#primrose illusion

[haika-98]

This has been a really busy month for me, but I wanted to at least participate a little in this as I hold this game dear to me~

I've wanted to utilize the Primrose Illusion in a drawing for a while, and thought day 25 (Hallucination) would be a good opportunity!

You can read more about it here: https://tinyurl.com/PrimroseIllusion

Prompt list by LarHyperhair on Twitter

[erin-gilberts]

Prim's name wasn't the only one in the reaping bowl because the entire point of Prim being chosen is to show that life in Panem is random and cruel. These kids truly are selected and die for nothing, based on nothing, most of the time. There is often no grand cosmic plan or 4D chess conspiracy at play in awful circumstances unfolding, just systems of oppression working as they were designed. And you can do everything right to the letter - be the youngest eligible tribute from an unknown family whose name is only in the bowl once, not take out any tesserae - but it still won't save you.

[datbx]

touch fuzzy get dizzy

[madslynnz]

concept arts of "eclipse illusion hours"

[ellisdee161]

Rainbow Primrose Field

[hazbmymhotel]

The girls didn’t age, they weren’t in the Backrooms. Wisteria loves her Mama.

Primrose is so much like Mordecai, who is always working.

Hawthorne developed eyes on his wings to see through Backrooms illusions.

If Vesper sees Husk sleeping, he’ll come sit and watch guard.

At night, sometimes Husk and Mordecai talk for hours.

(edit: I oopsed on Hawthorne's tail!!!)

[iscreammutiny]

Primroses

Jude x Cardan

Post Qon/Cardan's pov/Angst/Hurt/Comfort if you squint/Cardan is traumatised/Jude is also traumatised damn/bit of fluff in the end

(FIRST EVER JURDAN FIC HELLOOO sorry if the pacing is off and if there are some horrendous mistakes guys english is not my first language☝️ but I'll get there someday ong)

——————————————————————

Several jagged branches snake over a glass window, covering it, as dusk spills onto the High King's sleeping form in slits of pale, shifting light.

But the land, drowsy as it is with the slow rise and fall of his breath, isn't fast enough to stop the cold from creeping in and nipping at his fingers–a troublesome little gift from winter's last of evenings.

He stirs, slumber disrupted from the sudden sharpness in the air, blearily stretching his hand out to grasp for more warmth, fingers splaying out across the bed for the familiar dip of a waist, only to be met with cold, bare sheets. Cardan stills then, eyes snapping open in alarm.

The High King of Elfhame has never been fond of the colder weather. Not only does he find it dull and dreary, he finds it to be cruel too, ironic as that would've been a few years ago.

It irked him then, the fact that there was too much to miss, too much to long for. And It irks him now–now that it holds too many reminders. Of wretched times, of his own year of hollow hands, pierced with the stinging absence of sharp blades and even sharper eyes.

It terrifies him still, the idea of winter returning.

He lies there, frozen in his spot, staring at the ceiling as the branches and leaves covering it start to writhe, coalescing into a dense, panicky mass of rot, sprouting and resprouting again.

Fear is familiar, his one constant, he should be used to it by now. But this...this is entirely separate. A kind of sickness he can't seem to shake off, a bone deep terror, of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the arrow to find its mark, the price of his undeserving head to finally catch up to him.

He doesn't dare turn his head to the side or tear his eyes off the ceiling, doesn't want to look. Because what if he finds out that he's been dreaming all this time–another one of those illusions borne out of plum wine?

That, drunk and slumped over, he's awoken just now to realize that the other side of the bed has been empty all along?

"Jude?", he whispers into the near dark, heart sinking when he hears nothing but the sound of his own breathing. A brief vision of empty palace halls at dusk flashes in his mind, looming above him, echoing with the ghostly voices of distant revels as he shuffles along, moth eaten fur pelts trailing behind his small form. He closes his eyes, allowing the dark to have its way with the unwelcome memory.

It was funny, really. A soundless twilight still seemed to him like a token of his own misery, one he can trace all the way back to the sour tang of cat's milk on his breath, long before the days he’d spent on hollow hall's floor crouching and heaving, finding a detached sort of similarity between his own soul and those terribly vacant halls in his childhood.

And yet, of all the weapons that have ever been used on him, his queen's silence is, by far, the one that has wounded him the most.

Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude-

His chest heaves, straining as the panic fully sets in. He kicks at his sheets and scrambles upright to check, to see for himself because, miraculously, he might just be wrong. Perhaps he has been worrying for naught–and yet.

And yet, a part of him is already thinking: just rip the bandaid off, just rip it and be done with it.

He turns to look and, immediately, the rush in his head goes quiet. The branches overhead cease twisting as breath stutters out of his chest in a faltering sigh. Everything stills, then eases back into place because there it is, silken sheets rumpled on the far side of the bed. There she is, whole and hale, pale light tracing the familiar outline of her silhouette. Must've rolled off to the edge of the bed in her sleep, the chestnut of her hair spilling onto a half occupied pillow, the slow rise and fall of her sleeping form, curled into a scythe of a girl and stars above, could he get more foolish than this?

He uncurls his hands from fists he'd unknowingly wounded them into, watching the crescents buried into his palm turn red. Haltingly, Cardan scoots forward and reaches out towards her. His hand shakes, a whisper of a touch, barely there as he tries to brush the hair out of her face. Her lovely, and for once, untroubled face. He has to be careful because Jude is a light sleeper and any manner of respite is rare for her(and if she is a figment of his imagination—he doesn't want to let go just yet).

Unconsciously, she nestles into his palm as he gingerly traces the hollow of her cheekbone. A sick little laugh crawls up his throat, turning into a quiet sob as he tries to steady his heart. She's here, he tells himself, be still, be still, be still.

Instinctively, his fingers curl around the shell of her ear, thumb caressing its soft, mortal curve. And as his nails lightly press into the skin behind her ear, a hand grips at his wrist, and Jude is bolting upright, taught as a bowstring, shoulders squared as if to attack.

She pins his arm to the bed frame and uses her other hand to push his shoulder backwards. Cardan stiffens.

Her eyes, momentarily wild and unseeing, focus onto his face and she falters mid twist. Her hand on his wrist immediately relaxes, the other one trailing up to rest against the side of his neck, an apologetic frown already crossing her features.

"I'm sorry I–" she sees the stricken expression on his face and stops short – "what is it?"

Her thumb brushes the edge of his jaw and Cardan lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes stinging.The gesture is simple, one he hasn't gotten used to yet, but it is involuntary. The familiarity in her touch has him unspooling.

He covers her hand with his own and shakes his head in what he hopes is an assuring gesture, not trusting his voice at the moment, struggling to collect his thoughts. He knows he's doing it again. That old trick with the mask, trying to smooth its edges over his face. A game of hiding where no one seeks him out–even though he knows now that she will. She'd drag him by the scruff if it came to that. But old habits die hard.

A long moment of silence passes and he realizes that Jude is waiting for him to speak, gently stroking the inside of his wrist, entirely at odds with the smooth, unperturbed set of her face.

And yet, even in the near dark room, where the old wood of her eyes is illuminated only by a thin slash of dusky light, he finds in them a scrap of fear akin to his own–one he knows will take longer than anything else for them to wrestle with and have it buried along with the rest of those who have threatened this fragile peace.

He tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear, as he'd been meaning to do before, and presses his mouth to her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of verbena. "It's nothing. You're here." he whispers.

She tilts her head back to look at him, eyes searching, "Of course." She says, lacing their hands together, and then peers around to stare at the window. She waits for a moment while the branches recede to give a clear view of the sky, which is now a luminous ink blue. Humming in thought, she turns back to him and says, "We are to attend council in another hour or two."

"Yes." He answers tiredly, dragging a hand over his face.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rest for a little while longer, no?"

Cardan smiles a little at that, already nestling back into the sheets and dragging her along "No, of course, it won't." He pulls her in to tuck her head under his chin, "Besides," he continues, "you'll require it if you have to deal with Randalin today."

At that, Jude groans into his chest and he can already feel the cogs turning in her head, coming up with more ways to outmaneuver the council. He chuckles into her hair and rubs her back, "Rest, first." He murmurs and she hums, sleep prodding at the edges of her voice again.

Primroses bloom along the edge of the bed frame, wilder and whiter than any other.

Right there, with his fearsome queen tucked under his chin, the king of Elfhame knows this too: That no fear could ever be stronger than the weight of her battle worn body in his arms. And even that pales in comparison to the ruthless glint in her eyes for when she wields her blade to kill.

[thewordswewrite]

The Drought of an Ocean

Chapter 16 - Epilogue

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Chapter Summary | 10 years later...

Chapter Warnings | N/A

W/C | 1.7k

Taglist | @lem0ns77   @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​   @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​   @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​   @aquawhore420   @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​   @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15   @pavard-leto-girl  

A/N | Alright so this is actually the end BUT asks are open for oneshots for the missing 10 years between chapters 15 and 16! Thanks everyone so much for reading and following us on this journey!! -Smoe

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist|

In her dreams, the more and more she had as the years went on, she was at the beach–their beach–and as she sat watching the waves hit the shore, and the sun began to rise over the horizon painting the waters red with its color, for a moment her stomach would drop. Her chest began to tighten until she cupped the water in her hands, finding the illusion to only be the sun’s rays mirrored across the horizon. She would bury her feet in the sand, letting the seafoam lick at her ankles as birds called overhead. It wouldn’t be long until she felt a presence beside her, the comforting pressure of arms wrapped around her middle that bled in from reality.

This morning the feeling was just that: a feeling. She shook her head, laughing to herself about her chronic morning-person of a husband. It was hard not to think of his teasing words as she pulled her limbs back towards her body at the center of the mattress. She rubbed out a crick in her neck before pulling open the curtains and letting the sun shine into the room. 

Humming a light tune, she padded a few feet down the hall to the next room over where she opened the door just a touch to peek in. Her heart leapt in seeing the empty bassinet until she remembered the abandoned space in her own bed. She couldn’t say she was used to their routine but six months of it almost daily was starting to ease her panic. Over a year ago, for the second time in her life, Finnick held her as she cried–this time tears of joy–and nine months later their little starfish was brought into the world during a storm that drowned her screams.

With her own stomach rumbling, she set off to the kitchen to prepare a bottle, something Finnick still hadn’t mastered as he’d rather let the bottle get ice cold than risk any pain to their daughter. He’d been especially careful in everything he did since their daughter was born, their household of two made a family of three; from baby-proofing the house, reading the limited parenting resources he could get his hands on and above all, keeping the both of them within reach at all time, safe in his care. As a gesture to both their future as a family and their newfound freedom, he’d discarded his trident, a sign of all that he had done, been forced to do, in the remnants of the Capitol. 

Filling the kettle at the sink, she could just make out the form of her husband, cradling their baby girl out by the shore, through the window. Before returning to the stove, she opened the window to tend to her flowers, a window box secured by Finnick at the start of the season was full of blooming Primroses after Peeta sent seeds in one of his letters. Though she was never close to Katniss, she had grown to know her sister while she recovered in District 13 alongside Peeta. The girl was caring and had impeccable bedside manner, her hands steady when changing her IV, smiles came easy when she saw the bobbing blonde head of the littlest Everdeen sister. It was terrible what happened, she had been walking close behind Katniss when they tried to infiltrate the Presidential Palace, then the first round of bombs hit…the second.

She closed the window with a sigh and put the kettle on the burner. At the table there was a short stack of open mail, a rarity considering all that had happened, which Finnick had already sorted through. She smiled to herself, recognizing Peeta’s blocky script even before picking up the letter, an extra blush spreading across her cheeks at the greeting to the Odairs. It was mostly business as usual, Peeta filling them in on their simple life in 12 and in turn asking about them, especially now that they had a little one to update on. A year had passed since Katniss and Peeta visited and four since they backed Katniss’ decision to take down Coin and thus inciting their exile. It was a privilege to have anyone to share their pregnancy with, most of all given what they’d been through and lost to get there. 

She was about to put the letter in the drawer with the rest when she saw the small scrawls on the bottom of the page.

‘Saw this and thought of you, then of her but Peeta didn’t approve. Good luck - Katniss’

Riffling through the pile of mail, she couldn’t figure out what the note was referring to but she didn’t often know what Katniss was referring to; better to ask Finnick later. She grabbed the warmed bottle and stuffed the letter in her pocket to bring with her before slipping out the back, the screen door creaking closed behind her.

The morning was beautiful, a cool breeze contrasting the already warming sand, with rays of sunlight just finally rinsing fully above the horizon. Her bare feet sunk into the uneven ground, as she made her way towards her husband and daughter who watched the waves together.

“Here, breakfast.” She placed the bottle in his awaiting hand, taking a seat next to him on the blanket he had laid out. 

“Oh, thanks. I hadn’t eaten.” She rolled her eyes at him and his smug smile. They sat a while in a comfortable silence as their daughter ate, falling back into a slumber with a full belly when the bottle was gone. 

Pulling the letter out of her pocket, she handed it to him, absentmindedly stroking her daughter's silk soft hair, “Did you see this?”

Finnick chuckled softly, “I’m sure Peeta was mortified but I thought it was funny.” She raised an eyebrow at him as he slowly pulled back the blanket their daughter was comfortably swaddled in. They both braced for her to wake but as Finnick carefully shifted to show his wife, she only clung to her prize tighter and let out a sleepy breath. Cuddled in her daughter’s arms was a small stuffed bear, the mouth a zigzag of white stitching mimicking teeth. She used to think if she ever saw a bear again it’d be too soon but looking down at the stuffie clutched in her daughter’s tiny hands she couldn’t help but smile.

“Never thought Kat would be the one with a sense of humor, huh? You two are too alike,” She huffed with a smile, shaking her head in disbelief.

He hummed in response, “You know she hates when you call her that.”

“And you hate it when Peeta calls you Finn but here we are,” She followed Finnick’s gaze as smiled down at the dozing infant, too lost to truly hear her,  “Here we are.” Save for the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the beach around them seemed to disappear, their small family the only thing in the world. Her heart clenched in her chest, still seeing that nineteen year old boy who had taken a chance on her even behind the worry lines and the scars. It was a miracle that they were here at all–the odds stacked against them from the beginning–let alone together in the life that they had made. 

The air was heavy for a moment, Finnick on the verge of saying something multiple times before he finally got out, “I never thought we’d get this. Especially not her,” He clutched the baby tighter to his chest, kissing her forehead before inhaling deeply, “not after we lost–”

“We lost…a lot, and I never thought I’d want what I have, but I’m happy.” Finnick stared up at her, a familiar and unsure expression that often crossed his face, even after all this time, as if to ask, ‘are you sure?’ She reached to tuck a stray strand of blonde hair back in place, landing with her head resting on his shoulder. “I love our family, you and Ondine.”

“Our little wave.”

In an attempt to break the tension, she huffed a sigh, “Doesn't feel so little when you have to push her out of your…” She trailed off mumbling to herself as she began to stand up. “Let’s go, I’m starving, and you’re cooking!” Before she managed to take a step, she was pulled back by a  hand clutching the hem of her shirt. 

“We got this too,” Finnick fished another piece of mail from his back pocket, not bothering to make eye contact as he handed it over and immediately turned his attention back to his daughter. She eyed him suspiciously before taking the cardstock, his demeanor suddenly tense. The page was covered from top to bottom in words, some she didn’t even know and when she looked up from it Finnick was already awaiting her reaction. The confusion must’ve been clear on her face, for he explained, “It basically says…we can go.”

“Go where?”

Finnick held their daughter tighter to his chest, stroking her cheek as he answered, “Our exile is over. Katniss and Peeta’s too.” He was biting his lip, his brows furrowed. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, urging him to look at her. 

“Go where?”

Finnick sighed, “Home? Back to 4.” She tipped his chin up with her index finger gazing into his worrisome eyes. With her thumb, she smoothed out the wrinkle between his eyebrows, something that never failed to make him laugh. 

Her whole life sat before her, the culmination of all that she’d experienced and everything that she shouldn’t have survived. Every step of the way they had tried to tell her story, the twists and turns and all the endings, happily ever after written out for her when martyrdom didn’t cut it. But for the first time in her life, the pages ahead were blank and she was the one with the pen. She managed to have it all: her life, her family and now, her freedom. Looking around at what her and Finnick had built together, she smiled, her heart clenching and eyes watering at the realization.

“We are home.”

|Masterlist| |Previous Chapter|

[after-witch]

Thrum Flower [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Thrum Flower [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: Chrollo experiments further with reader’s delicate bouquet of a tongue. Follow-up to Primrose. 

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, body transformation, tickling, humiliation, noncon blowjob, Chrollo is bastard bastard in this

Your back is firmly against the bathroom door. As if you could keep him out, if he decided to get in.

“Dearest,” he says, low, almost crooning. 

You want to plead, you want to argue, you want to make your case. But that would involve opening your mouth and talking. And, despite the crack in your carefully built defenses from his earlier threats, you don’t wanna give Chrollo the satisfaction of speaking so openly with the flower that is currently your tongue. 

“Don’t pout,” he says, and knocks firmly against the door. You swear you can feel his knuckles vibrating against your back. 

“You said,'' you mumble, the words coming out all wrong. Too loose and garbled. It doesn’t even feel like your voice anymore, but the voice of some stranger. It doesn't help that with every word, the bitter florals of the flower seem to soak deeper into your mouth. You said you would turn my tongue back to normal, is what you want to say. But you refuse to speak more than a few words at a time. 

There’s a pause. You imagine him on the other side of the door, considering your words.

“I said I’d consider turning you back tonight.” He says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. It makes you hate him. “It’s still the afternoon. There’s still a few hours until the evening, and so much more I’d like to find out.”

Something sharp curdles in your stomach. You don’t want to know what he wants to find out. You can imagine it, the depraved things he’s eager to uncover about the curse he’s stuck you with; it was humiliating enough for him to kiss you, for him to coo at you while you finally gave in and spoke. 

He would want so much more than that. 

He would take so much more than that. 

Your hand clutches the doorknob, and your fingers fiddle around until you can confirm the bathroom door is still locked. Deep down, you know it doesn’t matter. He could easily get through this door, despite the lock, despite your back against it. But it’s something small that you can hold onto for now. Something small that keeps you from floating away.

His voice is soft when it comes from the other side of the door now. Soft and plying, like something warm he wants to wrap around your shoulders. Only you know the person on the other end of that voice is anything but soft. 

“Open up, love.” There’s a slow, thin sound of his fingernail scratching down the wood. You shiver. “Open up now and I’ll be so gentle with you. I promise.” 

There’s something unspoken in his words: Don’t open up now, and I’ll be…

You have to open up. There’s no other choice. Or rather, the other choice is something you would never willingly put yourself through, not right now, not like this.

Your fingers trace the beloved lock one more time before you grip it and turn it the other way. It clicks. 

Mercifully, or perhaps he’s only drawing out the tension, he lets you take a step back from the door and open it yourself. The illusion of control, that’s all you’ll ever have with him. The illusion of choice and will.

His face betrays no annoyance or frustration. There’s only gentle patience, the promise of soothing words on his lips. 

What do you want me to do? You mouth it, trying to grasp the smallest bit of dignity that you can. He should be able to read lips well enough. He can, you’re sure. That doesn’t mean what he says next is any less unsurprising.

“Oh no,” he says, his voice like syrup. “Use your words, dear. Please. Indulge me.” 

Your red-rimmed, watery eyes look right into his. 

“What do you want me to do?” 

And oh, how awful you sound. How unlike yourself. Every word vibrates strangely in your mouth. It’s not like talking with a mouthful of something, but instead as if that something was instead attached to your body. It feels awful, in every possible way. Humiliating, distasteful, unwanted. Salty tears slip down your cheeks and you sniffle strangely, every normal function of your body feeling terribly different in your current condition.

He waits until you’ve composed yourself enough.

“On the bed.”

--

Your compliance is a wonderful thing. He won’t deny that he enjoys it when you fight, to a degree. That spark within you could be a delightful thing to fan now and then, letting it build into a brilliant flame that he can quell with so much ease.

But right now? It’s your obedience that he wants, and it’s your obedience that he gets. The strangled sniffles and floral-tinged, shuddering breaths coming from your mouth are nothing short of extraordinary.

You do what he says, sitting down on the bed and pulling yourself up, legs stretched out in front of you, back propped awkwardly against one of the pillows. The sight of you sitting there, waiting for him, waiting for him to do whatever he desires, almost has him losing control. 

But not quite.

He crawls onto the bed in what would have looked like a playful gesture to anyone else, in any other situation. But to you, poor you, he must look like a beast coming to devour its prey. And he was, wasn’t he? In his own way.

A thin sheen of sweat dabbles your skin. He can’t wait to taste it, as he will taste the rest of you, in time. He positions himself so that he can sit in front of you, almost looming over you, a position he knows will only make you feel more vulnerable. 

He can read the embarrassment on your face, the confusion. The questions are written in your eyes, practically begging him to answer them without forcing you to speak. But he won’t. There’s no such mercy to be found now, when he’s decided to claim a truly unique prize.

He smiles, and you shiver. 

He kisses the side of your neck, and your body trembles underneath him. It’s beautiful, as you are beautiful, to see you react in such a visceral way--especially when he hasn’t really done anything yet.

What will you do, he wonders, when things really get going? He can’t wait to find out. There’s so much unexplored, not only in the particular punishment he’s given you, but in the oh-so-many ways that it can be used to uncover your secrets. Your truths. Things you didn’t even know about yourself.

He inhales, and your scent is a mixture of sweat and florals. Magnificent. He pulls himself and brings his hand up to hold your chin. You keep your mouth closed, out of residual stubbornness or the inherent desire to keep your flower from him; either option is just as rich to his mind.

When he rubs his thumb against your lips, your eyes flit away like little birds, eager to look at anything but him. It’s cute, really. But you can’t pretend he’s not there. Not right now, not like this. Not when he’s holding your jaw and inside your mouth is the flower he placed there.

“Open up for me,” he murmurs, placing his thumb in the center of your lips. Slowly, you do, breath coming through your nose faster in your anxiety. He presses his thumb inside, catching it on your teeth. There’s the tickle of a petal on his nail, and he watches as drool pools crudely on either side of your mouth. 

Your expression darkens; embarrassment roils off you in waves and he drinks it in. He wants every part of you--here, now, always. Your emotions and thoughts and every last bit of negative or positive feeling you have in your body. He’ll take it all for himself.

His thumb is wet when he pulls it out of your mouth, but that was to be expected. He wipes the excess on your chin and then, quickly, efficiently, he pushes you down on the bed until you’re flat on your back.

There it is, in your eyes--surprise, complemented by the softest of gasps from your sweet mouth. He looms over you, placing both hands on either side of your head, and takes it in.  Surprise in your eyes, yes, along with humiliation. And worry. 

In your wide-eyed expression, staring straight at him from your position underneath, is the clear question, desperate and broad: What are you going to do with me?

What, indeed. 

He wants to hear you, above all. He wants you to make such wonderful noises for him. It’s not the sound that is appealing, of course--graceless words that can barely form around the obstruction that is your new, albeit temporary, tongue. It’s what’s behind it. The absolute, pinpointed, compacted helplessness that comes through with every syllable.

He could simply order you to speak. He knows this. You know this. But he'd rather hear something organic, something you can’t help but do underneath him. Because of him.

Ah, there’s the thought. It had occurred to him earlier, and now was the perfect opportunity. It was playful, really, so you couldn’t truly complain. He wasn’t hurting you. 

Slowly but surely, he brings his hands to trail delicately up and down your skin, gently tickling down your bare arms. Goosebumps--and squirming--in their wake. There’s a choked sound from your throat as you twist your body, but where can you go? Nowhere. It’s something, but he wants more.

So he brings his hands to your sides and gives them the sweetest little pinches. Not to hurt, no, but to tickle. You’re fighting it--he can see the concentration in your face, your attempts to will the sensations away. But you can’t fight it for long. He puts a little more pressure on his fingers, tickling a sensitive spot, and there it is. 

A gasp. A helpless, choking sound, melodic and startled as you laugh. 

He doesn’t hear that sound often, your laughter. He’s never felt compelled to force you into false mirth, whether it be smiles or something harder. But here and now? Well. He must be a researcher, a scientist, a museum curator studying every nook and cranny of your being.

Poor thing. 

When he’s had his fill, he lets you catch your breath--magnanimity is a virtue, isn’t it?--and when you’ve come to your senses, he can practically feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks. Physical exertion and embarrassment were a wonderful combination on you.

You’re glaring daggers up at him, breath coming in gulps, giving him bursts of flower-scented air. But whatever anger you hope to show is softened by the way your cheeks puff out slightly. Is it to keep the inside of your cheeks from brushing up against the floral petals? Or are you trying to look stubborn?

“That was lovely,” he tells you, voice all silk. “But I think we can do something better.”

You puff air out through your nose and shake your head. I’m done, you mouth up at him. Silly creature that you are. 

He stares down at you, not giving the reminder of his earlier request, but you catch it in his expression all the same. Silly--but smart, when you needed to be. 

“No,” you say, warbling. “I’m done.” 

He taps your nose and you snort, wrinkling it. You couldn’t be cuter if you tried. He’ll have to remember to tell you that soon, if only to see how annoyed it makes you.

“Don’t look so grumpy, love. Or shall I tickle you some more, and enjoy your lovely smile?”

You immediately cross your arms over your body, as if that might stop him, and say something in protest. A choked sound, muffled by the flower. It doesn’t matter what you said. All the sounds out of your mouth right now are undeniably beautiful.

So far, he’s seen you beautiful, yes, cute, yes… but what about something richer from you? Something that he can imprint on his memory for the rest of his life, and yours. Something that you must give him just as much as he takes it from you.

“One more thing,” he croons. “Be good for me with this one last task, and I’ll change it back afterwards.”

Your shiny eyes are distrusting and wide and so vulnerable, underneath him. He doesn’t blame you for any of it, and you should (though he doubts you are) be grateful for that fact. 

He sees your lips working, moving, as you debate on what to say. Finally, they part, and the word comes out whispered and nearly unintelligible. 

“Promise?” 

Ah. This time, you need no reminder to use your words. It gives his heart a thrill. You really are a wonder. 

He leans down and kisses your jaw delicately. 

“Of course.”

-

You thought you knew what revulsion felt like before this moment. Really, you did. You thought you had experienced its unique sourness, low and off, broadly bitter. But no. Now you realize, what you had experienced before was merely an imitation of revulsion.

Because right here and now, on your knees in front of Chrollo’s erect cock, ready to take it into your mouth with a flower for a tongue, you truly feel revulsion.

It’s almost a maddening feeling. It’s something that has wormed its way into your skin, spreading throughout your body and landing solidly in your stomach. But there’s nothing of substance to vomit up, nutrition shakes notwithstanding. And instead of the release that comes with expelling something awful, you’re forced to sit here, waiting, to take it in.

“I know you aren’t eager to try this,” he says, and you look up at him with an expression that must reflect your inner thoughts. “But just know that I am most interested in what you have to offer in your current state.” A hand toys with your hair. “Perhaps you will be too, once we begin.”

If you felt any of your usual vigor, you might retort: Fat fucking chance. But you don’t want to give him any words voluntarily. If he wants them, let him order you to speak. Let him threaten you with glances or pointed barbs. Just as long as you can cling to the shredded, ragged pieces of yourself while you do this.

And after… after, he said, he’ll turn it back. He does tend to keep his promises. But then, you remember himself, he never specifically used those words.

The time for internal bargaining is over when he lifts your chin with his finger.

“No more delaying, hm? If you do well, don’t forget the reward that comes after.” 

Then, your gaze glances down until you’re forcing yourself to look at his bared cock, already eagerly waiting for you to take it into your mouth. 

You wish you were anywhere but here. But you are here, and you’re on your knees, and there’s nothing more you can do but accept it. Get it over with, let him finish, and then you can--at the very goddamn least--get your tongue back.

You rise up on your knees enough to get a good position to take him in. And with a slow movement, you take his cock into your mouth. 

To say that the moment his member slides over the flower in your mouth is extraordinarily uncomfortable would be an understatement. There is no way to describe the feeling. It was bad enough with his tongue, with his finger, but this? It’s like an unwanted intruder, thick and salty, weighing too heavy on the delicate petals of your tongue.

“Ah--” you groan, nonsensical, not entirely sure what to do with the sensations you’re experiencing. 

“Oh, beloved,” he groans, and when your eyes flick up you see that he’s thrown his head back in a rare instance of vulnerability. “This is beyond my imagination. Truly.” 

Ordinarily, you would use your tongue to slide up and down his shaft, to suckle and stroke. But the flower is delicate and hefty. It shifts like a tongue, but the petals barely drag underneath the weight of his cock.

He seems to sense the dilemma, and pulls back slightly, letting his cock rest on the edge of your lips. Drool and pre-cum pool together and dribble down the side of your mouth. If you could feel any more humiliated, that might have done it. But now, revulsion and embarrassment are all one and the same, a constant feeling weighing you down. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. You just stay there and keep your mouth open for me, will you?” Chrollo’s voice is breathy. The situation must have been arousing him more than you realized. He normally didn’t get so airy, so out of control, until he was near the throes of orgasm. But he’s practically off-kilter just from the sensation of sliding his cock across the flower a few times.

You don’t know whether to be relieved that it will be over sooner, or horrified at what turns him on.

You don’t have time to consider it, anyway, because in a moment he places a hand on the back of your head and begins to thrust inside your mouth. Using you. It doesn’t matter if you try to move your unwieldy tongue, because his firm cock slides across the petals with ease.

It’s awful. Each petal is like a nerve, and the sensation of wetness and salt and the knowledge of what he’s doing is amplified a million times. 

He doesn’t say a word when he orgasms, only presses hard on the back of your head and keeps you in place while groaning out a rich, low moan. You choke and gag, unused to the pressure towards the back of  your throat. Wet warmth fills your mouth and you swallow, almost grateful that the knob of his depravity was turned up so high that he came fast. 

If you were stupid, you would tease him about it later. But you’re not that stupid--not anymore. So you simply look up and watch him ride out his orgasm, sighing softly, not stopping his short thrusts until he’s satisfied himself.

Finally, he pulls himself out of your mouth, but it’s then that you realize yet another horrific side effect of your awful tongue. You swallowed as much as you could, but, some of his salty come has seeped into the petals, nestling into the flower. You can’t get it out. Not right now, anyway.

But… it shouldn’t matter. Should it? Because he said after this, he would turn it back. Once it’s back to normal, you can scrub your tongue furiously in the bathroom if there’s any lingering aftertaste.

 And yet.

And yet.

When Chrollo helps you to your feet and escorts you back to the bed, he’s not getting out his book. The book that started all this mess in the first place. The book that was going to fix it.

Instead, he pushes you gently onto your back, and crawls up on the bed with a familiar look in his eyes. Predatory. Eager. Aroused.

Each of his hands grips one of your thighs and slowly pulls them apart. It doesn’t matter how much you tense your muscles--you’re just not strong enough to keep him from doing what he wants. You never have been.

He’s going to go down on you. It wouldn’t be the first time--tit for tat. But it’s not what you want. Not now. It’s not what he said he would do. 

“But you said,” you cry, not caring about how awful you sound, not caring that with every word you can still taste him. “You said you would turn it back.”

“And I will,” he says, soothing, not taking his eyes off the prize between your legs. “But I said you’d get a reward, didn’t I? What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t ensure your satisfaction?” His thumb traces a slow circle on the outside of your underwear. 

“One more thing.” His voice is cooing, rich, dark. “Be good for me in this one last thing, love, and I’ll change it back afterwards.” 

Helpless, hopeless, you glance at the clock on the opposite wall. 

It’s still afternoon.

And there is so much more for Chrollo to take from you.

[inkbutterflyuniverse]

So, I finished season 2 of Unicorn Academy. Like the first season, it was very predictable (but it's a kid show, so that's normal), and I have some thoughts.

Primrose was the thief all along? I'm so shocked, who would have thought???

...

Nah yeah I'm just kidding. It was obvious. The thief could use illusions. She knew that Sophia was searching for the stars before Valentina told her. She said that it was because the other teacher told her, but it was obvious that she knew it wasn't just some questions about it. So yeah, I knew it all along. But as I said, it's a kid show so for adults it's easy to deduce what will happen.

What I really wanted to talk about was Sophia and Valentina.

Since season 1, Sophia annoyed me a lot. Every stupid decision she takes is rewarded after, and honestly, I'm mad.

I can understand that they want to tell the kids that if you believe in something, it will happen if you do everything for it, but personally, I think the message doesn't work well.

Why? Because Sophia is so obsessed by her father that everyone is in danger because of her. I don't like that every time she has a crazy stupid plan and someone calls her out (Ava in season 1, when telling her what friendship really is, and Valentina this season when she said that Grimoria could come back), then that very same person ends up helping her.

Yes in the end everything is good because it's a kid show and the protagonists will succeed, but how much I wished they fail.

This season, I was Team Valentina. This girl was right about EVERYTHING. And everyone took Sophia's side: "if Grimoria comes back we will fight it and win! We're with you Sophia!". Like, even Layla was okay with it.

There was a moment where Layla was like "we should talk about what to do if it happens", and Sophia was like "later", but it was never talked again. They made NO PLAN and Layla was okay with that.

By wanting to put Valentina in an antagonist position while making Sophia the hero, they make everyone validate her actions and words, and I'm tired of it.

Valentina deserved better. Yes she is annoying, yes she is arrogant, yes she wanted to succeed the exam that she tried to be the leader and she caused some problems in the Ruins. But honestly, that's normal. She isn't perfect, and she will also make mistakes and put people in danger.

But it's because of her pride, and she proved that she was ready to sacrifice herself rather than put the other in danger with her aunt un the Ruins. She told them to go, she knew the consequences of staying.

While Sophia ignores the potential consequences. "A villain could come back and put the whole island in danger if I save my dad? Pfff, we can beat it!".

Now, her father is safe and Lazul was beaten, but the bad magic is still here. And it will cause problems to the all island.

I had a little faith in Sophia's father when he was angry at her at first, but after they saved him, he was like "congratulations!" like she never did anything wrong in the beginning.

Conclusion: I'm mad at this show for the way Sophia is written.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Quitting Time

Warnings: sciatica and chronic pain, sexual harassment, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: You're stranded at the office with an unwanted companion.

Request for song Time Comes in Roses by Bess Atwell.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

You check your watch. Subtly, as to not let on your impatience. You sit at a table among several other executives and your fearless, if not relentless leader, one Tony Stark. It’s after nine o’clock. You’re not impressed.

“Government contracts are bullshit,” Caswell leans back in his chair with a haughty snort, “private contractors all the way. If it works for hospitals–”

“Private contracts will use that shit to con old ladies into the hospital,” Tony retorts.

“You’re the only hold out, Stark, we all have a share.”

“I’m Tony Stark and I have the ultimate say,” Stark insists as he leans a hand on the table, fingers spread wide, “and I’m not the only one. If you stopped talking for one second you’d know our fifth member hasn’t given her vote.”

Caswell rolls his eyes, almost his whole head. You run a manicured nail along the edge of your leather folio.

“I agree with Stark.”

“Teh,” Caswell scoffs, “of course she does. Bootlicker.”

“Excuse you, I’m the only reason he didn’t send missiles to Canada.”

“I still might,” Tony kids.

You fight to suppress your agitation. You can’t stand this stiff chair much longer. As the years go by, these meetings grow more and more unbearable. Not just the politics but the endless inactivity.

“Three against two, we still have the majority.”

“Add your shares up, Cas,” Tony snaps, “you can do the math, can’t you?”

The three men groan and snort and spit in disappointment. None of you hold enough shares to override the CEO. The board is a farce, truly. A shell to give an illusion of equity and ethics. You don’t know why you ever wanted to sit at the boys’ table, it didn’t do much but give you sciatica.

“Now, I was due for a neat scotch about twenty minutes ago so if you would excuse yourselves, I got some catching up to do,” Tony dismisses with a clap.

You exhale, letting the tension ease from you. Home, your bed, maybe even a hot bath before you settle down with a wine to help you sleep. 

The other men rise, pushing their chairs against the table with unrestrained frustration. You push yourself up and close the leather folder around your tablet. The rest of the board wastes no time in fleeing, a few muttered words towards Stark as he fiddles with his phone.

You bend your legs and grab your purse, a groan escaping your lips as you straighten once more. That twinge in your hip makes your leg buckle. You put a hand against the table and right yourself.

“Everything good there, primrose?” Tony peeks up above his cell.

“Good,” you assure him, refusing to react to the name he often hurls at you. Better than tight-ass you suppose. 

You strut slowly to the door and another pang shoots up your back. You catch yourself against the transparent wall and curse. Couldn’t hold out just a few minutes longer? Just another layer peeling away with the erosion of age. As if you’re not acutely aware of the silver strands and the thin lines around your eyes.

“You sure about that?” Tony nears and touches your arm, “old tennis injury?”

“Mmm, something like that,” you push yourself away from the wall and try to take another step. You trip as your hip radiates with agonizing fire, “fuck me.”

Tony chuckles and catches you. He casually snakes his arm under yours and around your back, directing you to one of the chairs as he spins it around. He helps you sit as you drop onto the seat with a growl.

“Take a minute, prim,” he tucks away his phone, “I’m sure the old man can wait.”

Your eyes list away derisively. You reach down to knead your lower back. You tilt your head against the leather and cluck.

“I just need a minute. I can let myself out. Don’t want to impede on your scotch tasting.”

“Speaking of, I think a shot might do you well, huh, primrose.”

“No, thank you,” you stretch out your leg and whimper. Holy shit, you feel your hip click against your tailbone. 

“You sure? Come on, let down your hair for once.”

You give him a look, the one that withers most men. He only laughs. He pulls out another chair and sits. His eyes watch your left hand as you bring it up to rest in your lap.

“Thought you were hitched, prim.”

“Engaged. Not anymore.”

“Ah, too bad. Makes sense though, not a lot of guys go for the no-shit kinda gal like you.”

You puff out and grip the arms of the chair. You need to go. You can’t stand his arrogance. It’s just making you tense up even more.

“So, you’re not married, not promised, does that mean you’re single?”

“It means I’m not looking,” you rebuff.

He snickers again. He’s always amused by you, even as others squirm. You swipe your hand across your forehead and blow out another breath.

“You know, I give great massages,” he offers, “had a masseuse, she showed me a few things. Lots of things actually.”

“Ugh,” you curl your lip.

“I could loosen you up, prim, get you back to operating. Kind my specialty, you know? I bring things to life with these very hands,” he presents his fingers, admiring them himself.

“You’ll only make it worse,” you snip.

“Maybe? But uh, you’re not looking too good. So, I’m thinking there’s two options here. You let me rub you down a bit. You get a little bit of relief and I finally get to answer that eternal question that’s been floating around all these years.”

“What’s that?”

“If you’re really a cyborg under all that,” he tweaks a brow, “my money is on no but you know, Harvey is really convinced–”

“What’s the other option?” You bark.

“Well, the other option was my original offer, scotch. Double would do, it’s a vintage.”

You scowl. He’s right in that you don’t have much of a choice. You’re too scared to try standing again. Not yet. 

“Scotch,” you answer bluntly.

“Great,” he snaps his fingers and stands, “once we get some of that in ya, I’m sure option one will look a lot better.”

“You’re not touching me, Stark,” you growl as he sweeps around the chair.

“We’ll see about that,” he calls back as he struts out the door.

[mogai-sunflowers]

aurethesia coining to-do list!

aurethi related to…

being an auroracore enchantress

violin music

flute music

pastel rainbow waterlilies

auroracore waterlilies

lindsey Stirling music, music videos, and aesthetics

the scene in ‘abominable’ where Yi plays her violin in a snowstorm

auroracore skies with sparkly auroracore rainbows

sparkly auroracore roses

pastel rainbow roses

sparkly auroracore butterflies

sparkly auroracore dragonflies

starry auroracore skies

starry pastel rainbow skies

auroracore-themed flowers

auroracore + spacecore

auroracore + sparklecore

auroracore + crystalcore

auroracore themes of the sea

an auroracore enchantress emanating auroracore energy/power in an auroracore sky

being an auroracore muse

ethereal music

auroracore twilight aesthetics

ethereal fantasy/auroracore landscapes

crystals, sparkles, magic powers, magic princesses, sparkly auroracore rainbows, and the sky

the following words: etherea, aurora, enchantress, crystal, fantasia, fantasy, magical, mystical, whimsical, fairytale, daydream, everafter, foreverafter, evermore, forevermore, foreverglow, afterglow, wonderland, flower, fleur, petal, lily, waterlily, rose, lavender, iris, blossom, star, stargaze, starlight, starcrossed, starshine, starglow, starchild, luna, moon, moonlight, moonglow, moonchild, moonrise, sunrise, dawn, sunset, day, heaven, haven, realm, sunkissed, dreamy, darling, sky, sweet, dainty, delicate, gentle, tranquil, peace, serene, paradise, romance, aura, lullaby, symphony, serenade, song, melody, harmony, siren, luminous, maiden, belle, dear, grace, hope, lovely, morning, majesty, reign, princess, goddess, fae, fairy, fairyland, storyland, storyteller, story, imagine, imagination, divine, rosetta, morningstar, fate, charming, dreamland, celestial, destiny, idyll, enamor, amore, aerial, wanderlust, bluebird, songbird, birdsong, hypnosis, twirl, romance, effervescent, eloquent, evanescent, serendipity, solitude, ephemeral, kiss, eden, ether, aether, garden, elixir, legacy, legend, eveningstar, illusion, sparkle, glimmer, shimmer, midnight, myth, lore, folklore, rainbow, hiraeth, quest, prophecy, dragonflight, dragonfly, butterfly, willow, aspen, juniper, meadow, artemis, echo, death, everlasting, primrose, nyx, lyric, galaxy, rain, mirror, eternia, and glow

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

the following SPOP characters/things: Glimmer, Angella, Light Hope, Swift Wind, Mermista, Perfuma, Spinnerella, Netossa, Mara, Bright Moon, the Sea Gate, the Enchanted Forest, the planet Etherea, the SHERA transformation sequence, Mystacor, the SPOP finale, the episode ‘Princess Prom’, the stars in Etherea and what they represent, the SPOP theme song (Warriors), the song ‘Battle For Bright Moon’, the song ‘Ties that Bind’, and the entire SPOP soundtrack

barbie fairytopia

barbie mermaidia

barbie fairytopia magic of the rainbow

elina from Barbie fairytopia/mermaidia

the enchantress from Barbie fairytopia/mermaidia

barbie mariposa

barbie and the Diamond castle

the actual Diamond castle (and the scene where it finally appears) from Barbie and the Diamond castle

the muses from Barbie and the Diamond castle

the universe of tinker bell and especially pixie hollow

silvermist from tinkerbell

rosetta from tinkerbell

the owl house

The video games Ori and the Will of the Wisps and Ori and the Blind Forest

Masque dragon from Dragon Vale

the game Omori

the game Genshin Impact

the game ethereal legends

the game league of legends

the game legend of zelda

MLP

princess Celestia from MLP

Twilight sparkle from MLP

Midnight Sparjle from MLP

princess luna from MLP

the character Sisu from Raya and the Last Dragon

the light fury from HTTYD

the soundtracks of: Raya and the Last Dragon, Abominable, the Ori games, smallfoot, Hobbit/LOTR, Narnia, HTTYD, and Frozen/Frozen 2

the following geometry dash levels and soundtracks: back on track, Time Machine, theory of everything, theory of everything 2, electroman adventures, and hexagon force

ethereal island from my singing monsters

the following songs- crystallize, elements, the phoenix, foreverglow, aurora, stars align, take flight, artemis, guardian, between twilight, something wild (acoustic), lost girls, shadows, love goes on and on, where do we go, what you’re made of, song of the caged bird, and first light by Lindsey Stirling, STAR WALKIN, aurora, lonely world, the ritual, the spectre, SOS, parachute, satellite, pretty, MONUMENT, remember, weightless, forever, forgettable, alkaline, alchemy, radioactive rain, wonderland, strange utopia, ignite, world we used to know, pixies parasol, play, melodies, faded, alone pt. 2, hold on to your love, paper planes, are you happy, break with me, slow, wild enough, lead the way, wonderful life, for you, shine your way, remember, blue, free, how, if you believe, kings and queens, this is the hunt, war of hearts, nightshade, fragile world, show yourself, new way home, lily, different world, end of time, dark side, close your eyes, loyal brave and true, connected, believe, and starlight brigade

the show “trollhunters”

most of these will be posted on @auroras-kiss ! tagging @neopronouns @nepetaisms @queerliom @dreamythism @delusielle !

[springfallendeer]

Training Day: Eclipse

Brothel AU Eclipse x (F)Reader

Contains things like toy use, biting, and of course its a brothel AU so the whole thing is about animatronic prostitutes

An anxious tremor rolls through you as you look at the door in front of you. Black, and unassuming. 

You hesitate to knock, rightly nervous of what awaits you on the other side.

But knock you must.

And knock you do.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

The door is pulled open, revealing the animatronic that awaits on the other side.

He is tall. Taller than any human could ever hope to be.

And he is beautiful.

The clothes clinging to his body are stunning. The silken fabric shimmers faintly with the light; their colors shifting from black to blue to the most vibrant shade of purple as your eyes scan them. 

His humanoid shape is painted with all the glimmering colors of the twilight sky. Pink, and blue. Gold, and purple. Speckles of white and silver mark his frame, creating the illusion of tiny stars.

His crown of solar rays shimmer with the colors of the northern lights. Their design is, no doubt, a means of drawing attention to his face. A face marked by the shape of a crescent moon. Shaded silver to gold in another beautiful gradient.

He allows you a moment to take in his stunning appearance. The faintest of smiles tugs at his features as he observes you in turn.

You’re quite plain compared to him. Just another naked ape. Basic, and equally as unassuming as his bedroom door.

“Primrose, I assume?” The animatronic calmly utters. His voice is smooth and deep. Like velvet.

“Daddy told me you’d be stopping by.” He adds, turning away from the doorway. He waves you into the room as he steps out of the way, giving you the space to squeeze by his massive frame.

You internally cringe at his voice of words as you move past him. Daddy.

It begins to dawn on you that you really have decided to work for a Pimp in an animatronic whorehouse. Even though you should have been prepared for this, having already gone through the whole interview process with the Pimp in question.

You’ve been given all of the needed information well ahead of time. All you need to do now is complete your training.

And this is your first day of training.

And this beautiful, intimidating animatronic, is your trainer.

You fight the urge to flinch as he closes the door behind you.

His room is surprisingly simple, compared to him.

The floor is dark blue, almost black, and it is carpeted. Though it's hard to describe what manner of carpet it might be. The material is plush enough that your feet sink somewhat into it as you walk. But the fibers are so densely packed together that the floor itself is smooth. If not for the lack of shine, you would have mistaken the floor for tile at first glance.

Laminated posters depicting cosmic scenery decorate the otherwise empty walls. The walls themselves are the most decorated thing in the room; outside of him. Painted in a blended gradient that mirrors his clothing. Black to blue. Blue to stunning purple.

There’s a flat screen television hung up on the wall next to a mirrored sliding closet door. The closet itself is shut, though you have an idea as to what hides inside of it.

There's a nice sized bed on the far right corner. Everything on it from the blankets to the pillows is a deep, auburn red. The fabric is no doubt equally as pleasant to the touch as his clothes must be. Thanks to its color, it stands out like a sore thumb, drawing your attention as soon as you spot it.

He motions for you to follow him once he’s gotten tired of letting you take in your surroundings.

You’re led to the left, to a small room. A room that might have been a bathroom at some point. Though it's clearly been repurposed to suit the needs of its inhabitant.

One wall is lined with cabinets full of neatly arranged wires. Above those cabinets are breaker boxes. All of them are closed and visibly locked.

There’s an exam table set up in the middle of the room.

He motions for you to approach it.

You curiously palm the padded surface. It’s most definitely been modified in an attempt at being made more comfortable.

There’s also buttons on it.

“Nervous?” The animatronic inquires. He doesn’t sound particularly curious or even worried. He must be trying to make small talk to chase away the uncomfortable silence.

You offer a nod in response, not trusting that your voice won’t crack if you speak.

“That’s normal.” He replies. You anxiously watch him as his eyes scan you.

All four of them.

You didn’t realize it at first, because he was keeping two of them closed up until now. But he has four eyes. The upper set are icy blue. The lower, ashy gray.

His stance changes as he studies you. He goes from seeming relatively laid back and relaxed, to tense. His posture straightens out, making him appear to visibly grow as he stares down at you.

This does nothing to put you at ease.

“My name is Eclipse.” He utters, calmly approaching you “Though I’m also known as Twilight. You can call me either.” He adds, reaching to trace your face with one of his four clawed hands.

“I will be your supervisor from here on out. Whatever questions or concerns you might have, you bring them to me. And I will relay them to Daddy.” He explains, lightly gripping your chin with his thumb and forefinger to coax you into looking up at him.

Again, he uses that unpleasant word.

The word that makes you mentally gag.

“Do you understand?” He inquires.

With him holding your face, you cannot nod. So there’s no choice but to use your voice.

“Y-yes, sir.” You respond. He releases your face.

“No need for the formalities. You’ll find that they make this line of work feel more awkward.” Eclipse replies, gently discouraging you from relying on overly polite pleasantries.

You nod again.

“Now. You’re here for your first day of training, yes?” He asks, taking half a step back so that you can have a bit more space.

Again, you nod.

“Alright.” He replies.

“First, I’ll walk you through your expected duties. After that, we’ll begin our first phase of training.” He states.

You nod once more, anxiously fidgeting with your skirt.

Your very short, very mandatory skirt.

Of course the Pimp would insist that his human workers dress the part. So you’re wearing a maid outfit. Thankfully it's not entirely revealing; if you were to bend over, your panties wouldn’t wind up being put on full display.

But given the context of the situation, you can’t help but assume that the attire was partly chosen for ease of access.

“Good.” Eclipse remarks.

“You’ve been brought on as part of the maintenance staff. Your tasks will include cooking, cleaning, and minor animatronic maintenance. Every shift, you’ll be put in charge of three rooms. The animatronics inside of them will be under your care for that day. You will feed them. You will clean their rooms. You will assess any needs they might have.” He explains, holding out a hand and extending his fingers one by one as he lists off the various tasks that will be expected of you.

“The animatronics under your care will require recalibration once a day. This is your most important task, and absolutely cannot be ignored. Everything else is effectively a formality to keep you busy and validate keeping you around.” He adds, nonchalantly telling you that the bulk of your job is just going to be busy work. Not that you have any issues with that. It's surprisingly refreshing to have a job laid out before you in such an honest manner.

“Once all of the animatronics have been recalibrated, so long as all of your other tasks are done, then you will be free to rest. While the animatronics are with clients, you’ll have nothing to do. But you’ll remain on call. As the animatronics finish with clients, you’ll be in charge of cleaning them up. Your priority is to get the animatronics cleaned up and ready for their next clients. If you get bored and feel like cleaning the rooms, then you can. But you do not have to. We have separate cleaning staff for that.” He elaborates, finishing up with his explanation of what your daily tasks will entail.

You nod again to let him know that you understand everything he’s said.

“Alright.” You murmur.

He nods at you, humming faintly as he does so.

“Once the animatronics are all cleaned up for the night, you’ll be free to retire to your quarters. We’re open from six at night to three in the morning. You’re off the clock from three AM, to eight AM. You deal with the animatronics from eight AM to one PM. You get a five hour break from one PM to six PM. And then you spend the next nine hours on call, helping the animatronics as needed, until you retire for the night. Understood?” He further expands, listing out in full detail what your hours will be.

You’ll get a guaranteed ten hours to yourself a day, in five hour increments. But nine of the fourteen hours that you’ll be expected to work, will be spent on call. So even though a fourteen hour day sounds like a lot, the reality is probably that you’ll spend more time idle than active.

You nod again, confirming that you understand everything he’s said.

“Good.” Eclipse replies, before he begins undoing the pretty ruffles that act as his belt.

“Now, we begin your training. I’d recommend taking off the skirt. Y’know. To keep it clean. But if you’d rather leave it on, that’s up to you.” He suggests.

You feel your cheeks heat up in response to his words.

Right.

Yes.

Calibrating an animatronic involves having sex with them. This was explicitly stated during your interview. Something about the systems struggling to pinpoint potential issues if the animatronic wasn’t actively doing… Things.

Despite having been warned well ahead of time, you can’t help but get embarrassed.

Still, you obediently listen to what he’s said.

You slip off your shoes and stockings.

Then you awkwardly remove your skirt, attempting to keep your eyes on the floor all the while.

Which is difficult, because Eclipse is also getting himself naked from the waist down. You catch the sight of his pants pooling around his ankles as you slide your skirt down your legs.

Your cheeks flush further as you inevitably look at him.

At first, he doesn’t appear to have anything between his legs. But he’s tapping a metal plate that covers his groin.

That plate retracts into his body.

Two very long, very distracting, tentacle-like penises slide out of the freshly exposed silicone mass.

They’re such a lovely shade of lavender.

You have to force yourself to look away just to keep yourself from staring.

You lift your hands to your panties. You hook your fingers into the elastic band.

Momentarily, you hesitate.

Eclipse steps right in front of you.

‘Don’t look’ you think to yourself, knowing full well what you’ll encounter if you lift your face.

Curse your human curiosity.

You look up and inevitably come face to face with his crotch.

Not really. He’s a bit taller than you. But you have such a clear view of what he’s packing and he shows no shame as he effectively puts his dicks in your face.

You naturally freeze in response.

How are you supposed to react to this?

Are you supposed to touch him? Is he telling you to suck on them?

All he’s doing is staring at you.

He’s clearly amused, given the small smirk tugging at his features.

He leans down ever so slightly, thankfully pulling his pelvis a bit further away from your burning cheeks as he does so.

You squeak as his hands cover yours.

He hooks his fingers into your panties.

Down they go. In one fluid motion. Nice and easy.

Using his other set of hands, he carefully guides you back as you step out of your clothes. He picks them up, neatly folds them, and then sets them aside on the nearby shelf.

“Alright” Eclipse chuckles, an obvious note of amusement in his voice “lets get started.” He states.

You instinctively use your hands to cover your bare crotch, embarrassed. He doesn’t say or do anything to discourage it. Likely because he finds it funny.

“We’ll start out nice and easy. I have female parts. So I’ll walk you through the process of making sure everything is up and order down there.” He utters, making his way over to the padded exam table. He makes a few adjustments, extending the headrest and pulling up some leg braces, before he climbs up on the table.

With a few more adjustments, he’s put into a more comfortable position. His legs are supported and held apart by the braces. He’s resting with his back and head propped up on the now inclined exam table.

He very much looks ready for a pelvic exam.

In a roundabout way, that’s what you’re going to give him. Only instead of using proper medical tools, you’re probably going to be using toys.

You shyly approach him as he motions for you to come closer.

“There’s two drawers under me. The upper one contains a simple control panel. Open it, and press the yellow button.” Eclipse requests, giving you some simple, straight to the point instructions.

You comply, trying to ignore his on-display crotch as you bend down between his legs.

Inside of the drawer in question is a big black control panel. It's very simplistic in design. There are four easy to spot buttons. A red one, a green one, a yellow one, and a blue one. These are likely the only buttons that matter to you.

You quickly press the yellow button.

A small computer screen descends from the ceiling above you. You hadn’t even realized that it was there.

“There we go!” Eclipse chuckles, putting a bit of enthusiasm in his voice. Possibly in an attempt to encourage you.

“Now. I can’t see from where I’m sitting. Is the screen on?” He inquires.

You glance at the screen for a moment. It’s on. There’s a window with a white background and red text flashing on the screen.

You nod.

“Y-yes.” You reply, further verifying that the screen is, in fact, on.

“Good. Good.” Eclipse hums, folding his hands on top of his chest as he makes himself more comfortable.

“Now. There should be a flashing window on the screen. It’ll say ‘Detect Animatronic’. Tap the screen to confirm and begin the calibration process.” He requests.

You comply, tapping the little “OK” button on the screen.

Immediately, a loading symbol appears on screen. It looks like a little rolling ball. Not exactly fascinating, but you definitely stare at it in an attempt to keep from looking at Eclipse’s bare genitals.

After roughly a minute a quiet, musical chime sounds from the display. The screen flashes green to confirm that it’s detected Eclipse. His name appears on screen, along with a silhouette of his body plan.

“There we go! I’m connected.” Eclipse exclaims, confirming that he’s connected to the system for the procedure.

“Now. Back to the control panel. Press the green button to begin the diagnostic scan.” He requests.

Again, you comply. And again, you try not to stare at his crotch as you bend over to press the button in question.

The buffering symbol appears on the side of the screen, along with a little gauge that displays how far along the diagnostics scan is.

“Good. Now you can go ahead and close the control panel. We won’t need it for a while.” He requests; you close the drawer.

“Now for the fun part” He chuckles “open the bottom drawer. Pick whatever tool you like.” He requests.

You comply, and your cheeks flush further.

Naively, you forgot that the tools in question were going to be sex toys, and that they were going to be used on him.

You freeze up for a moment, as your mind needs the time to process what you’re doing. Thankfully, the animatronic doesn’t stir up a fuss. He just sits patiently and waits for you to pick your desired tool.

You wind up grabbing a bright red dildo before nearly slamming the drawer shut.

By the time you stand back up to face him, your cheeks are burning so intensely that your eyes threaten to start watering. He pays your embarrassment no mind.

“Alright. I’ll assume you know how to use that~?” He muses, clearly teasing you as he speaks.

You shyly nod, coaxing a chuckle out of him.

“Well then. Hop to it. Don’t be shy~ I’m not that delicate.” He replies, giving you the go ahead to begin the procedure.

Still, you hesitate.

Shouldn’t you be using lube? Or wearing gloves? Wouldn’t it be unpleasant to just stick the rod in dry?

He either senses your hesitation or just doesn’t care. Either way, he reaches between his legs with one hand. 

His wrist sits nestled between his fully erect, very active tentacles.

Using his fingers, he spreads the nearly invisible folds of his artificial vulva so that you can clearly see his vaginal cavern.

“Go on~” He purrs, almost sounding eager.

You shouldn’t be caught off guard by his enthusiasm. He’s an animatronic sex worker. He’s been programmed to enjoy this sort of thing.

Unlike a human, he can’t get tired of having excessive amounts of sex. He probably enjoys himself the most when he’s being deviant.

You take a deep breath as you move closer to him.

You reach out to press the head of the admittedly large dildo against his spread orifice.

You’re admittedly surprised with how easily it slides in. Not just the tip. You’re able to push the entire toy into him in one, smooth motion.

His body really has been designed for this sort of stuff, hasn’t it?

Eclipse lets out a content purr as you fill him up.

“T h a t ’ s   i t ~” He erotically trills, his apparently forked tongue darting past his lips to lick the side of his mouth as he grins.

“Now, pump it as you watch the screen. If a window pops up, all you’ll ever need to do is tap the screen. Easy peasy~” He purrs. For as aroused as he sounds, he’s somehow able to keep speaking to you with perfect clarity.

As an advanced AI, he’s able to focus on you without being overly distracted by the pleasure.

Despite your embarrassment, you comply.

Admittedly, his eagerness encourages you. It motivates you, even. As you begin to slowly work the toy in and out of him, he makes no attempts at stifling his voice.

He’s not loud. But he’s definitely not quiet.

He growls. He purrs. He moans.

He murmurs little words of encouragement.

“Right there~”

“Just like that~”

“K e e p   g o i n g ~”

It's difficult for you to ignore your own growing arousal as you stimulate him with the toy.

It’s also difficult for you to keep your eyes on the display screen when he’s making all of these pleasant sounds. You can’t help but want to look at his face. You want to see his expression.

But he’s told you to keep your eyes on the screen. So you do.

But nothing ever pops up. No flashing windows. No nothing.

The little gauge on the corner of the screen just seems to freeze at 49% for a long while.

You clearly feel and hear Eclipse orgasm when that gauge reaches 50%.

His vulva clamps down on the toy like a vice, making it difficult for you to move it.

You can’t help but look at him.

He’s got such a blissed out expression. His tongue; no, his tongues, dangle from his mouth as he lets out a loud moan.

His whole body trembles as he rides out his orgasm.

You can tell that it’s over when his insides suddenly relax enough for you to pull the toy out of him.

It is very wet.

Eclipse lets out a little chuckle as he appears to quickly compose himself.

“Good job~” He hums, lifting a hand to run his palm along the side of his head.

If he had hair, he probably would have been brushing it out of his eyes. But all he really does is make his pretty aurora hued rays click in and out of his head.

You can’t help but be a tiny bit startled by how quickly he’s recovered from what looked like a very intense orgasm.

“Everything appears to be in order with me downstairs. So we’re all sorted.” He remarks, leaning forward.

“Set the toy aside, I’ll clean it later. For now, pull the control panel back out and press the blue button.” He requests.

You comply. Just as before, you do your best to refrain from looking at his genitals as you bend over to access the drawers.

You pull the drawer out, press the blue button, and hear movement.

You look up as you shut the drawer. The display screen is pulled back into its original position on the ceiling.

Eclipse pulls his legs off of the braces and turns to get off of the exam table as you stand back up.

“... Are we done?” You awkwardly ask. 

The gauge had stopped completely at 50%. Surely you weren’t done yet, right?

“No, not yet. We’re only half done.” Eclipse responds, gently ushering you out of the way as he readjusts the examination table.

He returns it to its original state as a flat bed. At which point, he proceeds to pat the padded surface with one of his many hands.

“Alright. Climb up and lay on your stomach.” He commands.

The startled, embarrassed noise that escapes you in response could have been mistaken for some sort of bird mating call.

“What?!” You blurt out, flustered beyond belief.

Yes, you realize your own foolishness for questioning him. You had been warned that you would be doing this sort of stuff.

But still, you couldn’t help but be incredibly, painfully embarrassed. Especially with how casual he was being about it.

The animatronic lets out a little laugh, clearly amused by your plight.

“You certainly make some fun noises, don’t you~?” He teases.

You shyly cover your face in response, trying to hide your burning cheeks. But you comply with his request.

Up on the exam table you climb.

You settle down on top of it, doing your best to get comfortable.

The table would be surprisingly comfortable, if not for the circumstance.

You nervously shiver as Eclipse approaches you. He spends a short while setting up the table accordingly.

He starts in front of you, showing you how to find a smaller display that was tucked away inside of the exam table. With his help, you pull it out of its hiding place and adjust it so that it hovers a few inches away from your face.

The display is on and clearly shows where you’ve left off with the diagnostics scan.

Once you’re all set, he walks around your side to get behind you. Your nervousness only grows as he does so.

The leg braces are pulled back out, and readjusted.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hands find your ankles.

You squeak as he casually tugs you backwards so that your pelvis rests right at the edge of the exam table. Your legs are nonchalantly pulled apart and set up on the leg braces.

Your legs are kept secure by some little bars that run along the edges of the brace. You can probably close them if you try, but Eclipse is stood between them. So you decide against it.

Your heart rate quickens as you feel his hands caressing your legs.

He starts at your ankles, allowing his fingers to gently trace the skin. He teases you with his claws as he trails upwards to your calves.

At no point does he harm you, but he certainly teases you with the idea that he might.

When his hands reach the backs of your knees, he’s able to wrap his fingers around you. At which point, he proceeds to run his palms up your thighs, lightly squeezing all the while. 

Until at least, his hands reach the base of your legs.

You bite your lips as you feel him squeezing you there. His fingers rub against your skin. He’s just a hair away from squeezing your ass. Just a slip away from rubbing his fingers against your shamefully damp folds.

“Excited already~?” He remarks, teasing you by calling attention to your arousal. He chuckles in response to the flustered whine that escapes you in response.

“No need to be embarrassed. I do have that effect on people~” He muses.

You squeak as you feel his fingers touch you.

He spreads your lower lips so that he can better examine your body; just as he had done to himself when you were examining him.

“Besides. It’ll certainly make this easier~” He hums.

You shudder as he spreads you wider.

Then you feel something brush against your twitching orifice.

“E-Eclipse!” You stammer out, heavily embarrassed and rightly nervous. For as shamefully excited as you are, there’s absolutely no way that you’re ready to take him as is.

He has two of them. And they’re big. Bigger than any toy you’ve dared to try and use in the past.

He only offers another hum in response, pressing inside of you as he does so.

Oh thank God, it’s only his fingers.

“Fuck~ I’d love to taste you. But business before pleasure~” He remarks, seemingly impressed with the feel of you squeezing around his fingers.

He starts to work them into you. Meticulously.

Starting with two. He pumps them slowly, fanning them out in a scissoring motion every so often in order to stretch you out for him.

Additional fingers are added as needed as your body slowly opens up for him.

No force on earth could hope to keep you quiet as he stretches you out.

But no matter how skilled his fingers might be, he could never hope to stretch you enough to accommodate him. You know it and he knows it.

So you remain anxious when you feel him withdraw his fingers.

“Alright. Deep breath now.” Eclipse commands, giving you clear warning that he’s about to slip inside.

You comply, taking in as deep of a breath as you can muster.

He’s pressing into you before you can even start to exhale.

“That’s it, Primrose~ Now let it out slowly.” He purrs, using your new name, while he eases his way into your body.

You try. Fuck, do you try.

But your exhale leaves you as a brown out, breathless moan as he makes himself at home.

He stretches you to the brink of breaking.

What little pain there is is overwhelmed by the constant supply of pleasure as he presses in completely. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried himself to the hilt; and he only gets bigger as he does.

A tremor rolls through you as his pelvis presses flush against your ass.

He’s put both of those monsters inside of you, you just know it. How else would he have pressed so close to you without you feeling the extra one wriggling about in need.

“B-both?...” You breathlessly stammer out, almost forgetting to expand your lungs again. He chuckles, leaning over on top of you.

Two of his hands press against the padding of the exam table.

The other two reach forward to cradle your head. One wraps under your chin. The other rests on the top of your head.

“Eyes on the display, Rosie~ Show me you can handle your job.” He chuckles, forcing you to keep your face directed at the display.

He starts to roll his hips.

The moan that passes your lips is loud and embarrassing.

But you keep your eyes locked on the display. Even as he begins to fuck you silly. You don’t really have much of a choice.

He grunts and growls as he destroys your body. Not that you’ll complain. For as intense as it is, it feels incredible. Every roll of his hips sends jolts of pleasure rushing through you, and they settle in the base of your skull.

If mindfucking was a thing, then this must have been the closest thing to it.

He could have told you to do anything, and you would have been willing to do it. So long as he kept making you feel so good.

You watch as the little gauge at the corner of the display gradually increases.

60%

65%

69%

A flashing window pops up. “Blockage detected”.

You struggle to bring your hand to the screen to tap the little button that says “Repair now?”.

His dicks-

fucking-

vibrate-

inside of you-

after you press that button.

He lifts his hand to allow you to throw your head back as your orgasm hits you like a truck. The hand that one held your chin moves to lightly squeeze your throat as you submit yourself entirely to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh, that’s a fun reaction~” Eclipse trills, gently squeezing your throat. Not enough to prevent you from breathing, but enough to make you wheeze. His hips don’t slow down even as he overstimulates you with the unexpected vibrating of his tentacles. Instead, he seems to just pick up the pace as he leans over further to lock eyes with you.

“Daddy found a good one this time~” He purrs, his tongues darting past his lips so that he can tease your cheek and ear.

You can’t even be bothered to be bothered by his statement.

Especially not when his tongues sneak to your mouth to slip past your open lips.

Your eyes widen as he proceeds to kiss you.

He leads into it with his tongue, shoving it into your throat before leaning down to lock lips with yours.

He sucks his tongue back into his mouth as he does so, leaving only the tips of them in yours by the time his mouth claims you.

It is a passionate, intense kiss.

He gropes your tongue with both of his.

He only stops to let you breathe, before kissing you again.

His throat slides into your throat one more time before he breaks the kiss abruptly.

He adjusts his hands to force your face forward again, assuring that your eyes remain locked on the screen.

But now, as he growls, you can tell that he’s frustrated.

For what reason, you have no idea. But everything about his grip and about how he’s taken to slamming his hips into you establishes that he’s very, very frustrated.

Another popup flashes upon the screen, giving you your answer.

“Orgasm failure. Repair now?”.

The diagnostics are 99% complete. He sure did jump from 69% to 99% fast; but now he can’t get off. He can’t cross that final threshold.

You know what’ll happen if you press that button.

He knows what’ll happen if you press that button.

So why, oh why, does he decide to pin you down?

His hands leave your head so that they can wrap around your torso. You whine pathetically as he proceeds to squeeze you against his chest.

He’s got your arms trapped.

You can’t press the button.

He continues to violently rut against you, but no amount of stimulation can hope to get him off.

But he’s not really trying to get off, is he?

He’s nibbling on your ear. He’s grunting your name as he fucks you into the table.

He’s clearly trying to draw out the pleasure, because this ends as soon as you press that button.

“Eclipse~...” You breathlessly mewl his name as you feel another orgasm rushing to take hold of you. You don’t know why. You don’t know if you mean to try and reason with him or if your sex fogged brain just wanted to praise him for his efforts.

Either way, you clearly flipped his switch.

A sharp sting resonates from the back of your neck as you clench down around him. He sinks those sharp teeth of his into your flesh as you orgasm again.

This time, he makes you squirt.

He makes you squirt like the shameless whore you’ve agreed to be by taking this job.

He doesn’t let go of your throat, but he moves one of his arms so that you can reach for the button.

You can reach for the button if you try. All you have to do is pull your arm.

The pleasure is incredible, you don’t want it to stop.

But you know it has to stop. He might literally fuck you to death if you don’t take this opportunity.

You free your arm. He bites you harder as you reach for the button.

You press it.

He floods your insides with whatever the fuck it is that they use to make his synthetic semen.

He finally relaxes his jaw as he climaxes.

You tremble and whine at the feel of his tongues tracing the bleeding wound as his hips finally start to slow down.

The floor in here is tile. You realize that much when he finally slips out of you. Because when the contents of your vagina spill out, they splatter audibly upon the floor.

The display is flashing again.

The diagnostic is complete. Eclipse is good and sorted.

You are absolutely exhausted. Damp with sweat, and sore all over.

There’s a dull ache between your legs, reminding you of how much of a strain it must have been for your body to accommodate his size.

“You did well~” Eclipse purrs, purposefully tracing the individual puncture wounds on your neck with his tongues. You shudder in response. The pain mixes with the pleasure and makes you tingle in a way you aren’t prepared to confront. He doesn’t pull away from you just yet.

“Goodness, it looks like I overdid it~” He chuckles, shifting so that he can nuzzle the back of your head.

If he could breathe, he would probably smell your hair.

“I’ll get you cleaned up. It's the least I could do.” He murmurs, slowly pulling himself off of you.

He carefully extracts you from the table.

Your clothes are left behind as he brings you back into the main room.

The mirrored closet is revealed to not be quite what you thought it was. One door slides away to lead to the closet. The other door slides in the opposite direction to reveal a washroom.

It's just a big walk in shower. Chances are that every animatronic has one. How else would you be expected to clean them?

He tries to set you down, but you can’t stand. Not on your own. So he moves you over to the wall. There’s a rail for you to cling to.

Cling to it you do.

It starts to rain indoors. The entire room is one big shower. The walls and ceiling are decorated with thousands of tiny faucets. But only the ones nearest to you activate.

You have no idea how they activate, but the hot water is greatly appreciated right now.

Eclipse keeps hold of your hips to make sure you don’t fall as the water sprays against you. It pours from the ceiling.

You stare down at the floor.

His artificial semen is smeared all over your thighs.

It’s thick and sticky. Slightly opaque. The same lavender color as his tentacles. You can’t help but think that it looks like slime.

Eclipse washes you. He carefully wipes down your body with a soft washcloth as the water pours over your exhausted body.

You let out a quiet hiss as his fingers sneak into you.

Not to play with you, but to clean you.

More of his semen spills out of you. It drips all over his hand.

Your face flushes.

You fucked the animatronic.

You took a job where you would be expected to fuck the animatronics, and you actually saw it through.

Do you regret it? Should you quit?

You aren’t sure. But as Eclipse’s hands caress your sore body and the hot water washes away the evidence of the event, you can’t help but feel satisfied.

Maybe it's too soon to say if this job isn’t right for you.

You haven’t even met the other animatronics yet. It would be a waste of all your efforts to quit now.

Might as well stick around until you’ve seen what the others are like.

[copicwritesblabberblahs]

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

📌Short Highschool Tord fic with mentions of: Foster care system, absent parents, abandonment, manipulation, kinda angsty, slight personality dissociation.

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He was evil incarnate. It seemed, since life no longer had any effect on him, that destroying it for others was the only thing left for Tord. He had always wondered since a young age on how a human being could ever harm another human being, it shouldn’t be possible to feel such evil in your heart... should it?

Well, the answer came handed to him as a 7-year-old on one fateful Thursday. Losing your parents in a shopping mall is something everyone goes through as a kid; but finding out that your parents never bothered to find you again? You could say Tord had a valid reason to hate the world. It was just another example of how much life sucked, and sometimes you don’t have to be happy or settle into everything that happens to you, no matter how many times people tell you that everything will be okay and that foster care is a safe, happy space. It was nothing like anyone told poor 7-year-old Tord, nothing like he told himself it would be like. He spent the next 8 years hopping from one shitty place to another just wishing it all to be over, when suddenly he had to start at yet another high school. Primrose Highschool.

Something about this place sounded different to Tord. Sure, it was just a hoity toity billionaire school where rich parents sent their spoiled, rotten, embarrassments. To Tord however, it sounded like a new start. A real new start, someplace far far away where no one knew about his stupid, miserable life. Not a single soul knew about his fake family and broken past; and no one would ever know. He walked through the doors pledging to never reveal the side of his life that dragged him down so deeply, he would never again let his guard down like he had or let some shitty nobody near the towering walls he had built, he would never let anything, or anyone hurt him ever again.

And it worked.

Tord built himself a new person. He spent a year meticulously planning and creating the perfect boy with the perfect life. If his foster home experiences had taught him anything, it was how to lie without a hitch. So, he started with one small fib, a simply untruth, a miscarriage of information. A lie. He spread one after another, after another, after another until he had successfully spread his illusion to any ear that mattered at his small, pathetic school. Swirling around the chaos ensued, Tord watched gleefully as cliques and groups burned, shattered, and crashed flying to the ground 'till all that remained was to collect the broken pieces up off the ground and keep them all for himself. He got himself a starting spot on the Basketball team, School Sports captaincy, and head of the Student Sports Committee and of the Student Council; not to mention his School and Class Captaincy, on top of being the public face of all the school recruitment campaigns. He had taken control of all important aspects of his school and practically had the power to get a student expelled or have their entire life destroyed at his word.

Fear and admiration spread through the halls; knowledge of his raw power was essential to survive at Primrose High. Tord had built himself an empire from the ashes of his destruction, and what once was a school soon became his own impenetrable fortress. Reaching forward to control and watch over his puppets, Tord finally smiled. He felt something that he knew wasn’t exactly happiness but felt as close as he had ever come in 8 years. It was an intoxicating, fever of a feeling that made him smile sickly as he looked down on fellow students begging for his forgiveness, worshipping his every move, and hanging onto his every word.

Tord was triumphantly and victoriously evil.

Tord was poison incarnate.

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[ellisdee161]

Striped Primrose Field (SG)

[pixel404]

Wayne Edson Bryan, Where the Grass Grows Greenest, ink and pencil on paper, 21.59 x 29.21 cm.

I woke up in the middle of the night, not totally awake, and wrote this incoherent rant down. Thought I’d share with slight editing: “I want the drawings to remain ink on a piece of paper… not an illusion, a window or a picture of a space. A jumble of things on a page like words in a foreign language, like piles of hieroglyphics, like abstract marks, like when you say a word over & over and it becomes weird sounds. Cute in parts & threatening in others. Sometimes hinting or leading the viewer down a primrose path to who knows where. Containing inside jokes. Hard to parse, but suggestive of puzzles that could be solved. One of my priorities is making something like life that doesn’t fit your expectations, and what’s increasingly important to me is that I’m really having fun making them, as my art is mostly for me."