#that's it that's the entire game in two tags

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

 For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

___________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

[buttercupshands]

*looking at isat ss discord* my power of being silly got out of control

or how I tried understanding rpg maker basics by literally trying to do one (1) thing I really wanted to see ever since seeing Loop unused sprites lying on wiki months ago

the reason I mentioned isat ss discord was simply bc guys were the first people who saw me trying to draw close to pixel sprite face sprite for Loop to,,, do something at some point just to see how it works

and nope I'm not making this into anything, but I really like the fact that I managed to do this

(now with video post edited into this sentence!)

[le0n-ardo]

What it's like dating 💙 Rise!Leonardo 💙 - Headcanons and ficlet pt 2

x f!reader. CW for slight angst and for some suggestive headcanons. The ficlet is entirely self-indulgent hurt-comfort my soul needed. Read part 1 here!

Disclaimer: all my writings contemplate the turtles aged up at about their late 20s, with the reader at the same age range. Your media consumption is your own responsibility ✨ dividers by @/cafekitsune

More Ninja Turtle headcanons in my masterlist!

Leonardo surprised you one day with his singing voice. It started off with him just singing a silly tune about how happy he was to finally eat something (he was hungry that day) but he noticed the effect his singing had on you.

Since then, Leon will sing fragments of your favorite songs to you. He mostly does it when you're alone, but it doesn't stop him from dedicating song after song to you on the occasional karaoke night. Sometimes, you'll even duet with him.

Leon behaves similarly when he finds out the effect he has on you when he whispers something only you can hear. He'll of course take advantage from time to time and whisper something spicy, foreshadowing something he wants to do with you later when you're alone.

Other times he'll whisper something completely goofy in your ear. You giggle, but you still get all airy and flustered at his proximity. Leonardo loves seeing your reaction no matter what it was he whispered.

Sometimes, you forget Leonardo actually knows how to play guitar. How he does it with only three fingers is beyond you, but he's quite good. He doesn't play and sing at the same time, though. Usually it's either-or, but music has become a big part of your relationship with Leo.

He also loves when you scratch his shell. If he's feeling cheeky enough, he'll ask you to do it and he'll have the biggest, cutest smile on.

Leonardo loves his alone time with you, but when you're deeper in the relationship and your dates become calm nights spent at home, he doesn't mind letting Donnie or even Mikey tag along (so longs as you're okay with it, and obviously so long as you two aren't planning on being intimate).

If Mikey's tagging along, the date will be goofiness galore and you can be sure there's going to be some sort of physical competition involved. You love watching Leonardo compete with Mikey - Leon will always show off to impress you as if he were still courting you, but he'll also balance it with cutting his little brother some slack just to see him happy.

If Donnie's tagging along, it's similar, but with video games. You and Donnie become great friends very quickly, and most times, the date consists of you and Donnie teasing and picking on Leon.

Leonardo, of course, makes sure you'll make up for teasing him afterwards 😉

For a while, you spend every night with him in his room. Cuddling, talking, telling jokes, making out, taking it one step further, you name it. Not every night is the same, and sometimes you're both so tired that you only cuddle for a bit before falling asleep, but they're still nights spent in Leonardo's arms and you love all of them.

Leonardo will go out of his way to show you how great you are, from giving you a flower or a thingamabob he found that made him think of you to actually telling you you're amazing, usually in the form of him bragging about you to one of his brothers.

There was, however, one time when Donatello (albeit jokingly) asked you, "What do you see in this guy?"

Leonardo acted all nonchalant about it, flexing and highlighting every single awesome thing about himself, but when the laughter died down and the subject changed, you could tell he was quieter and he was making just a little less eye contact with you.

Why is she with me?

That night, you got a pizza just for you and him to share in his room and you spoiled him with his favorite Jupiter Jim movie, which you watched in bed while eating and afterwards cuddling and making out during the boring scenes. When the movie ended, you both lay in Leonardo's bed and nearly fell asleep when you heard him speak.

"I know why you're doing all this," he said.

You simply turned around and gave him a light kiss on the lips, telling him how much you love him, and you also told him not to forget that. It seemed to reassure him, and you could tell his spirits were back to their usual level the next few days.

But after some weeks, you notice Leon is a lot busier with his brothers. They train a lot harder and they go on more missions. Leonardo lets you sleep in his room and tells you not to wait up for him if he knows he'll be out with his brothers - he hates the idea of you losing sleep and being all groggy the next day all because of him.

But Leonardo also hates the idea of you wanting to spend time with him and not being there with you.

If you fall asleep while he's still out in the city, you'll eventually be woken up by the sound of him arriving at his room and lying down next to you. You never know how late it is or what happened out there, but all you hear is a heavy sigh leaving him before he falls asleep.

The following morning, you usually wake up with Leonardo clinging to you, still asleep. When he does that, you gently stroke the top of his head and hold him closer, kissing him soft enough to not wake him up.

For as long as that goes on, Leonardo wakes up and acts as if nothing were wrong. He greets you lovingly, kisses you until you're both breathless, and behaves like his usual, charming, witty self. Still, you could swear that whenever his brothers make mention of the next upcoming mission or any reference to him being the one leading the squad now, you see a hint of dread flashing through Leon's eyes just for a moment.

You always figure Leonardo will talk to you about whatever bothers him when he's ready, and in the meantime, you keep showing him affection and support in whatever ways you can. Sometimes you leave food out for him for when he returns late from a mission, other times you'll get him little gifts or cheer him on during training or while he's working out.

Leonardo never verbally thanks you for this, but you do notice how tightly he holds you after one of your gestures - and how long it takes for him to let you go.

But the time goes by and you see him becoming more tense about his position as a leader. You try to cheer him up, but all Leonardo really wants is your comfort and your warmth.

If he's too shaken up about everything, he'll sometimes try and seek respite through intimacy. Those nights are particularly passionate, but it breaks your heart to see the weight returning to his eyes when he comes down from his high.

Eventually, you verbally let Leonardo know he has your full support no matter what, and that you believe in him as a leader. When you do this, Leonardo falls silent, and though it seems he won't react at all for a few moments, he then hugs you close and you both stay there a good long while.

The first months of his leadership were hardest for him, but a string of successful missions soon help Leon build his confidence, and eventually his vibrant personality returns. It's a whole new look on him - witty and brave, charming and stoic. He will bring laughter to his loved ones and doom to his enemies.

You love that duality in Leonardo. Dammit, you love all of him.

Leonardo having a free night to spend with you instead of being off on a mission felt like a rarity and a luxury, one that you would cherish. You could tell he would too, as was obvious by the fact that you weren't getting obscene amounts of food or planning for a move marathon in his room. He'd simply told you to follow him, and in a blur, you'd greeted Hueso in his restaurant and made your way with Leon past the back - one of the many perks of his lingering friendship with Hueso - climbing up the stairs until you reached the rooftop and took the door out. It was a decently sized building, one where you'd have both a magnificent view of the city and a decent view of whatever stars could survive all the light reflecting from below.

All Leonardo carried was a couple of blankets and a thermos with some warm liquid you still had yet to discover, and two plastic cups. He had told you to dress warm, and he was wearing a coat over his shell too. With all that, you knew you were in for a calm night, despite clinging to him as he led you through the mildly sketchy mutant restaurant where you were the sore thumb sticking out. It didn't matter; you felt safe so long as you were with your Leon. There was no one you'd trust more for that.

Leonardo swiftly set the blankets down and made a comfy makeshift mattress for you both, and you both lied down on it in silence. Neither of you rushed to pour any warm beverages yet. It seemed like for the time being, all you needed was to be there in silence with each other. You could have arguably done the same in his bedroom, but you'd noticed Leonardo's silence the past few nights. You knew what he'd never say out loud, you could see it in his eyes, hear it between the words he actually spoke. Leadership was a heavy burden, one that could put pressure even on the hardest shell, no matter how much he wanted to coop himself up inside it to protect himself from all he had to face.

You shifted onto your side and looked at Leonardo as he gazed up at the night sky. "Wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

He smiled softly, and the sight made you smile too - not only was he handsome with a gorgeous smile, but for some reason, his side profile was perfectly pleasing to look at.

"I knew you'd ask," he said.

"You wouldn't have brought me out here if you didn't want me to," you said. "So... is it anything I can help with?"

Leonardo sighed. "I don't even want to think about getting you in the crossfire."

"Has it been that bad?" Your brows dropped in worry. If you'd had any idea of the missions being too dangerous, you would have reached out sooner.

"Not... bad, just..." Leonardo's voice was smooth and only slightly higher pitched, as though draped with some sort of sadness. With another sigh, he sat up and crossed his legs in front of him letting his gaze fall to the city. "Don't tell anyone, but I don't know how Raph did it. Especially back then, when we were all a mess. I was..."

"Hey," you sat up and gently rested your hand on his coated shell. "None of us were our best when we were that age."

"Raph was," Leonardo replied. "He always seemed to be. I want to ask him how he got us through so much, but..."

"It wouldn't be admitting you can't do what he did, if that's what's stopping you," you said. "Raph has faith in you, I know it."

Leonardo gave a soft exhale and let his facial features soften in a way he'd only ever let you see. "I hope it's not misplaced."

"Are you worried they'll get hurt on your watch?" You said the words like ripping off a bandaid.

In response, Leonardo looked at you with a brief fear in his eyes, a result of hearing you say out loud what he dreaded every time he led his brothers into whatever mission they had.

"It's okay," you said, rubbing your hand over his shell for comfort. "It's a valid fear. But Leon... I look at you and know that you were meant to lead this family. This team."

"They didn't choose me, Splinter did," he retaliated.

"Because Splinter sees all that you're capable of, and so do your brothers," you comforted. "And so do I."

Leonardo looked at you with a soft smile. "Really?"

"You're my champion, Leonardo," you smiled at him.

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. He wasn't beaming with pride - his aura was that of gratitude.

"Leon, I know it sucks to doubt yourself," you said softly. "I do it too. I always like to think I'm wise for my years and really smart and then I go and mess something up and when I do, it haunts me..."

"No, don't go there," Leonardo said. "I don't want you doing this to yourself too."

"Well, I don't want you doing that to yourself either," you reached for his hand and squeezed it. "We're in this together."

As he squeezed your hand in return, Leonardo chuckled softly. "We're a little messed up, aren't we?"

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah. I guess it comes with having grown up."

Leonardo laughed more fully. "Damn right."

You looked at him again and leaned your head on his shoulder. "I mean it. You're my champion. You always will be."

He looked at you with soft eyes. "And no amount of mistakes you make will ever make me love you less."

You fought the urge to tear up at his words. "Ditto, Leon."

You both leaned in close rubbed your noses together in the sweetest manner before you locked lips for a soft kiss. When you pulled apart, your gaze drifted over to the thermos that rested next to Leonardo on the ground. "So what's in there?"

He chuckled. "Your favorite."

Your whole gaze lit up. "Beer?"

He laughed. "Your favorite warm beverage." Leonardo reached for the thermos and one of the cups. "It's decaf."

You reached for the cup of coffee and inhaled the rich scent of coffee, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "That's why you're my hero."

Sorry the fic was so self-indulgent. I hope you enjoyed it and the headcanons too! You can see my masterlist for more if you want!

Reblogs are appreciated! 💙

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

the black reader likes physical contact...except with the batfam (alfred doesn't count)

So real dude

The reader loves hugs, kisses, and any type of affection; they're kind of touch-starved due to being neglected. At first, the reader doesn't know how to deal with a hug; their body just tenses, and it looks like someone hugging a tall tree until they finally accept the affection.

If the reader is working on a mod and, out of nowhere, Bart shows up to give them a kiss on the cheek, they'll fumble.

If Conner kisses the reader's dreadlocks at a gala, they will start speaking gibberish. Or sometimes, in public, he'll kiss the back of your neck, and you'll fold like a lawn chair.

A tight hug from Cassandra when you're having a bad day just feels right. Her strong muscles squeezing you just makes you blush.

But when the Batfam interacts with the reader, the reader is so uncomfortable; it's like getting a hug or kiss from a relative you've never met. Bruce gives you a small kiss on the cheek in front of the paparazzi, and you wipe it off, giving him a glare. The press might think it's a cute little thing kids do, but in reality, you're just disgusted. Sometimes he'll pick you up like someone would their cat, except you're a tall teenager and not a cat; your feet will be two inches off the ground, and you'll be frowning the entire time. Bruce thinks it's cute, but to you, he's damaging your pride.

If big bro Dicky wants to cuddle while watching a movie, you can't say no because "no" means nothing to him. So you're sitting there in the most uncomfortable position, watching some stupid romance. You're going to go crazy by the time the movie is over, and if he falls asleep mid-movie and you try to escape, he will wake up, and you'll get flashes banged by those blue eyes. You have no choice but to stay.

Jason is the type to treat you like a house cat, ruffling your dreads, scratching underneath your chin, fussing over you. Ever since he died, he felt guilty about not giving you any affection when he was younger, so he tried to make up for lost time. Although there was no time to speak, and the way you cringe at his touch, he just thinks of it as you're just not used to this kind of stuff, and he'll make sure to fix that.

Tim is a whole other can of worms. You could be chilling in the living room playing God of War Ragnarok, and if you get stuck on a puzzle, don't worry; Timmy is here to your rescue. He'll put you on his lap and start playing the whole game for you, treating you like a little kid who knows nothing of gaming. He'll bury his face into your neck, and if you jump at the touch, he'll just think you're shy when you're actually trying not to punch him.

Damian, the worst; he demands affection right this instant. Usually, little kids are like, "uppies!" But Damian is like, "Dearest sibling, I would like uppies," which is so weird. You pick him up just to see his little legs tangle; it makes you feel superior. Then, the worst part is cuddling with all of Damian's pets. If you think cuddling with Grayson is bad, just imagine Titus, a 200-pound Great Dane, next to a 140-pound boy laying on your stomach—you're suffering!

Stephanie is really light, so it feels like you're holding a couple of grapes; but if you move just a little, she'll grip you like a vice. Cass and Duke will tag-team you with hugs and kisses; escape is impossible. Try to run away; they'll drag you back and hold you even tighter and stronger. I think you'll pop a shoulder.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 35 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: The youth are at it again. Word Count: 5312 CHAPTER WARNINGS: 18+, MDNI. Some of the mature content involves a sixteen year old, just fyi.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by V6que pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: NEW LOOK! This was supposed to be done at chapter 30, but ya girl is LAZY. Anyway, it works out, because after this chapter, things shift a bit dramatically.

Valeana cradled her head in her palms as she sat in the centre of her bed, her knees propped up as she folded herself up. She had left the supper early, just after she stepped in between Daemon and Aemond, not knowing if she would be the only one to leave early, or if they would continue their skirmish after she left. The only thing Valeana knew was that no one followed her when went out the door. 

Her head was heavy with the weight of the evening; it felt like a storm cloud was hanging above her, drilling rain and hail down upon her. There was a moment that evening that she believed peace was being achieved, even when the Valyrian Dinner was as tense as she expected, especially but not exclusively due to her own predicament. The ongoing family feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent was so well known, the Seven Kingdoms had already taken sides, which would effectively sever the Realm in half. 

Valeana abhorred the idea of war, and now that she danced precariously on the line between Black and Green, she hated it even more. If Viserys died and peace was not established prior, sides would be taken and the Throne would be usurped. Her father would likely side with the Blacks, given his long-standing relationship with them and their proximity, but if Valeana were to wed Aemond or Aegon? She would make her family a natural enemy. Or force them to turn their back on their neighbours and friends and make them and Claw Isle a large target, a sitting duck in a pond full of crocodiles.

It felt like a tease at dinner, where that moment of hope that peace could be achieved. From Viserys’ speech, to the tributes that followed, to the official announcement of Jace and Helaena’s betrothal. Though all of that was shattered by the dysfunctional duo of Aegon and Aemond Targaryen. Not only did Valeana feel like she was a toy that was being tugged between two possessive hounds, but they were the sole cause of the return of the tension. 

Suddenly, for the first time since she arrived, Valeana was overcome with what the future would look like for her. She had not once looked that far ahead of herself, always too focused on her present predicament, but now that the cloud of consequence loomed heavily above her head, it was difficult to ignore the smell of rain. 

A life with Aegon would certainly never be dull, but his chaotic nature can only be endearing for so long. She also didn’t know if Aegon had any ambition or felt entitled to the crown at all. And if that were the case… being his wife would make her a target, as would their future children. Plus there were other factors… would Aegon remain loyal? Would he still frequent brothels and keep lovers when Valena grows old? Or, if she gains weight again from pregnancies, and he is reminded of the piglet girl she used to be, would he regret his decision of marrying her?

Then, there was Aemond. She knew he would be loyal to her, and no doubt would continue his pursuit in proving he is worthy of her. Her life with Aemond wouldn’t be unpredictable, but it would be just as chaotic as Aegon’s for different reasons entirely. Aemond would strive for confrontation regardless of the state of the Crown; his ambition has always been the Throne, a fact of which Valeana had always known, but never thought so closely on it given that Aemond was so low on the totem of succession. However, if Aegon relinquishes his claims, and a civil war amongst kin happens, Aemond would be next in line, and she knew without a doubt, he would take that opportunity with fire and blood. 

Valeana was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the sound of stones scraping against each other. For the briefest moment her pulse rate quickened, but when she turned to the source of the sound and saw that it was the shelf that concealed the hidden entrance, she relaxed. Right, Aegon said he was going to come see her before everything had gone down.

Val sat up expectedly as Aegon peaked around the corner, looking like an apprehensive cat treading through unfamiliar territory. When he sees her, he lets out the breath he had been holding. 

“Thank the gods,” Aegon tucked through the short portal and entered the bedquarters. “For a moment I thought I was going to walk in on your sister changing or something equally as horrifying.” 

Valeana looked down as she fiddled with the fabric of her vermillion dress, “My family left the party?” She asked, only slightly curious, since she hadn’t heard them return, and if they had, someone would’ve came up and checked on her. 

“‘Dunno,” Aegon shrugged as he came up to the bed and perched himself at its edge. “I left before our fathers returned. Wanted to get out of the line of fire as soon as possible.” 

“I’m surprised,” she responded with a small, albeit rueful smirk. “I would think you’d love to watch the drama unfold.”

“Normally, yes, but… If I stayed, my mother or grandsire would’ve grabbed me by my ear and hauled me and Aemond off to some tower dungeon.”

At the mention of Aemond, Valeana ran her teeth over her bottom lip. “Did Aemond stay behind?” She asked, already knowing the answer. 

“No, he… he left shortly after you did,” there was a beat of silence as the two of them let their thoughts wander, but that was soon cut short when Aegon shifted closer to her. He opened his mouth mutely, debating what he was going to say. His hand hovered over hers for a moment before it finally rested atop, then he gently folded his fingers underneath her palm.

 “Crab Cake…” He began tentatively, his eyes glued to their hands. “I understand that what happened wasn’t the most positive experience; family quarrels are often upsetting for everyone, but…” Finally, Aegon looks up at her, his eyebrows creased in his confusion. “You kind of… overreacted.” 

Valeana immediately felt herself get defensive. Her shoulders began to square up, but before she could say anything, Aegon was quick to continue. 

“What happened between Aemond, my nephews and I had nothing to do with you.”

“Aegon,” she sounded stressed when she pinched her nose. “When the children of the King fight amongst each other, it involves everyone.”

“I don’t agree,” he dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand. “King Jaehaerys’ children fought constantly, and nothing came of it.”

Valeana’s eyebrows raised to her hairline, “A lot came out of it, Aegon.” Her hands swiped over her eyes and nose as she felt herself grow frustrated with his dismissive attitude. “You want to know why I’m upset? I’m being pulled around, being asked for my forgiveness left and right; being asked to forget the past, to let it go, to move on by the very people who refuse to do the very same with their own past.”

Aegon sighed, his hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the other lifting up almost placatingly, “Valeana, the situation is…quite different.”

“Oh, it quite is. Because what was done to me was far more horrendous than a little boy with a knife in self defence, and sibling jealousy.”

That seemed to upset him, the way his brow furrowed and his lip curled, but Aegon also appeared to struggle to articulate words while trying to not make this into a full confrontation. “Valeana–it’s– you’re–” He groaned into his palm, eyes shut as he tried to mull through his thoughts. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if he was going to say something stupid like how her losing her foot wasn’t as bad as the grudges him and his brothers held. When he finally spoke, his tone was carefully controlled. 

“I am not saying what you endured is less or worse, Valeana. And I do not think everyone would fault you for never forgiving a single person that put you through that, but…” Aegon ran his hand through his hair, not looking at her as his frustration started to build. Frustrated at what, she wondered? At being wrong, at her for ‘overreacting’, or his incompetence of explaining himself? “You just need to believe me when I say that our House is incredibly complicated. It-it goes beyond Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, and I… It is not easy to simply move on.”

He was right, of course, but Valeana was not willing to accept that, not when her future hung in the balance. When she rubbed her fingers over her eyes and down her cheeks, she gave off a soft, albeit frustrated sigh through her lips. “I—I understand that, Aegon, I do… But, I just… hoped that tonight peace would be found and this would all just end, finally. I do not want to be a part of a war.” 

Aegon tilted his head at her, his brow knitting as he shook his head. He moved closer to her along the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to grasp her hand, “There will be no war, Valeana. And if there is…” He shook his head again, this time a bit dismissively, “You will be nowhere near it.”

He sounded so sure of it, almost like he had already thought it through, but he couldn’t know that, of course, and he was wrong. She would be near it, regardless of which way her pendulum swings. 

 “Aegon, I will,” She insisted, her hand squeezing his. “If I marry either you or Aemond, I am aligning myself with the Greens. My family will align with the Blacks; it will make my family my enemy. And… if I do not choose either of you, then it will make me your enemy. Either way, Aegon, it is not a position I wish to be in.” 

It was clear that Aegon wanted to argue, but also he craved to end this conversation as soon as possible. He was looking down at her hand squeezing his own, the muscles in his jaw taut with tension, and his brow furrowed as he digested her words. Finally, after what felt like forever, he clasped his other hand over hers, holding it with both of his. 

“I understand your worries,” he started, in that painfully controlled tone of his. It sounded like he didn’t actually understand, or he did, he just did not find her worries valid enough to warrant his own concern. “But, you needn’t think about it too much now, Valeana. Not to mention,” and he continued a bit grudgingly. “With Jace’s betrothal to Helaena, the prospect of a war amongst my kin is dim. I doubt my mother will want to risk her only daughter’s life… Not to mention, she’s getting what she wanted– one of her children on the throne.” 

Valeana opened her mouth again, a million and one things on her tongue to argue against that, but Aegon lifted his finger up to silence her. 

“Valeana,” he stressed her name. “Dwelling on it right now is not helping anyone. Please, just… relax?” He shifted on the bed until he was finally at her side, his hands moving from her hands, up her arms before resting on her shoulders. “You’re tense, Crab Cake. Here, let me help…”

Valeana was tense and she wanted to continue to be tense and bothered, but Aegon was doing a good job at redirecting her wants and needs. With gentle coercion and guidance, he maneuvered their bodies so he was seated against the headboard and she was nestled between his spread legs, her back facing him.

Aegon’s thumbs dug into the meat of the top of her spine, his other fingers kneading the junction between her shoulders. Despite her previous mood, Valeana felt herself sigh and close her eyes at the sensation. She could feel his breath waft on the back of her neck, warm and smelling a lot like wine, but not overpoweringly so. Her thoughts still weighed on her mind heavily, and she felt like she wasn’t sufficiently calmed over her anxieties over the problem. But, perhaps Aegon was right; now wasn’t the best time to dwell on it too much, and, frankly, if she were going to dwell on it, perhaps Aegon wasn’t the best person to discuss this with in earnest. 

Valeana gave a deep sigh, letting herself get lost in Aegon’s massage. She shouldn’t be too surprised how good he was at it, if there was one thing Aegon excelled at, it was working flesh with his hands. Though, now that she thought about it, she hasn’t… really experienced that for herself. Until now. 

Aegon shifted himself behind her until she could feel his nose graze the back of her head. His breathing tickled her hair there, making her hum from the contact. “Do you feel better?” He asked in a soft voice, his fingers moving over the curve of her shoulders. Then he dipped his head so he was hovering above the junction between her right shoulder and neck, his lips a hair's breadth away, his breath warming the skin there. 

Valeana dropped her head down to her clavicle and sighed as she reluctantly conceded, “Yes…” 

Aegon smiled at her answer, very pleased that he managed to derail the argument. He did not come sneaking through the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast to argue with her about hypotheticals. His fingers diligently kept their ministrations, moving down her spine until he hit the hemline of lace on her back. Aegon leaned in and planted a kiss on the top of her spine, then followed along the ridges of her shoulders. 

His fingers started to dig along her ribs through the fabric of her dress. “I believe this is my favourite dress you’ve worn so far, Crab Cake,” he murmured against her skin. 

With eyes still closed and chin bowed against her clavicle, Valeana smirked at his statement. “More than the one that reminded you of your mother?” Her smirk widened into a full grown grin when she felt Aegon sigh heavily against her back. 

“I should not have to ask this of you, but Valeana, could you not bring up my mother when I am trying to seduce you?” 

Val couldn’t stop herself from laughing, her hand reaching up to clasp over her mouth to contain the noise. And of course, she couldn’t help herself when she added: “It certainly feels like you don’t mind– AH!” She was cut off when Aegon wrapped his arms around her middle and tickled her stomach. 

“You’re unbelievable, darling. You know what you do to me, and yet you tease me so cruelly,” as he said this, he continued to tickle her, making Valeana fold into her body. She was making soft squealing sounds as she tried to bite her tongue to prevent her from gasping and giggling loudly. If her family had returned, she did not want to give them a reason to come upstairs and check up on her if they heard sounds coming from her room. “A-A-Aegon, st-st-stop,” she gasped, trying to worm her way out of his grasp by rolling on her side, but he was practically latching onto her, pressing his chest against his back. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Crab Cake. I quite like this position,” His top teeth sank into his lips as he coiled his arms around her middle more, trying to grab and tickle as many rolls and curves he could find. His shoulders shake in a silent laugh when he hears her groan at his teasing. After a few moments, Aegon frees her from the tickling, but he still remains nestled against her like a large spoon. 

Valeana is trying to catch her breath as her body limply slumps on the mattress, “Sev-Seven hells, Egg. Don’t do that again. I couldn’t breathe.”

He plants an open-mouthed kiss on the back of her neck again, and she could practically feel his smirk when he does, “Left you breathless, have I? I could think of other ways to achieve that, that are more pleasurable for both of us.” To emphasize his point, his hips roll into her behind, enough for her to feel his bulge even more than she had felt before. 

This traitorous body of hers was responding so eagerly to Aegon’s. The remnants of her dream last night lingered in the back of her mind too, and it wasn’t lost on her that Aegon was in this very p

osition as well; pressed against her back, his cock prodding her rear. Her eyes fluttered closed at the memory, which is what it felt like – a memory. The dream was so vivid that she somehow had physical memories of it, and now with the real Aegon prodding her from behind, it triggered the onslaught of feelings. 

“Ae-Aegon…” His name came out as a sigh, hoarse with desire, and the sound made Aegon freeze for a moment. There was an unmistakable shift in the air; from the heated argument, to the playful tickles, to stomach-fluttering sexual tension.

This is exactly the place that Aegon hoped to be when he came to her that evening. With the freedom of privacy, the excitement of being right under the nose of her father, and the knowledge that she was… free from Mother’s curse, Aegon would have been a fool if he hadn’t taken advantage of this prime opportunity. It felt too much like a gift from the gods, and all the devils in the hells knew that isn’t something that happened for Aegon Targaryen. Hearing his name coming from her mouth like a desperate plea was all he needed to move forward. She wanted him, that much was clear to Aegon. 

“Valeana,” He moaned into her ear, the deep timbre of his voice making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. 

She could hear how his breathing became laboured, the moist warmth of it wafting on the exposed skin of her neck and back, the aroma of wine far more prominent now than it was before. Her own breath caught in her throat when she felt his hands grasp the fabric of her skirts desperately, bunching it up to her hips. The touch of the air on her exposed legs gave her goosebumps, making her instinctively press her thighs together from being exposed. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good, Valeana,” Aegon’s heady voice sounded so desperate, and with his chest pressed against her back, she could actually feel his rapid heart beat through the layers of his doublet. 

When she felt his hands on her inner thighs, prying them open so he had access to the laces of her smallclothes, Valeana suddenly felt a little panicked. It was as if he had just breached the threshold that separated from fantasy to reality, and the reality of her venturing to places where there was no going back started to sink in. Yet despite her uncertainty, the words ‘wait’ or ‘stop’ were wiped from her vocabulary the moment when she felt Aegon’s hand cup her sex. 

Valeana sharply inhaled at the feeling of someone else’s hand making contact with her most intimate area. She could practically feel her own pulse in her core as all the blood pumped down to her loins. Aegon groaned into her neck at the same time, and she could feel his fingers twitch in anticipation against her inner lips. 

“Fuck, you’re so damn warm…” He inhaled the scent of her hair deeply as he cantered his hips into her again. With his hand grasping her core, he was able to keep her still so he could grind against her properly. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, not just from arousal and anticipation, but from nerves. Her anxiety was mixing with the conflicting emotions, and that little voice of apprehension started to grow louder in the back of her head. Did she really want to do this? Did she really want to go this far with Aegon?

But before she could answer that question even internally, before Aegon could even plunge his eager fingers into her, the choice was made for her. In the form of her father’s voice, loud and filled with the most outrage she’s ever heard. 

“YOU DARE DEFILE MY DAUGHTER UNDER MY VERY ROOF?!” 

Daeron the Daring did not gain this moniker from being sensible and boring. He was a young man full of hubris, and had lived 16 years of no consequences for his impulsive actions. Nothing ever went wrong for Daeron; every dangerous stunt he pulled has always gone his way. From jousting men twice his size or age, to hunting boars and fully grown stags with just a bow and a dagger. Or rather just simply the flights and performances he pulls on Tessarion. Many have warned him no to be so reckless, that soon his luck would run out, but Daeron would ignore this, because he truly believed he was the Seven’s favorite prince. 

So when he was warned about Shyla Celtigar – and many did warn him – Daeron dismissed their claims completely. Particularly since it was primarily his grandsire who had been adamant on him not associating himself with a Celtigar, least of all, Shyla.. 

But then again, there was the issue of the fourth storm he also was juggling. Daeron did care about Floris Baratheon, their correspondence together was a great moment in his life that he cherished. However, the person she presented in her letters greatly differed to the person she actually was. Floris wasn’t unpleasant by any means, she was exceptionally beautiful and swee, but she was a lot more… boring and quiet than she let on in her letters. And Daeron was a man of adventure… which is why he was drawn to Shyla Celtigar.

Where Shyla lacked in looks in comparison to Floris, she made up for in her extrovertedness. Shyla loved asking him questions and hearing his stories. He basked in her praise and attention, and not to mention she encouraged his impulsive side, so unlike anyone else in his life. Actually, she did more than encourage it, she took part in it some of the time. That much was evident at the Maiden’s Day Ball near the tail end of the evening when Shyla took his hand after their dance and discreetly left the premises. They slipped into the garden and got lost in a maze of hedges. There, where the only thing that could see them were the stars and the sliver of the waning crescent moon, Daeron and Shyla entangled themselves in a risky romp in the grass. 

They did not have full penetrative sex, but they did many other things. Alas, come the next day, Daeron was approached by Boros Baratheon and Otto, their intent was very obvious by the way they discussed Floris and the relationship between the Reach and the Stormlands. It was bluntly obvious that Daeron had no choice in the matter – he was going to marry Floris Baratheon whether he chose to or not. It didn’t upset him in the slightest that he would be married to her, despite her being a bore; Floris would make a pretty bride and an agreeable wife. He was more so upset that the decision was made for him without much discussion. Though, in reality, he would have chosen Floris anyway, because he was smart enough to recognize the political advantages, but also he was more encouraged at the prospect of having a young and beautiful bride. Her shyness and reservedness was tolerable, and something he could live with at least. 

It was just… There was something about Shyla Celtigar that drew him in, and Daeron the Daring wasn’t one to resist temptation. Even if the signs were obvious that in this dynamic they shared, he was the moth and she was the flame. A giant forest fire, more like.

In the aftermath of the chaos that was the Valyrian dinner, Daeron was left displaced and out of the loop, given his long separation from his siblings. He did not share the struggles they endured and there he was left standing, trying to understand fully what had happened. As he stood idly in the din of it all, Shyla took his hand and gave him a conspiratorial grin before sneaking him out before anyone noticed their presence. 

“Where are you taking me?” He asked with a sly grin, already knowing the answer. 

Shyla turned to him with that innocent little smile of hers. “Nowhere special,” The slight curve of her lips turned into a grin as she pulled him into an alcove before pulling the drapes that framed it tightly closed . 

Before Daeron could react or make a move, Shyla’s hands were gripping his doublet, and practically yanking his body flushed against hers. Her lips found his in that frenzied, hungered dance of teeth and tongue that he loved so much. God, it felt so good to feel her utterly so desperate for him. 

He knew that eventually he would have to end things with her, with his betrothal to Floris being processed very soon. But, that could wait… for now, he intended to enjoy every ounce of attention she was willing to give him. 

Their heavy petting got very eager, to the point where she had her legs wrapped around his waist and he had her pinned against the wall. Daeron’s face was nuzzled into her neck, planting soft kisses and nips while she combed through his hair with her greedy fingers and grinded against his hips with her own. 

Daeron’s arousal was immediately reactive to her movements. With her dress hitched up to her hips, his hands cannily gripped onto the supple flesh of her thighs. Yes, Daeron wasn’t a virgin nor was he lacking many notches in his belt, but he was still a young man easily spurred by the basic desires of his sex. It clouded his judgement, making him forget the world outside of Shyla’s thighs. Had he been thinking with his brain and not his cock, then perhaps he would’ve said no to Shyla’s suggestion. 

“I want you, Daeron,” Shyla’s breath was hot and heavy against his ear. Her hands had found the sides of his face, guiding him to look at her. Their noses bumped into each other, forcing Daeron to gaze into her eyes, which were dark and full of lust, obsession –all for him. He couldn’t help but let go of his honour entirely. 

He had resisted taking her like an animal in heat these last few days for the sake of propriety. Daeron wasn’t going to take her as his wife and he wasn’t going to ruin her just so he could get his dick wet… Until now, that was. Now all that mattered was that he needed to fuck Shyla Celtigar at least once before he is shackled to Floris Baratheon. 

Daeron was fully prepared to take her right then and there, but she stopped him before he could undo the laces of his breeches. 

“Not here; we might get caught,” she braced herself against the wall as she unlaced her legs from around his waist. 

Daeron gave a low grumble but relented, his one remaining brain cell at least acknowledged the logic in her words, but that is about the extent of it. He doesn’t even question the absurdity of Shyla’s alternative spot as she led him into the presumingly empty solar of her family’s apartments. 

The solar was dark when they entered, with only a few sconces lit and the dying embers of the hearth to guide their way. Once the door closed behind him, they were immediately tangled with each other, bumping into furniture as he battled with her tongue in each other's mouths. Soon he had her on the chaise lounger, hovering over her body, nestled between her slender legs.

No, Daeron was not thinking at all when he unlaced her corset and freed her breasts. Nor did he allow himself to register the muffled murmurs and giggles that came from one of the bedchambers upstairs. He was far too busy thinking about how Shyla would taste on his tongue, if she was as sweet as her honeyed words and as addicting as her eyes of devotion were… And if he would feel the snap of her maidenhead when his cock punched through the thin barrier. 

Shyla was the one to make the move to unlace his breeches, doing so with such speed and ease, that if Daeron had the brain capacity at present, he might’ve wondered if she did this before. Though what remained of his wits were now concentrating on pushing her skirt up to her waist so he could unlace the threads that kept her small clothes shut. Before Daeron could properly marvel at Shyla’s exposed sex in the dim lighting of the solar, she already had him floored in awe when she had grasped his cock. She’s done this before with him, and yet it never ceased to render him sputtering. Her palm felt like warm silk and her fingers seemed to know exactly where to press and massage. 

“Oh, hells,” Daeron shudders to her touch, his muscles trembling as he tries to keep himself hovering above her. “Shyla– Shyla, I need you, fuck, please–” He practically falls on top of her, incapable of holding the weight of both his body and his desires up any longer. 

Shyla did not mind, if anything she used it as an excuse to wrap her limbs around him and bring him closer until the tip of his cock was up against her core. Daeron gave a soft moan at the feeling, at the anticipation of finally pushing through, to be enveloped completely by her all-encompassing warmth. 

He was not the one guiding himself in, it was all Shyla, who grasped him and moved the blunt tip along her folds, rubbing it over her pearl and down to gather as much of her essence as possible. Daeron’s fingers curled into the chair, his nails biting into the threads and causing them to fray. He gave off a shuddered moan, his impatience growing more and more with his need to be buried inside of her. It was almost like she was doing this on purpose, like she was trying to prolong it as much as possible. Only for Daeron, that felt like torture. He needed to be inside her, like he never needed anything before. 

Then, after what felt like fucking forever, she started to guide him into the mouth of her sex and Daeron could not hold back any longer. Reduced to an animal in rut, he surged forward with his hips, sheathing himself into her down to the hilt. Shyla arched against him, a sharp gasp-like groan came out of her the same time he made a noise similar to it. His muscles twitched as he felt her around him, and he stayed still for a moment before reaching down to grab her hip and position one of her legs to go over his shoulder. Then, Daeron jackrabbit-ed into her over and over again. 

Daeron had just reached his blissful peak when the hells descended upon them. As his body convulsed, and emptied inside of her, his euphoria quickly turned into despair when the front door to the apartments swung open. There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by the booming voice of the Lord of Claw Isle:

“YOU DARE DEFILE MY DAUGHTER UNDER MY VERY ROOF?!” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX SNEAK PEEK: “We may as well buy extra fabric, Mother. For a second wedding dress.” Valeana paused midway with a spoonful of porridge, the utensil hovering just above her tongue. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as everyone looked at her with equal parts surprise and mortification.  Floris gave a loud scoff, “Not Valeana. Me.”

Notes: Oh Daeron... Daeron the Dumbass. Daeron the Delusioned. Daeron the Dick-Minded. God these Targaryen Princes just have 2 braincells between the three of them, don't they. Anyway, in case you missed it, I made the first round of the cast list, here! I will eventually post the rest; it just takes a while because my pc hates when I run photoshop, it suddenly turns into a grandma, even for the simplest things.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

last line game as tagged by @slideleftt

It’s strange, Oscar thinks, watching as Lando walks slightly ahead, weaving patterns with his footsteps that only seem to make sense to him, like a bird that’s just learned how to fly. It’s strange to feel like you get to know someone so intimately, even if it hasn’t really been a long time.  As if he’s heard what he’s thinking, Lando stops, waiting for him to catch up. They end up walking in silence, shoulder to shoulder, absorbing the scenes of the lit up windows and their inhabitants and their cosy and entirely ordinary lives. Bicycles whiz past, barely dodging the both of them who have made the foolish decision to walk on the cycling path. Once in a while a door opens and people spill out, tipsy on craft beer and Pimms and summer cheer. Everyone's in a celebratory mood, in the easy summer evening, the longest night of the year.  And even with the shitty graffiti and dog piss and the buses roaring past outside, it still feels like the universe has aligned things just right. For one serendipitous moment, it’s just the two of them, out in the world. Perfectly ordinary.

i will go ahead and tag uhhhh... idk if these folks have done this recently... @strwbrryfire @cx-boxbox @epaulando @unlapped @oscarpiastriwdc @f1-giuki @lovelylotusf1 !

[rollforthings]

Tried writing a minimalist TTRPG (24 words)

Writing an SRD-style framework for my family of simple one-page games (based on Mountain Hike), which focuses a lot on the importance of playtesting, iteration, and (most importantly) cutting the fat of the games I write. (Don't take a hundred words to say what can be said in ten, two good options are better than twenty meh options, that kind of thing.) I must've dreamt about these ideas, because I woke up this morning and wrote my first 24-word RPG. It's not a part of the Hike Framework I'm working on. I think it's the extreme end of the philosophy. It's minimal but still actionable and still a game, I think.

Downscaling (the rpg) is about designing game rules and then deleting them. Don't worry about the quality of your designs, just get them on a page and play them. Delete the stuff that doesn't work.

[gummi-ships]

[ube-bluebay]

i have a problem

really long rambling in tags

[soren-apologist]

time for more soren character analysis:

petrine’s battle conversation with soren in chapter 23 has always been a favorite of mine, and now that i’m looking at it again i noticed a few extra details:

it’s important to mention that this battle takes place directly after ike and soren’s a-support, in which soren confesses he’s a branded and expects to be shunned, only for ike to tell him that it doesn’t matter and he wants soren to stay by his side regardless.

anyway, besides “Now let me show you true fear!” being a really hard line, it’s really cool to see how soren’s reaction to his branded status being pointed out changes so sharply over the course of a handful of chapters. i already analyzed his reaction to nasir’s betrayal where he’s agitated over the fact that he could have prevented it if nasir hadn’t threatened to reveal him being branded to the army, so seeing him being so confident in himself is great, and i’ll touch on why here.

one of the reasons i like to say the game treats ike and soren’s a-support as canon is actually this particular conversation. soren, having just been reassured that ike will always want him at his side regardless of who or what he is, now suddenly has had his biggest fear and insecurity taken off his back. he doesn’t need to hate himself for being branded because ike, the only person who’s ever truly mattered to soren, doesn’t care at all.

back to the conversation, soren’s judgment over the situation at hand is no longer clouded by his own self-loathing. instead of comparing them as branded and seeing himself as just as horrid and disgusting as petrine (tiger branded, fun fact), he’s able to instead compare them as individuals and realize that what he’s done up to that point will never measure up to the atrocities she’s committed. i think the best part personally is just how disgusted soren looks by the notion he and petrine are the same, because he’s right— him being cutthroat and pragmatic is nothing compared to everything petrine has done in daein’s name— and the fact he can clearly see this means that, for the very first time, he’s finally starting to heal from the mental wounds inflicted upon him by his childhood.

overall, i like this little nod to soren starting to learn to grow and change from who he was at the beginning of fe9. it’s more clearly seen in radiant dawn, where he’s calmer to the point ranulf even comments on it, but these little inklings implying the start of soren’s healing are really cool to see.

[hickeygender]

of all the star wars movies, which of them do y'all 1) enjoy the most 2) consider the best quality and 3) think you've rewatched the most. add your answers in the reblogs or replies, i'm genuinely curious how much of an overlap there is within everyone's three answers. mine don't overlap at all! they're revenge of the sith, empire strikes back, and the force awakens :^)

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I feel like the people who engage in the yearly Great Latke Topping discourse would hate me (doesn't top my latkes with anything because I'm autistic and can't handle mixing Wet Food™ and Dry Food™)

[necrotic-nephilim]

PLEASE MAKE A MASTERPOST I watched titans Just for the gay shit and it delighted me. and then Hush and Titans Tower and then the GK game.....there's so much

THE WORST PART IS MY TAGS GOT CUT OFF ON THAT POST. i had other tags talking how absolutely gay JayTim comes across in Titans, in the clips i've seen. having Jason save Tim and then go on to train him is... an interesting direction to go with them but the clip was so gay i had to send it to my partner so they could witness it. had the classic "let's go a few rounds" shit and *everything*. like it was baffling and if it wasn't "batcest" i do think it would've taken the fandom by storm as a ship. i have stopped and started that show at least three times bc i always get too frustrated to get past s1, but for JayTim, i think i gotta.

making a masterpost of every significant JayTim relationship throughout DC media wouldn't be *too* hard, i feel like. i've done one focusing just on the New-52, and i've covered all the pre-Flashpoint ground through various posts here. ironically the hardest thing would be Rebirth, because i can't think of many Rebirth era comics i've read with them significantly interacting outside of Robin: Knight Terrors. and i'd have to actually get through Titans.

also for the sake of completion, Wayne Family Adventures would probably get its own section. which is the real torture for me bc i have beef with WFA.

but. i *could* do it. and it would take me like a month, it'd be such a fun pet project. i think exploring what seems to be a recurring consistent theme across every universe could be incredibly fascinating. what similarities and differences exist and what tends to cause those similarities and differences. it'd be a magnum opus. but more chaotic. and gay.

anyway you're right. now i gotta. it'll take me three business weeks to catalog all of it and also add meaningful commentary. but i can and i will.

[magdaluxe]

nothing good comes from a house fire. but it wasnt a house fire actually. whatever

[imvec]

May -> July doodle/wip/trash roundup

If it looks {digital - Procreate; pen - ballpoint; pencil - charcoal; paint - various}

[braisedhoney]

[SCENARIO CONTINUED FROM HERE.]

You select the second oldest of the available files. An observation log — COLONY keeps these, or so you assume. He never leaves commentary or notes to organize them. He probably just memorizes them instead. The terminal beeps beneath your fingertips, every click practically a gunshot in the quiet room. Thanks to your pass you are technically permitted to be here by the system — but you know better. There are security measures here that were not to be violated. If you are discovered, if THIS is discovered, you would likely be in trouble. The screen loads. Text fills the margins. After a moment, you realize that it is not just a file; it’s a transcript and an audio sample. There’s also a small attachment of some kind, likely an image. You play the audio.

[LOADING. . . (A short period of complete silence. Then, rustling as footsteps approach, and the familiar whir of a door. A familiar voice fades in with them.) “… I told you, it isn’t going to work.” “So you’ve said, Captain.” (The door whirs again. Locks.) “Please don’t call me that. Everyone keeps calling me that. Really I mean, I don’t even know what to do with…” (The sound of movement. Footsteps, slightly heavier but more measured than the first. The sound of something opening with a mechanical hiss — a containment unit?) (A quiet sigh. It’s barely audible.) “That… isn’t what I think. Right? Another one?” (A chuckle.) “Don’t sound so unenthusiastic. It’s terrible for morale.” “Le—“ “Just put them on, won’t you? It can’t hurt. One more trial.” “… Fine! Fine.” (The footsteps draw closer.) “Good. Now grab my hand.” (A clang, like somebody knocked into something.) “No.” “Trust me.” (Rapidly receding footsteps joined by another set.) “No!”(A loud bang, like a fist slamming against metal. The footsteps stop.) “No.” “It’ll be fine.” “You don’t know that.” “I’m right.” “This isn’t the answer. It isn’t going to — it’ll never be the answer, Leander, and I don’t even know what it — you know you can’t, right? Can’t come back? Doing this won’t let you see her agai——!“ “Captain.” (Silence.) “… shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “Prove it.” ”Leander, please.” “Grab my hand. This will work.” “…” “I swear.” (The seconds tick by. Then.) “You...” (Another chuckle. Warmer in tone.) “Didn’t I say I would do it? Didn’t I promise?” (Laughter. Loud, nearly hysterical laughter interrupts him. It’s boisterous, disruptive.) “You did! You did, you… you magnificent bastard, you really found a way to———“] The audio ends. You stare at the screen. No matter how long you look at it, the text does not continue, the audio file does not extend. All that remains is a single attachment. Frustration makes your jaw tense, but you don’t have time to waste being angry. You’re running out the clock as it is. You click it. [LOADING. . .]

And then the screen goes dark. No. Not just the screen — the whole room blacks out. Every terminal flickers off, every bulb extinguishes. For a moment, there is total, unfamiliar silence. Even the faint electric buzzing that comes with electronics is gone. You are completely alone. You turn, grasping blindly at the records pass, the imprint of the screen still on your eyes. You stumble for the door, and to your surprise the pass blinks green, the only light left in the room. It opens and you shove your way through into the hall — Only to slam into a barrier. You look around. There is no hallway. Of all times for the paths to shift… The room you are in is tiny. The door behind you closes, and there is no scanner on your side, nor a handle. It is completely featureless. There is no way to open it. You call for COLONY. There is no answer. You call for the Captain. There is no answer. You call for help. You call for help. You call. You call. you. c a l l. . . . . . . . . . [YOU CANNOT BE TRUSTED.] [. . . ] [THE CAPTAIN WILL LOOK FOR YOU.] [. . .] [BUT THE CAPTAIN WILL NOT FIND YOU.] [ . . . ] [I AM SORRY.] [I AM SURE THAT MEANS LITTLE. BUT I AM.] [CURIOSITY IS NOT A TERRIBLE THING.] [BUT I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HUMANS QUITE LIKED CATS.] [. . .] [A POOR JOKE.] [I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF IT WAS WORTH IT.] [I DOUBT IT.] [BUT I DO HOPE.]

(Scenario End. Ending: “Status Quo”.)