#vietnamese masks

[slashthrashandcrash]

I'm cookin...........................

[masagitusih]

Mask Lady sarynall nguyen

[amethystsoda]

fun morning/afternoon with @giogio-gucci-gangstar 🥰🥰 lunch, coffee, books and very pale instax photos 💖

[acexsmhking]

Jeff The Killer x Reader

But it's like- Emo Boy from Ayesha Erotica bc you can't tell me -

"Saw this boy at the mall last Week got the kind of look to make me freak that long ass hair with the tightest jeans My Chemical Romance on his tee He looks so sick like he was dying If I said he wasn't hot, then I'd be lying"

"He said I look like Hanna Beth and bitch, I almost lost my breath"

"He bought me tickets to Warped Tour should I go? Well, bitch, for Sure he might not look like he gets bitches But honey, that dick was 11 inches"

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐝

(𝗮𝗱𝗷.) 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱; 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗲𝘅𝗵𝗮𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱

: ̗̀➛ Jeff the Killer x FEM!Reader

Summary: You’re approached by an.. odd looking man in the mall, asking for your number. Who are you to deny someone so intriguing

Warning(s): 18+ content, sexual content, mentions of mutilation, mentions of kidnapping, slight spit-play, slight degradation, displays of manipulation

It was a warm, bright day with the perfect breeze. And what better way to appreciate such a lovely day… then spending it inside a AC blasting, three story giant building with friends spending money? Exactly!! There is no better way. Your click of friends has been running around all noon, spending money on clothes and accessories of the likes. Can’t forget that mediocre court food that always hits the spot just right. You were still sipping on your root beer, looking for a new target to spend money on when you noticed someone approaching from your side-view.

You glanced back half-heartedly, more so to not get in their way than anything. But you saw that look, the universal gaze every man had when they wanted to completely ruin your day with their presence. Your click stopped as the man approached you, shifting somewhat awkwardly with this gleam in his eyes. His skin was pale, with what you assumed to be makeup with further dramatic eyeshadow that made him seem like the perfect emo by default.

Who knows, maybe he was the all-emo-overlord.

“ ‘M sorry, Sweetheart. I was just wondering for a moment of ya time?” He asked, however his tone sounded the least bit sorry. You raised a brow, turning more towards him as your friends waited just a few steps away. “What’s up?” You questioned, arms folded as you gave him a suspicious once over. He was by no means unattractive, tall and seemingly well built. He had a surgical mask over the bottom portion of his face, nothing odd as some people still wore them from the pandemic.

It even had a cute covering over it, matching his attire of blacks and whites. “You’re awfully pretty, I was wonderin’ I could take you out?” His voice was gravely, rough. Almost like gravel, he sounded like an Olympic smoker. You pondered for a minute. It had been a while since you even went out for a nice dinner with a guy, and he again wasn’t unattractive by any means. Even was pretty polite. Something about his eyes… they, warned you almost. Disturbed you. Something else attracted you an awfully lot.

Sighing, you gave in. You exchanged numbers with the man, you noticed how his phone was.. much older than yours. You shrugged, perhaps that was just his style or maybe he struggled. Who were you to judge someone? The man left with a wave, promising to text you later. You turned back to your friends, some of them teasing you bout the ‘hot emo boy’ asking you out.

To say that you were nervous stepping out of car was.. a mild thing to say. Jeffery, as you had learned was his name, had picked you up in an old dinky thing. Surprisingly, the interior of the car was well maintained, clean seats and floors. Of course that earned him extra points in your eyes, a man with a clean car? Who cares how old it was at that point.

Jeff had opened the door for you, like a gentleman. You gave a polite, albeit nervous, smile. You both decided on a small, family owned Vietnamese sandwich shop. Ok ok, you had decided, but they have really good cakes!! The date was actually a lot better than you had anticipated. The food was tasty, restaurant rather empty inside and the conversation was amazing. He was a charmer no doubt.

He was all sorts of funny and sarcastic in the best ways. You both had a few interests and some new ones he taught you about. He was also.. quite the smooth talker. You had a blush on your face the whole time. You hadn’t even realized when he started holding your hand across the table, his skin was rough. Far rougher than you expected, it was almost like.. sandpaper. You made no mention but he still apologized, explaining how he’d been in an accident badly burning him.

Of course, you felt bad for him. He was so sweet and funny, and smelled good. Maybe it was him or the freshly baked baguettes, but you were in-traced. Perhaps that’s why you brought him back home, allowing him to sweet talk you further. Maybe his sweet words are why you were in the position you were now, legs pushed up and spread as he practically made out with your cunt. How his tongue switched between exploring your hole and teasing your clit.

Hands gripping the bedsheets below you, mind fuzzy. He hadn’t let you touch him since he got between your legs, “Be a good girl for me and behave, yeah?” He mumbled, bottom half his face hidden as he manhandled you. Nothing clear in your mind, especially not when he reached a hand down, fingers stretching you open. “God I knew this pussy would be good, wish you could see how fuckin’ needy you are.” He growled, fingers curling just right. An embarrassingly loud moan coming from you, the texture of his skin was doing something to you.

It seemed like hours had passed of him just feasting on you, you could feel that knot in your stomach coming to a pop. But Jeff pulled away, fingers leaving your hole as you whined. Hands moving down to grab him and pull him back. But he just laughed, swatting your hands away. You heard him unbuckle his pants, saw him push them down from your fuzzy, tear filled gaze. His fingers were harsh gripping your jaw, some still wet from stretching you out.

Your heart practically dropped out of your ass as you finally got a good look at his whole face. It seemed like two deep, cuts had been placed on the side of his face. Starting from the corners of his mouth to further back. Sure he’d taken his mask off once he started kissing you, but you didn’t manage to see him before that; he was fast. “Aww, what’s wrong, whore? Don’t think ‘m pretty?” He teased, his tone was dark and threatening. You whined gripping his wrist as his fingers tightened, he squeezed your cheeks a clear sign to open your mouth.

You obeyed, out of fear or horniness you didn’t know. Maybe both. But you listened. You opened your mouth, eyes lidded as you watched him. You felt a hot glob of spit fall on your tongue, a moan leaving from the depths of your chest as you swallowed it. Jeff cackled at you; it sounded hallow and mean. “Nasty lil’ thing..” He mumbled, he released your jaw as he settled back between your legs. Jeff places his cock right on your cunt, slowly moving it against you. At times the tip catching on your clit.

You stared at him, eyes glued to what of his cock you could see. Gods he was long, you were horrified. Never had you taken something that big, never. Jeff snickered at your face, moving your legs onto his shoulders as he leaned down to your face. “What, baby? Scared?” You nodded feverishly, your hands digging their nails into his thighs. He only hummed, moving his hips back as he started pushing into you. At least he had the decency to be gentle for this part.

Jeff sighed, more than satisfied with the grip of your cunt. He gave you what he deemed more than enough time to adjust before he pulled back. Your breath caught in your throat, he was so deep. Too deep. He was bullying himself into you, hitting some spot you didn’t know you had. Hell, you didn’t even know you could take something this deep. Your throat tightened, mouth open not a single sound coming out. Your eyes started tearing all over again, he felt so good. Too fucking good.

Your nails started digging harsher into his thighs, almost like a pathetic attempt to stay grounded and push him away at the same time. Jeff wasn’t silent at all, throwing degrading words at you as he became faster. You were so soft, so wet. And you smelled delicious. One hand tangling with his hair as he leaned down, face in your neck as he started leaving marks. Sloppy and wet but harsh. His teeth unrelenting and mean as they dug into you. It was as if he wanted to rip a chunk out of you.

“Come on, slut. Reach down and rub her fer’me.” He groaned, his hips were brutal and hard. You could feel the undersides of your thighs becoming irritated at his brutal pace. Your fingers wiggled between the both of you, finding your clit and rubbing half-assed, speeding circles on it. You could barely focus on breathing correctly, it felt like he was in your lungs. Especially when he pressed your thighs closer to your head, pushing himself up as he loomed over you. Finally a pathetic whimper escaped your throat.

He did look.. pretty. Hot? Sexy? You didn’t know how to describe how he looked, his eyes looked feral as he watched your fingers. His hair ruffled from you and god his body. Something about all this made his lean body look like the sexiest thing you’d ever seen. Jeff was transfixed by your cunt. Watching how she took him in over and over, your pretty nails adoring your fingers. He almost felt bad, almost. What he wouldn’t do to take a pretty thing like you home..

Jeff gathered another glob of spit, letting it fall right on your cunt. Another deep moan falling from his lips as he watched it blend in with everything. “Oh my god! Fuck, Jeff please!” You had no idea what you were begging him for. Neither did he. But he repositioned his hips, picking back up on his previous pace as he looked you in the eyes. Well.. tried. Your eyes were blurred with tears, drool building at the corner of your mouth. Jeff smirked, was that a smirk. You had no clue as you watched him lean in yet again. Tongue trailing up your cheek as he licked your tears.

“You like this cock, slut?” He snickered, hands grabbing your midriff in a bruising hold. You nodded frantically, hands trying to grab onto whatever they could. “Yes yes! Love it.. is so good, too ‘ood!” You gasped, one hand landing on his chest as the other found the bedsheets. You didn’t even have time to brace as your felt that coil snap, body convulsing as you came. Jeff had tried to hold on a bit longer, but the fluttering of your cunt and those cute noises got him.

You felt his hips jitter a bit before stilling. Hips pressed flush against your thighs as you felt him empty himself in you. Mind dazed and fucked out to care. You panted, few more tears falling from your eyes as you looked at him. Jeff pulled out of you with a grunt, slowly as he watched his cum leak out of you. He caught his breath for a moment. He should kill you, really should. Maybe after round two, or three.

Looking at your chest raise and fall, pussy occasionally squeezing him. Nah.. why not just take you home? You have your use for him.

: ̗̀➛ sorry this took my longer than expected. I was like feeling weirdly unmotivated and motivated. I just changed the formate how I usually write the fics and that seemed to work better, LMAO! So sorry that this looks a bit different from how I usually format stuff. I really really hope you like this! I was trying to figure out how I wanted to do Jeff, but I think it’s alright for a first time. I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request! — Ace

[hellkeepers-if]

DEMO (prologue out) UPDATES

Set in an alternate version of Singapore, you're a fresh university graduate bumbling through life as you desperately look for a job.

...Or that's what your mother thinks. In a world where occult ceremonies are as common as an existential crisis, there's no way you were ever going to be a perfectly average office worker. Just like your twin brother, you work for the International Society Of Exorcists (ISOE) which deals with supernatural occurrences, demonic rituals, and the like.

When a tragic event befalls your older sister, it uproots your entire life and everything you ever knew about the supernatural. With it, comes a forced need to come to terms with a family history straight out of the movies. 

After all, how the hell did it take twenty years to find out that you're descended from the freaking king of the underworld?

"I have a duty to myself, but more importantly, my family."

——————

Inspired by Supernatural, Fullmetal Alchemist, Noragami, and the Percy Jackson series, Hellkeepers is a +18 urban fantasy/paranormal interactive fiction, involving elements of Chinese and Southeast-Asian mythology. In every playthrough, you will...

• Play as a female, male, or non-binary Chinese demigod/ess.

• Determine the relationships between you and your family members. After all, they will play a big part in your story...

• Peel apart the full truth behind you and your siblings' birthright. Your parents can't hide it forever.

• Learn more about Chinese and Southeast Asian mythology as you warp into different dimensions, unlike anything you've seen before.

• Learn more about who you were in your past life.

| Nishimura Kazuo (he/him)

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Japanese

With a penchant for mischief and a charm that woos even the most stubborn of grandmas, Kazu is the wildcard of your organization. You think he's an anarchist, and the only reason he's tied down to the ISOE is so that he has an excuse for whatever havoc he wreaks on the supernatural. 

The A-ranked exorcist is your colleague and your brother's mentor, though you rarely ever see him in his office. But if you ever need him for demon fighting, he'll be there. Most of the time.

"Mind taking that pesky thing out for me while I take a quick nap?"

| Quentin Khanh (Quan) (he/him)

Age: 25

Ethnicity: Vietnamese

Quentin, more affectionately known as Quan, was your childhood friend. After he moved overseas, the weekly texts you sent him fizzled into nothing but a lost friendship.

Since then, he's returned to Singapore as a forensics pathologist and researcher under your organisation. Whether you like it or not, you have to no choice but to work with him for most of your investigations.

"If your bribe doesn't involve a penthouse worth of money, don't talk to me."

| Reyna Aliyah Santos (she/her)

Age: 23

Ethnicity: Mixed (Filipino-Chinese)

You've never quite met someone like Reyna. A halfling with a demon mother and a human father. Being raised in Singapore all her life with little knowledge of her parents, it's natural that Reyna would come to the ISOE for help at the mere instance of a fox tail and white fur.

You've been tasked to help her mask and get comfortable with her supernatural powers, but she won't make it easy for you. After all, foxes do bite. 

"Technically, I'm not stealing anything if they don't notice."

| Song Huayun (she/her)

Age: ????

Ethnicity: "Uhh...from Hell?" Chinese

| You don't know too much about Huayun, except for the fact that she lives in Diyu, the Chinese Underworld. As Diyu's gatekeeper, Huayun has seen countless depravities committed by humans before their deaths. That alone has made it hard for her to like them, and the contempt she shows you is no different than what she shows everyone else.

But with time, maybe she'll finally learn what it is like to feel human…and what a smile is.

"If it isn't the star of tonight's show. Welcome to Diyu."

| The Arbiter of Fate (m/f)

Theyre a stranger, or so you say. But this deity knows everyone...especially you.

[crevicedwelling]

baby face

in contrast to the giant centipedes of the Americas that often start out looking like their parents, many Scolopendra found in Africa and Asia have starkly different color patterns as babies that slowly shift to adult patterns as they grow, known as ontogenetic color change.

Vietnamese Scolopendra dehaani start out jet-black with orange appendages & head. some show a black mask near the eyes too, which is very cute! as adults, the body and head become a chocolate brown, the legs turn pale yellow with a gradient to orange in the last few pairs (in a less common form all legs are orange), and the antennae become bright red.

mine are growing rapidly and already seem a warmer shade of black than when I first got them two molts ago. I hope they’ll all be big brown dragons in another year or so!

[lottielovelace]

die prinzessin (don't ask questions you know can't be answered)

SERIES MASTERPOST - UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Series Summary:

You know Simon works in the military. You don’t know that he’s a part of Task Force 141. Or that he trots around in a skull mask calling himself Ghost. Simon knows you have a brother who travels for work. He doesn’t know that said brother is a 6’7 masked Austrian. Your relationship functions on a simple concept: Don’t ask questions you know can’t be answered. You both know you can’t hide from the truth forever, but goddamn are you going to try.

Series Content: (I would recommend reading in order, but if you want to pick and choose, I try to recap any relevant info at the beginning)

công chúa — You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met. At least the special forces operative here to help is cute. (Ghost x Reader) available on tumblr or ao3

die prinzessin — So... turns out your mystery half-brother is a giant Austrian special forces operator. What now? (Catching up on two decades of sibling bonding, that's what) (PLATONIC König & Reader, König x Horangi) available on tumblr or ao3

technically — You're working as KorTac's reserve medic on an assignment in Mexico, leading you to a "nameless" woman. You don't know her name. You don't know what she's done and who she's killed. All you do know is that she is very dangerous, very powerful, and you're going to have to do surgery on her. In a bikini. No pressure! (Valeria Garza x Reader) available on tumblr or ao3

princess — Finally you get a chance to visit Simon. You just hope he hasn't forgotten about you. AKA two people trying their best to hide how incredibly into each other they are (Ghost x Reader) avaliable on tumblr or ao3

Note: I do write this story with a specific OC in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

And if you want a rundown on the OC to see if you like her or not, here's one

Full Name: Elisabeth Linh Veidt Nickname: Elise Ethnicity: American, of Vietnamese and Austrian descent Age: mid 20s Current Occupation: Med Student, in her final year

[derfpossessions]

Rented You Out - Part 5

Previously…

Denholm and Markus were on their way to their client when they discovered a bodysuit of a man who disappeared a year ago. They decided to keep the suit and see what happened to the man and how he ended up being a lifeless suit in a box from a strange janitor.

—————

“So, what are we gonna do with him?” Markus said.

“I think I should wear him.” Denholm said.

“What?? But.. that wouldn’t make sense.. A suit cannot wear another one! You might risk yourself getting hurt!”

“But I’m not fully a suit! I want to live this man’s life to give it proper closure!” Denholm argued and grabbed the suit’s legs.

“Well.. here goes nothing.” He starts putting on the suit by opening the back zipper. There, the deflated biceps of the guy became chiseled, the veins in his arms bulged out, and the legs became more bolder. As he puts on the mask, his chest started puffing out, and the perfect jawline appeared out of the face.

Sweating, he pants and turns around to Markus, and Markus was in awe.

“Did it.. did it worked?” Denholm said in a new sexy Vietnamese accent.

“Damn your voice… it’s so baritone and suave!!” Markus’ sex drive was driving him insane.

“Well he is ripped. I’m sure he spent a lot of time building this perfect bod.” Denholm said as he looked at himself in the mirror. His now black hair, brown eyes, piercings and earrings, and tattoos gleamed out.

“Ok then, you do what you gonna do to that body, I’ll just take over your student council duties for today.” Markus said as he left.

“What’s this?” Denholm noticed Markus dropped a bag with panties in it.

“But I thought he was gay…” He added while looking confused.

Denholm scourged through the guy’s memories to see what his past life had looked like. His name was Vince Long, a Vietnamese-American who was born from a wealthy family, and an alumni from the same high school as him. Vince was a top-tier student with straight-As, and to top it off, he had a hot girlfriend. They were the perfect couple, and the happiest one, until Vince suddenly disappeared.

One night after their 2nd year anniversary, Vince and his girlfriend Aurora left the restaurant at night to head home, when suddenly a white van appeared from the dark and took Vince and Aurora in. To her surprise, Aurora was spared by the men and left alone, she was left scarred and in pain to this day.

As for what happened with Vince next, Denholm couldn’t dig into any more memories, as the load must have stopped once he was turned into a full bodysuit.

“Could Aurora been also spared and left as a half-bodysuit like me?”, Denholm questioned as he looked through the pictures in Vince’s home.

It’s been a year since Vince’s disappearance , and his flat has been maintained by his family’s staff in honor of him. Denholm puts down his bag on Vince’s bed and looks in the mirror.

“You know what… maybe I should have a little bit of fun first”, Denholm says as he takes off his shirt and starts squeezing Vince’s hardening cock.

“Oohh… haven’t tried this in a while to be honest..” Denholm whispers as Vince’s sexy deep tones come out of his mouth.

“Ahh yes.. I’m Vince the engineer.. come here baby.. the fuckboy’s gonna unleash all his cum to you..” Denholm was shocked that even the way he speaks resembled very closely to Vince’s. The months long abandoned bedroom of Vince has been blessed not by holy water, but with his fresh loaded cum that hasn’t been released since 2022. Denholm lies down in bed in satisfaction as he tastes Vince’s long-expired cum.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. Denholm got dressed and answered it, and to his surprise, it was Vince’s parents, Mr and Mrs Long waiting for him. They held tight his son while they burst into tears.

“We’ve looked for you everywhere! We miss you so much!” Mrs Long said as she hugged her son.

The parents took him back to their family mansion where they had a Thanksgiving Prayer with a reading on the Prodigal Son, to celebrate’s Vince’s homecoming.

Then, Denholm filed an official statement regarding Vince’s kidnapping to help solve the people responsible for the his kidnapping and the others as well. A joint investigation took place while Denholm gave the police more details about a “bodysuit factory”.

After the party was over, Denholm went home to Vince’s place, where he saw Aurora.

“Babe… babe is that you?!?” Aurora started tearing up and ran up to him.

“I missed you so much…” ‘Vince’ said in shock while he hugged his girlfriend.

The two shared a romantic kiss and embraced each other with the reunion. For Denholm it felt like he gave Vince the closure he needed, but he cannot live as Vince forever.

Aurora made the next move. She dragged Vince up the stairs and the two started undressing.

Excited, Aurora undresses herself and undresses Vince’s long sleeve, and his tank top.

He revealed his white Calvin Klein boxers while his cock barks back at her as he starts to get very horny.

“This is… wrong.” Denholm whispered as he started grabbing the sheets. “Babe.. what do you mean? I missed you so much!!” Aurora was biting her lips.

“Your breath… your armpit hairs… your leg hairs… your Amazon rainforest in your cock… every single inch of you I am craving right now.” Aurora was starting up the engine.

“Oh I miss doing this.” Aurora said while she touches Vince’s abs. “Babe.. maybe we should slow down.” Vince tried resisting. “Oh fuck this. give me that!” Aurora ripped his boxers wide and revealed the arching cock that she’s been craving for.

Aurora then starts teasing his manhood until it did a standing ovation. They then started kissing mouth to mouth and rolled on the bed, knocking over the bed sheets.

Vince’s mouth started watering as he grabbed Aurora’s breasts to drink her milkshake. He gave her clitties a blessful kiss, and he started inserting it in. The hole kept declining though, like a debit card refusing to be read by an ATM.

She then licked his ass, with the expired butt hairs electrifying out like that one Nair video.

“Why not repair my ass? Civil engineering? Fuck that.. engineer this pussy.” She started cracking up.

“What the fuck is this woman on?” Vince started to get so scared. She then resisted him pulling away and she bited his pecs. He screamed faintly like a little girl but felt delighted and rubbed her back again.

“You know what…? Let me fold you like a fucking pretzel.” Vince grinned. She screamed out loud as he bent her back and put the funnel into the bottle opening. She screamed and screamed and screamed. They were both suffocating in each other’s saliva, cum and seemingly piss. They were banging the walls and even squeezed themselves in the closet. She was freaking out as he chased him down the halls, both naked.

They Netflix and chilled, he pulled her many times to kiss her, and she rubbed his pubic hairs like petting their Shih Tzu Tracy. It was a very immaculate and blessed moment.

They did various poses! Doggy, cowboy, missionary, and our favorite, 69. They did it and did it until they got sweaty and started panting.

Aurora slurps out Vince’s loaded manhood like she’s slurping out a big bowl of ramen. She giggles as his load explodes out of her face, and she kneels down as he starts inserting his rubbery dick into her rubbery pussy. (Hold on… rubbery pussy..?, We’ll get there later on.)

Vince was making sure the zipper at the back of his neck wasn’t opening out as he exerts extra pressure against Aurora in bed. They both giggle as Aurora licks Vince’s smooth sweaty abs and she starts biting them. Vince screamed out but it didn’t hurt as much as he expected, it felt like he got bit by a dog while wearing a silicone rubber pants.

“Let’s do it again.” Aurora said while running out of breath. They initiated their sacred rituals again and again throughout the whole night. Fuck me ‘til up daylight indeed.

As Vince and Aurora finally covered themselves under the sheets, they both rest and as they cuddle each other, not knowing something behind there was opening up. Let me turn it into a saying, Don’t leave the fridge open at night.

Both drenched in sweat, Vince goes to the bathroom to get toilet paper to clean up the exploded fluids in his room. But something was wrong. The zipper opened a little bit, and was stuck.

Aurora then discovered this and just stood there as if she knew this whole time that he was a bodysuit.

“Babe.. it’s not what it looks like.. I promise.” Vince was in shock and started shaking.

“I- um.. I no… no..” Aurora was also nervous. she turned around to look away, but then it was another jaw-dropping moment: her zipper was also opened, she thought it wouldn’t get exposed but the bra she had just put on wasn’t enough to conceal it.

“What…?? WHAT?!?” Vince tried grabbing Aurora’s arm but she ran as fast as she could and fled the scene.

Denholm chased her down to the garage, but the bodysuit was starting to melt as the zipper had been exposed. He tried unzipping himself a few more tries, and managed to get out of Vince’s body.

Denholm now ran to the garage door but Aurora had locked it. Denholm tried breaking in, using everything he had on the house to reach the inside.

Denholm figured out that he could simply open the front garage doors and catch her in the act, so he pushed the button and the front garage lifted upward and he rushed inside, but it wasn’t what he was expecting, never at all expected what it was.

He took a step closer but to his surprise, Markus was there, seemingly apprehending the now-empty Aurora suit.

“Markus what the fuck are you doing here?!??” Denholm freaked out.

“I.. I don’t know! I just found this body snatcher somewhere and I followed her to this home! I didn’t know this was your bodysuit’s home!” Markus said.

“Dang it. FUCKKKKK!!!!!” Denholm let out a very loud scream as he started kicking the nearby objects. He was angry. He was FURIOUS.

“I think this suit is also like you, Denholm. I think she was also spared because she’s not hollow right now, she has a pulse.” Markus said.

“Well we better drive her home safely then. I’ll also take home Vince and keep it in our property.” Denholm said as he started the car to head home.

As he headed out, a nervous grin and a blush came out of Markus.

“I wonder if he’ll ever know…”

(17 Hours earlier…)

Aurora: “Yes, yes that would be 45.99 for the jeans.”

Customer: “Ok, I’m paying by credit. I really love your local boutique!”

Aurora: “Thank for you shopping here! This boutique means a lot to me as me and my late boyfriend invested a lot on it!”

Markus then walks in while wearing a face mask and sunglasses.

Aurora: Hi welcome to Beautiful Botanica Boutique— AHHHHHH!!!

Aurora let out a loud scream and passed out.

Markus: Welcome.. and goodbye bitch.

Markus laughed maniacally as he lifted Aurora and unzipped her back, which transformed her into a bodysuit.

He then started sliding his legs into her more smaller ones, causing a huge stretch on the suit. Her body also expanded wide as Markus’ masculine torso squished in to fill in the void. Soon once Markus put on the mask, the suit realigned and formed itself: The legs started to shrink into a more feminine physique, and the waist significantly decreased and compressed Markus’ body. It was uncomfortable for him but it was all worth it. His new breasts also grew out to his desire. Markus looks into the store’s mirror.

“Hi welcome to Beautiful Botanica Boutique!” He said in a new feminine high-pitched voice.

“Hey Vince.. hey baby… hey… Denholm.”

She said while she seductively stares into her reflection, and giggled. She packed up her stuff and left to go to Vince’s place.

— TO BE CONTINUED —

[shuxiii]

Love at first web— Hanni Pham x reader

synopsis: Hanni desperate for a hit news was ready to do anything to have a brief interview with the one and only friendly neighborhood spider-man. Yet it didn't seem like an easy task when you're swinging out of reach of her, so she does the ordeal.

Note: is my obsession getting obvious for the Australian-Vietnamese girl now because i think its getting chronic each day

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

''Hanni, you can't just do whatever you want without facing the repercussions,'' Minji, my long-time best friend and my boss.

''I can make it up to, i can—''

''Hanni, you've caused too much problem and it's causing harm to our resources; why don't you focus on less challenging news?'' Minji says ''well like um,, oh! like that protest against—''

I was too driven by my thoughts to even care to listen to her rantings, I couldn't bear to be held back I've dedicated my life to journalism, just a few rough patches won't stop me.

I need to think, i need something big. something that will give me back Minji's trust in my work, I look at the little spider on the wall hanging on its web quietly weaving its spider web, and it hits me.

''so like i was saying han—''

''I can talk to Spider-girl'' I say.

Minji takes a pause and stares at me perplexed.

''What?''

''i can get an interview with spider-girl themselves,'' I suggest hesitantly. and that didn't go unnoticed by Minji.

''really? how exactly?'' she asked.

crap. think of something.

''well, i have contacts that will get me through spider-girl myself,'' I lie ''so if you just let me do this, just once I'll make it up for those mistakes.''

''Hanni—'' I gaze at Minji's conflicted thoughts, she knows me well. she knows i don't just give up. and eventually, she sighs.

''fine, but if i don't get any progress by the end of the week, you're halted with any bigger works.''

I jumped in triumph, hugging Minji tightly.

''okay don't get ahead of yourself, you still owe me an interview with a superhero'' she giggles.

i rejoiced too soon, now i was in a cornered wall.

lying was easy, but making it real was difficult

Let's be real how exactly will I get a hold of a human swinging from buildings to buildings like it's a normal Monday morning.

It was deemed so impossible but what do I have to lose? Yeah, my job. Exactly.

If I don't get this interview, then I’ll question myself if I was ever suited for journalism, I don't care if it takes a train to stop me, I'm getting that spider.

I knew exactly how to get their attention. It's simple put myself in to trouble.

🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️ 🕸️

And as smart yet stupid as i was, i decided to get mugged in an alleyway.

It was easy, carry an expensive-looking bag while appearing naive and vulnerable. You’ll have all the eyes of every burglar you get in Manhattan.

I go down a dark alleyway, hearing faint and slow footsteps behind me, and as I reach the end of the street, I glance back to see two buff males wearing balaclava masks approaching me.

And, like every comedian's punch line, they speak their six legendary lines.

“Give us all you have, miss”

And of course I try to stall.

“I don't have anything with me,” I say.

I heard a scoff at the other guy much more shorter than the other one.

“Then what's in your bag?” He says “Nothing?” He laughs.

I take a step back and with every step they inch closer. Yet no signs of that famous red suit spider.

The consequences of my impulsive choices has started to bite back at me, and the fear has started to set in.

“C’mon miss, you don't want to make this harder than it already is” the taller one says.

He grips on my wrist, tight enough to make me wince.

“Let go of me!” I try to push away his hand but he was twice as big as me, and it didn't budge at all.

raspy laughs echoed through the dark alleyway, and he grips me tighter.

“This one's a fighter eh?” He smiles, putting his face closer to mine, smelling the horrible stench of cigarettes and alcohol.

“My, I couldn't take a good look at you but aren't you a little too pretty to be here? He says “We definitely hit the jackpot.”

I look back at him in disgust. And even though I tried to hide my dread, I felt confined and terrified more than I ever had before.

“Why don't you entertain us huh?” He grins with a gleam of darkness in his eyes.

I felt tears drop against my cheeks as i imagine the worst to come.

I close my eyes in fear.

“Hey jerry help me here” he says.

Yet the silence was only heard.

“Jerry!” He yells louder “ are you fucking deaf?”

“What the fuck!”

I open my eyes to see the shorter guy webbed against the wall, muffling.

"Hey now, that's not very chivalrous of you," the one and only says as the guy collides with the wall in the blink of an eye.

A loud thud was heard, as the burglar falls inside the steel wheelie bin.

And just like that the two burglars were webbed and knocked out.

I stood there in both fear and relief.

Suddenly she went up to me placing both her hands against my cheeks,

“Hanni? Are you okay?!” She says with quaver in her voice, like she was scared.

“Are you hurt, did he hurt you?” She gently brushes the part of my wrist the guy gripped.

“Yeah—I’m okay,” I say yet the shake in my voice said otherwise.

She looks at me and suddenly her lenses became bigger, like she just registered what she said.

And I gaze back at her, my benevolent savior, perhaps momentarily questioning the disparities between her identities.

“Wait…Hanni?” i say.

We stare at each other in awkward silence.

“Wait—how do you know my name?” I ask.

“What—I mean no—uh” she stutters “I’ve seen you in new reports! You’re quite a renowned reporter…hahaha”

“Anyway,” she coughs “What are you doing here? Don't you know it's not safe being out so late?”

Yeah what was I doing here? Right. Getting myself in trouble to get an interview from you.

“I was going home but these guys followed me and led me to an alleyway” I lie.

“Uh huh,” she pauses, slightly unconvinced “Well um I better get going”

As she was about to swing out my sight, i grab hold of her wrist.

“Wait!” I shriek.

She looks back at me before looking at my hands holding her wrist.

I quickly let go.

“Um—I was wondering if I could get an interview from you?” I ask, hopeful.

“Uh,” she says “Look, I’m a little busy with my fans at the moment aka my enemies you know? I don't think—“

“It won't take a minute” I pleaded.

“I'm not sure…” she scratches her nape.

“If you don't, well I’ll have to keep putting myself in trouble” i blurt out.

“Keep putting yourself in trouble?” She ask “did you—did you put yourself in trouble, to talk to me?” Did

I seriously don't know when to keep my mouth shut, do I?

“Don't you know how utterly dangerous that is?” She inches closer to me “You could hurt yourself or—or even worst!”

i felt like a kid again scolded by their parents except it was a superhero giving me an earing lecture.

“There are so many ways but you decide the most reckless one?” She continues “what if I’m not here when you get hurt?

She was meters away from me and one push was all it needed, maybe if the mask was removed it would have been.

She awkwardly blinks and freezes, noticing the gap between us.

She stiffly backs away from me. Shes one awkward hero.

“Sorry totally forgot personal space existed” she stutters.

“You’re just like someone I know” I say, giggling.

“What?” She asks, taken aback.

“You’re just like someone I know, her names Yn.” I tell her “She’s always nagging about these kinds of stuff.”

I smile at the thought.

“Really, are they cute? She ask “I m-mean like are they hot, or pretty maybe cute, maybe all of the above?”

I look at her, laughing.

“What—did I say something wrong?”

“No”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Its just a little odd for a superhero to ask such question,” I say.

“Oh, Im sorry—“

“Yeah, they’re cute.”

“What.”

“I said they’re cute.”

“Oh wow—uh so um,” she says “so do you like them?”

I hesitate and smiled at her.

“Yeah, I like her.”

"Like—like them?" She glances back at me, and even with the mask covering her eyes, I can tell she was looking at me intently.

Something about her gaze that hid behind that mask felt so recognizable, almost as if it was a recurring gaze I would see, but I couldn't place my finger on it.

"Why does it seem like you're the one interviewing here?" I ask, smiling back. "How about if you let me interview you, I'll answer all your questions."

She pauses for a moment, considering the deal. And I give her the best beseeching eyes, something I would never do but if it takes a cute girl to allure a man, then I’ll do everything it takes to get a sweet yes.

But this is a hero, a person who has gone through many things I don’t think being seductive would work but it won't hurt to tease, won't it?

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I say, teasingly “Does a kiss seal the deal?”

“W-What?!” She stammers “did the guy hit your head ?”

“Haha very funny one, no he didn’t,” I say, “ it’s just taking you so long to answer, and you aren't denying the kiss, I won't mind either, you have my consent.”

She stays quiet, and i took a few step closer to her.

Her lenses widen as she puts her hands in defense.

“Okay, I-I agree you don't need to do that!” She sputters.

I squeal in excitement, hugging her. I'm not sure whether I'm hallucinating, but the way her body fits in my hold, it had this familiarity to it. it felt like I've hugged her before like I was grown to it, it felt like I was in the arms of someone I love.

“That kiss was just a joke if you didn't get the memo” I chuckle as I let go of the embrace, but the feeling stayed against my skin.

“Y-Yeah i knew it was a joke” she crosses her arms between her chest.

“Well then, how about we meet on the rooftop of the Daily Bugle? Tomorrow, sounds great?”

“Um yeah sure sure, grool” she says.

Grool? Who says that these days.

“Alright” i laugh.

She timidly shoots me a quick wave as she backs away from me still looking back at me.

“Y-Yeah,” she says “see you later”

''Wait! Look ou—'' I winced as she stumbled backward after hitting her head against the steel pole.

“Are you okay?”

“I did that intentionally,” she says “ and it didn't hurt at all”

''right.''

Before she decides to leave completely, she says something that makes my heart feel soft to this day.

“And Han, please don’t do this again,” she says “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

A nickname only I knew who would always call me and suddenly the same familiarity started to dwell on me again, and the questions that lingered in my head started to be answered.

It all became clear.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 3, In Which Larian Introduces The Raphael Romance

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

SUMMARY: Careful which mods you install for BG3. Did you read the terms and conditions carefully?

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 3

TW for the chapter: self-harm, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, masturbation, problematic mom-daughter relationship

After spending forty minutes on the tube and another twenty squeezed onto a bus with sweaty, boundary-ignorant strangers, you finally got home from your coffee date with the devil. 

In that time, you had more or less come to terms with the fact that you had truly lost it.

This left you with three options: First, you could go to a psychiatrist (how do you find a psychiatrist?) and tell the truth. Your laptop is talking to you, a devil is stalking you with the clear intention of fucking you and taking your soul, in no particular order. They'd chalk it up to psychosexual mania, Freudian theories of repressed desires and frustrations. Prescriptions for anti-psychotics and anti-hallucinogens would follow while they dug into your very much fatherless past.

The second thing a person haunted by the devil might do is go to a priest. The last time you set foot in a church was when your mother could make you go, so it would be as much a surprise for the priest to see you there as it would be for you to do so again. Also, you can't help but imagine walking into a confessional only to find Raphael smirking back at you from behind the lattice screen, which brings you back to option one.

The third option was to accept your madness and play along with it. It had already made the last week of your life more exciting than the entire preceding twenty-seven years combined.

It wasn't a difficult choice.

Since your arrival at home, you had not let your phone leave your side for a single second, not in the shower, not on the toilet. Meanwhile, you had begun your preparations for the rendezvous, and you had begun by scheduling your torture for the very next day. 

Your tormentor was a petite Vietnamese girl who promised her methods would not hurt, and the execution chamber was a rundown salon down the street that definitely condoned illegal employment practices. 

Not like you could afford anything nicer anyway.

You could barely scrape together enough cash for waxing (damn inflation), but imagining that Raphael had watched you straddle a Bad Dragon dildo all natural- unshaved legs and the rest - was way more mortifying than the idea that the devil himself was watching.

After the Vietnamese girl ripped hair from your most sensitive areas, you felt prepared for any infernal punishment. When questioned if it hurt, you lied through clenched teeth.

The rest of the Sunday was a shopping blur. The last time you went on a date was some nine months ago (prior to BG3 coming out), it lasted an hour but left enough of an impression to delete your profile from Bumble, so you were completely out of stock of anything half-way decent, not to speak decent enough for a date with Raphael.

You consulted with the Devil's Den about what to wear and what lingerie Raphael would prefer, which didn't help much as everyone had their own interpretation of his preferences, ranging from none at all to him wearing lingerie himself.

At the start of the working week, your bank balance had dropped by four hundred euros and you still hadn't received any calls on your mobile phone. 

Wasn't there a rule about waiting three days? Whoever came up with this shit should spend his afterlife as a lemure.

You went through the motions at work, barely awake during two team conference calls, only to be told you looked "exhausted". This, despite having spent the entire previous day in a facial mask. To add insult to injury, you were scheduled for a "personal development" meeting next week.

In between the conference calls, you took the time to write two essays on Tumblr. The first was about how Raphael would easily conquer the Nine Hells and anyone who doubted that was an idiot (you didn't actually write that, but you certainly meant it). 

The second was about how Tav was the real villain for robbing Raphael. Maybe these posts would flatter Raphael enough to prompt him into calling you. Both got a decent amount of likes and reblogs, but not the attention you were hoping for.

On Monday night, you spent a good two hours staring at your phone, desperately waiting for some strange email, some kind of notification, however unsettling it might be.

It's not like Raphael actually works for that bloody law firm, is it? 

Or maybe, for devils, the usual waiting time for a call is a couple of years. After all, Raphael was angry for a dozen years that one time.

when you remember you have a mother call me hope you have a nice day

Well, you asked for a disturbing notification, and now you've got one. Your mother had an uncanny ability to make you feel guilty with just one precisely aimed message. Despite being well acquainted with her tactics (which she vehemently denied having), they managed to hit their mark every time.

She wasn’t a bad person, no, far from it; God knows she had enough problems as a single mother in a small and predominantly Catholic town an hour's drive away. 

She was the first in her family to go to university, but had to drop out when she became pregnant with you. Went through several terrible relationships, which she ended for your sake. You were her walking shattered dreams. 

It hadn't been that long since you'd last spoken on the phone, maybe a week? 

OK, a week was long. 

“Hi mum," you sighed into your phone. "Sorry, I've been busy."

"With what?" her voice fizzed over the line, laced with a scepticism only a mother can muster.

A solid start.

"With adult life?" you said.

"Adult life is juggling a full-time job, a child and a house that needs constant attention, Anya. You don't have any of that."

"I have a full-time job, Mum, remember?"

"Oh yes," she said. "I know how 'busy' you IT people are. Anyway, I called to tell you something very important".

You were not IT people, you worked for an IT company, but for you mum, you were IT people and therefore by definition overpaid and underworked. 

"I was at Nadine's", she said, and made a dramatic pause.

Oh great. Nadine, the human drain on your mother's savings, which were far from abundant. How your mother reconciled her devout Catholicism with regularly going to a fortune teller (and with getting pregnant at twenty out of wedlock) was one of the things that defied your comprehension. She had an intricate system, which only she would call logic, to justify these contradictions; you gave up trying to understand it long ago.

"Don't get upset - it wasn't about you or anything”, you mum said. “Your name just came up in conversation and we ended up doing a reading - just ONE reading, but it was... enlightening."

As every single reading so far. 

"Yes?" you asked, not bothering to fake enthusiasm.

"Well..." She drew out the word. "The cards say you're going to meet someone special soon. A King of Pentacles, imagine! So, mature, financially secure, gallant…"

A gallant gentleman would not keep a lady dying for his call.

“There is more, Anja. There was also the Devil in the spread. Do you know what that means?"

You paused. "...the Devil himself is interested in me?"

Your mother let out a joyous laugh.

"Anya, sweetie, I love you, but I don't think THE Devil would be interested in you. Not this way, anyway”.

That stung a bit. After all these years of him supposedly seducing you into premarital sex and drugs, succeeding at the former and barely scratching the pot surface with the latter, and now he was suddenly not interested in you.

Well, that’s where you are wrong, mum. Hopefully.

"No, that means... Now I'm quoting Nadine here, Anya... Negative forces holding you back from reaching your full potential. NEGATIVE THINKING! That's what I've been saying all along!"

“Ah”, you said. “Right”.

You checked out and let the phone rest on the table on loudspeaker, allowing your mother to continue her monologue of small town gossip.The right-side neighbour was fooling around with someone else's wife, neighbour to the left doesn’t mow his lawn. You surfed on your laptop in the meanwhile.

queen-of-the-bored: now did you read that Raph smut I sent you

queen-of-the-bored: that one

You were hoping to get out of reading smut with Raphael and into living it. Ah, hell, maybe that would draw him out somehow. Maybe this would be about him and you, some meta stuff, a special surprise he wrote himself for you. 

You opened AO3 and began to scan the warning triggers that preceded the chapter. "Non-con", "pillory confinement", "rough anal sex", "face fucking" and "forced urination", and that was just for starters.

No.

Absolutely fucking not. 

“Holy fuck”, you said, and promptly closed the web-page.

"Anya! Watch your mouth! But yes, you are right, of course”, your mom said . “All these years acting like she is the holy and mighty and knows best… ”

you: are you ok recommending stuff like that?

queen-of-the-bored: what queen-of-the-bored: come on now queen-of-the-bored: dude this you?

She sent a screenshot of your Tumblr post with five hundred likes and forty-one reblogs:

"I don't get Hope, I personally would LOVE Raphael to lock me in chains in his basement and do whatever he wants to me <3".

That was undeniably you. Was that what attracted Raphael to you? Is that what he came for?

A sudden epiphany dawned on you: you were far more vanilla than you had let on. Especially on the first date. You didn't want it to turn into a basement horror story. Well, maybe you did, but only if it went exactly according to your script (which categorically did not involve non-consensual rough anal sex), in the kind of basement you liked (stylishly infernal rather than Josef Fritzl one) and with thorough aftercare and lavish praise. 

You weren't entirely convinced that this vision was in line with Raphael's preferences. You were not entirely sure what those preferences truly were, for that matter.

You scrubbed all traces of the fanfic from your browsing history and briefly toyed with the idea of posting something along the lines of 'GET THERAPY YOU SICK FUCK' in the comments - just to make sure Raphael knew exactly where you stood on the matter. 

What you need to do is search for fanfics tagged with phrases like "Raphael spoils Tav with gifts and sweet nothings", "gentle" and "teeth-rotting fluff".

"And then she said, Anya... guess what, she said..."

***

Tuesday was the third day without a call. 

If he did not call today, you decided, you would go to that bloody law firm to drag him out of a conference room and if he was not there, well... you might do the unspeakable.

You might rob the House of Hope for the first time in your life. A woman who has not been called by her favourite devil for three days in a row is a woman in severe mental crisis.

After spending some time day-dreaming your revenge, you finally reach for your phone while still lying in bed.

There were notifications waiting for you, not the ones you wanted. The Raphael romance petition (which you’d passionately signed thrice, using different IPs) had triumphed. The new update included a post-credits dinner and something extra.

The fandom was thrown into chaos upon hearing this announcement (though, truthfully, any news tended to do that). Fans heatedly argued about whether it was pandering, too much fan service, whether it trivialized victims of sexual assault or if it was simply bad taste.

The discord channel buzzed with chatter about that new scene - some dismissed it as too vanilla; others lamented that Larian backtracked on Raphael being a bottom; while some celebrated it as the best thing since Andrew Wincott had cooed "good girl" on a live stream.

In different circumstances, you would be overjoyed and congratulating dmgdgoods for the success of the petition. But now? It felt like cold leftovers in comparison to what you truly craved - seeing Raphael in person, feeling his touch and his breath against your skin.

Regardless, you decided to get ONE bloody dinner you had been promised.

To your dismay, your boss chose today, of all days, to make you work and make you hate your work. You had four useless conference calls during eight working hours, each one an hour apart. 

The clock on your computer seemed trapped within some diabolical time warp.

You’d bring an audience with you, you thought as you absent-mindedly typed emails. That’s right, you’d bring an audience. 

If Raphael decides to talk to you through the screen, well, there would be your solid proof you were not crazy - and a digital trace - and a message to the whole world that it was you, you, who were his special mouse among the thousands that would rush to House of Hope tonight.

If he doesn't, well… he isn’t calling you either.

You dropped everything the minute the clock struck five, and lectured the rest of your remaining team about the importance of work-life balance and the toxicity of corporate greed. 

Then you fired up Twitch.

The witnesses, a twenty-strong user mob, were summoned from across the communities you were in; some you knew, some you guessed who it might be, and a couple of random users.

The House of Hope stood ready. 

In the main hall, a table was set for two, draped in red velvet with silver candelabras and a centrepiece of blood-red roses; Larian clearly knew their audience - those who craved Raphael Romance would also enjoy a side dish of gothic horror.

This notion you would subscribe to.

"Ah, my little mouse," Raphael's voice crept into your ears the moment Tav teleported into his domain. "I've been expecting our rendezvous."

His tone was molten honey and made you forget for a moment your annoyance at his lack of calls. 

Archdevils Supreme were, after all, notorious workaholics.

Raphael was in his cambion form, which you liked, but preferred the human one. Like this, he would barely fit into your room - how tall was he? Two ten? Two twenty? Your ceilings were two twenty. One flap of those wings could destroy your bookshelf. 

The Twitch chat room was quiet; you threw out a test message that elicited a few half-hearted responses. Still there, good.

"I owe you, little mouse," Raphael continued in that rich baritone that brought back memories of the coffee shop. "I owe you your unwavering loyalty. Your commitment. Your trust."

Raphael paused for dramatic effect before adding: "I appreciate those who deal fairly with me, because I have only dealt fairly with you."

His words eerily echoed a recent essay you'd written; it brought a smile to your face as you reached out to touch him.

cross_my_heart: are you touching your screen? cross_my_heart: jeez man cross_my_heart has left the chat

Your Tav, a drow warlock (whom you imagined as Raphael's personal warlock), was wearing her most "why-am-I-here" expression, arms crossed over her chest. It drove you mad, that standard #2 emotion.

Then they ate; clunky, clearly afterthought animations rehashed from Karlach's date dinner. The food they were served (meat, meat, lots of meat) made your stomachs ache (you had been on a crash diet in the irrational hope of slimming down for the rendezvous).

"You were the one who gave me the Crown of Karsus. You gave me the power to claim worlds, my little mouse, even your own." He paused before adding, "You hung on my every word, spread my vision... Every time we played, you offered the crown. My most loyal little acolyte".

A thrill of anticipation ran through you; he must be deviating from his usual script. He was now speaking directly to you.

luxaeterna: haha cool meta stuff luxaeterna: the game is probably checking to see if you have any save games where you killed him luxaeterna: and judging by the way you just stroked the screen (lol) you don't

"Come, my little mouse," Raphael beckoned. "Come and claim your reward. What is it that your heart desires?"

Your eyes scanned the four options presented to you:

1. Wealth beyond measure.

2. Godlike power.

3. Eternal youth.

4. You, Raphael.

"Well," you said aloud with a smile as your cursor hovered over option 4 (the only logical choice), "I'm not sure about immeasurable wealth, but an extra grand wouldn't hurt.” 

You wouldn't know what to do with godlike power anyway, and you were too young to dream of eternal youth.

A message appeared in the right-hand corner of your screen: GUESTUSER43214 donated €1,000.

You gasped. 

Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. 

He was here. Raphael was watching you play with Raphael, which was the most Raphael thing that ever happened.

And he'd just given you a damn grand for nothing, with a simple click of his fingers - virtual numbers to him, but very real to you. 

You licked your lips with excitement. Easy money. The easiest money ever, for a joke and a smile. Tax free too. Is that how the girls at OnlyFans feel? 

papa johnes: holy fuck why didn't you ask for a million papa johnes: reload and ask for a million! DEVIL CREAMPIE: WOW WOW WOW  luxaeterna: is this a prank?  DEVIL CREAMPIE: SUGAR DADDY DEVIl

Would he give you more if you asked for it? Perhaps. Perhaps more than you could possibly imagine, enough to make all the worries disappear, but all in due time; that was not what you were craving from him at the moment.

luxaeterna:@GUESTUSER43214 are you Raph are you Raph Raph is it you? luxaeterna:@GUESTUSER43214 I can also stroke the screen for a thousand where do I sign up?

The user did not reply, but Raphael in-game did as soon as you clicked on "You and only you".

He walked up to your Tav and embraced her; tenderly, carefully, his clawed hands tracing the back of her spine. She looked frightened. 

Well, she only had so many expressions.

"You've always had a knack for making wise decisions," he purred in her ear. "It's one of your many talents, my dear. And once again you've chosen wisely. Now, how may I indulge you?"

papa johnes: ASK FOR A MILLION 

1. Fulfil my every dark fantasy. 

2. Let me put you on a leash and show you what pleasure is, devil.

3. Aren't you only bedding Haarlep?

4. Thanks, I'll pass. Haarlep has told me I’d be well advised to indulge elsewhere.

luxaeterna: Fulfil my every DARK fantasy lol who wrote this stuff a horny intern on her lunch break papa johnes: ASK FOR A MILLION GODDAMNIT

You briefly contemplated if you wanted Haarlep to join and thought that’s something you would save for later, so you went for the horny intern option.

"I will make all your fantasies come true," Raphael promised, as he stood up from his seat and approached Tav. "The ones you're aware of and those yet to be discovered. But for what comes next, little mouse, I prefer us to be alone. No prying eyes."

The game gave you three options to choose from: 

1. Yes, Raphael

2. Yes, Master

3. Yes, of course

luxaeterna: I think there might be an option missing  DEVIL CREAMPIE: lol any colour you like as long as it’s black right Raph

You nodded, chose “Yes, Raphael”, and got an immediate response:

Connection to Twitch lost. You clicked around, but the servers seemed to be shut down. Huh, you thought, Raphael can control Twitch servers. He could use it as a tool of mass indoctrination.

A deep sigh slipped from your lips. 

It was just the two of you now. 

But you wouldn't leave without proof. You pressed escape and positioned your phone camera on the highest shelf, angling it to capture everything that transpired on screen.

Raphael pulled Tav in a kiss the moment you resumed the game, something clearly modelled after Ascended Astarion kiss, with him standing, her seated, looking tiny in comparison to him. His clawed hand grasped her ebony neck and gave it a light squeeze. His expression was perfect - possessive, dark, animalistic, hers was screaming “I am about to shit myself” and completely out of place.

You are a Lolth-Sworn and a Bhaalspawn, Tav! What the bloody hell are you scared about? He should be scared of you!

"You taste ambrosial, my little mouse," Raphael whispered into Tav's ear. "I've lived thousands of years and never tasted anything better."

She doesn’t, you thought bitterly, she tastes like nothing but code, but I do, I do! 

Your hand traced up your neck mimicking Raphael's touch on Tav's skin and squeezed lightly. The pain made you aware of the bitter resentment against your own avatar - Raphael invited her, dined with her, was about to fuck her, not you, and it could be you now, should be you, not some character you cooked in an hour in the character creator. 

She didn’t do shit but follow your orders. It was you who ordered her to give him the Crown.

Next, Raphael shoved the dishes and the cutlery to the floor and gently laid Tav onto the dining table, positioning himself between her thighs. At first glance, it looked like they'd used Halsin's animation from a different angle until you saw his forked tongue glide across Tav's pixel-perfect hairless pussy, sliding in and out of her.

She did one of those high-pitched, perfectly fake screams that made your blood boil and that was exactly the reason you never watched mainstream porn. 

The very next gameplay your Tav is jumping off a very high cliff.

Tav threw her head back and moaned, the hair that should have fallen down remaining perfectly in place in her braid. It made it look fake the way video game sex sequences look fake, plastic dolls smashed against each other.  Every woman in Faerun and Earth would grab his horns and hold on tight, but no, Tav was not animated to do so.

At least Raphael looked real, every second more so, so you focused on him, and his eyes, and his face glistening in candlelight and Tav’s juices.

There was no way Larian would make it so explicit, a thought that floated in the back of your mind. Can’t be right. The moans, the animations, the visceral, explicit arousal - his and hers. Can’t be right. 

No way you’d be stopping to cross-check, either.

So, you watched Tav writhing under the devil's tongue, slipping your hand under your t-shirt, pulling aside the black lacy bra you'd recently bought for him and caressing your hardening nipples. 

You couldn't help yourself.

You wanted him, his lips on your pussy, your hands around his horns, you wanted to come onto his mouth, to grind around his cock like a fish caught on a hook.

But all you could do was stare, the pulsing of your clit in perfect rhythm with your heartbeats.

Raphael was looking at you, at you specifically, just like in the cafe. He grabbed one of Tav's legs by the ankle and lifted it high into the air as she arched her back in pleasure. The other leg was slightly spread, offering a view of your avatar's glistening pussy, which you couldn't care less about, unlike the ribbed, red, engorged cock between Raphael's legs, impressive enough to both arouse and frighten. 

He must taste so good. The very thought made your mouth water.

You shoved your fingers under your jeans, feeling the zipper scrape against them till it hurt, but you couldn't care less.

Fuck her, you muttered aloud as you rubbed yourself. Or better still, call me and fuck me. 

As if he could hear you (he could he could he definitely could), Raphael hoisted Tav’s ankles onto his shoulders and rammed into her with the force that would have been painful in reality but looked mesmerising on the screen. 

Hard, sure thrusts, sliding in and out, looking at you all that time, his mouth tightening in a sardonic smile. The promise in his eyes. The promise of all he could give and the promise of a hell of a price to pay. Despite all your fear for him, and because of it, you wanted him even more.

Tav screamed her cry again, exactly the same vocal line, her symmetrical, round, cookie-cutter breasts bouncing to the rhythm dictated by Raphael.

It’s me next time, you pleaded. Make it me. I deserve it. I’ll make it worth your while. Please.

Raphael moaned, loudly, like no man you've ever been with moaned - no man you've ever been with could pull off a moan like that - wild, lustful, deep, shameless. You have to talk like him to pull that off. You have to look like him.

You have to be that silver-tongued devil.

"You are mine. I owe you, my precious little mouse" Raphael said to Tav, hovering over her, folding her in two (would you be that flexible?).  "Be my good girl and say it." 

This is exactly the kind of talk you wanted from him, exactly the kind of talk that made your pussy throb, that made you click on everything with 'maledom' in it in a split second.  Such a shame you could see so little, had to imagine so much, their parts were barely visible in this position.

"I am yours," you whispered breathlessly, pinching your nipple as you plunged your fingers deep inside you. "I am your good girl. I am your little mouse. I am!”

Tav said nothing and Raphael raised his hand over her face. Slap her, you urged, hurt her, slap her hard, but he didn't, instead running his fingers through her snow-white hair and you moaned in frustration and pleasure.

This man brings out the worst in you.

Your pussy clenched around your fingers, a little moan escaped your lips and you bored into them, pretending it was his cock ramming into you. You would get the Devil's Dick from under the bed if you could just tear yourself away from the screen for a moment. 

You were right on the edge, so close, closer. Your eyes were fixed on Raphael's face, desperately trying to catch a better glimpse of his cock as he thrust one final time before the screen slowly faded to black.

"NO!" you screamed in frustration. "COME BACK! I'M NOT DONE YET!"

The scene changed to both of them lying on a crimson bed. You closed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth.

Of course, you could have used your imagination to fill in the rest, but you were tired of pretending. You craved the real thing - flesh against flesh, hot breath, his scent, beads of sweat, and taste of saliva, his saliva. Not just porn or smut or audio recordings – the actual physical experience. Sex that you had never had because all you knew was awkward fumbling and elbows tangling in your hair and ‘ugh do you really want me to talk dirty this is so weird’.

You would do anything to fuck him now. Bring me that damn contract, I'll sell my soul for a good fuck. Give me the fucking paper, Raphael, give it to me now.

You reluctantly pulled your sticky fingers away from your aching pussy and cursed under your breath. How many times did Raphael ruin the mood already? Cruel, sadistic, cold-hearted fiend, damned hellish beast. 

You wanted a different kind of torment.

"Raphael, you better call me," you growled at the screen. "Or I swear I'll come to your house, snatch your hammer, end you and..."

Your threat was cut off by a ring of the doorbell.

"Metaphorically speaking," you hastily added as the doorbell chimed again, more insistently this time.

The memory of blood blisters on guy's lips for lesser offences was still fresh in your mind.

"You promised you'd knock on my door, not ring," you muttered to yourself, feeling a tinge of fear run through your body. "And again... metaphorically speaking!"

The doorbell rang once more, louder and angrier than before. You wiped your slick fingers on a napkin and quickly adjusted your clothing before cautiously approaching the door.

A quick glance through the peephole revealed something red outside. But you didn't dare take a second look.

Your palm found its way to the cool metal of the doorknob. This was it, wasn't it? The moment where a stupid girl opens the wrong door at the wrong time and gets clawed to death.

Behind the door stood a teenage boy, around fourteen or fifteen years old, with acne and an ill-fitted t-shirt, casually chewing gum. He looked at you as if you were the one disturbing his peace all along.

"Why the hell were you buzzing my door like a maniac?" you asked.

He thrust a bouquet of red roses towards you without much ceremony. It was heavier than you thought. 

"I have a special delivery for you, ma'am" he announced.

"Why did you buzz my door like that?" you asked again, irritated.

"I get an extra hundred if I deliver these today. I was pissed that you weren't home," he replied with casual indifference.

"You can't just do that to people, you little shit," you shot back.

"Whatever, sue me, bitch," he retorted before walking away with a shrug and one last jab: "And zip up your fly."

You flipped him off, your fly still splayed open. It was funny how not too long ago, such a comment would have mortified and flustered you.

But now, being a bit (okay, a lot) crazy has its perks.

The bouquet he gave you was exactly the type that you used to mock in high school when the popular girls would flaunt their dozens of roses on social media. Over-the-top, showy, just plain vulgar in its excessiveness. How many were there? A hundred? At least. 

You absolutely loved it.

You loved the note attached even more. 

"Apologies for my silence. Had urgent matters to attend to. I promise to make amends and cannot wait to see you again -R."

Oh, and a box of Ladurée macarons which you never tried but you couldn't take your eyes off of them through the window of the shop! 

As if on cue, an incoming call lit up your phone screen. No Caller ID. You clutched the bouquet tighter and hurriedly answered.

“Thank you so much”, you said, momentarily hating the simpering, saccharine voice you adopted. “What a coincidence, just received your flowers”.

"It's hardly a coincidence," Raphael replied calmly. "They sent me an email notification."

You let out a small laugh at the mention of the "e-mail". It seemed like Raphael was still playing the “no, no, it’s not me Raphael the cambion, I just look like him” game. Whatever the hell for?

"You've had my home address this whole time, haven't you, Raphael?" you asked. "Why did you ask then?"

There was a moment of tense silence on the other end of the line, and you could sense Raphael's anger without even seeing him. 

One wrong sentence and everything could shift between the two of you in a split second. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he responded with firmness in his tone:

"It’s one thing you didn’t ask for my name - which I found impolite, but I can forgive a beautiful woman many things. Calling me another man’s name? That's something I will not tolerate."

You blinked in confusion as you read the note in your hand: "I cannot wait to see you again. -R".

"I'm sorry," you stammered, "Your note..."

He laughed. Soft, charming laugh of a rich and successful man perfectly content with his life. 

"Raul, at your service. Raul d'Avergni, if you're interested in doing some research in your free time."

"Raul?", you asked. It was not an ugly name, but it was foreign, mundane and not diabolical enough for your taste. It made you think of a Spanish soap opera, not of Avernus.

"That's right," he replied calmly. "Italian, in case you were wondering. From west of Pozzuoli. Not exactly a place you would be familiar with."

You couldn't help but feel a little hurt by the comment, even though you indeed had no clue where Pozzuoli was.

"Oh," you replied. "I hadn't noticed an accent."

"I would hope not, considering how much my father spent sending me to Eton," Raphael (you won’t call him otherwise, no) joked, although his voice tensed up at the mention of his father. 

Great, now Mephistopheles is here too? Did you accidentally invite all of Hells?

"I will be there by eight to collect you," he said very matter—of—factly.

You checked your Apple Watch and saw that it was only an hour away.

"Tonight?" you inquired.

"Do you have any other arrangements?" 

No, of course not. I've been waiting for your call this whole time, you wanted to make a joke before you realised it was no joke and therefore not really funny.

"No... none," you admitted. "Where are we headed tonight? Should I dress up?"

Or it wouldn’t matter because I would end up in a garbage bag and a “missing” poster?

You could hear him smile on the other end of the phone.

"You definitely should dress up," he said, his tone flirtatious again. "We are heading somewhere special. It might be a little unconventional for common taste, but I assure you, you'll love it. See you very soon."

He hung up before you could ask for more details on what kind of unconventional thing he had in mind. As you tried to calculate your chances of survival for this unconventional event and what exactly was considered unconventional by infernal standards, the odds seemed to get slimmer and slimmer.

Would they even find your body?

It suddenly struck you that 'Raul' never bothered to explain how he knew where you lived, and you still didn't have his phone number to call him back. This realisation prompted you to do something you hadn't done since childhood: call your mum twice in one day.

The only person you could trust to hunt down a devil.

"Mum? I have plans tonight. I'm going out with a man named Raul de… de… oh, God, Avergni or something. Yes, write down his name and look him up on Google. If I don't call you until tomorrow..."

"What do you mean by tomorrow?" your mother interrupted sharply. "Are you planning on spending the night with him?"

You were hoping to spend the night with him!

"I'm twenty-seven, Mum."

“Anya, you know better than to sleep with a man on the first date. Men are hunters, and if you give in too easily, they will lose interest. Trust me, I've been through it all before…”

You clench your jaw as she continues to lecture you on how to catch, tame, and keep a man.

"Mum?" you interject.

"Yes?"

"Did it work with my father?”

Your mother let out an exasperated sigh and switched to her "I have the worst daughter in the world" voice.

"I hope you have a nice evening, but please remember to call me when you get home TONIGHT."

As you showered, dressed, moisturised your face and hands and tried to style your hair, you couldn't help but think of Laura Palmer wrapped in plastic. After all, she looked good dead, so you should too.

The marks of your own fingertips were still visible on your neck. You quickly covered them with concealer and briefly recalled a distant memory of cutting yourself as a teenager.

Why had you cut yourself? The reason was foggy in your mind, as was the pain, but you remembered the bitterness and loneliness. You didn't want to die, but you wanted something else - something you didn't have, or someone who could give it to you.

Being suicidal must be a package deal with being crazy. 

Your phone buzzed. The thing with your mother, she gets distracted too easily to remain offended for long. And you provided her with excellent food for distraction.

is he the managing partner of the law firm?

oh my god

ANYA, THE KING OF PENTACLES.

they write “not married” on the website, god bless

he must have so much money, Anya, so much money.

so handsome

no offence love but how on earth did you manage it

(ah that’s why you were cutting yourself)

we can live with him being Italian, I think.

at least he is Catholic.

please wear black, it suits your figure.

remember POSITIVE thinking.

(Laura Palmer wrapped in plastic)

send me a picture when you are ready. OK? love

wear a cross too 

A cross? You let out a laugh. Unlike your mother, you were consistent in your beliefs. Catholic school was the perfect environment for raising atheists. Ever since you were a teenager, you had been against that rotten, bloody institution, full of pedos, crooks and who knows what else. 

If this was God's team, then you proudly allied yourself with the devil.

As you ranted internally against the church, you suddenly remembered that you now had some freshly made solo porn on your phone that needed to be deleted immediately. 

Not before you give it a little watch.

You wish you hadn't, you thought as it started to play. A high-quality video of you choking in front of a black screen, your hands clutching your throat with a fervour you didn't even know you possessed. A reflection of your face on the laptop: possessed, sickly, rapt. Moans escaping your lips as you pant, hands roaming all over your body, little tremors of excitement... at nothing.

A black screen.

You immediately deleted the video from your phone. If it proved anything, it was that you were gone. Far gone. Off the deep end. The way you moaned, salivating at the mouth, Christ almighty (Christ had nothing to do with it)...

Knock-knock.

Well, that was Raphael. You could tell by the simple knock. It was soft and polite, modest yet assertive; but he wouldn't wait long for you to open the door, so you had to be quick.

Knock-knock.

Your gaze drifted to the ornate golden cross, the crucifix in the centre; suffering, redemption, salvation, deliverance from evil and all the shit you did not believe in. 

In fact, you didn't believe in devils either. 

Besides, a cross won't help against the devils of Baator.

Then again, it wouldn't hurt.

Next: Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event

[chamonabis]

_Antidote_

-------------

_Abis's OuroAU_

Original fanfic with Vietnamese version, translated into English (all by me), some emotional words are not really completely translated.

If you are a reader of another language, use a browser and web auto translator (Sorry!).

I would love it if you read this fic, thank you!

Happy reading!

English translation version

_Antidote_

-"Do you even know what you're doing?"

Barnaby regained his composure after a moment of imbalance, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wall with a calculated nonchalance. He swallowed a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, masking the dull ache left by Tiger’s kick—a searing reminder of the price paid. A costly mistake.

Even now, the fiery defiance in Tiger’s eyes burned as vividly as ever, blood-red intensity simmering beneath the surface of his unruly demeanor.

-"I know." _Barnaby replied curtly, his foot tapping against the floor in rhythm with the rising tension thickening the air in the room.

-"But, Boss." He added, his tone shifting to an almost mocking deference, an unnecessary reverence laced with quiet venom.

"Perhaps it’s time you acknowledged the gravity of your situation."

Tiger’s patience wavered further, the weight of his predicament pressing down on him. Half of his body slumped against the bed after his reckless lunge, and, as if mocking him, the prosthetic leg installed by Barnaby had chosen the worst possible moment to dislodge itself at the knee.

Barnaby’s gaze remained fixed on him, taking in every faltering move. Tiger’s attempts to right himself were slow and arduous, his grip on the bedframe trembling under the strain. Yet, even now, he refused to yield, his pride unbroken.

The disdain in Barnaby’s watchful silence was palpable—a bitter satisfaction that rose unbidden as he observed the mighty beast falter. It was a cruel pleasure, an inexplicable fulfillment in seeing Tiger, once so formidable, brought low.

-"Bring me the antidote." Tiger’s voice was hoarse but laced with authority—a command, not a request.

-"The antidote?" Barnaby’s brow arched, his lips curving into a smug smile.

"I thought you said you didn’t need me, Boss."

-"!!!"

Frustration flared in Tiger’s eyes—a rare, raw disappointment directed at the subordinate he had always found irritatingly obedient. His lips tightened, the accusation in Barnaby’s words cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

-"Then why are you still here?!" Tiger growled, his tone more challenge than question.

The question hung in the air. But Barnaby did not answer. How could he?

He could not admit that his lingering presence had nothing to do with duty or loyalty, nor pity. No, it was the lure of power—of holding this once-mighty beast in his grasp, reduced to this state. It was intoxicating, a heady thrill that left him breathless.

More. Like, addicted.

Barnaby understood Tiger’s self-destructive tendencies better than anyone else. Cigars, whiskey, and reckless abandon all shared the same outcome: Tiger teetering at the edge of self-destruction, writhing in the throes of indulgence. Yet, he seemed to revel in the pain, as if it was the only way he knew he was alive. And when the inevitable agony followed, Barnaby became the reluctant "antidote" to the poison Tiger willingly drank.

-"I came to help." Barnaby finally said, his voice colder now.

"But it seems you don’t need me anymore."

As an alternative to the usual curses, Tiger turned away, his body trembling, the effects of withdrawal and overindulgence wearing him down. Having suffered two hangovers, and having had his stamina taken away by the long walk from the "Family Dining Room" to the Hall, it must be said that without Barnaby he would not be in his room at this moment. But.

Each step toward the nightstand, where salvation awaited, was a struggle. The misaligned prosthetic and mounting discomfort only added to the torment, yet Tiger pressed on, driven by sheer will.

Barnaby’s expression darkened as he watched. Tiger, once the epitome of dominance, now reduced to crawling—ignoring him, instead of humbling myself to beg him.

It stung.

Like abandoned.

With deliberate steps, the sound of heels clicking on the floor, getting faster and faster. Barnaby's body slumped down onto the mattress, and he sat there, now a wall between Tiger and the drawer.

-"I'm not in the mood to play, you bastard!" Tiger rasped, his voice thick with anger and exertion.

-"Easy, beg." Barnaby taunted, his voice dripping with derision, leaning further into the drawer as if to stake his claim over it.

"Or crawl over me."

For a moment, Tiger froze, his expression a mixture of disbelief and seething fury. The sheer audacity of Barnaby’s words struck him like a slap. His instincts roared for retribution, for dominance, but his body betrayed him. The pain, the fever, and the dizzying rush of withdrawal clouded his judgment, his thoughts fracturing under the weight of it all.

-"So, you want to play, huh?!" Tiger snarled, his voice a guttural rasp, raw with suppressed fury.

With a surge of desperation, Tiger lunged forward, his hand clamping onto Barnaby’s thigh as he pulled himself upright. His bare chest, slick with sweat, collided with Barnaby’s, his feverish heat seeping through the thin barrier of fabric. His breath was labored, ragged, hot against Barnaby’s neck.

He shivered.

Barnaby’s pulse quickened, a sharp jolt of awareness racing through him, the intensity of the moment crashing over him like a wave. The proximity was suffocating, the tension electric, the sheer force of Tiger’s presence, was overwhelming. His mind scrambled to regain control even as his body betrayed him, Tiger’s overpowering presence stirred something deep within, something primal and unnamed.

-"Stop being stubborn, Tiger!" Barnaby muttered, his voice low, strained with the effort to maintain control.

Tiger's lips curled up, needless to say, his piercing gaze locking onto Barnaby’s. There was no mistaking the glint of triumph in his eyes.

Those dark eyes had penetrated Barnaby deeper than he could have imagined. He hated it.

-"Don't think I don't know, that damn thought of yours."

Despite the pain and fever coursing through his veins, Tiger bared his fangs at what should have been his prey, reclaiming his dominance. The intensity of the moment seemed to amplify his authority. In a swift and forceful move, he gripped Barnaby’s collar, yanking him closer until their bodies pressed together, their chests collided. Barnaby reacted sluggishly, just as Tiger had anticipated.

-"You think you're in control here?"

Tiger whispered, his voice thick with defiance and disdain.

"You overestimate yourself, Barnaby."

Before Barnaby could respond, his youthful arrogance was crushed again. As he regained his senses, the weight of Tiger's body suddenly dropped, sending Barnaby crashing backward. The impact of his back against the cabinet forced a pained sound from him. Gritting his teeth, Barnaby's sharp instincts faltered as Tiger lay weak beneath him.

"..."

Barnaby's heartbeat quickened, the heat radiating from Tiger's skin seemingly piercing through their layers of clothing. The raw intensity of the moment clouded his mind instantly. Barnaby forced himself up, Tiger simultaneously shifted his heavy body in the chaos. As he tried to sit up, his knee caught the indecent thing between Tiger's legs. Barnaby suddenly choked for a moment, each second seemed to drag on.

"Damn it—!" Barnaby muttered under his breath, the situation spiraling out of his control.

A wide grin began to spread across Tiger's sweat-drenched face as he lifted his gaze. His dark eyes once again seemed to pierce straight through Barnaby's soul. Barnaby's expression darkened as he realized he had no choice but to confront the pull of Tiger's presence. His body betrayed him, reacting in ways his rational mind refused to acknowledge.

The searing heat, the dizziness—it was intoxicating, like a drug.

"No antidote? Then I think you know what I need." Tiger's voice trembled slightly, momentarily pleading before giving way to a teasing laugh.

Barnaby clenched his jaw, every fiber of his being fighting for control except for the raw, shameful emotions clawing to surface. He had unwittingly fallen into a dangerous game.

-"You're playing with fire, Tiger."

-"Fire? No, who's the fire, and who's the moth?"

The tension in the room felt as if it would tear the air apart. Every breath was heavy, as though the space was too small for the two of them. It lingered like cigarette smoke, suffocating. It was bitter, like Vermouth, but the sweet aftertaste was impossible to resist.

Suddenly, Tiger’s hand shot out, shoving Barnaby aside with surprising strength given his condition. When Barnaby didn't realize in that fleeting moment, Tiger had used the last fall to conserve his energy, channeling everything into his NEXT power for one decisive burst. Without hesitation, he lunged toward the drawer. After a few agonizing seconds of struggle, he succeeded in grabbing a box of antidotes.

Barnaby hated being discarded.

-"No."

He lunged, easily snatching the antidote from Tiger's grasp and tossing it aside without mercy. A sharp knee drove into Tiger's stomach, forcing him to fall backward. Then Barnaby rushed to grab Tiger's shoulder, yanking him back toward him and slamming him against the edge of the cabinet. Pinning Tiger with his body, it was heat, tension, pain, darkness, like a mixture of toxic substances mixed, ambiguity—a toxic concoction blending into one.

It was suffocating, like cigars combined with the catalyst of alcohol. Like Tiger.

-"You won’t need it." Barnaby murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, as though it was the last thing his rationality could utter.

Tiger's laughter filled the room, thick with darkness and vulgarity, the only response he offered.

End.

---

Original version_Vietnamese

_Giải dược_

- "Cậu có biết mình đang làm gì không?"

Barnaby lấy lại sự bình tĩnh sau khoảng chênh vênh, anh khoanh tay, ngã bên vai lên tường với vẻ thờ ơ có tính toán. Anh thầm xuýt một hơi sâu vào cổ họng, vẻ điềm tĩnh che giấu cơn đau âm ỉ dưới răng môi từ cú đá vừa rồi của Tiger, kéo theo một luồng nguyền rủa chính mình vì vừa nhận hậu quả của việc đánh giá thấp ông. Một sự ngu dốt không đáng có.

Ngay cả bây giờ, máu đỏ vẫn sục sôi dưới bề mặt của một con dã thú ngang ngược, ngọn lửa trong mắt Tiger vẫn không hề suy giảm.

- "Biết." _ Barnaby trả lời cộc lốc, chân anh nhịp dưới sàn như thể chạy đua với bầu không khí căng thẳng đang dần tăng trong căn phòng.

- "Nhưng thưa, Boss."

Trái ngược với lời trước, sự kính cẩn của anh lúc này lại không cần thiết, là giọng điệu cố tình như một lời khinh bỉ.

"Tôi nghĩ ông nên nhận thức rõ tình hình của mình lúc này thì hơn."

Sự kiên nhẫn của Tiger ngày càng dao động, quả đúng là sức nặng của tình thế hiện tại dần đè lên ông. Nửa cơ thể Tiger giờ đây gục dưới giường vì cú tấn công liều lĩnh của chính mình, và như một sự phản bội, chiếc chân giả của ông_được lắp bởi Barnaby, đúng lúc trật khỏi khớp gối một cách bất tiện, pha trò cùng một thời điểm tồi tệ nhất có thể.

Mọi chuyển động của Tiger sắc nét dưới ánh nhìn tập trung của Barnaby khi ông cố đứng lên với đôi tay đang bám chặt vào thành giường, cùng với một cái chân không nghe lời_như chủ của nó. Từng di chuyển chậm chạp, khó khăn của Tiger không lúc nào dễ dàng bày ra trước mặt Barnaby hơn lúc này. Nhưng Tiger vẫn gầm gừ, vẫn chưa sẵn sàng thừa nhận thua cuộc, và cũng chưa từng như thế bao giờ.

Sự kiên nhẫn quan sát của Barnaby là một sự khinh miệt. Cái chùn bước như phô ra con người yếu đuối của Tiger, còn cảm xúc lúc này là hài lòng cay đắng của Barnaby, một niềm vui tàn nhẫn khi chứng kiến sự sụp đỗ của một kẻ hùng vĩ, một sự thỏa mãn đen tối.

-"Lấy thuốc giải lại đây."

Tiger nén cơn giận trong cổ họng, đây là một mệnh lệnh.

-"Thuốc giải?" _Barnaby nhướn mày, môi nhếch lên thành một nụ cười tự mãn.

"Nhưng chẳng phải ông nói không cần tôi sao, Boss?"

-"!!!"

Trong ánh mắt Tiger hiện lên vẻ thất vọng rõ rệt đối với kẻ luôn răm rắp phục tùng mệnh lệnh của mình đến đáng ghét. Môi ông mím lại, lời buộc tội kia vừa thoát ra sâu sắc hơn ông thừa nhận.

-"Vậy còn đợi gì mà không cút đi!?"

Câu hỏi lơ lửng trong không trung như một lời thách thức, nhưng Barnaby ngậm nó mà không thể nhả ra nỗi câu trả lời rằng, đó là vì ý thức trách nhiệm của một vệ sĩ như anh nên làm, hay cũng chẳng phải sự thương hại, chỉ là cảm giác được ông bám víu lấy và nắm một Tiger dễ bị tổn thương trong tay, nó kích thích như một cơn nghiện.

Barnaby hiểu rõ lòng đam mê với những thứ nguy hiểm của Tiger hơn bất kì ai. Xì gà, rượu và sự buông thả liều lĩnh luôn có cùng một kết quả: Tiger quằn quại giữa cơn nhộn nhạo trào lên trong thực quản và chao đảo đứng trước bờ vực nguy hiểm đến nhường nào, nhưng ông vẫn thích thú tận hưởng nó như đó là cách ông biết bản thân mình đang sống.

Và mỗi khi nỗi đau đớn tột cùng là điều không thể tránh khỏi, Barnaby trở thành "liều thuốc giải độc" bất đắc dĩ cho chất độc mà ông tự gây ra.

-"Tôi vốn đến để giúp... Nhưng giờ thì ông đâu cần tôi."

Như thay thế cho lời càu nhàu thường thấy, Tiger quay đi với cơ thể run rẩy đã chịu hai trận say thuốc cũng như sức chịu đựng đã bị cuốn theo sau quảng đường dài từ "Phòng ăn gia đình" đến Sảnh, phải nói nếu không có Barnaby, ông không thể ở phòng mình ngay lúc này. Nhưng.

Phớt lờ Barnaby, ông hướng sự chú tâm đến ngăn kéo đầu giường, nơi sự cứu rỗi đang chờ đợi. Mỗi cử động của Tiger đều khó khăn vì cơn đau nơi khớp nối giữa chân giả dần lệch và sẽ dần tệ hơn, trong khi ông phải lê thân mình về phía trước.

Barnaby sầm mặt khi Tiger vừa vứt anh đi cũng như từ bỏ ý định cầu cứu anh rồi bắt đầu bò trên giường. Tiếng gót giày lộc cộc chạm trên sàn, nhanh dần, thân hình Barnaby thả phịch lên nệm, bản thân trở thành bức tường ngăn cách giữa Tiger và ngăn tủ.

Tiger thở mệt nhọc, trong cơn giận giữ ánh mắt ông đỏ ngầu.

-"Tôi không có hứng để chơi với cậu lúc này!"

-"Dễ thôi. Cầu xin tôi, không thì..." Barnaby chống tay, nghiêng người về phía cửa tủ, âm điệu trong giọng nói rơi xuống đầy chế nhạo.

"Bò qua tôi."

Tiger sững người, "không thể tin" là thứ trong đầu ông bây giờ. Lời lẽ là một sự khinh thường không tưởng đối với một bề trên cao ngạo như Tiger, khiến bản năng trong ông đang kêu gào sự bộc phát "giết hắn", nhưng cơn đau nhứt nhối dần dần tăng lên, tiếp tục xâm chiếm bằng những cảm giác kỳ lạ đan xen gần như là hưng phấn theo sau từng đợt say thuốc đang ra sức cảnh báo, giờ đây như khói thuốc dần phủ mờ lý trí ông, chẳng thể kiên nhẫn nữa.

-"Vậy, cậu muốn chơi đúng không!?"

Tiger cuối cùng cũng rít lên, giọng ông khàn đặc trong sự hỗn tạp của những cảm xúc sâu thẳm.

Sau một tiếng gầm gừ, Tiger bổ nhào lên phía trước, tay phải siết lấy đùi Barnaby như một lực chống đỡ cơ thể mình lên. Nửa thân trên trần truồng của ông va mạnh vào người Barnaby, những giọt mồ hôi ánh lên thấy rõ dưới nhiệt độ của làn da nóng bừng mang lại. Hơi thở Tiger rời rạc và nặng nề, phà vào cổ Barnaby dồn dập, khiến thần kinh anh như thể không chịu kiểm soát, anh rùng mình.

Tim Barnaby vừa lỡ nhịp, anh nhận ra ý đồ điên rồ của Tiger ngay lập tức, và chết tiệt thay, vì anh đã thật sự bị ông cho vào tròng. Các giác quan như thừa dịp bùng cháy trong khi tâm trí anh đang cố gắng tìm lại sự bình tĩnh. Sự căng thẳng dần dâng lên, mỗi nhịp tim vang lên đập vào không gian, xuyên thấu tâm can chính Barnaby. Không thể phản đối rằng sự hiện diện thô bạo, mạnh mẽ của Tiger lần nữa đang chiếm thế thống trị anh, nhưng điều gì đó sâu thẳm bên trong anh cũng dâng lên, chẳng thể biết tên.

-"Đừng ương ngạnh nữa, Tiger." Barnaby trừng lại với vẻ điềm tĩnh mà mình vừa giành lại được.

Môi Tiger cong lên, không phải nói, đôi mắt đen kia đã thấu sâu Barnaby hơn những gì mà anh có thể hiểu.

-"Đừng tưởng tôi không biết cậu đang nghĩ gì."

Bất chấp cơn đau và sốt nóng đang chảy trong huyết quản, Tiger nhe nanh trước kẻ vốn phải là con mồi, lấy lại vị thế của mình. Cường độ trong khoảnh khắc này dường như càng nâng cao tính thống trị của ông, chớp nhoáng và mạnh bạo, Tiger dùng tay còn lại siết lấy cổ áo của Barnaby, rút ngắn khoảng cách của cả hai, ngực người này đập vào của người kia, Barnaby lộ ra phản ứng chậm chạp như ông đã dự đoán.

-"Cậu nghĩ mình đang nắm quyền ở đây à?"

Tiger thì thầm, giọng ông dày đặc sự thách thức và khinh bỉ.

"Cậu đánh giá cao bản thân quá rồi. Barnaby."

Trước khi Barnaby kịp phản ứng, sự cao ngạo non nớt của anh lần nữa bị đè bẹp, ngay khi bừng tỉnh lại, sức nặng của cơ thể Tiger đột ngột thả xuống khiến Barnaby ngã mạnh về sau. Cú đập lưng vào cạnh tủ khiến anh bật ra âm thanh đau đớn. Barnaby đay nghiến, bộ dạng Tiger mất sức nằm dưới thân mình kéo theo các giác quan nhạy bén của anh chùn xuống.

-"..."

Nhịp tim Barnaby tăng nhanh, sức nóng trên làn da Tiger như chạm xuyên thấu qua từng lớp trang phục trên người, cường độ nguyên sơ trong thời khắc này làm lu mờ tâm trí anh tức thì. Barnaby chỉnh đốn ổn định bản thân mình, ngay khi anh gượng mình dậy, Tiger đồng thời cử động cơ thể nặng nề của ông trong hỗn độn. Khi ngồi lên, đầu gối anh lại cấn phải thứ không đàng hoàng giữa hai chân Tiger. Barnaby đột nhiên nghẹn lại trong khoảnh khắc, mỗi giây như bị kéo dài ra.

-"Chết tiệt—!!" Barnaby lầm bầm trong cuốn họng, tình hình vượt quá tầm kiểm soát của anh.

Nụ cười toe toét dần mở rộng ngay khi gương mặt nhễ nhại mồ hôi kia ngẩng lên. Đôi mắt đen láy lần nữa như xuyên thấu tâm can, vẻ mặt Barnaby sầm xuống khi chẳng còn cách nào khác ngoài đối đầu với sức hút của nó, của Tiger. Cơ thể đang phản bội anh, phản ứng theo cách lý trí không muốn thừa nhận.

Sức nóng dữ dội, cái chóng mặt, bản thân nó đã như một loại ma túy.

-"Không có thuốc giải, thì tôi nghĩ cậu biết tôi cần gì." Giọng nói có phần run lên, thoáng chốc như van xin nhưng lập tức lụi đi trong tiếng cười cợt nhả của ông.

Quai hàm Barnaby nghiến chặt như đóng đinh, mọi phần trong anh đều gào thét giành quyền kiểm soát chỉ trừ cảm xúc đê hèn bộc trực của chính mình, chính anh là kẻ đã lọt vào cuộc chơi nguy hiểm.

-"Ông đang đùa với lửa đấy, Tiger."

-"Lửa sao? Vậy phải đoán xem, ai mới là lửa, ai là thiêu thân."

Sự căng thẳng khiến không gian như sắp bị xé toặc ra. Mỗi hơi thở đều có cảm giác nặng trì, như thể căn phòng thật sự chật hẹp đối với hai người. Nó bám vào không khí như khói thuốc, ngột ngạt. Nó đắng chát như thể Vermouth, nhưng hậu vị ngọt ngào khiến ta vô thức tận hưởng.

Bàn tay Tiger đột ngột vụt ra, đẩy Barnaby sang một bên với sức mạnh đáng kinh ngạc trong tình thế ông lâm phải. Trong thời khắc mà Barnaby không nhận ra, Tiger đã nhờ cái ngã người đó để giữ sức cho bản thân, cuối cùng là dồn hết lực vào sức mạnh NEXT và bộc phát. Không chần chừ, hướng mắt ông nhắm thẳng vào ngăn kéo, lao tới, sau vài giây khó khăn mở tủ, ông thành công chộp lấy một hộp thuốc giải.

Barnaby, ghét nhất là bị vứt bỏ.

-"Không."

Anh lao tới, dễ dàng chộp lấy thứ thuốc nằm trong tay ông, vứt đi không thương tiếc. Cú húc từ đầu gối anh lao thẳng vào bụng Tiger, khiến cơ thể ông bật ngửa về sau. Barnaby với tới, chộp lấy bả vai Tiger trong khoảnh khắc, lại kéo ngược ông về phía mình, vứt thẳng tay khiến ông đập mạnh lưng vào cạnh tủ. Anh ghì ông lại bởi cơ thể mình, họ chạm vào nhau, là sức nóng, sự căng thẳng, là nỗi đau, là ám muội, như một hỗn hợp các chất độc hại hoà quyện vào nhau.

Là nghẹt thở như xì gà cộng hưởng với chất xúc tác của rượu. Như là Tiger.

-"Ông sẽ không cần nó."

Barnaby thả giọng thấp tới mức gần như lời thì thầm, như thể đó là câu cuối cùng của lý trí có thể nói.

Tiếng cười của Tiger lấp đầy căn phòng đã ám mùi, đen tối và thô tục, là phản ứng duy nhất.

Kết.

---

Prequel and something yappiyappi

In the direction of the arrow:

Eat at the "Family Dining Room" >> Argument >> Barnaby angrily leaves >> Let Tiger suffer 2 drug overdoses >> Tiger reaches the Hall and collapses >> Barnaby returns >> Take him to Boss's room >> Strange silence >> Barnaby *yapi*, Tiger is tired and cranky >> Tiger kicks Barnaby >> Tiger falls half way down on the bed

In the end, the plot is like a fic, lmao.

Did you really see this? Love you 🥺

Leaked doujinshi _The Madman_

(You can read the first part of the fic of the same name

_The Madman_ in the pinned post on my wall)

Hello! This is Abis! Thank you for reading.

In addition to the 2 Vietnamese-English translations, I would also be happy if someone volunteered to help me translate into Japanese!

+Thank you+

╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯

[incorrectbatfam]

What do the Goofy Gooners look like .. asking for a friend …

Rob is a tired dad with an inferiority complex. He doesn't put much effort into his appearance because basic hygiene already saps a lot of his energy. He has reddish-brown hair that he keeps short for convenience and doesn't shave as often as he should, so there's always a thin layer of stubble. I picture him to be around 33 but stress makes him look older. He usually wears the same basic t-shirts and cargo pants—a polo would be fancy for him. He's on the underweight side because he frequently skips meals so his kids and Milo have enough. He also has random tattoos scattered over his arms plus one on his leg and neck. They don't mean anything, just dumb stuff he got when he was younger, including a winking emoticon and the Pillsbury doughboy.

Blaise is 26 and you can tell he's a stoner from the get-go. He has dirty blonde hair that he grows out but hardly maintains, and the same level of effort goes for his clothes. He often wears things he finds in dumpsters or thrift stores and chooses comfort over style. His clothes have lots of hidden pockets for lighters, firecrackers, and weapons. He's tall and lanky, which makes living out of Milo's car in the parking lot awkward (Rob offered his apartment but he declined). Similar to Rob, Blaise also has a number of meaningless tattoos plus several piercings. He also plays the guitar and keeps his lucky pick on a necklace.

Kellin is a 20-year-old originally hailing from Thailand. Their assassin parents trained them in gymnastics, martial arts, and various weaponry from a young age in hopes that Kellin would follow in the family's footsteps and join the League of Assassins. That obviously didn't work out and they traveled around as an independent hitman (hitperson?) for a couple years before they landed in Gotham. They're always battle-ready—if they could shower in their assassin uniform they would. They changed their name and keep their hair just long enough to mask their face. They're fluent in English, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Arabic, but they prefer to let their actions speak for them instead.

Molly is a 25-year-old trans woman who incorporates her jobs as a drug dealer, team strategist, and nightclub DJ in a single look. She has long dark hair dyed with neon streaks but ties it up when fighting. She's not the most formidable combatant but she has basic fighting skills and is very calculative. Her primary weapon is a metal baseball bat, inspired by her favorite anti-hero, Harley Quinn. She also has a belt equipped with her experimental chemicals and smoke pellets. However, she's not allowed to pair up with Blaise on missions because it's an open secret that the two of them can't focus around each other.

Otto is a war veteran and car mechanic around the same age as Alfred, but that's where the similarities end. He's been wearing the same mechanic's uniform for the past four decades, the only differences between then and now being his hair thinning, a couple front teeth falling out, and acquiring a beer gut. His arms are covered in scabs and scars from the job and he's had trouble with his right knee ever since the army. On the surface he seems like a Boomer yelling at kids to get off his lawn, but he's more like a stern but well-intentioned grandpa who is disappointed to see nothing much has changed over the years.

Milo is your standard 15-year-old delinquent. He's slightly small for his age and doesn't pack that big of a punch on his own, but put him behind the wheel and he's a total menace. When he's not driving, he keeps himself stimulated with video games or his collection of keychains (his favorite is purple bat because of his puppy crush on Spoiler). His look is reminiscent of early 2000s skater punks, including a bright red mohawk and his trusty headphones. Everything he owns, minus his car, fits into a single backpack. His weapon, on the rare occasion Rob lets him on the front line, is a batarang he found on the street.

Gene is someone you would never expect to have so many issues because on the outside he looks like an average 40-year-old glasses-wearing office worker. He has short sandy hair and dark circles under his eyes from nightmares. His meds help a lot, but sometimes he's still seen pacing around and muttering to himself. He's not a danger anymore compared to the past, which is why Rob trusts him enough to share an apartment. Gene focuses his nervous energy into his research and tinkering instead, amassing a comedic collection of hyperspecific gadgets.

Mac is basically the guy in the chair. He's 30 and has thick glasses, thick curly brown hair, a thin goatee, and almost exclusively wears flannel. His nails are down to a nub because he bites them when concentrating. He's also often seen with chips or an energy drink in his hands and wears a jailbroken smart watch. Of the team, he has the least physical prowess but the most brain power. He doesn't see combat often but keeps a pistol in case. He turned an old ice cream truck into his home/mobile office so he can plug in anywhere. Like Kellin, he's also not from Gotham, but instead Fawcett City and has a distinct Minnesota accent.

Booker is a 19-year-old Gotham U student and the third member of the team's Glasses Trio. He's an intelligent guy slated to graduate a year early and thus needs his internship credits sooner. He's very polite (albeit a little socially awkward) and puts his best foot forward by coming into work with slacks and fun patterned suspenders even though he doesn't have to. His hair has a slightly uneven fade because his sister insisted on practicing on him for cosmetology school, so he covers it with a fedora. He carries his things in a laptop bag and has an enthusiastic bounce in his step that only newbies would have.

Jackie and Gunner are Rob's 6-year-old twins (Jackie being 8 minutes older) and are the babies of this hodgepodge family. Jackie takes after her late mother with frizzy black hair usually tied in pigtails. She loves wearing pink, reads way above her level, and is a horse girl in that she wants one to stomp on the people she doesn't like. Gunner looks more like his dad, though his hair is a little messier and overgrown. He hates school but loves dirt and monster trucks. Both of them have a troublesome streak but Jackie's a little better at hiding it. They quarrel like siblings do but at the end of the day, they always stick up for each other.

[keyotosprompts]

intro + masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖

hi everyone! i'm tana. this is my side blog (main is @/keyotos) and i hope u guys enjoy the prompts i put out here.

little bit abt me ↓

i'm 17 & vietnamese

i'm a writer

i flow in and out of inactivity

i also have another blog: cowboyheyxu! mostly multifandom.

regarding prompts ↓

use my prompts w/ credit (just @ me)!

um plz don't use my prompts for dark content

okay that's all! requests are closed and i hope u guys like my prompts!

masterlist ↡

from newest to oldest!

fluff

⇸ counting the steps to the door of your heart

prompts about yearning

⇸ the best feelings

some things to incorporate in your story plot, or some things to imagine (platonic or romantic)

⇸ the look of love

how to describe a loving gaze

⇸ we'll just pretend

not friends nor lovers... what are we??

⇸ snap a picture, bring it on

prompts for when you're utterly obsessed w/ someone

⇸ you're the thoughts that can't be tamed

prompts to build tension

⇸ we were somewhere else

established relationship dialogue prompts

⇸ taking this moment with me

mutual crush prompts

⇸ only falling in love

childhood friends to lovers prompts

⇸ love is like a lottery

cute prompts between two partners

⇸ all the time, all of mine

affection prompts (slightly suggestive)

⇸ in between

jealousy prompts

⇸ i'd give you everything

acts of service prompts

⇸ sweet nothing

domestic prompts

⇸ yk i'm such a fool for you

mutual pining prompts

angst

⇸ you see me like a ufo (that's like never)

angsty assorted relationship prompts (platonic/romantic)

misc/writing help

⇸ curse you out or take you back to my house

alternates to popular tropes

⇸ love's possessing me

variations of popular tropes + a ton of microtropes

⇸ mask off

superhero unmasking prompts + how to write superhero unmasking

[tg-headcanons]

Do you think there's regional ghoul cuisine? Obviously they have very limited ingredients but I think the (very morbid) thought of different ways of preparing humans in different ghoul cultures is kind of interesting lol.

YES YES YES GHOUL REGIONAL FOODS

Despite the common image of ghouls as feral animals hunched over corpses, there’s a lot of thought and work put into preparing and utilizing the bodies. While there’s absolutely times when they just rip in, there’s others where there’s careful consideration of taste, texture, and keeping themselves fed through shortages

Vietnamese ghouls made a human version of tiết canh, one using the same method of mixing blood with saltwater to keep it from coagulating to make a soup, but then added ground down bone. This helped them stretch a meal further by making the bones more digestible and easier for children to chew, as well as masking the truth of what they’re eating from any humans who find it. This method was especially good for ghouls who had small growing children they needed to find a way to get calcium into and quickly spread into surrounding cultures of ghouls

Speaking of blood, human blood sausages are common in Europe. Similar to the Vietnamese ghouls, they mimic their local human food with it to make something they can eat in the company of others without suspicion

Middle eastern ghouls started the practice of meat preservation, drying out cuts of human in heat and salt so it can be stored, which was especially useful for long travel through areas with few humans. This quickly spread through most of Africa and some of Europe and Asia, though the production was pretty limited to areas with access to salt and a lot of sunlight. It’s created somewhat of a culture among African ghouls who have different methods of salting and drying from different regions to trade and try them when they travel

In the Americas, ghouls had adapted to supplement their human meat diet with other animals, and while they couldn’t live on it entirely it gave them more options for cooking. Every group had some sort of recipe, those on the coasts would fry up organs with fish, those in mountains and dense forest would make stews with small game, and plains ghouls adapted for hunting megafauna would utilize Buffalo, deer, and sometimes other predators if their culture allowed it. These stews vary wildly, but the practice of mixing meats among ghouls who can digest it to stretch meals was commonplace

In Alaska and parts of Canada, indigenous ghouls used a method of natural freezing to preserve and prepare meats. Adapted for extreme cold temperatures, these ghouls would drag bodies through water, then place them in large baskets in trees or on stacked rocks if there were not trees available for them to freeze, often taking shifts guarding the spot from other predators. It was common for entire communities of ghouls to freeze bodies in one place, then come back throughout the days and weeks to eat frozen pieces at a time from the shared storage, ensuring as many people as possible could survive through shortages and the bodies wouldn’t go bad

[gatheringbones]

[“Khiem thao helped to prevent the Front organization from splitting apart into a network of self-protective cliques. Also — and by extension — it opened the gates to the villages and allowed the cadres to have some communication with the peasants, who since the beginning of time had resisted officialdom with all their vast inert strength. “In administering the rural area,” wrote the cadre from XB village,

the Party seeks to settle contradictions between people, teach the people Party policy, urge the people to have spite for the Americans and Diem and seek to unite all groups and social classes in the village. If a Party member or cadre makes a mistake he will be freely subjected to the criticism of the people. When the people can boldly criticize Party members they will then be ready to forgive them.

With some experience in khiem thao, the cadres were better prepared to go to the people without fear of “loss of face,” without the inner need to keep their distance from the people and turn the mask of authority towards them. By accepting criticism from the people, they could show them that a commitment to the NLF did not imply an unconditional surrender to authority. The Front cadres, they suggested, were not trying to be the “fathers of the people”; on the contrary, they were confirming the people in their own rights and powers.

The leaders of the NLF, and of the Viet Minh before them, had the ability, unique among Vietnamese politicians, to make alliances with other political groups and to make compromises in negotiation. This capacity, too, may have owed to khiem thao. Certainly it came from an assessment of their place in society similar to that khiem thao awoke in the individual.

The NLF leaders hoped to become the sole government of the people, but they, unlike the Ngos or the sect leaders, knew that they were not — at least not for the moment. They believed the victory of the revolution to be inevitable. But they also knew that making compromises and temporarily sharing their claim to power with other real powers might be sometimes necessary, sometimes advantageous. In the period 1954–1960 they did not destroy themselves, as did the sects — and later the Diem regime itself — through inflexibility and futile military resistance. They did not have to take Ngo Dinh Diem’s passive, all-or-nothing attitude, and so they had the freedom to be truly Machiavellian, taking their advantages where they saw them and giving in on issues that they could not win immediately by direct confrontation. Here, within an attitude, a psychological set, lay clues to those mysteries known as the NLF’s “superior organization” and “superior leadership.”]

frances fitzgerald, from fire in the lake: the vietnamese and the americans in vietnam, 1972

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What’s the deal with Basque. It’s a language isolate but are the Basque people like an “ethnic isolate”? Are the Basque people significantly genetically different than neighboring peoples? Is there any particular reason everyone else in Europe was either exterminated or assimilated by the Indo-Europeans, at least to the point that they adopted IE languages—but not the Basques?

Regarding genetics, I can't really say. Genetics is way outside my area of expertise, and looking online it doesn't appear that there's a real consensus. It appears that the general picture is that they have some amount of local hunter-gatherer ancestry and some amount of admixture from steppe populations, which is qualitatively the same as the rest of Europe. They may have these things in different proportions(?) than other European populations, or something like that; it sounds like a number of the studies disagree with each other. I think I'd have to have a better understanding of human genetics in general to give a more confident assessment of what is going on.

Linguistically speaking, Basque is the only non-IE language spoken in Western Europe today (Uralic languages, such as Finnish and Hungarian, are spoken in Eastern Europe, although they are probably later arrivals to the region than even IE), but it is not the only non-IE spoken in Western Europe within recorded history. The collective name for the languages spoken in the Iberian peninsula before the Roman conquest is the paleo-Iberian or Paleohispanic languages; of these, several were not Indo-European. Aquitanian in particular is generally identified as a direct ancestor of Basque. But there were also others, scantily attested, that may or may not have been related. These existed alongside Continental Celtic languages in the region.

There was also Etruscan, in Italy, which was non-IE. Etruscan civilization largely predated the Romans in the area and was highly influential on them; the Latin alphabet is principally adapted from the Etruscan alphabet (itself adapted from Greek), and Latin borrowed a number of words from Etruscan. Some of these have even made their way into English, for instance the very common word person, from Latin persōna "mask", possibly from Etruscan phersu "mask".

Anyway, whether or not any of these languages represent holdovers of the pre-IE linguistic environment in Europe is hard to say. For instance, some have argued that the Etruscans or their ancestors were actually late arrivals from somewhere south, possibly Anatolia. But I don't think there is any conclusive evidence for or against such ideas.

It is worth noting that ethnic and linguistic groupings very often don't align. Groups may remain ethnically distinct while adopting a majority language, or may remain linguistically distinct while losing a sense of ethnic identity, and so on. So genetic studies are often-useful-but-highly-imperfect proxies for linguistic relatedness, and vice versa. For instance, most of the "Negrito" peoples of South East Asia are highly genetically distinct from neighboring populations, but many of them speak Aslian languages related (distantly) to Vietnamese and Khmer. These languages are clearly distinct, but should not be misunderstood as holdovers predating the spread of genetically East Asian people to the region.

My understanding is that the evidence regarding Basque points to it being as pre-IE holdout in Western Europe. However, this need not say much about the genetics of the Basque people.

In any case, as to the question of "why" it held out when other pre-IE languages disappeared? I think it's kind of impossible to say. Presumably the mountainous and isolated nature of the Basque Country played a role; indeed all the studies I looked at seemed to say that genetically Basque people showed signs of isolation within the last thousand years or so, suggesting that they did not have as much contact with other European populations. But, beyond that, if you look at the fact that other pre-IE (or at least non-IE) languages survived in Western Europe until the historical period (Etruscan and some paleo-Iberian), it is perhaps not so surprising that at least one of them would make it to the modern day. Basque looks like a complete outlier now, but going back even 2000 years and there were a number of other languages in its position. In some sense the Indo-European migration into Europe was "not that long ago", on archeological timescales, so perhaps things like this are to be expected.