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ink-flavored · 21 days ago

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Anthology Blast Prompt 3: How to Train Your Dragon Trainer

for the Tales from Athendrolyn Anthology Full prompt list for the Anthology Blast Tips are appreciated! Contains: mentions of vomiting, performance anxiety, sibling teasing

“Welcome back to the final day of the 345th annual Holawynn Den Club Dragon Show, and folks, it is going to be a real nail-biter this year.”

Bula stared wide-eyed up at the TV from her living room floor, her tusks almost close enough to touch the screen. She was too excited to stay on the couch, even though it was harder to see this way. She had even dragged the family dragon, Modra, down with her. He didn’t seem to mind, coiled up in her lap and snoozing through the whole affair.

“After this weekend, I can’t believe the judges have narrowed it down to just three final competitors for the acclaimed title of Best in Show,” the first announcer continued, a cardinal harpy with a perfectly coiffed crest.

“I’m having trouble believing it myself, Theleano,” the second announcer agreed. They tongue-flicked before continuing, a rat snake naga with black and yellow scales. “I’ll be honest, it’s hard to believe any one of these dragons can beat out the other.”

“Well, Lana, the rules here at Holawynn dictate there can be only one winner. That is, until the committee stops ignoring my letters.”

“I’ll tie my tail in a knot before that happens, but more importantly, let’s get back to the show floor.”

Bula sat up, smugly superior to the announcers. She knew which dragon was going to win. When the finalists were announced the previous night, she could tell from the line-up alone which dragon was the best competitor.

The camera transitioned from the announcers’ box to the arena. Thousands of people gathered in attendance to see the most prestigious dragon show in the country, from one of the oldest-established den clubs in elvish dragon husbandry history. Bula had read at least a hundred books about it. It was probably a hundred—that’s what her mom always said about her book collection. She bounced up and down in excitement, jostling Modra in her lap. He didn’t move.

“Our first competitor doing a fly-by to start us off,” Theleano said.

Curtains on one end of the stage drew up and the first dragon and handler emerged, a gray and white tabby catfolk, holding the end of a thin harness. A brilliant purple dragon with white spines along its back flew on the end of it. The audience clapped politely as she circled the show floor. Bula narrowed her eyes, watching carefully for any mistake.

“Marya and her competitor Evolet, a stunning example of the Ivoryback breed. You know, she actually competed last year and was eliminated in the Best of Breed competition.”

Evolet tilted her wings and swung around the first curve of the arena, Marya not far behind. The dragon’s short, stocky body was nearly invisible behind her wingspan, a signature of the Ivoryback. Bula nodded at the display of such a fine specimen, but something felt off about the performance.

“It certainly seems like she’s learned her lesson this year,” Lana added. “Marya and Evolet have dominated all weekend, only losing points because Evolet is almost too enthusiastic about it.”

That was it! Evolet flew too high above, Marya’s head, displaying a lack of control between dragon and trainer. Bula pointed at the screen with all the authority of her school teachers.

“Lose points for handling!” she declared.

“Bula, honey,” her mom called, poking her head in from the kitchen. Her mouth formed a stern line around her tusks. “Don’t shout at the TV.”

She retracted her arm. “Sorry, Mama.” She whispered instead, ”Lose points for handling.”

Marya and Evolet completed their circuit around the show floor, disappearing behind a second set of curtains. The second competitor emerged from the first set. The crowd clapped politely once more, but Bula clapped furiously.

Theleano started off the introduction: “Our second finalist is Yotul with his Eastern Highflyer Durza, both of them first-time competitors all the way from Athendrolyn, can you believe that, Lana?”

Bula whooped loud enough that she finally woke Modra. He blew a puff of smoke out of his nose, annoyed at the disturbance. She scooped his long-coiled body up in her short arms and tried to lift him to see the TV.

“Look, look!” she said. “Durza is just like you!”

Yotul, an orc with dark green skin and two gold bands around his tusks, held Durza on his lead with confidence. The Eastern Highflyer on screen slithered through the air above him, high enough to show off how well he lived up to his breed’s standard but not so high that it would lose them any points. And Durza was exactly like Modra.

Well, maybe not exactly the same. Modra was a soft blue, the color of the sky, and Durza was a fiery reddish-orange, but the basics were still there! They both had long slinky bodies, thin wings meant for aerial diving, feathery tails, and long silly mustaches. They were basically the same, and more importantly—

“I won’t lie, I was surprised when I saw these two pull through,” Lana said, as the two made their lap around the show floor. “For first timers, they’ve run an almost flawless performance compared to even seasoned professionals. Honestly, I can’t say for sure who’s going to win this competition, but Yotul and Durza certainly have a higher chance than most.”

“Yes!” Bula cheered, dropping Modra back in her lap. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“If they do manage to pull this one out,” Theleano said, “I might have to visit Athendrolyn and see if there’s something in the water that causes unprecedented success.”

“Maybe the committee will finally answer your letters.”

“Hey, it’s worth a shot!”

Disgruntled, Modra uncoiled and slunk off to nap somewhere else. Bula pouted as he left, but didn’t stop him. He was old now, and didn’t like playing as much as he used to.

Yotul and Durza disappeared through the second curtain, and the first set opened once more for a halfling and muddy green dragon with prominent frills on its face, legs, and tail.

“Our third and final competitor is Molly Cotton with their Frilled Guardian, Baily. A more predictable contender, the two of them have been familiar faces here for—”

“It’s dinnertime, Bula,” her mom called again.

“Okay,” she sighed. She crawled back to the TV to grab the remote and shut it off. Her dad had made sure to record it, so she wouldn’t really missanything. She already knew who was going to win anyway.

That cheered her up enough to skip to the kitchen, where the rest of the family was waiting. Bula clambered onto her chair as her mom sat a big pot of stew in the center of the dinner table.

“How’s your dragon thing going?” Ghorza, her big sister, asked. She wore silver bands around her tusks that matched her spiky earrings.

“They award Best in Show today,” Bula explained, puffing her chest, “and Durza is definitely going to win.”

“You think so?” She held out her bowl for their dad to ladle some stew into it.

“I know it! He’s already won Best in Breed, and he’s the best trained, and he’s from Athendrolyn, which means he’s better.”

“Bowl, sweetheart,” her dad said, his tiny glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Bula always wondered if they would fall off and hang across his tusks.

She quickly held out her dish. “Thank you.”

“It sounds like an exciting day for dragon trainers, huh?” her mom asked.

Bula put her hands on her hips. “It’s pretty boring when you already know who’s going to win.”

“What was all that shouting for, then?”

“Because it’s polite. And I had to show Modra how cool Eastern Highflyers are.”

Ghorza glanced into the living room, where Modra slumped over the arm of the couch. “He’s just a dragon,” she said.

“But he’s a special dragon! Eastern Highflyers are the best at doing air tricks, and they’re one of the only dragon breeds that has fur and scales. Oh! And also, they were bred to be pets and do tricks, so they’re really smart and easy to train for—”

“Slow down, Bula,” her dad said, tapping her bowl with his spoon. “Don’t forget to eat.”

She slumped, but scooped a spoonful of the stew into her mouth. Dragon facts were more important than dinner, in her opinion, but nobody else ever seemed to feel the same. They never wanted to watch the show with her, either.

“Well, girls,” her mom said, across the table. “The Community Contribution Show is coming up soon. Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Bula sank closer to her strew, but Ghorza sat up tall and proud. “I’m going to do a traditional dance,” she declared, “because it shows that I value my culture and history.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!”

“Absolutely, how thoughtful,” her dad added. All three sets of eyes turned to Bula. “What about you, kiddo? Any ideas?”

“Um…” Bula put her spoon in her mouth to avoid answering.

“She’s probably nervous because of last year,” Ghorza said.

“Shut up!”

“Language,” her mom scolded, then turned to the other sister. “Don’t tease your sister, Ghorza, it was her first year presenting. Everyone’s nervous the first time, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Okay, sorry,” she muttered.

Bula frowned into her stew like she could boil it with her eyes. The art project she brought for last year’s Contribution Show was fine, but she could barely look up from her shoes. The moment she did, when she took in the crowd of her family, friends, neighbors, and classmates, all waiting to hear what she’d contributed to her community in the last year… She turned several shades greener and threw up on her art project in front of everyone. This time, she was going to prove herself. This time, her presentation would be so awesome, everyone would forget about last year.

“Go on, Bula,” her dad encouraged. “What did you have in mind this year?”

The problem was: she didn’t have any ideas. Bula scooped some more stew into her mouth to stall for time. She’d been so excited for the Holawynn Dragon Show that she hadn’t bothered to think about a presentation.

But wait. That was perfect!

“I’m going to train Modra!” she announced, sitting up straight with a wide grin. Her family exchanged confused glances.

“Train Modra?” her dad asked.

“Yeah! I’m gonna make him do an agility course and show everyone how awesome it is!”

Ghorza put her cheek on her fist. “How does that improve the community, though?”

“Uh. Because it…” Bula raced through the facts she memorized from her books. “Because dragons are part of the community too? And it’s important to build bonds with them…”

“Bula,” her mom said, gently, “that’s a really good idea. But don’t you want to do something a little… simpler?”

“Why?”

“The dragons in your shows are a lot younger than Modra. He might not be able to do all the tricks you see on TV.”

“But the agility course isn’t tricks! It’s just running and flying, and he can do all that stuff." She looked earnestly between her parents, trying to will them to understand. “We take him on flights every day!”

“A short flight around the block is different than an agility course.”

Before Bula could protest again, her dad put a hand on her back. “We just don’t want Modra to get hurt, that’s all. That’s a lot of exercise for a little guy like him.”

“What if it’s a really short one? Please?”

Her parents looked at each other. Bula thought about holding her breath until they said yes.

“You can try a short one,” her mom conceded.

Bula cheered and jumped out of her chair.

“We can set it up tomorrow.”

She climbed back onto her chair. The dinner conversations continued all around her, but all Bula could think about was her awesome idea. She was going to train Modra, and then everyone would have to clap for her and tell her how amazing dragon training was. Every bite of stew was sweet with the promise of victory.

As soon as dinner was over and they were all excused, Bula raced to the living room to continue the Holawynn Dragon Show. Now that she was a dragon trainer, she would need to study extra hard to make sure her presentation was the best it could be.

Modra lifted his head when she sat down on the couch. Bula patted the cushion next to her. “Come on! We have to be ready for action tomorrow!”

He slunk down to coil up next to her, but it was a false start. He put his feathery tail over his face and went right back to sleep. Bula pouted, but wasn’t too bothered. They’d have plenty of time to practice before the big show.

“Goodnight, Bula,” her mom said, dimming the lights with a wave of her hand. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight, Mama, I won’t!”

She picked up the show right where she left off and was immediately enraptured again. After finishing the introduction of Molly and Baily, the three competitors were off the final challenges of the show. Having already passed the Breed Standard Judging, Obedience Trial, and Advanced Agility Trial to even get to the finals, the last two challenges were the Master’s Agility Trial, and the most difficult test of all: the Performance Trial.

Bula watched with bated breath as each handler and their dragon ran through the complex agility course. Every display of maneuverability, control during flight, and the sheer speed at which they completed the trial was electrifying. The weave polls, magically floating and rotating hoops, the landing boxes that dove straight into a crawl space—each one was navigated with masterful grace. Bula kept her eyes peeled for any mistakes, from all competitors, but especially from Durza. She only spotted a few minor hiccups, nothing that would take out a competitor from the running. It was still anyone’s game.

“Breathtaking,” Lana said, once the course was over. “I can’t wait to see how close those scores are from the judges.”

“I’m guessing we’re in the decimal points,” said Theleano. “With only a few infractions, I think it’s all going to come down to the Performance Trial up next.”

Bula sat with her fingers crossed over her chest as the judges awarded points for the Master’s Agility Trial. Theleano was right—the differences were small, but she gasped at Marya and Evolet’s scores. They’d lost points in handling.

“I was right!” she cheered, and quickly covered her mouth when she remembered it was nighttime. She squealed into her hands, “I was right!”

But it wasn’t over yet. The Performance Trial was where everything would be decided.

A different sort of challenge, the performance part of the show was where the competitors and their dragons would show off the unique flight characteristics of the breed. It was a beautifully choregraphed air show that would truly show how well the trainers knew their dragons, and how well the dragons knew their trainers’ commands. No two Performance Trials were alike, even between the same breed of dragon, and it was where any truly skilled duo shined.

Bula knew Yotul and Durza had an advantage. Eastern Highflyers were known for their stunning flight patterns and capacity for learning tricks. But were they skilled enough to prove it?

Marya and Evolet went first. The show was impressive, but Bula could see the sloppy handling mistakes right away. Evolet really wanted to do her own thing, constrained by the limits of her handler, and it showed.

Her favorites were next. It was everything she could have hoped for, full of incredible dives, twisting flight paths, and excellent displays of what the Eastern Highflyer was bred for. She almost woke up Modra to encourage him to watch and see all the incredible things he could do, but nothing could tear her eyes off the screen. Yotul and Durza were flawless, in her eyes, and much better than Evolet.

Finally, Molly and Baily. As a Frilled Guardian, a stockier species skilled in gliding and swimming, there was a limit to what they could do during a performance. But Molly was clearly a professional, and made full use of Baily’s breed to offer a less flashy, but still honest display of the things a Frilled Guardian was capable of. Bula pulled her pigtails nervously—it wasn’t as fancy as Durza, but would the judges appreciate a more grounded, breed-sensitive performance more?

At last, the award for Best in Show was upon them. The three competitors lined up by the podiums for first, second, and third, awaiting their scores. Bula almost didn’t want to watch.

“In third place,” one of the judges announced, “Evolet, the Ivoryback, and her handler Marya.”

Bula clapped politely as they took the stand. No surprises there.

“In second place, Baily, the Frilled Guardian and her handler Molly Cotton.”

Bula jumped out of her seat. That meant—

“And congratulations to our winner of Best in Show: Durza, the Eastern Highflyer, and his handler Yotul.”

The only thing that kept Bula from screaming with happiness was that she couldn’t breathe. She watched Yotul and Durza, the orc from Athendrolyn with an Eastern Highflyer, take the first place stand and get showered with awards. Durza stood noble and upright on the podium, and Yotul grinned behind him, overjoyed. Not at the applause or the ribbon or the trophy, but at his dragon.

“Unbelievable!” Theleano laughed. “Absolutely unbelievable, I’m booking my flight tomorrow.”

“What an incredible performance,” Lana agreed. “From all three competitors, but I think those two have something special.”

“I completely agree, Lana, Yotul and Durza have truly made their mark today. They say emotional bonds dragons forge when they care about someone can be seen right on their faces, and you can absolutely see how much those two care for each other. No doubt it’s why they won today, and were able to put on such a good show for us. It’s outstanding.”

Bula knew what she had to do now. Knowing that Yotul and Durza would win wasn’t a guess, or luck, or even skill. It was destiny.

As the announcers closed out the show, Bula turned around to face her sleeping family pet. Modra still had his tail over his eyes, blinded to the truth. But Bula knew it.

She would become the greatest dragon trainer in the world.

As promised, the very next morning Bula and her dad got to work. They worked together to pull out scrap, wood, and carboard boxes from the garage so they could build their very own dragon agility course in the backyard. Bula assigned herself the role of manager—because her dad wouldn’t let her use the power tools—with the task of finding pictures of all the many types of obstacles that a good agility course needed in order for theirs to count.

By late afternoon, they’d crafted a course that had Bula beaming with pride. It wasn’t as big as the ones at the Holawynn Dragon Show—they only had a few weave poles made out of some old plastic pipes, an A-frame made of wood planks, a floating toy hoop enchanted by her mom, and an upturned box for a landing spot. It was a start, though. They could always add more obstacles when her career as the world’s greatest dragon trainer took off.

“What do you think, kiddo?” her dad asked, as they admired their finished work.

“It’s awesome!” she said. “Can I try it with Modra now?”

“Sure, if he wants to come out with us.”

Bula rushed inside, plucking Modra’s harness off the hook by the door. Her parents agreed to skip Modra’s evening walk, so he’d be full of energy for her training session. She found him in his favorite basking spot in the kitchen, coiled up on the tile.

“Modra!” she called, holding his harness triumphantly. “It’s time for your training to begin!”

Seeing the harness he unwrapped himself and stood politely to be hooked up. Bula slipped his skinny body through the loops, tightened them, and marched back outside. Modra followed at her ankles, probably thinking he was going on another walk. Bula grinned to herself—he had no idea how amazing his life was about to become.

“Ta-da!” she announced, arm spread to show off the course.

“I think he’s impressed,” her dad said, standing on the porch to observe her session.

Modra blinked and cocked his head.

Bula nodded. “He’s speechless.”

“Why don’t you show him the ropes?”

The first trial. She nodded, determined.

She approached the first obstacle with Modra: the weave poles. This should be easy for him as an Eastern Highflyer—their long, slinky bodies were ideal for the flexibility this challenge required. She stood to the side, harness held aloft, just like she’d seen the professionals do.

“Go!”

Modra sniffed the first pole. He didn’t go.

Bula tugged the harness a little. “Come on, Modra.”

“I think you have to show him first,” her dad suggested.

She wrinkled her nose—he was supposed to be good at this already. But he was an old dragon. Maybe he just forgot.

“Okay, Modra,” she said, dropping the harness. “Watch me.”

Bula waddled through the weave poles. She crossed one space to the other side, then squeezed through the next, in a zig-zag pattern, until she reached the end. Satisfied with her demonstration, she turned around with her hands on her hips.

“See? It’s easy, so now you—”

Modra had melted down into the grass, not paying attention at all. She groaned.

“Why don’t you try something easier?” her dad suggested. He pointed at the A-frame. “Modra goes up and down the stairs all the time. Maybe he’ll be better at that one.”

Bula thought about it. Modra was clearly out of practice, compared to his breed standard. Maybe doing something familiar would jog his memory about all the other things.

“Okay,” she agreed, and picked up his harness again.

The A-frame was a better challenge to show off heavier-bodied dragons. They didn’t have much flexibility, but were excellently balanced. Modra was used to running up and down the stairs in their house, so he might have an advantage over other Eastern Highflyers in that way.

Bula scooted him right at the base of the A-frame, close enough for his front claws to touch it. “Okay, Modra,” she instructed. “Go up that thing!”

She held the harness up again and waited. When nothing happened again, she tugged it forward. Modra scrambled up the first two claw grips—which were just skinnier pieces of scrap wood—and Bula gasped. He climbed up the first side of the A-frame all on his own! He perched at the top, confused, his lanky body all scrunched up to keep his balance. Now all he needed to do was climb down the other side, and he would master this obstacle!

“Come on, you can do it!” she encouraged.

Modra wiggled, put two of his paws on the other side of the A-frame…

And jumped off. Bula put a hand over her face.

“That was cool!” her dad said, clapping from the other end of the yard.

“No, no! That’s wrong!”

“Oh, whoops.” He stopped clapping.

Bula narrowed her eyes. The last obstacle was the hoop and landing box. Surely, Modra would be able to do that. Any dragon could jump through a hoop and land on a box. That would be theone.

For the third time, Bula dragged Modra to the obstacle, and set him in front of it. This time, she crouched down and explained it to him in detail.

“All you have to do,” she said, “is fly through this hoop, and land on that box.” She pointed to the cardboard box, with a white circle painted on its underside. “It’s super easy and—hey!”

Modra took off without warning. He ignored the hoop completely, raced over to the box, and nudged it until it turned on its side. The interior exposed, he crawled inside and tipped it back over, invisible except for the leash end of his harness trailing across the grass.

“Modra!” she cried.

Her dad jogged over. “Hey, Bula, maybe you should take a break for today.”

“But we didn’t do anything!”

“Well, you showed him the course right? He has to get used to it.”

She folded her arms, frustrated. “But…”

He crouched down next to her, a hand on her back. “He’s never done an agility course, kiddo. He has to learn the rules, and that might take some time. Didn’t it take you a long time to learn all the rules, too?”

She remembered. She scoured the library for books about dragon shows—their history, their trials, and more. Her teachers had to remind her to pay attention in class, because she was too busy reading about dragon shows. After all that studying, Bula had only begun to understand.

“I guess so,” she admitted.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he said, standing up and holding out a hand. “Maybe tomorrow he’ll be ready to train.”

Bula grabbed his hand—mostly his fingers. “Maybe.”

Her dad took her inside, then he went back out to get Modra’s harness. They let him run around the course on his own, to see if he’d be any better at it the next day. But Bula wasn’t going to take any chances.

That night, she took Modra to her room and read him a book about dragon shows.

“What are you doing?” Ghorza asked. She was on the couch watching TV when Bula came down the stairs, a pile of books in her arms.

She peeked over the top of the stack. “Training Modra.”

“With books?”

“He has to learn the rules.”

“He can’t read, doofus.”

“Duh. I know that.” Bula put her books down to put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to read it to him. So he knows what to do.”

“Why don’t you just give him treats?” Bula gasped. Ghorza put a hand over her eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot about treats.”

Bula ignored her and raced back up the stairs. “Mama!”

“I’m in the office!” her mom called back.

Bula raced down the hall to her office, skidding to a stop in the threshold. “Can I have some treats for Modra?”

Her mom looked up from a pile of floating paperwork. “For what?”

“To train him today. Modra can’t read, so I need them.”

She blinked. “Alright, just don’t give him too many.”

“Yay, thank you!”

Bula raced back down the stairs. She stopped before sprinting all the way to the kitchen, contemplating if she needed them. Even if Modra couldn’t read, it was always a good idea to have a back-up plan. She retrieved a bag of jackalope treats, placed them on top of her book pile, and heaved it all into her arms again. Unfortunately, she ran into another problem almost. She couldn’t open the back door.

“Here, I got it,” Ghorza said. She hopped off the couch and opened the door for her.

“Thank you,” Bula said, waddling outside.

“Good luck.”

The door shut before she could respond, but it was fine. Bula didn’t need luck. She had skill. And a bag of treats.

Modra was already outside, sleeping on the back porch. The sun turned him into a disco ball, a kaleidoscope of blue scale-shaped reflections speckling the porch. Bula picked up the treat bag and sat down next to him.

“Hey, Modra,” she said, in the excited voice her parents used. “Look what I have.”

She shook the treat bag, rattling the contents. Modra shot up instantly, yellow eyes trained right on the treats.

“Maybe if you come with me,” she continued, scooting down the porch, “you’ll get a bunch of yummy treats.”

Modra slunk toward her, sniffing wildly. She kept shaking the bag, all the way down into the grass. When she’d led Modra all the way to the weave poles, she reached into the bag and revealed one of the tiny brown chunks that he wanted so badly. Modra huffed, swishing his tail side to side.

“Come this way,” she said holding the treat on her side of the first gap.

With no hesitation and no trouble, Modra slipped between the first two poles. He snatched the treat out of Bula’s hand, and she happily let him. The new method was a success! Now to complete the challenge.

She ran to the other side of the weave poles to set up her next trap, but Modra followed her.

“No, stay over there,” she ordered, pointing him back to the other side. He didn’t listen, staring up at the treat bag hungrily. Bula sighed. Maybe this would be harder than she thought.

For the next hour, she tried to get Modra through the weave poles with the aid of treats. She left a piece between each pole, but he just walked on one side and ate them all one at a time. She tried to throw them, but he just jumped after them. Which was cool, but not what she wanted. Finally, she walked through the weave poles herself, using the treat as bait, which finally got him through, but she couldn’t do that for the presentation! It would look silly!

So she gave up and tried the A-frame again. It was Modra’s best, so she almost thought she wouldn’t need treats. She was wrong—Modra refused to climb it a second time. She lured him up to the top with a treat, but he wouldn’t step down. Even when she put treats on all the claw grips, he just jumped off and gobbled them up.

Getting more than a little mad, Bula held a treat on one side of the hoop. Modra spread his wings and leapt through, taking the treat from her hand as he did. But instead of landing, he whisked it away, back to the porch to eat.

The next day, Bula gave up on treats. She gave up on books, too. And as the days turned into weeks, and the Community Contribution Show drew nearer, Bula was getting scared. And frustrated. And confused as to why Modra just wouldn’t do what she asked.

In an act of desperation, she carried Modra through the entire course, locked in her arms. She walked him through the weave poles, lifted him up and down the A-frame, lowered the floating hoop so she could step through it, and set him down on the landing box. When it was over, she sat on the grass and stared at him intently.

“Can you do that?” she asked. “Can you please just do that on your own?”

Modra lowered his head to be level with hers. His eyes were big and yellow and blank. She wasn’t sure if he’d listened to her at all.

All the failed attempts bubbled up and she shouted, “Fine! Don’t do the course, I don’t care! It’s stupid anyway!”

Bula marched back into the house, slamming the back door behind her. She winced, because she wasn’t supposed to do that, but she couldn’t help it. She stomped all the way up the stairs, all the way to her room, and slammed that door too. She stood in the center of her room, fuming. Her eyes stung with tears.

All around her room, she had scattered books about dragon shows, posters, her own drawings. Her life was full of dragon shows and dragon training. She watched every recorded show she could find. Dragon training was her favorite thing in the world.

So why wasn’t she allowed to have it?

There was a knock at the door. “Bula?” her mom said.

“Go away!” she demanded. Some stupid teardrops slipped down her cheeks. She swiped them away angrily.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, honey.”

She sniffed. Of course she wasn’t okay, what kind of question was that?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bula shifted in place. She didn’t understand anything that happened, she didn’t know what she was doing wrong. But maybe her mom would. She shuffled to the door and opened it up. All she saw were her mom’s green feet, because she didn’t want to look up.

She didn’t have to. Her mom crouched down, taking her cheeks. “Let’s go sit down, okay?”

Bula swallowed a lump and nodded.

They sat together on her bed, Bula clutching a stuffed dragon. It was an Eastern Highflyer.

“What happened today?” her mom asked.

“Modra wouldn’t do the course,” Bula said, trying to keep her voice steady. It was hard.

“I’m sorry, honey.” She petted Bula’s hair. “Dragon training is pretty hard, huh?”

“But I know so many things! I know everything about dragon training, why isn’t it working?”

“Maybe it just takes a really long time, like going to school. You don’t think Modra would be able to learn all of your school work in a month, do you?”

“But it’s just one course.” Bula squeezed her stuffed dragon. “It’s not even that much, I don’t know why he can’t do it.”

“Maybe he’s nervous. He’s never done anything like this before.”

“He does though,” Bula protested. “He flies around. He climbs up and down the stairs. When we have rabbit for dinner, he twists around under the table to get our crumbs. Why can’t he do them now?”

“Well, let’s think about it.” Her mom put an arm around her shoulders. “Modra does all those things because he wants to. Nobody’s ever told him to do them on purpose. He’s never seen an agility course in the backyard before. He doesn’t know what they’re for.” Before Bula could protest again, she added, “He doesn’t know everything you know. He has a dragon brain, not an orc brain.” She tapped Bula’s head. “There’s different stuff up here.”

“But… But I really wanted to do it.”

She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they flooded down her cheeks in a hot waterfall. Her mom hugged her while she sobbed, murmuring things she didn’t hear, and didn’t really care about. There was nothing more Bula wanted than to do a dragon show for her family—for her whole community. But she just couldn’t, and it wasn’t fair.

When she got too tired to keep sobbing, her mom handed her the tissue box off the nightstand. She wiped her eyes, cheeks, and where a little drool had leaked out near her horns.

“I’m not saying you have to change your mind,” her mom said, “but maybe you can do a report on dragon shows for the presentation instead. I’m sure everyone would love to know everything you’ve learned.”

Bula couldn’t even muster the energy to be nervous. “Maybe.”

Her mom kissed the top of her head and stood up. “I’m going to make dinner, do you want to eat upstairs tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, I’ll bring it up for you.”

And Bula sat in her room for the rest of the night. She ate dinner in bed, changed right into her pajamas, and tried to sleep. It was hard, even though she was tired. When the sun set, the only light was Ghorza’s room across the hall. Eventually, even that light turned off.

When Bula was thinking about going to the kitchen for a glass of water, a slinky silhouette peered into her room. A silhouette with a funny mustache and feathery tail. She decided she was still mad and rolled over.

That didn’t stop him. Modra leapt up onto her bed, crawled over her, and tried to coil up near her chest. She scooted to the edge.

“Go away,” she muttered. “I don’t like you right now.”

Modra sniffed her cheek and made a rumbling sound. Maybe he was saying sorry.

Bula pushed up to sit and he immediately curled up in her lap. She fought back tears again.

“I don’t hate you,” she promised. “I’m just sad.”

He blinked, his wide eyes bright in the dark.

“I just wanted to do a dragon show,” she confessed. “I feel like nobody understands how cool they are. Nobody watches my shows with me or reads my books or anything and I thought—” She sniffed and had to pause. “I thought maybe if I did a cool show, everyone would like it with me.”

Modra nuzzled into her hand. She stroked his skinny neck and felt a bit in her stomach.

“I’m sorry if I made you scared. I didn’t mean to. I just think you’re a really cool dragon.”

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was a dragon, not an orc.

“I guess I have to do something else for the presentation now.”

At that, Modra sat up. He jumped off the bed and slunk his way to her door. Bula shuffled back under the covers. He probably needed a drink of water.

But then he came back. He stood up on his back legs and nudged her face with his head. She watched him pace to the door, stop, and look at her. He… wanted Bula to follow him. Curious, she got out of bed and did just that.

Modra led her all the way downstairs and to the backdoor. She sighed, but put on her shoes. He should have woken up Ghorza if he needed to go to the bathroom. He darted out the door, again waiting for her to step outside before he moved again.

Bula expected him to dart behind the bushes, but instead, he went to the A-frame. Modra tentatively crawled up the first half and… down the second half. Shakily, unsure, but… he did it.

Speechless, Bula just stood there, in her boots and pajamas, wondering if she was dreaming. Modra flew back to her, as if to make sure she’d seen it. And she had.

“Are you,” she started, “learning?”

Modra’s yellow eyes glittered in the night. Bula suddenly remembered what the dragon show announcer had said— the emotional bonds dragons forge when they care about someone can be seen right on their faces.

Was he… trying to show her that he cared?

Bula crouched down and hugged Modra, as tight as she could without hurting him. Modra rumbled, and it vibrated his entire body.

“Tomorrow,” she declared, “we’re going to try again.”

Modra didn’t say anything, but she knew he agreed.

The Community Contribution Show was upon them.

Bula had her dad load the agility course into the trunk of the car, piece by piece. All the way there, she held Modra in her lap, and tried not to think about where they were going. She wished they had more time to practice.

“Nervous?” Ghorza asked. She was wearing a traditional orcish dancing skirt—a gift passed down by their grandparents that had been stuffed in the closet until now. It was really pretty, bright red with extra layers to make spinning and jumping look cooler. Bula felt weird wearing just a regular outfit.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine.”

Bula nodded, swallowing hard. She hoped so.

When they arrived at the park outside the community center, it was already packed. A little stage had been set up under a large tree, a floating sign instructed presenters where to store their props if they had them, and a ton of fold-out chairs were planted in the grass. There were dozens of people mingling around the park, some had brought blankets to sit on, some brought their own chairs, and others sat on their cars. Orcs made up most of the attendees, but there were other creatures there too—Bula recognized a few of her half-orcish classmates attending with both their parents. She waved out the window. Then she remembered she’d have to perform in front of all of them.

Before she could slump down, Modra perked up. He stretched his long body, and nuzzled her hand. She rubbed his head, heartened by his encouragement.

“Parking is going to be a nightmare,” her dad lamented from the driver’s seat.

“It’s a nightmare every year, Agrob,” her mom sighed back.

“Yes, Dura, I know. We are a bit later than usual, too.”

“We’ll never find a seat like this.” Her mom turned around in her seat. “Girls, let’s get out here and go find somewhere to sit while Dad parks the car.”

“What about my course?” Bula asked.

“Don’t worry,” her dad said, “I’ll get it all out of the trunk and set it up with the other props.”

With that settled, Bula got out of the car, Modra in her arms. She, Ghorza, and their mom squeezed through the crowd, stopping what felt like every five seconds to talk to a friend, neighbor, or random friendly stranger. Bula clutched Modra close to her chest to keep him from falling… and because she needed a hug.

Finally, they reached the stage. They snagged the first four seats in a row they could find, her mom planting her bag on one to save it for her dad. Bula would have used Modra to save it for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him go. Modra twisted around in her grip.

“Sorry,” she said, and quickly let go.

Modra put his front paws on her chest and rubbed her cheek with his face. She steeled herself. If Modra believed in her, Bula knew she could do anything.

It took a long time for the show to start. So many people had to sit down, so many more people arrived, and her dad could barely find them when he got finished transferring Bula’s props. But the noisy crowd went almost silent when someone got up on stage holding a microphone and clipboard, a big orc with golden tusk jewelry and a sundress.

“Wow, what a great turnout,” they said, peering out into the crowd with a hand over their eyes. Everyone clapped and cheered. “When I saw how many people signed up to present this year, I was worried we’d have to rent out the university stadium.”

Everyone laughed, but Bula thought that was a great idea. There would be so much room for cooler presentations. And more props!

“Since there’s so many of you, I’ll cut right to the chase. Once a year, we celebrate what we have for generations: community, togetherness, and achievement. There’s no such thing as a society without people to push it forward, and today, we have a lot of people who are ready to share what they contributed to the community in the past year.” They glanced at their clipboard. “First up: Argha, with an educational achievement.”

It went on for hours. Probably days. Bula sat, watched people come up on stage, listened to them talk about what they did, watched a demonstration if they had one, clapped, and then waited for the next person. She was worried the announcer had left her off the list—part of her hoped she’d been left off the list.

“Ghorza, with a cultural tribute.”

She stood up, the whole family wishing her good luck on her way to the stage. Everyone clapped when she got up there, and took the microphone from the announcer.

“This year, I learned to dance,” she said, proudly. “Specifically, I learned a traditional war dance from my ancestor’s clan. I want to share with my community, so we can all reflect on our history, and how far we’ve come.”

The audience clapped, but Bula tried to clap the loudest. Ghorza waited for everyone to quiet down, standing tall in the center of the stage. She handed the mic back to the announcer, and, with no music, she started her dance.

Ghorza stomped, kicked, and clapped aggressively. The skirt flew like a dragon’s wings whenever she turned, jumped, struck out with her legs as if she were actually at war. Every step beat down an invisible enemy, and the skirt flashed to clear the battlefield for another. Bula couldn’t tear her eyes away mesmerized by the performance.

When she finished, sweating and chest heaving, everyone burst into applause. Ghorza beamed at the crowd and took a bow. Bula would have jumped out of her seat if not for Modra—it was so cool!

Uh oh. It was really cool.

Ghorza left the stage and the announcer came back. “What a spectacular performance!” they said. “Only blessings to you and your ancestors, but I think I’d break a hip trying to pull of moves like that.” They paused for the audience to laugh. “Up next, we have Bula, with her tribute to entertainment.”

“Time to go, kiddo,” her dad said, and held out his hand.

“Good luck, honey,” her mom said.

Bula didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She just nodded and took her dad’s hand as he led her through the crowd. She held Modra in the other. He draped himself over her back and around her neck like a scarf.

They passed Ghorza on the way. “Hey, good luck.”

“Th-thanks,” she managed.

All the way to the stage, Bula thought about how awesome Ghorza’s dance was. Would she be able to do something like that? Something that meaningful and that everyone loved? Was she going to ruin everything like last year again?

Before she knew it, her dad had let her hand go and she was on the stage. A sea of green faces unfolded before her eyes. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of people, watching her. Talking. About her. She dropped Modra.

Luckily for her, he was an Eastern Highflyer, and landed flawlessly. Some people murmured, a mess of voices Bula couldn’t begin to understand. She felt a little dizzy.

Modra clawed her hip, standing up on his hind legs. Bula tried to brush him off, but looking down she remembered: she prepared for this. Hurriedly, she dug into her pocket and unfolded a square of paper. She stared at it, instead of the crowd.

“Um,” she said, and stopped when the announcer rushed over and handed her the microphone. It was big. And sweaty. “Um. Th-this year, I learned dragon training. Dragons have, um, been in our community for a really long time, going back to ancient times. They’re an important part of our culture, and I think people should bond with their dragons more. By training them. Like this.”

Bula stuffed the speech back into her pocket, and spun around as people clapped politely. Her dad had set up the agility course while she was talking: a bag of treats, the weave poles, the A-frame, and the hoop and box. Standing at the very back of the stage, he gave her a double-thumbs up. She gave a weak one back.

Gripping Modra’s harness like a lifeline, Bula shuffled to the start of the agility course. It looked so different on a stage, instead of in her backyard. Almost like a real dragon show. She took a breath.

Bula unclipped Modra’s harness, and heard the crowd behind her bubble up with questions. She ignored them, with all her might, and took a treat out of the bag. Modra stepped up to the weave poles, just like they practiced. He looked up at her with his big yellow eyes, glittering, just like they had before. That night he told her that he wanted to try.

Bula wanted to try too. She stuck her arm out, holding the treat aloft, just like they practiced. And took off running.

Modra zipped along behind her, weaving through the poles like he was made of water. The curves of his body flowed between the empty spaces, not touching a single side. Behind her, the audience gasped, but they didn’t have time to process the first trick before they reached the A-frame. Modra climbed up to the center of the obstacle and stopped.

Bula let him, just like they practiced, holding the treat as high as she could. He posed on his hind legs, showing off his lanky body. It wasn’t “correct,” but Modra liked to collect himself after running up one side—Bula learned that during practice. After a few seconds, he let her guide him down the other side.

The next trick was easy. Modra leapt into the air and soared through the hoop, landing in the empty, upright cardboard box on the front corner of the stage. Bula rushed around to one side to make sure he was ready. When she saw him coiled up and ready to pounce, she tossed the treat in the air. He jumped like a spring toy, catching it out of midair.

And… that was it. They did it.

Bula turned around, only to be blasted with a soundwave of applause. People cheered for her, shouting their appreciation into the sky. She was so surprised she fell over, landing on her backside. It didn’t even hurt—she stared, in awe. She did it. She did it well! She started laughing and then couldn’t stop, thrilled and shaking and dizzy and maybe she would throw up again. But in a good way, this time.

Modra didn’t let her take all the credit. He jumped out of the box and into her lap, showing off his sparkly scales. The audience clapped even louder, and Bula threw her arms around him. He nuzzled her cheek, his eyes bright with understanding. He was happy. And she was happy too.

Even if she didn’t do it “right,” the way the professionals did, Bula got to bond with her pet. She worked with Modra, instead of making him do whatever she wanted. And then they put on the best dragon show ever.

Bula finally collected herself enough to stand up, grinning ear to ear. This was destiny. She would become the greatest dragon trainer of all time.

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steddieunderdogfics · 1 year ago

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This week's writer spotlight feature is: @kkpwnall! They have eight Stranger Things and Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson works on archive of our own!

An anonymous nominator recommends the following works by kkpwnall:

driving in your car

love is like ghosts

where's the spark?

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

wanted: pool boy at the vampire mansion

KK's works have a consistent feel of genuine, heartfelt, human connection. Whether it’s a big, dramatic scene as the climax of a slow, delicious build-up of tension, or a mundane, slice-of-life tidbit, the characters always feel true to themselves, and their voices are perfectly nailed each and every time. And by that I mean, you can literally hear the dialogues in the characters’ voices—they’re THAT good. KK explores classic Steddie themes in their longfic Driving In Your Car, and they have a handful of wonderful one-shots and two-shots, each and every one of them delving into how much these boys love each other for who they are. In short, KK’s body of work feels like a love letter of the characters. If you love Steve and Eddie, chances are you’ll love their fics. - anonymous

Below the cut, @kkpwnall answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

They’re such a compelling and complementary pairing. Like, it seems like an opposites attract / odd-couple pairing on the surface, but beneath each of their exteriors, they’re so similar. They’re dork4dork, loser4loser, idiot4idiot, they’re both huge nerds but in different ways. They want and need and express affection through physical touch and words of affirmation (I mean, just look at the walking through the forest scene!) Plus they just have this insane chemistry that any time I think “there’s no way they did that, it’s all in my head”, I’ll go back and watch those scenes again, it’s just like “no, this absolutely checks out, they are so into each other from the word go”. And they’re just made for each other! I mean, come on! Matching scars? Nail bat and nail shield? Jock and nerd? They’re two halves of the same coin! What I really love about them too is that they’re both Just Some Guy, they’re silly, goofy, dorky guys! But mostly, I write steddie because it makes me happy and really satisfies part of my brain like nothing else.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Other than “Eddie Munson Lives” hahah, I’ll try just about anything written or recommended by a beloved mutual. Mutual pining, fix-it’s, missing scenes, and first kiss fics are top tier for me, and right now I’m really partial to fluffy romcom fics. If it’s got good flirting and banter, it’s got me hooked.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

My absolute favorite to write is mutual pining (aka the love is requited, they’re both just being stupid). Miscommunication is a close second, the kind that can’t easily be resolved with just a sticky note on the fridge. Whether it’s mishearing something or misunderstanding something (even the character misunderstanding their own feelings!), I find it super compelling to write. But for a specific scenario, my favorite will always be Steve having a bad time at a party.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It’s impossible for me to pick just one, so I have to recommend 3 of my friends: Anyway It’s About Old Friends by @fragilecapric0rnn, and wanna be the only one for miles and miles (except for maybe you) by @judasofsuburbia, and everybody else (everybody else looks like they’ve figured it out) by @heybluechild. Anything by these fine folks is just fantastic, they’re all incredible writers and dear friends!

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’d really like to write more AU’s! I’ve been tossing around ideas for college-aged+ aus (writing them a little older), 90s aus, a cowboy au… Mostly I’m just excited to keep writing them!

What is your writing process like?

Ahah it’s not much of a process. I write down every idea I have, no matter how small it is. Sometimes it’s a line of dialogue or a moment of a scene, but it all goes into the notes app and percolates in the back of my brain for a while. Eventually that dialogue or scene might coalesce into something bigger on its own, or combine with other snippets, and then ya got yourself a stew!

Do you have any writing quirks?

I really love writing dialogue, it’s my favorite way to get inside their heads, especially trying to balance what they say or don’t say, vs what they actually mean. I also love adding little details to fill out the world and the scene. It might not be necessary, but it feels like it brings everything together for me. And I like treating writing a fic like building a puzzle, trying to figure out just the right way to get all the pieces to fit together so the whole thing really sings.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I’m still playing around with what I prefer. With driving in your car, I started out by posting a chapter only when the following chapter was completely written, so I’d always have one in the tank. But that got to feel too much like I was just sitting on chapters for the sake of sitting on them, so I started posting each chapter as I finished it and felt good about it. I don’t do super well with a schedule for posting fics, I’ve got too many deadlines in my life as it is haha.

Which fic are you most proud of?

driving in your car, for sure. It’s my baby, my magnum opus, my kitchen sink fic (it’s got everything). It’s got so much of myself in it, it’s very personal, and very near and dear to my heart.

How did you get the idea for driving in your car?

I wrote a long post about this when the idea was just starting to percolate, but the long and short of it is I wanted to read more fics that reflected my own experiences as an older teen growing up in a suffocating small town, where really the only option you have is to just pile in the car with your friends and drive around aimlessly, because that’s the only way you can get any freedom or privacy. I wanted to see what life was like for the fruity four trying to get back to “normal” while also trying to deal with the fact the world almost ended AGAIN, and all their complicated messy feelings for one another.

What inspired love is like ghosts?

Like many people have guessed / suspected, it’s very much inspired by Buzzfeed Unsolved / Watcher Ghost Files, and a loving homage to ghost hunting shows. I’m a huge scaredy cat when it comes to anything horror, but I love a good ghost hunting show. The study room setting is also inspired by the miniscule closet-sized study rooms in the library at the college I went to.

What was your favorite part to write from love is like ghosts?

Parts of their make out scene was the first snippet I wrote and the one that really got the whole ball rolling with that fic, to try to figure out who this Steve and this Eddie are, and what would have to happen lead them to making out that hard in the study room. It was also the first steamy spicy almost-smutty scene I’d written, and it was so fun to learn how to write like that!! I also just love their banter in this fic, they’re both so sassy and ridiculous and completely gone on each other.

How do/did you feel writing where’s the spark??

Ooft this one was a doozy. This is actually the second draft, and the only time so far I’ve all but completely scraped the first draft and rewritten a fic. The first draft leaned really heavily into the loneliness of the holidays, my playlist for it was all of the most maudlin holiday songs, and it really started negatively affecting my mood and mindset. But I got some really great advice and help brainstorming from dear friends, and turned it around into a fic I’m really happy with. The holiday blues are still present, but there’s so much more love there now, and that’s really what the fic is all about.

What was the most difficult part of writing where’s the spark??

Finding that balance of holiday blues and love was really tricky, and I wrote for a lot of characters I hadn’t tried writing before either. From a technical perspective too, it was a big challenge to figure out how to keep the fic moving, and the party moving around Steve when all he wanted to do was wallow.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

It’s so so hard to pick just one, but I love how this line in love is like ghosts turned out: And Steve is dumbstruck, kiss-drunk, half-fucked.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a holiday exchange fic coming out soon (hopefully before the holidays, fingers crossed), and I’m excited to dive into my prompt for lex’s winter fic challenge soon! I’d love to get the last chapter of driving in your car ready to share by the end of January. And there’s a secret [redacted] au I’m co-authoring with a very special friend that I would absolutely love to write in the new year!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just that I love this community so much. I’ve made so many incredible friendships because of this show, and I’m so grateful to be a part of this little corner of the internet. I never shared my writing publicly before finding the steddie community, and I’ve been really overwhelmed and delighted by the response to my writing and art (especially to be nominated to do something like this!! Truly an honor!). I was, at best, a casual Stranger Things fan before season 4. I wasn’t even going to watch it when it came out. But then I saw all the gorgeous fanart and gifs, and started reading headcanons, and had to check it out. I’m so so glad that I did, my life has changed so much for the better.

Thank you to our author, @kkpwnall, and our nominator! See more of @kkpwnall's work featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer's Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie fic recs #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #kkpwnall #steddie writers #writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday

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dressed-euphoric · 2 years ago

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The Induction

By. Euphoric Dressed

A college student attempts to infiltrate a group. The photo is used as an inspiration. Word Count: 7600

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” my friend exclaimed, his eyes reflecting a lingering sense of letdown.

“It’ll be fun!” I playfully nudged my friend while extending the pamphlet before him. “Don’t you want to see what goes behind these meetings?”

I could immediately sense he was nowhere as piqued as I was. He rolled his eyes dismissively when I took the pamphlet from a random man a while ago. The man was unusual and everyone could tell he was not your average Joe.

The man exuded an air of immaculateness. His black hair neatly combed in a conservative manner. He had on a dark charcoal suit that draped on perfectly. His black leather shoes, devoid of any blemishes, gleamed of a mirror shine. His shirt boasted a starched precision, his tie formed a formulated dimple, and his pants displayed razor sharp creases. How would I be if I were to be in his position? The mere thought made me recoil. Could I ever envision myself dressed as he was? Absolutely not. It was out of the question.

"I'm not that insane," my friend dismissed the invitation.

I lowered my gaze to the paper and observed the intricate details. My eyes scanned across the displayed photos of the individual men. They too were dressed in suits.

"Discover more about our essence and enrich your life today," I read aloud.

He groaned, echoing the reservation swirling in my mind. “That’s how they lure you in, and make you apart of them.”

"Where's your faith in me?" I asked him, seriousness etched on my face. "You know I won't fall for this stuff!”

"Well, I won't be going," he replied firmly.

"Oh, come on!" I whined. "You can't leave me hanging!"

"I'm not going anywhere near that stuff," he persisted.

"You're abandoning me?"

"It was your idea!" he shot back.

"Fine. You'll miss out.”

"Yeah, let me know how it goes," he smirked at me.

I rolled my eyes and looked at him. "It's going to be an epic tale of my infiltration."

------------

The following day, I stood before the mirror. As I examined my t-shirt and jeans, my thoughts drifted to the suited stranger I had encountered on the street. Would I appear out of place?

I laughed. Why should I even care? It was just one meeting, and all I had to do was step inside and witness the nonsense being propagated. With a smile playing on my lips, I gathered the last remnants of my courage. This was it. I was going to infiltrate them.

As I arrived, the building appeared ordinary, with only a handful of individuals gathered at the entrance. Just as I had anticipated, the attendees had an air of refinement, dressed in dress shirts and ties, trousers, and well polished leather shoes.

I approached them, and they regarded me with a peculiar stare. I had assumed that I wouldn't blend in, yet they greeted me with smiles. Their eyes revealed a hidden excitement, as if they believed a lost soul like me would willingly join their cause. But there was no chance of that happening.

The entrance led to a corridor, guarded by two suited men. The number of people visiting the place seemed limited. Those who did attend stood out, much like myself, among the established members of the organization.

I observed their interaction with the two men, then they proceeded further down the hallway. I followed suit and approached the man stationed behind a desk.

He was engrossed in scribbling notes on a piece of paper, but as he glanced up, our eyes met. His neatly combed brown hair was meticulously styled to the side, accentuated by a precise part. His short brown beard was flawlessly groomed. Then there was his dark suit that highlighted his physique. My gaze lingered upon his navy striped tie. How could anyone wear such a thing around their neck!?

“Mr. Porter.” He extended his hands. I reciprocated, but his firm was heavier than mine.

"We don't often see many young folks around here," he smiled and then glanced down at his logbook. "What's your name and phone number?"

"Mike," my voice squeaked out filled with nerves. Then, I provided him with a fictitious phone number.

He moistened his finger and turned the pages, scanning for my name.

"You're not on the list," he informed me. "Did you register?"

"I have to register?" A lump formed in my throat.

"Don't worry. Let me check if there's anyone on the list who will be willing to take you in," he searched through the papers again.

"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing the implications of his statement.

“Oh, we have a mentorship program where we pair young men like you with a member. It’s meant to facilitate your transition.”

"No, I won't need that," I interjected hastily, realizing immediately that it was something to avoid.

He continued without a care to my response. Did he even hear me? Or did he choose to ignore me?

"Here we go," he tapped on the paper, presumably the person he had found. "Mr. Burton will be pleased to take you under his wing."

"Wait," I tried to stop him, but he raised his hands and reached out to his phone to dial. The phone connected and my heart sank as he mentioned me.

"He will be here shortly," he acknowledged, giving me a nod.

I simply nodded in return and stepped aside, deciding it was better not to arouse suspicion. My gaze fixated on the approaching bystanders. Some were dressed, while others were like me.

Those who were in suits headed towards a separate entrance, guided by two individuals donning charcoal suits. The rest of them made their way through the main entrance.

After a few moments, a voice announced itself.

"You must be Mike?" it asked.

Startled from my reverie, I turned to face an older gentleman. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and a partially white scruffy beard adorned his face. Round eyeglasses complemented his facial features. Like the others, he was no exception when it came to attire. He sported an exquisite gray suit, tailored impeccably to his frame, along with a white dress shirt and a yellow striped tie.

This was it. Heat began to radiate through my body as I extended my hand for a handshake. "Mr. Burton?"

There was no turning back now.

"That's me," he grinned, reciprocating the gesture. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Like…Likewise," I managed to choke out.

His handshake was firm, in stark contrast to my own lackluster grip. It surely didn't leave the best impression, but I couldn't dwell on it too much. He stood there with an air of distinction, while I felt insignificant in comparison. I wouldn't say I was scared of him, but he certainly was daunting.

"Come this way," he motioned for me to follow him into a separate hallway. I glanced around, noticing that no one else seemed to be heading in our direction.

"Are we going the right way?" My voice quivered.

He chuckled warmly, "it seems like you're familiar with this place."

"Oh. No," I quickly retracted my statement, feeling ashamed of my comment. There must be a reason why Mr. Burton was deviating from the standard protocol. I didn't know what to expect, but I followed him obediently, like a lamb.

"We don't often see many young people here. How old are you, boy?" he inquired.

"Yeah, Mr. Porter mentioned it. I'm 21," I replied, slightly taken aback by being referred to as a "boy." "Young man" would have sufficed.

"As Mr. Porter may have mentioned, we have a mentorship program in place to help young individuals like yourself transition into the group," he explained.

I nodded nervously, acknowledging his words.

"As you know, young people can be more resistant to these kinds of ideals," he commented, hinting at the challenges of acceptance within the organization.

I couldn’t help but laugh inside. He was right. There was absolutely no way I would ever be interested in any of this. Did he seriously think I would consider joining their group? Not to mention how they were all dressed, there was no way I could be like that! I shook my head in disbelief, wondering how people could become so trapped and revolve their lives around such things.

"So, what will we be doing?" I asked, attempting to extract more information from him.

"I thought I'd give you a warm welcome," he replied kindly, as he began approaching a door.

"Right this way," he said, opening the door and extending his arms to invite me in.

I stepped into the dark room, dimly lit by a single lightbulb, with two foldable chairs positioned in the center. The door closed behind me as he entered the room. I glanced back at the door, then shifted my gaze back to the man standing before me.

He chuckled, breaking the silence. "I know how this may appear, but the door isn't locked."

"Okay..." I let out a nervous laugh.

"I thought I could bring you here, so I can get to know you better," he confessed, settling into one of the chairs. As he crossed his legs, I noticed his gray socks peeking out from underneath his trousers. It was the first time I truly took notice of his black dress shoes, polished to a high degree of shine.

He extended his hands towards the vacant chair in front of him. "Come, have a seat."

Following his guidance, I sat across from him. My throat felt heavy, and my nerves were on edge. He wanted to know more about me... Then, the realization hit me hard—I didn't have a story.

"So, boy, tell me about yourself," he said casually.

I flinched at his words, feeling his gaze penetrating into me. Would I slip up? What if he discovered the true reason for my presence here?

"I..." My voice croaked, my mind racing for something to say.

He noticed my hesitation and offered a comforting smile. "I apologize if it feels like an interview. It's natural to be nervous in a situation like this."

If there was one thing remarkable about Mr. Burton, it was his smile. A grinning eminence of warmth and ease. There was a man like this, here.

"I don't mind," I blurted out, trying to sound confident.

And so, I began to weave a tale about myself—a fabricated version of me.

I introduced myself as Mike, a 21-year-old college student nearing the end of my studies. I mentioned my uncertain future, lacking prospects for a job or a clear path in life, which ultimately led me to this place.

I sprinkled in a mix of fake hobbies along with a few genuine ones, embellishing the lie to make it more convincing.

Mr. Burton sat there, his smile unwavering. He listened attentively, occasionally offering a comment or two. It was easy to forget that he was a man in a suit; he seemed so genuine and down-to-earth. There was something about him that drew me in.

He leaned forward, displaying a genuine interest in what I had to say. He laughed at my jokes and sang with agreement.

As I continued to weave my tale, a part of me longed for him to know the real me. I had to admit, he wasn't at all what I had expected. There was a gentle charm about him that assuaged my worries. If he weren't a part of this group, perhaps I would have genuinely enjoyed getting to know him better.

"Tell me about your family. Do your parents know that you're here?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "No, my mom is working hard back at home, and, well..."

I didn’t know why but my mind conjured what seemed plausible, “my dad passed away when I was little, so I had a harder time growing up. So you know, without a figure in life, I was a bit rebellious growing up.”

Mr. Burton nodded empathetically, his eyes filled with understanding. What was it about those eyes that captivated me as the lies spilled out of my lips.

"That must have been challenging for you," his soft voice melded with compassion.

"Yeah... it was," I replied, lowering my voice as if sharing a deeply personal secret.

In reality, I hadn't lost my father. In fact, my family was ordinary and happy. My parents were well-off, and I had a bright future ahead of me, following in their footsteps—school, job, and eventually starting a family of my own.

But as Mr. Burton expressed his understanding, a pang of guilt tugged at my conscience. Somehow, my words had convinced him that I was on a journey of self-discovery.

"If I had to guess, you're here because you're seeking a new sense of direction," he commented perceptively.

"Yeah," I affirmed, trying to match his understanding tone. Definitely. I definitely came here for a new sense of direction.

He rose from his chair, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. Confusion filled me as he approached me suddenly, his embrace engulfing me, drawing me close to his chest.

A rush of warmth enveloped me, evoking a sense of safety and comfort that felt foreign in this context. No. No… this wasn’t what I came here for. My heart pounded against his chest as his hand rhythmically patted and rubbed my back.

"You don't have to worry anymore, Mike. I'm here for you," he reassured me with a sincerity that caught me off guard.

His presence surrounded me like a soothing breeze, and his warmth washed over me like gentle waves lapping at the shore. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of an idyllic sunset, its hues reflecting upon the tranquil ocean. Strangely, a part of me wanted to hold onto this feeling.

Though I knew his sympathy was directed towards the fabricated version of me, I couldn't shield myself from the genuine comfort he provided.

"We can help you here," his voice broke the silence, brushing against my ear. "I can help you."

I stood in silence, caught between the allure of his offer and the realization of my ulterior motives. Yet, he drew me even closer, holding me tightly. My face pressed against his soft, gentle dress shirt as my arms instinctively wrapped around his back. The earthy scent of pine trees mixed with a subtle hint of leather filled my senses.

I hadn't anticipated this intimate encounter. What was this? I was perfectly normal… but to be embraced by him made my gut scream in anticipation. This wasn't part of the plan. This was not it. I should start focusing on… what… was… this smell? His smell was heavenly intoxicating.

All the tension in my muscles melted away as he pulled back slightly, meeting my gaze with his deep blue eyes. "You've made the right choice, boy," he affirmed.

"I..." My words trailed off, captivated by the mesmerizing depth of his eyes. They seemed to hold the secrets of the vast ocean, yet the surface waves were so soothing. If Mr. Burton deemed it the right choice, then perhaps it truly was. What was I here for again?

"I know what you need," he stated with confidence.

"Which is...?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"What sizes do you wear?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Without hesitation, I shared my shirt, pants, and shoe sizes, as if compelled to do so. There was an odd sense of surrender in that moment, as if I had relinquished control.

A smile curved on his lips. "Stay here, and I will be back shortly."

Anxious anticipation filled me as I nodded in response. I mustered a wry smile as he left the room. Deep down, I knew what awaited me if he was asking for my sizes. This was my chance to leave, to escape this place. I had gone too far, and it was not baring well for me.

But the thought of Mr. Burton leaked into my mind and suddenly a whirlpool of curiosity and intrigue opened up. It revealed an entirely new world beneath the surface. What would it be like to be mentored by him, to truly get to know him? Did it even matter if he was part of this group?

The mere idea of being under his guidance ignited a nervous tremor within me. Was I going mad? What was I thinking? Yet, a surge of excitement coursed through my body, heat flushing my face with warmth. What was this feeling?

The door swung open, extinguishing any flicker of hope for escape. I tried to reassure myself that everything would be alright, that I could still accomplish my mission.

In Mr. Burton's hand, he held a stack of garment bags, and dread washed over me. The sight of those bags could only mean one thing: I was about to be enveloped in the same attire worn by the rest of their members. Was I prepared for that?

The thought of wearing their fine dress shirts and exquisite trousers seemed unimaginable. Me, in a suit? It felt like an absurd notion. Yet, there stood Mr. Burton, radiating warmth and confidence in his tailored suit. The way it accented his form was undeniably attractive. In that moment, I found myself longing to be like him, to be under his guidance.

"Thank goodness we have them in your size, isn't that great?" he exclaimed joyfully as he approached the center of the room.

I forced a smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah. What's in the bag?"

A part of me already knew the answer, but I had to ask. He gently placed the bag on the chair and turned his attention back to me, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Just a simple initiation. Nothing too daunting.” He assured me as he reached into the bag and retrieved a package.

He approached me with it, his voice assuring, “see, nothing bad.”

My gaze fixated on the package. As he opened it, revealing a pair of white undergarments, I couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension. A nylon undershirt and a white underwear stared back at me.

He handed me the garments, and I held them in my hands, my body tense with uncertainty. Should I accept them? No, it felt like a surrender, a step towards becoming one of them.

I glanced back at him, and his expression shifted upon meeting my hesitant gaze. Has my body language betrayed my doubts?

"I understand what you're thinking," he sighed, his tone empathetic. "Here, let me show you something."

Time seemed to slow as my eyes widened, witnessing what unfolded before me. His hands gravitated towards his belt, the familiar sound of a buckle being undone filling the air. He removed his belt, and a mixture of curiosity and unease coursed through me.

What was he doing!? What was I seeing?

His hands reached towards his trousers, unclasping them. His attention then shifted to the zipper. The sound echoed in the room of his zipper being undone.

I stared in horror as he dropped his trousers onto the ground. He stepped out of them nonchalantly, revealing his long gray socks that extended above his calves. My attention remained fixed as he slid his hands to his white shirt beneath the gray jacket.

I couldn’t shift my gaze away from what he had revealed. His white briefs, the same pair he had given me, outlined an enlarged cock behind his brief. It was clearly for me to see.

"Don't worry, Mr. Burton wears them too," he reassured me.

I snapped out of it and refocused my attention on him. His tie still collared onto him. He had already unbuttoned some on his dress shirt and pulled it to the side, revealing the white nylon undershirt tucked into his white briefs. His chest was partially visible, displaying his muscular physique. His hardened nipples along with his fuzzy chest hair faintly visible through the fabric.

"Do you like them?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I was at a loss for words. My mouth dried and empty.

"I understand your hesitation. It's natural," he said, attempting to sway me. "But I assure you, you'll find them enjoyable."

I… will enjoy them? I tried to redirect my thoughts on Mr. Burton and not what he displayed in front of me.

"Go ahead, feel the pair," he gestured, his hands in motion.

I couldn't believe I was engaging in this. My heart raced as I cautiously placed my hands on the garments he had given me. My gaze remained fixed on Mr. Burton as I explored the texture of the fabric. I didn’t hate it. Each touch of it sends a spark against my body.

"Now, imagine yourself wearing them," he encouraged.

And so I did. I envisioned myself wearing the white nylon undershirt and underwear, picturing myself standing before him.

"Very good," he praised, acknowledging my visualization. "Now, I'd like to see how you would look in them."

I knew what he wanted before he asked. The words stirred a mixture of emotions with me. A sense of uncertainty and unknown. What can I do? What other options did I have?

Approaching me with warmth emanating from him, he wore a genuine smile on his face. His body moved with poise and his eyes filled with ambition.

How could anyone resist his presence? His hands made contact with me as he visualized the transformation he had in mind.

"I'm going to get rid of this improper appearance," he informed me.

Suddenly, a desire emerged. I want him to get rid of my flaws. I watched as he reached out to my belt and tugged it.

“You’ll no longer be lost, my boy.” His words laced with a drug, pulling me in.

What was I doing here? What am I doing? I glanced down at my chest as his other hand gently rested there. I observed his hands moving downward, reaching towards my belt.

His hands joined together, their synchronized movement gripping onto my belt. With a bit of fumbling and intertwining of fingers, my belt succumbed to his touch. He swiftly unlocked it.

"There we go," he exclaimed cheerfully as he removed my belt from my jeans, casually discarding it onto the ground. Then, both of his hands proceeded to the hem of my shirt. His touch radiated warmth, akin to the comforting embers of a fireplace.

"Good boy," his words of approval echoed, "good boy."

His hands moved deliberately, gently pulling my shirt outward. My body responded instinctively, allowing him to remove it.

"You just let me guide you," he whispered softly, his words hanging in the air. "I'll ensure you find the right path. Will you allow me to do that for you?"

I hesitated. Why was my body reacting this way? Why did his words hold such allure? My lips began to search for the word “yes.” No, I was perfectly normal. I needed to regain control. I don’t… I gazed into his eyes, searching for clarity, but words eluded me.

There I stood, partially naked in front of him, as his hands continued their purposeful movement. My jeans were eased down, revealing my briefs. Without hesitation, I stepped out of my pants.

His smile stirred something within me. This was my choice, my decision.

He didn't stop there. He wanted to see the holy grail. His gaze met mine once more, seeking permission. Slowly, he descended, removing my last layer of protection. I let him stripped it away.

"That’s my boy,” his voice growled with approval.

Never before had I allowed someone to see me completely exposed with my cock hanging out. Mr. Burton was the first to witness it, and he seemed to take pride in that fact, discerning it from a single glance into my eyes.

It was absurd, wasn't it? My original purpose had been to infiltrate their group, and now here I stood, utterly naked before Mr. Burton. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him, captivated by his presence.

His left hand rested gently on my shoulder, while his right hand delicately lifted my chin, directing my gaze towards him. The sensations coursing through my body felt palpable, like resounding drums. Once again, I found myself lost in his eyes, drawn to his white teeth gracing me with a smile.

"Don't be shy. Keep your head up. I promise you'll find pleasure in this," he reassured me, his hands offering a comforting massage to my shoulders.

Radiating with a sense of pride, he stepped away from me, retrieving the garments he had previously shown me. I knew what was to come, and yet my thoughts couldn't help but linger on it…

The allure of wearing their acclaimed garment consumed my thoughts. The vibrations within me intensified, synchronized with the rhythmic tapping of Mr. Burton's leather shoe on the floor.

"Remember, it's just a simple initiation. Nothing to worry about," he reassured, patting me gently on the shoulder. "You want to try them on, don't you?"

My desire to put on the garment was undeniable. I swallowed nervously. After all, it was merely a part of the initiation. Mr. Burton handed it to me with ease. Why did I accept it? Why did I now find it in my grasp? I examined it once more, realizing there were no valid reasons to resist.

It was too late for hesitation. The first piece presented was their white brief. My body seemed to move instinctively as my legs guided themselves into the garment. With each pull, I felt the fabric enveloping me, caressing my skin, and pulling me within them.

“That’s my boy.”

My hands smoothly pulled the garment over my cock, feeling the softness of the white briefs as they embraced me. A sigh of comfort escaped my lips as I relished in the soothing sensation.

Without delay, Mr. Burton handed me the undershirt, and I swiftly slipped it on. The fabric draped over me, and although slightly translucent, it provided a sense of coverage.

“Tuck it in.” He instructed.

Following his guidance, I obediently tucked the undershirt into my briefs. As I completed the task, a deep groan escaped me. I couldn't help but wonder about the unfamiliar emotions stirring within.

"You appear much more dignified now," Mr. Burton commended.

My gaze fixated on his hands as they reached out and rested on top of my bulge.

"How does it feel?" he inquired softly, his fingers tenderly caressing my balls through the fabric.

A faint whimper escaped my lips as his touch elicited a pleasurable response. His fingers moved with gentle strokes, caressing my balls.

“Does it feel good?” He whispered.

“Yes.” I gently bit my lips.

“Wonderful.” His eyes brimmed with pride.

I couldn't stop looking down at myself at what I had done. The garments I had put on, his hands delicately placed on top of my covered bulge, arousing a newfound erection within me.

"You'll fit right in," he reassured me, a sense of belonging in his tone.

“Oooah…” A low moan escaped my lips as his fingers continued their mesmerizing touch, overpowering my ability to control my own body.

"But we're not finished yet," Mr. Burton grinned, pleased with the progress I had made. How far had I come? Did I even want to resist? Such thoughts escaped from me as my body reveled in the sensation of the garments and his touch. It felt right.

"You, my boy, deserve to embrace your best self every day," he promised, his words tinged with sincerity.

His words caused a blush to color my cheeks, and I looked up at him. Mr. Burton stood there, still partially dressed in his suit, oozing confidence.

"What you see here is what all men should wear," he declared proudly, his words echoed with conviction.

He then dangled a pair of long black socks in his hands.

"Put these on," he commanded.

Complying with his orders, I slid my feet into the fabric... It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It provided a comforting warmth against my skin as the sock extended beyond my calves.

At that moment, I was being dressed according to his vision. A sense of fear stirred within me—an apprehensive panic born out of the unknown.

"Now, for the rest of the ensemble," he declared.

With those words, I knew what was left and my body eagerly awaited it. He approached me, holding the next piece of the ensemble in his hands. The missing piece that will start to make me whole. A white dress shirt in his hands, calling for me.

I couldn’t resist his gentle touches as he starts to enveloped me in a fragment of their uniform. His hands guided my arms into the sleeves. Then he starts to button up the shirt, the fabric delicately caressing me. He reached out to adjust my collar with a gentle touch. I can tell in his eyes how the white dress shirt was fitting for a young man like myself.

Why did everything feel so aligned? With every touch from Mr. Burton, it was no longer me wearing the shirt; instead, it was as if the shirt was embracing me, becoming an integral part of who I am.

Mr. Burton completed dressing me in the shirt, a wide smile gracing his face. “You’ve started to come along nicely,” he acknowledge.

I stared down at myself, the unfamiliar long black socks to my calves, the white dress shirt, the white nylon undershirt into the white briefs, some part of me knew I looked funny. This wasn’t me. These clothes weren’t me at all. It didn't fit me. But another part of me…

A spontaneous smile emerged on my face as I examined myself. Simultaneously, an unexpected feeling surfaced within me. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nervousness. Why, I pondered? Why did excitement surge through my veins?

“I had mentioned earlier you’ll find it pleasurable and it seems I was correct.” He remarked.

I swallowed uneasily, a swirl of foreign thoughts and feelings wrestling within me. I knew what was happening, yet I fought against it in my mind. I wasn’t going to fall for this. I wasn’t going to be swayed by this group. All I wanted was to go in and get out, enduring and revealing the nonsense meeting.

He wasn’t right. He wasn’t right at all. I can’t find these clothes… enjoyable. However, despite my resistance, I found myself inevitably drawing comparisons to Mr. Burton. I was becoming like him, wearing the same garments he wore. Now, starting to wear the same clothes as he does. I… I couldn’t help but admire him, even against my will.

Mr. Burton swiftly moved on to the next item. He draped a pair of charcoal trousers over his hands. I swallowed hard. I hated the implication of it. One step closer. One step closer to becoming one of them.

“You are to wear the proper attire befitting of a man.” Mr. Burton extended his hands towards me, almost like he had sensed the oncoming distraught.

Was Mr. Burton the embodiment of it all?

“Please rest assured, you don’t need to worry about anything. As your mentor, it is my duty to provide guidance and support. The decisions I make on your behalf are intended to help you, mold you, and reform you. You can trust that my choices will always be correct." His smile radiated warmth and reassurance.

His words resonated within me… he always had my best interests at heart… he… he was going to my mentor, leading me towards the path I needed to follow.

“Put on these trousers and let go of all thoughts of the past. You will grow to appreciate them and only desire to wear of such.” He extended them towards me.

I stared intently, but no resistance surfaced in my mind. Mr. Burton was here, surrounding me with his care. Without any more thoughts, I reached out and accepted the trousers.

“That’s my boy,” he praised.

I wasn’t merely a young man anymore… I was now Mr. Burton’s boy, entrusted to his care. I couldn’t deny him. I had to wear the pants he had given me. Thus, I slipped into the trousers. His hands moved quickly, assisting in tucking my shirt neatly.

“Good boy,” he uttered, zipping up my fly.

His words stirred a flutter in my stomach. Just moments ago, his praises were unwarranted, even cringe-worthy. They were false. Thoughts of why I should care about a man like him praising me, and how being referred to as a “good boy” stung my pride, crossed my mind. I was not a boy; I was a man.

Yet, those thoughts faded away. I’m doing the right thing… I… I was a… a good boy.

Me with them. Me with Mr. Burton. A strange sensation stirred within me at the thought, but it was not the end. Swiftly, I felt the presence of something around my neck—a red and black striped tie. I watched, allowing him to knot it around my collar.

His hands moved gently against my neck as he skillfully tied the knot. It took shape, and then he tugged it snugly against my neck, ensuring it was just tight.

"Now, that's what I want to see," he remarked, gripping onto my tie.

My thoughts froze in my head, shrouded in the mystery of my own feelings.

"Now, onto the final piece," he declared, walking over to a pair of black loafers.

A lump formed in my throat as he approached with the loafers. They were impeccably polished and shiny. I didn’t know how I would feel about wearing them. I had found them to be… worn by older generations.

Mr. Burton motioned for me to sit on the chair, waiting to give me a prized possession of their shoes. This was the final piece… my body complied.

I watched as he bent down, grasping my feet, and slipped on one loafer, followed by the other. Finally, he completed the ensemble with the second loafer. They fit perfectly on my feet.

He tapped the black loafers on my feet, then looked up at me. "How do they feel? Do they fit?"

I nodded towards him. They fitted perfectly and it was scary. I had never worn a pair in my life and yet they snuggled me comfortably. All the men wore such beautiful pairs of leather shoes and now, one was on me.

Deep breaths escaped my lips as I sat there, allowing the moment to sink in. The gnawing sensation inside me grew stronger as I stood up, gazing down at my new pair of shoes.

My vision blurred momentarily, and my heart chimed loudly, resonating through the empty room. I could feel it coursing through me— the shoes, the shirt and pants, the knot. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. But I couldn't help but steal glances at myself in their clothes. What would it do to me? Was I truly mad to crave it? I was. I was insane.

I looked like one of them. I looked like one of his own. Such a thought was welcomed. I want to be one of them. I want to be like Mr. Burton’s and now I stood there in their uniform. I stood there and looked like him. I was complete.

My lips broke the silence I had held so tightly within me. “Everything… feels…”

“Wonderful,” he finished my sentence, stealing my words.

I couldn’t help but found myself riveting to what he had put me in. I can see myself in their clothes. I can see myself wearing a suit walking amongst them. I can see myself always neatly dressed and proper. My hair conservatively like Mr. Burton’s. My ties knotted tightly and formulated. A dress shirt always worn by me accompanied by razor sharped creased trousers. Then at last, long socks and polished shoes of a man.

His hands guided along my chest, up to my tie, as he grabbed the knot and pulled me closer.

"Don't you agree that this is a much better representation of who you are?" His hands traced the front of my dress shirt.

My voice croaked under his touch. "Yes."

His other hand found itself again on top of my bulge of my newly charcoal trousers.

“Ooooah!” My mouth opened wide in earnest, allowing him massaging it through my trousers. His hands had its touches, binding pleasure to him.

His gaze steadfastly locked with mine, his hold on my tie unyielding, “it’s time to make you a member.”

I…it was finally time for me to be under him. I want to be a member. I want to be Mr. Burton’s. After all, I was already one of them dressed in their clothes.

“What… what do I do?” I silently panted, waiting to hear the secrets.

“Surrender yourself to me.” He whispered into my ears, as he tenderly gripped my hardened cock.

“Oooo.” I moaned upon hearing his voice. Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.

“Truly etched my words into your heart and soul. Make it a part of who you are.” He continued.

I needed to fully commit to his teaching… how can I not?

He grabbed a hold of the back of my head and gently led it close to his chest. Then suddenly, his firm was hard and then he invited me to his hardened nipples.

“Urgh… that’s my boy.” He groaned out loud as I opened my mouth upon his nipples.

My tongue lashed out into his nylon undershirt as it twirled and sucked on his nipples. I can taste his musk inside my mouth. It was a godsend. A heavenly taste that burnt itself into my memory.

I want him. I want Mr. Burton. I couldn’t stop myself. He pushed me harder and I followed. His hands groped hard upon my hidden cock alluding me into him.

Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.

“Argh.” He growled in pleasure.

“Mmmm!” My mouth watered.

He pulled my head away with a wide grin on his face. His eyes were full of pride for me.

"Listen carefully, Mike." His voice reverberated through the room.

I focused my gaze on him, attentively absorbing each word.

"You're about to become a member," he began.

My heart swelled with excitement. The thought of officially becoming one of them swells inside of me, waiting to burst. I was one of them in their uniforms. Next was the pledge.

"To proceed, there is something you must accept from me."

I was prepared to accept anything he offered.

“You will drink my seed that I will bestow on you. You will let it take root. You will let me watered it and nurture it. In return, you will adopt the Burton name as a symbol of your commitment.” His words commanded my attention.

I accept. My body accepted. What was this overwhelming sensation of joy that surged within me when considering adopting his name as my own? Excitement coursed through me, flowing through every fiber of my being, longing for it. I want to embrace and etch it into me… Mike...

"Mike Burton." It effortlessly slipped off my tongue, solidifying its existence. The name suited me perfectly... I was destined to become a Burton...

"That's right, boy." His grin widened even further upon hearing me softly utter what he had desired from me. Once again, a sense of pride illuminated his eyes.

“Kneel.” He ordered me.

“Yes, Mr. Burton.” My lips moved involuntarily, submitting to his commands. His words carried a melody, and my body gladly followed his tunes. My knees sank to the ground before him.

"Yes, Father Burton," he instructed for the correction.

"Yes, Father Burton," I followed his commands.

“That’s my boy… good boy.” He praised with a whistle.

His words filled me with a sense of delight. A yearning to be a good boy. I longed to satisfy his desires. There was no shame within me, as he had trained me to seek his praises.

I watched as his hands descended down to his white briefs. I watched again as his hands unveiled his Fatherhood right before me. I watched and wanted his seeds. I want to be Mike Burton. I want to be his.

I descended upon his Fatherhood. Oh! How I yearned for this!

“Argh!” His moan raged against the room at the stroke of my mouth.

His grunts were the epitome of happiness. My mouth watered and it soaked his Fatherhood, enveloped it all inside of my lips.

“ARGH!!” He roughly grunted as he pushed his Fatherhood further in. My mouth was full of acceptance allowing him to prepare me for his seed.

“Goood…. Boy.” He huffed out loud as he gracefully thrust his hips.

The sound of the praises ushered me harder and faster. My eyes were drawn up to his and we locked gazes. He was so proud of me. I melted, becoming one with him.

“You’re… doing… so… good… boy.” Sweat drops on the side of his head as I continue loving his Fatherhood.

“ARGH!” He screamed out in ecstasy, motioning his hips against my mouth.

I can taste the beginning of his seeds. How tasteful and fulfilling it was to me. I want it. I want it all! My tongue mirrored his rhythmic movements, becoming one with his passionate drive. Together, we danced.

“OOOOOAH!” His moans louder and heavier.

I can taste his constant stream of his leaking nourishment, gently cascading me. It’s not enough.

“You want it badly, boy!” His voice commanded me.

“ARGHHHH!” He let out another roar.

“I hereby declare you Mike Burton!” He proclaimed.

Yes. Father Burton.

“OOOOOAH!”

His Fatherhood bursted. Yes… yes! My mouth remains unyielding to his Fatherhood as his seed shoots out. I can taste him. I can taste the sweetness and saltiness of it all.

His seed entered my throat and it dripped down, covering my walls. I could feel it entering through me, marking me as his. His seed was inside me, and my body accepted him.

“OOOOAH!” I moaned out as I let his seed soak me in. A wave crashed over me, and I found my cock bursting out.

“Let it out. Let it out, boy!” He shouts.

“ARRGHHH!” My eyes shut closed, embracing what he gave me. My cum seeps out into the nylon shirt, the white briefs, then out to my charcoal trousers. It seeped out, telling me the clothes were now mine.

“I… can’t… stop!” I groaned out loud as it continued bursting, “ooooooahhhh.”

“Good boy.” He praised me as I let myself out, and in its place was his seed.

“Ooooah…” I panted as the feeling fell down. I want more. I craved it. I can feel his seed taking root inside of me, pushing the last remnants of myself out. My body accepted it with open arms. I want his seed. I want it inside of me, overwhelming me. I was his vessel.

My breaths labored heavily as my knees remained planted on the ground. With a gentle gesture, he lifted me up, his gaze filled with a newfound brightness.

"Welcome, my protege," he declared, his voice resonating with approval. His eyes twinkled with anticipation as he prompted, "Share with me what you have learned today."

I found myself lost in his presence, drowning in his appearance. Father Burton, my mentor, stood before me. His neatly trimmed brown hair set a standard for grooming that I aspired to achieve. His partially white, well-kept scruffy beard mirrored the same attention to detail. I felt compelled to emulate such facial grooming.

He wore a gray suit jacket that draped elegantly over him. I want a suit like his. Underneath, a white nylon undershirt was tucked into his white briefs. It truly is the epitome of appropriate undergarments for a man. His white dress shirt, paired with a yellow striped tie, embodied sartorial excellence. His black, shiny shoes served as a constant reminder of proper footwear.

“I am the newest member under the teachings of Father Burton.” The words slipped out my tongue, “I will follow Father Burton and will always wear the proper garments of a white nylon undershirt tucked into my white briefs.”

I… this was me… this was who I will become.

"I will always wear a dress shirt, tie, and creased trousers befitting a young man. On my feet will always be long dress socks and polished leather shoes.”

That was an outfit befitting me.

"I… I am Mike Burton.” My voice declared.

"Marvelous!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in approval.

"I..." my words struggled to find their place, a sense of trepidation filling me. However he being Mr. Burton, he had the hues of a sunset. He leaned in forward, listening attentively.

"Do you seek my praise?" he guessed.

I swallowed hard.

"Say yes, boy," he urged.

"Ye..." my lips strained to confess the words.

"Yes, Father Burton," I uttered, my lips giving voice to the truth.

He approached me, placing both hands on my shoulders.

"You... are an extraordinary young man," he uttered those magical words. "Make me proud."

My blood danced and leaped. My smile widened from cheeks to cheeks. I will make him proud. I will make Father Burton proud.

His hands moved towards the wet spot on my trousers. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks as I had wet my trousers with my cum.

“Please don’t worry, boy.” He assured me, his tone comforting. “When others see this, they will know without a doubt that you belong to me.”

Blushing forward, I slowly accepted what I had done to my trousers.

“I’m glad you came here today.” His eyes smiled.

“I… I am too.” I grinned back at him.

“We have much work ahead of us, you and I.”

“Yes, Father Burton.”

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seenoversundown · 4 months ago

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Amongst The Stars: Chapter Eight

Josh x Quinn (Nonbinary OC)Warnings: Craig, pining, general feelings of self doubt, guilt Word Count: 4.4k Summary: Josh has always loved love, and he's finally found it. Buuuut, he can't exactly tell anyone. Join him as he navigates the ins and outs of his sweet, secret romance. Author's Note: Sorry this is so late! I had a crazy day at work. But, here we are. I am not gonna lie to you, I don’t love this chapter. Not because of the content, or because I’m unhappy with it. But, I don’t love it because I know what happens next :) Again, forgive any weird formatting. Desktop Tumblr hates Josh, you heard it here first, folks!

“Hold you in my arms, I just wanted to hold you in my arms” Starlight - Muse

Being this excited about getting my things from Craig’s house feels wrong. I threw a years-long relationship away. I should be at least a little bit upset, but I can’t find it in myself to care. My only regret is that Willa can’t be here with me to help pack. She had some work thing and couldn’t get out of it since everything moved so quickly. I wasn’t anticipating Josh being so willing to help, but I had to jump on the chance when it was offered. It has been an absolute pain in my ass not having access to my clothes or my entire stock of art supplies. I haven’t even had my sketchbook. It was the one thing I meant to grab before heading to Willa’s house, but I managed to forget it. Before I get too into my feelings about it, my phone buzzes, and I know it’s Josh. I grab my canvas bag and head out the door without even pulling it out to check.

When he notices me hit the bottom step, he scrambles out of the truck and walks around to the passenger’s side.

“Hello, dear,” he gives me a shy smile as he opens the door. “Do you treat all your guests this way?” I laugh, jumping up and settling into the seat. He leans against the door, watching as I buckle myself in.

“Only the ones I like,” he winks, shutting the door before I can say anything else.

Why is that attractive? Get it together; he’s just helping you move.

He walks back around to the driver’s side and hops in. “I really appreciate this, you know.” “It’s nothing. Friends help each other out.” Right, right. Friends.

“Wanna put the address in?” he asks, handing me his phone.

I’m slightly taken aback; Craig would have rather died than hand me his phone for anything. I opened Apple Maps and typed in my old address before returning the phone to him. He fiddles around with the music app for a moment before putting the truck in reverse.

“I hope you’re okay with pop music,” he looks at me from the corner of his eye, “It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine.”

I smile as the opening notes to “Feather” filter through the stereo.

“Perfectly fine by me. Your song choice is weirdly appropriate,” I laugh.

“What do you mean?” “This song played in my car as I left Hobby Lobby the first day we met. My ex begged me to turn it off. I should have taken it as an omen.”

He barks out a laugh, and I quirk an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just that’s the first day I ever heard this song. It came on shuffle when I went home, and I immediately fell in love with it. Added it to the playlist at my brother’s bar and everything just to piss people off.” I can’t help the wide smile that makes its way to my face.

“Hell of a coincidence.”

“Indeed it is.”

We continue our ride in comfortable silence, letting the GPS guide us toward my old life with Craig. The end of my old life with Craig. Joy swells in my chest at the very thought of being completely done.

Josh enters the apartment complex's parking lot and parks in the first free spot he sees. He shuts his car off, and his eyes soften as he looks at me. “I’m ready whenever you are. We’ve got all day, so if you need a minute to prepare yourself, take it.”

My heart squeezes.

Josh continually amazes me with the care he shows those around him.

“I really appreciate that,” I say, patting the hand he placed on the center console between us. “But I’m ready. I want to be done.”

He nods, unbuckles his seatbelt, and practically sprints out of the car to get my door for me. “You are entirely too sweet,” I laugh, unbuckling my seatbelt and taking his hand as he helps me down. “Nah, I just try to be a gentleman when possible.”

Why is that attractive?

I internally shake myself. I don’t need to have these thoughts about Josh. He’s a friend who is doing me a simple favor. Even if he was into it, I can’t start a new relationship immediately after leaving Craig. How would I know it’s real and not some weird rebound situation?

I couldn’t do that to Josh or me.

“Get stuck in your head again?” Josh squeezes my hand to pull me out of my spiral.

“Mmm, yeah. Thank you.”

“Well, no time like the present.” Josh moves a hand to my lower back to guide me toward the apartment.

Just another show of how caring he is.

“I’ll warn you, Craig can be absolutely terrible. Just ignore whatever he may have to say to you.”

He flashes me an easy smile. “Oh, I’m not worried about him one bit. I’m here to help you, so let him act however he wants.”

“If you say so,” I suck in a deep breath, then begin the slow ascent to the apartment.

“I’m sorry that you kind of have to help me pack, too,” I fold my three-hundredth worn-out band tee and place it in the cardboard box in front of me. “The breakup happened so fast that I couldn’t pack anything before leaving.”

“Quinn, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m happy to be here? If I didn’t want to help, I wouldn’t. So, please stop apologizing.”

I shake my head and roll my bottom lip through my teeth.

“What's up?” Josh asks.

“Nothing; you're just so different from what I'm used to.”

“Well, hopefully, I can continue to surprise you.”

“Oh,” I giggle, “I am certain you will.”

Josh grabs the full box from me and tapes it up before scribbling “Shirts” on it and setting it aside. “I’ll take a load of boxes down to the truck in just a minute.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a minor crash outside the bedroom door. I roll my eyes. Of course, he’s throwing stuff again. Why couldn't he just stay out of our way? I immediately turn to apologize to Josh; it's not fair that he’s being subjected to Craig’s moods. But I notice that he’s walking toward the door.

“Hey, Josh..”

He ignores my warning and opens the bedroom door.

“Hey man, can you keep it down? We’re trying to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, but we can’t do that if you're throwing shit around and distracting us.”

I creep up behind Josh, peering over his shoulders at Craig. I know I shouldn't press this, but I have to see the look on his face when Josh calls him out. I see a faint look of recognition cross Craig’s face. That’s strange.

Craig didn’t initially spot us when we came in. I assume he was in the bathroom, but he definitely doesn’t look happy to see us now. His face contorted in rage, and I grabbed Josh’s arm, preparing for whatever he was going to say. I brace myself, knowing how Craig can be, and I can only hope that Josh is ready to face it as well.

“This is real fucking nice, Quinn,” Craig bypasses Josh altogether, shifting his head to make eye contact with me. “What?” “It’s real nice that you bring the dude you’ve been cheating on me with over here to help you move out. What’s he gonna do, pack all your shit up into his truck, and y’all are gonna move in together like some kind of–” He cuts himself off. “Some kind of what?” Josh straightens his back and speaks directly to Craig.

“Some kind of. Some kind of U-HAUL LESBIANS??” I burst out in an ill-timed fit of giggles at the sheer absurdity of it all. My giggles cause Josh to chuckle, and I see Craig’s face go beet red at the perceived slight against him. “You do realize that to be ‘U-haul lesbians,’ both of us would have to be women?” Josh says between bouts of laughter. “And neither of us are.” Recognizing that Craig has limited patience, I decided to try to smooth things over before Craig could try to hit Josh. “Also, not sure if you forgot, I’m moving in with Willa.” Craig opens and closes his mouth a few times. “As friends,” I add in to stop his floundering. I see Josh roll his eyes at my addition, clearly understanding what an absolute moron Craig can be.

Sometimes, I daydream about what my life would be like if I never got involved with Craig. Would I be happy? Would I have met Josh organically? Would we be together? That’s ridiculous, Quinn. Why would you even be worried about that? He is your friend and nothing more. I scrub one hand down my face, trying to will those thoughts away. It’s too soon; my heart is still, for some reason, vaguely battered by the messy breakup with Craig. Though, at this point, I don’t know if my heart is battered because of Craig or because of the years I wasted with him.

“It was lovely to see you, Greg. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Josh punctuates his point by slamming the door in Craig’s face. I let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Josh. You didn’t have to send him away. I could have done that.” “It’s no trouble, darling,” he says, placing a hand on my back and rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “I think you’ve dealt with him enough.”

I lean into his touch, accepting his small comfort before quickly remembering myself and pulling back. “Let’s just get this done and get out of here.” “Whatever you need, darling.”

That small sentence, whatever you need, darling, may be the death of me. This behavior comes naturally to Josh; it’s plain to see. He was born to be a light in the world, and he is slowly proving that to me over, and over, and over again. I only wish I could accept his light without feeling some type of misguided guilt. I owe Craig nothing, so why is he still dictating my feelings? Why is he still hindering the way I interact with other people? I pull myself out of my thoughts and begin surveying the room.

“We really don’t have much left. I’m choosing to be the bigger person and leaving him the furniture because I don’t want him to have anything.” “Mm,” Josh adds a noncommittal noise to let me know he’s still listening. “What?” “You’re just a better person than I am.” I scoff, practically begging him to explain himself. He is sunshine incarnate, there is no way I am a better person than he is. “Well, if I were you, I’d be removing every single thing I paid for from this house. I’d tell him to figure it out.” I let out a small chuckle. “Oh, I could never do that; that’s horrible. He can’t get ahead, should he ever get his shit together, if I start him off on his own with nothing.” “See, you’re a better person than me. In my eyes, he made his bed, and he can lie in it,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “Or.. not. But, you know what I mean.”

His tough facade cracks as he starts laughing, which sends me over the edge. I fall into his side as we dissolve into a fit of giggles, and I feel his arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me closer. I lean my head against his shoulder, trying to reel in my laughter. I shift my head to look at his face, taking in how his eyes crinkle up and his dimples are on full display. The laughter dies on my lips as I take in his pearly white smile and his plush, pink lips. I pull back from him like I’ve been burned. Too close for comfort, get it together. I watch as the smile drops from his face, and he clears his throat, walking over to the boxes we set in the corner.

“Well, I’m going to take these down to the truck,” he pats the top box on the stack. “I, uh, I can help with that.” “No, no! Please finish up here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Uh, okay..”

I watch as he heaves the first box and opens the bedroom door, revealing Craig eavesdropping.

“Oh, hey, man.” “I just wanted to talk to Quinn for a minute.” Josh turns to me to gauge my level of comfort. Just another way he’s perfect. Stop that. I meet his eye and slightly nod. He huffs a small breath out of his nose as his face falls, just a hare.

“Of course,” Josh steps aside and lets Craig enter the room.

Once Josh exits the room, Craig stands in front of me, picking at his cuticles. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he refuses to look at me. I give him a sad look, knowing that he is in denial and will not take well to the rest of this conversation.

“You know that I do, Craig,” I start, gently patting his arm. “No, I really don’t,” He flinches away from me, and my heart cracks a little bit more. “How can you not? We have done nothing but argue for the past few weeks,” I pause, “Actually, it’s been longer than that, and you know it.” He scoffs, refusing to meet my eyes and instead choosing to look around the now sparsely decorated room we once shared. “So, you’re just taking everything?” “I’m leaving the furniture. But, yeah. Pretty much everything else. I either made or bought all the decor. So..” “I’m supposed to just look at white walls?” “Look, Craig. What is this? What are you trying to do?” He kicks his foot against the rug that our - his - bed sits on top of. “I’m trying to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life,” his eyes, filled with determination, whip up to mine. “You’re trying to what?” “You heard me, Quinn. We love each other, and you’re throwing it all away.” I want to roll my eyes all the way back in my head, but instead, I fix Craig with a tight-lipped smile. “I think that you should be quiet now, Craig.” “Why? Are you starting to realize I’m right, and you don’t want to think about it too hard?” “No, Craig. I’m starting to get mad.”

I turn away from him, trying to calm myself down. I look at the bare walls of our bedroom, expecting to feel some form of loss, but instead, I just feel determined. I know in my blood and very bones that I am making the right choice. I let my determined anger lead my actions.

“You’re getting mad?” “YES, CRAIG,” I shout, “I’m ANGRY. I’m furious that you keep putting me through this shit. I have given you everything, and you still don’t think it’s enough. It’s never been enough for you, and it will never be enough.” “It’s always been enough, Quinn.” “Well, you’ve never shown that, and I cannot keep begging you to,” I hang my head and sigh, “I will not keep begging you. I don’t want to keep begging you to. So, we have nothing left to say to each other. This is done, there’s no salvaging it.” Craig flinches as if I’ve slapped him, and I may as well have. He’s always been less than stellar - understatement of the century - at handling his emotions, so I know that that statement likely felt like a physical blow in his mind.

“What do you mean there’s no salvaging it?” He says as he takes a step closer to me, clenching his fist. I step back, but the tension in the room deflates as the bedroom door flies open, revealing Josh and his windswept curls. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him: Craig, with his fist held tight, creeping toward me. “They said what they said, Craig,” Josh interjects. “Didn’t ask you, Josh.”

Wait a minute, I didn’t introduce them. Craig knows the name Josh, but they’ve never met. The wheels start turning in my head as I look between them. They’re caught in a stalemate, staring each other down.

“I wasn’t aware you knew each other..” Craig looks at Josh, then me, his face morphing into something cruel. “Oh, you didn’t tell her?” I roll my eyes at Craig’s slip-up, knowing he only does it to hurt me. “No, I didn’t tell them. We don’t exactly talk about you.” “So, you talk often, then?” “I’d say so, but never about you.” A lie.

I quickly turn and head toward the boxes stacked in the corner. As I move to pick one up, Josh rushes to my side. “What are you doing? I can help,” he says, placing his hand on my wrist. “The testosterone is so high in here, I can smell it. I don’t really care to be around it, so I’m taking my stuff to your truck.”

He looks properly chastised, opening and closing his mouth, trying to formulate an apology. I’m not sure if I care to hear an apology right now. From either of them. They’ve been keeping secrets from me and bickering like old maids about it. I couldn’t really care one way or the other for an apology or an explanation. I just want to get my things and go. Josh nods his head and uses his thumb to rub a soothing circle along the inside of my wrist. I struggle to suppress the shiver that runs down my spine. I meet his eyes and let a small smile creep to my face. He pulls his hand back from my wrist and gives me a shy smile in return.

“Are you kidding?” Craig practically shouts, breaking the peaceful moment between Josh and me.

I clear my throat, fixing him with a glare. “I don’t think you’re the one who gets to ask questions right now. I actually think you, both of you, owe me an explanation.” My annoyance bubbles to the surface again. I can’t believe Josh kept this from me. Craig, yes. Josh? My stomach feels slimy at the thought. It feels wrong that my new friend would keep secrets from me when I’ve been an open book to him. If I ignore the amount of misplaced pining I've done over him. It’s not pining; it’s normal to think about your friends. “Quinn, believe me,” Josh starts, “I didn’t want to keep this from you. But, I figured it would hurt you more than help you to know that Craig came to see me at Hobby Lobby.” My eyes slide from Josh over to Craig and I cock an eyebrow, asking him to continue. “Uh, yeah. I did.” “And he came into my brother’s bar,” Josh adds, hoping that being honest now will save him from my ire. Craig looks over at him and rolls his eyes. “Telling Quinn all your secrets isn’t going to make her like you.” “I don’t care if they like me, they deserve honesty.” “You didn’t seem to think so when you told me not to mention it.”

Did Josh really decide to keep this secret? I could see Craig, but it just hurts worse knowing that Josh chose this. Would Craig have told me if Josh hadn’t sworn him to secrecy? Thoughts rattle around in my head as I try to keep the hurt from flashing across my face. I slowly blink a few times. Am I taking this too hard? No, Quinn – You are allowed to feel your feelings. Yeah, well why does it feel so annoying then? Pulling myself out of my internal struggle, I lock eyes with Craig. “Elaborate. Right now,” I huff.

I listen in stunned silence as it tumbles out of Craig’s mouth that he basically stalked Josh and harassed him at work and again - allegedly by accident, though I’m not sure if I believe that - at the tavern that his brother owns. I can’t help the shock that shows on my face as he elaborates on the fact that he talked down on me and Josh came to my defense. I glance over to Josh, while Craig finishes his story, allowing my eyes to trace over his features. I catalog the slope of his nose, and the spot I know a dimple pops out in when he smiles. I can’t really be mad at him, I think as my eyes get caught on the shape of his top lip, He’s too cute to be mad at. I shake my head, dispelling the thought. I should be angry with Josh. He may not have sought Craig out, but he certainly kept it a secret from me when he had ample time to tell me.

“This is insane, you know that right?” I look between Josh and Craig, ensuring that they realize I am talking to both of them, “In what world would you think that keeping this secret from me was a good idea?”

I see the regret immediately flash across Josh’s face, Craig following shortly behind.

“You’re right, Quinn,” Josh Starts, “I should have told you, but I didn’t want to get in the middle of your relationship.”

“Littlelateforthat,” Craig huffs under his breath, causing me to roll my eyes.

I turn to Craig, raising an eyebrow, “Well, do you have anything to add.”

Craig simply shakes his head and leaves the room, putting an end to our conversation. I sigh, turning away from Josh and moving to pick up my final few boxes.

“Whatever’s left in here is staying,” I say in a clipped tone, hoisting a box into my arms. I’m annoyed with Josh. I’m annoyed at the fact that I’m not more annoyed. It hurts that Josh didn’t tell me, but it hurts more knowing that it doesn’t matter. I was going to break up with Craig regardless. Hell, Portland’s a small town, they likely would have met each other eventually. But that should have been on my terms. And it shouldn’t have been a secret. “That’s fine,” Josh responds and picks up the last two boxes, following me down to his truck.

The drive back to mine and Willa’s apartment is frosty to say the least. Josh has kept his metaphorical tail between his legs since the confrontation with Craig earlier. The only sounds that pass between us are the sounds of the radio and the occasional GPS direction.

When we get back to my apartment, he wordlessly puts his truck in park and jumps out to open my door for me. We carry each box up to the apartment and into my (new) bedroom in complete and utter silence. When Josh has dropped the final box on the floor of my room, he finally heaves out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t want to keep it a secret.” He ducks his head, picking at his cuticles.

“I believe you, it was just a shock.” He looks up at me with the most hopeful look in his eyes and I crack. I can’t stay mad at him. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course, Josh,” I smile, “But, I really should get started on unpacking.”

Josh nods his head, “Need help?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you, but I’ll walk you out.”

We make small talk all the way to the door, and I open it to usher him outside.

“I really appreciate your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you, truly.”

He gives me one of his dimple-popping smiles and pulls me in for a hug.

“Anything for you, dear,” he whispers into my ear, crushing me against him.

It would be so easy to just… before I can rethink it, I turn my head and capture his lips with mine. It lasts just a second, a ghost of a kiss, before I pull back. What the fuck have I done? I quickly put a little bit of distance between us, taking in Josh’s wide eyes. “I’m so–” before I can finish my apology, Josh closes the distance between us and presses his lips against mine. I let out a small gasp and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sucking my top lip between his. My hands completely of their own volition wind their way into his unruly curls. He lets out a small Mmph at the feeling. His hands find my hips and pull me closer against him as his tongue traces against my lips, begging for entry. As if he’s searching for any possible way to get closer, closer, closer.

Who am I to deny him?

I sigh, giving him what he wants, and our tongues tangle together.

I lightly tug at his hair and he lets out an almost growl as he lets his hands gently, tentatively, roam my body.

His right hand trails up my back before coming to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me closer, closer, closer.

He backs me against the wall next to the door and pulls his lips from mine, before moving to kiss down my neck.

“Fuck,” I hiss as his teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot.

No. But actually, FUCK.

“Josh,” I start.

“Mm,” He ignores me, continuing to press open-mouthed kisses and nips along my heated flesh.

What am I doing?

I shove him away from me.

“What the fuck is this?” I say more to myself than Josh.

“You need to go. I need you to leave immediately.”

“I, uh, I,” He stammers.

“No! Leave. Now! And please, just… don’t contact me. Clearly we’ve done enough.”

I watch as he nods his head and leaves.

Was Craig right? Is Josh the reason our relationship went to shit? Am I the one in the wrong?

I can’t stop the guilt and thoughts from swirling through my head as I spend the rest of the night settling into my new home.

I let the guilt eat at me even hours later, as I tuck myself under my comforter and ignore Willa’s frantic knocks on my door.

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alexanderflowerbird · 1 month ago

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DAY 30

The final day! Yippee! It has been such a rewarding experience to work for the whole month with my writing group that I have decided to make it a permanent structure and keep writing with these folks. Our group is going to be invitation only going forward, so I'm excited to add new writers that vibe with our particular brand of supporting each other and sharing our work, and of course, I'm excited to continue working on my stories. Harrowben and I will start working on The Bishop of Black again soon, likely with the goal to put our second draft of the first book out to the public so we can start building an audience outside of Patreon. Our patrons have been patient, loyal, and amazing supporters of our work, but if you know anything about Patreon, you know that it's UI fucking BLOWS. So I have much to look forward to in the coming year when it comes to my work independently and with my beloved husband.

I knocked my goal of 30K out of the park, and have finished out this challenge with a whopping 40,057 words! I haven't written this much on an independent project in years, so it really shows ya how good it is to have a good support system when you're doing this kind of work. I am so grateful to my writing group, and I am so excited to continue working with them and seeing their work as it grows and unfolds. For my last excerpt of this challenge, I give you flying gators lol Thank you for reading! I'll continue to post my work, though certainly not as frequently, so if you're on my taglist and would like to be removed now that fuck nano is over, just comment on this post, but if you'd like to be added for future updates, please interact with the post I tag at the end! Again, thank you <3

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The expanse of ever changing plant life around them is awe striking. Malachi doesn’t know much about the world, about nature, but he knows it’s strange for there to be bogs in the middle of desert sand, that some of the cars on the side of the road are half sunken in the sort of quicksand that belongs in a jungle while others are dusted over with a fine, orange misting after getting wind whipped in the grave yard of abandoned vehicles.

As they’re driving, he can’t quite take his eyes off what’s outside and if not for the fact that Dolcezza is carrying him towards his daughter and Felina, he’d want the other man to slow down and let him really take it in. He can see how a place like this would be terrifying for people who are used to a world that makes sense, that’s been tamed and chained down by buildings and asphalt and electricity. Out here, the wild has overrun everything but the long road they’re driving on, and it seems like even that is hard won against the elements. He’s distracted from his marvelling by a road sign that’s planted in the earth, a human made thing sticking out like a sore thumb against the eden like abundance around it, and he isn’t sure what to make of the bright yellow sign. It is a diamond shape, and on its face are two things that don’t seem to belong together. The profile shape of an alligator, with the shape of a wing over the top of it are on the sign, and as they pass, Malachi tips his head, confused about the two symbols paired together. His brain automatically correlates the signage to the sort one would see up north to warn for deer crossings, but alligators? Out here? He is about to ask Dolcezza when he notices the truck is slowing to a stop.

Dolcezza puts them in park and Malachi takes a look around them, a little alarmed by the sudden delay. On one side of the road is a mass of trees that are tipping in on each other, vines linking them in curving tangles, their chalky brown trunks surrounding a body of water. There’s another body of water on the other side of the road almost aligned perfectly, but in the way that this place is a clash of environments that shouldn’t be possible, this one is like a saharan water hole, surrounded by sand and stubborn foliage clinging to the edges of the large pond.

“What’d we stop for?” Malachi asks, looking to Dolcezza as he’s lighting up a cigarette, having rolled down the window to let the smoke out. Dolcezza offers him one and he takes it, cranking his own window down.

“Gators.” Dolcezza says, as though it ought to make all the sense in the world and Malachi huffs a laugh.

“What do you mean gators?” He asks, and Dolcezza takes a turn at laughing.

“Just what I said, honey. Gators. They’re different out here ‘course, but they’re basically gators. Watch, you’ll see. Pretty cool shit, I’ll admit. First time anyway. Having driven this way a hundred times now it’s more of a nuisance than anything else. They like t’ follow the sun, keep warm, and we’re nearly on time for them to come crossin’. Best to just stop and let ‘em by than to hope we can get through this spot before they start leapin’.”

“Leaping?” Malachi considers the wing shape painted above that alligator silhouette on the sign and feels his stomach flip in a sort of primal terror over the idea that there might be alligators out here that can fly. Whatever is doing this to the land can’t possibly be natural if it gives alligators, an arguably unmatched predator, the ability to fucking fly.

“Oh, here they come.” Dolcezza says, looking sideways, and sure enough there is a mass of creatures crawling over each other like snakes in a heap, except they’re… like alligators. Some of them leap, streaking through the air the way sharks do when they leap out of the sea, and as they come closer to the road, their strangeness becomes more clear. Their legs are not the stumpy, clawed legs of regular gators, but instead they are bent, webbed, and long like those of frogs. The scales on the gators are odd too, not the leathery mixture of square and rectangle shapes he’s seen on bags and boots, but scales like those that belong on fish, silvery and green with flashing stripes of orange along some of their sides. And they’re leaping. Literally leaping. Right off the ground, bounding over each other towards the road in a mass. Malachi is transfixed, breathless with a sort of maddened delight as they reach the edge of the road and as though determined not to touch the unseemly creations of man, they take turns leaning completely over the asphalt to land in the dust on the other side, three or four at a time, their scales glinting in the sunlight, their enormous bodies magically weightless as they glide past the windshield. Dolcezza seems utterly unimpressed, and that feels insane, because they’re fucking flying gators.

#original story #writeblr #fuck nano #blood sun territory

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

Text

Taking cues

A/N: I should have been doing some work, instead I got distracted by a video and I ended up doing some work that wasn't the work I should have been doing. Bartender!Mikey today❤️ Sort of beta'd, surviving mistakes get to stay.

Pairing: Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Your favourite bartender offers to teach you to play pool.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v sex, unsafe casual sex (that's a really bad idea, folks, don't do it), creampie, abuse of a pool table...

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Mike was by far your favourite bartender. Tall, handsome and quick with a joke. In fact, after your friend had quit a few months ago, he was your only reason for still coming to this bar – and occasionally closing it down even though that wasn’t particularly exciting. Tonight was one of those nights, and today was so slow that Mike had left his station behind the bar and was playing pool with some guys he seemed to know. It wasn’t a bad thing – except maybe you could have done with another drink about ten minutes ago, but neither you, nor Steph, nor Daisy had had the heart to disturb him while he was clearly very concentrated on the game – and bent over the table with his ass facing your way, but that obviously had nothing to do with it.

“I see a perfectly fine opportunity,” Steph said as she swirled her empty glass around in her hands, “he’s been looking at you all night.”

You snorted. “Get real.” Daisy and Steph, however, both swore that the guy had been flirting with you all night.

“There’s three guys at that table,” Daisy chimed in, “at least go over.”

Normally you’d just call him to the bar, but today, with the confidence only the combination of your favourite outfit and a drink too many could give you, you walked over to him. Putting your arm around his waist was a move on the bolder side, but you decided: fuck it, you were committing to this.

“Any chance we can get another drink, Mikey?” A simple smile would have to do for now, you were nowhere near drunk enough to hit him with anything more than that.

“Sure, Sweetcheeks,” he snuck in a quick wink, “three of the same?” As he walked back to the bar, you followed him – someone was going to have to pay for these. You saw a text from Daisy when you got your card out of your phone case.

DD: Open a tab. DD: Trust me.

You looked over to the pool table to see your friends all over the other two guys. Trusting Daisy when men were concerned was generally a good idea, so you took her advice.

“There you go, ladies,” Mike said as he handed Steph and Daisy their drinks.

“We’ve just convinced these two to join our game,” one of the guys said.

“But only if you’re in,” Daisy said, maybe a little too coyly. This time it was Mikey’s turn to put a hand on your waist.

“What do you say, Sweetcheeks?” He smiled at you. “Wanna play?” Ok, you knew how to play this…

“I can’t…” You let your voice trail off as you chuckled shyly.

“I’ll teach you,” both of his hands were on your hips now, and his smile widened when you faux-reluctantly agreed to his little proposal. You knew how to play pool, and you thought it was going to be hard to pretend you didn’t know the game, but Mikey distracted you plenty, and it had you fumbling like you’d never touched a cue in your life. He started out serious, careful even, as if he was trying to see how far he could go, but after a while – and another round – he started to get handsy. Every time you were up, you felt his hands near or on yours, and his body bent over you with his hips pressing into your ass. He didn’t let go of you when you got up, either – only occasionally, when he had to step away to do, you know, his actual job. It didn’t take long for him to develop the annoying little habit of squeezing your ass through your skirt, which put you on edge more than you were willing to admit. With every touch of his hand, jolts of electricity shot down your spine and soon you were not just distracted by his touch, but just by the fire coursing through your veins and the throbbing between your legs. The good news was; he wasn’t exactly unaffected by all of this, either – a fact you exploited to the fullest by brushing whatever discreetly available body part past his erection, any chance you got.

The guys at the other table called him away for another round right when your turn rolled around. You made a face at Daisy and went for it. It was by far the best shot yet, because when you didn’t have any hot bartenders around to distract you, you were actually quite good. The guys shook their head, grinning widely, and Steph couldn’t stifle a laugh.

“Good one.” Mike’s hands appeared on your hips and his lips next to your ear. You turned around in his arms and looked at him with the biggest and most innocent eyes you could manage.

“Got lucky, I guess,” you said playfully. For a moment you were scared that you’d ruined your chances by taking away the excuse of him teaching you, because he stood next to you on the next shot, using the new freedom of not having his hands full to squeeze your ass.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you completely butchered whatever the fuck you were trying to do. At least it got him back behind you on the next one. The bar got even quieter as time passed. The other pool table was now empty, and the only other people left before last call, leaving just the six of you when closing time came.

The guys turned to Steph and Daisy. “So, we were about to…”

“Leave? Great idea.” Steph wasn’t made for subtlety. Not that this particular situation called for any discretion. Besides, both of your friends looked more than happy to leave with their assigned subjects. The only spanner in the works was that Mike had to close up shop…

“Can you settle the tab, girl?” Daisy looked over her shoulder and winked at you as she and Steph dragged the other guys out of the bar. Trusting her had been the right call – yet again.

As soon as the door closed, Mike pulled you back against his body by your hips, and his lips found your neck. You moaned as he placed a few soft kisses on the sensitive skin before turning you around. His mouth was rough on yours, demanding. You kissed him back with every ounce of enthusiasm he was giving you, wrapping your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers into his hair. Fuck, this guy could kiss! It was rough and sloppy, and you loved every second of it. Fingers dug into your hips as he pushed you back into the table, grinding against you. He was hard – he had been for hours, you’d made sure of that – and he was impatient. The good news? So were you.

He moaned into your mouth when you suddenly turned the both of you around. You had his belt unbuckled and his jeans halfway down in no time. Mike chuckled softly when you eagerly palmed him through his boxers, and wasted no time getting his underwear out of the way, too. This guy was messing with your head, you were never in this big a hurry… You took advantage of the gasp he let out as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. Biting down softly earned you a moan, sucking on it had him whine in the cutest way. It made you wonder what else you could suck to make him sound that way…

You gave him a soft kiss before breaking away, biting your lip while looking into his eyes as you dropped to your knees. Mike hissed when your tongue darted out to lightly tease the tip of his cock, licking up a salty bead of precum that had formed. The taste made your pussy clench around nothing, begging to be filled, and you knew that he wouldn’t complain if you changed your mind now… No. You were going to have some fun with him, first. Wrapping your lips around him was rewarded with a growl that sent shivers down your spine. From there, it was impossible for him to keep quiet. God, this guy was loud, it was fantastic. You chuckled at the moans he let out when you swirled your tongue around his head. His knuckles were pale from gripping the edge of the pool table. As you slowly started to move your head back and forth, you noticed there was quite a lot of ground to cover between your mouth and your hand at the base of his cock. Mike put a hand on your head and looked at you, still spilling moans and growls freely as he watched you suck him off. You quickly figured out he liked his blowjobs the way he liked his kisses; sloppy, and you were more than happy to oblige. The view was fantastic; he was breathing heavily, trying his best to keep his eyes open so he could look at you, moaning constantly – swearing occasionally, and very gently rocking his hips into your movements.

“Fuck! Please keep going, I-“ It was too easy to do what he asked; he was just too fucking cute to deny. Movements steady and eyes locked on his, you continued until Mike took charge of the rhythm. Thick ropes of cum filled your mouth, and you swallowed gladly, your eyes never leaving his as you did.

Mike helped you get back on your feet and pulled you in for another kiss. This time, he was quick to move his mouth to your ear.

“That was fucking amazing, baby,” he whispered before nipping at your earlobe. He turned his attention to your neck, licking and biting almost recklessly while his hands explored your body. You’re not exactly sure how it was possible, but one minute you were fully clothed, the next you were on your back on the pool table, no longer wearing your sweater or bra. Mike had you pinned in place, one hand on your wrists to keep them above your head, his mouth roughly working your nipples, and the other hand sliding underneath your skirt. Long fingers pushed your thong to the side and immediately found the wetness underneath. Mike whistled through his teeth and swore as he slipped two fingers into your drenched pussy. Your walls clenched around him when he curled his fingers up just the right way and found the right spot inside you almost instantly. Either this guy knew what he was doing, or it was dumb luck, but honestly; you didn’t really give a fuck. You shrieked when he pressed his thumb against your clit. The pressure on your wrists disappeared as Mike’s hand retreated. You were very unpleasantly surprised when his other hand also disappeared. As it turns out, he needed both hands to drag your underwear down and you to the edge of the table. You’d been impressed with Mikey’s enthusiasm while kissing you, but he put twice that effort into giving you head. No teasing, no slow – frustrating – build-up, none of that. He just dove in, eating your pussy like he was starving. You were a squirming mess on his tongue within seconds, and when he pushed his fingers back into you, it was over for you. Mike had you climbing fast and crashing hard, barely waiting for the end of your orgasm to move back up and crashing his mouth against yours. You answered eagerly, relishing the taste of your pussy on his tongue. Thanks to him, you were even wetter than before, and when you felt his hard cock twitch between your legs, your entire body screamed for him.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, and he happily obliged. He slid all the way inside with ease, a feral grunt escaping his throat as he felt the wet heat of your core for the first time. You gasped at the way your walls stretched tight around him, and the feeling of being entirely full of his cock turned you on so much you could barely believe it. If Mike had taken a few more seconds to start moving, you would have begged him – and you were secretly disappointed he hadn’t made you… His first thrusts were slow, but he was easily convinced you could take him – and he was right. Before long, he was fucking you hard, every move building the pressure within you to new heights, never managing to pull you over the finish line. So you had to take care of that yourself. Mikey didn’t protest when you reached down to rub your clit as you stuttered a serenade of breaths and moans, begging him to keep going, until you finally screamed with pleasure when came for the second time. Mike fucked you through your orgasm at an absolutely relentless pace, only to slow down when he felt you relax.

You whimpered when he pulled out, and the look on your face must have said it all, because he was grinning at you.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done yet,” he said as he dragged your hips off the pool table and turned you around. In no time, you felt the head of his cock tease at your entrance before slipping in as easily as he had before. The new view was a nice reminder that you were actually getting railed into next year on top of a goddamn pool table. It was a weird thing to take note of at a time like this, but still. You couldn’t help but swear when Mike got rougher with you as his breathing sped up – and with it his pace. You could tell he was close, and before you even realized you had opened your mouth, you heard yourself begging him to cum inside you – an idea he didn’t resist nearly half as much as he probably should have. Mike pressed soft kisses all over your back before finally pulling out. You gasped when he playfully spanked your ass.

“That was… fuck.” He said as he helped you get back up, holding you for a second and softly kissing your forehead before letting go again. Mike was done getting dressed quickly, and immediately gathered your clothes and handed them to you. In all honesty, you were a bit offended; it was almost as if he was trying to get rid of you as soon as possible. The soft kiss he pressed to your lips suggested otherwise, as did the thing he said to you next: “Let me lock up and I’ll walk you home, okay?”

Needless to say, he didn’t leave until the next morning…

#hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser)#mike hellraiser smut #mike (hellraiser) x reader

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