#although often Vy is there too.

[hansensgirl]

💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (3/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, SMUT, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, jealousy/possessiveness, anxiety/fear, mild foreplay, vaginal sex, rough sex, praise, degradation, dirty talk, rough sex, mild choking, deceit, lying, drinking, creampie, manhandling (a bit), size kink (cock), alluded spying/stalking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~5.6k

author’s note. | series masterlist. after a million years, here’s the final part! i hope you enjoyed this series. please enjoy the final part and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

Time drags by slowly, each minute feeling longer than usual. Perhaps it’s because you don’t do much anymore. You continue with your regular routine, though waking up and going to bed early isn’t necessary.

Ari visits often, taking you on drives along scenic routes you never knew your city had. He sometimes stays with you at home, watching a movie while you feast on snacks. Any time you’re graced with his presence, he comes bearing gifts.

The first present required much convincing for you to accept. It was a set of rings with elegant jewels that cost more than your life. The mob boss placed each one on your fingers and kissed the pads of your digits, his lips so soft that you can still feel them.

You keep the rings locked up in your drawer, buried under items a thief wouldn’t bother searching through. Wearing them makes you feel like someone you aren’t—his girlfriend. No, you’re just his… something, for now.

The day after Ari’s first gift, he arrived on your doorstep with another.

Whenever you see him, he is always put-together. He wears expensive suits, and his hair is perfectly styled yet effortless. He’s considerate, too, always asking about your eating habits and making sure you’re doing more than well while under his care.

The second present was a pair of shoes you had secretly been vying for whenever you got the chance to window-shop downtown. Ari sat you down on your couch and gently lifted your feet, slipping the shoes on as if you were Cinderella, and he was Prince Charming.

His touch remained gentle, although you knew he isn’t always this way with others. Sometimes, you think of what Ari does when he isn’t with you. Does he torture his enemies? Lurk in the shadows? Visit restaurants that are really fronts for more lucrative operations?

You push these ideas out of your mind when you realize they’ll do you no good, as the older man often says. He catches you zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts repeatedly. It’s not as if you’re overthinking about yourself; you just can’t help but worry about the arrangement you’re in.

Unlike the rings, you wear the shoes with pride and a twang of guilt. You’re supposed to be paying Ari back, yet here he is, spoiling you into oblivion. You don’t want to ask him why. You figure it must be mobster gentlemanliness, right?

It’s been one month since the arrangement began, and you find you’re settling into it well. Ari makes sure of this, smoothing over all the wrinkles and ensuring that everything is the way it should be—the way he wants it to be.

You wake up in peace, noting that it’s half an hour later than you usually set your alarm. You even linger in bed, trying to recall your terrifying dream about running from a man who posed as an ally at first. But you never escaped, and now you have to catch your breath. You barely remember what he looked like.

On your bedside table—which is brand new after Ari replaced your old one—is a piece of paper you know you didn’t leave. You grab it and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes once you brace against the backboard.

You recognize the handwriting immediately. It’s Ari’s. You don’t question when he left it, although the older man didn’t visit yesterday. Something about a deal gone wrong made him busy. You told him you didn’t mind just so he would spare you the details.

The truth is that you did mind. You mind a lot, actually. You find yourself thinking about the mob boss almost every second of the day, like he’s some crush you hope you can have all to yourself.

*Princess,

I hope you slept nicely. Don’t tire yourself too much today. I’m taking you out tonight. Please answer the door at around 1:30. It’ll be one of my associates.

*Yours forever, Daddy

You smile as you re-read each word. You appreciate the beauty of his handwriting and the fact he took the time out of his hectic days to leave you a note.

Once the rose-coloured haze disappears, you focus on the contents of the letter. Butterflies fill your stomach, but they taunt and awaken your worries instead of making you lovesick. You haven’t gone out in forever—where will Ari take you?

You get out of bed, and instead of brushing your teeth, you begin to pace along the expanse of your small bedroom. You have nothing nice enough to wear out on the town—nothing to suit your counterpart, at least. You believe you’ll look like an utter fool next to the revered man.

You eventually will yourself to calm down. You eat a delicious breakfast and search through your closet. Nothing.

The morning bleeds into the afternoon, and before you know it, there is a knock on your door. It’s the same pattern Ari used before getting himself a key to your home. You recall the orders he left on the note and rush to open the door.

You’re greeted by the face of Curtis, Ari’s most trusted associate. You’ve seen him from time to time, often staring down the girl in charge of serving the men with drinks and cigars or cigarettes. Whatever vice they want, she offers it up immediately.

Curtis doesn’t say much, and neither do you. He hands you two heavy bags—a paper one filled with boxes and a garment one—and grabs the door handle, shutting it for you. The exchange is weird, but you know Curtis is just doing his job. You can only imagine what Ari would do if he found out one of his employees went against his rules.

The mob boss has told you about his jealous streak, but you would never reveal how flattered you are that he feels that way about you. Though you chalk it up to just being business.

You turn the lock into place and set the bag on the couch, sitting next to it. Another gift! You’re more excited than you’d like to admit. With slightly shaky hands, you reach into the bag and take the tissue paper out.

It’s white with little colourful circles that remind you of confetti cake, Ari’s favourite. You baked it with him one night, and it was delicious. You giggle at the memory of him covered in flour and cake mix.

You’re gentle as you unwrap your gift. The first box is sleek, and you recognize the brand name. You’ve only ever dreamed of affording their cheapest item.

The gasp that leaves you when you take the lid off the box is audible and would make Ari chuckle. Inside is a pair of heels that gleam in the low light of your living room. You take one shoe out gently and inspect the details. They’re a work of art—and they’re all yours.

You feel like a spoiled kid on Christmas morning, squealing and gawking at everything. You close the first box and reach for the next. This one is smaller but heavier. The outside is covered in what feels like suede or velvet.

You pry it open, and your jaw drops. Inside is a beautiful diamond necklace with matching earrings. You’re not sure what the price is, but you know it must be worth a fortune. Your fingers itch to touch the jewels, but you resist the urge.

It’s too much. You can barely breathe.

As if you’re being spied on, your phone rings when you abruptly shut the box. You search for the device briefly, succeeding just at the last few trills. It’s Ari.

You answer the call quickly. His baritone voice comes out of the speaker, sounding just like honey.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greets. You can hear doors shutting on his end, as well as the click of a lighter and the telltale squeak of his chair. “Hi, Daddy,” you sigh almost dreamily.

Ari exhales audibly, and you assume he’s smoking. The thought of his nasty habit makes you wrinkle your nose. “D’you get your gifts, baby?” he asks. “Yes—but I can’t accept them, Daddy, it’s too much,” you protest, glancing back at the boxes. You realize you haven’t opened the garment bag yet.

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when I’m spoiling you, honey,” he chides. You fiddle with the wrinkled fabric of your t-shirt. “And if I’m hearing right, it sounds like you’re telling me ‘no’…”

Your breath hitches. No, that wasn’t your intention. “I’m not—I’m sorry, Daddy. I just– I just don’t know what to do. I’m not used to this,” you express honestly.

You’re determined to never break his rules for the next few months. You’ve already completed one—which he celebrated with a deliciously home-cooked dinner.

The older man shushes you. “I know, baby. You don’t know what to do without Daddy, hm?” he coos. The words make you feel slightly embarrassed, but it’s true. He’s the only one that has helped you cope with your new—albeit temporary—life.

You let Ari claim the following few words. Whenever he uses that title—Daddy—it’s as if he snaps you out of some stupor, and you realize what you’re doing. But when you use it, it feels like second nature.

“Don’t worry,” the older man says, attaching your name to the end of his reassurance to really grab your attention. Ari successfully grounds you. “Just do what I say, baby. Alright? You don’t have to accept the gifts, but you’ll wear them tonight,” he further explains.

“Tonight?” you repeat. “Tonight. When we go out. I have a small get-together planned with a few… friends,” the mob boss clarifies. "You know, honey, this is gonna be our first night out. Are you excited?” Ari asks, his tone a bit more light-hearted.

Admittedly, you’re much less than excited. You’re nervous—scared. But you can’t tell him this. You don’t want to be a bother.

“Y– Yeah. Of course, Daddy,” you tell Ari. You have no idea what you’re going to do. “I’m looking forward to it, baby. I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” he hums. He picked the dress for you especially, wanting his girl to feel like a princess. “Me too… Where are we going?” you question.

“My place. You’re gonna love it, I promise,” he says. You nod your head, although the mob boss can’t see you. Ari chuckles briefly. “I’ll give you a tour once the guests are gone. They’ll be nice, but don’t talk to anyone when I’m not there, ‘kay?”

You listen to him gladly. You wouldn’t even dare to look at his other mobster friends.

“I gotta go now, baby. Call me if you need anything, alright?” Ari abruptly says, sighing deeply as if frustrated. “Yes, Daddy,” you tell him. He blows you a kiss over the phone and hangs up.

You always knew that this day would come, but you never thought it would arrive so soon. You stand up on shaky legs and read the text message Ari sends. He tells you to be ready by 9:00, and you acquiesce. You just hope that tonight goes smoothly. And quickly.

The clock ticks closer and closer to when Ari said he’d pick you up. He texted you here and there, responses quick and well-rounded. You resist using your abbreviation and onslaught of emojis.

You take your time getting ready, making sure that everything is perfect. The dress fits perfectly and is absolutely gorgeous. You ignored the price tag, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with you on the ride to his home.

You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, though. You feel like the movie stars you’ve always admired in their grand pictures with even larger budgets for the wardrobe, establishing them as fashion icons.

Holding your clutch to your chest, your other hand lightly touches the diamond necklace. It’s a harsh contrast to the simplicity and lightness of your gown. The pink tulle is slightly sheer but leaves much to the imagination. You spin around a bit, too, emulating your childhood princesses.

There is a knock at the door. You take a deep breath and open it, greeted by the sight of Ari.

Ari and his handsomeness. Ari and all your fantasies and weaknesses. You smile at him until your cheeks hurt, but even then, you don’t stop. You rush to hug him, squealing as he lifts you off the ground and presses a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re an angel, baby,” he says once he puts you down. You preen under his careful gaze, his kind words. “You look so handsome, Daddy,” you honestly tell him. You admire the ruggedness he keeps despite his current elegance.

He grins, and the car ride to his place is just like this. You sing praises to each other when the awkward silence becomes unbearable. Ari does most of the talking, while his trusted driver keeps the partition rolled up as classical music blares.

The older man tells you all kinds of jokes. You stare out the window whenever he catches you looking at him. His large hands remain on your thighs while yours are crossed in your lap. So far, so good, you think to yourself.

The drive goes by quickly, and soon, you pull up to his lavish mansion. It is on the outskirts of the city, nestled between tall trees resembling a forest. Ari exits the car first so that he can open the door for you.

You thank him and turn around to marvel at his house. It takes your breath away. You've never seen anything like it. Before you can ask Ari a few questions about his home, he drags you towards the entrance, hand on the small of your back at first, until he decides to loop it around your waist and pull you close to him.

“Don't worry, baby. Just be a good girl, 'kay?” Ari husks in your ear, glancing at the associate who opens the for for the two of you. You simply nod your head, words leaving your mouth as you take a peak inside.

So many people. So many eyes—all of them on you.

You gulp thickly. Ari grabs a flute of champagne from a server’s tray, offering yoou one with a telling glace. You shake your head. Even with all the alcohol in the world, you wouldn’t be able to calm down.

Ari’s hold on your waist grows firmer as men approach and speak to him. Sometimes, he strays to your ass, and you end up choking on your spit each time he does so.

You don’t recognize anyone here, except for Curtis and the other associate that had brought you to Ari the day you reckoned your fate. Neither of them spare you a glance, and if they do, you don’t notice it.

You hold onto the mob boss tightly, scared of losing him. You wouldn’t dare speak to anyone if that happened.

“Everything alright, baby?” the older man asks, once again tilting his head down to hear you better. “Yup,” you breathe out shakily, looking around. You notice that Ari doesn’t return to his normal stature, and then he realize your mistake.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you’re quick to say, and he presses his lips together in a line. “It’s okay. Don’t let it happen again,” Ari warns. “Yes, Daddy,” you diligently repeat, and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Someone calls the mob boss’ name. You turn to look at who the voice belongs to, and you’re greeted by the sight of a man with two barely-clothed women hanging off his arms. You can see it in their faces—the unhappiness, the fear.

Ari can sense how tense you are, and he can sense the way Daniel has been dying to push his buttons all night.

“Price,” the mob boss bluntly addresses his colleague. The other man—the one with a goatee and an ego bigger than the entire continent—simply nods. “Levinson. Nice party you’ve got… Even nicer girl, hm?” Arthur smirks.

You can feel the stranger’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You hate that feeling. You meet his gaze and he leers at your brazenly, winking and darting his tongue out to lick his lips, the action too slow for comfort.

Ari clears his throat to interrupt the moment. Daniel directs his eyes to the older man before engaging in some ‘work-related’ chatter, while you choose to focus on the women he practically holds hostage. Aren’t you just like them? Treated with more class and manners, but how long will that last?

You want to leave, but you know you can’t, and that upsets you. You have no autonomy, and for some reason, this finally upsets you after about a month of living in Ari’s precarious arrangement.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be,” he suddenly ends the conversation, snapping you out of your reverie.

Ari drags you away from the watchful, prying eyes of others. You can barely keep up with his pace.

“W– Wait, Daddy!” you call to him, but he doesn’t listen. Ari leads you up a set of stairs, and the amount of bodyguards lessen with each step, until there is no one left except for you two.

“What was that? Hm?” the mob boss questions angrily, pushing you into his personal bedroom. No one else has ever been inside it before—not even his past girlfriends.

“I– I don’t understand,” you stutter, panting as you try to catch your breath. “Really? I saw you gawking at Price,” Ari disproves. You furrow your brows. “I wasn’t! I would never,” you promise, placing your hands on his chest to placate him as best as you can.

Ari doesn’t shrug off your touch, but he does look away from you. “Please, Daddy. You have to believe me,” you continue. Ari looks back to you, and he sighs. “Promise?” he asks.

There isn’t much light in the room, save for the lamps in the corners. But you can still see the darkness of Ari’s eyes, and while it should frighten you, you can feel your panties dampen at the sight.

“Promise, Daddy,” you repeat. For added measure, you press a kiss on his nose, ready to pull away with a smile. But Ari’s hands quickly grab your face, cupping your cheeks and keeping you in place. “Daddy?”

The older man doesn’t say anything. He pulls you close and captures you in a rough kiss. It appears to be passionate, yet it screams ownership. You don’t know the difference—how could you? It feels right, it feels like what you owe the mobster. At least part of your debt, anyway.

When Ari finally pulls away, you can barely breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do you. Instead, he pushes you towards the bed, and you fall back with an ‘oomph.’

“W– Wait, Daddy–” you start, trying to sit up. Ari shushes you, pushing you back down with a small motion once he climbs on top of you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he pants, grabbing your body and flipping you onto your stomach. Ari manhandles you with ease.

You nod your head and try to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s all moving too fast for you. “Stay still. Let Daddy make his baby feel good,” he demands, his voice hard enough to will you to listen. You still beneath him.

“Attagirl,” Ari chuckles, pulling the skirt of your dress above your ass. It was already a bit shorter than you’d like, but now everything is exposed to him. The cold air on your ass makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver at the sudden cold.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” Ari growls, grabbing a handful of the supple flesh. He lands a sharp smack to your butt, and you gasp at the contact. It stings at first, but as the feeling dies away, you realize that you enjoy it. You grow shy with shame. “I’m gonna ruin you, princess.”

His words seem like a promise, but they sound like a threat.

“Don’t you think we should take it slow, Daddy?” you ask him, voice a pitch higher out of fear. Fear of him? Fear of his answer? “I’ve taken it slow, honey. I’ve been a gentleman,” Ari assures you.

He isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you agree with him. It’s only been a month. You haven’t known him that long.

“But this wasn’t a part of the deal,” you protest one final time. You’re quieter this time around, and Ari pauses in his tracks. There is silence for a few moments, until he speaks up. “It is now.”

That is all he says as he grabs at your panties, ripping the fabric off your skin. You gasp at his actions, and the sound turns into a lewd moan when his fingers find your folds.

“You’re soaking, baby. Like a little whore,” he coos, rubbing the pads of his digits up and down your wet skin. You shudder from the pleasure, squeezing your thighs together when Ari touches your clit. “It’s okay. Daddy loves his little slut,” he professes.

Your head spins from the pleasure, the confession, and the turn of events. Your voice catches in your throat when Ari rubs your clit, sending jolts of electricity throughout your body. He pulls sounds from you that you never knew you could make. They’re music to the mob boss’s ears.

Ari chuckles, as if in victory, when you begin to gyrate your hips to meet the movements of his hands on your pussy. He can feel his hard cock straining against his pants, and all he can think about is fucking you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about fucking you since he first saw you—and that wasn’t the day you went begging to him.

“Daddy,” you mewl, sending a rush of blood to Ari’s dick. “I’m here, baby,” he coos, picking up the pace of his fingers. His other hand plays with your ass, groping and lightly slapping the flesh as he brings you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night.

The older man makes you see stars. You’ve never felt this way before—not during the late, lonely nights under your covers.

The pressure inside you builds, and your pornographic sounds become louder. The squelching of your cunt nearly rivals your moans. “Fuck, you gonna come, honey? Gonna make a mess on Daddy’s hand?” Ari asks, his words coaxing you towards that brink.

You topple over and cry out, dripping hole clenching around nothing. As if your body is a separate entity that belongs to him, you involuntarily nod your head at Ari’s question.

“Shit. That’s it. Such a good girl,” he praises, the words going to straight to your head and making you smile through your pleasure-filled haze. You grip onto the expensive bedsheets and ride out your climax, grinding on Ari’s hand until the nerves of your clit become oversensitive.

Ari, unable to hold back anymore, pulls his fingers away and admires how they glisten with your slick. The sweet scent of your cunt fills the room, and he has the overwhelming urge to make you come apart on his mouth. But that has to wait for now.

The mob boss places his wet digits inside of his mouth, revelling in your taste. He makes a show of it, too, knowing you can see him in the mirrors that are in headboard of his bed. The sight his lewd—enough to make you throb in need and get wetter with want.

There’s a small voice in your head that sounds exactly like you. It tells you that this was never a part of the deal, that Ari shouldn’t be doing this. You find it difficult to listen to its reasoning, too clouded by lust.

You watch as Ari reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it so harshly that it breaks. In just a few seconds, he tears the fabric from your body. You gasp at the display of strength, not even having the chance to bid farewell to the dress.

Your nipples pebble from the cold air, and they rub against the bedsheets, sending a wave of euphoria through your body. “Daddy… Please,” you whimper, rubbing your thighs together as your desperation for something grows.

“I got ya, baby. Daddy’s here,” Ari shushes you, mildly slurring his words. You barely even register that this is the first time Ari has seen you naked. In fact, he never should be seeing you naked.

Ari marvels at your body, although this isn’t the first time he has done so. You’re just so gorgeous, he can’t help himself.

The mob boss begins to undress himself, not caring open the buttons that fly as the fabric stretches against his toned muscles. The velvet suit—one of Ari’s favourites, which he can always get another of—ends up on the floor. The tendrils of hair fall from the gelled style he originally had, framing is face to make the man look more rugged than usual.

He pulls down the zipper to his pants and frees his hard, thick cock from the confines of his boxers. Ari gives himself a few strokes, letting a few beads of pre-cum drip onto your ass.

You arch your back just a bit, giving the older man better access and a better view of what’s his. Ari slaps his fat tip against your leaky hole, sliding it through your folds as he teases you. When he reaches your sensitive nub, your muscles twitch slightly.

You maintain a steady hold on the sheets, bracing yourself for the intrusion. You’ve had sex before, but it was so long ago and an experience that you gained nothing from. You’re always too busy to properly treat yourself. You can imagine that this’ll feel like your first time—only better.

“You feel that, baby? Hm?” the older man asks, bending over you. One of his strong arms is near your head, used as leverage to hold himself up. “Uh-huh,” you moan, feeling how Ari’s hard cock rubs against your pussy. *He’s so big—just like the rest of him.

“S’all for you, honey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he grunts, sliding his cock back to your hole. Before you can respond, Ari begins to push into your cunt, stretching you out slowly. You breathe through the entirety of the ordeal, moaning at the intrusion and the sheer filth of it all.

When Ari finally bottoms out, his heavy balls are flush against your clit. His dick is deep inside you—you feel so full. You take a few moments to adjust to his thickness, getting up onto your forearms so that you can look at Ari.

You tilt your head upwards and make eye contact with the mob boss. His usually blue eyes are blown out with lust—a dark look to him that you’ve never seen before. Ari leans over you even more, his cock still deep inside your wet pussy.

His dominant hands moves towards your neck, and he wraps his hand around your throat after shifting upwards, almost as if he’s holding your jaw. The action frightens you, but you feel no pressure being put on your airway.

It’s the control. The fact that you’re his, and he can do anything he’d like to you.

Before you can say anything, Ari begins to fuck you. He pushes and pulls his cock in and out of you. The mob boss hits your g-spot with expertise and turns you into a moaning, pathetic mess. Ari watches you intently, never once breaking eye contact as your mouth drops open in pleasure.

Your sounds are pornographic. You don’t have a moment to feel shameful about them, though. The noises that come from his skin slapping against yours is loud. So is the squelching of your sopping cunt.

“Daddy—so deep!” you cry out, going limp in his hold. It’s as if you can feel him in your guts. You babble like a baby, making Ari chuckle. He’s dreamt of this moment for so long, and it’s better than he could ever imagine. “Yeah? Wait ‘til I try that pretty mouth a’ yours,” he whispers in your ear, biting the lobe.

The thought of Ari fucking your face creates a lewd picture in your mind. You’ve never thought about it before, but the way you pussy squeezes his cock tells Ari what you think of the idea. Even if, deep down, you didn’t the mob boss to fuck your face, he would still get what he wants.

“Shit,” you mewl, eyes rolling back into your skull. The older man pummels into your relentlessly, practically abusing your cunt. Ari’s dick is coated in your slick, the smell of it and sweat filling the room. “This cunt’s cryin’ on my cock—you gonna cry, too, princess?”

You don’t really register what Ari is saying, so you just nod your head like the obedient girl you are. “Good girl—always such a good slut for Daddy,” he groans, looking down to admire how your ass ripples when his pelvis slaps against the soft flesh.

You cry out as Ari pumps into you relentlessly. You can feel the euphoria build up, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “‘S so much, Daddy…” you express through your moans, fuelling Ari’s ego. “Yeah? You gonna come all over Daddy’s fat cock, baby?” the mob boss asks.

Nodding your head, you topple over the edge of your climax. Your sounds become choked and grow even louder. Your pussy squeeze Ari’s dick, creaming around his hardness as you come undone. Ari marvels at the sight.

Your eyes squeeze shuts and your hold onto the bed sheets tightly. You’ve never felt such pleasure before—even at your own hands. It’s like Ari knows your body—and your entire being—better than you do.

“That’s it. Good girl, ” Ari growls, admiring how your leaky pussy just swallows his dick. The arch in your back is mean, but he loves it. He loves watching you take it. His once-innocent princess is now the older man’s whore. All his, forever.

The stars in your eyes dissipate as you ride out your high, coming down from it slowly but surely. It’s hard, though, as Ari is relentless in how in pounds into your cunt. “Who owns this pussy, honey? Hm?” Ari asks. He can feel his own orgasm building up, and he knows he cannot hold back any longer.

“You! S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M yours,” you mewl, and as if on cue, Ari shoves his hips forwards and he stills his movements. His heavy balls clench as he leans forward, completely covering your body with his. Ari holds onto you tightly, filling your pussy with his cum.

Ropes of his seed shoot from his tip and coat your inner walls, filling you to the brim until some of it leaks past his fat cock. He gives a few thrusts just to tease you, smiling when you whimper from the stimulation.

It’s so damn messy where the two of you are connected. Ari has the desire to clean you up, but he knows that your sweet-self wouldn’t be able to handle all that in one night. At least, for now.

When the older man finally catches his breath, he slowly pulls out of your pussy. A trail of his cum follows, leaking out and mixing with your juices. He rolls you onto your side gently, laying down next to you as he watches your face intently.

You have no clue what to say. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around what happened, especially as the haze doesn’t seem to leave any time soon.

A few moments of silence pass. Ari’s hand rubs up and down your arm, moving upwards to cup your cheek again. He drinks in very detail of your face and you watch him, too, just not with the same intensity.

“D– Daddy?” you quietly say, and his ears perk up. “Yeah, baby?” Ari responds. “What now?” you question. Where do you go from here?

“Well… I think you should get some rest,” he starts, sighing deeply and he seemingly fights back a yawn. You agree, but that’s not what you meant. “I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t worry,” the mob boss assures you.

“What about the deal?” you continue.

More silence, and the sound of Ari clearing his throat. The deepness of his voice remains as he speaks.

“I think I may have to extend it, honey,” he honestly tells you, words heavy with disappointment. You don’t really know what to think—you have no reaction, save for the small nod you give him. You’ve come to realize that whatever Ari wants, he gets. And he’s so damn greedy.

You drift off to sleep slowly, accepting your fate even though it was too late the moment you resigned and stepped into his office a month ago. It could be worse, you could be dead, you reassure yourself.

Ari stares at the ceiling and thinks about how time can fly. Soon, those promised months will turn into a year, and then even more. Just like he planned—just how it’s supposed to be.

[cowboykento]

giving vs receiving head

minors do not interact!

warnings: explicit, fem bodied reader. oral sex, pet names (good girl, baby, sweetheart,) degradation (from sae.) let me know if i missed anything!

characters: itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishirou, reo mikage

masterlist

itoshi sae

prefers receiving. nothing compares to the wet warmth of your throat as you gag around him, struggling to take even close to all of him. he loves pushing your head down to see pretty tears stream down your cheeks.

“fuck, sweetheart,” sae groans, head tossed back but eyes still locked on you. you look utterly and entirely debouched, and yet sae thinks you look the prettiest like this. “choke on my cock like a good slut, won’t you?”

and as much as he thinks you look like an angel, he’ll continue degrading you right up until the moment when he’s about to cum down your throat, when he’ll promptly switch to singing your praise.

“so good, shit, feel so good, baby. g’na cum now, okay? right into that pretty little mouth of yours. be a good girl and take it, sweet thing,” he breathes out as his hand keeps you in place, choking on him as he shoots his hot, sticky cum into your mouth.

looks at you with hearts in his eyes after he sees you swallow his cum. he pulls you up to sit on his lap, hands cupping your face as he kisses you, still able to taste some of himself on your tongue.

itoshi rin

prefers giving. now this is gonna go with my personal headcanon that rin does not have a dominant bone in his body so if you’re not into that…

god but he loves going down on you, loves proving that he’s the best you’ve ever had, or will ever have. looks up at you from between your legs with wide eyes, vying for praise to fall from your lips. or for you to tell him how pathetic he is for enjoying this so much.

“you’ll never get enough of this, will you, rinnie?” you coo at him, your thighs pressing against the sides of his head as he sucks and licks your clit like it’s all he knows how to do.

rin moans a “no,” into your pussy. you’re so close and you know that rin knows it too, by the way his actions have grown desperate.

“you’re so good at it, though, aren’t you?” you moan loudly, your fingers scratching as gently as you can manage at his scalp. “fuck, yeah. you’re the best at this, baby. so good for me.”

he’s so needy the second you finish because he’s been impossibly hard the entire time and just can’t wait to sink into you.

isagi yoichi

prefers giving and he’s kind of mean about it. if there’s ever a time where you cum before isagi’s had the chance to eat you out he’s pissed about it (even if it’s his own fault.) lives for pleasuring you like that, and seeing you so fucked out and nearly brainless by the time he’s ready to give you his dick.

he’s got a vice grip on your thighs as he licks your clit, fingers prodding at your hole. knows exactly when you’re about to cum because he’s been between your legs so often. if he’s feeling mean he’ll stall it out—pull his mouth and fingers away the second before you reach your orgasm just so he can keep eating you out.

wipes your tears away as you cry because he’s so mean, “oh my poor baby,” he coos, although it’s equally as condescending as it is sweet. “you know i’ll let you cum eventually, why be impatient?”

gives you the sloppiest kisses every time after you cum. your juices are all over his face, lips, and chin, but that doesn’t deter either of you as your lips crash and tongues swirl together.

“taste so good for me, baby,” he groans into your lips as you grab at his dick, which is still in his pants but noticeably hard. “what, you wanna return the favor? nah, ‘m not done tasting you yet. be a good girl and hold your legs open for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

nagi seishirou

prefers receiving and god he thinks you’re just an angel when you go down on him. he’ll hold your hair back and brush any tears off of your cheeks and he looks at you like you hung the stars.

his heart swells because he loves getting taken care of and you’re always so sickeningly sweet with him it makes his head spin a little.

“that feel good, sei?” you ask as you pull off of him, getting a breath of air in before taking his dick back into your mouth. he moans wantonly, with no restraint and so much desperation. you don’t ask the question genuinely—anyone with a set of eyes or ears knows how good you’re making nagi feel, but you like to tease him every once in a while.

when he’s super close and maybe it’s been sooo long since you’ve treated him like this and he can’t help but grab your hair and buck his hips up, forcing you to gag on his length.

“ngh- sorry, pretty girl, can’t help it,” he whines. “you treat me so well sweetheart, suck my cock so well.”

falls in love with you a little bit more every time you swallow his load and look at him with hearts in your eyes.

reo mikage

prefers giving, but only barely. he loves both, but the way you pull his hair and moan and cry for him is what makes giving his favorite.

“oh, fuck,” you moan, fingers entwined in his hair, pulling more harshly than you really mean to. every sound and word you make goes straight to reo’s head, making him feel absolutely intoxicated. “feels so good, reo, so good.”

and as much as he loves when you cry about how good he’s making you feel, he loves it just as much when you degrade him just a bit; it makes him desperate, like he needs to make you cum on his tongue or he’ll die.

“you’re so needy, aren’t you, sweetheart?” you coo at him, your hand holding his hair away from his face tenderly. he moans into your pussy because you’re right—he is needy, he needs you to tell him, or show him, how good he’s making you feel.

and because he enjoys both giving and receiving, reo is an avid enjoyer of 69. nothing gets him off quicker than feeling your mouth on him and being able to lick and suck your pussy at the same time. his very own version of heaven.

yay flair finally posts again on the account i made months ago !!! hope u enjoy let me know if you want a part 2/ what characters u want in part 2 😋😋

commissions open!

[oleander-nin]

TMNT 2012 Yandere Headcanons

A/N, not important: Feel free to add or disagree with any of these. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Dark themes, yandere behaviors, drugging(Donnie's), stalking, possessive and obsessive behavior, non-consensual touching(Non-NSFW ie: hugging), kidnapping, abuse, delusional behavior.

Words: 2249

Summary: My take on TMNT 2012 as yanderes.

Leonardo:

He’s a hero, he wants to be your savior. Leo wants you to be safe by his side and to feel like you can depend on him for everything, even if he knows he’s taking it a bit too far. He’s willing to do anything for you, as long as you stay with him and love him.

Despite being aware of his faults, he’s still possessive and stubborn. Leo’s priority is your safety, which can cause problems in the small time before he kidnaps you. He’s constantly checking up on you, bringing you gifts, and trying to convince you to come stay at the lair on your own.

Is the first to kidnap you. Being the leader, he can’t drop his team to go get you at a moment's notice like his brothers can. He wants you safe, and in his mind, the safest place for you is the lair, or by his side. It’ll take a week from the first time you turn down staying with them for him to move you in forcefully.

Leo’s strict with his rules. He likes order and discipline, which makes him have a firmer hand when it comes to following his rules. While he tries to remain patient with you, he’s quick to punish any misbehavior to kill it out as quick as he can.

His punishment’s mostly include being tied or loss of food/entertainment instead of harsher ones like having your bones broken. He doesn’t want to hurt you badly unless he needs to. He sees you as something he was destined to care for, so if he feels the need to hurt you, you likely really outraged him(although if he hurts you on accident and feels you deserved it, he won’t apologize much).

When mad, he rarely goes into a fit or has an outburst. He’ll stew for a bit and leave you locked in the room before returning later to deal out whatever punishment he came up with in the time gone.

Feels slightly bad if you cry during a punishment, even if he knows it’s one that doesn’t hurt much. It doesn’t get him to lessen or cut the punishment short however. He’ll just pay more attention to you once it’s over to ‘make up for it’.

He’ll drop little judgements about your friends and family as he’s near you, trying to sow discourse so you’re more likely to be near him. He’s constantly vying for your attention, so separating you from your loved ones makes it much easier.

He likes to do things for you alone. If you escape, he won’t tell his family and will just go off to find you by himself. He also likes to keep you in his room or by his side at all times. He likes having you to himself, his own little darling to take care of.

He wants to make you proud of him and to enjoy being by his side, so he’ll shower you in little gifts or trinkets as a way to buy your affection.

He’s more quiet, so he likes to force you to be next to him instead of talking. He finds you relaxing and is comforted by your presence, even if you despise him. He’ll often pick you up and bring you to watch his shows as a way to hang out, holding you close and not letting you leave.

He’s very controlling and tends to nitpick everything you do, loudly telling you’re doing something wrong if he notices it. He thinks his way is the best way, and will shut down any arguments you have about your treatment or captivity. You’re his, and he knows best.

Donatello:

He’s the last to jump to kidnapping, mostly because he wants everything to be perfect for you before he does. He pines hard, constantly trying to get your attention and keep it. He’ll make so many plans surrounding you, it’s insane. He sets up cameras around and in your apartment to make sure he’ll always have an eye on you in case something happens to you. You’re his world, and he has to have you. Everything about you is perfect in his eyes. He just wants to bring you home with him and preserve that perfectivity forever.

He watches you for months, and will usually have a small square in the corner of his laptop that’s a camera of you whenever he’s working. He catalogs everything about you, admiring your every move.

He’ll go off on his own to visit you a lot, trying to impress you with his ninjitsu or smarts. He gets upset when you blow him off, his mood instantly turning sour and he tries to convince you to stay with him or refuses to leave. He’s overbearing and puts down your friends, making snarky remarks about whomever is taking up your time. Whenever he finally does leave, he makes a note of the friend and tries to think of ways to get rid of their part in your life.

Once you’re kidnapped, he keeps you drugged for a while, not risking the expected erratic behavior. He doesn’t want you to have any chances to try anything drastic. He’ll research everything about the drug he’s giving you, taking note of all possible side effects and making sure you have no allergies to the medication. He doesn’t want you to suffer while under his care, but the only way he knows how to protect you when you’re in such a delicate state is by keeping you doped up and oblivious.

When he starts to wean you off the pills, he can get annoyed with your attitude fairly quickly. He wants instant gratification, and gets frustrated knowing you’re not in love with him like he is you. He’ll put rules in place and snap at you when you mess up. He takes his punishments slowly, laying out all the consequences for each action when you first get there. He plans to adhere to them, not wanting to screw up his own rules or bend any for you when he knows you can be perfect.

Donnie can easily start to steam if you push his buttons, whether by constantly arguing or by fighting something he deems necessary for you. He’ll yell at you and throw things around, but he won’t hurt you in these moments if he can help it. He’ll usually just steam off after tying you up or drugging you silly, not wanting to deal with you when you’re being ‘pushy’.

He’s not the neediest when it comes to affection, usually only touching you to try and comfort you instead of himself. However, when he gets sleepy or just finished a big project he’s proud of, he’ll pull you close and force you to sit with him for a while. Sometimes he’ll have you sit in his lap while he’s working on something non-dangerous just to bond, but he’s usually too focused to want you so near in those moments.

Raphael:

He uses you like a drug, in a sense. Raph’s known for his bad temper and explosive personality, but before he had you, he took it out on petty thieves and Kraang. But once he found you, he realized he felt calmer just by being near you. He always wants to be by your side, milking off your personality in all the worst ways. Once he realizes you’re a fix to his temper, he’ll kidnap you.

You’re like his own precious gemstone, a one in a million find. He truly believes you’re his soulmate and you’re both meant for each other, and will get into a huge argument with you if you try to disagree.

Bulldozes over everything you say, and is really pushy when he wants to be near you. While his temper is more quelled near you, it’s not too hard to ignite it again, and denying him his ‘rightful time with you’ is a really quick way to enrage him. He’s more likely to go after your friends if you cite plans with them than to fight with you, but he’ll still be sour for a while afterwards.

Raph hates knowing how exposed you are in the world. You, the one thing able to calm him down, could be hurt at any moment by anything in the world. It boils his blood to know you might be in danger, and he acts like a protective wall when near you. He makes himself your own personal bodyguard, not even backing down when it starts to get suffocating. If he’s on a mission with his brothers and suspects you’re upset or hurt, he’ll drop everything to come to your side. He will absolutely go ballistic if he finds anyone hurt you.

Even if you’re usually able to keep him more mellow, his anger can quickly flare up when you start to act up. Whether it's refusing to hang out with him or fighting him after he kidnaps you, he’s quick to try and correct your behavior with threats and intimidation. He’ll accidentally elevate to more physical violence on accident, his anger taking over when you refuse to listen to his reason. 

His quick fuse can get you hurt, and he’ll just try and justify it with a quick apology and the excuse that you weren’t able to calm him down. He blames it on you every time, citing your own failures when it comes to his anger.

He’s almost always touching you when he’s near you. A hand on your shoulder or waist, or tight around your wrist, he’s always holding on. He likes the security you give him, and you tend to just make him more tender in the first place. He likes running his hands through your hair or just slumping over you and pinning you down loosely with his weight. He gets huffy if you try to get away, tightening his grip and holding you firm.

If you try to escape and fail, he’ll rub it in your face. He’ll brag about how good he is at keeping you safe after he brings you back and punishes you however he sees fit for the transgression. He wants you to feel weak so you won’t try again.

Michelangelo:

Mikey is manipulative to a fault. With his big eyes and unassuming nature, he’ll just slowly pretend everything is fine as he goes on. He uses the fact he’s never had many human friends to his advantage, weaponizing his supposed ignorance to make you feel guilty for pushing him away when he gets too much.

He’s quick to fall into his own head when he’s with you, just clingy bliss as he fully believes you’re just as infatuated with him as he is. He ignores most of your protests or brushes them off, making small jokes about the situation instead of listening.

Most patient of his brothers for most things, but will get upset if you don't listen to him. He’s a hypocrite in this sense, and always demands your full attention. He wants to be heard by you, and gets upset if you push back the way he does to you. He’ll start to whine before getting angry and storming off, leaving you alone for hours or days depending on his mood.

Is able to predict almost everything you do despite being completely unpredictable himself. He tries to convince his uncanny way of knowing what you’re doing or planning as a sign you’re both meant for each other.

Is constantly on you, whether he’s draped in your lap or or over your shoulder, or just fully laying on you. He finds you comfortable and gets upset when you try to push him away. He loves you so much, can’t you just let him hold you for a while?

Mikey’s also the most likely to have you out of his room, letting you follow him around the entire time he’s home with you. If he’s training in the dojo, he’ll make you sit in there so you can watch him. He wants to be praised and loved by you, so by showing off while he spars his brothers or practices his nunchaku, he feels it gives you more opportunities to compliment him.

Showers you in compliments and praise, to the point where it’s more than annoying. Every couple of minutes he’s loudly exclaiming how much he loves you, not letting you get a word in and trampling over any protests you may have.

He’ll likely hurt you in an accident, usually right before he storms off after you make him mad. He doesn’t use as many physical punishments for the sole reason he doesn’t want to be near you when he’s upset with you, but he may throw you off him before he leaves. Mikey will ignore the injuries he gives you, usually pointing out new bruises on your skin and being surprised he caused them. His main way to ‘fix’ it is by jokingly apologizing and kissing them and with a smile on his face, refusing to acknowledge any wrongdoing. He pretends the small gesture blows everything over, and gets upset when you try to push back still.

Often ignores his brothers for you. He’ll sneak away and just disappear with you for hours, only to be in his room trapping you with him as he avoids responsibility. He has you now, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re the only part of New York that would need to be saved.

[motdo-vn]

Introduction - Midnights of The Drowsy Owl

Visual Novel - Midnights of the Drowsy Owl

DEMO—TBA

Midnights of The Drowsy Owl is a novella magical realism, romance interactive fiction of five chapters. Romance is the foundation of the story, so there are no platonic relationships. It is influenced by mythologies with a lot of twists and turns, and a bit of Romanian influence.

When city life takes everything from you, you leave for a house you inherited from your late grandparents, in a town far away from the troubles of life: Caersolvita.

While strolling through the little town of Caersolvita after job hunting during the odd hours of the night, the old clock in the quaint settlement strikes twelve midnight, and a building down the dirt road illuminates the twilight.

Beads of light fall like stardust through the coffee-scented building. No one knows about it, and even if they did, they cannot find it. When midnight strikes, it all changes. Down the bricked pathway of the town, life clicks into light, and the twinkles of windchimes carry a bitter fragrance.

A “Looking to Hire!” board stands neatly by the doormat of the slightly tarnished place. With little hope of finding a job anytime soon, you enter the cafe. When offered a trainee position as a barista, you leave for home, unknowing of the wonders that await you when the dead hours of the night come about.

Features

Choose your gender: female, male, non-binary

Work at a quaint café in a rural town, shrouded in mystery and solitude.

Unravel the secrets of the midnight café.

Romance one of the four ROs and explore a fresh adventure with one of the three personalities chosen.

Deal with some snappy customers or different oddities.

Find out the history of Caersolvita through each route.

Enjoy a life of quietude and comfort, away from the worries of life.

Personalities: Loveable airhead, Taciturn fool, Sarcastic charmer

Character profile

(Gender-selectable)

Beautiful and dignified, Thana is the peculiar owner of the The Drowsy Owl. Behind the mysterious red eyes and snowy pale skin, the discipline of the body and grace follows each tilt of the wrist, where the whiffs of coffee beans stream along the cafe.

Admired by everyone in Caersolivita for sublime service, coupled with sweet words, Thana is the go-to barista if someone requires comfort or dark humor. Although the sorry state of the cafe, it is the first choice for everyone.

With every smile given to Thana, two more are returned, and with each heart that is offered, the more Thana guards the heart. Somehow, though, the trainee barista has a way with their words.

Unhinged. There is no other word that fits the young wolf-like Ylfa. A shepherdess along the hillside of Caersolvita, she meets each situation with the flash of her canines and a huff. With a beige bonnet laced around the edges, she fancies the lolita fashion, enjoying lavish dresses, contrary to her rambunctious voice. Or she may opt for a pink tank top with a red bow to match.

In the dead of night, a voice like a siren vying for love sings from the northern cliff at the very edge of the town. From the ruffled chestnut brown hair and perky ears gilded by the moonlight, her song willows past till dawnbreak.

Despite the tough and rowdy personality, Ylfa holds her hands close to her chest, sometimes shooting glances towards the trainee barista from the day they met eyes.

Idris (m)

Personal trainer by day, guardsman by night. Idris is often described as "too blunt for his own good." Towering over everyone in town, he is regarded as a dark warrior, a signature black hood hanging over his defined face. Polite and well-spoken, his sharp tongue still manages to overshadow such traits.

By the bridge that connects the mainland to the hook-shaped cliffside town, Idris guards the safety of the people. Always seen next to the old watchtower, most hear grunts from the place, running away in fear.

When he bumped his head against the door of Drowsy Owl, he meets gaze with the trainee barista, and color rose-pink erupts from the steely brown eyes.

Shaylah (nb)

Always smelling like honey and floral concoctions, Shaylah is a local apothecary who resides near the very edge of the cliff. Catching eyes everywhere they go, their sterling red hair shines like the sun under light. Always seen walking around town with a sunhat the size of an umbrella, Shaylah's ethereal voice wrecks the minds of people when their brash and uncouth words begin to lash out.

Spending the afternoon and night cooped up in their house, they take the blue flowers on the cliff, grinding them and creating concoctions. No one outside of the town knows what it truly is, and only Shaylah's family knows of it.

After spending a full day in their shop, taking a rest at midnight by The Drowsy Owl is usually what happens, accompanied by a cup of hibiscus tea. But now, where the bright eyes of the trainee barista caught them off-guard, they never forgot.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Salvation - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

So my darling @zablife put this in my brain, and it was going to be smutty, but it took a much more tender turn in the end. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

Words - 1,034

Warnings - Brief mentions of violence.

In Luca’s world, his status dictates he acts as judge and jury, but not often executioner. Usually, it’s another to squeeze a trigger, send a ballistic of hot lead into somebody, their final lesson learned in never crossing the men who loom like reapers within the shadows of the New York underworld.  

Until the code of omerta is forsaken so badly, he has no choice but to execute vengeance, when it’s on a level so personal, there’s no one else but him to bring down the final blow. For omerta, any bond is pushed aside. Friendship, blood, oaths, everything.  

And it never gets easier.  

The weight of it pushes down on his shoulders, the deed trailing along after him, like a restless phantom vying for attention, swirling dark as it flits through his mind. It casts its shadows, seeds itself, an implanted haunting no exorcism will ever remove. The stains of blood can be washed away, cleansed by soap and water. Stains of the soul take a much deeper scouring.  

For the wages of sin is death, so says the holy book. He knows it’ll come to him eventually, unless he’s particularly fortunate. It shan’t be the sacrilege of breaking omerta that ends him, though. He knows whatever reaper comes for him in the end will be nothing less than his own wages of sin have earned him. 

He examines his hands again in the car, although it was a gloved hand that pulled the trigger and sent his own blood down to check in at the gates of hell. They only contain the usual brandings, no blood to mark the deed, nothing outward giving it away. If his appearance matched the carnage in his brain, he would look as if he’d been launched headfirst into a blood-filled vat, dripping sanguine, no skin left without the slick wet of a crimson stain.  

He feels like he is walking through clay as he enters your home, feet heavy, limbs turned to stone and concrete. Luca Changretta is nothing if not a pillar of strength, but as with anything, if the pillar is subjected to blunt force trauma too many times, it begins to show cracks.  

It’s always you who patches them up again.  If anybody has a chance of banishing the phantom, it is you.

He moves through the house wordlessly after removing his coat and hat, his feet upon the stairs echoing through the hallway. Slow, heavy footfalls, his shoulders drawn up as you stand at the bottom to view him, biting your lip nervously.  

“Want me to bring you a drink up?”  

He never means to bite your head off, show his fangs like an agitated viper, but it does happen. When the tall Italian turns at the top to look down on you, though, it’s with a softened face. “Please, doll.”  

A little pang of worry nestles itself in your chest, his voice even quieter than usual. You knew he wouldn’t walk away from that particular hit unscathed, the damage being on the inside. It’ll be like a feral cat scratching against the inside of his skull in the days to come, sore, repetitive, vying for release.  

After all, it isn’t every day a man has to put a bullet in his cousin, after discovering he was a rat. 

Knowing he needs a little time, you wait downstairs until after the sound of running water has ceased, giving him a slither of peace before padding up, a large whiskey in your hand. He hasn’t bothered switching the lights on, some of your candles over in the corner lit instead, the room bathed in a dark gold glow.  

He seems to have been taken by the storm of his thoughts, not immediately registering your entrance into his calming space, a wounded, green gaze finding you eventually as you pass him his drink, seating yourself on the side of the tub. Your hand reaches for his face, cupping his cheek, the dark stubble grainy in texture against the soft of your fingertips.  

A sigh sweeps over your palm as he leans into your embrace, your thumb skimming his lips, a kiss pressed as finally, he smiles. “Thank god for you.” Leaning forward, he shuffles to the centre of the tub, the water whooshing around the narrow, muscular form as it cuts through it, Luca jerking his head back. “Come hop in here with me.”  

It’s usually you who lies between his long legs, legs you once coined sexy giraffe legs and made him laugh until his stomach hurt, a rarity for a man usually so taciturn, so quietly still. Your place now is to be the bearer of support, the bolster rod knocked in behind the great pillar to prevent it from toppling, ready to take the weight and repair the damage.  

His head rests between your breasts, eyes falling shut, long legs jutting out of the water where he’s bent them at the knees to make room for you. The steam rises from his skin, and you watch it curling up through the air while your fingers weave into his wet hair, nails combing through the raven strands and swirling over his scalp.  

It’s a practice he’s always found soothing, and you know he needs it, needs something to counteract all that is sharp and screaming in his mind. Your presence alone is tonic enough, but for him, it’s your touch which truly pours healing elixir over the emotional wounds lacerating him deeply. Your fingertips begin to squeeze and rake, easing the tension pulling tight over his head, a soft, relaxed grunt rumbling his throat.  

Your caress moves to his neck, the muscles hard and unrelenting, tension cording every muscle. It leads to his shoulders, your hands working with diligence, stroking, kneading and pinching until you feel them begin to become malleable. He feels it leaving him, the exorcism that is the pure brilliance of your love banishing all that hangs heavy upon him, the phantom chased away, shrouding itself from your light.  

“Feeling any better?” 

He lifts his chin, turning his head, the smile finally reaching the green twinkle of his eyes, picked peridot in the candlelight. “Always am whenever you’re near.” 

[lesinquietes]

maybe i'm blind and stupid and clueless and ignorant to it, but i feel like i never see people give izaya access to saika in any fics 😭 like they sleepin on the potential fr

OMG STOP—

He somehow gets his hands on saika and tries to cut darling with it. That said, I feel like for this to happen, he’d have to find some way to dominate Saika’s influence because Izaya isn’t the type to bend to others…

But fuck logic let’s imagine it

You immediately know something’s up when the information broker rings your buzzer at midnight. You haven’t spoken to him since he confessed his feelings for you. He was certain you’d feel the same way. You didn’t — you don’t. You could tell he was shocked by your rejection, though he tried to play it off. The split second wherein his guard dropped, and you could see the scowl etched across his handsome face, was enough to validate your weariness.

You peer through the glass hole. What does he have in his hands…? Is that… a bouquet? You suppose he didn’t hear you the first time, or perhaps he’s simply stubborn.

Cautiously, you unlock the door. You’re careful to keep the chain latched, so that he can’t force his way inside. He leers at you through the small crack, wearing a peculiar smile.

“Ah, there you are.” He purrs, voice like velvet. “Are you really going to leave me out here in the cold?”

“You have more than enough money to buy the best winter jackets.” You scoff. “Don’t give me that shit.”

“Aw, hey~ don’t be like that, (f/n),” he whines. “I can buy you nice things too, y’know… if you were my woman.”

His tone deepens when he utter the last bit. It causes your heart to drop. There’s no doubt that he’s attractive, but you know a relationship with him would be unhealthy. Besides, you’d hate to ruin your budding friendship with Shizuo.

“Enough.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait!” He vies. “At least take your flowers.”

You hesitate. They sure looked nice. But you know it’s probably a trap. Although he isn’t known to use brute force against anyone, save for his worst enemies, you’ve noticed his fascination with you transcends his typical behaviour. You don’t trust his intentions.

“You can leave them on my doorstep, if you like.” You suggest. “Goodnight.”

You move to latch the door. He doesn’t let you. Through the bouquet, a sword zips forward. It nearly stabs you in the chest. You throw yourself backwards and scramble into your apartment. You watch in horror as the blade slices your chain and the black-haired menace welcomes himself into your home. He gazes around mindfully, inspecting your decor and the small space you’ve selected for yourself.

“Wow, you’re really living paycheck to paycheck, huh?”

His comment strikes a nerve. You’re saving up to get something better. Not a day goes by where you don’t work your ass off for a brighter future. Does he think you like working at a convenience store every day?

“What are you doing?!” You cry. “Get out!”

You back up further when he advances. Neither of you stop until your back hits a wall. You whimper when you realize there’s nowhere left to flee. So much for you telling him to do anything.

“Y’know, you’ve been pretty mean to me since you moved to Ikebukuro.” He teases with a playful wink. “Are you the type to bully your crushes?”

“No!” You shout defensively. “I don’t have a crush on you!”

“Oh no~?”

His tone is dangerous. He shifts the sword so that the tip rests beneath your chin. Gently, he uses it to tilt your head up. Your expression is adorable. He needs to scare you more often.

“Y’know, other men would take what they want and kill you.”

He dips Saika down to your top. It’s a tank. He taps the sharp edge over one of your straps. The thin fabric snaps easily. Panic zips through you.

“Izaya, please,” you beg. “Don’t do this.”

“Ah, me?” He feigns hurt. “I’m not doing anything. It’s this sword, here.”

He retracts Saika. You can feel something is different about the blade. It’s humming ever so gently, coaxing you, vying for you to touch it. Leave it to the informant to get his hands on a demonic weapon, of all things.

“It wants exactly what I want.” He gazes at your reflection in the shiny metal. “Your love~”

He hooks the sword back under your chin. You hold your breath. If you move an inch, it could slice you. He holds your gaze as he scopes your figure m, taking his time eyeing his prize. He’s never been ashamed of the desire he has for you; even Gods have needs.

“Do you want to be mine?”

You swear his irises flicker red for a second. He’s insane, but maybe you can deceive him long enough to get away. He’s got liquid fast reflexes, and you’ve seen him go head-to-head with Shizuo; nonetheless, you have an advantage the blonde hulk doesn’t — Izaya likes you. A powerful man like him has gotten wrapped in the throes of lust. Love throws logic out the window.

You have a chance.

“Y-yes!” You lie. “I-I think… I-I think just n-needed to come around.”

“Oh?” He raises a thin black brow. “You do?”

Izaya knows you don’t. You would have jumped at the opportunity earlier if you were truly devoted to him. He’s fascinated that you would lie to him at a time like this. He didn’t peg you for the type to use deception as a bargaining chip.

He wants to see how this tango progresses.

“That’s a fast change of mind.” He remarks slyly. “Why don’t you walk me through how you came around.” He offers you a playful wink. “Just so I know I can trust you.”

You have to spin a fresh lie on your feet. Noticeably, you scramble.

“Um… well… it’s… been hard in this city.” You start. “And uh… I’ve been thinking about your proposition from last week.”

“You mean when I asked you to dinner at Russia Sushi?” He simpers fondly. “An innocent offer that you shut down.”

“I did!” You confess, inhaling deeply. “A-and I’m sorry… I-I think… that would be nice.”

You’d rather die than be seen in public with him at this point. He’s broken into your home and assaulted you with a weapon. He’s threatening to harm you if you don’t conform to his twisted game of boyfriend-and-girlfriend. If you get out of this alive, you’re going to make sure everyone knows what he did to you this evening. Simon can give him more than a plate of raw fish the next time he visits.

“That’s great news!” He sings, outwardly overjoyed by your admittance. “I knew you’d come around.”

He removed the blade from your neck. You’re permitted to climb to your feet. He opens his arms for a hug. You have to keep up with appearances, don’t you? If you race away too soon, he’ll grab you. It’s best to continue lowering his défenses until you have a break.

Hesitantly, you enter his embrace. He embraces you gingerly. His cologne smells smooth and expensive. Everything about him exudes money and privilege. Briefly, you wonder what it would be like to have that sort of lifestyle.

Unfortunately, you’ll discover the answer to your fantasy in due time.

Izaya sighs. There’s a sorrow to it that causes you to pause. You freeze in his grasp. By the time you consider moving, it’s far too late.

“I’m not stupid, darling~”

He jabs the tip of Saika into the back of your neck. It’s a shallow wound, but effects are immediate. You perk up at the unfamiliar sensation of control leaving your body. Out of nowhere, your mind goes practically blank, and all thoughts centre around… him?

Oh.

Yes, him. Him. Izaya. The love of your life. Your savoir. Holder of Saika. Your everything.

Your irises turn a shade of crimson. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your body close to him. The fur from his jacket tickles you while you focus on nuzzling into his warmth. There’s a comfort to him that wasn’t there before; you can’t seem to get enough.

“Oh, my love,” you whisper, starstruck. “I was so lonely until you came along.”

He wraps a lithe arm around your waist. Unlike prior, he can tell you’re serious. Saika has you possessed, and that means you’re incapable of feeling any other way, so long as he holds this power.

“I know, sweetheart.” He purrs, pressing a chaste kiss to your head. “You’re such an impressionable little thing in this big bad city. You need someone to protect you, right?”

You nod.

“A boyfriend?”

You nod.

“A lover?”

You nod.

“A Master.”

For a fourth time, you bob your head, agreeing to any statement that comes from his mouth. It doesn’t matter. Nothing but him matters. You don’t remember what you were so worried about before. Work, saving up for school, your family, your friends — none of those things are important to you.

Izaya Orihara is your world.

He guides you to the front door of your apartment. Someone will find this mess tomorrow. He’ll get one of his contacts in the force to clean it up and concoct a story about how he saves you from a drugged-out maniac hunting for shelter. Ikebukuro is dangerous these days. You moved in with him because there’s no one better to offer you safety in this part of Japan.

[love-toxin]

what about a fruity 4 x a plush size angelface?

muahahahaha!!!! i cannot be contained!!!!

(cws: f!plus size!angelface, fruity four, a lil size insecurity, the spice™️, breeding, facesitting, tribbing, fluff and smut.)

more of you to love! but for real though, you'll have a group of vultures to contend with. sometimes you wonder if there's anything that goes through Steve and Robin's heads other than ass ass boobs thighs tits ass. Eddie is at least a little more cultured about it, has a little more finesse--he often hits you with the "where'd a sexy, curvy girl like you come from, huh sweetheart? did heaven decide to bless me with an angel today?" rather than just ogling you like a hound (although he definitely does do some ogling). and Nancy's usually rolling her eyes at their antics, choosing instead to ensure you get enough compliments on your personality rather than just your figure. she doesn't wanna be lumped in with the rest of those little pervs you call your partners--although to say she doesn't enjoy the way you fit in some of the clothes she buys you is an understatement at least.

aside from the obvious physical attraction, though, they absolutely adore you as a person, and despite their love for you they aren't ignorant to your own insecurities and the ones that people like to push on you. they're like a group of guard dogs--always looking out for you and getting a kick out of being your protectors. you can be sure any hurtful comments will be met with proper retaliation, whether it's malicious or just ignorant. that includes family members too! Eddie's especially not afraid to make an enemy of any grammas or aunties or parents or snot-nosed siblings, if they start spewing a load of shit about his precious angel.

Steve and Robin were the first ones to really fall for you, the two of them looking forward to your visits to Family Video, when they would both try their best to appeal to you and quietly squabble between themselves as soon as you had left. Robin would argue that they should recommend a romance movie next time you're in, while Steve wants a very specific action-comedy with a dashing protagonist that he swears looks just like him. but those disagreements go from relatively benign chatter to something deeper very quickly, heading towards conversations like "do you think she likes girls?" and "maybe we could ask her out" and the ever-popular "god, if she thinks we're freaks, I'll have to find a new job and hide in a cave forever."

once your presence was made known to Eddie and Nancy, though, and they made a point to show up at the video store when the others knew you'd be there so they could meet you, it was practically love at first sight. you smile as soon as you see them, you know their names because you're such a good listener even when Robin's rambling off-topic, and you're so friendly and nice, you don't even flinch at standing face-to-face with Hawkin's most notorious freak. you compliment his jacket, tell Nancy she's even prettier than the other two described her, and they're just hooked. they watch you duck into the aisle to grab a new tape with Robin on your heels to give you recommendations, and the three of them bow their heads together to whisper amongst themselves. making plans, hopeful that they can snatch you up and make you theirs--because you deserve to be treated so well, and they want to be the ones to do that spoiling more than anything else.

you'd count yourself lucky that they tried so hard and didn't give up the fight to make you theirs, but honestly they wouldn't have ceased unless and until you made it clear you didn't want them at all. and you're so gentle and cuddly and sweet that they just couldn't not fall for you, you're such a babygirl and they spend so much time vying for your attention, sometimes you wonder whether you've got some kind of hormone radiating off of you that makes them stick to you like glue. which, of course, also translates to the intimate parts of your collective relationship.

Eddie's biggest love for you is your tummy rolls, god, the tummy rolls. so fucking cute when you bend over, when he can see them through your clothes or he gets a peek underneath if your shirt's especially baggy--and even cuter when he's bending your legs back and folding you in half, his hips meeting yours and nearly crushing you as his mind whites out with pleasure. if not for his promise to pull out, he'd probably forget, but it's almost better than cumming inside you when he pulls out and shoots his load off all over your belly, soft skin jerking as the heat splatters all over it and you sigh with pleasured relief at the feeling. absolutely glorious every single time, it never gets old.

Steve's heavily preoccupied with the thought of "dear god, that's a belly I wanna put a baby into." more often than not. whether you want to or not, or whether you can or not, it's not like that desire rests entirely on actually producing a baby--he just loves the thought of it, loves the idea of pressing you down into his bed and breeding you, of feeling your soft rolls against his fuzzy chest and thighs as he pounds you til your eyes roll back while folding you in a mating press. and when he's done there, he'll flip you over and do it all again from behind, your hair tugged back in his fist and your ass rippling with every hard thrust as he feels those words "I love you" bubbling up in his throat the closer he gets to spilling himself inside you again.

Robin just wants you to sit on her face, sit on her face please god just let her suffocate underneath you--no, there's no weight limit, and there's no need to worry about hurting her because she promises you'll have a way to communicate without using her words. when you do end up shyly straddling her head, folds all puffy and glistening from Robin dragging her fingers through them, she's sure there's never been a moment in her life she's been more overcome with anticipation. and when she finally pulls your hips down and hears that squeaky "ah!" when her tongue meets your slit, her life is pretty much complete as she goes to work on licking you out until you've totally drenched her just like she wanted.

Nancy has very specific tastes, herself. obviously she also wants a chance at being smothered between those legs, but she's also got other motivations--primarily the thought of laying you down and riding those beautiful hips into ecstasy, each of your clits grinding up against each other so she can watch that pretty face twist up in pleasured agony as she drags out your orgasms. she loves the feeling of your chubby thighs pressing against her on either side, the soft jiggle of your tits and your tummy as she rides you, it just highlights all your best features and makes it so easy to watch you cum when you can't take any more. and, of course, seeing you pout and whine when she denies you your end, getting you so close to cumming and making you so wet only to sit back and listen to you beg for her to finish. it's just perfection.

and regardless of what they love about you intimately, they love you so much more. they love your smile and your sweetness and your attitude, they melt when you're nice to them and end up kissing you when you're annoyed, because you're just too pretty to resist. you can get whatever you want if you ever dare to ask and you can calm them down when they're upset so easily. even if they're angry at you, you can just yank up your top and flash them and suddenly whatever they were mad about they just magically forget. they love to see you have confidence, but they're not disappointed or annoyed when it comes time to reassure you--they like to do it! because it's an opportunity for them to run through all the things they love about you and remind you that you're theirs, you're theirs and you're loved and it doesn't matter what anyone else says about them or you. if you love yourself, that's awesome, and if you don't like the way you look, that's okay, too. that means they just get a little extra challenge to make you believe it, and they'll be damned if they lose that battle.

[karniss-bg3]

The cult of the absolute doesn't strike me as necessarily caring about the quality of life of its followers given they can just-- brain wash them into thinking it's the best. What kind of living situation do you think Kar'niss was put into? After all-- they made an ogre stay in the same rooms as other races.

Without a doubt, the Absolute are dogshit at cultist accommodations. If they had a Yelp page it'd be one stars down the line. Although I hear the continental breakfasts have their perks; If you don't mind tadpoles in your oatmeal, that is.

When it comes to our dear baby boy I fear he may have it the worst out of anyone, or the best depending on how you look at it. I don't believe he lives at the tower full time. Driders are bloodthirsty and are required to consume blood at least every four days, otherwise their bodies begin to break down and they can die. Unless Ketheric Thorm had a steady system to meet these dietary needs it would require Kar'niss to go out on the hunt for meals. And if there is one thing driders are biologically wired to do, it's hunt...and often.

I believe Kar'niss spends most of his time at the camp where you first encounter him.

This area is large enough to handle his size and secluded enough to where he's rarely bothered. Stationed so close to the mountain pass it also affords him the jump on any foolish enough to enter the Shadowlands. If you enter through the doorway at the back you also find a lot of evidence that this could be his primary feeding nest.

Bloody drag marks, bodies in trees and rock faces and skeletal remains piling up in the cavern below, it's the perfect spot for a hungry drider to enjoy his meal in peace. He likely drags his victims to the tree, drinks them dry and discards the remains for scavengers or fiends to clean up.

I also believe this is the real reason he was given the moon lantern. Not because the Absolute actually favored him, but because out of anyone he would be required to venture into the Shadowlands most often. This elected him as the impromptu guide for any True Souls that wandered to Moonrise.

As for where he sleeps, I doubt he does much if at all. Drow only require four hours of rest with their trance ability, and Kar'niss is still labeled as a drow in his profile. Rest wouldn't come easy to him with so many voices bombarding his mind, vying for attention. So when he's not being tasked by the Absolute to act as a guide or some other side venture, he's either hunting or looming at the top of Moonrise tower to be closer to "Majesty". I have an idea as to how Kar'niss became so thoroughly mind fucked by them, but that's for another post.

If he does stay at the tower primarily it would be just as lonely as the pseudo campsite. Kar'niss is the Ned Flanders of the Absolute (with more murder), and everyone else is Reverend Lovejoy. Sure, they believe and follow faithfully, but Kar'niss is a bit too extra even for them. His constant ramblings, his fanatic devotion and how temperamental he can be make him an unpopular option to hang around. He's likely dismissed or outright ignored. In fact now that I think about it, I don't think a single NPC addresses him by name. The guard at Moonrise calls him 'drider' and that's it. Perhaps Minthara does but I can't recall to save my life. Sad.

Overall I think regardless of where he chooses to hang his web, it's a very isolated existence. The Absolute don't care about him, non-cultists don't care about him, and he has an invisible timer ticking down toward his expiration date. The poor creature is simply too brainwashed and broken to know it.

Thanks for the ask!

[ace-song]

Introduction - Midnights of the Drowsy Owl

Interactive Fiction - Midnights of the Drowsy Owl

Demo (TBD)

Description

When the city life takes everything from you, you leave for a house you inherited from your late grandparents, in a town far away from the troubles of life: Caersolvita.

While strolling through the little town of Caersolvita after job hunting during the odd hours of nights, the old clock in the quaint settlement strikes 12 midnight, and a building down the dirt road illuminates the twilight.

Beads of light fall like stardust through the coffee-scented building. No one knows about it, and even if they did, they cannot find it. When midnight strikes, it all changes. Down the bricked pathway of the town, life clicks into light, and the twinkles of windchimes carry a bitter fragrance.

A “Looking to Hire!” board stands neatly by the doormat of the slightly tarnished place. With little hope of finding a job anytime soon, you enter the cafe. When offered a trainee position of a barista, you leave for home, unknowing of the wonders that await you when the dead hours of night come about.

Features

Choose your gender: female, male, non-binary

Work at a quaint café in a rural town, shrouded in mystery and solitude.

Unravel the secrets of the midnight café.

Romance one of the four ROs and explore a fresh adventure with one of the three personalities chosen.

Deal with some snappy customers or different oddities.

Find out the history of Caersolvita through each route.

Enjoy the life of quietude and comfort, away from the worries of life.

Personalities: Loveable airhead, Taciturn fool, Sarcastic charmer

Romances

Thana (f/m)

Beautiful and dignified, Thana is the peculiar owner of the Drowsy Owl. Behind the mysterious red eyes and snowy pale skin, discipline of the body and grace follows each tilt of the wrist, where the whiffs of coffee beans stream along the cafe.

Admired by everyone in Caersolivita for sublime service, coupled by sweet words, Thana is the go to barista if someone is in need for comfort or dark humor. Although the sorry state of the cafe, it is the first choice for everyone.

With every smile given to Thana, two more are returned, and each heart that is offered, the more Thana guards the heart. Somehow, though, the trainee barista has a way with their words.

Ylfa (f)

Unhinged. There is no other word that fits the young wolf-like Ylfa. A sherpherdess along the hillside of Caersolvita, she meets each situation with the flash of her canines and a huff. With a beige bonnet, laced around the edges, she fancies the lolita fashion, enjoying lavish dresses, contrary to her rambunctious voice.

In the dead of night, a voice like a siren vying for love sings from northern cliff at the very edge of the town. From the ruffled hair and perky ears of the gilded in moonlight, the sound willows past till dawnbreak.

Despite the tough and rowdy personality, Ylfa holds her hands close to her chest, sometimes shooting glances towards the trainee barista from the day they met eyes.

Idris (m)

Personal trainer by day, guardsman by night. Idris is often described as "too blunt for his own good." Towering over everyone in town, he is regarded as a dark warrior, a signature black hood hanging over his defined face. Polite and well-spoken, his sharp tongue still manages to overshadow such traits.

By the bridge that connects the mainland to the hook-shaped cliffside town, Idris guards the safety of the people. Always seen next to the old watchtower, most hear grunts from the place, running away in fear.

When he bumped his head against the door of Drowsy Owl, he meets gaze with the trainee barista, and color rose-pink erupts from the steely brown eyes.

Shaylah (nb)

Always smelling like honey and floral concoctions, Shaylah is a local apocthecary who resides near the very edge of the cliff. Catching eyes everywhere they go, their sterling red hair shines like the sun under light. Always seen walking around town with a sunhat the size of an umbrella, Shaylah's ethereal voice wrecks the minds of people when their brash and uncouth words begin to lash out.

Spending the afternoon and night cooped up in their house, they take the blue flowers on the cliff, grinding them and creating concoctions. No one outside of the town know what it truly is, and only Shaylah's family know of it.

After spending a full day in their shop, taking rest at midnight by Drowsy Owl is usually what happens, accompanied by a cup of hibiscus tea. But now, where the bright eyes of the trainee barista caught them off guard, they never forgot.

[llamagoddessofficial]

E-eldritch Sans au? oh... oh no. Please go on. What does the "blue eyed one" want? and of course there is a skull somewhere in their ranks? what happens when He sees her too?

Sans, the 'blue-eyed one': He wants her just as much as the others do. They all love her in the closest approximation to love they can feel. Rather than try to appear humanoid to her and risk falling into the uncanny valley, like Red often does, Sans takes the route of being completely otherworldly in a clean and easily comprehensible manner. His body resembles a dark fluid, fluctuating in viscosity and shape, eyes and mouths opening across him when required (although he tends to stick to just one mouth to ease the scare factor). He might take a form resembling the small skeleton we all know if she seems particularly nervous... he’s very kind, very careful with her, talking softly and offering to shelter.

Unfortunately, he hates other humans. He wants nothing to do with her friends, he’d kill them if the opportunity arose, he despises having to share her with these noisy dirty meatbags. He makes it very clear from the start that he only assists her friends if she asks, and purely to make her happy... he understands that her mind doesn’t work as his does and she needs her little pack bonds to stay sane, but he’s still clearly vying for a way to get rid of them. She finds it difficult to trust him.

Red, the 'red-eyed one': If Sans is cold and blue and otherworldly... Red is crimson, blood and bones and sinew, almost too close to home. Sometimes his presence is comforting because it reminds her of the warmth of flesh & other human beings, and sometimes it’s deeply and viscerally disturbing, twisting something she knows into an unnatural shape that makes her stomach turn and vividly reminds her that this is a higher being playing around with a smaller creature’s physical form purely for entertainment. Unlike Sans, he’s a lot more tolerating of her surviving friends- although it’s obvious he’s got eyes (MANY eyes) for her, he enjoys her human companions too, he’ll joke with/protect them without her having to prompt him.

Much like Forest God Red, it slowly becomes clear that Red’s imitation of humanoid mannerisms and shapes isn’t entirely for her benefit. He harbours some envy for the species that knits its family units together so tightly- he wants to be human.

Skull, the 'thing that wants': A massive creature following her across the landscape like a needy dog after one chance meeting in the open. All the eldritch beings are huge, but Skull is the only one who struggles to shrink himself, far too ancient and powerful to access those fine shapeshifting motor functions anymore.

He loves her in a frightening, consuming, eldritch way. He wants to know her inside and out, he wants to touch her consciousness, he wants to explore every inch of her brain, he wants to absorb her Soul and trap her tiny body in his own. Maybe he wants to hold her? Maybe he wants to eat her? It’s hard to tell anymore, with a creature like him. He’ll hunt for a thousand years if he has to.

[urabrask-the-hidden]

Khelos

Khelos (WUB) is the Domain of domination. Decrepit cities fill its dark mires, where the undead elite of the Dread Council use fear to maintain power. The citizens are fed hyper-nationalistic propaganda, and are kept afraid of the "Unworthy"- whomever the Council needs them to be, but especially outsiders and dissenters. The Council itself is a web of intrigue, deception, and betrayal with each member vying for power, and at the top of it all is Kevronok, the first lich, lord of Khelos and architect of its totalitarian regime.

GOD OF AUTHORITY

In life, Khelos was the god of leadership, rule, and order. Depicted as a regal, bearded man (and occasionally as a vampire), it was he who crowned Kevronok, the first king of Xalior. His name was considered the ultimate source of authority, invoked by peacemakers and tyrants alike. 

It was said that Khelos held mastery over all things, even death. Indeed, certain sects associated him with necromancy- a controversial topic, to be sure, yet undeniable. After all, he aided Kevronok in the creation of the practice, leading the king to become the first lich.

Khelos-the-god is still worshiped in some way, with most towns having a temple to the dead god (although this worship is largely synonymous with reverence for Kevronok). Khelos-the-god is seen as the great history they all share, a source of strength and pride. 

However, they believe that Khelos-the-god was ultimately too weak. He could not control Venhi, god of change, who the Khelosians believe both started the War and killed the God of Order. But his death was necessary, allowing Kevronok, his Heir, to rise and build a stronger society, more resistant to the forces of disorder.

LANDSCAPE

“Beyond these walls lies only silence. Beyond the silence are the Unworthy. Here, under our watchful gaze, is the safest place you can be.”

Khelos is a bleak realm, dominated by vast, empty moorland. The sky is perpetually overcast; rain is frequent, though storms are rare. Perhaps the Domain’s most distinctive feature is how quiet it is. Wind and wildlife are seldom heard, and all but the sound of voices seem muffled or distant. 

Lonely, mud-streaked roads crisscross the moors, leading to settled areas- stretches of farmland, small villages, or the occasional walled city. Even these places feel quiet and empty, with most people keeping to themselves. Khelosian infrastructure is poor, mostly run-down. The dwellings of the elite, however, are grand and opulent. 

Khelos sits on the northeastern coast of Xalior’s great continent. Its main borders are with the dark estuaries of Nyduul to the north, the ashen fields of Orathir to the west, and the volcanic hellscape of Morax to the south. 

Major Locations: 

Ebonhold, capital of Khelos, where the Lich-King rules from the Obsidian Citadel

Volaak’s Landing, the greatest port city, governed by Lich-Lord Volaak

Zostania, most fertile part of Khelos, where most of its food is grown

Mistwater, the greatest stretch of moorland between settled areas

THE LOYAL FLOCK

“The Unworthy are all around us, my friends. They despise us for our perfect society, a thing they could never build, and so they seek to tear it away from us.”

Khelos is inhabited by humans, vedalken, tessians (ratfolk), and vampires (unique to Khelos). They are fearful and suspicious folk. They fear strangers and outsiders, Unworthy of Khelos’ glory. They fear their neighbors, who may be dissenters or foreigners in disguise. And they fear the Dread Council and what awaits them should their loyalty be found wanting. 

Despite this, the Khelosians believe their society is perfect. And why shouldn’t they? It’s all they’re told, from the day they were born until the day they die. The law may be cruel at times, yes, but it is necessary for the sake of order and their own safety. 

Class is very stratified in Khelos, with little room for upward mobility. Vampires, who live only in Khelos, often receive a degree of special treatment, and are more common among the upper classes. At the bottom are farmers and manufacturers, then artisans, merchants and other landowners, mortal necromancers and government officials, lich-lords, the Dread Council, and finally the Lord of Silence, Kevronok himself.

RULE THROUGH FEAR

“There is much in this world for you to fear, but Khelos is strong. The Council is strong. Kevronok is strong.”

Fear is how power is maintained, and so the Dread Council works to ensure that fear is inescapable. News of people outed as Unworthy is shared far and wide, and the wars with the other Domains is constantly at the forefront of politics. Wherever there are people, there are guards, soldiers, and the Silent Ones- secret police. The Baleful Eyes- undead crows which report directly to the Lord of Silence- are always watching. Ghouls are frequently paraded through the streets, and public tortures and executions are a regular occurrence. Self-expression, the source of disorder, is regarded as anathema. 

The Council itself is made up of 26 of the oldest and most powerful lich-lords, many from before the Great Reshaping. The inner workings of its hierarchy are quite complex, and power is in part derived from Kevronok’s favor. All liches covet the seats of the Dread Council, and all Councilors covet the positions of their own superiors. The constant scheming, backstabbing, framing, and deception are an open secret (though not one the populous is privy to), and investigations into misconduct are only to ensure the perpetrator’s tracks were covered. Above it all is the Master of the Dread Council, his position untouchable, with his subordinates too distracted by their schemes to plot against him.

THE LIVING DEAD

“The weak shall be made to serve. The righteous shall be made to lead. The strong shall be made to rule.”

Kevronok invented necromancy, and the practice of raising the dead as zombies remains a fixture of Khelosian society, both as a punishment and a reward.

Zombies of Khelos come in three varieties. First are ghouls, undead slaves controlled by necromancers (living or otherwise). This is the fate of the Unworthy; outsiders, dissenters, prisoners of war, all are slain and revived as ghouls in service of the Lord of Silence. They provide most of the menial labor in Khelos, and are frequently used in its army (they are particularly fond of fighting a Domain with their own dead).

Wights are non-spellcasting mortals who have been rewarded with undeath by a lich. Retaining much of their intelligence yet lacking free will, they lead the Khelosian forces on the fields of battle and serve as the personal bodyguards of the liches who control them. 

Necromancers of sufficient power, ambition, and loyalty are permitted to become liches, interring their soul within a phylactery kept by the Lich-King. Most continue their necromantic duties, with greater status awarded by their undeath. Some may become lich-lords, high-ranking government officials ruling over cities and large plots of land.

KEVRONOK, HAND OF TERROR

“You are not loyal to each other. Your allegiance lies only with the Lich-King.”

The first king. The first necromancer. The first lich. He is Kevronok, the Hand of Terror, Lord of Silence, Master of the Dread Council, Keeper of the Obsidian Citadel, Lich-King and Heir of Khelos.

In life, Kevronok was obsessed with perfection, seeking to build a kingdom that would only know order and would never fall. Believing that he alone could achieve this, and recognizing how long it would take, he created necromancy in pursuit of immortality, leading to his lichdom. When his kingdom inevitably fell, he retreated to the shadows of his hidden fortress, the Obsidian Citadel. Time and again he returned, intent on building a newer, better kingdom, yet each time was vanquished. He always learned from his mistakes, though, and when Khelos died and named Kevronok his heir, the lich was able to achieve what he longed for. All that remains is for the rest of Xalior to fall.

Withered flesh clings to his ancient bones, his beard is long and white, and his eyes shine with a pale blue glow. A dark, twisted crown sits atop his brow, and his robes are dark grays and muted blues. Deathly as his appearance may be, his voice is strong and clear. He is cold, cruel, calculating, and endlessly patient. Yet he is possessed of an obsessive need to be in total control of everything around him, for it all to be precisely as he wishes. As with all the Chosen, his arrogance knows no bounds.

RELATIONS WITH OTHER DOMAINS

“Fools, all of them. They deny our self-evident right to rule.”

Given its political disposition, Khelos is seldom friendly to the other Domains. Their closest allies are Orathir and Nyduul, and they will occasionally trade with Morax and Zalsu, but these relations are tenuous even by Xalior standards. They despise Rystan, Adient, and above all Venhi.

Xalior/Khelos/Morax/Rystan/Adient/Ebrius/Zalsu/Igovic/Nyduul/Orathir/Venhi/Hinterlands

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

All’s Fair in Love & War

A little early Christmas gift to all of the wonderful humans I’ve met from the ACOTAR fandom this year. I’m truly so grateful for every single one of you & love that I can call so many of you friends. It’s often not a hospitable place to be a part of & Elriels in particular cop a lot of bullshit from some nasty corners of the fandom, but as a little token of my love, please enjoy some family shenanigans. It’s ridiculous and fluffy and I hope it puts a smile on some faces this silly season ☃️🍭

3 brothers x 3 sisters. Fluff. 2.4k words

Cassian sat a few seats away from Elain, a scowl on his face at having been banished from the centre of the dining table his family were all gathered around. He’d knocked the gentle Seer with his wing for the final time when she had snapped and exiled him to the far end of the dining room. His family were seated around the table, all manner of icing, piping bags, candies, marshmallows, spatulas, chocolates and fondant spread across its dark surface as their annual gingerbread house decorating competition was underway.

They paired up in teams for the competition, each duo vying for the coveted first place and subsequent bragging rights for the entirety of the following twelve months. They’d decided in their first year of running the competition that it would be more of a challenge to break up the couples, so they had paired off by the males’ drawing names from a hat.

Cassian had drawn Elain, chuffed that he had picked arguably the most talented baker of the bunch. Azriel had drawn Feyre’s name— still a fair opponent— her artistic abilities giving them a slight edge with icing patterns. Rhys had in turn been paired up with Nesta, and although he loved his mate above all else, he couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle at the sour turn both their faces took when they realized they would be team mates.

When Feyre and Azriel had won that first year, pandemonium had broken out. With Azriel’s intense competitiveness and Feyre’s abilities with a fine paint brush, along with all the little details she was able to include in their design, they had been the clear winners as announced by lengthy deliberations from Mor once she had returned from her visit at the Winter Court. Incensed by the decision, Rhys had cried favouritism on Mor’s part, so she had been judging the houses anonymously ever since.

Year after year, Feyre and Azriel found a way to win. If it wasn’t her fondant snowmen sculptures winning the judge over, or the intricately scalloped roof she had painstakingly iced last year, her sheer talent with a paintbrush always gave them the edge they needed to win. Azriel also had the steady hands of a seasoned healer, his nimble fingers expertly building increasingly elaborate gingerbread houses, using exact amounts of icing to glue all the walls and levels together as Feyre decorated.

Rhys and Nesta usually ended up squabbling so much they often wouldn’t get much done. Nesta, Cauldron bless her, would try for the first forty-five minutes and then get frustrated with the delicate busywork, settling on eating the chocolate covered hazelnut wafers as she barked orders at Rhys instead. To her credit, she usually spent hours in the library beneath the House of Wind in the lead up to Solstice researching books on baking and decorating and would use that knowledge to direct Rhys from the sidelines. Inevitably he’d grow cranky with her orders and shout—

“If you actually helped, Nesta, we would get more done!”

Cassian hid a grin behind a fist. Right on cue. He loved when they started to crumble. And then there were two…

Cassian glanced over to Elain where she was meticulously piping icing stalactites onto the latticed roof of their three-story gingerbread house. Usually, she allowed him to help with the decorating process, but this year after he had helped assemble the three-storey structure, she had banished him aside, claiming she was sick of losing and his fingers were just too big. Whatever the Hel that meant. He didn’t think his decorating skills were that bad. He had at least been able to stick the chocolate buttons or peppermint candies on mostly straight in the past.

This year, instead, she had plonked him down on the corner of the large dining table in Rhys and Feyre’s River manor and set him up with all manner of coloured fondants, instructing him to fashion little pine trees and snowmen they could decorate the outside of their house with. Fine. He could do that. He had even made little Illyrian wings for some of his snowmen, standing them besides little piles of snowballs. He wanted to win this year, but more so, he wanted Elain to have this win too. He knew how competitive Azriel could get, and he surely would be merciless in his gloating, even with her, when it came to matters of winning.

Glancing up from his busywork, he spied Azriel quietly watching Elain, his hazel eyes narrowed in wariness, sizing up her handiwork and no doubt deeming their entry worthy competition this year. She had already completed the sides of the house, having used a paint brush and yellow and orange paints to decorate the windows she had piped icing around, giving the house the illusion of faelights glowing invitingly within. She had since moved onto the roof, Elain’s face set in an expression of unwavering determination, her tongue peeking out the side of her mouth as her hands steadily pipped on the white icing in long strokes.

Azriel’s face gave absolutely nothing away as he unleashed one lonesome shadow to twirl lazily around Elain’s arm, its shadowy form caressing the smooth skin of her hand before darting up to her neck, dancing along the column of her throat. Elain paid it no mind, but he didn’t miss the small catch of her breath as that sneaky shadow laved along her neck, Azriel’s eyes now glazing over with heat he reserved solely for his wife. The dirty cheat. The rule was no powers to assist in decorating. Cassian supposed this was him doing the exact opposite.

Having watched enough underhanded displays of exploitation from his brother in his efforts to secure first place, Cassian unleashed the protective shield of his siphons, a dull crimson barrier arcing around Elain and their gingerbread house, causing the lone shadow to skitter back to its master.

Azriel’s attention snapped to him, a sly gleam flashing across his eyes as he realised what his brother had witnessed him do. Cassian just cut him a crooked smirk back, making a point to bolster his shield to protect them from more meddling shadows.

Sensing a slight tug down his bond, his gaze flitted to Nesta, her glassy eyes turning solid once more before she gave an almost imperceptible nod, Rhys smirking at her side. The rat bastard. He had no doubt Rhys had just given Nesta instructions, their secrecy reeking of espionage, his mate and brother no doubt having just devised a plan to unravel Elain and himself.

His wings bristled, and snapping them tightly into his body once more, he watched as Nesta stood up from her seat and leaned across the table, reaching for the red icing in front of Feyre. Her grey sweater draped low at the neckline, giving him a clear shot straight down her top, her luscious breasts tantalizing him from across the room…thoughts of her salacious dips and devastating curves swirled around his mind, the way she felt in his hands, pinned beneath him…

“Cass!” Elain hissed, knocking him out of his sex drunk stupor, his shield having slipped whilst distracted. His bastard brother knew his weaknesses, and Nesta clearly was not above playing into them either. He mentally shook himself, strengthening his shield once more before scowling at Rhys who was chuckling from his seat. His mirth didn’t last long however, as the very next moment a bubble of ice-cold water burst as it collided with the side of his face, Nesta squawking indignantly beside him, having received the same punishment.

Once his shock subsided, Rhys bellowed a laugh, shaking his head like a dog and spraying droplets of water everywhere. Azriel, eyeing him disgustedly, threw up his own cobalt shield to protect their gingerbread house from getting wet.

His High Lady’s face was the picture of faux innocence, but he knew her brand of magic. That drop of Summer Court magic like a shimmering stone nestled amongst the endless river running in her veins.

Well, well, well. It seemed like the gloves were off now, the stakes now sky high as their efforts at coming out on top grew more belligerent. No one was playing fair.

Elain didn’t let a single emotion show on her face— no doubt having taken pointers from Azriel himself— but with whatever affinity she had over her beloved plants, Cassian had spied a solitary vine of ivy curling its way across the parquet floor toward Feyre.

Elain, having projected those mysterious powers of hers to manipulate the potted ivy sitting innocently on the windowsill, had no doubt guided the plant to wrap up Feyre’s legs, because her younger sister had just leapt from her seat as if it had caught fire. A shout escaped from Feyre as that mischievous vine scuttled away, recoiling back into its decorative pot.

“Elain!” Feyre cried out indignantly, “You know that creeps me out!”

Elain just chuckled, her doe eyes flashing to her sister before settling resolutely back at the task at hand.

“Your partner started it,” she responded somewhat demurely, hands still steadily pipping her roof.

“He’s your brazen husband! Was anyone expecting anything less?”

“Not at all, Feyre darling. We all know Azriel likes winning at any cost,” Rhys interjected.

“Oh really, oh magnanimous one? Used any daemati powers lately?” the Spymaster deadpanned.

“Oh, come off it Az, it doesn’t take a genius to know Cassian thinks purely with his dick,” Nesta retorted.

Cassian dropped the brown fondant he had been shaping into a log and pointed an indignant finger at his mate. “I resent that!” he spluttered.

In answer, Cassian was only met with five sets of incredulous gazes. Eyebrows hitched high on foreheads or hooked in scepticism turned his way, before his families’ gazes all too casually slid back to their various tasks.

“I’m a General, for Cauldron’s sake. A little respect…” he grumbled, only half resolved to concede to their claims.

Nesta, turning a sly look towards Rhys, indicated to him with a slight tip of her head and narrowing of her eyes. Cassian understood the gesture when the dining room was plunged into darkness, Rhys’ night kissed shadows swallowing the light, their sight with it.

“RHYS! You dirty—,” he heard Feyre shout from across the dining table before blasting away his darkness with her Day Court glow, his eyes squinting against her shining form, snuffing out the midnight blackness.

His High Lord and Ladies’ magic swirled above them all ominously, each trying to smother the others power as the supernatural clouds stormed through the dining room. Azriel took advantage of the distraction and speared his shadows toward Elain’s gingerbread house, Cassian flicking his shield up around them once more just in time. Elain narrowed her eyes in her husband’s direction. Meanwhile her vines had been sent off again, the ivy silently curling toward the shadowsinger, Azriel so far none the wiser to the twisting creepers preparing to strike behind his back.

Distracted by his brothers displays as they duked it out with their lady loves, Cassian had missed Nesta sneaking up behind him on cat-soft feet and launching herself at his back, her torso flung over his shoulder heavily as she tried to tackle him off his chair to the ground. His wings snapped out at the attack, knocking Elain over in the process, causing her bewitched vines to spring forward toward Azriel, wrapping themselves like a boa around his shoulders.

Shouting and profanities echoed around the room as full mayhem broke loose. All six of them were so thoroughly entrenched in the utter chaos, that they hadn’t realised they had company until a distinct clearing of a feminine throat sounded from the archway of the dining room.

Standing at the entrance, Nyx clutching one of her hands as his violet eyes grew wide at his parents, aunts and uncles displays, was Amren. A feline smirk was splashed across her face at having caught them all knee deep in their perfidious treachery.

“If only the rest of Prythian could see how the Night Court leaders all behave when doors are closed, hmm Nyx?” Amren tutted to the five-year-old at her side.

Just like smoke dissipating in the wind, the various displays of magic winked out from around the room. Elain, hair in disarray, peeked out at Amren from behind the chair she had landed besides, her vines slackening around Azriel’s shoulders just as his shadows seemed to retreat in shame. Nesta in turn sheepishly lowered her feet back to the ground from her position draped across Cassian’s shoulders, his arm looped around her hips in an effort to fight her off. Several candies and spatulas clattered toward the dining table again as Feyre and Rhys’s magics dissolved, the items having been swept up in the commotion of their powerful squall.

Amren’s silver eyes slid around the room once more before turning on a heel and stalking back out of the dining room with Nyx in tow, a murmured “Idiots” slipping through up-tilted red lips as they meandered away.

Once Amren and Nyx were out of earshot, Rhys turned to Azriel, a shit eating grin upon his face. “I can’t believe you stooped so low,” he chuckled. “Feeling a little threatened this year, brother?”

Azriel seemed unperturbed by the barb. “You’re the one who suggested to Nesta she use her… assets to distract her mate, Rhysand.”

“A good warrior will use any weapon in her arsenal to ensure victory,” Nesta retorted staunchly, picking dirt from beneath her nails.

“Yeah well, we don’t all have giant boobs, do we,” Elain grumbled darkly.

“Oh, okay High Queen of the Florae. Strangled anyone else lately with your army of enchanted shrubbery?”

Elain had narrowed her eyes at her sister’s name-calling but had the good sense to look marginally remorseful at the near strangulation of her husband.

“I didn’t mean to,” Elain protested, looking over at Azriel, alarm evident in her bright eyes, “Cassian, the great buffoon, knocked me off my chair and ruined my concentration!”

He splayed his arms out wide at Elain’s jab. “I was trying to protect you! And besides, I can’t help the giant wingspan, Ellie.”

Cassian shot her a wink and a crooked smile. Elain just scowled in response.

“I think Cassian is just pissy at not being allowed to decorate this year,” Rhys interjected with a conspiratorial smirk on his face.

Azriel exhaled a short breath through his nostrils, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Agreed.”

Cassian cut a contemptuous glare towards both his brothers. “Losing becomes neither of you. Illyrian babies indeed.”

Feyre squawked a laugh at their expense, Rhys narrowing his gaze, his violet eyes ablaze.

“All is fair in love and war, General,” Azriel crooned conspiratorially, before his shadows shot out once more, spearing in five different directions, causing a menagerie of defensive magic to erupt across the dining hall once more.

Every man for himself, then.

*******

A/N: Not my usual tag list, but instead just some of the people in this fandom that i have loved getting to know, and a few that have made me smile and persevere in this weird place. No pressure to read the fic, but just know that your positivity and existence in the fandom has put a smile on my face🥰: @offtorivendell​ @tswaney17​ @fawnandshadows​ @nikethestatue​ @ultadverb​ @dottielovegood​ @123moiaussi​ @lesolehabitantdelalune​ @alwayssara​ @merymoonbeam​ @cassianfanclub​ @thefangirlofhp​ @casuallivi​ @wingedblooms​ @silverdreamscapes​ @batboyazriel​ @thesistersarcheron​ @the-laughing-bubble​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @reverie-tales​ @mrspettyferr​ @leiaamidala​ @pagemasters @shedoessoshedoes @nightcourtseer @sakurakittypeach​ @duskcowboy​ @nitecourtnik @karomdr-blog @gentlehearted-kingslayer​ & countless others here and on other platforms ♥️

Also, a special thank you to OTR. When I posed the question of theories around physical powers Elain may have, I’m not sure you thought I would take your plant power crack theory where I did, but thank you for for sharing 😊🌱

[lefresne]

So let me get this straight: the reason why the Affair between Lancelot and Guinevere causes the fall of Camelot, is because almost half the knights were loyal to Lancelot than to Arthur, and that Lancelot was, in some ways, the shadow leader of the Round Table? When Lancelot kills Gawain's sibling, People took sides?

I’d start by saying that there is no one ‘Fall of Camelot tm’. To say that there is would be as disingenuous as attempting to stabilise a broad, complex, heterogenous body of work that evolved and grew over 500+ years. Each text will have its own interpretation of the circumstances surrounding the political collapse of the Arthurian realm. It’s complicated, and sometimes seems to run counter to our modern understanding of canonicity, but that’s alright! The interpretation below is based on Malory, as Malory, perhaps influenced by the English political landscape of the time, particularly stresses the importance of political factions all vying for influence over the king and queen, as well as the tensions that can arise between affective and political communities.

Reading Malory, it becomes apparent that Logres is dominated by four major factions: Gawain (Orkney and Lothian), Lancelot (Benoic / France), Tristan (Cornwall), Lamorak (Wales). I understand ‘faction’ as meaning a community bound by both kinship and feudal ties. As is consistent with 15th century politics, the individuals at court are the ‘heads’ of often much larger political networks that stretch across Britain.

What is so interesting about Malory is that the text shifts the blame for the collapse of Camelot away from the adulterous affair between Lancelot and Guinevere and rather towards the political ramifications thereof, which themselves then become symptomatic of problems inherent to late medieval feudalism. And this is not to say that this is the sole cause for the end of Camelot, either. Reading (and re-reading) Malory sometimes feels like plucking at a huge ball of yarn for different narrative threads: depending on how you might pick it up, you might blame Uther, who instigates a pattern of criminal sexual behaviour which then becomes compounded with each successive generation (going from adultery (Uther) to adultery and incest (Arthur) to adultery and incest and patricide (Mordred)), or Morgan, for stealing that damn scabbard (not going to lie, I’m a lot less convinced by this one lol), or the Grail for like, existing and revealing the chivalric system’s inherent weaknesses I guess.

 The Welsh and Scottish factions are at odds already following the death of Lot, and these tensions continue to mount throughout the narrative, until the Welsh faction has been largely annihilated by Gawain and his followers. The Scottish faction feels ‘entitled’ to a certain standing at court due to their close kinship with Arthur, and resents anything or anyone that might jeopardise this privileged position( see, for example, the brothers complaining that ‘whom that we hate kynge Arthure lovyth, and whom that we love he hatyth’). Gawain’s friendship with Lancelot keeps the wider faction in check for a long while, however. The Queen, meanwhile, has established her own political network, which overlaps with Lancelot’s. Although Lancelot’s faction has an ambivalent attitude towards Guinevere, it is established that this relationship is mutually beneficial. The Queen ensures Lancelot and his kin’s high standing at court, and Lancelot and his kin will defend her if needed.

After the Grail Quest, the Arthurian political landscape is in shambles. The knights have dispersed, Gawain has murdered God knows how many of his co-workers, and an entire kin group has been decimated. The situation in Cornwall is not too good either, Tristan has been killed, along with a bunch of his allies, and Marc hates Arthur. This exacerbates pre-existing tensions, and remaining allies of Tristan are ‘absorbed’ into Lancelot’s faction, because Lancelot and Tristan had been friends. We quickly learn that Agravaine is jealous of Lancelot’s proximity to the queen and of his political influence. The problem is not the adultery per se, rather the queen’s public displays of favouritism. Lancelot and Guinevere are described as taking walks together and conversing privately – this reference to the walking is important because this was at the time an important part of the queenly schedule, during which courtiers would be allowed to approach and petition her. Agravaine resents Lancelot for ‘monopolising’ the queen’s attention, which he perceives as a slight on his kin group. The Scottish faction now understand that if Lancelot falls, then their group will, by default, rise. Guinevere senses this threat and multiplies public displays of favour towards Gawain and his kin, but this goes disastrously - an ally of Lamorak uses a dinner held in Gawain’s honour to attempt to poison him.  Although Gawain vehemently defends Guinevere, his faction are willing to believe that she would go as far as to poison Gawain for, presumably, Lancelot’s sake. Mador, who is related to Gawain, turning against the queen also serves to prefigure the text’s final conflict, in which Lancelot’s and Gawain’s factions turn against each other. Once again, Lancelot’s faction must intervene to restore order, Nenyve reveals the true poisoner and Lancelot, who had been missing, miraculously returns to save the queen from the pyre. This confirms the extent to which Guinevere and Arthur (who has to beg Bors to fight for his wife) are politically reliant on Lancelot. Agravaine, understanding that his earlier complaint about the queen’s political favouritism has had approximately zero impact, now begins to additionally charge her with adultery (note that Agravaine was with Guinevere throughout the knight of the cart episode).

Gawain, who is friends with both Lancelot and Guinevere, continues to defend them. As he says: not only has Lancelot come to their aid numerous times, ‘if there aryse warre and wrake betwyxte sir Launcelot as us, wyte you well, brothir, there woll many kynges and grete lordis holde with sir Launcelot’. When they ambush the queen, Malory specifies that all the knights present are ‘of Scotlonde, other ellis of sir Gawaynes kynne, other well-wyllers to his brothir’. 

The deaths of Gaheris and Gareth as they guard the queen’s pyre cause a heartbroken Gawain to turn against Lancelot. Now that the affective bonds have broken, all out war breaks out, and Lancelot is forced into exile, taking with him a significant number of knights who are still loyal to him. Arthur, goaded by Gawain, chases after him, leaving the country unattended so that Mordred can seize power. New factions form - those loyal to Mordred and those loyal to Arthur. Civil war breaks out.

The deaths of Gareth and Gaheris do not force knights to take sides, the sides have always existed, but they had been previously kept ‘in check’ by Gawain’s affection for Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur. Arthur’s status is never really challenged in Malory, neither Lancelot nor Gawain ever think of overthrowing him, the question is always one of influence. It doesn't matter that the king is largely effaced and at times ineffectual because he is the king. Mordred seizing power in Arthur’s absence is seen as the ultimate betrayal and signals, within the political world Malory has outlined, absolute moral corruption. TLDR: the deaths of Gareth and Gaheris cause affective bonds to break and to therefore reveal the fragmented structure of the king’s court and the tenuous nature of peace. I wouldn’t call Lancelot a ‘shadow leader’ (although I do think that’s a very interesting idea!) because Malory never questions Arthur’s kingship. The text is largely about influence over the king rather than an outright overthrowing of the king. Malory condemns Mordred for seizing power, and condemns the barons for siding with him. But I also think that Malory’s approach to politics and community is a lot more nuanced than just Lancelot = good Gawain = bad. The text reflects a community in crisis and under intense pressure that is trying its best to survive.

[yandere--stuck]

Hi! OG 3 day bugsnax player here - holy shishkabug I didn't think I'd be the only one thinking about the crazy situation it'd be to have each pair vying for journalists attention. I guess I'd just like to know what the rest of the grumpuses would be like, Gramble, Wiggle, Beffica, Cromdo, Shelda, maybe even Clumby or Alegander? Man there's a lot of characters - not even getting into if the bugsnax themselves were crazy for the only grump allergic to them, trying to be 'eaten' but being enable

Bugsnax gang!! I hope you like these! Unfortunately I couldn't do the other two bc I don't know/understand them that well. At least not yet! But I hope you like these ^^

---

Though Gramble may seem completely sweet and innocent, he'll still go to the ends of the Earth to make sure the ones he loves are safe and in good paws. He hates to leave you in Sprout's old play area on the beach, but it's the only way the others won't be able to hear you asking for help! Listen, this is for the best, okay? You're family and he loves you! He's doing this out of love. 

He visits often, making sure to equally split his time between you and the barn in town. Gotta make sure his little ones are taken care of, too, you know? And the others would get a bit suspicious if he just up and left town again. He can't just let them find out and try to take you away! 

Wiggle would likely feed into Gramble's behavior, being incredibly giddy at the thought of having you all to themselves. Oh, her Gramble is so smart! She loves to have picnics together in Sprout's old pen, the little Strabby circling you and the couple as they serenade you. Wiggle is absolutely filled with motivation and excitement - imagine it! An album of love songs all made for you and your shared love. Isn't it romantic?

And if you direct Sprout a little too close to any launch pads, the couple make sure to corral or shoo him away. Wouldn't want him getting loose and trying to lead someone in town back to you, would you? Shush, it's okay! You'll realize this is for the best soon enough!

Beffica had been lonely for a long time. Abandoned by her friends and given the cold shoulder by the others in town (likely for good reason), she was elated to find that you considered her hood company! You! Someone she admired! It was so fun talking with you, snooping and spying, or just hanging!

 … Although, she couldn't help but feel the need to brace for the other shoe to drop. One day, the others would get to you and get you to see her as a monster! Beffica couldn't allow it! Those squeebs didn't deserve your time, anyway. Especially not Filbo. She'd threaten or blackmail anyone getting too close to her Bestie… Or something more, if her hunch that you felt the same as her was correct. Nothing a little more snooping couldn't solve!

Cromdo is the type to project his feelings onto you. Saying stuff like, "Your crush is cute, but don't get any ideas," or, "We make a good team, yeah! But, er, that doesn't mean I wanna go pick out curtains." He cares for you, but either deflects or hides it behind jokes. He's had a rough past with Grumpuses he's cared about before. He doesn't want to get burned again… But, ah, hell! You're too cute for him to resist! The moment he gets that Mothza Supreme, he's hitching that baby to your ship and sailing outta here! With you tied up, if need be. Er, the moment he fixes it, of course! Did you really think he went up there just to do the wiggle every night?

Shelda is so sure that Mother Naturae has destined you and her union! At least, so she says. Whether she believes what she says or not, it certainly cements the idea in Chandlo's mind, leading her student to follow you around like a puppy and excitedly telling you that, "You and Shelda are meant to be, dawg!" 

And though she does love Chandlo as her pupil, Shelda calls you her most prized pupil. A kind heart, a keeper of the path, and someone so willing to help her. She's incredibly touchy-feely, too, to an uncomfortable degree. C'mon, you know you'd be perfect together. Might as well speed up the inevitable, dear.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Y’all get a kind of continuation to the imp drabble this morning, because I have ghouls on the brain. Featuring Mountain. Below the cut.

In Hell, natural springs of hot, sulfurous water are abundant, and, for a ghoul, there is nothing more relaxing than a chance to rest in one of the scalding pools without having to worry about being attacked.

Despite the ongoing war in the pit, neutral zones had cropped up across the landscape as a means of preventing civilian casualties, as well as allowing the great deceiver to maintain control over the various factions ever vying for his position on the throne.

Of course, these pools served yet another great purpose to the ghouls on top of providing safety.

No one is really quite sure how or why, but when an imp is exposed to sulfur, its form is able to change, allowing it to return, or perhaps even become for the first time, to a ghoul. 

Even the devil himself has had trouble determining exactly which component in the material causes the transition, and, frankly, he has other work to attend to, and so it remains one of Hell’s great mysteries.

Copia casts a gentle gaze down at the imp in his hands, then back at the large pool of bubbling water before him questioningly, turning to the looming earth ghoul to his left.

“What if it can’t swim?” he asks sheepishly, suddenly worried for the small creature he’s known all of two minutes, feeling it curl its tail tighter around his wrist and coo warily, “What if it doesn’t want to go in? It seems frightened...”

Mountain hums, bending to get on eye level with the imp, who instinctively curls its face deeper into Copia’s palm, trying to hide from him.

“Imps,” the ghoul remarks in a monotone, “are naturally quite skittish. They’re built to flee, to dig into the earth like rabbits and hide... it’s a survival instinct often seen as cowardly among the other demons of Hell, but it works.”

“I sense some hesitation.” he continues, offering a hand to the imp, “I wonder...”

“Wonder what?” Copia asks, helping to transition the imp over into Mountain’s larger hands, heart twinging slightly as the creature gives a particularly pathetic squeak.

“At first, I assumed this must be a new ghoul... Sometimes, our instincts take over after the summoning ritual, and I thought, perhaps, this little one had chosen to flee out of fear, but...” the ghoul examines the imp’s small horns, “...Well, there’s only one way to know for certain...”

Copia half expects the large ghoul to toss the poor thing into the water, and is wholly caught off guard when, instead, he begins to submerge himself in the pool instead. Carefully, he brings his long arm down into the water, allowing the imp to sink in gradually, until its floating on the surface.

The imp keeps its tail wrapped around one of Mountain’s fingers, not wanting to drift away with the force of the bubbles surrounding them, but gives a little halfhearted kick with its back feet, swimming in a small circle around his hand.

“Could you hand me that?” the ghouls ask, gesturing to a blue plastic container sat on the edge of the pool. As Copia examines the bottle, he frowns.

“This is dandruff shampoo.” he blinks, “Why...”

“Read the ingredients and give it a sniff.” the ghoul instructs, watching the imp gain more confidence in the water, noting the way its paws fanned out like little flippers. Copia does so, recoiling almost instantly from the strong, eggy smell.

“You’re definitely a water ghoul, aren’t you?” he hums to the imp, taking the bottle from Copia’s hand.

“You can tell, because of the shape of the paw.” Mountain explains, answering Copia’s unasked question, “Although, the pad seems malformed...”

He picks the imp up, extending its damp paw for Copia to observe. Having never seen an imp paw before, he just nods.

“I have no idea what that means.” he admits, and Mountain laughs, startling the imp.

“Don’t worry about it too much... Now then, Cardinal, I need you to leave the room.” 

Copia blinks, “Is this ritual really something so secretive I’m not allowed to witness it?”

Mountain stares at him for a moment before letting out a shaky chuckle, nearly dropping the imp in the process, “No, no it’s just...”

He gestures at himself and then the imp, “I have the mercy of swim trunks, it does not.”

“Oh. Ohhh...” Copia had not actually thought about the fact that the ghoul would be naked, “Ah, right, I will... wait outside.”

[izayoichan]

It was only the day after Lucas had brought the news that Hayden suddenly heard frantic knocking on the veranda door. Everyone but him was at work, or well he was working too, but he had the luxury of working from home when he was tired. Wondering if it could be Lucas with some kinda panic attack he walked quickly towards the door, only to stop when he saw the one staring at him with tears in completely panicked eyes breathing as if he had a panic attack.

Hayden: Arlo? They had after all met before, but he had to admit he was very surprised to see the young man here, and in the state they still seemed to slip in and out of ever so often. Opening the door, he wrapped an arm gently around the young man, leading him to sit on the small bench they had there, afraid he would fall apart if he didn’t. Between the deep heaves of air, all he caught was incoherent panicked half words coming from the one sitting next to him, but he did catch the name of his son, and help.

Hayden: Arlo, I need you to breathe with me, okay, we need to slow down your breathing some or you will pass out.

Green panicked eyes met his, a soft smile on Hayden’s face as it reminded him of his twin so many years ago. Nodding at him, he took a deep breath waiting for Arlo to try and join him. Although it took a while, slowly but surely Arlo’s breath started to fall in line with his own, which let him message Vy to come home as soon as he could. He also quickly messaged Flynn as they were the one he knew could help open a portal. After Flynn and Fannar found their twin and being half reapers let them open portals, the trip between the two universes had become easier. Getting an answer instantly from Flynn telling them that he and his dad would join them.

Arlo: Fan, help him, please! Hayden: As soon as my husband comes home, we will go. Flynn and River will come too, okay?

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