#and now i have to clean the aftermath of this ti

[hannie-dul-set]

having the worst fucking week of my LIFE i can't do this anymore.

[sorcerous-caress]

Taking you as their fake date to an event

[Fluff, suggustive, romance, humour, fake dating, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, Rolan]

Wyll

In the aftermath of clearing the misunderstanding with his father, Wyll found himself back at the centre of attention in Baldur's Gate's circle of nobles. Everyone wanted to meet the famed blade of frontiers, for the last time they saw him was years ago before he fully matured into the man he is today.

Letter after letter were delivered to your camp. Carrier pigeons barely escaped Tara's claws as they dropped the mail on Wyll's tent and left with most of their feathers intact.

Being the son of the grand duke of Baldur's Gate turned all the heads of any sane noble with a marriage allegeable offspring. Invitation for tea parties, hunting competitions, and even balls for the sole purpose of meeting other people. Wyll's hand was slowly going numb from having to write back formal polite declining letters.

If only there was a way to stop them from the source. He'd sigh and vent to his closest of companions. But Karlach wasn't available at the moment, so he had to make do with the vampire.

"Why not just tell them you've already tied the knot with someone or whatever you humans call it?"

For once, Wyll actually considered listening to the fanged devil on his shoulder.

He approached that topic as delicately as he could when it came to convincing you, inviting you to dinner at a restaurant, waiting until after you're both filled and the lighthearted conversation slowed to bring it up.

"My friend, if I may, there is something I could use a helping hand with."

To his relief, you don't seem uncomfortable to his proposal. If anything, you nonchalantly agreed to be his fake date to the upcoming celebration.

He thanks you with a polite smile, yet for some, his heart beat faster when he pictures you holding onto his arm amongst the crowd. Your formal attire matching his suit. The fact he'd get to call you his fiancé for an evening sends an unexpected heat up to his face.

.

Gale

Tara wakes him up with delight in her eyes one morning, her sing song tone of his last name is more chipper than usual.

"Mr.Dekarios, yoohoo~" she licks his face to get his sleepy eyes to focus on her, "Ms.Dekarios sends her regards, along with a mandatory summon invitation for you this weekend." Tara brings her paw up to her face, cleaning the fur and making herself even more presentable.

Before Gale gets a word in, he is interrupted by a paw smacking against his lips.

"Now now, you wouldn't break the heart of your poor old mother by rejecting her invitation when you haven't seen her in years, would you?" The soft beans against Gale's mouth hold the threat of sharp claws underneath.

Defeated and outsmarted first thing in the morning, the wizard reluctantly nods with a sight.

Deep down, he know this day would eventually come. He couldn't hide the orb and the looming threat over his life from his own mother forever, no matter how he naively hoped to find a cure before having to face her. Coming back to announce you've foolishly consumed untamed magic of chaos isn't the most popular mother's day gift.

But maybe, just maybe he doesn't have to let her know yet. If he could find a distraction.

And lucky for him, the perfect distraction was currently standing outside his open tent, rubbing Tara's belly as she purrs and leans into their arms more.

He devised a plan, a great list of excuses and reasons to sell you the idea of why you should go along with his plan of deception, even prepared a bribe if push came to shove.

Well, two bribes, actually. The first one was the massive breakfast prepared and catered specifically for your taste.

Scurrying to sit in the chair next to you before Halsin could, Gale ignored the cofused look the druid gave him before sitting down at another chair.

Either he was too easy to read, or you've picked up on his pattern of gifts and act of service whenever he has a request. Because he only had to hint at the upcoming home visit before you Blatantly stated that you're willing to go as his date.

"Well...this was certainly much easier than I expected. In fact I've deviced a much more elaborate argument and explanation for when you'd initially refuse."

"Why would I ever refuse Gale?"

You gently caressed the side of his face, wiping a small crumb of bread away from his lips before taking your hand back.

"I...well, uhm. You." With a flustered look, Gale wasn't sure how to respond. Did he remember to comb his morning hair? Oh god, wait, is he still in his pyjamas? Does he even look half presentable right now?

.

Shadowheart

A Selunite introduction party, as her parents explained. She never had the afterparty of her ceremony after the woods passage trial, and her mother really wanted her to see her adorned in the moon maiden silvery dress and white flowers.

How could she say no? Shadowheart only wished for both of their happiness, to make up for lost time as much as she could.

While her father never pressured her, knowing he still has plenty of time with her, her mother wasn't offered the same courtsy by life. So he encouraged Shadowheart to bring someone dear to her maybe, just to reassure her mother that she has a loved one, you know how humans tend to get about finding your soulmate and all of that.

But she felt lost. Was there really someone she could call a soulmate?

Your words echo in her mind, how you gently persuaded her into lowering her weapon. The night orchid you've given her is still kept safely in her journal, tucked away between the soft pages to preserve the petals forever.

What if you don't share her feelings? What if she is just another lost soul that has grown attached to you after you saved them. Afterall, you did end up risking blowing your cover when saving that drow women at moonrise tower.

Minthara's respect for you was nothing to scoff at. What's a cleric's faith when compared to a paladin's devotion?

Yet she still took a chance, a leap of faith for you.

One night before the two of you retreated to your own beds, she stopped you for a short conversation. Reluctance in her voice as she lowered her face and looked up at you, eyes glistening under the moonlight.

She explained her situation, her party for her coming of age ceremony that was long postponed, how she wished for you to accompany her as her date.

"Please, indulge me this once. And we can pretend it never happened afterwards...if that's what you wish." The words pained her to say, but the relief that followed at your acceptance made all the pain worth it.

She isn't sure where your heart lays, but for a day, it will be hers. Her faith will guide her, the faith that maybe one day, you too will return her feelings.

.

Karlach

She was nervously walking back and forth outside your tent just after dinner, unsure of how to approach you or even mention the topic.

Her tail aggiated and is switching between curling around her leg and lashing at the ground below. Karlach didn't bury her emotions as the engine in her chest glowed more and more, matching the redness of the sunset in the horizon.

Really, what was she thinking? Agreeing to the double date her friends offered her. She was too excited at having finally met more people from her past, ones that didn't stab her in the back, and one thing led to another.

It's not that she ment to lie to her friends...it was just hard to tell them that even after all these years, she still doesn't have someone to call her own. It felt embarrassing to admit how alone she was, how touch starved and repressed she felt.

Not to mention how every single one of her friends had already found someone. Most of them were married and the other half on their way to get married.

She didn't think they'd make a big deal out of it when she off-handedly mentioned that she was seeing someone, a simple white lie with no harm done. She thought they'd just be happy for her and move on.

But no, instead, it was as if she grew a second head right then and there. Everyone was so excited to meet her so-called partner.

And so she found herself like this, strolling around your tent like a loser, attempting to muster up the dignity to ask you to pretend to be her partner for tomorrow.

Only when bumped into something and lost her balance did she realise who stood in front of her.

Karlach's body pinned you to the ground with ease, even unintentionally her muscles could easily cage you on. Her skin hot against yours, she lifted her head and your faces were mere inches apart.

You didn't miss the way her eyes glances at your lips, the way her cheeks darkned when you licked them. The heacy of swallow afterwards before her lips twitched into a polite smile.

With a quick apology, she helped you up.

"Say soldier, have you ever played pretend before? You know that game that kids play." Very smooth Karlach, she thought to herself. "Uh...do you think the two of us can maybe play it tomorrow? Haha...ha."

You asked what she meant.

"I kinda of...well, I told my friends that I was already seeing someone so. Could you be that person? I'll pay you back tenfolds, I promise."

"Of course Karlach, anything you want." Accepting the awkward fistbump she offered you, in return you gave her a hug that lingered for more time than it should.

"Cool cool, great. I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Her tail was swishing excitedly behind her, a confident smile on her face as bright as the sun.

.

Rolan

He will show them, he thought, he will show his spoiled bratty siblings that he isn't as uptight and "scares away all suitors" as they claimed!

I mean, have you seen him? He is a very talented and capable wizard, how is it his fault that other people are far too dim and slow to realise how much of a catch he is, how his talent more than makes up for his sometimes bitter personality.

Lia was bragging again about the cute bard she managed to ask out, her third date this week. Rolan swears she is mentioning within earshot if him intentionally, hell even Cal gets the occasional longing stares at any tavren they go to.

Rolan isn't less than them and he will prove it. He just well...hasn't put himself out there yet, so what if he has zero experience with dating and romance? He is a fast learner, he is very confident in his ability to become an excellent lover in to time.

A day goes by, then two and three. Suddenly it's been a full week and he haven't had a speck of luck when it came to romancing someone. It's almost as if any person he approaches immediately loses interest the second he opens his mouth.

He is getting desperate, he can't let Lia know about this. She will never ever let him live it down.

So when you find him in the elfsong tavren, sitting alone on a table nursing on his drink with his tail curled around his leg. You stare at him long enough to catch his interest.

He recognises you immediately, you could see the cogs turning in his alcohol clouded mind.

"You, come here." He yells the order across the tavren, catching himself afterwards and clearing his thraot to lessen the embarrassment of the situation. Still his eyes begged you to approch him.

And you did, walking to his table and sitting down. After all your companions were still sleeping upstairs so what's the harm in indulging one drunk grumpy tiefling when you were supposed to be on a supply run.

Rolan orders you a drink too, his treats, he says without meeting your eyes.

And just as you take a sip, he lays it on you bluntly.

"From now on, I'm your boyfriend."

You choke on your drink, it takes him a moment to register the way he phrased his question.

Clearing his throat again, he refuses to meet your eyes as a blush colours his cheek. "No not like this, don't get the wrong idea."

Now you're sitting there, confused as the waiter brings you a towel to wipe down the drink you spilled on yourself. You thank them and take it, giving Rolan enough time to attempt to compose himself.

"I know i haven't made the best of impressions on you." He finally speaks up, "but I need you." His voice is more honest, a hint of vulnerability, "your help I mean. Lia and Cal, I want to prove them wrong."

His glossy eyes meet yours, the alcohol loosened his tongue.

"I'm not unlovable." He whipsers, "I'm not going to beg for a chance, I just need your cooperation for a day or two, just to shut them up."

Your hand goes above the table, wrapping around his own fist softly. "I understand, it's okay." You give it a light squeeze, "you don't have to explain yourself."

Somehow, your few words helped relieve his heart from its burden more than this whole night of drinking ever could.

[pearlydays]

Just a little something I wrote up instead of doing my final paper. Hope you enjoy <3

——————

A groan rips through the air as Satoru finally stops his merciless thrusts. Your legs shake from exhaustion as air fills your lungs. He collapses onto you, eliciting a groan and half-hearted objections. You trail your hand up his spine before moving them to his hair.

“You are a menace.” You say once you’ve finally caught your breath. A grin paints Satoru’s face, and he nips at the skin closest to his mouth.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You roll your eyes at his blatant lie, “You say as if you hadn’t edged me for two hours.”

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated. You start begging, ‘Please, please, ‘Toru. I need to cu-“ You begin to push his body from on top of yours.

“Nooo, I’m sorry.” He giggles.

You roll your eyes once more, with him, there’s a possibility they can get stuck like that. “Whatever, I’m sure you’d do the same thing if you were in my position.”

Satoru moves to get comfortable lying on your chest. “I doubt you can edge me.”

___

Satoru knows he has a big ass mouth. He’s gotten himself in more than enough trouble because of it. And now? He hates his big ass mouth.

“What’s with the pout, baby? I thought you could take it?” The sultry grin that painted your face was almost enough to make Satoru cum. That is until you took your hand away. His unusually high-pitched whine sliced through the air as his cock twitched, begging to release the load that had been building up since you first started. That was two hours ago.

“N-no! Please just- Fuck! Just put y-your hand back! I-I-“ Satoru squirmed under you, hands balling into fists where they were tied up. He knows he can easily get out of the bindings, but he promised to let you have fun. Even if it was borderline torture.

The sound of you kissing your teeth made his cock jump. You lightly dragged your nails up and down his thighs, getting closer to where he needed you most, only to take them away. You were enjoying this way too much. It’s not every day you can torture your boyfriend like this. As soon as he gave you an inch, you took a mile.

“I don’t know ’Toru, I think you have one more hour in you.” You take your index finger and drag it along that prominent vein you love to the tip of his cock. Once there, you begin swirling your finger, encouraging the pleads and moans that leave his mouth.

Satoru rapidly shakes his head, “I-I-“

“I-I-” You mock, “Can’t even form a sentence, huh? Not a single thought in that pretty little head of yours.” You pout down at Satoru as you wrap your hand around his weeping cock.

“I c-can’t do a-another, baby.” He pouts.

Your eyes glimmer with something that makes an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his cock. You drag your hand down to the base of his length and tighten your fist.

“But you’re so hot when you’re all frustrated.” Parroting his words back at him, you resume your up-and-down ministrations. Satoru screws his eyes shut, fighting the urge to buck into your hand.

“Wanna cum for me?”

You’re met with an enthusiastic nod and a slurred string of ‘yes, yes, yes’. Looking down, you move your free hand to join, moving in an opposite rotation. You can feel his cock twitch in your hand, signaling his impending release. Feeling merciful, you speed up your movements, tightening around his head.

“Then cum.”

All of the air left Satoru’s body as he came. His eyes were shut so tight that he began to see stars. He can’t recall a moment where he has ever cum that much. You coax him through his orgasm, not letting up on your actions, “Poor baby, looks like someone was backed up.”

When the wave of his orgasm seemed to pass, you let him go, eyeing the cum on your hands. Satoru wearily opens his eyes, looking at the aftermath, then at you. He can see the wheels turning in your head.

Holding his gaze, you bring your hands to your mouth and clean the seed that covers them. A groan escapes Satoru as his cock jumps at the sight.

“And you say I’m a menace.”

————

I hope you guys enjoyed this little piece. This is my first time writing anything nsfw, so let me know if you like it or if you want more!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 55: Lily's Illusion

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: blindness, conditioning, hypnosis, body control, abuse, aftermath of hand whump

October 1925

Oliver's sleep was troubled, filled with nightmares where he couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't do anything to make his body obey him. Alexander's sire was shoving him below the waves, drowning him while he was helpless. Alexander was being tied up and tortured, and there was nothing Oliver could do for his master but watch, and --

He woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding too fast. It was pitch black, and despite being wide awake and terrified, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't see where he was, couldn't remember, and cold hands came out of nowhere to grip him tight. In a panic, he screamed, kicking his assailant and struggling out of his grasp, thick blankets impeding his escape.

"Oliver!" said a familiar voice. "Oliver, it's only me. You're safe."

His master. That's where he was -- in his master's bedchambers, in his master's arms. He took a deep breath, trying to expel the fear from his body. He was safe, even though he still couldn't open his eyes.

Alexander gently pulled him in closer, and Oliver accepted it, relaxing back onto the bed. "Sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize. I understand completely. My sleep has also been uneasy, although much improved by your presence," he said. "Are you still blinded?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then we should head to Lily's as soon as you're ready," he said. "Although I suppose I'll have to help you dress and wash."

Oliver's face flushed. "Ah, I'm sure I can manage, sir…"

"Manage with your eyes closed? I won't have you falling down the stairs and harming yourself," he said with a tone that brooked no argument. "I'm going to pick you up now, all right?"

And Oliver felt himself being lifted by unnaturally strong arms, floating through the air with only his master as his tether to the world. Alexander seemed to sense his distress, as he hummed a tune under his breath as they walked, one that made Oliver's tense muscles relax. Despite that, the sensation of going down the stairs was still disconcerting.

"If you drop me off at the door to the bathroom, sir, I can take care of my business," said Oliver, hoping to retain some dignity.

"Very well, but I'm going to tend to your wounds afterwards. I need to make sure they're clean."

Oliver thankfully knew the layout of the bathroom well enough to find the toilet and sink, embarrassed at needing so much aid from his master and already quite tired of groping around in the dark. When he was finished, Alexander entered, removing his shirt to look at his back.

"It's terribly bruised, but the few cuts are shallow," Alexander murmured, applying some cool salve. "…You must think I'm a terrible coward for accepting my sire's command to strike you, rather than standing up to him."

"I don't, sir," he said, and it was almost true. "If you had tried, I don't doubt it would have been worse for both of us." He did know that, but in his heart, he wished that his master had protected him.

"There's only one way I can truly protect you," said Alexander, as though he had read Oliver's mind. "I need to kill him. It's easier said than done, of course, but… I will do it this time, or perish trying. I swear it."

Oliver didn't have to wonder what would happen to him in the entirely possible event that his master did perish trying. He'd no doubt end up in the hands of Alexander's sire, perhaps permanently, and the thought almost made him want to plead with Alexander not to try.

Instead, he shoved that unpleasant thought from his mind as best he could. "Will Miss Lily really be able to undo my punishment, sir?"

"I'm sure she will. Her mastery when it comes to controlling the human mind is unparalleled," he said. "And for enduring these latest hardships, I'll also make sure the pantry and icebox are well-stocked with whatever foods you favor. Anything you need."

"I appreciate it, sir."

"And the night after next, my dear friend Fitz arrives from overseas."

With everything that had happened lately, Oliver had nearly forgotten about his master's friend, and he was gripped by a wave of dread at the thought of another visiting vampire. "Is there anything I should know, sir, to better serve your friend?" he said, trying to feel out the situation.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. Just be your usual self, and I'm sure he'll just adore you. He's been after me to get a decent thrall for ages, you know," said Alexander. "Just be patient with him, give us space when we ask for it, and -- oh, I'm sure he'll want to drink from you."

The place where the Maestro had dug his fangs into Oliver's neck throbbed with pain. "He will, sir?" said Oliver reluctantly.

"It won't be painful!" his master reassured him quickly. "Fitz is nothing like my sire. His feeding will be as gentle as mine. He won't harm you, I swear it."

"I'm glad of that, sir," said Oliver, who still couldn't quite calm his anxiety.

"It probably won't surprise you to learn that my sire is the reason Fitz fled this city and resides overseas," said Alexander. "When my sire is finally dusted, he'll return to me. He'll come live in the manor with his thrall, and we'll be together at last."

Oliver had never heard his master sound so wistful. "He must be very important to you, sir."

"I suppose you would figure out sooner or later that we're old lovers. Fitz certainly won't make a secret of it."

"Lovers?" He was sure he was unable to hide the surprise on his face. "I didn't realize you had any lovers, sir."

"I confess that it's often a painful subject for me. Less so when I know he's on a boat heading over the Atlantic at this very moment. We share a bond, you see, and I can tell by how miserable he is -- he's always been especially prone to seasickness," said Alexander fondly. "But as much as I'd like to spend the evening pining fruitlessly, we really should get to Lily's as early as we can, lest she head out for the night before we can consult her. I'll guide you to the bedroom and help you put on the clothes I've chosen for you."

Oliver let himself be guided without a fuss, still loathing the fact that he was so helpless that he wasn't even able to choose his own clothes. If Miss Lily couldn't help him, if he had to resign himself to weeks of blindness and lose even more of his remaining autonomy to his master, unable to even indulge in the simple joy of reading, he wasn't sure he could endure it.

Soon enough, they were stepping out into the chill fall evening, Alexander keeping a firm arm around Oliver to guide him through the streets. It was distressing to be able to hear other pedestrians on the sidewalk, to feel the uneven stones under his feet, without being able to open his eyes and see anything. He was entirely reliant on his master to navigate the familiar city, and if Alexander let go, Oliver would be immediately lost and helpless. Thankfully, he clung to Oliver tightly.

"We're here," said Alexander. "There are four steps in front of you - let me help you up them."

Oliver heard a loud knocking, then footsteps and a door creaking open.

"Oh, Lex!" said a familiar voice. "I thought you were my 9pm appointment arriving early. And what on earth happened to your hand?"

"Our sire's handiwork, of course. Are you taking customers today?" asked Alexander. "I hope you have some time to help us. It's a bit of an emergency."

"Come in, come in," said Lily, and Oliver felt himself being gently nudged forward into a very warm room. "You know very well I'll make the time, but I'd rather get started right away. I assume our sire has done something to Oliver?"

Alexander's hands rested on Oliver's shoulders. "He commanded Oliver to keep his eyes closed and now he can't open them. My poor thrall is quite blind."

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "That's a surprisingly mild punishment from him, though. He must have approved of Oliver."

"Oliver comported himself magnificently. The very picture of an ideal thrall," said Alexander, and Oliver's heart felt warm from the praise. "Another reason why he deserves to have his sight restored as soon as possible."

"Let me see." Oliver felt soft hands touch his face. "Oliver, dear, what did he tell you as he was forcing your eyes to close? The exact phrasing, if you can."

Oliver's memories felt muddled and hazy from fear and enthrallment, but he could remember that. "He told me he was placing lead weights on my eyes, sir, that they're too heavy for me to lift, and that he is the only one who can move them."

"All right. I believe I can work with that. Come with me. Lex, you stay out here, and if my 9pm arrives, try to keep her occupied with your sparkling wit and impeccable social skills."

"You can't be serious about that."

"Leaving your manor and socializing sometimes is good for you," she said, as she touched a hand to Oliver's back and pushed him along.

Oliver heard a door close behind him.

"Can you sit down, dear?"

She took his hand and placed it on the seat of a chair, and Oliver sat, sinking into the soft leather. He realized that the chair was awfully familiar -- the twin of the chair in Miss Lily's room at the auction house. The association caused his mind to fog and he couldn't keep from letting out a yawn, already three quarters of the way to trance.

"You remember, don't you?" said Lily, as she ran fingers through his hair and down his cheek. "So obedient, so docile. So sleepy. And so very, very quiet."

Oliver was utterly helpless against the tide of hypnosis gripping his mind. His head lolled backwards as he let out a soft groan. With his eyes already closed tight, it felt natural for sleep to wash over him.

"Quiet, Oliver, you're so quiet. You're sinking back down under my power now. You're completely safe with me. Safe for you to fall asleep, fall deep asleep. You're so drowsy, aren't you? A quiet, docile boy like you just wants to sleep and listen…"

She kept murmuring to him, but Oliver was already out like a light, quiet and sleepy and dreaming. After the terror of the previous night, it was so good to sleep so soundly, comfortable and content. Oliver felt like he could float in this pleasant dream forever.

That is, until he heard footsteps. Footsteps which did not belong to Lily or his master. Footsteps that were oddly light and perfectly in rhythm.

No, it couldn't be. That was impossible. There was no way that he was here --

But he could feel it already, the hold over his body, the feeling that his flesh and bones no longer belonged to him. He wasn't being manipulated, not yet, but he could sense it all around. He was here and in control, and Oliver could barely think through the numbing terror that gripped him.

"Wake up," said the musical voice of Alexander's sire, followed by a crisp snap. "I don't recall allowing you to sleep."

"I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to fall asleep." Oliver felt himself forced out of the chair and into a kneel, his back ramrod straight and his sweating hands clasped behind him. He couldn't budge an inch, and although he still couldn't open his eyes, he could feel that icy gaze boring into him.

"I don't understand why you think that disobedience out of poor self control is better than disobedience on purpose. Disobedience is disobedience."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, trembling, waiting for a slap across his still tender cheek.

"I suppose, though, if you're to have any use as a servant, you'll need to have your eyes open, lest I have to puppet your wretched form everywhere," he said. "I will remove the weights on your eyes, and you will be appropriately grateful, and then you will serve me however I please."

Oliver swallowed nervously, dreading what the Maestro had in store for him. "Thank you very much for allowing me to serve you, sir."

"I will lift the heavy weight off each of your eyelids," he said, and Oliver felt something brush over his eyes, "and then you will graciously be allowed to open them on your own."

Despite being so eager to be cured earlier, Oliver was reluctant to open his eyes now, not wanting to face Alexander's sire once again, not understanding how he came to be here. But he had no choice. He opened his eyes…

…and there was Miss Lily standing before him.

He looked around in a panic. The Maestro was nowhere to be found, a phantom conjured by his own imagination and Miss Lily's mesmerism. "You…"

"He was the only one who could remove the command. I had to make your mind believe that I was him," she said. "I'm sorry for giving you such a fright, but it was the easiest way to undo what was done."

Oliver's heart was still pounding, unable to calm. "Yes, sir… thank you…"

"Poor dear, you're trembling like a leaf. Let me soothe you before sending you back to your master," she said. "Quiet now, Oliver. Quiet your frightened mind. You're safe here. It's only me."

"It's only you, sir…" said Oliver, sinking back into a merciful daze.

"That's right, and I take such good care of you, don't I?" she said with a smile. "You can relax now. Deep breaths, Oliver dear, deep breaths. Let all that tension out. Let that fear fade away. Let your mind be so, so quiet."

Oliver followed her instructions, taking deep breaths, and soon he did feel calmer, the terror of the hypnotic illusion fading. It was only a dream, one which could fade away into the obedient quiet of his enthralled mind.

"Lex is always singing your praises when he talks to me, you know," said Lily. "You're an absolute natural at serving a vampire, just as I knew you would be. Doesn't it make you feel good to serve Lex?"

It was both question and command, reinforcing his conditioning, and Oliver fell into it easily. "I very much enjoy serving Lex, sir."

"Of course you do, sweet boy. You've been so brave, and you deserve to feel good." She patted Oliver on the head one last time. "Now, if you're feeling better, why don't I return you to your master?"

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, feeling like a weight had been lifted from more than his eyes.

They left the stark conditioning room and stepped out into Miss Lily's home, which was done up very differently from Alexander's, filled with bright colors, fussy details, and homespun knick-knacks. A fat black cat ran up to Miss Lily and began winding around her ankles, and she scooped it up and gave it a kiss on the head. "This is Luna," she said. "Her brother Sunny is probably off on Miriam's lap."

"Hello, Luna," said Oliver, giving her a scritch.

As they walked down the hallway, Oliver could hear a steady stream of excited patter. "…and then I told him, is that really an appropriate place to take a lady on a date? And you know what he said? He said, well, they hardly ever hold horse racing at night, so I thought you'd like to see it. And I said, I can't see a blessed thing even with a vampire's eyesight. And then --"

They entered the parlor, where Alexander was sitting on a frilly gingham couch and nodding politely to everything a young woman was saying. She was done up in the latest fashions, and had a scrawny-looking man on a leash, kneeling at her feet. He looked at Oliver with fear in his eyes, pleading, as though there were anything Oliver could do.

"Ah, you had an appointment for 9pm, I believe?" said Miss Lily to the woman. "I appreciate your patience. I had an emergency job, but I'm free to take your thrall to the conditioning room now."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!" she chirped. "I've been having a lovely time with Lord Alexander here." She stood up and handed the man's leash over to Miss Lily. "Just a thorough reconditioning for obedience and contentment, please. The place I bought him from did such an awful job -- you can see how distressed he is, and you should see the faces he pulls when it's time to feed. He's already escaped twice and I had to waste so much time tracking him."

"Of course, it's my pleasure," she said.

"No…" The thrall was backing away from Miss Lily, practically choking himself with his own leash. "No, please…"

Miss Lily knelt down and pet his head like one would a dog. "It's all right, dear, you'll see. Why don't you just relax? Just relax. Calm and peaceful, okay? I'm not gong to hurt you. Everything's going to be okay."

Oliver watched in fascination as the fear bled away from the thrall's expression, his eyes fixed on Miss Lily's and becoming glassy and dazed. He couldn't help but wonder if he wore a similar expression when he was under Miss Lily's spell.

"That's a good dear. So relaxed and at ease," she cooed. "You're going to feel so much better after you've had a session with me, I promise."

The thrall glanced up at Oliver, as if looking for some kind of confirmation. Oliver remembered how terrified he was the first time he had gone in for conditioning. "She's right," he said with a smile. "It's not scary at all, it's just like having a really good sleep, and you'll feel great afterwards."

"See?" said Miss Lily. "There's nothing to be scared of." She turned to Lex. "Sorry I can't stay around and chat, but I should get started on this session."

"Of course. We'll take our leave, and call on you another night," he said. "Oh, and Lily, before I go -- are you free on Friday night? Fitz will be in town, and I was hoping we could all go to the Tiger's Eye."

"Ooh, I wouldn't miss it," she said. She stood and ruffled Oliver's hair. "You'll be a good boy for our dear friend Fitz, won't you?"

"Yes, Miss Lily."

"Then I'll see you two soon enough, I'm sure. Have a good evening!"

"Are you feeling better?" Alexander asked as they stepped back out into the cool night air. "You're certainly looking much better."

"Yes, much better, sir. Thank you very much for taking me to Miss Lily," Oliver said. Now that he could see once again, he could see that the night was clear, the sky filled with a thousand brilliant stars. "Do you think we could go for a walk before returning home, sir? I could use the fresh air."

"I think that's a splendid idea," said Alexander, wrapping his arm around Oliver's once more.

Oliver saw the thick wad of bandages wrapped around his master's hand, and quite against his will he remembered the sickening smell of burnt flesh in the air. "Sir, your hand…"

"I've told you before that it will heal, but I appreciate your concern for me," said his master with a warm smile. "Your health and company is all the balm I need to soothe my pains tonight."

Thanks to Miss Lily, he was so obedient, so eager to please. "I'm glad that I can be helpful to you, sir."

"Always, Oliver. Don't doubt it for a minute."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

I always enjoy writing Lily! Next week, the beginning of a three-parter involving a masquerade ball and Fitz's very impulsive decisions.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

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@fuckcapitalismasshole

[justanerddummie]

You know what, after all the talk about Caitlyn tyrant arc I cannot unsee all the parallels between her and Silco.

It always left me a little baffled how Cait was one of the few character who didn't have a clear parallel with another one, yes, there's Grayson, there's Jinx and even Marcus if you will, but at least to me they never quite clicked right. But when you overlap Silco and Cait, the amount of shit they do the same is insane, especially with all the new stuff from s2.

It's not about her simply becoming a villain, it's like a circle with Caitlyn moving forward to reach the point of no return and Silco going backward after reaching the point of no return, meeting just for a moment - at the mad tea party - having different directions.

But let's start from the beginning.

We have a bunch of scenes where we see Silco tell Jinx about how he used to be different, how he had to cut out the part of him that made him soft in order to become the leader of the undercity and at the same time we get to see Caitlyn's entitled ass dissolve as her heart of gold starts making appearances, like when she refused to kill Sevika or when she gave her rifle away for Vi without batting an eye as she starts trusting Vi more and more considering how she just exchanged her only weapon for shimmer to cure Vi. Then in the other episodes they both come clean about the real reasons they are in the undercity and they start really trusting each other, two peas in a pod, just like Vander and Silco back in the day.

But then in oil and water during the rain scene when Vi leaves Cait, I think we can see the first the first seed of betrayal being planted, it's the you don't believe in me anymore, which I think can be connected to when we see Vander strangle Silco, I think that scene is supposed to go after the bridge scene in ep3 it's the aftermath of the battle with enforcers and I can totally see Silco refusing to give up on the dream of Zaun and Vander seeing no other option but to kill him in order to protect his people. I know it's a long stretch but as for Vi and Cait the rain scene is the first rift, for Silco and Vander the scene at the river is the last straw, it also ties very well with Silco being handed Zaun on a silver plate in exchange for the last piece of his heart and refusing (Cait is still not there but I think there will be something like this in s2 at the very end) just as Cait is taking the first steps into not trusting Vi.

(I'm trying to talk about how I see Caitlyn's point of view and not trying to blame Vi, I really do think that Vi had every right to make that decisions in that moment)

And then there's the mad tea party, that in no way can even be compared to the scene on the bridge in ep3 but I would still say that I think Caitlyn has processed the tea party in a similar way Silco has processed the bridge scene and what came after, the betrayal of the people they trusted the most as they watched their respective loved ones die one by the hands of the enforcers and the other by the hands of Jinx.

And as Silco's rage grew he wanted another fight with Piltover and Vander stopped him, Vi stopped Cait from taking the shot on Jinx, making that little seed of betrayal bloom and grow a little.

So by the end of s1 we see Cait is almost in Silco's starting point as he has completed his lap of the circle.

And now I dive into the more speculative section of this long-ass rant, where I'd like to put to comparison Silco's deal with Singed with Cait's alliance with Noxus. And for as much as it pains to admit it, I don't think Cait will fall for Ambessa manipulation, she's too smart, I think that she'll sacrife her morality to achieve what she's set herself up to, same way as Silco did with shimmer. The base violence for change.

I really do think that the similarities will get way stronger in s2 with the seeds of betrayal blooming by the end of s1 especially considering how both Silco and Cait's story revolve around taking control and in a certain way becoming the leaders no one asked for.

They both never wanted to be leaders as Silco was more than happy to let Vander be the face of revolution and Cait couldn't give less of a fuck about politics and spent most of the time in s1 trying to not start a war between Piltover and Zaun and wooing Zaunites women.

But at the same time both of them never shied away from the power, they both kept their heads held high in the face of people who hated them, and both were always arrogant enough to believe they could change the world single-handedly.

With that I conclude this long-ass post both wanting s2 to come faster and dreading the moment it finally comes and honestly hoping that Cait's story doesn't end the same way as Silco did. With some form of redemption arrived a little too late.

[cupidsdolll]

word count: 1.2k

summary: Y/N’s alive but she’s not who she used to be, Harry has to deal with the aftermath.

notes: this is part three of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of medical talks, a panic attack and guns.

Rewrite The Stars

- - - -

Harry can’t believe his ears, when EJ told him that Y/N was alive he ran out the door, the man screaming for help left tied to the chair and forgotten as Harry’s main goal was to go to the hospital to find his one true love. He rushed through traffic, EJ holding on for dear life but would never try to correct him. He knows just how much she meant to him. When they got to the hospital, they rushed through the doors to the nurses desk. 

“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Y/N L/N. We got a call from this hospital.” EJ’s quick to speak, he knows Harry wouldn’t be as polite and would just demand the information from the nurse, and that’s not how they would get the information. 

The nurse types quickly and turns to look at them. 

“Yes she’s here, are you related?” She peers over her glasses, her eyes full of judgment and they both know that they look very inappropriate for the setting, much less like they’re related to her. Harry clears his throat before he answers. 

“Uh I’m her boyfriend, and this is just a close friend of mine who cares about her as well.” The nurse nods, a tight smile on her lips before she tells them that Harry can visit now and that EJ will have to visit later. Harry nods and rushes through the hospital as fast as he can without being stared at or escorted out. 

He reaches the room right as the doctor is about to head inside as well. 

“Excuse me, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” He says and the doctor nods. 

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. She’s alive and stable, but I’m worried she has memory loss. The bullet managed to enter and exit relatively clean but there was still some damage caused by the bullet. We saved her, but I’m letting you know that the aftermath won’t be pretty. She has a high chance of seizures, there’s a chance she could be paralyzed and of course the memory loss.” Harry nods his head, listening intently and he clenches his fist.

He can’t believe this, the words bounce around in his head. He wants to cry, to scream. She doesn’t deserve this at all. He sighs, it’s filled with sorrow and sadness. 

“Okay.” It’s all he can manage to get out and the doctor nods before opening the door. Harry’s eyes immediately go towards her laying on the bed, her eyes opening slowly and her hair braided into one big braid, a patch of hair missing from where they had to operate but he’s sure they can figure a cute way to cover it. The sound of the machines beeping fills his ears, and the smell is something he wishes he couldn’t have to smell. It smells like medicine, like sadness, like she shouldn’t be here.  He hates this, it tugs at his heart and squeezes it at the same time. 

“Hi, Miss L/N. I’m Doctor Young, I’m here to check on you. You have a visitor as well.” The doctor speaks and Y/N turns her head to face him, her brows furrowed curiously. 

“Don’t try to force anything, if she doesn’t remember you it’s not your fault. It’ll take time or it just won’t come back at all,” The doctor whispers to Harry and he nods. He can’t help but to stare at her, to take in every detail. She looks different but the same, she lacks the usual happy glow she has whenever she’s around him, her lips are chapped and she looks tired. She looks so tired, and he hates it. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her forehead and let her rest properly, tell her that everything will be okay and he’ll protect her. 

He cautiously takes a step forward towards her and she doesn’t do anything. 

“Hi, Y/N. I missed you so much, I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Harry says, he can already tell he’s gonna cry regardless of what happens. She just looks at him, her eyes unfocused and face blank of all emotion. Harry can feel the lump forming in his throat, fuck he hates this. He wants her to say something, anything. He wants her back. 

“I just want to say that life hasn’t been the same without you. You’re my everything and I need you, please come back to me baby.” He says as a tear falls down his cheek, this is his own personal hell, his karma he guesses. He has to take his own punishment, but it really just fucking sucks. She hums, her brows still furrowed in confusion. 

“‘M sorry.” She says softly, she’s staring straight at him and he wants to scream. She doesn’t know who he is. 

Months went by and many changes have happened. Harry stepped down from being Head Boss, gave the title to EJ and chose to only do bare minimum computer work for them. Y/N eventually regained a little of her memory back, not much but enough to know that Harry was a big part of her life and that he was dangerous - which led to her having a panic attack in the bathroom one night and he stored all of his guns away out of their apartment. He’s desperate to show her he’s capable of change, of not being this dangerous man that haunts her in her sleep. He hates whenever she flinches at his sudden movements and loud noises, a painful reminder that he’s the one that essentially ruined her life. 

He watches over her carefully, never leaving the house without him no matter how many times she argues that she’s fine and can take care of herself, accompanying her to all of her doctor’s appointments and physical therapy. He won’t let her out of his sight, he’s too scared of reliving that painful day and losing her for good. He tries not to hover though, he sees the annoyance flash through her eyes anytime he says he’s coming, she doesn’t necessarily want much to do with him at the moment even though she knows vaguely they had an intimate relationship before all of this. It’s just a hard change to battle with her own brain and only come up with blanks whenever she tries to remember anything. It’s exhausting and as much as she wants to hate Harry, she can’t bring herself too. A part deep down inside of her knows that she’s meant to love him fully and unconditionally. 

Over time, they both grew to love each other in the present instead of trying to fix what was broken in the past, it wouldn’t do anything other than cause annoyance and anger, arguments and misunderstandings. And whenever Y/N looks at Harry, she sees light, love. She feels a love that’s golden like daylight, warm like summer air, and a feeling of never ending happiness. She might be broken as some might call it, but she’s never felt so put together as she does now. She loves him, unconditionally and fully, just like she did before it all fell down. 

[nausikaaa]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday

thanks for the tags @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @roomwithanopenfire and @run-for-chamo-miles!

i'm still tinkering away at my wip Andromache's Child, but right now I can't find any new lines i think are good enough to be shared. i had joked to some friends months ago that my goal was to get it to 69K by 2025, because it sounds funnier than 70K, and it's currently on 65K, so i'm on track!

i missed posting yesterday as i'm dealing with the aftermath of Storm Darragh. our hay shed got damaged and we fixed that in the middle of the storm, as we can't afford for the hay to get wet and rot. the gate to my goat pen also came off it's hinges, but so far we've only tied a wicket in it's place. the worst bit was that my little goat Olive's eye got hurt, we think a bit of debris might have gotten blown into it, but with a wipe clean and some eye drops, it looks like no lasting damage was done, which is a relief. i post about my goats over on instagram and have videos showing her eye and the broken gate.

so for now, here's some from my OC wip, which is at a much lower word count. i mostly work on this when i need some variation, tbh, but these characters are such a comfort to write, very inspired by different facets of myself. you can click the #my ocs tag for more of them.

this is from the POV of Roman, who is the reader-insert, new to the magical village where the story is set, fresh off losing his dad to cancer and his own series of injuries and revelations as he's discovered he has magic of his own, but his dad hid it from him as it cost his mother her life.

In the months after my dad's death, I would wake up every morning with a sense of emptiness, and a moment later, reality would crash down on top of me, and I would break down into tears. Eventually the crying stopped, but the empty feeling remained.

Now, I blink awake and feel peaceful. I remember where I am and how I got here, and of course the grief remains, but I swing my legs out of bed and tread to the kitchen with a sense of having grown around it.

I make a cup of tea in the early morning light, letting the silence wash over me before the day can begin as I stir in the milk and sugar.

My tranquil mindset is shattered when I take a sip and spit it out on instinct at the taste of sour milk.

i'm a day late, but take these tags as hellos: @cutestkilla @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @larkral @that-disabled-princess @orange-peony @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @confused-bi-queer @shrekgogurt @comesitintheclover @raenestee @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @noblecorgi @shemakesmeforget @ileadacharmedlife @supercutedinosaurs @artsyunderstudy @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ninemagicks @otherworldsivelivedin @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @carryonmylovelies and @meanjeansjeans

[fidothefinch]

set up for failure

For Whumptober, Day 3: set up for failure. Featuring Tim training as Robin, and Bruce being a bit of an asshole.

“Again.”

Tim obediently crossed his wrists behind his back. He took a deep breath as Bruce tied rope around his wrists, levelling his heart rate. It was tighter than last time. Sweat dripped into his eyes and soaked his shirt, but he didn’t dare complain.

He was the one who had begged for training, after all.

“Go.”

Read on Ao3 (or below the cut)

Tim reached with his fingers to trail along the rope, trying to find the knot. Seconds ticked by as he searched.

Bruce’s mouth ticked down into a frown.

“I can do it,” Tim insisted. When he realized he couldn’t reach the knot, he paused a moment to reassess. He could use his teeth, if he could get his hands to the front. But how to do that?

Bruce’s hard gaze on him ushered him to move.

He crouched and hunched over as far as he could go, shimmying backward to slip his knotted wrists under his butt. The stretch pulled at his already raw bare wrists, but once they were behind his bent knees, it was simpler to fold his legs through. (Finally, a good thing to come out of puberty hitting his arms before his legs.) From there, he found the knot with his teeth and began tugging it to the side. Then it was easier to reach the knot, and though it was tight, he made quick work of loosening it. Eighteen more seconds, and he was free.

“Done!” he exclaimed, holding the rope up to show it.

“One hundred eighty-seven seconds,” Bruce murmured, stopping the watch. Tim’s chest swelled, until Bruce continued with, “Not good enough.”

“It’s not?” he asked. It was a better time than he had made before. He absently felt along his bare wrists, which were smarting in the aftermath of two hours of escape practice.

“If you are serious about being Robin, you need to be better,” Bruce said. “Dick could get out in less than a minute.”

Tim thought there was something unfair about being compared to a world-class acrobat. But Jason hadn’t been able to get out that quickly, either.

And Jason was dead.

“Okay,” Tim said. “What do I need to do?”

Bruce studied him for a long moment. “Again.” He gestured for Tim to turn around.

Obediently, Tim turned his back, presenting his hands again. Bruce pulled the rope even tighter, this time. The skin burned. “I think it’s too tight,” Tim hissed.

“Anybody who is tying your hands is going to care more about keeping you subdued than protecting your circulation,” Bruce explained, monotone. “You have to expect the worst. Now, go.”

Tim’s fingers were already prickling. But he got to work, reaching for the knot. When that didn’t work, he tried to repeat his last trick. His hands were tied too tightly, though, and it didn’t allow him the flexibility to get them under his bottom. With trepidation, he realized he had lost feeling completely in his pinky fingers. “Bruce—”

“Figure it out.”

Right. Tim looked around the room. Bruce had never said he couldn’t use a tool. In fact, it’d been repeated over and over again that he had to pay attention to his surroundings and use his resources. His frantic scan revealed a Batarang, left on one of the work stations. Glancing briefly at Bruce to make sure this was within the boundaries of the exercise, and seeing no reaction, he jogged over and grabbed for it.

It took several tries to wrap his fingers around it. They felt like sausages, foreign to his body. Like his tongue felt when he ate ice cream too quickly. But grab it he did, and with some maneuvering, he angled one of the bladed wings up toward the rope. A little sawing, and one strand snapped. It was enough to shake the rest of it loose.

Tim raised his freed hands in tired victory. “Done,” he said. There was blood on his hands – he’d nicked himself with the blade, and hadn’t even felt it.

Bruce stopped the watch, but said nothing. His eyes didn’t leave the timer’s digital readout. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “We’re finished here.”

Tim dropped the rope. “We’re done? But—”

“I told you to clean up,” Bruce repeated, voice harsher this time.

Tim stepped backward at the force of the command. He sounded angry. “Wait, Bruce. I can do it!” Bruce had already turned and begun to walk away. Tim chased after him. “Just. Let me try again.”

Bruce did stop, but the look he gave Tim froze him in his tracks. He was talking to Batman here, not Bruce. “Do you know how many chances you get, when it really counts?”

“You just get one,” Tim confirmed. Shame heat his cheeks, but he pushed past the feeling. “That’s why I need practice.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The hairs on the back of Tim’s neck stood on end. But if Robin was at stake – if Batman was at stake – then he would do what he had to. He swallowed, and he was proud when his voice was steady as he answered, “Yes.”

There was a blur of movement, and Bruce suddenly had Tim’s arm twisted behind his back. He frog marched him over to the middle of the gym mats, where he none-too-gently pushed him to his stomach. Tim barely caught himself with his free hand, which was quickly snapped up to his back again.

“The scenario,” Bruce said, as he tied Tim’s wrists together. The last pull yanked the rope tight, and Tim bit his tongue as he felt skin tear. “You’ve been captured by an enemy and left in an empty warehouse.”

Bruce folded one of Tim’s legs back at the knee and roughly removed his shoe and sock. “You were beaten, and now you are concussed, you have a collapsed lung, and your left leg is broken.”

Tim’s pulse fluttered in his neck. “Bruce,” he grunted, as the tail of the rope was pulled tight around his left ankle. Bruce wasted no time in removing and tossing away Tim’s other shoe, leaving him in only his sweaty T-shirt and sweat pants.

Tim kicked instinctively, testing the slack of the rope, but it only pulled on his wrists, jerking his back into an arch.

“Smoke fills the room, so you cannot see,” Bruce continued, his voice tight. Tim’s vision was suddenly obscured by a cloth, which was fastened around his head. “And you cannot breathe.” Another cloth, this one stuffed into his mouth and taped into place.

“Batman isn’t going to make it,” Bruce whispered, running a gentle hand through Tim’s hair.

Tim froze at the frozen touch and the tone of Bruce’s voice.

“Go.”

Bruce’s hands left Tim’s head, and Tim immediately lost track of him in the cavernous space.

“Mrrrs?” he called, words horribly muffled.

There was no answer.

Tim tested the grip of the ropes around his wrists. They were tight enough to bite into his skin, and the knot was too far for his fingers to reach. His anxiety rose. How far away had Bruce gone? He wouldn’t just leave him down here, would he?

His teeth clenched over the rag in his mouth. He needed to focus.

A faint beep caught his attention as he was trying to lever himself to his knees. He didn’t pay it much notice – plenty of things in the Cave beeped and hummed and whizzed – until it repeated. Blind, Tim tilted his head toward the noise. It was a small chirp, repeating regularly.

A countdown.

Adrenaline washed through him. Sitting up now, he was able to reach the knots around his ankle that would free his left leg. Simultaneously, he rubbed his face against his shoulder, hoping it would catch the edge of the tape on his cheek and peel at least parts back.

He was still doing both when the timer chirped two fast beeps and fell silent.

“You’re dead,” Bruce stated, voice grave. He stood directly behind Tim, who startled at his proximity. Warm fingers dragged the blindfold away.

“Go home, Tim.”

Tim didn’t argue, this time.

[thetrashbinseries]

— Fahrenheit Part Two ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two, three

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst, explicit smut, 'daddy' and 'babygirl' petnames, light spanking, heated physical domestic argument

x x x

Jake shot me a text as soon as he touched down in his hotel, leaving me to navigate the aftermath of our little gathering solo. I silently cleaned up the traces of the night, letting my thoughts swirl in the quiet aftermath. Shouldn't I be on cloud nine? Chris, I assumed, had already landed by now, maybe snagging his stuff from the baggage claim. Why the resistance to me picking him up? Couldn't he save some cash and avoid those Uber headaches? As I mulled over Jake's words from our earlier chat, a wave of guilt washed over me. If someone messed with my career, I'd probably cut ties too. 

But did it have to be face-to-face? 

Suddenly, two knocks jarred me, throwing my dogs into their usual frenzy of barks. Now? It felt too soon, like breaking a speed record from airport to doorstep, factoring in landing, baggage, and Uber waits. My motion light, unnoticed until now, flickered on as I was lost in thought. My palms got a little clammy as I fished out my phone, checking for messages from a friend dropping by. But all my friends were back in my hometown. 

Unscheduled visits are a rarity out here, that’s part of the reason why I picked such an isolated home. 

Scrolling through my phone, the doorbell rang out, setting my pets into a louder commotion. Activating the security camera app, I saw Chris on the screen—dark hoodie, black beanie, and chill gray sweats. Hands in his pockets, a visible exhale, like he'd been holding his breath. Just one piece of luggage, small enough to be a carryon. Skipping baggage claim altogether, I guessed. 

Maybe he didn't want to risk airport paparazzi, but at this hour, it'd be a ghost town anyway. 

I unlocked the door, slower than planned, giving it a cautious swing open. Stepping back, I left room for him to enter, the question of how to react buzzing in my head. Hug him? Kiss him? Do a little happy dance? God this is awkward. Chris sniffed, a hint of red on his nose, and began shedding his shoes and beanie, shaking out his curly hair. He looked wiped, but it had been ages since I'd seen him without the makeup mask.    His eyes told the tale of tiredness, the faint shadow under barely-there brows, and the shifts in his skin tone—all untouched by the glam squad. Even a touch of facial hair peeked through, a secret sign of the real guy behind the polished pretty boy image, something he religiously stayed on top of. All the things that make him very human.  The things not many people get to see. 

"What changed?" I threw the question at him, arms crossed in the entryway. Our eyes connected for the first time since he rolled in. I caught a flicker in his right eye, a giveaway of stress and insomnia. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, a nervous move, just enough to reveal a hint of his dimple near his mouth's corner. 

Undeterred, I pressed on, "Channie—" 

His eyebrows pulled together instinctively, a tough look in his eyes. "Don't call me that," he shot back, a stern expression etched on his face. 

Frustration bubbled up, my voice amped up involuntarily, control slipping away. 

"What the fuck is your problem? What? Did you catch a red-eye just to come argue with me?" 

"Yes! I caught a red-eye fucking flight to—"    Chris cut himself off mid-sentence, sucking in air sharply through his teeth, muttering something under his breath in Korean. He ran his hand down his face, eyes closed, releasing a breath before locking eyes with me again. The anger lingered, but it was transforming into something I couldn't quite put my finger on. 

I could feel hot tears threatening, but I held them back, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, refusing to show any weakness. Was this the end? 

"Of course, I hopped on a flight to have it out with you. Isn't that what you wanted?"    “Don’t you gaslight me Christopher Bang, I’m not your little fucking fans–” 

He looked exasperated, hands out, "What do my fans have to do with this?! You said it's simple, am I coming or not? I'm here, just like you wanted, because it's all about you, isn't it?" 

I turned away, striding off, the red haze building within me. I wanted to lay into him for talking out the side of his neck like this, but I wouldn't stoop to that level. His voice echoed down the hall. 

"Yeah, walk away. It's your specialty—running away." 

I halted, closing my eyes, back turned to him, grappling with the urge. I fought it hard; he was on the brink of hitting below the belt. Logic eluded me at this moment. 

"I'm going to smoke before I physically violate you." 

Attempting to walk away again, his footsteps echoed behind me. Chris wasn't the type to follow for an argument—that was typically my role. I expected him to detour to the kitchen for a drink or something, anything other than what he actually did. His hand seized my forearm, yanking me hard enough to turn me three-quarters around. I saw red, wind knocked out of me as my back slammed into the wall, caged between his big, loud hands thudding against the wall beside my head. A flinch—a moment of confusion. Had he struck me? 

Quickly assessing, no parts of my body ached except between my shoulder blades from the impact. 

Breathing heavier than anticipated, Chris mirrored the sentiment. 

"Physically violate me, then," he uttered, his voice dangerously low, just above a whisper. My body was confused, my brain a tangled mess. His intense gaze bore into my face, forcing me to look away. He tilted his head, compelling eye contact once more. 

"It's not rocket science, Y/N." 

The phrase echoed from our earlier phone argument, reigniting my hostility. I raised my head, meeting his eyes with a narrowed gaze. "I hate you," I snarled, trying to slip underneath his arm to free myself. Chris wasn't having it; he gripped my wrist behind my back, pressing my chest against the wall. His muscular frame kept me in place, his chest against my back. I twisted my wrist, but he tightened his hold. His breath grazed my shoulder, his words so close to my ear it felt like he was feeding them straight into my brain. 

"I hate you too, baby," he murmured. His free hand ghosted the tendrils of hair that had escaped my messy ponytail, tender and gentle unlike the firm grip on my wrist. As his fingers swept the hair away, soft lips pressed against my skin, eliciting a sigh from my lips. Each kiss left thorns of heat, moving along my neck, down to my shoulder. 

"I hate you," I repeated, losing my edge. 

"Mmm, shut up—I know," Chris replied.    Finally, he releases me, his hands finding their way to my waist beneath my baggy sweatshirt. Despite being in my home for a few minutes, his touch is still cold against my warmed skin. I feel a shiver as my nipples harden, and he seems to sense it, cupping them, squeezing. My knees almost buckle as I lean back, my head perfectly resting on his shoulder. Our bodies intertwine, fitting together like a perfect puzzle piece. His fingers pinch the pebbled flesh, drawing a moan from me and an audible sigh from him. 

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel his hardness against my backside. It's not a gradual thing; he's already rock stiff, hips grinding into me as his hands explore my body with a passionate messiness. 

What were we arguing about again?    Lust swirls, making me dizzy with how good my body feels. My eyes lose focus and regain it with every recovery breath as he squeezes at the extra padding on my hips and waist. No part of my body goes untouched, and I try to shake off my reservations.     No, that was a hang-up of mine.    Christopher Bang is here to touch, lick, and squeeze every inch that belongs to him. 

A tap on my hip brings me back to reality—a gentle reminder between us whenever things heat up in unconventional places. 

Against-the-wall activities are actually pretty uncomfortable in real life. 

Who knew? 

He takes my hand, and I follow him like an excited puppy, almost stumbling over myself to reach his body once we get to the couch. It's my turn now; my hands have a mind of their own too, you know. 

Such a soft face without makeup, I'd almost forgotten the hardness of his body—had it become even more solid? My hands run over his abdomen, feeling something different—less lean, more meaty. Usually, I go straight for what's mine, but now I'm curious. Gripping the bottom of his hoodie, I can sense the muscle shirt underneath, so I yank them both off, the scent of his body wash, cologne, and deodorant hitting me all at once, etching the experience into my mind on nearly every sensory level, except for... 

Taste. 

As his clothes drop to the floor with a muffled thud on the carpet, he turns to face me. His skin is less milky, more sandy tan, and wheat-colored under my warm lights, unlike the artificial ones he's usually bathed in. He must've soaked up the sun in LA, and I can still see it reddening in the places where blood has surged the quickest. 

He's completely under the spell of carnal sensuality—deep in the well, unable to see anything around him, becoming the parts of himself he wouldn't dare confront in the daylight. I notice because I pay attention to things like that—I see the way he looks at me, as if I'm his most treasured plaything. His mannerisms change, slower, with certainty in every touch. He says things you wouldn't dare repeat once he's back to his Earth self, lest he deny, deny, deny, laughing loudly overtop of you, or cringing away from embarrassment. 

Yes, as I drop slowly to my knees, watching him, I see the way he stands in his masculinity, divine, a god in his own right. Just when I think the moment can't get any hotter or I might combust, I hear him—a puff of air through his nose, a lazy, almost entertained, but not quite—chuckle. His lip quirks ever so slightly upwards. 

"You hate me?" 

Heat radiates from my body; I'm certain I'm letting off steam at this point. I feel it, especially in my face, fingers wrapped in the waistband of his sweatpants, hanging loosely as I look down, unable to maintain eye contact, feeling regret building up in me. I can tell by the way he says it that he never believed it—but still... 

"I didn't think so," Chris' voice answers the unspoken questions in my head. His fingers graze the bottom of my chin, urging me to look at him. "Look at me while you do it." 

My engine roars to life without hesitation. I tighten my grip on his sweats, yanking them down with determination. He kicks them off, backing up to sit on the couch, but I'm not waiting. I take the caramel-colored, thick head of his dick between my lips, halting his retreat. The sweetness of his precum floods my mouth, turning bitter as it reaches the back of my tongue and throat. Flattening my tongue against the bottom of his girthy shaft, I open my mouth, letting him rub his sensitive, unsheathed tip against the warm, back wall of my throat. 

Obediently watching him. 

He likes that, making it clear by placing his hand on the back of my head, urging me to stay while he thrusts further, pulling out just a centimeter to plunge into my throat. Small gasps escape his lips every time my gag reflex spasms around him. I run out of breath, choking backward, and he lifts his hand, allowing me to right myself. 

"C'mon, babygirl—thaaaat's it—fuck." Chris grips what's left of my ponytail, guiding me back onto his dick, all the way to the back, with no true mercy. A few more tiny thrusts, and I'm coughing again, my mouth and jaw drenched with slippery saliva mixed with the constant ooze of his precum. He glances behind him, ensuring his seating, then lets himself fall back onto the couch, hand tangled in my thick hair as I wrap both hands around his cock—a pretty, deep brown, a stark contrast to his body tone. 

When I start focusing on stroking his sensitive tip, he drops his head back, emitting the most delicious groan. Pulling back on his sheath, dribbling spit onto his tip, I begin jerking him again, taking advantage of the smoothness the extra skin provides. I follow with my mouth, taking in whatever my hands can't reach, and when I start with the suction, another groan escapes him—this time, broken, his hips rising a little off the couch, encouraging me to keep going. 

"Oh God—that feels fucking—incredible; don't you—fucking stop."    His chest moves with each gasp as I twirl my hand a certain way. I try to stay consistent, but it's been a while, and my neck strains from the bobbing, lips growing numb. But fuck, he's so hot; I don't wanna stop. 

I engage in a slow rhythm, savoring the silky feeling of his dickhead against my swollen mouth and eager lips, pressing loud, wet kisses against it. He's lifted his gaze to watch, and I seize the opportunity to run my tongue along his length, exploring the prominent ridge beneath. 

"Oh my God—" His head drops back, words and vowels drawn out in ecstasy. 

I lean back on my heels, hands taking charge, a twist here, a firm grasp there. When I lean forward and start slurping again, with all intentions of taking this man’s soul—his hips withdraw, and he halts me with a breathless, "Fuck," sounding like he just finished a sprint. "You almost made me cum," He taps my shoulder twice, a signal we both understand, prompting another switch in our silent dance. 

I’m more than happy to obey, feeling how wet I’ve become when he pulls my sweats off as I climb onto the couch on my knees, my arms resting on the head of it that rests against the wall.   I can feel his hands, now warm, even hot almost against my ass as he spreads me open.  I curl my fingers into the couch with anticipation, and then comes the feeling of both of his fingers entering me first.  I let out an eager moan, reveling in the relief and satisfaction of being touched by someone so skillfully.  He’s curling two fingers, stroking my spot, I can feel his pinky and index splayed against my juicy, wet pussy lips.  The filthy sounds amplify as he increases the pressure, prompting me to move against his touch, the base of his hand firmly against my asshole. 

“Mmm, baby, you know how much daddy loves to eat this pretty little cunt—but the way you’re clenching around my fingers, fuck I—I gotta feel you.”  Chris slows down, he speaks again, reminding me of his proposition, “Is that alright babygirl? Hm? Can daddy fuck you now?” 

“Mhm, Mhm!” I can’t think straight, why was he asking? Of course he could fuck me ten ways from Tuesday in a handstand for all I care!  Just— 

“Fuck me.” I beg, unsure if I meant to finish that thought out loud. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” The weight of his knee presses onto my leg, his foot securing his position against my other thigh, his thumb against my asshole as I begin to feel his dick stretching me open, eliciting the weirdest, downright feral sound from deep within my gut. He’s raw, and I swore I could feel every vein, every ridge, and his head passing through every sensitive quadrant of my pussy until his balls tickled the lips covering my entrance.  It was then that my walls squeeze around him, desperate to feel him move.  I could almost make myself cum just like that—I begin moving against him, caught in the intensity of the moment, like a cat in heat, and he’s so deep, I feel him in places that make my eyes flutter. 

Thumb leaving my sensitive hole, Chris takes firm hold of the sides of my tummy, rutting into my heat, sending a shiver through my spine that puts me into an arch. He seizes the chance to hold the front of my neck, adjusting me for a slower, more profound connection, exploring every inch of me.  It takes a lot of stamina in the legs for this—of course he’s got that.  I rest my hand on his thigh beside me, feeling the firmness, digging my nails in as I grit my teeth together, the pleasure overwhelming me as our bodies, beginning to get slick with the fluids between us, rock desperately against one another. 

I'm released, and I lurch forward, barely snagging myself on the top of the couch. Just then, I sense it against my left hip— 

 tap tap 

My vision snaps back into focus as I hear him breathing as heavily as I am, flopping down onto the couch. I take the lead, hovering over him. We both gaze as his dick is swallowed up by my pussy, inch by beautiful inch.    I let out an incoherent sound, a mix of a grunt and a moan, my arm draped over his shoulder, fingers entwined in the curls at the nape of his neck as he thrusts. My touch shifts from gentle exploration to grabbing fistfuls of his thick, silky, curly hair at the base of his skull. Using my knees for stability, I sync with his rhythm, adding those addictive hip circles that set every part of me ablaze like a pinball machine. The alarms blare, the lights flash – this, right here, is my favorite way to connect with Chris, where we're on an equal playing field. 

As we delve deeper into each other's gaze, the intensity heightens, but there's always a moment when one of us surrenders, head lolling back, eyes rolling together. His hands work my hips in rhythmic circles, like a baker kneading dough on a board. Yet, I sense when he's had his fill as he takes back control, lifting me up and snapping his hips into me at speeds that defy reality. My cries become a constant stream, shameless screams of his name, erratic and desperate. 

"Yeah, thaat's it—"    I can feel my walls softening as my body begins to literally feel like it's filling up with water that’s threatening to consume me any second now.  I’m gasping, trying to form the words to tell him I’m almost there, that he can’t stop, or even slow up, he’s got to keep going, I’m certain if I don’t get there, I’m going to die. 

“D-Daddy, don’t—” I can’t say anything else, I can only hope he gets it. 

And he does. 

Chris always gets it. 

“Gonna stop---all your bitching, hm?”  He’s holding my waist to allow me the freedom to focus on my impending orgasm. “Gonna let me do my fucking job from now on, yeah?”    “Mm--yeah!”      “Say it,”    “Chris!” I whimper in protest, “I’mma s-stop fucking---bitching!” 

“That’s my girl.”    He slaps my ass, sending a shock through my body, but before I can recover, he strikes again, and again, and my body becomes quickly hyperstimulated. I start letting go, my breath held hostage in my chest as Chris lets out a stream of curses, hitting his peak and spilling inside of me.  I can feel it, it’s carrying my climax out even further, and when I finally collapse, with him still inside, I can feel my entire body buzzing, and I’m muttering something that doesn’t make sense to myself or him. 

We're both catching our breath, heart rates settling down, but Chris finds joy in this aftermath. He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my lower back, exploring the dimples above my tailbone.    "What are you saying?" he asks. 

"I love you. I love you, and I never want us to breakup. Ever," I say, more composed now, my cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, the pull of sleep threatening to take over like it always did after a proper orgasm. His arms wrap around me, securing them with a grasp on his own wrist. I feel a sense of security. 

"I love you too. I didn't come all this way to break up with you," he reassures me. I lift my head, likely with my hair wild and untamed. 

"Really, Channie?" 

He laughs.  The nickname is cleared for use again. He kisses my lips.

"Of course not. Why would I cross the country just to break up with someone? That seems like a lot of...effort," Chris continues. He tilts his head back to gaze at me, tucking his chin in. Once he sees my focused attention, he looks ahead as he talks. "I want to be with you, or I wouldn't have made you my girl—" 

"You didn't," I interrupt, sitting up. I pull away from his lap, wrapping the knitted throw over myself as I nestle into the couch beside him. 

He looks puzzled, "I didn't? Really?" He shrugs, raising his brows. "I always thought you were." 

The relief floods in. 

So, we were on the same page. 

Curiosity takes over, and I inquire, "When did you start thinking of me as your girlfriend?" 

"Mm." Chris looks up in thought before locking eyes with me again. "The first time we had sex." 

I'm taken aback by the memory. It wasn't a smooth ride, ended up in a heated argument. "When I got caught outside the building after our studio session? Chris, you almost jeopardized your whole career after that." 

Chris tugs at the blanket's end, and I hand it over. As he slides underneath, he takes my foot into his lap, rubbing circles into the center. "That's not how it works—don't get me wrong, it was... difficult. It still is, which is why I couldn't just decide to show up when you asked. I've been allowed, by contract, to date for a few years now." 

"Then why are we sneaking around like you're ashamed of me or something?" I hug the blanket tighter, feeling exposed. 

Chris seems thrown by this revelation. "Ashamed of you for what? You're beautiful, talented. I don't—did I give you that impression, babygirl?" He shakes his head. "I'm protecting you. You've just been signed to a major label, and we've got a good thing going, yeah? Why mess it up now when we can wait for things to level out for the both of us?" 

He makes some valid points. It's reassuring to hear he's not ashamed of me. I start to feel the familiar peace his presence brings. It's been four months since we were last in the same country, let alone the same city. I grew impatient after he came in on business and then left again, making excuses not to see me. That's why this time, I escalated it and added pressure. 

"Level out, what does that mean?" I ask. Chris sits back, mindlessly running his thumb over the pads of my toes while looking at the coffee table's candle. 

"I think we'll know once we both get there." He looks up to me. "I'm sorry, babygirl. I wish I had a better answer for you right now." He sounds sincere enough. I believe him. He's given me no reason not to trust him before, right? His fingers stop on my soles, and he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to see something better. He leans forward, picking up the knitted beanie near the ashtray. 

My heart drops when I realize what it is. 

But why? I didn't do anything wrong.    RIght? 

"This new?" He turns it around on his hand. "Where'd you get it? I like it." 

Caught in the moment, I blurt, "A gift." I reach forward, taking it before he can spot any stray hair that doesn't match mine. He's not checking that closely, at least not yet. I turn it over in my hands. "I've been keeping it cold in the house, so it helps keep me warm," I say, tossing it onto the beanbag chair. I turn to him, nudging his shoulder as I scoot closer. 

"Sooo, how was KCON?"  - fin

[vaalthus]

End of Magic Part 2: Grand Finale of Book 3 (spoilers)

My My, what a magnificent conclusion

The rather terrifying realization that Aequilibria isn't just erupting to kill everyone on Lore to wipe its shell clean of "impurities" but that it is literally going to snuff out those lives to get the mana everyone has back into itself. Which was somewhat clear when it initially introduced itself to the Hero but it's becoming pretty easy to see why it sees no issue with what its doing since from the Elements' perspective they're only taking back what they loaned out in their new little playground.

The fact that this "aspect" refers to the Aequilibria as a separate entity or designation from itself only further cements my suspicion that Sk'aar, the god of nightmares, is indeed in some shape or form a part of Aequilibria. Another aspect, or sub-function if we consider potential ties to Mechquest, but something that is based on either thoughts or dreams but that is something I wish to put under a microscope another time.

It's a small thing but I just love that in short amount of time our little mage trio have learned to piggybacked onto each other's spells for cooperation. Ya love to see it and speaking of things I love to see...

Our dragon child entering a rebellious streak against their parents!!!

I'm totally going to choose to believe this image is nothing more than a quick background cutaway for the Aspect's ultimate attack. I'm definitely NOT going to bring up the fact that it used a rune coloration affiliated with the Infernals from the Exaltia Tower. I'm also definitely not going to bring up the fact that Notha mentioned that "Evil" was the "Will of the Infernals"

>:]

Ooof sure hope the Wastes have some answers on this because uh yeah...

Ya know it's fascinating that Alexander has become this sort of big brother/uncle figure at this point in the story though after all he's suffered and all he's been able to reconcile it makes a lot of sense that he has a few bits of wisdom to deliver and kindness to provide the innocent. His advice here about duty should not be ignored though. It's been brought up before, but the Hero's rather obsessive need to be THE hero in people's lives, to be that constant helping hand, is something that could destroy them if they aren't careful.

As it stands now, our primary goal is going to be keeping Aequilibria from killing everyone which is no easy task with this scenario, not to mention the new conflicts that will surely arise from this aftermath or those that have been lying in wait to be a problem later. Hopefully, when that time comes, the hero will not make the same mistakes as both his enemies and his allies have made when the challenges ahead prove to be too much to bear alone.

THE TRUTH JAANIA!!!: We woke up god, you realized you were wrong, and now we all need to work together before an uncaring deity swallows us whole with mana juice.

This saga tragically began with three and it ends with three, ends in acceptance and peace. Rest well gang, may you reawaken to a world where your efforts did not go to waste.

Ooof that's a lot more new fissures than I was expecting and there's no telling how many may have opened on the lands we can't see like Lhe'Shiyac.

Not sure how to feel about this news. On one hand, it makes sense to have someone from our side of the world to try and give the Shapeless Empire some much needed perspective on how it rebuilds in the coming years and it wouldn't do to have Alteon return and cause potential problems with his daughter's newfound authority. On the other hand, I can't imagine how pissed or hurt Victoria, Brittany, and Tara might be when they find out he just kind of bailed to be an adventurer. Additionally, I'm not sure how much assistance he'll be in changing the Magesterium but I guess that's a job for Ostromir and Vseslava perhaps?

As in you guys will be using more ethical approaches, right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Us and our dragon riding off into the sunset into an uncertain but hopeful future was honestly the best way to end this chapter. To the devs a very pleasant thank you for the effort you put into this game after all these yea-

YO WHAT THE CLUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT BUTTON, CYSERO!?!?

[nyazhis-jsablr]

BotB: C1 Results

“oh man, the white room’s a me- hu-?Oh, didn’t see you there! Welcome back everyone, to the Battle of the Blixers! I hope you all had a very merry Christmas, or Hannukah, or whatever you all celebrate! I don’t celebrate any of those, so whatever!”

“Anyways, the last contest was certainly a spectacle to behold! So many fighting, lasers, just, woaaah!”

“But enough said about the challenge, now let’s talk about the AFTERMATH!”

“Let’s see the point tallies, shall we?”

Point Tallies

Vote Results

“The one who caught the most hearts with their battle is zim’s Blixter! Followed only by Blixer Eclipses, and the other Blixter!”

“There’s actually three ties here in the voting, so each tie will get points from the higher placement in the tie! So for example, Moxie and Blixel got a tie inbetween 4th and 5th, so they get the points over in 4th place!”

“Enough about the popularity vote, let’s get to the extra credit!”

Extra Credit

“Woah, that’s pretty different compared to the voting.”

“I mean, my criteria for extra credit is to destroy the dummies the most, and also keep it clean, so that’s that!”

“First off, almost half of you guys just laser blasted the dummies, which didn’t leave much of a mess, so good job!”

“The ones that actually faught did a decent job, although someone made a mess bigger than the others… Eh, if he stuck to his word and helped clean, it’s all fine!”

“Oh yeah, there’s also people who didn’t completely destroy their dummies, sometimes being completely terrifying in the process, so their points gained are more lower. By the way, this includes dummy chunks! No, the scares don’t knock ya down, even though that was actually terrifyi-”

“So that’s all the extra credit! Time to move onto the total point tally!”

Total Points

“And there you have it! Everyone got double digits, so good job!”

“Now, here’s the leaderboard!”

Leaderboard

“And there you go! First place is zim’s Blixter, second is Blixer Eclipses, followed by starwlf’s Blixter in third! Is this just a coincidence that it’s exactly the same as in the Popularity Vote? Eh, maybe.”

“Don’t worry to the people behind though, since the point counts get raised by 1.5x after every challenge, meaning you can make an unexpected comeback! So good luck!”

“Anyways, that’s it for now! Watch out for the next challenge coming out in a few days, since it’s gonna be smokin’! But until then, this is Step, and this is the Battle of the Blixers!”

@blixersupremacy @anonymously-night @woahtriangle @fim-and-echo-co @starwlf @jsabaddict @zim-card @robotwithanr @thecorruptmatrix @appri-dot

[jacklynchh]

So Eden Sank to Grief • Self-Para

➥ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Grief, loss, blood, drinking.

Bravery has never been Jack's finest quality. His white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel serves as a reminder of this as he passes the sign out of town. 'You are now leaving Blue Harbor. Come again soon!' The words barely even register. Every mile added to the odometer is another mile put between him and his fear, unravelling his guilt and leaving it roadside to rot.

At least that's what he tells himself.

Outside twilight merges the gloom of the sky with the blur of trees as they pass and the world becomes a bleak tunnel through which he travels with no light waiting at the end. He ignores the buzzing of his phone. He ignores the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him to turn around. With every minute that passes by he tells himself that this is necessary. He tells himself that it's okay. That it will help.

It isn't. It doesn't.

It won't.

DECEMBER, 2022.

Two days after the funeral Jack sits amidst the destruction that used to be the kitchen, blood seeping through the formerly white cloth wrapped around his hand as a makeshift bandage. Sunlight glitters from the sharp edges of broken glass scattering countertops and one of the cabinet doors hangs off its hinges revealing a sad set of empty shelves, the plates which they used to hold now strewn across the floor in jagged shards. He's not sure what made him do it. It's all a blur now. All he knows it that one moment he was standing there, looking numbly at the collection of lasagnes and various other foiled dishes delivered by well-meaning neighbours, and the next he was moving, shoving them all off the edge in a wave of fury and pain, breaking, kicking, destroying, until there was nothing left to throw.

Grace had hated lasagne.

Now, in the aftermath of that thought, he leans back against the counter empty as the cabinet. He thinks he should care more, maybe want to kick himself for doing it. He's going to have to clean it all up, and how will he return the empty dishes to their owners when they're in pieces? But he can't. He can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to feel anything anymore. Since the moment he watched the coffin sink into the ground, since he stood over it to toss the first handful of earth into the grave, there's been nothing left inside of him. It's like he's been set adrift.

The house is too quiet. Too empty. No one comes to check on him.

His stare is blank as he lifts the bottle of whiskey to his lips with his good hand. If her voice isn't there to fill the silence, then he'll drink until the empty feeling goes. There's no one there to stop him. After all, what does it matter what Grace did or didn't like anymore? She's not here.

AUGUST, 1997.

"Whatcha doing?"

Jack startles, dropping the wrench with a loud clang against the garage floor. He hadn't noticed the shadow falling over him, too absorbed with what he was doing, and for a moment he stares at its owner with his mouth slightly agape, like a fish.

He's seen the girl only once before; an hour ago, out on next door's front lawn, hanging around on the low wall, listening to a Walkman while movers hauled boxes out from a van and carted them up the driveway into the house. It's been a noisy affair. An older couple—to whom he assumes the house now belongs—have been darting in and out all morning, trying to coordinate what goes where. An aura of stress radiates from the vicinity, but the girl in front of him seems unbothered by the mayhem.

His tongue appears to have tied itself in a knot, words refusing to come out, but that doesn't seem to bother her either. When he says nothing, she keeps talking.

"I saw you looking at me earlier, in the window. I guess we're neighbours now, huh? That's pretty cool. I didn't know if there would be any other kids on the street."

Embarrassment warms his face at the realisation that she'd noticed him. He thought he'd gotten away with it, watching the proceedings from the kitchen at breakfast. But she doesn't seem to be bothered by his spying. If anything, she looks intrigued. She steps further into the garage to see what he's doing and without the sunlight bouncing from it, her hair turns from shining gold to an ashy blonde. It's pulled back in a haphazard ponytail and dotted with little plastic butterfly clips. In their later years, Jack will be forced to admit that he was enamoured with Grace from that moment, and she'll tease him for his oh-so-eloquent reply.

"Uh…"

His lack of conversational skills don't seem to matter, though. The motorcycle has caught her attention, distracting her from any awkward stuttering. It sits half dismantled in front of it, parts scattered across the floor alongside various tools. Jack's supposed to be waiting for his dad to come out and help him, but the old man was waylaid by a phone call from his sister about thirty minutes ago and it'll be at least another hour before Aunt Lucy runs out of things to say, so he's taken it upon himself to get started on fixing the clutch. Or at least trying to fix the clutch. He's pretty sure he can do it himself. Maybe.

"Whoa, is this yours? Is it a bike? Are you fixing it? Cool! My mom would never let me do anything like this, she doesn't like mess. She already gets way too mad about my sewing, she says I leave too much stuff around the house, but I think houses look better that way, you know? It's weird if a place is too neat. Hey, what's that?"

Jack blinks, then looks down at the part laying by his knee.

"A pressure plate?"

"What's it for?"

"Um… it holds the clutch in place. Sort of."

"Cool. You'll have to show me what that is at some point. I'm Grace by the way. What's your name?"

She sticks out her hand expectantly, a wide smile in place, and Jack only feels slightly dazzled as he wipes off his smudged fingers on his shirt and reaches out to shake it. He's never met anyone like her before—a sentiment that will be repeated over and over for the next twenty five years.

MARCH, 2024.

The yard is dead. No new spring blooms poke their head out of the ground to greet the world, no freshly turned dirt adorns the flower beds along the edge. The door hinges on the shed have rusted shut from disuse and something with claws has dug holes all over the previously well-kept lawn. Jack doesn't even look at anymore, but his mom peers out the kitchen window at it with a worried crease in her brow as he drinks his coffee at the table. That crease has been there a lot lately, a featured act in every appearance at his front door. He knows she's working up to saying something, but he doesn't know what. That seems to be the vibe with all of the people in his life lately; the hesitance, the hovering. Like he's some sort of china doll that will break if they move too suddenly around him.

He wishes they wouldn't. His surroundings are filled with enough reminders of his grief as it is. The very walls of the house hold the ghost of Grace's laugh, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, the lingering image of her saying good morning from the kitchen doorway. It's been two years and the numbness is still there, cloying and all-encompassing, and when he's alone it threatens to swallow him whole.

"Oh, honey," his mom says, brushing the hair out of his eyes with that painfully concerned look on her face. "I don't think staying in this house is good for you, you need to be able to move."

She's right. He knows she's right. But he's not quite ready to admit that just yet, so he shrugs her off and sips his coffee, and wishes he could add something a little stronger to it without having her tut over his shoulder. Under the table, he reaches a foot out like he would have done back in the day, to bump it against Grace's, a quiet confirmation of solidarity. It meets nothing but empty air.

Whoever says that grief gets easier over time is a goddamn liar.

THE MOMENTS IN BETWEEN

The moments in between are a golden confetti of laughter, magic, and heartbreak. Grace is by and large the strangest person Jack's ever met. She's also the kindest, and the funniest, and the most beautiful. He doesn't know what to expect after their meeting in the garage, but the life that follows is more perfect than anything he could've dreamt up by himself.

He remembers the way she rested her head on his shoulder the first day of high school, the strawberry scent of her shampoo tickling his nose as the pair of them listened to her Walkman together on the bus. He remembers the day she got into college and the pride mingled with that horrible ache, the knowledge that she was leaving weighing heavy on his shoulders, only lifted when she asked him to go with her. He remembers the taste of rum on her lips the first night that she kissed him, they were nineteen and the muffled sounds of the Halloween party in their apartment threatened to burst through the bedroom door as she called him an idiot and asked why he hadn't made a move yet, wasn't it obvious they were supposed to be together?

He remembers the fear and the excitement. The way waking up with her every day felt like the start of some new kind of adventure. How she made him laugh so hard it felt like his ribs would crack and the warmth of her cradled in his arms after a bad day, when all she needed was a hug. Her hand in his as they made their vows and their loved ones cheered in celebration.

He remembers the blood tests coming back and the doctor saying 'I'm afraid I have some bad news', and the painful static that'd filled his head moments later. The tears on her cheeks, her hand squeezing his so hard she left nail indents in his skin, and his own promise that 'we'll get through this, everything will be alright.'

And he remembers that promise breaking, every piece of confetti left lying wrinkled and faded on the ground, the rain spattering his shoulders as mourners swathed in black surrounded him.

He remembers every. single. bit.

NOVEMBER, 2024.

So it goes like this: Jack, tired of his parents' fretting, tired of the pitying looks from his friends, neighbours and clients, and tired of the way his bedroom walls feel like they're closing in on him every night, finally bites the bullet and takes his mom's advise. The house in Burlington is stowed away in boxes piece by piece, shoved into the back of his truck, and hauled out to the town his grandfather grew up in, the only parts of which Jack remembers being the impossibly giant trees and an old fashioned candy store on a street corner. That turns out to be a blessing.

He doesn't expect much from it, but when he arrives on the doorstep of his new house he finds that he can almost breathe for the first time in two years. There are no ghosts lingering in the walls and he hears no long-dead laughter, and though that absence makes him reach for the beer it doesn't make him want to sink into oblivion quite so deeply as he has been.

The yard is large and full of potential. Again, there is a lack of ghosts. He did not spend mornings sitting out on the porch with Grace here, or warm afternoons out planting the weirdest seeds they could find at the nursery out in the flower beds. It's a place of his own untouched by the past and his fingers itch to do something with it, a familiar feeling gone foreign, now revived.

Routine settles in. Though the traces of Grace that haunt him in Vermont are non-existent here, habit has him setting out two mugs of coffee in the morning. One he drinks and one goes cold, but somehow it helps. Like it's a reminder that though he's left Vermont behind, he hasn't left Grace entirely, and the guilty feeling in his chest unwinds. He accepts it as part of his day and moves on to check his emails. Working is surprisingly busy in this town. It's good. It keeps his mind busy.

And though he is content with his own company, swearing to himself that he's fine alone, he attends a grief support group so that his parents won't worry so much. It feels like a waste of his time and listening to the grief of others makes him uncomfortable, but it becomes as ever-present in his week as the coffee. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he finds himself surrounded by neighbours who want to talk to him. There's something in the air in Forest Lake, maybe it's catching. There are dinner parties and nights at the pub, and somewhere along the way the most beautiful man he's ever seen looks back at Jack and turns his stomach over with his smile.

Rory Anderson is like coming up for air after drowning. There are very few people in this world that Jack feels totally, utterly comfortable around, and Grace was always the only one he felt knew him truly, but it seems as though Rory might too. Despite this, Jack tells himself it's not serious. It's not serious and they'll both get bored soon, probably, and move on. This spark he feels between them, the one that threatens to ignite and burn, that's all it is. A spark. Easily dampened. Nothing to worry about.

But with Rory comes Annie, and the two of him welcome them into their inner circle like he's supposed to be there. Their company is like a warm blanket engulfing him on a rainy day. Comforting, so much so that he doesn't ever want to move. The longer he spends around them the more he finds himself smiling, something he thought he'd forgotten how to do. And then he finds himself planning ahead, which… what? When did the future come into play? There isn't supposed to be a future, not without…

But he pushes those thoughts away and ignores the squirming, guilty feeling in his gut that tells him he's committing the ultimate act of betrayal. He'll deal with that later. Always later.

The world brightens. The air becomes easier to breathe. He looks forward to waking up again. The warmth of somebody else in his bed is no longer a distant memory and laughter stops feeling like it belongs in another life altogether. The yard isn't dead. Nothing in his kitchen is broken. There is no graveyard dirt under his fingernails.

And then, one morning, he comes downstairs and unthinkingly he pulls out only a single mug for coffee. Just the one. It's not until an hour later when he comes back for a refill that he realises.

He forgot.

And it all comes crashing down.

PRESENT DAY

Bravery has never been Jack's finest quality. It is swamped by an endless sea of guilt, mourning, and self-loathing. The single coffee cup sits abandoned on his kitchen counter as Blue Harbor fades into a distant dot in his rear-view mirror and the buzz of his phone is drowned out by thrum of the engine. Ahead, Burlington awaits like a looming ghost, calling him home. Running is easier than falling. If he doesn't fall, he can't get hurt.

[magnetarmadda]

@tmaappreciationweek Day 5: What If? What if they kissed after Jon went to America, huh?? What if?????

Martin first realized how desperately he wanted to kiss Jon in the aftermath of what was apparently his second kidnapping. He'd gingerly helped clean and rebandage Jon's wounds, touched Jon's skin as little as possible, and made them both tea as they sat in the quiet, dim break room. Looking over the brim of his mug, he'd been struck with the feeling, that he'd like to kiss it all better for Jon. He hadn't been unaware of his feelings before that, of course, but it was something akin to being hit by a truck, and he'd choked on his tea. Jon's subsequent frown and murmured, "Okay?" had done unfair things to Martin's heart. But Jon was thoroughly traumatized, couldn't handle skin contact at all—Martin had accidentally touched a finger when passing over tea, and he'd almost completely broken down. So Martin tied his feelings in a series of complicated knots and dropped them into the sea—they were far from relevant right now.  Then, the phone calls. So many phone calls while Jon was in America, nearly every night, and the intimacy had grown. What started as relatively stilted, mostly on-topic phone calls had given way to casual, friendly conversation, and then soft mutterings of, "I miss you." So Martin had made up his mind. He wouldn't push, of course, but with the potential end of the world from clowns and mannequins looming over their heads, he'd decided there was no point in holding back his feelings, in at least saying aloud the growing affection in his ribs—affection he had started to hope was returned. Looking at Jon now, Martin's holding onto every piece of remaining courage he has. Jon's smile is soft and a bit sleepy, but his eyes are shining as they sit down for tea, as though this is routine. Jon is telling a story about his flight back, something about a seat partner who didn't believe in sharing arm rests, and Martin is grinning. The words don't matter, not really, just that Jon is here, telling this story, and that Martin can see he's alive and whole and not kidnapped again. Christ, Martin loves him. Martin chokes on his tea, reminiscent of that night weeks ago, when the intensity of his desire to comfort Jon had lighted itself upon him. "Martin?" Jon asks, eyebrows furrowing and one hand reaching out for Martin. "Are you all right?" Still coughing a bit, Martin nods frantically, trying to clear his throat. He stumbles over his words a few times, but somehow manages to convince Jon that he's not dying from his own tea. (That would've been embarrassing.) Whatever else Jon was going to have said, his face curves into a fond smile, and the lines around his mouth crinkle as he says, "I missed you." Giving one more cough, this one mostly to cover his embarrassment, Martin repeats softly, "I missed you, too." "O-oh," Jon says, eyes widening in surprise a bit, but he looks delighted. "R-really?" Martin laughs, he can't help it. "Of course, Jon," Martin replies, still smiling. He could leave it here, let the moment pass, but Jon's eyes—happy, surprised, a little sad—spur him on, and Martin yanks on the bundle of courage he'd amassed. "I'm mad about you, you know." Jon seems to have no idea what to say to this, and Martin can feel himself getting redder and redder as the seconds tick by.  He's considering retracting his words—well, not exactly, but trying to smooth them over and then make as graceful an exit as possible—when Jon stands abruptly.  Martin realizes the enormity of his fuck-up and begins to apologize, but the words die on his tongue when Jon stops in front of Martin's chair. Jon places his hands atop Martin's shoulders and then he's kissing Martin, and Martin finds he doesn't care one wit about an apology.

[bluejayboi]

Aishite Aishite Aishite- Soft yandere Vil: Part 2

Here's the second part of my Aishite Aishite Aishite story (I would recommend reading it first if you haven't already). I had some details I wanted to wrap up but they didn't fit in the story very well. I formatted them as headcanons for simplicity. Enjoy~

TW: Yandere themes, aftermath of attack and kidnapping, drugging (poison, love potion, and sleep potion), restraints, and possible injury

Vil feels their hands go slack against his own as they stop trying to pry off his grip. He feels them go limp beneath him and frantically checks their pulse to make sure he didn’t go too far (maybe puts his ear to their chest to listen for a heartbeat). He lets out a sigh of relief when he finds their pulse is still relatively steady.

He sees the red marks he’s left on their neck and feels guilt pool up in his gut. He’s marred their perfect form. He’s the cause of their pain. This is his fault.

Desperate to make up for the harshness he had shown them, he clutches them close for a momentary embrace before carefully picking them up in a bridal carry. He brings them to his room and gets them situated before returning to deal with the girl. He has a disturbingly giddy look on his face when poisoning her (and uses magic to clean everything up)

It’s a slow awakening for [Name]. They find themself in a soft, luxurious bed. The purple and white blankets pool around them and the pillows feel as soft as a cloud. This does little to comfort the aching pain in their neck. There was a strange pressure around it that they could only describe as feeling like soft fabric and a cold sensation. They move to reach for it but find that they can’t. Their wrists had been wrapped in silk and tied to the bed posts. The same was true for their ankles too, only those were simply tied together and not tied down to anything. They start squirming, trying to loosen their bonds and get out of this room. They remembered what had happened. They couldn’t stay here.

Still groggy from everything that had happened, they had completely overlooked the presence in the room. Sitting at the desk next to the bed was Vil, fretting over the contents of a first aid kit and random vials of potions. Hearing the rustling from his bed, Vil perks up and turns to them eagerly

He’s quick to explain the situation at hand: he had bandaged their wounds (since they had gotten a few scrapes and bruises from leaping over the desks) and used silk to secure an ice pack on their neck. He tries to offer potions for healing and pain relief but [Name]— being understandably mistrusting— refuses them. He explains that he had to tie them down to keep them from leaving but that he made sure to use the finest of silk for bindings to ensure that he didn't hurt them or mar their beautiful skin any further!

He’s desperately apologizing to them, promising that he never wanted to hurt them but that he had to or else they’d leave him. He promises to give them anything, do anything for them; just please, let him love them. Let him feel needed. Please don’t leave him.

It was nearly spring break when he first took them. He decided to plan around this: He would finish out the last few weeks of school, take [Name] home with him when the break starts, and then sometime into the break (long enough after [Name’s] disappearance that he wouldn’t be considered too suspicious) he would drop out of NRC, claiming that the college was just too time consuming and got in the way of his career. He does plan on continuing his education with private tutors (both to avoid suspicion and because he genuinely cares about bettering himself)

He would fervently apologize to [Name] because his plan involved him keeping them tied up in his room for a few weeks. They deserved far more than his meager room could provide. He wanted to give his precious bird the most exquisite gilded cage, but for now he’d have to settle with silken restraints keeping them bound– unable to escape him

He’d try to keep his actions a secret but his close friends will still suspect something. Rook always seems to be watching (and perhaps already knew about his actions) while Epel just sensed that something was off through his Senior’s actions.

Vil didn’t want to hurt his friends. Despite always acting so cold, he still cared about them. So he made some alterations to his plan; He knew that he would have to be away from his love for various stretches of time due to his career. But what if he could leave a trusted person, or better yet two people, with them to attend to their every need in his absence? After some consideration, he came to the conclusion that this would be the best course of action: preserving his bonds with his friends while securing their loyalty to him and his beloved.

He set to work brewing a potion. He needed to ensure that they’d go along with his plan. And what better way then brewing up a potion that would convince them to see things his way. He brews his own love potion, this one in particular being set to induce feelings of platonic love (he couldn’t have them trying to steal his role as [Name’s] lover after all). He would force them to consume more than enough of the potion to ensure that they were just as obsessed with them as he was. He would indoctrinate them with his ideals, teaching them to be protective and doting to his love. And just for an added safety net, he would give them a bit of the potion with its effects directed towards him, to ensure that their loyalty to him was unwavering (to make sure they didn't double cross him and take his beloved away)

He would prefer to sneak the potion to them but would settle with forcing it down their throats if he must. He’ll do what he must to keep his friends and his love with him

As he feeds them the potion (in whatever way he must), he mutters to himself: “None of you can stop it now” with a twisted smile on his face

[Name] tried to persuade either boy to help them escape but was forced to watch as the effects of the love potion claimed them both, just like it did Vil. They watch the obsession swirl in their now pink-flecked eyes as the two start fawning over them. All they can feel is the overwhelming dread at the fact that their opportunity to escape had just slipped through their fingers (probably for good)

Rook will be a worshiping yandere, hands down. He would be head over heels for them and just as delusional as Vil (probably more to be honest). He conforms with Vil’s delusions, feeding into and adding to them. He will be speaking French a whole lot, especially with his poems, songs, and declarations of love. He’ll be eccentric and eager with his affections. Lots of words of affirmation and physical affection. He’s very protective and will keep everyone other than Vil and Epel away from his dearest ami/amie*

Epel will be a more down-to-earth but overall doting yandere. He won’t be as delusional as the other two but he has his moments. He will absolutely use his boyish charms to garner more attention from his dear friend and will use them for manipulation if he has to. He’ll mainly use gift giving and quality time but he definitely has a soft spot for physical affection

After this part of his plan is complete, Vil often has either Epel, Rook, or both looking after [Name] while he’s busy. This will happen when they’re all still at school (taking turns between their classes) and he’ll bring them all to his home over the break. He wants them both to leave NRC with him and makes sure that things are set up for them (rooms in his home are prepared to match their preferences, personal tutors and/or trainers if they’re interested, and more)

Even with himself and the other two watching over them, he’d still be cautious when bringing [Name] home. He would make them take a sleeping potion. He doesn’t want to be as rough with them as when he first took them so he’d hide it

Vil untied one of their hands so that they could feed themself (after a great deal of complaints and resistance over him feeding them) and propped them up with pillows so they could somewhat sit upright. They had finished the exquisite food that he had served them (as much as they wanted to hate it– to hate the fact that he knew their favorite foods and was dotting on them like a lover would a sick, bedridden spouse– they had to admit they had taken a liking to this kind of cooking). Vil had left with the dirty dishes, leaving the boys to watch over them. Epel was sprawled across the sheets, trying to cuddle against them through the blankets. Rook had taken a seat on their other side and was gently taking a napkin to their lips to wipe up any remnants of the meal. Even if they tried to use their one free arm to fight back or untie the other restraints, they knew that Epel would just latch onto it like he was hugging a plushy. And they'd have to deal with Rook's mock exasperation and chiding too

Vil returned to the room holding a steaming mug of their favorite warm beverage. He tells them to take a sip and that he prepared it just for them, beaming with a proud closed-eye smile. There’s no choice really, he would just end up pouting and having a meltdown if they tried to refuse it (becoming a blubbering mess of tears and apologies and begs whenever they tried to resist in any way)

They take a sip of the beverage. Several flavors dance on their tongue (i.e. tea might have honey, hot chocolate might have cinnamon, it’s up to your preferences) along with a floral taste that carries hints of mint and rosemary. Did he put lavender in this?

It doesn’t take more than a few sips before [Name] feels grogginess start to overtake their senses. They can feel their thoughts slowing, dripping slow and thick like honey. They try to say something but it’s incoherent, their words coming out all slurred and quiet. They felt the mug being pulled from their loosening grasp before it could spill its contents onto the bed sheets. They were teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, their eyelids fluttering to remain open. Rook was softly caressing their hair, guiding their head down to the pillow. Epel had reached for their unbound hand and pressed it against his cheek as he gazed at them adoringly. Vil seemed to beam with pride over the situation as he gently cradled the mug in his hands. The last thing they saw before passing out was the soft smiles on all the boys’ faces. The last thing they heard were the soft coos, coaxing them to drift into slumber.

By the time they wake up, they’ll be in a new room with the three boys staring at them with big, proud smiles

Look up “extravagant fantasy bedroom” for inspiration over the room. Pick your favorite and let your imagination do the rest

No expense will be spared in ensuring the room is luxurious and comfortable. There’s a walk-in closet that’s larger than their dorm room back at NRC, an elegant bathroom that looked like it was plucked right out of a spa, and the room itself was huge. It felt like they were in a small apartment instead of a single bedroom. It’s stockpiled with various supplies (including self-care products, countless forms of entertainment, a flat screen TV that was wider than they were tall, materials for their hobbies, and so much more) so that they could have everything they need in the comfort of their gilded cage. Everything was shining and sparkling, both from being freshly cleaned and since a lot of it was made from precious metals and jewels.

Vil wanted to make sure this room was only the best for them. He doesn’t plan on letting them leave the walls of this room for the time being. Perhaps in the future he can trust them to wander the halls of his home, but for now he can’t risk them being tempted with the idea of escape.

Vil will continue his gift giving (he’s especially excited that they have no choice but to keep his gifts now) and both Rook and Epel will join in. It becomes a contest to see who can give them the best gifts (aka the gifts that make them the happiest). Vil will continue with his expensive gifts– like before– but he puts more emphasis on items used for entertainment (so they won’t get bored during their confinement), clothes (since he finally has the chance to dress them in a way that compliments their beauty) and self care products (he needs to make sure they stay radiant and healthy). Epel prefers giving homemade gifts over expensive ones (since he can only afford so much). He gives them wood carvings, home cooked food (lots of apples and apple-based recipes), flowers he’s collected, and other such things. Rook will want to give them the trophies of his hard work (usually things he’s gotten from his hunts so expect a lot of furs and such) but will also give them surprisingly insightful and thoughtful gifts (that leave them wondering just how long he’s been watching them and how well he knows them).

Whenever Vil has to leave for his job, he’ll leave the boys with a long list of things they have to do in order to keep [Name] healthy. No matter how well the boys do with following the rules he sets, he’s always worried that they’ll miss one little detail and something terrible will happen. He’ll call multiple times everyday just to ease his worries (and he’ll force Epel or Rook to put his love on the phone so he can hear their lovely voice). As soon as he gets back, he’ll rush straight to their room. He’ll latch onto them in an embrace and refuse to let go for a few hours, ranting about how torturous it was being away from them. The love potion makes him an addict for both their attention and presence. The longer he goes without them, the more pain he ends up being in– both physically and mentally. So when he gets back he glues himself to their side– desperate for any crumb of attention they’re willing to spare him.

[Name] gets certain privileges when it’s just them, Epel, and Rook. The boys want to pamper them in ways that Vil won’t allow so they take advantage of his absence. This is the only time [Name] can get fast food, takeout, or processed foods in general since Vil is always insisting on having his personal chefs whip up something healthier. Epel will absolutely smuggle them in the food that they want while Rook pretends to not notice (he has a deal with Epel that he won’t rat him out in exchange for things like extra time with [Name] or closer spots to [Name] on the couch). This is also the only time when they’re allowed to stay up late. Vil is determined to get them on a sound sleep schedule (always going on about the importance of circadian rhythms and beauty sleep), so he makes them go to sleep earlier than they usually would (he will give them small portions of sleeping potions in their dessert to make them go to sleep at a time he approves of). Sometimes Epel tries to help them break the bed time routine but that just ends up with him getting a dosage of sleeping potion too (which just leads to Vil and Rook gushing over how cute the two of them look passed out and cuddled up to one another with a long forgotten movie playing on the tv). Once Vil is gone, Epel loves getting to stay up late with [Name] watching movies, playing video games, eating snacks, and more. So long as they both include Rook in the fun, he’s fine keeping this a secret to Vil

The boys are also way more lenient than Vil is. They don’t enforce the same strict rules as Vil does, only requiring certain bare minimum maintenance (fast food is acceptable as long as they eat some vegetables as well, they don’t have to follow the long list of self care activities but they do have to at least moisturize, they can stay up late but have to go to sleep on time when Vil's coming back, etc.)

The boys might even take them out on little trips. Nothing too big or too far from the house. They’ll just take them to get some fresh air in the forest surrounding Vil’s lavish manor. Rook will stay on guard the whole time, scouting ahead to ensure no one is around with his bow at the ready. Epel is staying close to them, both to protect them and ensure that they don’t run away (not that they can with the shackle around their ankle keeping them chained to Epel, who has a cuff around his own ankle).

Escaping their room would be nearly impossible. Vil has installed numerous locks on the door, affixed ornate metal bars over the windows, and utilized magic in the security system in order to keep them in. And these are just the things that [Name] had found so far. There was bound to be more throughout the house. And there were also the boys that they had to worry about. As much as Vil didn’t want to break their trust by forcing them to take potions against their will, he would if he had to. He wouldn’t drug them with a love potion (since he wants to truly earn their love, not just drug them for it) but he would absolutely brew up some more sleeping potions if he must. He would also consider giving them potions that mimic the symptoms of an illness or cause extreme fatigue, since this would prevent escape, give him the excuse to take care of them, and force them to be more reliant on him (and would hopefully instill more trust and appreciation among them). Epel, despite looking tiny, is fairly strong and will latch onto them to prevent them escaping. Even if he can't drag them back to their room, he'll just hold onto them until the others arrive. He is also completely willing to use his unique magic on them. He’ll wrestle them into one of the glass coffins he summons if he has to. He’ll do what he must to get them to fall into that deep slumber that the coffins induce, should it simply cease their flight from him. Finally, there’s Rook. There’s literally no way to escape from him (given his hunter instincts and unique magic). He won’t want to shoot at his dear ami/amie* if he doesn’t have to. He’d prefer to give warning shots or simply stall their escape enough to let him catch them easily and without risk of them hurting themself. He’ll only shoot them if he absolutely has to. He’ll aim for a leg to stop them running and lower the likelihood of them sustaining an extremely severe or permanent injury. He’ll gingerly carry them back to the Schoenheit estate, being careful to not worsen their injury, and will have Vil and Epel tend to their wound. He’ll be especially soft in the following days in hopes of earning back some of the trust he’s lost.

All in all, there’s no way to escape these three. The potions have driven them into deep and unshakeable obsessions and they’d gladly burn the world to the ground so long as it would let them keep the one that they’ve come to love close

*Ami/amie: friend (masculine and feminine, respectively)

[sunlightmurdock]

Katie I can’t stop thinking about Parent Trap Rooster and I feel like pre-divorce, he would definitely always get turned on watching Mama Bradshaw be all domestic in the mornings. Like no makeup and hair a mess, still wearing one of his t-shirts while getting the twins ready for school and making them breakfast, packing everyone’s lunches, etc., and once the kids are safely on the bus and on their way to school, he’d definitely have his wife bent over the kitchen counter for a quickie before they both need to get to work 🫠

- @sugarcoated-lame 🧡🧡

Ughhh yeah!! So I’m figuring that it’s when Bradley’s got a period of time off of work, so he’s around a lot more all of a sudden. He isn’t usually here for the early mornings and the taking them to school, so he’s really revelling in it.

Maverick’s taking them to school today to give the two of you a much needed break. For now, Bradley’s just leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping on a coffee, watching his life through an entirely new lens on this sunny morning.

The girls are dressed, and Bradley’s been using his time off to really figure out braiding. He could kind of do it before but his skills are good enough now that they’re going to school with hairstyles that he did for the first time.

They’re chatting away happily at the table over two bowls of cereal, excited for their last day at kindergarten before summer break. Bradley can’t quite believe he’s about to have first graders.

He turns his head and looks you up and down. Your hair’s tied back, you’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of black leggings, cutting grapes in half to fill their pink lunchboxes.

“What? — Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him, quirking one eyebrow as you load their lunchboxes up and close the lids. Bradley smiles at you over his cup of coffee, then leans forwards and kisses your mouth softly. He doesn’t provide you with an answer just yet.

There’s a whirlwind of excitement, as always, when Grandpa Mav shows up. You’re chasing around after them, reminding them to put shoes on the right feet and to remember their backpacks and water bottles.

Bradley still can’t quite believe that he’s looking at the same girl he fucked on the hood of his bronco. You’re so perfect. He stands by the door and waves them off, then closes the door and wanders through the house to find you.

You’re in the kitchen, standing by the sink and cleaning up the aftermath of breakfast. You gasp as he presses against your back, already hard, his hands sneaking under your oversized t-shirt.

“Something about seeing me do the dishes turn you on, Bradshaw?” You tease him as his warm hands slide up onto your tits and squeeze softly, his face turning into the crook of your neck. He kisses softly at your skin and smiles.

“You turn me on,” He tells you seriously, nipping at your earlobe. “Every time I think you can’t get any sexier to me, you prove me wrong.”

You scoff and reach up to let your hair down, “Yeah. Real sexy today.”

Bradley’s fingers press into your hips. He turns you to face him and manhandles you up onto the kitchen counter with a little too much ease. You gasp softly as he tears your leggings down your thighs.

“I mean it,” His gaze is heavy. You blink at him, lost on where this has come from but already dripping at the look in his eyes. “Seeing you be their Mom, my wife. I’m so lucky that I get to spend my life with you. You’ve got me so whipped, honey.”

You laugh breathily at the idea, sliding a hand into his curls as he tugs you to the edge of the counter and sucks a deep kiss into your thigh.

“So whipped that my dick gets hard seeing you do the dishes.” He mumbles playfully, drawing another laugh from you. It’s cut off, replaced by a sharp gasp as he buries his face between your legs and trails his tongue in a circle around your clit.

[belquinre]

Here’s a little backstory with Angela’s Jigsaw trap!

This’ll include:

• Why she’s put into this trap

•The symbolism of the trap

•What happens afterward in the trap

TRIGGER WARNING: for anybody that doesn’t like cuts and fake blood my sketch will include both

(This is the aftermath of her trap)⬇️

So Angela has always been a very kind hearted person, which is very rare when it comes to society, but sometimes it’s taken advantage of. Hoffman grew up with Angie so he always saw what ways people took advantage of her. So he puts her in this trap to finally make her realize how much her life is worth. He uses the phrase “fight for your life” as a reminder that if she continues to let people exploit her, she could end up hurt or worse, dead.

(The only reason John Kramer knew Angela is because Angie owns her own therapy company, in which she also has ties to the medical field along with William Easton’s insurance company. John remembers a meeting that Angela held with William while he was there asking for coverage for his surgery)

So Angela’s trap is taken between saw II and saw III. Her trap is called “The Halo”

It’s a timed device that straps, with a padlock and key, around the circumference of her head and will protrude six giant hypodermic needles through her brain. The halo represents her nickname “Angel/Angelcakes” given to her because of her altruism.

The point of her trap is for her to be able to pick between a bunch of glass boxes that hold the key to her head device. These boxes also include past influences, those people personal family or just close role models. She has to go through each box and break them open with just her bare hands. She will either find the key or be surprised by sticking her hand in more broken glass. the more boxes she breaks the more skin she breaks open

This trap was originally going to be done by Hoffman but Amanda found the case file and decided to do it herself. Amanda having a history of rigging traps, she decides to weld the halo shut so she is not able to take it off. Though Angie’s will power to live, she takes it off by sliding it off her head, but by doing so she adds six more deep cuts to her forehead and skull.

Hoffman “arrives on the scene” of her trap to act like he figured out the next location of the next jigsaw trap. But Hoffman arrives to see Angie COVERED in blood and cuts and severely panicking/shaking. Hoffman notices that the halo trap is still closed even after the padlock is off the device. He realizes that Amanda tried to eliminate Angie without probable cause. So Hoffman decides to write the letter to Amanda stating that if she doesn’t kill Lynn in the next game, he would tell John about her involvement with Cecil and the loss of John’s baby (THIS LORE WILL BE SO MUCH MORE CLEAN SOON I PROMISE)

After the trap her trust in any criminal investigators is practically at an all time low. Though she loves Mark with all her heart she can quite wrap her head around the fact about how soon he got there. She believes it’s so suspicious. Though Hoffman tries to convince her that “he figured it out” she still is concerned as to how he even found a random warehouse address in the first place

THATS ALL THE LORE I HAVE FOR NOW SO PLEASE ENJOY THIS WHILE I WRITE MORE