#and i will abuse them w/ filling my time @ threads

[neonlight2]

Jaehaera Targaryen (OC) x Daemon x Rhaenyra

(And someone else… who will be a surprise.)

Trigger warnings: mentions of SA and abuse, Smut, wlw smut (if you don’t like bisexuals or lesbians— wtf are you even doing here. Get out.), implied p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, voyeurism/exhibition, praise and degradation

Lemme know if I missed anything… enjoy. Don’t worry, there will be some more later on, so don’t be disappointed if your ship wasn’t necessarily fulfilled.

Sneaking away with Rhaenyra and Daemon. (Masterlist)

It was a regular occurrence. Sneaking out with Rhaenyra and Daemon after a strenuously prim event became second nature. Surprisingly enough, it was Rhaenyra’s idea in the beginning…

“Are you daydreaming without me Queenie? Or are you searching for the right question to ask?”

“Would you ever— never mind.”

“Hey, cut that shit out. I always want to know what’s going on in your mind.”

The Princess let out a light laugh at Jaehaera’s shameless cursing. A habit picked up from Daemon no doubt.

“Would you ever like to go back in town, deep into town?”

Grinning knowingly at the ivory strands framing Rhaenyra’s face, she brushes them aside to avert the girl’s gaze. “I’d love too.”

An obvious joy flashed across the older girls face before concern swiftly took over. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do it for me, or Daemon, we understand—,”

“Nyra,” Jaehaera cooed in a sing song voice. “I want to go. There’s no need to fear my past.”

Not to mention she had already prepared herself a few days before because Daemon asked her the same thing.

The first time they went was utter chaos and filled with debauchery. Drinking, watching vulgar plays, and Daemon did quite a lot of whoring. All while Rhaenyra and Jaehaera talked, watching colors fly after taking a heavenly drug.

However, the last time they went, Rhaenyra was inevitably banned, Daemon was exiled, and Jaehaera… well you’ll see.

***

“Where would you like to go today my princess?” Daemon asked in his regular flirtatious tone, holding Rhaenyra’s hand in his while desperately trying to get ahold of the raven haired girl walking in front of them.

He’d started to call her “quick-feet” from time to time, due to how fast she managed to wander from them.

“We always pick—,” Rhaenyra replied, glancing between her two companions. “Where do you want to go Issa qēlos?” My star

Jaehaera stopped in her tracks, causing both Daemon and Rhaenyra to crash into her back. A small grunt left them after.

“What’s the matter Jae?” Rhaenyra asked, letting go of Daemon to peer around the girl— who had surpassed her height, closing towards Daemon’s every day.

And while Jaehaera moved far to quickly for either of them to follow her line of sight, it was enough time for Daemon and Rhaenyra to recognize the shift in her demeanor.

“The brothel.” Jaehaera answered before leaving totally, letting her body weave through the crowd like thread to the eye of a needle.

Within seconds both Targaryens we’re equally confused, curious, and oddly cautious as they tried their best to follow suit. Glancing at each other amidst the chaos, there was a collective understanding: whatever caught her eye was dangerous.

Perhaps to her, to them, or hopefully— to itself. All they knew was it was enough to drag her attention away from them. And while individually, she would feel more inclined to entertain herself, Jaehaera had never voluntarily left them whilst together.

They didn’t even have to enter the pleasure house to hear it’s contents. Lewd moans and vulgar slurs echoed outside the building, along with the clinking of coin, which hung in bags off the furniture and bodies spread out about the place. Daemon was used to the debauchery, so the crude behavior did nothing to sway his attentions, but Rhaenyra couldn’t help wrinkle her nose as the musk seeped through the walls. She may have grown accustomed, and less embarrassed when faced with such activities— she would have to when in town with Daemon of course— yet she was still a princess. And she didn’t think good hygiene was too much to ask for.

Instinctively, Daemon’s hand had wrapped around his niece’s waist as to scare off any unwanted advances. Sure, she was wearing a cloak, so no one could see her face, nor was she dressed as on of the working girls in the estate. But that had never stopped the audacity of a bastard before.

“I’ve lost her.” He whispered directly into her ear, positioning himself behind her to look as if he were about to have his way. It was all a play— or at least that’s what both of them would say, but that’s didn’t stop Rhaenyra’s cheeks to set aflame.

“So much for being one of the best trackers in the realm,” she replied with rolling eyes and a snip attitude.

Snaking his hands around her front, the prince cupped her neck softly. “Now is not the time to tease my princess. Our dragon has gone on a war path, and her eyes were foreboding.”

Almost crooning into his touch, she nodded. “Fine, then what would you have us do.”

Tilting his head slightly, he shifts hers by the chin. “I suppose we could ask the woman in charge.”

“I suppose you know her very well.”

“Don’t be jealous Nyra, she’s an old friend.”

“One that you once claimed to be your pregnant fiancé, and our dragon is totally taken with.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Daemon could only say, “Litse.” Fair

***

“Jaehaera is perfectly well.”

Huffing to himself Daemon slouched on the chair closest in reach. “I can always count on you for vague answers White Worm.”

“I merely telling you what you need to know.” She said while stacking the coins to count her revenue.

“And that is?” Rhaenyra asked, her thinning patience pricking at her tone.

Mysaria let out a steady breath, eyes sealed shut in order to calm the anger boiling closer to her throat with every passing second. “Jaehaera is safe. She is attending to business of her own,” the stern woman’s face showed little sympathy for the two royals in her presence. “As am I.”

There was a brief silence between all three. A mutual agreement to trust the person whom they all stood here for.

“What could she possibly wish to keep from us?” Rhaenyra asked, voice gone soft and depleted.

This time the White Worm showed an ounce of mercy.

“We all have our secrets, most are best left in the dark to those we love.” She stared intently on the gold within her hand, listening to the tick somewhere near her desk. “She’ll be back in an hour or so.”

***

It reeked of filth. Of musk, rot, and above all else iron.

The air was thick in the smell and had become humid. Sweat soaked every inch of skin within the room, almost as much as the red staining the walls and floor. And while the activities past the door were evident and loud, the individuals here only found a vicious pitch or the wheezing breath of the other.

“Please,” one of the men, top of the pile, cried out the best he could muster. He was practically blind due to the swell of his face, yet his one spared eye still couldn’t find the monster amongst the darkness.

“I’ll ask you one last time.”

The man lunches forward, choking on the blood running up his throat from added pressure to his ribs— every single one cracked. “Please just let me go! I’ll do anything! I didn’t know I swear!”

A sharp sting attacked his scalp, forcing his head up as soft lips grew close to his ear. “Believe me, I didn’t either. But then again,” a melodic tune filled his ears as her awaited her judgement. She was mocking him.

“I’m not the one who raped and beat innocent girls.”

His eyes went wide, bulging from his skull, and if she wished.. she could have plucked them out.

Wrapping a hand, wet and sticky with blood, around his neck, she asked for the last time. “Where is she?”

A pathetic whimper left his lips, sputtering as bile and metallic filled his mouth. “I-I told you I don’t—,”

“Wrong answer.” She chimes tightening her grip, ready to jut back.

“NO! She-she’s dead.”

Her grip loosened.

“How?”

Finally, learning from his mistakes he answered quickly. “Infection. We had to throw her into a fire pit.”

It must have been a minute before she spoke again. “Do you regret it?”

She felt the bob of his Adam’s apple before he replied a hushed, “Yes.”

“Good.”

A crack was followed by a stout thud, and the top of his head colliding with the cold floor.

Now the living thing in the room was her. The walking shadow, who’s steps never made a sound, nor did she seem to bleed. No, she was dressed in the last breath of her victims. Yet she could help but hold them all in.

Her throat soured in bitter acid, plaguing her tongue with guilt. The girls lungs seemed to seize as she treaded toward the door. Slowly her eyes grew hazy and spotted within the dark. It was only until she swung the door open that she found air.

In a frenzy her eyes searched.

Searched for some reassurance, some safety, something to cover the sticky red dripping off her figure as she stood. She had barely stepped out of the room when felt a warm weight atop her shoulders. If she weren’t so tired she would have probably snapped the arms that held the cloak in place, but her mind was murky as swamp water and her legs were twitching with tension.

With a turn of her head she saw an unexpected sight.

“Come with me please,” she said— a voice so sweet the girl wished to drown in it— while her hands lightly coaxed her forward. She looked so much like her. “White Worm has sent me to care for you if need be, your highness.”

The whisper made the princess’ skin prickle and her head nod in agreement. She tried to speak, but a croak was released instead of her voice. It was only then that she noticed how tight her throat had become.

Letting the girl steer her along, they kept close to the walls, which didn’t hold to kindly to her stomach. Even though she had barely been touched, the bloodied girl couldn’t help when it began to churn. Visions of her past forced their way into her mind, plaguing whatever sanity she had left.

“Right in here, ma’am.”

Another room— almost pitch black. Her stomach eased.

The only light in the room was from a dim candle, sat on a desk not too far from the bed and a wooden dresser. It must have been one of the working girls chambers, she thought before glancing over at her rescuer. Her brown hair turning a golden color in the light, and her differing eyes shining gold and a rich green.

“Stay here and rest your highness, I shall go fetch White Worm—,”

“No—” her hand launched forward, catching the girls hand with great fervor.

There was a second of worry that flashed over the girls face, which had been mistaken for fear. She left the girl’s hand go before asking again.

“Please stay. Send someone else if you have to report to her, but please stay.”

“If you wish, your highness.”

“No, no please. Call me Jaehaera.”

A hint of a smile quivered at the girl’s face. Perhaps she were amused by the princess’s behavior, or maybe she thought her pathetic— begging like a pitiful child.

“Would you like to take your cloak off, Jaehaera?”

Gulping back the emotion surging through her body, Jaehaera shrugged the cloak off herself, much to the other girl’s disappointment.

“It’s yours, not mine,” she said, handing it over.

The smile was full now. It stretched her face beautifully, cause her cheeks the enclave with precious dimples in her darker skin. Her hand stretched out to take the large clump of fabric, daringly grazing the Princess’s skin.

“You’re a Princess of the realm. Everything here belongs to you.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Jaehaera shook her head and back up to sit at the edge of the bed. “You cannot own people. No matter how hard men try.”

The brunette’s gaze left the cloak, returning to the royal before her— enriched in curiousity. Something Jaehaera could remember anywhere.

“I suppose you’re right, but you can own loyalty.”

Placing the cloak aside, the girl pulled a string close to the door— a chime erupting from the action. Her delicate hands reached for something resting on the dresser not too far from where Jaehaera sat. It was only until she heard a familiar snap and saw the shot of light come to life that she noticed the box of matches.

She was losing her senses too easy. Jaehaera knew her mind would be a relentless torture for the rest of the night, perhaps longer if it deemed necessary to punish her further— and no matter how hard she’d try to find a distraction in her family, her ploys, her training, nothing would do well.

Nothing ever did when it came to her… her beautiful flower.

“Jaehaera?” So close

When had she gotten so close? The girl was face to face with her now. Their noses would touch if one of them nudged barely an inch forward. From the look of her expression the girl was worried, eyebrow furrowed more than Jaehaera preferred. All it took for her reason and logic to fall from her grasp was the drop of a single hair in her face; the strand practically begged to be pushed back.

Somehow her actions were lost in time. Within an instant her skin was snug against Jaehaera’s and oh how soft it was. So soft. The way it molded to her fingertips was so heavenly, one might think it blasphemous. She could practically feel the warmth radiating off of her, and if she had dared to— the princess may have argued that the girl sitting on top of her mimicked the heat she only found from other dragons.

Maybe it was her? Or had their heat mingled? She couldn’t tell. For the third time in her life, Jaehaera was completely defenseless in mind and soul.

There’s no doubt if she wished, the trained girl could topple the other in seconds. But against every criticism floating through her mind, the Targaryen let her impulses take control.

Their breathing was heavy, hot, and the suspense could have driven any sane person mad. Both were intertwined; the girls legs on either side of Jaehaera’s, her hands hovering over the royal’s bare skin which peeked through her loose blouse— threatening to slip off her shoulder. Ghosting her fingers dangerously near the girls waist, Jaehaera swallowed before asking permission, her intense gaze never leaving those unique eyes she now craved on her always.

“Do I have your loyalty?”

Finally, the girl allowed her hands to caress Jaehaera’s skin, brushing the clothes still dirty of blood off her otherwise perfect skin under. Drawing close she let her hands wander as well as her words.

“You have the very breath I breathe,” she whispered with confidence. “If you wished me to stop, I’d heed your word. If you wished for me to tend to you, I would mend whatever harm you may face. If you told me to stay with you all night long—,” she exhaled shakily as the princess pressed a firm hand to her hip and another close to her neck— “I would not sleep until you bid me rest.”

The declaration made Jaehaera burn, thighs clinching from the euphoria flowing down her spine, while her head slowly dropped back. Her neck inviting whatever worship the girl wished to give. And that she did.

Lips and hands quickly made work, tugging on skin and clothes— holding to grow as close as possible. In a blink of time their clothes were thrown to the side, truly to never be seen again, and instead red and pink marks covered each of their skin. Soon Jaehaera held the girl she met not even an hour ago beneath her, ravaging her neck and every inch of her soft breast.

When she finally pulled away enough to admire her work, she took hold of the girls wrist and pushed them into the plush mattress. She wished to see all of her, and the girl would not deny Jaehaera.

“Tell me your name.” She ordered in a tone that would have made the girl’s knees weak and fall straight to the floor if she were standing.

A small whine left her lips, stopping her answer before it began, from the new pressure against her naked cunt. The anticipation forced her hips to move against Jaehaera’s hand, hoping to relieve tension building in the swell of her stomach. Losing herself in the circles she caressed into Jaehaera’s palm, leaving slick to pool against her fingers— threatening to slip inside her at any moment—

A swift slap to her desperate clit made her legs quiver and a cry leap from her mouth. “I asked you a question darling.”

Her whimpering became music to the dragon’s ears, urging her to torture the bud even more with the pad of her thumb and a scrape of her nail. She knew she shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. The way the girl squirmed against her touch, trying to run only to be forced open by her lover’s thighs. She shouldn’t adore the purple spots appearing wherever she sunk her teeth into the girls plush flesh. It shouldn’t have made her feel this way. Euphoric, pleasured, and ravenous above all else.

But it did.

And she could help but wonder if this was how Daemon felt when he took a woman. If he felt desperate to fuck them until they were dumb to his very words let alone touch. If he were as rough, perhaps rougher with them. Did he leave evidence behind, or rather— did he feel the need to.

“Edeline!”

Her movements eased, turning gentle as a hum tickled Edeline’s neck from Jaehaera’s numerous, sweet kisses along her jaw.

The girl’s back was already arched so that her chest pressed tightly against the other, who’s hands, mouth, and very presence gave her ecstasy. Yet still, her lungs begged for more air to counter the fog breaching her head. Any longer and she might have lost herself completely.

But there was still time for that, Jaehaera thought.

Crooning lightly into the crook of her shoulder the princess pressed plush lips against the tattered skin— which was her doing. “Pledge to me,” she said in a melodic tone as she let her lover feverishly caress and tug at her limps. Pulling away the Targaryen looked directly at the quivering girl beneath her, eyes now aflame and golden in color. They stole yet another gasp of awe and fluttering touch of the flushed cheeks resting below.

“Pledge to me, and I’ll make sure you never need anything. That you will be cared for, and you’ll never need to work here ever again if you wished.”

Without hesitation Edeline replied, “I cannot pledge to you a second time, but you may take me wherever you see fit.”

Those were the binding words… a pact that would ruin them both in a many of ways. But for now, in this moment, it was only fuel for the fire erupting within the raven haired dragon. As she parted the girl once more, ready to devour every bit she was able.

*** meanwhile…

Pressed against the wall tight and unable to escape— if she wanted to at all— Rhaenyra’s breathing hallowed as her skirt raised and allowed Daemon to touch her as they pleased. One hand rested along hers against a the cold, stone wall which differed greatly from the heat between the two chaotic dragons. Both hungry for one another.

His other hand had made its way under her linen, tearing whatever underlining she had in frustration. He needed to feel her. To touch her. To have her begging him to stop because the pleasure was far too great, only to then whimper when he complied to her verbal wishes. He wanted her. In every aspect she was willing to give.

Rhaenyra choked on a sudden moan as her eyes rolled to the back of her skull from Daemon’s attention to detail. If she’s let her mind wander she may have grown jealous of the reason for his expertise of how to pleasure a woman, but his hands were working far too deliciously for her to think farther than the coil building in her core.

“Please please please Daemon,” she pleaded deliriously.

Scoffing to himself, bemused at her already desperate state, he leaned against her more— trapping her body further. “So greedy Nyra,” he tsked mockingly, “Only a few seconds of me touching you, and a proper whore you’ve become.”

“Daemon!”

“Alright, alright—,” he laughed before groaning from the slight release of her ass pressed tight against his growing problem. His hands made their way to his own waistline, ready to relieve them both from the impending wait. Such a long wait it has been.

He was almost there too, a moment away from mounting Rhaenyra against the wall, making her his finally— indefinitely. Even with hundred of other behind a single wall, doing the very same. Anyone could easily see them, but they were both too crazed to care and deep inside they like it. The rush of being caught exhilarated them.

But then he saw him. And her.

A guard from the palace, reminding him of the king. His brother.

And Jaehaera walking out of a doorway in only a large shirt to cover her brilliance, and not even the one she arrived in.

It took everything in Daemon to leave Rhaenyra there, but he did.

And he later grew to regret it.

***

“Princess..?”

“Sir Criston.”

“What are you doing in such a—,”

And chaos begun.

[heartspilt]

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please let me know how i can accomodate you with my writing: i typically get a good idea from people’s rules and own writing styles about it, but if you find yourself struggling to reply to our threads because i write in second person, i urge you to let me know! we’re here for fun, after all, and i want you to have fun too

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3-5 IMPORTANT PET PEEVES TO KEEP IN MIND

if you use fancy text not within tumblr’s own post editor. i struggle with reading text if it’s too cursive in tumblr’s textposts bc tumblr’s dash themes, cool as they are, can make it really hard to read and i don’t wanna have to use a screen reader or copy-paste text into discord just to be able to read

being corrected on the lore of stardew valley - i do a lot of worldbuilding and toy around with a lot of stuff stretching the lore out. if you yourself are canon-compliant, i will be more than happy to apply that to OUR threads, but i will not change my worldbuilding just because “danny why don’t you like ginger island why isnt it included in your worldbuilding :(”

idk i dont have many pet peeves

2-5 THINGS THAT WILL LEAD TO INSTANT (SOFT)BLOCKING

if you make jokes about monika’s mental health in particular or their past. it’s not your place to unless i give

2-5 THINGS THAT LEAD ME TO UNFOLLOW / SOFTBLOCK A MUTUAL / SOMEONE I INTERACT WITH

ive literally softblocked people over my bf having issues w them. for the most part i don’t block/softblock people out of my own volition unless i see callouts abt them bc, like i said, i use it as i see fit

i softblocked someone for siding with a guy who abused me?

idk i typically just block if the vibes r rancid but thankfully that hasnt happened in a long time lol

2-5 REASON YOU DON'T FOLLOW (BACK) SOMEONE

if i don’t know the media your muse is from (this is only really applied to singlemuse blogs)

typically i wont follow back if i had issues with you before while i had my old names

if you are under age

if i just get the vibes our muses wont click

[angelamajiki]

PART ONE (yandere)

PAIRINGS: Bunny! Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

CW: nsfw, pegging, orgasm denial, mommy kink, rimming, fingering, kissing, spanking, praise kink, power play

AN: no yandere this time but please enjoy!! sorry it’s a day late <33

To say he was nervous about bringing up the topic was a hell of an understatement.

Even still, Tamaki was so afraid of your judgment and disapproval despite having been in a long-term relationship. His nerves never quite seemed to know how to calm themselves, especially when it came to you.

“What do you think, c-can we try it?” He shyly asked, taking your hand in his and looking up at you with those doe eyes you simply adore.

“Is that any way to ask mommy for something, bunny?”

Tamaki’s face flushed even further at the mention of his favorite name for you, feeling his blush spread to his pointed ears.

“Please, will you peg me, mommy?”

———— •

The two of you went down a sex shop the next day for preparations, letting Tamaki pick out the dildo he felt most comfortable letting you use. His blush was at an all-time high, making him seem near feverish as he snatched a 4-inch carrot-shaped one off the wall and into the basket you carried.

“Excellent choice.” You whispered in his ear, making him lurk further into the turtleneck of his sweater. “So eager, bunny. Why don't we hurry home so we can play, huh?”

———— •

Playtime was on for your little hybrid the second you made it back home. He bounded off to the bedroom, bag in hand as you locked up the front door. How cute, his leg was thumping in excitement on the bed when you finally entered the room.

Tail twitching in excitement, Tamaki pulled you on top of him and fell back onto the bed. Lean legs wrapped around your waist and slender arms looped around your neck. The sweet thing beneath you was practically shaking in anticipation under your deft touch.

Gentle fingers ghosted over his tail, making him buck his hips into yours with a whine.

“Now, now, no whining, Maki. Just tell mommy what you want.”

“W-Want you inside, mommy.” He whined again, turning his head into the pillow as he ground his hips up into yours.

Detangling yourself from him, Tamaki flipped himself over with his pert little ass in the air and flushed face in the sheets. He pulled down his shorts and flung them off the bed. He always did like to keep his shirt on, though, the shy thing he was.

You settled onto your knees behind him, pushing his back down to buck his hips up towards you. Gathering a glob of spit, you let it drip onto his hole, making him squirm beneath you.

“Be still.” You ordered, giving him a quick spank to his ass.

Your tongue set out to work on his tight, puckered hole, chuckling into him when he squeezed himself around nothing but your appendage. His squeals and whines were music to your ears as you lapped against his hole, milking his hard cock at the same time with your free hand.

Tamaki couldn't help but grip your hair with nimble fingers, pushing his hips against your face. Your tongue sent sparks throughout his whole body, making him convulse under your hot mouth.

“Oh fuck, mommy!”

Another spank landed on his backside, forcing a yelp and a jerk out of him.

“Mind your manners, boy.”

“Y-Yes mommy.”

Silly boy, he knows better than to swear at you. You chose to forego giving him an orgasm through rimming and cut straight to the chase, slathering lube against his already wet hole.

A single finger wiggled its way inside of him, drawing out a wanton moan from his trembling lips. The digit pumped slowly in and out of him, gently prodding around for his sweet spot.

You set a slow pace, loving the sounds you were pulling from your bunny. You intended to prep your boy thoroughly. The finger finally found his prostate, rubbing it gently.

Cries spilled from his lips as you continued to milk his cock, adoring his pleas and begs for you to slow down, that he was going to cum.

“Did I say you could cum? Naughty thing.”

“P-Please? Oh please, mommy. I need to cum!” He panted out, hips twitching and bucking under your touch. “Mommy! I can’t, I can’t-”

“Shh, shh. It's alright, sweet pea, go ahead and cum.”

Tamaki came a few seconds later with permission, crying out as he shot hot ropes of cum all over the bedspread beneath him. You finger and hand didn't stop once he finished and instead, you opted to add another finger to his hole.

Tamaki squirmed violently underneath you, whining and shouting that mommy it was too much!

“I said be still, boy. Do l need to punish you? You're really pushing my last nerve tonight. So disrespectful.”

Both your fingers abused his prostate, making him howl and drool under you as he came, over-sensitive and overstimulated from his previous orgasm.

Mumbles of apologies and praises for you slipped from his quivering mouth. Feeling kind enough to let him catch his breath, you gently stroked his back as he sobbed into the pillow.

“Shh, you're alright, sweet pea. You're okay.”

Poor thing, Tamaki was always such a sensitive boy.

His hips started to buck up into your hand as he gripped the sheets.

“More, mommy. Please?” His voice was hoarse from his shouting and moaning, barely above a whisper, as he held onto your free hand and laced your fingers together. “I need you.”

The two fingers inside him began to piston in and out of him again, staying sweet and slow. You savored the soft moans seeping from him and gave the back of his hand a gentle kiss.

“There we go, honey. Just like that. You're such a good boy for me.”

Tamaki whimpered at the praise, squeezing your hand tightly as his hole clenched around the third finger entering him.

“Feels good to be stretched, huh baby.”

The boy nodded, tugging your arm towards him so he could place a sweet kiss on your plush lips. He whimpered and whined into the kiss as all three fingers circled his sweet spot. Licking at your lips, you deepened the kiss with his tongue, gently sucking on it while he enveloped your lips with his.

The next build to his orgasm was slow and gentle, letting him moan softly with teary eyes as he came for the third time, this time untouched.

You pet his sweaty forehead as you pecked at his lips, riding out his high with a smile.

“I think my good boy is ready for his treat now.” You mused. “What do you think, bunny?”

Tamaki nodded quickly, getting onto his back as you locked the strap into place on your hips.

“Come now, suck on mommy’s cock.”

Hauling him up to his knees, you stood before him on the bed and nudged the silicon at his lips. Obediently, he took it into his mouth with your hand on the back of his head.

“Good boy, Maki.” You whispered, threading all your fingers through his hair as you thrust into his mouth. Holding his head in place, you thrust your hips into his mouth, feeling a sliver of pleasure run up your spine at the sound of his choked whimpers. Using both hands, you pushed his head flush against your crotch and held him there, chuckling as he shook beneath you and choked deeply.

After a few moments, you let him up for air and smiled at his reddened face.

“I think mommy’s cock is wet enough for your tight little hole now. On your back, boy.”

What an obedient bunny you had. Scrambling, Tamaki pushed a pillow up under his hips and grasped your hand in his once more.

“Ready, little boy?”

“Y-Yes, mommy.”

With his approval, you began to sink the slick strap into him, watching as his mouth opened wide into an O-shape and screwed shut eyes.

“How’s that feel, sweetpea?”

About half way in with the dildo, you paused briefly to let him catch his breath.

“‘S good, mommy! So good!” He gasped.

“Breathe for me, okay? Breathe nice and deep for mommy.”

Continuing on, you stroked his cock while pushing into the hilt, shushing him gently as he practically screamed in pleasure.

“O-oh mommy! Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

The poor boy was babbling incoherently, sobbing in pleasure as he ground your hips up into his prostate. Howling, Tamaki gripped both your forearms that held his waist in place. Your pace was agonizingly slow, wanting him to beg for you to fuck him like an animal.

“Feeling good?”

Tamaki whined at your words, pushing his hips flush against yours and bouncing slightly. He nodded and whispered. “I-I need more, mommy! Please, I can't take it!”

“Hush now, I’m giving you all the I have.”

Smirking, you slowed your pace down and held his hips firmly in place.

“L-Let me ride you then. Can I, mommy? Can I please. I-I need to!”

“I don't know if I should let you.” Sighing dramatically, you stopped your hips altogether. “You’ve been so naughty tonight, swearing at me and rushing me.”

Tamaki whined loudly and thrashed in your grip.

“I-I’ll be good, mommy! I promise I promise, I promise. Please just fuck me stupid!” He sobbed, bucking his hips up into yours.

“Fine, I suppose I can punish you later.”

With that, you started a rough pace into him and flipped him onto his stomach. One hand on his cock and the other pushing his lower back down to get a perfect arch on your strap.

The sound of Tamaki’s cries and skin slapping against skin filled the room. You were doing your best to give him the rough pounding he deserved, slapping his ass a few times for good measure.

Tamaki, on the other hand, was face down in the pillow, drooling as he gripped the sheets tightly. Your hand wrung itself through his locks and yanked his head upward, earning a cry of pleasure from him as you continued to slam into him.

“Mommy! M-Mommy! ‘M gonna cum again!”

“Do it. Cum for me, boy.”

Your hand fisted his cock hard and fast, synching up with your thrusts. With his tongue lolled out, Tamaki came hard with a loud moan, shaking beneath your hands as he rode out his orgasm on your strap.

After coming down, the two of you huffed and shared the comfortable silence of the room as your hand stroked his back gently.

“Such a good boy for me, Maki.”

[steampunkserpent27]

Kissed

- this is a quick story I wanted to write. I’ve had it in my head for days and you all need to suffer with me. I might do a follow up cause this was way longer than I originally planned aha and I had more I wanted to write. - CW: angst w bad ending, Catatonic Draco/Soulless Draco, Anguished Harry, Hospital setting, abuse by authority/staff, this is entirely suffering seriously.  Harry lingered outside the closed hospital door his hand resting on the handle. Trying to prepare himself for what he would see inside. The problem was he wasn’t sure what he would see.  He’d never seen someone who’d been Kissed before. He’d been told about it but most wizards never actually saw. It was better to remain ignorant to it. Better to ignore it.  But he couldn’t ignore it. He had to see. Even if he didn’t want to.  His desire to see Draco again overcame his trepidation of what he might find inside. Because seeing him at all was better than never seeing him again, surely.  The handle turned with an audible click and he slowly pushed the heavy door open.  The white sterile room was brightly lit and there were a few plastic chairs lining the wall.  A single hospital bed was placed against the back wall. A heavy threaded blanket was placed atop the form he’d avoided looking at.  With heavy legs he crossed the open room and finally forced himself to look up. Sitting up in the bed, back pressed against the backboard was Draco. His arms were resting on top of the white sheets while his legs were hidden beneath them.  Physically he looked the same as the last time he saw him. Light blonde hair, subtly pink lips, pale but fair skin, except his clothes had been changed. He was now wearing drab grey hospital robes.  And his eyes.  God, his eyes.  Sure, they were still a soft grey but the light and intellect he so often saw in them was gone. He was staring at the far wall but it was as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.  Harry took a shivering breath,” Draco.”  He knew it was probably pointless but he had to try. He had to try.  Upon getting no reaction Harry tried to speak up, making his voice more audible,” Draco, please.” He could hear his voice crack and shake as he spoke.  Draco’s grey eyes lazily rolled to the side, much slower than what was natural. His gaze paused in Harry’s direction but he was staring right through him.  And he realized fully right then that Draco might not be dead but he was gone. Everything that made him, him had been ripped out of him. He would never again hear his sarcastic quips or his endearing chuckle. Draco would never again look at him. He might look in his direction but he wasn’t really seeing Harry. He had lost his friend. He had lost his soulmate. And he felt like he was losing a part of himself in the process.  He knew that he’d never be able to have another conversation with him. Never share a meaningful moment of silence. They’d never hold hands or go on walks. Draco would never be able to become the healer he wanted to be. He’d had his life stolen from him but he was still physically here.  Harry hoped he wasn’t stuck in there somewhere screaming. As much as it hurt, he hoped he wasn’t aware. It would be easier for Draco that way.   Shivering, Harry suddenly realized how cold it was in the room. Draco’s arms had goosebumps running up them and he too was starting to shake.  He reached out and pulled the blanket back while he shifted his cold arms to lay beside him before he draped the comforter back over him. Casting a simple heating charm he watched as Draco’s eyelids drooped and his muscles seemed to relax.  Sitting on the bed next to him he gently brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Upon being touched he slowly rolled his head away, eyes opening once again. He briefly return to staring at nothing before his eyelids drooped once again.  “Are you tired?” Harry asked gently, knowing he wouldn’t get a response,” Let’s get you to lie down, okay?”  He slowly tried to shift Draco into a lying position but when he started pulling away from him and even lifted his arms to block himself he stopped.  “Let’s try magic, then.” He pulled out his wand shakily and froze when he noticed Draco was actually staring directly at his wand with wide eyes.  He hadn’t focused on anything the entire time he’d been in the room with Draco. So why was he suddenly actually looking at his wand.  “Do you not like wands?” He pondered.  He was about to give manually moving him another go when a knock on the door startled him.  An older witch poked her head into the room. She had spectacles and slightly greying hair,” I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Potter but it’s time that Mr. Malfoy receives his potions if you wouldn’t mind stepping outside for a moment.”  Harry hesitated,” oh... uhm.” He didn’t want to leave Draco yet, even for a moment.  A frown had appeared on the ladies face,” It will only take a minute.” When Harry didn’t respond she let out an aggravated sigh,” Fine. But please take a seat. We have many patients to get to tonight.”  He nodded and sat down, watching Draco from across the room. The healer witch pulled various vials and potions out of her bright green robes and sat them down next to Draco’s bed. Harry noticed Draco’s breathing was starting to increase.  Once the witch pulled out her wand and pointed it at Draco his arms shakily rose, fidgeting side to side as if he was trying to shield himself.  “Petrificus Totalus.”  Draco went rigid, arms frozen next to his face.  Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.  “Mr. Potter, as I stated before we are on a tight schedule please don’t interrupt.” She was already opening the potions as she spoke,” I try to go as quickly as I can. The longer he is under the spell the more he panics, so please don’t delay me.”  He watched nervously as the lady starting pouring the vials into his frozen mouth. Once they’d all passed his lips she put a hand over his open mouth and with a flick of her wand broke the spell. Instantly a gurgled moan filled the room and Harry leapt to his feet.  The healer gave him a sharp glare before looking back at Draco,” Swallow.” She demanded.  Draco had started breathing through his nose in short inhales, eyes wide. Instantly she put her free hand over his nose,” Swallow.”  “Stop it! He can’t breathe!” Harry snapped.  “He just needs to swallow and he will breathe, Mr. Potter. It is the only way they will take their potions. We are not allowed to use the imperius curse and they just knock them away otherwise.”  By the time she’d finished speaking Draco was blue in the face and looked like he was about to pass out. Finally his throat flexed and he swallowed.  She released his nose and mouth and pulled away as he started coughing.  Harry ran over to Draco, eyes bright with anger,” You can’t just choke him out like that!”  “We do not have the staff to coax over a hundred patients to swallow all of their potions every night, Mr. Potter. Now, if you want to come by ever night and spend an hour trying to get him to take them you are more than welcome to do so.”  Draco had fallen onto his side and was gasping for air, tears welling up in his distant eyes.  “I will then!” He snapped and knelt down beside Draco.  The lady rolled her eyes and quickly exited the room, muttering to herself.  Harry suddenly realized that tears were falling down his own cheeks and he hastily wiped them off. He needed to focus on Draco right now.  He reached his hand out,” Shh... it’s okay. You’re okay, now.”  Draco seemed to briefly look about the room and upon seeing that the green robe had left his eyes went back to staring at nothing.  Harry sighed and slowly fixed the blankets so Draco was covered up to his chin,” You’re okay.” He whispered,” I’m right here.”  Harry fell asleep sitting on the floor next to Draco’s hospital bed, his head rested against the side of it.  When he finally awoke he realized that Draco’s fingers had found their way into Harry’s hair and had grasped onto the curls. Every few seconds the fingers would shift and grab onto a different curl.  For just a moment Harry let himself pretend that everything was alright again and that Draco was brushing his fingers through his hair like he used to.  But reality snuck back into his subconscious and he let out a trembling breath.  He reached up and traced his fingers over Draco’s cool skin and instantly felt the hand slide away.  Turning around he stumbled to his feet and looked back down at Draco,” Do you want something to hold onto?” He asked,” I’ll get you something, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”  Everything in his heart was cracking and breaking into a million tiny pieces and he thought he might crumple right when he left St. Mungos. But he had to be strong, he had to strong for Draco.  He could sob his heart out when he got home. He could scream and cry for hours. He could break his house into pieces and then put it back together only to break it again.  But not yet. He needed to hold together a little longer.  Because Draco needed someone there for him.  And right now he needed to get something for Draco to hold onto. 

[red-writing-on-asylum-walls]

Like Everyone Who Was Dragged There First (Again)

A rewrite of the original fic. I’m...not sure if this one is actually better? Or just longer. I think I cleared some things up and filled in some plot holes buutttt idk. Lemme know what you guys think.

Warnings for: torture, blood, violence, child endangerment, strangulation, implied child abuse, implied past torture, force feeding, implied psychotic break, this is not how mental health works

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“Heya, Jake. Long time, no see.”

The bowl slipped out of Jake’s numb fingers and clattered to the floor, spilling popcorn all over the carpet. The air felt frigid and thick, the world slippery against the cold clamminess of his skin. His lungs didn’t seem to want to work right, he couldn’t breathe, his brain short circuiting as it desperately tried to reconcile what it was seeing.

Aaron Pierly was sitting casually on the couch next to Milo. There was a ratty backpack on the floor between his feet and an all to familiar smirk on his face.

Jake was already on the brink of panic, thoughts tumbling over one another as Milo stared at him in confusion. Dan wasn’t home. Jake’s cellphone was upstairs and out of reach. Aaron was sitting too close to Milo. Dan wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be for several hours. Dan wasn’t home and they were in very real danger.

“Aaron.” His voice was tight, squeezed out of his throat in a reluctant gasp of stale air. It tasted like old, dusty fears being pulled from the attic of his mind.

“Dad?” Said Milo and Aaron’s eyes flickered with something wicked and gleeful.

“Wwhhhaattt? This is your kid? Aw, Jake, how could you be so cruel? Why didn’t you tell your own brother that you had a son?” Aaron’s voice was teasing, could almost have been friendly if not for the sour, mocking edge to it. And the look in his eyes that said something else entirely.

“I have an uncle?” Milo perked up excitedly and Jake wanted to scream and pull him away from the monster he sat next to.

“You didn’t even tell your kid about me? Ouch, big brother, that hurts my feelings.” The words were acid as Aaron hissed them through the grin in his teeth. His arm coiled around Milo’s shoulder, a python trapping its prey, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of the shark hoodie, “How about we talk in the kitchen? Make another bowl of popcorn. See what kind of fun we can have.”

It was not a suggestion.

Aaron pulled Milo off the couch, arm still around his shoulders, pinning the boy to his side as he steered them past Jake and back into the kitchen. Jake had to follow them. Dan wasn’t here so Jake was going to do everything he could to protect Milo, no matter what it took. He forced himself to follow and tried to keep the fear off his face, for Milo’s sake, tried not to wince when Aaron pressed his hand into Milo’s shoulder and forced him to sit down in a kitchen chair. Jake stood in the doorway, trying to take steady breaths, his palms sweating and his heart thudding. Aaron was humming tunelessly as he lifted the backpack up and set it on the table.

“I brought some of our old toys we used to play with together,” The devil in his brother’s skin said cheerily, “For nostalgia, ya know.” The zipper on the backpack sounded like cracking bones in the heavy quiet of the house, “Remember this stuff?” Aaron turned the bag over and dumped its contents onto the table.

A scream swelled in Jake’s throat and then wouldn’t come out. He forgot how to breathe, choking on icy panic as he tripped backwards and nearly fell out of the kitchen. The world felt muffled, drowned by a roaring in his ears and the painful thudding of his own heart pounding fists against the prison bars of his ribcage. The edges of his vision went dark and fuzzy, static clinging to his mind, old blood in his nose, long healed aches flaring deep in his bones. All he could see were the old instruments of torture spilling across the kitchen table, so bright and vivid and full of memories he wished he didn’t have.

“Dad?” Milo’s voice from somewhere far away, miles away and underwater, a thread in the maze of panic leading him to the exit, “Jake? Dad? W-what’s going on? Dad!?”

A chair scrape on the tile floor.

A thud.

“You stay in your seat, brat. Unless you want to play too…”

“Don’t touch him!” Jake didn’t remember moving but as the world snapped back into clear focus, he found he had put himself between Milo and Aaron. His hand was gripping Aaron’s wrist in a shaking grip, having wrenched it off of Milo’s shoulder.

Aaron looked far too pleased, “I won’t touch him if you play with me, Jake. I’ve missed out time together. It’s no fun without around.” There was such darkness in his voice, such loathing, that Jake pulled his hand away from Aaron as if he could feel it burning through his skin.

“I…” Jake choked. Aaron was much too close, filling his vision, blotting out the light.

Aaron grinned, showed his nicotine stained teeth. And, faster than Jake could react, Aaron snatched up Jake’s wrist and bent his arm back. Jake cried out as his shoulder was pulled harshly, trying to twist away, but Aaron just followed the movement, using it to steer Jake over to the table and pushing him down. Jake scrambled, gasping in fear and pain, as he was bent over the tabletop, one arm behind his back and the other pinned beneath his chest. Jake could feel his own pressing against his arm.

“Dad!” Milo’s desperately scared voice, that sound of the chair against the floor again.

“I said stay in your seat!” Aaron barked, the first time he’d raised his voice, cracking it against the walls of the kitchen. Jake heard Milo thump back into the chair, the squeak of felt pads on shiny tile.

“Now Jake,” Fingers fisted in Jake’s blond hair, yanked hair head back at a painfully sharp angle to expose the curve of his neck and making Jake let out a small, choked cry. Aaron forced Jake to look at Milo sitting petrified in his seat, making their eyes meet, their terror an echo chamber between them. Then Aaron shoved Jake’s face back into the table, grinding it against the polished wood for a moment before releasing his hair, “We’re going to have a nice little chat. And your kid is going to sit there and watch while we go on a nice little stroll down memory lane. And I can remind you about what a piece of utter shit you are.”

“Aaron, p-please…” Jake whimpered, “Milo…h-he doesn’t need to see…”

“Oh, I think he does,” Aaron hissed back, “Someone’s got to show him how the world works and you’re too much of a pussy to do it. So let’s start with the basics. Family,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, “Will always ruin your life. Because people are selfish and stupid and older brothers are the worst! Right Jake?”

Jake knew better than to answer.

But he still made a frightened little noise when a pair of scissors flashed in front of his face. He felt the blades snag on the shoulder of his button up, the snip-click of them slicing into the fabric making him shudder. Aaron cut the sleeve off and then wrenched Jake’s arm out straight, making Jake wince, gritting his teeth. The side of scissors ghost over old and faded scars, raising goosebumps as they went, until their sharp tip pressed against some of the ropey tissue that had never healed quite right in the crook of Jake’s elbow.

“It was right here, I think,” Aaron said in a sickly sweet voice, leaning over Jake and crushing him against the table, “You didn’t want to share that stupid CD player. So I had to teach you a lesson in manners. It was a knife, right? I wasn’t very good with that at first. Wasn’t good about not leaving marks…”

Jake watched the horror dawning on Milo’s face, wished with all his damaged hear that Milo had never seen this part of his life, would have given anything to be alone in the house when Aaron had found him. Now Milo was going to have what innocence he had left shattered while Aaron inevitably did the same with Jake’s fragile sanity.

“A-Aaron, just—just let him…he doesn’t need to be h-here…” Jake tried to plead again, only to choke when Aaron pressed a hand down hard on the back of Jake’s neck.

“He’s staying, Jake,” His brother snarled, “And if either of you scream or try to call for help, first I’ll break your legs. And then I’ll show your fucking mouth shut.”

Milo’s mouth opened—to protest or curse or spew whatever teenage rebellion was still on fire inside him. Jake caught his eye and silently pleaded for him to stay silent, to just go along with it, please Milo, please don’t do anything. Milo searched Jake’s face, then shut his mouth, chewing on his lower lip as he eased back into the chair. Jake swallowed the sigh of relief that wanted to escape him, felt his neck flex against Aaron’s hand, and prayed that whatever happened, it would only leave Jake with more scars and Milo unblemished.

He was jarred from his prayers when he was dragged backwards off the table and thrown into a nearby dining chair. Jake looked up in time to see Aaron uncoiling a faded rope from the pile of tools on the table. He caught Jake’s frightened stare and sneered, snapping it taunt and making Jake flinch.

“Here’s the deal, Jacob,” Aaron growled, walking over to Milo who shrank away from him, “We’re going to play for a while, and your kid’s going to watch so he can learn exactly what kind of dumb, disobedient, horrible, lying person you are. Then I’m going to pack up my stuff and leave and you’re not going to tell anyone what happened because you know you deserve it.”

Aaron approached Milo with the rope and Milo kicked out at him instinctively. But Aaron just sidestepped it and swung the bundle of rope hard against Milo’s face, knocking him to the side. Milo was too dazed to struggle as Aaron wrapped the rope tight around Milo’s chest and the back of the chair, pinning the teenager’s arms to his sides. His movement were deft and practiced, an efficiency created from repeated use of the skill. The rope pinned Milo’s ankles to the legs of the chair and made a complicated series of loops beneath and behind. Milo flinched as the rope draped against his neck and rubbed against his bare skin, tugging against his windpipe as Aaron tied it off behind him. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, grinning nastily when Milo turned fearful but angry eyes on him,

“Haha, look at that. Still a rebellious little shit, huh? Yyeeaahhh, Jakey used to fight back too until I figured out this knot. See, the real beauty of this thing is, the more you struggle, the tighter it pulls. So, if you move around and try to wriggle free then…” Aaron reached around behind Milo and jerked on one of the lines woven into the binding. The rope around Milo’s throat instantly tightened, pressing hard into his neck and cutting his air supply down to the barest wheeze of breath. Milo’s eyes bulged and Aaron laughed as the teenager bucked in instinctual panic. Of course, it was just as Aaron had said—the more Milo struggled, the tighter the noose became.

“Aaron, stop it! You’re here for me! Let him go! Just stop!” Jake was out of his chair, shoving brother out of the way as he fumbled with the knots constructing Milo’s bonds. His fingers slipped off of them, confused by Aaron’s complicated work, and he turned his attention instead to the teenager gagging helplessly in the chair. He cupped Milo’s face in his shaking hands, hushing him, voice hitching as he tried to help,

“Milo, you need to stop struggling. I—I know it’s hard but you need to just—Milo, listen, please listen to me, okay, you need to sit still and don’t move.” He brushed the pads of his thumbs across freckled cheeks, wiping away hot tears, smiling thinly as Milo’s breathing came back under control and his struggling ceased, “That’s it, okay, just—just deep breaths, all right, little shark. It’ll be okay. Just don’t move anymore, okay? Milo? N-no matter what you see, no matter wh-what happens, don’t move. I’ll be fine, I promise, just don’t—“

Aaron yanked Jake away by a fistful of his hair, throwing him to the floor with a growl, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jake. Get back in your fucking chair.”

Jake scrambled across the floor, barely dodging the kick Aaron had aimed at him as he crawled onto he kitchen chair. Aaron followed after him, sneering, pulling a roll of extension cord off the table and knocking several other tools to the floor as he did so. Jake couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out of him as he pressed himself against the back of the chair, desperate to get away but too worried about what would happen to Milo if he ran. His chest rose and fell with sharp, panicked breaths that scraped his dry throat, his heart was beginning to ache as it thudded harder and faster than it had in a long time. His head spun with an ice cold terror he hadn’t experience since he was a child.

Aaron towered over him, the grin on his face nasty and eager, “Sshhhh, big brother, deep breaths. Wouldn’t want you passing out just yet. We haven’t even gotten started…”

The extension cord wrapped around Jake like an old friend, pinching his skin in familiar places and alarmingly tight across his chest. Aaron heaved on the cord, yanking Jake’s legs off the floor by his ankles and forcing him to bend his knees so that his heels were almost touching the seat of the chair. It made his thighs shake, muscles spasming uncomfortably tight as Aaron finished his work. It seemed he’d learned some new tricks over the years. Jake shivered to think who he might have used as a practice dummy.

“Let’s have a conversation,” Aaron said in the same tone of voice one might have used to discuss the weather. He crossed back to the table and sorted through the objects until he found what he was looking for. When he turned back to face Jake, he was holding an old, wooden baseball bat, tiny and child sized, scraped and scratched from years of use.

“Do you wanna know,” Aaron spun the little bat in one hand as he approached, his grin twisted with rage, “What the house was like after you left? Do you know what happened you weren’t around anymore? Do you know how angry mom was?”

Jake cringed back in the chair, pure terror written in every shaking line of his body, “Aaron, n-no, I didn’t mean—I didn’t think she would—you were—she wouldn’t—“

“But she did!” The bat arced through the air and smashed into the side of Jake’s face, jerking his head violently to the side and smashing the inside of his cheek against his teeth. Iron welled into his mouth and he swallowed it back with a grimace. Aaron brought the baseball bat around again and cracked it into Jake’s head, splitting open the skin of his temple. Blood bubbled from the head wound and slid freely down his already swelling cheek as he blinked dazedly, trying to refocus. Aaron didn’t let him; he swung again and struck Jake hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his brother. Jake doubled over with a wet wheeze, drool and blood smearing across his lap from his gasping mouth as he struggled for breath. But Aaron brought another heavy blow down on Jake’s shoulder with a loud, crunching pop. Jake thrashed in the chair, a strangled, gasping scream of pain rattling up his throat, eyes wide and face pale. His shoulder was lumpy and awkward, numb and throbbing and awful—probably dislocated.

“Mom was so pissed when you left,” Aaron snarled, looming over his brother as Jake choked on a sob, breath gasping as he fought for breath, tried to sort through the pain chewing him up from the inside out, “She was so angry. I’d never seen her so mad. And then you didn’t even have the decency to leave us a number? An address!? So fucking disrespectful, Jacob!” Aaron swung again, hit Jake hard in the stomach with the bat. Jake wretched and coughed, spitting up an acrid mixture of stomach acid, blood, and coffee. Aaron dropped the baseball bat with a sneer of disgust, backing away as Jake choked and gagged,

“Pathetic. She raised us. Put a roof over our heads. Gave us food and clothes. And you spat on that. Ran away and didn’t even tell your little brother where you were going!”

Jake looked up, tears and blood and bile still oozing down his face, dropping with the sweat from his chin, staining his shirt and jeans. His breathing was labored and he trembled violently. But his eyes were hard and resolute.

He would not be broken.

That only seemed to stoke the fires of Aaron’s temper.

He spun away to untangle another tool from his collection, shoving things around as he tried to find what he wanted.

Chest heaving, blood and sick and sweat and tears smeared across his front, Jake looked up through hazy eyes and met Milo’s gaze.

The kid was mortified.

Milo’s eyes were wide, bloodshot whites surrounding watery irises. His face was so pale it made his freckles stand out like bullet wounds, his body shaking against the rope binding him to the chair. His throat was already scraped red from the noose dangling threateningly around it. Milo had never witnessed brutality like this before, not outside of television where he was fully aware of how fake it was. Jake wanted to apologize, but his voice was gone, lost under years of conditioned silence because he knew a single word from him would only make things worse.

Aaron turning towards him again made Jake look away. It killed him to do it but the longer he kept Aaron’s attention, the safer Milo would be.

“So scrawny,” Aaron muttered through gritted teeth, wearing something that was akin to a grimace of triumph, “Bet you’re not eating right, huh big brother? You never did. I should be a better sibling…should help you with that.” Jake shook his head and Aaron’s eyes narrowed, “Open your mouth.”

Jake’s throat clicked as he swallowed dryly, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of the plastic tubing and funnel rigged together in Aaron’s hands. The funnel was attached at one end of the tube and the other end was patched awkwardly into some kind of series of straps. Jake could guess what it was for and it was enough to make his stomach turn.

“Open. Your. Mouth.” Aaron’s voice was a stinging lance that made Jake flinch. But, trembling and avoiding his brother’s eye, Jake’s lips parted and he slowly opened his mouth.

Not fast enough for Aaron.

A fist coiled into Jake’s hair, yanking his head back and baring his throat. Jake let out a cry of surprise and pain that was quickly muffled by the foul plastic tubing being wedged into his jaw, pressing against his tongue and shoved almost to the back of his mouth, making him gag. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, trying to pull away. Aaron snarled and swore, fighting back and shoving Jake against the chair to connect the straps holding the tube in place. Jake let out a muffled scream into the tube, glaring at Aaron as he brother stepped back, pushing greasy black hair from his face with a satisfied smirk.

“Like it? I made it myself,” Aaron patted the side of Jake’s face and Jake cringed away, “Now let’s see what I can feed my poor, starving brother…” Aaron shuffled away to start pulling open cabinets and drawers, inspecting the food in the kitchen, humming and muttering to himself.

Jake struggled, trying to free his uninjured arm, wriggling it against the extension cord even when it pinched and rubbed his skin raw. He glanced up at Milo, trying to apologize, trying to reassure, trying to be there for Milo even though nothing good would ever come of this. Milo was sniffling and crying, trying to keep it in, trying to be strong when he shouldn’t have to be. Jake ached to think of the scars this would leave.

He’d never wanted to be the reason for Milo to cry.

“Oooohh, this’ll work!” Aaron stepped back from the fridge, kicking the door closed with a gleeful little chuckle. He held a jug of milk and a couple of cans of Milo’s favorite energy drinks, all of which he dumped on the table while he scrounged around for something to mix them all in. Jake whimpered and Aaron laughed, dropping a bowl and a container of chicken stock beside the milk and drinks, “Don’t worry, Jakey, let your little brother take care of dinner for you!”

Aaron whistled as he poured both energy drinks into the bowl and then mixed in the milk and chicken stock. The concoction smelled atrocious and looked worse; a pale, hazy snot green that looked slightly greasy. Jake shook his head frantically as Aaron approached with the bowl, trying to dislodge the tube from his mouth, thrashing with all his might against the restraints. Behind Aaron, he could see Milo’s chest heaving, eyes wide and horrified, helpless.

“Bottom’s up, Jake!” Aaron sing-songed. He picked up the funnel and slowly started tipping his horrid mixture in, watching it sluice down the tube into Jake’s mouth.

The second it touched his tongue, Jake wretched, dry heaving and trying to spit it up. But Aaron just kept pouring it and he either had to choke or swallow it down. It felt slick in his throat, burning and disgusting, sitting in his stomach like a lead weight, the aftertaste as caustic as the stuff itself. Another horrible laugh came from Aaron as he dropped the empty bowl and wrenched the straps from Jake’s head, jerking him forward, strings of saliva clinging to the tube as it fell out of Jake’s mouth. Jake coughed, gagged, coughed again, eyes watering, stomach churning, wishing desperately he could throw up. But, god, if he did, Aaron might try to feed him something worse.

“And for dessert…” He heard Aaron say from the end of a long tunnel. He raised his head, watching through blurry eyes as his younger brother picked up a knife from the pile on the table. Aaron slid it from its sheath, inspected it in the light, and grinned at Jake.

Jake just stared at him, wheezing with every shallow inhale, sagging in his bonds.

Aaron scoffed, “Yeah, you’re right…I don’t think I’ve tenderized the meat enough.” He put the knife back into its sheath and grabbed a thick metal pipe instead, rusted and slightly bent out of shape but still dangerous enough to do its job. He hefted it in his hand as he approached Jake.

“STOP IT!”

The voice was like a lance that made the room freeze.

Jake held absolutely still, heart pounding painfully hard in his chest, palms sweating, praying he had only imagined the shout.

“Stop it!” Milo repeated to Aaron’s hunched back and Jake wished he wouldn’t, “Stop hurting my dad! He never did anything to you! So stop it!”

Ice settled in Jake’s chest as Aaron turned to face the teenager. Jake frantically shook his head behind Aaron’s back, trying to tell Milo to just be quiet, to just let this happen because it was inevitable, it had to happen, it was his place in the universe to let it happen. Jake would always run, Aaron would always find him, and Jake would always be punished for being the bad son. No one else needed to be involved, no one else needed to be hurt. If Milo would just stay quiet then things would go back to normal, they would be okay. Jake would eventually walk off the bruises and cuts and the memories would fade into nightmares and be forgotten for what they really were and Milo wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Jake didn’t care how many scars he had to carry if it meant that Milo would never have to experience any at all.

“I told you to BE! QUIET!” Aaron stomped across the room, rearing back with the pipe as he neared Milo.

Milo jerked back, forgetting his predicament and tightening the noose on his own neck. He gagged, his cries choked by the rope cutting off his air supply, feet scrabbling to try and back away from the man approaching him. Jake’s fear escalated to a point where it felt like his heart was tearing itself into pieces. And he would let it, he would gladly let his heart explode if it meant Milo would be spared.

Years of conditioning wrenched his mind in twenty different direction, his eyes burning and his throat closing as he struggled to speak. If he said something he could get Aaron’s attention away from Milo. But if he spoke, then Aaron would make things worse, he always made things worse if Jake said anything, even if it was just a wordless cry of pain, Aaron wouldn’t stand for it. Jake swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force his voice out despite the way it made his mouth taste like ash and made his tongue feel heavy with fear.

But before he could make a sound, someone else spoke up.

“Milo? Were you eating dinner? I tried texting but y—“

Cody stood frozen in the threshold to the kitchen, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as he processed what he was seeing.

For a long minute, there was silence as everyone stared at each other.

Then Jake pushed the words out past the vice in his chest, “CODY! RUN!!”

Cody bolted and Aaron launched himself after the teenager with a scream of rage.

He took a swipe with the pipe and managed to bash it into the side of Cody’s legs, tangling them and sending them both crashing to the floor. Aaron grabbed onto Cody’s ankle and tried to pull him closer but Cody kicked out with his free leg, the heel of his sneaker smashing into Aaron’s face with a crunch of snapping cartilage. Aaron howled in a combination of rage and pain, letting go of Cody in order to clutch at his face. Cody backed away, fumbling his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking on the touch screen as he dialed for help.

“H-hello! Th-there’s a man—he tied up my friend—he—he’s trying to hurt me—!”

The sound that came out of Aaron’s mouth was one of inhuman fury. His face was smeared in blood from his broken nose, madness glowing in his eyes as he heaved himself off the floor. A red handprint plastered over the white kitchen tile, the pipe scraping like a furious banshee as he dragged it up beside him. Cody screamed, bolting in the other direction, running around to put the table between himself and Aaron.

Jake was trying to wriggle free of his restraints again, pulling and pressing his good arm as much as he could, ignoring the way the extension cord bit into his sides and made his legs ache. He managed to wrestle his hand free and he twisted, frantically feeling for where he knew the knot was and picking at it, fingers bruised and numb and sore as he tried to undo the rubber cord.

Cody was playing chicken around the dining room table with Aaron. Dodging one way when Aaron went the other. Aaron was getting furious, banging his pipe on the table whenever Cody tried to snag a weapon of his own or got too close. Milo was shouting, shaking in his chair, desperate to wriggle free but knowing what moving would cost him. It was a stalemate; Cody couldn’t get past Aaron but Aaron couldn’t pin Cody, nor could Aaron get Milo to shut up without taking his attention off of Cody.

What Aaron had forgotten, it seemed, was that Jake was very used to escaping from Aaron. He knew all of Aaron’s little tricks.

The knot in the extension cord came loose and then, free. Jake rattled back and forth in the chair, wrenching his dislocated arm, kicking numb legs that didn’t want to cooperate, clawing his way out of the clinging cord. He saw Aaron glance back at him and then do a double take when he realized Jake was freeing himself. He screamed in rage and threw himself at Jake instead, swinging wildly with the pipe. Jake screamed, throwing himself backwards and tipping the entire chair over so he slammed into the floor. The pipe connected with his shin in a savage blow that shattered inside him, drawing out another scream of pain. But his other foot swung up and kicked Aaron’s hand, knocking the pipe free and sending it clattering across the floor.

Aaron was blinded by rage, launching himself at Jake with his bare hands. Jake skittered out of the chair and out of the way just in time, gasping as Aaron went head over heels over the seat of the chair and crashed into the cabinets.

“GET MILO OUT!” Jake shouted to Cody, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to reach for something on the table, anything to give him an advantage against Aaron, “GO! JUST GO! I’LL—“

His voice cut off as hands closed tight around his throat, thumbs pressing into his windpipe, fingers digging into the back of his neck. A heavy body pinned him to the floor, the back of his head knocking against the tile, spine grinding into the grout.

“You’ll what, Jake,” Aaron hissed, spitting blood and rage as he leered over his brother, strangling him with all his strength, ignoring Jake’s weak kicks and flailing hand, “Fight me? Me? You can’t stop me! You never could! You couldn’t stop me when we were kids! You couldn’t stop mom from hurting us! Instead you ran away! You ran away and there was no one to stop her from hurting me! This is your fault! This is all your fucking fault!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY DAD!”

A whirlwind of red and blue collided with Aaron, knocking him over, and Jake gasped as air rushed back into his straining lungs. He tried to yell at Milo, tried to tell him to run, but he could only cough, clutching at his chest, trying to breathe. The pain beneath his ribs was an inferno of burning acid, flaring in stuttering bursts, his limbs weak and shaky and refusing to obey him.

He heard Aaron scream in rage and pain and then the distinct thud of a fist hitting flesh.

Cody’s voice shouting, “Leave him alone!” And then another collision, more shouting and scrambling.

Distantly, Jake thought he heard the front door opening.

Or maybe he was just hoping that someone was coming to save them.

Shaking and wheezing, eyes fuzzing in and out of focus, chest flaring with agony that drowned everything else out, Jake heaved himself onto his side. He could barely make out the blurry, writhing shape that was Cody and Milo wrestling with Aaron.

Two teenage boys could not fight a full grown man.

“S-sto—stop—“ Jake tried to call to them but his throat didn’t work right and it hurt to breathe.

Someone screamed in pain. It did not sound like Aaron.

Anger and a fierce protectiveness flared to life in Jake, momentarily surging over the pain and exhaustion trying to drag him down. He hauled himself to his feet, lurching over to where Aaron was trying to pin down Cody, Milo on Aaron’s back, pulling at that greasy hair and trying to beat him with fists that seemed too tiny and ineffective. Fury like Jake hadn’t felt since his younger days had him drawing back his leg and kicking Aaron square in the ribs.

Aaron dropped back from Cody with a grunt, spilling Milo from his shoulders, and before he could recover, Jake kicked him again. Then he fell atop Aaron and beat his fist into his younger bother as hard as he could. Someone was shouting, screaming a hoarse voice to stay away from his family. There was red, hot and sticky on Jake’s fist, scratches on his arms.

Someone was pulling at him, dragging him off of Aaron, jostling his broken leg and making him cry out.

He didn’t know where Cody and Milo were.

There were strangers in the house.

Voices were overwhelming him.

His chest was on fire and his lungs weren’t working.

Jake fell unconscious.

———

He woke up in a hospital.

Because of course he did.

Everything ached, a dull throb through his entire body, an even wave of dull pain washing over him with everything shallow breath he took. Jake decided it wasn’t worth the energy to try and stay awake, and so he passed out again.

———

He woke up.

The room was dark. The steady beat of the heart monitor a familiar drone in the background. Someone’s soft breathing came from his bedside.

He was safe.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Someone’s hand was on his, big and warm and a little calloused.

It took a hundred years for Jake to turn his head and a hundred more for his tired eyes to focus.

Dan was slumped in a chair next to the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted, his hand lightly resting over Jake’s. He looked like he’d been sitting there for decades.

Jake tried to say something but all that came out was a little gasp of air.

Dan’s head jerked up and their eyes met. Jake tried to smile but his face felt sore. Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes and he clutched at Jake’s hand with both of his, turning towards the door to shout something that was too muffled and far away for Jake to focus on.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

The scent of flowers, a little dry, very faint against the chemicals of the hospital.

No hand on his this time.

The scratch of a pen on paper.

Jake pried his eyes open enough to look around.

A nurse was copying down the information from the monitors hooked to him. She glanced at him and jumped when she saw he was awake.

Suddenly there were doctors and nurses everywhere, shining lights in his eyes, asking him questions he struggled to answer with a tongue made a sandpaper and a throat as dry as the desert.

At some point, it was just too much.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Something warm was pressed against his side.

It didn’t take as long for him to move this time, though his head still felt like a bowling ball packed with concrete while he did it.

A familiar mop of messy red hair and a soft hoodie.

Milo had tucked himself under Jake’s arm and was curled against him, asleep with his head on Jake’s chest, one hand lightly fisted in Jake’s hospital gown and his brow scrunched up in his sleep. Jake watched him dazedly for a moment and then, very slowly, moved a hand to brush it through Milo’s hair, gently and softly petting his head. The crease between Milo’s eyebrows eased, smoothed out, and he seemed to relax a little, snuggling closer to Jake’s side. Jake winced a little at the pressure, but smiled thinly at the warmth.

At least he knew Milo was okay.

Milo was safe.

Milo was alive.

Jake fell asleep.

———

He woke up far more coherent than he had been before.

When Jake looked around, he saw the slightly wilted flowers in the vase on his bedside table surrounded by a handful of get well soon cards and a well loved shark plush watching over him. With a tremendous effort, he reached out and slid the shark plushie off the table and onto the bed, dragging it closer so he could pet its soft fur.

It was one of Milo’s favorites.

The door opened.

Jake barely had time to register that it was Dan who had come in before Dan was across the room, cupping Jake’s face in his hands and crying.

“You idiot!” Dan babbled, holding Jake like fragile china but still holding him as close as he dared, “You’re so stupid, Jake! You could have died! You idiot! Stupid!”

Jake weakly patted Dan, murmuring quiet reassurances no louder than a whisper, tears on his own face that he didn’t bother hiding. Dan was warm, comforting, strong, familiar. Dan was family. He smoothed Jake’s hair back, sniffing and checking him over, muttering about how happy he was that Jake was okay, that Jake was alive.

“Wh’ happen’d…?” Jake managed to ask. His throat still felt raw and his chest was sore, but it was a fair sight better than it had been.

Dan mellowed at the question, easing down into a chair and holding onto Jake’s hand. Jake’s other hand was still awkwardly stroking the soft shark plush.

“Dom…Dom said he heard police sirens,” Dan said quietly, staring at Jake’s thin and pale fingers against his own broad, dark ones, “Came out to see what was happening. He saw the cars at the other end of the street, coming towards him. Then he heard screaming from inside the house. So he came running in and—“ Dan swallowed hard, squeezing Jake’s hand, “And you were punching Aaron in the face, screaming at him not to touch the kids. You were really beat up, Jake. But it took Dom and three other police officers to pull you off of Aaron. And the second they did, you passed out and threw up. In…in that order…”

Jake grimaced; he could only imagine what that must have looked like, “A-are the kids…?”

“Milo and Cody are both okay,” Dan assured him with a sad smile that said there would probably be plenty of therapy bills in their future, “No permanent damage, just a lot of bruising. Milo wouldn’t stop talking about how cool you looked…”

Jake chuckled, coughed a little, and sagged back against the bed with a tired sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before whispering,

“And Aaron?”

Silence. Jake turned his head enough to look at Dan. There was an expression on Dan’s face like he wasn’t sure about the contents of a questionable container of food found at the back of a fridge. Jake frowned.

“Dan…what h-happened to Aaron?”

“Um…” Dan cupped Jake’s hand in both of his, looked like he was working up the courage to say something, “They, um. They think he—it looks like he had some kind of—of psychotic break. He—your mom is…gone. Then he came looking for you. He’s committed now. I don’t think he’s ever going to…get out…” His look was one of sympathy and pity and apologies he didn’t owe, “Jake, I…I’m really sorry…”

Jake turned away to look at the ceiling again and tried to figure out how he felt.

Aaron had killed their mother.

Aaron was probably going to kill him.

Aaron might have tried to kill Milo.

It felt like too much to deal with all at once. Jake closed his eyes and let out a heavy, wheezing sigh,

“When can I go home?”

He felt Dan’s smile rather than saw it, “Not for a few days yet, buddy. Want me to see if Milo can come by? You’ve been asleep every time he’s visited. Bet he’d like to see you.”

Jake thought about the little spitfire of energy that was Milo, the wide smile, the eager spark. The terror in his eyes. The rope biting into his neck. The righteous anger in his voice.

“Yeah,” He said, looking at the little shark beneath his hand, “I want to tell him thank you.”

[scrawnytreedemon]

Cid Highwind and/or Vincent V!

Oooohhh!!! Bringing in The Boys? SNkkkkk, I’d expect nothing less of you, Enide <3 I’m not that well-versed in them as I’d like, buT!!! here’s trying!!!! Love a good challenge :)) 

Cid:

First impression: Grumpy tea DILF that swears his ass off. For some reason I keep forgetting Cid is a lancer and not a gunman because??? Usually it’s the gunmen that get depicted all vulgar and rugged, with stubble and cigarettes.

Impression now: Grumpy tea DILF that swears his ass off. Lmao, nothing much has changed, but there’s certainly a free-spiritedness to him; makes sense, the man is a pilot and would’ve been(got to be?) an astronaut. He’s very tough-love in a way that both meshes and manages to be distinct from Barret’s flavour-- I think they’d be good bros :) One thing that sours his character a bit for me is how he verbally abuses Shera :( I’d normally chalk it up to his usual tough-love, but with the major plotpoint of him blaming her for his crushed dreams and how she essentially fulfills the role of an abused wife... I, I’m not so sure. Overall, I like Cid, but it’s a shame.

Favorite moment: Ohh!!! I have a few, such as the way he joins the party, him calling Vinny back to their room, his return to the final fight-- But my favourite has to be on the Materia train hijacking sequence and the dialogue that follows if you pick Yuffie and Vincent as your party members. The dialogue is downright hilarious and you really get the sense that they’ve gotten to know each other behind the scenes(love that about FFVII <3) :)))

Idea for a story: To STEAL an idea from my bud @alunchboxofsushifries she had while we were whinging about DoC, but having the game’s storyline entirely revamped so that it’s Vincent, Cid and Yuffie doing it all together. We don’t know the finer details(and DoC being DoC quite frankly I’m scared of knowing just w h a t might we be changing), but I love the idea alot!!!!! Again, this is my friend Vee’s idea, so major credit to them!!!!

Unpopular opinion: Lmao I don’t think I have enough opinions on him to really have an unpopular one??? Dont get me wrong-- Love the man to bits, however as of yet my focus has been all over the other party members(Barret, Nanaki, ect.) and so I’m not as well-versed in what is the common fanon of this man-- Most I could say is I wished they handled his resentment towards Shera better :(

Favorite relationship: I think him and Vince are such a fun dynamic-- I lean heavily platonic, but I’m sure you know I’m cool with a more romantic connotation. Vince calling him chief and being this affectionately dry almost-sidekick to Cid is the absolute best and its what made me love the train sequence along with Yuffie calling him old man lmaooo-- Adding onto that, I think him and Yuffie could have a snarky grumpy old dad and snide-teenager dynamic where he gives her lectures and she goes “yeah okay, paps”.

Favorite headcanon: Sadly I don’t have really any(I am NOT giving you good food today, am I, Enide? :( ), but I personally think that he’s got the only functioning airship on the Planet. I headcanon Gaia to be roughly the size of our moon, so large enough to hold a fair amount of people but also small so everything’s just a stone’s throw away-- Hell, they only have one major ocean! How wild is that???

Now!!!!! Onto Vince :))))) I have alot more to say(hopefully lmaooo)

First impression: Cool edgy gunman who stands in a corner and mumbles huskily. Drinks only black coffee, if he even drinks at all. Desperately needs a hairbrush.

Impression now: This man is??? SO awkward I???? I lOVE HIM???? He’s also got such a sweetness in my eyes and it’shdfjkjhkjhjg!!!! Like mAN, he’s an outwardly chill if slightly skittish older friend who keeps to the sidelines most of the times but when he does chip in it’s a l w a y s good and very Wise. The man is a bit of a sod, though, sometimes to the point of debilitating self-pity. First thing this guy did was tell you to fuck off and go back to sleep. He rags on himself heavily for his sins and I want to!!! Give the poor fucker a hug because lord knows he hasn’t had one in 27~ years :((( All around, swell guy, WOULD love to have a chill garden-bonfire chat with him :) Still needs a hairbrush, lmao. Also g o l d - p l a t e d  c l o w n s h o e s .

Favorite moment: I must, again, bring up the train scene for reasons mentioned in Cid’s section-- But to get onto another that caught my eye, was when he returned, and Cloud was surprised, having got the feeling that Vince was cold an detached. It’s both sweet, and sad. Vince cares deeply about all of this, about all of them, but because he’s a bit of a poker-faced recluse he doesn’t express it very much. I wonder how he felt, hearing that.

Idea for a story: OF COURSE, once again, Vee’s DoC rewrite(even more so because Vince is the main character), but I think a Seph adoption!AU, whether pre or postgame where in the former he takes Seph in and they’re constantly on the run together, constantly awaiting Shinra’s wolves like stalked deer, or the latter where there’s a tender, redemptive atmosphere but also a psychological, almost-horror element where he loves his Lucrecia’s son so much but also has to serve as his warden lest he be unleashed once more.

Unpopular opinion: I don’t think he’s Sephiroth’s biological father, and, with the nigh-omnipresence of this theory, I’ll be honest and say I find it a little grating? I think it weakens Hojo’s character and makes Vince this Real Fix-It Parent Who’d Never Hurt You :) -- And I understand the appeal, of that, but honest to God it really feels like most of this comes down to Hojo Stinky Baf adn UGLIIII!!! Vimce Good adn Sweete adn Pwetty :333 Facetiousness aside, I can appreciate this being done well, as with anything! Just wish it wasn’t taken as almost canon in fandom spaces :(

Favorite relationship: The man is SO fun to platonically pair up with everyone it’s INSANE, though I don’t think I have a favourite ship??? Like yeah, sure him and Lucrecia had a thing once, but that whole ordeal was more of a human rights crisis and just generally a painful, tragic mess. I don’t think Vincent could really love like that again, not for many years. He aches, even in places he forgets aren’t meant to ache. Especially those. I think he gives everyone a little love in the help he hands out. Vincent’s heart is big and broken, and he fears that if he fills it too much, it’ll burst, and he’ll be left a beast. He needs to learn that he is worthy, but that is a task he must undertake.

Favorite headcanon: Can’t really think of any, as despite his mysterious nature, Vince doesn’t leave too many loose threads in areas of My ConcernTM-- Though if I’m gonna make one up, him, Barret and Cid get together on Saturday nights to hang out around a fire with some beers and have some good Dad Talks-- Peak DILF solidarity, tbh. 

But yeah!!!! Took awhile to write out, hopefully these are sufficient enough for you, O’ Valenwind Extraordinaire beloved! Again, as always, feel free to tack on any further thoughts of your own! Love a good discussion <3 Makes this little corner of the fandom feel warmer.

[jordanstrophe]

This One is Mine, part 6

The Dinner, part 1

CW: Whump, Pet whump, Abuse referenced, Anxiety 

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​“He is so cute!” Mia exclaimed, having Michael twirl in his new clothes. He obeyed of course, without complaint. “You like them? We can get you more if you like.” Charles chuckled. “N-no sir! I really like these. It feels really nice to have my own clothes I can pick from! Thank you.” Michael politely bowed. 

He was used to only wearing whatever Malcolm had thrown at him in the mornings. Sometimes it would be an over-the-top outfit to show him off, and sometimes it was just a pair of jeans. He already knew what would happen that day if he was given the jeans, as it was something Malcolm didn’t mind getting torn and bloody. If he was dressed nicely, that meant nothing bone breaking or shredding would happen that day. Even though the outfits were uncomfortable, it still felt safe. As safe as he could feel. 

But these were different. His new master spared no expense, and got him clothes that were nice, and comfortable. It was an odd feeling, like he could just relax and feel safe, but that usually wasn’t the case, he learned the hard way.

“Lets get these clothes up to your room and unpacked, alright?” Charles smiled. 

“M-my room? What room?” He asked, looking up at him with a tilted head.

“The room you’re going to stay in.” Charles chuckled. “There’s a guest room upstairs I think you’ll like. Bonus point is it’s just a couple doors away from the master bedroom, so if you need anything at night, I’m just right there.” He smiled

“I... I don’t understand. I get a room? Why?” He asked, almost panicked.

“Of course you get a room! Where did you think you were going to sleep?” He asked.

“.. Under the coffee table..” He muttered.   “Under th-..” Charles repeated in a stutter. Did he think he went through the trouble of bringing him home to just throw him under a coffee table and sing “home sweet home”?  He was treated so badly he expected it all the time now. The spike of anger in his chest only fueled how much he wanted to care for him. When he brought him home, it was in a last second call out of a protective instinct. He didn’t think he would even have time to properly take care of him, but for some reason, that's all he wanted to do. 

“Come on sweetheart, why don’t we go check out your room, then.” Charles smiled. He hoisted up the last of the bags in his arm. 

“W-wait! Let me carry those, it’s the least I can do!” He cried. Charles hesitated a second, despite the bags draped around his arm, he still made his best attempt to ruffle Michaels hair, who held his head down in response. 

“As kind as that is, I know you’re still hurt. Let me do this for now, okay?” He smiled. Michael jolted with reaction.  “N-no! I’m fine! I’m okay! Really!” He cried.   “That’s great if you feel that way, but I still sent for a private doctor, he’ll be here tomorrow.” Charles smiled.  “What?!” He cried. He did lie with the first sentence. His back hurt when he moved, and his arms were sore and weak, the slices down his legs burned, and his ankle was sprained. But he trained himself to walk normally. No... He didn’t train that, Malcolm did.

Miles seemed to appear whenever anything was going on, as he swooped up half the bags off Charles’s arm.  “Hey!” Charles complained, as Miles giggled. “I’m helping you, these are mine!” He chuckled. “But I had it.” He pouted.  “Jeez Charles, let me do my job.” Miles mocked.  “I gave you one job Miles! And that’s please don’t let anyone kill me.” He laughed. “And that’s what I’m doing, what if you fall down the stairs because you carried all these bags?” He complained.  

The two men joked and bickered amongst themselves, but Michael was still upset. He had been given what felt like the entire world, but he hadn’t earned it with the only thing he could give. Blood and tears.

“I’m useless.” He muttered under his breath. He didn’t mean to say it, but it came out quiet enough surely no one heard. Right?

Charles immediately whipped around “Here, this one is a bit heavy for me, do you think you can get it?” Charles smiled. It was the lightest one he could find in the pile. Michael perked up, he joyfully took the bag, it was light enough it didn’t cause him any pain. “O-of course!” He said happily. He wondered why Charles struggled with it’s additional weight, knowing he was a pretty fit guy. He was truly an oblivious soul. 

He wanted to swing the bag around, but thought against it, and behaved himself as he followed Charles up the stairs. Miles opened up a wooden door, and set his half of the bags down inside. Charles did the same, then beckoned Michael into the room. He would be lying if he was a bit scared of what could be in there. Despite the fact he would be getting an entire room, it could still be filled with shackles, cages, whips, and... Wait is that a bed? 

There was a large light cream bed against the far wall, with golden details threaded into it in beautiful patterns. There were lace wispy white curtains that framing a window that lit up the room with a soft gleam. Small potted plants sat at it’s sill, with a tiny watering can. The floor had a light cream carpet covering the half center, the rest of the floor was a dark wooden floor, the same color as the drawers and mirror.

“It’s not too much, it was the guest room, so it just has the basics, but I had Liam and Mia throw some decorations around. You can change things around later, but it’s yours now, if you like it.” He smiled. 

“I can’t take this.” He muttered. He stared at the soft carpet at his feet. Tears formed in his eyes, and streaked down his face. “It’s t-t-o much... I can’t take this.” He sobbed. He clutched his arms and fell forward as tears fell to the floor. He felt gentle comforting arms wrap around him from behind, and cradle him. He cried, and cried. 

He should be overjoyed, instead he was overwhelmed. He was plucked from hell, and plopped into heaven. It was all too good to be real.                            “Do you remember what I promised you?” Charles whispered in his ear.

“Y-you promised you would t-take care of me...” He sobbed. Charles pulled him over to sit him on the bed. They practically sunk into the plush soft bed.

“I’ve hardly done enough for you, all I’ve done is give you clothes, food and a bed. Let me take care of you.” He pulled him into a deeper hug, as he sobbed into his chest. He brushed a hand in his hair and gave him a moment, before quietly shushing him, wiping his tears, and placing a hand on his cheek. “Will you let me take care of you?” He asked. 

“Y-yes sir!” He cried, as Michael wrapped his arms around Charles neck, and hugged him. For the first time, he started to feel safe.  Charles couldn’t stop grinning as he hugged him back. 

“Alright now, why don’t you start unpacking. You can put them wherever you want. There’s something I have to do, but I’ll be back in a moment.” He smiled. He wiped away the rest of his tears, as he gave a quiet “mmhm” in response. It was all he could really muster. 

Charles left him to his task, and headed down the stairs. His hands shook a bit, and he crossed his arms to hold them still. 

“Sir!” Mia called. She was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“I see you uh... You added something to your schedule tonight.” She said with a concerned tone. Charles silently nodded.

“Dinner with Malcolm, here, at six.” She reminded. 

“I need a favor from you.” He gave her a sad look. “Michael is a bit more comfortable with Miles, but I need him at the dinner tonight. Do you think you can get close to Michael, and keep him distracted during the dinner?” He asked. “Oh Charles... That boy is going to be scared to death...” She sighed.  “No, he’s not going to know he's here.” He responded. “What? How are you going to pull that off?” She raised an eyebrow.   “I’m not, you are.” He gave her a shy smile. “I’m not getting paid enough for this... Fine, I’ll do my best.” She sighed. “You are the best.” He complimented, before leaving her to it.

“Liam! Did you hear about the dinner tonight?” He called. 

“Unfortunately.” Liam growled, aggressively hacking at dripping raw meat.

“For no reason in particular, what’s his least favorite meal?” Liam asked.

“Joy and happiness, probably. Just a basic meal is probably safe.” 

“Me? Basic? Do you know me?” Liam smirked.  

“Fair enough...” Charles muttered. 

He was going to show up in two hours, and was most likely staying for as long. He said he had “important” papers to discuss and a deal, but he knew the real reason. And he was determined to disappoint him. He climbed the staircase, and walked up just as Mia was leaving Michaels room.  “He’s getting tired. He might be able to sleep through the whole thing if he’s lucky.” She said, quietly shutting the door behind her.  “That would be perfect, thanks Mia.” He said, as she nodded. 

He opened the door, Michael and Mia had already hung up all the clothes, and he was sitting at a desk in front of the window staring out. He perked up and gave Charles a sweet excited smile as he walked in. 

“Hey sweetheart.” He smiled back. Michael stood up and looked at him expectantly. “I know it’s a bit early, but why don’t you get caught up on some sleep. I’ll have Liam bring you up something to eat later, but the schedule got thrown off today, so dinner isn’t going to be very formal tonight. We’ll have a proper dinner tomorrow, I promise.” He smiled. 

Michael had noticed his tone was off, but he nodded in response. Charles pulled back the covers to the bed, and Michael climbed in. He sunk into the center, and hugged a fluffy white pillow before looking up at him. Charles tucked him in, and placed a hand on his forehead as he closed his eyes. He seemed like he had a small fever, but he had a doctor coming to see him tomorrow, so he tried to not worry.

“Doing okay? Are you comfortable?” He asked.  “It’s unreal.” He whispered back. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes. Charles smiled, and did some finishing touches to the blankets. 

“Stay here for me tonight, I’ll come check on you later.” He smiled, before closing the blinds to the window, and shut off the light. 

BANG BANG BANG

Someone hammered at the door. Miles opened it, to reveal Malcolm, purple suit, top hat, arms crossed, evil grin flashing across his face. He had driven up in a limousine of all things. He had his own bodyguard standing behind him, a towering man with a suit and sunglasses, who looked like he was purely made out of muscle. 

“We have a doorbell, you know?” Miles shrugged.  “Is that anyway to greet your honored guest?!” He hissed. They awkwardly looked at each other, before Malcolm took a deep breath and smoothed out his hair. He clearly still had a bone to pick with Miles after they’re last encounter.

“Of course mister Morfran, please come in.” He stood back and allowed him to enter. His eyes immediately shot around the house wildly.

“Looking for something?” Charles asked. He approached with his arms crossed behind his back. 

“Yeah! Is that table new?” He asked, nodding towards the coffee table.

“No, that’s been sitting there for thirteen years. I trust your trip down here was fine?” He asked.  

“Oh it was dreadful! We had to pass a town, and it looked awful! They have these things called drive-throughs, can you imagine not sitting down at a five star restaurant?” He said, repulsed. 

“No, no I can’t possibly imagine that.” He smiled. 

“So! Old friend, how’s thing going? Eh?” He gave his usual toothy grin.

“Things are going lovely! Thank you. Come on now.” He nodded towards the dining room. Malcolm took off his hat and carelessly tossed it at the man with him, who caught it effortlessly. 

“How’s a certain someone?” He flashed a grin, still scanning every room as he followed down the long hallway. 

“Mia is doing great! She’s a lovely secretary.” Charles smiled.

Malcolm let out a low growl, before he could get anything else out, Charles flung the door open, revealing a beautiful decorated dining room. A long table sat in the center, with a red cloth covering it, with a loose white woven detailed cloth sat over it. Candles were lit, and the chandelier shone bright, the room had a warm yellow glow to it.

Malcolm grumpily took his place at the end, while Charles took his on the other. Liam walked in pushing a large silver container, and unpacked large amounts of food onto the table.

“Charles? You got your first Pet and you’re not showing him off? I like to dress mine in fancy outfits and have them serve drinks. Really shows off their obedience!” He complained.

“That’s not quite my style.” Charles shrugged.

“Is that so? I haven’t found a new favorite yet, by the way. I’ve been searching, and training, and digging through my endless supply, but none of them are good enough!” He yelled, slamming a knife hilt shaking and clattering the whole table. Liam annoyingly cleared his throat, as he tried to set food onto the table.

“Liam! I’m glad you’re still busy, I always loved your cooking. You always cook and season everything perfectly.” Malcolm complimented. Liam tried not to look uncomfortable, as he pulled out a large roasted turkey. 

“My thanks, mister Morfran.” He bowed politely. 

“My offer still stands if you want to leave this place and come work for meeee!” He sang, aggressively stabbing a fork into a turkey slice. 

“As much as that honors me, I’ll have to pass.” Liam smiled. 

‘Ahh, pish posh.” Malcolm waved his hand in disappointment, before viciously tearing into the turkey. "I'll give you another chance to return Michael." He added through a mouthful.

“Malcolm, are you here to talk business, or to poach my entire household?” Charles raised a brow and took a sip of a drink Liam had poured. 

“Well it was worth a shot. Yeah, I got something for you right here.” He snapped his fingers twice, as his guard approached Charles. Miles stepped between the two, and stared the man down. The guard pulled a file from his coat, and handed it to Miles, without breaking eye contact. He plucked the file from the man’s hands and passed it to Charles behind him, still refusing to break the contest. Despite the man being a foot taller than him, he wasn’t going to back down in his own house.

Charles opened the file and took a moment to read. He slapped closed the file and slammed it into the table.  “What is this!?’’ He asked angrily. 

“That’s a deal for a removal on the covert rule.” He smirked.

“What’s your plan here Malcolm?! The covert rule is what’s keeping this business safe! If we get loud with our work it will attract attention! Do you want the government to start looking for us?” Charles growled.

“They’re already looking for us, they just don’t know where to look.” He smirked. “That’s exactly what the covert rule is doing for us!” He crossed his arms.

“Well I’m pitching that we stop silently living in the shadows, and get loud! Think of it as expanding the business! We can worm spies into the government and have people cover our tracks. Hah! Think about it, one day I might be able to walk my Pets out in public on a leash, and no one will bat an eye!” He laughed.

Charles slammed both hands on the table and stood. “This will never pass! There’s no way you’ll get everyone's vote! You’d be a fool to think you have mine!” He shouted. His voice could get scary when he was angry. He had that deep voice that could be either soothing, or booming.

“You’re vote? No no no, I already have three votes on my side! I just need a few more. Barron is swaying, sure, but I’ll get him to crack. I always do!” He hissed. 

Charles stayed silent, and quietly sat back down.

“It’s not a bad thing, old buddy, really. It will hardly change things for you. You work quietly, manipulating this and that with a phone call, or a click of a button. Me? Oh no no. I have to get out there and do dirty work. If someone gets caught, I’m the one who cleans up they’re mess. I’m the one who keeps the witnesses out of court. I’m the one keeping everything quiet!” He stated, shoving one past piece of turkey in this mouth. He stood up and lifted his drink with him, as he slowly walked around the table.

“If we got ourselves out there, and did our work publicly, people would fear us. We would run this town. We would run the world!” All we need is everyone’s support, and combine our companies, no one could stop us. No one would try. But don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t need you. As nice as it would be to have you by my side, I can do just as well with the rest of the companies.” 

Miles tapped Charles shoulder, who looked like he could murder someone.

“Malcolm’s bodyguard slipped out the door.” Miles whispered to him.

“What? When?” He whispered back.

Before he had a chance to reply, loud beeping blared through the house, as all the men jumped. Smoak could be seen seeping through the cracks of the door from the kitchen.

“Shoot!” Miles yelled. He opened the door, as smoke and heat shot out.

“Kitchen is on fire!” He called, as Charles jumped to his feet. 

“Fire department?” Miles asked.

“No! We can’t risk anyone investigating this place.” Charles said, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the door.  “You! Don’t go anywhere!” He called to Malcolm, who shrugged innocently. An evil grin spread across his face, as he swirled his drink in his hand, and enjoyed the show. when they seemed distracted, he slipped out the door.

“I’m coming baby...”

Tag list:  @lave-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @green-eyed-whumpster @grizzlie70 

Thank you for reading! <3 

[css1992]

Do you take prompts? Cause I'm dying to read some good Mob boss Tony who's badass with everyone else and melts down for his baby Peter! :) Thank you anyways 😊

Hello there! I’m not sure I’m gonna take prompts yet, because I’m a really slow writer and would probably get overwhelmed way too quickly, but I do love myself some Mob Boss!Tony, I just needed an excuse to write it, haha.

@roleplayangelprincess, I really do hope you like this! Thank you for reaching out. XO

Mob Boss!Tony x Precious!Peter

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: explicit, nff, 18+, mentions of blood, violence, torture and child abuse (nothing explicit), no violence between main pairing. Mafia AU. If you spot anything else that might be triggering to anyone, please let me know!

-*-

Tony’s world had always smelt of gunpowder, blood and tears, for as long as he could remember. The only lullabies he knew were the sounds of shots being fired, screams of horror and desperate begging. Howard used to say it was important that he was raised in the middle of all that, he believed it would make him a tougher man, a firmer leader. He wanted Tony to experience all those situations he usually found himself in, because one day it would all be his – his whole empire, all of New York City’s underworld would be in the palm of his hands, and the scum of the earth that lived in it would be able to smell fear, weakness and softness from three thousand miles away.

So Tony never knew softness, kindness or gentleness. He was raised on blood, tears and gunpowder, to the sounds of screams, gunshots and begging. He was groomed to be a leader as heartless and cold as Howard, to be able to pull the trigger without hesitating. Cold and calculated. He was eight when he killed for the first time, just old enough to support the weight of the gun with both hands and handle its kickback.

The man had begged and cried, looking into his eyes, and Tony didn’t feel anything, he had heard those sounds so many times by then, it did nothing to him. Howard said “do it” and he did. He pulled the trigger. The man’s blood spattered his face and arms and shirt and it was weirdly warm, like teardrops on his skin. He stood there, mesmerized for a few seconds, before Maria told him to go clean up and get ready for supper.

That episode was his life in a nutshell, the smells, the sounds, the darkness, his mother’s reaction, his father’s nod of approval. He grew used to it all, he embraced it, he craved it, and he didn’t know anything else.

Until Peter.

Peter was a ray of fucking sunshine on Tony’s cloudy, dark days, and he hated it at first. He hated that he made his world brighter, he hated that Peter made him want to bend to his every wish, hated that he made him want to protect him from the world, hated that he made him feel so fucking vulnerable, and weak, and exposed, but he loved him. He fucking loved him so much. He had no idea when it started,  but it felt like from day one, he never had a choice.

Tony had just left one of his clubs in a terrible mood, one of his most profitable deals had fallen though due to his employees’ incompetence and he had had to kill people – six, to be precise –  it was a bloodbath, there was running and screaming and just nonsense in general, as he sat there and rolled his eyes at the failed escape attempts. To top it all off, there was blood on his favorite suit. It was a three-piece, Italian cut suit and it would go to waste thanks to those idiots running around like fools. All in all, a bad day.

“Excuse me, sir! Excuse me!” And then, sunshine. That chirpy, high-pitched voice coming from behind him was slightly annoying, and if he had been just a little more pissed he would have turned and shot him on the spot, no questions asked, but as it was, he’d maybe just tell him to fuck off.

When he turned around, though, there was a young man looking back at him, clearly scared now. Tony noticed that Rogers and Barnes had their guns pointed at him, as he raised his shaky, thin arms in surrender, a black, Italian leather wallet in his hand. “Y-you, y-you dr-drop...” He couldn’t even speak, so Tony took that time to look him over. He looked young, probably in his late teens or early twenties, he was thin and short and he had a very pretty face for a boy. He wore baggy jeans and an oversized NYU hoodie, so Tony guessed he was a student. In short, a very delicious meal for such a shitty night.

“Rogers, my wallet,” Tony cut the boy off, gesturing for Steve to get his wallet from him. He almost passed out when the blonde man approached him, still holding the gun to his face.

“I don’t mean any trouble, sir, I’m so sorry, I just found the wallet on the ground, I-I swear,” He whimpered pitifully and the sound made Tony’s cock twitch. He raised an eyebrow at himself.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, looking around to maybe try to figure out where the boy had come from. They were in a deserted area, somewhere between Queens and Brooklyn, near one of his clubs and a few of his warehouses, there was nothing around there that would justify Peter’s presence, unless he had ulterior motives and the college student get-up was just a ruse.

“W-walking home from work, sir. I-I didn’t have any money left f-for the subway,” He stuttered, hands still up, he was shaking all over now, and it usually didn’t bother Tony, but he was such a pretty thing, the older man didn’t like to see those squirming for the wrong reasons, he had other uses for them. If the boy was harmless, that terrible night could still be saved.

“What’s your name, boy?” That was all Natasha needed to run a background check on him and, in that moment, he found out the name of what would come to be his greatest weakness. Peter Parker. He looked at Barnes and he nodded quietly, sending a message to Natasha to run a quick check. As soon as it came back clear, he opened a big, shark-like smile at the still trembling boy. “Well, it appears we got off on the wrong foot, sweetheart.”

In retrospect, Tony wouldn’t be able to tell what possessed him that night, what made him think that it would be a good idea to lure him into his car and offer him a ride home. He knew that the boy did things to him, he was gorgeous and innocent-looking, a personal favorite, but Tony didn’t often act on impulse. Even his one-night-stands were carefully chosen and vetted, he couldn’t afford to take any risks; but that night, for the first time – the first of many –, he made an exception for Peter Parker. He didn’t know what made the younger man come with him, either, specially after being held at gunpoint by Rogers and Barnes, but he came, probably possessed by the same entity that clouded Tony’s judgment.

The mob boss made up a story about being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and told him that Rogers and Barnes were his bodyguards. He wasn’t too far off from the truth, he did run a multi-billion dollar business and Barnes and Rogers were the only two people in the world he trusted with his life. He told the naive boy that he couldn’t tell him the company’s name for safety reasons, and he ate it all up like a good boy, got in the car with Tony and was easily charmed by his words.

What the older man didn’t count on, though, was that he was really charming, too, in his own way. He was smart and sharp, slightly sarcastic and sassy, and really, really sweet. The older man couldn’t quite understand why it attracted him so much when he took the boy back to his place, but it did, and when he had him sprawled on his one-thousand thread count Egyptian sheets, mouth slack and begging for more, he thought it was merely lust.

Only it didn’t go away after that first night, but Tony thought he just had to fuck him out of his system, which seemed easy enough. He invited Peter to dinner – unfortunately, he had to keep up the facade of being a nice gentleman if he wanted to have him again – and the boy was so fucking happy to hear from him when he picked up the phone. Tony could swear his room got brighter when his voice filled up the empty space.

He was just as charming and even more sassy the second time they met, a little less shy, a little bolder now that Tony knew what he looked like naked and stuffed full of his cock. He took him back home again. And again. And again. By the fifth time they got together, Tony realized – with the utmost horror – that he was beginning to care about the boy. He longed to see him, he wanted to know about his days; he was amused by his antics, he remembered the names of his friends from school, and the professors he liked and disliked. He wanted to hurt the people who made him sad for whatever reason, he was worried about his eating habits, he wanted to make all his money problems disappear. He cared about him.

So, logically, he had to kill him.

There was just no other way, Tony Stark couldn’t afford to care about anybody, it was too big of a weakness, it was gonna be his downfall and he couldn’t have it. So by the sixth night, he did what he had to do. He unwrapped the thin, pale arms from his chest, untucked the sweet-smelling head from under his chin, and got out of bed. He took his gun from the nightstand drawer and pointed it at Peter’s head.

He’d make it painless, the boy wouldn’t have to suffer, he’d die peacefully in his sleep. Tony would have to buy another bed, but other than that, it wouldn’t be much of a clean-up, the way the boy was lying almost in the center of the bed, there wouldn’t even be blood on the floor. Besides, he didn’t have any family left, he only had a couple of friends at school and two more who were away for college, so not many people to look for him. They’d think he’d moved away or something.

Tony stared at him over the barrel of his gun. As soon as he had stepped out of the bed, Peter reached for his pillow and clutched it like a doll, dreaming away, with an almost unnoticeable smile on his lips, completely unaware that he was sharing a bed with the most dangerous criminal in New York, possibly in the whole country. So innocent, and naive, and beautiful.

He was so tiny, so out of place in his cold, dark world. Peter didn’t smell like blood or gunpowder, he smelled like something sweet and edible, he never screamed or cried, he always had a bright smile for him and the most delectable laugh.

Tony faltered. No matter how hard he tried to will his finger to pull the trigger, he couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t fucking do it. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered the gun, cursing under his breath, unable to believe he couldn’t do such a simple thing. Eight-years-old Tony hadn’t fucking blinked when Howard told him to do it. Why couldn’t he fucking do it?

“Tony? Is everything okay?” When he opened his eyes again, Peter was sitting up, and he looked worried. Tony noticed his eyes were fixed on the gun in his hand. “What’s going on?” He whispered, looking around the room, as if there was a threat out there, little did he know he was face to face with the devil himself.

“Nothing, sweetheart, I just thought I heard something. I checked, it’s nothing, go back to sleep.” He put the gun back in the drawer and the boy breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good. Come back to bed, then.” He reached out his arms to Tony, so open and trusting, sitting on his big bed, swallowed by all those expensive sheets, wearing one of his old t-shirts. So fucking small, and breakable, and vulnerable. Tony couldn’t keep him. As long as the boy was alive, he would be a weakness, he could be used as leverage.

So he needed to die. It was for his own good.

The next day, he called Barnes into his office, lighted up a cigar and slowly smoked it as he tried to digest the words he had to say to him. The other man stood there stoically, waiting patiently, until Tony blurted out, “I need you to kill Peter.” He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even flinch. Professional as ever.

“When do you need it done, boss?” Barnes was the best man for the job, Steve was great, but he was a little soft, and Tony saw the way he looked at the kid, with that small, discreet smile full of fondness.

“Tonight,” he said, jaw set, eyes narrowed. It needed to be done. “He has a night shift at the diner. He gets off at eleven, I want it done by then. You know the drill, be discreet, careful not to make much of a mess, don’t leave any witnesses, yada yada.” He gestured with his cigar, feeling detached, like he was talking about anybody else but Peter.

“You got it, boss.” Barnes nodded and turned to leave, only to be stopped by Tony’s voice.

“Barnes,” Tony didn’t look at him when he turned around. “Make it quick. And painless.”

“Of course.”

So Tony waited. And that day might as well have lasted a fucking year, the way the hours dragged, he couldn’t concentrate on his meetings, couldn’t fucking eat, not even his cigars were enough to calm him down. He was snapping at his employees, killing people for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, losing money for being too fucking off his game.

Around ten that night, he sat on his favorite armchair, the one one in which he and Peter fucked when they couldn’t even make it to the bed, and waited. He drank his scotch and pretended to think of something else, anything, but his mind kept going back to Peter’s lifeless body covered in blood. Gone forever. He lighted up a cigar and, when he noticed his fingers were fucking shaking as it approached eleven o’clock, he realized he couldn’t fucking do it. At ten fifty-eight, he called Barnes.

“Barnes, what’s your status?” He asked, a lump in his throat, afraid it was too late already.

“He’s gathering up his things to leave, boss.” He answered calmly and Tony sighed in relief.

“I’m calling it off. Come back here right now, you and Rogers.”

“Yes, boss.”

As he waited for them, he poured himself a glass of scotch, weighting his options. He couldn’t kill Peter, but he couldn’t let him be a weakness either, so he needed a plan. First of all, Peter couldn’t be kept in the dark anymore, it was too dangerous. Second of all, nobody could ever know about him, the only two people who already knew he existed were Barnes and Rogers, and he would keep it that way.

“It’s your duty to make sure no one knows about him. Not a single soul. I mean it.” He stared at them intently and they looked back at him impassibly, nodding. “If anyone gets a whiff of him, if anyone tries to harm him in any way, I’m gonna choose one of you to torture and kill and let the other one watch and then lock them in the same room with the body to watch it rot, are we clear?”

“Yes, boss,” they both answered in unison, unfazed. One of the reasons Tony trusted them with his life was because they were each other’s weakness, they were easy to threaten. The second reason, of course, was because they risked their lives to rescue him when the Ten Rings gang managed to kidnap him, under Obadiah Stane’s orders, the jealous bastard. Nobody else came but them, and they took down the whole gang by themselves. He rewarded them handsomely, and they became the highest ranking people in his inner circle, followed closely by Natasha and Bruce.

“Good. Bring him to me.”

Not even an hour later, Peter walked into his office, looking frightened. As soon as he saw Tony, though, he breathed a great sigh of relief, rushing to his side to sit on his lap and hold him tight. Tony raised a brow, confused.

“I was so worried, Bucky and Steve just picked me up and they wouldn’t say anything, I thought something had happened to you.” His little arms clutched his neck tightly, desperately, and Tony’s heart swelled with emotions he didn’t even know existed. He breathed in the boy’s scent, feeling nervous all of a sudden, he wasn’t sure why.

“We need to talk, Peter.” He held his head with both hands and pushed him a little. “Maybe you’ll want to sit a little farther away from me for what I’m about to tell you.”

“I know what you’re gonna tell me. Please, don’t.” Tony froze at that, muscles going rigid, eyes wide. He stared at the kid’s face and he looked embarrassed, sad and scared.

“What do you think you know, Pete?” He asked quietly, studying the boy’s reactions. He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding Tony’s eyes.

“I think you’re not really a CEO,” he whispered, as a single tear ran down his cheek. Tony reached out to dry it immediately. “I-I think you h-hurt people… And stuff.”

“What stuff? Why do you think that?” He tucked a curl behind his ear and placed a finger on his chin to force him too look at him.

“I don’t know what stuff, just… Stuff. Illegal stuff.” More tears followed and he closed his eyes briefly, opening them a few seconds later. Tony waited patiently. “I’ve heard you on the phone a few times, I can smell gunpowder on you. And – blood. And it’s never yours.” Tony nodded slowly, watching his boy falling apart before his eyes, he looked pained. He was clearly a lot smarter then he let on and a lot sneakier, if he had been listening in on his phone calls. Weirdly, the older man wasn’t even mad.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” He questioned, trying to dry his tears again, holding the boy’s cheeks in his palms. He nodded slowly.

“It terrifies me,” he admitted quietly. “But I – I just. I can’t stay away from you.” He frowned and Tony sighed, smiling softly.

“I couldn’t hurt you if I tried, baby boy.” He wanted to laugh at how true that was.

“I know. I think I know that, just. Just don’t tell me wh– I don’t want to know. The things you do.”

“Of course, it has nothing to do with you, you’re not a part of this world. I’m just gonna need you to be more careful, ok, baby? We’ll set a few ground rules, and everything will be just fine.” He rubbed the boys arms as he nodded, but he still seemed agitated and nervous. ”Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I – Yeah, I guess.” He tried to smile but it turned into a grimace as a few more tears escaped his eyes. “I’m really scared.”

“Peter, listen to me. You don’t ever have to be scared, do you hear me? No one can touch you, you’re under my protection. Do you understand that? No one would dare, I swear to you. I swear it.” There was a lot of confidence in his voice, but he was terrified himself, he was afraid he couldn’t keep that promise, but Peter believed him. The way his face softened and he was finally able to smile again, Tony knew he believed him.  

They took it one day at a time, slowly figuring out their own rules. After that talk, they didn’t see each other for a few weeks, just in case someone had taken notice of the fact that Peter had entered the tower seven times over the course of four months. Then, for the boy’s spring break, Tony took him to Japan for a week, where they could walk around freely, hand in hand, only taking a few precautions before traveling, like not boarding the same plane. After that, they were able to establish a weekly routine, they never met on the same day or at the same time, but they never went more than a week without seeing each other. Quickly, days turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years. Two whole years, and Tony still couldn’t believe how a boy like Peter could belong with a monster like him.

“Boss, the prince is upstairs,” Barnes warned him as soon as he stepped into the tower, to Tony’s surprise. They hadn’t scheduled anything for that night and, for a few seconds, the older man panicked and it must have shown, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. “He’s unharmed. He insisted that I brought him as a surprise, just a heads-up.” He added and the boss let out a breath slowly, nodding.

“Very well.”

Tony hurried upstairs and as soon as he stepped inside the apartment, he was gifted with the sight of his young lover sitting on his armchair. He was wearing one of the older man’s t-shirts, his favorite one, the oldest Tony owned. He didn’t seem to be wearing anything underneath it, as Tony got a glimpse of his cute little cock peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, between his parted legs. The boy was sleeping, head resting on a hand, propped on the arm of the chair.

The older man walked towards him, loosening his tie, then stopped in front of him. He knelt by his feet, stroked his calves lightly and kissed both of his knees softly. The boy’s eyes fluttered open in surprise, until they finally focused on Tony.

“My prince,” The older man greeted, kissing his way up the pale, plump legs, stopping at the hem of the t-shirt. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Tony,” He mumbled sleepily, running his fingers through the other’s graying hair. “It’s okay, I was hoping to surprise you, actually, but I guess I fell asleep.” His hand slid towards the older man’s cheek and he leaned into it like a cat, turning a little to place a kiss on his palm.

“Good boy,” he resumed his kisses on pale, shivering thighs, and Peter sighed quietly. “What was this surprise about, baby boy?”

“Just missed you, it’s been a while,” Peter adjusted himself on the chair, sliding his lower half down the seat and spreading his legs wider, until Tony could see a sparkle between the boy’s cheeks, where his pink, tight hole should be. The young man was blushing slightly, Tony found it endearing that he still did, after all that time.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, have I been neglecting you?” His fingers slid across Peter’s legs, thumbs drawing circles on the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, and the boy’s breath hitched as he got closer and closer to his balls. Tony saw his small cock flushing pink as it stood to attention, and the toy inside his hole jerked.

“It’s okay, you’re busy.” Which was absolutely true. Between Peter’s classes, Tony’s tight schedule and having to keep the boy a secret, there wasn’t a lot of time for them to meet, but Tony would correct that soon. When the boy graduated in a couple of months, he wouldn’t be such an easy target anymore, at least he wouldn’t have a predictable schedule in such a public place. He could live at the tower, where it was safe, and Barnes and Rogers could take care of him whenever he needed to go out.

“I was, little one, but I have all the time in the world for you now, let’s see this surprise of yours, shall we?” He spread Peter’s legs further, placing each of them on the arms of the chair, his boy was incredibly flexible, gorgeous to watch. He raised his shirt a little bit, just up to his stomach, but didn’t take it off. “Ah, I see. What a beautiful surprise you have there, baby boy. Thank you.” His little hole was stretched around the plug Tony had bought for him, a slick, black one, with jewels encrusted on the handle, now sticking out of him. It wasn’t too big or thick, he liked him to be tight, after all. “Did my prince come while putting this in?”

“Yes, sir… Twice,” He was already panting and Tony hadn’t even touched him where it mattered yet. He smirked and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, you must have been really starved for cock, right? Daddy haven’t been feeding you properly. We’re gonna correct this now.” He held the end of the plug and pushed it in a little more, moved it around a bit, only to hear his boy gasp when it brushed his sweet spot. Then he slowly started pulling it out, watching in amazement as his rim stretched to allow the thickest part of the toy to come out. Once it was completely out, his hole gaped for a few seconds, before clenching furiously around nothing.

The kneeling position was hard on his knees, but his prince deserved nothing less, so stayed there and leaned in, licking the wet, quivering hole, eliciting a desperate moan from Peter, as he held his own knees in an attempt to keep his legs spread open. Tony gripped his thin waist, fingers digging into his soft flesh, hard enough to leave marks, and tried to fuck his tongue inside him. Since it was already a little loose from the toy, it gave in and he was able to lick inside him, and the boy cried out in pleasure, rocking his hips against his mouth.

“Oh, I missed this, Tony… I missed this…” He mumbled, arching his back, and the older man kept going, tongue buried inside his hole, fucking and licking it, biting his ass cheeks carefully when the young man tried to close his thighs around his head. He tasted delicious and smelled amazing. Tony made his way up to his ball as he pressed two fingers into his hole. They went in with barely any resistance as the boy moaned desperately when Tony sucked his balls into his mouth.

Peter writhed on the chair, hands buried in the older man’s hair, trying to pull him closer, small whimpers leaving his mouth every time the man’s fingers brushed his prostate. Tony licked his way back to his hole, as he tried to fuck it with both his tongue and fingers, until he could see Peter was way too close to the edge.

He got up from the floor and undid his pants. As soon as his cock sprung free, Peter launched himself at it, grabbing it with one hand and sucking the head into his mouth, like a starving man. Tony’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he groaned, burying his fingers in his wild curls and tugging just a little, enough to prevent him from deep-throating his cock – he probably wouldn’t last long if he did, sometimes he thought he might come just from rimming him.

He held his head with both hands, setting a steady pace, and Peter obeyed happily. He licked the tip of his cock, kissed it gently, then went back to sucking as one of his hands came up to play with the older man’s heavy balls – he hadn’t come in days. He took a deep breath and allowed his boy to have his fun for a while, but then pushed him gently and lifted him from the chair, taking a seat himself.

“Come sit on your throne, my prince.” He grinned devilishly, and Peter didn’t even blink an as he placed a knee on each side of Tony’s thighs, reaching behind himself to guide his cock inside.

“Oh, fuck,” He cried, as he sank down onto his cock, mouth hanging open, head thrown back in ecstasy. Tony watched, mesmerized, as the boy took him in slowly, inch by inch, until his cock was completely sheathed inside his tight heat. Peter’s inner walls massaged him as his little hole fluttered, trying to adjust to his girth, and he made little sounds of pain and pleasure.

“You’re perfect, baby, perfect for me,” Tony held his face by the cheeks and brought him closer, licking his lips open to kiss him messily and hungrily. He’d missed him, too, his soft skin, his high-pitched voice, his tiny hands stroking his face, the bouncy, sweet-smelling curls. Peter truly belonged in another world, and although he should feel completely out of place in Tony’s arms, nothing ever felt so right in his life.

The younger man started moving after a few seconds, whimpering against Tony’s lips as he rocked his hips back and forth, up and down. His hands clutched the back of the chair as he bounced on the older man’s cock, following the pace set by Tony’s hands on his hips. The older man slapped his ass once, twice, only to see the boy coming undone, biting his lips and trying to stop himself from screaming.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he grunted, fucking up into him as he bit the younger man’s lips, holding his neck with a hand. When he slapped him a third time, Peter couldn’t hold it in anymore, he screamed the older man’s name as he came with a blinding force, arching his back and gripping his shoulders. If the sight of Peter out of his mind with pleasure wasn’t enough to push him over the edge, the way he clenched his hole on his cock would do it. The older man followed suit, as he grunted against the boy’s neck, leaving marks on his skin.

Peter went limp in his arms, completely relaxed and safe, arms wrapped around his shoulders as Tony held him close, protectively. If it were up to him, Peter would never leave the penthouse, he’d quit his job, and school, and be right there where Tony could look after him. But of course he was a feisty little one, so it wasn’t up to Tony.

“Have you eaten, little one?” He whispered, placing soft kisses on his shoulders and neck, and the boy shuddered.

“No, I was waiting for you.” He whispered back, snuggling further into his arms. “But now I’m sleepy.”

“Poor baby.” He placed a kiss on his temple. “Why don’t you take a nap while I cook you some Bucatini Carbonara, huh? Isn’t that your favorite?”

“No, I’ll cook, you always cook for me,” he mumbled against his neck and Tony could barely understand what he said.

“But you’re sleepy, baby. Besides, you’re a terrible cook on a good day.” Tony chuckled, feeling the boy laughing against his chest.

“Fine, I’ll help, then,” he compromised, pecking his lips.

“Sounds great.”

Peter carefully lifted off of his cock, then stepped out of the chair, hurrying to the bathroom. Tony watched, heart clenching, as his boy walked away. He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, trying to rein in the feeling of dread that overtook him as he imagined Peter in danger, held captive by someone like him, someone as cruel and heartless as him, someone who would torture him, make him suffer, just to get to Tony. He opened his eyes wide, feeling helpless, as he realized there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect him. He’d give away his entire kingdom, he’d give his own life in exchange for his.

Peter came back to the living room, still wearing his old t-shirt, a huge grin on his face as he rambled about school. Tony smiled to himself. He was worth it.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 73

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

BEFORE YOU READ THE CHAPTER: Very dark themes. You have been warned. Kylo Ren is Not Nice.

Chapter 73: Behind Glass Windows

You didn’t remember being told that you were now docked on earth; you didn’t remember even getting ready to go down to the surface, but you were now watching behind the windows of your eyes as you were in the shuttle being brought down. You could hear and see everything you normally could, but you were behind the glass of your eyes. You couldn’t interact with your world, he was doing that for you. It was like watching a movie about yourself where you couldn’t control anything unless he let you.

You watched as you departed the ship when it made it to the surface; you were now in D.C. you could hear Mitaka say that your family was brought here, for your safety.

You knew your crown was adorning your head, you could see as everyone around you bowed or saluted in your presence. But you were stuck, watching this nightmare unfold before you. You saw them, your parents, your siblings, and their spouses and kids. All a mix of terrified and confused. Your body stopped in front of them, but they did nothing other than stare at you.

You heard Mitaka’s usually timid voice attempt to be confident. “It is the law to bow to the Empress when you are graced with her presence.”

You watched as your older brother attempted to dispute this, “But she’s our sister.” You knew they didn’t want to give you the same respect you had always shown them. You could see the internal struggle within your family. They were terrified to be in this position, but they also believed that being related to you granted them exceptions. It did not.

“I will say it once more. It is law for you to bow in front of the Empress when she graces you with her presence.” Mitaka’s voice was a bit agitated at the blatant disrespect for you. He might be timid in many ways but he loved rules, and what the First Order stood for, and this was showing disrespect in the face of it all.

You watched as your family looked confused and shared looks with each other but they eventually complied to the law. Bowing awkwardly to you, their Empress.

Your mother spoke up, “May I ask why we weren’t invited to your coronation? Your wedding?” Her voice reminded you of all the women in stores who demanded things from workers, that same annoyingly trying to be important tone.  

You didn’t know how to answer but words came out of your mouth anyway, words you couldn’t stop. “You were not invited simply because you are not important enough. You may be the people I happen to share DNA with, but you are not my family.”

Your mother gawked, but your father spoke first, “Now I know you don’t really feel that way.” You could see in his eyes that he was trying to deescalate the situation, trying to reason with you, but you weren’t in control.

The ugly black creature speaking for you, “I am the Empress, you do not have the privilege to tell me what to do.” You could feel its hold on your brain tightening with every word.

“You know that I wasn’t trying to do that,” your father’s voice was reflecting the worry that was plastered across his face. Of course you knew that but that didn’t stop the controlling force on you. You saw your head cock to the side, contemplating their existence in this world.

The monster roared, but your voice masked it. “Execute them.” You watched the creature vibrate with glee, overpowering you, and your wishes.

“M’lady? They are your family,” asked an officer who was in the room, Mitaka staying silent. You could see the hints of concern on his face, knowing something was wrong, that this wasn’t like you.

You watched as you turned to him. “They have wronged the Empress. Execute them.” You then walked away. Your back turned as you heard their confused yells, the education failing them, panic setting in.

You watched the fear in his face, “The children too?” You could hear the unease in the young officer’s voice. You wanted so desperately to tell him no. You watched as you turned back around to face the officer that dared to question you.

“Yes.” Was the answer you gave.

You began to walk away, down the hall to who knows where. You sure didn’t as you weren’t in control of your body, your mind. You were screaming and pounding against the glass that seemed to be preventing you from doing anything. But you watched as the tendrils moved in front of it and around you, being burned by the dying embers around you. You wondered if there would be a way to stoke the fire somehow. But it was just you, the glass wall, the dying embers, the tendrils, and blackness. You knew you had no control anymore, but you were fighting for your life.

You heard a voice speak on the other side of the glass. “Empress, I have some things I would like to catch you up on.” It was General Parnadee. She was here talking to you, in person for the first time in weeks.

You turned to face her. “Yes, general you may proceed.” The words were out of your mouth, you wanted to scream at her to let her know that you weren’t all right. That you needed help. That you were trapped inside your own mind.

She eyed you carefully like she always had, analyzing the situation before her like the expert tactician she was. “It seems someone you knew previously to the annexation to this planet is in coercion with the resistance. I was wondering if you would like to overlook the interrogation. Maybe provide some insight? Or speak yourself?” Her eyes gauging you every movement.

You could see the black creature fill with glee once more. Excited with the possibility of witnessing an interrogation. Its inky threads dancing across your brain. “Yes, I would. Lead the way general.” Shaping and molding the parts it had yet to fully seize.

She eyed you for a moment. You wondered if she could tell that something was off. Hearing yourself speak, you didn’t quiet sound like you, like yourself. You sounded like a different person had access to your voice, because technically that’s what this was. You weren’t controlling you; you did not have power over your body, your mind, you even wondered if you had power over your soul at the moment.

You were lead to a room in the lower levels. It did feel like an interrogation room, when you stepped inside you saw your former boss, Scott, strapped down to a chair. It looked like a torture device, complete with a small black drone droid flying about.

You wanted to know what he was doing here, why he was here. But the creature spoke for you. “You looked relieved Scott? Were you expecting someone else?” You could feel your eyes narrowing at him. The creature turning you into a hunter before its prey. “I’m just glad it’s you and not the supreme leader. I’ve heard the rumors. What he can do to the mind.” You could hear the exhaustion and fear in his voice, and the small sense of relief. The creature narrowed in on the fear.

You felt your head cock to the side. “What rumors?” The creature turning you into a hyena before a dying animal, circling him in the chair.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, obviously, you weren’t displaying the reaction he wanted. “I know you know. That he can tear into someone’s mind. But I know you will get me out of this, I know you know I am innocent. I’ve never done anything to you or the First Order. All you have are lies about me.”  You wanted to believe him, suspecting what the outcome of all of this would be if he was found guilty, but you didn’t have control.

The creature mocking him now, “You see that’s where you are wrong. I know you aren’t innocent Scott. I remember being in the conference room when you said: ‘Well we’re fucked, We are all surely fucked. Who are these people to think they can just take over like that? Do they think we are just going to sit by and let them brainwash us? Let them take everything from us?’ Did you think I forgot that” Your voice now sounded like something out of a horror movie, some fake female sounding voice that came from a monster.

Scott’s eyes were wide. “That doesn’t mean anything surely you know that right? I’m innocent. Please, you know I have a wife and kids.” He could see there was no good outcome for him. He would have to face his death.

“Hmmm yes I do.” The creature teased him, looking for the final kill. “But unfortunately for them, they will have to pay for your actions, just as you will.”

Panic, fear, horrification were just brushing the surface of what he was feeling about what the creature was suggesting. “What does that mean? Please take me and not them. Kill me and let them live.”  

Your head list to the other side. The you that was in control was really toying with him now, like a cat before her already caught prey. Which he was, strapped to the chair, helpless and in tears, afraid for his life. “Yes, you should be grateful that I am unable to tear into your mind, but know this I show the same amount of mercy as my husband. Which is none.”

You turned your back to him and walked out of the room, but not before telling the guard that Scott and his family were to face public execution, as examples of traitors to the first order.

You walked past the general. “I will be present for both executions, I would like them to happen as soon as possible.”

She looked at you, you could see it in her eyes that she knew something was wrong, “Yes, Empress. We are having them in an hour. I have been informed by your ladies-in-waiting that you have been requested to change for the executions.” You were different, and she could tell.

You simply nodded and headed down the hallway. You did not know where you were going, but you ended up in a bedroom where Adlez and Olivia-Rose were waiting, with your new gown for the execution.

“Are you all right m’lady we heard what happened,” asked Olivia-Rose.

The entity spewing harshness, “News travels quick.” You voice came out with a menacing tone. Both of them looked at you and each other, Olivia-Rose was terrified but Adlez was analyzing you. You had never treated them like this before. You knew it would only be a matter of time before the black monster in your head would mess up enough for them to want to do something about it.

But the creature blacked you out, ending any and all conversation, taking you to the execution before it allowed you to see through the windows of your eyes once more.

On the top of the front steps to the Lincoln Memorial, one of the very images that used to define freedom, is where the execution was taking place. The Lincoln statue was removed, in its place was a red banner with the First Order Insignia, its bright red color was like blood against the pure white marble.

It was more than just your family and Scott being executed, there were others lined up, but they didn’t matter to the part of your brain you couldn’t control. You wondered if you could stomach what you were about to witness. What he was about to make you witness. The death of your family.

You felt yourself step forward to address the crowd; you knew once again that the words coming out of your mouth were not your own. “Citizens of Earth, the people before you today have committed the act of treason against you, against the most gracious First Order. I stand before you today as your Empress. Showing you firsthand that I stand behind what is done here, the examples these people will be to you all. Break the rules, cause disorder and you will be eradicated. We will be pure, we will have order, we will be better.”

You stepped back; you knew all eyes were on you, but you were numb to it all. Not feeling the pain that was so clearly in your heart, in your soul. You watched as an Executioner ‘trooper stepped forward. Through the voice distortion, you heard names and the crimes they committed. You watched as Scott went first, his crime being a spy and conspiring with the Resistance. You watched as they forced him to kneel in front of everyone next to a ‘trooper with a laser axe. You watched on horrified at the falling of his head, but the crowd that gathered in front of you was living for it. Shouting various encouragements to the executioners, saying disgusting things to those who were lined up. Next was his wife and two kids, their crime was failing to report a conspirator of the Resistance. Your body not following your will, forcing you to watch, breaking you.

But you weren’t prepared for what you were about to witness next, your family. Your mother, your father, your brothers and sister with their spouses and kids lining up together, a stormtrooper holding each of them, an executioner next to them waiting, waiting for the announcement of their names and crimes. You could see the fear and tears on their faces, some of them trying to look at you, trying to show you their dying eyes. The children and babies not knowing what was happening. What you were about to let the First Order do, knowing you couldn’t stop what was about to happen.

Their death, and your isolation.

You watched as the axes fell in sync; you were alone now. Your family was gone, Kylo on the other end of the galaxy but controlling you. Allowing. No. Forcing this to happen. Forcing your isolation. Forcing their death. The rest of the execution was a blur, the tendrils seemed to decide that you have had enough of being forced to witness things. You didn’t remember the rest of the day, or the next few days as a matter of fact. The inky blackness was all you saw.

[terriblygrimm]

ohmygod finally someone who shares my views. my sister and I loved fatws for what they did w sam’s character but aside from that the writing was very bad. we really could not understand wtf was bucky’s purpose to the main plot and what new side of bucky did we see. when the action wasnt happening he kept whining about steve and being rude to sam and then marvel thrust sambucky onto us and basically told us to move onto this Brand New Duo. sam and bucky were not on equal footing here and their personal struggles did not hold equal weight at all (i will give credits to anthony and seb here for making their friendship look believable) mcu keeps sidelining bucky and i thought they would do him some justice in this show but they didnt. after reading the articles and interviews post the show it was evident the writers did not understand bucky’s character at all. his whole character development was moving on from steve and now becoming sam’s sidekick? (also im really hoping and praying these writers dont go through with sarahbucky in the future because…no..absolutely not). and i do hope that what you said about a future steve bucky reunion comes true because so far mcu has been very hellbent on erasing their friendship and its just pathetic that they try to undermine their friendship so much, while weirdly enough also emphasizing that yes it has deep emotional value.

yeah like, i’m gonna try to make this as succinct and short (lol) as i possibly can without going off on tangents but tf.atws should’ve been SAM’S show. sam alone. he should’ve been the only title character, and they could’ve properly focused on his arc and the sociopolitical weight of it. that is MORE than enough content to fill up 6 hours. i absolutely love cap!sam and i think he’s gonna be a great captain america. i’m very much looking forward to his future.

but virtually everything else about this show from conception to film was a miss.

the flag smashers? (really marvel? your military propaganda perked its ugly ass head with this one. within the first five minutes of the show they were condemning ppl who believed in a world without borders lmfao. i legit almost stopped watching right then i’m not kidding) and the storyline itself wasn’t even coherent. they had WAY too many characters and arcs to focus on and it just.. didn’t work. didn’t do any one of them justice. not even their title characters - especially their title characers. the whole thing felt very hollow and emotionally remiss. the barely existent dialogue was clunky and awkward, and i’m sorry but.. to me, sam and bucky do not organically get along lol. the chemistry between the actors is undeniable which is why so many ppl ate it up, (and do i think they could eventually get along? yes) but the buddybuddy thing was pretty forced imo. very sudden and based on very little. 

their stories were at odds, with not one common goal between them all the way to the end. they fought for screen time and it caused both of their stories to suffer and not carry the weight they should have. they both had VERY heavy content to work with (a black captain america / a trauma/abuse/pow survivor) but somehow marvel - in true marvel fashion - did not commit to either and tried to tread lightly on both. 

bucky and sam only had the thin thread of steve woven between them & even that was done poorly because the writers themselves admittedly weren’t told what happened to steve, therefore they couldn’t write a definitive arc about it. and instead of actually committing to the deep bond between he and bucky, they took the no homo route and had bucky express anger over who holds property of the shield, rather than admitting it was steve himself that he emotionally and physically missed. but again, they couldn’t really do that, could they? they didn’t know if steve was alive or if bucky knew of his whereabouts. 

i’ll admit i did enjoy the peripheral concept of bucky helping steve pass along the shield, like he was its watcher, making sure steve’s legacy fell in good hands, and was there to basically coach sam along the way. in THAT regard alone, it did feel like he and steve were still a team post-endgame. that, on top of saying that he and steve discussed the future of the shield together was a sweet touch. loved that, but it was executed poorly like everything else.

& his winter soldier arc... lordy, was that handled horribly. bucky is a charming, gentle, burdened, lover-not-a-fighter (since the 40s) victim and they turned him macho, carrying the burden of his abusers and guilted into making amends? and that his problems were his fault because he couldn’t trust people? say what now? bucky is a pissed off, good-hearted war vet with a LOT of baggage- he’s not just some dude. the effort to butch up and patch up bucky in a quick fix was apparent, from the short hair, to the list of names, to the “man up” approach everybody came at him with, to the really out of place heterosexual flirting. i mean honest to god who the has time to flirt? apparently bucky! none of the other characters even passed a sideways glance to another during the entire series aside from the one character who audiences have been vocal about being queer for 10 years. hmmm.... (and then the writers actually CAME OUT & MADE A POINT TO SAY that they did not intend for his bisexuality lmfao i mean please dear god put us out of this misery. that writer/director need to stop talking because nobody cares about their personal opinions or headcanons. media is for the viewer to interpret so please shut up.)

overall the actors did what they could w that script, that much was obvious- and they certainly tried to stay as true to their visions/versions of the characters as they could but it just didn’t end up matching up.

but yeah, on a lighter note, i sincerely don’t think they’ll continue bucky in sam’s sphere. i think that was a one off. i don’t think they actually wanted to sell them as a “new partnership” but they just didn’t know how to write the dynamic properly. i think tf.atws was just a sad, sad attempt to place them somewhere post-endgame so they can continue on in bigger marvel films. sam’s got his cap4 and his new team (torres, sharon, walker), and i think i read he’s gonna make an appearance in black panther? which will be sooooo awesome!! 

and bucky? his ending was very open, what with him miraculously “feeling better” yet not quite the white wolf, and not permanent in any place. and on top of that, he was instructed to stay away from wakanda so he can’t make future appearances there, so methinks he and steve will cross paths again as nomad and white wolf for sure (once it’s revealed what steve’s been doing, etc). maybe in space?

the power that holds anon.... i get so excited even thinking about it.

[minidigidestined]

Lost in Love 1/3

A three part digi//mon g/t vore series about my Digidestined OC/sona, Charissa, and her experiences and thoughts with being eaten by her three significant others--her primary partner and husband Jazz (another Digidestined), and her two secondary partners Beelstarrmon and Voltaboutamon. Lots of polyamorous fluff, soft safe vore and sweetness. Will likely do a little series of blurbs with her and Jazz’s digi///mon teammates vore shenanigans too, I just wanted to write up some romance~

Part one focuses on Charissa and Voltaboutamon--in this story, they have only very recently began their relationship, and are still navigating the awkwardness of a new love and the tangled web of the enemies to friends to lovers past they share. After Charissa struggles with sensory overload and the resulting shutdown, Voltaboutamon comforts her in a shrunken state, and considers what her two longer-term significant others have (obnoxiously) told him about her vore fixation.... He decides to try and comfort her in a new way, exploring her very strange form of intimacy. 

NSFW DNI. 

In his hands, I am small and pliable. The pad of his thumb, black and tough as onyx, presses softly against the plushness of my cheek. I melt into him and sigh, softly. 

I am home. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Voltaboutamon looks down at me, the shy indigo blush on his cheeks radiating warmth. “Do I just.... Put you in?”

I smile, stimming nervously with the scrunchie on my wrist. “Ye--ah, I g--uess. You just, um, uh, um tre--at me like you wo--uld would any other f---ood. Except che--w--ing.” I am happy, but the words are forced and almost painful--after a shutdown, speaking always is. 

“You don’t need to make yourself talk.” His narrow eyes seem to edge into slits. “I… I want to make you feel better. You don’t need to force yourself for me, Charissa. I am always prepared to accommodate you. I love you.” 

I almost open my mouth to force out more, but stop. Jazz, Beelstarrmon and Voltaboutamon are the greatest partners I could’ve ever hoped to love--and I found myself frustrated with the disservice both to them and myself whenever I tried to shift myself to try and please them, like I had with so many others. With so many abusers. It was okay to be me. It was safe to be me. With the three of them, I could love freely.

No pretending. No masking. No suffering. Only truth. 

I smiled and nodded. Two taps for thanks, and a squeeze of his fingers for love. 

The wraith-like Digimon smiled, his eyes softening. “And you will be safe?” 

I nodded again, pointing to the small oxygen mask at my hip. I slumped against his needle like fingers, lightheaded from the butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. 

After my surrogate father, Grandracmon, shrunk me down for my own comfort, both Voltaboutamon and I retreated to his quarters for privacy and silence. For not one second did he (nor my father, the kindest beast in existence might I add) judge my desire to be small, and instead he looked down at me as if I was the greatest treasure his hands had ever held. 

For awhile, we lay in silence, my darling removing his chest plating so that I could curl up on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. A steady rhythm, safe and powerful, even through the leathery armor-like chitin that covered him from clavicles to toes, cool and textured against my own skin. Two of his arms tucked behind his head, relaxed, one over his stomach and the last’s palm cupping me gently.

 I was always small, a mere 5’5 to his 12’, but at 5 inches tall, he was now truly massive to me. Even after removing his intimidating armor and mask and the extra bulk of his hat and headscarf, his presence still felt absolutely massive. And yet, despite what a cruel figure the digimon struck, he felt as safe and secure as any home I could have ever imagined. Better than anything I could imagine, in fact.

So when my dear one looked down at me and whispered, with nothing but a soft red light from the lamp in the corner lighting the space around us, if I would like him to eat me, I felt my own heart skip a beat. Pretty sure I felt his do the same. 

Voltaboutamon had never really been interested in the whole vore thing, and after we began dating only a few weeks ago, it was one of the hardest discussions to have with him, perhaps even moreso than our rocky history of hate-filled enemies to reluctant friends to hopelessly yearning. Explaining the intricacies of affection, intimacy, trust, safety and closeness involved in vore for me was terrifying, and having to share that with someone who had been shut off from closeness and emotional intimacy for so long? I figured he would never be comfortable with it beyond some light teasing and letting me lay on his belly. 

And now here we were, both blushing, flustered and awkward. 

His stomach growled, a low rumble beneath me, and the butterflies surged with a vengeance. I loved him so much, so deeply, and just wanted to find myself in the world of his body, his physical self, the very essence of Voltaboutamon. After everything we had endured, the trauma of our pasts, the struggle of our present and the serenity of the new love we had found, all I ever wanted was to get lost in him. Right now, literally. 

“And you trust me? You feel safe?” He was nervous, maybe even more than I was. 

I smiled gently. One long, deep squeeze. Always. 

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Well. I am hungry. I was busy earlier today and forgot to eat so… Yes. Here we go then. Vore.” 

He picked me up with two long, claw tipped fingers, squeezing into the softness of my plump frame. He lifted me up and I felt myself go a bit dizzy with vertigo, until I looked down and saw his mouth yawn open. 

Poppy-red eyes gazed up at me, gauging my reaction. Voltaboutamon’s face was narrow and framed with long locks of wavy snow-white hair, his features all hard as flint. His full lips opened wide, lavender skin giving way to a bright pink mouth and pearly teeth. A set of long fangs, his teeth all just a little bit sharper than normal--likely the Myotismon data--and his tongue long and flat and waiting. 

I swallowed hard, goosebumps popping up along my arms as I fixated on the strands and bubbles of saliva framing his maw, leading all the way back into the beckoning tunnel of his throat. 

He lowered me in gently, and I almost laughed at the severe juxtaposition of how differently he placed me in comparison to my other dear ones. His soft, thoughtful handling a contrast to the greedy but assured stuffing-in that Jazz and Beelstarrmon would begin eating me with. I suppose it makes sense, gluttons as they are and gourmet as he is. I almost giggle thinking about the shenanigans and contrasts of our love-filled little quad, but I’m broken from my ruminations when he places me right atop his tongue. 

Instantly the butterflies surge, a swarm of nerves and exhilaration twisting up my insides. His tongue undulates beneath me, his sharp teeth framing the outside world. Before I know it the digimon’s mouth closes, the last shreds of light glinting off his fangs and threads of drool before I’m shrouded in darkness. 

I squish my fingers against the slick flesh of my darling’s tongue, gasping as it presses me against the roof of his mouth and then to the inside of his cheek. I’ve been eaten so many times before, by friends and lovers, and yet I still find myself growing pink and amazed and feeling so very very small, and I can’t help but just close my eyes and smile. 

His breath is hot and smells of tart undiluted cranberry juice, and I recall the mug he left on the kitchen counter. It rushes over me as he carefully shifts me around the slimy cavern, his teeth gently scraping at my skin and saliva coating me like a second skin. I press my hands against his flesh, tracing veins with my fingertips and slipping around at his mercy. A low hum builds in his throat and I blush, pleased that he seems to find me a tasty snack. 

I found myself pushed to the back of his mouth, going lightheaded with both happiness and an unbidden anxiety--like the top of a roller coaster drop--as the tips of my toes slipped past the entrance of his throat. His uvula tickled the top of my twin buns as he swallowed thickly, unaccustomed to such a large morself, not that my girth likely helped much. His gulp pulled me down instantaneously, and then peristalsis got to work. He swallowed and gulped again, clearly straining to get me down. 

The powerful muscles pulled me down eagerly, the soft flesh crushing and massaging against me as it effortlessly took me further into Voltaboutamon. I felt his fingertip press against the bulge I must’ve made in his slender neck, following me as I trailed deeper into him. I heard the rush of his breath from his lungs, his relief once I started falling down his throat smoothly, and he no longer had to swallow powerfully. 

I enjoyed the trip down, my oxygen mask providing me air during my smothering descent, the pressure providing me sensory stimulation and relaxation in the best possible way. Utter bliss. 

It wasn’t long before Voltaboutamon’s throat opened up into his stomach though, and I yelped as I was deposited into the much more roomy cavern. I slipped right in and slid down into a fetal position, shifting about to get comfortable. The sludgy chyme and the unmistakable tang of cranberry juice sloshed around me, his belly grumbling loudly upon my arrival. The muscular walls flexed and kneaded gently, like a hug. The darkness and heat was utterly smothering, and while the smell wasn’t delightful, it was reassuring in some strange way. 

His heart beat thunderously somewhere above me, and the hum of his digicore was a barely noticeable constant thrumming. His lungs translated in and out, in and out seamlessly, a low gurgle from lower in his guts sounding out every now and then. His stomach continued its kneading and soft growling, and I felt all my muscles loosen and relax. 

“Are you alright, Charissa?” I was jostled a bit as he must’ve leaned down, trying to get as close as he could. “I feel ridiculous talking to my stomach…” A pressure from outside pushed against me, kind and gentle as ever. Voltaboutamon rubbed his belly, and I eagerly pressed back and into the sweet touch, rubbing my hands tenderly along his stomach walls in thanks. 

“I love you, dear.” His voice blended in with the cacophony of sounds, the symphony of his body. “You were...a, ah, good meal. A nice little bite. Morsel. You melt in my mouth. ….Ah. Fuck. Yep.” He went quiet, and I could almost see the frustrated look on his face. I giggled sweetly as we both continued our rubbing. He had the spirit, and my heart swelled with pure adoration.

I let myself melt into him indeed, leaning back into the undulating stomach walls and letting the heat encompass me. Right now, Voltaboutamon was my entire world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I relaxed into him, his body keeping me enshrouded and hidden like a treasure chest, and I felt my eyelids grow heavy.

I began to daydream about whenever he’d spit me back up, and we’d return to Jazz and Beelstarrmon--oh, how they’d tease him relentlessly, and how he’d pout and huff and give out halfhearted threats. We would all laugh,and they would all pull me close, and I would be even more surrounded by love than I was right now. Maybe I could slip into Jazz’s gut before bed, or Beelstarrmon could have me for breakfast. Maybe we’d all just lay together and play board games and talk until the suns came up and the Digital World came to life. 

The pain of today slipped away, melting away in Voltaboutamon’s belly as easily as any food. Just as my muscles relaxed my mind did too, the overwhelming sensation of sensory overload from earlier suffering giving way to peace. This was what vore was to me--each experience with each person I loved, each friend, each pred and even accompanying prey friends was always different--but at the core it was the inexplicable, even moreso unexplainable, sense of safety, closeness and belonging. 

My eyelids fluttered closed, breathing growing even. I felt so lucky to be loved like this, to be held like this. Down someone’s throat, below their heart, in the soothing darkness of their belly was my home. 

“I love you, Voltaboutamon.” I whispered softly to the world around me. I would tell him to his face, accompanied by a kiss on the nose, whenever I reemerged. For now, I sunk down with a sigh and let myself fade into sleep.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R     T W O

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: scheduled tuesday + thursday posting.

main masterlist || story on ao3 || next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier fell asleep seven songs later, woke up, and didn’t know whether he was even awake. The cell was still completely dark, there were no sounds, nothing to indicate if he was awake or in a dream. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the panic dancing at the edges of his breath, the edges of his vision and his mind, and focused on the way he shivered in the cold. 

He sat silently against the wall for several minutes, not knowing what to do. He didn’t know what they were going to do to him, but he had barely been here for two days and he was already longing for human contact other than that damned sorceress and soldiers. He wanted to see light, wanted to see the sky and the sun and the flowers. Jaskier couldn’t believe he’d ever taken that for granted. 

He felt too much, all the time, and loneliness was no different. Heartbreak was needles, fear was spiders, dread was cold. Loneliness was just empty, hollow. Something in him that was just… a void, filled with nothing. Jaskier hated the feeling of loneliness more than most everything else, most likely because he so rarely felt it he didn’t have any defense against it. Singing and talking to nothing only lasted for so long, and Jaskier knew his limits. He wasn’t going to last, no matter how hard he tried. He was going to break to Nilfgaard, tell them everything he knew about Geralt, and he’d become their slave, he guessed. There were rumors that Nilfgaard participated in slavery. Or, he’d become some noble’s songbird. That was also a fate he didn’t want, but he supposed he wouldn’t have a choice. 

Jaskier leaned his head back against the wall again, brought his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, and started singing again. 

-0-0-0-

On the fourth day, Jaskier finally roused himself to move, driven by his parched throat and cracking voice. He found a bucket of water in the corner, almost spilled it when he found it with his roaming hands, and found a cup beside it. The water seemed clean - and even if it wasn’t, Jaskier would take anything he could get. They certainly weren’t giving him food anytime soon, so this was all he had to survive on. 

He dipped the cup in the water, finding it cold, and pulled it back out before drinking his fill greedily, like he hadn’t had water in days - which, he hadn’t. 

He filled it up three more times, and even the water didn’t fill the void of loneliness spreading in him. The water didn’t help the heartbreak needling at him, the fear making his skin itch, the dread trickling down his spine like ice. He had nothing to defend against his emotions, nothing to distract himself with except for a bucket of water and a cup, and he could feel himself falling, slowly breaking. 

Jaskier sighed, feeling the exhaustion of being starved for days pulling at him, and set the empty cup down, leaned back against the wall, and let sleep take him. Or not. He had no idea if this was a dream or if he was awake, it was so dark and he was so cold and so tired. 

-0-0-0-

Jaskier’s voice gave out on the eighth day. 

-0-0-0-

Jaskier was curled on his side on the floor on the sixteenth day, silent and shivering and so fucking hungry. The cramps bit at him, devoured him from the inside out, and he was left with only his mind - which wasn’t even at optimal speed either. 

He gave a soft whimper and curled up more, felt the cold stone press against his too-sharp, bare shoulder and too-thin feet, cried out as the sharp hunger pains lanced through him followed by the heartbreak and loneliness and fear and dread. It was all too much, far too much, and the smell of his piss in one corner he had designated wasn’t helping. 

Jaskier was breaking, slowly but surely, and Fringilla and all of Nilfgaard was waiting for it. 

-0-0-0-

Come on, Jaskier, came Fringilla’s voice, in his fucking mind, and he jerked awake, eyes wide and darting around the room. 

He cried out, regretting the movement instantly as the hunger pains shot through his stomach and he returned to the fetal position, staying there after he realized it was all in his head. 

Come to Nilfgaard. We can help you, we will help you. All you have to do is open up to us, tell us the Witcher’s behavior, came the mage’s calm voice, magic weaving around him. 

Jaskier groaned quietly, burying his head in his knees. Fuck off, he thought. 

You’ll see sense soon, she said, and retreated just as Jaskier felt the magic sharpen into singular intent and sleep dragged him down. 

-0-0-0-

He’s not coming back for you, Jaskier. Don’t you want to get revenge? He discarded you like trash. That’s all you were to him. A nuisance, an annoyance. Nilfgaard will help you. We will help you make him see the wrongs done to you. 

Get the fuck out of my head. 

-0-0-0-

Jaskier tried to sing again on the twenty-eighth day, but his voice gave out on the first syllable and Fringilla’s voice replaced his, strong and smooth and so, so persuasive. 

He never liked your singing, she said in his mind, magic twirling and weaving around him, fluid and easy. Jaskier envied it. Never gave it a compliment, never called it something good. He insulted it, despised it. You would do better just to be quiet, like he wanted, if you were ever to go back to him. 

Jaskier threaded his fingers in his hair and pulled, added the sharp pain of it to the pain of his hunger, the pain of his heartbreak and the numb of the loneliness, the ice of the dread and the acrid fear. No, he thought weakly. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. 

Fringilla didn’t pay any mind to his protests. He always told you your chatter was annoying. Didn’t you see what you were doing to him?

Jaskier gave a full-body flinch when the magic around him sharpened into intent, drove into his mind, and ripped out the scene he tried so hard to forget, forcing it to flash through his mind in vivid color and sound. 

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The magic left as quickly as it had come, and Jaskier started to shake as Fringilla’s voice continued. He hated this, hated it all so much, wanted to cry and scream and rage, but he was stuck in a weak human body, being starved and isolated with nothing but the same fucking mage talking in his head for hours on end. He felt the hope still glowing inside him crack as he shook, splinter as tears started falling and he went limp against the floor. 

He never loved you. He is not coming for you. You can’t truly care about him anymore, not when he never cared for you. You annoyed him, you made it worse for him. Give up, Jaskier. He doesn’t care about you. No one is coming for you. 

Jaskier cried, and shook, and didn’t even have the energy to tell her to fuck off. 

-0-0-0-

Thirty one days passed, though Jaskier wouldn’t know that. He was stuck in a haze of near-insanity, mentally talking to himself when he wasn’t talking to Fringilla, startled by every noise - not that there were many - and his heartbeat pounded constantly in his ears, like a drum. The cell smelled even more strongly like piss, and it was a miracle Jaskier still forced himself to move enough to get himself water and use the bathroom in the same corner. He couldn’t distinguish the magical dreams put in his head, of being held down by man’s hands and forced to relive his worst, most painful memories, from being truly awake in the unbroken darkness of the cell. 

He didn’t hold back on crying, now. His emotions had taken over sometime in the darkness, and they rolled over him like waves, tossing him around and ripping through him, leaving deep wounds behind. He shook and cried and lay there, his hope slowly draining, curled up and slipping into unconsciousness more often than out of it.

Fringilla stopped talking to him, but her words echoed in his head often enough, and Jaskier was beginning to believe it. There wasn’t any evidence that Geralt loved him, in any of his memories. He saved his life because he was human and Geralt thought it was his duty, there was nothing more to it. Jaskier had been nothing more than a burden to the Witcher for all twenty-two years. 

He could feel the mage’s magic weaving around him still, and he could feel the darkness creeping up on him. He sighed, went limp against the floor, and felt all his thoughts and feelings and strength drain from him like water in a tub, until he felt numb. A shell, to be used and reused and filled with whatever they wanted. 

You win, he thought, just before sleep took him. 

I surrender. I’ll do what you want. Just please make this stop. 

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke to the sound of screaming. 

It took him a moment to recognize it wasn’t his, and then he had to pinch himself to figure out it wasn’t a dream, and then he flinched at the loud clang of steel against steel coming from outside his door. It was too loud; his heartbeat pounded in his ears, the noise was too much from the silence he’d been in for a month. He curled up tight, covering his ears, feeling his breath come shorter and shorter. 

Fuck. He smelled smoke. Something was burning, there was a fire. He was going to die here, he thought hysterically, in a cell cold and alone and half-mad. He wanted Nilfgaard to save him; at least he knew they needed him, they were predictable. They wouldn’t kill him, and somehow that was a comfort to Jaskier. 

The door to his cell opened, the hallway glowed with fire burning orange behind his eyelids and Jaskier screamed, scrambling away from the intruder he could feel stepping towards him. It wasn’t Fringilla, he knew, and it wasn’t the Nilfgaardian soldiers, because the footsteps were too quiet. 

In another life, he might’ve recognized the strong scent of leather and sword oil, but he was too scared and everything was happening too fast, the light was too bright and everything was too loud, too much. 

Jaskier struggled against the arms wrapping around him, struggled with the blind desperation of a cornered animal. There came a displeased, confused grunt above him - good, he thought, they weren’t supposed to take him from Nilfgaard. Fringilla wouldn’t like it, and he had promised he’d be good for her if only to stop the isolation. He was so close to being free, as free as he could be, and now it was being ripped from him. 

Pain shot through him, but that was nothing new - he was starving, on the verge of panicking, nearly hyperventilating. He’d been in pain for a while now; it had become a fact of life to him. The strong arms fought against Jaskier as he thrashed in his blind panic, and it was only when they finally let him go that he scrambled away, to the far edge of the cell, until his back hit the bucket of water. He didn’t open his eyes, finding it hurt too much in the sudden light, and he covered his ears, curling up there. 

The footsteps came closer, slower this time, yet Jaskier could sense the edge of anxiety on the movements - makes sense, he thought. They were in a burning building, after all. Though, why they’d want to save him while risking themselves was beyond him. 

“Jaskier,” came the deep rumble, and something in Jaskier knew that voice. But - no, this couldn’t be real. This was like - it was so similar to another time he’d been kidnapped. Some bandits, a dark cell, a burning building, the Witcher he didn’t know anymore coming to rescue him just like this. This had to be a dream. Nilfgaard was fucking with him. 

He shook his head and curled up further. He was so tired of this, these dreams of things he’d been through, all the pain and hurt. Fringilla was effectively disillusioning him, ripping away all optimism he may have had about the world with cold, clean efficiency. He just wanted it all to stop. 

Jaskier felt the tears coming on, and he didn’t stop them. He started shaking, silently crying - he’d stopped talking around day twenty-eight. What was the point of talking or singing, anyway, when all it got him was a sore throat. No one cared about his thoughts or opinions anymore. 

This time, he didn’t fight against the arms that picked him up, even curled into the broad, armored chest that he found his body pressed against. He inhaled the scent of leather and sword oil and blood, and somewhere deep in him felt safe, like he knew this person wouldn’t hurt him. 

If only I knew his name, he thought before he shook weakly one last time and fell into unconsciousness. 

-0-0-0-

“What did they do to him?”

Jaskier was on something soft when he woke up, and there was talking around him. There were people around him, too, standing around his- 

His bed?

He pushed himself up without opening his eyes, suddenly panicking as the memories came back. He had been taken from Nilfgaard, taken from his only shot at relative freedom, and now he was going to be taken and tortured by whoever else wanted information from him. The same vicious fucking cycle, he just wanted out. They already broke him, what more did they want? What more could anyone take from him now?

Hands came to rest in his hair, and Jaskier realized he had fallen back onto the bed and was panicking, he couldn’t breathe. The hand went back and forth, threading through his hair roughly but gently, and a voice that something locked away deep in Jaskier found soothing came with it. 

“In, out. Breathe, Jaskier. In, out.”

He couldn’t help but follow the instructions, slowly dragging his breathing and his heart rate down until he could slowly open his eyes, adjusting to the light and the noise. It was a shock to his body from spending so long in utter darkness - but, he was still in the darkness. This was a dream, brought on by Nilfgaard. Fucking with his head, as always. 

Huh. This was a different dream than Fringilla had ever given him, he thought as he looked around at the small, sparsely furnished cabin they were in. And, Fringilla had never allowed him to get to the actual escape when she made him relive his kidnappings and various tortures. She usually cut it off when he thought he was out, only to find himself back in the cold darkness of the Nilfgaardian cell. It was a brutally effective method of making him lose hope, he had to give her that. 

There was a Witcher right next to him, someone that seemed familiar, and somehow that didn’t strike fear into him like it should’ve. Well, he always had terrible self-preservation instincts. The sorceress with violet eyes standing near a wooden table didn’t strike fear into him, either, though they both looked as if they could snap him in half. 

Maybe Fringilla was ripping away his hope by giving him entirely new scenarios. It wasn’t necessary, he thought. They’d already broken him; she was wasting her energy. 

“Jaskier?”

That was the Witcher. He turned his gaze on him, staring into golden eyes and white hair and a face he should’ve recognized but really didn’t. He commended his past self, though, for managing to become friends with such a handsome man. Or, whatever they were. He didn’t care for deciphering the general feeling of safe that the Witcher gave him, underlaid by the faint needling of heartbreak. 

He didn’t say anything, either. Fringilla had taught him he needed to be quiet. No one cared about his thoughts and opinions anymore, and whatever Fringilla needed from him she could simply rip from his mind anyway. So could the violet-eyed sorceress, too, he figured. His voice wasn’t necessary - not that he wanted to talk, anyway. Thinking about talking and singing, being so loud and carefree, made something in him shrink away in fear and anger. He’d been so careless about others' feelings before, he hadn’t known just how to be quiet and good for them so he wasn’t annoying and a burden. 

“Jaskier? Can you hear me?”

He gave a soft hum and closed his eyes. That was all they needed. The darkness was better, anyway, softer and easier. Much less to think about in the darkness - he could already feel sleep tugging at him once again. 

His eyes flew open when there was a sharp pain in his side, and the sorceress was standing next to the Witcher. Her violet eyes burned, but they were also soft, holding compassion and sympathy and-

Jaskier didn’t want to think about that. It wasn’t his place to figure out others’ feelings - he was there only to give information and do what they’d like with. Something in him still rebelled at that idea, pounded against the door he’d locked it behind, but Jaskier paid no mind to it. It was locked away for a reason. 

“Jaskier,” the sorceress said sharply, and he resisted the urge to sigh. Of course he wouldn’t be allowed to sleep. 

The Witcher looked concerned. “What did they do? He’s not talking.”

The sorceress’s attention turned to the Witcher and Jaskier closed his eyes again, listening to their conversation in the background of the fuzziness of his head. 

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to recognize us.”

There it was again, that recognition. Both of them seemed familiar, but their names and the memories of them were behind that locked door, and opening that locked door was too difficult. It would make it worse for him - he remembered fighting when that door was open, being hurt, screaming, unimaginable pain ripping through him. 

It was better to keep the door closed. 

“Can you fix him?”

Jaskier wanted to laugh. Fix him. As if he needed fixing. He had broken for them, just like they wanted. He didn’t need to be fixed. 

“I’m not sure. Fringilla’s magic is powerful. She could have done any number of things to him and we’d never know unless I can get to his memories.”

These two were weird, Jaskier thought distantly. Acting as if getting to his memories was so difficult, when he knew she could just rip them from him with a flick of her fingers. She seemed to know Fringilla, she must know that Jaskier was theirs to do what they’d like with. It’s not like he had the power to defy them, anyway. His defiance was behind that locked door with the rest of his memories, and he wasn’t planning on opening it anytime soon. 

“Jaskier,” the sorceress said. He opened his eyes reluctantly and looked at her. “Can I go through your memories?”

He hummed again in affirmation and returned his gaze to the ceiling, studying the wood of the rafters and the beams crossing above him, bracing for the pain of having his memories searched through. The sorceress shared a worried look with the Witcher that Jaskier still didn’t understand, before two fingers landed on his forehead and the cold, icy feeling of magic washed over him. 

The sorceress’s touch was… gentle. There was none of the pain ripping through him that Fringilla had given him, he didn’t so much as whimper as he felt he’d magic poke and prod at his mind. He did twitch, though, he flinched and tensed up despite himself. 

The magic poked at the locked door and Jaskier gave a full-body flinch, jerking violently away, eyes widening as he shook his head. He felt her magic retreat instantly, and she gave a small gasp when she saw his visceral reaction. 

“Okay, okay,” she said soothingly, hands put up placatingly. “I won’t go there.”

Jaskier relaxed, though he was still wary, and the Witcher looked at her. “Go where? What did you see?”

The sorceress’s face fell, eyes grave and sad. 

“That’s the thing. I found nothing.”

-0-0-0-

“Nothing?”

Geralt frowned. He wanted to hit something, kill something. Jaskier had left him on the mountain, and now he was here after being tortured by Nilfgaard, and it was all his fucking fault for yelling at him on that damned mountain. 

Yennefer shrugged. “I didn’t find anything. He doesn’t have memories of us, or anything really. It’s just… cold and dark in there.”

Geralt sighed and resisted the strong urge to hit something right then and there. “What the fuck, Yen? How are we supposed to fix this?”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier, who had his eyes closed again and was unnaturally silent, like he had been since they found him in that cell. “I’d say he was guarding against his feelings.”

“What does that mean?”

She sighed and returned her gaze to Geralt’s worried golden eyes. “It’s a defense mechanism. People who are excessively tortured retreat into themselves. For some, it’s to prevent them from saying anything - if they don’t remember, they’re not useful. For Jaskier… I think it’s because of his feelings.”

Geralt stayed silent, though Yennefer could see the guilt flood his eyes, and she fixed him with a firm look. “What did you say to him on that mountain?”

He glanced down. “I told him… I wanted him gone.”

Yennefer watched him, but he didn’t continue and she didn’t push, though she knew there was more to it than that. She sighed. “Your bard has always felt too much. Far more than other people. Other people may be sad, but Jaskier is devastated, or lonely. If he’s happy, he’s not just happy. He’s ecstatic, joyful. You’ve seen him when he’s happy and you’ve seen him when he’s not. There’s a very visible difference there.”

“So whatever is said to him, or whatever he says himself, he feels on a far deeper level than anyone else I’ve known. And, I suppose, in that cell, he didn’t have anything to defend against his emotions, so he locked them away completely. Everything that made him feel pain was locked away, and everything that made him feel joy, or anger, or despair, was dragged with it too. We went with the rest of his memories.”

Geralt sighed. “Fuck.”

Yennefer nodded. “The Jaskier we know isn’t gone, just buried. And I can’t pull him out with magic.”

Geralt frowned. “Why not?”

“You saw him flinch, right? That’s when I touched the wall his memories were behind. He’s the one who locked away his own memories; I can’t just undo another mage’s magic here. It would be extremely painful, and also risky, to try to force him to open the door. We have to make him want to open it.”

Geralt deflated and groaned. “And how do we do that?”

Now Yennefer smirked, and Geralt knew he wasn’t going to like this. “Be nice to him. Treat him as a friend, not as someone you tolerate.”

Geralt could sense the bard’s breathing had evened out into sleep. “I don’t tolerate him,” he said defensively as Yennefer walked to the other table. 

“You have to show him that,” she replied.

Geralt frowned harder, but he looked at Jaskier laying on the bed, face peaceful in sleep, and knew he was going to do it. He’d do more things than he’d like to admit for Jaskier. 

“Fuck.”

“Swearing won’t heal him, Geralt.”

author’s note: because i’m paranoid that people won’t understand how jaskier broke, i’m going to explain it here. next chapter i’ll explain why he won’t come back because this kinda turned into an essay 😅

the whole premise of the fic is that jaskier feels too much. he could be completely overwhelmed and controlled by his emotions, or he could cope with them, like he does normally. nilfgaard found out that emotions were his weakness when fringilla rifled through his mind, hence the reliving memories, especially the most recent, freshest, deepest wound - the mountain.

without coping mechanisms, without light or human contact or even food, jaskier had no defense against his emotions. nothing distracted him from thinking about what geralt said, thinking about everything in his life that someone said he was annoying or too much, or left him because of it. so his memories brought on emotions and he had no defense against them.

so he locked away his memories, for two reasons. one, memories means that he fights for something - getting out of nilfgaard, getting back to geralt, etc. fighting means nilfgaard hurts him more, and solitary confinement is harsh torture. so no memories means not remembering what he’s fighting for, means no fighting, means no pain. and two, memories means he feels everything the memories brought on, and no memories means not as many feelings, like numbing a wound, hence no pain.

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 11

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 11): 3,692

Word Count (Total): 35,270

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

17th April, 1998 (continued)

“What on earth do you mean by that?!” I scream before remembering once again that Harry can’t hear me. But Hermione can.

“What? Christ, what’s happened Draco?” She rushes from where she’s sitting under the tree, her notepad and pen forgotten. There’s a wild look in her eyes, like she’s going to go literally mad if I don’t tell her.

Swallowing drily I manage to whisper, “They’re in there, Hermione. They are actually in there, with dozens of guests.”

“Dozens…” Her voice is filled with fear. “Anyone recognisable?”

“Not to Harry,” I say. “Hold on, he’s speaking.”

“They are in the living room too, Draco. Another 30 at least.” Harry’s words cut off for a second, as he presumably looks around from the vent. “I don’t know any faces, but names could be another story.”

I relay that to Hermione, and she hurriedly grabs at the notepad and writes it down, still standing. “Should he progress, or do we want to utilise him here?” I ask, thinking that she will have a clearer head than me. But why should she? She’s his best friend, and I’m… what am I to him?

“Progress as usual, I think. Now we know it’s possible, he can always go back in,” she reasons. Nodding at the logic there, I ponder about how we’re going to instruct Harry. I share the concern aloud, before it hits me like a Bludger. Quickly stealing Hermione’s paper and pulling a quill from my pocket, I scribble the message. Squeezing my eyes shut and praying that this works, I telepathically send him mh memory of writing the words.

“Instructions received, continuing ahead as planned.” Harry’s voice instantly soothes me, and my hammering heart slows a little. He understood.

“He got the message,” I say out loud, happiness clear in my tone.

“Brilliant,” Hermione says on a sigh of relief. She carefully makes her way back to the tree, sliding down the bark and to the ground. Tapping the grass next to her, she beckons me to follow. I do as she says and make myself comfortable. I look at her for a second, wondering about the Golden Trio’s relationship. Harry is in the very centre of this war, the only person who can ultimately defeat the Dark Lord. Weasley and Hermione are off to the side, heroes only because they befriended him when they were eleven years old. They must be constantly worried about his well-being, as well as being concerned for their own. Because they are targets too. Get to either of them, get to Harry. And now I’m in the picture, not that I ever wasn’t. It’s just that now it’s the Dark side trying to get to me. And it’s also Harry keeping me safe. Another blow against both him and I in their minds. Another reason to take him down. It makes me all the more determined to not let any harm come to him.

“Draco?” Something is clutching my shoulder and shaking me, and my head snaps up. As my vision clears I see that it’s Hermione, her face slightly panicked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I stumble. “Just thinking.”

“Whatever about? You looked murderous.”

“That’s… not important,” I reply. She does not need to know how deep my feelings are, regardless of the fact that she already knows that they exist.

“Harry, yeah?”

“Fucking Merlin!” I retort. She makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes at how observant she is. “How on earth could you know that?”

She ignores my cursing, but fixes me with an odd look. “I didn’t, not really. I do know however, that nothing between you two is ever simple.”

“And what is that meant to mean?”

“That for you both, it’s always all or nothing. And you are definitely not feeling nothing.”

“But Harry is…” I mutter beneath my breath. I instantly regret it as her eyes light up. That only happens when she is about to argue her point, and win. I refuse to give her the satisfaction, no matter that I kind of want her to win this one.

“That is where you’re wrong, Draco. And you know that, because I told you so ten minutes ago.” One of her hands threads through her hair, tugging at it in frustration. “Why do you never listen?”

“I do! I take your advice more than I probably should,” I confess.

“Not when it comes to Harry!” She sounds exasperated, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Because it simply can’t be true,” I state, staring into her eyes so she sees my sincerity. “Nothing will ever happen, because it can’t. We are on other sides of this war.”

“You used to be,” she argues. “Not any more.”

“But no one else will know that. I will also be seen as the boy from the other side.”

“But you are not. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise Draco.” She pauses, allowing a fond expression to cross her features. “Besides, Harry’s never cared what others think about his choices.” With that, she sits back down and starts writing again. Sighing, I sit down too and wait for anything else Harry has to say.

***

A couple of very long hours later, and Harry is Apparating back out of the wards and into the cover of the trees. I see him first and leap to my feet. My movement announces his arrival to Hermione, who jumps up as well. We both rush at the man who just infiltrated the Dark Lord and my father’s lair, all but clinging to him. Hermione gets the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, but I stop myself complaining because that means I can rest my arms on the slimmest part of his waist. His skin is hot beneath his shirt, and I desperately want my hands on his bare skin. But I don’t allow myself the temptation, and carefully step back. Hermione lets go a second later, a blush creeping up her face.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know if I’d see you again,” she whispers into his neck.

“Me either,” he confesses. His eyes flicker to me, an unreadable emotion carefully contained inside. My heart clenches, my palms growing sweaty. Harry looks like a god, even with his ruffled hair and his bloodied face. Bloodied face? I scan my eyes over him, trying to find where the red smudge has come from. Fixing them in a shallow cut on his cheek, I walk forward so I’m closer to him again. I reach my hand up and tentatively run my fingers over the cut. Harry visibly winces, his green eyes clouding over in what must be pain, and I hurriedly withdraw it. Harry’s face grows pink, and with his eyes still glossy he looks almost flustered. Ignoring the heat that is quick long pooling in my stomach, I drop my hand off his warm skin and step back again. I force my hands behind my back, grasping them firmly to stop them trying to reach for him again.

Hermione behind me tuts in annoyance, and I think I know why. I hear movement from where she is standing, and then she comes into view behind Harry. Her bushy hair sticks out from her head, obscured by Harry’s own. She moves forward so that she’s extremely close to him, and a trill of jealousy coils in my gut. She’s allowed to be so open with her affections, but if I make mine know he’ll surely reject them. I can’t allow myself to hope otherwise. Hermione turns his head and whispers something into Harry’s ear. His face instantly heats more than I previously thought possible, and he helplessly shakes his head. Hermione isn’t taking no for an answer, and spins him around to face her. She tries to murmur again, and again there’s a shake of a head. I stare at them, trying to figure out what they’re saying. But Hermione is clever, and has covered her mouth so I can’t lip read. This time when Harry moves, it’s a brief shrug of his shoulders. Hermione looks exasperated, but she drops it all the same.

“Tell us about what you heard,” she suggests as she takes out her notebook again and steps back around.

“How did you know I heard something else?” Harry demands with a soft chuckle.

“Yes, news of dozens of people inside the Manor is bad, but not bad enough to put that weight on your shoulders or that look in your eyes.” Hermione shakes her head, annoyed that she still needs to explain in herself in a situation like this.

Stories race through my mind of things my father used to tell me about the Manor as a child. At first, they seem irrelevant. Tales of the House Elves and the wards that keep evil people out. But then a particular one shows up, and I sharpen the memory as much as possible.

It’s night, and eight year old me is sitting on the leather sofa next to my father. Mother is out shopping for presents, as it’s nearly Christmas, leaving us alone in the house. He tells me about special spells that can eavesdrop on specified areas, ones that can capture the scene like a memory in a pensive or a muggle camera. He said that those spells would be incriminating evidence if anyone ever tried to hurt us. Now though, the memory of the conversation is startling and the meaning is very, very obvious.

“No!” I call out, all the authority I can muster put into my voice. It’s a command, not to be argued with. Harry instantly falls silent, Hermione’s pen slowing down as she finishes the note.

“What?” Harry asks, cutting straight to the point and turning curious eyes on me.

“I remembered something. We need to leave,” I say, conviction strong in my tone.

“Ok.” Hermione waves her wand and gathers all of her things, grabbing ahold of Harry and me. Before Harry can get a word out, she has Apparated us back to Grimmauld Place.

The sun is slanting through half-closed blinds, coating the drawing room in an orange glow. It feels almost eerie. Threatening in its accuracy to how we are all feeling.

“What the fuck happened there?!” Harry demanded, throwing his hands up but not stepping further away from Hermione and I.

I reach a hand out to him, placing it carefully on his shoulder. He visibly shudders, and I withdraw the hand. Halfway back to my side though, I’m flooded with confidence, and put it back. “My father told me something when I was about eight,” I begin. “Stories of the Manor and everything in it. About how safe we were there, as no one could touch us.” I pause, looking Harry dead in the eyes. “He spoke of special wards, detection spells. One of those spells is an eavesdropping spell.” I wait for the meaning to sink in, and watch as Harry’s face drains. “It is untraceable, and you would never know if it was activated.”

“You’re saying…” Hermione starts, “that someone could have been listening to us the whole time we were there.” It isn’t a question. She knows she’s right. I nod.

All the information we collected and discussed, just for someone else to hear it. They know what we know. And then the realisation fully hits me. Shit.

“We need to move. Now!” I nearly scream. Harry summons everything we just brought with us and grabs me. Hermione throws a hand over mine and I Apparate us away. We jump four times. The first three are just to get far enough away, but the last one is vital. I’m taking us to Rivington Woods.

***

“Sorry,” I gasp out as I collapse to the ground. Leaves crunch beneath me and a stick digs into my back, but I’m too exhausted to move. I feel a shift in the air next to me, and watch as Harry lays down too. My eyes roam over him, double and then triple checking that he isn’t splinched. Then I turn around and look for Hermione. She is already walking around and setting up wards. She’s had a lot of practise.

“Let me explain,” I manage to say in a raspy whisper. Harry nods and reaches a hand to me as I turn back to face him. “If they heard everything,” I begin, “they would’ve heard Grimmauld be mentioned. That’s also where they took Mother from.” My heart clenches at the mention of my missing mother. We never found her at the Manor, and I can only hope she’s okay. “They know what we know, and can use it against us. They heard Rivington Woods mentioned, but I’m not sure Weasley is actually here, is he?”

Harry shakes his head. “It was part of a plot Hermione had. He’s actually in the Forest of Dean.”

I exhale in relief. “Well, they now also know for a fact that I am with you.” I feel my cheeks hurt. “Not- not with you, per se, just with you-”

“Draco.” Harry’s thumb rubs comfortingly over my hand. “I know what you mean,” he says. His skin is tinged slightly pink.

“When you guys have stopped talking, we still have more notes to write,” Hermione calls from somewhere behind me.

I rush to stand up and nearly fall over again as my vision spots. I throw a hand out to find something to hold onto, and it lands on something firm and warm. Once I have my balance back, I open my eyes and see my hand splayed across Harry’s chest. His head is cocked to the side, a smirk across his lips. I pull away instantly, blushing further. Notes. Right. Something to focus on that isn’t how strongly I’m being pulled towards Harry. Harry goes stiff, his posture shifting so that he’s standing straight. The only thing that gives away his dread is the caved-in shoulders, scrunching inward to protect his chest.

Harry’s mouth moves almost silently as he whispers something. I have no hope of understanding the barely-there whisper, and apparently neither does Hermione.

“Harry, you’ll need to speak up.” Hermione taps her pen impatiently against her notepad.

“Two weeks…” Harry murmurs, slightly louder. “Two weeks.” Again, firmer.

“Two weeks… until what?” Hermione asks, although the lack of shine in Harry’s eyes is enough for me to realise exactly what he is saying.

“Oh no.” Gasping, I sink to my knees on the cold, hard dirt. That’s not nearly enough time to prepare. My world is spinning around me, threatening to collapse in. Not only is my father getting closer to finding me, and no doubt torturing me to death, but also… this.

“Draco?” Harry whispers into my ear, afraid I’ll break. I think I might.

I shake my head and an arm wraps around my neck and waist. The skin is warm and solid, and soon I’m engulfed with comfort. Harry always knows what to do to make me feel better.

Relaxing into the touch, I manage to calm myself down and stand up again. Harry grins at me and I can’t bring myself to move his arms away from my skin.

“Can someone please tell me what just happened?” Hermione asks, clearly not keeping up with the realisation still fresh in my mind, regardless of Harry’s comforting presence.

“Two weeks until my father and his lord make a move.”

Hermione’s mouth drops open, her hand stilling halfway through a word. “What?!”

Harry nods solemnly, squeezes me, and then walks over to her. Air meets the warmth Harry’s skin left on me and goosebumps rise on my neck.

“Technically, it’s two weeks tomorrow. May second.”

“Did you hear any of the plan?” Hermione’s voice is called and disattached, back in work mode.

“No.” Harry shakes his head in annoyance. “I only know that it’s in the evening, in the Department of Mysteries.” Of course, the Unspeakables. It seems like months since I learnt of that idea. I guess no one wanted to change the goal, even knowing that I know it.

“So they’re going ahead with it then,” I say. “This is the plan they were trying to involve me in before I left.” Hermione nods at my little bit of context and jots it down.

Harry moves back to my side, so close our arms are nearly touching. “We need to inform the others,” he declares. “The second is very early May. We were preparing for about the tenth, so plans will need to be sped along.”

“You already have things organised?” I shouldn’t be surprised, not really. It is a war after all. It would be stupid not to be ready, especially when was able to give them some information. Still, I would’ve liked to have been aware.

“Sorry for not telling you Draco, it’s nothing personal.” Harry smiles a small smile at me, but I feel distant and unsure.

Nothing personal. This whole time, I have been growing steadily closer to Harry. Developing feelings I’ve never felt before, and here he goes saying it’s ‘nothing personal’. I take a step away and nod rapidly.

“Of course. Nothing personal, you did what you had to to prepare.”

“Draco?” Harry asks, hearing the coolness I’ve forced into my voice. “Are you alright?”

“Quite alright.” Turning around, I take a step away into the forest.

A hand on my wrist forces me to a halt. It’s too small to be Harry’s, meaning it’s Hermione who is currently preventing me from disappearing. Determined as always, I don’t turn to face her when she speaks.

“Draco, he doesn’t mean it like that.” Her voice is calm, reassuring. Exactly what I need but not what I want to hear. I would rather sink into the feeling of loneliness, at least that’s comforting.

“You know he doesn’t mean it like that.”

“Of course I don’t!” I snap as I whirl around. That seems to have got her attention. “I don’t know anything! Because he never fucking talks to me about anything irrelevant to the war or my ‘condition’,” I argue. And it’s true, I tell myself. The fact that we sit a bit too close to each other for friends, or that we use the disguise of being boyfriends whenever we’re out in public, aren’t important things. They can’t be, because Harry clearly doesn’t feel the way I do.

“Of course he does…” Hermione murmurs.

“Wait what?” I double take.

“Of course he feels the same way, Draco.”

“Did I say that out loud?” Idiot, clearly I did.

Hermione doesn’t move, just looks at me with eyes filled with curiosity.

A stick breaks behind me and I jump. Pivoting around, I’m met with sad, green eyes. Harry.

“You- you weren’t meant to hear that…” I utter.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just steps closer to me and pulls me towards him.

“Oh Draco,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

I tug myself out of his grasp. “You’re sorry that I like you?! That’s great Harry, just great.” I turn to seek Hermione, but see that she’s already vanished. Apparated off to her boyfriend probably.

“Draco!” Harry shouts after me. “That’s not what I meant at all you prat!”

“Then what the fuck did you mean by that?!” I spit. “How else could I possibly have taken that statement?!”

Harry walks closer and holds my upper arms to my body. “I like you, you absolute prick.” He stares right into my eyes, and I feel like the earth is going to swallow me.

“I like you, despite everything that this world has thrown at us.” Harry waves a hand at us, and I swallow hard. “Despite you being a fallen angel, despite your father and Voldemort trying to kill us, despite our less-than-great history. Draco, how could you ever think otherwise?”

“I don’t know…” I whisper.

Harry is so close to me my brain is melting and I’m no longer thinking straight. My gaze slides down to his lips for a split second before I pull them back to his eyes. They are sincere and filled with longing, and I don’t know how I managed not to realise. I shrug Harry’s hands off me so I can move, and throw myself at him. Our chests collide with a dull thud and I wrap my arms around his neck. Our faces are nearly touching, mine slightly higher than Harry’s. His eyes are even more green this close up, his glasses reflect me in the transparent and fragile lense. Harry shifts his arms so they are around my waist, and pulls me that last fraction closer.

When our lips finally meet, my eyes slide closed and I sigh heavily. We fit perfectly together. I slowly start to respond to his insistent kiss, marveling at how right this feels. How right we feel. Harry is the one that opens his mouth first, but I stop it there. Today is not the time to snog in a forest. He understands doesn’t try again, just allows his hands to rub circles on the small of my back. When we finally break apart, Harry is smiling a silly grin at me and I feel impossibly stupid.

“I’m so sorry that I’m so oblivious,” I say.

“You? Ron told me today that you like me. Right before we left for the Manor, actually.”

“Yeah. Well Hermione told me at the Manor!”

Harry shakes his head. “The fact that Ron, who hasn’t seen you at all while you’ve been here, had to tell me, means I was clearly the more oblivious.”

Sighing, I say, “Well, you are a Gryffindor.”

“And what exactly is that meant to mean?!” Harry asks with mock exasperation.

“Nothing,” I reply. “Just that Gryffindors are known to not be the brightest.” I allow a smirk to cross my face.

“Explain Hermione then, mister I-have-a-response-for-everything.”

“She is merely an exception.”

Harry scowls, and I’m overwhelmed with the desire to kiss it away. Remembering what just happened, I finally give in to something I want, and do just that.

***

A/N: I’m finally back with an update! This has only taken like three months... I will never abandon this, don’t worry, I was just hit with a bout of procrastination and writers block. So sorry for the (extremely) long wait. Love you all Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

@draconianhorntail @p3trovass @edgy-things @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @lafilleetlechatnoir @rebelwolf91017 @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile @uniquehorn167 @champagnemonarch

[herose]

𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  .   please  repost – don’t  reblog, thank you ! answer the following for your muse so people know how shipping works on your blog.

001 . what is your otp for your character ?

i think we all know the answer to this.  jandon, c’mon.   i just think the exploration of relationships that are meant to happen  just for now and develop in to something more are so rarely explored.   they’re so good to each other,   so good  with  each other,   communicate alarmingly well ...   angels.   of course there are problems,  but i think they ultimately understand each other in a very beautiful way.   other than that ...   i don’t have  enough  crossover ships on here.  normally those are my lifeblood plsss.    i think my some favorites that i’m developing are landon/erica with @glassae  (  i love complicated friendships and childhood crushes  )   and landon/maggie with @cravesfreedom​ even if we haven’t really written them because it’s one of those crossover ships and partner dynamics i just know is gonna be good. 

002 . what are you willing to write when it comes to shipping ?

pretty much anything but abuse or huge age gaps.   honestly,  i don’t mind slightly toxic ships as long as both parties are aware that it’s toxic.   those can be fun to write the emotions of,  and they just happen all the time.   but mostly i really like friends to lovers or enemies to friends to lovers the most. 

003 . how large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable ?

as a teen,  or even in his early twenties,  landon wouldn’t date people more than two years younger than him...   probably two years older than him is the cut off until the start of his mid twenties,   i used to be so in to age gaps and now i’m like....  w h a t   was i thinking as a teenager? 

004 . are you selective when shipping ?

not at all.  as long as we have writing chemistry and i feel like you don’t mind how excitable i am,  i’m super open.  probably more selective for things i anti ship in canon,  like han/don, etc etc. 

005 . how far do steamy moments have to go before they are considered nsfw  ?  

if there’s any mention of genitals,  even with clothes on...  then i start tagging.  honestly,  i’m so lazy with physical descriptors the description of making out even is ...  like why am i doing this if its not sm*t.   idk i don’t do ns/fw threads for a reason. 

006 . who are other characters you ship your character with ?

i don’t ship hand/on in canon,  but i do love an alternate universe with them.   i have a verse with  @nexusvorti​  that i really dig between hope and lan.   other than that i used to ship the idea of landon/mg but now that’s really complicated,  so i doubt i’d ever get to write it.  and we all know i want my landon / dawn sum.mers crack ship thank u.

007 . does one have to ask to ship with you ?

i mean we should definitely talk first.  i do better with shipping when we can exchange headcanons or i can feel like... excited and send gifsets to you and stuff.   but if you feel like our characters are vibing,  i probably do, too.   

008 . ship obsessed, or ship more-or-less ?

ship obsessed !   of course, i love and write other things,  but honestly right now i’m pro-just admit you like romantic shipping and normalize it again.   and this is from someone who pretty much values all friendship over romance in their personal life.   i just think that we’ve shamed people a little... and for a good reason to start with.   of course we want there to be clear enthusiasm in shipping,  and no forced ships.   and of course we want to lift up aro ace people and a plethora of other dynamics.   but rp is similar to fic writing,  which is largely ship driven.   and also romance is a genre people can like.   and that’s okay !   so i guess i’m in between but politically ship obsessed.   

009 . are you multi-ship ?

lmaoooo there’s no world where i wouldn’t be. 

010 . what is your favourite ship in your fandom ?

hizzie nation BABYYY and jandon and hafael. 

011 . finally, how does one ship with you ?

 fill out my interest tracker.   send me some memes.   we’ll talk.   i can whip something up and we can bounce ideaaaas. 

TAGGED BY  :  stolen from @boycrowned

TAGGING  :  anyone who wants

[gibberingcultist]

The Forgotten Age

We think we know the history of the Earth, but there are secrets that lie beyond our reckoning and truths that could undo our entire understanding of the universe. When renowned historian Alejandro Vela discovers one of these secrets, the ruins of an ancient and forgotten Aztec city, it sets into motion a plot that could unravel the very fabric of time.

Designers: Matthew Newman Artists: Andreas Adamek, Justin Adams, W. T. Arnold, Borja Pindado Arribas, Cristi Balanescu (cover), + 55 more! Players: 1-4 (best at 3 per BGG). But I would say Arkham Horror LCG is always best at 2 players. Playtime: 60-120 minutes per scenario. BGG Weight: 3.86 / 5 Mechanisms: Action Point Allowance System, Cooperative Play, Deck / Pool Building, Hand Management, Role Playing, Variable Player Powers

I am so far behind schedule on all these Arkham Horror LCG expansions and mythos pack reviews. The Dream-Eaters Cycle was recently released and already FFG has two more Arkham Horror LCG box expansions planned for the near future. The Innsmouth Conspiracy and potentially something called The War of the Outer Gods. We shall see if that second title is accurate or not in due time. Either way I can already see the money draining from my wallet like venom from a serpent’s fangs.

This will actually be my second time playing through The Forgotten Age expansion. The first time was with a party of three and we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. I found my first overall experience with TFA to be a incredibly frustrating. It was a grueling, torturous journey through the Mexican rain forest. We picked all the wrong supplies for all the wrong characters it seemed.

So after it was all said and done, I was pretty sure that I wasn’t ever going to play this expansion again. But with recently finishing The Circle Undone and not having all the mythos packs for the Dream-Eaters Cycle in my possession, I caved and returned to base camp to go on the expedition all over again. This time with a better idea of what will be needed. Characters with very high agility and well…. blankets. Why didn’t my first expedition group take basic bedding with them?! I’m surprised we even had boots on our feet, we were so unprepared for survival in the outdoors. Hopefully the second time through will be a little smoother.

We think we know the history of the Earth, but there are secrets that lie beyond our reckoning and truths that could undo our entire understanding of the universe. When renowned historian Alejandro Vela discovers one of these secrets, the ruins of an ancient and forgotten Aztec city, it sets into motion a plot that could unravel the very fabric of time.

So as I already mentioned, knowing how important agility is for your investigators; my girlfriend and I selected the two investigators from the The Forgotten Age campaign with the highest agility (feetsies). These two also seemed to have the highest potential for the most bonus actions in a round, which is always a good thing to have in this god-forsaken game. We chose Ursula Downs and Finn Edwards. We can’t help but think that Finn is really just allowing himself to be employed by Ursula to get himself away from some sort of shady business dealings back home. Or to make a hefty profit selling all of our equipment and provisions. Because why else wouldn’t we have blankets?! I swear that stuff is getting stolen from under us.

“I have had it with these motherfucking snakes in this motherfucking jungle!” The pit vipers aren’t too bad as long as you are as spry and nimble as Ursula and Finn. We were able to stay ahead of the sneks by constantly moving and clearing each location of clues as quickly as possible. The Boa was a bigger concern as he was hunting us through most the scenario. We don’t plan on killing anything with vengeance points. IF we can help it that is. Neither of us really had any weapons readied during this scenario anyway. Just the trench coat on our backs and the track shoes on our feet. We were bouncing all over the jungle like gummy bears hopped up on Ayahuasca juice (is that a thing?).

Once confronted by Ichtaca, Keeper of the Etzli, we really had no choice but to parlay with her. I’m not sure why Alejandro Vela is so opposed to working with the locals (at this point in the game). Sounds like he’s part of the White Savior Industrial Complex. We discovered the Etzli ruins, thanks to Ichtaca and left behind a wake of snakes (very much alive mind you) and watchful Guardians. Rushing exploration and clue gathering was the way to go for this scenario. Very thematic and fun.

In this first scenario, one gets introduced to the exploration deck. Where one could potentially lose his/her movement actions based on what cards are randomly drawn from a small shuffled deck. A deck consisting of a handful of treacheries mixed in with a variety of potentially discoverable locations. I guess I don’t mind the exploration deck mechanic. More times than not, we will unluckily draw all the treachery cards rather quickly. So we take the explore action early knowing full well that we are going to draw treachery cards. After all the treachery cards have been randomly drawn and discarded, THEN we can explore without fear or consequence. And that’s a great feeling.

Welp. So much for trying to maintain zero vengeance points. Yig’s fury went from 0 to 5 in just one scenario. We were rapidly overwhelmed with serpent humanoids and barely got out of the Etzli temple with the Relic of Ages in hand. It’s almost as if investigators were meant to die/lose this scenario. Ursula suffered a mental trauma after being hounded by Yig’s minions every step of the way. Her treachery card was what did her in though. She was unable to heed the Call of the Unknown after taking such a beating from the treachery filled exploration deck.

We both found this scenario too frustrating. The difficulty ramped up to 11 and we were still ill prepared for such things. None of our weapons were even drawn during this game, so once again we just had to keep moving. Trying our best to stay ahead of the wave of snake creatures. The only reason Finn was able to get out of the temple, after snagging the Relic of Ages, was because he was lucky enough to draw his I’m outta here! card right when he needed it most. There was no way he was going to make it past the 7 or 8 monsters in his linear path. This relic better be worth it.

….Aaand it’s gone. We lost the relic. Or Harlan did. Whoever the fuck he is. We chose to keep the relic safe by giving it to some rando in passing. Then we are shocked when the supposedly trusty vagabond up and leaves town. Great.

Threads of Fate was another rather frustrating scenario with a ungodly amount of enemies. The moment we were able to eliminate just one of the Haunting Nightgaunts terrorizing us, we would advance the agenda deck, reshuffle the discard pile, only to draw the very same Haunting Nightguant! GAH! These guys are tough as well, 4HP, running away from them is hard due to doubling the negative modifiers. Terrifying creatures.

It was neat that there were multiple Acts or multiple storylines (threads) to follow and investigate. We were only able to fully complete one of the three but at least the scenario still rewarded us for making an attempt at the others. In that you receive some bonus experience points for just getting past Act 1 of each deck. Alejandro Vela was rescued and now resides in one of our decks. I would have preferred to have the Relic but circumstances prevented us from making it so.

Wait, it was all a dream?! But I consumed actual gas in driving to this fever dream. I want my gas supply point back. The Boundary Beyond would be strike 3 for us. Another overly frustrating scenario with too many monsters and a damn near impossible end goal. We were suppose to lose weren’t we? Considering we only managed to get 3 out of the 6 locations explored correctly, and then wiped of clues before being overwhelmed by enemies. The added penalties for exploring was very rough and we felt it… hard. Like for instance, one location forced you to take a physical damage to take the explore action. Which inevitably resulted in drawing a treachery card, making the damage you received to draw the treachery even more painful. So consume another precious action, take another physical damage, and try your luck again!

The Harbinger of Valusia once again made his appearance known. A damn near impossible enemy to combat while also trying to achieve your necessary win condition. With Alert and Retaliate active even when exhausted, the Harbinger is going to just decimate anyone interested in doing any amount of damage to him. Especially book nerds like us. We were able to inflict 2 damage on him though before getting TKO’ed. 2 damage out of his 20hp! I feel like we should be further down on his health track. Ugh.

During set-up, players are instructed to set aside the Agenda 3 and Act 3 cards. I imagine this is to mislead the players about the intended length of the scenario? And well… it worked! During what we thought was our very last turn (before the agenda would advance), we both made some hail mary plays to try and acquire as many clues/locations as possible before ending the scenario. Only to find out, the scenario wasn’t over. By the time we realized we had more rounds at our disposal, we were either already eliminated or stuck in some impossible situation. I can see that designers are looking to subvert players expectations in whatever means possible, but this ended up just frustrating my girlfriend to the point that she considered quitting the campaign all together. She is calling AH-LCG an abusive relationship. Wondering why we keep going back to it.

The Story So Far

Wait. Why are we back in the jungle again?! Let’s recap. Going back a few scenarios, we uncovered information on a secret cabal, called the Brotherhood, who had interests in the Eztli relic (missing!). This Brotherhood also had a great deal of information on Alejandro’s previous expedition into the Mexican rain forest. According to Ichtaca, the Brotherhood is seeking a place called the Nexus of N’kai. OK fine. So without any other bit of information given by Ichtaca, we set off on another expedition back to the relic’s original location. For what I imagine is to seek out additional clues in regards to the power behind the relic.

During our road trip to Mexico City, Alejandro voices his opinion that the documented symbols adorning the relic is not of Mayan or Aztec heritage. Hmm…ok.

We putz around Mexico for a while, eating lots of fish tacos and drinking lots of margaritas (or so I imagine), but doing not much else. A week later, Ichtaca FINALLY decides it’s time perform some sort of cryptic incantation, alone in her room. An event that results in a dream like scenario which gives us some insight. Insight into (Tenochtitlan locations?) a cave that Ichtaca believes is the path that leads to the Nexus. She wants us to go with. Do we have time to grab some Pozole before we go? I think so.

Part 1

The first half of the Heart of the Elder’s mythos pack seems more of a catch-up scenario. Because we only received insight on 3 of the 6 paths/stone pillars outside the cave, we had to spend some days trying to decode the other 3. The stone pillars are essentially the lock tumblers allowing access to the cave maw.

I find it hard to believe Ichtaca had been running all over this jungle, secretly protecting the relic from outsiders, and never once discovered or learned about this cave. And if she did know of it, why did it take so long for her to explore it? And it she did explore it, why didn’t she know the 6 paths from the start?! Gah!

We did not like this part of the scenario. It felt like another throw away scenario that really wasn’t needed. It took two attempts at it to get the remaining 3 paths. Our first day/attempt resulted in no additional paths and Ursula ended up dying to the snake monsters. On the second day, a replay of the same scenario mind you, we had much better luck in not drawing snake monsters to hound us the entire time. So that helped us focus on clue gathering. The whole idea of playing the same scenario over and over again until you achieve some specific goal, rubs me the wrong way. Repetition in this regard is no fun. We also were annoyed that progressing the Act deck, which is normally a good thing to advance, significantly hampered our overall goal. So on the second day, knowing that it would be detriment to advance the Act deck, we advanced it only when we were ready to take on the additional headache.

Part II

After we gained access to the cave, we had a good spelunking time getting clues and discovering locations. It’s as if clue gathering is what we excel at. We lucked out on drawing a minimal amount of enemies during the mythos phase. Which helped us deal with everything else thrown at us. We felt like we had plenty of time to achieve the overall objective and we got a heck of a lot of XP from this scenario (both parts 1 and 2). Which makes the sting of part 1 a little less so. Part 2’s flavor text alludes to a Journey to the Center of the Earth type inner world, taking place below ours. Which is kind of neat.

The end of the scenario was a little confusing. Alejandro betrayed us?! He was working in unison or is commanding some sort of alien race to find and gain access to Yoth, cavern of the serpents? Why? I take it Alejandro is a member of the Brotherhood, which would explain why they had information on Alejandro’s expedition. It was information of the inside variety lols. My girlfriend thought the entire campaign was over after reading “It is your last human memory.” So we just died?! Not quite.

Alejandro was working with scientific, alien creatures? Hah! So we got mind-swapped with a couple Yithians and mentally transported to some unknown location beyond space and time that acts as a mass-information compiler. What are the aliens doing with our physical bodies right now? The other aliens didn’t seem to mind us wandering around their utopian society. That is until we fucked with their experiments. I suppose we would be the real aliens at this point. We had a lot of fun playing this scenario. This would be the first time, in publication order, that your investigator’s card gets swapped out for another scenario specific one. The next instance of this taking place during the prologue of The Circle Undone campaign. Both enjoyable experiences.

We slithered around, doing our best to hold on to our items with our noodly appendages. We did manage to perform all six of the necessary intellectual pursuits before mind-melding back into our original bodies. AKA we were a rightful pains in the ass. 9 xp from this scenario! So that’s very nice. This scenario required a lot of card-play. Mostly we used our cards just for the modifier icons to pass tests. As your Yithian character card allowed for the doubling of icons for one card per test. This coupled with our ever reducing max-hand size, made the end goal of holding 10 cards at once a rather tricky puzzle to figure out. We would not have achieved this goal had it not been for our new pen-pal, the Custodian, and the best room in the house, the Yithian Orrery.

What were we suppose to do with the Out of Body Experience treachery cards? I was never instructed in the setup but I feel like these should have been shuffled into our decks at some point. The backside of the Yithian investigator cards have Do you remember…? in the Deckbuilding Requirements section. So maybe it was a mistake in that these treachery cards should have been included in our decks to start. Not sure. We didn’t utilize them. This will probably be corrected in the Return to.

Now lets see what Alejandro and his alien buds were up to while we took a mental holiday.

I hear people play this scenario just to see how far down into the depths they can get before they are torn to shreds. We got to level 5 (the bare minimum) and immediately got the hell out of there! One could get a significant amount of XP on this scenario though. If everyone is well suited for fighting monsters and dealing with the ever growing pain that is the chaos bag. We on the other hand are NOT well suited for dealing with monsters. Besides running away from them. Finn Edwards recently purchased a Ornate Bow which has been pretty damn effective at eliminating a bunch of annoying or persistent enemies. Enemies with the Hunter trait mostly. Lets hope the next scenario is more about getting clues and not fighting a Boss of some kind.

The Depths of Yoth is an alright concept for a scenario but just like in a previous scenario (The Heart of the Elders Part 1) you essentially just play the same mini-game multiple times. At least with this scenario, with the reset between floors/levels, the locations are randomized. Your starting location and which locations are available will be slightly different between floors. We quickly learned which icon to look for in order to find the Steps of Yoth (how to progress). And I’m so confused on what’s going on in the over-arching story that we don’t even care anymore. Both Ichtaca and Alejandro have turned on us and want the Relic of Ages for different reasons. Ichtaca, I believe wants to awaken Yoth for some terrible reason. Hopefully it will all make more sense after the next scenario.

We finished! …thank God/Yig. We did get an above-average ending. Resolution 1 if that does anything for you. We lost the original Relic of Ages so we didn’t get the best ending but we refused the tempting offers from both Ichtaca and Alejandro Vela and went about mending the tear in the fabric of time…ourselves somehow. Luckily for us, The Relic of Ages was rediscovered in A Pocket of Time which I suppose makes sense that we traveled through time and found a earlier/later version of the one we lost. I’m always impressed with the final scenarios of each of the major campaigns. This one was no different. The story seemed to come together. Both Ichtaca (Yig worshiper) and Alejandro (Yithian in disguise) had ulterior motives which is understandable. I liked that we could have sided with either of them to change the world as we know it forever.

We didn’t kill a single enemy this scenario. Besides those EZ-PZ cultists. So we were once again dogged by a myriad of serpent & elite enemies. We were use to though after the sixth or seventh scenario where that happened this campaign. Finn Edwards handled running away from 5 different monster enemies himself, each round for two or three rounds. One free evade, three normal evade actions, and a Leo De Luca evade action. While Ursula Downs worked vigorously at exploring and clearing clues from as many shattered locations as possible. Taking damage and horror when necessary. It worked. I can’t wait to go back to playing some Guardian and Survivor class characters. Or really anyone with dynamite

We don’t officially get to play the bonus, secret mission because we lost the Relic of Ages from our timeline but we will play it anyway just to see what it’s like. Going on the assumption that we didn’t hand a complete stranger one of the most powerful objects in the known universe. So we will play that next and I will report on it here.

Man, fuck this game. We got devoured by Yig pretty quickly in our attempt to undo our past mistakes. Turn Back Time has a cool concept but this scenario is not designed with pacifists like us in mind. It’s tough! Arm yourself to the teeth before entering the Eztli Ruins again! We didn’t REALLY deserve to unlock this scenario and we are going to continue acting like this scenario never happened. Our own form of time travel.

Now that we are done with this campaign we will play a Return To… or start The Dream-Eaters cycle and hope that our last Mythos pack gets delivered very soon.

In Summary

Of all the Arkham Horror campaigns that I’ve played, The Forgotten Age is and will remain my least favorite. With that said I was impressed by how many of the scenarios ended up having a decently high personal rating. This tells me that the scenarios themselves aren’t bad but the over-arching story and mechanisms introduced are what leaves a foul malignancy festering in my mind when contemplating The Forgotten Age. Mainly due to the frustrations with the exploration deck, the supply point system (never having what you need), and having to suffer the ridiculous amount of serpent creatures all looking to settle their poisonous fangs into your meaty neck. The Harbinger of Valusia is still out there, slithering around the jungle with a whopping 18 HP! Good luck with that Mexico.

Final Score (Avg)

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Susan scolding Billy for something and maybe says something in the heat of the moment like ”this is why your dad treat you like this” and Billy says that Neil is not his father. But Billy also feels that its his fault he blames himself for getting beaten. And he runhome to hop and collapse in his arm and stays there for a long time as hop comforts him

Ohmydearme okay i dunno if this is what you were thinking of but i got real angsty thinking about this and made myself wanna cry bc like??

{TW: implied homophobia, implied abuse}

Let’s collectively think about Billy at the grocery store (bc i don’t think i’ll ever get sick of thinking of Billy doing little mundane tasks like grocery shopping) to pick up some random things like milk and a box of pasta or something, when he turns down the dairy aisle and locks eyes w/ a red haired woman he hasn’t seen in months standing at the other end of the walkway.

Susan.

And Billy leaves the aisle immediately bc he’s not about to deal w/ this shit. He doesn’t want to see her and he doesn’t want to handle it. But she fucking follows him, no matter where he’s going she’s peering around corners and looking at him w/ her tired eyes and he’s just gonna leave at this point when she finally bumps into him.

“Oh! Billy! What a surprise. I’m actually glad to run into you.” She says, clearly nervous as she fixes her cardigan absent-mindedly.

Bullshit. You fucking forced this.

“Sorry, can’t say the same.” Billy says with that charming smirk he gives to all of the middle aged mothers in Hawkins, except this one is laced with poison and is aimed at someone who is most definitely immune to it.

“Come on now, Billy.” Susan’s eyebrows are furrowed, her eyes disapproving but still semi-fearful. Her eyes are always fearful. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

And Billy is standing there basically stranded with a row of cheeses on one side and ice cream on the other and this woman in front of him so he just sits in his hip and looks at her expectantly.

She clears her throat.

“I just… wanted to talk to you. Because… well… there’s no real easy way to say this, is there?”

She seems nervous. For a second Billy thinks this is going to turn into something about Neil. A million reasons why this woman would want to talk to him run through his head all at once. They all scare him, until he comes to find this isn’t about anything he was thinking of.

“It’s just, my friends have been telling me that they’ve been… seeing you with a boy. Pretty frequently. Sometimes they say you get rather close to him and… well they’re starting to question my parenting because they know I’ve been your mother for-”

“You’re not my mother.” Billy grinds out and it seems to take Susan aback.

“I- I… well yes, of course not. Of course not.” Her voice is quiet as she says it.

She looks at Billy with that same hint of fear in her eyes. Billy’s stare is stone. Susan continues.

“I just had to tell you that it’s all getting so… well so embarrassing, honestly.”

“Embarrassing?” Billy’s arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed.

“Yes. You’ve put me in an incredibly embarrassing situation. And I can only think of how embarrassing it must be for Maxine, too.”

Billy’s seeing more red than just Susan’s hair.

“Well Susan, I have good news for you. You’re out of my life now and what I do with the local boys is none of your fucking concern.” He’s smiling something poisonous and harsh that Susan would normally shrink at, and she does for a second, before she puffs herself up.

“That’s absolutely no way for you to speak to me, young man.”

Billy’s going to throw fists at the mozzarella balls next to him. He takes a heavy breath. Susan looks like she’s about to step on a real high fucking horse.

“I just had to tell you that people are starting to talk. They say you... you might be… that thing that your father always said you were.” She’s shaking her head, looking anywhere but Billy for a second. “I’m just showing concern for you, is all. I don’t understand this hostility-”

“Well I can explain it to you. It’s because this is none of your fucking concern. I left for a goddamn reason.”

“Billy, really-”

But Billy isn’t done. He takes a step forward, looking down on her with a stare to melt ice, his gaze completely blinded by the warm rage clouding his mind because he’s fucking pissed and his whole body is shaking and his hands are slowly morphing fists and then he’s growling:

“And it wasn’t to listen to shitty warnings about what your hive-mind, hope-to-be-divorcee friends think of me. I don’t fucking care, so kindly stop talking to me and go grab your low fat cream cheese and your copy of Cosmo and cry yourself to sleep about how your husband doesn’t touch you enough.”

His mind is completely fogged up and racing and it’s not until he’s done talking that he starts to see again. Starts to cool down enough to even register Susan’s face in front of him and it’s one of pure submissive fear. Something he thinks he’s felt before, just by looking at it. Susan has always had fear in her eyes, has never stood up for herself, and Billy is so sure this is going to be another instance bc nothing in his experience has ever proved otherwise. But suddenly her gaze hardens over and she starts breathing harder and she’s huffing like a fucking chain smoker before she says, with venom in her gaze:

“I used to question it, but really it’s no wonder that your father treated you the way he did.”

And in a split-second, Billy’s world freezes over. He’s been stuck with shot of ice. He’s completely frozen solid as he watches Susan’s face once again slip into that fearful submission. He thinks maybe she’s going to be as meek and timid as she always is. It was just a blip and she’s about to start apologizing profusely, like she always does when she makes somebody upset.

But no.

No, she hardens up. She straightens her back. She looks Billy dead in the eye. This is the rock she’s chosen to stand on. This is the comment she’s decided to stick up for. This is the side she’s chosen. It’s this. And it’s against Billy. It’s saying Billy deserved everything she’s seen Neil do to him.

It’s getting hard to see again, but this time it’s blurry instead of red.

“That man is not my fucking father.” is all Billy can muster up.

They stare at each other for a good few seconds before Susan looks to the people who are slowing down near them. Ever concerned about her public image.

“I think you should go now.” She says like she fucking owns the store, like he’s not fucking welcome in this public grocery store.

He wants to fight. Wants to scream and kick and punch and just break something. But he turns on his heels and he leaves with what feels like a storm of emotions trailing him out and he drives back home in a rush of blurry red that honestly inhibits his driving more than alcohol does most times and he’s walking into the cabin and slamming the door behind him and Hop is standing in the kitchen with a mug of something and confused concern in his eyes and a question of: “Billy? What’s wrong?” on his lips and Billy is falling apart.

Unraveling and spiralling and falling falling falling because he sees Neil every time he closes his eyes. He sees that red face and that mouth full of spit and those eyes full of fire at every little thing and he hears himself. Hears what he just said to Susan not 10 minutes ago. Those horrible things that he knows were horrible but he still said them because he’s just looking for attention, just isn’t disciplined enough, needs to learn respect and responsibility and the consequences to his actions.

His vision is too blurry to see anything but angry and red and puffing Neil, looming above him and knocking him down and his knees can’t physically hold him anymore because he’s unraveling, thread by thread unraveling so fast that he falls and lands on something hard but soft, surrounding his torso because he didn’t fall down, he’s fallen into something and it’s rumbling something low and quiet and-

“Billy? Billy, let’s sit down, okay?”

And once he’s seated he realizes it’s Hop. It’s Jim. and the rage is inside of him because fuck he can’t fucking get rid of it, some days it feels like it just fucking lives there and he’s gathering the fabric of Jim’s shirt up in his fists hard and he’s burrowing his face into Jim’s chest and he’s just sobbing. Everything inside of him bubbling out like a soda bottle and the world is black yet blurry and red with that spit filled mouth of anger and he just feels so weak. Weak from crying, weak for crying, weak in his mind and his body and he just stays there. They stay there. For what feels like too long to be real, they stay there.

And Hop holds Billy until he feels the boy’s shoulders relax. Until the grip on his shirt is free. Until he stops hearing the mumbled ramblings of I deserved it I deserved it I deserved it being spoken against his chest.

He asks Billy if he wants to talk about it because he’s learning about this stuff as he goes and he knows sometimes Billy can’t talk. Billy shakes his head no.

They listen to a record and drink some hot chocolate and Billy stops shaking about half an hour before El comes home from hanging out with her friends. She immediately notices his red eyes and his runny nose and asks Billy if he wants to borrow one of her stuffed animals as a sleep buddy. He thanks her and lets her hug him before he heads to bed. Sends Hop a quiet “goodnight” and the smallest smile imaginable before he climbs under his covers. But he doesn’t shake through the night and actually gets some sleep and that’s enough to feel like an accomplishment right now.