the pair sought out his chest, closing in on the two nipples.

Corkscrewing tightly around the soft buds, the feelers calmly squeezing, then increasing the tempo to swallow the stiffening peaks inside their peeled maws; the damp warmth suckling, the unyielding suction was sensational, Alastor's breath hitching for the dozenth time that morning, an unexpected shrill cry escaping his clenched jaw as another group of vines belted themselves around his lower back and stomach, sending more feelers creeping over his skin to knead and suck, kiss across his twitching navel and stomach, the longest vine curling around the root of his stirring member to pick it up in a firm hold. Twisting around the shaft, the flexible tip coiled flushed against his cockhead, the vine’s ribbed shaft and soft leaves were soft and hard together, the shaft rubbing up and down Alastor's length, the coiled end anchored over his leaking slit rubbing the aroused head.

Alastor's surprised cry a one-off, the wave of piteous moans coming out of him were prolonged, the vines hugging his slim frame tighter under it's coils granting him some friction as the vine stroked his cock to thicken, his shaft throbbing with need.

The Lantern steadfast, it’s projected light glowing brighter, the beam narrowing to a single shaft illuminating Alastor's eyes at the same time as one, the leafy buds burrowed inside his head fidgeting, unfurled it's leaves to wrap around the sagging list of the buck's ears, in small doses massaging the muscles making up his ears, progressing to in indulgent yet tenderhearted squeezes as it spoke firmly inside his spinning brain, it's Voice strict and cajoling, more than a tinge of overprotective greed in it's controlled temper. 

Staring blankly back into the blinding light, taking a deep breath through flared nostrils, the vines’ leaves rustling as his earplugs swelled, Alastor's voice matched the Voice’s instructions outloud, feeling an empty hollow begin to ache in the pit of his groin, in spite of the fact that he had quaffed an impressive amount of the plant’s nectar mere minutes ago. 

Even then, the heavy feeling spreading to engulf his udders, acutely aware of a heavy presence materialising right behind his backside;  neither struck fear in him, Alastor's eyes rolling back into his head — gritting his teeth, the monster's skilled fingers reaching below his belly to grope, the Radio Demon's stutter didn't impact his repeating his Master's instructions. 

“REPEAT. You will obey.” 

“I will obey.”

“You love being milked.”

“I love being milked.”

“You will give your all.” 

“I will give my all.”

“You cannot stop unless I will it.” 

“I will not stop unless you will it.”

“You love being milked. You will be milked, until I am satisfied. You will only produce the finest milk. Your worth is your milk. 

You will ONLY come to me for milking. You love it. You will do as I say…”

During this, the creature's fingers were in the first instance skimming the deer demon's hips, roaming lower, thereafter fondling the udders — pointed fingertips sinking into the pulsating bag, in a short time palpating the throbbing organ to encourage milk coming in. 

Alastor's eyes were fluttering erratically, the piercing light stubbornly keeping the Overlord's sight fixated on it's radiant beam: the ruthless kneading at his groin sending an intense surge of oxytocin to swamp his sound understanding of the bizarre circumstances. The Radio Demon had never had roleplay deveop this much, a milking stall and everything, although getting serviced on his hands and knees was not an innovative experience. His breathing coming faster, more ragged, the unprecedented level of the radiating hormones flooding his drained body was more than intoxicating. The hands at the start delicately fondling his pulsating udders, moving onto vigorous strokes coming closer to the stirring teats — the Radio Demon's gasps split into a drawn out, desirous stag’s bawl, both thumbs and forefingers forcing the first stream of milk out in a bold pump of the organ, stripping the teats down and bellying the heavy organ on the return pinch.

The first spray of fresh milk had splattered Alastor's forearms and chest, the tilt of the swollenteat misfired in the creature's fervent jerks, his udders filling up under the duress of the forced stimulation, the fingers clutching the pair coming to a sudden stop, the trapped milk increasing the pressure inside the swelling nipples. 

Grinding his backside into the monster's belly, or whatever was pressed close to his rump, Alastor's gasps remained shrill, digging his claws deeper into the ground in frustration, arching his back in an exaggerated display of willingness to mate, his fluffy tail straining backwards in an offering of his attractive ass.

The creature hadn't in fact forgotten about the vital detail; Alastor had to be bred to induce milk, and this wasn't a fact it loathed at all. Fucking the buck's tight ass was a marvellous gamble, exploring the demon's insides and fulfilling his carnal delights to guarantee the prized milk his unusual body produced — the trade off was mutually rewarding,

It however was not the time yet to breed; pulling the wriggly buck closer to It's large body, keeping one set of fingers and thumb pinching a teat, the other hand busied lustily massaging the other half of the bloated organ, often interjecting the firm rubs with a sprightly succession of swats to the ends of the nipples, pulling an anguished bawl again from the desperate buck. The Voice's instructions resonating in his head, Alastor didn't want to understand why the creature wasn't yet fucking him stuffed to burst — he was desperate to have the milking happen before his full organs relieved of the annoying weight, the exhilarating thrill of being milked unrealised.

Moaning, the sinner rutting his pelvis blatantly into the kneading hands, not minding the stinging coming from his chest as the suckers there speeded up their ardent suckling, Alastor's brazen push for his promised reward was met with a sharp slap to his throbbing cock, the vine holding it stilling it's subtle pumps to cinch tightest around the base. The Radio Demon's overreaching arousal unsatisfied, inching his trembling thighs further apart as he did his best to lift his ass higher, his shoulders pinned into the boards flanking his neck, the buck's final appeal for the glorified reward was addressed — the scrape of the metal pail slid haphazardly in front of his knees, the satisfaction that came with the first squirts of milk jetting into the dry tin was music. 

The wispy feelers nuzzling his stomach, tracing the hard hollows and curves of his thin frame with gentle kisses, licks moistening his sweat-bathed skin, the Radio Demon couldn't return the affections, tethered the way he was. Although the temptation was there, showing his appreciation for the never ending praise was out of his reach — the commanding Light was all powerful, drawing him into a world of bliss, the buck's guttural groans the bare minimum effort be was allowed to do. Curling his claws into the soil, keening, he pushed his rear back again, seeking the warmth usually associated with a living body. There was a body, that of the creature's summoned form, yet without the warmth. The plant monster had the bearings of a living, organic creature; the similarities ended with the lack of a beating pulse. 

Hissing past clenched teeth, Alastor raised his ass still higher, dipping his shoulders the lowest he could achieve, accomplishing the best depiction of an animal in heat, lusting to be taken raw — the yellow and black vortex swirling steadily, the Radio Demon's rumbled purr was cut short with a cruel yank on his flashing tail — one hand disappeared from fondling his heaving organ to stretch the tail painfully back, the second hand never straying from cradling the swollen udders.

Hefting the weight, teasing a teat with a thumb, the creature's body was actually melting — transforming. The humanoid shape was changing, sinking down to grow new vines, roots climbing over the stall’s boards and the flattened ground, the creature's hands turning over into vines free of irritating fronds and thorns. 

The center mass of the creature's body, where it's alternate form’s abdomen used to be, was pressing into Alastor’s offered ass, a group of different sized vines clinging to his sweaty skin and hooked over his hips, his quivering thighs. The suckers undisturbed by the rapid transfiguration had sustained suckling the hotelier’s sore nipples, casting more feelers out to futilely seek more protrusions to suck, skirting his belly button and settling for the glob of fluids dripping from his weeping cock.

The vine withholding Alastor's climax from him with another squeeze on the root, tapping the engorged slit, exciting the new feelers to stroke his throbbing shaft and the reddened crown, Alastor had all of a sudden dropped in height, pushing his shoulders and collarbone painfully into the rough hewn boards — a multitude of varigated vines had been probing at his tight hole, an ongoing torture without penetration, when out of his Hypnotised dreams and into real life had those four vines without warning RAMMED deep inside his yearning body.

The four broad girths of vines were studiously pumping into his spasming entrance, stretching his core to the brink of fissures tearing, pulling an anguished yet satisfied bugle of arousal out of the Radio Demon.

The coordinated plunge had vanquished the rising emptiness numbing his core; the subsequent rhythmic rocking sending wave after wave of pleasure, temporarily lifting Alastor’s limp knees and shins off the ground on the onset of every thrust inside,  Alastor’s bruised ring stretched wide around the group of thick limbs. 

Twisting as they fucked him hard, their entwined lengths were dragging and gliding over his inflamed prostate in frequent bursts of  quickened pumps, the buck's ragged grunts wet with arousal, strings of drool swaying from Alastor's slackened lips. The vortex contained within his eyes had erupted into a new psychedelic display, zig-zags of green supplementing the circular swirls of obsidian and gold. 

The feral fucking wasn't the main course: full to leak on their own, the Radio Demon's lactating udders were dripping, the breeding instigating the flow of milk in a new volume. The yield of milk was in dire need of release, the fat droplets of escaped nourishment escalated to frequent squirts of milk; altogether too much was left to drain into the soil, or tracking along Alastor's shuddering body to slick his skin. The hand originally holding his tail out of the way, turned into another vine with the others, slunk over his bony hip to catch a swinging teat to pinch the base — the other former hand still clutching it's own half since the beginning of the entrapment, both coiled tightly over and under the tightened milk bag — the Radio Demon's shrill bleat signalling the first explosive yield, the twin sprays of milk splattering the buck's churning abdomen and his sprawled forearms, arcs of spent white froth gathering on the high points of his elbows and prominent ribcage. The second or third squirts were aimed proficiently into the bucket brought into the hidden tunnel — thereafter, the next streams of fresh milk hitting the pail was like a broken record, the repeated sharp noise of fluid on a hard surface’s contact augmenting the hypnotic trance the Radio Demon was lost in. 

Drooling, absolutely and positively drunk on the exhilaration of being milked, despite how unpleasant first then undoubtedly painful overmilking was, the Overlord’s mind was in pieces, perpetually drowning in the aroused delights.

The vines relentlessly pulling and squeezing his throbbing teats, the pulsating udders barely undulating under the forced milking because of the unaccustomed amount of overstimulated milk trapped. The overfull bag was drawn tight to Alastor's loins and belly, the slicked sides chafing the deer demon's inner thighs as the four vines continued to pump into his throbbing ass, gliding over his aching gland in punishing plunges. 

The milking was uncompromising, the rhythmic rocking and squeezing unbroken as Alastor fought for a second release of a different kind — the solitary vine withholding his cock's load was getting past the barrier of the Hypnosis, at first Alastor's irritated whines ignored, the suckers lazily circling the twinging head, lapping at the trickle of translucent fluid.

Tail wagging madly, his bleeding hole fluttering, at long last did the monster notice it's Pet's rising distress.

The Radio Demon was pawing his hooves and knees into the ground, pushing his arms against the base of the boards locking his neck: lowering his upper half, the buck was straining to find friction, an agonised gasp breaking his incessant panting, an accidental bump from one of the vines toying with his udders had provided a brief respite. The veins bulging, the spongy flesh pinched by the vine was changing colour as the sensitivity escalated to new heights — the limb refused to let him climax until it had deemed him worthy, increasing the power of the so-called Reward. 

The pace established, the four vines thrusting, glazed with slick and sap, broken leaves sticking to the Radio Demon's glossy skin, the plant had a few more rules to enforce before the final release.

Sweeping under his belly, a free vine dodging the squirming tendrils working at his bruised nipples, navel, and bloated organ, this last vine’s job was to preserve the purity of the expressed milk.

Nosing it's way, using Alastor's chest and abdomen as a volatile guide, this vine upon reaching the stiffened cock twitched, flicking it's tongue quizzically into the cock’s oozing slit — a frantic buck of his hips had the creature pulling Alastor's tail not rigid over his back, but straightened in the opposite direction, over the pumping vines. The extra leverage lending the four vines better traction, earnestly thrusting shallower to pound the deer's prostate in punishment, Alastor’s high pitched squeal winning him much slower but much harder fucking, his fur bristling in awe of the intensified plunges pounding his spasming inner walls and loosened hole.

The vine assigned to his inflamed cock latching onto the bobbing head ( he squealed again ) slowly swallowed the throbbing seven-inch length by half-inch degrees, the vine’s shaft turning translucent as it's rubbery flesh stretched over the Radio Demon's hard cock like a condom. Once it had sheathed him to the hilt, it's lips sweeping the hot flesh of the udders expanded below, the vine only had to send a ripple down it's own length to encourage Alastor to let go — notwithstanding the fact that it hadn't given him permission to come till now. 

The buck's back stiffening, Alastor's spine then curving outwards, his grating wail accompanied the extra thick loads of cum he shot straight into the guzzling maw, the vine milking his erection just like it had nursed previously on milk, however less greedily. It was slow going, drinking his seed, but in doing so it avoided the dilemma of contaminating the full pail of milk that was dripping over the sides under his rocking torso.

The steady suction on his pulsating length was the pinnacle of his climax, if only for a brief period, the vine drawing on his spasming cock for the alternative feed. The salty seed was an expected necessity of corrupting a new Pet, but seeing as this deer demon had possessed a pair of intoxicating udders, it was something that the creature was happy to overlook. Savouring the memory of the demon's revitalising milk wasn't enough, it HAD to have him, it kept on reminding itself even as it's multiple vines were still impaling him at a furious pace. 

Feeling the demon's walls contract, the creature's rhythmic pumps slowed to a crawl, giving the Radio Demon a reprieve so he could fully appreciate the intensifying blowjob celebrating his flagging member.

The low moans and frequent gasps were being taken over by pained, dubious pleads, hips jerking, the intent vine sucking his erection dry to the final thinned drop — then it hadn't quit, not yet. Milking the seven jerking length had the vibe swallow the member all the way, it's rippling lips steadily squeezing the base of Alastor's shaft to try and coax more fluid out. His slit beginning to burn, the relentless suction forcing him to cry out louder, that vine opposed to an actual proper release of it’s firm grip had just held latched on, yet without the friction or suckling to induce a third climax. The first two had come in rapid succession, the orgasms making Alastor clench down on the vines filling his rear, the feelers roaming over his belly, the suckers taking futile turns at feeding off his nipples, the highs of the climaxes shuddering the Radio Demon's body to a blinded state of fatigue.

Not really blind, but after seeing the new kaleidoscope of brilliant stars, coupled with the Hypnosis Trance dulling his eyesight to everything but the assortment of sexual pleasures surrounding his body's erogenous zones, Alastor couldn't have been happier.

Except for the appalling fact that the creature hadn't yetmilked him to render him depleted, his full organ impotent and lifeless without the required nursing.

As long as his Master was taking It’s full share of the prized sustenance, Alastor wasn't going to know peace, thanks to the strict Trance — the organ was liable to face injury, the likelihood of internal damage from bursting for lack of service was a fate he never wanted. 

Thinking he ought to say something, when the hotelieg had tried this, nothing had come out besides a repetition of the formerly echoed commands, Alastor's strained voice now hoarse and cracked with his needs.

The oxytocin was receding, the lengthening lull in tbe postponed milking taking it's hard toll on the desperate buck. The vines paused under his belly and between his thighs were waiting, trickles of escaped milk splattering their inert bodies as the four largest vines stuffing his core very slowly began picking up it's pace — initially at a snail's pace, a subtle wriggling motion inside his cramping bowels, then the speed was picking up. The hurried undulation of all four vines weren't plunging deeper into the deer demon anymore, but in measured swells squirted shots of it's special nectar straight into his throbbing core. The warmth of the viscous fluid was filling him up rapidly, the four squirts not quite simultaneous with one another, their combined efforts effectively satisfying the buck's body that he had been bred at last, a helpful but not truly required component of the deer's milk production. 

The spurts of the amber fluid welling up in his throbbing entrance, his stretched passage filled to the max with vine and the Aphrodisiac, Alastor's guttural bawl was fading into obscurity — the hotelier sinking down again to wriggle his ass to tempt his imagined Sire for another go.

Relishing the fullness of his painful core and groin wasn't enough to reach maximum satisfaction, no matter how much those vines were intent on hammerinu his swollen prostate; the heavy udders quivering between his sprawled thighs were in dire need of milking. Blinking lethargically, energy drained from the forced orgasms, Alastor made another attempt to speak, “ Please, I LOVEbeing milked, I —”his beseeching tone shortly quelled by a tentative caress of his bloated sacs. The slicked organ heaving, while the buck hunched his back to roll his pelvis forward in longing, he whimpered as a feeble warning that his time was running out. 

It made no difference to the creature, it's vines lugging themselves free of his gaping entrance: the bruised cavity oozing some blood, the reddened void leaking the ejaculatd gold nectar to gush at the first moment of dismounting him.

The afterglow of his multiple climaxes still washing over his sapped body in great rolling shudders and an infrequent bounce of his cock still buried inside the other vine's damp maw, the passion in how the original vines recommenced stripping his swollen teats swiftly before skipping the second half of the preliminary process to latch snugly onto his full bag had pretty much made Alastor delirious with love for the plant.

Two sinuous vines a piece, the tendrils encircling the fat nipples had restored their original tempo of pumping the sacs to jet the treasured milk. The streams of pure white nourishment sprayed directly into the squirming mass of tentacles and vines both gathering to enjoy the luxury it's Pet had ‘volunteered’ to give away, the roiling carpet of serpentine tendrils remaining flat so as not to disturb the Radio Demon's immersion in the unparalleled ecstasy, his pleasure daunting, as the four vines focused on their unflinching tugs. The expressed milk was coming faster than previously, the hot squirts igniting the fervour in the wriggling mass, their undulating slicked forms breaking off into smaller groups of excited tentacles, overcome by the rich sweetness of the buck's milk.

Each spray did not seem enough to placate the creature, it's assortment of limbs having limited options to drink from it's Pet. As talented as the deer demon's anatomy was, the lack of more opportunities to nurse his Master was a grave misfortune for them all. If he had different anatomy better suited for the extended nursing, the cool down period dividing their planned rendezvous might have been shorter, which in the Radio Demon's Hypnotised mind recalled a made-up memory of even greater carnal pleasures. 

Alastor's furtive whines coming higher pitched again, the alternate pulls on his engorged teats bumping his swallowed member in accelerating clashes in demonstration of the creature's hunger, he couldn't take the ‘slow’ pace any longer.

Heart pounding like a drum, the Radio Demon in a valiant effort shoved his weight forward — ramming the boards hard with his shoulders, hairline fractures splitting the wood, these decayed planks were in danger of completely breaking down. Splinters flying when next he’d threw his weight in wrenching himself backwards, the sides of his skull scraping the edges of the wood, carelessly getting his head stuck, almost scalping hmself as his ears snagged on the upcycled wood.

The Lantern suspended in front of his nose had been startled by the gruff display of apparent insubordination, the deeper furrows raked into the damp peat under his fingers filling with the spent milk as he clawed the soil in exasperation, nostrils flaring to huff in anger. The pressure was still building up inside his groin and belly, tucking his tail between his tensed legs in rebellion, the swelled udders flushed in arousal, deprived of the intense milking he felt hadn't been awarded thus far.  

The Vortex spiralling slower, the mixed colours changing direction, the Radio Demon had unwittingly interrupted the Hypnosis, his Trance faltering under the exertions of not a genuine attempt to escape but a petulant call for attention, the misbehaviour demanding an immediate answer NOW,

The deer hadn't stopped his meddling after realisation had dawned on him how his poor impulses had gotten him well and truly stuck; rattling the boards, groaning, some thin trickles of scarlet were making tracks in the hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

It just wasn't FAIR — he had done everything that his Master had bade him to do, besides the bad idea involving the celebratory toast, but what else had he done wrong to justify this delay? The milk wasn't going anywhere. The pressure becoming increasingly more severe as the seconds passed, the sluggish (how he had seen it) milking wasn't satisfying. The extra fuck had stirred his body to produce more nourishment than he could have expressed in time — these frightening thoughts causing Alastor's mind to reel in panic, his choked whimpers and begging coming out as fast as he used the weight of momentum to at long last break the stall’s boards locking his neck, hauling himself back to just stop short of leaving the milking stall with a strangled noise.

The chain leash had pulled taut, the short chain yanking his collar up and biting into the underside of his jaw. The tie-bar holding strong, Alastor braced himself inside the stall, at least managing to get one  leg outstretched beyond the stall’s open entrance/exit, digging the heels of his palms into the peat in outright rejection of the disappointing stall. Putting all the weight he could muster into his hands and knees, trying to break the chain, the creature had crept back it's vines and tentacles to retreat. Temporarily. 

“PLEASE, you PROMISED—!” 

Alastor's overwrought plea was sincere, his ears pinned to his bleeding scalp, the angry tears still shedding, despite blinking rapidly the Vortex swirls remained a sure sign his Trance was in full effect. It was the demon's incensed feelings of defeat that had him fleetingly break a gap in the spell, his immensely strong personality eroding the monster's powerful Hypnosis for an instant. 

The tendrils reassembled to the cramped sides of the narrow stall, uneasy but not that judgemental of the buck’s implications that It had let him down, the creature had a mind to put him through another lesson in discipline. Sensitive to the overwhelming distress coming off the squirming buck in waves, the seemingly endless trickling of milk leaking unbroken from the inflamed teats, the creature had to convince itself to restrain from overstimulating the hot and bothered buck. V

The four vines weren't reallocated back to the milking, their white-streaked bodies whipping out to snare Alastor's wrists together in tight coils, pulling his arms together to straighten and lift his shoulders high. Some pressure was eased off the unyielding pinch of the leather collar, spittle spraying as Alastor gasped loudly, in shock as unexpected pain — the vine bulbs plugging his ear canals had out of the blue inflated sharply, piercing the snug channels with shallow indentations from miniature thorns.

Just as piercing was the austere Voice repeating it's practised mantra of order back to him, it's deafening vehemency drilling into the Radio Demon's disorientated mind as he panted breathlessly between choking out the commands aloud. 

“ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ฿Ɇł₦₲ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ.” 

“I LOVE BEING — MILKED~”

“ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₦ɆVɆⱤ ₣ɆɆⱠ ⱠɆ₮ ĐØ₩₦ ₳₲₳ł₦. ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ɆVɆⱤɎ ₴Ɇ₵Ø₦Đ. ɎØɄ ₵₳₦₦Ø₮ ₳₴₭ ₣ØⱤ ฿ⱤɆ₳₭₴. ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ł ₴₳Ɏ.”

“I — I WI — I WILL NEVER… I WILL NEVER BE LET DOWN.  I — LOVE — EVERY — SE-SECOND. I CANNOT ASK F-FOR BREAKS. 

I WILL — BE MILKED ~”

Upon his voice breaking, sucking in a sharp intake of cold air to huff  back out immediately, blood seeping from his thudding ears was in tandem with the speeding beat of his pulse shooting through his whole body. 

One of the large vines assigned to pumping his throbbing ass of the Aphrodisiac nectar had arced over the Radio Demon's rigid back to lock it's length under the crook of Alastor's right leg, snaking through the gap between his heaving udders and inner thigh to weave back up splitting his asscheeks, then dropping back down again over his hip again to latch it's salivating maw onto a swollen teat in a crushing pinch. The brash move had Alastor involuntarily buck, the action largely contained to his lower half, the hotness of the slicked maw palpating the yearning teat eliciting a rasping mewling out of Alastor.

Lids lowered in unfeigned bliss, tongue hanging out from one corner of his slackened jaw, the hotelier was unquestionably in his element, his pleased huffs rattled by the new incessant suckling on his seized teat. 

The rejuvenated milk flow was coming at it's fastest rate yet, the moist maw pulling and massaging the swollen flesh to draw as much as it could sustain in every greedy gulp of the downplayed organ. The continuous sucks was bringing back a pink blush of arousal to the Radio Demon's full organ, the undulation of the slickened milk bag pulsating in conjunction with the hungry nursing. As the sac was fit to burst, the abrupt evasion of the trauma was evidently visible in the way Alastor's body was totally at ease, the lines of tension in his back and shoulders loosened, his tousled tail wagging in gratification. 

The noisy nursing was amplified when the other vines ventured to reattach their various feelers and suckers to new and old places. One vine settled to encircle his last teat in a fond embrace, rhythmically pumping the pulsing organ to squirt milk over the other tendrils gathering below in anticipation of another lengthy feed. The milk drunk straight into the gullet of the creature through the Aphrodisiac vine was suctioning a larger yield in contrast, visible bulges of gulped milk evident in each excited swallow of that limb billowing his sac as it pressed it's nose inwards harder into the fattened bag to nuzzle as it suckled.

Conceding to the inebriating milking, Alastor was buzzing with arousal, the Lantern’s light filling his shadowed eyesockets and burning into his fearless gaze. In spit of the rampant overstimulation beinh barely suppresse, behind the curtain of the Hypnosis drawing on his body's instinctive reflexes to whet it's appetite with aplom, Alastor's exhausted body was occasionally flexing — his aggrieved groans splicing with jolts of arousal stiffening his body.

Two suckers reaching up to latch onto his pecs, coiled around the muscles to imitate the nursing on his sore nipples drawing another shiver down Alastor’s twitching ears and tail. The other suckers and tongues trailing lines of mingled saliva and sap along the hollows and dips of the Radio Demon's bony frame in ghosted kisses or caresses, massaging his belly button when it had drawn an indignant bleat out of him after an investigative suck, just two of the three remaining Aphrodisiac vines were content to wait.

The third Aphrodisiac vine, the creature had thought it should be taking care of other matters besides looking after it's Pet's dwindling energy reserves, the expansion and fall of the Radio Demon's ribs and chest as he fought to stay awake to enjoy the long awaited ‘proper’ milking, the afterglow of the combined sex and drain on his body's fluids in excess threatened the livelihood of it's permanent source of food. 

The Voice was speaking for the last time, keeping the mood pleasant and reassuring, impressed by the enduring Overlord’s submission, distracting Alastor from the bold touch of the third Aphrodisiac vine seeking the heat of his gaped entrance — the thickened vine sinking it's tip into his bruised anus, increasing the tender friction to restore the first twinges of renewed arousal into his throbbing prostate — the Voice instilled in it's quenched Pet a parting command on the eve of it falling silent for the duration of forcing another gallon of milk, ultimately pushing the Radio Demon's threshold for overmilking to a new level. 

“Well done. You love this so much you won't want to stop, but you must. 

When I have had enough, once I have taken care of you, you will be set free — free to return tomorrow, and every day after that.  

Tomorrow at midday, you will come back to this place for more. 

You are to bring back a goat’s bell, two more pails, and a stimulating toy of your choice. Do not forget, for you will be punished again.”

[aiylabaysal]

Aiyla's expression was undoubtedly curious. Physical therapy for what? She wondered but was unsure if she should press; she wondered if Cece had the same predisposition for skirting the more meaningful aspects of her life in the same way her brother did? "Oh?" She decided to let her curiosities win, "I mean, pilates is easily adaptable to beginners. Blocks and other tools to assist while your muscles get used to the movements," Aiyla explained, she had always loved movement, never been able to sit still for too long, maybe it was from years of staying busy, moving to out maneuver hunters looking for a Faerie trophy, vampires who had, had a taste and were deliriously, dangerously insatiable or just the urge to see it all before it was gone. She had always been this way, at least since the change, "I've known a few people who use pilates as a physical therapy after injury. It helps your entire body, but no worries if you hate it we can just leave," Aiyla offered in earnest.

Curiosity was an insatiable thing, and Aiyla found herself asking again before she could thing better of it, "Have you ever traveled?" Aiyla herself had been all over Europe, Turkey and nearly all fifty of the continental U.S. before settling in Lunar Cove. But it in a lot of ways felt as if it was always meant to be that way. Like she was always meant to come back here. Her first life had begun and ended here, her second brought her back here even if it too ended shortly and now it seemed like no matter how many lives she had she was destined to this place. Like a beacon for home existed here somewhere and would always bring her back. "It's okay," Aiyla assured Cece warmly, "I love talking about her," she admitted with a small smile. "I think most people fear asking. Death makes plenty of people uncomfortable. They don't know how to talk about it, or what to say when you meet someone who has felt that grief," Aiyla explained, "We were very close, I'm here because of her, and most everything I do now I do because I know she'd want me to try," Aiyla inhaled, "Her name was Defne," she concluded with a far off smile.

Aiyla nodded, "The vendors take their stands very seriously; they will fine you for any sort of infraction, and if you anger the wrong person and they can't find a rule you'd somehow broken," she drew a line across her throat to indicate the severe nature of which the sellers treated the farmers market. "But they do have the best produce in town, and the only way to shop produce is in season," she proclaimed as if it were law. Aiyla nodded, "Oh, that's a lovely idea! What is her favorite...and yours?" Aiyla pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she wanted to ask Cece if Royce had a favorite too, maybe they'd see them and Cece would simply tell her and she'd not need to ask, but that left it to chance. Aiyla thought better of it, and then decided to ask anyway, "Do all your family members have a different favorite?" Aiyla questioned and bit her tongue. Was it obvious? She wasn't sure, so she added, "My parents disagreed vehemently about the sort of flowers to keep in the home. Maman wanted irises, papa, daffodils," She shook her head; saying the terms aloud felt odd after so many years of avoiding speaking of them unless necessary, "Defne and I agreed, no matter the season, tulips."

Cecile had heard of pilates, but had never attended a class. She had also heard pilates was rather... intense, which was why she had yet to attend a class. While yoga was a good work out, it very much had a smooth and enjoyable flow to it. It allowed Cece to take her time and, if her body wasn't up for, let her take breaks if needed. She wasn't certain pilates would be as forgiving. But unable to reject an invitation, the blonde chewed on her bottom lip softly in thought before ultimately nodding her head in acceptance. "Okay! As long as they are forgiving of beginners. Yoga has become my substitute for physical therapy, but I think I could try something new." Yoga had been a fun class to take by herself, a time to clear her head, but perhaps pilates will be a new group activity for her.

At the mention of trinkets, Cece's composure practically melted as she thought about all the gifts she had received from her brother throughout the years. "Plenty." She gushed. "My brother has been all over the world, and when I was young, whenever he'd visit a new city, he'd send me a postcard along with a small trinket. I have so many I can't begin to pick a favorite." As Aiyla spoke of her sister in past tense, Cece felt her smile falter and the mood turn slightly somber. "Oh... I'm so sorry. I wasn't aware..." She was out here speaking of her siblings so freely and clearly Aiyla had lost her's. "It sounds as though you two were close?"

As Aiyla recounted the drama between the vendors, Cecile felt her eyes widen and her brows raise as she tried to keep up. "Goodness. I can only imagine the drama that would ensue if they decided to start making jams." Making a mental note of all the items the other woman wanted to find, Cece nodded her head. "Berries and eggs I can keep an eye out for. And perhaps I'll even pick up a few things. Our chef does all the produce shopping, but perhaps I'll buy some flowers for my mother if I find any that tickle my fancy."