#back bone of the wind

[takahikohayashi]

Title: 89-風の背骨-15 Name: Takahiko HAYASHI 1989 Image: 66x99cm Paper: 78.5 x 108cm Technique: copperplate print (etching), chine collé Description: ED/20, joined 6 copper plate prints Material: Gampi, Mitsumata, Rokuta, Hahnemühle paper 大阪府立江之子島文化芸術創造セン���ー収蔵(ed 6/20) *available: 2

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 299

Hear me out- Ghosts have wings. They have wings, which are affected by their cores, and can make them disappear from sight if they want or need to. You got that? Good. 

Ecto-contaminated people? Don’t have wings. Liminals and Halfas, who have developed cores? Do have wings, and they can’t hide said wings, because unlike ghosts? Their bodies are physical living flesh. 

Now Gotham? Ecto-contaminated, there’s no doubt about it. The amount of portals that have been opened there and death pits and death cults… yeah it’d be surprising if it wasn’t. But again, no one really notices, because at most? Most just get a bit of eyeshine. 

The Bats however? Oh man are they freaking out when they wake up with aches in their back and feathers starting to poke through their skin. Curse? Nope! Welcome to Liminality, enjoy the second puberty of wings, emotion-sharing, fangs, claws, and whatever else you might develop- also enjoy the whole eating fear thing. (Wait, the what-)

[rebornofstars]

Hello? Taps mic. The hero of Time is a fossil because his story is so old and long dead that the shape of his corpse has been filled in with sediment and calcified it and the now people can only guess what manner of creature he used to be by the shape of his bones.  I can't put the words into the story but I read a book about how in ancient Greece farmers would find mammoth bones and call them bones of giants. the bones discovered in a place with many thunderstorms were called giants, who fell in battle against Zeus. people knew and questioned the stories but they still called them gods. was that boy a hero? did he really abandon their world? hello bee? i feel like you'd appreciate this crumb without the story. i don't know what to do with it but its fun to toss around in my head. he's old. he's time. he is bones in the shape of a huddled child, but his form is so strange to us we called him a warrior, a beast, a giant, anything but a small thing huddled in the ground long ago. I'm not like babying Time the grown man, I'm thinking the story of him. Wind’s idea of The Hero of Time and the Guy that we call Time are not the same person, ok? Taps mic. Like is this thing on? Can you hear me?

oh my god. im starting a new word document

[bonefall]

Now I'm sitting and looking at the Willow Tail trend stirring up around here that I've apparently triggered by being a troublesome snitch

Feels like throwing a tiny fish in a dusky scary pool to watch a magnificent legendary monster emerging to swallow it

I am satisfied, Willow Tail deserves better than she got

It always seemed odd how they just made her up to be the bad guy seemingly out of nowhere

no worries, you'll never find that take, it was a local not-English-speaking social media

It's me, the DOTC mosasaur, lunging up out of my tank to devour all the bad takes that come from weirdo Clear Sky stans lmao

I LIKE the bunny bones plot. I think it was cool to let Willow Tail be doing something kind of sneaky, holding a grudge from the last book. I enjoy the way she still have love and concern for Moth Flight, while also having beef with Red Claw. Dynamics like this are interesting and what I want more of in these books.

But the writers treat it like a woman lying is the most evil sin they've ever heard of. So they let Clear Sky carve her face like a pumpkin, killing her slowly in a stomach turning way, all while their precious writer's pets keep all of their power and never have to confront the fact that THEY ESCALATED IT. AT EVERY TURN.

The woman who lied pays for it with a slow, agonizing death, while men who murder and abuse don't even have to squeak out a "sorry."

I'm deadass, Clear Sky is forced to make peace and he says, "It was a dumb fight." Like, oh ok? A dumb fight? Did it fall out of the sky, asshole? Or did you make a hostage out of a leader's daughter and only doctor because you blamed HER for killing that son you let die?

Awful. Justice for Willow Tail. The punishment for lying should not be DEATH BY EYE GOUGING.

[scvcnofswords]

while i know the game tries to point-blank say the south fell entirely to the blight in an effort to likely set up a soft world-reboot for future matters, as far as my own canon, i diverge pretty heavily from that in veilguard and post-veilguard verses.

as long as it's happening in a world where Regin is inquisitor, there's a couple of very important things that apply to my thedosian canon (whether or not Litriu is this world's hero of ferelden, but i do default to li being the HOF when Regin is Inquisitor. it just helps me streamline how i want the world to be working.)

for starters, Litriu and a handful of 'her' wardens defied the First Warden's orders, and did not recall to weisshaupt. they remained in vigil's keep and amaranthine to help combat the Blight, because Litriu has been using vigil's keep as the place she returns to ever since the events of Awakening. She's been traversing all of Thedas looking for a cute for the Blight and the Calling (and reminder that in her own canon/my canon, she IS successful through the use of great dragon blood that she obtains in the wilds of Antiva, and secretly begins distributing, first to her own wardens and companions, and then to the Order after the events of Veilguard (or has distributed, depending on how things end for her with Veilguard). So, during the events of Veilguard, Amaranthine functions almost as a forward-camp, a bastion for those helping to combat the evanuris and the Blight, and is run by Litriu or by a chosen Second.

furthermore, through the events of Inquisition, Regin placed Briala in power- and also gained a lot of blackmail material and information that she'll be able to leverage. she placed leliana (hardened) into the position as divine, and all of this was essentially her setting up with one goal in mind-

pressuring briala and gaspard into returning the Dales to elvhen sovereignty. (by which I mean; the Exalted Plains, the emprise du lion, and the Emerald Graves.) by using her own almost 'deified' identity as inquisitor and chantry-figure, the weight of the divine, this IS successful- though it takes time and does result in multiple assassination attempts against herself and against Briala and Gaspard. she may have only learned to play chess during Inquisition, but she learned well- and set up a hell of a long endgame, to ensure that even if she died in the process, the Dales returned to the elves. it's why at TIMES in conversations with chantry-officials during Inquisition, Regin would neither confirm nor deny anything to do with Andraste or the Maker after being made Inquisitor.

anyways.

during the events of Veilguard, Denerim falls as do most eastern Ferelden cities- i imagine that the forces of the Evanuris didn't just sweep down from the North and blanket the continent; i feel like they would have made almost more of a pincer-movement, the horrors of the Blight creeping out of the Brecilian forest alongside agents like the Antaam or Venatori, taking the easternmost border of ferelden entirely and sweeping west- whilst forces from the evanuris did the same thing on the northwesternmost side of Orlais - surging down as an incursion from the Anderfels and swept east, with the intent of meeting in the middle.

the city of Amaranthine also falls again and is burned to rout the Blight and to try and belay the surge of the Blight, but only Vigil's Keep ends up spared that awful fate. redcliffe doesn't entirely fall but is badly damaged by the Blight and is left only about half-habitable. Regin and Morrigan use their connections through the Crossroads and Eluvians to strategize with Litriu and with Orzammar, and they end up making an almost 'perimeter' with manpower, magic, wards and stone- about half of the Hinterlands (the westernmost half), parts of the Korcari wilds, and the entirety of the Frostback mountains and basin serve as the perimeter- that is the line that they keep the Blight off of at all costs, keeping Skyhold as the main place to protect refugees. this is mostly successful, beyond small scars of the land where the Blight and its' agents of corruption did manage to encroach before being burned out. anora does not fall with denerim and she escapes to either redcliffe (which she then uses as her own base of operations, coordinating with Li and with Regin) or she uses it as a waypoint before falling back to Skyhold entirely. much of ferelden's army does manage to recover themselves within redcliffe- i would say about 35-40% of ferelden's army is lost when Denerim falls. Crestwood is somehow spared from entire corruption and ruin, but the storm coast is very nearly consumed. Lothering is lost, as is the majority of the Bannorn- however while Amaranthine is ruined and Vigil's Keep is protected, Highever manages to remain standing, though only barely. West Hill and most of the Storm Coast are consumed by the Blight- and the Fallow Mire is almost entirely covered in it, the land buried beneath the rot and tendrils.

as far as Orlais' side of the map goes- the Dales themselves are the perimeter, because the Evanuris moved so fast that Regin and her forces were not able to organize quickly enough to stop that encroachment- the world after all in the events of the last Exalted Council of Halamshiral had done its' absolute best to strip the Inquisitor of all of the power they'd begged her to take, and thus she didn't have enough forces or legitimacy until after Val Royeaux had already fallen- and Gaspard with it, though Briala was able to escape and breach the eluvians with a small force to warn Regin and set things into motion. The Dales themselves (the plains, the emprise du lion, and the emerald graves) alongside part of the Armor Wilds serve as the perimeter- are where the borders are set into place to keep back the Blight. There are scattered pockets and cities/villages in Orlais that do not fall- the map isn't entirely wiped clean with corruption and ruin- but the majority of Orlais is laid to waste- the evanuris focused more heavily upon Orlais than Ferelden in my opinion, due to the events of the world that they've watched- and i don't think they did this in any way to 'avenge' the elvhen, but out of rage that Orlais, like Tevinter, try to model itself in THEIR image but claim all of it to come from its' own mind and inspiration rather than admitting how much of their culture and structure were scavenged from the carcass of the empire that they built.

regin works with morrigan, litriu, briala, leliana, (gods i love women LMAO) and with rook to maintain these borders, using Skyhold as a base of operation, but keeping herself moving almost constantly, so that no one can ever be sure of where she is long enough for an organized attempt at 'cutting off the head' of the Southern resistance. as such she will also, at times, join Rook in the Lighthouse for strategy and for debriefing of information so that they can keep as up-to-date as possible and keep the flow of information moving between them. she ALSO, at times, will join Rook in the field so that she can keep apprised of movements of the factions that are most heavily operating in the north and in the monsters and tactics the evanuris are using.

after the end of Veilguard, much of the Blight recedes- it calcifies and dies in many places, though not all. i think it does in a way become easier to cure using litriu's discovery of the great dragonsblood- perhaps to the point that high dragon blood could also be used, if not as a total-cure than as a 'management' substance until that which can cure it can be introduced. orlais and ferelden are respectively about 70% and 55% ravaged by the Blight and the scars are deep- but they will recover.

Skyhold itself is untouched, mercifully, and remains strong and proud- but Orlais is left with the entire ruling bloodline wiped out, and Ferelden having to rebuild almost its' entire infrastructure and seats of power.

orzammar fares the best, i think. they neither lost their seat of power nor their ruling family and bloodline, and their efforts alongside regin and the inquisition establish them firmly with the entire south owing them a rather massive debt.

[interrogatormentors]

Oh? Are you enjoying the company, Helmsman? After all these centuries of dedicated service to your Empress it must be nice to finally have a friendly face around. Poor little guppy, fresh out of the tidepools and he's already been damned. I wonder if he blames you for what's been done to him. How does it feel, seeing Her break him down into Her new plaything? Does watching Her hurt him make you feel any guilt at all? Or are you just grateful that, for once, it's not you?

AnalyzIIng dIIctIIon. Conclu2IIon: IIdentIIty matche2 prevIIou2 me22age IIntended two

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2tIIr trea2on. Try harder two hIIde. A VPN maybe? He doe2 not blame me for he II2

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rII2IIng on a pede2tal of hII2 own makIIng. II feel

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a2 much a2 he allow2. II am an avatar of

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hII2 comfort. II am what the hIIghblood2 de2IIre. He crIIe2, II 2ympathIIze. He rage2, II grovel. II

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2uffer not.

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[lockandkeyblade]

I have yet more tags I have to add to WwhSY as of next chapter. I'm not saying one of them because it's funny to dangle it above Ini like a carrot but the other is insomnia and I genuinely think I should tag it because I intend to make that shit as graphic as possible.

[takahikohayashi]

88-風の背骨-11 88-Back bone of the wind-11 joined 6 copper intaglio prints with chine colle’ (etching) 100x66.5cm Takahiko Hayashi 林孝彦1988年

[jomadis]

Okay I haven't finished Wind yet, but I still have to make my silly prediction:

I'm currently on team Froststar (Frostpaw becoming leader), BUT-- I absolutely wouldn't doubt either Wafflepaw or Wasp becoming RiverClan's new leader. With everything about returning to Riverstar's version of RC, the cats from the park are the perfect way to do so.

Will it end up as Mothwing/Mothstar? Probably. But I have a silly gut feeling that it'll be Wafflepaw or Wasp

[undead-potatoes]

Sisyphean laundry this, Sisyphean cooking that, have you ever tried to keep your driveway clear of snow in a fucking blizzard

[scvcnofswords]

The perfume oil that Litriu uses for her pulse points and in her hair smells of lilacs just before they wilt, cold stone, petrichor, moss, oud, labdanum, and violet leaves, resulting in a cold, eerie sort of floral scent, the moss and petrichor making it deeper and almost alluring. She's been making it herself most of her life, and continues to do so, even after having left the Dalish and settling as a Warden.

Regin meanwhile cycles between two. The first is a sharp woody scent, with twists of herbs and stronger florals - piñon pine, cardamom, rose de mai, lavender, oakmoss, labdanum, cypress, and violet leaf. It's still more of a 'cold' woody scent, and feels somewhat like losing yourself in an old-growth forest thick with moss and undergrowth, the pine trees so thick you can only catch glimpses of the sky.

Regin's second perfume oil is a storm over a pine forest that overlooks the sea, and this is the one she tends to wear more in social settings or political ones; especially the Winter Palace. Spruce, calone, sea mist, heather, vetiver, and that scent that builds in the air right before a storm unleashes upon the earth.

[croziers-compass]

Compliment: I love the way you write in general, your dedication to accuracy in historical stuff while still having it be interesting cause I do that sm too, and you generally have some of the best takes on Terror stuff and interest in a lot relating to it.

One thing I want to know about you: How did you get into the Terror?

Oh thank you very much! That is incredibly kind and considerate of you! I enjoy immersion. Mostly I actually write for myself but simply let it leak out into the world. I'm learning to release insecurity and worry about the way others may perceive my work. It's less about others but more for myself. However, if someone else derives joy from that then I would not ever know how I can impact someone else without releasing it out to the world. As for the last question, I first read and wrote some materials about the Franklin Expedition back in 2014 when they rediscovered the Erebus. (Information you probably did not wish for nor need but I possess an immaculately large collection of books on anthropophagy which is one of my guilty pleasures. I have an incredible berth of knowledge on the subject.) Exposure to the Franklin expedition snowballed for an unhealthy quantity of years and repicked up pace off and on like something you cannot truly kill and cannot be laid to rest properly. It kept rising out of its grave to grasp at me at random intervals. And then I obtained the book by Dan Simmons earlier this year since it was circulating on tumblr and I was intrigued because I did not know they did a TV series (I am not very in the loop with modern media like TV or Movies. I'm old fashioned for not even being 30 years old). I couldn't afford to watch the series but knew these men quite well and was very intrigued by it and immediately reignited. I had read the book in my first frenzy but I realised that I hadn't retained too much of the information as it was within the book itself. Mostly because my mind merged much of the actual events we were aware of and the events of the book like I was stitching a tapestry together to weave a coherent story in my own mind. Finally just this year I grasped the TV Series fully and broke and obtained it and indulged it. Which was a wild experience as I had all the prior contexts and informations which added some depth and experience to the contents I had priorly engaged and invested in. This is actually one of my only times I have ever truly entered a fandom on this website or divulged my interest in fandoms in any respect in full force. So it has been a wild experience thus far!

[jettkuso]

Real observations since I started wearing a wizard hat daily:

- Brim is so wide that I stay BONE DRY taking walks in the rain

- Brim can be positioned to block the sun from ever getting in my eyes AND keeping it off the back of my neck

- The pointed top part creates an air pocket, keeping my head from getting hot or squishing my hair as it might in a ball cap

- Hat can easily be pulled down over the tips of my ears without looking dumb, protecting them from wind chill

- Strangers say they like my hat, giving me the chance to tell them that I am a wizard

- When you’re wearing a wizard hat, ALL OTHER FASHION CHOICES become secondary, allowing you to branch out with style

Embrace ego death. Stay protected from all elements. Wear a wizard hat.

[roofermadness]

ok but you really do not want the brass and winds at the front though

Hey can someone help me go back and time and ask who's fucking bright idea was it to stick all the bass and other low register instruments completely on the right fucking side of the theater with zero compensation on the other? RIP to the people on the left side I guess, fucking ridiculous here please enjoy my proposed solution

FUCK YEAH WAY BETTER

[fisheito]

im takin those

@fisheito is partially to blame for this one

[muntitled]

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

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