#instead and now I have this all figured out in my head but also not really and its low key eating me up lmao

[nyrasvoid]

To Tame a Dragon

♡ Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: As the firstborn daughter of Rhaenyra, you and your family are summoned to King’s Landing under mysterious circumstances. Upon your arrival, you quickly discover that you’re betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, your strange uncle who never seemed to have an ounce of affection for you.

⚝ Warnings: Arranged marriage, Aemond being a cruel and possessive husband, degradation (uses of “slut” and “whore”), smut (with another lord for now but very short), manipulation, angst, toxic relationships, dub-con elements, slow burn and kinda enemies to lovers dynamic.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊ A/N: for now they kinda hate eachother and reader has a lover but dw cause she will actually end up with Aemond lol. Also if you have any suggestions for the following parts my inbox is open

⭑ Word count: ≈2.3k

You and your family had arrived at King’s Landing under strange circumstances. The journey from Dragonstone had been long and tiring, and yet, no one could tell you exactly why you were being summoned to the Red Keep. Your mother, Rhaenyra, had tried to get answers, but no one seemed willing to speak plainly to her.

The moment you set foot on the steps of the Red Keep, you noticed it: their cold indifference. The greens did not welcome you, did not offer the courtesy that you expected from family. It was as if you and your kin had been erased from the family tree entirely.

“You see that?” Your brother Jacaerys whispered, his voice laced with disgust as he looked toward the hall where Aegon and the others stood. “Not a single one of them steps forward to greet us.”

Daemon, walking beside him, clenched his jaw. “They think us beneath them.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice, his words carrying the sting of resentment. “They are reminding us of who they believe holds the true power.”

Your mother’s eyes flashed with a quiet fury, but she said nothing, instead leading the way.

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As you were escorted to your chambers by a guard, you exchanged a glance with your maid Ella, your trusted friend who had accompanied you on this journey. She followed you inside, her steps quick as she moved to help you settle.

“What do you think this is all about?” you asked her, your voice tight with frustration. “Why have we been summoned here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, my lady. They haven’t said anything to me. But there is a feast tonight. That’s all I was told.” Her hands worked to remove your traveling cloak. “Let me help you get ready.”

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you. “A feast? At a time like this?”

She gave you a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s tradition, princess. You must attend.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was little you could do. You had to go. You had to pretend to care for the show, though your mind was filled with only one thing: why were you here?

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The banquet hall was filled with lords and ladies, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and wine. You sat at the long table, feeling a knot of tension in your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel small in the green’s presence, especially as Aegon’s gaze drifted over you.

But the worst of it was Aemond. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, but you refused to meet his gaze.

As you conversed with your brothers, the topic of the greens came up once again.

“Look at them,” Jace muttered, his voice low. “They think they can get away with this. Not even a word of greeting when we arrive.”

“They can all rot,” you said bitterly. “I can’t stand any of them.”

Daemon smirked. “But that’s what they want, isn’t it? They want us angry. They want us to break.”

You nodded, a sense of frustration building in your chest. “I refuse to bend to them. But I can’t even figure out why we’re here. What do they want from us?”

Before anyone could answer, a voice interrupted.

“Princess,” a lord from one of the great houses stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

You blinked in surprise, but a smile quickly tugged at the corners of your lips. “I’d be delighted.”

The lord’s hand was warm as it held yours, and the two of you made your way to the dance floor. He was handsome, tall and with a charming smile that made your heart flutter. As the music played, you flirted with him lightly, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your waist and the way he made you forget about the tension at the table.

But across the room, you couldn’t ignore the sharp gaze of Aemond. It burned through you, dark and possessive.

Aegon, ever the troublemaker, leaned toward his brother, a smirk on his lips. “You know,” he said loud enough for Aemond to hear, “if you’re not going to make a move, I’ll happily do it. She’s got quite the figure, doesn’t she? Those breasts, I’m sure you’ve noticed. If you don’t want her, I’ll take her for myself, brother.”

“I think I’m capable enough of fulfilling my marital duties, brother” Aemond finally muttered, his eyes locked onto you with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

You returned to your seat after the dance, still smiling from the interaction, only for the King to call for silence. The room fell still, all eyes on him as he stood, ready to make his announcement.

“My lords and ladies,” the King’s voice echoed across the hall, “I have an important announcement to make. It is with great pride that I announce the betrothal of my granddaughter, to my son, prince Aemond Targaryen.”

You looked to your mother, but she was frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Rhaenyra stood, her voice shaking with fury. “What is this? You did not consult me, didn’t even let me know this decision was being made. You rejected my proposal years ago of marryimg Helaena to Jace, and now—”

But the King cut her off. “The decision is final, they will marry. The advantages to the realm are clear.”

Rhaenyra’s hands curled into fists. “You think I’ll allow this?” she hissed. “You think I’ll stand by and let you make this decision without my consent?”

“Enough,” the King snapped, his voice cold. “This is for the good of the realm.”

The tension in the room was palpable as your brothers attempted to speak on your behalf, but the King remained unmoved.

You felt your heart break. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say a word as you watched the man who had always been indifferent, cruel even, be forced into your future.

You stood quickly as you stormed out of the hall. You couldn’t stay there, couldn’t bear to hear any more.

You reached your chambers, the door slamming shut behind you as you threw yourself onto the bed, tears spilling from your eyes.

Not long after, you heard a knock at the door.

It was your mother, entering the room quietly. “Darling, I know this is difficult,” she said softly, her voice gentle. “But you must understand… this betrothal—it’s for the good of the realm. You will see that, in time.”

You wiped your tears angrily. “I don’t care about the realm, mother! I don’t want this. I don’t want him!”

Your mother sat beside you, taking your hand in hers. “I know. I know, my sweet girl. But this is the way it must be. For now, we endure.”

You shook your head, still crying quietly. “I don’t want to endure this. I don’t want him.”

She gave you a sad smile, kissing your forehead. “It’s not about what we want. It’s about what we must do.”

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The sun hung high in the sky as you met with your closest friends. Floris Baratheon, Lysa Tully, and Serene Martell were already sitting under the large oak tree. It was supposed to be a relaxing break from the madness of your betrothal.

“We heard, my lady. About the betrothal. How are you feeling?” Floris asked, her voice full of concern. She was always so direct, unlike Lysa, who was quieter but equally perceptive.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, taking a seat next to them. “It feels like my life is already over before it’s even begun. I’m being forced to marry Aemond. A man I barely know, a man who doesn’t care about me. I don’t even have a say in it.”

Serene, leaned in. “Well, your life might not be over just yet. You always have the option of finding yourself a lover.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. “A lover?” you echoed. “Maybe I could find one.”

Lysa chuckled. “Well, I’ve heard things about Aemond. The rumors say he’s cruel, that he’s got a temper, that he punishes those who displease him.”

Floris nodded, her brows furrowed. “I’ve heard those rumors too. And honestly? I don’t blame you for being upset. Who wants to marry someone like that?”

You sighed heavily. “It’s like my whole future has been decided for me. I can’t escape it.”

Serene raised an eyebrow playfully. “At least you’ve got options, my lady. You’re not trapped in the same way as us. Who knows? Maybe that lord you danced with at the feast would be the one to give you the freedom you’re looking for.”

Your heart skipped at the mention of Lord Garrick Redwyne, who had captivated you at the last feast. He was bold, charming, and you could tell he also took an interest in you.

“You know, you might be right,” you said, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “I did meet a very handsome lord at the dance. Lord Garrick Redwyne. We danced and… well, maybe he could be the one to offer me some much needed distraction.”

Floris snorted. “Aemond can’t even stand a chance against someone like him. I mean, honestly, have you seen Aemond? I’m sure he’s not good for much other than looking brooding and scary with that missing eye of his.”

Lysa and Serene laughed in agreement. “You should go for it,” Serene added, her voice low but encouraging. “Let him give you what Aemond never will.”

You paused, your mind racing. “I think I just might. It would be nice to have a taste of freedom before I’m locked in a marriage with a man who looks at me like I’m nothing more than a political pawn.”

The conversation turned lighter as you all continued to joke about the idea of lovers, but little did you know, one of the queen’s maids had been standing nearby, overhearing every word. The whispers would soon reach Aemond.

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Later that afternoon, you were summoned to meet with Alicent and some of the workers to begin organizing the wedding.

Alicent wasted no time in pushing her own ideas. “I trust you’re prepared to make the necessary sacrifices for the good of the realm,” she said sharply, eyes narrowing as she gestured to the workers. “This wedding must reflect the union of two great houses.”

You bit your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “I understand, Your Grace. But I’d like to choose the color of my dress. I’d prefer red and gold.”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to you, her lips curling in a thin smile. “Red and gold? You do realize that’s a bold choice, don’t you? Quite revealing for a wedding dress.”

“Why, does it offend you?” you told her, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone.

“You are marrying my son, dear. A dress of green would be more appropriate.” Alicent’s tone was firm.

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. “I will not wear green. I refuse. If I must marry him, I at least want some control over my dress.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, but your defiance seemed to catch her off guard. She stared at you for a moment, then finally sighed. “Very well, but make sure it isn’t too revealing.”

You smiled, knowing you’d won this battle, even if it was a small one. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

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That evening, as the grand hall filled with the sounds of laughter, you were heading to your brother Jacaerys to ask him something about the upcoming wedding preparations. But just as you were about to step inside, you spotted Lord Garrick Redwyne once more.

He smiled at you, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “Ah, princess, how wonderful to see you again.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart race at the sight of him. His charm was undeniable.

“Lord Garrick,” you replied, smiling back. “I was just about to speak with my brother, but I’m glad to see you.”

His smile grew wider as he took a step closer. “Would you care to accompany me for a moment? Away from the crowds?”, he said as he extended his arm for you to hold onto.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”, as you wrapped your arm around his and followed his lead.

He led you through the castle, past the grand halls and into a quieter corridor.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Lord Garrick said, his voice low as he wrapped his hands around your waist. “I can’t help but wonder what it would be like… to have you, without all the politics, without the pressure of your betrothal.”

You took a deep breath, the tension between you palpable. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” you murmured, your eyes locked on his.

Without another word, he kissed you—softly at first and then more passionately as the moments stretched. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as his lips moved to your neck. You let out a soft gasp, feeling a shiver run through you.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, and you gasped softly as he nipped at your skin. His hands were firm, his lips traveled lower still.

His mouth found its way to your most intimate place, and the pleasure was overwhelming, like nothing you had ever felt before. You moaned quietly, afraid of who might hear. You’d waited too long to feel this kind of release, this freedom.

When it was over, you both sat on the cool floor, catching your breath. “That was… incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

Lord Garrick smiled, kissing your forehead softly. “I will be here whenever you need me, my lady.”

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to forget about Aemond, about the marriage that awaited you. With Garrick, there was no cruelty, no coldness. There was only heat, passion, and the feeling of being wanted for who you were.

As he gave you pleasure, you couldn’t help but think: Maybe I can have a life outside of Aemond, even if it’s only in stolen moments like this.

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The air in the gardens was thick with tension as you walked beside Aemond, the silence between you two almost suffocating. You weren’t looking forward to this forced interaction, but here you were, ordered by the queen to “get to know” the man you were supposed to marry. You had no interest in being his bride, and certainly no desire to get to know him any better.

Aemond’s gaze flicked to you now and then, but you refused to look at him. Finally, after a long silence, Aemond broke it.

“Tell me, why do you always wear that look?” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, his words laced with bitterness. “You’ve been sent here to wed me, yet I don’t see a single ounce of enthusiasm in your expression.”

You didn’t even glance at him as you walked, keeping your pace slow. “Maybe because I have been forced into this marriage” you shot back, the bitterness in your own voice matching his.

“I don’t owe you any pleasantries.”

His lips twisted into a small smirk, though it lacked any real humor. “Of course, you don’t. I suppose that’s why you’ve taken to speaking about me behind my back—saying things I’m sure you think I don’t know.”

You froze. Aemond wasn’t looking at you directly, his gaze focused ahead. You clenched your fists, not willing to let him know he’d struck a nerve.

“What are you talking about?” you spat, though you had a pretty good idea. The rumors, the jokes from your friends… Had they reached him already?

He shot you a glance then, eyes narrowing. “I heard you’ve found yourself someone to entertain you. I suppose it must be rather entertaining to joke about your… lovers.”

Your breath hitched. “What are you insinuating, Aemond?” you asked.

Aemond’s voice dropped to a low tone. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know exactly what I heard. You think I don’t know you’re running around with some other man behind my back? I heard of your little conversation with your friends in the garden. You’re quite the whore, aren’t you? Laughing about my missing eye and discussing your lover like it’s nothing.”

Your jaw clenched at his words. Whore. He had no right to talk to you like that. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “You have no right of speaking to me in such way.”

You glared at him. “You want to talk about my lover? Fine. I’ll tell you everything. He makes me feel things you could never,” you hissed, taking a step even closer to him. “In fact, I’ve already lost my maidenhood to him.” Lies.

“You think that’s something to be proud of?” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re nothing more than a filthy, loose woman, and you’ll regret every second of it once you’re tied to me.”

“You think I’ll regret it?” you snapped back, “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Aemond. I don’t regret anything. Not my lover, not anything I’ve done before now. You’re just angry because I’ve found someone who actually knows how to please a woman.” That said, you turned around to retire to your chambers.

Aemond’s expression twisted into anger. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your arm, spinning you towards him, forcing you into the nearest wall. You gasped in shock as Aemond pinned you against it. His grip was tight as he pressed you there, his face inches from yours.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Aemond growled. He gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. into a bush, his body trapping you against it. “Let me tell you something, princess,” Aemond whispered into your ear, he leaned in closer. “I’ll put a baby in you, and once you’re carrying my child, I won’t touch you again. You’ll be nothing but a vessel for my heir. And when you’re knocked up and useless to me, I’ll get myself a whore. A woman who knows her place. And I’ll bring her to the Red Keep, rub her in your face, and you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

You were petrified as he pinned you against the wall, but he wasn’t finished. “If I find out who your lover is, if I find out you’ve been seeing him behind my back, I’ll make sure you never see him again. I’ll have him dragged out and humiliated, and you’ll never be able to hide from it. You’ll regret every little thing you’ve done.”

Aemond took a step forward, forcing you to tilt your head up to keep your glare locked onto his.

“You think you can humiliate me?” His voice was quiet. “That you can make a mockery of this betrothal? Of me?”

You scoffed, “You’re doing that all on your own, Aemond. If you’re so offended, then call off the wedding.”, you continued “You are a man, a prince I’m sure they will call it of if you object”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You think I would let you go that easily?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “You are mine now. No matter how much you fight it, no matter how much you despise me, you will stand beside me as my wife.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the way he said mine, but you refused to let him see the effect he had on you.

“You can have my hand in marriage, Aemond,” you bit out, “but you will never have me.”

Aemond let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that, wife.”

He turned on his heel, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding in your chest.

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[puckinghischier]

Jealous Nico

i struggle with this one bc can he get jealous? yes, extremely so. does he often? i wanna say no.

i feel like he’s just so trusting and obsessed with you that the thought doesn’t even cross his mind half the time, because you never pay people any mind. he knows he holds your attention, so why would he ever get jealous?

but sometimes…just sometimes, when you’ve had one too many drinks and your attention starts flitting around the room, looking for anyone who will entertain you to have a conversation with? he wants to scream “i’m right here!!!” at you. but he doesn’t want to be that guy, so he just lets you wander and mingle. never too far, though.

and as much as we wants to, the feeling that settles in his stomach when he sees you laughing with some finance bro over at the bar when you’re getting a refill is something he can’t really ignore.

maybe it’s the way you’re giving him so much excitement, clearly passionate about whatever topic is pouring from your lips. or maybe it’s the way this douche is looking at you, like you’re the brightest light in the room and he’s a moth that can’t escape your glow. whatever it is, it has him walking away from his conversation mid sentence, warm eyes turned dark in dislike of what he was witnessing.

as he makes his way through the crowd towards you, he realizes he can’t even be mad at you, because you’re just being the social butterfly he knows you are. all you want to do is converse and enjoy all the liveliness in the building, you’re not purposefully ignoring him. you were actually trying to talk to him a few minutes ago, but he was trying to listen to what jesper was saying before he got lost in whatever topic you deemed so important. so really, he thinks to himself, this is his fault, and he shouldn’t even be jealous in the first place.

but when you start jumping up and down slightly, clearly excited with whatever response you were just given, and douchebag’s eyes go straight to your chest instead of your ear to ear grin and bright eyes, he realizes yeah…maybe he can be jealous and a little bit of an asshole right now.

“müsli? did you ever get your drink, sweet girl?” he tries the sweet approach, not wanting to be overly gruff in front of you.

his chest puffs out at the way all of your attention is focused on him the second you hear his voice, forgetting all about the stranger in front of you.

“nico! hi! i feel like i haven’t seen you in….in….like…thirty minutes ago!” your words make no sense, a small hiccup making you giggle out an “excuse me” as you turn towards him.

he smiles down at you, your glossy eyes focused on his own, just how it should be.

“oh! frank, this is nico!” you turn back around to the stranger, his gaze raking down your figure, making nico see red all over again. you lean in closer to the man, cupping your hands around your mouth to try and whisper, but failing miserably. “he’s my boyfriend!” you giggle out, acting like a school girl talking about her crush.

turning back to nico, you miss the hard gaze he was throwing your new friend. “nico, frank and i were just talking about how fun it would be if there was a slip’n’slide in here!”

nico’s demeanor involuntarily softens a bit at your enthusiasm over the random topic, amused at how excited you are over the thought of a slip’n’slide in the middle of winter in new jersey.

but when he looks back up at your new friend frank, he can practically see the thoughts running through his head, and why he’s also be enthusiastic about the idea. if it wasn’t him ogling your tits earlier, it was the way he was checking your ass out while nico is standing right there.

“oh yeah?” nico speaks to you but keeps his attention on the man too lost looking at your ass to realize he’s being summoned into the conversation.

“yeah! tell him, frank! tell him what you said about making sure i’d be able to take as many turns as i wanted! that no one else would be allowed on it, because it would be my own special slip’n’slide!”

it’s endearing, really, the ideas you get in that smart head of yours when you’ve been slamming vodka crans all night. nico always loves to find out what theories and plans you come up with everytime you two have nights out. he’s thought about writing them down a time or two, because you never believe him when he tells you about the the next day, always claiming you “would literally never say that,” because you’re “a college educated woman, thank you very much.”

but this one? the one that has frank all but salivating at the thought of seeing you repeatedly have a wet t-shirt contest of one on a theoretical slip’n’slide? this one is just pissing him off.

“hmm?” frank’s attention is finally snapped away from your body and back to the conversation at hand.

“she was just saying how you told her how wonderful her own, special slip’n’slide would be, considering you wouldn’t let anyone else on it,” nico answers, letting his voice lower.

“oh yeah, dude. wouldn’t that be the hottest thing ever?” frank, so stupidly, decided to respond.

nico’s dry chuckle is the only response frank got. and either frank was smarter than nico gave him credit for, or he looks a lot more menacing than he thought, because the sound wiped the smug, disgusting smile right off of his face.

“frank…buddy….just walk away, yeah?” nico suggests, not used to being the scary boyfriend type but hoping it does the trick.

and much to his surprise, it works, frank nodding and walking the other direction, but not before you call out a sweet “bye, frank! it was nice to meet you!”

grabbing your hand, nico leans down to suggest it’s time for the two of you to leave, because he’s “tired of sharing you with everyone tonight, schatz. need my daily dose of hiding you away so i can get all of your attention,” while nipping playfully at your ear.

and, get all of your attention he does, considering you don’t stop talking to him from the time he gets you in the car to drive you home to the time he gets you settled in bed, behind closed doors, soaking up every second of not having to share your sweet voice. he drank it in like you were his own personal oasis in a dry and vast desert, just how he liked it.

[merelylillies]

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Note: ‘‘Starting to get the hang of it...might still be bad. Brace yourself I guess? Also not proofread so fingers crossed.,,

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Fandom: Hoyoverse's Genshin Impact

Pairing: (Fem.)Reader x Xiao || Alatus >>Mentioned: Malipo Kinich

Content Warnings: (NSFW) Kissing, Needy/Desperate vibes, Jealousy, Praise, Handjob (giving).

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The one time you left Paimon behind you felt surprisingly deprived of her usual chatter as you made your way up onto the cobblestone path. Though you supposed it was all well and good, she was with Xiangling, not only safe but with the company of endless food. Surely she won't complain by the time you pick her up tomorrow. Although as of right now, the atmosphere felt empty, the only noise being your heeled boots clacking onto the wooden platform of the open-air elevator. It had been a while since you last visited Wangshu Inn.

With everything that had happened between Fontaine and Natlan, it's fair to say a moment's rest has been few and far between. With the latter, upon meeting some of the tribes' people had you then suddenly grown homesick. The Malipo name bearer having played tricks on your eyes one too many times from behind. His tousled, dark blue strands with sharp cuts flooded nostalgia through your blood countless times, before you were inevitably met with green irises instead of the gold you so cherished. Lost in thought you'd barely registered the platform had reached the terrace with a clunk. Looking around, most of the guests had early turned in for the night, the moon hanging high in the sky and the air perfectly still if not for a small breeze. Walking off the elevator and rounding the entrance to the front desk, Verr Goldet was busying herself petting the inn's cat perched on the counter. She turned at the sound of footsteps with a clear look of surprise that melted into a welcoming smile.

"Welcome back Traveler," she spoke softly. Nodding in greeting you glanced around, eyes landing on the staircase leading to the upper terrace. Upon catching this Verr smiled almost knowingly.

“He's been waiting a long time you know?" she said cryptically.

“Oh." was all you managed to get out.

"Take this on my behalf will you?" she asks with an amused look before handing you a delicate plate with a decorated portion of Almond Tofu.

“Xiangling sent in a letter earlier when you departed from the harbor. I had Yanxiao make it before clocking out.".

“Thank you." you responded almost dumbfounded before taking the plate from her hands.

She nodded before turning back around to scribble away in her log book, leaving you to stare down at the dish before ultimately turning to make your way up the final flight of stairs. As you made it to the top of the stairs, building up your courage to call his name you stopped just short of the archway. To your surprise, the man was already there. Sitting balanced on the railing of the terrace, with one leg bent into his chest, the other dangling down towards the void. The Adeptus' back was to you, allowing you to gaze over the back of his hair, your brain almost warning you it's just another hopeful illusion. As your silence goes on, he turns his head in your direction, glowing yellow peering into you like daggers. Everything stilled for a little while, the two of you just staring at one another without making a move. Gods you had missed him.

“Hi Xiao." you offered, breaking the silence. He continues to look at you, then suddenly shifts, disappearing into thin air before reappearing a couple of steps away from you, standing stiffly. Swallowing your doubt, you walk closer holding the Tofu out to him.

“Yanxiao made this for you-" you suddenly stop at his expression, as he stares at you with a perplexed look, confusion mixed with upset and then switching to weariness.

“Xiao, what's wrong?" you ask concerned, eyes checking over his figure before feeling gloved fingers slide on top of yours holding up the plate.

Looking up at him, his eyes seemed to roam across your face frantically, and then finally settle on your eyes, gazing into them intensely. His other hand comes to your shoulder, gently holding you, before tightening his grip firmly once he knew for a fact you were actually standing before him. He seemed to be physically relieved at your presence. You were actually here. In front of him. Without another second wasted he pulled you into him, plate long forgotten on the floor. The embrace was rigid, but he pulled you in so tightly as if he were scared to even consider letting go.

A few beats pass by before he shifts his arms, his hands that were clutching at your back now trailing down near your waist. He continues to hold you there, pressed up against him, his head hovering above your shoulder, dark strands tickling your ear.

“Where have you been.” It sounded more like a statement than a question, an accusation almost.

Hesitating with your response you swallowed a bit nervous. “I was traveling to the other nations- I’ve been to Fontaine and Nat-”.

“You took so long.” He breathed out, almost a whisper.

“You worried me.” He started. “I started thinking you might’ve been stubborn again and refused to call upon me.” His voice turned stern again, despite the softness of his low volume.

“Xiao..”.

“Traveler..May I be selfish?”, He pulls back enough to look at you, his forehead grazing your own.

Nodding slowly at him, your eyes lock onto his, seeing the underlying passion and yearning and admiration that he hid deep within himself.

Before you could say anything else he closed the distance between you.

The kiss was soft at first but as you kissed him back, reciprocating his movements with practiced ease, he started leaning back, shrinking into himself more. This was experience he continued to lack even with the many times you’d shared kisses. Kissing and any physical intimacy was a foreign concept to him, so he couldn’t help the small noises that escape him as you didn’t let up on his lips.

It was almost embarrassing how worked up he started getting, the harsh persona faltering the more you pressed forward and the longer the kiss continued. He felt breathless. For all his training he suddenly couldn’t calm his racing heart and his shortness of air.

You let up for a few seconds, letting him fill his lungs before diving back in immediately after his first gasp.

“Aah-mm” The hum leaves him involuntarily. Xiao had never wanted to be the vocal type, but novelty to these sensations made it hard for him to surprise himself.

Could you just- Archons above. Give him a second- Suddenly, despite his rare initiation, he feels out of his depth.

Adepti are trained to have endless patience and composure. So dear Seven, what the FUCK. He was feeling things he shouldn’t, thoughts crossing his mind he would berate himself later for. But as you kept moving forward, hands mimicking his own, wrapping onto his own waist, all trace of thought was gone from his mind.

You felt yourself turn light as a feather for a moment before realizing you had changed settings. He had teleported you inside. Now in a beautifully decorated chamber, the furniture adorned with untouched, long-settled dust. This must be the room Verr keeps for him.

As your turned your focus back to Xiao the boy looked beyond unrecognizable. The usual scowl on his face replaced with an unreadable expression. His pale skin blushed over with red. The tips of his hair standing up a little wilder than normal. But most of all, his eyes. Oh his eyes.. They held you with their stare, glossed by the warm, dim light of a bedside lantern.

Xiao’s brain seemed to spontaneously re-wire itself as he shifted his footing. Walking over to him, you started kissing him again, firmly and with so much emotion from you missing him, leaving behind the slow gentle pecks from earlier.

He fell into your rhythm, not once fighting to control the kiss. Walking him backwards until the back of his knees hit the mattress, making him fall down with you straddling him. Almost grinning against his lips you opened your eyes to look at him. His unfocused, widened gaze and his half open mouth, lips turned more vibrant with friction.

As you settled above him your hand moving up to his waist before your hand grazes over the front of his pants, a hitch of his breath escaping in response. Surprised at the sound, your eyes trail down to his trousers only to be met with a more prominent bulge.

Oh. Oh.. oh.

He couldn’t meet your gaze, his forearm moving atop his face shielding his eyes.

“You missed me that much?”

“It’s an uncontrollable aspect of the male human body. Something you should well be aware of. Your own kind’s shortcomings.” He replies with a hoarse voice, trying to keep his tone steady and even.

“Oh I wouldn’t say shortcomings..” You reply smugly before shifting your palm down onto him.

“A-ah-” He cuts himself off with a hiss of a breath.

As your hand continues grinding onto him his breaths pick up again, chest stuttering with his small gasps. Brows visibly furrowing, as the arm shielding his face twitches in place with small trembles.

“You- m-mm-” He attempts.

“I what?” You tease back.

And he’s really trying. Rex Lapis knows he’s trying to hold it in. Not seem so..so.. needy. And he doesn’t want to beg. That’s pathetic and unbecoming of an illuminated beast, an immortal, weapon of war..

“You look so pretty Xiao”, You whisper, caressing his soft hair, fingers trailing down his jawline, “I missed you so.”

Curse Celestial-

“Please.”

You don’t even get to respond to his sudden plea before others pour in.

“Please. I-I desire your- hahatouch. Ah. You. Please.” His arm strongly planted over his eyes.

Smiling down at his shaky form, you dip your hands past his waistband and loosen the sash holding his pants. The fabric dips down his slim hips, his usually cold skin, burning to the touch.

Finally wrapping a hand around him he gasps louder, this time a high pitched moan fully tumbling out of his lips.

“Ha- Aa-ah fuck -mmmmh”

You give him a tentative slow stroke up before reaching the tip, thumbing at it while watching his reaction. His first bawling against his own palm, the less human features of his hands peaking out from their usual concealment. Nails sharpening and veins becoming more visible, running down his arm.

“Yes-ah just like that— AAah-” His fingers twitch as you repeat the motion, dragging your thumb slowly against the slit.

As you speed up your motions his back begins arching slightly, lifting off the mattress as his pitch heightens with breathlessness and an almost whiny undertone. Your hand tightening around him and squeezing him just how he needed and god it feels good.

And he’s basically never done this before, and so he’s already getting embarrassingly close. His heart feels like it’s in his throat with the way he feels unable to utter out anything more than pleasurable moans. Your hand picks up the pace, and he bites his lip, sharp canines almost piercing his already kissed raw, red lips. His arm barely staying still from the stimulation, shudders running their course throughout his body. Finally falling to the side, his arm yanks at the bedding, his eyes scrunched up in pleasure as his eyebrows knit together. His entire face is blushed heavily, not to mention the almost visible pants of hot air escaping his mouth with little to no restraint from him.

“I’m- I..”

“Hm? Does it feel nice Xiao?” You boldly inquired boldly.

“Is this what you desired? What you fantasized while waiting for me? Imagining me so desperately?”

He was so sensitive and he has been wanting you all this time- having to wait so long and he was pent up and you knew that- and-

“Fuck- ah-Aa-hah..Please I’m almost.. Ah-” His voice breaks on his last plea, feeling too out of it to care.

Without much else he comes undone into your hand, letting out a small mewl that resembles a whimper.

You move to hover over him closer to his face and he opens his eyes to look ups t you dazed but with determination in his eyes.

“Ah-a-Again….” He huffs.

“Hah-h please.”

[dollfacefantasy]

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ♡

pairing: redk!clark kent x fem!reader x soulless!sam winchester

summary: your boyfriend sam has been acting strange lately. good thing your other boyfriend clark is willing to help you figure out what's going on with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't get very far before he starts acting weird too.

cw: nsfw (18+), au, smut, mild dubcon, threesome, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, facefucking, overstimulation, praise/degradation, hints of asphyxiation kink

a/n: comm for my wife @fearcvlt. thank you to the anon who infected us with the sam-clark disease 🙏 also i know sam doesn't lose his soul till season 6 but it's my fic so this is early seasons sam. don't like it kiss me about it.

Sam has been acting weird lately.

You’re not sure what it is. You can’t pinpoint an exact detail about him that’s shifted. From the surface, he looks the same. He still dresses the same. His voice sounds the same. His hands and mouth feel the same. It drives you crazy, not being able to narrow down what you mean. What you know has changed. 

Because while the alterations are imperceptible, you know they’re real. All of that stuff hasn’t changed on a technical level, but to you, his girlfriend, someone who knows his very being like the palm of your own hand, it’s not the same.

Physically, he’s your Sam. The one you’ve been with since your second semester of college. His dark brown hair hangs too close to his eyes like always. The warmth in his hands radiates with regularity as they coast across your and Clark’s bodies. His words reach your ears in the soft, calculated manner you’ve come to expect from him.

But you swear on everything you have in this world, on both your lovers’ lives, that all of this comes with a new note of unfamiliarity.

While his appearance hasn’t changed, the way his eyes land upon your face has. His gaze feels cold. It nearly stings when it connects with your own. You may recognize his touch, but he’s rougher now. He doesn’t handle you like a cherished doll, nor does he explore Clark with his usual reverence. Instead he tugs and he grabs. His fingers dig into flesh harder than ever before. Scratches and bruises litter the two of you after a night spent together. And while his voice rings out just like it did when you met him in your first criminal justice class all those years ago, the tender embellishments in his sentences have vanished. Vacant silences lie where sweetheart and honey used to appear. 

You sound like a lunatic describing it.

“Can’t you just talk to him?” you plead with Clark for the third time this week. You attempt persuasion by flaunting your puppy eyes at him, but he just shakes his head.

He stands before the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom while pulling on his shirt. The hazy morning light shines through the nearby window onto his physique, highlighting the contours of muscle decorating his abdomen before they’re covered up by the scarlet sweater he chooses to wear today.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, baby,” he responds, gazing at you through the reflection.

You boost yourself off your mattress where you’d been sprawled out. Approaching him from behind, you snake your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his firm back. He doesn’t have to face you to know the pout that’s taken residence on your lips.

“Well, I can’t think of everything,” you huff, “Just maybe see if something’s wrong. Like maybe we did something and we don’t know-”

“You’re overthinking,” he cuts in while fastening his belt into place.

“You don’t know that because you’ve never actually asked. Maybe he feels like he can’t tell us what’s bothering him for some reason. Or it could be like a guy thing. He blows me off whenever I try to help, so maybe he’ll be more comfortable with just you,” you insist.

He sighs and shakes his head again, reaching for the brush nearby. Clark’s hair rarely ever falls out of place. The only moments you can recall seeing him disheveled are those when he lays in bed with you and Sam, nude body coated in a light sweat and pressed against each of yours. Yet he tends to his black tresses more often than you take care of your own hair.

“It’s not a guy thing,” he chuckles, “He just doesn’t wanna talk about whatever’s going on in his head. You know how he gets sometimes. I’m sure he’ll bounce back soon.”

“But it’s been like over a month. Ever since he went on that trip with his brother, he’s been weird,” you continue, squeezing him as if that would somehow convince him of your point.

“You know his childhood is a sore spot. Maybe being around him brought up some bad memories,” he offers and shrugs.

“But he would have told us about that,” you refute.

You release Clark from your hold as he turns around, his outfit all ready for the day. As you look up at him, your eyes remain full of concern for the absent part of your trio. Your present boyfriend smirks at the worried expression before cupping your cheeks and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“It’s gonna be ok, babe. He’ll be ok,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Just if you get the chance… please talk to him,” you try once more.

“I will,” he agrees. His hands fall to your waist where they knead the flesh lightly.“Try not to worry too much today, alright? We got that party tonight. You’re gonna look all pretty, we’re gonna have fun, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He kisses you once more before walking towards the bedroom door. You nod in response to his words and force your shoulders to relax. The mention of his work party you were all going to attend later helps a little to distract you. At the very least it gives you something else to think about for the time being.

Before he heads out, you blow him a kiss like you always do. He pretends to catch it, flashing those fangs of his in a lazy grin.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says before finally leaving your view.

Despite your assurance to Clark, you spend much of the day thinking about Sam and possible causes for his perpetually sour mood. Unfortunately, you can’t think of anything that seems like a realistic possibility.

While your anxiety wants you to blame yourself, you really don’t believe something you did is responsible. And he had gone on that trip with his brother a month ago, but they’d been going on their ‘hunting trips’ pretty regularly for the last two years. He never got like this afterwards. Even when his brother annoyed him, he’d just vent about it to the two of you before letting it go.

You try to reason that law school might be getting more stressful. All of his free time not allocated to you and Clark, or to his brother in the Impala, goes to textbooks. He spends hours poring over notes and articles and journals. Maybe that’s it. You try to convince yourself it could be. At least until he and Clark come home for the night with hopefully a more concrete answer.

As the day shifts into evening, you busy yourself with getting ready for the party tonight. It wasn’t anything too fancy. Just some gathering the paper Clark now worked at was throwing. As a new hire, he was one of the employees being celebrated, warranting your and Sam’s invitations.

It’s around six-thirty when you finally hear the front door open. Two pairs of shoes shuffle in. Good. That means Clark met him on campus or Sam drove over to Clark's job after his last class. There would be plenty of time to talk over the course of the distance between your shared house and either of those locations.

You put your earrings back down on the dresser and approach the door, straining your ears in hopes of scoping out any tense silences or relieved chatter. In the kitchen, you can hear the fridge open and then close. A sigh. You narrow your eyes. Was it a sigh of tiredness from work or frustration at the other man? The words that follow answer your question.

“She’s just worried about you,” Clark says. You bite your lip, sensing this may not be going well.

“Yeah, I know. She doesn’t do a great job of disguising that,” Sam responds.

“Then just talk to her. It’s only still a problem because you’re being cagey.”

“I’m being cagey because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s looking for something that isn’t there, insisting-”

You step through the doorway and head towards the sound of their voices. Barefoot and with the zipper on your dress only halfway pulled, you enter the room to join them. Sam finishes his sentence as both his and Clark’s eyes set on you.

“Hi,” you interrupt weakly.

The taller of the two rolls his eyes while your other boyfriend raises his brows in acknowledgement before taking another sip of his drink.

“I just… heard you both talking and thought I should come in here���” you continue. It’s only been a few seconds, but already, it’s starting to feel like you should have waited for them to come to you.

You walk a couple more paces into the space, finding yourself standing equidistant from both your lovers. Your gaze alternates between them before focusing on Sam.

“I know I’m probably worrying over nothing. And I know you said nothing is wrong,” you say, keeping your tone as neutral as you can, “You just seem different. And maybe nothing is actively wrong, but I just want you to know if something happened or like if you’re thinking about something differently that me and Clark-”

“You’ll what? What will you both do?” he asks, “I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to make up some problem that doesn’t exist so you can feel accomplished when you fix it?”

“No,” you answer right away, hurt infecting your features.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know…” you say. Your resolve wilts away with each second his harsh eyes stare at you.

“Just stop then. Stop asking me to give you a reason, stop talking about me behind my back, just stop,” he rants, “Did you ever consider you might be projecting? That maybe something is different with you that you don’t want to accept.”

“What?” you ask. Your pained expression infuses with a bout of confusion.

“Think about it. Me and Clark, we know what we’re doing everyday. I’m going to school, he’s going to work. We have our plans in place. You? What are you doing? Ever since you graduated last year, you’ve been floundering, bouncing from idea to idea. Maybe you’re the one who’s fallen off the tracks, but you can’t admit it,” he accuses.

Your eyes widen. That statement cuts you deep, through multiple layers. It is the truth in a sense, but to have it thrown in your face by someone who supposedly cares about you hurts worse than you would have anticipated.

“That’s not true,” you deny.

“Yes it is, and you know it. You wanna blame me for how you’re feeling. You’re losing control of your own life so you want to find something you can fix,” he continues.

“Sam, stop,” Clark interjects on your behalf.

You just stand there, feeling even more lost than you had earlier. He was acting different. You were sure of it. But now you also feel like he maybe has a point. What if he is acting the exact same, and you’re the one losing your grip? Clark hasn’t been as concerned as you, and maybe that’s for a reason.

“What?” Sam says, his eyes flitting towards your other boyfriend, “She’s allowed to talk about me, but I can’t defend myself?”

“You’re not defending yourself, you’re attacking her,” Clark responds before sighing. He puts his drink down and walks closer to the both of you. “Both of you just need to take a second and calm down.”

In the pause that follows, the pain Sam’s words caused doesn’t subside. The throb only emanates from deeper inside your chest. You glance up at your darker-haired boyfriend before turning to the one you could barely recognize.

“I’m not trying to make you defend yourself. I really just feel like something’s been up with you lately. But if you say there isn’t, then there isn’t, and I won’t mention it again,” you finally say.

“There isn’t,” he tells you without more than a second of consideration.

Awkward quiet settles for more than a pause now. You’re not sure if you can just act normal after that, but you don’t want to create more tension by hightailing it to the bedroom. Both of them seem to go with the former. Clark meanders his way back to the counter while Sam turns and digs through his bag for something.

You decide it might be best to follow along. Swiveling on your heel, you walk away from the kitchen and down the hall towards your shared bedroom to finish getting ready. The silence no longer feels calm; it weighs down on you, pressing hard enough to crack.

As you dust powder across your cheek bones and eyelids, you force your breaths to remain even. You swallow hard to prevent your eyes from watering. The mascara wand coats your lashes with black that will stream down your skin if you shed any tears. For a final touch, you spread some sticky gloss over your lips, watching in the mirror how they shine with the glittery substance.

When your face is painted to your liking, you pull on a pair of tights under the crimson fabric of your dress and then sit on the edge of your bed to slip on your shoes. While fumbling with the one on your left foot, you hear another person enter the room.

Your pupils dart towards the door to find Clark there with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he starts gently, “You almost ready?”

You just nod, not really in a chatty mood.

He returns the gesture and comes closer, approaching as if you’re a wounded animal.

“You look really beautiful, baby,” he compliments.

“Thanks.”

“Here. Let me help,” he offers and crouches before you. 

He takes your leg between his large hands, rubbing up and down over the smoothness of your tights for a moment. His fingers then fall to the sleek strap causing you hassle. He pushes the little piece of material through the metal clasp. Despite the size of his digits, they move with nimble precision.

“He didn’t mean that stuff he said,” he tells you, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t leave the bedroom.

“Then why didn’t he come in here?” you ask. Your voice quivers a little bit. You know Clark hears it from the way his big, blue eyes lift to connect with your own.

“He’s just being pissy right now. But I know he didn’t mean it, alright? Neither of us think you’re off track, but even if you were, it’s not the end of the world. You still have time to figure things out. We love you either way,” he says, patting your leg. 

Almost as an extra gesture of reassurance, he plants a soft kiss on your kneecap. It’s intended to be innocent. Something wholesome to let you feel the pure love he’s trying to pour into you with his words. But you can’t help but feel a flicker of desire in your belly. The sight of it only serves to remind you of how he does that when he’s spreading your legs apart and kissing up your inner thighs to somewhere much more intimate.

“He’ll come around. For the record, he is acting different. It’s not just you,” he reassures, reaching up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The look in your eyes has softened from one of hurt to something more tender. You nod in response, and he smiles.

“That’s my girl. Don’t look so sad anymore. I wanna show off how beautiful you are tonight. Can’t do that if you don’t let anyone see that pretty smile,” he praises.

Your face lifts with the expression he describes. It only increases the curve of his own lips. He rewards you with a small peck. When he pulls away, you can see a splotch of lip gloss on his cupid’s bow. It’s tempting to try and wipe it away with another kiss, but instead you take the more effective route and swipe your thumb across the skin.

“Ready?” he asks and reaches for your hand as he rises to his feet again.

You clasp your smaller fingers around his and stand up. “Almost. Zip me up?” you say and turn to show him the semi-closed fabric.

He chuckles fingers finding the zipper and adjusting it for you with ease. “Always.”

You stand with your back pressed against the wall, drink in hand, eyes surveilling the room. It’s only around nine o’clock, but you’re more than ready to go home. You keep a smile on your face for Clark’s sake, not wanting to look miserable around the people he has to see on a daily basis.

The party isn’t even horrible. It’s just fine. The ritzy hotel dining room they rented out is fine. The music playing at a reasonable volume in the background is fine. The food is fine. The drinks are fine. The smalltalk is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s all fine.

Including you. You’re fine too. Not at all upset about earlier. The car ride here had been dead silent. No apology from Sam. Not even a word of acknowledgement. But that’s ok! You could deal with it.

Once the three of you had arrived and made your way inside, you introduced yourselves like you always did, clear enough to convey that you were all a package deal but vague enough to not draw the ire of less open-minded people. From there, you let Clark tell some stories about the both of you. You made sure to laugh at all his jokes, smile at him with the most adoring eyes, and sing his praises to any person who wanted to hear them.

After a while of that, he turned you both loose. You first grabbed some appetizers and a drink and then landed where you are now. Sam had trailed close behind you even though he still wasn’t saying anything.

He’s beside you against the wall. His shoulder leans against it, his body angled towards yours. You can feel his eyes drifting along your figure, but you don’t give in to the temptation of a response.

“You gonna freeze me out all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on apologizing at all?” you ask, passive aggression lacing in every word.

He exhales a laugh and reaches for your face. His fingers guide your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Is that what you need, baby?” he mocks, “You need me to say sorry?”

You scowl and try to look away, but his digits dig into your skin. He keeps you right where he wants you. Leaning in close to you, his breath fans across your neck.

“Would it really make you feel better if I said I didn’t mean it? Would it really change anything about how you feel? I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “I think you’d like it more if I kissed it better.”

The low tone of voice combined with his proximity fires up that warmth in your tummy you felt earlier. You try to suppress it and maintain your glare.

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, craning your neck for some space.

“What? I thought you’d wanna make up,” he says.

“I- It’s not that. We’re at a party for Clark’s work. It’s not like we’re high schoolers who can just go find some closet to make out,” you huff, “Plus, you definitely are acting different now. You’re always the explainer, and Clark is always the one who wants to kiss things better.”

That brings a small smirk to his face. “We can’t? Or we shouldn’t?” he teases. He moves in again, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have been a little different lately. But why is that a bad thing? I feel great.”

“Yeah, but it’s not great when you’re being mean all the time now…”

“Mean? Or direct?” he asks, “I’ve never said anything to hurt you. Even when you think I’m being mean, I’m only speaking without sugar coating because I know you can take it. And I know that sometimes you need to hear it. You’re strong. Just as smart as me and Clark. You just need a little push sometimes.”

Your heart beats quicker in your chest. His words are one thing, but the way his rich eyes peer into yours are another. His thumb drags back and forth across your bottom lip now, almost as if coaxing some form of a response.

“It’s still mean even if you don’t intend it that way. It still hurts,” you say. Even if your face can’t move, your eyes fall. “I miss the you who wasn’t so sharp all the time.”

You soften your words, hoping to break the tough exterior that had shielded him for the last month. Though you see no change in his expression. No shift in his gaze.

“You’ll have to learn to love this one just as much then,” he replies.

It stings. The words slice like a blade. He doesn’t care about the falter on your face though. He ducks in, kissing along your jaw to your earlobe. A small gasp leaves you at the soft, wet touches. You squirm in place, nearly spilling your drink as the liquid sloshes within the confines of the glass.

“I can show you how. Just gotta let me,” he whispers. His hand falls from your face to your neck, wrapping it in a seductive embrace.

Your eyes flutter, and for a split second, you want to give in. His lips on your skin feel like traces of heaven. The soft words he speaks hit your ears like gentle caresses lulling you into compliance. But then you remember where you are and who you're here for.

“Sam, stop,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t just stay in place either. His hand tightens around your throat. It digs in a little, pressing you against the wall. You can still breathe just fine, but the threat of air loss is right there, teasing you just barely.

Your eyes widen now. Sam had never been so aggressive in the bedroom before, let alone in public.

“We’re here for Clark. You’re gonna embarrass him,” you remind.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” he breathes.

Before you can squeak out any more words of protest, a large hand is curling over Sam’s shoulder and tugging him back. Clark looks at him with a raised brow before his focus shifts to you.

“I guess you two made up?” he asks.

You open your mouth to clarify with some version of what actually happened, but Sam cuts you off. “Something like that.”

He takes you by the wrist, spinning so that he’s against the wall while you’re in front of him with your back against his chest. His chin rests atop your head as his hands rub your arms. Clark looks on, almost suspicious at the complete flip in attitudes.

“So how much longer do we have to be here? They’ve already played ‘Mr. Brightside’ like three times. This thing’s gotta be winding down soon, and I’m pretty eager to get back so we can make up some more,” Sam says.

“Not too much longer,” Clark says, the words slow and edged with uncertainty, “I’ll start saying goodbyes.”

You nod gratefully, your appreciation shining through even without words. Sam smirk prevails on his face yet again.

“Sounds good. Just don’t take too long or we might have to get a head start without you,” he says. His tone indicates he’s teasing, but with how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to try something like that.

“I won’t. Just give me a few,” Clark responds simply before drifting back into the crowd to say bye to the important people.

He keeps his word and only takes a few minutes. If he had taken any longer, you aren’t confident you would have noticed. You feel like you have whiplash from the way Sam has latched himself onto your body. Earlier he spoke like he couldn’t stand you, but now he clings to you like he’d be willing to bend you over one of the nearby folding tables and bring some real excitement to this party.

You try brushing him off, redirecting his hands to places that wouldn’t earn you side eyes from your boyfriend’s colleagues. He’s not interested though. Every few seconds it feels like he’s nuzzling into your neck or smoothing his hands over your sides.

“Sam, quit it,” you whisper.

“Why? I don’t need Clark’s hearing to know how fast your heart is going. I know you like it,” he purrs.

The best you can hope for is guiding him to the exit and letting Clark meet you there. When the man in question finally does make his way in your direction, you can see a bit of frustration on his face. Annoyance gleams from his eyes as they sweep over how Sam holds you like a territorial dog with a chew toy.

You want to apologize. You hate when Clark isn’t happy with you, and you really don’t want to end the day having fought with both of them. But before you could get any words of remorse out, Sam’s already leading you through the front door. He keeps a tight grip on your wrist, now allowing you even an inch to pull away.

Clark follows along. His hand lands on the small of your back. The faint touch grounds you a little, but before it can have any real effect, Sam’s yanking you closer, nearly causing you to stumble over the steps that lead you three into the parking lot.

The confusion that permeates your mind has now spread to Clark’s face and replaces his prior irritation.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, trailing behind in broad strides.

“What do you mean?” Sam laughs. He turns around, holding you close again once in range of the car. “You got the keys?”

Even though he does in fact have them, Clark makes no move to fetch the small metal keys from his pocket.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you? One minute you’re ready to bite her head off for worrying about you, and now you wanna jump her bones in the middle of a parking garage?” he says, not letting up.

“I can’t win with you two. She doesn’t like it when I’m being serious, you don’t like it when I’m not. What’s a guy supposed to do, huh?” he says.

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Clark challenges, “You have been acting weird lately. I let you deny it because I know what it’s like having to keep something to yourself. But pretending like it isn’t happening does nothing, especially when it’s affecting us.”

You stand there with Sam’s arm over your shoulders, looking back and forth between them. It’s not even an argument yet, but with a few wrong words, it would have no issue transforming into one.

“Please. You didn’t care how it affected me and her when you kept your secrets for years. So spare me a lecture,” Sam dismisses, “I don’t have some great secret. People just change over time.”

“Not so rapidly!” Clark fires back, “You went away for one weekend, and a different person came back.”

“I’m still me,” he says, “If you have such a problem with the person you think I’m becoming then maybe I’m not the only one we should be evaluating. Maybe something’s changing between all of us.”

You look at Clark with pure worry now. He hasn’t outright said it, but these words border on the worst potential outcome. Reaching for his hand that dangles off your shoulder, you give it a squeeze and gaze up at him.

His attention shifts to you. He smiles at the nervousness written all over your features.

“Don’t look so scared, baby. We’re not gonna break up. Unless that’s what you two think would be best,” he says. It’s almost a threat. He puts the power in your hands, but it’s not by choice. He’s not offering it to you. He’s forcing it between your palms and pushing your fingers to close around it.

“No,” you respond instantly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Clark backs down, his voice dropping a bit.

“Then what did you mean?” Sam asks.

“I just want to know why. Why are you acting like this now? You used to be the reserved one. The one who was always careful about everything. You kept me and her on track. Now, you’re in there acting like a high schooler and making me look like an idiot, being all over her like that.”

“All over her?” he repeats with a chuckle. His arm slithers off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed to the chilled night air. He takes a few steps towards your other boyfriend. “You jealous, Clark? Because as soon as we got home, you know I’d be all over you too.”

He scoffs and looks away. Truly, you doubt jealousy had been the root of Clark’s discomfort. You would’ve been irritated too if they started getting handsy in front of people you wanted to make a good impression on. But it was hard to not get flustered when confronted so directly. When Sam stalked forward like that.

The brunette slides to Clark’s side and maneuvers himself behind him. His hands flatten against his muscular biceps, rubbing the skin softly through his suit jacket. You watch as his lips brush the shell of Clark’s ear in the same way they had to yours.

“C’mon. You know I don’t play favorites,” he coos.

Your darker-haired lover has his eyes fixated on the car beside you three. You knew the feelings coursing through him right now. The same ones that swirled within you fifteen minutes ago.

Sam’s long fingers move South on Clark’s arms. The tips coast over his elbows and along his forearms before getting to his wrists. You know the exact sensation. Like little lines of fire being drawn across your limbs. Similar to you, Clark goes to resist. He just has the actual strength to carry it out.

He pushes Sam’s hands off and looks over his shoulder. “We’re gonna talk about it. You can’t keep avoiding it and expecting us to just go along with this forever,” he says.

Sam smirks at the assertion. He lets Clark move him away. You notice one of his hands slip into his pocket, but before the act can even register, it’s back out and reaching for your other boyfriend’s wrist again.

“We will talk about it. But not tonight,” he says.

The beginning of a disagreement begins to leave Clark’s lips. But the hand that had reached for his cuts his statement short when it flexes and spreads a thin band over his wrist. Clark looks down at it while you observe with confusion. But then you see a sparkle of red.

Your pupils dart back to Clark’s face. You watch as his eyes flicker with that same ruby color. His shoulders rise, and his chest puffs out with innate pride. He doesn’t have that sweet, lopsided grin; now his lips look sinister and menacing as they curl. You don’t even have to ask what it is. You recognize that look. You know the effects of red kryptonite.

“You’re such an asshole!” you explode at Sam. You step towards him, practically shoving Clark behind you. “Why would you do that?! You know he hates that stuff!”

Your arm swings forward, smacking at his chest. He just laughs and dodges your weak blows. “Calm down. He’ll be fine. I just wanted to help him unwind for the night,” he says.

You go for another strike, aiming for his bicep this time instead. Before your limb can connect, two strong arms have looped around your waist and tugged you back against a firm body.

“He’s right,” Clark chimes in. His chin hooks over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck, planting kisses there that make you squirm. “I was letting you get me all wound up. Just needed to take the edge off.”

Without responding, your hands fly to his wrist, desperate to get the bracelet off for him. You’d only seen Clark under the influence of this stuff once before. You really weren’t eager to relive the experience.

But he’s quicker than you. He slides his arm away and spins you around to face him in the process. No longer does your boyfriend have his usual look that likens him to a carefree puppy. Now you stare into the eyes of a wolf.

“Clark-” you start and grab for his wrist again.

He laughs and lifts his arm in the air, dangling his hand a foot over his own head. Much too high for you to reach. Still, you jump and try to pull it down by his elbow.

“That’s not my name you know,” he teases.

You stop jumping and glare at him. “I’m not calling you Kal,” you say flatly, “Give me that. You’re not yourself when that stuff is on you.”

“I’m more myself like this than I am any other time,” he disagrees.

Sam comes up behind you and places his hands on your hips. “Come on. Don’t spoil the fun before it’s really started, babe,” he taunts.

“Get off,” you shoo and shoot him a harsh look as well.

None of your efforts have the intended effect though. Nothing you do intimidates either of your boyfriends whose frames dwarf your own against the side of the car.

“So angry,” Sam mocks. He ducks in and kisses your cheek while Clark grabs your chin and makes you look at him again.

“We just gotta find something that calms you down. You need to let loose sometimes. You’re always so worked up and high strung,” Clark says. He strokes your jaw as Sam brings his mouth down to your throat. He starts laying kisses there, the affection more intense than it had been inside the hotel.

His soft lips glide across your sensitive skin. He licks your pulse, scrapes his teeth over the thumping artery. Your breath hitches. They both can hear it. You know that from how Clark’s smile grows that much more smug.

“You know it feels good,” he coos. He leans in, teasing you with the idea of a kiss. His mouth hovers not even an inch from your own. The warmth of his breath puffs against your skin. With the slightest move the two of you would be touching.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” he murmurs, “So why not give in?”

“It’s not like you could get away anyways,” Sam whispers.

And you know it’s true. You can’t do anything they don’t want, especially not something Clark doesn’t want. They’re bigger and stronger. With Clark’s heightened senses, there’s no hope of hiding either. You know the smart decision here is to give in. To give in and then wait for an opportunity to get that bracelet off him.

However, you can’t even say this is a choice based solely in logic or survival instinct. You want Clark’s lips on yours. You crave more touches from them both. While your rational mind hates these versions of the two of them, your body doesn’t care. Your skin breaks out into chills while your heart rate speeds up all the same.

“You’re gonna regret all of this later,” you whisper to Clark, letting your eyes fall to his plush lips.

“Maybe. But I’m not worried about that. I’m living right now,” he responds.

He closes the gap between the two of you. A soft moan creeps up your throat, escaping against his mouth. You feel him smirk. The sound encourages him to deepen the kiss.

Sam presses closer behind you. He pulls your ass flush against his pelvis and kisses your neck some more. It’s like a flurry all around you. If any of Clark’s coworkers were leaving the party now, this sight would only add to the embarrassment Sam and you caused earlier.

None of you are thinking about that though. You’re completely wrapped up with each other. Your hands have found their way into the dark locks on either side of you. The left one grips Clark’s while your right extends back and tugs on Sam. Heavy breaths blow against your face from multiple angles. Large palms grope at the different curves of your body.

Clark reaches down into his pocket. His fingers fish around for a few moments before pulling out the small set of keys Sam asked about earlier. He pulls off your lips and tugs you to his chest away from Sam.

“You drive,” he says simply, sliding the metallic object into the other man’s hand.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Seems like you’re more eager than me now.”

He doesn’t resist or argue though. Instead, he taps the unlock button and slides around the back of the car to head to the driver’s side. At the same time, Clark opens the door to the backseat and ushers you in with a pat to your ass.

“You had a taste of her in there. Now it’s my turn,” he grins.

The drive home was a quick one.

It felt like a right turn, a left turn, and then the car slowing as Sam parked it in the driveway. Clark had made good on his words. He took his turn with you. The entire time his hand was up your skirt, his fingers beneath the thin cotton of your panties, drawing little whiny moans from you.

When the vehicle finally came to a full stop, Sam cleared his throat to alert you and Clark. They spoke back and forth a bit, but their specific words eluded you. Before your mind could come down from the high Clark was working you into, they were hauling you inside.

Clothes came off along the way to the bedroom. Clark’s jacket pooled on the floor in the entryway. Your red dress decorated the bannister. Sam’s belt hung around the bedroom door knob.

Now they have you spread before them on the bed. Your panties have abandoned you like the rest of your outfit. You lie bare for their eyes. At the foot of the mattress, they finish undressing themselves. Sam’s in the lead, his fist already stroking his cock while he stares down at you. Beside him, Clark finishes shimmying off his trousers.

“Think it’s my turn again,” Sam says before getting on the bed with you. He takes hold of one of your ankles, pulling the limb aside to spread your legs.

“We can share now. I’m not feeling too patient,” Clark adds. He follows right along with the other man’s movements.

Grabbing your other leg, he pushes it farther away from the other as he crawls towards you. They both descend upon you in sync. With their broad frames, it’s a tight fit, but they manage to both position themselves at the junction of your thighs.

Clark looks to Sam with a big smile across his face. “More fun when we do it together anyways.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. He stares into those round, blue eyes for a moment more before rotating them to focus on your glistening center. You’re thoroughly slick from Clark’s fingers in the car and all the attention they lavished on you in the parking garage. Two of his digits spread you open. They both gaze at your drippy entrance, your poor swollen clit.

“You don’t even need a warm up tonight, sweetheart. You’re soaked from a few touches,” Sam mocks.

“It was more than a few,” you whimper in defense of yourself.

“Either way… be grateful we’re so nice, willing to give you all this extra attention,” he continues.

“Yeah, especially when you were being so bratty earlier. Talking back, carrying on,” Clark adds.

You whine softly and squirm your hips in an attempt to speed along the teasing. Even with your pouty denial, you know how bad you want them. These words only add to that needy sensation in your belly.

“So desperate,” Sam croons in a low voice.

Luckily for you, Clark doesn’t say anything back. He must have been honest about feeling impatient because instead he just leans in and connects his mouth with your cunt. A sigh bursts from your lips and you tilt your head back against the pillows.

He boosts your thigh over his shoulder and holds it like some sort of handle. His lips kiss your clit a few times, mashing the little bud with their delicate, smooth surface. He then sticks his tongue out and drags it through your arousal. The tip of it sweeps up over your velvety folds and swirls around your button.

Your back arches off the bed. Sam grabs your thigh closest to him and takes it on his shoulder as Clark had done. He turns his head, trailing some kisses over your inner thigh. They start innocent enough, chaste pecks at the most. But as they get closer to your center where Clark is, they grow sloppier. You feel his tongue gliding around in figure eights before his lips engulf the saliva-traced flesh.

When he finally reaches your pussy, you whine loudly. Your eyes flutter, and your heels dig into their backs. They keep you pinned in place, not allowing you to squirm too much or to buck your hips in excitement.

“Good girl,” Clark breathes in a husky tone before sucking on your pulsing clit.

A sharp squeal comes from you. Your toes and fingers curl at the sensation. In the meantime below, Sam prods at your leaky hole with his tongue. At first, he uses broad strokes. He flattens the muscle against your desire-soaked entrance, lapping without shame or hesitance. You moan appreciatively, nice and shameless just how you know they like.

More juices seep out of you as they work you up. That combined with their spit has you thoroughly soaked between your legs. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest. You can see the shimmer of your essence on Clark’s jaw. His eyes are shut, his features relaxed as he showers your tender nub with attention. Sam’s head nods as he licks. It bobs lazily, his nose occasionally bumping Clark’s jaw. He also sports a peaceful expression. It’s the first one on him you’ve seen on him in weeks. He isn’t annoyed or tense or bitter. He’s just lost in the bliss of how good you taste.

Soon, fingers start to get involved. Sam brings his long, slender digits up to slither their way inside of you. He moves his lips North to get more room for them. Clark moves ever so slightly to accommodate him but not by too much. He’s close enough that his nose can still brush against his skin. Close enough that he still feels the occasional swipe of his tongue against his own.

You feel release boiling in the pit of your stomach. Sparkling bursts of ecstasy fizzle from there through all your limbs.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Sam rasps. He pumps his fingers in and out faster, curling them against your clenching walls.

“Mhm,” you force out. Your eyes screw shut while you nod, your head wagging rapidly.

“Go ahead, honey. Cum for us. Show us how good you feel,” Clark hums. He flicks his tongue at your clit just as quickly as your head moves above.

In a matter of seconds, you shriek. Your thighs quiver against the sides of their heads. You roll your hips into the pleasure while clutching at the sheets. Sam’s fingers dig harder into the malleable flesh of your leg. Clark latches his lips onto your bundle of nerves and works you through the high.

At the point where you would normally start to come down, they still haven’t let up. Sam’s fingers don’t recede any. They stay snug in your cunt while Clark continues to make out with your center. You whine. Your hips now buck with the purpose of getting them off. The motion doesn’t achieve that though. They stay right where they are.

“Clark-” you squeal for the main offender. Your eyes roll back and ragged pants of air puff from your lungs. You grab at the two mops of hair between your legs. “Sam...” you whimper with desperation.

Your pleas go unanswered at first. Clark chuckles while Sam grins against your leg. The latter continues to thrust his hand between your thighs.

“What’s the matter?” Sam croons, his brown eyes gazing up at you.

Words tangle up into a needy whine. You bite your lip to suppress the noise before attempting to reply with the sentiment you know they anticipate.

“It’s too much. Too sensitive,” you mewl.

As expected, they only look at you with patronizing smiles.

“Too much?” Clark repeats mockingly, “It’s not too much. You can take it. Can’t she, Sam?”

“She can take it,” the man to his left affirms before redirecting his words at you, “You know you can, baby. You know you like it. You just can’t help yourself. You always need something to whine about.”

“I do not! Ah-” you say, cut off by your own moan.

It’s the feeling of one of Clark’s thick fingers joining the couple of Sam’s that are already inside you. Your toes curl at the minor stretch you feel. It’s nothing compared to the times you’ve taken both of them at once, but still, it brings slight discomfort.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Clark praises as you lose yourself to the moans.

They both duck back in and work with their mouths again. The tips of their tongues brush against one another as they lap at you. Clark moves in impossibly closer, angling his mouth slightly to the left. It leaves him more open to Sam. It gives him easier access to the other man as well.

Sam knows it’s on purpose. This isn’t coincidental positioning. Clark can be just as needy as you. He just has an aversion to acting so openly pathetic about it, especially with red kryptonite on him. 

His head drifts a little more inward, bringing their mouths even closer together. Sam doesn’t hesitate before taking the leap. He tilts himself towards Clark. His tongue slides out against your cunt, but this time it makes full contact with the other man who moans at the warm, wet caress and reciprocates in full.

Your head pops up at the needy sound leaving his throat. You watch with lust-lidded eyes as their tongues tangle with each other against your folds. Their mouths are still touching your skin. The focus has just become split, flowing to all three points of your triad.

It helps to ease the sting of overstimulation that had been nipping at you. You’re able to actually make the descent back to a normal state of arousal. Reaching towards them, you lazily stroke Sam’s hair. You brush his bangs back from his warm forehead before swapping over to Clark and combing your fingers through his tresses that have become damp with sparse drops of sweat.

As they feel your touch, they become more focused on each other. It’s as if more subconscious parts of their minds understand you’ve been attended to. You’ve been sated. You’re not going to get up and leave, so it’s ok to play with each other a bit.

Sam’s the one to deepen the exchange. He draws his fingers that had gone still from the warmth of your cunt. They land on Clark’s shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Your other boyfriend doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves in for more, his nose bumping against Sam’s. Their breaths grow louder. You can hear every desperate inhale.

A low hum reverberates from Sam’s throat as Clark pushes him back on the bed. He kisses with the same overeager tenacity of a pup desperate for attention from its master.

Sam crumples on his shoulder, letting his back rest against the blankets beneath the three of you. You rise on your elbows and sit up, readjusting your legs. Your eyes trail over their nude bodies. They catch on the way Clark ruts himself against the crevice between Sam’s hip and the mattress. Sam’s flushed length stands stiff between their bodies, oozing the first beads of pre despite being untouched for the most part.

You’re only left neglected for a few seconds more. Sam manages to guide Clark’s lips down onto his neck. He then tilts his head back and reaches for your wrist.

“Don’t think we forgot about you,” he says with a small tug.

You follow along with the direction and scoot closer. Clark’s still got his mouth attached to Sam’s neck, kissing and licking at the curve of his throat. The recipient of the touches sighs at the dull sense of bliss it brings. Clark grinds himself harder against the bed, letting out a strangled moan before lifting his head.

His eyes are drooping with desire too now. The blown out pupils flit from Sam to you.

“We couldn’t forget about you, baby,” he adds, his mind seemingly just catching up with the words your other lover said.

Grabbing you by your waist, he drags you over Sam’s body and gets you flat on the mattress under him. You can feel the heat of his length against your thigh. Sam sits up beside you and strokes your cheek with two of his long fingers. He studies you for a few moments, looking at you with such intensity. Even in the heat of the moment though, you know he’s different. His normal reverence is absent. There’s hardly any affection in his gaze. It feels empty in a sense. As if his actions are guided by pure carnal need.

“I’ll let you have her pussy, Clark. Think her and I need to make up with something closer,” he says as his thumb pulls your mouth open by pressing on your bottom lip.

The plan receives no argument from Clark. It probably would have had he been the one resigned to your mouth, but he had no protests about getting to fuck you.

“Sounds good to me,” he grins and moves to kneel between your thighs. He tugs you closer by your hips, getting you in the position he wants. “You ready, princess? This won’t be too much for you?”

It’s not said with genuine concern. You’re sure the result would be the same regardless of if you nodded or shook your head. His tip is already nudging at your hole, more than ready to be inside.

You feel his cock sink in and split you open in time with Sam pushing his thumb further into your mouth. A moan bubbles up from you before you close your lips around the digit and suck. You shut your eyes too, allowing the physical sensations to overtake you.

Clark works himself in inch-by-inch. To your surprise, he doesn’t jerk himself all the way in, but he doesn’t go slow either. His desire rolls off him in waves. It’s only a matter of seconds before his tip is kissing your cervix and the thin patch of dark hair above his cock is pressed to your pelvis.

Sam pushes down on your tongue with his thumb. You continue sucking. Having it there soothes you in a way. It staves off any remnants of overstimulation, gives you something to focus on besides the thick cock stretching you apart.

But then he removes it. You whine. Moments after it leaves you, Clark draws his hips back and then slams in again. Now he’s set on picking up the pace. You don’t get a break. He doesn’t take a while to figure out a rhythm. He pounds back and forth, already settling into the one he likes.

Sam is rising up next to your head too. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s tapping the head of his dick on the seam of your lips. Your eyes lift to his face, which looks down at you with a condescending smirk.

“Open up, baby,” he purrs.

Obediently, your lips part. He thrusts himself inside with the same force Clark used on your cunt. You screw your eyes shut to try and repress the urge to gag. He chuckles up above, though it sounds distant to your ears. Being full of them on both ends spreads your senses thin. They try to keep up with everything happening, but they can really only catch the most intense pieces. Everything else blurs into a flurry around you. Clark’s needy grunts, Sam’s satisfied hum, the wet squelches coming from your core. All of it mixes together into a hazy bluster.

Sam’s cock drags over your tongue. It’s much heavier than his thumb. Warmer too. You suck on it all the same. You don’t use too much force or bob your head more than necessary. Even if his personality had been different as of late, you know what affects him on a physical level no matter what. You swipe your tongue over that specific vein and press up on the sensitive ridge that makes him buck. He hisses as you’re able to get him going with only a few small maneuvers.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he grunts. His hands land on either side of your head and hold you in place. “It’s much better when you’re using your mouth for this instead of all that worrying.”

As he grips your skull and begins rocking his hips back and forth, Clark rabbits himself harder into you. His fingers dig into you with such force, you’re sure you can feel the bruises forming on your skin. Normally, Clark was more conscious of his strength. He made sure to never pull too hard or hold too tightly. But when that little red stone sits strapped around his wrist, all concern for those kinds of things leaves his mind. All he cares about right now is the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

“She’s so fucking tight. Like more than usual. Thinks she likes us better like this,” Clark moans as he continues fucking into you with fast, needy strokes.

“Yeah? That true?” Sam huffs. He thrusts forward and drags your head all the way down on his cock. 

In place of an answer, you gag. One set of your fingers claws at the bedding while your other clutches one of his thighs. He holds you in place for a moment. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds with panic while your pussy squeezes extra tight around Clark. You hear him whimper at the sensation. It sounds far away, fading almost.

You blink slowly. Your head jerks a little. It’s not a conscious choice. Just the natural survival instinct that drives you to fight for air. You don’t receive it at first. Sam keeps your throat full for a few seconds more before pulling out and allowing you to suck in a breath.

You cough at the sudden influx of oxygen. A few droplets of spit spew forward and flank his v-line. He pets your head, stroking you in a way that seems almost caring.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “You didn’t even move that much. Kept nice and still like you’re supposed to.”

“Of course. She knows just how to take us,” Clark agrees.

“I guess that’s true,” Sam says, thumbing at your cheek before sliding his cock between your lips again.

He’s not as forceful this time. You don’t stop breathing as you suck and lick at him. He keeps his thrusts pretty shallow. One of his hands rests on the top of your head, maintaining contact without grabbing you.

Simultaneously, Clark’s cock throbs inside you. It aches with the urge to spill. His balls that slap against your ass feel tight, more than ready to drain into you.

Sam can tell he’s close from how hard he’s panting. He doesn’t say anything, just watches. His eyes linger on Clark’s hips as they lose rhythm. They buck against you, sputtering as the rush of release creeps up on him. Sam can feel it approaching for him too. He tilts his head back and lets his eyes fall shut. His hand stays firm on the top of your head, using its position for leverage to start thrusting with a little more fervor again.

You whine around his cock. The faint vibrations only serve to coax Sam farther along. Things feel more blurry for you than it does for either of them. While they feel the clear signs of their impending orgasms, yours arrives suddenly. It explodes within you, snapping like a taut rubber band. Your body twitches and spasms. You feel the urge to arch your back and buck your hips, but you’re stationary for the most part between them.

Clark cums after you. He bursts with a sharp groan. His hips slap against your ass, jerking you upward. He maintains the same firm grip he’s had the whole time. You feel the thick, warm ropes flood you in a few spurts. It feels good, relaxing in a way to know the end is near.

Then your attention is swept up by the man occupying your mouth. Another hiss zips through his lips before you feel the sticky heat of his spend hit the back of your throat. You swallow every drop. It’s not like you have much of a choice. He doesn’t pull out or give you any room to do anything else but accept it.

He holds himself there as his length twitches and then softens. When the pleasure has reached its zenith, he finally begins to slip himself out. A thin string of saliva hangs from your lips and the head before he falls from his knees and sits beside you. He watches as Clark slides out too. Unlike the man by your upper half, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he collapses on top of you.

His body heat seeps into you, his weight crushing your smaller frame. He nips at your neck. “See? It’s so much more fun when you’re not so tense, baby,” he breathes.

“Mhm,” you hum and let your eyes shut.

Sam sinks down next to the pair of you in bed. He doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. Wordlessly, he observes the way Clark holds you beneath him.

“You are much cuter when you’re tuckered out like this,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

You tilt your head against his shoulder and keep your eyes shut, a gesture to show that you’re trying to doze off. Your main hope is that they’ll follow suit. Luckily that seems to be the case as they remain quiet. You hear Sam’s breath even out beside you. Clark stays still on top of you, pressing a lazy kiss to your skin every so often, but it’s not long before you can feel those puffs of air become deeper and more steady.

Once you feel semi-confident they’re both asleep, only then do you open your eyes. As carefully as you can, you shift slightly and reach for Clark’s arm. You keep your movements slow so as to not wake either one of them. When you have his muscular limb held up enough, you hook your fingers around that bracelet and pull. With a little force, it pops free. You don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but you swear you feel his muscles relax.

From your spot on the bed, you toss it towards the closet. The farther it is from Clark the better. You suppose you should probably try to hide from Sam, but for some reason, you don’t feel like he’s set on using it again. Getting it off was pretty easy. Maybe he planned on you doing exactly this from the moment he slid that thing onto your other boyfriend.

Either way, you shut your eyes. You won’t let yourself sleep, but you can at least rest for right now. You and Clark could deal with Sam later. With one of them back to normal, you could figure out how to do the same for the other.

[pursued-by-the-squid]

vi. wait for the green light

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 9.3k

content warning: the games are finally beginning and i'm not shying away from the violence, so just be aware.

[ also, happy birthday in-ho!!! ]

ao3 | masterlist

Everything is painfully bright. You can see the lights through your eyelids even before you wake, but they’re still brilliant enough to hurt your eyes when you open them. For a moment, there isn’t much of anything beyond the sterile tint of fluorescent lights. And then, suddenly, there is everything.

The figure in your apartment, Gi-hun’s departure, the kiss – it all comes rushing back. You frantically push yourself up so you’re sitting and very narrowly miss hitting your head on a metal beam. “Oh, shit!”

Your hands fly up to shield your face while you simultaneously twist to the side, but the sudden shift in weight throws your balance off and you topple over onto the floor. Your shin rams into something hard and your tailbone aches when you land, but you’re otherwise unharmed.

“What the–?”

There’s a massive metal bunkbed looming above you, stacked five beds high and devoid of any personality apart from utilitarian despair. You see another one when you tilt your head back, then another and another, until your head is swimming. What kind of kidnapper has rows and rows of empty bunkbeds, and for what purpose?

You’re just about to spiral into a full panic attack when you spot a flash of teal green, then a splash of white, and suddenly there’s a woman kneeling in front of you. She has pretty eyes and the kindest smile you’ve ever seen, and stitched onto the breast of her jacket is a patch with the number ‘120’. She offers you a hand. “Are you alright?”

What the hell is she wearing? You glance down and practically crawl out of your skin, because what in the hell are you wearing? It’s the same outfit as hers – green zip-up jacket, green tracksuit slacks, white shoes, and white stripes running down your shoulders and legs – only your number is different. 457. Is that supposed to mean something?

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, Miss 120, and her touch is even softer, little more than a brush of her fingertips on your kneecap. And even though you’ve never met this woman before in your life, the contact is enough to soothe you temporarily. “It’s alright. Here.” Her palm is offered with a little quirk of a smile. “Take my hand.”

She pulls you up with a remarkable display of strength, damn near hoisting you off your feet instead of to them, but her other hand quickly comes to your shoulder to help you settle and find your balance. It’s only once you’re standing that you’re afforded a better look around, though there still isn’t much to see that you haven’t already taken note of. Rows and rows of bunkbeds, a swarm of green jackets, and too-bright lights that make your eyes hurt.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?” You’re so disoriented that you’re finding it difficult to focus on any one thing, let alone whatever it is she’s saying. “I-I’m sorry, I’m…Where are we?”

Miss 120 shakes her head as her mouth tips into a slight frown. “I don’t know. I don’t think any of us know.” She casts her eyes about for a moment, cataloging the high rise of the ceiling and the glimpses of strange murals peeking out from behind the beds, before turning her attention back to you. “Did you play ddakji too?”

All your life, you’ve never thought it possible for the world to come to screeching halt. It hadn’t even done that when Gi-hun kissed you – oh God, Gi-hun. Where is he? Is he safe? Is he dead? No, no, wait, you can’t… you can’t think about that right now. Your mind is scrambling to make sense of what little information you have readily available and it feels like twelve separate traffic accidents are all colliding on the same city block inside your head.

Ddakji. She asked if you had played ddakji. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? Looking down at your jacket, you run your fingers over the stitched on ‘457’. The number is remarkably close to the one Gi-hun had given you once, the number that’s been taking turns with the dead recruiter haunting your dreams each night. This… can’t be right. The recruiter’s dead. While that hadn’t been Gi-hun’s end goal, surely that would be enough to get either himself killed or to put an end to the entire witch hunt, right? What more is there for Gi-hun or the higher-ups to do either than to kill each other?

But then, what else could this place possibly be?

“The recruiter,” you start, whirling around to look at Miss 120 once more. “The person you played ddakji with. Was it a man in a suit?”

Her frown deepens considerably as she nods. “Yes. Why?”

You press further. You have to know for sure. “The card. Did he give you a card? With the shapes on it?”

“Yes,” she replies, baffled, “didn’t you get the same?”

The room starts to spin around you, the ceiling tilting one way and the floor tipping the other until you’re stumbling backward into the metal frame of your bed. The games are real, then. You’d always assumed they were, assumed that Gi-hun was tortured enough not to lie to you about something so awful, but it was a distant fear that never came any closer than the printing of shapes upon a business card and a dead man in a suit. Now his words ring clearer than ever before – I was worried they’d hurt you because of me.

You run. It’s the only thing that makes sense. You have to get out of here before the games start. You are not killing anyone, no matter how much money they give you. You don’t need it and you don’t want it. You just want to go back home. You want Gi-hun back, you want–

The doors on the far end of the room open to show a line of men in zip-up hoodie suits, tall and ominous like the one who drugged you, only their hoodies are a vibrant pink rather than black. And just like that, your feet are rooted to the floor. Maybe they aren’t horrifically menacing to anyone else, but one of them wears the same mask as your attacker – all black with a white square. Is that him? The same one?

Where you had wanted to run only moments before, now all you want to do is hide. You push your way through the small section of people you’d already cut through to get back to your bed, back to Miss 120, anywhere so long as it’s as far away from those masked creeps as you can get. What if they drug you again? What if they drugged everyone else here? Your back hits the wall; it’s cool to the touch, almost uncomfortably so against the blazing heat of your neck and palms.

The man in the square mask takes a step forward. “I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you.” His voice is as modulated as the voice in your apartment, but you can’t tell if it’s the same person or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but it’s unsettling either way. “Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”

The sign hanging above his head – a digital display of Hangul and numerals – feels as ominous as the square emblazoned on his face. 457. The same number on your chest. 457 people, all gathered together so they might kill each other for money. What kind of sick fuck would design something like that?

It seems you’re not the only one wondering, even if no one else in the room has any idea what it is they’ve stumbled into. Miss 120 speaks up first, then another person, and another, and another until the entire room is buzzing with whispered musings and mild accusations thrown in the direction of the masked figures. Everyone is wondering what the hell is going on and how these strange, masked men have any authority over their lives.

And then everyone suddenly stops worrying about it so much because, rather than offer a genuine answer, Square Mask offers footage – men and women alike, ddakji colors flashing in their hands, their cheeks bright red from slap after shameful slap, and a massive debt attached to each name. One of them is Miss 120 – Cho Hyun-ju, apparently, at nearly two billion won. There’s another poor soul with ten billion won in debt. Gi-hun was right, they really do prey on the most vulnerable people they can find.

How is this even legal? Is there footage of you too? Did the woman who approached you so long ago have a camera in her pocket so she could secretly record you? And why? Why would anyone want to watch footage of desperate strangers getting publicly abused? What pleasure could possibly be found in something like that?

“All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge,” Square Mask asserts. “When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?”

The room devolves into further whisperings and murmurs as people start leaning in to one another. You, personally, can hardly believe a word you’re hearing. The manipulation feels so blatant – he’s literally calling everyone in the room garbage, goading them into participating so they can rise above the name calling and the weight of financial stress, and they have no idea. They don’t know they’re walking into a death trap.

Someone should do something, or say something. But who, exactly? You? Who else is there?

Before you can wrestle with yourself further, the lights flash and flicker into a dim yellow glow, casting the edges of the room into shadow. A large, glowing orb descends from the ceiling – only it’s not an orb, but a pig. Plastic, maybe, or glass, you’re not really sure, and at first, you’re lost as to why they would choose such a strange design. It’s wildly out of place. Then you hear the sound of a clicking lottery machine projected over the speakers and you realize it isn’t out of place at all.

It's a joke. It’s a perverted, twisted, fucked up attempt at a joke and it’s enough to make you sick.

45.7 billion won. The number is so mindbogglingly high that you can hardly comprehend it. You’re not even sure how much that would be in your home country, just that it’s a lot. Enough to pay off that one gentleman’s debts 4 and a half times with close to another billion to spare. That’s lifechanging amounts of money. And they’re just giving it away freely?

Not freely, you have to remind yourself. There’s a price to pay and it’s steeped in blood. Even if no one else in this room knows it, you do.

Someone should really say something, you just wish that it could be anyone other than you. There are 456 other bodies in this room, 456 people who could be saved if you just had the courage to speak up, but something holds you back. You’re terrified. You’re frozen in place by the icy chill of fear and uncertainty that clings to your bones. 456 people could easily rise up and overwhelm five measly guards, so why can’t you just say it?

You’re so intent on beating yourself up for your cowardice that you almost miss it. That voice. You don’t actually comprehend the words, you’re too dissociated to understand much of anything apart from the rush of adrenaline in your veins, but you don’t have to understand him to recognize him. Because you’d know that voice anywhere.

Gi-hun’s always had such a distinctive timbre. You could pick him from a crowd of lookalikes simply by asking him to speak, so picking him from a crowd of 456 is light work. You trail blindly in the direction it had come from, somewhere at the back of the room, lost among the rows of bunkbeds and metal platforms, looking at every face, every shock of short, dark hair, every gently sloping pair of shoulders until you find him. Because you have to find him. Because he’s here, he has to be.

Your hand lands on someone’s shoulder, someone who has that same tall and lanky stature, and his name is already on your tongue by the time they turn to reveal that they are not, in fact, Seong Gi-hun. You weren’t imagining things, were you? That was definitely his voice, you’re sure of it.

And then you see him. Cloistered among the metal bedframes with his face tilted toward the back wall. You don’t know what he’s looking at, you don’t care, because all that matters is that he’s alive. He’s here. You’re not alone, you don’t have to face this hellscape by yourself.

“Gi-hun!”

His head snaps toward you, his eyes wide and body stiff, and for a moment you’re left with only the ability to stare and to study. The face swimming before you is familiar and foreign all at once. The angles of his cheekbones are more pronounced in this lighting and his scowl more severe, but it’s really him. Your Gi-hun. And then you’re sprinting, throwing yourself into his arms and choking on his name as you cling to him, the only solid lifeline you have left.

“You’re alive,” you weep. Your hands won’t stop shaking as they grasp at any bit of skin or clothing they can find, desperate to keep him close in case you wake up and find yourself living in a world without him in it. “Oh my god, you’re alive.”

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, all gravel and breathy disbelief.

You’re trying to find the words to tell him everything, but they come out as incoherent babblings. “I don’t know,” you cry. “There was this man, and he grabbed me, a-and then I woke up and I–”

Something iron strong wraps around your bicep and yanks on you until you’re tripping over your own feet. A long, hard rod of metal slams into your spine as Gi-hun wrenches the two of you apart, his neck arched and his face contorted as he transforms into some wild and snarling beast. “What are you doing here?” he demands. He’s shaking you, his fingernails digging into your skin even through the jacket, and he’s everywhere, too close and too angry. “I told you not to come here! You promised me, [___]. You promised! What were you thinking?”

You shake your head, you try to protest, but he won’t let you. “Gi-hun–”

“I told you!” he growls, and no amount of flinching away is enough to give him pause. “Don’t leave the apartment, I said. Don’t go outside. Why?”

You’re clawing at him now, trying desperately to push him back and away, but he’s stronger than you ever gave him credit for. You’d always thought he was just some tall, lanky thing, all bark but no real bite. Now you finally realize how much you’d underestimated him.

“Did you keep the card? You thought you’d call the number and play when my back was turned?”

“I didn’t call,” you explain tearfully, struggling against his grip yet still failing to free yourself from his wrath. “I-I didn’t do anything. Gi-hun, please, you’re hurting me!”

His hand smacks into your chest, and he hits you so hard that the ache he left in your bicep disappears entirely. Your player number is caught in his fist. “What is this, huh? You think this is a Game you can win? You think this is fun?”

“Gi-hun!” you screech, and this time you summon enough strength to tear yourself free. Your palms slam into his chest and shove him backward several steps before your legs finally give out, collapsing you upon the very bed he’d pinned you to, and by then you’re both breathless and wide-eyed, gazing wordlessly at one another as if the other person has just grown a second head. “I didn’t keep the fucking card.”

“Then how?” he asks, his nostrils flaring when his chin tilts in your direction.

“I…” You close your eyes for a moment, thinking that maybe if you squeeze them tightly enough, you’ll wake up back in your own bed, far away from all the death you know is yet to come. It’s a pretty thought, but you know better. You wish you didn’t.

Because you can remember it all so clearly. You can still feel the hands on your skin, the rough gloves and the blinding, gut-wrenching panic that had settled in your bones. Here and now in the arena Gi-hun’s been trying to keep you from for the last two years, your body finally curls in on itself as it threatens to collapse.

“Someone broke into my apartment. They drugged me.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to fight back the memory, the horror, trying and failing to keep your head above the waves of despair lapping at your throat, but instead you feel like you’re drowning.

Gi-hun is there, his hands hovering over you but never touching. You think maybe he sees the way you flinch when he comes close, but you don’t have the strength to either forgive him or indulge him. “Did they hurt you?” he asks softly.

“I fought him, Gi-hun. I really tried, but he grabbed me and I couldn’t…” You think you’re going to be sick.

“Listen to me.” Gone is the spitfire and rage. Now there’s just Gi-hun, a bit softer around the edges than you’ve seen from him in weeks. It’s in the eyes, you think, or the way his brows purse when he dips his head down to catch your gaze. “I’m going to get you out of here. Okay?”

Glancing up through tear dropped lashes, you shake your head. “How? You said they made you kill people.”

“It won’t come to that,” he promises. “I have a plan.”

It takes every ounce of restraint you have not to laugh in his face. A plan? Really, that’s what he’s got? “You almost got yourself killed twice this year,” you snap. “Was that all part of your plan too?” Was showing up at your front door with three hours left ‘til midnight and kissing you part of the plan? Or was that just the act of a desperate man determined to die?

You hate that that’s where your mind goes. You hate that your life and the lives of 455 other people are on the line and all you can think about is whether or not Gi-hun really meant it when he kissed you. You hate that when he looks away, either out of shame or embarrassment, your gaze dips to the bow of his lips and you’re suddenly standing in the open doorway of your apartment, yearning for him to kiss you again.

“This is all part of his game.” He looks back at you and you tear your eyes away as fast as you can, your pulse leaping inside your chest. You really hope he didn’t notice that. “He knows I’m here to burn everything down from the inside and he’s trying to stop me.”

It takes you a moment to comprehend what he’s saying. “‘He’?”

Gi-hun nods as he starts surveying the other players. “The man running these Games, the Captain.” He falls silent for a moment, and the bed squeaks a bit when he leans his weight into it, one of his arms extended to press against the frame by your knee. “Things are different this time. The money – last time it was 45.6 billion won, and now it’s 45.7. Like your number.”

The patch sewn into your jacket suddenly seems to weigh more than the entirety of the planet. “Maybe he got more money this year?” It seems like a far better option than considering that you might be a part of this Captain’s plans.

“No. This is intentional. Now that you’re here, both the money and player count are higher. Even the rules are different.”

“So, what, he’s playing mind games with you?”

Gi-hun nods again, his expression deadly serious. “With both of us. He’s trying to get inside my head. He’s trying to scare me.”

You have half a mind to admit that it’s working because you think you might actually have a panic attack if you have to sit through a single one of these games, but you lose the chance before you can even grasp it. There’s a man pushing through the nearby gathering of players. He looks like any other man you’d meet on the street – kind eyes, a smattering of facial hair, a big smile – but the way that Gi-hun reacts when he sees him is comparable to what you imagine it might be to meet a ghost.

“Gi-hun-a!” the man exclaims as he scrambles up to greet him.

“Jung-bae-ya?” You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this shocked in his life. Well, apart from just a moment ago.

They collide just as Gi-hun rises to his feet. The other man slaps a hand on his shoulder as he draws him into a hug, laughing in total disbelief. They’re talking so fast – or at least, Jung-bae is – that you can hardly keep up with him.

“I thought that was you. I’d know your voice anywhere, you old–”

“What are you doing here?”

Jung-bae’s head tilts to the side. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”

Dead? Your attention snaps to Gi-hun, who has enough decency to look mildly embarrassed, though he doesn’t say anything to defend himself. You made peace with his quirks a long time ago, but the fact that someone he once knew also thought him dead is concerning. It’s not just you.

“No one's heard from you for three years,” Jung-bae continues, and God, he’s chatty. You’re trying to keep up with him while also processing everything he’s saying. “I heard your mom passed away. I had to hear about it from my wife! What kind of friend are you?” And then he’s spinning to point at you, his eyes wide. “We haven’t been here a whole day yet and you’re already trying to replace me? Is this just because I didn't lend you money? You had to cut me out?”

There’s a beat of silence while Gi-hun struggles to explain himself, but whatever he comes up with seems to fall short in his mind. In the end, he settles for a dejected sigh and a bashful shrug. “Ah, it’s not like that. It’s a long story.”

“Right. I can imagine, seeing as you're here.” Jung-bae scowls a bit, his eyes flickering all over Gi-hun’s face, searching for what, though, you couldn’t say. Likely whatever’s left of the friend he knew three years ago. “Still, you should've told me about your mom. You know how much she liked me.”

Another tense few moments pass as Gi-hun processes this. While you’re not entirely sure what specifically he’s thinking about, his mother or his mistakes, it’s very clear that he’s upset about this turn of events.

“Why are you here?” he finally asks. “What about your wife?”

Jung-bae flounders for a bit as his shoulders crowd inward. “We got divorced. But let's not talk about it here, yeah?” His focus slides to you momentarily. “When we get out, let's go for a drink and talk.”

At the mention of a drink, of actually getting out of here, Gi-hun’s eyes flash dangerously. His face, softened a bit with the weight of his affection for his friend, suddenly hardens and he grabs his friend by the collar, pulling him in so the three of you are crowded together.

“Jung-bae-ya, [___], whatever happens from now on, stay close to me. Both of you.”

You nod immediately. That’s all the convincing you need. Jung-bae, on the other hand, doesn’t realize how serious this is. After all, how could he?

“‘Stay close’?” he laughs. “That’s a bit melodramatic.” He looks to you for confirmation, as if expecting you to chuckle and nod along, only to receive a deeply concerned stare in return.

Gi-hun’s face warps once more. “Just do as I say!” he grits out. “I’m trying to keep you both alive.”

Your little nook is quiet for a long moment as the weight of Gi-hun’s words begin to settle. You know bits and pieces of what these Games entail – fucked up scenarios that twist your mind into something unrecognizable, friend pitted against friend, a detached sort of heartlessness that seeps into your bones – but Gi-hun has always been vague about the details. All this time you���d thought it was to keep himself safe from the trauma of reliving and recounting everything that happened, but now you’re starting to wonder if he wasn’t also trying to protect you. The look on his face seems to say as much.

Jung-bae is swiftly guided to sit beside you on the bed. He glances at you again, tries to smile at you, but you can see that he’s rattled, or at least confused. But by the time he attempts to ask anything more, Gi-hun is already crouching before you, his elbows braced against his knees.

“We don’t have much time, so listen carefully. Whatever happens out there, do exactly as I say. Understand?”

“But Gi-hun-a, out where? What is all this, huh?”

He swallows heavily, his jaw clenching, and then suddenly, he’s lowering himself so he’s kneeling, pressing his fingers inside his own mouth. You and Jung-bae both immediately recoil.

“What are you doing?” you ask, mildly horrified at the sight of Gi-hun gagging with his hands in his mouth. It’s… well, it’s…

“Fuck,” he spits a moment later, holding a –

“Is that your fucking tooth?” you exclaim, and it comes out much louder than you had intended.

He waves his hand absently in your direction, too focused on turning the tooth over in his trembling hands. You catch a glimpse of metal prongs and what looks like a hollow space carved out of the tooth, but it’s gone before you can make proper sense of it, caught in Gi-hun’s fist as he slowly slumps in defeat.

What the fuck is going on?

You’re leaning down to reach for him – his hand, his arm, his face, anything that will bring him back to you so he can explain, so he can help you understand – when his head snaps up and his eyes bore directly into your skull. “Talk to me,” you implore. “What is it?”

His eyes, dark and glittering, squeeze shut for the briefest of moments before he suddenly draws himself to his full height. With the way you’re sitting on the bed, it makes him appear mountainous and detached, soaring high into the stratosphere while you’re left at ground level, alone and confused and so painfully far away. “I’ll explain everything later–”

“But we might not get a later!” And that, at last, is enough to give him pause. He watches you pull yourself up and shuffle close. “You told me these games were deadly. What if something happens out there and–”

Gi-hun rests a hand on your arm, as gentle and soothing as he can manage under the circumstances. “Nothing is going to happen. Trust me.”

“I do. But you’re not making it very easy.” Your chin drops against your chest. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t. I won’t let you. Stick with Jung-bae-ya and me, alright? We’ll keep you safe.”

Whether he’ll be able to or not remains to be seen, but you know Gi-hun well enough to know he means it. He’ll do anything he can to keep you safe. You just hope that fate agrees with him.

Player consent forms. As much as you despise the people running these games – the Captain, Gi-hun had called him – you have to admit that it’s smart. Many of these people will have already signed their bodily autonomy away in return for unpaid debts, so a blanket consent form with no real context isn’t going to matter to much of anyone. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.

Your palms are clammy, sweat already slickening your skin as the player ahead of you departs. You don’t have any qualms about choosing not to sign – you have no desire to be here any longer, not even for a chance at 45.7 billion won. Besides, you already have all the money you could ever need.

“Player 457. Your signature has already been taken.”

Your head snaps up forcefully enough that you hear the joint pop. “What?”

The man behind the table inclines his mask to you – all black with a white circle – as if he were merely a polite, mild-mannered secretary breaking some unfortunate news. “Your consent form has already been signed.”

Maybe you’re not translating him correctly. Your Korean has improved a lot over the past few years, but there are still some gaps in your fluency. You take a step forward. “I haven’t signed anything. I didn’t even ask to be here. Gi-hun,” you start, turning to look at him over your shoulder, “I’m not hearing that wrong, am I?”

He shakes his head. The lump in his throat bobs just slightly, but Gi-hun’s focus isn’t on you. He’s glaring a hole into the head of the masked figure before you, his jaw clenched tightly enough that you hear his teeth scrape against each other.

The guard, however, doesn’t even seem bothered by either of your responses. “Rest assured, Player 457, that your consent form has already been signed and filed. Please step aside to allow the other players to sign.”

“No.” Your hand smacks on the table between you, hard enough that the discarded pen used by the previous player rattles and lolls to one side. “I don’t want to be here. I haven’t signed anything, so if you have something with my name on it, it’s a forgery.”

A quiet, creeping feeling has begun to swell deep within your gut. Gi-hun going AWOL last night was one thing, getting kidnapped and taken to the very games he’d told you about was another, but now being forced to participate against your will? It’s all horribly wrong.

“If you do not allow the other players to sign their consent forms, then we will be forced to disqualify you,” says the guard. “Please step aside.”

“Good! I don’t want to be here, and I’m not letting you sign me up for this shitshow without my actual consent!”

Already, the players lined up closest to you are starting to murmur amongst themselves. Some of them are staring at you, whispering behind their hands, and even a few of the guards have turned their helmets to watch you. That quiet, creeping in your stomach quickly turns to dread, hot and heavy and nauseating.

“[___].” Gi-hun rests a hand on your shoulder, his voice low and soothing, but you don’t know how he can manage that. How can he be so calm when your consent has just been ripped from your hands?

“Player 457.”

Your chest is suddenly tight. It… hurts. It hurts to breathe, actually. You press your palm flat against your sternum for a moment, your eyes fluttering wildly as you attempt to find your breath, to focus, to think, but it’s overwhelmingly difficult. The tracksuit itches at your wrists and neck, and the shoes are uncomfortable around the back of your heel. Your palms are getting sweaty again. And your pulse is skyrocketing faster than you can catch your breath.

Your name is called again, louder this time, and you know it’s Gi-hun, you know he’s trying to help you, but you can’t find it in you to hear him. You feel like a tiny sailboat adrift in a great sea of teal jackets and numbered patches. Everyone is watching, but not a single face looks familiar. Not a single face holds an ounce of pity for you.

“Player 457.” Your head snaps to the right, toward the voice, and you’re met with a massive wall of pink. It’s a different guard, you think. Taller. “Please step aside or we will be forced to remove you.”

“No,” you mumble softly, one foot already dipping behind you. The room tilts, and for a moment you’re back in your apartment, the room dark and shadowed, and you’re crying out for help because you’re about to be assaulted or worse. You can still smell the chemicals they drugged you with.

Something grabs you by the arm – to steady or to harm you, you don’t know – but you spin around in a blind panic, teeth bared, terrified and ready to fight when–

“[___].” It’s Gi-hun. Your Gi-hun, but he’s all wrong in this light. You don’t like the tracksuit on him, how the color clashes with his eyes and marks him as the same helpless, frightened animal that you’ve become.

“I didn’t sign it,” you gasp as you uncoil in his hands. “I wouldn’t, I swear!”

You half expect him to explode. It might almost be worth it to see him lose his temper, to give the bastards running this place a piece of his mind, but he simply doesn’t. If anything, he seems to freeze. You can see his hands trembling at his sides as they drop and curl into fists. He turns toward the Circle Mask, the back of his neck stiff above the collar and his shoulders tense. “Are you certain? You have the right player?”

The guard inclines his head. “Player 457’s consent form has already been signed and filed. We apologize for any confusion on the terms of your participation, but once consent is given it cannot be rescinded.”

Consent cannot be rescinded.

You cast your eyes about the room in daze. Most of the other players have taken to ignoring you now that you’re not making a scene, though you do receive several wary glances. You catch Hyun-ju’s eye for a moment – the only other person in this place you recognize, the only person out of 455 strangers to have offered you a bit of kindness – and she smiles briefly at you. You’re too upset to even attempt smiling back.

Consent cannot be rescinded.

You’re stuck here. You’re going to have to play. Everything Gi-hun has already told you about, every waking nightmare he’s been living with in the three years since his first bout of bloody games, is now going to become a part of your reality. The blood. The death. The bodies. You think of the corpse in the suit, his brain splattered on the wall, and you choke on your own saliva. Oh God, the bodies.

“Come on.”

His hand wraps again around your bicep, urging you to move even when your feet refuse to answer, although he’s mercifully gentler this time. You stumble blindly alongside him, not protesting, not crying, not able to summon a single thought apart from the realization of your impending doom. He guides you to one of the beds and forces you to sit.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promises, but the words are empty. They ring in your ears like a bell that’s gone sour with time and disuse. “[___], listen to me, you’re going to live. Do you understand me?”

You understand that you’re going to die. You understand that whatever comes next might be your last moments on Earth. What if they force Gi-hun to kill you? Or force you to kill him? What about his friend, Jung-bae?

“Whatever happens,” you can hear him say, “you stay behind me. If I tell you to freeze, you do it.”

When you don’t respond – too horrified by the notion of your own execution to do anything more than sit and wheeze – you notice Jung-bae lingering nearby. They’re talking about you, you think, but even if they are, you don’t have it in you to care. You know you’re going to die today and you’re trying desperately to find some peace of mind in the certainty of it, but all you can feel is the yawning, gaping pit of terror that’s opened up in your stomach.

The whiskey burns pleasantly at the back of his throat when he swallows. Normally he would be indulging merely for the sake of the drink, but he’s restless today, almost abnormally on edge. He could pretend not to know the reason why, but In-ho has never been inclined to lie to himself. The reasons for his uncertainty are displayed on the television with striking clarity. There’s no hiding from it now.

The first game isn’t yet in motion, so he takes the opportunity to study you. A review, of sorts, before the real test begins. He studies the footage of your capture the previous night with a hint of pride. Your strength is no match for his finest Manager, of course, but you’d put up quite the fight. After the bouts of vulnerability he has seen from you in the past, he wasn’t entirely sure you would have the mental fortitude to defend yourself; he’s pleased to note that the opposite is, in fact, true. And while he’s loathe to admit it, seeing you so quickly subdued after 456’s startling display of emotion only minutes prior is something of a balm for the grating ache in his chest.

Now that he hadn’t liked. Something dangerously sharp had stabbed through his lungs when he first saw it, akin to disgust but not entirely separate from anger either. Why should Seong Gi-hun be granted the pleasure of your kiss when, after everything he had killed and bled for, In-ho was left widowed and childless? Why should a man who had abandoned his own daughter to America and betrayed your trust countless times be allowed to have even the slightest glimmer of hope when In-ho has been the one to lose everything?

The Game is an equalizer. It is meant to offer no advantages or disadvantages, only opportunity, and yet Player 456 has somehow managed to survive an entire six rounds of gameplay, a bout of roulette with the most deranged recruiter under his employ, and has found both purpose and pleasure in simultaneously courting you and tearing In-ho’s empire to the ground.

And so, an idea had taken shape. It had started with your capture and blossomed into something more the moment 456 had stepped into his limousine and demanded to return. Rather than taunting Gi-hun with anonymous images of your gameplay, or even of your death, why not allow him to witness your destruction firsthand? Why not twist the Games in In-ho’s favor, just this once, to prove that there is nothing a deadbeat gambler like Seong Gi-hun can do in the face of human greed and bloodlust?

He'd watched you throughout the night, mulling over the possibilities as he nursed a bottle of whiskey. He’d watched you through the camera installed in your bedframe, watched your brows wrinkle as you slept, how your chest rose and fell beneath your jacket, and found himself inexplicably entranced. In the years he has watched you from your apartment, In-ho had never breached the privacy of your bedroom. That was a line he was uninterested in crossing, yet even now he finds himself wondering what details of your life he’s missed because of that decision.

How many hours have you spent pouring over Magritte’s book? How many hours have you dedicated to late night phone calls or messages exchanged with Gi-hun that he was unaware of? And that kiss… What else have you two been doing outside of his reach? What opportunities for manipulation has he missed out on by attempting to be gentlemanly, knowing full well the monster he’s already become?

He shakes his head and pours himself another glass. It’s better not to dwell on such things. The board is set, the pieces are eager to move, and the Front Man has a job to do.

Settling back into his chair, one leg crossed over the other, In-ho watches your player photo flash across the screen. Your eyes are devoid of emotion, the lines of your smile distorted into a flat expression that is so unlike you it makes him physically uncomfortable. It’s a remnant of your shock and horror, he knows, but the difference in your face is startling all the same.

He tries not to think on that either. Instead, he tries to recapture the contentment he has come to know during the Games. There is always death, there is always fear and greed; a cycle that never changes and never ends, and there is comfort in that certainty. He grasps it firmly with both hands and doesn’t let go.

Gi-hun’s reaction to the arena is expected, but enjoyable all the same. It’s an exaggerated rendition of the horror he’d displayed upon realizing his dental tracker was missing. In-ho almost wishes he had been the one to remove it, that his hands were suited for such a task, if only to revel in the knowledge of besting 456 yet again. But he finds that the satisfaction he craves comes in another, more surprising form.

He's never been sure of how much you were told. Likely vague ideas of heartless and bloody murder that have no doubt been tainted by Gi-hun’s irritating inclination for self-righteousness and self-pity, left to fester in your imagination. He’d seen glimpses of it earlier – the bobbing of your throat, the fear in your eyes, the wash of panic as you began to realize that you were trapped in his game, all the result of Gi-hun’s carelessness, not that either of you would ever see it as such. But the trepidation in your face as you stumble into the arena tells him that you know more than he first suspected.

This should be interesting.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Gi-hun to start interfering so soon. Perhaps he should have anticipated as much, but In-ho finds him to be something of a mystery. Every time he thinks he’s figured 456 out, the man turns around and does something unexpected like dyeing his hair, or abandoning his daughter, or taking in a stray. This time it’s taking command of the arena. A desperate attempt to save lives that aren’t even worth the effort.

“Don’t move! Everyone freeze!”

There’s a muscle in the corner of In-ho’s jaw that begins to tick. The whiskey suddenly tastes like gasoline, all traces of its usual bittersweetness erased in the wake of 456’s mounting victory. He’s not concerned – it’s been years since he’s felt anything, fear or otherwise, beyond the yawning void his soul has become – but neither is he foolish. Gi-hun may be a lucky scrap dug out from the garbage heap, but he is also a gambler and gamblers are dangerous. They take too many risks. They’ll crawl in the dirt like animals rolling in their own filth if it equates to survival.

A problem, he muses. A problem he may just be inclined to solve himself. After all, his hands are itching to wrap around something fragile and squeeze, and the urge is strong enough to make his breath catch.

The table clatters softly when he snags the remote from the center tray. The little display across the room lights up in shades of red and pale yellow, and In-ho swirls his tongue over his teeth as the music begins. He turns his gaze to you, to the small corner of the screen set aside for your live cam feed, and he finds himself wondering.

Your mouth is pressed into a thin, trembling line as you cower behind another player’s back, an old friend of 456 if he’s remembering the number correctly. A thin streak of blood is splattered across your ankle, but he can see no other signs of injury or contamination. Ironic, really. You would already be dead if he hadn’t given the order to spare your life.

In-ho swirls his glass in a slow, circular motion, studying the watery sheen of your eyes when a player falls dead on your right before finally downing the rest. He catches glimpses of you as he begins pacing around the room, can hear you screaming when Gi-hun does something particularly foolish and self-righteous, but it quickly becomes little more than background radiation. Another layer of music that curtains his thoughts as he strips himself of his Front Man attire.

The last thing he sees before rushing out of the observation room is your grief-stricken face and the gangling, flailing limbs of 456 as he stumbles over the finish line. In-ho catches himself smiling.

It’s quite a remarkable sight.

The chaos is overwhelmingly loud. Everywhere you look, there are people chattering, grasping at their friends or loved ones, weeping, conspiring in the shadowed corners. Everywhere are eyes too sharp and smiles too vicious, all pointed teeth and bloodlust. And oh God, the blood. You see it splattered on one player’s face, on another player’s shoes. When you walk, the soles of your feet are slick with half-dried blood caked in dirt. It’s awful. It’s so, so awful.

All this time, this is what Gi-hun had feared. This was the hellscape he’d escaped from, the very thing he’d warned you against. You’d known it was terrible, but now that you’ve seen it firsthand? Everything you’ve come to learn about him clicks into place.

He doesn’t protest when you curl yourself into his side, your eyes unseeing and your breath coming to you in stuttering phrases. It’s a small mercy. You think that if he had turned you away when you wordlessly reached for him, you would have burst into tears. Or even a mild panic attack. As it is, you’re already struggling to stay composed. But his presence is stabilizing and that’s good enough for now.

You don’t pay much attention to the masked figures when they enter the room, their garish pink suits at odds with the gruesome horror of this place. You simply burrow further into Gi-hun’s chest, nuzzling against his ribcage until he shifts uncomfortably and is forced to bend his frame around yours to accommodate you. The weight of his arm around your back is grounding enough to bring you back down to reality, to remind you that you’re alive.

People are crying, you soon realize. Not the same crying as before. It’s different now, they’re begging, pleading for mercy as they get down on their knees to grovel. But don’t they realize what they’ve done? They’ve signed their rights away, there’s nothing they can do now but accept the fact that they’re as trapped here as you are.

“[___].”

You’re blinking, staring at nothing in particular, when you suddenly realize Gi-hun’s speaking to you. Your head tips back slightly, your eyes bleary as you struggle to focus on his face. “Hm?”

His hands are curling around your shoulders, gently this time, as he prompts you to sit up and move off of him, only you don’t want to move. You want him to stay, to keep holding you. It’s not as scary when he holds you.

“Here. Jung-bae-ya’s got you,” he murmurs.

He passes you off like you’re a piece of bread or a bag of groceries, like you’re some inconsequential thing that he has to be rid of as quickly as possible, and you don’t understand why until he’s suddenly standing, staring down the masked men who have turned your life upside down. Some of the other players turn to look at him. Jung-bae rests an awkward hand on your arm and you try not to be rude and shrug it off; he’s only being polite, it’s just not what you want right now. It’s not Gi-hun.

“Clause three of the consent form,” Gi-hun announces suddenly, “‘the games may be terminated upon a majority vote.’ Correct?”

“That is correct,” says the Square Mask. He doesn’t nod.

“Then let us take a vote right now.”

There’s a bit of confusion between the decision to vote and the actual occurrence. As the shock and dissociation from the day’s events begin to wear off, you slowly become more and more cognizant of your surroundings. You note the decreased number of players and the newly accumulated prize money – 365 survivors out of the original 457 and a whopping 9.1 billion won.

A voting booth is displayed near the front of the room, designed to resemble a gift box with two buttons on display – a red X and a blue O to match the markings on the floor. Rules are announced, what each button means and how much money each player will receive should you all vote to leave now. (It’s ₩24,931,506 per person. You’ve never felt so thoroughly sickened by the thought of money before in your life.)

“If you wish to continue the Games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers.” The guard suddenly raises his hand and points to the back of the room. “Player 457.”

It takes you a moment to remember who Player 457 is. Gi-hun has to nudge you after several seconds tick by and you don’t budge. “Go,” he whispers, pressing his hand to the curve of your spine to urge you forward.

Everyone is watching, which only makes it worse. It’s not that you care what these people think of you because you know your own conscience, you’re not worried about your choice, but the memory of the game still lingers in the back of your head. With so many eyes on you, it’s almost like you’re back in the arena. One move and you’re dead.

“Aish, [___],” says Gi-hun, giving you another gentle push, “go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Maybe that’s what you were waiting for, this subconscious need for his permission. Whether you’re right or not, though, you don’t even want to guess. You just want this over with. You want to go home. The thought of crawling into bed in your own apartment is less appealing than it should be after being drugged in your own home, but at least it would be better than this.

That’s what finally gets your feet going. Home. Home with Gi-hun. A warm bowl of ramyeon, a movie, and his arm around your shoulder. You’re not sure that’s something he would ever want, but you allow the fantasy to persist anyway, if only because you can still remember the press of his lips over yours. It’s something to hope for, a light at the end of the tunnel.

“This one ends the Game, right?” You point to the red X button on your left. Now that it comes down to it, you’re illogically terrified of accidentally mistranslating every word spoken around you and pressing the wrong button, dooming yourself, Gi-hun, and every other soul in this room to another round of torment. “X means no.”

The guard nods. “Correct.”

You don’t even need to think about it. Your palm slams down on the button and the voting podium briefly flashes fully red before returning to normal. A patch is offered to you – a white X on a red background – which you proudly display on your right breast. Gi-hun is quick to follow, having already started toward the display while you were casting your vote, and when he joins you a moment later, your entire body goes limp with relief. He rests his hand on your shoulder, gives you an affirming nod and an almost-smile that you think you’ll treasure for the rest of your life, before guiding you to the designated waiting area.

You’ve both done your part. Now all you have to do is wait for the rest to follow.

If only it were truly that easy. While you were busy mourning the lives lost and yearning for home, many of the other players have been calculating. They’re greedy. You understand it to a point – life is never easy and money solves just as many problems as it causes – but you find it difficult to understand how anyone could choose to stay in the games after witnessing such a horrific and violent loss of life. Player after player chooses to stay. Young people likely around your own age, older folks with decades worth of debt, the awful man with the purple hair (not a surprise in the least), Miss Hyun-ju (it hurts your heart to watch – she seems so nice that her decision almost feels like a betrayal), all of them choose to stand in the blood and the gore for the sake of a little extra cash.

And when they aren’t dooming all the rest of you to unnecessarily violent deaths, they’re rioting at the slightest inclination of wisdom or sense. Gi-hun tries, he really does, to explain just how dangerous the games are. You can see it in his eyes how much it hurts him. The people who listen aren’t difficult to convince, but the ones who remain have hardened their hearts to anything he has to say, and that becomes a burden in itself. What hope had started to blossom in his chest and lift his shoulders is squashed the longer the voting goes on.

You want to take his hand and reassure him that everything will be fine, if only because the sight of his crestfallen face and haunted eyes makes you want to vomit what little remains of yesterday’s dinner, but it would be a lie. The only thing you’re capable of doing is waiting.

Ultimately, it comes down to Player 001. He’s been sticking to the shadows the entire time, the details of his face hidden behind other players and whatever uncertainties he carries with him. You catch a glimpse of his shoulder when he passes between the X and O groups, then the player number on the back of his jacket, but then he’s swallowed up by the crowd. Standing on your toes doesn’t offer you much more of a vantage point either, so you settle for leaning into Gi-hun and hoping for the best.

The room, once clamoring with competing voices all calling for their group to win, falls deathly silent. 001 pauses for a moment. If he says no, you get to go home. You get safety and freedom, you get Gi-hun, you get hope. But if he says yes…

Your eyes flicker to the scoreboard hanging overhead. A buzzer sounds when his choice is made and the number for the O team clicks up by one. All around you, your fellow players are groaning, hanging their heads in despair. Defeat rises up so quickly and so strongly in your chest that it feels like bile. Tears sting along your waterline as your surroundings grow blurry.

Somewhere in your vicinity, you think you hear Jung-bae attempting to comfort you and Gi-hun, but his words are hollow. Even grabbing for Gi-hun’s hand, clinging to him like some frightened thing lost in a storm offers little comfort.

When the sun rises tomorrow, you won’t be able to see it because you’ll be trapped here, forced into a game to kill or be killed, and you don’t even know if you or Gi-hun will be around long enough to survive to the end.

[pancake404]

Thoughts on Chapter 4 of Poppy Playtime

This isn't a drawing like I usually do but since I managed to play Chapter 4 blind without any spoilers, I felt inclined to share my thoughts about Chapter 4.

Right after I first played it, I, of course, a fan of the game, thought it was the best chapter in the series. But after the excitement died down a little, I put some more thought into it and read others' reviews on Chapter 4.

So here are my totally serious opinions you should absolutely think are facts as I am never wrong.

Insane Spoiler Alert for Chapter 4!

Pretty much the Chapter:

The Doctor bullies you and everyone else throughout the whole chapter.

Doey, the ally turned enemy as he tweaks out after we might've caused the Save Haven to blow up.

Every Smiling/Nightmare Critter watched JJK apparently because all they do is JUMP YOU.

We continue the trend of almost every toy we've encountered dying indirectly or directly by the player.

Prototype makes fun of everyone as he pulls the most epic prank and reveals he's been Ollie for presumingly a long time now(who would've guessed) so every plan Poppy discussed should be thrown out the window because he already knows about it.

Huggy is back to give us a warm reunion hug after we kind of unintentionally dropped him fifty stories.

Now starting with the central characters:

Player Character:

At this point, they are without a doubt, questioning their existence as all they came for(presumingly, I'll get to later) was to see if their coworkers were still in the factory by an unknown, vague note. Now, they're tied up in a conflict between the toys and they're helping out Poppy(semi-forcefully as there weren't many options) by killing the Prototype and freeing the..."still alive" human Orphans(X to Doubt) kept asleep by the Prototype.

Their name is still unofficial, where they worked in the factory is still not confirmed though hinted to be one with the lab coats, and even Dr. Sawyer is questioning why they even returned.

I do like how the Doctor questions the player's morals and reasons for coming back since these questions have been lingering in some people's heads as well. It's also been explicitly clear that there's something different about the capabilities of this unknown employee as the Doctor states that he was trying to figure out what made the player so different.

Speaking of the Doctor, Harley Sawyer.

I liked him.

He was a really cool villain with interesting dialogue and his views on the Player as he constantly tests them. His voice, the TVs, his behavior, it all made him terrifying and strangely attractive to certain people in the fanbase.

However, I do agree that there could've been a little more done with the Doctor and the concept they went with. The TVs could function like cameras alerting Yarnaby if we get spotted such as the trailer of Yarnaby implied, we can have optional dialogue from Harley depending on our actions throughout the game(or just more of it), or we could have one main controlled TV robot that Harley uses to defend the system holding his consciousness.

I also do agree that his death was a little sudden and underwhelming compared to the chase leading up to it. You just press a button after running a bit and he screams. Then no more.

But overall, a nice addition.

Yarnaby:

I like Yarnaby as well, it was a shame he died halfway through the game as I would've liked to see Yarnaby try to defend Harley when we tried to shut him down rather than him getting caught/stuck/bit on some chains and randomly combusting into fire...I think we may need some more visual clarity on how that happened unless I wasn't looking closely enough.

But the way he moved and functioned always put me on edge and it fit well to what he was described in the ARG.

Is it bad that I wished the Doctor killed Yarnaby instead to mirror the Prototype killing Catnap?

Pianosaurus:

Dude got cheated so hard.

Like actually, it's kind of funny.

I can see why people were disappointed when his one shot in the trailer was literally his whole screen time before Doey killed him a second later. I think most, myself included, would've preferred if Pianosaurus, someone they've hyped up to be an antagonist for Chapter 4, had an area where we have to survive from him and when he backs us up in a corner, then Doey would've saved us from death. Similar to Miss Delight except Doey is the executioner instead of the player.

Doey:

He was decent.

I have to admit, I don't often get attached to characters such as allies like Dogday, Kissy, Poppy(absolutely not), and Doey is no exception. In other words, I didn't care much when he died.

His story was objectively tragic and he was overall a cool character with cool concepts. The fact that he became hostile to the Player by snapping after the Save Haven was wiped out was also an interesting and yet another tragic twist where the only option now is to kill Doey.

Not surprised he died. I did notice that like Dogday, a lot of the fanbase wished to save Doey as well and some may have been angry about this turn out on him. My response to that would be...it's a horror game, killing characters you like would be the go-to move to ensure it is tragic, disturbing, and scary. It would also show that you can't hope for the best in anything because the game can kill anybody.

Advice: If you like a character in a game like this, just expect them to die...or make a fanfic of saving them as coping.

Baba Chops and the Nightmare Critters:

Clearly, they have a vendetta against the Player if they're this. Fucking. Hostile.

There are hardly any moments with them when they're not just jumping you. But I think a nice edition since you have to use the flare gun more. I had a neat idea where they climb on top of each other into a large mass like a hivemind to make a big monster made up of mini critters but that could still work with Chapter 5, we'll just have to see.

Kissy Missy:

I was kind of surprised she was alive but I do like how despite her survival, she was still badly injured and couldn't help much...not that she helped much in the previous chapters without injuries. But she did try to help the player proving her to be generally a good person trying to help us.

Then again, that also relates to how good of a person the Player is and/or something we don’t know about her.

I'm expecting her to die in Chapter 5.

But first, I was to see a fight between an injured Huggy and an injured Kissy.

Poppy:

So....she wasn't that helpful. She pretty much told us what to do, we did it, then we get blamed for it by Doey because someone(Prototype) screwed over the explosives, he tried to kill us, and we killed him, Poppy then blames us for things we both did and didn't do, Prototype call, and she runs off.

I think in one of the VHS tapes(there are two about Poppy), we see a conversation between her and Ollie which shows us directly that she isn't exactly a cunning, evil betrayer but more of a scared experiment like the rest of the orphans with a very... tunnel-visioned plan and mindset. Or very, very desperate to blow stuff up.

She does run off and abandons the player and Kissy because the case must've sucked that badly which is weird because I would rather prefer being asleep in the case than being anywhere outside of it where toys could rip me to shreds. But hey, it's her opinion I suppose.

I am surprised not a single character had not mentioned or tried to drop-kick her. Killing her shouldn't be that hard...right?

Right...I'm guessing the reason why is because she doesn't stick around enough near the player to even encounter any of the big villains.

Ollie/Prototype:

Let's face it. We all knew it. The only person who was surprised was Poppy herself.

I actually enjoyed the reveal though, I think it was intense but very funny on how it was done.

Poppy blames us and then Ollie calls, the first thing he does is do the Playtime Equivalent of doxxing our location. Dude might as well just said our address over a COD lobby.

Then he pretty much makes fun of Poppy by telling her she needs to stop pretending to be stronger than she actually is(which is true).

Then he makes fun of the player by saying, "I got the bombs, thanks for getting them for me BTW!" as we hear beeping sounds below us.

Does a whole speech before Poppy bolts, abandoning us and he proceeds to make fun of that.

Then the floor explodes and we're in the Labs now.

Either the Prototype is a (10/10) funny character or maybe my humor is broken.

Long Story Short:

It's an improvement in many ways from previous chapters but I, like many others, think there could've been just a couple of additions to make it Peak but there were some good moments. Some good lore drops and information that may or may not have screwed over a couple of Au's(depending on who's in it) but it could be worked around.

They dived way deeper into how terrible Playtime Co. in the inside from both the perspectives of the workers as well as the toys. I love that.

I will still say that Chapter 3 is my favorite even with all of this considered(Because I love Catnap) but I do hope that they truly take their complete time on Chapter 5 to make it the best possible.

Anyhow, I can't wait for Chapter 5 to bring back Catnap(yes, I AM coping), totally bring him back, if Huggy could survive a fifty-story fall, Catnap could either be shocked back alive and/or survive a stab to the head. These toys were able to tank bullets in tapes, they could survive a bit of brain damage(or piercing) and burns.

Man...the Player might not be an "angel”.

[writer-freak]

Spoiled Rafayel x bodyguard reader

Idea: Spoiled bratty rich girl x bodyguard who's forced to put up with it

Warnings: Gn reader, fluff, AU, strong reader, Rafayel being overdramatic, Rafayel being a tease and a bit of a brat, pretty short I just wrote down whatever came to me A/n: I had this little idea of for a spoiled rich girl x reader and who would fit better for this type of a scenario than Rafayel. Reader isn't really meant to be Mc and this is more of an AU. Maybe I'm gonna write some more for this idea as I find it pretty fun.l

"You're not carrying me?" Rafayel blinked at you, all wide, expectant eyes, his lips forming into a pout. "But my legs hurt."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Your legs don’t hurt. You just don’t want to walk."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I—"

"You literally just told me that your custom-made boots are the most comfortable things you've ever owned."

"A betrayal of this magnitude... and from my own bodyguard!" He dramatically leaned against the nearest wall, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

"Rafayel."

"Look at me, left to suffer. The streets are so—so dirty, and here I am, expected to walk like some commoner."

You were this close to walking away and letting him figure it out himself. But no, you were his bodyguard, and no matter how insufferable and annoying he was, you were stuck with him.

Unfortunately.

"Listen, your highness," you drawled, grabbing his arm and forcing him back upright. "You have two perfectly good legs. Use them. Or do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of potatoes?"

His eyes shined at that, a wicked smirk appearing on his lips. "Oh? How bold of you. Are you sure you can handle all this?" He gestured vaguely at himself. "I am quite the precious cargo."

You let go of his arm. "Walk."

"Ugh, fine." He sighed like you were asking him to climb a mountain instead of just taking a few steps. "But if my legs fall off, I hope you can live with the guilt."

This was your life. Babysitting a spoiled, dramatic, and entirely too attractive pain in the ass.

You weren’t sure exactly when things started to change.

Maybe it was the way he started listening to you more, actually taking your orders seriously instead of treating them like some funny suggestions.

Maybe it was the way he’d hover a little too close after a fight, his eyes scanning you for injuries, lips drawn into a rare frown.

Or maybe it was the way your heart didn’t jump in frustration anymore when he teased you, but instead, your heart jumped with some other more dangerous feeling.

"You know," Rafayel mused one day, sprawled across a luxurious couch while you stood stiffly by the door. "I think I've grown quite fond of you."

You arched a brow. "Oh? In a ‘you’re my favorite servant’ kind of way?"

He grinned. "In a my bodyguard is the only person I trust and also happens to be devastatingly attractive kind of way."

You stared at him. "Rafayel."

"Yes, my dear protector?"

You exhaled sharply, trying so hard not to let his words affect you. "You can’t just—just say things like that."

He tilted his head, his eyes glittering. "Why not? Does it fluster you?"

You turned away, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m leaving."

"But who's going to protect me from all the dangers of the world that are out to get me?"

"You'll be fine."

"Wait, wait!" He scrambled up. "Fine, fine! I won't tease you. At leasdt not as much." He looked at you, his gaze softer now. "But you are my favorite."

You sighed, but this time, you couldn’t quite fight off the small smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 6 : Deal?

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

October 31st, 1630

Dear Journal,

Caleb hasn't been fine or himself since the trial ended days ago. He tells me that he is, but I can tell that he's fibbing. My brother isn't exactly the best liar, though he thinks he is.

I have a slight suspicion about what's been bothering him and causing him so much pain and grief, but why would it? It's been troubling my mind a great deal as well, admittedly.

I just want my brother back, the old him.

The one who would always smile when we went witch hunting together and would cheerfully carve birds and other fantastic things, instead of the one that I have now who I have to make feel better almost all of the time, and who eats less, and who lies in bed all day crying, and--

Philip paused his penmanship on parchment mid-sentence as he sighed, shifting his gaze to his brother while sitting up in bed.

Caleb was lying silently in his bed, his head on his pillow while wrapped woefully in his thin covers.

Even though Caleb's face was turned away from Philip, the brunette could instinctively tell that his spirits were tremendously low.

...

The time of day was night as the front door of the Wittebane household in the woods flew open with great force.

With tightened jaws, lips, and flaring nostrils, Philip stormed inside, his mind exploding with more and more rage as he thought about the sinful happening he had just witnessed tonight.

Rushing to his room, he wasted no time going over to the head of his bed as the brunette slipped a hand under his pillow, retrieving his trusted journal.

Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, Philip began flipping through his book for a fresh page to start writing in.

Finding the desired page, he pulled out a pen from behind his back and began to pour out his emotions on parchment.

September 28th, 1630

Dear Journal,

I've completely had it with that ****** !

Caleb, wearing his vest and boots, wanders through the woods after Philip heads to school, eventually reaching the deep, dense forest while walking with his pitchfork in his hands.

He was on a determined hunt to capture and turn in the hooded figure, rumored to be a witch, who had been spotted in the woods outside of town.

Apparently, her hideout was somewhere in the forest, but Caleb was having trouble locating it.

Suddenly, in the corner of his brown eye, the blonde caught a flicker of red dart past him with lightning speed.

A cloak was worn by the fast-moving figure as they hurried away.

They seemed oddly familiar to Caleb, and without hesitation, he pursued the person.

As he chased the figure, he soon saw it run into a clearing and finally caught up with it, causing the person to pause as they turned to face him.

Caleb halted as well.

He was taken aback when the hooded figure raised her carrot-colored fluffy bangs that covered the entirety of her eyes with her hand, which were widened with surprise and shimmered, in order to get a better look at him.

She also wore a double-bitted key around her neck with a skull-shaped button on its bow.

Her eyes...

Caleb has never witnessed a color this brilliant inside someone's irises before.

The gold was shiny and... looked oddly gorgeous on her.

As Caleb continued to stare, somewhat in awe at the girl, she shined him a small, uncomfortable smile, pointing a finger at his pitchfork, silently asking him to please put it down.

Quickly obliging, Caleb placed the pitchfork on the ground and gave the girl an apologetic grin while scratching the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

The girl, seemingly amazed that this human boy had heeded her request, flashed Caleb a mischievous grin as she pushed back her hood enough to reveal her ears, which wiggled adorably.

Caleb's eyes widened with wonder as he saw the pointed tips of her ears.

His eyes followed her hands as she created a small, glowing circle from which a flame sprang to life, dancing on her palm, which spelled the name '******' before vanishing.

Caleb let out a small gasp. He couldn't believe it, his eyes shining with amazement and disbelief. This was no regular girl. This was a witch, and her name was ******.

After the shock of speaking to an actual witch faded away, the blonde finally spoke, giving ****** his name.

Suddenly, Caleb felt a sense of guilt rise in his stomach, his face growing somewhat pale.

****** didn't look anything like the witches he would help condemn at the pyre.

Did that mean...?

Caleb shook the dreadful thought away.

No, that can't be the case.

****** must be an advanced witch of some sort.

It's probable that the others were ordinary witches.

Just as Caleb was about to tell ****** that he was a witch hunter, she gave him a knowing, yet kind smile.

She already knew that he was one (his pitchfork was a dead giveaway), but something about Caleb in particular seemed different and not like the other hunters.

The children where she came from were much more scarier than him and could make one break down in tears with their words alone.

No, Caleb seemed soft.

Not weak per se, but soft-hearted.

Besides, if he were like the other humans, he would have either killed or captured her by now, but she was still there with him.

With a somewhat flirtatious but also still really friendly smile, ****** decided to give Caleb a wink, which caused him to blush before letting out a chuckle.

Caleb then decides to shoot ****** with some flirty finger guns and blinks both of his eyes in an attempt to wink one.

This results in the witch snorting into her hand.

Poking its head out of ******'s hood was a black bird, soon revealing itself to be a raven as it flew towards Caleb before making a landing on his shoulder.

Both Caleb and ******'s eyes twinkled in amusement at the bird, mainly ******'s.

Her Little Rascal, quite literally his name, didn't like anyone except for her.

She watched Little Rascal rub affectionately against Caleb's face as he outstretched his finger for the raven to hop onto, which he did so without the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes.

Both boys began to stare fondly at each other, with Little Rascal letting out a cheerful croak at Caleb.

He let out a laugh.

****** found herself smiling tenderly at this adorable interaction, her bile-sac skipping a beat within her chest.

Caleb truly was different.

Wondering where ****** found such a terrific raven from Caleb learns that ******'s raven, quite like herself, wasn't ordinary.

He was her palisman, and he soon flew back into his owner's hood after she whistled for him to return.

Just as Caleb was beginning to wonder what a palisman was, it was time for ****** and Little Rascal to leave as neither wanted to be spotted by any other humans.

However, ****** saw the eager expression on the blonde's face, and with a sly smirk, she expressed for Caleb to meet her in the exact same location tomorrow night.

She planned to teach him more about palismen, as well as a few other things from her world.

With one last wink and a small wave, ****** ran further into the forest.

While waving goodbye to his new friend, Caleb felt a soft smile start to brighten his face.

Caleb's dopey grin remained on his face throughout the rest of the day as he eagerly awaited for tomorrow night while doing his daily activities, and Philip couldn't comprehend the reason for his brother's overly merry and upbeat demeanor.

The next day, as evening turned into night, Caleb anticipated Philip going to bed so that he could see her again. Ah, ******. Like a breath of fresh air in his lungs. What a wonderful name for a girl. Caleb kept repeating it over and over again in his mind.

After receiving a good night from Caleb, Philip went straight to sleep, which gave the eldest the opportunity to quietly slip out of the house and race outside in the woods, his heart pounding with excitement as he got closer to the forest.

Finally arriving at the clearing, Caleb saw ****** waiting for him.

With a sly smirk, she motioned for the human to sit beside her in the grass.

As soon as he happily did, ****** twirled her finger, and in a flash of colorful light, images started appearing over their heads.

As Caleb watched, his eyes widening in wonder, ****** showed him illusion after illusion of her life.

She showed him how witches conjured up magic and where magic came from, what palismen were and their purpose, strange plants, her favorite shops in Bonesborough, a town in the Demon Realm that she lived in, and the spot in the garden that she loved to use for naps when she was a little witchlet.

****** then showed Caleb a few images of the massive library she worked in, and then she showed him a scene of her winning some sort of magical battle with a demon who had tried to pick a fight with the wrong witch, and then some scenes of her with a small but boisterous family, and finally, she showed him her most treasured memory...

The time her father had flown her and her little sister high into the air to show them a beautiful sunset over a corpse-shaped island, the corpse of the Titan.

Caleb stared at the images, his imagination running completely wild.

Once ****** had finished telling her story, it was time for Caleb to share about his life.

He did so but only mentioned the parts he was most comfortable with.

He spoke about his and Philip's childhood but did not linger on the passing of their parents.

After learning about each other's lives, Caleb and ****** continued to gaze into each other's eyes, warm smiles making their way on their lips as they slowly reached to hold hands. They then shifted their gaze to the star-filled night sky.

Caleb, with his peaceful visage brightened under the moon and stars, asks ****** if she'd be willing to take him on a trip to the Demon Realm someday as it was a place bursting with beauty and culture that he wanted to witness and experience himself.

Turning to Caleb with lidded eyes and a soft look, ****** answers him with a nod and the two continue to view the colors of the bright night sky.

Since meeting her, she has only been a nuisance and a major inconvenience...

In a recap of chapter 5, Philip walks home after the book signing event at sunset...

He steps inside his home and hears giggling in the kitchen...

Philip freezes in shock upon seeing Caleb cooking in the kitchen with a witch girl...

The brunette goes to charge at her in an attempt to attack her, but Caleb prevents it.

This girl, who looks to be the same age as Caleb, is introduced by the blonde as ******...

... And is clearly leading my brother down a path of deceit and damnation.

Later in the evening, after ensuring that Philip was fast asleep and snoring in his room, Caleb silently joined ****** by the fire with a smile as the two shared a comfortable blanket together and sighed in unison.

As the fire slowly burned down, Caleb drifted to sleep, curled up next to a sleeping ****** as their peaceful faces were illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace.

Meanwhile, eerie, bright blue eyes that glowed with anger slowly disappeared behind Philip's bedroom door as it silently closed.

I don't even want to go into the specifics of what I witnessed Caleb and the witch doing tonight for my own sake. It was utterly horrific.

When Philip returned home, he observed how dim the interior was, which puzzled him since he believed ****** would come over for a visit.

The fireplace was not on, nor were there any candles lit or any signs of a shared supper made for two on the table.

Philip found himself smirking in triumph as he let out a 'hmph!'.

Perhaps the witch had opted to disappear forever and never return to their (his and Caleb's) home or lives.

As Philip continued to reflect on the nice thought, he noted the dead silence of the house but assumed it was because Caleb was asleep.

He would be if ****** wasn't there, after all.

After letting his hair down, he went upstairs and opened his room door, only to discover that Caleb was not there.

A sudden rush of panic swept through Philip's mind.

He knew Caleb was drifting further and further away ever since ****** came into the picture, a lingering fear that he couldn't let go of.

He was going to lose Caleb. Caleb was going to abandon him. Or worse, the witch would take Caleb away, and he would be powerless to stop her.

An uncontrollable rage rose within Philip.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

He wouldn't.

And so, with a surge of determination and adrenaline, Philip dashed down the stairs and out the door into the woods to reach the forest.

The brunette had a hunch that Caleb and ****** would be at the clearing since he had observed them there several times before while spying on them from inside bushes and shrubs.

While running, Philip focused his enraged gaze on the floating lights in the distance between trees.

'Magic', he thought to himself.

And he knew exactly who was responsible for it.

As they stepped onto the last light glyph, Caleb and ****** lost themselves in the slow dance they were sharing under the stars at the clearing.

The world remained silent as they held each other in a moment that felt like an eternity.

Caleb, with the help of a delicate yet shaking hand, gently brushed a lock of ******'s hair behind her ear, and as if guided by a force greater than theirs in a sudden moment, their lips pressed together in a breathless and beautiful kiss as a tidal wave of teenage emotions washed over them.

The kiss was a symbol of both defiance and love.

And although the love between a winsome witch and a happy human could lead to their demise if discovered, it didn't matter at this moment.

The only thing that mattered was them and their emotions.

However, Caleb and ****** were unaware of the shadow lurking behind them.

As he stood still and horrified, Philip's eyes were filled with an unimaginable amount of hurt, concern, betrayal, and fear.

As Caleb held that witch in his arms, his sole focus was on her and only her.

He and the wench were smiling.

Caleb was... smiling …

Philip wanted badly to call out to him, to keep Caleb safe and prevent him from making, in his eyes, the biggest mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

As he watched the soon-to-be couple move their faces closer to each other, he couldn't think of a single word to say.

As their lips met, Philip felt the heavy weight of reality descend upon him, shattering his fragile heart into tiny fragments as if it were made of glass.

It had all been right there in front of him this entire time.

Why was he unable to see the most obvious signs before?

Caleb Wittebane, his beloved older brother, was in love... and not just with anyone... with a witch.

As Philip sniffled, a tear slipped down on his parchment page before more quickly followed suit.

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Philip continued writing with a heavy heart while trying his best to control his crying, his nose now stuffy.

... I need her gone. Out of our lives. For good. I will do what I need to protect Caleb. To protect Gravesfield. I am certain that the next gathering at the pyre will be an eventful one. One that will be remembered for a considerable amount of time. All I need to do is reach out to--

Matthew Hopkins took a suave stroll down the busy town market the next day, his confidence evident in every step he took while wearing his brand new coat along with a new pair of boots and breeches.

The witchfinder figured some new clothes would turn a lot of heads in town since he was undeniably attractive, which was, of course, a factual opinion.

Other townsfolk seemed to agree with this truth as just about everyone who Hopkins quietly passed by quickly placed their focus on his fine features that were framed by the afternoon sun.

The men wanted to be like him, the single women wanted to be with him and run their hands through his hair, and most of the married women had thoughts about him while bathing, but never told their husbands.

Hopkins slipped on a smirk as he witnessed the sizeable sight of flushed admirers gazing at him as a small chuckle emerged from his throat.

He then turns his attention to the male quail that was settled on his shoulder.

Watson, Matthew's pet and feathered companion, shifted his eyes to his owner as he soon began to bob his head.

"You'll have your feed once we arrive home," Hopkins promised quietly to the quail in a reassuring voice.

"You have my word."

Hopkins never faltered in his honesty towards Watson, always keeping his word to the bird.

For a long time, the two had been together, and their bond was unbreakable.

Watson, chirping with understanding, stopped bobbing and continued to observe the marketgoers focusing on his owner.

...

'I have to save Caleb. I have to save Caleb. I must. I will. Caleb, I will save you,' were the purposeful words that Philip repeated in his head as he arrived at his destination, a small doorstep.

After knocking on the door, his blue eyes glittered with glee as the door swung open, but luckily, he was swift enough to take a step back without being hit.

Philip found himself under the "heroic" gaze of his hero.

"Mr. Hopkins!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"That's me...," Hopkins slowly replied as he raised a confused brow at the boy.

Although he appreciated the youth, he didn't usually receive knocks on his door from them.

Typically, when he answered his door, he expected to see either the town minister paying him a visit or one of the various women from town coming to sing their praises for him or gift him with bird seed for Watson.

What did this teenage boy whom he's never met before in his entire life want from him?

"Look, if you want my signed signature, can it not wait until tomorrow?" Hopkins requested, assuming that's what the boy wanted.

"I was just about to feed my pet quail, Watson."

Upon hearing his name from inside, Watson let out a chirp.

"Who's at the door?" Hopkins turned to answer him before looking back at Philip.

"Oh, just some boy from town. And he's ... clearly got an eye problem."

Those last five words were muttered out by the witchfinder, referring to the visible sparkles of elation shining in Philip's eyes.

They were far too big and bright as he squinted.

"I do apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Hopkins," Philip said, his eyes returning to their normal state as he took on a mature demeanor. "But I didn't come here for your signature. I came for a more serious matter. A witch matter."

"A witch matter?" This got Matthew's attention, his eyes flickering with interest in what the boy had to say.

"That does sound quite serious. Very well then. Come inside, young...?" Hopkins paused, not knowing the boy's name.

"Philip!" Philip quickly answered, his enthusiasm shining once more.

"Philip Wittebane! Mr. Hopkins, I'm not sure if you remember, but we've met before," the brunette politely informed.

"We have?" Hopkins tilted his head some, taking in the boy's appearance.

Did he seem familiar?

Philip nodded. "Yes, at the library! Your book signing event was held there! I approached your table!"

Hopkins proceeded to blink. Tons of people approached his table that day.

"You... sighed my book?" Philip quietly stated, hoping that would jog Mr. Hopkins' memory.

However, it didn't as the general continued to stand there with a puzzled expression.

"Oh!" In a swift motion, Philip quickly whipped out his copy of "The Ways of a Witch Hunter" from behind his back and opened the book to its title page.

He pointed to the poorly drawn horse next to Matthew's initials.

"You drew this for me!"

Hopkins studied the artwork beside his name, slowly recalling it.

"Ah, I see. Now I remember..." His memory was primarily of drawing the horse, with a brief memory of speaking to Philip. "Very well then, young Philip."

When Hopkins said his name, Philip was close to exploding, but he held it together.

"Come inside."

Philip nodded as he stepped inside Mr. Hopkins' home.

...

After Hopkins had given Watson his feed of food, as he had previously promised during their stroll, he walked over to the table where he had instructed Philip to sit at.

The general couldn't help but smirk when he saw the boy's captivated reaction to his interior walls.

"Impressive collection, isn't it?" Hopkins asked with a chuckle, taking a seat at the table.

Philip, taking his gaze off of the display of mounted 'witch' skulls on the walls, looked to Mr. Hopkins.

He nodded. "It is," Philip agreed. "Are they... real?"

Hopkins let out a boisterous laugh, a prideful smile playing on his lips.

"Of course they are! I certainly wouldn't have them if they weren't. I've preserved the skulls of every witch I've condemned as a way to show the devil that I mean business. I refuse to let him or his followers poison our great town with their treachery."

Aspiration to be just like Mr. Hopkins shined in Philip's eyes, his smile growing immensely at every word the general said.

He, too, wouldn't allow the devil or his followers to poison Gravesfield.

After chuckling inwardly at the dark thought in his mind of one of the heads on the wall being ******'s, Philip beamed out, "Mr. Hopkins, you truly are a godly man."

Hopkins chuckled outwardly at the compliment. "I have to agree," he said.

"Now, about the witch matter, if I may ask what made you decide to come to me about it? I'd assume the first person you'd want to discuss this with would be the town minister."

"Well," Philip began. "You are the greatest witch hunter in Gravesfield," he told Hopkins.

"And the greatest who ever lived," Hopkins quickly added with a conceited look on his face.

Philip gave a nod at that fact.

"Yes, and I know Mr. Town Minister has been awfully busy writing the extra copies of this week's sermon for the hard-of-hearing members of the congregation..." Bless his soul. "So I didn't wish to bother him."

"I see... So, about the witch matter?" Hopkins desired to know every juicy detail about it.

"Yes, about that...," Philip mumbled, trying to think of what to say. He knew that he had to be wary of his words to prevent getting Caleb in trouble.

The blonde would probably still face minor consequences, but Philip needed to make sure that ****** the witch was the one to face death and meet her maker, Satan, in the afterlife by the end of all of this.

"Well?" Matthew asked, crossing his arms as his raised an impatient brow. "Out with it already."

Philip took a deep breath. "Do you know about the witch who's been running around town in a hood?"

"I do," Hopkins replied.

"Well, Caleb, my brother, h--"

Hopkins' eyes broadened as he suddenly slammed both his hands down harshly on the table, startling Philip as he flinched and quickly zipped his lips.

"Is he the witch?!" Hopkins demanded to know in an aggressive tone.

"Huh?!" Philip quickly shook his head, shaking his hands sideways. "N-No, sir!" he said, quickly rejecting the idea.

"Oh...," Hopkins quietly went, settling down some. "My apologies then." He cleared his voice, motioning for Philip to continue.

"Caleb is... having relations with her," Philip confessed.

"Oh, he is, is he?"

Philip felt instantly frightened by the dangerous glare on Matthew Hopkins' face and began to defend his brother the best he could.

"He is, but please, Mr. Hopkins, it's not Caleb's fault! The witch was the one who committed immoral acts! Caleb was charmed by her! Bewitched! Bewitched by a pointy-eared temptress who--"

"Stop."

"Huh?" Philip stopped speaking after being told to do so.

"Did you just say that this witch that Cain--"

"A-Actually, it's Caleb, Mr. Hopkins," Philip gently corrected, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it.

"Yes, Christopher. That's what I said. The witch that he's been seeing... her ears are... pointed?" Hopkins asked, wanting a confirmation.

"Yes, sir. They are," Philip confirmed.

"I see...," Hopkins said with an intrigued expression. "Witches with pointy ears are far more dangerous than ones with so-called human ears."

"They are?!" Philip questioned with a shocked expression upon learning this.

Hopkins nodded. "They are."

'I knew it!' Philip thought to himself.

His brother truly was in grave danger.

"Young Philip, how's about we make a deal?"

"A deal?"

"Yes. A court date for this pointy-eared sorceress will be set for October 25th."

'That's the end of this week,' Philip noted inwardly.

"If you're somehow able to convince your brother to bring her to court, I'll have a talk with the minister. At the very least, his punishment will involve unpleasant questioning along with public repentance in order for him to rebuild his reputation. It's also probable that he'll have to spend a night or two locked in the manure pit."

As a sight gag, the scene pauses to display a set of blackletter words on screen that state: 'Side note: the manure pit is not an actual pit but rather a very old outhouse in Gravesfield that no one in town goes near due to the horrendous stench.'

Once the gag ends, the story continues.

"As long as we can break him out of his spell, Caesar will certainly keep his life."

Philip sighed, slouching a bit in relief.

At least Caleb would get to live.

A hand then clasped Philip's shoulder.

He looked to see Matthew Hopkins now standing beside him.

Silently, he gazed at the man he looked up to like a son would his father, his eyes gleaming once more.

"You are being very brave, young Philip," Matthew told him.

Philip's chest swelled at the praise.

"R-Really?" he managed to stammer out, slight flush appearing on his features. "You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Now, do we have a deal?" Hopkins proceeded to hold out his hand for Philip to shake.

Philip looked at the hand for a bit, then at Mr. Hopkins. His face brightened immediately as he stood up from his seat.

"Deal!" The brunette vigorously shook Hopkins' hand.

"Wonderful. Now, before you take off, I'd like for you to have this." Matthew Hopkins reached a hand down his holder and retrieved a dagger.

The weapon's blade was unusually sharp and had a crooked appearance.

Philip gasped. "M-Mr. Hopkins! You're giving me--"

"Yes. A gift from me to you." Hopkins handed the dagger to Philip.

He had plenty of other daggers that looked exactly the same on the wall of his room.

"Protect yourself against any wild witches you might come in contact with," Hopkins spoke passionately, putting on a bit of a show as he clenched his fist.

He smiled a cocksure smile seeing Philip eat his behavior up.

Philip held the hilt of the weapon, admiring it fully.

Matthew Hopkins, the greatest witch hunter of all time, was giving him his dagger... as a gift?!

Philip could faint.

He wasn't going to, but he could have.

The brunette swiftly nodded. "I will! Oh, Mr. Hopkins, I am truly honored to have this!"

Hopkins chuckled.

This kid was something else.

"You should be," Matthew said, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

After waving Philip off, Hopkins went over to Watson, who had just cleaned out his small bowl of bird food.

"Did you hear that, Watson? A witch with pointed ears," Matthew stated as he took the empty bowl.

Watson chirped before flapping his wings to move up, landing on Hopkins' shoulder.

The general chuckled briefly at his companion's response, stroking beneath his neck with care.

"I know, I know," he spoke gently. "It's been forever since we've last seen one..."

A sense that one could describe as nostalgia trailed in Hopkins' voice.

...

As Philip traveled down the center of town, he was in a state of contemplation, thinking of ways to persuade Caleb to take his beloved (bleh) witch to court.

He knew his brother was far too deep in a state of bewitchment by her love spell to do it willingly. So what ways could he employ to convince him to do the right thing?

While continuing to ponder, within the bustling crowd of townsfolk moving to and fro, Philip quickly spotted a hooded figure heading forward... and she wasn't alone, nor was she with Caleb.

She was with--

A small gasp escaped Philip, his blue eyes widening slightly.

Swiftly shifting his direction to an empty stall so that his back was turned as ****** and the human boy she was holding hands with passed by, Philip slowly turned his head to watch them.

'That's Miss. Doughberry's son...,' he whispered inside his head in genuine surprise.

'What's he doing with that witch?'

Philip took note of the fluttering looks the two gave each other as they approached the storefront door of the bakery.

As the son of Miss. Doughberry gently lifted ******'s hood down, he revealed the set of human ears that she now had.

Philip narrowed his eyes at the sight of this.

'She clearly used magic to fake those ears. Those aren't really hers,' he spat out in his mind.

'Conniving witch...,' he growled, continuing to view the interaction.

With a glowing look of love in her eyes and a soft smile, ****** leaned in close to the son.

A gentle grin crept onto his lips as the two shared a short but meaningful kiss before stepping inside the bakery together.

Witnessing the display of affection caused Philip to feel a surge of unbridled anger, accompanied by a scowl of disgust on his face.

'THAT DEPLORABLE WENCH!!' his internal self literally roared out, Internal Philip's head growing and his mouth opening to expose several rows of deadly sharp teeth in a fearsome sight gag.

He was just about ready to rip ******'s head off.

With a sharp turn, Philip quickly darted in the direction of home.

'Caleb has to know about this,' he told himself in a steely tone.

...

As the evening progressed to night, Caleb gave a suave twirl, turning to face the full-body mirror in his bedroom with a smashing smile.

Holding a simple wood carving of two swans with their necks craned together like a heart, the blonde took a breath before smiling and saying with confidence, "Oh, hello, love! I didn't see you there! You're looking quite divine tonight."

Caleb proceeded to hold up his carving to the mirror. "What's this? It's a swan carving! I made it for you."

Pretending as if ****** had wordlessly complimented his carving, Caleb gave a bashful chuckle. "It's beautiful? Why, thank you! I don't think it rivals your beauty, though. Nothing in this world ever could."

After another light-hearted chuckle, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck shyly. "Um, love? I have a question. Is it alright to... kiss you?"

The blonde smiled softly, pretending to have received a silent yes from ******.

"Very well then." Slowly, Caleb leaned forward, pressing his puckered lips against the mirror's glass.

Upon pulling away, a warm sensation of true love was felt in his stomach.

"Oh, beloved, your lips are as soft as rose petals," Caleb told no one with softened eyes.

With a motivated grin on his face, he took another breath and nodded. "Alright," Caleb told himself. "I think I'm ready for my date."

"Are you?" asked a familiar voice.

"Eee!" squealed a surprised Caleb as he jumped, his swan carving nearly slipping from his grasp.

Turning swiftly, he saw his younger brother standing at the entryway of their room with an unamused expression on his face.

"Ph-Philip!" Caleb squeaked, his cheeks flushing dark red. "H-How... how much did you... see?" the blonde quietly asked.

"Oh, only all of it," Philip answered in a monotonous tone as he entered the room.

Caleb noticed the gruff and bothered expression on his brother's face, a look of concern soon crossing his own.

"You look troubled, Pip," the eldest reached out, placing a hand on Philip's shoulder before continuing. "Is something the matter?"

After remaining silent for a while, the youngest exhaled a sigh. "It's that witch...," Philip muttered out. "I saw her in town today. She's..."

The brunette paused, searching for the right words to convey the news to his brother.

"She was with Miss. Doughberry's son. They held hands and..." Philip took a breath.

"Caleb, there's no easy way to say this, but... they shared a kiss. That witch is being unfaithful."

Hearing out his brother and taking in his words, Caleb frowned.

"Philip," the eldest began, a sense of firmness in his voice. "I understand that you don't like ******, but it's not acceptable for you to fabricate tales about her."

Fabricate? That word struck a nerve within Philip. "Are you implying that I'm a liar?" Philip growled lowly, lowering his brows at his brother.

"No, but I'm certainly not calling you a truther, either," Caleb simply stated, lowering his brows as well.

Philip stomped his foot, harshly hissing out, "YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HAVING ANY RELATIONS WITH HER AT ALL!"

"Shh, Philip!" Caleb quietly and quickly hissed out sternly, placing a finger on his lips. "No shouting in the house! You'll wake up the neighbors!"

Philip stomped his foot for a second time. "WE DON'T HAVE NEIGHBORS!"

"We do, too," Caleb calmly argued, referring to Mr. Kookman and his wife.

A frustrated groan escaped Philip. "It's all that witch's fault. She's the reason why we're even having this argument. Vile snake. This is precisely why I told Mr. Hopkins about her!"

"Oh, you did?" Caleb rolled his eyes. "Wow, Philip, I'm so surprised."

Philip's face displayed a great deal of irritation at his brother's sarcastic tongue.

"I have a question, Philip. This Matthew Hopkins. You hold him in high regard, but how do you know that he isn't a witch himself? I mean, have you ever seen his ears before?"

Philip's blood started boiling. "Shut up!" the brunette shouted.

"Don't talk about him like that! He's not a witch, ****** is! You're just jealous because Mr. Hopkins is more of a man than you'll ever be!"

"You're right, Philip. I'm not a man," Caleb stated flatly. "I'm an exhausted teenage boy who's been caring for you for years and works his tail off every day to ensure we have enough food and money to live a decent life."

Philip huffed. "Don't tell me what I already know."

Caleb narrowed his eyes. "Then don't yell at me," he told Philip.

"I can yell at you if I want to!" Philip barked.

Not appreciating the tone of voice that Philip was using to speak to him, Caleb sighed and rolled his eyes once more.

"I don't have time for this," he said, deciding to walk past his brother and head downstairs to the front door.

Frowning, Philip followed after him.

Upon his arrival at the door, he opened it and witnessed his brother already heading in the direction of the forest.

Philip felt his body shake with an unfettered rage as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

With venom in his voice, he viciously shouted, "You're a terrible brother!" before slamming the door with all his might.

Caleb halted and looked back at the house, sadness starting to fill his stomach.

He couldn't deny how hearing those words from Philip's mouth had a negative impact on his soul.

It genuinely broke his heart.

He would have to patch things up with Pip once he returned home, but right now, he had a date waiting for him in the clearing to get to, and he was already so late.

Sighing deeply, Caleb continued forward.

...

The next morning, Caleb struggled to shake off the memory of the fight he had with Philip last night, the words 'You're a terrible brother', still ringing nonstop in his head.

Was Philip's statement a result of frustration, or was he truly a bad older brother?

Did simply falling in love with a witch as kind and faithful as ****** make him a monster?

Caleb thought about it for a bit before breathing out a saddened sigh. He was unsure at this point as he got up to get ready for the day.

...

Making his way downstairs in his work attire, which consisted of a pair of brown overalls over a white top with brown boots, Caleb turned into the hallway before entering the dining room.

Upon seeing Philip, his lips curled up in a proud smile.

"Wow, Pip! You made those on your own?" Caleb asked, referring to the scrambled eggs sitting on the frying pan that Philip slid onto his plate. "They look good!"

"I only made enough for one," Philip answered coldly as he took a seat.

"Oh..." Caleb could detect the hurt that Philip was trying to mask in his voice, taking a seat as well.

The blonde smiled sadly. "That's fine! I wasn't really hungry anyways."

Silence reigned at the table between the two brothers for a bit, with neither speaking to the other.

The only sound that could be heard was Philip chewing his food.

Caleb sighed, being the first to break the silence by asking with a low-spirited smile, "So, Pip, I was wondering, after I return home from work today, would you perhaps want to play a game of witch--"

The chair that Philip sat in suddenly screeched.

"I have to go," were the only words that Philip said as he stood up and walked toward the front door.

"Oh? Leaving so soon? You hardly touched your breakfast. Where are you going, Pip?" Caleb tried his best to hide the pain in his voice as he asked this.

"Anywhere but here," Philip spat out as he left, closing the door behind him.

"O-Oh...," Caleb utterly out quietly, turning his saddened gaze to the barely eaten plate of eggs.

He sighed once more, taking the plate to finish the food himself.

...

After completing his day's work and receiving payment from the herder who he had helped herd his various dopey kids (baby goats) down a fertile grassland, Caleb expressed gratitude, said goodbye to the herder, and headed towards town.

While walking, the eldest went into a train of thought, trying to think of ways to make his brother happy with him once more and repair their relationship.

Initiating an apology would be a good start, but Philip would always breathe out a vex huff and walk away sharply before Caleb could even get one out.

Still thinking, Caleb took a downcast gaze at the small, bronze-colored pouch of coins he had in his pocket.

Although not much, it was certainly enough to buy a...

The blonde then began to notice that he was nearing the bakery before smiling, his eyes gleaming with an idea.

Philip Wittebane had the biggest sweet tooth known to man, and his brother could confirm this, which meant that not even he could say no to a sweet baked treat.

Stopping at the shop's window, Caleb began to view the various pies on display.

Apple, pumpkin, sugar cream custard, meat pies, pear pies, ah-ha!

Caleb's brown eyes spot his and Philip's favorite flavor of pie sitting prominently in the center of the display, with a label beside it that reads 'Maple Buttermilk Pie'.

A wave of nostalgia hits Caleb instantly, as he recalls with great fondness his mother always preparing maple buttermilk pie in the kitchen along with the meal for the evening.

The dessert was a family favorite in the Wittebane household, and every time Patience Wittebane presented it to her husband and two boys at the table, she would do so with a tender smile of a loving mother.

Caleb's thoughts drifted back more and more to his mother and father, his smile slowly going down as he sighed.

Their disappointment would be evident if they were to see him and Philip in the present day, given that their relationship seemed to be hanging on its last thread.

Being the caring parents that they were, Cadman and Patience would want nothing more than their boys to come together and reach a compromise, and Caleb knew this.

The blonde kept his gaze fixed on the pie while pondering.

Perhaps buying Philip a piece would help him realize that as well, even if the pie probably won't have the same maternal sweetness as their mother's.

Just before Caleb could make his way into the shop, he saw a familiar figure whom he loved dearly in the reflection of the window.

She walked past without noticing him with her hood down, her ears round and human, as she held hands with one of the boys who assisted some of the merchants and tradesmen in town.

This freckled face boy had short brown hair, along with a white top, cream-colored breeches, dark brown boots, and a big flirtatious smile dancing on his lips.

****** and the boy seemed to be leaving town as they headed towards the woods.

Now, unlike his brother, Caleb was not one to jump straight to conclusions, but he did raise a confused brow at this.

'That witch is being unfaithful,' Philip said in Caleb's mind, his words echoing in his head.

Caleb quickly dismissed the thought.

Although he didn't want to believe what his brother had previously said, it... also wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the two.

Walking away from the bakery, Caleb secretly follows the pair out of town and into the woods, taking small steps while keeping quiet to avoid detection.

'You're not spying on them,' Caleb tried to convince himself, but guilt and worry were evident on his face as he continued.

'You're just...' He took a small breath. 'Keeping a watchful eye on them because you're curious, that's all.'

Once ****** and the boy reached the clearing together, Caleb quickly dove into the nearest, non-prickly bush, poking his head out to observe the two.

They took a seat together in the grass, the two face-to-face with their legs crossed, and the boy began to talk at length to ****** about his day as she regained her pointed ears once more with magic.

****** showed interest in the boy's story, especially when he added a sense of humor and a touch of good-hearted sarcasm to his words, as she smiled and giggled affectionately at him.

Once the boy had finished talking, ****** held out her index finger and whistled out to Little Rascal, who soon came gliding down from the sky, landing precisely on the boy's head.

This surprised both ****** and the boy, amused looks now crossing their faces as they watched Little Rascal open his curved beak before giving a light yank on a strand of the boy's hair, causing both him and ****** to laugh cordially at the raven's silly antics.

Once he felt at ease enough to do so, Little Rascal flapped down and settled himself in the small open space inside the boy's crossed legs.

The boy smiled at this as he began to give soothing rubs against the back of the black bird's neck with his hand.

Little Rascal opened and closed his beak in fondness at the soft touches, letting out light croaks.

****** viewed the tender interaction with a soft smile and decided it was the perfect opportunity to introduce the two to each other.

Upon witnessing ****** and the boy's friendly behavior towards one another, Caleb couldn't resist smiling along with them.

The sight of his beloved making friends with humans was truly a delight to see.

...

When Caleb gradually woke up from his sleep, he proceeded to let out a yawn and slowly noticed his right cheek resting against the green shrubbery of the bush he was still in.

As he turned his gaze towards the sky, he saw stars glowing against an inky, black abyss and soon realized that he had been asleep for quite some time.

Before he could step out of the bush, Caleb caught sight of a floating light passing through the leaves of a nearby tree.

With wide eyes, he quickly darted them in the direction of ****** and the boy... and the blonde's heart instantly dropped, his entire form frozen seeing... Caleb blinked twice, genuinely baffled.

His gaze laid on the sight of ****** and the boy being close. Their hands were on each other's backs as their cheeks flushed bright red. They moved slowly to the rhythm that only they could hear in their heads as they stepped on light glyphs with each spin of their dance.

The light glyphs surrounding them took on the shape of a large heart and ****** and the boy felt their smiles grow. They grew closer to each other.

"No...," Caleb whispered in pure shock, blinking back the tears that were forming inside his ducts.

Before he knew it, he witnessed the two slowly lean in towards each other before sharing a breathless kiss.

A small gasp escaped from Caleb, the blonde covering his mouth with both hands as he shook his head in disbelief, tears pouring down his cheeks.

The pain he felt was indescribable and something he hadn't experienced in a long time.

He couldn't believe it... His brother was right... ****** truly was unfaithful to him.

Caleb took a few steps back, not paying attention as he nearly tripped on a vine before taking off through the forest, silently sobbing to himself.

Both ****** and the boy's dance were interrupted as they heard the rustling of a bush along with the crunch of footsteps on the forest floor, but when they both turned around, whatever had been there was gone.

...

"Her eyes... shared the same color as copper ...," Philip narrated to himself in a gentle tone, noting that very significant detail as he began to add it to a blank parchment page in his journal using a quill with brown ink.

The brunette was sitting at the dining room table, with an oil lamp sitting on top of it, the lamp illuminating the area enough for him to see his work.

He also had an assortment of colored ink bottles on the table that were gifted to him by his brother on his birthday, but he hadn't found the time to use them until today.

Philip felt the need to provide more detail about these stunning copper eyes.

He soon said, "They were like infinite pools of beauty, and undoubtedly warm and inviting."

Recently, Philip had been dreaming about a girl whom he had developed feelings for and thought that she was the most exquisite girl in the world.

In his dreams, the girl would appear to him like an angel from heaven.

Her smile was pure and kind, and she would always offer him her hand to take, but whenever Philip reached out to take it, she suddenly dissipated, and the dream abruptly ended soon after.

Luckily, Philip was able to capture and remember enough of the angelic girl's appearance before she vanished.

He wished that he had been able to learn her name, though, so that he could properly address her.

As he continued his narration, he sketched and colored what he described as his heart skipped a beat, with his words being vivid and flowery.

"Her skin tone was sun-kissed by the sun and heavens. Her glasses were rectangular and fit her adorable, round face perfectly. Her figure..."

Philip gave thought to it for a bit, heat quickly rushing up to his entire his face as his stomach rolled.

"Full and unique." There weren't any girls his age in Gravesfield with such a pretty body shape.

"Her hair was long, dark, and had waves like those of the ocean. Her lips were full, and her smile..."

It made Philip grow a soft one of his own. "Was unforgettable."

After completing the details of the girl's wedding dress, Philip looked at his finalized work with a glow in his eyes.

If he could and was old enough, he would definitely make her his betrothed, and as her loving husband, he would always love and cherish her for the rest of their days together.

He would kiss and hug her non-stop and would always be there for her and act as a provider for both her and their lovely little family (he was already turning beet red at the thought of them having many children together).

He would also make her soothing tea on sick days and lean over and kiss her forehead and...

Philip's mind was filled with a multitude of sweet and wholesome thoughts. He's never felt such happiness before.

His parents made him very happy when they were alive, and so does Caleb... for the most part, but this happiness was on a whole other level.

It was different... and very special.

As he picked up his journal, Philip held it in front of his face, his attention still on the girl of his dreams.

Despite already knowing, he looked to his left and right to ensure he wasn't being watched.

Philip soon shut his eyes and puckered his lips, trembling slightly as he began to lean forward.

His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were merely centimeters away from touching the page.

Suddenly, a faint knock came from the front door.

Philip squeaked, dropping his journal immediately as flush covered the entirety of his face.

After taking a few breaths, calming his racing heart down, Philip soon frowned, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door.

Walking over to the front door, he swung it open.

Philip huffed, crossing his arms together.

"I'm still not talking to y--" Philip went immediately silent as his eyes fell upon his brother standing there, his entire being seemingly consumed by an overwhelming amount of sadness and heartbreak.

The youngest also took notice of the eldest's wet eyes, which were red from a relentless amount of crying and held a great deal of pain in them.

"C-Caleb...?" Philip whispered in surprised, genuinely concerned for his brother as he tried his best not to panic, though it was evident in his visage.

In response, Caleb's lip began to quiver as he quickly rushed up to Philip, collapsing into the brunette's arms, as he began to sob violently, his entire body shaking with emotion.

"Oh, Philip," Caleb began woefully, his tone broken. "Y-You were right about her. I-I'm..." He stopped to sniffle intensely before continuing.

"I'm so sorry for ever doubting your words when you told me the truth that day. I'm... I'm just so sorry for being such a terrible older brother in general, Pip. W-Would you ever be willing to forgive me?" Caleb pleaded desperately, unsure if forgiveness was something he even deserved at this point.

Philip's heart shattered into pieces at the sound of his older brother's voice.

He was sad, yes, but also very scared.

While it's true that he has seen Caleb cry and be sad before, it was never to this extent.

This vulnerability of Caleb's was new to him.

As Philip, still stunned, began to wrap protective arms around his brother, he couldn't lie.

His inner self was displaying the greatest smug smile on his face.

Inner Philip urged his outer self to tell his brother that he told him so.

That he was silly and naive for even thinking that a witch of all things could ever be faithful, but Philip had to suppress that inner voice, as such words would only heighten Caleb's hurt.

Right now, what Caleb needed was strength, and Philip would provide that strength for him to the best of his ability.

"That's not even a question, Caleb," Philip expressed in a gentle murmur, holding his brother. "Of course I forgive you."

Caleb's sins were never a factor in Philip's willingness to forgive him repeatedly.

The eldest has forgiven him plenty of times before, so it was only fair for him to do the same.

After all, neither brother was perfect, and they both had a lot to work on.

"I'm sorry for calling you a terrible brother. That's not true at all. You're a wonderful brother who does his best every day." Philip wouldn't trade Caleb for anyone in the entire the world.

"Also, you are not to blame for this plight, Caleb. You were simply bewitched. Bewitched by..." Philip's brows furrowed as he scowled. "Her...," he mentioned, grumbling angrily under his breath as he thought about ******.

"I hate her...," Philip growled lowly. "I hate her so much. She needs to be taught a harsh lesson and face cruel judgment."

Philip gave his brother some intense eye contact, his cold, blue eyes burning with vengeance. "Caleb, you must turn her in."

"Turn her in?" Caleb sniffled as he looked at his brother with an uncertain gaze. "I mean, I could, but..." The blonde paused, thinking a bit before sighing. "I don't know, Philip...," he spoke, his tone tentative.

"But Caleb." Philip's lips formed a small frown.

"She betrayed and hurt you without any concern. She took your trust and discarded it for her own personal pleasure. She's vile, an unfaithful wench. The feelings she had for you were false and all a part of her hex. She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will."

This cold, hard truth hit Caleb like a hurricane, his thoughts drifting to the times that he and ****** spent together.

...

The first time they met in the clearing and formed an unlikely friendship soon after.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

Their first night together. ****** showed Caleb illusions about her life, while Caleb shared a bit about his life afterward.

They then gazed at the star-filled sky together while holding hands.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The evening when Caleb curled up and slept next to ******'s side as the fireplace flickered with light and warmth.

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

The slow dance they shared that fateful night... and the kiss they share--

She never cared for you, Caleb, and never will.

...

Caleb soon shuts his eyes, tears slipping down from them.

Those memories, while dear to him, are now in the past.

Suddenly, Caleb heard a dark chuckle escape him, and a slowly but surely malice smile played on his lips.

"Fine, I will."

"It's what she deserves, dear brother." A cold chuckle escaped Philip, the younger pleased by his older brother's decision.

Meanwhile, his inner Philip was brimming with excitement as his eyes shimmered.

He was quite literally bouncing off the walls in his mind because of how cool Outer Caleb now appeared.

Perhaps he should be thankful that ****** chose to be unfaithful since it awoke the vindictive witch hunter in his brother.

"And I know exactly how you can do so."

While whispering in Caleb's ear, Philip shared his plan for how Caleb could turn ****** in before revealing the deal he made with Mr. Hopkins.

As he listened, Caleb nodded along to what he heard, grinning darkly.

...

The next day dawned warmer and brighter for ****** the witch as she, with her hood up, spent her morning near the forest's lake, happily hunting for the sparkliest stone she could find in the water.

Rumors have been swirling in her world that human stones may contain garnets.

Suddenly, ******'s eyes were shielded from behind by warm hands.

"Hmph?" she hummed faintly in confusion, a question mark appearing above her head as a sight gag.

"Guess who?" chimed a cheery voice with a British accent that ****** was all too familiar with as she giggled.

Once the hands were taken from her eyes, ****** turned around and saw a smiling Caleb standing before her.

"Hello, my love," he greeted as an elated ****** beamed, attempting to give Caleb a kiss on the cheek, only for the blonde to take a swift step back.

"Hmph?" ****** tilted her head at her beloved's decision to back away from her.

"Uh, love," Caleb began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He tried his best to keep eye contact with ****** as he asked, "I have a question. Have you perhaps..."

A hand reached up to scratch the back of his head as he continued. "Oh, I don't know, met with any other humans besides my brother and I? Any at all?"

Brown eyes shifted swiftly to the right before looking back at ******.

Caleb's smile weakened when she shook her head and smiled innocently at him. "A-Are you sure?" he asked again, his tone uneasy, almost heartbroken.

After ****** gave him another shake of her head, Caleb sighed and shut his eyes, deciding to proceed with what he had planned to do. "Very well then."

****** continued to smile.

She wanted to keep the other two humans she met a surprise and have them meet Caleb later today.

After shooting ****** an unreadable look, Caleb reached behind his back, retrieving a black blindfold as he soon tied it around ******'s head to cover her eyes.

The witch hummed a second time in confusion, tilting her head once more.

"Oh, why are you blindfolded, you ask?"

Caleb chuckled calmly, almost too calmly.

"Simple, love. I wish to take you somewhere special. It's a surprise, though. You like surprises, right?"

****** gasped. A surprise? For her? Eee! She vigorously nodded.

"Splendid! Let's get going then. I'll be your eyes and lead you there safety. You have my word."

Taking ******'s hand, Caleb took lead, treading through the forest.

During their walk, they pass a tall tree that Little Rascal is perched on a branch of as the raven watches them from above.

He doesn't think much of seeing Caleb enter the woods with his owner since they are on good terms.

After a small croak comes out of him, he decides to shut his eyes and drift into a small nap, half asleep and half awake.

...

With each step she took, ****** heard the crunching of twigs and plant debris cease as she now walked down a fresh new path.

Despite being unable to see it, her feet felt the familiarity of it.

"We're getting closer, love," Caleb informed her as he led her into town, ****** letting out a quiet squeal of excitement.

A sudden roar of applause came from the various townspeople in the marketplace as Caleb walked down with, from their standpoint, the guilty temptress who's been wreaking havoc in their sacred town.

Shining an anxious smile, Caleb kindly gestured with one hand for them to bring their cheers down a bit.

After all, he wanted ****** to be unaware of the fact that he was essentially leading her towards her death.

Her death.

****** ... dead.

'Turn back,' a soft voice of reason that sounded much like his own pleaded in the back of Caleb's head. 'Turn around. Don't go through with this. Please. It's not right. This isn't you. ****** doesn't deserve it.'

Caleb bit his lip but quickly shook the voice away, trying to shift his high anxiety into something more austere.

That voice was incorrect. This was indeed him. He was a witch hunter, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

...

"... You can sit down now," Caleb instructed in an unfriendly grumble to ****** as she abided, having a seat at... wherever she was.

Where was she exactly?

A shop? A store? Inside a home?

Regardless of where she was, she knew that she and Caleb were not the only ones present, as the atmosphere was filled with the tension of others.

****** heard whispers and hushed voices coming from all angles of, she assumed, the room.

She also felt not one, not two, not even three, but several sets of eyes on her.

****** soon sensed her blindfold being untied, and when the piece of black cloth fell, she opened her squeezed eyes and blinked, taking in... they immediately widened in disbelief.

She tried to feel her hands, only to see that they were bound.

The witch's form turned frozen as she was now stuck in a state of shock at what she saw, dread and panic rushing through her veins.

She felt her upper belly grow sore and her pale face got even paler.

****** slowly stood up.

She was... in the center of... a human courtroom? Yes, a courtroom. But... why? Why would Caleb take her to here of all places? Was... was this the "surprise" location that he was talking about?

****** felt her heart break.

Her nerves were causing her bile sac to not work despite her desperate desire to disappear and escape the room.

As she slowly viewed the court, ****** observed Caleb sitting with his brother at a round table to her right.

To her left, she saw a human man with a hat and beard who had the biggest look of triumph on his face.

His ears were also tucked and hidden beneath his hair.

Mr. Town Minister, sitting on the judge's bench, began to speak, his voice loud and commanding as he asked, "Witch, state your name for the court--"

Matthew Hopkins acted quickly, wasting no time in briskly standing from his seat to intervene.

"Objection, your highness!" The general crossed his arms, frowning a childish frown. "We don't care."

The gallery was filled with whispers of agreement, with some nodding in line with Hopkins' statement.

"Hmm...," hummed the minister in thought for a second before agreeing. "He's right," he said, taking Hopkins' side as he continued. "We don't care."

Hopkins sent an antagonizing smirk towards ****** as he stuck his tongue out at her.

The witch wasn't afraid to send him a glare, fiercely furrowing her brows at him.

Mr. Town Minister turned his gaze to Caleb.

"Caleb Wittebane, please step forward."

Caleb slowly stood, walking towards the center with a pacing heart and a head filled with certainties and uncertainties.

One part of his mind argued that he had to proceed with this. The opposing side asserted that he didn't.

The townsfolk in the gallery watched as the blonde stood next to the accused.

Caleb adjusted his gaze slightly to concentrate on her and started to stare.

'Wow,' he thought to himself, his inner self flushing some.

'Even when she's likely to come face-to-face with death today, she still looks so pretty and radiant.'

Wait... why was he thinking that?!

When ****** looked at Caleb briefly, their communication was silent.

His stare turned sour meeting hers, his gaze mixed with anger and hurt, meanwhile ******'s gaze was shattered, silently questioning Caleb why he was doing this.

His look huffed, 'Don't play dumb. You know precisely why.'

Mr. Town Minister cleared his voice before speaking. "You have been summoned to speak about this witch who has been consorting with the Devil's work throughout our great town. Is it true that she not only bewitched you but is also an advanced witch?"

Caleb looked over to Philip, who smiled encouragingly while his eyes looked worried, pleading for the oldest to say the right thing.

He then looked to Matthew Hopkins, eagerly awaiting the exposure of the witch.

Finally, Caleb gave once last glance to ******.

With tears nearing her eyes, she wordlessly begged the blonde not to do this.

This isn't you, spoke her eyes under her bangs.

Caleb sighed as his gaze returned to the minister.

Despite his guilt, he stood firm, refusing to let his emotions dictate his decision.

He's not sorry.

Taking a breath, Caleb revealed, "Yes, Mr. Minister. That is true. She... did bewitch me. And..."

Caleb looked to Philip again, who gestured for him to pull ******'s hood down.

He sighed once more. "And... she is..." Caleb's hand went to yank ******'s hood off her head, exposing her pointed ears to the court. "An advanced witch."

An audible gasp escaped those in the gallery as they directed their shocked eyes at ******'s ears.

Fathers were forced to cover their children's eyes (although they tried to peek), as mothers had to soothe their crying babies.

Matthew Hopkins also gasped, in the most overdramatic way, of course, pretending to be shocked by the reveal. "And a collective gasp fills the courtroom," he narrates with a sly smirk.

The Minister's nose scrunched up immediately in disgust at the sight of the unnatural shape of the witch's ears.

"You may be seated," he told Caleb, who nodded before walking back to his seat.

Sitting down, he tried not to give any attention to the tears rolling down ******'s cheeks as regret clawed at his chest.

After a loud bang from his gavel, Mr. Town Minister said sternly, with not a hint of empathy in his voice, "Nameless witch, based on the reactions of today's trial, this court finds you..."

The minister held his words in the air for about 20 seconds, even though everyone knew what he was going to say.

"Guilty for the crimes of witchcraft and being an advanced witch, as well as causing the infants in the courtroom to cry. You are condemned to be burned at the stake. May your soul slowly decay in Heck with your creator."

The trial comes to a close as the minister hits his gavel again.

...

Present day sees Philip approach his brother's bedside, standing there with a sad, sympathetic expression on his face.

"Caleb," Philip spoke, a sense of gentle care and worry in his voice. "You must stop being sad about that witch. It's not beneficial for you."

...

Upon the last faint glow of the sun over the horizon, the entire town gathered in the square with eager anticipation of the death that was about to occur.

The crowd roared with cheers as three townsmen led the guilty ****** to the wooden platform, some shouting insults towards the teen witch.

Standing on said platform, Caleb was alongside Matthew Hopkins and other witch hunters, with the town minister coming to take a stand.

As he watched ****** being tied to the stake, the blonde made an effort to suppress any sympathy he felt.

Following the minister's proclamation and Hopkins' self-absorbed speech, Caleb was presented with a torch by the minister, who honored him with the task of sending the temptress where she belonged.

Fingers closed around the torch's handle hesitantly as Caleb turned to face ******, appearing cold and unsympathetic.

Tears streamed down the witch's face as she silently begged Caleb to show her mercy.

She did not wish for him to do this.

She loved him.

'Her tears are deceitful,' Caleb told himself. 'Just like her.'

His mind screamed at him to light the pyre and end this, but his body refused to comply.

At this point, Caleb was uncertain about what to do.

Is it better for him to listen to his head... or his heart?

"Oh, give it here!" Matthew Hopkins snatched the torch out of Caleb's hand, who was too occupied with glaring daggers at ****** to react.

He huffed. "You're taking far too long, Caius."

Hopkins lowered the torch and ignited the wood beneath ******'s feet in a matter of seconds.

Afterward, the flames roared, consuming the witch completely, and she screamed an agonizing scream from the burning fire.

As the fire rose, ****** felt herself cook in the flames.

During her last moments of life, she saw the boy who brought so much happiness and joy into her life look at her with anger and tears.

The human beside him just smirked, bidding her goodbye with a small wave of his hand.

Philip stuck out in the crowd like a sore thumb to ****** as he stared directly at her.

As her eyes slowly closed, she witnessed the brunette giving her a chilling smile, his blue eyes bright and glowing with contentment.

...

"Oh, Philip," Caleb quietly choked out, still faced away from his brother as he was unable to fight back the tears that soon poured down his eyes.

He sniffled. "You just don't understand..."

Philip furrowed his brows at Caleb's statement.

"And what is it that I don't understand, dear brother?" the brunette questioned in a smart aleck tone, sounding almost offended. "That you played a role in the witch's death? Because I do, Caleb Wittebane. Caleb bane of witches."

Caleb's anger started to rise as he swiftly rose up in bed, staring at Philip.

"You take that back right now!" Caleb growled.

Philip only smiled darkly and shook his head, refusing to take back his words.

"No," he retorted, making Caleb visibly more upset as he sighed.

"Oh, Caleb. Talking about that witch always brings out the worst in you, doesn't it?"

Caleb swiftly jumps out of bed.

"Hey! What are you...?" Philip watches Caleb rush over to his bed and swipe his journal.

"Oh, Philip, lookie what I have!" Caleb taunted with a massive grin, wiggling the book in a teasing manner.

Philip clenched his teeth. "Put my journal down now, you dumb witch lover!"

"Then take back what you said," Caleb commanded as he started flipping through pages.

"Never!" Philip shouted.

His older brother stopped at a particular page in his journal and stared at it for a bit.

It expanded his smug grin.

He showed it off to Philip. "Ooo, who's this, Pip?" he asked, referring to the drawing of his dream girl. "Your imaginary girlfriend, I assume?"

Philip's face immediately burned red with rage and embarrassment.

"At least I have one!" he spat. "Unlike you...," he mumbled with a huff.

"I'll give you one last chance to take back what you said, Philip, otherwise..."

Caleb shined a bold, playful grin. "She'll be mine."

He held the dream girl near his lips to show that he was serious with his threat.

"No. she. won't!" Philip hissed out in unbridled anger.

Caleb noticed that Philip had something in his hand and turned his attention to his left hand to see a crooked dagger that was tightly gripped.

The blonde's eyes widened as he lowered the journal and took a step back, alarm on his face.

"A dagger?" Caleb took a cautious step back, keeping a close eye on the weapon.

He gently set the journal back on Philip's bed.

"Philip, what are you doing with a dagger?"

He usually saw Philip with one of his old carving knives, but never a dagger.

Philip was taken aback when he saw the dagger in his left hand.

He hadn't even realized that he had instinctively pulled it out.

Putting it away, he mumbled out, "It was a gift."

"A gift? From who?"

"None of your business, that's who!"

Caleb shook his head with a tired and heavy sigh, pressing his fingers against his temples.

He was far too distraught about ******'s death to even contemplate the knife his brother had.

Trudging to bed, he stood near his bedside and collapsed over it.

His sadness quite literally weighed him down as his sulking began.

"******...," Caleb whispered her name regretfully, his face pressing into his bed, making him sound muffled as he continued his mourning.

Philip merely rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics, his face dour.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry." Caleb shook his head in despair, his voice trembling.

"Your infectious smile, your wonderful laughter, all gone. It's all gone... because of me. Unfaithful or not, you didn't deserve the faith that was dealt to you. I... I..."

He sobbed. "I didn't even get to see the Demon Realm with you."

"Demon... Realm?" Philip raised a confused brow at what his brother was whining about. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's where ****** lives. Well, used to live now," Caleb sadly explained with a sniffle.

"To get there, she used a special key, the one she always wore around her neck, that unlocks a magical door. Although I was never able to witness her use the key, she told me that's how it worked."

Caleb began to ponder whether or not he should have revealed that information to his brother.

Demon Realm...? Special keys...? Magical doors...?

Philip narrowed his brows at his griping brother, speaking sharply to him.

"Caleb Wittebane... this entire time, you knew of a realm filled with advanced witches existed... and yet you didn't decide to tell me?"

"Well, now you know!" Caleb cried out, his voice cracking with emotion as he tried to cease his shaking.

Philip rolled his eyes once more.

"Furthermore, what did you mean by when you said you didn't get to see the Demon Realm with her? What? Were you going to leave me here forever to go be with her?" Philip hoarsely asked.

"Leave you forever?" Caleb lifted his face from his mattress to look at Philip. "Of course not," he answered truthfully. "My sole intention was to visit for a day."

Philip did not appear to accept Caleb's claim.

"Caleb...," Philip began, his voice so gruff and serious that it made a shiver run up the eldest's spine as he listened.

Blue eyes suddenly flashed in a blaze of excitement.

"We have to go find that key! We simply must! Imagine if we did!? We'd look for that magical door next and open it. Once we're in the Demon Realm, we would go on a witch massacre, obliterating every witch in sight. I even say we should wipe the realm in its entirety. Once we do, we'd return home and show everyone in town our accomplishment! We'll be heroes, Caleb! Heroes!" Philip cheered.

The brunette swiftly rushed over to the closet door, opening it as he grabbed his most favorite jacket.

"I'm certain ****** still has that silly key around her neck."

Philip continued.

"She was probably tossed and buried in some unmarked grave in the town burial ground."

A twisted chuckle left Philip at the thought, slipping his jacket on.

The very thought made Caleb's stomach drop.

Philip soon began tying up his hair before suggesting determinedly, "Let's go dig her up and rip that key right off her neck! It'll be fun, Caleb, and it might even make you feel better."

Caleb highly doubted that would fix his heartache as he sighed. "Philip," the blonde began as he stood up, walking over to the closed window curtains.

"You know what happens every October 31st in Gravesfield," Caleb informed with gentle sternness, opening the curtains while still looking at Philip, not reacting to the two pale-ish green specters that used to be humans, accused of witchcraft, shambling by.

Their eyes glowed red, their skin was ashen and blotchy, and a deep bruise radiated out from their throats.

A sight gag commences, the scene pausing to display a set of blackletter words being written on screen in ink that reads:

'Every October 31st, during the night, the Puritans who were accused of witchcraft and hanged for their 'crimes' come back from the dead to seek revenge on the living. This is a curse that has a negative impact on the town of Gravesfield. Everyone is told to stay indoors until the next morning during the invasion, as that's when it ends.'

"It's too dangerous to go out there," Caleb frowned.

Philip simply chuckled in overconfidence, his brave face being genuine.

"The undead don't frighten me, Caleb. And besides, I have this!" Philip whipped out his dagger before dashing out of the room.

His footsteps were heard as he ran downstairs.

"Hey!" Caleb exclaimed, rushing to the closet to grab his jacket as he attempted to put it on while chasing after Philip.

"Don't leave the house without me!"

...

Philip and Caleb cautiously walked through the town burial ground, carrying shovels in their hands and keeping their distance from the undead that staggered around.

Caleb experienced a feeling of numbness as he inhaled the cold air before exhaling with a sigh.

Was this a horrible idea?

Of course it was, Caleb acknowledged in his head, yet the oldest Wittebane would continue onward with his brother.

"We've already dug up four unmarked graves so far, but ******'s body wasn't in any of them," Philip whispered to Caleb in slight frustration.

"Where could that witch be?" he wondered aloud.

Caleb sighed once more, his brown eyes surveying the area for more headstones without names.

Suddenly, gazing forward, he spotted a familiar black bird clinging to a stone that had no name on it.

The raven's posture was drooping, and it seemed to be mourning for the person who was below the ground.

Little Rascal...

"She's there." Caleb pointed to the bird and tombstone.

"What?" Philip glanced in that direction before returning his gaze to his brother. "Caleb, how do you know?"

"I...," Caleb paused before sighing. "I just have a gut feeling she's there," he explained before grinning mischievously.

"Let's take a look." He made an effort to show enthusiasm and interest for his brother.

Grinning back at Caleb, Philip nodded and followed his brother to the tombstone.

Little Rascal, taking note of the two human boys who were approaching, adjusted his posture and took a defensive position as he produced a harsh sound at them.

He was aware that both of these wicked witch hunters were responsible for his owner's demise as he witnessed her last moments from the sky, and he would not permit either of them to come near her.

The aggressiveness of Little Rascal's trill brought Caleb to a halt, as he felt horrible, guilt written all over face while ******'s death replayed in his mind.

Her pain-filled eyes, her excruciating screams, the sight of her burning away...

"Shoo, shoo!" Philip swung his shovel wildly at Little Rascal but missed several times as the bird managed to evade his attempts to harm him.

As he continued to miss, Philip produced irritated grunts. He once again raised his shovel over his shoulder. "Stand still so I can kill you already, you stupid bird!" Philip screamed.

Bringing his shovel down, Philip managed to strike Little Rascal with the back of the blade, knocking him down.

Caleb let out a small gasp, covering his mouth with his hand as he watched in shock the raven slowly taking in air, a green essence leaking from the small crack in his body.

When their eyes met, a pang of pain throbbed in Caleb's heart as Little Rascal gazed sadly and weakly at the blonde, disappointed in the human.

Rising slowly to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain, the raven gently spread his wings, flapping them as if he were a fledgling, as he took flight into the night sky.

"Caleb!" Caleb took his guilt-ridden gaze off of Little Rascal to look at Philip.

"I can't do this alone. Help me dig!" Philip was casually smiling as if he hadn't just injured an innocent animal.

"Oh! ... R-Right," Caleb replied with a weak smile as he began to help his brother shovel out the soil of ******'s grave.

Following the removal of all the dirt, the brothers saw ****** sleeping eternally in the hole that was made for her.

Philip grimaced at her appearance, pinching his nose with his index and thumb, while Caleb gazed softly at her with a melancholic expression on his face.

Her pale skin was now a sickly, blotchy green color, with scars and blisters from her burns covering her from head to toe.

'Even in death, ******...,' Caleb spoke softly to himself, words of genuine love and deep regret spilling out in his tone.

His hands slowly reached towards ******'s neck. 'You still look like an angel...,' Caleb said, removing her key necklace from off of her.

Slipping it into his pocket, he smiled a faint yet gentle smile down at the corpse.

Wherever ****** was, be it Heaven, Heck, or in-between, Caleb hoped that she was at peace and the happiest she's ever been.

Happy...

If only he could--

Whack!

The blonde jolted at the impact sound, turning to look at Philip.

His brother had just delivered a sharp blow to ******'s face with the back of his shovel.

Caleb's eyes narrowed at the youngest. "Philip!" he angrily hissed.

"What?" Philip chuckled with an innocent smile, shrugging his shoulders. "She's already dead," he tried to justify.

Caleb huffed as he gave a roll of his eyes, shaking his head as annoyance started to consume him.

With his shovel, Caleb removed some dirt from the pile that he and Philip had created and deposited it back into ******'s grave, ultimately returning all of it.

She was completely concealed as Caleb sighed out a little white cloud.

"Alright, Pip. Let's go h--"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

Caleb swiftly turned his gaze to Philip, shooting him the stink eye. "Philip, that's not funny," he sternly stated.

"Uh, C-Caleb...," Philip stuttered in fear, pointing a trembling finger behind his brother.

"Th-Th-That wasn't me!"

"Huh?"

"Uhhhhggghhh..."

"Uhhhhggghhh...!"

"UHHHGGGHHHH!!!"

Caleb froze. He didn't dare look behind him, but when he slowly did, he saw...

His pupils dilated.

"AAAAAA!!!" screamed both Caleb and Philip in unison, waves of cold adrenaline flushing their bodies as they clinged to each other for dear life.

Now surrounding the Brothers Wittebane were a horde of the undead, the rotting beings releasing horrible hisses from their throats, craving human flesh.

The zombie in front of and closest to the boys opened his mouth, his yellow and decaying teeth on full display.

"AAAAA!!!" cried the boys once more, their grip tightening as they shut their eyes.

The zombie mob stumbled ahead, eager to savor their prey.

The nearest zombie leaned forward towards Philip and Caleb, opening his mouth wider as blood dripped down his non-existent lips, ready to take a significant bite out of the siblings.

That is until...

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

(Oh) I am the Candyman

(Oh) Comin' from Bountyland

The unexpected, bubblegum dance-pop song ["Lollipop (Candyman)"] playing so suddenly and without warning in the background as a random gag acts as head shots to the zombies, with them moaning and groaning in pain, covering their ears.

Some even fall to their knees.

Sensing the absence of zombie bites on their bodies, Philip and Caleb slowly opened their eyes to see the zombies being physically enfeebled by... the strange music playing out of the blue?

I wish that you were my lollipop

Sweet things, I will never get enough

If you show me to the sugar tree

Will you give me a soda pop for free

Hearing it, they were equally confused as they slowly turned to look at each other.

However, they noticed that the song impeded the zombies from attacking them, and a knowing grin soon crept onto their faces.

Instinct kicked in as they formed a wordless plan and nodded in agreement to it.

Come with me, honey

I'm your sweet sugar Candyman

Run like the wind

Fly with me to Bountyland

Bite me, I'm yours

If you're hungry, please understand

This is the end of

The sweet sugar candyman

Both brothers proceeded at the same time, with Caleb moving to handle the zombies on the right and Philip moving to take care of the undead on the left.

One zombie was met with the back of Caleb's shovel to the face, his head being knocked clear off of his body as a colorful and dazzling explosion of hearts, rainbows, glitter, and blood shoots out the top of the zombie's headless neck.

Philip's shovel came crushing down on a zombie's head, and the same colorful and bloody essence came forth from her as she fell.

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, your word is my command

Oh, my love, I know you are my Candyman

And oh, my love, let us fly to Bountyland

Caleb and Philip's shovels remained effective in striking and bashing the undead, their strikes timing with the beat.

Caleb turned his gaze as he spotted a feral grin on Philip's face.

His clothes were stained with blood and rainbow glitter, blood splatter smeared across his cheeks.

Caleb, noting that his clothes and cheeks were in a similar state, smiled broadly at his brother, who smiled back at him.

Philip's glee was impossibly contagious, Caleb thought.

It's been a while since the two of them had such genuine fun like this.

...

The light of early morning was brought into the sky by dawn as it rose.

The undead, similar to the night, began to die down, resulting in the moving corpses becoming motionless once again.

One zombie, quite literally hoping around on its last leg as it faltered, was swiftly brought to an end with one powerful down strike to the head by both boys' shovels, with the song ending.

Caleb, looking to Philip, who shared the same smile and mischievous gleam in his eyes as him, gave his brother a playful ruffle to his hair.

Philip absorbs the affection, his aura brimming with confidence.

After a freeze frame captures the two brothers, the show transitions to an art nouveau style and displays Caleb and Philip's list of hobbies alongside them in blackletter.

At the end of their list of hobbies, another hobby is added with an invisible pen, this hobby being 'dismembering the undead'.

...

As they were walking home, Caleb and Philip reminisced and joked about the zombie battle, sharing their favorite parts with each other.

Upon reaching the front door, Caleb opened it, and both him and Philip stepped inside before freezing.

They were taken aback, even though they shouldn't be at this point, by the person they saw in their sitting room.

"Oh, hello!" Mr. Kookman turned to greet the boys with his usual smile, waving a hand at them that held a bar of soap.

His attire and some of his face were covered with the same blood and glitter that came from the zombies.

Henrietta let out a cluck, giving her feathers a gentle flap as she fluttered in the barrel bucket filled with soapy water.

"I hope you boys don't mind me giving my Henrietta a bath in here. She doesn't enjoy receiving baths during the invasion," Mr. Kookman told them.

Henrietta proceeded to cluck again.

That was Mr. Kookman's cue to lather her feathers. He turned back around to do so, even adding salt to the bathwater.

"Uh...," Caleb blinked twice. "N-Not at all," he answered politely, attempting not to sound befuddled as he motioned for Philip to follow him upstairs. "Just make sure to close the door on your way out."

The two were terribly tired after last night and needed some shut-eye.

They would clean themselves off after a long nap.

...

A boisterous family of witches hurry into their cottage, making it just in time before the boiling rain starts pouring down.

All of them sigh with relief, but sad looks soon appear on their faces.

One of the members of their close family has gone missing, and they've been looking all over the Boiling Isles for her for months.

She was a good daughter, a sweet sister, a fantastic student, and a wonderful witchlet.

She was ******.

[madthetruemad]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 21 | I Know

You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

Fic Masterlist

“So instead of you bringing back your sister…”

“Jing Yuan brought back you, well, not immediately like I would have done for Robin, but he still brought you back nonetheless. But, by doing so he committed a grave sin. Usually one with such power would become an aeon like I had planned to, but instead he rejected that and became mara-struck. Though, by giving you life again he has gained abilities of his own…”

“And that was to rewind time.”

“Correct.”

“Then how did you interfere with my amnesia plan this time?”

“He may be able to rewind time, but he can’t control everything, so I took it upon myself to strike while he was rewinding it.”

“Does he realize that I’m-“

“No, but he probably feels that connection with you. It’s the exact reason why he hasn’t killed you yet this time. Because he’s trying to figure out why you are so important to him and why he feels like he has lost something every time he has killed you.”

You closed your eyes and turned away from Sunday, “and what about me and Blade…? Are we to be used for your plans?”

“That is also correct. I plan to use your soul and body to bring Robin back while using Blade’s for mine.”

“I won’t let you.”

“I know.”

You turned back towards him, “and yet you still sound so confident.”

He smiled at you, “my allies are far greater than yours.”

You smirked at him then, “but none of your allies are Jing Yuan.”

“Y/n, what are you-“

You dismissed him with a flick of your wrist, his form disappearing easier than you ever thought as you quickly got ready and headed straight for your door.

“Princess?!”

Gepard sounded surprised as you burst through your door, Blade was there too his eyes widening a fraction as you motioned for them.

“Hurry along you two, time is a wasting!”

You hiked up your skirts as you began to run down the halls.

“Princess! Don’t run! You’ll fall!”

You merely smiled behind you as you told them to just catch up to you as you ran. The maids were as surprised as Gepard as they saw you and your two gaurds chase you down the hallway.

“Where’s the Emperor,” you called ack to Blade.

“The training grounds.”

You took a left at the mention of the training grounds. It should be near the stables and fields right?

Panting slightly, you took two steps at a time when you came to the stairs and began descending them.

“Princess, what are you-“

Dan Heng, a face you haven’t seen for awhile, but was grateful to see now, was at the end of the stairs.

“Perfect! You’re coming along too!”

You grabbed his hand just as you reached the bottom and pulled him along. The force and speed at which you were going surprised him as you easily pulled him with you. Gepard and Blade were still following behind you.

“Where are we going?!”

“To the Emperor!”

It felt like a race almost as the four of you headed to the training grounds, but when you finally made it, you didn’t once stop as you searched the crowd of knights. Your eyes bouncing from person to person as you held onto Dan Heng’s hand.

“Over there, princess,” Gepard finally said causing you to tear your gaze to where he was pointing and holy shi-

You have to pinch yourself because you must be dreaming!

Squinting, you rubbed your eyes with your free hand. Jing Yuan was standing with a group of soldiers. His armor was placed off to the side and his shirt- what type of shirt was that?! It hugged his chest and back so snuggly and you could practically see every single outline of his muscles-

Dan Heng coughed, “focus, princess, focus.”

Shaking your, you nodded, “I’ll try, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

As you walked over to him, Jing Yuan noticed you immediately, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes which confused you slightly. Was he- was he mad at you? But… you haven’t even done anything yet.

“Yuan-“

He cut you off by gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear before turning his gaze to Dan Heng, “you will let go of her hand before I slice it off, won’t you?”

Dan Heng was quick to let go and bow his head, “I apologize, Emperor,” which caused you to step in front of him, “I’m sorry Yuan, I was the one who grabbed his hand first.”

“And yet he held onto you anyway.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as he patted your head.

“Nonetheless, princess, you’re meeting me earlier than expected, did something happen?”

You glanced at his soldiers to which he got the hint and dismissed them.

You need Jing Yuan as an ally, and you need to stop Sunday.

But… what will stop Jing Yuan from striking you down?

“Sunday has been … talking to me, and I don’t actually have amnesia.”

“Oh? Is that all?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “… and I’m your past lover that you brought back.”

Jing Yuan was still running his hand through your hair, that eerie smile still on his face, “I know.”

What.

“Though, I will admit, I didn’t know that you were my past lover,” Jing Yuan mumbled as he bent down to kiss your forehead, “that all became clear to me when I went to visit Herta and Ruan Mei this morning after I kissed you. They were quite insightful when they finally cured that Mara that has been ailing me for quite some time now…”

You didn’t know who those two were, but you didn’t care to ask, not right now at least, “so if you know, then-“

He pressed his finger to your lips, “you should let me worry about Sunday alone, however,” his eyes lingered on the key around your neck, “I will be taking that from you.”

His other hand stopped running through your hair and went to your neck, and with a single, hard yank he had easily snapped the necklace off.

“Yuan-“

“Y/n.”

You stopped what you were about to say and looked up at him.

“The engagement is off, you should hurry back home to your father.”

@danae-misfortune @frogsasfrogs @openthenyoor01 @zuhaine @ughlostmyotherac @joyfulnightprincess @thechibifoxcub @ceaether @satanisasofties @thetwinkims @yanrandom @honeybunbunn @superdonkeypatroleggs @ohmyfinggod @baboon-milk333 @zareri @kclremin @rains-mae @yccoffeesimp @bloomiesty @moon-taffy @superdark-soul @pinkismyfavcolor @isa-l0v3r @its-astrotea-love @reapersan @junephantom21 @erisfayred @greyrain23 @justadekusimp @uzxotic @alisstaa @avalordream @unlivingdisaster @pix-stuff @sleepyxion14 @pillows-blankets @anicega @junni-berry @niaainthere @sorachitsuki @dyingsweetmackerel @rosariymchapter @immahuman @fluffy-koalala @momoniq @orphiclueur @insightedly

[fadedpath]

puts on my Friedrich apologist hat. so i have some things to say about how i'm going to write this character since he's a seemingly polarizing figure from what i can gather online ( and it isn't for his last scene lol which is another conversation entirely about gothic horror / romance tropes, being foreshadowing and a contrast to another end scene etc. etc. ). i don't think he's a bad person for a variety of different reasons, but that also doesn't mean i think he's a good person. there's ✨ nuance ✨

one thing before i explain, the audience has the power to judge him somewhat unfairly due to one key point: the POV of the movie is 99% Ellen's. we see what she sees, we know what she knows. we have that privilege to see for ourselves the horror inflicted upon her and most of all believe right at the very opening scene of the movie. ( tbh if Friedrich was more of an asshole that people say he is, he would have kicked Ellen out the moment the fits start happening and it probably would've saved his family, but i digress ghkjshgjks )

so imo Friedrich, for the time period he is in, is pretty morally average for his kind of character ( grew up in generational wealth, successful business man, etc. ). there's nothing surprising with how he acts. the first we meet him ( which is usually the thesis for characterization ), we get an idea of who he is: he loves his wife and is proud of his family, and he holds a sense of duty towards his friends. i want to point that out because some people claim he is only helping the Hutters due to some desire to self-aggrandize himself, but i don't think that's it. one of the first lines to Thomas is the man promising to pay back the loan Friedrich gave to him to help him along, to which Friedrich brushes it off, uncaring of being paid back. but the scene in which people think he's self-aggrandizing is when he points out it's at his expense that the Hutters are given a ride home after he kicked them out due to his wife now being afflicted, but i don't think he is still! i think he's bringing up all that he did for her in the sense of "i did my duty to your and yours but now it's affecting the one i love most, so you don't get to act this way towards me after all i did for you" type of mindset. was he wrong to brush off Ellen trying to warn him? yeah, but also you gotta think: it'd be really weird if he just immediately started believing her. Thomas only believed Ellen when he saw Orlok for himself. Anna, i don't think, believed her wholly but more so was simply trying to help out of love. Friedrich never sees Orlok, he only sees the very real plague that's happening to very real people that he can see for himself, who are dying ( and now his wife has it so!! ).

at the end of the day, he's the typical conventional dude of his era and is put into an incredibly unconventional situation, one that calls too much into question that he can handle at that point in the movie, and instead of opening himself up to it, he digs his heels in and stubbornly refuses to entertain it because he has bigger problems to deal with ( in his mind ). we, the audience, think he's a pig-headed fool who doesn't know any better because we see him through Ellen. but in his shoes, he sees this lady coming into his house, disrupting his family's peace, and wants her out.

long story short, Friedrich is ruled by the narrative, he cannot escape the bounds that holds him in place within it, and that's the tragedy of his character. that he realized too late, and once he did finally realize, he was past the point of no return. grieving as he was, there was no living after his entire family was annihilated. ( to which i think there is a lot of guilt in him for that, which spurs his grieving tenfold, since he didn't wake up when his family was getting snacked on, see "i will never sleep again" as he's crying on a coffin, but that's for another post hgkjdsg )

[californiaquail]

well boss said reese has no indication of any uti or crystals only a tiny amount of red blood cells which can be caused by the manual expression. coworker insisted there was no point in taking rads to see if he's blocked from the string so going to try some laxaire and hope 😬🤞🏻also then my boss gave me a ride to the bus stop so i didn't have to carry the huge crate which was uncharacteristically nice of him 🤨

[turtlemagnum]

one of my favorite parts of strategy games like chess and advance wars is that feeling when you haven't quite won yet but the enemy has no real options so it feels like you're just sloowly wrapping around them like a snake. when all your enemy has is their king and you've managed to turn 3 of your pawns into queens, and all you've gotta do is get in juust the right position, and in the meantime all they can do is squirm. god, that's such a wonderful feeling. nothing quite like it

[evilkitten3]

talk to me about sarada in a sakuino and sasunaru world i beg

i mean. i'll be honest with you anon idk if she'd exist. there was a sns comic with her that had some light sakuino in the background but if i'm being fully honest i personally have like. zero interest in most of the next gen kids. i like chouchou, i don't mind himawari, and i'm indifferent at best to the rest of them.

also i haven't seen/read bort and probably never will. i've read fics that did things i liked with sarada but since i personally have no real interest in her there's not a lot for me to do.

if you have any ideas on it feel free to share them, but unfortunately i don't really have much

[ladyhavilliard]

i've long understood why representation is important but i don't think I actually felt for myself how important it can be until reading loveless and watching Isaac's journey in heartstopper this year... My best friend is ace, but we have very different opinions/feelings/experiences/whatever when it comes to this. I have known about the aro/ace spectrums for so long. And yet knowing and actually seeing/reading someone go through a similiar experience resonates with you unlike anything else.

[tintysun]

This is such a weird time for me. I'm getting flashbacks of all the different personalities that were brought up in the past, including but not limited to: AOC, Bernie Sanders, Chelsea Manning, Edward Snowden... It's somehow starting to feel like a very small world. (And bizarre Deja Vus.)

[exopelagic]

help I got way too into homebrewing dnd stuff and now I can’t sleep