#vast is a mix of comfort and terror

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ pretty when you cry ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? a part three, ultraviolence, and a part four, shades of cool.

˚ ༘♡ hwang in-ho, the man you once knew as young-il, the man who betrayed you in the most loathsome way imaginable, had taken control of your recovery. he rarely left your side in the early days, overseeing every detail with the precision of someone who understood pain all too well. his compound, sprawling, isolated, and fortified, became your prison. it was a place of unsettling contrasts, sterile medical equipment juxtaposed with lavish decor, soft furnishings that did nothing to dull the edges of the sharp reality you now inhabited.

˚ ༘♡ you were angry, your heart a storm of rage and bitterness, each glance at him igniting the fire anew. though, in the quiet moments, when he checked your bandages or sat silently by your side as you drifted in and out of restless sleep, you found yourself conflicted. his hands, steady and careful, worked with a tenderness that unsettled you more than the betrayal ever had. the small comforts he offered, adjusting your pillows, bringing you tea, gnawed at the walls of your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ days blurred into one another. your questions about jung-bae and gi-hun were met with deflection, his answers vague and evasive. each time you pressed, his expression darkened slightly, as though the weight of those unanswered truths bore down on him as well. “you’ll know when the time is right,” he would say, his voice serene, leaving you fuming with frustration and sorrow.

˚ ༘♡ as the weeks passed, your leg began to heal. the searing pain dulled into an ache, and eventually, the ache faded altogether. though your body recovered, your mind remained caged by the stark truth of your reality. in-ho allowed you freedom within the confines of the compound, but every step you took was shadowed by masked guards, their presence an ever-looming reminder that escape was futile.

˚ ༘♡ you tried anyway.

˚ ༘♡ the night was quiet, the air thick with tension as you crept through the corridors, your heart pounding in your chest. every creak of the floorboards felt deafening, every shadow a potential threat. you had almost made it to what you thought was the outer gate when strong hands grabbed you, pulling you back with a force that sent terror crashing over you. the guards didn’t speak, their blank masks only adding to your dread as they dragged you back to your room, their grip unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ when in-ho appeared later, his expression was unreadable. he didn’t yell or chastise you. instead, he sat across from you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t name. “i can’t allow you to leave,” he said softly, his tone devoid of malice. it wasn’t a threat, but it felt worse. his disappointment lingered in the air, suffocating, and you hated the guilt that bloomed in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ time moved forward, and with it, your body healed. the ache in your knee, once sharp and consuming, faded into nothingness, replaced by the intensity of strength you hadn’t felt in weeks. you could walk without hesitation now, no longer second-guessing every step. yet the freedom of movement felt hollow within the compound’s imposing walls. they surrounded you, stark and vast, a constant reminder of your captivity.

˚ ༘♡ you sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over the faint scar peeking out from beneath the fabric of your clothing. the skin there was pale and slightly raised, a delicate line etched by pain and betrayal. you traced it with a mix of resignation and vexation, trying to reconcile the life you had before with the one you were living now.

˚ ༘♡ the sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts. you glanced up to see in-ho stepping inside, his presence filling the room with an air of quiet authority. he no longer wore the faceless mask that had once concealed him, his features open and bare. though his expression was calm, the weight of unspoken words seemed to settle between you, causing the air to feel suffocating.

˚ ༘♡ “would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked. his voice was measured, each word chosen carefully. though his tone was steady, there was an undercurrent of uncertainty, as if he was bracing himself for rejection. it wasn’t a demand, nor was it an expectation, it felt almost… tentative.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands resting in your lap. your anger hadn’t disappeared, it still lingered, simmering just beneath the surface, but it had softened with time, dulled by the care he had shown you. despite everything, despite the betrayal that still stung, he had been there, ensuring your recovery, tending to you with a patience you hadn’t expected.

˚ ༘♡ “i don’t think so,” you said at last, your tone gentle yet cautious. you weren’t trying to hurt him, though the words clearly did. you saw it in the way his face shifted, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features before he composed himself once more.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t leave. instead, he lingered by the door, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “you need to eat,” he said quietly. his voice lacked its usual authority, replaced instead by something softer, something that bordered on worry.

˚ ༘♡ you turned your gaze toward the window, your focus slipping to the darkened landscape outside. the compound stretched endlessly into the night, its shadowy corners likely crawling with guards you couldn’t see but knew were there. “i’ll eat later,” you replied, the words barely above a murmur. they lacked bitterness, though the weight of unspoken emotion hung in the room.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was thick and suffocating. you expected him to retreat, to leave you to your solitude, but he didn’t move. his presence remained, steadfast and unwavering, as if he refused to let the distance between you grow any wider.

˚ ༘♡ and though you wouldn’t admit it, even to yourself, his refusal to leave made something in your chest ache. it wasn’t anger, or resentment, or even guilt, it was something far more complicated, something you weren’t ready to confront.

˚ ༘♡ you sat on the floor of your room, your legs pulled close to your chest, trembling as grief consumed you. the weight of unanswered questions bore down on you, suffocating and relentless. your heart ached for the friends you’d lost in the chaos of the games, dae-ho, jun-hee, jung-bae, gi-hun, and the others whose faces haunted your dreams. they deserved more than silence. they deserved answers.

˚ ༘♡ tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you pressed your palms into your eyes, your breath hitching with every sob that wracked your chest. the quiet elegance of the room around you only deepened the pain, its pristine luxury a cruel reminder of the blood and suffering you’d endured to end up here. “please,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the plea. “tell me… tell me what happened to them.”

˚ ༘♡ in ho’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, as he crossed the room to where you sat. you didn’t meet his gaze, you couldn’t. instead, you gripped your knees tighter, shaking your head as the words spilled from your lips in a broken stream. “where are they? are they alive? do they even… do they even have a chance?”

˚ ༘♡ he crouched in front of you, his movements calm but hesitant, as though he feared his presence might shatter you further. his hands hovered near yours, unsure whether to reach out. “i can’t give you the answers you’re looking for,” he said quietly, his tone soft yet somehow unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you choked out, anger flaring through the grief as your head snapped up to meet his gaze. “why can’t you? they’re my friends, they…” your voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence dissolved into tears.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, his silence infuriating and devastating all at once. the patience in his expression was unbearable, as though he thought his stillness could soothe the storm inside you.

˚ ༘♡ your cries grew louder, your sobs echoing in the quiet room as you pounded a fist weakly against his chest. “please,” you begged, the word almost unintelligible through your tears. “don’t do this to me. i need to know.”

˚ ༘♡ still, he said nothing. instead, his arms encircled you, pulling you gently but firmly into his embrace. his warmth was immediate, his presence solid and unyielding. he rested his chin lightly against your hair, his grip tightening as though he feared you might slip away entirely. “shh,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “i’m here.”

˚ ༘♡ you shoved him away with what strength you had, though it was feeble compared to his hold. “don’t,” you spat, your voice raw with anger and anguish. “don’t comfort me when you’re the reason they’re gone.”

˚ ༘♡ his hands settled firmly on your shoulders, his grip rigid yet careful, as though he feared hurting you but refused to let you slip away. the strength in his touch sent a wave of frustration through you, fueling a final attempt to twist out of his hold. his chest pressed against yours as he pulled you closer, his body a barrier against your escape.

˚ ༘♡ “let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaking with the effort to sound stronger than you felt. but the words wavered, your conviction cracking under the weight of exhaustion that had crept into your limbs.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” he replied, his tone low but resolute, the firmness in his voice more unnerving than anger would have been. “you need me,” he added, quieter now, his words tinged with a gentleness that made your heart clench. “even if you don’t want to admit it.”

˚ ༘♡ your struggles faltered, the tension in your body draining as the fight ebbed away. you sagged against him, your head dropping slightly, your breathing uneven and strained. his embrace shifted, becoming something softer, something that felt almost protective. his arms wrapped around you fully now, holding you close as though shielding you from a world you didn’t even recognize anymore.

˚ ༘♡ the warmth of his breath brushed against your temple, and you froze as his lips pressed softly to your cheek. the kiss wasn’t meant to persuade or plead; it was a silent confession, an unspoken attempt to reach past your anger.

˚ ༘♡ “i love you,” he murmured, so quietly you might have thought you imagined it if his voice hadn’t carried the weight of those words so deeply.

˚ ༘♡ your entire body stiffened. the confession hit you harder than you could have anticipated, settling heavily in your chest. the sincerity in his voice wrapped around you, tugging at emotions you didn’t want to feel. your throat tightened painfully, but no words came. they wouldn’t. you couldn’t make yourself respond, couldn’t allow yourself to validate the truth in what he said.

˚ ༘♡ instead, silence fell between you, louder and more damning than anything you could have said aloud. his arms didn’t loosen their hold, his face remaining close to yours, his breath steady against your skin.

˚ ༘♡ then, as if sensing your hesitation wasn’t refusal, he leaned in. his lips met yours with a deliberate slowness, a patience that felt entirely at odds with the world he had dragged you into. the kiss was tender, yet there was an unmistakable urgency in the way he moved, as though he needed you to feel the emotions he couldn’t put into words.

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to push him away, wanted to scream that he had no right to this moment, no right to you. but your body betrayed you, your lips trembling as they parted against his. the flood of emotions, anger, despair, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing, surged through you all at once, making it impossible to pull away.

˚ ༘♡ when the kiss broke, your breath came in shallow bursts, your heart pounding erratically in your chest. his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your damp cheeks as his gaze searched yours.

˚ ༘♡ “will you ever let me go?” you asked, the words spilling out before you had a chance to stop them. your voice was fragile, the question carrying all the weight of the fear and longing tangled inside you.

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, the sharpness of his features dimmed by the flicker of something raw in his eyes. his hands didn’t move, his hold on you steady but not forceful. “i can’t,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. his voice cracked slightly, betraying the struggle beneath his calm exterior. “not in my heart.”

˚ ༘♡ the pang in your chest deepened, and the next question came almost involuntarily, your voice trembling under the strain. “will you keep doing this? will you keep the games going?”

˚ ༘♡ his face darkened, but not in anger. it was a shadow of something more potent, regret, or perhaps inevitability. he lowered his head slightly, his forehead close to brushing yours, his words deliberate and gentle. “yes,” he said, the softness of his tone cutting deeper than any cruelty could have. “i have to. one day, you’ll understand why.”

˚ ༘♡ the finality in his voice was suffocating. you stared at him, your tears still falling as you searched his face for any trace of doubt, for even the smallest crack in his conviction. his gaze remained stable, his eyes holding nothing but certainty, an unshakable belief in a path you couldn’t follow.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was heavy, filled with the unsaid words that hung between you. and as his arms tightened around you again, pulling you close to his chest, you felt the hollowness of his words settle into your own heart. hwang in-ho was a man who loved you, but he was also a man you could never truly understand.

a/n: part five!!! let me know if you have any requests and your thoughts on the story so far!!🤍

[deafeningladyruins]

BLOOD TIES

In the quaint, brooding town of Wisborg, where shadows seemed to linger a moment longer and whispers of old secrets wove through the cobblestone streets, there lived a young woman named Eliza. She was a figure out of place, her heart and soul akin to a gothic novel, filled with yearning and an inexplicable attraction to the macabre. Her life, shrouded in a melancholic solitude, found an unexpected tether in Count Orlok, the mysterious nobleman whose presence exuded an aura of both dread and fascination.

One evening, as the moon cast its silvery, spectral glow over the town, Eliza made her way to the castle that loomed ominously over Wisborg. The chill of her rare illness had been creeping more persistently through her veins, and she knew she needed to confide in Orlok, the only soul who seemed to understand the dark recesses of her heart.

As she entered the grand, shadow-laden hall, her eyes met Orlok’s, filled with an intense, inscrutable depth. He stood like a figure from an ancient tragedy, his gaze penetrating yet tender.

"Eliza," he intoned softly, his voice a melodious whisper that echoed through the vast, empty space. "What burdens your soul?"

Eliza, her heart thrumming with a blend of fear and desperate hope, drew a shaky breath. "Count Orlok, I am afflicted with a rare and insidious disease of the blood. The physicians offer no hope, and I fear my time is slipping away like sand through an hourglass."

A shadow passed over Orlok’s gaunt, pallid face, and he stepped closer, his very presence a strange comfort in the cold expanse. "Tell me more," he urged, his voice a mix of sorrow and fierce determination.

Eliza recounted her condition, her voice a fragile wisp in the dimly lit hall. She spoke of the constant weariness, the relentless pain, and the creeping despair that had become her unwelcome companion. Orlok listened with rapt attention, his eyes never wavering from her face. When she finished, he took her hand in his, his touch cool but steadying.

"Eliza," he said, his voice imbued with a deep, unearthly resolve. "I will not allow you to fade into the abyss. There exists a way to save you, but it demands a grave sacrifice."

Eliza’s heart raced, a tumult of hope and terror. "What do you mean?"

Orlok’s gaze intensified, his eyes gleaming with a fervent light. "I can bestow upon you my blood. It will purge your affliction, yet it will bind you to me for eternity. You will become like me, a dweller of the night, forsaking the warmth of the sun."

Eliza’s mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. The thought of becoming a vampire, a creature of darkness, filled her with dread, but the alternative—a slow, inevitable death—was far more harrowing. She looked into Orlok’s eyes, seeing the profound love and torment that lay within. He was offering her life, albeit a life steeped in shadows.

"I accept," she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with a steely resolve. "I desire to live, and to remain by your side."

Orlok’s eyes softened, and he drew her into a gentle, yet firm embrace. "You are courageous, Eliza. Together, we shall navigate the darkness."

That night, Orlok guided Eliza to a hidden chamber deep within the labyrinthine castle. The room was a sanctuary of ancient relics and arcane symbols, a testament to Orlok’s enduring existence. In the center, an ornate bed draped in crimson silk awaited, its presence both inviting and foreboding.

"Lie down," Orlok instructed, his voice a mellifluous command that brooked no disobedience.

Eliza complied, her heart a symphony of anticipation and fear. Orlok knelt beside her, his eyes a complex tapestry of sorrow and adoration. He leaned closer, his breath a cool caress against her skin.

"This will only be a moment’s pain," he murmured, before sinking his fangs into her chest, near her heart.

Eliza gasped as a sharp pain lanced through her, followed swiftly by a tidal wave of warmth and a dizzying euphoria. She felt her mortal life ebbing away, supplanted by a powerful, vibrant force. Orlok’s blood coursed through her, healing and transforming her, binding her to him in a union of eternal night.

When Eliza awoke, she was reborn. An ethereal strength surged through her, her senses heightened to an almost painful clarity. Orlok stood beside her, his eyes alight with pride and an unwavering devotion.

"Welcome to your new existence, Eliza," he intoned, his voice a symphony of emotion. "You are no longer constrained by the ephemeral bounds of mortality."

Eliza rose, feeling the newfound power pulsing through her veins, the clarity of her thoughts a stark contrast to her former weakness. She looked upon Orlok with a gaze filled with profound gratitude and burgeoning love. "Thank you, Orlok. I am ready to embrace this new life, to face whatever darkness lies ahead, with you."

As the first tendrils of dawn began to creep across the sky, Orlok took Eliza’s hand and led her to a secluded alcove, away from the impending sunlight. They sat together in the penumbral stillness, their connection now an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of shared sacrifice and enduring love. Eliza knew her life had irrevocably changed, but with Orlok beside her, she was prepared to embrace the eternal night and the boundless mysteries it promised.

In the dim light, Orlok leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of their shared destiny, of the love that had blossomed in the shadows and would endure through the ages. As their lips parted, Eliza felt a profound sense of belonging, knowing that she and Orlok were bound together, forever entwined in the darkness.

———

Good evening everyone, I just saw Nosferatu so I got an idea for this little story, hope you guys like it and feel free to give me ideas.

[inexplicifics]

What or rather who are the Eldritch Trio? It sounds familiar but I can't place it.

Heh, the eldritch trio are what happens when I go "alright but what if Geralt and Eskel and Gweld got some interesting alterations to their Grasses and ended up a little more inhuman than possibly the mages desired?"

Lambert knows he got a different blend of mutagens than his older brothers did. That’s because everyone got a different blend than they did. Their year, the mages decided to experiment, and even the sort of mages who go in for mutagen research are sane enough that after they saw the results, they decided not to do that ever again. There were only three survivors of that year: Geralt, Eskel, and Gweld. Geralt, the mages gave twice the usual Grasses, and he still came out looking the most human of the three. His hair is white as bone and his eyes are a startling true gold and his teeth are very, very sharp, but he looks mostly normal. Until he moves, with a liquid grace and speed that makes something in even witcher hindbrains shudder and draw back in fear. He’s much, much stronger than a witcher ought to be, and he can move as silently as a shadow, and something in his roughened voice makes terror skitter down a listener’s spine when he is angry. He doesn’t talk much anymore. Gweld got a different mix, and it’s probably a good thing he only got a single dose of it, because it gave him the sort of inhuman beauty only mages and incubi have, the sort that it’s hard to look away from. His eyes are the color of coals, deep burning orange, and if he meets someone’s gaze, it’s like Axii: they melt to his will. Also his hair is made of fire, now, instead of just being fire-colored, and his body temperature is just a little hotter than is truly comfortable to touch. Lambert suspects if Gweld had gotten a double dose of that, he wouldn’t have made it off the table…and also the entire keep might have gone up in unstoppable flames. And Eskel, poor bastard, whatever the mages gave him, it forced his latent connection to Chaos wide open, so that his power spills out around him…into vast, writhing tentacles of black shadow edged with amber light the same shade as his eyes. They’re only solid when he wants them to be, and they’re terrifying to face on the training field, because they’re impervious to pretty much all damage and they’re stronger than an angry chort. And Eskel has absolutely perfect control of them, including being able to cast Signs through his godsdamned tentacles. Most of the time, they look like a strange cloak, shrouding him in shadow-and-amber; and then, at least when he’s comfortably at home in Kaer Morhen, one of them will flick out to grab something off a shelf or pull one of his brothers closer, and Lambert is reminded all over again that his brothers are something that’s not even a little bit human anymore.

[tf-kinky]

"You're always taking my stuff," Noah complained to his brother, Leo, as he rummaged through the messy drawer.

"What? It's just a pair of socks," Leo shrugged, tossing the socks in question over his shoulder.

"They're not just socks," Noah said, his voice taking on a rare seriousness. "They're the ones mom knitted for me. And now, they're gone."

Leo's eyes widened. "Whoa, chill. I'll grab you a new pair from the laundry basket."

Their mother's socks had always been a point of contention between them. Hand-knitted with love, they were as much a symbol of her care as they were a practical necessity. Noah had a collection of them, each with a unique pattern that told a story of their mother's mood when she created them. He cherished every stitch, every imperfection that made them one-of-a-kind.

But Leo saw them as just socks. Functional, replaceable. He didn't understand the connection Noah had with them, the way each pair felt like a warm hug from their mother who was no longer with them.

"You know what," Noah said, his voice tightening. "I've had enough of this. You're going to learn the value of things."

Leo chuckled, thinking his brother was joking again. But Noah's expression was unyielding. He had been holding onto a peculiar app on his phone for months now, something a mate of his has been working on. He used it to zap a pair of "regular" socks.

"Take these," Noah said, handing Leo the oddly knitted socks. "Put them on."

Leo, ever the daredevil, didn't think twice. He slipped them over his ankles, feeling the warmth spread up his legs. And then, everything changed. His vision blurred, and suddenly he could hear every heartbeat in the house, smell every scent, feel every fabric with a new intensity. His laughter faded into confusion as he looked down at his legs, which now ended in a pair of... regular ankle socks?

"I transformed you into what you truly appreciate," Noah said, his voice cold. "Now, you're just a pair of socks."

Leo looked around wildly, trying to understand what had happened. But all he could see was the world from a sock's perspective, the floor stretching out like an infinite desert, the smells of the house a cacophony of memories and new terrors. He was no longer a person; he was a piece of clothing, subject to the whims of the world.

"No, no, no!" Leo screamed, but no sound came out. Panic set in as he realized the gravity of the situation. He was trapped, unable to communicate, unable to move, unable to do anything but experience the world in a heightened state.

Noah picked him up, examining him closely. "Looks like it worked," he murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and curiosity. Leo tried to struggle, but his sock body remained limp in Noah's hand. He felt his brother's fingers trace the intricate patterns of his new form, the tactile sensation sending shivers up his...legs? He wasn't sure what to call them now.

"Time to give you hell," Noah said, his voice echoing through the vast cavern of the room. He dropped Leo onto the floor, and the impact was jarring, sending a wave of panic through his...cottony self? The sensation of gravity was different, heavier somehow. He could feel the floorboards' roughness, the fibers of the carpet digging into his non-existent flesh.

Leo lay there, trembling, as Noah stomped away to his bedroom. He didn't know what was coming next, but he knew it wouldn't be good. The house was eerily quiet, and all Leo could hear was the thump of his brother's footsteps receding and the muffled sound of his own heart beating in his...socks. The fabric felt tight around him, constraining him in a way that was both terrifying and oddly comforting.

The door slammed shut, and Leo felt a rush of cool air as Noah returned, his footsteps heavy. He could smell the faint scent of sweat and grass from outside, and his heart raced as the world grew louder, closer, as Noah approached. The floor was cold under him, a stark contrast to the warmth of the socks. He tried to scream, to beg for mercy, but all that came out was a muffled sound that no human ear could detect.

Noah towered over him, his face twisted into a smug smile. He bent down and picked Leo up with two fingers, holding him up to his face. "How does it feel?" he asked, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Leo could see the pores on Noah's nose, the stray hairs curling at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to punch him, to yell, but instead, he just felt... tiny.

With a snicker, Noah slipped his foot into his sneaker, and Leo felt a cold dread wash over him. The shoe smelled faintly of sweat and dirty socks, and as his brother's foot descended, he realized what was about to happen. He was going to be worn. He was going to be stepped on, squished, and stinky, all because he didn't appreciate a simple pair of socks.

Noah sat on the nearby chair, removed his old dsmp worn out socks and slipped on his brother and chuckled darkly at what he had done to Leo. He then proceeds to put his sneakers on.

The shoe engulfed him, and he was plunged into darkness. The fabric of the sock stretched and contorted around his form, molding him to the shape of Noah's foot. It was a tight fit, and the sensation was claustrophobic, a stark contrast to the openness of the floor. He could feel the heat and weight of Noah's foot pressing down on him, and he was forced to endure every contour and callus.

Days passed, and the socks grew grimier, the fabric wearing thin with each step Noah took. The heightened senses that had once been a terrifying novelty now became a prison, trapping Leo in a world of unending sensation. He felt every pebble on the sidewalk, every thread of dirt that clung to the floor, every drop of moisture that seeped in. His existence was one of constant discomfort, the only solace the occasional moments of stillness when Noah took the socks off to shower, but he never took him off any other time.

Leo's thoughts swirled with anger, regret, and fear. He had never appreciated the socks, but he had never wanted to be socks. He missed his life, his friends, the freedom to move and speak. The warmth of the socks was a constant reminder of the humanity he had lost, the softness taunting him with a gentle touch that could never be reciprocated.

The morning light streamed through the kitchen windows, and the sound of their mother's favorite mug clinking against the counter brought a pang of longing to Leo's non-existent heart. Noah's heavy footsteps approached, and he braced himself for the daily ritual of being taken off and discarded. The sensation of being peeled away from the sweaty, grimy shoe was almost painful, a reminder of his new form's fragility.

With a flick of his wrist, Noah sent him flying through the air, landing unceremoniously in the trash can. The world was a blur of shadows and stench, and then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Leo made out the shapes of the items surrounding him. His stomach churned as he realized he was nestled among crumpled tissues, half-eaten food, and the crinkled remains of multiple used condoms. The smell was overwhelming, a cacophony of bodily fluids and decay that made his heightened olfactory senses recoil.

Leo realises this is the end of the line for him. Noah discarded him like regular socks. Noah meanwhile went outside to enjoy breakfast their mother prepared. Oh she knew what happened to Leo, in fact she thought it a fitting punishment. Leo lay there in the trash, his life is over.

// I used AI to help write this. I gave it prompts and what I wanted to happen and it filled it in. Some parts I manually typed. Its just easier. \\

[sammyakins]

MPREG SAMDEAN

Trans Sam WInchester

Dead dove

sorta twist

non con showed and implied

My Choice part 1

The motel room was stale with the smell of cigarette smoke and fast food, a grim reminder of the countless nights they had spent in similar spaces. Sam lay on the bed, his eyes glued to the stained ceiling. The silence was as thick as the dust coating the TV set, and it weighed on his chest like an unwelcome secret. His hand drifted to his stomach, the slight bulge giving him comfort and terror in equal measure.

Dean paced the floor, his boots echoing against the worn-out carpet. The TV was on mute, playing some old black and white movie, the flickering images dancing across his face. The neon light outside the window painted the room with a sickly glow, casting long shadows that mirrored his own tumultuous thoughts. He took another swig of his whiskey, the liquid burning his throat as it went down. The taste was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the anger festering inside of him.

"Dean," Sam ventured, his voice a mere whisper that seemed too small for the vastness of the room. "We need to talk."

Dean froze mid-step, the bottle hovering at his lips. He turned to face his brother, his eyes narrowing into slits. "What the hell is there to talk about?" he spat, the anger in his voice barely concealed.

Sam took a deep breath, his hand still resting protectively over his stomach. "I'm pregnant," he said, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

Dean's grip on the whiskey tightened until his knuckles turned white. "What did you say?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that sent shivers down the spines of demons and angels alike.

"You heard me," Sam replied, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "It's your baby."

The room grew even colder, if that was possible, and the air between them crackled with tension. Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, looking for any trace of a lie, any sign that this was a cruel joke. But Sam's gaze was steady, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and resolve. The truth was written all over his face, clear as the day they were born.

Dean took a step forward, the bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "How the hell did this happen?"

Sam flinched at the accusation in Dean's voice. "You know how," he said softly. "It's your doing."

Dean's eyes widened with shock, and then his features twisted into a snarl. "You're not keeping it," he said, his voice cold and final. "I'm not having a kid, especially not with you."

The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut, the wind knocked out of him. He sat up slowly, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Dean," he pleaded, "you can't mean that."

But Dean's expression was unyielding. "I mean every goddamn word," he said, his voice like sharpened steel. "This isn't happening. We fix it, or we deal with the consequences."

The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of emotions raging within the room. Sam felt his heart break into a million pieces, each one sharper than the last. He had never seen his brother look at him like this, with such pure, unbridled rage. And yet, a part of him knew it was only the beginning. The world they knew was about to shatter, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"I can't," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible over the thundering of his heart. "I won't."

Dean's hand tightened around the whiskey bottle, his knuckles going white. "You can and you will," he snarled, his eyes dark with fury.

"No," Sam said, his voice stronger now. He pushed himself off the bed, standing his ground. "This is my body, my choice. I'm keeping the baby."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his grip on the whiskey bottle tightening until it was a miracle it didn't shatter in his hand. "You think you can just ignore what I say?"

Sam's voice was trembling but firm. "You're the one who did this, Dean. You forced yourself on me, and now there's a baby growing inside me."

Dean took a menacing step forward, his eyes burning with anger. "Don't you dare throw that in my face," he snarled. "It was your own damn fault for tempting me."

The room was a pressure cooker, the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife. Dean took a deep breath, his chest heaving with rage. "You're not keeping it," he repeated, his voice a low growl.

Sam's eyes widened with shock and hurt. "How can you say that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"You're a fucking liar," Dean spat, the whiskey bottle shaking in his hand. "You're just trying to trap me, to ruin my life."

"It's not about you, Dean," Sam's voice grew stronger with every word. "It's about me and the baby. I won't let you take that away from me."

Dean took another step forward, his shadow looming over Sam. "You're not keeping it," he said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You don't get to decide," Sam said, his voice trembling.

Dean sneered, the whiskey bottle still clutched in his fist. "Oh, I'm deciding alright," he said. "You're my little brother, and I'll be damned if I let you carry some freaky kid."

Sam felt his anger rise, a fiery counterpoint to his fear. "This isn't your decision to make," he said firmly, his voice growing stronger. "I'm not some possession you can just toss aside."

Dean took a step closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You're a Winchester," he snarled. "You do what I say, and that's that."

Sam stepped back, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I'll do what I have to," he said, his voice low and determined. "If that means leaving, I will."

The words hung in the air, a challenge that Dean couldn't ignore. He took a step forward, the whiskey bottle still in hand, his eyes alight with fury. "You're not going anywhere," he snarled. "You're a Winchester, and you're staying with me."

"I'll leave," Sam said, his voice shaking, "if that's what it takes to keep this baby safe from you."

Dean's rage boiled over, and he swung the whiskey bottle at Sam, who barely managed to dodge the blow. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the small room. "Fine," he yelled, "you can keep it! But don't you dare expect me to play daddy to that thing. It's your problem, not mine."

The room was still, the only sound the faint dribble of whiskey seeping into the carpet. Sam felt a mix of relief and anger.

"I'm not playing your games anymore, Dean," Sam said, his voice shaking with the weight of his decision. "I'll stay, but only if you respect my choice."

Dean's jaw clenched, but he didn't move, his eyes still dark with anger. Sam knew it wasn't a true victory, but for now, it was enough. He sat back down on the bed, his hands resting protectively on his stomach.

As the night rolled on, Dean remained silent, his back to Sam. Sam could feel his brother's resentment, a palpable force in the air. He knew this was far from over, but for now, he had bought himself some time.

He lay down, the softness of the bed a stark contrast to the turmoil in his thoughts. The baby grew inside him, a secret shared only by the two of them. It was a strange, bittersweet happiness, knowing he was going to be a father.

But the joy was tainted with fear. He didn't know how to raise a child, especially not in their line of work. And with Dean's volatile nature, Sam couldn't help but worry about the future.

He closed his eyes, listening to the distant hum of the highway outside their window. He had to figure out a way to make this work, to keep his baby safe from the dangers of their world and from the monster that was his own brother.

-

It had been a few tense days since the revelation in the motel room, and the silence between Dean and Sam was heavier than the weight of their unspoken fears.

Sam had scheduled his first prenatal appointment at the local doctor's office in the town they had found themselves in. He was only eight weeks along, the pregnancy not yet visible beneath his loose shirt, but the anxiety was etched clearly on his face. He knew he had to face the reality of the situation, even if it meant confronting Dean about it.

"Dean," Sam spoke up, his voice tentative. "I need a ride to the doctor's."

Dean's eyes snapped up from the map sprawled over the motel room's small table, a mix of confusion and anger swirling in their depths. "Why?" he barked.

Sam took a deep breath, bracing himself for the fight. "It's my first appointment," he said, his voice steady. "For the baby."

Dean's hand hovered over the whiskey bottle, his knuckles white. "You're really going through with this?" he spat out.

Sam nodded, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I am."

The tension in the room grew palpable, a living thing that seemed to suck the air right out. Dean stared at Sam for what felt like an eternity, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark. Then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he grabbed his keys. "Fine," he said gruffly. "Get in the car."

The drive to the doctor's office was a silent battlefield, each brother lost in their own tumultuous thoughts. Sam's hand rested protectively over his stomach, feeling the slightest flutter of life within. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of father he would be, what kind of life he could give his child in the shadow of their demon-hunting existence.

The clinic was a nondescript building, blending into the landscape of the small town. Dean parked the Impala with a screech, the sound jolting Sam out of his thoughts. He opened the door and stepped out, his legs feeling like they were made of lead.

"You going to be okay?" Dean asked, his voice gruff.

Sam nodded, not trusting his voice. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and turned to face his brother. "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice cracking.

Dean's eyes searched his, and for a brief moment, Sam saw something flicker in their depths—concern, maybe even a hint of regret. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the familiar hardened mask he wore so often. "Don't get too attached to the idea," he said, his voice a warning. "This isn't going to end well."

With that, Dean slammed the car door shut, leaving Sam to face the reality of his situation alone. He took a deep breath and walked towards the clinic, the sound of his boots echoing in the quiet parking lot. The receptionist looked up from her magazine, her eyes widening slightly as she took in his large frame and the tension that rolled off him in waves. "Name?" she asked.

"Winchester," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have an appointment with Dr. Marquez."

The receptionist nodded and handed him a clipboard with a pen attached by a string. Sam took it, his hand trembling slightly as he filled out the paperwork. The questions on the form were mundane, but they felt like a minefield of potential landmines. 'Father's name', 'father's contact info', 'do you have a support system'. He left them blank, his mind racing.

When the nurse called his name, Sam followed her down the hall, his heart pounding in his chest. The walls were adorned with cheerful posters of happy families, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his soul. She led him to an exam room, and as the door closed, he felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman named Dr. Marquez, came in a few minutes later, her eyes scanning over the paperwork before looking up at Sam with a smile. "Good to see you, Sam," she said, her voice gentle. "How are you feeling today?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Scared," he admitted. "I didn't expect this."

Dr. Marquez nodded in understanding. "It's a big change," she said. "But we're here to help you through it."

Sam took a deep breath and asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "When can I find out if it's a boy or a girl?"

The doctor's smile was sympathetic as she sat down on the rolling stool beside the exam table. "Usually, we can determine the baby's gender around 18 to 20 weeks," she replied. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to make sure everything's okay with both you and the baby."

Sam nodded, his mind racing with the implications of her words. Weeks turned into months in his mind, a timeline that felt both endless and terrifyingly short. He had so much to prepare, so much to figure out before the baby came.

"Your due date," Dr. Marquez began, her tone professional, "is looking to be around the 10th of November."

Sam's eyes widened. "November?" he echoed, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Yes, November 10th," she confirmed, scribbling something down on a pad of paper. "Now, Sam, can you tell me when your last period was?"

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably on the exam table, his thoughts racing. "I, uh, I don't know," he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

The doctor's gaze was gentle, understanding the difficulty of the question. "That's okay," she said. "We can work around it. But knowing your last period date can help us pinpoint your due date more accurately. Do you have any idea?"

Sam racked his brain, trying to remember the last time he had bled. It was hazy, lost in the blur of motel rooms and monster hunts. "A month or so give or take," he murmured.

Dr. Marquez nodded, making a note. "We'll keep that in mind."

The exam was quick but thorough, the doctor's voice a soothing balm over the chaos in Sam's mind. She checked his blood pressure, took his temperature, and listened to his heartbeat, which seemed to be racing faster than it should. Sam tried to ignore the tremble in his hands as she moved the cold stethoscope around his abdomen.

"Everything seems fine," she said, her voice soothing. "But we'll need to do an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy and check on the baby's development."

Sam nodded, his throat tight with fear and excitement. The idea of seeing his child for the first time was both terrifying and exhilarating. He lay back on the table as the nurse squeezed cold gel onto his stomach and the doctor began moving the probe over his skin.

The screen flickered to life, the grainy image showing the flutter of a heartbeat, a tiny life growing inside him. Sam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes filling with tears. It was real. He was going to be a father.

"It's early, but everything looks good," Dr. Marquez said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "Congratulations, Sam."

Sam managed a weak smile, his hand reaching out to touch the screen. He felt a surge of love for the tiny being that was so utterly dependent on him. And with that love came a fierce determination to protect it from the horrors of their world, to somehow give it a life that was more than just running from one demon to the next.

As the doctor left the room, Sam sat up, wiping the gel from his stomach with a paper towel. He knew he couldn't do this alone. He had to find a way to make things right with Dean, to somehow bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

When he stepped out of the clinic, the bright sunlight momentarily blinded him. He squinted, looking around the parking lot, and there he saw the familiar silhouette of the Impala. His heart sank. Dean was still here, leaning against the car, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

Sam approached, his heart racing. The baby's heartbeat echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of what was at stake. "Dean," he called out, his voice tentative.

Dean's eyes flicked up to meet Sam's, his expression unreadable. "You done?" he asked, his voice flat.

Sam nodded, the gravity of the situation weighing him down. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They drove home in silence, the engine's rumble the only sound between them. The baby's heartbeat echoed in Sam's thoughts, a stark reminder of the life he was carrying. He stared out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of trees and streetlights.

In his pocket, he felt the ultrasound photo, the thin piece of paper a testament to the miracle growing inside him. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he thought about the tiny flutter he had seen on the screen. It was a smile filled with hope, with the promise of something beautiful and pure in a world so often marred by darkness.

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam in the rearview mirror, and his jaw tightened at the sight of his brother's happiness. It was a smile that didn't belong in their world, a smile that spoke of a future filled with baby giggles and family dinners, not salt circles and holy water. It was a smile that made Dean's stomach churn with anger and disgust.

"It's just a clump of fucking cells," he spat out, his voice harsh.

Sam swallowed hard, his hand moving to rest protectively over his stomach. "I hope it looks like me," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

--

Time passed in a blur of doctor's visits, awkward silences, and the ever-present weight of their situation. Sam had just returned from his latest appointment, his cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves. He was five months pregnant now, and the baby was growing fast. His bump was noticeable, and he couldn't help the little smile that played on his lips as he felt the gentle kicks from within.

Walking into the motel room, he found Dean sprawled on the bed, his eyes glued to the TV, a half-eaten burger on the nightstand. The smell of grease and stale beer was a constant reminder of their lives on the road. Sam's heart raced as he approached, unsure of how Dean would react to his newfound joy.

"You're smiling," Dean said, his voice gruff as he didn't look away from the flickering screen. "What's got you so happy?"

Sam took a deep breath, his hand resting on the swell of his belly. "It's a boy," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "The doctor said everything looks good. He's strong and healthy."

Dean's eyes snapped to his, the TV forgotten. "What?"

Sam nodded, a genuine smile lighting up his face. "It's a boy," he repeated.

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the static from the TV. Then, Dean sat up, his eyes searching Sam's face, looking for some sign of a lie or a joke. But all he saw was happiness, raw and unfiltered.

"You're serious," Dean said, his voice flat.

Sam nodded, the smile on his face unwavering. "Yeah, I am," he said softly. "I've got to start thinking about names."

Dean scoffed, throwing the burger's last bite into his mouth.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, his voice filled with both hope and defensiveness.

"You," Dean said, swiping a hand through his greasy hair. "You're actually going to be a dad."

Sam's smile faltered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean shrugged, turning back to the TV. "It's just… You're not exactly the poster boy for parenthood, Sammy."

The words stung, but Sam pushed them aside. "I know it's not going to be easy," he said, "but I'm going to do my best."

Dean sighed, tossing the remote onto the bed. "Look, I don't have time for this," he said, standing up. "We've got a hunt to plan. Some flesh-eating ghosts on the loose or something."

Sam watched his brother move about the room, ignoring the elephant in the room that was his pregnancy. It was as if Dean had drawn a line in the sand, refusing to acknowledge the life growing inside him. Sam felt a pang of sadness, but he knew better than to push it. Instead, he followed Dean to the table, where their father's journal lay open, surrounded by a mess of notes and maps.

"So, where are we heading?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Dean glanced over at him, his eyes lingering on Sam's stomach for a fraction of a second before looking away. "Some podunk town in Texas," he said, his voice gruff. "Ghosts, demons, the usual."

Sam nodded, his thoughts still swirling with the news of the baby's gender. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say next. "Dean," he began, "I met someone today."

Dean froze mid-stride, his hand hovering over the open junk food drawer. "What?" he asked, his tone wary.

Sam's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his brother's reaction. "A guy," he clarified, "asked me out on a date."

Dean slammed the junk food drawer shut, his eyes snapping to Sam's. "You can't go on dates," he said, his voice tight with a jealousy he couldn't hide. "You're pregnant."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because," Dean sputtered, "it's not right. You're carrying my kid."

Sam took a step forward, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't about you," he said firmly. "It's about me and what I want for the baby. And maybe this guy could be a good dad."

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. "And what makes you think that?" he sneered.

"He's got a steady job," Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. "A nice house. He seems like he could provide."

"So he's not exactly Brad Pitt," Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But he's got a good heart."

Sam felt a spark of anger flare in his chest. "You think I'd settle for anything less?" he shot back. "You're the one who's never had a clue what it's like to be responsible for anyone but yourself."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I've been taking care of you since you were a baby," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Taking care of me and taking advantage of me are two different things," Sam retorted.

Dean's expression grew stormy. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself for the reaction. "The guy's name," he said, "is Gabriel."

Dean's eyes went wide, his hand clenching into a fist. "You're fucking kidding me, You're going to bring some random guy into our lives now?"

"He's not random, Dean," Sam said, his voice calm despite the anger in his brother's tone. "He's a doctor at the clinic. He's been nothing but kind to me."

"And you're just going to trust some guy because he's got a fancy degree?" Dean spat. "You've seen the shit we hunt. You know better than to trust anyone."

"It's not about trust," Sam said, his eyes pleading. "It's about giving me a chance to be happy."

Dean scoffed, his eyes cold. "Happy with some stranger while you carry my kid?"

"It's not just your kid," Sam shouted, the pent-up anger and hurt finally breaking through. "It's mine too, and I'm allowed to have a life, to find someone who actually wants to be a part of it!"

Dean's fists clenched at his sides. "You're not going anywhere," he growled. "You're a Winchester, and you stay with me."

"You don't get it, Dean," Sam's voice was shaking with rage now. "You don't get to decide what makes me happy or who I can see!"

"You're my responsibility," Dean's voice was a roar that filled the small motel room. "I'm all you've got, and I'm not letting you throw your life away for some random guy !"

"You don't want the baby, so why does it matter?" Sam yelled back, his voice cracking with pain. "You just want to control me!"

Dean's eyes went dark, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'm not letting anyone take you away from me," he said, his voice low and deadly. "Not even some doctor with a fancy name."

Sam's chest tightened, his fear mixing with anger. "You can't keep me like some kind of pet," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm not your property, Dean. I'm your brother."

The room was thick with tension, the air charged with unspoken accusations and fears. Dean looked at Sam, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Sam took a step closer, his eyes blazing. "I'm not doing anything to you," he said, his voice rising. "You're the one who can't handle the truth!"

"What truth?" Dean demanded, stepping closer to Sam. "That you got knocked up and now you're going to ruin everything?"

"The truth," Sam said, his voice shaking with emotion, "is that you raped me, and now I'm having your child!"

The words hung in the air, a knife that sliced through the tension, leaving a trail of pain in their wake. Dean's face contorted with rage, his eyes burning with a fury that made Sam's heart pound in his chest. Without a word, Dean lunged forward, pushing Sam onto the bed with surprising force. Sam's eyes went wide with fear, his heart racing as he tried to scramble away, but Dean's grip was like iron.

"You think you can just say shit like that and walk away?" Dean snarled, his breath hot and sour with whiskey. His hands fumbled with Sam's pants, yanking them down roughly, exposing the soft swell of Sam's stomach.

Sam's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, his breath coming in panicked gasps. "Dean, stop," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

But Dean was beyond hearing, his mind consumed by a toxic mix of anger and fear. He grabbed Sam's legs and pinned them down, his eyes never leaving Sam's face.

Sam's heart was racing, his fear palpable. He knew what was coming, had feared it since the moment he had seen the positive pregnancy test. "Dean, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.

But Dean was deaf to his pleas, driven by his own demons. His hand reached between Sam's legs, pushing them apart roughly. Sam's body was trembling, his mind racing with thoughts of how to escape, how to protect his unborn child. But the reality was, he was trapped, pinned down by his own brother's strength.

Dean leaned in, his mouth pressing against Sam's inner thigh, the roughness of his stubble scraping against his sensitive skin. Sam's breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt Dean's tongue trace the curves, then dip lower, to the warm, wet heat of his pussy. The sensation was jarring, a mix of pain and unwanted arousal that made Sam's stomach turn.

As Dean's tongue delved deeper, Sam's body betrayed him, his pussy growing wet despite the horror of the situation. His breathing grew shallow and ragged as he felt the slickness spread, his mind a tumult of fear and disgust. It was a biological response, one that he couldn't control, and it made him feel even more vulnerable.

Dean noticed the change, his eyes darkening with a twisted kind of satisfaction. He took it as an invitation, his tongue moving more insistently against Sam's sensitive flesh. Sam's body responded in ways that made him feel dirty, his clit swelling under the pressure of Dean's mouth. He didn't want this, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own, the pleasure mixing with the pain, creating a cocktail of sensations that had him moaning despite his fear.

Dean's teeth grazed against Sam's clit, eliciting a gasp from his lips. He hated the way his body reacted, the way his hips bucked up into the touch. It was as if his body was betraying him, seeking release even as his mind reeled with the horror of what was happening.

With a groan, Sam felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil in his belly, his body tensing with the unwelcome pleasure. He tried to fight it, to clench his muscles and will it away, but it was too strong. With a choked cry, he came, his body shuddering with the force of it. Dean's eyes gleamed with a sadistic pleasure as he pulled away, leaving Sam's clit pulsing and sensitive.

Dean's hand moved up to wipe his mouth, smearing the evidence of his assault across his cheek.

"Again," Sam whispered, his voice shaking.

Dean's eyes narrowed, his grip on Sam's legs tightening. "What did you say?"

"I said," Sam repeated, his voice stronger despite the tremble, "I want you to do it again."

Dean stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sneer, he leaned back in, his mouth returning to Sam's clit. This time, Sam's body responded more readily, the fear and anger fueling his arousal. It was a cycle he despised, one that had become all too familiar in their twisted dynamic.

As Dean licked and sucked, Sam's mind was a whirlwind of emotions.

He felt a mix of fear, anger, and a disturbing hint of pleasure that he couldn't ignore. He knew he had to survive this, to find some semblance of control in the chaos. So he focused on the pleasure, letting it overwhelm the fear that threatened to consume him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing his body to respond. His hips began to move with the rhythm of Dean's mouth, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"Dean," Sam whispered, his voice trembling. "Put a finger inside me."

Dean's eyes snapped up to Sam's, surprise and arousal flickering in their depths. He hesitated for a moment before pulling away, his hand moving to Sam's entrance, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. Sam nodded, his breathing shallow.

Dean's finger slid in, slow and gentle despite the harshness of the situation. Sam's body tensed around it, the unfamiliar sensation making him gasp. But he focused on the feeling, letting it replace the fear, pushing it away. He rocked his hips slightly, urging Dean deeper.

Dean watched, his own breathing labored as he added a second finger, then a third. Sam's whimpers grew louder, his body responding despite the horror of what was happening. He didn't want this, didn't want to feel this way, but he needed something, anything, to keep the fear at bay.

As Dean's fingers moved in and out, Sam felt a strange sense of power take over him. It was as if by embracing the pleasure, he could somehow diminish the pain. He knew it was a lie, a desperate attempt to cope, but in that moment, it was all he had.

He reached down, his hand shaking as he wrapped it around his brother's wrist, guiding the pace, demanding more. And as the pleasure built, as the room spun and his vision blurred, Sam felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to take back control.

Dean's eyes darkened as he watched Sam, the anger in his gaze fading to something more complex, something that looked almost like hunger. He didn't know why Sam was asking for this, but he couldn't deny the need that was building in him, a need that was as much about dominance as it was about desire. He added a fourth finger, stretching Sam to the point of pain.

Sam's eyes flew open, his breath hitching as he felt the burn. But it was a pain he could endure, a pain that made him feel alive. "More," he begged, his voice strained.

Dean's hand moved faster, his thumb brushing against Sam's prostate with every stroke. Sam's body responded, his hips bucking up to meet Dean's hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn't know why he was doing this, didn't know why he was letting Dean have this power over him again. But he needed it, needed the release to keep from breaking.

The pleasure grew, a crescendo that drowned out the fear and anger. His body tightened around Dean's fingers, his muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythm that was as much about survival as it was about pleasure. And then, with a strangled cry, Sam came, his body arching off the bed. The release was intense, a wave of pleasure that crashed over him, leaving him trembling and panting.

Dean's eyes never left Sam's, his own breathing heavy as he watched the climax play out on his brother's face. He pulled his hand away, the slickness of Sam's cum coating his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, tasting the bitter tang, the reality of what he had just done hitting him like a sledgehammer. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of guilt and arousal.

--

Time marched on with the relentlessness of a ticking clock, each day a blur of swollen feet and doctor's appointments. Sam's body had transformed into a vessel for a life that was both a burden and a beacon of hope. His stomach stretched taut, the baby's kicks now more insistent, a constant reminder of the impending birth that neither brother was prepared for.

As the ninth month approached, the motel room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with tension and unspoken dread. Sam's belly had become a battleground, a symbol of the power struggle that had defined their relationship since the revelation of the pregnancy. Despite the horror of their situation, Sam had found solace in the life that grew within him, a secret joy that Dean could not take away.

Their interactions were strained, a dance of anger and fear, with Dean oscillating between cold indifference and violent outbursts. But as the weeks wore on, a strange new dynamic began to form. It was as if the baby had become a tether that bound them together, a shared burden that neither could escape. Sam saw it in the way Dean would sometimes hover, his hand hovering just above Sam's stomach, the barest hint of curiosity in his eyes before he would quickly look away.

The day finally arrived, a hot Texas afternoon that felt like the world was holding its breath. Sam's contractions had started, and the pain was a crescendo that seemed to echo the chaos of their lives.

He was alone in the motel room, the TV static his only companion as he panted through each wave of pain. The doctor's words echoed in his mind, a warning about the risks of giving birth without medical supervision. But he had no other choice, not with Dean out on a hunt, oblivious to the battle happening inside of Sam.

The hours dragged on, the pain becoming a constant companion that seemed to grow with every minute. Sam's eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead as he clung to the bedpost, his knuckles white. He knew he had to get to the hospital, but he couldn't move, couldn't leave the safety of the room. His fear was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every contraction.

And then, there was a knock on the door. It was Dean, returning from his hunt, his eyes widening at the sight of Sam's contorted face and the pool of fluid on the floor. "Sammy?" he called out, his voice tinged with alarm.

[libby-for-life]

Part 2 of A Sperant's Mate

For @lilacwriter07 who wanted a second part.

Adam's heart raced with a mix of terror and confusion as he found himself being carried away, his body limp and unresponsive. Moments ago, he had been navigating the familiar paths of the forest, eager to return to the safety of his village. Now, his world had twisted into a nightmare where reality blurred with the fantastical.

As he glanced up between fading trees, he caught a glimpse of his captor—a beautiful creature, a snake-human hybrid, or a Naga. Its scales shimmering ominously in the dappled sunlight. Fear clutched at his throat, rendering him silent except for the low whimper that escaped his lips. His limbs felt heavy, and a strange lethargy washed over him, a sinister consequence of the creature’s venom that coursed through his veins. Adam struggled to comprehend what had happened; the sharp, piercing pain of the creature’s bite replayed in his mind, but the memories of how it all began were fading quickly, like the receding twilight.

As they ventured deeper into the dense wilderness, they stumbled upon a vast cave, its gaping entrance resembling a colossal maw, dark and inviting, as if it yearned to engulf Adam whole. "Welcome, my dear," the Naga said with a sense of pride, his voice echoing softly within the cool, damp air. "This is my home."

He guided Adam further inside, revealing his nest—a remarkable structure that blended seamlessly with the natural surroundings. It was a grand nest, intricately woven from branches and leaves, adorned with the delicate skins of various animals that glimmered faintly in the dim light. The earthy scent of the forest filled the space, mingling with a hint of something wild and untamed.

Gently, the Naga placed Adam within the warm embrace of the nest, its soft materials cradling him like a comforting blanket. Adam's heart raced as he took in the sight around him, feeling both enchanted, apprehensive, and fearful in this unexpected sanctuary. The shadows danced along the walls of the cave, creating an atmosphere that was both eerie and enchanting, leaving Adam shaking.

The creature tilted its head, its tongue flaring as it took in the air around them, searching for Adam's unique scent. With a deliberate motion, it sniffed at the gland located along its neck, eager to capture the essence of the human standing before it. His tongue leaving a wet trail on the sensitve gland. Adam felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he met the creature's curious gaze.

"I love your scent," the Naga remarked, a warm smile spreading across its serpentine face. "It’s not powerful or overwhelming in the slightest; instead, it’s subtle and inviting." The compliment washed over Adam like a gentle wave, igniting a warmth within him that he had never experienced before.

He had grown up hearing people say his scent was off-putting, often remarking how he seemed to lack one entirely, a notion that had plagued his self-esteem. But here, in the presence of this remarkable creature, the validation he had yearned for was finally bestowed upon him. The praise felt like a soft caress, leaving Adam feeling appreciated for a part of himself he had long considered invisible.

"My name is Lucifer, my darling mate. I can't wait to know your name~..."

Adam blinked in astonishment. Mate?!

[smut-anarchy]

Own Me - Chapter One

Tags: Gryffandor!Reader, Cursing, Blackmail, Dom!Mattheo, Anxiety

Rewritten as of: 12/26/2024

Word Count: 2,077 Words

Chapter One: Every Pet Needs A Collar

It was no small feat dragging yourself out of bed this morning. After bawling your eyes out sleep overcame you, and when you woke up at 5:55AM you could feel the same dread crawling back up your throat. It didn’t help that you weren’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, dawn providing far too much light for your tired eyes, but you’d always felt more comfortable in the unwavering vastness of the dark, it provided a sense of security and safety in its shadows. 

You were lucky enough to be one of the eighth years that was granted your own room, though it was less about luck and more to do with you didn’t have many close friends in your house that would’ve picked to room with you; Your closest friend being the peculiar Ravenclaw, Luna Lovegood. Nonetheless, you could appreciate your room and the privacy it allowed this early in the dawn as you slumped to the attached bathroom. 

The mirror reflected your outward appearance corresponded your inner turmoil. Your hair was disheveled, knots already committed in the strands of your hair, and your face taut and dry from the tears you’d shed, eyes red rimmed and puffy. You soul ached for a warm bath, but having no such time or mood for such a luxury you’d settled for a shower, trying to scrub the worry from your skin.

The term had only started a few weeks ago so the Autumn air was crisp and cool, promising a biting cold as the months dragged on. Upon exiting the shower you’d slipped on your usual uniform of your red skirt, white button down shirt and red tie, and oversized burgundy knit cardigan. The sweater felt like a safety net, preferring to hide in the substantial heft that the sweater provided, its soft fibers swallowing your body. Expecting further cold as the day grew on you’d slipped on some black stockings and fastened your Mary Jane shoes to your feet, the small blocked heel tapping lightly on the wood. 

Fuck, it was 6:40AM, only giving you twenty minutes to get from the third floor all the way to the dungeons, you silently prayed that the staircases would cooperate with you. You hurried out of your room, luckily it was early enough that no one was in the common room to notice your haste, breakfast started in an hour and twenty minutes, giving you plenty of time to glide out unnoticed. 

Every minute seemed to pound your heart with panic, not willing to find out what would happen to you if you were late. Mattheo was known to be mean and at times, cruel, even to innocent on lookers, you’d hoped you could keep your tongue in check and avoid provoking his foul nature. 

Utterly out of breath, you’d checked your watch, making it to the front of the Slytherin Common room with one minute to spare. You made a mental note to give yourself more time, this was cutting it far too close to be comfortable. 

“Cutting it close to the wire, lion?” Somehow in less than a few hours that smug voice was able to reach into the depth of your soul and make every inch of your skin ice. A mix of adrenaline and terror warred with each other in her body, one urging her to flee and never look back and the other begging to stand her ground and make such an enemy eat his words. 

As best you could you steeled yourself, trying to maintain an aura of indifference to the cocky Slytherin, lest he know how much of an effect he had on you and your future. “I sleep at the top of the castle, instead of living down in the dungeons with the rest of the rats.”

It was all too quick for the young snake to show his fangs, his face falling into a seething scowl. He grabbed your arm, pushing your body against the wall and towering over you. “Watch your fucking mouth, brat. I am all that stands between your life at Hogwarts and a pitiful existence in the muggle world.” 

Your head ached as it hit the stone wall, but that hardly mattered as your fingers curled into fists, your entire being alight with the desire to smack a curse right into his enraged face. You glared up at him, his face closer than you’d ever seen before.

“I am here, on time, like you asked Mattheo.” You spat out sarcastically, “What else do you need of me, oh great and powerful Slytherin Lord?” You could tell you were pushing it, his face only extending more fury at your sarcasm, his breathing escalated, and faint puffs of peppermint coming from his mouth. 

“For starters you’re going to drop the fucking attitude,” he growled. The angry, deep timbre of his voice curling right around your chest. “And since you think its so fucking cute, you will call me Lord. Or master. Or sir. Fuck, pick any one you like kitten, because you’ll be saying it for a while.”

You turned your head away from his penetrating gaze, trying to swallow the humiliation and shame rising in your body at having to call him any such title. His hand came up and gripped your chin in a tight hold, making you look back into his smoldering, coal-colored eyes. 

“Say it. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” You’d tried to pick the least mortifying option of title and still you could feel nausea bubbling in the pit of your stomach. Your inner Gryffindor was roaring in protest, demanding you to save your pride, but he was right, the looming threat of expulsion provided enough motivation to throw your dignity at his feet. He seemed to be satisfied with your concession, albeit he never moved away from his looming position over you. 

“Good girl.” He preened at you, a sneering smile adorning his face, “Now, I’ll tell you how this is going to work: You’re not going to tell any of your little friends about this, you’ll follow me to each and every class, you’ll sit down with me and do both of our work and you’ll have a fucking smile on your face while you do it.” Your mouth is filled with the coppery taste of blood with how hard you were biting the inside of your cheek, trying your best to hold back the venom and bile from spewing out.

“If I call you, you’ll come within five minutes. And if you break any of these rules I’ll make sure you suffer for it, or I can easily go to Snape and Dumbledore and tell them what you did.”

“How will I know when you need me… sir?” You croaked out. Hogwarts’ cell service was spotty, especially more so in the dungeons, not that you’d expected a pureblood to use ‘an inferior muggle device’, your own phone only used sparingly whenever your parents remembered to call. 

“I don’t need you, Kitten. Masters don’t need their pets.” He taunted. His hand slipped off of your face and into his pocket. When he pulled it out, dangling from his long, admittedly beautiful fingers was a black choker with an attached silver wrapped tear shaped green gem. “Every pet has to have a collar.”

No. 

No fucking way. 

Hiding quite literally the worst development of your life from Luna was bad. Trailing after him and doing his work for him every fucking day would be worse. Having to be at his beck and call whenever he wished was horrifying. Being forced to degrade yourself and call him a title he certainly had not earned was disgusting. But this? Having to wear a permanent reminder of your imprisonment and unwilling attachment to Mattheo around your neck was deranged. 

“No. I’m not fucking wearing that.” You shook your head, grimacing. 

A wicked grin spilt his face, his eyes portraying he was quite thrilled with your unwavering stubbornness. His ego and gleeful attitude made you understand: this was a fucking game to him. The choker was just a fucked up way to flaunt his ownership over you.

“Oh yes you are.” He insisted, jingling the choker in your face, the offending piece of jewelry taunting you with its meaning. “It’s enchanted, it will tell you when I’m calling you.” 

You shook your head, eyes pleading with him for some kindness, “Mattheo please, I-I don’t want to wear that. Anything else, any other way to call me, but please don’t make me wear that.” Your hushed begging seemed to do nothing, his eyes only darkened further at you. 

“Careful what you beg for, Kitten, remember how you got here in the first place.” Still pressed between the wall and Mattheo you had nowhere to escape to as his warm fingers fastened the choker to your neck. Though the black velvet was soft against your cool skin it felt all too constricting, a glamorous shackle bonding you to your fate with Mattheo Riddle. 

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until his hands left their spot on your neck and he stepped back to admire how his leash looked on you. “Green is a good color for you, Kitten. It almost makes me take pity on you.”

The stone seemed to be weighing down your body as a panic attack was settling into your bones, your situation now felt much too real with an emerald reminder secured around your throat. You pushed your back further into the wall, refusing to expose your vulnerability to Mattheo. 

“H-how does it work?” You stuttered, attempting to bury the anxious meltdown brewing inside of you. 

“It will heat up when I’m requesting you while simultaneously sending a message to your brain to let you know where I am. It happens if I hold the gem on my ring,” He held up his hand, and there among other black and silver rings was one silver ring with square cut emerald.

Oh Merlin no, it matches. 

“You can thank Theo for this one, he’s a genius with customizing spells.” 

Theo I am going to choke you with my bear hands as soon as I get the chance. 

“And when I take it off? What happens then?” Surely Mattheo wouldn’t make you wear it to bed and when bathing, right?

“Only I can take it off, Kitten.” He smirked down at you. “The longer you take to come the hotter it heats up, so let’s not burn that pretty neck testing my patience, yeah?” Mattheo chaining you with an item that will hurt you on behalf of his impatience only furthered your scorn for his sadistic cruelty. 

A thought sparked to life within you. If Theo customized the spell then maybe you could convince him to adjust it, if at least so you could take it off during the night and when bathing. Getting to the reserved Italian bad boy would be tough but not impossible, maybe you’d be able to convince him to grant you this small kindness. You made a mental note to find out what Theo’s interests were in the hopes of bribing some compassion out of him. 

You nodded hesitantly, your face set in a worried frown, your teeth chewing your lip.

“Anymore questions, little lion? Has it set in yet that I own you now?”

You didn’t answer, once again nodding, trying to not let your anxiety fester up again and overshadow the small hope that Theo would help you. 

“Good. Do whatever you want for your meals unless I call you, I’ll see you in Transfiguration after breakfast.” Mattheo turned away from her and started walking down the hallway, but slowed to a stop after a few steps and catching her with a calculated glare, “Oh and one more thing Kitten, don’t try anything. You won’t like what will happen if you try to escape from me.”

Mattheo left you in that hallway, your body tingling with alarm. You let out a sigh you’d been holding, the interaction and turn of emotions leaving you exhausted and mentally fried. As you touched the stone on your neck your appetite was lost, the desire for anything other than sleep shriveled up inside of you. You walked towards the Transfiguration classroom, planning on napping in a seat until class started, it was going to be a long week of figuring out your rhythm in this circumstance with the cold hearted Slytherin.

[666melvin666]

As the desert landscape gave way to rolling hills and lush vegetation, Radford's pace quickened. He could almost hear the distant sounds of laughter and music, the comforting melodies of his town drawing him closer. The familiar faces of friends and loved ones flashed through his mind, filling him with a sense of belonging that washed away the remnants of fear.

A smile tugged at the corners of Radford's lips as he imagined the joyous reunion that awaited him. He longed to share his tales of adventure and survival, to recount the harrowing encounter with the sand dragon and how he had narrowly escaped its clutches. His heart swelled with anticipation, eager to return to the embrace of his community. His elation turned to apprehension.

The familiar vibrations in the sand sent a chill down his spine, awakening a deep sense of dread within him. His heart raced, and a knot tightened in his stomach as he realized that the threat of the sand dragon was not yet behind him.

The once-familiar desert landscape that had brought him closer to home now seemed suffocating, its vast expanse filled with uncertainty and peril. Radford's gaze darted around, searching for any signs of movement or disturbance in the sand.

Fear gnawed at his core as he whimpered to himself, "No... not again. It cannot be happening again! -" He knew that escaping the clutches of the sand dragon once was a stroke of luck, but now, faced with the same ominous vibrations. The sand beneath his hooves shifted, responding to the unseen presence that lurked below. Radford's heart pounded in his chest as he braced himself for the inevitable encounter. His mind raced, searching for a strategy to outwit the creature that lay hidden beneath the treacherous sand. The satyr´s heart seized with fear as the sand dragon leaped out of the ground a few feet ahead of him, its massive form blocking his path.

A scream tore from Radford's throat as he skidded to a halt, his eyes widening in terror at the colossal creature before him. The dragon's jaws, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, loomed mere inches away, its hot breath washing over Radford's face. Radford stood frozen, his gaze locked with the piercing eyes of the sand dragon. Fear gripped his heart, paralyzing him with a sense of dread. Time seemed to stand still as he stared into the depths of those ancient, predatory eyes.

The dragon's gaze bore into Radford's very soul, its intensity a reflection of the immense power it possessed. Every fiber of Radford's being screamed at him to run, to escape the creature's wrath, but his body remained rooted in place, held captive by a mixture of terror and fascination.

The dragon's enormous form loomed before him, its scaled body casting a shadow that engulfed Radford. Its breathing was heavy, a rhythmic rumble that reverberated through the air, heightening the tension of the moment.

Radford's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, but his thoughts were muddled by the dragon's frightening presence. The satyr and the sand dragon stood face-to-face, locked in a tense and precarious encounter. The air crackled with tension as they regarded each other, their gazes filled with uncertainty and curiosity.

In an unexpected turn of events, the sand dragon's massive form began to shift and morph, the scales receding, and its body reshaping. Radford's eyes widened in astonishment as the creature transformed into a tall, imposing figure—a human-like being with distinct dragon features.

Standing before the man now was a seven-foot-tall individual with sharp, piercing eyes that glinted with an otherworldly intelligence. Their skin bore a faint, iridescent sheen, reminiscent of dragon scales, and small, subtle horns adorned their forehead. The dragon's presence still emanated from this new form, an undeniable connection to the ancient creature that had once threatened Radford's life.

Radford's initial fear transformed into a mix of fascination and wariness as he studied the dragon-human hybrid standing before him. He could sense that this being possessed knowledge and power beyond his comprehension, and he couldn't help but wonder about their true nature and intentions.

The hybrid figure regarded him with a calm demeanor, a mixture of curiosity and solemnity in their gaze. Their voice, when it finally emerged, carried a deep resonance, resonating with an otherworldly quality that seemed to echo from the depths of their being.

Radford stuttered, his words faltering as he struggled to find his voice. "What do you want from me? Why did you pursue me?"

Rick's gaze softened, their expression filled with a mix of empathy and understanding. "I did not pursue you with the intention of harm….this time” “Y-you ate my guide!” the satyr said dumbfounded.

A tiny smile curled at the corners of the dragon´s lips. "A man's gotta eat," he quipped, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “then what do you want from me???” Radford asks bewildered. "you make good food and seem like a nice human. I would like to tag along on your journey" Radford blinked, momentarily taken aback by Rick's unexpected response. He had anticipated grander motives or requests, but Rick's casual and unexpected request caught him off guard.

"You... want to tag along on my journey?" Radford repeated, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and confusion. "But... why? What can I offer you?"

Rick chuckled, a deep rumble that echoed through the air. "While I rick, am a guardian of this desert, I have spent countless centuries roaming its vast landscape. The loneliness can be, well, quite lonely at times," he admitted, a saddened tone coloring his words. "Your companionship, along with your knack for creating delectable meals, could make this journey far more enjoyable."

The satyr’s bewilderment slowly transformed into an amused smile. He had expected Rick to demand something of value or even his life, but instead, the ancient guardian sought nothing more than the simple pleasures of camaraderie and good food. He scratched his head, still a bit unsure about the situation but willing to give Rick the benefit of the doubt. "Alright, Rick," he said, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "But let's make one thing clear. No eating people, and definitely no eating me."

Rick chuckled, his dragon features giving his laughter an extra rumble. "Fair enough," he replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I can promise you; I have no interest in feasting on your or anyone else's flesh. Besides, I've come to realize that there are far tastier things in life, like the flavors you conjure up in your meals."

Radford couldn't help but crack a smile, reassured by Rick's response. It seemed that their pact would indeed hold true, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. With his worries eased, he looked at Rick with newfound acceptance and camaraderie.

"Alright then, Rick," Radford said, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and gratitude. "You can tag along on this journey of mine. Just remember, no devouring innocent bystanders. We're here to explore, learn, and have fun."

The dragon simply nodded and motioned for the satyr to take a few steps back, which Rad did a little confused. His's eyes widened as Rick transformed back into his towering dragon form, stretching around 30 feet in length. The sheer size and power of the sand dragon left him momentarily speechless. But as Rick spoke, his voice echoing in Radford's mind, the satyr could not help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation.

"Uh... crawl on your back?" He repeated, his voice filled with a mix of awe and uncertainty. "Are you sure about this? I mean, you are huge!" He let out a rumble, his eyes filled with amusement. "Trust me," he reassured him. "it'll be much faster and safer to travel through the desert on my back." Taking a deep breath, Radford steeled his nerves and cautiously approached the massive dragon. His hand reached out, hesitantly touching the warm scales that covered Rick's back. The touch sent a jolt of excitement through his body, mingled with a hint of fear.

"Alright big boy," Radford said, determination lacing his voice. "If you're sure about this, then I'm in. Lead the way."

With an ungraceful movement, Radford climbed onto the dragon´s back, finding a secure position amidst the ridges and scales. He clung tightly, his heart racing as he adjusted to the dragon's immense size beneath him. And with that, Rick propelled himself forward, his powerful legs propelling them through the sandy terrain. The wind whipped past Radford, the sensation exhilarating and yet humbling. He marveled at the landscape unfolding before his eyes, the vastness of the desert stretching out in all directions.

As Rick thundered towards the nearby town, the ground shook beneath his colossal form, and the wind rushed past Radford, tousling his hair, and filling him with a thrilling sense of exhilaration. The satyr could not help but throw his hands up in the air, letting out a joyous laugh that echoed through the desert.

With each stride, Rick covered great distances, his powerful legs carrying them swiftly across the sandy terrain. Radford clung tightly to Rick's back, the sensation of speed and the raw power beneath him fueling his excitement. It was as if they were soaring through the desert, liberated from the constraints of gravity.

Radford's laughter blended with the rhythmic pounding of Rick's steps, the joy in his heart matching the pounding beat of their journey. The wind whipped against his face, and the landscape blurred around them as they raced towards the town.

As they approached the outskirts of the town, the sight of the townspeople's startled faces brought a mischievous grin to Radford's lips. Their wide-eyed expressions of fear added to the thrill of the moment. He knew that this unexpected spectacle would become a tale whispered among the townsfolk for generations to come.

With a playful gleam in his eyes, Radford raised his voice, his words carrying over the thunderous rhythm of Rick's steps. "Hold on tight, everyone!" he called out, his voice brimming with exhilaration. "You won't believe the adventure we're having! Rick here is giving me the ride of a lifetime!"

His words were met with a mixture of shock, confusion, and nervous laughter from the townspeople. Some of them, unable to comprehend the audacity of Radford's statement, retreated into their homes or behind various objects, seeking shelter from what they perceived as imminent danger.

But Radford's unwavering trust in Rick remained unshaken. He knew that the sand dragon would do everything in his power to protect him and the townspeople from harm. With a touch of showmanship, Radford raised his voice again, attempting to ease their fears.

"Trust me, everyone! Rick is the gentlest creature you will ever meet!" Radford called out, his voice projecting a sense of infectious confidence. "He may be big and intimidating, but he's got a heart of gold! And the view from up here is simply breathtaking!"

The townspeople, torn between their instincts of fear and the compelling charisma of Radford's words, began to cautiously emerge from their hiding places. Their curiosity mingled with trepidation as they watched Radford and Rick race through the town's outskirts, their presence gradually becoming less daunting and more mesmerizing.

As Rick slowed his pace, entering the heart of the town, the onlookers stepped forward, their fear giving way to curiosity. They marveled at the intricacies of Rick's scaled hide, the warmth radiating from his massive body, and the evident trust that existed between the dragon and the satyr.

Radford, dismounting from the dragon´s back, stood before the townspeople, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a genuine sense of wonder. "See? I told you, Rick is a friend, not a foe," he declared, his voice resonating with an infectious enthusiasm. "He's not here to harm anyone. In fact, he's chosen to join us on our journey and lend his wisdom and protection to our town."

Whispers of astonishment and admiration rippled through the crowd. Rick noticed the townspeople's unease; he quickly understood the need to ease their apprehension. With a subtle shift, he transformed into his humanoid form once more, his dragon features giving way to a more approachable appearance. Though most townsfolk still stepped back, their fear tempered slightly by the change, Radford recognized the opportunity to bridge the gap between the dragon and the community.

With a friendly smile, Radford stepped forward, his arm gesturing toward his tavern. "Come, Rick," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "Let's go to my tavern. I'll offer you a drink, and we can all get to know each other better."

The townspeople watched, their curiosity piqued, as Radford and Rick made their way towards the inviting doors of the tavern. Whispers and murmurs filled the air as the news of the dragon's transformation and Radford's apparent camaraderie spread through the crowd.

Inside the cozy establishment, Radford led Rick to a table near the fireplace, its warm glow casting dancing shadows across the room. The townsfolk cautiously followed, their initial fear giving way to a sense of intrigue and the desire to witness this extraordinary encounter. As Radford greedily gulped down the water, quenching his parched throat, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. The cool liquid revitalized his body, replenishing the moisture that had been lost during their desert excursion. The townsfolk watched with amusement, their initial trepidation replaced with empathy and understanding.

Rick, chuckling heartily at Radford's thirst, could not help but find humor in the situation. His laughter boomed through the tavern, drawing the attention of those gathered.

"Ah, yes," Rick exclaimed, his voice resonating with amusement. "I forgot how quickly you humans can dry out in the desert heat!” his laugh bellowed through the tavern. Radford heard Rick's hearty laughter, a warmth spread through his chest, like a comforting embrace. He could not help but feel a surge of happiness at the sound, appreciating the genuine joy that radiated from his unexpected companion.

[gretchensinister]

See what happens when I don't confine myself to a form? The carnival's arrival is so ambiguous when compared to the ending. I must poke at it.

Text of poem under read more.

Arrival

Printed words! Only black and white!

And they’ve got to hold a carnival!

The sights and smells and the calliope shriek!

Impossible enough! But wait—

These words aren’t just holding a carnival

They’re calling up the carnival

The one reality will always crawl beside

The one memory will call truer than the truth.

How’d you do it? How?

Let the words spill out and leap about,

The ones that rumbled, roared, and screamed

In with that midnight train:

dragon-glide

grieving to itself

lovely snail-gleam

lemon or cherry-colored semaphore

small steam feather

all-asleep-and-slumbering-dreamfilled cars

firefly-sparked churn

drowsy autumn hearthfire roar

hellfires

black meteor falls of coal

off in night country

funeral train all black plumed cars

licorice-colored cages

three different hymns mixed and lost, maybe not there at all

Closer it comes and closer!

calliope pipes shimmered with star explosions

sluicing ice-water air

howl of moon-dreamed dogs

the protests of a billion people dead or dying, not wanting to be dead

black confetti lost on its own sick-sweet candy wind

And then, when the carnival finally nests?

At last there was the clear-water sound of vast flags blowing.

What can I make of all of this, dazzled as I am?

Wanting only to lick it up like melted ice-cream

And make it a part of myself—

These fragments and so many more—

My mind plunges into them

Like a hand into a bin of polished stones

With as little care for their true nature.

Let me think. Let me think.

I can see how it is sinister—

Hellfire and funerals and howling in night country

Death and dying and sweetness that’s sick

And broken, absent hymns

But

There’s more here, in this exuberance:

Firefly sparks and little feathers, lovely snail-gleams—

These things are of the carnival, too.

The sparks the train makes on the tracks—

Lemon and cherry! Not just yellow, not just red,

But sweet things, good things, bright growing things.

And where’s the rot in dreamfilled cars?

Think of sleeping on a train

Rocked to sleep, and then the magic

Closing eyes here, and waking up there.

Ah, but that’s for those on the train, and yet

Even off it, isn’t it lovely, isn’t it grand

When new wonders wake nearby?

And then the most curious note in all the tune,

drowsy autumn hearthfire roar

A hearthfire? Comfort-home-embrace,

In the engine of this train?

Was the sound too good to leave it out?

For as the book wends on, the hearthfire seems to go

And only hellfire lingers.

Hearthfire, hellfire: in arrival

Both bring in the carnival.

Hearthfire.

Hellfire.

The thread I want to pull frays to nothing in my hand

As ambiguity loses out to threat,

The question I feel I’m promised is rejected

As inky carnival terrors blot out any quiet grays,

And yet.

Hearthfire.

Hellfire.

The pairing strikes a bell, and I hear it raucous sing

Of sweet comfort and necessity

In the world’s disordering.

[wave-to-jenny]

The Flying Whale

Personal Narrative by Jenny Park

The tang of salt spray filled my lungs, the rhythmic whoosh of the boat slicing through the waves a steady thrum against my skin; this is what I was waiting for. 3 AM may have been an ungodly hour to wake up for, but the anticipation buzzing through me had me wide awake and giddy as I sat in the rented van while sharing earphones with my sleeping older sister. Today, I was finally ticking off a bucket list item: swimming with whale sharks in Oslob, Philippines.

The ocean hadn’t always held such allure for me. As a child, it was a source of nervous tension, thanks to my mischievous older sister. Her penchant for playful pranks – pretending fish were nibbling at her toes, shrieking about unseen “monsters” lurking in the depths – had painted the vast blue with an undercurrent of fear. But today, that fear was a distant memory because for once, I was excited. Today, the ocean was an embrace, a vast expanse of possibility.

As the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold, our van drew closer to the sea and I could observe people already up and lining to watch the gentle giants of the ocean. After hours of restless waiting, my family had gotten on the small boat that looked as if it could tip over with one harsh push. As the boat drew closer to the gentle giants, my heart hammered in my chest — a thrilling mix of nervousness and excitement. Then, I saw them. Sleek, spotted bodies, gliding effortlessly through the water, their immense size both awe-inspiring and humbling.

Slipping into the crystal-clear water, the initial jolt of coolness gave way to an exhilaration that coursed through me. I was nervous with this being my first time and all I could really think about was the rule of not getting too close with these creatures. However, it was at that moment when one came up near me that rather than apprehension, I felt awe. I swam alongside these magnificent creatures, their gentle presence erasing any lingering uncertainty. It was a moment of pure magic, a connection with nature that transcended words.

And then there was the moment my sister, ever the comedian, got a taste of her own medicine. Watching the whale sharks from the boat, she turned to me, eyes wide with mock terror, “Ugh… I hate whales” she whispered to me afterwards, her voice laced with playfulness. We both erupted in laughter, the memory of her childhood pranks a shared joke, a testament to how far we’d both come.

But Oslob was just the beginning. Our journey continued to Moalboal, with hours spent on the road in between just to see the place where the ocean unveiled more treasures. As we snorkeled, sunlight danced on the surface, illuminating a vibrant underwater world. Graceful sea turtles, their ancient wisdom etched on their shells, glided past, their peaceful presence washing over me. And then, the spectacle we’d all been waiting for: the sardine run. Millions of shimmering fish, a swirling, undulating vortex, pulsed with life, reflecting the colors of the sun, leaving me breathless and speechless. Although it was a shame that my eyesight is not quite the best, thanks to the locals who had taken videos for us, I could truly bask in the magnificence of the ocean.

The day stretched on, a kaleidoscope of vibrant experiences. We feasted on fresh seafood by the turquoise shore, the taste of the ocean mingling with the laughter shared with my family. Lush waterfalls cascaded down moss-covered mountains, sunlight glinting off the spray like scattered diamonds. Each corner unveiled a new wonder, fueling my growing love for this watery world.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, exhaustion settled in, a pleasant ache from a day well spent. Back on land, within the comfort of my sweatpants, the cool air of the van’s air conditioner, and the gentle music of my playlist ringing, I was lulled into a contented sleep, the sound of my favorite music playing softly in my ears.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[stoportotouch]

(Feel free to answer publicly) I’m really interested in the terror but I have a couple friends I tend to watch shows with, they have some mixed to positive feelings on horror and creepy/spooky things as well as thrillers and prestige tv and the like (loved breaking bad and BCS) our group has some CWs around rape/roofies

Could you give me like a recommended breakdown/pitch for the show so I can get them involved and make them watch it with me (we are at a weird watch group crossroads where we have like 3-4 shows that we are watching that are only enjoyed by 2 but not all 3 members and need something for when everyone is together)

(first it did take me a moment to figure out that BCS is Better Call Saul and not, as google suggested, the british cardiovascular society, barclays bank, or the british computer society. i really am not a tv watcher other than like. a couple of highly specific shows.)

as far as the two CWs that you mentioned i can't imagine that there's anything that could be a problem. there is, though, a mention of somebody lying about coersion (and we know in canon that he's lying and the whole thing was consensual). there's also uh. the odd reference to drugs (and alcohol). but that's more because it's the 19th century, and if you went to the doctor and said "got a bit of a tummy ache, doc" he would reply "may i offer you some nice cocaine in this trying time?"

in any case! the terror is an adaptation of dan simmons' novel of the same name, which is a supernatural-ish horror story about the ultimate fates of sir john franklin's lost expedition to find the northwestern passages. (supernatural-ish in that while there are supernatural elements... there isn't much that's supernatural about the depths of human despar.)

it follows primarily not sir john franklin but captain francis crozier, the second-in-command of the expedition (and captain of erebus' sister ship hms terror). but it does also have a massive cast of men who i swear you will be able to tell apart eventually. on your first watch you will be saying "which of the three guys with prominent sideburns is this?" and getting it right... actually pretty often. subsequently, however, you will be going "THERE HE IS. THERE'S LIEUTENANT HODGSON." and pointing to a blur in the background. (i did literally do this yesterday watching the third episode.)

also i genuinely think the terror is like. one of the best written shows i've ever seen. partly because it has The Gumption to essentially start the show with "ready to find out how all the people you're about to meet are going to Fucking Die?", partly because of how much rewatch value it has. even knowing all The Twists and basically being able to quite vast chunks of the show, there's always something new.

also the writers and actors have. what i can only describe as a remarkable ability to take somebody who is not on paper particularly sympathetic but really make you understand them. like there is probably at least one character who you will initially look at and say "...eurgh. don't like that." but either come to Sympathise With or just want to take out of the show and let him sleep for about sixteen hours in a very comfortable bed.

and to be a bit pretentious for a second, which is only fair in a show like the terror, i think one of my favourite things about it is the synergy between setting and story/storytelling. on a naval ship most spaces have multiple purposes and there's nothing on board that isn't there for a reason. so even if a scene or a shot or a character (or a line -- i had a sudden moment of "billy? BILLY????" during my most recent rewatch of the first episode) doesn't seem to be there for a purpose... you'll see! maybe not for a couple of episodes but you'll see.

also pretty much all of the relationships between the characters are very much more complicated than "just friends" or "hate each other" or "lovers" or "captain and lieutenant" (or whatever). it's very interesting to watch and essentially keep track of "they're this but also this" or a slightly more straightforward "he literally just needs him and he will fall apart if they're separated". (then they get separated. this is two separate relationships that i'm thinking of.)

finally, if you like men... there's men. since we're in the royal navy in the 19th century there very much are men in this show. great numbers of them! at times the 19th-century-accurate facial hair Looks are a bit much (especially when there's one guy who conspicuously just has a completely normal 21st century beard), but if you can look past that there's truly something for everybody in amc's the terror.

actually finally, because i just thought of it: warning for gore and violence and... i can't quite explain it better than just "really, really overwhelming bleakness". (including some fairly understandable but still disturbing and quite difficult to watch responses to violence.) there are a couple of scenes that it might be better to spoil in advance to give yourself a pep talk before. (you will get warning for it -- there aren't any jumpscares but the waiting almost makes it worse.)

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards Part XI:

(Technoblade x reader) First Part / Previous Part

Shimmering lights sparkled above you, your dress was a deep scarlet that billowed around your feet like a halo. The corset around your waist felt tight as you leaned backward spreading your arms wide like you were asking for a hug from the universe itself. The ballroom was vast and empty, only soft music could be heard behind you, soft violins, and harps. You took in the warm lights above you, your diamond wedding ring shone brilliantly off the candles as you began to hum. Blood covered your masquerade mask, neck, and hands, a bloody sword laid by your feet, long since falling out of your hands. Hands traced the curvature of your figure and soft lips landed on the juncture of where your neck met your shoulder blade. A smile came across your lips as you breathed lightly, “Billiam.” His hands traced soft circles on your hips, the butler watched from afar, his brown hair covering his glowing red eyes. Karl watched in mild terror as Sir. Billiam whispered something in his wife’s ear, your grin only served to widen till your cheeks hurt, you brought your hand up to cup his cheek. Your eyes met with Karl’s and he took a few steps back, he couldn’t believe that all this time it was the mild-mannered wife, in the ballroom with the sword who killed the party. Sir. Billiam kicked the sword up and caught it in his hands, you leaned against your lover's chest as he held the sword against your throat, red rubies trailed down your neck in droplets. The violins picked up in a loud roaring crescendo, “Praise be the egg,” you whispered as he sliced your neck wide open swallowing your mouth in a kiss.

“Praise be the egg, my dear.”

You woke up in a cold sweat, it clung to you like a second skin as you sat up. Your hands came to cover your neck where it had been cut in your dream...nightmare? You couldn’t quite place a name on it, Aether and Technoblade both stirred beside you. Technoblade sat up on his forearms and turned his head to face you, you were breathing heavily. He watched as you brought your wrist up to your line of sight, three tally marks were etched into the skin, your jaw dropped onto the floor.

Technoblade reached over Aether to snatch your wrist and get a good look at the marks, three cannon lives. You had three, he gaped at you

You were intertwined in the twisted workings of the Smp, DreamXD had smiled upon you and your household.

“Is it supposed to be itchy?” You asked while you carried Aether upstairs trying to ignore the buzzing underneath your skin, Technoblade frowned at his wife, a mixed feeling churning in his gut. On one hand, he was relieved you had more than just one life, but on another hand now that you’ve caught the eye of DreamXD...you’d never be free to live a peaceful life. “Cause it’s really itchy,” You whined while sitting Aether down on top of Steve so you could scratch at your wrist.

“I don’t remember. I think mine was,” Technoblade gently removed your nails from your skin. “Don’t scratch at it, all you’ll do is irritate the skin, I’ll grab some ointment.”

“Thanks, Tech,” You kissed the corner of his lips and he smiled weakly at you, for that was all he could do in his current state of turmoil. He opened up the first aid kit and came back over to your place in the kitchen. Aether was sitting on the countertop lightly nibbling on a muffin. Technoblade stood beside you as he picked up your hand, he pressed a feather-light kiss to your new lifeline before he gently rubbed the hydrocortisone on your irritated wrists.

“Better?”

“Much,” You sighed in relief gazing at the lines with mild interest. Technoblade wanted to draw you away from whatever you were thinking,

“I got a letter from BadBoyHalo.” Technoblade piped up grabbing a pot of coffee, “He wants to meet up with the both of us, I have a feeling it has something to do with the egg.”

“Egg?”

“You’ll see.” He groaned, “I have a feeling he’s going to show up sometime today. I’ll bring Steve as a backup just in case,” Technoblade sighed watching you glance over at Aether, eyebrows furrowing together. You looked back over at him,

“We can’t let him know about Aether.”

“He won’t.” You let out a breath of relief and kissed the top of Aether’s head, he smiled up at you and made a happy sound. “We’ll keep him safe under the floorboards if he can keep quiet he’ll be okay.” Technoblade ruffled the top of Aether’s head with his hand, “You’re a good kid right?” Aether nodded his head rapidly not wanting to let Technoblade down, “Thanks, kid.” Technoblade caught your fond smile and flushed a light pink, “what?”

“You’re attached.” You hummed wrapping your arms around his waist, he grumbled under his breath and pushed you off, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He sighed as knocking sounded on your cabin door. “Go hide Aether, I’ll distract BadBoyHalo.” You nodded picking Aether up into your arms and kissing the top of his head, Technoblade opened the door an eyebrow cocked. “New outfit?”

BadBoyHalo smiled a wide smile at the blade, his new black and white robes billowed from behind him as he stepped into Technoblade’s abode. “Yes! You noticed, do you like it?” He chirped fondly stepping back a little as Steve bared his teeth. “Is that a polar bear?”

“He’s Steve. It’s (Y/n)’s and I’s emotional support polar bear, he’s a good boy. He’s very good at following commands, he’s a great attack bear.” Technoblade tossed a fish Steve’s way and he caught it in his mouth tearing it to shreds in a matter of moments. BadBoyHalo’s nose scrunched up in distaste,

“That’s...um nice.” He cleared his throat before clapping his hands together, “where is your lovely wife?” He tilted his head to the side smiling a tight-lipped smile.

“She’s finishing up getting dressed. She’ll be back here in a second, slept in,” Technoblade waved the demon man off. Steve’s nub of a tail began to wag as you climbed back up the ladder, “Here she is now.”

“Hello! I’m Bad it’s very nice to formally meet you, Mrs. Blade!” Bad grinned reaching out to shake your hand, you took with a smile.

“Pleasure, and (Y/n)’s just fine. I’m more than just Technoblade’s eye candy.” You winked teasingly at the tall man who looked shocked,

“I never meant to assume-”

“You’re fine.” You reassured, “I was only teasing it’s no problem.” You smiled warmly as Steve nudged your elbow, “Hi big guy!” You cooed kissing all over the bear’s fur, he rumbled deep in his chest. Bad looked shocked at the bear’s complete compliance to your affections, “So! Where are we off to today?” You hummed as Technoblade pulled you close to his side, eyeing Bad suspiciously.

“I just have someone I want to introduce you to is all.” Bad hummed fondly, “I want to see what you think of it, I think all of you will get along great.” He praised his close friend fondly, and you smiled,

“We’d love to meet them, we can bring Steve right?” You looked up at Technoblade innocently,

“I’m not sure if that’s-”

“Obviously.” Technoblade scoffed called Steve over to him, he walked over with a gruff huff as Technoblade placed a lead on him. “Okay, we’re all ready when you are,” Technoblade nodded as BadBoyHalo blinked in mild shock,

“Um...okay!” He cleared his throat, “follow me then I suppose!” He headed outside the home and as you all left Technoblade caught sight of Ranboo. The halfling was holding a grass block in his hands and Techno motioned for him to follow. As the group of you made your way into the hole that was once L’manburg, Bad talked and talked about how wondrous his friend was, and how excited they were to meet the both of them. The entire way there Technoblade would destroy these red vines while urging you not to touch them, you were confused but listened without argument.

Even though you listened without argument, you couldn’t help but be drawn to touch them, they seemed to be whispering to you softly, wanting you near. You pushed the thoughts to the side, trying to block out those whispers, however, it was much more difficult than you anticipated. Your mind drifted wondering if this is how Technoblade felt daily, you understood him a little bit better at that moment. The raspy voices called Sir. Billiam’s name, the name meant nothing to you but made your head pound and your heart hurt painfully. You jolted feeling a hand grasp your shoulder, you were met with the concerned face of Technoblade. Unbeknownst to you, you all arrived at Bad’s friend’s hideaway, “You alright?” Technoblade whispered into your ear,

“I...Yes.” You responded as Technoblade squeezed your shoulder once again, he wished he could’ve brought Steve in with him to comfort you. “I’m alright Tech, we shouldn’t keep Bad waiting.” You entered the red room with your husband following close behind you, your eyes widened in horror seeing the entire room coated in thick red vines. There in the far right corner sat a giant pulsating egg, the voices grew louder urging you to reach out and simply touch the vines.

“Don’t touch them,” Technoblade told you almost like he could read your thoughts, the demon scoffed at Technoblade’s protectiveness. Bad crossed his arms in front of his chest but didn’t argue. The Blade picked you up in his arms just to be extra safe and carried you over to the egg, before gently resting you on the solid cobblestone floor. Your stomach churned with anxiety as Bad smiled brightly motioning to the egg, introducing you and Technonlade to his so-called friend. You were barely paying attention to what BadBoyHalo was saying, a voice entered your mind, it poked at the sides of your brain, trying to find any available crevice to slip into.

‘Lady (Y/n) I haven’t seen you in decades.’ It purred in your mind stealing your breath away, ‘You’re just as beautiful as I remember you being, and still married to a descendent of Sir. Billiam I see. Not even death could keep the two of you apart.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You thought pupils shrinking, ‘Who’s Billiam? Who are you?’

‘I go by many names the one most familiar to me is The Egg. I can grant and honor your deepest desires, my dear, I see all. I know all. I can help you get what you want most in the entire world.’

‘Oh do you?’ You mentally scoffed, ‘Jokes on you I don’t even know my own desires.’

‘Don’t you wish for Tommy to come back to you? For everyone on the SMP to be at peace. For the children not to suffer, to raise Aether in a safe environment free from government and its posion? Have other children with your husband, raise them well?’ You felt your cheeks turn bright red at the thought,

‘How did you-’

‘I know all my child.’

“Princess?” Technoblade grumbled beside you, pulling you against his side, “Keep your focus on me alright.” His eyes narrowed at an innocent-looking Bad, “What are you trying to do to her?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Bad hummed drumming his fingers gently against the egg, “She’s talking to the egg! It’s offering her the world just like it’s going to do for you! It only wants to help.”

“We don’t need anything else, especially not from some overgrown chicken egg. We’re fine.” Technoblade snarled at the demon and the egg the voices were demanding blood and the egg’s promises were drowned out by the voices. He was getting a migraine as his patience ran thin, Bad looked a little nervous at the way Technoblade’s teeth grit against one another.

“Techno…” You whispered quietly leaning against his side, You tried to reassure him but the way the voices urged for blood didn’t sit well with him, especially now that Bad had caught sight of Ranboo as well. Technoblade didn’t want to be forced to choose between Ranboo or you, he’d avoid that scenario at all costs.

“Just stay by me and don’t touch the egg or anything.”

“But-” Technoblade shot you a stern look, worry flickering across his face, he didn’t like that but, not at all. “It’s not all bad…”

“WHAT!” All four of them shouted, wait four? When did Captain Puffy get here? The only one overjoyed was Bad as he clasped your hands within his own.

“I’m so excited to hear that!” He exclaimed pulling you away from Techno who bared his teeth at the demon. “Come closer, you just have to touch it!”

“Oh fuck that!” Puffy snapped shooting an arrow right in between you and Bad, distracting you just enough so that Technoblade could snatch you back in his arm. “Bad you can’t just use the egg to manipulate people to join your side! Especially not (Y/n)!”

“Language!” Bad scolded the pirate his eyes narrowing, “I’m- We’re-” He motioned to the egg, “Aren’t manipulating anyone! The egg showed her something she desired, something she needs, and that it can help her get!”

Technoblade’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, red seeping into the corners of your eyes. He couldn’t imagine what you might want enough that he couldn’t give to you. A selfish part of him was hurt that he couldn’t provide enough, couldn’t make you happy enough so that’d you’d listen to an omlette. Still, he wasn’t just going to hand you over, he gripped you tighter,

“Look just, just give me one more chance to convince both of you!” Bad gushed, “All of you, follow me. You too little spy.” Bad pointed a claw-like finger at Ranboo who shrunk in on himself. He stepped over the vines motioning for all of you to follow, reluctantly you all did so, Puffy put a hand on your shoulder while Technoblade hovered close.

“You alright girly?” Puffy whispered to you, the red was still swimming in the corners of your eyes. “You can get through this okay?”

“I’m alright Puffy. I just have a killer headache.” You spoke with a strained smile, “Everythings just all muddled, I keep seeing flashes of...someone who looks like me in a striking red gown. I just…” You groaned rubbing your eyes causing Technoblade to turn to look over at you, you sent him a weak smile back. He growled under his breath, not mad at you just mad at Bad, he knew that you were hearing voices. He knew how difficult that was from personal experience you just needed to hang on a little bit longer, then you both could sleep the day away with Steve and Aether. When Bad brought all of you to the other egg-like structure he wanted to run his sword through Bad’s chest, fuck not bringing Steve along.

Bad tried to argue against the bear coming into the meeting area, he simply vetoed that by simply ignoring the demon man’s protests. Ranboo was silently hovering around you, everyone seemed to be on high alert as their nerves increased. Even in your delirious state, your hand interlocked with Ranboo’s claws giving it a reassuring squeeze,

“It’ll be alright Ranboo,” You reassured as Bad smiled at the both of you, “Trust me. If anything goes wrong Techno will protect us.” From behind you Technoblade’s shoulders relaxed considerably, he knew he would protect you, for now, that was enough for him. Bad went on and on about the egg, sliding in a few casual threats about Ranboo and even (Y/n). Technoblade was desperately trying to keep it together, the voices roared for blood after all no one threatens (Y/n) and one of his only friends. He watched as Bad gripped both the shoulders of his wife and Ranboo, a sinister smile on his face.

“After all Techno, it would be a crying shame if something happened to Ranboo and (Y/n) wouldn’t it?”

Technoblade’s pupils turned into slits as steam exited his nose, he grit his teeth. “Don’t touch them,” He hissed viciously even Puffy who was beside The Blade pulled out her sword. Technoblade decided to follow her lead and just as Technoblade pulled out his sword, the floor below you and Ranboo gave out. You let out a startled yelp as you grabbed onto Ranboo, as you fell, you held him to your chest you wouldn’t let him get hurt. As your head make contact with the stone ground you were out like a light.

An elegant figure stepped out of the large master bedroom, her hair pulled back, her slippered feet padding against the hardwood floors. Moonlight shone in through the large windows illuminating your features, you stepped out onto the balcony where your husband stood. A glass of whiskey in his hand, he twirled it absentmindedly, his loose pajama pants sat low on his hips. Your arms wrapped around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder, he tensed only briefly before relaxing in your arms.

“Beautiful night Billiam.” You responded casually pressing a kiss to the side of his neck,

“Can’t sleep my dear one?” He asked, voice rich much like the taste of honey, as Billiam reached up and brushed his thumb against his wife’s cheek.

“I could say the same thing to you,” You shot back with a sad smile as he clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “Are you at all worried about the masquerade tomorrow?” You asked softly as he turned around to face you, he grabbed your hands brushing his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Are you?” Billiam asked tenderly as you looked away in shame, “It’s alright if you are. You don’t do this often, but the egg is pleased that you want to take part.” Billiam’s eyes flashed a deep scarlet, but the love in his eyes was still the same.

“I know and I’m honored.” You exclaimed passionately, holding your hands to your heart, your own eyes were a deep red color. “I want to help the egg grow and thrive!” Billiam smiled fondly and kissed your lips softly,

“I know you do. So relax, the masquerade will go off without a hitch. All you need to do is follow the butler’s and my lead.” You nodded obediently a tired smile on your lips, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Come with me?”

“Of course,” Billiam gave an elegant bow, taking your hand within your own and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your knuckles. You giggled sweetly before placing a hand on your lower back leading you back to the bedroom. The both of you slipped into the satin bedsheets and fell asleep side by side. As the morning rolled around, Ranbutler woke the both of you up and requested you both got ready earlier than expected. Billiam waved him off as the both of you getting ready for the masquerade ball he was throwing that evening. You slipped on your deep red dress, there was a slit up the leg and a low cut neckline. You had diamonds adorning your ears and a neck, your high heels were also littered in silver sparkles that almost made you the same height as your husband. A crow-like mask was chosen as your main accessory for the ball, “You look gorgeous.” Billiam spoke from behind you, his fingers trailing down the slope of your neck you smiled shyly, “almost ethereal.”

“Thank you, my love.” You turned to face him, you couldn’t deny he looked pretty dapper in a suit himself. “You clean up rather nicely too,” You giggled flattening out his lapel and pulling him close to press a kiss to his lips. He hummed against them before pulling away,

“I have to check on the preparations for tonight, wait for me?”

“Always.” Your husband walked out of the room whispering something to his loyal butler who nodded, Ranbutler looked over to you and you sent him a small smile. He gave you a little bow and you shushed him softly allowing him to rise to his feet. “Checking on the egg I presume?” You smiled as the butler gave a stern nod, both your eyes flashed a deep scarlet, a loud knock was heard on the front door of the mansion. “Someone’s early,” You pursed your lips heading out of the room, heels clicking against the floor, the butler following behind you. As you stood at the top of the steps, you saw your husband talking to what you assumed was an early guest to your masquerade. He was handsome, brown hair curling all over the place, odd goggles adorned the top of his head. Your husband immediately called him poor and you had to hide your laugh behind your hand. You stepped down the steps hand gently touching the golden railing,

“Billiam, my love, don’t be rude.” He turned to face you just as the guest’s eyes widened,

“(Y/n)?”

“Oh? Have we met?” You titled your head to the side with a fond smile,

“No. You just...you look like an old friend.” He cleared his throat holding out his hand, “My name is Karl.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” You took his hand as he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, Billiam let out a soft grumble of displeasure.

“He’s a youtube streamer.”

“No way!” You gasp in awe taking Karl’s hands, “That’s wonderful you have to tell us all about it!” You gushed fondly as Billiam placed a gentle hand on your back, his mouth moved in the shape of your name but you heard nothing in your ears. Your brow furrowed as you saw your name again, suddenly you felt like you were drowning, people shouting your name. Your eyes snapped open as you took a deep breath in, you were being pulled from the water. Hair stuck to your forehead as you coughed, water dripping down your head. You recognized a shape wrap you up in a tight hug, they were saying something but everything was muddled.

“Billiam?” You croaked out and the figure pulled away raising an eyebrow, they cupped your cheek tenderly,

“Heh? Who? Princess, it’s Techno.”

‘Techno? Who was Techno? Your husband!’ You sat up taking in a gulping breath, your eyes turning back to their normal (e/c) color and not the sudden scarlet. You looked around, Ranboo was shuffling in the corner holding a grass block, Puffy was beside him a gentle hand on his back. You looked around and you seemed to be in some sort of stark white church, a bell was in the corner and purple stained glass windows littered the walls.

“Where are we? What happened?”

Techno ran his fingers through your wet hair detangling it, “You were briefly corrupted by the egg. But Puffy knew how to snap you out of it.”

“You didn’t kill Bad did you?”

Technoblade grumbled under his breath, “I wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t let him.” Ranboo murmured, “You’d be upset.”

“I would’ve been,” You licked your lips nervously as you heard Technoblade grumble behind you.

“He would’ve deserved it,” You hit him lightly as he rested his chin on top of your head, “What? He would’ve, the Egg hurt you and that Egg is his best friend. Therefore you getting hurt is his fault so I will spill his blood.” Technoblade hissed, “And we’ll make an omelette out of that fucking egg.” He snarled looked up at Puffy who sent him a nod and a smile,

“I’m glad to know you’re on our side in this Techno,” Puffy smiled kneeling to sit beside you, “You too (Y/n).”

“Obviously.” You said swiftly, trying to cover up any hesitance that slipped into your tone, while the egg’s corruption was washed from your mind, his promises still held tight. “Sorry...I just have a killer migraine.”

“That’s completely normal, make sure she gets some bed rest,” Puffy told your husband handing him a little bottle of the holy water. “If she’s starting to slip, this will help,” She reassured and you smiled at her gratefully. “You’ll be back to normal in no time cutie,” Puffy beamed kissing the top of your head fondly.

“Thanks, Captian.” You praised and she hummed,

“Anything for you,” Puffy hummed standing back up to her feet, “I know first hand how scary the egg and its power can be. Living far away will help, try not to bring her back here for a while.”

“I won’t.” Technoblade nodded picking you up in his arms, you nuzzled against his neck and closed your eyes tightly. He squeezed you tightly, “don’t scare me like Jesus you’re a liability.”

“I’m sorry, trouble just seems to follow me around.” You spoke softly, sneaking a little peek at the lives on your wrist. You still had all three,

Good. You weren’t going to let some egg take one of them, not again.

The woman in red appeared once more in your mind and the man who looked suspiciously like your husband, beside her. He spun her around and dipped her, before pressing a passionate kiss to her lips. As they stood up they both disappeared into an array of golden sparkles, you opened your eyes and Technoblade was staring down at you. He looked concerned, his sharp red eyes peering into your soul. Technoblade led Ranboo and Steve back to your shared property, you were halfway asleep by the time all of you stepped into the gates.

“We need to talk about what happened.” He murmured to you as Ranboo and Steve hovered around nervously. “Alone preferably!” Technoblade cleared his throat, Ranboo jumped up smacking his head on the doorframe, and nodded,

"I'm glad you're okay (Y/n). Genuinely,"

He said smiling sadly before slipping out of the house. Steve huffed out a snort and made his way down to Aether, to entertain him while the adults talked. You rubbed your eyes and sat down on the couch by the fireplace, trying to warm yourself up. Technoblade slipped off his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders to keep you warm while you talked. “What did the egg promise you?”

You looked ashamed, ears turning pink, lying was something you and Technoblade never did. There was a mutual trust earned and respected and you weren’t going to betray that trust, “That it could end all the pain everyone’s been experiencing. That it could help the children finally be at peace and get the freedom they deserved, that we wouldn’t have to worry about people hunting us down. That we could raise Aether and be a family together without worry.” Your voice was soft, refusing to meet Technoblade’s eyes.

“Do you think I can’t protect you both? Is that really what you think?”

“That’s not fair Techno! That’s not what I mean!” You looked up at him and he didn’t look happy, “I just want everyone to be at peace here! Kids shouldn’t be suffering or put on pedestals! I know you’re perfectly capable of protecting us. What if we have more kids? Will Dream eventually get to them too?”

“I’d never let anyone touch them, you know that.” He hissed eyes narrowing, “You need an omlette to promise you protection? Don’t argue, because you slipped under its control, you did. So some part of you agreed.” Your mouth snapped shut at Technoblade’s words, your eyes narrowed and you refused to look at him. “Why am I incapable of keeping you safe?” His true feelings bubbled to the surface, you heard the slight crack in his voice. You looked back up at him, his hands were balled into fists, your furrowed brow unraveled. You reached out and took his fist in your hand, you gently rubbed the fist as it slowly relaxed in your hand. “I love you, and I’m failing you.”

“You’re not failing me,” You said softly “Not once have you failed me. You saved me from Dream, you saved me from the egg today, hell you saved me in general. I’m your wife and I’ll always love you.” He gave your hand a tight squeeze, “I just wish everyone would feel as protected as I do with you.” You admitted quietly, “even though Tommy betrayed us...He’s still a kid you know? I can’t help but feel guilty, I could’ve done better.”

“You couldn’t have. You’re not his mother.” Technoblade scoffed, “I’ll be the first to remind you about how stubborn he is, stubborn and loyal. If there’s anyone he’s always going to stick to it's Tubbo, even if we showed him kindness.” He watched you nod his head before he leaned forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. He watched your brow furrow as Steve lumbered back into the room holding Aether by the back of his overalls. You smiled over at the sight as Steve dumped your son in your lap, he made a happy squeal and buried his head in your chest.

“I missed you too Aether, did you have fun today?” He gave a happy nod reaching into his front pocket to pull out a little drawing. It was a stick figure drawing of you and Techno both holding his hands, on top of Aether’s head in the drawing was a scribbled on crown. They were both labeled something in Piglin, Technblade made an embarrassing sound as Aether squealed happily. “What? What does it say?”

“Mom and Dad,” He spoke weakly pinching the bridge of his nose and he watched your entire face light up.

“Yes! Exactly! Good job Aether!” You praised pressing kisses all over his face, “I’m your mom, and Techno’s your reluctant father!” Techno clicked his tongue in distaste at the situation, but he couldn’t lie looking at your happy expression, and Aether’s pure joy it melted his facade.

“Yeah, good job kid. Go hang it on the fridge,” Technoblade urged shooing him away and he ran into the kitchen excitedly.

“You didn’t deny it.~” You teased biting your lip fondly, “You Aether’s dad now?”

“That depends does that make you a MILF?” Technoblade questioned with such a casual deadpan it made you burst into hysterical laughter. You nodded your head rapidly as he pressed a fond kiss to your lips. “Remind me never to say that again, if I ever do please run the nearest sword through my body.”

“Will do, you absolute idiot.”

You turned to look over your shoulder at Aether who was sticking his drawing on the fridge eagerly. Technoblade took in your features, watching you look so calm even with your still-damp hair. He adored you, every single inch of you, from your wondrous brain to your beautiful body. He watched as you snuggle into his cape before turning back towards him,

“We have to protect him with our life. If anyone ever lays a hand on him they won’t live to see the next sunrise. I’ll make sure they burn and water the land with their blood.” You hummed fondly closing your eyes, that shouldn’t have turned Technoblade on as much as it did. He cleared his throat trying to calm himself and the voices down. They wanted to pin her into the couch and devour her, he cleared his throat once again, now was not the time nor place. Especially not with his supposed son in the next room, he swallowed thickly. He couldn’t believe that he was beginning to consider the zombie piglin in the other room his son. He couldn’t believe the voices were considering Aether his son. The urge to protect the child and keep that smile on your face was strong, and he couldn’t help but bend to its pull. That’s when a thought occurred to him, a smile spread across his features, there needed to be people willing to fight the tyranny you were concerned about, something to make sure anarchy always remained supreme.

They needed a syndicate.

A wide smile spread across his face as he kissed you passionately, you let out a small surprised sound.

“What was that about?”

“I have an idea.”

Sic semper tyrannis. ~~~

Tag List: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @Natalie-is-a-wall@alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

[five-rivers]

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. ��Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

.

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

[my-spiritualweapon-is-a-lollipop]

Scars

The dome was safe, but it was by no means comfortable. Well perhaps it was not so terrible, with the warm breeze that Caleb implemented, but it was certainly not the creature comforts that Essek had become accustomed to in the tower. Having absconded from the dynasty, his life was invariably about to become a bit more rough and tumble, but he doubted he would ever get properly used to camping. They had run into enough trouble today, however, that their accommodations were not really a matter of choice. So, he would make the best of it.

Essek floated near a wall of the dome, drifting pleasantly above from the uncomfortable rocky terrain below, trusting the cushion of gravity magic to rest lazily. How Caleb ever managed to sleep on such a surface was something of mystery but then Caleb had likely had much more experience sleeping in unpleasant places in general. Almost as if on cue, a distant roar could be heard echoing throughout the vast ruins, unsettling Essek deeply. He was determined to make use of Caleb’s necessary rest however and so he pulled out one of the tomes they had collected recently and began the meticulous process of attempting to decipher the various diagrams and theorems relating to the rejuvenation chamber. The notations were saturated in familiar imagery that hearkened to many of Essek’s own notes on Dunamancy, but with unexpected twists and turns of transmutation magic thrown into the mix. He felt fortunate to have found the companionship of a practiced transmutation wizard or some of these works would have been a much more difficult study. As it was, Essek was able to pull out Caleb’s own notebook having long been offered permission to Caleb’s bag of holding, and he could cross compare his own thoughts with Caleb’s.

He ran a hand over the familiar rushed scrawl and grinned as he stumbled upon a point that he had not yet considered but that Caleb had latched onto and detailed thoroughly, his hasty shorthand providing guidance on the concept of transmuting the subjects cells individually to appear in their healthiest state. Even whilst sleeping Caleb managed to challenge him and provide a unique perspective. If he was correct, and there was a good chance that he was, this would mean the rejuvenation chamber could also keep one healthy and prevent certain diseases from taking root. That could prove very useful with further research.  

Essek took a brief pause to stare down at the man who was his match in every way. It was easier to be free with his loving admissions, even if they were only in the form of a gaze, when Caleb was sleeping, for he did not have to take in the passion and intensity of Caleb’s eyes glowing back at him. Essek could not truthfully say his feelings were any kind of secret at this point into their excursion, nor had he had any particular success at hiding them particularly well before that point if Jester was to be believed, but he was still fairly unused to being vulnerable in any sense. Still, he had become more free and frequent with his smile, more casual with his willingness to touch Caleb, gradually becoming less hesitant in invading his personal space. Every time he attempted to be close with him it was always met with accommodation or even enthusiasm.

And yet it was challenging to prevent the slight shake of his hand or nervous glances away whenever things began to feel particularly intimate, for Essek was not particularly experienced in that regard. Fortunately, Caleb was far more practiced at loving and being loved and thus he appeared comfortable savouring each small moment as they came whether it was lazily wrapping an arm around Essek as he came closer, swooping him into a hug at a joyous discovery, a small peck offered to a shaking hand as a thank you. Essek had observed how Caleb was with the Mighty Nein however, who were offered similar attentions and kindnesses, so he remained uncertain at times of just where they stood. Was the intensity of the gazes and meaningful looks just Caleb’s inherent intensity or was it particular to their dynamic? Jester was just as likely to swoop Essek into a hug, if not more so.  Caduceus was certainly meaningful in his looks. Beau was as likely to enter his space unexpectedly. All these details seemed to describe something similar and yet it felt so different where Caleb was concerned. Something beyond the basic warmth of amiable companionship that crossed over into an indefinable chemistry. Indefinability was the issue however. Essek far preferred quantifiable data and facts that could lead him to a solid conclusion and basing things of feeling alone was maddeningly confusing.

But then, observing his resting form, with Caleb’s face made younger by erasing his worries for just a short time, Essek was certain his own face was the picture of loving tenderness, regardless of any of the concerns that were wont to spiral through his mind.

He recollected himself and took a moment to write out a small note on a scrap bit of parchment and placed it in Caleb’s journal, almost as a bookmark, noting his thanks for Caleb’s insight on the detail he had missed and mentioning the resulting discovery that unlocked the second page of the theorem they had been diving into. This was a system they had established as it was sometimes easy for Essek to forget that they had not had these conversations face to face, as reading Caleb’s notes was oddly conversational. Essek had noticed that Caleb fastidiously kept all of the notes he had left for him tucked in a pocket in the back of his journal, despite his perfect memory, and tried not to be too hopeful that the wizard was holding onto them for sentimental reasons.

Before he could continue with further studies, Caleb’s prone form began to twitch and shake in what was becoming a rather common signal of his horrendous nightmares. He suddenly turned over rapidly in his sleep and Essek was pained to watch the fear streak across Caleb’s sleeping face. Once, his own face had worn a similar mask of terror as they had faced the man inhabiting Caleb’s nightmares now. Caleb had been the one to stand firm when they stood against Trent Ikithon then, the one to bestow courage to all the rest, but sleep stripped away all of those barriers and defences that Caleb had carefully honed over the years and left him bare with nothing but his own incredible mind and it’s cruelly detailed memory.

Caleb flinched in fear and sat up awake with heaving and rapid breaths. 

Read more on Ao3

[amethystpath-writes]

Dance with the Devil P4

First part here

Continued from here

Tag list:  @nuttynutcycle @igotthesmellofbooks @revrevrew-personal @tobeornottobeateacher @freefallingup13 @kactus-loves-writing @nightfrostshadow

The chair Persephone sat in disappeared, her bottom and palms meeting hard ground. She gasped, of course she would. This change was totally unexpected, without warning, and seemingly to Perse, without reason.

A breeze of light came through- literally a breeze of light, one so beautiful and warm, brushed Perse’s skin. It felt like…like Spring. It felt like home. For yet another time, Persephone allowed herself to feel hope. She didn’t understand her escape, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? She wasn’t in the Underworld. But then…

A scream sounded in the second plummet of darkness as the breeze passed by. Persephone jumped, standing on the seemingly nothing beneath her body. There was nothing to see; it was as if her eyes were squeezed shut. What was happening? Where was she?

Another burst of light, this one taking up Persephone’s whole vision, and lighting up the world. She stumbled back, her mind and eyes unable to process the change- which was even more sudden than the initial darkness at dinner. Dinner. Perse had forgotten she was sat at the table when the candles went out. Was she still there now? Or was this reality? Father, please help me. Persephone opened her eyes.

The sight before her was…she didn’t understand it. One side of her screamed, ‘Terror!’ while the other screamed, ‘Beauty!’ It was like standing inside a volcano, magma flowing slowly and steadily between large rocks. Rocks with…with grass and flowers and humans. What was this?

“Persephone,” a voice whispered, and Perse couldn’t pinpoint where it came from. Was the voice Hades? Was Hades here? The humans, once playful and excited, fell into kneels, but they chattered amongst one another.

“Persephone?” they asked quietly. “Who is Persephone?”

“I am here,” Perse said, and she stepped forward- or tried to. Something wrapped around her waist, hooking her, and pulling her back. She was thankful as she realized she would have stepped directly into the molten lake, but as she turned to face her saviour, she found Hades. Tears sprung to her eyes. “Let me go.” She jerked forward, towards the magma. “Let me go!”

The humans watched, curious. Who was this woman thrashing in the arms of their king? Was she Hades’ wife, and if so, why did she seem so…so human?

“What have you done!” Persephone screamed at the man grasping her. She yelled various more things, disappointed to have been caught, even if it was Hades who put her there to begin with. She never escaped. This was all Hades’ doing. “Please,” she cried, bending at the hips and shoulders, collapsing in on herself while in the king’s grasp, exhausted, giving up her physical fight and resorting to pleas. “Please, I want to go home. Please, Hades.” It was the first she ever spoke his name, and as sour as it tasted, she didn’t care.

“This is what possibility you open up when you abandon your name,” the King of Demise said into Perse’s ear as she continued to sob, snot running into her mouth. She didn’t bother wiping it away; her emotions were too strong to care.

“The Underworld is vast with all that is lost- all that is tossed aside with carelessness. You do not want your name in the mix of it all, my dear.” He turned her in his arms, commanding the scene beyond her to fade into that same nothing it was when the candles went out. “Because if you think I have all control now, wait until what else you see when I possess your name as well as your will. What you saw now is only a shred of what I would be capable of if your name were mine.” Hades pulled Perse close, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting hug. “Do not ask me to never speak your name, for I will do horrible things with it once you have abandoned it.”

Persephone could only nod against his chest as he held her. Hades would destroy the world only because Perse wanted nothing to do with him. Perhaps she was right to feel grateful for the times he was not being evil, for allowing her what little he did when he could bring about such despair. She would keep her name, and she would allow him to use it if only to save the Surface from the blistering heat of the Underworld.

Sacrifice, only in a way Perse never saw it before. She always thought sacrifice meant Death. She would have never expected sacrifice meant to live with it- to live with Hades. But she would do it- she had to if Spring meant anything to her at all. If it meant anything to humanity. And it did; it meant everything. So, Persephone would sacrifice herself. She’d live in the Underworld- she would become its Queen.

******

Part 5 here