#they are more or less the same aside from like. a few skin details & their hair

[raiiny-bay]

oc evolution tag: dhes & kel edition (choose an oc & show the progress from the earliest to latest version of them)

tagged by @sikoi, @kazuaru, & @elderwisp (ty guys for the tags!!)

Kelly (2011 -> 2023/24)

Dhestyn (2011 -> 2023/24)

tagging: @simspurgatory, @lynzishell, @lilamausmaus, @aurorangen, @potential-fate, & @wolfavens (feel free to ignore ofc!)

[innerfare]

Nightmares - Part 2

Summary: What sorts of nightmares do they have about losing you?

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker

Genre: Angst

CW: SFW // that being said, caution- contains mentions of death and suffering

——— 

Shanks: 

It’s all fun and games as he chases you down the beach under the full moon, both of you splashing in the shallows, the mugginess of the summer night somehow refreshing after a few too many drinks. He doesn’t run very fast at first, giving you the head start he always does, the one you complain about, but when he does decide he wants you in his arms, he picks up his pace, only to realize you’re much further down the beach than you should be. He runs faster and faster, and with each step, you seem to get three more away from him, until the outline of you is rapidly disappearing. His throat begins closing up as he realizes he’ll never catch you. And when he wakes on deck, a half-empty booze bottle in his hands, he sets it aside and searches the ship for you, not catching his breath until he finds you sleeping in his bed, right where you belong. 

Beckman: 

You’re in the clutches of the marines. Beckman had a past before Shanks, a past that involved deserting the marines and going on the run from the World Government, and there’s a small part of him that never did overcome the fear of that past catching up to him. Worse still, he has a fear of that past catching up to you, and that fear comes to life in his dreams, when you’re thrown into Impel Down for his crimes and he’s forced to watch them dunk you in boiling water over and over again. He wakes with you asleep on his chest, the same as every night, and the skin to skin contact calms him down, but not enough for him to go back to sleep. 

Mihawk: 

He sent you away for your own good. He had a premonition the Navy would be coming for him, and with them, a slew of bounty hunters that would have no qualms about using you against him. And yet, you remained in his dreams, though the hot and heavy ones he once had were replaced by cold fear. Every time he went to sleep, a different scenario, though the crux of it the same: you were being used as a pawn to get to him, a pawn in a lot of pain. And every time he woke up, the same: your side of the bed was empty, the shape of your body tangled in those satin sheets now but a memory. For your own good, he kept reminding himself, though he believed it less every time.  

Crocodile: 

You betray him. Of course you do. He would betray you in an instant, and not even for a whole lot. A business deal, or perhaps the freedom of one of his more valuable people. From the look on your face, it’s not difficult for you, either. In fact, you seem to relish the pain on his as you inform him you’ve taken a deal with one of his enemies- a lucrative one, at that. And all you had to do was set him up. He wakes with a start, sitting up on the sofa in his office he often crashes on when he doesn’t feel like dragging himself to bed. You’re nowhere to be seen, and that’s what he needs for the next few days. He only stops giving you the cold shoulder when he figures out a way to approach the topic of betrayal without telling you how pathetically heartbroken he would be if you ever did turn on him. 

Doflamingo: 

The angry mob gets you. That same mob that went after his family, that same mob that went after him. They’re after you, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not a warlord, not even a pirate, hasn’t eaten his devil fruit or met Trebol, hasn’t done anything to make himself powerful enough to protect you. You’re supposed to be his, but the mob is determined you’re theirs, and what is he supposed to do about it? He wakes in a cold sweat, leaning forward in his chair with his chest heaving. He takes a moment to massage his temples before climbing to his feet and stalking out of the room in search of you, determined to lay eyes on you (and probably to increase your security detail, too). 

Corazon: 

His brother has you tied up like a piñata for the executives to beat. Everyone in the family is there, even Law, and Corazon cries out, but he really is mute, completely unable to protest your treatment. He can’t move, either, can’t do anything but watch as everyone takes hits at you, from his brother to his son. He wakes in a fit of desperation, calling out for you. It’s the sound of his own voice- hoarse and frantic- that finally calms him down, though ultimately, he doesn’t take another calm breath until you appear at his side, your brow furrowed, asking him what’s wrong. He knows it’s crazy, but he just has to check you over for marks. 

Smoker: 

He comes home after months at the sea and finds your home wicked, windows shattered and furniture overturned. He approaches the bedroom with a lump in his throat. Just as he rounds the corner, he wakes up, but laying there in bed, he knows what he saw, knows what a crew of vengeful pirates did to his beloved. Though he had been firm on not telling anyone about you or your relationship for fear the wrong person would find out and your life would be in danger, he makes the decision to put in a call to an old friend and ask them to drop in on you every week or so to be certain you’re safe. He also installs a new, state of the art security system at your place as soon as he gets leave. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x f! reader, established relationship Masturbation (F&M), guided masturbation, edging, phone sex(kinda) Summary: Steve receives a special kind of phone call when the journey to his business conference is interrupted by bad weather. WC:3.4K

He'd hoped to make it into town before sundown, badly in need of some rest ahead of the conference tomorrow but the rain put a stop to that.

It started with a light drizzle, a gentle pitter patter of barely there droplets before it turned into a downpour so heavy Steve could barely make out the road in front of him no matter how swiftly his windshield wipers swept from side to side.

So heavy that he grit his teeth and reluctantly pulled over off to the side, clicking his tongue with irritation because the winding stretch of road ahead lay draped in darkness and obscured by thick sheets of rain.

The car comes to a stop on a soggy stretch of grass just by the forest line and he kills the engine, body slumping against his seat with a sigh. Several hours on the road and he's less than pleased to hit the brakes during the home stretch of his journey.

All Steve can really do about it is stew there for a while, rain pelting so hard against the roof of his beamer like the sound of a hundred soldiers marching by. He knows waiting for the shower to cease is his only option, left idle and with little else to do but try to keep from falling sleep.

In the roaring still of his BMW Steve makes a genuine effort at being productive, thinking about the conference and all the things he'll need to do to prepare for it tomorrow. Thoughts of keynote speakers, slideshows, workshops, panel discussions and more fill the space in his mind though the longer he spends on it the more it upsets the remaining calm he'd managed to retain since the rain began.

One by one those thoughts wrap around each other in knots tight enough to choke, entangling into a head throbbing mess that has him calling it quits with another irritated click of his tongue.

Brushing the tiresome details of his business trip aside, Steve rests his temple against the window for some relief. Thankfully the cool glass soothes the thick pulsing vein that runs through there below his skin before a migraine has a chance to sprout roots in his head.

Silently, his half lidded eyes follow the fat droplets of rain as they smack against the glass and turn to rivulets that spiral down his car and soak into the soil below. Watching the sight closely for a while gets his mind working again only this time it doesn't trigger any throbbing in his head.

He thinks back to how even before he'd seen the first signs of rain a few hours back, ashy clouds blooming in size to swallow up a perfectly azure sky, he had you at the back of his mind.

Inside his red knit sweater his chest puffs and fills with a fondness so warm because he's reminded of you once again, the way you love cozying up when its all whistling winds, dense showers and charcoal skies — your favorite kind of weather.

This time he isn't afraid of letting his eyes slip shut, making it easier for him to picture you back home in Hawkins and warm in your bed. How you stayed warm he could never figure out though. You were the type who habitually kicked the covers off in your sleep, and even though what you had on underneath should have done little to keep you warm, you never so much as let out a shiver in your panties and billowing baggy t-shirt.

The same outfit you'd had on this morning, Steve recalls happily. His lips quickly curve as he smiles to himself, remembering how you looked when you wished him a safe trip after having breakfast together.

Of all the things that went wrong today, Steve cursed himself the most for having to leave you looking like that at the door, wishing he'd had just one hour more to say goodbye more thoroughly.

Your legs had been bare, easy for him to admire when the hem of your t-shirt rested just below the swell of your ass. Silently, he ogled that too as you moved around the kitchen, little glimpses of your panties showing whenever you reached for the top cabinet. And underneath the thin cotton that had wrinkled while you slept with patterns like tree branches stretching high and wide, your perked nipples showed, always drawing his attention as Steve watched the shape of your tits jiggle with every step.

Already the warmth which began in Steve's chest starts to trickle down his bones, leaving him unsure if he should hit the breaks on this feeling before it's too late. The thing was, it didn't take much to get Steve going and it was near impossible for him to hold himself back once he's worked up. Most times all it took was a cheeky flash of your breasts or a firm kiss deepened with tongue and teeth, enough to have him eager to strip you both of your clothes and pull you into the bedroom.

Now that exciting familiar feeling weaves through the spaces between his ribs and swirls at the pit of his stomach. He does his best to deter it despite how much he wants to let it take him over, looking for a distraction to stop the blood in his body from rushing south but temptation gets the better of him.

He really couldn't help it, plucking his phone from out from his back pocket to get a look at you. Steve expects to see you both pictured in his lock screen as usual, smiling cheek to cheek with him all sun glistened skin the last time he'd taken you to the beach but what he finds ballooning up on his screen instead is a notification flashing bright with your name.

Unlocking it with a swipe, Steve finds he's missed a call that'd come from you an hour ago, unable to get through to him because his phone had been set to silent like he always did when he drove.

His thumb hovers over his screen, about to scroll and call you right back, hoping all is well on your end when he pauses. Steve notices you've left him one more surprise — a voice mail. Probably asking him to call you back, he figures, but when he thinks on it a little longer he decides to listen to it first since you'd gone through the effort of sending one. Not to mention that the sound of your voice is just what he needs right now, it alone able to mend all the bitterness that'd scratched at him so fervently from the inside since he'd parked on this dark and isolated spot.

Fiddling with his phone, Steve makes sure to turn the volume all the way up so he can make out everything that you're saying clearly despite the heavy rainfall, still showing no signs of tapering as he hits play.

When the sound of your voice filters through the speaker it hits him like a beam of sunlight, exactly what he needed to hear this far into his journey, bringing a rush of warmth all throughout his body to counteract the chill brought on by the rain. It's enough to make his heartbeat pick up at the raspy tone that wraps around each of your words, soft like you're letting him in on a secret, enticing like you're curling a finger at him to beckon him closer.

"-guess you're still on the road. I was hoping you'd be at the hotel by now because...well, the thing is I miss you already. I know, I know. Clingy much, right? but it got me thinking about how you'll be all alone in that hotel room...while I'm all alone in our bed...I just— I've been thinking about you all day Steve and it's been driving me crazy."

A few wide eyed blinks is all Steve can muster as your words hang in his mind like stars peppering a pitch black sky. He shifts quickly to attention, no longer slumped in his seat as he listens on attentively, spine straight and making no effort to stifle that feeling brewing in his belly any longer.

"...this'll have to do...I know how hard you've been working and I wanna make you feel better while we're apart. So go ahead, lean back and get comfortable while I tell you what's been on my mind... Promise you're going to want to hear this", you tell him as you let out a little giggle, making Steve shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the weather outside.

"...I've been so distracted at home. I couldn't get anything done...I really did try to control myself but I couldn't...it's all I want to think about. Steve, you're all I want to think about...you and the way you touch yourself... and now I'm- well, I'm imagining you rubbing your cock while you listen to my voice... and I need to touch myself while I think about you too. Will you touch yourself for me? please, I'd love to know that you're stroking your cock for me while I'm running my hands all over my body."

Suddenly, Steve couldn't be more thankful for the heavy rain that's rendered him trapped in this lonely spot. Having passed no other vehicles in the last hour, and in no mood to deny your requests, especially when you're talking to him like that, he's free to follow your instructions without any fear of getting caught. Placing his phone on the dashboard to free up his fingers, he undoes his belt and zipper before reaching in and pulling his cock out his boxers with clumsy haste, too overeager and cloddish for his own good.

Holding a hand up to his lips, he spits out a warm, generous glob of saliva into the well of his palm, wrapping it around the thickness of his veiny shaft to pump himself to fullness. It doesn't take long with the way his length had already begun to kick up and rise at the sound of your voice, listening very carefully as you continue.

"...It's so cold here without you beside me...'been trying to warm up by taking my fingertips and running them all over myself...all the places I need your touch the most... tracing them up my thighs... slowly across my hips... up to my chest... and I'm brushing them lightly around my tits... feels so nice...m' starting to play with my nipples now... I'm wetting my fingertips with my tongue...then rubbing them so gently in circles... watching them start to perk up...'n pinching and rolling them just for you Stevie... getting them all nice and hard...feels amazing but I miss having your mouth on me...having your teeth around my nipples...the way you suck and lick them better...there's nothing else like it" you mewl softly, your voice all breathy.

The more hushed sighs and moans you let out the easier it is for him to picture you and feed the fiery ache building inside. His eyes slip shut and his hand moves up and down with shallow strokes as he imagines you in bed, your soft, naked skin gliding against your bedsheets as you touch yourself just as described. Steve's able to imagine the subtle floral scent of your favorite perfume too, powdery and sweet with a hint of cream. It always mixes well with the natural musk of your sweat, the memory of it making Steve's mouth water from all the times he's buried his face in your neck while his hips rut against your own.

"Please tell me you're touching your cock for me... I want you stroke it lightly with just your fingertips? need you to tease yourself— just like the way I'm teasing my body... need you to really work for it, okay?...so rub your fingers around the tip... do it gently before sliding your hand back down to the base...Stevie, please, I hope you're leaking...your cock looks so pretty when it does that...I love when you get it everywhere...make it messy while I start to squeeze my tits... that's it..."

Steve's hands roam dutifully to wherever you dictate, teasing himself as requested. "God, yeah— doing it just how you want me to, baby", he groans out, fingers wet with his saliva and clear pearls of precum that dew and spill copiously from his slit.

There was a time when his chest would grow tight with embarrassment, unsure how you'd react to the way he'd drip so many thick droplets from his slit all the way down his length and onto the dark hair that grew at his base.

He was relieved to find he needn't have worried, nearly overwhelmed by the way you took charge and hungrily lapped him clean. Steve couldn't help but feel so impressed by the way you savored his taste and worshipped his cock too, rewarding your busy mouth with plentiful spurts of cum as you sealed your lips around his tip and sucked down all he could give you. Even begging him for more as his spend dripped out the corner of your mouth and made its way onto your chin, never too shy to wear him on your skin.

But without you here to wrap your tongue and lips around his cock, his spit and precum trickle all the way down to his balls, made even messier when he reaches lower to cup and gently squeeze his heavy sack, enough to bring him some relief.

"...I'm going to start sliding my hands down to my pussy now... and I'm using two fingers to rub gentle circles above my clit... I think I can feel it swelling up...getting me so worked up just thinking about you rubbing your dick for me... I want you to reach down to the base of your cock with one hand- grip it lightly...I want you to stroke it for me... long, slow strokes... keep going... that's it... baby, don't stop stroking yourself for me"

Steve wants more — needs more but he's not about to stray from your instructions, purposely denying himself by keeping his touches languid and light despite his own hunger.

"Shit, you're such a bad girl for working me up like this...", he breathes into the dark, flashes of how he'd like to reprimand you popping up in his mind one by one — his hand around your neck while he thrusts into you, your knees raw from kneeling between his legs with his cock nudging the back of your throat, you pulled over his lap as he cracks his hand over your ass until you're sore. He fully intends to try every one of them when he comes back home to you.

"Ngh, my clit— it's so sensitive. I'm rubbing it slowly— it feels so good...but I miss having your fingers on me more...'m spreading my legs wider, reaching lower now so I can rub my fingers over my pussy lips... just teasing myself...please, tease yourself with me Steve- just swirl your fingertips over the tip of your cock but don't touch anything else, okay?...I want you to grip it a little harder for me and pretend you're pressing the head into my hole like I'm doing with my fingers— filling myself with just the tip."

"Mm, Jesus...fuck", he leans over to dribble more spit onto the head of his cock, imagining the way your wet heat would welcome his intrusion by wrapping around him tightly.

"-And I'm pulling them out again... this time I'm sliding them in a little further, just an inch or so...slide your hand down your cock just a little bit more and pull it back up again... slide your hand a little further down your dick for me, about halfway and give it soft strokes up and down the top half of your cock while I try to...while I try to fuck myself with my fingers-"

Even with the rain still coming down heavily Steve can hear the distinct sound of you touching yourself. He's completely tuned in to the sound of the sticky clicks coming from between your legs as he hears you pulling your folds apart, wishing he could see you bare your tight hole to him before you fill it with your fingers.

"Oh god! -it's so warm and soft inside Stevie...there's so much- 's so wet every time I pull them out...it's making my thighs all sticky...it's so filthy but I need to know how it tastes...my fingers are covered in it...so slippery and glossy...just have to- have to lick them clean...before I put them back inside...mm!"

The thought of you tasting yourself makes him feel dangerously close to cumming, eyes ready to roll back because you're enjoying how sweet you taste, making his thighs tense and quiver until the sound of you gasping out urgently has him slowing his pace.

"Stevie, baby, don't be mad...I know it feels good fucking your fist but I want you to stop what you're doing...take your hands away and I want you to just sit there for a minute while I pull my fingers back out too"

Steve whines, reluctantly pulling his hand away, watching his aching cock blushing bright pink and twitching on its own without his hand wrapped around it.

"God I want it so badly — I'm not even touching myself and I'm so close to cumming for you. Will you cum with me baby? please?"

"Yes — shit that's what I want", he whines again as if you can hear him, as if he can sway you when you hear the desperation in his voice as it slips past his lips.

"Okay, you can touch yourself again... I'm sliding my fingers in again too and I'm doing it all the way this time — shit... they're buried deep...take long slow strokes with me up to the tip and back down to the base, baby — oh fuck— and up to the tip again and back down to the base... I want you to do it faster and faster...this feels so good oh fuck, keep going Steve..."

It's a mess, both his mind and body.

Steve's cock and fist are covered in a wet, viscous layer as he begins to buck his hips up to meet his hand with every pump and stroke, his whole body dewy with a light sweat. He can't remember a time he's worked harder for an orgasm, every muscle flexing and contracting around his bones, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat all pulled taught.

"...I wish I could watch you stroking it for me...the way your fingers fit around your cock...even though they are bigger than mine, your cock still looks so thick in your grasp...gosh, Steve, I love knowing how hard my voice makes you...I love..mm!..I love knowing that you're getting off to the sound of me touching myself ...oh my god, speed up for me... speed up for me- I really want us to cum together... you think you can do that for me? Steve?... fuck yourself for me... do whatever you need to make yourself cum... play with your balls, jerk your shaft, rub the tip... I don't care. Just cum with me please-"

"I'm close, shit. I'm almost there pretty girl", he spits out, eyes screwed shut.

"Oh shit. 'so good.... oh please... please please - oh fu- right there! I'm cumming...!"

In that moment Steve's treated to the sweet sound of you giving into your release just a few seconds before his own, the sound of you inhaling sharply before you cry out and writhe enough to push him over the edge. His fist works himself vigorously, until he feels it shoot up his spine, throwing his head back when he spews thick lines of sticky white all over his fist and belly — some even managing to catch on the bottom of the steering wheel too.

"...oh god that was...that was...so good....Steve? The aftershocks keep rippling through my body, oh fuck...I really can't wait until you're back home with me...there's nothing like having the real thing..."

Even as his heads spins he hangs off every word you utter into the phone until the message cuts out not much long after, nothing but the sound of Steve's own haggard breathing ringing in his ears as he unsticks his hand from around his spent cock.

Chest heaving, hand all sticky, Steve rests his temple against the window as he did before, breath fogging up the glass as he wonders how best to go about cleaning up when suddenly he notices outside-

The rain's come to an end.

[thatapostateboy]

just don't lie to me

Pairing: Marie Hawke x Varric Tethras (with established Marie Hawke x Anders... it's complicated)

Word Count: 1087

Synopsis: on the night before the final battle, Marian demands the truth from her best friend

Prompt: Day Thirteen: Things We Say In The Dark from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: references to a big final Veilguard final battle; complete speculation

Crossposted: Here on AO3

“What in the hells in this?”

Varric looked up from the mug of ale he had carried to his room to finish before bed to see Marian striding in through the slammed open door. In her hands, she holds his new crossbow.

“Shit,” he sighed, pushing his drink aside on the desk, spinning in his chair to face her properly, “Y’know it’s rude to go through other people’s belongings.”

“Shut up,” she snapped back, “What is this?”

“I’m going to need something to fight with, I don’t fancy bare knuckle boxing an elven god tomorrow.”

She stared at him, a little stunned that he was still trying to banter with her despite her obvious anger, “Don’t be an asshole. Answer the question.”

He sighed, “It’s late, I think we both need some rest, don’t you?”

He slid from his chair to take the weapon from her hands, but she held tight, staring down at him with barely concealed… anger, confusion, perhaps even desperation, he noted.

She turned the crossbow in her grasp so that he could see the name he’d carved into the side of it.

Marian.

“What does this mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now, and he can feel the warmth of her skin as they both hold the weapon.

“Well, it’s your name, Blackbird,” he said with a tone just a smidge too casual that she relented in frustration, thrusting it hard into his arms.

“All these years and you still can’t be honest with me?”

He heard the edge of tears in the back of her throat, and he almost turned his head away in shame, but urged himself to keep his walls up, as he always had.

“Wasn’t sure Bianca Two had the same ring to it,” he said with a half sighed laugh, but she didn’t smile.

“Why my name?” she asked.

“You’re my best friend,” he told her.

“Bianca wasn’t.”

“She designed the last one,” he pointed out.

“And what input did I have on that contraption?” she challenged.

Everything, he thinks. The entire weapon was inspired by her, the deep red wood it’s crafted from, the Fereldan silverite detailing, the feathers that Davrin carved into the base that he’s pretty sure she hasn’t seen yet.

He looked at her, drunk in the sight of her here, in his room, in the depths of the Fade, at the end of the world. Tomorrow they would face the Evanuris in battle one final time. Either it would be enough, and they would be victorious… or they would all be dead.

He hadn’t wanted her here, had lied about their search for Solas, desperate to keep her safe, to let her live what semblance of a retirement she had earned, back in Ferelden raising her children with Anders. And yet, once she had heard he was in trouble, she’d had Merrill more or less punch a hole into the Crossroads to come find him. And there she had stayed, an acting agent of the Veilguard, Anders as their live-in healer and back up Warden, whilst their twins ran amok in the Dread Wolf’s lair.

The years had been kind to her, despite everything. She looked older, though he had aged gracefully into it, laughter lines etched into her face, a few steaks of grey in her dark locks, loose around her shoulders for once as opposed to the ponytail she had favoured in Kirkwall.

It had always been the assumption that he and Garrett were the closer pair, forever laughing and drinking with each other. But it was her, his Blackbird, that had truly known him all these years. The one who called him out on his bullshit, but his fiercest defender. He had wanted to protect her in turn, from getting involved with Anders, from the Inquisition, from everything happening with the Evanuris.

And yet again, he had failed.

He sighed, shaking his head, “Like I said, it’s late. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

She turned away for a moment and he prayed that she was heading for the door, but she looked back at him.

“The world is ending, Varric, and you still won’t say it?”

“What would you have me say?” he challenged.

“The truth, for once in your damned life.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Fucking things up with my best friend isn’t the last thing I want to do before I die. I can’t lose this. You, us. So just… drop it.”

“Just drop it? Like we dropped it for years in Kirkwall? Ignored it, said it was nothing? Fuck, part of me thought I’d imagined it, this thing between us. And now, after everything that’s happened, everything that I’ve lost, that we’ve lost, all of this time… and you put my name on your crossbow the night before we face certain death.”

He set the crossbow on his desk, avoiding her gaze, “Blackbird, I-”

“For once in our lives, will you call me by my actual name? Instead of hiding behind that fucking nickname?” she yelled at him before she let out an exasperated sigh, her amber eyes seeking his, “Varric, please. Just be honest with me, with yourself, just this once.”

He wants to, more than anything. To let those final few walls down around her, to bare himself to her heart and soul, to tell her how he feels, how he’s felt it for years. He wants to spend his final few hours in this world with her in his arms, so that he could face whatever end would come for them all with no regrets.

But this isn’t one of his stories.

“And what exactly is it that you want?” he meets her eyes with a hard expression, “You’re married, and you love Anders. What would hearing any of this change, hm? You shouldn’t…” he tried to maintain the hard tone he’d taken, but seeing the way she pulled back from him, he felt it break something deep within his chest, “You shouldn’t be here. Not with me. Not tonight. You should be with your family.”

“You’re right,” she said, taking a step back, putting physical distance between them, “Goodnight Varric.”

He turned his back as she left as he couldn’t bare to watch her walk away. He heard her pause as she reached the doorway, waiting for him to call to her, to stop her, but when he didn’t, she kept going, closing the door behind her.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, sniffing back tears, “Goodnight Marian.”

[amemoryofwot]

Okkk I’m just gonna send it, here goes:

You Can Hold Me, Like You Held Her

Siuan x Liandrin show universe fic, aka my treaty on why I want them to have kind of awkward sex while they both think about Moiraine. Not particularly explicit or spoilery, although there are few small details blending in from the books.

In the dark of the Amyrlin’s chambers, Siuan bucks her hips and bites back a name before she betrays that the woman she was fantasizing about was not the same as the woman in whose honey-coloured braids her fingers tangle. Before Siuan can recover the woman’s shuddering breath against her thigh suggests she has taken care of herself - one less thing to worry about, then.

The woman - Liandrin - has at least the good sense to wipe her mouth and hand before climbing back up the bed. She hesitates a moment too long above Siuan as if debating a kiss, but thankfully just lays against her shoulder instead. They’ve done this enough that Siuan completes the ritual of intimacy by wrapping her arm around Liandrin’s waist in a distant and methodical manner. It’s not entirely unpleasant. After all, the loneliness and duty of the Seat crushes like a wave she can almost convince herself she can swim through. The body against her is warm and familiar in its own way, and if she closes her eyes she can almost pretend somebody else’s leg drapes over hers, that more wanted fingers idly stroke along what’s visible of her tattoos. These ones, however, chart the new lines that have never felt a lover’s touch, and despite herself she flinches. Liandrin, unfortunately, notices.

“Mother, you’re much too tense,” she admonishes. Her string of babble is lost on Siuan, who idly reflects on the base Taraboner accent she can hear come through Liandrin’s voice. If she’s allowing her high-born cover to slip, then she’s either too comfortable or too nervous, and Siuan doesn’t know which is worse.

“…and surely it’s more challenging for a mere Sister to meet privately with the Amyrlin Seat, yes? Perhaps there would be a way for us to … visit … more, if one could use one’s position as Sitter to-”

Siuan cuts her off with a genuine snort of mirth. “Daughter, even I should not get involved with Galina’s business.”

Liandrin rarely has the self-awareness to be embarassed, but her curt “Of course, Mother.” comes close.

Siuan sighs despite herself; she knows this game, she shouldn’t allow herself to grow frustrated. Many in the Tower would share her bed for the chance at power or favours, even those with no liking for women. Some may even twist a supposed absence of a lover into their scheming. She’ll take a chance to surround herself with a few tame sharks amidst the frothing waters and hope they keep the hungrier ones away.

Liandrin’s disconcerting eagerness aside, Siuan could have her pick of the Tower. The truth is the only one she wants is Moiraine, a woman years and miles gone. Instead, she reaches for the only shadow of her she can find here: the woman who had Moiraine before her. Siuan feels a perverse resonation with Moiraine as she brings Liandrin into her bed, tries to retrace the path Moiraine once kissed, imagining some lingering scent of her on Liandrin’s skin even now. She wonders if Liandrin feels the same. Floundering attempts at subterfuge aside, Siuan knows Liandrin’s proclivities. Moiraine is everything Liandrin wishes she was and fails to be. Does her own obsession then drive her to Siuan, collecting corporeal aspects of Moiraine’s life in the same way she tries to emulate her decorum, her noble status? Does she kiss Siuan so deeply in search of reminder of Moiraine too, or is she trying to unseat Moiraine at even this task? Does she linger so long in her conquest because Moiraine once had it, or does she gloat that Moiraine lost it?

All this crosses Siuan’s mind in a flash, before she gives Liandrin a chance to feel too put out. Time to bait the trap.

“You are right that I am perhaps … on edge,” she offers reluctantly. “I had been thinking on some unfortunate news earlier tonight, before you arrived.”

The way Liandrin pretends she didn’t immediately perk up is comical in its ineptitude. Siuan tries to imagine what Liandrin and Moiraine speaking intimately would have looked like, but it’s like picturing a minnow in a pike’s wake. Still, she must man the rudder carefully, directing Liandrin away from her true goal, believably, without revealing too much. Moiraine’s cipher received shortly ago points to the furthest west of Andor, the Two Rivers, and to a fellow in Ghealdan, although the timing of his birth appears inaccurate: Siuan checked it against the list of names in her blackwood box herself. Give another name, then.

“I hesitate to tell you this, daughter, but there have been reports from Tarabon of a lowborn country man wandering the roads speaking as if to a companion who is not there. Now I’m not one to rig the sails based on rumour, especially when one might be inclined to declare him simply unwell, but the number of reports keeps adding up. Any sign towards madness must be investigated. A man may seem harmless until he suddenly is not.”

Siuan can picture how Liandrin’s lips tighten as she answers, the slight lisp that appears when she is overworked now in her words.

“Mother, you must leave this to me. That is why the Red exists, to determine the truth in such rumours, yes? If I could perform just one such task to ease your mind, well, I’d consider it an honour.”

“It won’t be too difficult, returning to your home?”

“Mother, the Tower is our only home, yes?”

Liandrin sits up suddenly, as if realizing she has overstayed her welcome. She gathers her clothes while she continues to speak.

“Mother forgive my abrupt departure but there really is so much to prepare if I am to go. I assume I have your leave to take some of my Red sisters with me?”

Siuan nods, barely perceptible in the dark but Liandrin was not waiting for permission anyways. She gave away more than she realized: she did not question Siuan’s insinuation Galina had something to do with Sitter appointments, confirming Siuan’s assumption of who headed the Red Ajah. While Galina may be annoyed at Siuan delegating this task to Liandrin, she can’t cause too much fuss unless she wants to reveal her status herself.

In the morning, with Liandrin conveniently preoccupied, Siuan will summon Karene from the Greens to address the true concern of Logain. With Ghealdan plunged into war, the Battle Ajah’s combat expertise will be required, and a Sister will need to be planted among the Houses to help guide a new monarch into a stable rule. Siuan had heard Seonid Sedai was near Ghealdan: if she could be found, perhaps a Cairhienin would be best suited for playing this Game. Liandrin’s chosen syncophants will be off to Tarabon, leaving Karene with her pick of more moderate Red sisters to bring to Ghealdan. By the time Liandrin catches up to Karene, because she inevitably will, Moiraine should be well out of the Two Rivers. Planting one conspiracy for Liandrin to unearth will hopefully keep her and the rest of the Tower off of Moiraine for a little longer.

With these thoughts racing, Siuan barely notices Liandrin slip out. Few will be in the Tower halls at this hour, but perhaps one or two will notice Liandrin’s departure, spread a few rumours of their own. Whatever helps further separate Siuan and Moiraine in the minds of the Sisters: they can never suspect their true relationship. She needs to sleep. If she’s lucky - or maybe unlucky - she’ll dream of Moiraine.

[arcanepactguile-scribes]

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒊.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 + 𝘿𝙖𝙮 III 𝘽𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙚𝙚𝙠 II

𝐖𝐂: 21.3k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Sentient Plant Monster.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: Private fic request + Day 3 Breeding / Free Use

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: Cervine Delicacy.

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

Unable to cope with the claustrophobic climate of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor's sought refuge in a isolated forest far away from prying eyes — thanks to a tome's instructions detailing the refuge's coordinates. Unluckily, the Radio Demon's walked straight into a trap, set out by a plant monster to satisfy it's craving for his milk.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

Hypnosis, Mind Control, Tentacle Plant Monster, tentacles, vines, tentacle sex, anal sex, extremely dubious consent, Impact Play, spanking, consensual non-con, nipple play, marking, rough play, udders, milking, lactation, punishment, Master/Pet, masturbation, humiliation, degradation, anal play, size difference, overstimulation, forced orgasm, Dom/sub, Pet Play, Aphrodisiacs, feeding, + more

Alastor hadn't ever thought of searching for a reclusive location to isolate himself, whenever he was either no longer able to cope with the frustrating dramas at Charlie's Hotel — or if he simply needed to surrender himself to his own personal thoughts, without the fear of nosey neighbours (chiefly Angel Dust and sometimes, Husker ). Playing the twenty million question game was not just becoming a bore, the constant pseudo interrogations infiltrating the peace when you were trying to relax at the bar or in your own room. Nobody in the Hotel understood one thing about privacy.

That was why currently, Alastor had sought the easy answer through one of the tomes squirrelled away in his collection. There was no point checking Mayor Rosie's connections (and likely trophies) when he had the solution the whole time he's curated his own personal library. The Radio Demon's mirror Shadow only conjured when he was specifically summoned for It, there wasn't any risk of getting interrupted by a third party. 

For what felt like the first time in his Afterlife, Alastor's thoughts were his own; hours ahead of him, excluded in all the ways that mattered to him from social gatherings and occupying the same room with other people who was making it their day's agenda to get under his skin.

The magick portal closing shut as soon as his heel had left the barrier separating Pentagram City from… wherever this new environment was situated. The coordinates in the tome’s instructions seemed not unreliable, but unrecognisable. So long as the secretive region was well isolated, providing the Radio Demon the privacy he’d missed from his time in the bayou of New Orleans, it would serve him well.

If only Alastor had done a thorough query of the tome’s origins, as well as the destination the portal had led him to — maybe he’d have disregarded the cloak and dagger theatrics, stayed home instead with an extra bolt on his door.

Stepping lightly down onto the soft grass, the immediate impression Alastor got was the definitive sense of loneliness. 

There appeared to be no activity from a single living being. Other than the droning and chirping of the usual suspects: insects, there seemed to be virtually no life whatsoever. Considering this as a perk, the less likely to be interrupted or bothered by another soul Sinner or beast,

A few more tentative steps into the wide clearing, then Alastor’s furtive movements turned to a livelier gait. 

It was going to be perfect.

A second beneficial use was as a contingency plan, set aside for the troubles that the stag Overlord's seasonal Rut entailed. A Mate was desperately needed. The actual act of Mating — procreating, that is, wasn't required to satisfy the unstable hormones that flooded Alastor's system and transformed him into a most disagreeable, brooding sex partner. The Radio Demon's bitter attitude and overall hostility towards his Hotel's tenants often left them reeling, collectively agreeing he was far too irritable and prone to outbursts to be tolerated in good company. 

Not that Alastor really minded whatsoever his supposed allies thought of him, but he couldn't stand to hear “Smiles, you need to get yourself LAID, it'll cure what ails ya ” from the condemned spider porn star one more time. 

Stooping a little to pass through the hollowed trunk of a massive dead tree, or UNdead — it's roots and branches were showing subtle signs of life, it's peeling bark shifted by itself as Alastor carefully crossed through to the other side. This side of the tree was less appealing; the thick cobwebs filling the other half of the exit, the lack of cocooned meals in the weaved strings were hardly considered as anything more than a pathetic effort by the resident arachnids. It had never occrured to the hotelier that the significance of the undisturbed webs meant no taller animal or Hell’s population had ever treaded this fine line separating civilisation from the banished wilds. 

Thinking of Angel Dust automatically straight away after that fleeting train of thought, Alastor was let down by his apparently poor control in curating inside his head the relevant and interesting subjects that did not revolve around his bothersome tenants. 

Shaking his ears to loosen up the stray cobwebs sticking to his fur and antlers, the deer demon had almost immediately arrived at what he wanted to refer to as the Rendezvous,  

This detached part of the heavily wooded forest was briefly mentioned in the tome. For what purposes it existed for, he did not know. All that mattered was that the lore book had identified it as a ‘ great wellspring for dark hearts’, If the author was meant to have inferred danger, that lackadaisical way to address the enigmatic cave was not it. 

Crossing the threshold from the lush green of the forest into the dark, dry confines of the cave, was almost like crossing the boundary segregating the swamp attached to his personal quarters at the Hotel. The sudden drop in temperature from a slight rise of humidity and heavy forest to a dry, cool claustrophobic change of scenery had amounted to what was nearly perfection, Incredibly isolated, difficult to find, liable to remain undisclosed in other grimoires and maps, the hidden cave had easily drawn the Radio Demon's attention. The winding path leading through the cave’s narrow tunnel had nearly convinced Alastor to turn back, seek somewhere else to let off steam — but for the sudden opening of the next tunnel mouth yawned wide to reveal an enclosed grotto within it's cold walls. 

The dimly glowing sigils burned into the walls of the rock inside were a clear indication that their presence both confirmed the book’s trustworthy status, and the sure warning that the sigils were there for a reason. The symbols bearing strong resemblance to known confinement spells trapping a lifeforce within the boundaries, as a self-taught practioner of the occult, Alastor should have reconsidered the wisdom of exploring a cave that was supposed to remain undiscovered and ostracized for the being that inhabited it. 

The stone cold to the touch, remarkably clean for a cave system, Alastor had surmised after he had finished studying the chamber from his place at the tunnel’s entrance, his eyes roving over the cave from top to bottom carefully. The clean sweep of the unimpressive cave led to nothing questionable.  While it was a little dark, and the Overlord's cervine eyes adapted for nocturnal ventures, a wide sinkhole had split open a cavity in the ceiling. Shafts of sunlight beaming down to the sandy floor, the light softened a little by the thick foliage growing in to fill gaps in the natural skylight, the rays had dissipated the damp inside the chamber, making it much more pleasant than the entrance’s tunnel, there seemed to be no dead ends branching off from this chamber.

As he had noticed earlier, there was missing the standard IDs of a cave — bones from dead animals, mold, a water source, cavern wildlife, past signs of occupation like carvings or symbols added to smoother patches of wall other than the binding sigils lining the natural tunnel.

The only two things of recognition, nevertheless interesting, were a mass of plants and roots filling out one corner of the chamber, and an absurd sight in his direct path.

Situated in the center of the cave was a tokenistic tree stump that would have looked more at home in a child’s picture book. Completely overgrown with climbing ivy, flowering blooms, and the iconic fungi Fly Agaric . Or more accurately, Hell’s idea of the fairy tale toadstool.

The scene looked ridiculous. An actual, true tree, once alive and growing inside the murky gloom of a cavern formed within a mountainside. The picture just looked so peaceful, what with the psychedelic colours of the flowering plant life and the toadstools, the ground resembling something like quicksilver ground up and sifted through a fine sieve to become a dense carpet of stunning grains of sand. It looked too good to be true,  the attractive sight.

Approaching the tree stump, smiling wryly, looking down into it's curiously scooped out top; he had half expected it to have on offer three bowls of porridge. 

On behalf of all critics condemning impulsive pilgrims and travellers, abandoned orphans or whatever else the cliched origin story was their excuse for stealing enchanted food from villains, Alastor hadn’t realised how strongly a simple temptation such as this innocent looking sap would be so alluring. The Radio Demon was captivated by the spring of what looked to be pure honey. Or something else very much like it — the perimeter of the hollowed bowl cut into the stump was filled with a semi-translucent sap, the liquid clear of impurities usually associated with natural honey or tree sap. No dirt, husks, twigs, seeds, insects, or fibres. 

Four or five vines had tapped into the edge opposite the deer demon, their tapered tips mistaken to belong to the other plants swarming the base of the dead tree, yet upon any closer scrutiny you would have noticed that none of the other plants and mushrooms were anywhere close to touching the innocent looking sap.

Finding the ‘miracle’ too charming for his tastes, Alastor had sidled past the attractive spectacle, and returned to the original path he had wanted to entertain in his new private exclusion.

Friends with benefits wasn't a foreign phenomenon to the stag Overlord. Moreover, it was becoming a burden ; solace through his pet Husk, a romp with Angel Dust, or something naturally depraved with either Lady Rosie or the Queen of Hell herself, Alastor was finding it difficult to keep his disorganised mind in order, too many strings attached to trip over, a lot of risk. There was always something preying on the Radio Demon's overwhelmed brain.

Too stressed to fuck, too stressed to find relief elsewhere, the black magic practioner had been too glad to find an answer inside a book.

No attachments, no other souls involved. Just him and his regular shadow, not the supernatural conjuration of his Mirror double.

The strain of being unable to find relief in both the usual and unusual avenues had become too much, too oppressive, and it had driven the sullen buck to this outrageous instant-fix solution of a simple, private sanctuary.

Stripped from the waist down, the deer demon had arranged his clothes and shoes aside on top of a stone, a superstitious feeling encouraging him to put them further away from the suspicious tree stump.

Crouched, kneeling on one knee, Alastor had rucked up the hem of his coat and shirt to bunch higher above his waist, the coattails flipped back to drape over his back and shoulders. It didn't matter that his aim was a little too enthusiastic, enough momentum for the skirts to wind up as a crude hood. Snagged on the tines of his miniature antlers, at least it served an unexpected support by holding the coat out of harm’s way. 

Bent double, resting his forehead against his raised knee, Alastor had his eyes squeezed shut as he worked hard at sustaining his erection. One hand was busy trying to pump his cock; fingers curled around the base, the deer demon was stroking himself, sweeping his thumb over the top of the shaft, his claw tips tickling and trailing up the underside. Sliding his palm up in more frequent strokes, squeezing at the tip and simultaneously rubbing the tingling tip, repeating this pattern hadn't taken long for a steady pulse to start, his breath quickening. 

His upper groin and belly cramping, shivers of delight budding in the pit of his abdomen, the buck's doe udders were beginning to take shape — the bane of his existence when sexual intimacy was the order of the day.

The swell of pink mounds were slowly growing; a milk bag comprised of twin sacs throbbing as they filled with milk, the supple flesh inflating around the base of his hardening cock to nudge it's underbelly. Moving his hand further along to his aching cockhead to adjust for his udders grazing the heel, the puffy organ was eventually distracting his concentration away from pumping his length.

Sinking his upper canines into his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him, Alastor abandoned his leaking member to cradle his pulsing udders with a hand, the other left to idly stroking his neglected length. Grown attentive to how his unnatural anatomy required routine to manage it's needs even out of his season, the deer demon's frustration therein lay with the difficulties bolstered by servicing himself solo. The end results were not just more rewarding — the entire journey was the deal maker. Milking himself was becoming more of a chore than a joyful experience to look forward to. However it was hard to express milk on his own, the sheer embarrassment associated with a partner trusted to keep his secret was a moodkiller more often than not.

Stroking his soft flesh, periodically kneading and palpating the  swelling mound, using thumbs and forefingers to tweak the teats — the first drops of milk welling up in their tender tips were visible. The steady throb in his loins spreading, the weight of the burgeoning milk was an encouraging sign. Biting his lip harder, ears swivelling forward, Alastor grunted, tilting his hips forward and frantically pumping a singular throbbing teat — at once, a jet of milk squirting, the short stream arcing to splash onto the fringes of the leaves and vines pooled on the sandy floor, fat droplets spattering the wizened larger roots and fronds dipping under the weight.

A loud gasp, his body frozen solid for a beat: then the buck resumed stripping both teats at the same time. Dropping his raised knee to kneel, thighs spread, the deer kept his fingers idly stroking the undercarriage of his warmed udders, continuing to pump both spongy teats to express milk in rhythmic kneading. Inconsistent yields of milk were the results of the impatient milking, random bursts of milk expressed to repeatedly splash onto the awakening plants.

Totally unaware the touch of his fresh milk had revived a camouflaged beast dozing in amongst the leaves and vines, the roots and fronds that had been inadvertently soaked in the aimless sprays of milk absorbed the frothed liquid. 

Seeing stars behind his pitch black lids, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the Radio Demon was unable to witness the skulking tentacles slithering towards him through the silvery sand. Bumps and lines of sand were boring towards the unwitting deer demon, the maze of crisscrossed tentacles burrowed below the surface resembled an electrical conduit — the nearer the hidden tendrils came to touching Alastor's knees and hooves, several lines spreading to sweep behind the preoccupied Overlord, the thicker the tentacles’ bulk became. The thicker they became, the more sand trickling off their sleek bodies were risking a premature reveal of the creature.

Panting softly, Alastor's fingers soon slicked with more froth as his body was slowly yielding his rich milk, the flow of oxytocin was numbing the Radio Demon's senses. Warmth radiating out through the demon's entire slim frame, forks of tingling fire and electricity clawing at the centre of his brain, pounding heart, and in his gut, the strengthening arousal merging with the feel-good hormones was dulling his reaction to a firm touch caressing his thighs.

Eyes snapped open, peering down at the odd sensation, the sedated buck was startled to see the petals of a yellow and black striped flower swaying back and forth — beads of nectar seeping, petite droplets landing on Alastor's knee, the flower was the head of a slender vine, it's length arched upwards like a disturbed snake, bands of black striping it's streamlined body. 

The colours of a wasp, signalling danger, yet the Radio Demon was unable to help himself — stilling his jerking motions, the Overlord slowly reached out a hand to caress a petal, marveling at how such a beautiful thing could live in a dismal climate such as this cave.

Suddenly, the delicate flower shuddering, the petals furling to fold in on itself; the compressed bud rippling open wide , stretching it's lips back, it threw itself forward to spray golden pollen pointblank into the Radio Demon's pensive face. 

Reeling back in shock, throwing a hand back to land heavily on his ass and palm, twisting his wrist, the side affects of the pollen weren't in effect until after Alastor had sneezed — unknowingly drawing in more of the potent toxin into his body, absorbed straight into his lungs and lingering in his throat. The pollen had been ejected with the nectar pooling in the bud’s hidden maw, effectively sticking the dust to Alastor's face and airways.

They were inducing a tingling sensation, crawling up from his chest and nose to cover his pecs, and face in full. Blinking hard to dislodge some stuck pollen, utter disbelief visible, Alastor didn't see the myriad of tentacles swarming around his inert body, essentially cutting him off from the rest of the cave; piling atop of each other in a circle, like a castle moat. 

Whilst a castle’s invading force sometimes came from the rear, a premeditated offensive to catch the garrison inside off guard, a front assault was preferred. Approaching a potential ally this way had much better success in forging a give-and-take relationship than by pure deception. 

Sitting up, propped by his hands sunk into the sand, thighs and shoulders spread, in lifting his gaze Alastor was met face-to-face with something he wasn't expecting to see. 

Where there used to be a huddled mass of ambiguous plant life, in the center a large mass had manifested — risen out of the ground, grains of sand still rolling off it until a shake of it's leaves rid itself of the fine sediment, the thick vine was coiled into a circle, half it's bulk buried in the ground. Uncoiling, at the tip of the vine was suspended a pulsating membrane encasing a bulging sac supported in the middle of the limb’s tip, throbbing gently. A soft glow of diffused blue light alluded to distorting the shape of the sac as the Radio Demon continued to stare at it dangling inches away from his face, he found he couldn't move. Webs of veins pulsing all over the Lantern’s translucent membrane, the light source within was a blinding radiance. 

The softened glow was growing stronger, the sac's vague outlines growing fuzzier and less distinct as the webbed bulb began to pulsate, tiny shafts of lightning-blue light racing up the web-strings connecting it to the vine, Alastor was transfixed, hyperventilating. Rendered immobile by the unnatural light’s power, the deer demon's vulnerabilities included his natural aversion and weakness to artificial light, but particularly the strongest light of any origin. It was an embarrassing, primitive trait carried over by Earth's cervine vulnerabilities. 

The buck’s jaw hanging agape, drawing in a steady flow of air in rapid heaving gasps, Alastor's pupils were in the process of dilating when the lantern-bulb abruptly shone a dazzling light directly into it's prey's eye sockets. 

The neon blue emittance rippling in the air like the marbled lightshow on water’s surface, casting light and shadow shimmering over the Radio Demon's paralysed expression, stunned by the unrelenting performance. An extremely strong wave of tranquillity was enveloping the Overlord; the droop of his ears flagging, his face grown impassive, the sag in his shoulders, the tension leaving his body in pulsating waves of submission beginning from his ears down to his hooves. Even in the end, his tail had stopped twitching, the tremors from his frozen panic attack subsiding to a subdued state.

In Alastor's eyes, a psychedelic vortex matching the black and yellow bands of the toxic flower were swirling. The monster's Hypnosis had tranquilised the Radio Demon, his secret vulnerability to vivid lights an accidental advantage for the plant. Lulled into a completely passive state, the conditions of which remained to be seen, and any problems corrected.

The light in the web softening back to it's inert state, the Overlord remained where he sat, immobile and patient. His abandoned masturbation had left his swollen milk bag throbbing with want, his softened cock seeping fluid. The bloated teats were leaking bubbles of milk on every deep inhale Alastor took, the buck’s conquered mind incapacitated to do nothing but obey the predator's instructions, his new Master.

Lamenting the last time it had sustained a reliable source of sustenance to keep itself alive, imprisoned in it's cave, the monster sought to reach a compromise of forging a symbiotic alliance with the deer demon — taking nourishment for itself, and in exchange rewarding the oblivious sinner. The Hypnosis was a delicate art; different triggers were likely to disable it's hold on the buck's brain, and there was also the dangers of it's new pet’s mental strength in rebelling.

To the creature, that was already water under the bridge. It was easy enough to resubmit the Radio Demon to it's will.

The buried tentacles rising into full view, no longer camouflaged, the tentacles whipped forward and coiled themselves around Alastor's limbs and body without haste. Staring ahead into nothingness, Alastor's eyes were vacant, the vortex of colours steadily spiralling in his eyes. He could feel the sleek bodies twining around his limbs, their nudges and tightened grips. A pair of tentacles had wrapped around his shoulders to pitch him forward, pushing his lax body unceremoniously to the ground. His coattails falling over his head, shrouding him in complete darkness, in time this was going to be in his favour. Arms flung out, the upper half of his body fallen into the bed of roots and flowers, the sharp thorns sliding away to avoid pricking Alastor's precious skin. Slim vines were gliding up his limp arms to explore his slender frame, propelling themselves along with gentle kisses from rows of suckers lining the vines. Leaving no mark behind as they curled around whatever obstacle they found; shoulders, throat, ears, antlers, focusing heavier on probing his sensitive nipples and navel. Whilst they were teasing his prickling flesh, coaxing muffled moans and squeaks from under his hooded head, the other tentacles hadn't even stopped their own agenda. 

Arcing up to coil around the joints of Alastor's hips, these tentacles hoisted his rear skywards to rest his weight onto folded knees. With no clothing below the waist to wrangle, the vines holding his pelvis in position, two extra tentacles swooped between the buck's spread thighs from behind to take care of the rudimentary reason why it had overpowered the Radio Demon. 

It had been years ever since the monster had a last good feed. Overwhelmed by the richness of the Overlord's unusual milk, getting it's first taste from the stray squirts as Alastor pleasured himself, it was longing to taste him again. It was absolutely pivotal it looked after it's new Pet, and over time diligently work on him to remain a permanent source of sustenance whenever it bade him to heed it's commands.

Waiting impatiently below the Radio Demon's belly, droplets of escaped milk sometimes landing on a quivering tendril, the last trio of tentacles were converging on the buck's offered rear.

A tentacle loosely draping over Alastor's buttocks to play with his limp tail, nosing through the underbrush to fluff it up, prompting a shiver down Alastor's spine, the two others slithered up the Overlord's taint to nuzzle and palpate the tender flesh.

The abrupt kneading between his inner asscheeks prompting Alastor to rock forward, gasping urgently, at the same time his udders had heaved from the much needed stimulation. Heat rising off his inflated taint, the bulge filling out between his inner thighs to encompass his heaving udders, the tentacles did not let up studiously rubbing his pinked flesh in a downwards motion to induce the yield of milk. 

Under his belly, the organ filling up with the nourishment his Master was sorely craving, the impatient twin tentacles finally had their cue to feed. 

Shooting upwards, the slender tendrils whipping around the bloated teats, ravenously began yanking on the fevered flesh, initially tugging to express milk without having much luck. The rough pulls and twists were frightening Alastor, even still in his meditative Trance, the Radio Demon cringing with a frantic bleat of pain. His stomach cramping, the jostled udders full, drew up to retreat, pulling the latched tentacles with the instinctive reflex. Heaving again, the buck crying out softly, the stubborn tendrils did not let go — tightening their grip, they renewed their hurried tugs, but now fallen into a steady pace of pumping from the base without gliding down to the tips.

Doggedly clenching the base of each teat in unison, to eject milk upon each painful stretch of the sacs to be nearer the ground. The unyielding stretches weren't suitable for the buck's anatomy; shortly, the deer's swollen milk bag, full of milk, were blushed a pinkish-red surrounding the nipples. Each quadrant was visibly throbbing, veins protruding, Alastor's arousal blossomed with the relentless oxytocin numbing his entranced senses even further.

Rhythmically tugged, each quadrant out of sync against it's twin, the creamy jets of milk were not utilised to their full potential. The stronger streams were saturating the sandy ground almost as heavily they fed the multitude of new tentacles and roots weaving below him, coiling and slithering together as they drank in the sprays of fresh milk. Sheeted in the freshest of nourishment, it was some time before the flow was distinctly thinning. 

The blue-tinged milk was not yielding as heavy a load as the onset of stripping had achieved. The cramps jarring the shrinking udders were becoming more frequent, the supple flesh flinching harder when a tendril was stretching it to force more yield. The recoil of Alastor's stomach heaving for the final time, his overmilked organ blushing rouge, the stir of the Radio Demon's back and shoulders were a warning sign pointing to the Overlord's Hypnosis waning.

In time to feel the acute burning, outstanding throbs in his nether regions; the pulses of deepest pain congregated below his navel, his leaking member twinging, all at once Alastor had bolted upright — however groggily, nearly losing his balance. Rocking back onto his haunches sluggishly, bent double as his brain was spinning, Alastor struggled to piece his mind back together.

A curious, persistent pulling sensation on his pounding organ had him look down, and resisting the bile rising up in the back of his strained throat as he stared in dismay at the chilling spectacle at his groin. 

A wriggling mass of vines were trying to drink the spilled milk slicking his painful udders; a few younger tendrils feeding off the slick of precum and milk off the velveteen flesh, their rows of suckers undulating the blushed sacs as they slurped. Drinking directly from the source, three larger tentacles were attempting to suckle one swollen teat. The single largest tentacle had a nipple for itself: curled around it, it had penetrated the gaping sphincter to nurse greedily, it's tapered nose swelling as it gulped hungrily.

The shock of being used as a milking cow when he had blacked out, the Radio Demon's memory foggy, was wearing off as he studied the nursing, surprised how his second impression of the horror hadn't hit home until that largest limb had let go, racing up the buck's gaunt stomach to try again for milk by plunging it's nose into his navel. 

Eyes trained on the erratic tentacle, Alastor's laboured breathing shot up a few decibels as his panicked squeal barely conveyed his fear. A hand shot out to grab the wriggling limb, Alastor yanked it away, his movements manic at first but weakened by the forced exertions on his drained body. Panting, watching the tendril squirm, Alastor was uncertain. 

What to do? 

The other tentacles were hellbent on suckling his spent organ, the rhythmic sucks on his overmilked teats were nonetheless alleviating the unbearable pressure inside. Milk dripping onto his sweaty palm from the squirming limb thrashing about in his hand, Alastor's sleepy thoughts were drifting again. Shaking his head, rubbing the heel of his free hand into his eyes, the buck couldn't quite comprehend the unusual merger of total relaxation and a growing sense of unease. Looking back to his captured tentacle, thinking back to how all of this had even taken place, the Radio Demon couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. 

Despite all the precautions he had taken, trouble seemed to sprout wherever he went, whatever he did.

Another large vine snaking it's way over to him, the shifty movements catching the Radio Demon's eye as fronds moved suddenly, at first he had presumed the limb wae heading to take the prior one's place. It seemed as if all the limbs belonged to one creature — they definitely moved independently, but neighbouring tentacles would occasionally react in advance to another’s actions, long before Alastor had guessed their intentions. IT’S intentions. The creature's activity was synchronised, orchestrated. These vines weren't individual minds, but one. These newcomers were slowing their progress, cautiously curling up between the Overlord's spread thighs to wait. 

Lost in his sleepy musing, biting back the urge to simplylay down, the enthusiastic tentacle eventually slid itself free from his weakening grip. Slipping down to reclaim it's pride of place, the hungry creature recommenced suckling on the flushed teat; enveloping it with it's petals, inside it's maw a wisp of a tongue lashed out to penetrate the star-shaped sphincter, enthusiastically pulling on the bag to induce more milk. 

That was the last straw. Briefly indulging in the depravity of letting himself go to be drank dry from a harmless plant, really no different to cutting your finger and watching the blood drip into a flytrap, the ebb and flow of blissful pleasure being milked an addiction — allowing the creature to claim him was the dividing line.

The final vestiges of hypnotised dozing thrown off, the excited suckling on his overstimulated organ compelled him to act. Rashly, and sealing his fate. 

Snarling, the Radio Demon he grabbed for the distracted vine between his legs and held it down with both hands into the ground, scattering the other tendrils that were listless until this new provocation. It was a clumsy move,but the deer didn't want to damage himself, lest the plant fight back by biting, If it even had teeth. 

The tentacle’s earnest nursing was interrupted, the lips tugged free, saliva moistening Alastor's swollen organ, but the creature had already composed itself for the counter attack. Resistance was inevitable. But with care and consideration, it was determined to keep the Radio Demon for it's own. 

Crushed under the buck's weight forced down into it, the other end of the tentacle wiggling like mad, the thing's mouth convulsing, spat out a thinned spray of regurgitated milk, the demon's weight pinching off it's extended throat inside the vine.

The Radio Demon's reprieve was fractured by his heedless compulsion to resist the gift of unparalleled pleasure before the monster had even tried to ‘convince’ him properly. 

The raucous commotion that followed Alastor's single act of disobedience was calibrated accordingly, the vulnerabilities of his body frailer than the creature's, wielded against the thawing of the demon's body and mind.

Distracted by his efforts to stop the thrashing tentacle still drooling milk under his hands, feeling the icy fingers of fear shadowing the sharp jolts of adrenaline carving into his woozy brain, he was taken by surprise in an instant. 

The creature had been studying his behaviour the whole time, anticipating some form of rebellion. Acting swiftly to correct it's new Pet's insubordination, it had whipped tentacles over to seize Alastor's wrists, the serpentine appendages climbing up to engulf both of Alastor's forearms together from wrists to elbow in a cruelly tight sleeve. Alastor immediately letting go, the crushed tendril yanking itself free backwards from his splayed hands, Alastor's sharp cry was broken with a grunt — more vines had erupted from the silver sand from behind and were coiling around his thighs to pull together, bulging his throbbing udders to press into his stomach and the rear exposed between his asscheeks. 

The Radio Demon's limbs locked together in a tight embrace of vines, forced onto his hands and knees, the first punishing smack fell across his exposed buttocks, eliciting a pained BLEAT from the deer. The slim tentacle had whipped his naked backside, the sharp sting of the first lick quickly blossoming with the next three spanks, faint red lines emerging on his pert buttocks. Rocked forward with every spank, Alastor had cried out, hot salty tears stinging harsher than the impromptu spanking did. The humiliation. The creature evidently was intelligent. No dumb creature ever had the capabilities to anticipate, plan ahead, punish, or train, like man did.

Because that's what it was doing. Training him.

Breathless, Alastor squirmed, leaning forward to stretch his back, to dodge the stinging smacks, his coat still snagged on his antlers and held up as a hood, leaving his body naked from the waist down.

The Overlord’s struggles was in vain: ever observant, the creature lifted his bound arms higher above his head in a dizzying shift of positioning, two of the tendrils waiting at his knees darted forward to encircle Alastor's waist; seizing his bristling tail to haul upwards in a stretch, the spanking tentacle let forth a shorter frenzy of four more licks, before stopping altogether. 

The blush on Alastor's cheeks cherry red in the middle, encompassing the cleft splitting his buttocks pressed in together by the restraining tentacles, the circle of disciplined flesh was beginning to fade. Fire burning where the slim tentacle had smacked him, the horizontal lines fading too but lingering longer than the surrounding blush. Spanked from the left and from the right in alternating hits, flexing his buttocks only rekindled the warmth filling his ass.

Blinking back salty tears, gasping, Alastor tried to think clearly again. He tried, But it was a fight, harder than the physical confrontation that had just occured. Flinching on the outside as the disciplinary tendril tenderly caressed his throbbing rump, inwardly Alastor's pronounced fear was losing the fight against his nightmarish ordeal. The epicenter of his suffering was of his abused udders; the creature, having had a taste, and then some, was invariably addicted to the sweet richness of his fresh milk. It appeared that every time he haa fought back, resisted, the creature had retaliated — actually punished him. 

But what happened during his black out, riddled with amnesia…?  

Was nursing all that had happened? The silence inside his own head was simply too loud — the strengthening pain in his pulsating udders, begging to be relieved of his new milk coming in, the overstimulation warring against Alastor's fear of reprisal and the unknown, what happened while he was out, the affectionate nuzzling at his tender teats brought the Radio Demon back to the world of the living. 

The two largest of the nursing tentacles had returned; arced up to nuzzle at his aching milk bag. Their tapered noses nudging the warm teats, wisp tongues flicking out to lap at the new beads of milk bubbling from the gaped sphincters. 

No matter how much he was milked, past the point of pain and unbearable arousal, the surge of oxytocin flooding dousing his fevered, frantic thoughts were a cure-all. Lids sliding to half-mast, the Radio Demon's shoulders listing, a distinctly fiercer nudging at his filling organ had stirred the sinner awake to buck in alarm, or at least try to. Arching his back, tail and ears bristling in fear, Alastor clenched his stomach and leaned away to break off the connection, but straightened up as the disciplinary tentacle swung back to deliver another round of four quick smacks to his burning ass, pulling another bleat of pain from the deer. 

This happened again , but a volley of eight further spanks at the first sign of resistance — the Radio Demon pulling back, squirming, cursing out loud, bucking his hips to deter the tentacles every time they had descended to nurse, they only making it as far to lick the sore flesh, or curl a tongue around the teats.

Feeling like he was destined to be perpetually abused if he continued to disobey, at long last the Radio Demon relented. 

Never showing any hints of fear, the two tentacles moved forward to begin over again the nursing. Taking a teat each, the tentacles peeled back their petals to swallow the swollen nipples, down to the base. The wisp tongues inside gliding into the gaping sphincters, tickling along the internal channel, proceeded to suckle Alastor. Studiously pulling on the udders to emphasise the natural stimulation for an uninterrupted milk yield, the subsequent familiar wet suckling sounds of the fervent drinking had pushed the Radio Demon into a drunken stupor.

Thoughts hazy, dazed again, Alastor's eyes were closing in the overwhelming bliss. The strict attention to looking after his painful sacs were unrivalled; having somebody (or something) feeding on him had NEVER felt like this before. Never. 

Wagging his tail sleepily, a frantic beat whenever a greedy tentacle had yanked harder on it's prize, Alastor was only dimly aware of new sensations. More tentacles had joined them, however they were rising to settle themselves up along the Radio Demon's trembling body. Ignoring the tremors quivering his scrawny frame, these sinuous vines unfurling an array of whiskered feelers, felt along his sweat-slicked skin to probe and palpate his body. Stomach, nipples, navel, collar bone, his cock — they all tenderly stroking in sync with each other as a singular mind — rubbing his prickled flesh to calm him, as the milkers persisted drawing down milk, sucking harder now as the buck's udders swelled.

The creature and the demon were approaching an unspoken negotiation — milking in return for unbelievable pleasures. 

Bypassing the Radio Demon's dubious thoughts, the level-headed thoughts, by harnessing his body's primal desires for milking the creature was satisfied the demon was under complete control. Using pleasure against conscious thought, Alastor's will was being stripped down to an empty shell of the sinner he was before opening that spellbook. As he was doing now, the deer trying to process the waves of pleasure pulsating in his loins apart from the bubbling feeling of mistrust, as if in slow motion Alastor's eyes were traveling up the swaying length of a strangely familiar tentacle emerging from the dense matt of foliage in front of him. 

Looking up, the same thick vine from the start — the Lantern Controller , was weaving to and fro, pulling Alastor into watching it's tranquil movements. The emergence of this vine felt like he had seen it before… it's colouring, and the bulb at it's muscled tip, were intriguing. Captivated by the strange limb, his weakening jaw sagging open, the wrinkled web of veins on the sac suddenly peeled back, revealing once again it's Hypnotic eye. 

A beam of light firing straight into the Radio Demon's retinas without warning, as it had done so earlier, the light sent the Overlord into a second Trance. Hypnotised, the yellow and black vortex of circles radiating from his pupils shrunken to slits; at a firm nudge to his bottom lip — the deer demon stretched his jaw open, permitted the pass of a more sinuous tentacle into his waiting mouth and over his tongue. 

Settling it's length onto the buck's tongue, it rippled twice, and started slowly pumping a sweet nectar straight down into the demon's throat. 

Closing his jaw, sealing his parched lips, the placid Overlord began sucking on the warm tendril, eagerly swallowing each mouthful of the honeyed sap. The fluid went down quickly, bringing with it a warmth spreading to his core as he sucked on the muscle hungrily. It was as if had been dying of thirst and starvation for days. The harder he sucked, pushing his tongue along the pulsating length to coax a faster flow, the warmth budding inside his gut was rolling out to swathe him in a suffocating embrace of unrefuted arousal. 

The intoxication was uncompromising — regardless how energetically the tentacles nursed, the Aphrodisiac siphon pumping him full of undying want; it didn't seem enough,never felt he had even crested the uphill climb to gratification.

Alastor's mind was emptied of anixties, worries, straying thoughts, clear-headed concerns. The Hypnosis spell lulling blunting his razor sharp thoughts, transforming the esteemed Overlord into a softly bleating mess, the vortex in the buck's eyes were spiraling into tighter circles as the Hypnosis Lantern slunk back into the depths of the plants, various tentacles and bobbing flower blooms beckoning the deer demon to submit. 

The limb throbbing inside his mouth done, it withdrew with a slurp, trailing broken strings of nectar and saliva as it disappeared with the Controller vine.

Swallowing hard, lazily swiping his tongue over his dripping lips, Alastor did as he was told. 

The lengths encircling his limbs carefully releasing his body, obediently Alastor arched his back, stretching himself to ease the tension leaving his joints locked and aching, when casually the mass of tentacles rushed him in a deluge of overcrowding limbs and bodies. 

The suckling tentacles barely fast enough to remove themselves from the fray, slithering out of the way, several tentacles dived to ensnare the Radio Demon's limp body. Wrapped around his waist, chest, pinning his arms to his sides, more of them had his head and neck in a stranglehold; their sleek scales caressing his cheeks and thrumming neck, pressing in on his beating pulse. Forcing him to be readjusted onto his shoulders upside down, more tendrils supporting the bow of his back when his pelvis dipped forward. Making a strangled noise, half rumbling purr-half groan as they hugged him tight, the free vines pulling his thighs to tug his legs forward to hang limply over his upturned face. Placed on his upper back, shoulders wrapped inside coils of vines and roots, the Radio Demon's thighs were spread, the pink valley of bulging udders filling out his taint stretched taut from the unyielding strength of the creature. His tail dangling behind, the snowy underbrush explored momentarily by a curious tendril, before it rejoined the group surrounding his puckered entrance. 

Heartbeat quickening, Alastor's plaintive bleats were heartening, the endless spirals in his hooded eyes turning faster. A new tentacle shifting forward, nuzzling at the deer's abandoned milk bag, as a group of four or five others probed the deer's resilient hole — plucking at the puckered flesh, lapping wet tongues, rubbing the twitching flesh in tighter circles, Alastor was too desperate to be mounted to withstand waiting any longer. Twisting his body, the demon bucked wildly, startling some vines away, spurring the few left to plunge into his tight hole without hesitance — and without objection from Alastor. 

Tipping over onto his side, the vines coiled around his neck drawing in tighter in forewarning, Alastor didn't care,didn't notice the gesture. Lowing like a cow in heat, repeatedly, the deer kicked one leg at the ground, pawing the loose sand frantically with a hoof, sending a shower of silver into the air. His other leg was cocked, spasming, folding in tight as his tendons and muscles contracted. Held aloft on by own will power, lusting for a mating, it invited a couple of new tentacles crossing over to snake over his hip, across the juncture joining his inner thigh to the heavy milk bag, and up that leg’s buttock to hold his cocked leg up, steadied if not for the rhythmic bounce of his leg as four tentacles wrestled each other to push into Alastor's spasming ass as a singular entity.

The Radio Demon's entrance was being stretched to new limits, his ring whitened as the wriggling vines pushing together burrowed inside it's Pet’s warm cavity. Undulating, more agitated, each individual tentacle more or less filled Alastor's rear with the same length as another, stretching his core in spite of the spasms clenching down on their slippery scales. A final push had their thickening girth popped past the buck's fluttering hole, wrenched a keening wail from Alastor. 

Even so, the intense pain strengthening inside his throbbing backside, bearing down on the squirminu intrusions: Alastor was madly wagging his tail in overjoyed delight, Rolling his tongue out lewdly, salivating profusely, Alastor panted hard as the four tentacles propelled themselves to passionately thrust into him, rocking his surrendered body at a erratic pace. 

A solitary limb pumping wildly in and out, out of turn amidst the other vines similarly pumping randomly, violent penetration was inflaming the buck's arousal, feeding the flames to lick at his hardened cock, his full udders. Of which the blushed organ was leaking heavily, froth trickling from the bloated teats as he was fucked hard.

Savoring the fullness of his stuffed ass, the vines buried inside him pumping tirelessly, the Radio Demon's arousal was constantly stirred by his roiling stomach: the gulped aphrodisiac bubbling, supplementing his enervated body with nutrients to prolong the deer's milk coming in, and sustaining his lust for the fuck. 

The creature was likewise engrossed in not breeding, but fucking the deer demon until his udders were full to burst, brimming with the milk it was hooked on. Stalling it's next feed was necessary, if it wanted to  succeed at manipulating the hypnotised demon to do it's bidding without protest. Good behaviour needed to be rewarded, conditioning the demon to do as he was told, but also instigate the encounters. 

The Radio Demon's cock leaking fluids, a sticky trail smeared along his belly, the member stiffened without any direct stimulation. Whining, Alastor rutted his hips, keening for some friction — even a little was going to be appreciated over his new Master continuing to ignore it. Squirming in place, licking his lips, Alastor heaved a heavy sigh as finally a lonesomr tendril reached out to wind around his pulsating length, tightening around the root and tickling the flushed head with feelers. The creature was enjoying the alkaline taste of the buck's thickened precum; squeezing it's hold, it slid up and down to milk it's Tranced Pet’s cock just as it had milked his bloated sacs.

His arousal spinning out of control, the excited pumps on his erection in step with the four vines embedded inside his rear was getting too much for him to process, unlike the time before. 

Filtering the excitements that was rendering him inconsolable was to no avail — spasmodic jerking fallen to complete submission, the vines’ bodies picking up the pace in fucking it's Pet savagely, Alastor's passage was convulsing around their mingled bulk. The Overlord was panting loudly, features contorted as he let the creature's limbs embrace him tighter in a definitive clutch of feral lust, the knot in his groin expanding to pass the unsatisfied palpitations into his throbbing sacs.

One tendril sinking further to anchor itself to Alastor's pelvic floor, the other two limbs rotating their determined pumps cooperatively, the fourth limb was furiously rubbing the bulge of the demon's overly sensitive gland — the concentrated rubs in concert with the rhythmic rocking inexplicably drove the demon's arousal over the edge.

It had felt like the buck had bolted headlong over a steep clif face; the subsequent high from surpassing the highest peak he had ever known, then the pit of his stomach suddenly falling as his senses plummeted, the Radio Demon's cervine bawling was drawn out, as his body abruptly contracted . Violent shudders quaking his sweat-bathed body, his hot passage fluttering and hugging the quadruple of slicked limbs, the creature rode out Alastor's denied climax in good humour. 

Teasing his throbbing prostate by grinding a tentacle into it, pulling another involuntary contraction or two, Alastor's cock was spilling ropes of cum into the sand, the creamy seed splattering over his trembling abdomen and the arrangements of feelers and suckers caressing and suckling his damp skin. The buck's nipples grown hard and peaked from the heavy overstimulation, pectoral muscles clenched, the hard lines of the demon's throat were strained as he gasps sped up, harrowed moans trailing to periods of silence as he was milked arduously.

Gliding through the buck’s sweat plastered hair and fur framing his twitching ears, a matched pair of bulbs curled into his warm ear canals to sink in warily — their deflated tips pushing past the bends of the snug channel to press against his eardrums. The quiet rustling of tiny leaves and wisps branching off this pair of insidious vines were trembling, their feathery touch against Alastor's scalp inconspicuous amongst the excitement of the chaotic breeding.

The other vine hadn't given up on his twitching length; milking it for all he’s worth, squeezing out diluted ropes of seed, then sparse spurts, then in the end his seed dwindled down to bubbles of pearly fluid oozing from the gaped slit.

Breathing fast, the spirals throbbing in chorus with the steady throb rooted in his groin, Alastor's low moans followed the creature's insistence on weaving it's buried limbs together to plug Alastor's full ass; stiffened, the unfathomable pain was reworked as intense waves of pleasure, the Hypnosis transforming the painful twinges of Alastor's stretched hole into bursts of unmatched rapture. 

Flicking his ears, exhausted , Alastor stiffened briefly as the undulation spreading his core was taken over by a fresh flurry of activity at his groin. 

Oxytocin flaring yet again, Alastor's milk had been complying with his overstimulated body’s susceptibility to nursing. Producing new milk as he was forced into arousal, the persistent nuzzling and suckling tricking instincts to let his milk down. It was as exactly as the creature wanted — sending wizened tentacles to latch onto his swollen teats, Alastor involuntarily pulling in his stomach, starting, before breathing out to offer his full organ, bleating quietly. The fresh pair latched on, they were ravenous, tugging on the blushed pulsing bag to express his delicious milk in hastened pumps.

The frantic sucks were a carthasis, lulling the buck into his dazed trance. Riveted to the euphoric sensations of being drank from, the ceaseless pulls on his full organ, the wet lips kneading, the tongues rubbing the sphincters to let forth more nourishment. It remained instrumental that as long as the deer demon was capable of yielding milk, conditioned to do it without reluctance, the plant monster was glad. The milk flow was irresistible; residual white froth in rivulets coating the buck's billowing udders, the reddened blush was irrevocably spreading. 

The diminishing udders were due to be depleted at sometime during this encounter. The yield dwindling to thinned, then absolutely nothing; the inflamed flesh no longer supple but waxen and taut, cringing, Alastor's ever increasing winces and grunts had finally erupted as a wild thrash. Bucking, sending the insatiable tentacles loose, their milk-veiled forms hesitant, then darted forward to pass an attempt at nuzzling him again — rubbing the seam and swells of the overstimulated udders, Alastor's voice cracked as he resisted, kicking his bound leg in anguish, feeling the pain of being overmilked come rushing back in a torrent to break the Hypnosis,  

“No, STOP — YOU DARED TO —”

The bi-coloured vortex in his eyes spinning faster to vanish completely , as fearful comprehension sunk into the Radio Demon's embattered brain, upon looking down and back at the source of the intensified hurts, his quickened assessment of the scene was quickly dealt with. 

In a panic, incensed that he’d been taken advantage of, the Radio Demon bucked harder, his inner walls bearing down on the rigid vines stretching his throbbing ass. Giving great heaving gasps, arching his body, at long last the four tentacles buried pulled out wetly, looping over themselves on the ground. 

Awkwardly, in trying to stand up, his legs feeling like they were wholly made of rubber, he pitched straight onto his front because he’d even made it up onto his elbows. Although clarity was returning to his focused eyes, pupils shrinking in anger and upset, he hadn't been aware that more vines were entwined around his arms pinned straight to his sides, fists free to scratch or clutch at nothing but either the empty air or his own thighs. Tail rigid, a flashing white flag of danger, Alastor tried again to hoist himself up onto his haunches, wrenching his tight shoulders left and right to shake free the tightening embrace. 

The creature had been quietly tracking it's Pet’s movements, analysing his body language. It had come to the conclusion that it's still-in-training slave was new at obedience, and needed another push onto the right course if he wanted to live, alb it brainwashed into believing it was through his own unconditioned choices.

Emboldened by the loud silence in the wake of his resistance — having found the reserved strength within himself to at least roll onto his painful stomach and then back onto his knees, however bent low, fighting for breath. The overlong drain on his body's faculties had taken quite a lot out of his energy. Forced to let down more milk than he was ever accustomed to, his pulsating udders pounding with both want and yearning for a reprieve, trickles of milk were dribbling from the swelled organ to puddle into the sand and spent seed. 

Wrinkling his nose at the stink of his cum and enriched milk, Alastor was venturing to explain why this can't ever happen again, a touch of hysteria in his voice as a suspicious second voice inside his head tried to convince him with —

“Why not?” 

The Radio Demon got as far as opening his mouth when one of the overlapping vines slapped a fat tip over his lips to silence him with a wet slap — his thoughts weren't allowed to linger, the suspicious voice proposing to the confused demon:

"You loved it. 

You want to ask for more. 

You are not happy unless you are being milked. 

You are not calm unless you are being bred. 

You crave both or you will never know peace again.” 

Blinking away tears, striving to make any sense of it all, the fog hovering over his delirious thoughts still, the Radio Demon felt the true electrifying sensation of fear when the strange voice repeated it's mantra, not in a droning timbre but a pleasant lilt.

“But — “

"NO, " the unseen Voice instilled with a flat warning, echoing that very same mantra again, Alastor cocking his ears to decipher whomst the voice belonged to, the tendrils knotted inside his ears a forgotten presence —

“If you are not being milked, you will be PUNISHED. 

Disobey me, and your punishment will HURT. 

You do not want to disobey. 

You do not want to be punished. 

You will feed me what you owe, or you will be punished.  

Here, you can find out right now.

You had disobeyed, so you have earned your punishment. You will learn that punishment is bad. 

You want to be GOOD.” 

Apt to resist in ordinary circumstances, even if he were muzzled with a plant monster's tentacle like the present, Alastor wanted to profess that he couldn't offer milk if his body was replete of food, of bed rest — but the monster was already on the move. 

Whereas the mysterious Voice was deliverance, infusing the rattled Radio Demon's stricken consciousness with an overwhelming sense of ( manipulated ) reason and wisdom, Alastor's forgotten judgement had failed to convince him this was out of his control. He had been trained to believe this rendezvous with his newest confidante was the salvation he’d been hunting for. 

Whilst the deer demon felt that the Voice had a firm grasp on what was right for him, the demon's shuttered imagination had never pictured what sort of punishment it was going to be.

Even so, Alastor wasn't about to surrender; half of his mind was fixated on the searing pain in his belly, the deep hunger for his own intake of food, and an intermission from feeding a plant. Rolling his hips, the buck growled, in a forceful effort to disturb the vines’ hold on his pulsing teats. It wasn't the right answer to the persuasive voice inside his head. 

The waiting tentacles behind Alastor rising, they seized the distracted buck around each clenched thigh — propping him to be held face down, ass up, on his bruised knees and his thighs spread to expose his gaping hole, tail listless.

Drops of milk darkening patches in the sand, the third vine formerly dedicated to massaging his prostate, drew back sharply before swinging to smack the deer demon's bared entrance, the ring of muscle fluttering as the stinging swats slapped the tender flesh. Red lines briefly glowing down the swollen bulge of his pinked taint merging with his wearied udders as he cringed in reflex upon each  spank.

Alastor's miserable wails were crisp and reaching several octaves higher as the spanking carried on. Wincing violently on every humiliating wet smack, the recoil vibrating throughout his enervated udders to jostle his softened cock, spurts of milk splattered his belly as a tendril lost it’s grip. Heat was pooling in his gut, the heavy spanks sending bolts of pain centered on his spasming ring, the limbs’ swift pace stopped at a count of thirteen rapid swats.

Breathing raggedly, the Radio Demon urgently trying to pull his scattered thoughts together, he’d cried out as another whiplike smack bounced his ass as he had instinctively pulled away from the displaced sucker reaching out to latch again, the flagging pain in the teat spiking as the vine licked the dilated sphincter to coax out more milk. 

Defeated, or more realistically, trained well, Alastor sunk forward to lay on his chest, wanting to let sleep take charge if he was going to submit to the feeding. In spite of the buck’s tiredness, the creature couldn't drink with the demon flat on his stomach, or be forced to stand. In the time spent once they were to part ways, it was going to have to resolve that problem for the future.

A gentle tug on the buck's tail, and Alastor obediently lifted his ass, sliding back to prop himself on his knees again, yet without the support or imprisonment of the disciplinary tentacles. The pounding aches in his groin and belly hadn't subsided, not yet, occasional contractions of Alastor's barren milk bag even convincing his new Master that he had no more to give, he was truly and utterly spent for real this time. The demon's stomach was rumbling frequently now, needing food of his own, it’d been so long without a proper meal over the duration of the forced milking. Stimulated lactation was an easy feat; sustaining it without the right precautions and fuel made it impossible if not unbearable.

Unraveling it's limbs around Alastor to set him free, momentarily — nudging him to roll over onto his back of his ‘own volition’ with a firm push into his side, shortly Alastor was engulfed by a mass of swarming vines. As the various feelers, suckers, and plain tendrils sloughed off the remnants of the bodily fluids leaving his flushed skin tacky in place of the original mess, Alastor's mind was ablaze. 

Tomorrow.

Soon. 

He had to come back, visit again. Supposing the monster wasn't pleased to see him, after his disrespect? Alastor thought he was thinking clearly, patient while the plant removed traces of their coupling from his body; wincing as it's sinuous limbs caressed his tender body, tweaking a particularly sore spot where his spent cock was flaccid against his empty bag. Already he was feeling an insatiable loss, and he hadn't even left yet.

The thrill of seeing the creature again was coursing through his fatigued body, sitting up with a pained groan to accept the offered bundle of clothes he had folded away neatly before embarking on his “solo’ masturbation agenda.

Of course the Radio Demon hadn't recognised that the plan to return for servicing was of the monster's own invention: the implanted pollen infused inside Alastor's body was maintaining a solid connection with the plant, even with the substantial distance taken into consideration. 

The creature was, meanwhile, tracking it's Pet’s eye movements, his body, assessing the effectiveness of it's Hypnosis . It knew it's Aphrodisiac nectar was a sure thing, and combined with the influence it wielded through it's binding Light, it was confident it's Pet was planning on returning at the same time the next day. 

In the middle of cleansing the buck's body, it's feelers still embedded inside his cocked ears were whispering direct commands to the malleable demon. Establishing the necessary Hypnosis anchors, bolstering the connection between pleasure and pain — affectionately caressing a bruised teat, vacillating from circling his clenched entrance to cursory plucks at his hardened nipples, the final caress was focused on his worn-out length. Imbuing the Radio Demon's mind with poisonous thoughts — he WANTED to come back, if he ever wanted to anything enjoy anything again, strictly from being milking here — it elaborated on it's grand scheme by slyly letting go a portion of itself to crawl inside the distracted Overlord’s coat pocket. 

The vines and tentacles withdrawn, sliding back into the depths of the foliage covering the cave’s gloomy corner, getting to his feet Alastor had no inclination that the instructions bestowed upon him were anything but his own. 

The silence inside his muddied thoughts was thoroughly authoritative. Loathe to leave, however late it was, some hours had passed — extending a hand to conjure a portal back to his private sanctuary, looking back on the imperturbable plant lurking torpidliy in it’s corner, Alastor felt indebted to his Master acting as his saviour.

Safeguarding their big secret was a daunting task. In the early hours of the next morning, adding an extra gift to the original command was an afterthought, Alastor's idealistic plan was thought to be welcomed by the creature.

After purchasing the original instructed ‘gifts’ he felt was appropriate ( another deception, an implanted suggestion ) was likelier if he were to make his sojourn into the city a private affair, avoiding questions by the Hotel crew. 

It was none of their business what the hotelier was up to in his spare time. 

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐈

His eyes on the gifts he’d brought — one he had brought along with good intentions, the two other gifts that were in actuality a direct order. Indirectly proffered, the whispers in the Radio Demon's ears were gleaned as his own voice. Succinct as the Voice was, the Hypnotised Overlord had welcomed it. 

Crossing the threshold from the portal inside his Hotel room opened up directly into the mysterious cave, Alastor had felt his gifts would assuredly be welcomed. Only a night had passed, although the hours after dawn broke were fleeting, to the demon it certainly felt like an age already. Time was being wasted — precious time put to better use submitting under the enigmatic creature's firm touch, the buck eager to relive that rapture all over again.

The demon's thoughts were electric this time, as he entered the cave, the portal melding shut behind him. Everything was happening too fast, too much to process, to proceed with a clear head. 

After he had fetched the items he had promised himself to introduce today, Alastor had spent less than an hour at the Hotel's bar in the lobby before he felt the strings beginning to tug, a persistent nagging background noise that may have had something to do with the fact of the matter that he was categorically tipsy. Not pickled, not like his bartender the perpetually soused gambler, nor the spider demon who dabbled in every vice at least once before it was bedtime.

The Radio Demon was sipping from a glass of deserved rye when he'd felt the call.

Pushing away from the bar, taking his drink with him, prompting a quizzical look from Husk and an amused smirk from Angel Dust, the hotelier returned to his room — only to find nothing amiss. Nothing was out of place. There wasn't even the presence of magicks in the air, at least nothing that the Overlord could discern, sober or out.

Setting his now empty shot glass down on the vanity table, Alastor reaching down into the nondescript brown paper bag left on his chair, he took out the first purchased gift to trial it.

Straightening in front of the three mirrors atop the antique vanity, Alastor reached behind his neck to slip on and fasten the buckle of the black leather collar he had bought. The silver tongue wasn't quite so easy to buckle himself, unseen but navigating by touch behind his neck as he watched his reflection in the mirrors. Not even his Shadow doppelganger had been invited to the secretive meeting, nor told about it. Upon his return from the cave yesterday, Alastor was fairly strict in the clean up and eradication of proof that the sinner had been anywhere exciting or controversial.

Lifting his gaze to study his reflection, trailing clawtips over the conditioned leather, following down the curves of the accessory to the D ring resting over the hollow of his throat — snapping the clip of the matching chain leash onto the ring, a smooth voice was without warning filling Alastor's engaged thoughts with the first instructions of the morning. 

Left hanging over the back of the chair in front of him, the Radio Demon's coat was folded in half; a lump shifting inside an inner pocket as the creature's drone-tendril continued to speak. It had made sure first, scanning the room with it's own private magick, to confirm the buck's private sanctuary remained private with nobody else sharing their company.

The lump moving, pulling itself to reposition it's discreet body closer to Alastor's to enjoy the faint heat rising off the demon's body, it's Voice was intoned with enthusiasm — chiefly, entrancement, It wanted to talk of the ecstasy the deer demon was exager to revisit, the new secrets awaiting him, how he would do anything to ensure the second rendezvous was going to even surpass expectations over the first. 

Mind cluttered with everything the creature had given him, recalling not the trauma buried beneath the carefully concealed suppressed memories but the paradise that cave had bestowed, Alastor's attention was gravitating toward the respite the new safe haven lent him. In spite of the unknown thing living in his coat pocket interjecting his concentration on his reflection, suggesting why not drop in now, nobody would be missing him for daylight hours at the most, the clock was ticking… Groggy for reasons unknown to him, his brain fogged up beyond comprehension, Alastor had last night wearily climbed into his welcoming bed as soon as he had returned from the other place that he’d now come to regard as sacred. It's sanctity was to be closely guarded.

Sleeping off the hours of forced milking and orgasm control, the Hypnosis and Aphrodisiacs had taken a heavy toll on the Radio Demon's body. Not used to that much intimate activity acted out on a dime, the deep exhaustion he’d succumbed to the instant he’d gathered himself on the still-made bed, the thing waiting quietly in his coat’s pocket had briefly left the confines of it's chosen prison to explore once it had felt satisfied the Overlord’s deepened breathing verified his slumber.

Comprised of a single tentacle, the piece of the creature had ventured forth to explore the Radio Demon's naked body on it's own, in the dark. 

Completely blind without eyes, it didn't need those primitive organs to see — touch and the power of knowledge was enough.

Slithering, it had determined the edges of the warm body ahead, and determined it's entry point. After so many years exiled to the cave, it needed to sustain itself in the time spent apart from it's main body. Otherwise, it feared it may die out here, too far away from it's body to reunite for refreshment.

Wriggling into the sliver of a gap between rumpled bedding and the buck’s motionless body, the lone tentacle squeezed it's way under it's pet's sleeping form to find a teat. The spent organ shrunken back to it's regular state, the warm organ was however flattened between the weight of his pelvis and the unyielding mattress. Latching onto the first teat the tendril had found was a feat in it's own right; leery of waking up the deer demon, the tendril’s placid suckling was circumspect. Some milk was coming in — the undulation of it's svelte length pressed into Alastor's bony hip and inert udder were unnoticed, nothing of importance to stir the exhausted Overlord's slumber. Breathing deeply, sleeping on his stomach with his arms hugging a pillow to bury his face into it, his sleep wasn't restless. The buck's tail motionless as well, only the slightest indication of his back rising and falling gave away that the Radio Demon wasn't actually dead.

After unable to quench it's desires out of greed rather than truthful hunger, the tendril had sought out the other teat after shortly exhausting the supply in the first quadrant, a sleepy murmur from Alastor had the tendril wriggling back to retreat back to his coat’s pocket.

Upon waking at early dawn, then feeling the beginnings of restlessness, Alastor had noticed the faint throb in his groin, and had leaked a little milk in the night. Embarrassed as this was most definitely not the first time it had happened, after bundling up the soiled sheet for laundry, Alastor had spent time in the shower before getting ready and embarking on the quick excursion into the city for the three gifts. 

The thing in the pocket had accompanied him all the way, and slyly manipulated Alastor's perusal of the BDSM accessories by discreetly touching him through his coat. Either a caress of a hip, or below his navel, recognising the erogenous zones as convenient triggers to work up the Radio Demon's anchored instructions to return to his Master for his rewards. 

A short layover was squeezed into Alastor's shortened time left, purchasing the third gift. The shop and the gift itself, the thing did not understand, but it let him splurge because it made the Pet happy, and keening the Pet happy was paramount to guaranteeing the prized nutrients rich nourishment for itself. The milk it had stolen last night as enough to live on, for the course of a morning, but no longer than that. Maintaining the Radio Demon's simmering arousal was a task better suited for it's main body, in private.

It hadn't any suspicions when Alastor had left his coat behind when he decided to mingle with the other Hotel tenants, a decision the creature was happy to oblige. Left alone to think, it had nothing to do but wait for the deer demon's return so it could instill on him the time had come to recall his promise.

That was why the creature had called the Radio Demon back sooner than it had anticipated, panicked by the fading familiarity of the Overlord's drunken condition. 

Now, reassured that all was well, it wanted to guide the sinner's thoughts back to it's selfish agenda. 

Giving the chain leash a tentative tug, feeling the change in it's weight as he straightened it hard enough to exert pressure on the back of his neck, the hidden thing spoke aloud for the last time, the briefest flicker of remembrance sparking in the buck’s blank eyes. 

“Caged like veal.”

The old-world phrase was all it took for the Radio Demon's pulse to beat hard, sweat prickling the nape of his neck, the leather collar wicking. 

Hurriedly shrugging his coat on, still oblivious to the piece of the creature hiding within it, Alastor picked up the heavy paper bag and summoned the portal that bridged his personal quarters to the safe haven. 

Threatening his first visit back to the cave through a stumble after stepping down from the shimmering portal, quick on the recovery, the Radio Demon's scrutiny of the dim cave was pointless — as soon as the portal evaporated, a strong pair of arms had pulled the Radio Demon into a fond embrace from behind.

The muscular limbs had crossed over the unsuspecting sinner's chest, gliding one large hand down Alastor's stomach, stopping to fondle his crotch shamelessly: the other hand brought up to caress his chest, fingers extended to delicately pick up the chain leash Alastor had left draped over his shoulder. Tracing the lines of the individual links one by one, as if counting them, the figure looming behind Alastor hadn't yet properly introduced itself — but it needn’t have. In the seconds that followed, a pair of tentacles had slunk from the creature's manifested humanoid facade to writhe through the thick fur framing the deer demon's fluffy ears, slithering inside to pick up on communicating with it's Pet — and imbibe him with further demands. 

Clutching the paper bag, Alastor was distracted from presenting the gifts inside it, tipping his head back as the creature's fingers roamed all over his body, fingertips lingering over his chest and belly, the growing bulge in his crotch.

Inside his head, the Voice spoke, acting as if on behalf of the waking desires coming to the surface of Alastor's buzzing mind, his burgeoning arousal stirred by the creature's humanoid form tantalisingly toying with Alastor's hardness.

“You haven't been milked for hours. 

You are desperate for the reprieve. 

It is inconceivable you have waited this long. 

You will never wait this long again. 

You WILL submit to milking, for without it you will suffer unimaginable loss. 

You will not know happiness unless you are being milked. 

Strip.” 

Tilting his pelvis, giving a soft moan, the Radio Demon pushed his groin into the creature's splayed fingers, eager to relieve the pressure that hadn't even yet begun in his rousing sacs. Shifting the paper bag to one hand, pushing his monster's hand out of the way to get to his belt, the Radio Demon fumbling in his hurry to unbuckle his pants one-handed. Hooking his thumb under the belt and waistbands of his pants and briefs, managing to drag them down halfway off one hip, Alastor postponed undressing to unveil the last of the gifts, including the impulsively bought surprise.

Unrolling the folded top and reaching inside, the amused buck had just brought out the new bottle of whiskey sat inside the aluminium  wine ice-pail, the glass still cold — as the two of them were busy enjoying each other, the bipedal monster had started moving the sinner toward the corner where it's real form lay waiting, vines and tentacles gliding out to make furrows in the silvered sand, stopping at the toes of Alastor's hooves.

Previously exhilarated by the unfaltering tremors in it's Pet's thin frame, playing it's fingers over the exposed skin of the buck's midriff as he pulled his shirt free of his pants and belt, an excited shiver rippling through the deer demon's body, the monster hesitated.

It's face canted alongside Alastor's, it's impassive shadowed features twisting into a look of concern, of suspicion… The scent of alcohol wa  acrid on the Overlord’s exhales, the repulsive aroma bringing with it a burst of ajger into the creature’s incensed expression. Seizing Alastor's wrist with it’s own hands, it had by accident made him drop the liquor bottle, the whisky falling from Alastor's grasp to the ground and shatter in two as the fragile glass struck one of the sharp rocks fringing the plant’s ground cover amassed in the corner.

Whilst most of the whisky was immediately soaked into the ground, the sand darkening as the liquid disappeared into the earth. More than a fair amount had splashed, spraying as either droplets onto the leaves and flowers, or nearer to the aroused couple’s crowded feet as heavier splashes. 

As soon as the whisky landed, a haze of smoke steamed up from the sizzling plant, it's skin burning under the spilled whiskey, vines and roots hurriedly drawing back in mingled alarm and searing pain — blooms closing up tight, tentacles coiling into a ball, the monster's humanoid form pulling back on Alastor to retreat a pace from it's injured real self pulling itself back into a dark cavity crack behind a curtain of vines.

At it’s unspoken behest, a team of sinuous leafed vines from the quivering mass of plants huddled in the corner whipped forward to anchor the deer's ankles in place, at first Alastor was too shocked by the rush of events to properly understand just what had happened. In his excitement to please the monster, unaware at the time it had possessed the ability to transform a part of itself, the Radio Demon had wanted to toast the success of their new partnership, in the traditional way. The bucket belonged to the original instructions, but the whisky was his idea. A stupid one.

Eyes sweeping over the plant’s defensive posture, the flowers now invisible, the leaves furled tight, the Overlord was evaluating the distress his last gift had invoked, purely by accident, when a sharp yank on his leash had brought him to stand up on his toes, his pointed hooves sinking a little into the dense sand. His wrists growing numbed and tingling where the monster gripped his arms, it's free hand was finishing the job of stripping Alastor — tugging his briefs further down to cinch around his spread thighs, unzipping the fly, the bulge of his roused udders spilling out partially, his cock softened on the middle seam, the thing in his coat pocket was leaving it's safe space to enforce the Rules. 

Further yanks and bold wriggling under his clothes were torlRn at  he stitching, the seams flapping back to fall at his braced hooves, the vines dragging his ruined coat away to clear the ground.

The Radio Demon shuddered, recognising the incoming discipline, however his panic-stricken thoughts were focused on the conventional method of spanking.

Elongating as it wriggled, then shrinking back, then all over again, the piece of the creature creeping over the loosened strap of Alastor's belt onto his hip, then making it's way south. Disregarding the rise of the udders when he sucked ina deep breath, the thing continued downwards to follow the seam of the organ, resolute.

Shifting uncomfortably in the creature's grasp, the feedback of the detached tendril squirming under his tightened milk bag to slip between his thighs was almost too much. Jerking, a swift swat from the creature’s hand jiggling an udder, Alastor crying out, to close that door on the invasive thoughts filling up his distressed mind it was too late. Squirming in place, panting loudly as he rolled his tongue out to drool, it was impossible to ignore the lone tentacle probing at his clenched painful hole, Alastor whimpering as the probing worked at his throbbing  entrance still hurting and raw from yesterday’s brutal  multiple penetration; an over-excited nuzzling at his rosebud until the Voice hushed into his ears — “ALLOW ME ” — so the Radio Demon meekly obeyed, relaxing his body to permit the tentacle entry.

Burying it's nose in, the thing propelled itself inside, making sure that half it's length was left outside Alastor's fluttering ring, anchoring it's tail to the slope of the buck's taint.

There, it began to rub furiously at the Radio Demon's prostate, feeling it immediately respond to the abrupt stimulation inside and out.

The Radio Demon had instantaneously bore down on the wriggling intrusion, gasping, rolling his hips forward until another smack to both udders elicited a pained groan. Breathless again, Alastor’s lucid thoughts were ablaze, his untrained hole shuddering, arousal radiating from the rubbed prostate into his lower gut — the swell of his udders tightening, heat rising, the deer demon couldn't do anything but allow the tentacle to abuse his prostate, massaging it in order to expedite the production of milk. It was by far the fastest way to encourage it; regular nursing was second, but the most natural, A deep blush reddening his cheeks, salty tears burning, Alastor's limp ears shook as the subtle rocking of his pelvis grew from a succinct tremor to a rhythmic and feral pace.

This was all about punishing the Radio Demon, for jeopardising a collection of his milk. Tainted with alcohol that clearly hurt the plant, overstimulating the buck to force a yield out of him before the proper harvest could commence, was a great opportunity to better train the demon about the simple rules guarding their tradeoff. Refusing to let the deer enjoy the crude milking, the tentacle barreled past Alastor's threshold for it by insisting on rubbing that knot even after the Radio Demon had came on his own belly. Ribbons of seed splattering his stomach and heavy udders, the relentless undulation inside his spasming hole was fraying Alastor's endurance.

Frantic moans trailing off, Alastor's chest and bely heaving, finally the separate tentacle had ceased it's ministrations. Absolutely still inside the deer demon's rear, Alastor's arousal past it's peak, it's intensity leaving him disorientated and limp, the stuffed feeling from having the thing plugging him like an ordinary butt-plug was building up the impression that he was truly owned, claimed exclusively. 

Breathing hard, his pulse slowing down, the Voice in his ears answered the unspoken questions that the creature had predicted the  sinner was going to say. The vines rustling amongst his thick fur, gently rubbing in circular motions the tensed muscles pinning his ears back, it's tone betrayed by the hard edge of flint as it whispered it's next commands. 

“You know you've been a GOOD BOY. You had only made one mistake.  

You will pay for what you owe. Again.  

Every time you waste milking, you will be Punished. 

You will visit me if you want to be milked. You will not know happiness until you do.  

Now, you will pay your dues. 

Obey.“ 

Whining plaintively, Alastor knew the discipline was deserved, he had to endure. But that knowledge didn't lessen the pain it caused him, the unwavering implications that by trying to do right by his master, that he'd made things worse.

Made to lean forward, the monster's hands guiding the demon's to brace against the close cave wall, claws splayed and his legs tugged further to stand shoulder-width apart by the vines securing his ankles to the ground firmly without any slack. Then, those adept fingers reaching around the Radio Demon's hips to yank his pants and underwear firmly down to pool around his knees, locking his posture to stiffen as he faced the wall — his skin prickling with anxiety as he felt the monster's wet tongue flick at the juncture of his neck, the vines cradling his head growing still as the monster made a series of deliberated movements behind him. 

Bent forward slightly, Alastor kept his eyes locked onto a random spot on the wall; pulse racing faster, fear rising, Alastor did not object when the monster lifted his tail to expose his buttocks, the authoritative handling sparking a violent shiver up his spine. Chewing on his bottom lip in apprehension, the Radio Demon tasted the metallic tang of blood when he'd suddenly bitten it as a slender tentacle was gliding down between his asscheeks, moving into the cleft separating his inner thighs and arcing up in front to cradle his full udders, it's tip nosing his navel absently. 

In the same movement as if it were an individual limb, the monster had dropped one hand to fondle the Radio Demon's right udder, thumbing the fat teat to tease out a dollop of cream. The other hand supporting the buck’s upper half with a solid hold on his leash bringing his head back, Alastor hadn't any idea what was going to happen, but therein was the strength of the new Pet’s resolve that regardless whatever his master did to him, it was deserved, And Alastor had made a promise, as he closed his eyes tight, readying himself for the incoming pain, that he would never cross the creature ever again.

“I know you won’t ,“ that Voice intoned with a higher level of smugness, as the creature brought back the tentacle splitting his buttocks to press it's smooth skin into Alastor's taint, Alastor's dread spiking — “ You will learn the hard way to understand good manners.” 

Without another ounce of warning, the monster suddenly drove the single tentacle back to sweep between Alastor's legs, effortlessly grinding it's sinuous muscle back and forth rapidly to floss the incredibly tender curves of the buck's throbbing organ and cleft, the vigorous pumping prompting Alastor to rise up higher on his toes — except he had only succeeded in pitching forward by a fraction of what he wanted to do, his keening whines bursting into wretched BLEATS, miserable gasps interjected as the creature's fingers encircled a bloated teat to painfully milk it directly over the aroused tip. Pinching the twitching sphincter shut in recurrent motions, timing the forced extraction with the frenzied but evenly paced thrusts of the tentacle dividing his inner thighs and asscheeks.

The rough thrusts were rocking the Radio Demon on his hooves kept firmly planted, more vines creeping up to ensnare more of the buck's trembling calves. The incessant friction was chafing the deer demon's sensitive flesh, the soft skin rubbed raw and throbbing with combined want and pain altogether stupefying the humiliated demon. 

Each pump unified with the strong fingers and thumb periodically squeezing the teat, fresh — but liquor-tainted — milk was streaming out in spurts, painting the cave wall white with the foamy milk. Alastor couldn't help watching himself be forced to let his milk down, watch how his precious fluid was being wasted all because the Overlord had no sense of self control. It was supposed to be reserved for feeding the creature — not mindlessly thrown away.

The puddles of milk was starting to spread, the squirts of the new feeding the mess to inch outwards along where the rocks were breaking up the foot of the wall. 

The Radio Demon's organ becoming warmer, the pinched teat blushing a darker pink as the digits stubbornly continued to pull on the irritated flesh. The sore organ divided by unspent lust and forced milking, Alastor was squirming, arching his back in order to gain a reprieve from the punishment. 

The monster refused to give into It's Pet's pleas, intent on chasing up the inexcusable discretion bringing an alcoholic beverage to ‘share’, or drink it alone. The alcoholic content was more than inappropriate for plant-life — It had to make sure that the wilful Radio Demon nevermade a mistake like that again.

As the punishment went on, each forward thrust of the tentacle compressing the buck's udders to express milk with a hard pinch, only one of the two teats were seen to. The pain was intensifying for him, as was the visuals of spilling so much, yet the creature was unemotional and expressionless. 

Smelling the odour of booze on It's Pet's breath was due to trigger another round of discipline, most likely repeat the milking on the other full teat — but the monster had considered Alastor had by now repented for his crime, strove to fix his outstanding flaws. 

The Radio Demon was panting feverishly long after the monster had ceased the discipline; slipping the tentacle to embrace the pulsating udders, curling it's tip to rub consoling caresses into the abused flesh. Broken out in a cold sweat, Alastor winced, straining to hear the next bit of advice from the strange Voice.

None came.

A tickling feeling creeping up, Alastor hadn't bothered to tear his gaze away from the shock of the milk plastered over the well. He knew the touch well. 

It belonged to a cluster of tentacles making their way up his body, twining around his trembling legs and hips, darting to possessively cradle his drained organ, sweeping over his leaking cock and lovingly stroking his lethargic body. Ignoring the sheet of milk glazing his resilient flesh, kneading gently the sore areas where the rough thrusts had bruised his skin, Alastor was too tired to reconsider the brazen moans of gratitude, the appreciation for teaching him better manners — rolling his hips, softly grinding into the fondling tendrils, a swift smack stinging where his thighs met his buttocks quickly stopped that — a new touch tracing his dry lips had the deer demon loyally part his lips obediently to admit the ribbed siphon.

Pushing past over his tongue, settling over the rising swell at the back of throat, a stiffened jolt of the siphon-vine and it was shortly after pumping a constant stream of it's potent Aphrodisiac.

Gulping down the sweetened, warmed nectar like it was going out of fashion; lips pursed around the thick shaft, leaning more forward earnestly, kneading his claws into the solid rock, Alastor's long tail was wagging excitedly, his ears pinned back and quivering with the shivers tingling his whole malnourished frame. The lewd gulps were loud, unabashed; Alastor drinking the esteemed reward with abandon,  lids half-lowered in ecstasy as he drank.

The tendrils affectionately caressing his shrunken bag were lively, the opposite of the Radio Demon's drowsiness. The progressive rubs were easing the buck's tension, encouraging the feel-good hormones through the stirring of new milk production, and feeding the impoverished buck with a one of a kind nectar that would break his addiction to liquor. As the demon continued to suckle, rivulets of the golden nectar winding down his jaw line, attentive tendrils sweetly stroking his undulating throat with knuckled tips to assist with the hastened swallows like the Overlord didn't know how to quench his thirst. 

Another knuckled set gently nudging an awakened teat to test his resilience — the heat pooling in his gut was filling, the surplus Aphrodisiac strengthening the demon's arousal as efficiently as it satisfied his hunger for a feed. 

An Indignant growl when the siphon eventually withdrew, one of the tendrils curled inside an ear moving fast to pinch, Alastor relented. 

Feeling nausea sweep over him briefly, licking his lips nervously, Alastor turned his head to follow the first instruction since the retribution’s scolding had ended; the vines securing his ankles loosening to free his legs.

Indisposed to move, a firm tug on the leash had the trained Radio Demon moving there and then. No hushed commands were given, no prompt directions to guide the way — only the unyielding tug on his chain had the Overlord moving of his ‘own’ volition.

Following the taut chain was the only guide he needed; walking steadily, albeit slower than presumed because of the rough punishment, the wet clothes sticking to his skin in perspiration and spent milk.

A stop was made on the way back to the monster's den — the leash grew slack once they had reached the tree stump in the center of the cave, and a second harsher tug on the chain bade Alastor to hold his shins tightly, bending over to present his faintly blushed backside to the stump.

It wasn't the stump itself that moved — it was only a dead tree — the monster Itself taking a pace back behind Alastor, dipping a free hand into the bowl of nectar, it brought up a palm of the amber fluid to slick the buck's painful rear, and deeper between his spread thighs.

The cold sap oozing, it slid into every crevice, cooling the inflamed skin where the tentacle flossing had rubbed raw. Grimacing, Alastor's strangled gasps were hoarse, accepted as simple reactions to his seared flesh slicked with the curative sap, arching his back as the monster slid two fingers into his anus to rub more inside. The greased fingers working at his inner ring, occasionally spreading him, Alastor had to suppress the urge to ride those questing digits, the temptation lost partially because he understood it’d turn out to be a savage spanking, and partially because the fingers exited to tease his taint, rubbed hard into his responsive body. The sap sticky, only a handful of the Aphrodisiac dripping off his warmed udders and inner thighs, the monster finished mitigating the worst of the pain with a few more lingering rubs before a tap above his tailbone together with a hearty yank on the least prompted the Radio Demon to stumble forward to follow.

There was no hesitation even as the chain, the monster at the other end of it, pulled him across the thick bed of vines and roots, the plants moving out of the way where necessary to permit the Radio Demon's sharp hooves bared clearance to step.

At the back of the cave’s corner was a darker space, previously disregarded as shadows from a crack in the rockface.. This was not so. Concealed behind the heavy layer of greenery and climbing roots, revealed a dark tunnel. The cavity was just slim enough to admit a single body through, one at a time; the monster went first, leading Alastor by the leash. Navigating the darkness within was effortless due to the sinner's nocturnal eyesight, his lens flashing green as he looked up from the bare terrain of the smooth ground to meet his Master's — the creature blank, internally conscientious of any alarming signs the Radio Demon may not have disguised in the fallout of hid impromptu punishment.

The deer demon's own expression was undeniably anxious, but it belied an eagerness to please. Looking forward to a reward after the brutal punishment, the distinctive absence of the Voice was in light of the heartening developments from hereon then was overlooked as meaningless, It surely meant he had done everything right . 

The nectar massaged inside him a distant ache as he moved, his steps grown more critical, stooping lower to enter the narrowed tunnel, at times turning halfway to pass a sharp outcrop, the demon and the monster emerged into an open space not as tail as the main lair’s cave, but more open with no jutting rock formations or dead trees, except for a newly formed addition to the monster's home at the other end. 

Not exactly in the middle of the claustrophobic room, but it had space all round the sides, so the new structure was recognised as none other but a milking stall.

The stanchion was raised off the ground by less than a foot, a slope at the open mouth of the stall free of debris. Smooth ground, hardpacked soil instead of the glistening sand, the stall in particular bore a substrate of softened moss-covered turf, possibly something better described as peat than solid dirt. Stray roots arcing over the gnarled wooden slats making up the two side boards; these flanked Alastor as another stern tug on the chain motivated him to enter the stall, going down onto his knees, then reaching the other end on his hands jointly. The end of the stall was open save for two thickened boards adjacent to the buck's encroaching antlers, as soon as his head was past the gap both plankr at once slotted sideways parallel to the trapped Radio Demon’s upturned neck, acting as a yoke to keep him pinned in place.

Surprised, pulling back with a start, a panicked bleat escaping his still-Aphrodisiac moistened lips, the subsequent dropping of the Hypnosis Lantern had materialised out of the darkness, casting it's strong light directly into the Overlord's stricken face.

Pulling back again, rattling the stuck-fast boards with his shoulders, it was a fleeting moment of despair before Alastor fell straight back into the Trance, the stiffness leaving his clenched fingers and limbs, his paled features smoothing out into a docile expression, his incensed shock dissolved into submission.

The Lantern held it's position, mere inches from the enamored Radio Demon's face, lighting up his face and body through the gaps in the stall’s frame. The chain leash clinked as the monster drew it higher to loop under and over the tie-railing above, the loose length dangling to Alastor's left out of reach outside the enclosure.

Inevitably, the same yellow and black swirling vortex returned to Alastor's transfixed eyes, the lids widened as if he had without warning absorbed some incomprehensible morsel of knowledge that the creature had gifted, knowledge that was indispensable. 

The spirals swirling, no begging or an end, the Radio Demon's vacant stare did not move from the fixed target dawdling so close to his face. The colour returning to his cheeks, the stripped emotions welling up inside, Alastor hadn't even noticed when additional tentacles had slipped down and up his pants’ legs, severing the fabric at the seams to drop away at his knees, other vines manifested to yank his waistband lower to bunch as far as they could go, stretched around his bent knees. The nectar had turned his skin glossy, the reddened blush of his rear and the slope of his udders disappearing between his thighs quickly covered by the growing mass of vines enveloping the buck's body — eliciting a startled noise from the deer demon as a pair of thin feelers were gliding over his back to arc under his ribcage, his back stiffened as the pair sought out his chest, closing in on the two nipples.

Corkscrewing tightly around the soft buds, the feelers calmly squeezing, then increasing the tempo to swallow the stiffening peaks inside their peeled maws; the damp warmth suckling, the unyielding suction was sensational, Alastor's breath hitching for the dozenth time that morning, an unexpected shrill cry escaping his clenched jaw as another group of vines belted themselves around his lower back and stomach, sending more feelers creeping over his skin to knead and suck, kiss across his twitching navel and stomach, the longest vine curling around the root of his stirring member to pick it up in a firm hold. Twisting around the shaft, the flexible tip coiled flushed against his cockhead, the vine’s ribbed shaft and soft leaves were soft and hard together, the shaft rubbing up and down Alastor's length, the coiled end anchored over his leaking slit rubbing the aroused head.

Alastor's surprised cry a one-off, the wave of piteous moans coming out of him were prolonged, the vines hugging his slim frame tighter under it's coils granting him some friction as the vine stroked his cock to thicken, his shaft throbbing with need.

The Lantern steadfast, it’s projected light glowing brighter, the beam narrowing to a single shaft illuminating Alastor's eyes at the same time as one, the leafy buds burrowed inside his head fidgeting, unfurled it's leaves to wrap around the sagging list of the buck's ears, in small doses massaging the muscles making up his ears, progressing to in indulgent yet tenderhearted squeezes as it spoke firmly inside his spinning brain, it's Voice strict and cajoling, more than a tinge of overprotective greed in it's controlled temper. 

Staring blankly back into the blinding light, taking a deep breath through flared nostrils, the vines’ leaves rustling as his earplugs swelled, Alastor's voice matched the Voice’s instructions out loud, feeling an empty hollow begin to ache in the pit of his groin, in spite of the fact that he had quaffed an impressive amount of the plant’s nectar mere minutes ago. 

Even then, the heavy feeling spreading to engulf his udders, acutely aware of a heavy presence materialising right behind his backside;  neither struck fear in him, Alastor's eyes rolling back into his head — gritting his teeth, the monster's skilled fingers reaching below his belly to grope, the Radio Demon's stutter didn't impact his repeating his Master's instructions. 

“REPEAT. You will obey.” 

“I will obey.”

“You love being milked.”

“I love being milked.”

“You will give your all.” 

“I will give my all.”

“You cannot stop unless I will it.” 

“I will not stop unless you will it.”

“You love being milked. You will be milked, until I am satisfied. You will only produce the finest milk. Your worth is your milk. 

You will ONLY come to me for milking. You love it. You will do as I say…”

During this, the creature's fingers were in the first instance skimming the deer demon's hips, roaming lower,thereafter fondling the udders — pointed fingertips sinking into the pulsating bag, in a short time palpating the throbbing organ to encourage milk coming in. 

Alastor's eyes were fluttering erratically, the piercing light stubbornly keeping the Overlord's sight fixated on it's radiant beam: the ruthless kneading at his groin sending an intense surge of oxytocin to swamp his sound understanding of the bizarre circumstances. The Radio Demon had never had roleplay deveop this much, a milking stall and everything , although getting serviced on his hands and knees was not an innovative experience. His breathing coming faster, more ragged, the unprecedented level of the radiating hormones flooding his drained body was more than intoxicating. The hands at the start delicately fondling his pulsating udders, moving onto vigorous strokes coming closer to the stirring teats — the Radio Demon's gasps split into a drawn out, desirous stag’s bawl, both thumbs and forefingers forcing the first stream of milk out in a bold pump of the organ, stripping the teats down and bellying the heavy organ on the return pinch.

The first spray of fresh milk had splattered Alastor's forearms and chest, the tilt of the swollen teat misfired in the creature's fervent jerks, his udders filling up under the duress of the forced stimulation, the fingers clutching the pair coming to a sudden stop, the trapped milk increasing the pressure inside the swelling nipples. 

Grinding his backside into the monster's belly, or whatever was pressed close to his rump, Alastor's gasps remained shrill, digging his claws deeper into the ground in frustration, arching his back in an exaggerated display of willingness to mate, his fluffy tail straining backwards in an offering of his attractive ass.

The creature hadn't in fact forgotten about the vital detail; Alastor had to be bred to induce milk, and this wasn't a fact it loathed at all. Fucking the buck's tight ass was a marvelous gamble, exploring the demon's insides and fulfilling his carnal delights to guarantee the prized milk his unusual body produced — the trade off was mutually rewarding,

It however was not the time yet to breed; pulling the wriggly buck closer to It's large body, keeping one set of fingers and thumb pinching a teat, the other hand busied lustily massaging the other half of the bloated organ, often interjecting the firm rubs with a sprightly succession of swats to the ends of the nipples, pulling an anguished bawl again from the desperate buck. The Voice's instructions resonating in his head, Alastor didn't want to understand why the creature wasn't yet fucking him stuffed to burst — he was desperate to have the milking happen before his full organs relieved of the annoying weight, the exhilarating thrill of being milked unrealised.

Moaning, the sinner rutting his pelvis blatantly into the kneading hands, not minding the stinging coming from his chest as the suckers there speeded up their ardent suckling, Alastor's brazen push for his promised reward was met with a sharp slap to his throbbing cock, the vine holding it stilling it's subtle pumps to cinch tightest around the base. The Radio Demon's overreaching arousal unsatisfied, inching his trembling thighs further apart as he did his best to lift his ass higher, his shoulders pinned into the boards flanking his neck, the buck's final appeal for the glorified reward was addressed — the scrape of the metal pail slid haphazardly in front of his knees, the satisfaction that came with the first squirts of milk jetting into the dry tin was music. 

The wispy feelers nuzzling his stomach, tracing the hard hollows and curves of his thin frame with gentle kisses, licks moistening his sweat-bathed skin, the Radio Demon couldn't return the affections, tethered the way he was. Although the temptation was there, showing his appreciation for the never ending praise was out of his reach — the commanding Light was all powerful, drawing him into a world of bliss, the buck's guttural groans the bare minimum effort be was allowed to do. Curling his claws into the soil, keening, he pushed his rear back again, seeking the warmth usually associated with a living body. There was a body, that of the creature's summoned form, yet without the warmth. The plant monster had the bearings of a living, organic creature; the similarities ended with the lack of a beating pulse. 

Hissing past clenched teeth, Alastor raised his ass still higher, dipping his shoulders the lowest he could achieve, accomplishing the best depiction of an animal in heat, lusting to be taken raw — the yellow and black vortex swirling steadily, the Radio Demon's rumbled purr was cut short with a cruel yank on his flashing tail — one hand disappeared from fondling his heaving organ to stretch the tail painfully back, the second hand never straying from cradling the swollen udders.

Hefting the weight, teasing a teat with a thumb, the creature's body was actually melting — transforming. The humanoid shape was changing, sinking down to grow new vines, roots climbing over the stall’s boards and the flattened ground, the creature's hands turning over into vines free of irritating fronds and thorns. 

The center mass of the creature's body, where it's alternate form’s abdomen used to be, was pressing into Alastor’s offered ass, a group of different sized vines clinging to his sweaty skin and hooked over his hips, his quivering thighs. The suckers undisturbed by the rapid transfiguration had sustained suckling the hotelier’s sore nipples, casting more feelers out to futilely seek more protrusions to suck, skirting his belly button and settling for the glob of fluids dripping from his weeping cock.

The vine withholding Alastor's climax from him with another squeeze on the root, tapping the engorged slit, exciting the new feelers to stroke his throbbing shaft and the reddened crown, Alastor had all of a sudden dropped in height, pushing his shoulders and collarbone painfully into the rough hewn boards — a multitude of varigated vines had been probing at his tight hole, an ongoing torture without penetration, when out of his Hypnotised dreams and into real life had those four vines without warning RAMMED deep inside his yearning body.

The four broad girths of vines were studiously pumping into his spasming entrance, stretching his core to the brink of fissures tearing, pulling an anguished yet satisfied bugle of arousal out of the Radio Demon.

The coordinated plunge had vanquished the rising emptiness numbing his core; the subsequent rhythmic rocking sending wave after wave of pleasure, temporarily lifting Alastor’s limp knees and shins off the ground on the onset of every thrust inside,  Alastor’s bruised ring stretched wide around the group of thick limbs. 

Twisting as they fucked him hard, their entwined lengths were dragging and gliding over his inflamed prostate in frequent bursts of  quickened pumps, the buck's ragged grunts wet with arousal, strings of drool swaying from Alastor's slackened lips. The vortex contained within his eyes had erupted into a new psychedelic display, zig-zags of green supplementing the circular swirls of obsidian and gold. 

The feral fucking wasn't the main course: full to leak on their own, the Radio Demon's lactating udders were dripping, the breeding instigating the flow of milk in a new volume. The yield of milk was in dire need of release, the fat droplets of escaped nourishment escalated to frequent squirts of milk; altogether too much was left to drain into the soil, or tracking along Alastor's shuddering body to slick his skin. The hand originally holding his tail out of the way, turned into another vine with the others, slunk over his bony hip to catch a swinging teat to pinch the base — the other former hand still clutching it's own half since the beginning of the entrapment, both coiled tightly over and under the tightened milk bag — the Radio Demon's shrill bleat signalling the first explosive yield, the twin sprays of milk splattering the buck's churning abdomen and his sprawled forearms, arcs of spent white froth gathering on the high points of his elbows and prominent ribcage. The second or third squirts were aimed proficiently into the bucket brought into the hidden tunnel — thereafter, the next streams of fresh milk hitting the pail was like a broken record, the repeated sharp noise of fluid on a hard surface’s contact augmenting the hypnotic trance the Radio Demon was lost in. 

Drooling, absolutely and positively drunk on the exhilaration of being milked, despite how unpleasant first then undoubtedly painful overmilking was, the Overlord’s mind was in pieces, perpetually drowning in the aroused delights.

The vines relentlessly pulling and squeezing his throbbing teats, the pulsating udders barely undulating under the forced milking because of the unaccustomed amount of overstimulated milk trapped. The overfull bag was drawn tight to Alastor's loins and belly, the slicked sides chafing the deer demon's inner thighs as the four vines continued to pump into his throbbing ass, gliding over his aching gland in punishing plunges. 

The milking was uncompromising, the rhythmic rocking and squeezing unbroken as Alastor fought for a second release of a different kind — the solitary vine withholding his cock's load was getting past the barrier of the Hypnosis, at first Alastor's irritated whines ignored, the suckers lazily circling the twinging head, lapping at the trickle of translucent fluid.

Tail wagging madly, his bleeding hole fluttering, at long last did the monster notice it's Pet's rising distress.

The Radio Demon was pawing his hooves and knees into the ground, pushing his arms against the base of the boards locking his neck: lowering his upper half, the buck was straining to find friction, an agonised gasp breaking his incessant panting, an accidental bump from one of the vines toying with his udders had provided a brief respite. The veins bulging, the spongy flesh pinched by the vine was changing colour as the sensitivity escalated to new heights — the limb refused to let him climax until it had deemed him worthy, increasing the power of the so-called Reward. 

The pace established, the four vines thrusting, glazed with slick and sap, broken leaves sticking to the Radio Demon's glossy skin, the plant had a few more rules to enforce before the final release.

Sweeping under his belly, a free vine dodging the squirming tendrils working at his bruised nipples, navel, and bloated organ, this last vine’s job was to preserve the purity of the expressed milk.

Nosing it's way, using Alastor's chest and abdomen as a volatile guide, this vine upon reaching the stiffened cock twitched, flicking it's tongue quizzically into the cock’s oozing slit — a frantic buck of his hips had the creature pulling Alastor's tail not rigid over his back, but straightened in the opposite direction, over the pumping vines. The extra leverage lending the four vines better traction, earnestly thrusting shallower to pound the deer's prostate in punishment, Alastor’s high pitched squeal winning him much slower but much harder fucking, his fur bristling in awe of the intensified plunges pounding his spasming inner walls and loosened hole.

The vine assigned to his inflamed cock latching onto the bobbing head ( he squealed again ) slowly swallowed the throbbing seven-inch length by half-inch degrees, the vine’s shaft turning translucent as it's rubbery flesh stretched over the Radio Demon's hard cock like a condom. Once it had sheathed him to the hilt, it's lips sweeping the hot flesh of the udders expanded below, the vine only had to send a ripple down it's own length to encourage Alastor to let go — notwithstanding the fact that it hadn't given him permission to come till now. 

The buck's back stiffening, Alastor's spine then curving outwards, his grating wail accompanied the extra thick loads of cum he shot straight into the guzzling maw, the vine milking his erection just like it had nursed previously on milk, however less greedily. It was slow going, drinking his seed, but in doing so it avoided the dilemma of contaminating the full pail of milk that was dripping over the sides under his rocking torso.

The steady suction on his pulsating length was the pinnacle of his climax, if only for a brief period, the vine drawing on his spasming cock for the alternative feed. The salty seed was an expected necessity of corrupting a new Pet, but seeing as this deer demon had possessed a pair of intoxicating udders, it was something that the creature was happy to overlook. Savouring the memory of the demon's revitalising milk wasn't enough, it HAD to have him, it kept on reminding itself even as it's multiple vines were still impaling him at a furious pace. 

Feeling the demon's walls contract, the creature's rhythmic pumps slowed to a crawl, giving the Radio Demon a reprieve so he could fully appreciate the intensifying blowjob celebrating his flagging member.

The low moans and frequent gasps were being taken over by pained, dubious pleads, hips jerking, the intent vine sucking his erection dry to the final thinned drop — then it hadn't quit, not yet. Milking the seven jerking length had the vibe swallow the member all the way, it's rippling lips steadily squeezing the base of Alastor's shaft to try and coax more fluid out. His slit beginning to burn, the relentless suction forcing him to cry out louder, that vine opposed to an actual proper release of it’s firm grip had just held latched on, yet without the friction or suckling to induce a third climax. The first two had come in rapid succession, the orgasms making Alastor clench down on the vines filling his rear, the feelers roaming over his belly, the suckers taking futile turns at feeding off his nipples, the highs of the climaxes shuddering the Radio Demon's body to a blinded state of fatigue.

Not really blind, but after seeing the new kaleidoscope of brilliant stars, coupled with the Hypnosis Trance dulling his eyesight to everything but the assortment of sexual pleasures surrounding his body's erogenous zones, Alastor couldn't have been happier.

Except for the appalling fact that the creature hadn't yet milked him to render him depleted, his full organ impotent and lifeless without the required nursing.

As long as his Master was taking It’s full share of the prized sustenance, Alastor wasn't going to know peace, thanks to the strict Trance — the organ was liable to face injury, the likelihood of internal damage from bursting for lack of service was a fate he never wanted. 

Thinking he ought to say something, when the hotelier had tried this, nothing had come out besides a repetition of the formerly echoed commands, Alastor's strained voice now hoarse and cracked with his needs.

The oxytocin was receding, the lengthening lull in the postponed milking taking it's hard toll on the desperate buck. The vines paused under his belly and between his thighs were waiting, trickles of escaped milk splattering their inert bodies as the four largest vines stuffing his core very slowly began picking up it's pace — initially at a snail's pace, a subtle wriggling motion inside his cramping bowels, then the speed was picking up. The hurried undulation of all four vines weren't plunging deeper into the deer demon anymore, but in measured swells squirted shots of it's special nectar straight into his throbbing core. The warmth of the viscous fluid was filling him up rapidly, the four squirts not quite simultaneous with one another, their combined efforts effectively satisfying the buck's body that he had been bred at last , a helpful but not truly required component of the deer's milk production. 

The spurts of the amber fluid welling up in his throbbing entrance, his stretched passage filled to the max with vine and the Aphrodisiac, Alastor's guttural bawl was fading into obscurity — the hotelier sinking down again to wriggle his ass to tempt his imagined Sire for another go.

Relishing the fullness of his painful core and groin wasn't enough to reach maximum satisfaction, no matter how much those vines were intent on hammering his swollen prostate; the heavy udders quivering between his sprawled thighs were in dire need of milking. Blinking lethargically, energy drained from the forced orgasms, Alastor made another attempt to speak, “ Please, I LOVE being milked, I —”his beseeching tone shortly quelled by a tentative caress of his bloated sacs. The slicked organ heaving, while the buck hunched his back to roll his pelvis forward in longing, he whimpered as a feeble warning that his time was running out. 

It made no difference to the creature, it's vines lugging themselves free of his gaping entrance: the bruised cavity oozing some blood, the reddened void leaking the ejaculatd gold nectar to gush at the first moment of dismounting him.

The afterglow of his multiple climaxes still washing over his sapped body in great rolling shudders and an infrequent bounce of his cock still buried inside the other vine's damp maw, the passion in how the original vines recommenced stripping his swollen teats swiftly before skipping the second half of the preliminary process to latch snugly onto his full bag had pretty much made Alastor delirious with love for the plant.

Two sinuous vines a piece, the tendrils encircling the fat nipples had restored their original tempo of pumping the sacs to jet the treasured milk. The streams of pure white nourishment sprayed directly into the squirming mass of tentacles and vines both gathering to enjoy the luxury it's Pet had ‘volunteered’ to give away, the roiling carpet of serpentine tendrils remaining flat so as not to disturb the Radio Demon's immersion in the unparalleled ecstasy, his pleasure daunting, as the four vines focused on their unflinching tugs. The expressed milk was coming faster than previously, the hot squirts igniting the fervour in the wriggling mass, their undulating slicked forms breaking off into smaller groups of excited tentacles, overcome by the rich sweetness of the buck's milk.

Each spray did not seem enough to placate the creature, it's assortment of limbs having limited options to drink from it's Pet. As talented as the deer demon's anatomy was, the lack of more opportunities to nurse his Master was a grave misfortune for them all. If he had different anatomy better suited for the extended nursing, the cool down period dividing their planned rendezvous might have been shorter, which in the Radio Demon's Hypnotised mind recalled a made-up memory of even greater carnal pleasures. 

Alastor's furtive whines coming higher pitched again, the alternate pulls on his engorged teats bumping his swallowed member in accelerating clashes in demonstration of the creature's hunger, he couldn't take the ‘slow’ pace any longer.

Heart pounding like a drum, the Radio Demon in a valiant effort shoved his weight forward — ramming the boards hard with his shoulders, hairline fractures splitting the wood, these decayed planks were in danger of completely breaking down. Splinters flying when next he’d threw his weight in wrenching himself backwards, the sides of his skull scraping the edges of the wood, carelessly getting his head stuck, almost scalping himself as his ears snagged on the upcycled wood.

The Lantern suspended in front of his nose had been startled by the gruff display of apparent insubordination, the deeper furrows raked into the damp peat under his fingers filling with the spent milk as he clawed the soil in exasperation, nostrils flaring to huff in anger. The pressure was still building up inside his groin and belly, tucking his tail between his tensed legs in rebellion, the swelled udders flushed in arousal, deprived of the intense milking he felt hadn't been awarded thus far.  

The Vortex spiralling slower, the mixed colours changing direction, the Radio Demon had unwittingly interrupted the Hypnosis , his Trance faltering under the exertions of not a genuine attempt to escape but a petulant call for attention, the misbehaviour demanding an immediate answer NOW,

The deer hadn't stopped his meddling after realisation had dawned on him how his poor impulses had gotten him well and truly stuck; rattling the boards, groaning, some thin trickles of scarlet were making tracks in the hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks.

It just wasn't FAIR — he had done everything that his Master had bade him to do, besides the bad idea involving the celebratory toast, but what else had he done wrong to justify this delay? The milk wasn't going anywhere. The pressure becoming increasingly more severe as the seconds passed, the sluggish (how he had seen it) milking wasn't satisfying. The extra fuck had stirred his body to produce more nourishment than he could have expressed in time — these frightening thoughts causing Alastor's mind to reel in panic, his choked whimpers and begging coming out as fast as he used the weight of momentum to at long last break the stall’s boards locking his neck, hauling himself back to just stop short of leaving the milking stall with a strangled noise.

The chain leash had pulled taut, the short chain yanking his collar up and biting into the underside of his jaw. The tie-bar holding strong, Alastor braced himself inside the stall, at least managing to get one  leg outstretched beyond the stall’s open entrance/exit, digging the heels of his palms into the peat in outright rejection of the disappointing stall. Putting all the weight he could muster into his hands and knees, trying to break the chain, the creature had crept back it's vines and tentacles to retreat. Temporarily. 

“ PLEASE, you PROMISED—!” 

Alastor's overwrought plea was sincere, his ears pinned to his bleeding scalp, the angry tears still shedding, despite blinking rapidly the Vortex swirls remained a sure sign his Trance was in full effect. It was the demon's incensed feelings of defeat that had him fleetingly break a gap in the spell, his immensely strong personality eroding the monster's powerful Hypnosis for an instant. 

The tendrils reassembled to the cramped sides of the narrow stall, uneasy but not that judgemental of the buck’s implications that It had let him down, the creature had a mind to put him through another lesson in discipline. Sensitive to the overwhelming distress coming off the squirming buck in waves, the seemingly endless trickling of milk leaking unbroken from the inflamed teats, the creature had to convince itself to restrain from overstimulating the hot and bothered buck. V

The four vines weren't reallocated back to the milking, their white-streaked bodies whipping out to snare Alastor's wrists together in tight coils, pulling his arms together to straighten and lift his shoulders high. Some pressure was eased off the unyielding pinch of the leather collar, spittle spraying as Alastor gasped loudly, in shock as unexpected pain — the vine bulbs plugging his ear canals had out of the blue inflated sharply, piercing the snug channels with shallow indentations from miniature thorns.

Just as piercing was the austere Voice repeating it's practised mantra of order back to him, it's deafening vehemency drilling into the Radio Demon's disorientated mind as he panted breathlessly between choking out the commands aloud. 

“ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ฿Ɇł₦₲ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ.” 

“I LOVE BEING — MILKED~”

“ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₦ɆVɆⱤ ₣ɆɆⱠ ⱠɆ₮ ĐØ₩₦ ₳₲₳ł₦. ɎØɄ ⱠØVɆ ɆVɆⱤɎ ₴Ɇ₵Ø₦Đ. ɎØɄ ₵₳₦₦Ø₮ ₳₴₭ ₣ØⱤ ฿ⱤɆ₳₭₴. ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥łⱠ₭ɆĐ Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ł ₴₳Ɏ.”

“I — I WI — I WILL NEVER… I WILL NEVER BE LET DOWN.  I — LOVE — EVERY — SE-SECOND. I CANNOT ASK F-FOR BREAKS. 

I WILL — BE MILKED ~”

Upon his voice breaking, sucking in a sharp intake of cold air to huff  back out immediately, blood seeping from his thudding ears was in tandem with the speeding beat of his pulse shooting through his whole body. 

One of the large vines assigned to pumping his throbbing ass of the Aphrodisiac nectar had arced over the Radio Demon's rigid back to lock it's length under the crook of Alastor's right leg, snaking through the gap between his heaving udders and inner thigh to weave back up splitting his asscheeks, then dropping back down again over his hip again to latch it's salivating maw onto a swollen teat in a crushing pinch. The brash move had Alastor involuntarily buck, the action largely contained to his lower half, the hotness of the slicked maw palpating the yearning teat eliciting a rasping mewling out of Alastor.

Lids lowered in unfeigned bliss, tongue hanging out from one corner of his slackened jaw, the hotelier was unquestionably in his element, his pleased huffs rattled by the new incessant suckling on his seized teat. 

The rejuvenated milk flow was coming at it's fastest rate yet, the moist maw pulling and massaging the swollen flesh to draw as much as it could sustain in every greedy gulp of the downplayed organ. The continuous sucks was bringing back a pink blush of arousal to the Radio Demon's full organ, the undulation of the slicked milk bag pulsating in conjunction with the hungry nursing. As the sac was fit to burst, the abrupt evasion of the trauma was evidently visible in the way Alastor's body was totally at ease, the lines of tension in his back and shoulders loosened, his tousled tail wagging in gratification. 

The noisy nursing was amplified when the other vines ventured to reattach their various feelers and suckers to new and old places. One vine settled to encircle his last teat in a fond embrace, rhythmically pumping the pulsing organ to squirt milk over the other tendrils gathering below in anticipation of another lengthy feed. The milk drunk straight into the gullet of the creature through the Aphrodisiac vine was suctioning a larger yield in contrast, visible bulges of gulped milk evident in each excited swallow of that limb billowing his sac as it pressed it's nose inwards harder into the fattened bag to nuzzle as it suckled.

Conceding to the inebriating milking, Alastor was buzzing with arousal, the Lantern’s light filling his shadowed eye sockets and burning into his fearless gaze. In spit of the rampant overstimulation beinh barely suppresse, behind the curtain of the Hypnosis drawing on his body's instinctive reflexes to whet it's appetite with aplomb, Alastor's exhausted body was occasionally flexing — his aggrieved groans splicing with jolts of arousal stiffening his body.

Two suckers reaching up to latch onto his pecs, coiled around the muscles to imitate the nursing on his sore nipples drawing another shiver down Alastor’s twitching ears and tail. The other suckers and tongues trailing lines of mingled saliva and sap along the hollows and dips of the Radio Demon's bony frame in ghosted kisses or caresses, massaging his belly button when it had drawn an indignant bleat out of him after an investigative suck, just two of the three remaining Aphrodisiac vines were content to wait.

The third Aphrodisiac vine, the creature had thought it should be taking care of other matters besides looking after it's Pet's dwindling energy reserves, the expansion and fall of the Radio Demon's ribs and chest as he fought to stay awake to enjoy the long awaited ‘proper’ milking, the afterglow of the combined sex and drain on his body's fluids in excess threatened the livelihood of it's permanent source of food. 

The Voice was speaking for the last time, keeping the mood pleasant and reassuring, impressed by the enduring Overlord’s submission, distracting Alastor from the bold touch of the third Aphrodisiac vine seeking the heat of his gaped entrance — the thickened vine sinking it's tip into his bruised anus, increasing the tender friction to restore the first twinges of renewed arousal into his throbbing prostate — the Voice instilled in it's quenched Pet a parting command on the eve of it falling silent for the duration of forcing another gallon of milk, ultimately pushing the Radio Demon's threshold for overmilking to a new level. 

“Well done. You love this so much you won't want to stop, but you must. 

When I have had enough, once I have taken care of you, you will be set free — free to return tomorrow, and every day after that.  

Tomorrow at midday, you will come back to this place for more. 

You are to bring back a goat’s bell, two more pails, and a stimulating toy of your choice. Do not forget, for you will be punished again.”

[sketchfanda]

Sketch-Verse Lore and Trivia

The following you're about to read is bits and pieces of detail and information such as a few more additional alternate versions of Chloe Sinclair in regards and relation to her Demon Queen self. As well as the odd fact or knowledge in relation to Sketch-Hellaverse (A Little Moxxie Love), Sketchverse MHA and DB (Kirishima's Mystique and Chestnutstud across the Multiverse) and other individuals and universe of interest according to the maniac typing this.

Demon Queen Chloe Alternates of interest, continued

A version of Chloe in the place of one Megumi Amano in the old school hentai universe Urotsukidouji or The Overfiend. A grim, violent and perverse universe to say the least with a history and lore seemingly convoluted as it went on, in the case of this alternate howeever her universe is the furthest thing from it, for there is no Choujin. Some say he's gone into hiding as have many Jujinkai (beastfolk) and Makai (demons) alike in fear of this insatiable diva's libido for it's said her orgasms alone pack the force of a white Phosphorus bomb. Some say she's on the hunt, prowling and seeking the ideal partner for the fuck of a lifetime and Heaven help the man or men capable of doing the impossible and actually satisfying her....

A version of Chloe where she's an exotic Arabian princess who certainly like any common Chloe Sinclair variant is none too shy about indulging in sating her limitless libido. Men and women alike esp when they appeal to her exotic tastes are an absolute must for her and you can only imagine her own persons grand harem plan soon as she takes the throne. Rumours abound she's looking to find herself a genie's lamp to make her wishes a reality. Heaven help us all should that ever come to pass.......

At best this variant could either be a breed of Hellhound or a version of Chloe that'd been naturally born with lycantropy but one thing is plenty clear. That one should never be out and about on a full moon night because chances are this she-wolf will be out on the prowl looking for a new bedmate. And yes given this is Chloe we're talking about, that applies to men and women alike and her pack is ever growing and expanding. Those she bites and infects with lycantropy are usually her most treasured, personal favourite lovers....

A rare case of a human version of Chloe Sinclair along with many in her employee and entourage but by no means any less a feisty, horny little minx. Whose lust for life and and adventure are made able by her vast wealth and spare time, all often made to seek out the best and brightest minds from having their work fall into the wrong hands. Granted she will admit, hers are the very same wrong hands of which she speaks but don't over think on that. You can't even begin to comprehend her sexual preferences.....

This particular arachnid equivalent to a centaur is something of an unknown variable, aside from having the usual libido that is par the course for most Chloes. Much like the werewolf version, she's notable for being out on the prowl when it comes to seeking new lovers and bedmates, often keeping her favourites wrapped and bound up in her webbing. As it so happens, she makes quite a fortune marketing and selling her spider-silk as a material for the fasion industry. It's said to very quite heavenly on the skin......

A version of Chloe that exists within a different version of the Star Wars universe and yes, she's of very high rank among the business and political world. In such ways that the rebel alliance, the new republic and the empire alike go out of their way to avoid her because dear god this woman is a beast!! Some say she has plans for what's known as Order 69, something that would tempt even the msot chaste and devout Jedi. She's just that thirsty......

Moxxie Love: Linda, aka She-Venom of Hell

Linda Stamboli in life had been your atypical mafia princess of sorts, not exactly ever directly involved in her family's dirty business but not neutral about enjoying the easy life and luxury it provided yet at heart, she was a romantic who'd always dreamt of her own personal fairy tale right down to a prince charming to come into her life and sweep her off of feet to a happily ever after of romance and passion. But life and reality weren't as hopeful and idealistic as circumstances saw her story on Earth end with her and her father dead and winding up in Hell and yet it seemed fate smiled upon her when she felt love at first sight for Moxxie, who to her was everything she wanted in her ideal man, her prince charming and more so when he'd taken out the slimeball who'd killed her in the first place. Sure he was married and yet she couldn't help but have love and lust for him in her heart in equal measure but never felt like she could ever make any sort of move to express it to him until by chance she came upon...something or someone quite unique. It's unknown who or what exactly this, symbiote is or where it exactly it came from as its overall nature and form wouldn't be out of place in Hell or Limbo and yet it's entirely otherworldly all the same.

But one thing is clear that since bonding with this lifeform, Linda had come to receive a massive boost in speed, strength and a range of abilities that on par with her sinner form's spider-like qualities and nature. As well as enhancing and increasing the sinner's already distinct sense and range of emotions but particularly and especially her lust, giving her the drive and passion to finally step up and sate her desires for her prince charming. Outside of the occasional somnophilia bootycall, she has yet to intimately acquaint herself with Moxxie directly on a more personal level but with her newfound abilities, she has taken to being his personal infernal guardian angel of sorts, always keeping an eye out for him and his, including any and all women who share the same desire and affection for the little imp. Leading to the Pride ring to run wild with rumors of its own personal superhero, known only to some by the name, Venom, as coming upon her with her wrath on you is like getting a lethal dose of poison.

Overall Linda has little to no interest in wanting to become an overlord even if being Venom gives her an edge over some, all that concernrs her are the well being and safety of her imp prince charming and his lady loves. But should any exorcists get any bright ideas about wanting to go for more than just the usual sinners to off during the annual purge? Adam himself would be better off trying to pray to God for mercy because she will not fucking hesitate. On another note, she's found that her daily dosage intake of chocolate has increased since bonding with the symbiote, that damn slime suit can't seem to get enough of the stuff, something about how it's like eating brains......

Sketch-verse:Harem prospects and the sexual relationship tiers

I often try ask the folks what or who their personal choices for for harems for my 3 main muses would be, mainly as a means of seeing their own thoughts and opinions. But as they say, sometimes context is king so you got to be a little more in depth and detail. For example say based mainly and especially on criteria like how well they feel some girls go well well with them and the chemistry I may've conveyed in their chapters. For further context of course I've devised this tier system to where some women would rank in terms of intimacy in their sexual relations with Krillin, Kirishima and Moxxie.

Top tier would be the alpha wife/girlfriend which in this case goes Kirishima-Mina Krillin-18 Moxxie-millie

Then you got the alpha girlfriend sisters Kirishima-Maya and Tsuyu Krillin-21 and Erasa Moxxie-Verosika and Loona

Girls who make the alpha grade are the official harem roster members so to speak. Then other tiers you’d have like Breeding bitches-the girls who gladly want to get knocked up fuck buddies-close intimate friends with benefits one nighters-booty calls for when the stud needs a swift ball drain on hand should none of the other tier girls be available Intimate acquaintances:not quite friends with benefits or Booty calls,but anytime they happen to be around and down to fuck?

Co-workers/co-stars:regular scene partners and what not in their respective porn careers,often girls in this tier also qualify for any of the above tiers

The Trifecta Club:Women who've been with my 3 dudes at least once and may also qualify for any of the aforementioned tiers.

[lightleckrereins]

Not sure if you’ve discussed this before but have you seen the “Willyacos” Six costumes on Amazon? They’re obviously cheap knockoffs and not anywhere near the same quality as the actual costumes, but seem like a good middle ground between the Simplicity costume patterns and no kidding making a full on replica costume (for at least most of them… the Howard skirt leaves more to be desired, same with the Parr pants)

Better known as the infamous aliexpress costumes. Basically like with most pieces of popular media a (most likely chinese) costume factory takes whatever photos come up first in google search and makes the costume in the cheapest, fastest way possible, that still looks close enough to the photo. The six ones can be currently found from a few different amazon sellers and at least an aliexpress one.

I'm not saying they are good, or legal, but they are definitely better than the simplicity pattern. As much as some people defend the simplicity as a good beginner friendly alternative it is not good aside from maybe the boleyn skirt. You will be better off combining other preexisting patterns and easy tutorials (I could make a list if there is interest in this). The amazon/aliexpress at least aknowledge its six characters, that Cleves is red and not silver and has only shorts and that Parr has full lenght leggins.

Honestly it is a you get what you pay for, those costumes are cheap and in no way you can make something close to the stage costumes for that money (also if you ask me some are overpriced). But if it is for a halloween costume, for a group with friends, to go see the show in costume, go for it. The main point of dressing up is to have fun. And if doing the (not simple, fast, or cheap) whole costume making process is not your thing that doesn't mean you can't have fun dressing up.

Like you mentioned a lot of things leave a lot to be desired. But its more like quality is all over the place. I've seen some people who bought the costumes and from what I can tell. Aragon is a great deal for the price, it has the cutotut design printed, plastic stud trim and spikes on the shoulders (I've seen official kids disney princess costumes with less accurate details). Seymour is not bad but it has no tabs on the back and has rhinestone trim instead of studs or pearls. The other four are the old designs and look not great (there is another amazon store with much better boleyn and parr costumes).

In a way I don't support those costumes, they are profiting out of copyrighted material and doing it badly. But in this house we don't gatekeep cosplay. The point is having fun. So here are a few very low budget ways you can make those costumes look better.

First of all accesories, get a good pair of fishnets and layer them over skin toned tights, get a cheap karaoke mic and decorate it, spike pracelets for crowns, find some makeup tutorials and do a cool look, look into current and former queens with a simmilar look to you for hair inspiration. There are many things that make or break the look, if you don't have the most detailed costume lean into the others.

Then some cheap ideas for things you can add to improve the look: buy a half pearl trim similar to what the aragon costume has to add in place of studs, half plastic pearls for the loose studs on the cutouts, mesh if you want to add fake cutouts, strass rhinestone tape makes a great replacement for crystals for the boots (I'm actually working on a tutorial for removable straps with this). Add cheap boning to the skirts and sides of the tops for better structure (sewn if possible otherwise colored tape can do wonders). Craft stores sell gold and silver chains that you can add to A/S/C, a well shaped B or K even if it is painted cardboard finishes those looks. Costumes bought online aren't the best but that doesn't mean you can'd improve them.

[mandrakebrew]

Pillow Talk

Words: 654 Rating: Teen Content Warning: oc x canon, sex mention

Dr Palmer never cared for their own face. Or, more accurately, the people they grew up around didn't care for their face. Any compliment about their appearance now rung hollow, swallowed up by a torrent of insults and snide remarks.

Then they met Skull Face. Without words, they understood. Not to the same degree of course, but they understood. They never brought it up to him, though. How can they complain about their face to a man without one?

That being said, they did like his face. Regardless of what anyone else might say, they were smitten. Sadly, they could only look and study its details for a few seconds before their commander got fed up and told them to knock it off.

He was more relaxed and pliant after he came, though. A fact the doctor was taking advantage of at the moment. They ignore cleaning up for a bit, and instead roll him onto his back while they lie next to him. His eyes remain shut. They take in the dark coloration of the sockets. Next, the line of divots that trail up above his right eye. The color and pattern remind them of the full moon.

Their gaze goes to his lips. It's only now they notice a tiny arch in his upper lip. They can see his teeth through it a bit.

They look at his Glasgow smile. The thought that his skin had been damaged to the point his cheeks split open kills them. Without thinking, they reach forward and trace one side of it with their thumb, down to the small arch in his lip.

This causes him to finally open his eyes, and he looks at them. “Staring again?”

Admiring, they want to correct him. “Yup.”

They expect him to move their hand away, or to get up and get a towel, but he does neither for the moment. Simply staring back at them.

Skull Face is starting to wonder if they enjoy making him squirm on purpose. The scrutiny is new to him. It's been a long day though, and let's them get it out of their system, at least for now.

Palmer continues to feel the dips and ridges of his chin, and then his cheek. His skin is slightly rough, lacking the elasticity of their own skin, but strangely soft in its own unique way.

Their fingers make their way to the dark spots above his right eye, and that's when he puts a stop to it. He grabs their hand and firmly moves it away.

They don't hide the frustrated look that crosses their face. They relent though and opt to lay their hand on his chest.

“Just why do you insist on doing that?”

“Why do you think?” A genuine question. They’re curious as to what’s going through his head.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“No guesses? None?” Palmer’s thumb is now idly tracing one of the deep scares across his chest.

“Aside from irritating me, no.”

“As fun as that is, that isn’t my intention.”

“Then what?”

“Is it really that hard to believe I enjoy looking at my partner’s face?”

He just huffs in response.

They can’t help but smile. His behavior is endearing, even if the reason behind is much less so. Palmer tends to avoid the topic of his appearance. They’re not sure how to make him believe what they say isn’t flattery or politeness. Something the doctor often assumes others are doing when they compliment them.

“Well, it’s true,” They push themselves out of bed finally to go fetch a towel.

“Right,” He responds sarcastically.

Palmer stops before they leave the room, and turns. “Would you accept it if I said the reason I think your face is beautiful is because it’s yours?”

At least that’s what they say in their head. They lose their nerve and go to get a towel from the bathroom.

[thelivingmemegod]

Thoughts on the outfits from the Monster High live action movies (this is gonna be a long post I can already feel it)

I’m working off promo shots cuz I’m Not watching these movies my head would explode.

Toralei: she’s first cuz she’s only in the one movie.

I like most of her outfit. Her skirt feels out of place because the colors and print feel random. Nothing else like that shows in her outfit so it looks a bit…off. This could honestly just be fixed with more drafts

Frankie

Movie one:

G E T THIS PARTY CITY, HALLOWEEN SPIRIT PLASTIC CHAIN HAVING MF-ERY OUT OF HERE P L E A S E. The worst part about their outfit is that it’s so fuckin’ plain??? Like the dress is completely patternless, the chains do pull the eye down but they’re also placed so they hang over the front and not their hip which looks SUPREMELY awkward, the tie is the most eye catching thing on them and that’s bad because it pulls too much focus from their face! The stiff collar shirt, tights and shoes are just fine, I like the idea of them trying to mix these very different looks and the ripped tights pull interest to the legs after the VOID OF NOTHINGNESS THAT IS THE PINAFORE DRESS.

Movie two:

This. This is SO MUCH BETTER.

While it’s not quite to my personal taste, as an outfit this is wayyy better. The vibrant neons on a black background is pretty tried and true and it looks pretty dang good here too! Like the color choices but the placements really make it here. The neon green strips around the arms and neck don’t pull focus from their face but they do pull it down to the rest of the outfit! The weird fishnet shirt underneath (while not my favorite) works with their belts and bracelets to pull the eye down, the belt chain and zipper detailing on their cargo pants continue the trend, then you hit their platforms and the silver/white parts pull you RIGHT back up to their hair. I also love the mix of punk and prep they did here with the crop sweater vest and the cargo pants. Overall: Wonderful, wouldn’t change much about it.

Draculuara

Movie one:

Aside from how cheap it looks, I don’t hate the basics. It also doesn’t fail the interest curve like Frankie’s first outfit. The pink isn’t very well dispersed and mostly focused on the top half of her (her hair, puff sleeves, neckline and belt). I will admit they did a good job keeping her outfit and skin from clashing (in promo at least).

Then you get to the small void of her skirt. If you just take the end lace and make that the same color as her under shirt, belt or necktie you’d be so much better off. Personally I would’ve given her a few different thin petticoats in different shades of pink so that A. Her dress would look fuller and either exaggerate her A-line and break her up from Clawdeen and B. Give her movement and more variation. When she moves or sits, you’d see all the shades of pink peaking out from under her skirt.

I say different shades of pink because it would also pull in her light pink Maryjane’s (her shoes) I only think they work because of her wearing tights, otherwise they’re the same color as her skin. I personally would’ve gone with lace socks (lace tights exist I just think that would’ve been too much)

Movie two:

This outfit shows what I was talking about with her skirt from the last one. It also shows what I meant with her pink colors clashing with each other. In promo for the second movie, her frock coat (the jacket dress), hair and skin are all fighting each other. It makes her hair look faded, her skin look washed out and her frock coat look VIOLENTLY PINK.

It works on Frankie with their blue because A. It’s used way less and B. it’s a different tone from their skin.

Draculaura’s is fighting with her.

Now the underside of her dress is also why I’d use several shades of pink, cuz that just looks flat.

This one might be more of a me problem, but her shoes are violently pink but they’re the wrong *shade* of violent pink which bothers me.

I do love the pink panel and buttons on her frock coat and her heart belt. Looks like the vampire heart from Frights, Camera, Action.

Cleo isn’t in movie 2 promos for some reason so movie one only-

Party city is once again the problem.

I. Structurally it’s not bad. There’s interest throughout and it’s technically on theme. This outfit is bad because it feels misfit to the person wearing it and it looks cheap.

Her skirt looks like a bathmat, her wraps look weirdly…dirty? Like they don’t look like old wraps, they look like dirty gold silks, which she’d NEVER wear. Also why do they tie twice?? And why do the hanging ties look like a completely different material from the rest of the wrap??

Her jewlery is dull in color and looks very floaty and light all contributing to the cheap costume-y, party city look.

Her shoes are fine, they’re a different shade of blue but that doesn’t really matter here.

Another thing I think makes it look like Not-Cleo is that there’s not enough asymmetry. The wraps G1 Cleo had on her arms gave a ton of nice looking asymmetry that was added onto by bangles or purses. G1 Cleo does have looks without these and they’re more symmetrical, but they’re the exception, not the rule. She’s also just not accessorized as much as I think Cleo would be.

BIG SECTION INCOMING I HAVE FUCKING THOUGHTS BABY

CLAWDEEN WOLF:

Movie one:

What. What the FUCK is this mess. It’s so busy. So busy.

There’s no interest anywhere because it’s too damn busy. EVEN HER FUCKING SHOES ARE BUSY. The fur coat is completely and totally unnecessary in this outfit, it shouldn’t be here. Put it on something ELSE.

Her belts feels like a slap in the face because it’s an ATTEMPT to separate the patterns of her skirt and shirt, but one is ALSO PATTERNED and one is a whole different texture. And they’re both too thin to help anyways! I hate this.

Not that making it chunkier would exactly help this awful decision. I want to delete this skirt so badly- there’s no reason for it to be patterned like this, they just WANTED TOO.

I give the move shirt a pass because she’s a lost kid and her only connection point is the moon. So okay, that’s fine. If you can explain to me why the skirt and shoes and patterned like that beyond “she’s a werewolf!” Then I’ll eat a fuckin shoe or something I just-

Movie two:

Better. Quite a bit better.

I don’t love that they got rid of the only pattern that made any sense for her character. Especially since she’s supposed to beefing with the cat girl, yet she’s wearing a cheetah print skirt. The belt is chunkier and does a way better job separating things out, it also pulls the color of her jacket’s fur trim in-I don’t like that color here, but it works.

Speaking of! Her jacket is no longer an offense to fashion, it’s much more tasteful with just a purple fur trim. As for the color…her whole outfit is honestly very cold shades of purple, and they don’t mix that well together. Mostly the skirt vs the jacket. There’s also not enough interest all out, the skirt pattern is eating it all up so your eye is just drawn to the lower middle of her body rather then her face because purple curls are blending with the jacket.

Her shoes are super inoffensive.

I hate these so bad in part because Clawdeen is supposed to be into fashion isn’t she??? (Unless they changed that) She’d know these things- so it pisses me off some-

[twoparrotprojects]

And with some rest, now I can write more in-depth posts.

First, the skins which I will break up into multiple posts due to the 30 image limit.

Part 1/11

First batch is Aphmau.

Starting with her Freshman skins that I've finished.

Ro'Meave Dinner: Pretty much the same save for some stockings (pantyhose) and some colour changes. Nothing too crazy like the pdh uniform overhaul.

Bake Sale: I changed up the entire maid outfit, plus made it slightly.. less provocative maybe? considering the inspiration and everything. The inspiration being the Shizuku-tan costume from My Dress Up Darling.

Prom Night: Save for the dress shape, shoe, and rose colour change, nothing much was changed.

Pajamas: Again, nothing much aside from colour changes and a sock being rolled down. Though it's attributed as a freshman skin, it's likely I'll tweak it a bit if I am able to make the pipe dream of a machinima production a reality at some point in the future.

Next, her Sophomore skins.

Casual: I took some inspiration from y2k fashion I found on google. Instead of.. Idk what she was wearing in the source material- instead of that, I gave her a tank top layered underneath a shirt, some jean shorts layered over a pair of black leggings, and some purple sneakers rather than her ratty red runners in her freshman year skins.

Pajamas: Save for her night shirt being baggier, the overlay details, and colour changes, not much was changed. Again, I might tweak this and every other skin that might need it if I'm able to do a machinima production of my reimagining.

Activewear: Nothing much changed again aside from her tanktop being changed into a shirt and some colour changed.

As for her sophomore uniform, it's functionally the same as her freshman uniform. The only thing different is her hair and shoes. Therefore it's kinda useless to show it here and list off what I've already said in this paragraph.

Next batch, Aaron.

First order of business is his senior outfits.

Overall: Aside from making his hair tinted red, I kept everything mostly the same. Sticking to the hair guide I drafted up a while back.

Uniform: The first instance I've shown where the uniform differs slightly. When I made the uniform templates, I made three main variants for both 4px and 3px skins. The one Aphmau, Travis, and Zane sport is the tidy variant, whereas the one Aaron's sporting is the sleeves-rolled up variant. Well, one of the variants with the sleeves rolled up. The variants I made at the time were the one Aaron's wearing, the tidy variant, and the "untidy" variant, which 2 of the characters currently finished wear.

Casual: Again, I didn't change much from the source material on this one, just a few colour changes.

Prom: And once again, nothing much changed. The suit I made myself, but the rose and colour choices (namely red-tinted-black) were kept the same.

Next, his freshman university skins.

Casual: Exactly the same as his senior year casual, however, I ripped his jeans, frayed the rips slightly, added a bit more weathering, fixed his shirt, and rolled his sleeves down one pixel.

Uniform: The same aside from his were wolf ears and tail.

[kyndaris]

Mother Knows Best

For someone that plays video games as much as I do, you begin to pick up on a lot of common themes and tropes that are often used in the medium. What took me by surprise was facing Lilith in not one but two games in such quick succession. It's not often that I face the exact same antagonist. After all, both were demonic entities seeking the destruction of the world. Both were referred to as 'Mother' throughout the in-game dialogue and banter. And both had a connection to the playable character.

But while Lilith in Diablo IV gave birth to the Nephalem, the progenitor to humanity in the world of Sanctuary, she could only connect to the playable character due to a ritual involving her blood petals. Lilith in Marvel's Midnight Suns has a much more direct connection to the playable character, known only as The Hunter, as their birth mother. The other major difference here is that in Diablo IV, Lilith is trying to rule over Sanctuary while in Midnight Suns, Lilith serves as the agent of Chthon, a slumbering Elder God hoping to destroy the Earth and recreate it in its image.

Coincidences aside, Marvel's Midnight Suns was a game that I picked up in December last year and was one of the many tactical role-playing games I'd intended to get through before reaching the meat of the 2023 gaming experience. Alas, travelling and being bombarded left, right and centre with lengthy games distracted me from it until about 8 months later.

And when I finally booted up the game on my PlayStation 5, I found myself asking why I was indulging Firaxis's attempt to recreate what they had with XCOM but with a Marvel skin. What immediately struck me were the character models that I felt were less than stellar. Nor was I that impressed by the voice acting.

True, it was not like the game studio were going to bring back the actors of the MCU films to reprise their roles for the superheroes (or use their likeness), but I wanted something more than the somewhat janky character models that we received. In fact, I almost put down the controller, unsure if I wanted to continue with the game.

But persevere I did.

With time, I grew accustomed to the character models and the voice acting. After all, the cast is pretty stack with the likes of Yuri Lowenthal (reprising his role as Spider-Man from the Marvel's Spider-Man games), Erica Lindbeck, Courtney Taylor, Josh Keaton, Laura Bailey, Steve Blum, Darin de Paul and Matthew Mercer to name but a few.

Once I managed to get over that initial hump in the road, I started to enjoy the time I spent hanging out with a few of Earth's Mightiest Heroes and their more supernatural compatriots, the Midnight Suns.

Like many Firaxis games, Midnight Suns is a tactical/ strategy game. One that would have been better, in my personal opinion, as a handheld game. However, given that the playable characters are heroes with a multitude of abilities, Firaxis mixed up the traditional tactical/ strategy gameplay with the use of cards to denote special abilities and skills.

Gone were percentages detailing whether or not my character would hit the enemy. Gone, too, were Overwatch abilities that would allow my characters to attack an enemy as they dashed across the screen. Instead, Firaxis introduced a card deck system which was drawn up to a maximum of six at the end of each turn. Cards could comprise of attack, skill or heroic abilities. Many of them also included a variety of status effects to buff or debuff both allies or enemies, bringing with it another layer of strategy as most of these ended within a round of combat.

But the most important ones were those that refunded cardplay like the 'Quick' effect. Other cards allowed you to draw additional cards and these were important especially if you didn't have a good hand. Redraw too, was a resource that could be expended to power up abilities or to replace unwanted cards.

While it sounds complicated in theory, the gameplay of Midnight Suns was simple. You played three cards each turn (occasionally four) and tried to defeat the enemy as quickly as possible.

What was important to note was that while you were limited in the number of cards that could be played each round, your heroes could also deal damage via the environment. Unfortunately, to perhaps balance the use of environmental attacks, such actions were gated behind another resource: heroism (which were also used for heroic cards).

This meant that players had to carefully consider which cards to use when and where to maximise the damage on enemy Hydra agents and Lilin creatures and reach objectives for each mission.

Firaxis, though, are not content to simply sit on their strategy/tactical gameplay. Like many of their other games, Midnight Suns also included base management. Simpler than their incursions into the XCOM universe, Midnight Suns allowed players to research particular upgrades that could give their heroes an edge for their next battle against the forces of evil.

More importantly, though, Midnight Suns also allowed for team bonding. And as someone that wants to be friends with everyone, I spent many hours trying to boost my friendship levels with each and every hero that was recruited to the cause of stopping the rise of Chthon by giving them gifts or hanging out with them in an activity that they liked.

Heck, I was even looking up a Steam guide to know which dialogue options that each character preferred.

What was most unfortunate, though, was that there was no way to romance any of the superheroes. Why did Blade and Carol Danvers have to get together when I wanted both of them to myself as The Hunter?

Admittedly, I did think the romance between Caretaker and Agatha Harkness was great. The Hunter and their two mums. Who could ask for more except for some more lesbian representation in media please. True, some might argue that it did have a 'bury your gays' trope since Agatha is dead, but she comes back as a ghost and seems to be fine chilling around in the library. Something that Caretaker doesn't really take issue with after the Grey Seneschal ritual that binds Agatha a bit more to the land of the living (though still in spirit form).

Beyond that, I liked being able to explore the Abbey grounds and uncovering the secrets of the past, along with discovering new chests that could present me with another cosmetic for either The Hunter or the other heroes in my roster.

Still, what didn't make sense was that although the Abbey had a Forge and CENTRAL ops, a training yard and pool to lounge by, it had no kitchen or bathrooms. Given that Robbie Reyes had installed a TV to watch movies and play video games on, WHY WERE BASIC AMENITIES MISSING?

The fact that there was no kitchen also made it confusing when an upgrade to The Hunter's bedroom left a plate of bread and fruit on their bedside table.

Why? What? How?

From a plot standpoint, I felt like much of the conflict came from poor communication skills between Hunter, Sara (Caretaker) and your mother, Lilith. If Lilith could have explained her plan better, maybe she and the Hunter would have stood beside each other from the start instead of fighting against each other.

Caretaker, too, needed to learn to trust the wards under her charge instead of holding grudges.

But without these factors, of course, there would be no central conflict. Which, in turn, wouldn't have brought all of America's Mightiest Heroes (with the occasional Transian witch and Russian mutant) along for the journey. It wouldn't have allowed me to simply chat with these characters and watch them grow. Nor would it present me with an intriguing plot to drive me ever onwards to the end.

And that's another thing that I take issue with. The fact that a majority of Marvel's heroes are Caucasian. True, we have Robbie Reyes's Ghostrider, Eric Brooks and Nico Minoru showing off minority representation but almost all of the other heroes are blue-eyed Caucasians!

And they're all American. Or, at the very least, live in America. With most of the missions revolving around New York and the American South-West with only the final act in the fictional European country of Transia.

Now, this isn't an issue with the game, of course, but rather the state of affairs when it comes to superheroes in general. Yes, I know that there are heroes and villains from all over the world but the vast majority of them are Americans. Which, in all honesty, is likely to stem from the fact that a vast majority of comic book writers are American. And consequently, they write from an America-centric viewpoint.

But I've noticed that in many of the games I play, America also serves as the be-all and end-all for settings as well. Take Horizon: Zero Dawn and its sequel Horizon: Forbidden West. Or even The Last of Us, Grand Theft Auto, Fallout, Days Gone, Saints Row and a myriad of other games.

In any case, Marvel's Might Suns was an interesting take on a mishmash of genres that worked well with its superhero aesthetic. While I feel like it might have been better if they could increase the cardplay usage or the damage the heroes dealt for certain (we are talking about superheroes here, not foot soldiers), I enjoyed trying to figure out how best to place my heroes to deal with the enemies before me so I could put an end to Lilith's plans.

Soon, I'll tackle Fire Emblem: Engage. I promise. Just a few short games and it's the long haul for me.

I swear it won't be for too much longer!

And then I can tackle all the other triple-A video games that released in 2023...

[minecraftrelatedrandomness]

burn the night away: writer's annotations

The benefits of writing from p!Martyn's POV is that I have more flexibility to be anachronistic — I default Pirates to be set in the first half of the 19th century, but p!Martyn, being from our real-world time period, means that I can let the guys play custom Monopoly if I want to. As for remaking and customizing boards from scratch, I tried that when I was a kid using mostly paper, so it's not impossible.

I am also unfortunately unable to write from a p!Saus POV for any extended period of time (especially since my giftee seems to be a fan) — I've taken unprecedented amounts of psychic damage (re)watching his VODs, and I don't think there's any way I can replicate that in my own writing, at least in my current state of mind. I did try to make sure he had a major presence in the fic, though.

Speaking of, this is my first time posting from Martyn POV and my first time writing Kyle and Scar in general — I've written a fic draft on p!Martyn and p!Shelby a couple of months ago, but never finished and posted it.

Most things I've written about the characters and their experiences have some sort of canon or canon-adjacent basis — and yes, I did so much research for this. A few are admittedly headcanons due to a lack of information, and p!Scar's characterization is in part inspired by Hermitcraft Season 8 and the Life series, since both series are referenced in his POV. I'm leaving it ambiguous as to whether he is the same character throughout those series, though.

I genuinely have a spreadsheet listing 39 of the 40 "Never Have I Ever" prompts I'm using for this fic, along with who answered what and a tally counting who actually did win. Mind you, the statistics are slightly skewed by the fact that several of these people are lying their asses off a good chunk of the time.

Among them, I ended up having to change one of the prompts and rewrite a small section less than 12 hours before my deadline because I found out that every single character here (other than Jellie, for obvious reasons) has at least somewhat played a musical instrument in the series! Music is a foundational basis for p!Kyle's lore, p!Saus has his "(snake)skin flute" heirloom, Scar did so briefly during his 2nd stream, and everyone else played something on Oct 13th (SMP Day 76), mostly while in Cultist captivity.

The details about p!Scott's accessories are actually inspired by my own personal experiences. I have a bird necklace in real life (admittedly just a generic bird in flight) and thought I'd let my guy have an equivalent to that, as a treat. As for the badge, when I was in secondary school, I had a house badge that I used for all my six years there, and by the time I graduated, maybe a third of the coloration has been chipped off.

Like fic!Martyn, I considered whether I should have him lie about his brief engagement to r1!Water. If I had the chance, I would have had him give r1!Water's kingdom to be Isopteria — from Isoptera, the infraorder name for termites, but I don't think c!Martyn is knowledgeable enough in entomology or cares enough about it to make that reference (it's the biology student brain at work here, so forgive me).

The dumpling ban is actually a reference to a one-off line from the Oct 13th (SMP Day 76) VOD. It was a Heron base ban in an earlier draft, but I changed it after rewatching the VOD to make it a bit more canon-compliant. (As if the timeline isn't already non-compliant as it is, but it is my solemn archivist duty to stay true, alas.)

The full process of writing this fic has been harder than I expected, to say the least. I've had this idea for a couple of months before the event, but decided to put it aside. I took a couple of weeks off from working on it at all after the event started because of finals and then oopsie daisy, my family lost Wi-Fi for four days, so I couldn't even write and could barely VOD-watch during that time, since I could only access the Internet using my phone's data plan! Then I had to take another couple of days off to study for and take my TOEFL exam, and then I caught a stomach bug that I'm still recovering from as I post this (+ burnout on my final day)! In other words, the AO3 author's curse was out to get me, even after I got an extension. And that's discounting how I still don't quite know how to write shipfics on account of being inordinately aro/ace (that VS my perfectionism, fight!), as well as my computer buffering from the sheer number of tabs I have open!

Also, this fic was originally supposed to be like 1K or 2K words long… but it just kept getting longer and longer and now it's ended at nearly 5K.

I don't even know how I pulled all this off, especially since I haven't even watched all the VODs I wanted to watch for research, but here I am.

[lovegasmic]

What about curseless modern au JJK, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami and Sukuna proposing to you?

 𝜗𝜚 HOW THEY PROPOSE

─── . all jjk ( adult ) men x gn!reader

꒰ fluff : curseless au but Satoru is still Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara's teacher , mamaguro canon : you're Toji's second spouse , added choso bc why not ꒱ ★ taglist

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  SATORU

A nice candlelit dinner under the soft glow of moonlight is the least you can expect from a man like Satoru Gojo, who has never been a stingy guy in his life, much less with you, his beloved.

it was a little strange to have his students decide to accompany you that day, with suspicious faces except for Megumi, but you ignore it, almost used to the teenager’s antics, going along with the young people who obviously want to keep you nice and distracted.

“oh, look, why don’t we go over there?” Yuuji suspiciously speaks, followed by Nobara’s agreement in the same forced tone, almost dragging you towards the secluded spot where you first met Satoru, quite near jujutsu tech and a few steps into a forest that now had light strings all around a small clearing, the grass covered in a bunch of flower petals and of course, your boyfriend standing in the middle with a wide grin and a slight nervous fidgeting of his fingers behind his back.

“you look perfect” his words are quite rough with held back emotions, coming to hold onto your hand and scanning your outfit with loving eyes, you knew it was suspicious that Nobara decided to go shopping and demanded you wear something new that day.

the guys are no longer behind you, but you feel their eyes hidden behind some trunks as Satoru kneels with a glowing diamond ring, reciting what you believed was a speech he has been preparing for multiple days. and even though you kind of expected, the tears are also quick to come as you now fiance slides the ring on your finger and gives you a deep kiss, just the rustling of leaves and a camera click on the background.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  SUGURU

the cozy apartment you shared with your boyfriend was pitch black as soon as you opened the door, strange, since you often got home to find him lounging on the sofa with a loose shirt and pants, but “Sugu, why is everything so...” your words get cut at the faint glow coming from the living room, deciding to just follow it instead of wasting breath since your boyfriend was utterly quiet.

scattered candles greet you here and there, almost as in a trail to guide you to where Suguru stands with... a suit, “what are you—” once again, you trail off as your eyes land on the beautifully decorated table for two Suguru has set, with a few of your favorite pastries and a home cooked dinner.

“welcome home” his smile is soft like always, although his eyes sparkle even more, or was it just adoration? none of that matters when Suguru approaches, helping you leave your belongings aside next to your jacket he gently takes off your shoulders.

you’re a bit speechless at this point, staring at Suguru with confusion, yet he never acknowledges the elephant in the room, simply giving you smiles and not a single word, not until you’re both finished with dinner and is now helping you up from your seat, barely giving you time to part your lips before he is already kneeling, eyeing you at you with those soft eyes of his.

“i love you” is what he murmurs first, leaving a kiss on your hand before caressing the skin, almost mindlessly, trying to take every detail of you, “i knew you were the one for me ever since we met, and I can’t imagine my life without anyone else but you” the raw honesty and love makes your breath hitch, a few tears blocking your eyes before Suguru is grinning at your eager nod once he finishes speaking, the elegant but minimalist band now laying on your finger, a prove of his undying love.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  TOJI

after his wife died, Toji never even considered getting married again, until he met you. and to be honest, at the beginning of your relationship he was not even sure it would last long, not because of you, you are like a ray of sunshine filtering through the cracks of his soul, managing to wiggle a way in, making yourself at home; but because of him, of his unsteady and troubled life style alongside an almost 12 year old Megumi.

the idea bugged him for a while now, staying awake while you peacefully slept next to him, blissfully unaware of Toji’s inner worries.

mentally cursing himself as he gently starts to rock you to consciousness, “wake up, doll, I need to ask you something” his voice is gruff, waiting until you’re fully awake before talking with a hand on your shoulder and a thumb on your neck, “do you want to get married?”

and you have to blink a few times before muttering a “...what?” if that was a proposal, it was truly unexpected, “now?”

“... why not?”

“toji?!”

"answer” his thumb is a bit rougher now, sliding up and down the side of your throat, eyes locked on your skin, “i want to know”

“of course I want to” you say without hesitation, nuzzling onto the man’s rough and big palm, “i’d love to marry you”

one, two breathings and Toji nods, pulling you against his chest, “okay”

“...okay? that’s it?” you grumble muffled by his chest.

a deep chuckle coming from Toji makes your face vibrate “we’re going to the city hall tomorrow”

“with Megumi”

“with Megumi, of course”

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  KENTO

you were eternally grateful that Kento finally decided to take some vacations with you, knowing how overworked your boyfriend was and how much he adored the beach, you booked a nice and cozy beach hut for the week. you considered it to be a wonderful surprise to help you him destress, not really expecting the one getting surprised were you as well.

the first few days were like a dream come true, Kento was finally loose and those eye bags were gone, giving the blonde a younger look and a never falthering smile on his face.

two days left of vacation and Kento came back from the reception with a grin, “the guide told me about a nice private path along the beach, do you want to go?” and how could you refuse. hand in hand and footless walking along the shore, the warm sand feeling nice under your feet before coming onto a particular spot secluded from the rest.

the sun was starting to set, creating a beautiful glow on your skin that made Kento stare in awe, coming to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a gentle kiss on your neck, “i need to ask you something”

his words are slow and soft, almost as if caressing your ears, gently caressing the skin of your arms and stomach, not getting enough of your touch while reciting his undying love towards you, giving you merely a second to process his words before you’re greeted by the sight of his kneeling form, shorts slightly dirty with sand and his blue shirt half open and flowing with the wind. you really, really have to be out of your mind if you even considered refusing your perfect lover’s proposal.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  CHOSO

picnics with Choso were a tradition, having found an apartment to share next to a park was just as if sent for the both of you.

so you’re now lounging on a blanket, laying on your back while Choso rummages through the picnic basket, casually hearing a choked cough coming from him.

“baby, are you okay?” you ask with concern, shielding your eyes from the sun to stare at the man with slightly pink cheeks.

“yeah, fine don’t worry, love” Choso smiles, pushing the ring box deep into the basket, both thanking and cursing Yuuji for reminding him about the detail, but also not happy by his little brother’s lack of subtleness.

it takes him a few minutes to calm down his erratic heartbeat before laying down next to you, propped up in an elbow before holding your hand and pressing a kiss on the palm, successfully catching your attention, “you look beautiful”

“you look really handsome too” your smile is comforting and all Choso needs to continue, allowing your hand to cup his cheek before using his own to hold it tight against the heated skin, eyes fluttering closed slightly with a soft sigh.

“i was thinking about something...” he starts, gently nuzzling onto your palm, “you know I love you... i love you so much and I’ve never been so sure about anything in my entire life...” his eyes finally meet yours, giving you a tiny yet nervous smile, “i want you to marry me... if you want, of course, what I mean is... would you marry me?”

some people say grand proposals are better, but for you, nothing could ever beat the gentle private tone in your boyfriend’s voice, the way his eyes lit up at your yes, and how his hands trembled subtly while sliding the finger him he got you.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.  SUKUNA

your boyfriend’s power was slightly scary sometimes, like, how did he even manage to book a whole restaurant?!

“welcome, Mr. Sukuna” your ears are used to those words coming from every single worker at the restaurant, starting from the valet, the receptionist and now the waiters and waitress lining up to allow you to make your way, with an arm looped around your boyfriend’s larger one.

“what’s all this?” you ask the man once you’re both comfortably sitting down, a violinist playing in a corner, “is something important happening?”

Sukuna just shrugs, leaning back against his own chair like he owned the place, with a smirk on his face, but deep down you knew he was hiding something, he was not being his usual self, “can’t I spoil you for once?”

“you spoil me every day”

he clears his throat, pretending not to hear that one last sentence before focusing on the menu, so you let it slip, for now, or at least until after dinner.

but he is still nervous, still fidgeting with the cutlery and glass of wine.

“Sukuna?” he, surprisingly jolts slightly as you catch his attention, “is there anything you need to tell me?”

fully expecting for him to refuse everything, not to watch him stand up and walk right next to your chair, there’s another clear of his throat, a change of weight onto the other feet, now he’s fixing his tie and sliding a hand through his hair, “Sukuna...”

“fuck” he grumbles, finally landing on his knee in front of you and placing both of your hands on his, a bit too solemn, “i...” he mutters your name, swallowing thickly, “through my whole life...”

“don’t force it” you help with a smirk.

“the brat said I need to impress you” Sukuna finally sighs, resting his forehead against your thigh, “or else you wouldn’t want me” so it was that, and you can’t help and chuckle.

“Kuna... i do, I want to marry you”

there it was, you being the sweet mind reader you were, helping your man with poor communication skills. that’s exactly why he fell for you, and now, almost proposing too.

[freydprov]

Freyd Providence could not have wished for a more perfect start in life. He was born aboard the SS Caelestis; a diplomatic vessel which served as both mobile court and negotiation chamber, mediating conflicts between cultures and individuals on neutral ground. His father taught Xenobiology at the onboard university, while his mother worked as a translator, specialising in picking apart the nuances in communication the Universal couldn't handle.

For most ship born kids the boredom sets in quickly. The same corridors, the same food, the same people, cycle after cycle after cycle. But not on the Caelestis. A constant flow of guests, dignitaries and other visitors kept the place fresh, Freyd taking every opportunity he could to learn about their cultures and planets. He made friends quickly and, eventually, learned to accept their inevitable departure with just as much ease. 'People come, people go, and we drift forward.'

His childhood wasn't all play though. Earlier than he could remember, he had set his heart on the Ambassador training program - every class, every choice of extra curricular activity was selected to keep him on that path. And it was working. His grades were perfect. He aced every physical exam they could give him. Piloting came less naturally to him, but he still managed to gain his Light Shuttle Authorisation at 19, a whole year ahead of his target. Of course, some classes like CompTech and weapons training had to be pushed aside or outright dropped so he could focus on what really mattered. He did, however, agree to pick up a few engineering apprenticeship shifts to appease his mother.

Everything was going perfectly.

It wasn't immediately obvious something was going wrong. One night, while he slept he just...slipped away. Not physically of course but, mentally, he was somewhere else altogether. A man – pale grey skin, a crest of four green eyes in the centre of his forehead – glared at him, hissing instructions though sharp, gritted teeth. He couldn't speak the language and there was no Universal to translate for him but he understood every word as if he'd spoken it all his life. “Behave. Run away again and I'll make sure you--” Suddenly he was awake again, drenched in sweat, gasping, shaking in fear.

Just a dream. Stress. Taking on too much.

But, no matter how much rest he took, how much he lessened his workload, the dreams kept coming. Different people, different places, most of them quite pleasant overall, but something about them bothered him. Somewhere inside he knew what was happening wasn't normal.

He met the man from his dream two years after the first incident.

Freyd was part of the welcoming committee – one of his first real responsibilities. The visitor was CFO of a corporation, come with his team to hash out a deal with some deep space colony who wanted nothing to do with them. He was real. How could he be real? The details washed over him like water though, because all he could focus on was the pallid woman that stood at his side, smiling weakly as she was introduced to the gathered crowd. His daughter, come to sit in on negotiations to help train her for her future in the company. For a second, everything came into sharp focus. That dream was her reality. He didn't know how, but for those moments in that vision it was like they'd been one mind - both scared, both alone. All of the fear and the hatred and bile rushed back through him in an instant and it felt as if his mind was being torn in two, vision blurring and overlapping as he hit the floor.

He'd woken up in the med bay, trying his best to assuage the concerns of the staff and his parents, desperate to just get back to the meeting. No dice. Kept on rest and carefully monitored, he could only sink into regret and embarrassment and wonder if his chance to impress had come and gone.

The few months after were more normal, aside from his parent's constant hovering. The program's entrance exams were finally at hand and he couldn't let one mistake throw him off. He needed to focus.

He didn't remember the spacewalk. Well, not entirely. He remembered getting into the airlock, depressurising and stepping out onto the hull but after that? All he saw was a city; lights blooming on curling, organic streetlamps, small craft whizzing by above him, and the sounds of laughter and music drawing him into the spaces around him. His friends pulled him along, singing phrases of his favourite song he'd never heard, just one more bar then they promised they'd call it a night and--

Med bay again. Worse that time.

He'd been in a coma for three days. And none of them could understand what went wrong. One minute he had been with his team, taking a routine walk across the hull to fix a test module. The next? They'd seen him floating, totally unmoored, snapping his own tether. When the emergency shuttle team managed to retrieve him he was unresponsive, O2 tanks damaged, drained into the cold black. Thankfully though, not beyond help.

Another battery of tests followed as soon as he was strong enough. Physical, mental, anything anyone could think of he was put through to try and get to the bottom of it. After a week of poking and prodding he'd had enough. He just wanted it to be over. He told the counsellor the truth – the things he'd seen, felt. All the dreams. How they'd leaked into his waking world. He expected a look of pity – that she'd think he was crazy.

He didn't expect to catch the briefest moment of...horror? Fear? Not that he knew what she had to be scared of. It was his life that was over.

The speed at which his world fell apart was almost impressive. He was ushered into a room near the brig. Several Commanders of varying ranks poured in, hitting him with question after question. More scans and probes, less gentle than before. At some point they stopped asking and started yelling. At some point he'd started crying. At some point it was only him and the Vice Admiral.

“We're...so very sorry. I wish things were different but...” She'd folded her hands to try and hide the shaking. “You have to understand - an Emergent on our ship could compromise our entire mission. Our reputation is built on trust and if anyone were to find out--”

He barely knew what that meant. Emergents were something he'd read about briefly but hadn't gone into any detail. They were rare; some cultures held them up as prophets or leaders. Others less so. He'd just found out where his own people stood on the matter.

So that was it. Confined to the brig so he couldn't cause a scene. They'd do him the decency of dropping him off at the next Station with some personal belongings, enough supplies and cash to give him a decent start over. He couldn't say goodbye – not in person anyway. He'd simply recorded a message to his parents. Sorry for disappointing them. He wasn't cut out for life aboard the Caelestis. His ambitions had been a mistake and he needed to find his real path.

He wished he could say he left with some dignity, that he'd accepted his fate with grace, but he'd wailed and begged the whole shuttle ride over to Tristan Station. They had to tear him from the passenger compartment, marks from where his fingernails dug into the hard rubber of the seats one of the only reminders of his existence.

He didn't know exactly what happened after he left. He assumed his parents were told eventually, when they were too far away to do anything about it. Perhaps his records had been altered. Maybe they'd been happy to forget him altogether. He had no way of knowing.

Whatever the case, after three cycles of waiting in the shuttle bay, scanning each ship to find a trace of compassion or regret from his crew – his family – and coming up empty, he made a decision. Freyd picked himself up, brushed himself down and took a deep breath.

People come. People go. We drift forward.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 26 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

A strange creature watches me from the bathroom mirror.

It bears a passing resemblance to my reflection but there are several glaring differences I can't ignore. 

The eyes, for example, appear to have slit pupils like a cat's. 

And yet the longer I stare and the more the creature mimics my every move, the less I can deny that I am, indeed, looking at myself. 

My eyes glow with amethyst fire, my skin has the glimmer of moonlight on snow and my ears are pointier than usual.

When I bare my teeth, my reflection displays sharp little fangs and my fingernails have hardened into short claws. 

"So... has this happened before?" 

Behind my reflection, Ingrid watches with wide, curious eyes. 

I heave a disconsolate sigh and my bizarre self does the same. 

"Sort of. Ever since Dane bit me, I've gone through... 'phases' like this. But it usually only happens around the full moon and it's usually not this... noticeable." 

As I speak, a sharp tooth catches my bottom lip and nicks the skin, drawing blood.

My slit pupils expand as the coppery taste teases my tongue and a shiver shoots up my spine... the more I learn about the Fae, the more I understand why encountering them might be a thing to fear. 

"Shit but it didn't take, right? I mean... you're not a Wolf." 

"Obviously, I'm not a Wolf."

I roll my glowing purple eyes at her.

"I'm just weird." 

She bites her lip.

"Can you turn it off?" 

I shake my head.

"No idea. Usually once my senses settle down, it fades on its own."

Ingrid wraps her arms around herself and frowns.

"Well, can you 'settle down' before Dane gets back? Because I prefer my head attached to my body." 

"It's not your fault," I say, a slight edge to my tone.

"It was my idea to try the spell and you're not my babysitter." 

I push past her and return to the living room, where the ring of Faerie light has already faded to a memory.

The candle still burns in the center of my 'circle' though and while I'd glossed over the finer details of the ritual to begin with, I figure it wouldn't hurt to end it properly, given its apparent effectiveness. 

Picking up the little card of instructions from where I'd dropped it, I read the last few lines.

Then, settling back into as much of a relaxed, meditative state as I can manage, I thank the elements and 'release' them, ending by extinguishing the candle and erasing my imaginary 'circle.' 

When I finish, I do feel a sense of having completed something and when I open my eyes, I find Ingrid's expression has shifted from alarm towards tentative relief. 

"Looks like you were right," she says.

"It's less noticeable already." 

I shoot her a look as I get to my feet and go to check my appearance in the mirror.

She's right and this time I don't have any trouble recognizing myself. 

I swipe a hand through my hair and release a shaky breath as my tension and anxiety dissipate.

At the same time, a flicker of annoyance remains.

I hadn't used my abilities directly and changes in appearance aside, I'd call the experiment a success. 

On the other hand... 

"Don't get too comfortable just yet," I say, as I pull out my cell-phone.

"If what I saw is accurate... if Stephanie wasn't just out of her mind with terror... then she wasn't alone in the Shadowlands. I need to call Halloran and I think we might need to mount a rescue."

******** 

"Absolutely not," Dane declares.

He had listened with surprising equanimity as I'd related my adventure with witchcraft... at least until the part where I proposed an expedition to the Shadowlands.

To my great surprise, Halloran takes his side. 

"I agree. It's far too dangerous." 

Having answered my call, he'd declared that he'd come over immediately, desiring to hear my tale in person.

Now he sits in our living room, along with Dane, Freya, Ingrid and myself, dressed in a pair of soft sweatpants and a checked flannel shirt.

His comfortably mundane, very 'human' attire seems oddly ironic after my own little transformation. 

"Did you miss the part where I said there were children there?" I ask.

"Stephanie died trying to bring help for them. We can't do nothing." 

Halloran draws a slow, careful breath before answering. 

"If I understand, the impressions you receive convey the thoughts, feelings and experiences of the person from whom they originate, correct?" 

I nod. 

"Well... it's possible that Stephanie's thoughts and feelings weren't... accurately reflective of reality. Did you see these children?" 

"No but Stephanie..." 

"Was starving, dehydrated, terrified and probably hallucinating."

Halloran leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Listen to me, Julian... the Shadowlands are a nightmare. Even if Stephanie did see 'children' the chances that they were actual human children is negligible and remember... entering the Shadowlands is easy enough, if you know the location of a portal. The challenge lies in getting back, as Stephanie tragically discovered." 

I look to Dane, hoping to appeal to his natural protective instinct but his expression appears set. 

"Halloran's right on this one, Julian. I'm all for taking action but not for acting rashly." 

I frown at him.

"So if it was me in there or Ingrid, you'd be content to just sit back and wait? We know where the skin-changer's keeping its victims now and the skin-changer, at least, knows how to get in and out of the Shadowlands. That means we could, too." 

Halloran shakes his head.

"Theoretically. It's still a risk I'd rather not take and I can't recommend anyone else take it, either. I suggest we wait instead. Let the skin-changer come to us." 

"How? All we've done is wait. Stephanie knew the risk when she dove into that pool. She did it because she was determined to bring help. I can't just ignore that and go about my day." 

Dane bunches his fingers in his hair and takes a breath, as if bracing himself for a long and fruitless struggle but Freya speaks up first.

She'd listened in silence so far, merely studying Halloran with a careful, calculating look, as if she couldn't quite figure him out. 

"Why don't we ask someone with experience?" she asks.

"Someone who's spent time in these 'Shadowlands' recently?" 

Halloran looks at her and frowns.

"You mean Rhiannon?" 

She nods. 

"I'd love the chance to speak with her," Halloran says

"But I'm afraid she's proven rather... elusive, thus far." 

"Isn't there some way to contact her?" I ask.

"I mean, if it's possible to contact the Fae across fucking realms, it must be possible to let Rhiannon know we want to talk." 

Halloran shakes his head.

"Even among humans, it can be difficult to get a hold of someone if they're actively avoiding you." 

I huff.

"Tell that to my ex, Ian Foley. Even when he was the last person in the world I wanted to see, he still had a way of finding me when he wanted something and I'm as Fae as Rhiannon, apparently." 

Halloran regards me thoughtfully.

"And if what you've told me is true, then you weren't fully mature, in Fae terms, when those incidents occurred. If the same thing were to happen again, would you find it difficult to avoid an unwanted visitor?" 

I glance at Dane.

"Aside from the fact that circumstances are completely different now, no, I guess I wouldn't." 

Halloran nods.

"As for your little... 'transformation' I believe that has more to do with you being ‘Leannan Sidhe’ than merely Fae. The ‘Leannan Sidhe’ are predatory creatures. Dangerous, as many lovely things are." 

I shiver, as much from the memory of my altered appearance as at the creepy, indirect compliment.

It was easy to forget, as he didn't look the part but Halloran was still my grand-uncle, after all. 

Freya straightens in her seat.

"Wait a minute. What about the Call?"