#and this weak and idle theme

[littlelovelunette]

concept: What Are Tits?

part 2

concept by: @onlyvika

consider this a gift sleepy, dazed, confused lunette wrote for u, @onlyvika

I am sleep drunk but I saw their post and I was like "Oooh. What if...?"

Contains suggestive themes, description of Sevika's breasts, mentions of touching said breasts

You were high in Last Drop, and you didn't think when you stumbled over to Sevika. Sevika, who was engaged in a game of poker, raised a brow once she saw you pull a chair, sitting beside her. She didn't say anything but you did.

Drunkenly, you slurred. "What even are tits?" Before adding a slow murmur, "I'm a visual learner by the way." You giggled.

Sevika didn’t even flinch. She barely spared you a glance, exhaling the cigar smoke through her nose as she pushed a few more chips into the pile at the center of the table.

The other players snorted, some amused, some uncomfortable. But Sevika? She just stayed still, her sharp gaze locked on the cards in her hand, her mechanical arm drumming against the table in idle thought. She was used to people hitting on her but none of them were as bold as you, of course she had to acknowledge you were indeed very drunk and wasted.

"You’re drunk," she finally muttered, voice low, unimpressed. You giggled again, not bothering to argue. Yeah, you were drunk. Shit-faced. But you still leaned closer, resting your chin on her broad shoulder, your breath warm against her neck.

"You're not answering the question," you drawled, lips dangerously close to her ear. "Is that because you don't know either?"

The table burst into laughter. One of the players, a lanky man with a scar running across his cheek, whistled low. "Damn, she's brave. Or suicidal."

Sevika exhaled sharply, finally turning her head just enough to glance at you. Her expression was unreadable, save for the small twitch in her jaw—whether it was irritation or amusement, you couldn't tell.

"You wanna repeat that?" she murmured, her voice dipping into something dangerously soft.

You grinned lazily, eyes half-lidded. "What, scared I'm onto something?"

Sevika sighed, setting her cards down with a heavy thud before rubbing her temples with her flesh hand.

"You’re a menace," she muttered, grabbing your collar with her flesh fingers and hauling you up from your chair in one swift movement.

A chorus of "Oooooh" and chuckles filled the air as she hoisted you like you weighed nothing. The bar's dim lighting flickered against the skin of her arm, and you blinked blearily as she threw you over her shoulder.

"Wait, wait, where are we going?" you protested, squirming.

"Somewhere quieter," she grunted, easily dodging your weak attempts to struggle.

"Does that mean I'm getting a visual demonstration?"

Sevika smacked the back of your thigh dangerously close to your plump ass—hard—making you yelp. "It means I'm gonna dunk your head in cold water before you embarrass yourself any further."

The Last Drop's patrons cheered as Sevika carried you out the door, your drunken protests drowned out by their laughter.

"This was a bad idea." You mumbled into Sevika's back before peering around to see Sevika carrying you into one of the back rooms of Last Drop. She put you down against the wall, pinning you to it.

"What were you thinking?" She took her poncho off and set it down over the back of a chair and looked at you with her flesh hand on her hip, awaiting your answer.

"What are tits?" You asked again, this time more slurred than before. You hiccuped. "Show me?"

Sevika sighed and moved closer to you cradling the side of your face. "You'll be too drunk to remember." She paused before adding. "And you are indeed kind of pretty."

"Kind of?"

Sevika ignored your question and used one hand to unbutton her top, parting the fabric to show you her beautiful heavy breasts. They looked warm, soft and squishy. Like, the type of squishy you'd want to stick your face into and never let go. The type of squishy that you hold and all the stress from your life disappears. They were perfect in their natural place without even needing a bra, not that she was wearing one. Her areolas were dark, and slightly bigger than the average and nipples now hardening under the cold air of the room.

"Those—" Sevika took a breath, "—are tits." She put one hand at the side of your head holding the wall there. "Are you seriously drooling?"

"No?" You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand hastily and swallowed the rest of the saliva building up in your mouth before you leaned closer. "Can I...?"

"No." Sevika said firmly.

For a second there was silence before Sevika added. "Maybe next time when you're not so drunk and you'd actually remember the feel of them on your hands."

[reginalusus]

Ok so what if I put them in Dark Souls.

Ok, ok, ok, this fucking concept has been stuck in my head for around two months and I never bothered to draw it because I don't enjoy drawing armour and shit as you can see, but I managed to get a rough sketch of some stuff out yesterday and today.

If you would like to hear me yap about how DC Dank Souls would work and Two-Dads boss fight and their designs, feel free to go under the cut. ^-^

So it's basically a Souls-like game where Gotham is a decrepit, corrupt kingdom, even more so now that Bruce Wayne/Batman has died, and the player plays as a random, chosen Gothamite that must take down the villains/morally questionable of Gotham. Obviously I'd have Harvey and Jason be the final boss due to their personal connection with Bruce. They'd have the biggest banger of a boss theme known to man and work as a duo, similar to how Sister Freide and Father Ariandel work, or Lorian, Elder Prince and Lothric, Younger Prince etc. (both from DS3).

Some quick notes about their designs.

Harvey - Blindfolded like Lady Justitia. - His scales are a sacred chime, so they can emit miracles and be used to buff. They are also pointed with a dagger - can be used to stab as a back-up. - Due to Harvey having 'fallen angel' imagery, he DID have angel wings, but over the years and as his corruption grew, they became tattered and broken and sore. They drag behind him like a cape.

Jason - His lower body is bandaged, similar to the bandages he was wrapped in prior to being placed in the Lazarus Pit. - Grim Reaper imagery, but rather than a scythe, he uses twin sickles. Sickles are normally better for prying the hard-to-reach and tougher elements of a crop. - His eyes glow similar to the Lazarus Pit.

First Phase Harvey and Jason share a health bar in the first phase. Jason is very aggressive and will attack the player with quick and brutish heavy attacks with his dual sickles. He can also throw knives, use the environment to leap around and use a chain grapple to grip the player forward. Harvey will buff Jason in the background with his scale chime. Sometimes he will buff Jason's speed, sometimes his strength - however, before he does this, he will flip his coin and there will be a distinct ding. When that ding goes off, the player has around three-five seconds to hit Harvey and prevent the buff. The player can choose to be aggressive to Harvey since he is mostly idle during this phase, but he can admit a divine AOE (Call of the Jury, perhaps it's named) from his chime that will push the player back, forcing them to fight Jason. Git gud.

Second Phase Once the health bar is drained, a cutscene will play. Jason will fall to the ground in defeat, spluttering blood and essence from the Lazarus Pit. He dies. Harvey will fall beside him and cradle him, weeping and lamenting as he does so. He will mumble something like, "a second death to a second life would pleaseth us… however, for one as beloved as thou, we want a third," before carrying him to the Lazarus Pit. He will set Jason into it, before turning to face the player and removing his half-helmet, as well as his blindfold. They will drop to the ground, and from Harvey will admit Janus, melting into view gracefully at his side as a sort of spectre. Double health bar now, woo!

This fight play similarly to the Pontiff Sulyvhan fight from DS3. Harvey will no longer bear his scales and coin; he will swap them for dual swords resembling the Sword of Justice. Harvey's attacks are not as heavy as Jason's, but they are smoother and more elegant, similar to the Dancer of the Boreal Valley from DS3 or Rellana, Twin Moon Knight from Elden Ring. Janus deals less damage but, again similar to Pontiff Sulyvhan, will actually betray what move Harvey is about to perform, giving the player a chance to learn movesets.

Third Phase Once Harvey is defeated, another cutscene will play. He will fall on one knee, crestfallen and weak. He gazes over at the Lazarus Pit and from it will emerge Jason. He will pull down his hood, revealing a distinct, crimson helm that contrasts with his green eyes beneath it (think of Pursuer from DS2). He looks over to Harvey and approaches him before helping him to his feet. Harvey flips his coin, and it comes scarred side up. Jason and Harvey will then face the player, unyielding. Then the health bars pop up, wooooo!

Jason will be similar to his first phase, and Harvey will be similar to his second phase, minus Janus. They are both aggressive, but one will tend to give the player breathing room now and then. Sometimes they will have choregraphed attacks where they work together, sometimes one will try to grab the player so the other can unleash a flurry of attacks. They have separate health bars obviously, so the player will have to choose which of the two they want to try and tackle first, or they can even out both. Git gud.

Ko-Fi Bluesky

[salix-babi]

Still Yours

[ Dan Heng x Reader | SFW | Masterlist | AO3 ]

Synopsis: Dan Heng reunites with the group at Scalegorge and seeks to sooth a tension that's developed between the two of you.

Notes: Had another version of this I wrote to completion then completely scrapped it because I was dissatisfied with the ending. Perfectionism is a burden I must overcome. Writing this just happens to coincide with the return of IL's banner but I'm lowkey hoping it blesses my pulls. I need him. If he comes home, I'll work on a nsfw part 2 so PLEASE. GIVE ME YOUR BLESSINGS.

cw: SFW, some suggestive themes in the latter half, gn!reader, lil angst, yearning, reader is a tease, established relationship, reader can be perceived as TB, spoilers for Topclouded Towerthrust Trailblaze Mission.

Word Count: ~3.6k

The two of you hadn’t exchanged a word since Dan Heng managed to reconnect with the departed expedition team on the Luofu. Looking far different from how you last remembered him.

Not as he parted the oceans.

Not as you traversed the ruins of Scalegorge.

Not as you fought Phantylia.

Every time his gaze found on you, you were looking elsewhere. Occupied with murals or enemies that stood in your path. In all fairness, there wasn’t much breathing room with the destruction of the Luofu so close at hand, but the absence of your gaze felt… empty. Cavernous in his chest and tight all at once. Like he was still apart from you despite only standing a few feet away at any given time. He didn’t like it.

Dan Heng could count on one hand (one finger, even) the amount of times as you traveled through Scalegorge that the two of you were alone. An opportunity squandered by a hesitance he couldn’t quite place. A spike of anxiety as he caught you idle by a Vidyadhara egg. Your eyes (never once on him) focused beyond its iridescent sheen to the individual cradled within. He should speak. He knows he should. The back part of his brain screams to utter your name, no matter how weak it may sound in absence of your attention. Your care. …But instead, Dan Heng finds his words caught in his throat. His chest still, his limbs frozen, and his eyes transfixed. He watches with bated breath as you press a gentle palm against the egg’s cold outer shell, seeking the Vidyadhara within. You close your eyes, and listen to the echoes of a past life as it slowly sloughs away with the coming and going of the tide. A medley of fortune and tragedy washing over you in waves.

In your focus, your expression remains unreadable to Dan Heng. A detriment made worse from the distance currently held between you, yet he doesn’t dare step closer. A thousand questions run behind closed lips, forced into a neutral line despite the anxiety writhing beneath his skin. Were you sad? Were you melancholic? Do you grieve a life’s end or celebrate its rebirth? Or did you see one’s past and future united in a single entity. Do you see him?

Dan Heng wanted to speak up then. To acknowledge the silent questions that lingered between you two. To quell his own growing anxieties. However, it’s not until you’re pulling away that he seems to find his limbs. Your attention bestowed not upon him, but March calling your name in the distance. You had lingered too long and Mr. Yang was advising against getting separated. It made sense. Dan Heng watches (only watches) as your connection to the egg severs, the flow of memories fading from your mind as you reconvene with the group and once again wander out of his reach. He can only follow silently, his eyes lingering on the egg for a fraction of a moment as he passes.

There was a tension between the two of you, of that he was certain the both of you felt. A chasm that was growing wider the longer you avoided him, and he kept his distance from you. Even March was beginning to look a little antsy. But with so much to do and so little time, a lover’s quarrel was hardly their biggest concern.

His next opportunity arises as the group is rushing out of Scalegorge, Phantylia gone and an unconscious Arbiter General in arm. As others tended to Jing Yuan (greeted in a frenzy by cloud knights and a furious Master Diviner in tow), there you stood at the base of the high elder’s statue, scrutinizing its stone features. There were parts of it that were similar, features passed down through generations upon generations of high elders. The horns of The Permanence themselves. The weapon and the water known to be wielded by Imbibitor Lunae. Even the silken hair that stretches down their back. Traditional.

Dan Heng, in truth, struggled to see the differences himself sometimes. Denied his right in molting rebirth, he remains a carbon copy of the man who incited sedition within the Luofu, traitorous and guilty of unpardonable sin. Many would like to think he is the same man. Capable of the same crimes. Perhaps he would be, if it were you. Though he can’t afford to think that. Many assume regardless. But you…

So caught up in trying to decipher your expression, Dan Heng nearly jumps out of his skin when your gaze turns to him for the first time since you left him on the Express days ago. A small part of him soothes to bask in your attention once more, but the larger part of him claws with anxiety, a turning unease in his stomach. The vidyadhara stiffens, heart spiking to his throat so hard he nearly chokes. You seem equally shocked, but the sudden nervousness darts his eyes away before he could read anything beyond that.

Somewhere in the commotion Mr. Yang suggests they return to the mainland to get the general proper care and the group moves obligingly, sweeping the two of you back into the residual excitement following Phantylia’s defeat and once again snuffing out any opportunities to talk.

One chaotic trip later and you’re finally saying your goodbyes to the Luofu officials for the night. Jing Yuan was in the hands of trusted individuals in the Alchemy Commission and Fu Xuan gives you the barest skeleton of a debrief, the remaining group agreeing a more in-depth discussion can be reserved for the morning once all had at least had a chance to rest properly and the general’s condition has stabilized. Even so, Mr. Yang opts to remain a moment longer with the intention of discussing the nuances of their plan to handle the stellaron, and March had long ago left for her hotel room the moment everyone stepped back on the mainland, exhausted beyond compare. You had no doubt she’d be out like a light well into the following morning. However that, in turn, left you and Dan Heng alone to traverse the path back to your hotel. The starskiff ride was quiet. The walk from the docks to the hotel, soundless. If you had something to say you weren’t saying it yet, and Dan Heng had no idea where to even begin.

It isn’t until you’re reaching for the handle of your own room, ready to squeak out an awkward goodbye, that your hand is snatched in the grip of another. The motion was so sudden, his grip so desperate in those small seconds where he squeezed your fingers, that it nearly draws a startled sound out of you. Your fingers hover over the notch in the door, hesitating for only a fraction of a moment before turning to meet Dan Heng’s gaze for the first time since Scalegorge. You expect coldness and ferocity within the jade orbs that have been boring into you all day, aspects you’ve seen reflected throughout your battles. You braced for harsh words, some declaration that your Dan Heng (yours) was…

Well, whatever you were expecting was not what you received. Your breath hitches when instead he seems to plead, and for a moment you see your own uncertainties reflected in him. It’s the first time you felt anywhere close to being on the same page, the air swirling with questions and uncertainties barely held behind stoic lips. The hand enveloping yours refuses to let go, Dan Heng’s fingers twitching with the habitual urge thread your fingers together and feel whole again. To hold and kiss you until there wasn’t a doubt in your mind about who he was. Who he wants to be for you. But these things take time. He can see it in the way you chew at your lower lip, eyes darting to the side as you consider your options. He prays you’ll indulge him.

The few seconds of silence are grueling, the near-stranger in front of you daunting in appearance yet so gentle in how he holds on. But the squeeze of the hand around yours is so reminiscent of the Dan Heng who would comfort you during your worst bouts of anxiety — would hold you close beneath warm covers and scold you while dressing your wounds with the care of a lover — that you acquiesce, fingers retreating from your door and nodding slightly. Dan Heng nearly sighs the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Instead, you feel his grip loosen a fraction around your hand. His shoulders lose a bit of their stiffness, but he doesn’t let you go, and you allow him to lead you further down the hallway to his assigned room.

The silence between you persists.

Your eyes are trained on the back of his head, on the flow of dark hair down his back, and the teal tips of a set of semi-translucent horns. The offset of anxiety gives way for curiosity and idly, you wondered if you could touch them. Would he feel it if you did? Or would their translucent appearance allow your fingers to pass through as if they were nothing at all. Even as the battle had ended, Dan Heng remained in this form for reasons yet known to you. You had assumed (wrongly) that perhaps he was just… this now. But clearly something deeper was going on. Different from the worst of your spiraling predictions, and that gave you hope.

You’re brought back from your thoughts to the telltale click of an unlocked door and with a gentle tug of your hand in his, he leads you inside, only letting go once you’ve stepped in to close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the room in the meantime. A standard unit no different from your own on the first night here, though considerably untouched. You wonder if Dan Heng had slept at all since arriving on the Luofu. You knew he would sometimes meditate to stave off sleep, pulling countless nights working on the archives and only displaying symptoms of sleep deprivation if he got too deep into his work over the weeks. (Now that you think about it, a lot of his habits seemed a little inhuman…) No doubt he couldn’t walk the busier streets of the Luofu without drawing unwanted attention, cutting off more direct paths to more important locations. The thought has a slight frown tugging at the corners of your lips.

There’s a bit of an awkward moment as Dan Heng tries to figure out how to broach the subject, one you realize you’re all too familiar with. It’s when Dan Heng stands still, remaining dead silent when he’s expected to speak. He’ll stay there, fidgeting in his own way despite the discipline he so prides himself in. Crossing his arms, closing his eyes, concentrating as if the words would come to him easier. As eloquent with his speech as Dan Heng can be, he often struggled with connecting it to his feelings. It’s significantly easier when you’re there to help him through it. The familiarity is endearing, comforting in a way. Unintentional as it was on Dan Heng’s part. It spurs you to make the first move.

You settle on the side of the bed, marring the soft, pristine sheets. Teal eyes follow your every move, darting for any sign of familiarity from you while still being too afraid to approach. He’s uncertain of where the border lies, if it differs from what it was before, and ever the cautious man, Dan Heng doesn’t know where to push. You give your best attempt at a reassuring smile, smoothing out the worried tick in your brows and holding out a hand. An invite. One that Dan Heng accepts. You’re grateful when he takes it, movements ever so stilted as he shuffles to sit beside you. (You decide against drawing attention to how he keeps holding your hand afterwards.)

Dan Heng aches to be close, unable to help the way your thighs touch as he sits next to you. You radiate warmth even through his thick robes, gentle and familiar. He wanted nothing more than to sink into that warmth. “I…” He swallows dumbly, thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. Your more welcoming demeanor allows him room to think. “How… much,” he starts tentatively, keeping his eyes on your connected hands rather than you, “…have you learned of the previous High Elder?”

A quiet breath leaves you, one Dan Heng knows you’re trying to measure for his sake, but his worries spike anyways. “It…” The hand around yours squeezes tighter, and in the moments where you try to formulate your thoughts, his mind spirals through all your potential answers. The reason you were here must mean that some part of you, however small, still believes the Dan Heng you know still remains. He does. He knows he does. He’s all that left. Dan Heng sits before you, no different from the man you loved so warmly before all this began. Not Dan Feng. He just… needs to show you somehow. Quell your doubts just as he quells his own. “…” He braces to hear the sins of a past that is no longer his. The Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the unpardonable sin, and the sealed fate of all Vidyadhara.

“Does it… matter?” Your voice is tentative, quieter than he remembers. Dan Heng’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “When we first saw you today,” you continue, “you looked so different I... almost didn’t recognize you.” Now it’s your turn to look away, a reflection of your uncertainty in that moment burning into the floor. “For a moment I thought—” It's an awful feeling, one you can't bear for much longer. Your throat tightening, heart dropping to your stomach, dread settling like lead within you. Just the memory has you shuddering, blinking back tears meant for far worse scenarios. You lean against Dan Heng's side, craving normalcy just as much as him, and slip an arm around to hug his close, “I thought maybe you weren’t there anymore.” It's hard to say and even harder to hear. Dan Heng aches with the trepidation in your tone, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he could lose you in that moment.

“…I know.” It's all he can say.

“But... you’re still Dan Heng, right?”

He swallows the building pressure in his own throat, basking in the comfort of your pressure at his side while fighting back the urge to pull you closer still. To glut himself on you until the void of your absence sates. Dan Heng knows his answer. “Yes.” It's the most sure he's sounded, courage guiding his hand as it lifts your chin to face him. Draconic eyes bore into yours, sharp with determination despite the soft edges of unfettered yearning. "So long as you’ll have me, I want to be— I am Dan Heng.” He feels you shift beside him, jaw setting beneath his palm and this time, you look back at him with a scrutinizing stare. Eerily reminiscent of the way you had regarded the statue earlier. Nose scrunched and eyes slightly narrow. He’d find it cute under any other circumstance. Dan Heng stiffens. “Hmm…” Your spine straightens for a better vantage point, slipping your hand from his to poke at his cheek and tug gently at the sleeves of his clothing. “May I?” you ask, perhaps too politely to the vidyadhara’s anxious mind, but he nods all the same and you take his permission to raise yourself higher on the bed and gently settle yourself in his lap. Your legs straddle his on either side like you would any day before this one, and you let yourself look at him – really look at him – for the first time in this new form. Your familiar weight on his thighs is already doing wonders in quelling his nerves a bit. He’s thankful for the firm pressure there to ground him, and without thinking, he’s moved to rest his hands on your waist as he usually would. Always more than strong enough to keep you secure.

Dan Heng holds his breath under your scrutiny. He allows you to explore his more draconic form as you wish, using all his self-restraint to remain still as delicate fingers glide across his features. There’s a visible bob of his throat as digits rise from his neck and follow the curve of his jaw, brushing faintly across his lower lip before moving to press warm palms against his cheek. He wants more than anything to lean into your touch right now, nerves begging to feel more than just the trace of your touch against his lips after being apart for so long. But he’s frozen in place, more fearful that any sudden movements would scare you away. You’ve already been distant from him for far too long both physically and emotionally, and he doesn’t think he can stand you being so far for much longer.

You trace along the red marks lining his eyes, two now instead of the one mark you were used to. Your eyes catch his for a moment, finding piercing teal orbs staring back at you with an inherent intensity. Even unintentionally, his gaze demands your attention, longing and uncertainty swirling behind widened pupils. He was taking you in just as much as you were him, it would seem. So, your fingers continue their journey. Across his features, his nose and his cheek until ghost-like fingertips reach the auricle of his ear. The quiet breath he sucks in is… adorable, even more so the brief flash of teal in your peripheral signifying the movement of a tail. Soft fingers curl around the pointed tip of his ear to massage the cartilage gently between a thumb and forefinger, taking note of how his body stiffens a fraction. A different form yet his sensitive points have remained the same, it would seem. However, it’s only when he feels your touch travel upward along his hairline to trail soft pads along the curve of his horns that he fails to hold back a small, shuddering gasp.

“Sensitive…?” you ask as if it were nothing at all and there’s a slight hesitance in the shake of Dan Heng’s head, red beginning to visibly dust his cheeks. “Just… unexpected,” he settles on. The last thing he wanted was for you to stop. Not when you were finally so so close to him. He just couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. Were you aware of what your touch was doing to him? What it always does to him? Did you approve of all these differences in his appearance you were exploring so diligently? Or did you find it strange? Distasteful? Briefly, he finds himself regretting not reverting back to his more familiar form the moment they had left Scalegorge. He hadn’t needed to call upon the powers of the Imbibitor Lunae once Phantylia was dealt with, but every time he had glanced your way in this form, you had been looking elsewhere. He just couldn't move forward with you so uncertain about who he was. Who he wanted to be.

“Still mad at me for leaving without a goodbye kiss?” Your voice pulls him back to the present, wondering when he had closed his eyes in the first place with the way you were caressing his horns. It takes Dan Heng a moment to register your words, so distracted by the pass of your thumbs along its ridges. “W-what?” He blinks owlishly at you, pushing your hands away when he looks up half confused and half dumbfounded by the question. You smile impishly, arms coming to rest around his shoulders. “You always get grumpy when I leave without a kiss. So… are you?” The man frowns. You were teasing him. Dan Heng wants to get in your good graces. But… he couldn’t lie to you. On top of worrying about your wellbeing in the entirety of the week you’ve been apart, he’s also grown accustomed to spending his nights with you. Warm in the archives or out on a mission. He can understand a few days away, but to be without you for a week and without a goodbye kiss was… “I’m not mad, I just-…” His eyes flicker off to the ground beside you, hesitating as he finds his footing in his words. “I missed you.” Had he inherited the floppy ears of the Permanence along with those horns, you imagine they’d be sunken flat against the sides of his head with how saddened he looked in this moment. (Though you swear, swear you see those pointed ears tilt downward!!) But then you giggle, and he suddenly perks right up in surprise.

“Then you’re still my Dan Heng,” you hum softly and the relief that immediately floods the vidyadhara has him melting into your arms, canting his head forward to bump foreheads. The chime of another laugh makes him question if you had done all of this simply to tease him, wound up as he was. He’d think it cruel but, in the moment, he’s wanted nothing more than to hear those words. “Yes,” he breathes, unthinkingly. Arms wrap tighter around your waist, heeding wants to have you closer, and Dan Heng finally gives in to his desires. He closes what little distance was left to capture you in a kiss long overdue. Your lips were so soft, so perfect against his. Warm and gentle, the sensation all the sweeter having been without you for so long. Too long. You reciprocate with ease, a thumb stroking his cheek soothingly while your other hand slides down to rest at the side of his neck and he’s on cloud nine, sacrificing a hand of his own from your waist to reach for the back of your head and pull you closer, deeper, never wanting to let go.

“Yours.”

[solareveille]

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends

[voidcat]

characters: you/imaushi wakasa, sano shinichiro...

a/n: angst lol. strangers to friends. themes of fwb but nothing explicit. switch of perspective. mcd obviously,,

as i said in this post the loose explanatio/beginning of an idea i had that i liked ALOT but couldnt write due to various reasons (esp lck of time) (open post for a lil further stuff for reader x wakasa ig,,,)

attending the same classes as shinichiro sano... you've heard of him alright but that's about it. a nice face to look at perhaps but a little odd. not someone you'd interact with occasionally, nor someone you'd remember in particular-

until you're paired with him for an assignment. it'll help build bonds between the lot of you! the teacher announces and everyone groans in unision

you shoot your new partner to be a look from where you stand and turn back to your notebook. the ring bells but by the time you can get up adn gather your stuff, sano is nowhere to be seen

it takes you hours to find him. and at possibily one of the worst times too.

you heard of the rumors about fights and deliquents but you didn't expect yourself to run into one. youre careful, you live a peaceful life, you avoid trouble, always keep a clean name and all-

the people around all battered and beaten up, covered in bruises, cuts and maybe blood, looking hungry, unsatisfied, maddened– and you're in the center of it all.

footsteps approach you, strong, stern, taking their time and all- you hold it in you to not turn for a look. wait for them to show their face at your feet, dont give them the satisfaction nor even the slightest sign of weakness.

a man with blond hair and a pretty face, long lashes and all, stands before you, looking almost a little amused. "what's a pretty little thing doin' here all by themselv-" "where's sano" you cut him midsentence.

the man looks baffled, a little offensed even. soon joined by a second figure a lot taller than him, they both look at you with hostility and a hint of curiosity.

who cares, you scoff internally, whatever intimidation they're going for, you won't fall for it.

the other man raises a brow at the way you've mentioned sano. shit, you do hope this was not the wrong place, or whatever fight went down there, they must've won... right?

"and who is asking?" the blond speaks up again, sounding a little annoyed now. "you know, we don't allow passes to every pretty thi-" "eeeew" you drag the word and scretch like a gum, making sure to put on a face. "none of your business actually." you add on, placing your hand against a hip.

"why, you-" before he can follow up with whatever's on his tongue, a jolly greeting from behind interrupts him, cutting through the air. you can notice how the idle folks around suddenly tense up, and for the two man before you, shoulders dropped, bodies relaxing...

soon sano emerges, with his hair put up and stylized, nothing like the man in your class, a deliquent out of a shitty teen's magazine you'd say so.

exhanging greets with the two men and doing a special handshake for only them to know, he looks in the mood, just his face a little bruised up and some blood on his clothes.

so that's probably why he skips school some days, you muse.

he notices you a little later.

"oh!" mouth formed into an 'o' shape, you can see his surprise written all over but he is quick to disperse all that." greeting you with your surname formally, he reaches out a hand, then brings it up upon noticing the splatters of blood and takes it back with a sheepish smile.

"what brings you there?" he asks, never losing a bit of his joy that contradicts the entire atmosphere.

"our assignment." you say curtly and receive another sound of surprise from him. he looks apolegitic at the very least, you think.

"well.. uh-" he scratches the back of his head, casting a glance around, you wait to see where the stammering will go.

"how would you wanna do it then?" he asks more for you than himself, to ease you probably, you can only assume.

another joins their little group, keeping silent and watching what's going on. you relly, really should get going, you decide after giving a quick look around. "we can go over the details at an appropirate time later."

"alright then!" he says, never missing a beat from his energy. it's unbelievable, you think. "should we... ah-" he pauses, "exchange numbers to keep in touch then?" he asks, and he means well, you can tell just from the way he looks and talks, but the rest? you're not exactly dying to say out loud your contact information. especially not with that blond anywhere within a 20 meter radius.

"here." you say, reaching out your hand to reveal your phone. "i'm not announcing my number for a bunch of weirdo, self proclaimed deliquents to hear."

your words take him by shock but he breaks into a snort right after. the two men exchange a glance and a thug at their lips as well. the blond however does not look once pleased with your words.

or you at all.

you begin to come and go to their place often, the assignment builds up slow but steady and the guys seem reasonable enough after actually sitting down and hearing each other out. shin looks happy with the development too, says you have brought a change but you'd disagree. he is the light and sun and the beating heart of this place and wherever he goes, they follow, absolute devotion and belief in him, as a person, for his mind and for his heart.

you can see why, you can feel it too. once you begin to spend your time with shinichiro sano, all the rumors and speculations you've heard up until then are gone. assignment be damned, you can tell when a friendship begins to bloom and with shin- it happens at such a pace, you find yourself a little afraid.

the assignment ends, presentation and all, with flying colors you pass and decide to celebrate it out, with the rest joining as well.

a karaoke bar is all fun and games until night rolls out. it has gotten late but shin offers to walk you home; keizo and takeumi dragging a very drunk and messed up wakasa. everyone bids one another goodbye- save for wakasa... and you almost believe youhave seen a hint of sadness in their eyes as they bump their fists against yours. if you didn't know any better, you'd ever go as far as to say they'll miss you around.

a day passes, another and another... much to their relief and encouragement, you stick around.

not within the vicinity on the days big fights go around but definitely dropping by to hang out, fool around and whatnot. it's now your laughter mixed with shin's that fills the air, and everyone seems joyful and happy most of the time- save for imaushi wakasa.

for reasons unbeknowst to you, he remains hostile, rude, and on and up about sending your way stupid lines like he did the first time. most of the time you ignore him, which annoys him further– the scene alone brings a smile to your lips, the smirk of a vixen, you even overhear him once, yelling to keizo about you are, sounding very much frustrated.

despite this is how the things begin and roll out, neither of you expect to grow close- closer than you'd have imagined.

yes, you and shin might be the sunshines, but you and wakasa? the two of you become inseperable. you even hear some people mumble how they fear the two of you looking down at them, gazes that burn holes through their skulls, see into their souls... the two of you could make a power couple- if you were one at all.

there is the heat, there is the tension. you comb through his hair with a gentle touch that has wakasa melting in your hold, yet the second someone dares to imply anything more, you shoot them a glance so heavy, it'd crash their lungs.

wakasa hopes, in the end, that perhaps there is an end to it that is happy, that is hopeful. he knows there is no making up for the way he treated you but you were not the kindest toward him either, so it makes you equals, no?

so he sings sappy songs at karaoke whilst tipsy, so any accusation he can brush off as the effect of the booze, but hopes you caught how he looked at you. so he touches you as soft as you do him, trying to mimic your kindness, an attempt at how love, in the physical, in action should be.

he doesn't know any better, why should he? why should anyone to begin with?

it scares him how natural it is for shin and you. some days he finds himself envying the two of you even, would things be any different were you to attend the same school as the two of you? oh what wouldn't he do to be graced with your smiles and giggles all day every day, having you look at him as you rest your cheek against your palm–

he aches for something a tad normal sometimes, at the very least with you. would the two of you ever cross paths were it not for shin? the thought scares him and he feels like an asshole for envying his friend like this, desperate for anything that would come from your hands.

but at the end of the day, it is himself you seek out. his arms that you allow around your person, his lips on you, devoring you, it's wakasa that consumes you wholly and the thought brings a wave of comfort at the very least.

then the entire world collapses down in the span of 24 hours.

shinichiro dies.

almost 24 hours have passed since his death and wakasa still cannot find it in him to return to reality yet.

then like an angel amidst the chaos, you reemerge from the fog, from smoke. it doesn't take a genius to figure out something is wrong.

"waka," you call out to him, sound laced with something he cannot quite pinpoint. shutting his eyes completely, he sits in the same spot for a moment, all the doubts, every single negative, twisted and fucked up thng he has been holding at bay til now so close to breaking out.

you speak, but he does not hear the words.

not pass the 'i am leaving'

[animeyanderelover]

Hi, can I get the prompt 50 for my favorite white haired villain (Karlheinz) for my first ask.

As for the second one, I'd like to have some sort of short fic if possible (?) for this Isekai ask with him

I do not do fics unless it is with a prompt of mine so I made Hc's instead.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, manipulation, mind-break, isolation, abduction

Isekai s/o

🍷​Teeth sinking into the flesh of your lower lip, stiffled sobs tearing through your chest, warm tears streaming down your face. Truly, you are not in your most presentable state when Karlheinz discovers you one night in a desolate part of the city. Lonely, scared and in the deepest clutches of despair. Emotions he could never feel himself, a life that shouldn't concern him in the least. Yet it is no coincidence that Karlheinz has found you here. No, he's been searching for you. There is a strange energy which surrounds you, wraps itself around your figure like a second skin. An unfamiliar buzz of magic he has never encountered before in his life and it is the scientist within him that finds intrigue with that. To think that there would still be something in this world that he hasn't figured out yet distracts him from the usual boredom that has accompanied him for so many centuries now. You yourself seem painfully ordinary though, one human of many in the city which makes the energy radiating off of you only more fascinating. Karlheinz approaches you with the same gentle and charming approach he has fooled thousands of others before yet in your face he can only see shock and recognition.

🍷​Recognition not of his other personality as a benevolent politicion but of his true identity as the Vampire King, as the strongest being in this world. It only takes you brief seconds to shut those emotions down yet by that point it is already far too late. How could you possibly know who he is? You, an ordinary and powerless little thing? Golden eyes rest heavily upon your mortal form, seemingly glancing into your soul with their controlled intensity. Yet he doesn't immediately starts the elephant in the room. He has all the time in the world after all, he knows that he will get his answers the moment he desires to have them. Instead he states that you have an empty stomach, offers you to feed you as he notices that you have neither a phone nor any wallet or money on you. Instant rejection, your panic leading to your next mistake as you only further dig your hole. Your swift action to shut him down are a strong contraction against your meek attempts to pretend as if you do not know him. He tolerates those frail attempts of yours, his eyes studying you with an interest he hasn't expressed in years. That suffocating composure and confidence never once leaving his expressions.

🍷​You may try to refuse him as much as your stubborn and anxious heart desires yet he points out just how detrimental it would be to you to reject his kindly offered hand. After all you speak neither Japanese nor do you carry any money around with you. What do you hope to accomplish? Where do you plan to go? His words make you waver as you cannot deny the truth in them. Still, he has learned that fear is the more infectious condition than logic could ever wish to be. It's fear of him that pushes you away from him. Whether you honestly believe that he wouldn't find you again or whether it is the fear taking over your mind and switching off your ability to think ahead, his offers are best to be not rejected. You're tired, weak, dehydrated and hungry. He can't just let you collapse now that he has discovered you. Karlheinz is a man much too attentive and devoted to his studies to treat them with disinterest and idleness. You are part of a new study now, you are someone he wants as he wishes to figure you out. Your existence feels like something that doesn't belong here yet still there you are in flesh and blood. You shouldn't neglect your own health in favor of running when there is no need, he still needs you.

🍷​There are no urgent answers you see yourself forced to give though for this would be far too easy and even dishonorable for him to consider. The Vampire King yearns to unravel the mystery of your existence himself and he devotes himself to this task. You are treated mostly well yet the tension is something that never leaves your muscles as if you always expect him to murder you brutally the next moment. Believe him, he is no brute who would ever get his own hands bloody. If he would have wanted to kill you he would have done so already. Already aware that you know who he is Karlheinz doesn't hide his identity from you either whilst simultanously never indulging you either. There's always the same composed expression on his face when you try to ask him something or create your own theories about him, your eyes uselessly darting over his face to read something that will give him away. Sometimes you threaten him weakly that you will call the police yet that meek threat quickly dies down whenever he looks at you, stating in a tone far too soothing for a monster like him that you may do so if you truly believe it to be a good idea. Unsurprisingly you never attempt to inform the police.

🍷​He realises relatively early on that he seems to be uncharacteristically attached to you and your little antics yet he initially believes that it is only based on the mystery of you that he wishes to discover. It is his first and only wrong assumption in regards to his own feelings as slowly he realises that his feelings have been turning into something entirely new, something he understands so well in others yet has never felt himself. Love. Dark, possessive and doomed to trap you yet love nonetheless. There's no instant smothering though for it is not the route he trades upon. It starts much more subtle as he turns it into a little bet with himself. He decides to not claim you as his lover before he has figured out just what you are. A little game of delicious torture for him yet a gamble much more harmful to you. You suffer from the challenge he has created for himself, an act so indulgent and unlikely for him yet something he allows himself to receive a taste of impatience, to challenge his own skills as a scientist. It's an act of sheer sadism that he drags you into this game, enjoyment and adoration coursing through his undead heart as he slowly molds you to be his own.

🍷​Only once he has discovered your intriguing origins does he allow himself to indulge in you, to taste you and claim you. By that point he has already driven you to desperation and despair, infiltrated your heart so that you cannot help but love him and yearn for him. The important details he then gets from you though and you tell him at that point almost willingly, mushy as soon as his fingers fo as much as grace your cheek. It's a strange yet curious idea that he has existed to you so far only from a screen whenever you were playing a game yet it brings with it the theory that maybe there are loose connections between different worlds that inspire others in such interesting ways as you have described. There is nothing left for him to explore for him in his world but your appearance is the catalyst for him to start investigate the idea of a multiverse with you as his first living proof. Research on how to enable someone to travel between different realities is something he intends to figure out yet not because he wishes to send you back home. It's all done simply for his own scientific interest. He doesn't plan to ever let you leave him and even you aren't sure anymore if you handle not being with Karlheinz.

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to birth a fire 2/2)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it.

- Summary: You give birth to something far more terrible than legacy.

- Pairing: daughter!reader/father/Aerys II Targaryen

- Note: This is the last part of the AU theme of the original story The Flames We Loved.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 1/2

The sun had barely begun to rise over King’s Landing, its golden light filtering through the high windows, casting long rays across the stone floors of Maegor’s Holdfast. Outside, the castle stirred with the quiet hum of servants beginning their daily duties, the distant clang of steel as the Gold Cloaks changed shifts, the murmur of courtiers gossiping behind their hands.

But within the royal chambers, time seemed to move differently.

Aerys had not left your side.

He had spent the night awake, watching over you as though you were something sacred, something untouchable. He had refused the presence of maesters, of wet nurses, of anyone who dared suggest that you needed tending. To him, you were not a woman weakened by birth—you were something divine, something reborn, the mother of dragons made flesh.

Now, as the morning light spilled into the chamber, Aerys sat beside you upon the great bed, his long fingers tracing idle patterns over the golden scales of the dragonling curled in your arms.

Your child had slept against you through the night, its small body nestled against your warmth, its ember-bright eyes fluttering open every so often to peer up at you before drifting shut once more. It was no larger than a newborn babe, its soft-scaled wings still folded close to its body, its tiny claws flexing against the fabric of your gown as it adjusted itself with a contented sigh.

Aerys exhaled slowly, his eyes fever-bright as he watched you, his gaze flickering between your face and the creature nestled against you.

“They will see,” he murmured, his voice reverent, almost breathless. “They will see, and they will kneel before us.”

You traced a finger over the ridge of your dragon’s spine, feeling the warmth beneath its delicate scales. “They will fear us,” you said softly, watching the way its small, forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air before nestling closer.

Aerys let out a soft chuckle, his fingers skimming along your wrist, brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “As they should,” he murmured, his lips curving into something sharp, something dangerous. “For too long they have forgotten. For too long they have doubted the blood of the dragon.” His fingers tightened around yours. “But you have proven them wrong, my love. You have given the realm what it was promised. Fire and blood.”

Aerys had always spoken in grand proclamations, in sweeping declarations that hung heavy in the air. But this time, you felt the weight of it more than ever.

Today, you would leave this chamber.

Today, the court would see.

The thought of it sent a strange thrill through you, something that curled in your belly like the slow lick of flame. You had not yet risen from this bed, had not yet walked the halls of the Red Keep since the birth. And yet, your body did not feel weak. Your limbs did not tremble, your breath did not shorten as it had for your mother after each of her failed labors. There was no hollowness inside you, no emptiness left behind. Only warmth.

And hunger.

Not the unnatural, clawing hunger that had taken you before—but something different. The hunger to be seen.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the weight of the dragon in your arms, feeling the way its tiny claws pressed against you, clinging as if it knew you would protect it. It would not be swaddled like a babe, would not be carried in a way that disguised it from sight. No. The court would see it for what it was.

Aerys watched you carefully, as though sensing the shift in your thoughts, his fingers still ghosting along your wrist. “You are ready,” he murmured, not a question but a statement.

You met his gaze. “I am.”

His lips curled, something triumphant in the way his teeth flashed. “Then let them see.”

The Great Hall was alive with the low murmurs of the assembled court, their voices a quiet hum beneath the vaulted ceilings, their whispers echoing through the chamber like the rustling of wings. Lords and ladies stood in careful clusters, draped in their fine silks and heavy brocades, their expressions taut with curiosity and unease. The throne sat at the far end, raised upon its dais, the jagged edges of the Iron Throne gleaming in the torchlight.

The doors opened.

The court turned as one.

You entered beside Aerys, your steps slow and deliberate, the sound of your heels clicking softly against the polished stone floor. The weight in your arms was light, but the presence of it was heavier than anything else in the room.

The dragonling stirred slightly as the sudden shift in air and noise met it, but it did not cry out. Instead, it merely blinked, its molten eyes scanning the vast chamber, its small claws flexing against the fabric of your gown.

The murmurs ceased.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

You could feel the way they stared, the way their eyes lingered not just on you, but on the creature you held, its golden scales catching the flickering torchlight, its small wings twitching ever so slightly.

Aerys moved first.

He strode forward, his robes billowing behind him, his presence as commanding as ever. He did not sit immediately upon the throne, did not ascend the steps just yet. Instead, he turned, his voice carrying across the chamber like the crack of a whip.

“Behold,” he said, his hands spreading wide. “The mother of dragons.”

A ripple of movement went through the court. Some gasped, others stiffened, a few even took half-steps backward as if distance alone might shield them from what they saw.

You did not flinch beneath their scrutiny.

You walked forward, each step deliberate, each movement purposeful, until you reached the dais. Then, with careful precision, you lowered yourself into the chair beside the Iron Throne, settling into your seat with the dragonling still nestled in your arms.

It let out a soft sound, not quite a chirp, not quite a growl, something between curiosity and satisfaction as it adjusted itself, its tail curling loosely around your wrist.

The court could not tear their eyes away.

Pycelle was among them, his face ashen, his fingers trembling as they clutched the folds of his robe. Other lords stood frozen in place, their eyes darting between you and Aerys, between the thing in your arms and the sheer, unbridled delight on the king’s face.

Aerys let the silence stretch, let the weight of it settle before he finally spoke again. “Let the realm remember,” he said, his voice thick with triumph, his eyes burning with fevered light. “The dragons are not gone. The blood of old Valyria still burns strong.”

His gaze slid toward you then, his expression softening only for a fraction of a moment as he took you in.

You stroked your fingers gently along the ridges of your dragon’s back, feeling the warmth of it beneath your palm, the steady rhythm of life pulsing just beneath the golden scales.

Then, lifting your gaze, you met the eyes of the court, your voice calm, unwavering. “And this is only the beginning.”

The moons passed, and with them, the dragon grew.

At first, its changes were subtle—its body lengthening by mere inches, its wings gaining more definition, its scales deepening in hue, catching the firelight in a way that made it seem forged from molten metal. It no longer moved with the clumsy awkwardness of a newborn, its limbs steadier, its tail more agile, its claws sharper. The once-silent creature now made its presence known, its hissing breaths curling like steam against your skin, its low, contented rumbles vibrating against your chest as it pressed itself to you.

Still, it sought you.

Still, it nuzzled against your warmth, its instincts unchanged despite the rapid growth it underwent. It was a dragon, yes—but it was also your child, and it knew nothing else but the comfort of your arms, the steady beat of your heart, the safety of your presence.

And it still sought to nurse.

Even as it grew beyond the size of a babe, its sleek body longer, its weight more present in your arms, it clambered onto your lap with a familiarity that had never faded. Its sharp claws pricked the fabric of your gown as it burrowed against you, its snout pressing insistently at your breast, seeking the nourishment it had always known. Its small, forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air before latching onto you once more.

You should have stopped it.

Perhaps it was unnatural. Perhaps it was something the world would balk at, would recoil from in horror. But it did not matter. Not to you. Not to the creature curled against you, suckling with quiet, instinctive need. It was yours, and no force in the realm could sever the bond between mother and child.

Aerys watched, his gaze heavy as he reclined against the pillows beside you, his long fingers idly toying with the strands of your silver hair. The firelight flickered over his features, casting deep shadows, making his violet eyes burn with something unreadable.

“It still seeks you,” he mused, his voice quiet but thick with amusement. His fingers drifted lower, tracing idle patterns along your collarbone before pressing lightly against the dragon’s smooth scales where it lay against you. “It does not yet know its own strength.”

You did not look away from the creature in your arms. You simply ran your fingers along the ridges of its spine, feeling the heat radiating from its body, the subtle vibration of its breath against your skin. “It knows what it is,” you murmured. “And it knows me.”

Aerys chuckled, shifting so that he could press his lips to the curve of your shoulder. “As it should,” he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with something possessive. “It was born from you, after all. A true dragon.”

The dragon let out a soft sound, something between a purr and a growl, its tail curling lazily around your wrist. It did not bite, did not burn, did not harm you in any way. No, it only fed, its tiny teeth pressing gently against you, its eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Aerys exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. “The fools in court still do not understand,” he mused, his tone shifting into something darker. “They smile and bow, but I see the way they look at you. At it. They fear what they do not comprehend.”

You knew it to be true. The court still whispered, their reverence laced with unease, their bows a little too stiff, their eyes darting toward your dragon when they thought you would not notice. Some could not even bring themselves to look at it directly, their gazes flitting away as though the very sight of it unsettled them.

Even Pycelle, for all his feigned composure, still refused to be alone in your presence, always keeping a respectable—fearful—distance whenever he was summoned to tend to you.

“They will learn,” you said simply, your voice calm, even. “In time.”

Aerys’s laughter was soft, almost indulgent. “They will,” he agreed, his lips brushing against the pulse at your throat. “Or they will burn.”

The dragon shifted against you, its body warm, its feeding slow and unhurried. It had never known hunger, never known a moment of scarcity. It had only ever known abundance, warmth, and you.

It was yours.

And the realm would soon understand what that meant.

The dragon had outgrown the chambers moons ago.

It had been inevitable. With each passing week, its body stretched longer, its wings unfurling wider, its claws growing sharper. The days of curling up against you in the warmth of your bed were long gone; now, it prowled through the Red Keep, its golden scales gleaming under torchlight, its tail slithering over the stone floors, leaving deep grooves in its wake. It had become a living shadow in the halls of power, a beast that stalked the edges of courtly life, an ever-present reminder of what had been born from your womb.

And now, it slumbered behind the Iron Throne.

The Great Hall had never been more silent than when it breathed.

The lords and ladies of the realm, the knights in their polished armor, the smallfolk lucky enough to be permitted within—none could ignore the presence of the beast that coiled in the darkness behind the seat of kings. Its body stretched long, its sinuous tail wrapped around the base of the throne, its vast wings folded against its back as it dozed in the shadows. The flickering torchlight played over its scales, making them shimmer like melted gold, its heavy breaths sending ripples of heat through the chamber. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, of charred meat, of something more primal than any court had ever known.

Aerys sat upon the Iron Throne, draped in black and crimson, his silver hair spilling over his shoulders in wild, unkempt waves. His fingers, long and pale, curled over the armrests, tapping idly against the jagged edges of steel. His violet eyes gleamed with fevered delight as he gazed upon the gathering before him, his lips twisting into a slow, sharp smile.

"You cower like frightened children," he mused, his voice soft, almost lilting. His fingers twitched against the throne’s cruel metal, the edges pressing into his skin. "Do you think it will devour you where you stand?"

No one dared to answer.

Even the most seasoned of lords—Tywin Lannister, Qarlton Chelsted, even Lord Whent, a man who had seen his share of horrors—stood rigid, their eyes flickering toward the beast behind the throne, their hands resting a little too tightly on the hilts of their swords.

It had not eaten today.

You sat beside Aerys, your place on a smaller seat of dark wood just below the Iron Throne, your gown of crimson silk pooling at your feet, the rich embroidery catching the firelight. Your hands rested upon your lap, your fingers adorned with rings of dragon-shaped metal, glinting as they curled against the fabric. The weight of the hall’s stifled terror settled over you like a cloak, thick and tangible, and yet… you found no fear within yourself.

Your dragon had not left your side since the day it was born. You had felt its warmth as it nestled against you, had fed it with your own body, had watched as it grew from something fragile into something terrible and magnificent. To the court, it was a creature of nightmares, a beast of legend ripped from the pages of Valyrian history.

But to you, it was still your child.

You turned your head slightly, watching as the great amber eyes of the dragon cracked open, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. It did not stir fully, merely shifted, the movement slow and languid, but even that sent a ripple of unease through the gathered lords. The sound of scales scraping against the stone, the faint rustling of wings unfurling for a brief stretch—small things, yet enough to make men tremble in their fine silks.

Aerys chuckled. "How pathetic," he murmured, more to himself than to them.

Then, louder: "Step forward."

The court hesitated, uncertain whom he was addressing until an unfortunate man—Ser Jonothor Darry—took an uneasy step forward, his silver armor gleaming beneath the dim torchlight. He was a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect, yet even he could not mask the wariness in his stance, the careful way his hand hovered near his hilt.

Aerys tilted his head, watching him as one might a curious animal. "Tell me, Ser Jonothor," he said, his voice lazy, his fingers drumming against the steel of the throne. "Does my son unsettle you?"

Jonothor hesitated.

Aerys’s expression sharpened instantly, the easy amusement vanishing in an instant, his fingers tightening into a white-knuckled grip. "Answer me, Ser."

Jonothor’s jaw clenched, but he bowed his head. "Your Grace, it is not my place to—"

"Your place is where I command it to be," Aerys snapped, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. His violet eyes burned, his lips curling back in something between a grin and a snarl. "Speak freely. Does it frighten you?"

Jonothor swallowed, then inclined his head, the admission slow, reluctant. "It is… a sight unlike any other, Your Grace."

Aerys’s smile returned, sharp and cruel. "A sight unlike any other," he echoed, his gaze flickering toward you. "Did you hear that, my love? Even my sworn protectors cannot decide whether to marvel or flee."

You tilted your head slightly, letting your fingers trail absently over the dragon’s tail where it lay curled around the base of the throne. "Perhaps they need more time to understand," you mused, your voice smooth, untouched by the unease that gripped the hall. "They have never seen one born from flesh before."

Pycelle, standing stiffly among the gathered nobles, flinched as though your words had struck him. His hands were clasped tightly before him, his lips pressed into a bloodless line. You did not miss the way his fingers twitched, the way his gaze darted toward you and then quickly away again.

Aerys let out a low, pleased chuckle. "No," he agreed. "They have not."

His gaze flickered back to the lords, his amusement fading into something darker, something more calculating. "But they will learn," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder, "You all will."

The dragon shifted again, exhaling a slow, warm breath that sent a ripple of heat washing over the dais.

Aerys leaned forward, his elbows resting upon his knees, his eyes gleaming with something wild. "Do you know what I have dreamed?" he asked, his voice quiet but thick with meaning. "I have seen my city alight, my enemies burned to cinders. I have seen the dragons take flight once more, their wings blotting out the sun." His breath shuddered out of him, his fingers twitching against the arms of the throne. "And now, the first has returned."

The court remained frozen, their silence suffocating.

Aerys sat back against the jagged metal of his seat, his lips parting in a slow, exultant grin. "The realm will kneel before fire and blood," he said, his voice low, full of promise. "Or they will burn."

And behind him, the dragon opened its amber eyes fully, watching.

The Great Hall was silent, save for the steady crackle of the torches and the low, rhythmic breathing of the dragon that slumbered behind the Iron Throne. The lords and courtiers had long since taken their leave, their whispers retreating into the shadowed corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving the vast chamber empty save for the beast itself and the man who dared approach it.

Rhaegar Targaryen moved slowly, each step deliberate, measured. His silver-gold hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, his indigo eyes dark with thought as they flickered over the great form stretched along the stone floor. The dragon was coiled around the dais, its sinuous body rising and falling with each deep breath. Its wings were folded close to its body, the tips brushing against the jagged edges of the throne it now claimed as its own.

He had seen its growth from afar. He had watched, like all others, as it had gone from something small enough to rest in your arms to something far too large for the confines of chambers and silk-draped beds. But never had he dared to come close. Never had he been this near to the creature that had been birthed from his sister’s womb, the creature that the court dared not name, the creature that slept behind the seat of kings as if it had ruled for a thousand years already.

This dragon was not like the ones whose bones adorned the great hall. It was not a thing of the past, not a relic of Valyria’s lost glory. It was alive. It breathed. It dreamed.

And Rhaegar—Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne—felt very small in its presence.

He stopped just short of where its great tail curled around the base of the throne, his fingers twitching at his sides, his throat tight with something he could not name. Pity. Fear. Awe.

It was not just the creature that troubled him. It was you.

You, his twin. You, who had been born alongside him in fire and tragedy. You, who had always been different in Aerys’s eyes, his favorite, his flame. You, whose body had done what no other had ever done before.

What had it been like? he wondered. To feel something like this growing within you? To carry not a babe, not a prince or princess of House Targaryen, but this?

He knew you loved it. That much had been clear from the moment it was born, from the way you had cradled it to your chest without hesitation, from the way you had fed it, nursed it, cared for it as though it were no different from any other newborn.

Rhaegar swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had pitied you then, pitied what had been done to you, what had been forced upon you by fate and prophecy and the madness of their father. And yet now… as he stood here, staring upon the golden-scaled beast curled behind the throne, he did not know what he felt.

He only knew that the realm would never understand this. Would never accept it.

And that one day, when the world turned against you, he would have to decide where he stood.

He took another step forward, slow and cautious, his breath barely audible. The dragon stirred, a great rumbling sigh rolling through its chest, its tail flicking slightly, sending a gust of warm air rippling across the stone. Rhaegar tensed, his fingers curling, his body frozen in place as he waited.

Then—slowly, lazily—the beast cracked one great amber eye open.

Rhaegar’s breath caught in his throat.

The eye was deep and molten, a pool of liquid fire, brighter than any flame, hotter than the forges of the Red Keep. It was not the dull, clouded stare of the skulls that lined the hall. It was not the vacant, empty gaze of dragons long dead.

It was alive.

For a long, terrible moment, neither of them moved.

Then, the dragon exhaled, a sound that was neither warning nor welcome, merely acknowledgment. It did not rise, did not snap its teeth or unfurl its wings. It simply watched.

Rhaegar swallowed. His mouth was dry. His pulse thrummed in his ears. "You are not like them," he murmured at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not like Balerion. Not like Meraxes or Vhagar." His fingers twitched at his side, an old habit. "You are something else."

The dragon did not respond. Of course it did not. And yet… in the depths of its gaze, something gleamed. Understanding? Curiosity? Rhaegar did not know.

"You were born of my sister," he continued, quieter now, as if speaking to himself as much as to the creature before him. "From her flesh. From her fire." His throat tightened. "Does she know what you are?"

The dragon let out a soft sound, something low and rumbling, something that sent a shiver up his spine. Its great eye blinked once, slow and deliberate, before it shifted slightly, its tail curling more tightly around the throne. It did not answer. It did not need to.

Rhaegar let out a slow, uneven breath.

A part of him wanted to reach out, to press his palm against the warmth of its scales, to feel the heartbeat beneath. Another part of him—the part that had always known fear, the part that had watched their father descend into madness, the part that had read every story of Valyria’s doom—held him back.

Instead, he stepped away.

"You will burn this realm to the ground one day," he said softly, watching the way the dragon’s eye followed him. "Or she will."

And with that, he turned and left, his heart heavy with the knowledge that nothing—not prophecy, not blood, not even love—could stop what was coming.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 29

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer — warning: this is a yandere story with dark themes throughout.

summary: while on the run, you bond with yuki while suguru indirectly seals satoru’s fate, but not in the way he could ever expect.

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 29. Finding Strength

In the meantime, you managed to go quite far under Yuki’s guidance, hastily speeding you both away on her motorcycle within a flash. It had been a while since she had ridden in Japan, but it was easy enough to settle back into, as she even found the scenery to be nostalgic.

As you zoomed through the roads, too, you held on tight around her waist with the last bit of hope you had left. It was, however, still utterly insane to you, that you had to go to such extreme lengths to escape two people to begin with, since you never quite understood the obsession in the first place.

Realistically, you knew that at this point, Suguru was a criminal now after what he had done, but also, that Jujutsu criminals were in a league of their own. The regular authorities were not involved in the crimes committed by sorcerers, leaving the higher ups to navigate the mess. Sure, a warrant could be out for his arrest—or rather death, given that he killed civilians—but even then, it took a good while.

Warped indeed, he was right about that much.

Satoru, on the other hand, you thought, could legitimately buy his way out of trouble as this whole incident could be swept aside as a scandal. In Japan, scandals were pretty life-ruining, but again, it was a different matter with Jujutsu. You learned somewhat about Satoru and his past in passing, some idle gossip that you picked up on occasion from a drunken Shoko, so you were aware that he was already on a muddied slate. You supposed that the little things were forgivable enough, given his cursed technique, and therefore were of huge importance.

Though, you did suppose that it all depended on just how much of the full truth got out. You hoped that if it was revealed that Satoru, even if he was a six-eyes user, was a rapist and abductor, that it would at least set him back socially. But even then, you weren’t too sure.

Yui, for example, a complete civilian, had her scandal swept under the rug. Satoru could very well have that same outcome, especially if you were to disappear, because then it’s his word against some no-name sorcerer.

Ideally, though, you wanted them both behind bars, if that was a possibility at all, but that much was a pipe dream. Given their obsession—which again, you never once understood—you were otherwise just perfectly content with ruining their lives by being just out of reach, never returning whatever it was that they thought they felt with you. Was that petty? Was that weak? You didn’t care too much at this point, as long as they suffered if even slightly. All you cared for the time being was to remove yourself from their lives for good, recovering and then conducting your revenge with a successful life away from them.

Yuki slowed down her bike, tearing you away from your thoughts and meeting with Utahime who gave her a tightly-packed folder filled to the brim with all sorts of papers. She hugged you as Yuki tucked away the contents into the saddlebag of her bike, before calling you over and jumping back onto the road again.

You looked back on occasion, whenever you could, feeling both good about the coast being clear, though also rightfully sceptical. There was no true comfort found from being alone, given just how unstoppable you knew Satoru to be. The guy, after all, managed to find you in the dark of a whole different city. That exact sort of mindset must have been setting you back though, surely, because as long as you could believe he could win—then maybe—he would.

As Yuki too, finally reached the coast, she parked the motorbike a little away from the view as a freight ship loomed just before you both. Quickly, she ushered you into a still-open, large, metal container before punching the interior twice and then the crate was sealed, soothing you by stroking against your arm, and only beginning to talk when the transport seemed to finally settle.

“You’re okay now, I promise,” Yuki spoke, feeding you a warm smile. The crate was dark, but she positioned a phone with the torch mode on, illuminating the whole tight area.

You let out a weary sigh, wanting desperately to believe her, but for some reason couldn’t shake off a particular sinking feeling. “I want to believe that, I really do, but I can’t just… I feel… I feel like… this’ll end badly, just like it always has. He’s the strongest, right?”

Yuki sucked her cheeks, tutting away the concerns. “The strongest, sure, to Jujutsu society, but he’s not invincible,” she soothed, leaning back against the container wall with her arms crossed, “like, we’re going to a place where none of that trust fund, rich-kid bullshit will apply, so it will be over for him,” she paused, trying to offer a warm smile, “trust me.”

Continuing to fret though, you stammered, “B-but…”

Yuki tried again. “I’m taking you to Australia, alright?” she promised, her voice taking on a more hopeful note. “You’ll see, it’s a whole different world. No weird hierarchy, no sorcerer clans—no clans, period—he can’t drag you back into his bullshit there, because it simply doesn’t reach there.”

“D-doesn’t reach there?” you warily replied, not quite believing that fact fully. “He’s so loaded, on both money and power, maybe his influence can’t reach me, but I’m fairly certain that the Gojo clan has good trade connections everywhere…”

“It’s different there, just trust me,” Yuki said, trying her best to sound reassuring , “if some obnoxious heir of a prestigious clan from Japan waltzes over and starts stirring up shit in a foreign country, it’ll look bad and trust me, rich people hate their potential earnings to be at risk—he’ll behave,” she sighed, realising she was talking a little too much, “also, most countries do not care about honour systems or fancy bloodlines—the law is the law and his six-eyed nepotism isn’t gonna change a single thing.”

You calmed down slightly, but then another issue jumped to mind. “O-okay, but… I’m being smuggled there, right? Wouldn’t that make my presence there illegal? If it’s a matter of being protected by a country, then I don’t have that same right, do I?”

Yuki shook her head, fishing out the folder from before. “See this pile of papers? They’re not forged, like before,” she assured, fully aware from going over the plan with Shoko and Utahime that they tried to get you out through illegitimate means, “there’s a temporary residence permit in there, but Utahime’s going to approve the real deal. The thing they don’t really tell you, is that Jujutsu sorcerers have a freedom of movement no matter where they go,” she smiled, leaning back again. “This is typically used for cursed object collection, or finding the on occasion rare sorcerer that isn’t from Japan, because usually it takes a bit of time or… convincing, but you can live anywhere you want while getting that fat jujutsu paycheck.”

“T-then…” you started to reply, trying to reign in your breathing from the whole ordeal, gesturing at the small space you were both in, “w-why are we using such… dubious transportation?”

Yuki simply laughed. “Because, Satoru still has influence in Japan, you were right to be a bit worried there. A regular old airport won’t do, especially since he could easily use his connections to simply not let you fly. Nah, we’re using this old thing. Trust me, I use all sorts of dodgy ways to slip in and out of the country—the whole way people know I’m back is if I let ‘em.”

You sighed and nodded, considering her words and in return, Yuki smiled again, playfully, softly punching your shoulders.

“Relax, seriously,” she murmured, finally content with seeing you not freak out over every little thing, even if she did get it, “I’m gonna be with you each step of the way from now on, hell, I’ll even help you get stronger while I’m at it.”

Within a flash, you grew hesitant again, however. Just the mention of getting stronger alone, pulled up a bad memory for you in mind. “Oh, um, Suguru tried to do that… but I never got too far with his… teachings.”

You shuddered for a split second, remembering his attempts.

Yuki studied your face for a moment, then scoffed with a hum. “Oh? Of course he did,” she leaned forward as she brought her knees to her chest, “he probably didn’t get too far because of his one-size-fits-all mentality when it comes to combat, that’s why,” she replied, trying her best to convince you to let her help you gain strength. “Just… give me some faith, alright? What’s your cursed technique, anyway?”

“It’s a damage reduction technique… like… there’s a radius that prevents damage, usually one person wide, two if I strain myself,” you hesitantly replied, feeling a little shy about it. Nobody ever told you were destined for greatness, and lately, you had found yourself surrounded by special grades. You were a grade 2, good, but again, not great.

Yuki, however, just looked at you with shining eyes, as if almost giddy. “Oh?” she replied, almost foaming at the mouth in thought. “That’s… incredible, you could be extremely powerful—shit—you probably didn’t even realise that, did you?”

You quietly shrugged.

Yuki in the meantime continued, “I’m serious, [name]; if you find your style of combat, then you’ll be practically unstoppable,” she paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to sell your own technique to you, “just think about it, okay? You can stay healthy while bringing the opponent down. Hell, my own technique is all about damage, just imagine if we teamed up.”

You blinked at the prospect, considering it. In a way, it made sense that it could be used in such a way, even if nobody ever told you that it could. You believed your technique to be a support technique, because of what a piece of paper told you when you first enrolled. It felt… nice, almost, to be told that you could challenge that and be someone completely different, even if it started with your technique. You could be strong.

A smile formed at last.

“There we go,” Yuki encouraged, “trust me—I’ll help you the best I can—I have a whole property where we’re going, with so much room to train,” she then leaned back a little, looking around the small space before returning her attention to you, softening her voice a pitch, “and besides, you’ll be able to come and go as you’d like; no more restrictions, okay?”

You nodded, even if your mind kept going back to what you kept thinking was the inevitable. You didn’t want to tamper with the good mood she spent so hard cultivating, so you didn’t deny that you would have a chance to hold your ground, but…

(You also wanted to be realistic.)

“Would that be enough?” you asked, a hint of vulnerability playing into your tone.

Yuki nodded in understanding, keeping her voice low and soothing. “[name], honey, I’ll let you in one something,” she said as she patted the space beside her, encouraging you sit with her and as you did, she continued, “Satoru will only ever be as persistent as he is, as long as he thinks he has a chance,” she revealed, “so, the best thing you can do for yourself—against him—is to deny his entitled mindset; stand your ground.”

“I tried to… for a long time,” you revealed, thinking back to when you at least tried to mentally refuse him, though, you supposed that Yuki had a point in other ways. You rejected him, you denied him, but also, regrettably, you let him break you down. Now that you had a shot to counter that, you didn’t want to fall back into such a possibility. With that in mind, you swallowed down your fears, and settled into a different realm of possibility. “Actually, no, you’re right,” you concluded, “I’ll… deny him again, no matter how many times I have to do so.”

“Attagirl,” Yuki praised, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and giving you an encouraging squeeze before pausing, a playful glint forming in her mind, “by the way—did I ask you yet? What’s your type? In men, women… whoever.”

You blinked at the sudden change of topic, trying to process the question at all. In a way, you never really considered it.

You found that while you liked confidence, you didn’t like arrogance, both of which you found in Satoru. In the same vein, you found that while you like self-assured personality traits, you disliked being cut-off from people when they were going through something, because it made you feel unsure. That was something you found yourself noticing a lot in Suguru. There was something… equally suffocating about them that clouded both of their potentially good traits in a way that could never be lifted.

At this point, all you cared about was the concept of being safe. Everything else—such as looks and what have you—would come after that, as long as you had that main stable foundation to build from.

So, that’s what you settled on.

“My type…?” you asked, with a slight smile. “Maybe someone who makes me feel like I’m at home with them—someone who makes me feel safe?”

Yuki smiled wide at that point. “That’s… a very good answer,” she considered, “it’s a bit of a broad and complicated one, but good—hold onto it and don’t settle until you’re certain that you’ve found someone exactly like that.”

You nodded along and were about to respond, but then the cargo ship came to a jarring stop. The surrounding metal groaned, echoing loudly within the tight confines of the container. Immediately sensing something wrong, you clenched your hands into tight fists, both to calm yourself down but to also feed into your lingering worry.

If this was an official check of any kind, then it still shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.

Yuki looked around uncertainly, her face only just barely illuminated from the phone sliding away to the other side of the narrow space. She reached out to steady you, taking her responsibility very seriously as her voice came through like the most soothing, reassuring thing you knew, despite the weight of her parted words, “Hey, hey, easy. It’s probably nothing, and if it is something, then let’s just… consider this to be our first practice session together, alright?”

You tried to calm your breathing at the mention, attempting to smooth it all down.

You were tired of being weak.

You were also tired of running.

So if this was a problem, then you would face it head on.

~~~

Back in the house however, Suguru remained frozen as he processed both the swerve and the crash that had finally sank and settled into his ears. He couldn’t track his cursed spirits—nor control them from afar, unless he could see them directly—he wasn’t like Mei Mei who by contrast, could commandeer her crows from a distance. Such a lapse of judgement in his coordination made him fester with self-loathing, cursing at himself for acting without thinking when he could have potentially killed someone he still cared about.

Satoru on the other hand, saw the looming cloud of cursed spirits bubble and cloud the skies, not paying much attention to them as he zoomed away in his car, not taking any time at all to think back to what he now understood to be his rival. Besides, he had a certain idea if Yuki was involved, he could still even sense her cursed energy signature, hinting that she was there at least recently enough.

Yuki Tsukumo might have been able to evade most people, but that didn’t mean she was impossible to find. Satoru, despite the facade he held onto, also, kept tabs on just about everyone, too. He didn’t quite care about Yuki—simply just from never interacting with her, but she got involved—so now his efforts to keep track of her mundane habits were finally paying off. In fact, he had the right idea in mind; you were about to be smuggled out, right?

(Not if he could help it.)

And as he heard something crash and burn in the distance, he didn’t quite pay too much attention to that fact, instead continuing to push through, uncaring of the consequences as he finally lost himself to the full extent of his obsession.

Shoko on the other hand blinked angrily, cursing under breath as she recognised one of the lingering curses nearby as Suguru, immediately assuming that he was being petty one last time. He managed to make her skid off to the side of the road, rounding into a brick wall, but with no real damage to boot.

Though, as she threw herself out and crawled onto the road, an idea formed in mind. Satoru definitely heard that crash. Suguru was at least now willing to redeem himself without any ulterior motive.

“Sorry Utahime, you’ll understand,” she murmured to herself, settling on a plan, she could after all, self-heal after a while, should she get bored from recovering at a conventional pace, before dotting Satoru’s number as her emergency contact instead of Utahime’s, before tipping off the regional authorities about the crash.

She’d get him off your tail, because Satoru’s biggest strength, but also his greatest weakness, was caring, and she was sure to make that his downfall.

As she waited for the emergency services to arrive, she pretended to be more out of it than she was, knowing exactly what sort of warning signs to replicate.

Maybe with some luck, too, she’d be able to shock some sense into the guy.

And if not, then maybe that would be enough time to give you the time you needed.

(It was now or never, after all.)

[kallie-den]

Lifestyle Takeover Ch. 2

Vivienne is drawn to Mel's side by her curiosity regarding Emma - but in the presence of her favorite bimbo, will she be able to stop herself from slipping under Mel's sway?

This is a commission from Neana, and a sequel to Lifestyle Journalism! Previous chapters can be found under the same tag

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I  write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

Why was she here?

Vivienne Gilbert kept turning that question over in her head as the elevator slowly carried her up toward Melanie Adams’s penthouse. There was nothing particularly strange about the sequence of events that had brought her here. Early that morning, one of her mindless personal assistants had put a call from Mel Adams through. Mel had invited Vivienne to her apartment to continue their talks. Vivienne had accepted - and now, here she was.

But… why?

Why had Vivienne accepted the invitation? Why had she even taken the call? There was nothing for them to talk about. Vivienne had already given that irritating nepo baby her final answer: there was no way in hell she was going to let her mothers acquire Vivienne’s company. So why had she come here?

There were lots of possible reasons, of course. Foremost amongst them was idle curiosity. Maybe Vivienne simply wanted to see more of Mel and the way she lived. Or perhaps she suspected Mel had an improved proposal for her. Possibly, it was a ploy. There were all kinds of ways in which dragging out negotiations could serve her interests.

And yet, deep down, Vivienne knew none of those things had motivated her decision. On the phone, Mel had been insistent - and Vivienne had ended up saying ‘yes’. It was as simple as that. For most people, that might have been completely innocuous. But Vivienne feared it was something as dangerous as it was humiliating: a moment of weak will.

Vivienne Gilbert did not - could not - suffer moments of weak will.

And that prompted another fear: the fear that she had been compromised. Conceivably, Melanie Adams could have found some way to bring Vivienne under her psychological influence. Efforts like that were practically routine between hypnogarchs. Vivienne herself had dealt with more than one rival using mind control. Like all rising hypnogarchs, she had defenses - but all defenses had their potential weak points. So what if…

Vivienne shook her head to snap herself out of it. No. It was impossible. Vivienne was made of steel, and Mel was nothing more than an over-sheltered whelp. There was absolutely no way Melanie Adams had gotten into her head.

Ultimately, Vivienne decided that there had to be a far more benign explanation: she’d accepted the call and the invitation because she was in a good mood. And she was in a good mood because of Emma’s personalized video.

Ever since last night, when she’d received a private, cheerleader-themed thank-you video from her absolute favorite OnlyFans star, Vivienne had been on cloud nine. She couldn’t have asked for a greater gift, or a better way to relax. After listening to that video, the rest of the evening had passed by in a pleasant, stress-free haze. All Vivienne remembered was that she’d spent most of it working out some pent-up physical need.

Not the most dignified way for a high-powered CEO to spend her time, perhaps. But a very, very welcome way.

In fact, Vivienne had done the same thing that very morning, before dragging herself out to Mel’s building. It was a rare indulgence, but one she just hadn’t been able to resist. She didn’t regret it either, even if it had left her just a touch disheveled and more than a touch late. Watching Emma’s video again had put her in a delightfully pleasant, upbeat, relaxed - and slightly horny - mood.

One of these days, she was determined to focus hard enough to pay attention to Emma’s words all the way through.

But there would be time for that later. For now, Vivienne just needed to get her head off her pillow so she could make the most of this little meeting.

By hypnotizing Melanie Adams.

Whatever the reason she’d agreed to come here, Vivienne had made up her mind not to leave empty-handed. She touched her hand to the outside of her suit’s jacket pocket, and felt the familiar outline of her pocket watch within. It seemed only fair. If Melanie Adams wanted to play power games, she was going to find out just how much it was possible to lose. Vivienne doubted the trust fund brat had any real defenses, and having their daughter under her sway would make taking on her mothers that much easier.

She’d hardly be Vivienne’s first conquest. She relished opportunities to get her hands dirty. This one was going to be easy.

Her confusion and doubt set aside, a thin smile came to Vivienne’s face as the elevator arrived at the top floor. She stepped out of it and presented herself at the door to Mel’s penthouse suite. Immediately, it opened, and once Vivienne saw who was there to greet her, her smile dissolved into an expression of open-mouthed shock.

It was Emma.

The Emma. Emma, the OnlyFans model Vivienne adored. Emma, the woman she’d spent all night and all morning frantically getting herself off to. Emma, the glorious bimbo she’d only ever expected to see through a screen, on a website - only now she was here, in the flesh, flashing Vivienne a brilliant, winning, ditzy smile.

“Hi!” Emma said, voice irrepressibly bright and bouncy. “You’re… um… Mel’s guest, right?”

Vivienne nodded dumbly.

“Well, what are you just standing there for, silly?” Emma giggled after a moment. “Hurry up and, like, come in!”

Without speaking another word, Vivienne nodded and followed Emma inside. The whole time, her mind was racing. Half of it was frenzied speculation. Why was Emma here? What was the nature of her association with Melanie Adams? Had she brought her here for Vivienne? How did they know about her fascination with Emma? What should she do? Should she say something? Ask?

The other half was equally frenzied fangirling.

It’s Emma. It’s actually Emma. The Emma. My Emma. Oh god. She’s right there. She’d said ‘hi’ to Vivienne. Vivienne could reach out and touch her if she wanted to. Would she sign something for her? Oh god. She’s so hot. She’s even hotter in person. Oh god. Oh god.

She really was even hotter in person. Looking at her on a screen, in a highly polished piece of video content, it was easy to gloss over Emma’s sheer physical perfection. Her clear skin, her sleek, blonde hair, her perfect, hourglass figure, and the hints of toned muscle underneath - all of it was truly unbelievable. Vivienne found it hard not to be dazzled by Emma’s raw beauty and sex appeal. Her outfit - a simple sundress, albeit one that was cut low and very, very short - was far less salacious than the kind of slutty workout clothes Vivienne usually saw her in, but that didn’t make Emma any less stunning. If anything, it enhanced her allure - plus, there was something utterly precious about getting to see her like this: casual, domestic, offhanded.

Just like the video, it was something none of Emma’s other fans would ever get to see.

Vivienne was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for Mel’s invitation.

“Vivienne!” Melanie Adams rose to her feet as Emma led Vivienne into the living area of the apartment. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course,” Vivienne replied, because she didn’t know what else to say.

As she watched, Emma rushed to Mel’s side and stretched up to kiss her cheek, a big, dumb grin on her face. Envy hit Vivienne like a wave - and she wasn’t even sure who she was jealous of.

An instant later, her corporate instincts kicked in. She couldn’t let it show. Her envy, her desire - any of it. Not even the fact that she knew who Emma was.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Vivienne added, before nodding toward the bimbo. “And… who’s this?”

Silently, she prayed her voice didn’t sound as robotic out loud as it did in her head.

“Oh, this?” Mel’s grin was wide and proud as she slipped her arm around Emma’s waist. “This is my lover - and my pet. Emma.”

Emma let out a sickeningly sweet giggle and pressed herself to Mel’s side. Their body language, the looks on their faces - it was obvious they were in love. And from Emma’s videos, Vivienne knew there was only one person Emma felt this way about.

Which meant Melanie Adams, her corporate enemy, was Emma’s mysterious mistress.

For a moment, Vivienne was speechless. Her instincts screamed at her that something was wrong, but she suppressed them. Her security and anonymity were perfect. There was no way that anybody could know, least of all Mel. There was no reason for anyone to even suspect. This was all just one big coincidence.

But, god, what a coincidence.

“Pleased to meet you,” Vivienne said stiffly.

“You too!” Emma sang out, and her voice was so bright and carefree, Vivienne couldn’t help but freeze in her tracks as words from the video came back to her.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

Vivienne blinked. She needed to focus.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Mel suggested.

She gestured to one of their couches, clustered around a coffee table. Vivienne obligingly sat herself down at one; Mel sat at the next couch over, and Emma immediately went to perch beside her owner.

“So,” Vivienne said deliberately. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

Mel held up a hand. “First things first: refreshments. It’s the least I can do, after dragging you over here. Would you like something?”

Vivienne shook her head. “No, that’s-“

“Hey, doll,” Mel interrupted, turning to Emma. “Bring us out some glasses and a pitcher of water.”

"OK!”

Emma sprung to her feet once more, and headed towards the kitchen. Normally, Vivienne would have bristled at having her objection brushed aside so casually, but the simple sight of Emma walking away from her silenced any complaint she might have raised.

Her ass. It took the words right out of her.

In just a few moments, Emma returned, with glasses and a pitcher set on a tray. She smiled at Vivienne as she set it down on the coffee table before handing out the glasses and pouring each of them a glass of water.

Vivienne’s mouth went dry as Emma bent at the waist in front of her to pour her drink. She could see down Emma’s dress. All the way down. And the bimbo wasn’t wearing a bra. It was all Vivienne could do to keep her eyes from bulging. Emma’s plump, round tits bounced and jiggled with her every slightest motion, and beneath those, Vivienne could even make out the outlines of Emma’s toned abs. The camera truly didn’t do her body justice.

“Vivienne?” Mel prompted. “You were saying?”

Vivienne blinked. She scolded herself for getting distracted. “I was just…” She frowned. “No, you were telling me why you invited me here.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Mel just kept smiling. “Well, it’s simple. Like I told you yesterday, I think we really do have a lot in common. I was hoping I might persuade you to see it that way too, if we spent a little time together.”

“Please.” Vivienne snorted derisively. “You just want to persuade me to sell out to your mothers.”

“I won’t insult you by denying an ulterior motive,” Mel replied. “But I can’t force the legendary Vivienne Gilbert to do something she doesn’t want to do. You have nothing to lose - and everything to gain, if you come to see how mutually beneficial some of our proposals can be.”

“Not likely.” Vivienne pursed her lips. This was a waste of time, and she had plenty on her table. Under normal circumstances, she might have simply stood up and left. But…

Once again, Vivienne found herself glancing at Emma.

“But,” she said slowly, “perhaps you’re right. It’s not often I get to enjoy a casual drink with another woman of our station.”

“Right!” Mel beamed at her. “It should be fun.”

Vivienne nodded as she sipped at her water. Her inner fangirl couldn’t help but want to spend more time in Emma’s presence. And beyond that, she was desperate to know how an inexperienced mind-controller like Mel came to own such a wonderfully trained and presented bimbo.

“Well,” Vivienne said, for want of something to say, “if you have proposals, I may as well look at them. I assume you’ve improved your offer?”

“Of course,” Mel told her. “Anything less would be churlish. Emma, the papers on my desk.”

“Sure thing!” Emma announced, as she bounced to her feet. She soon returned with a stack of papers, but before she could present them to Vivienne, they slipped out of her grasp and ended up scattered across the ground.

“Emma!” Mel scolded, although none too harshly.

“Oopsie!” Emma squealed bashfully. “Sorry! I’m, like, sooo clumsy sometimes.”

Vivienne felt her cheeks starting to glow pink. She couldn’t help it. Emma was just so cute.

“Pick those up,” Mel ordered. “Quickly.”

“Yes, Mel!” Emma chirruped.

She fell down onto her hands and knees, and started scrambling to gather up all the sheets of paper she’d dropped. This time, Emma was largely facing away from Vivienne, but that didn’t make the spectacle any less mouth-watering. As the bimbo bent over, the hem of her sundress rode up over her hips, exposing her ass. Vivienne utterly failed to avert her eyes as it swayed from side to side every time Emma moved.

Somehow, Emma managed to make even picking up papers look both sexy and joyful.

Maybe it was the damp spot of wetness staining her panties.

“Here!” Emma announced after a moment, looking up. “I think I got them all.”

“Oh, babe.” Mel laughed indulgently. “Put them in the right order too.

“Right!” Emma giggled again. “Good idea!”

Emma set the papers down on the floor and started sorting them, peering at each of the page numbers in turn. The sorting, though, wasn’t what had Vivienne spellbound.

It was the way that the damp spot on her panties grew when Mel told Emma what to do.

Vivienne shivered. That kind of pleasure-obedience conditioning was routine. Vivienne herself had done that to dozens of women. But here? Now? It was mesmerizing.

She needed to pull herself together, but instead, she was thinking about last night’s video again. How wet had Emma been under that cheerleader outfit while she’d been chanting?

“Here!” Emma said as she rose to her feet and handed Vivienne the papers. Vivienne took a drink of her water to cover her embarrassment.

“Thank you,” she replied, and made a show of looking at the proposals in her hand. In that moment, she couldn’t imagine anything less able to hold her attention than a bunch of numbers and figures.

“So?” Mel asked, after a moment. “What do you think?”

“I…” Vivienne tried to make herself focus. It didn’t work. All she could think about was Emma. “Well, I’ll have to get my analysts to run some of these numbers for themselves.”

“Of course.” Mel nodded gracefully. “There’s no rush. And honestly, where are my manners? Forcing all this business on you right away. I’m sure we can find something more interesting to occupy us.”

Vivienne nodded agreeably. She made to sip at her water again - only to realize her glass was already empty. Mel noticed right away.

“Emma, please give our guest a refill.”

“Sure!”

“No, that’s really not- oh!”

Instinctively, Vivienne went to wave Emma off, but Emma had already sprung into motion. In the brief mismatch of intentions, Emma’s hand slipped, and she ended up spilling water from the pitcher all over herself.

“Emma!” Mel sounded mortified, although she was still smiling. “You’re so clumsy today.”

“Oh my gosh!” Emma gasped. “I’m, like, so so sorry! Did I get any on you?”

“That’s alright,” Vivienne said faintly. Having her favorite model apologize to her was such a strange experience. “I don’t think you-“

She paused as she looked down and noticed two things. Firstly, a small stain on one of her pant legs. And secondly, the way Emma’s soaked dress was turning translucent.

It made for quite the sight.

“Here.” Emma was already surging forward, a cloth in her hand. “Let me clean you up.”

Before Vivienne could stop her, Emma was on her knees in front of her, lightly patting at her clothing. Vivienne felt faint. It was practically a dream come true. She couldn’t believe that Emma, of all people, was fussing over her like this.

“There!” Emma giggled after a moment. “All good.” She looked up. “Did I, like, splash you somewhere else?”

I don’t think so, Vivienne was about to say. But the fawning, adoring look in Emma’s big, gorgeous vacant eyes stole her breath away. She desperately needed to compose herself. And as soon as possible, she needed to watch that video again so she could work out some of this frustration.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

“Amazing, isn’t she?” Mel asked. A strange grin was on her face.

“W-what?” Vivienne started, embarrassed.

“Emma.” Mel nodded to her bimbo as Emma rose and went to sit back down beside her. “You seem quite taken with her.”

“I…” Vivienne’s mind raced as she searched for something she could say. “She’s… a fine specimen,” she grasped, after a moment. “Your handiwork?”

“I had a little help, at first,” Mel admitted. “But I like to think I’ve been taking good care of her ever since.”

“Certainly,” Vivienne found herself saying. She couldn’t bring herself to utter a word against Emma’s condition - and besides, there were a thousand questions she wished she could ask.

“I’m surprised, I admit,” Mel commented. “I noticed your tastes seemed to skew a little more, well, secretarial.”

"It’s true,” Vivienne acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate other angles.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to convince you,” Mel said wryly, before looking at Emma with an expression of great fondness. “I think bimbos like Emma are just wonderful.”

"That’s your specialty?” Vivienne asked. She was hanging on Mel’s every word. She needed to know how Mel had made Emma so perfect.

“Yes, I think so,” Mel mused. “I just can’t help it. It’s how happy they are. Know what I mean?”

Vivienne nodded. She’d never cared much about the happiness of her brainwashed peons, but there was something undeniably charismatic about Emma’s irrepressibly upbeat demeanor.

“I think of it like a gift,” Mel went on. “A blessing, really. I love that, with Emma, I could take away everything that was troubling her. Every worry. Every care. Every source of stress or doubt. And in their place? Nothing but simple joy - and one simple purpose: us.”

Emma was just sitting there next to her, smiling and humming, as if the conversation was going straight over her head. Vivienne was captivated.

“Sometimes I wonder about how it must feel,” Mel said. “Don’t you?”

“No,” Vivienne lied. “Of course not.”

Yes. The question had started occurring to her ever since she’d discovered Emma. That morning, it had been on her mind constantly. The mindset of a giggly bimbo like Emma was completely antithetical to Vivienne. The curiosity was only natural.

At least, that was what she told herself.

“I imagine it must be wonderful,” Mel said thoughtfully. “I mean, just look how happy she is.”

Vivienne frowned. “It’s undignified. Humiliating.”

“Not to her,” Mel countered. “Things like dignity never even cross her mind. She’s just happy. Aren’t you, Emma?”

For the first time, Emma tuned into their words. “Yes, Mel!” she replied brightly.

“That’s part of it,” Mel continued. “Being able to cast aside preconceived values like those. Wouldn’t that be a thrill? Wouldn’t that be liberating, even?”

"I hardly think…” Vivienne hesitated. She found herself thinking about Emma, on the video, jumping and cheering. Hadn’t she seemed so free?

Hadn’t Vivienne felt free, cheering along with her?

“I’m sure it feels amazing,” Mel decided. “Nothing to worry about. No stress. No responsibility. Isn’t that all the more appealing, to women like us? Hypnogarchs, I mean. We have so much weight on our shoulders. We need to be on guard all the time. It’s so exhausting, isn’t it?”

Vivienne really did feel exhausted. She hadn’t had as much sleep as usual. When she spoke, she had to fight to suppress a yawn. “It’s part of the game, Mel. If you don’t like it, all you have to do is give up playing.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Mel just smiled disarmingly at her. “Come on. You can tell me. There’s no one here to listen - well, except Emma, and she’s not telling. It gets to you too, doesn’t it? It must. Beneath the whole ‘woman of steel’ public image, you’re just as human as the rest of us.”

“Of course,” Vivienne had to concede.

She glanced at Emma. The bimbo was just staring at her, eyes wide and eager and guileless. It was like she wanted to hear Vivienne’s answers.

“Then even you can see the appeal.” Mel’s voice was surprisingly nice to listen to; Vivienne hadn’t noticed that at first. “You’re a rising star, Vivienne. Even you must have moments when you wonder if you’re good enough.”

“I…” Vivienne wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“I know I do,” Mel offered. “My mothers have these sky-high expectations of me. It’s crazy. There’s so much to think about and manage. So, sometimes, when I’m watching Emma, and she’s working out, or stretching, or posing for the camera, I can’t help but be a little jealous.”

Vivienne found herself nodding.

“Yesterday, she was recording some video - for her OnlyFans, I guess,” Mel mentioned offhandedly. “And she was chanting something so silly! What was it… ‘One! Two! One! Two! Emma’s the only one for you!’ Something like that, anyway.”

Vivienne shivered involuntarily. Her cheeks started to turn pink.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Mel laughed. “But just imagine being able to say something like that to all those people, without a single reservation or inhibition. Without being smart enough to worry. When I think about it like that, it makes me wonder if Emma’s the real winner in our dynamic. You know?”

Once more, Vivienne nodded.

“One! Two! One! Two!” Mel chanted half-heartedly, a bemused look on her face. She rolled her eyes indulgently at Emma, before suddenly turning to Vivienne. “Hey, why don’t you try it?”

Vivienne almost choked. She shook her head. “What? No.”

“Come on,” Mel needled. “I already embarrassed myself with it! It’s more fun than you think. Right, Emma?”

“Totally!” Emma agreed at once. “You gotta give it a try!”

“Well…” Vivienne found herself hopelessly weak to Emma’s pleading. And besides, the cheer was already on the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken. She already knew how good they could feel. What was the harm in it? “Fine.” She allowed herself a thin smile. “But just once.”

“Yay!” Emma cheered. Vivienne’s smile widened. Emma’s enthusiasm was infectious. As she and Mel watched, Vivienne sat up and cleared her throat:

“One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!”

She froze. It wasn’t just the words - although the fact that the other chant had slipped out certainly was mortifying. It was also the sheer, unmistakably excitement that filled her voice as she chanted. She hadn’t sounded like a powerful CEO begrudgingly indulging an acquaintance. She’d sounded like she was having the time of her life.

She’d sounded like Emma.

As Vivienne blushed, both Emma and Mel simply clapped and cheered. That didn’t help with the embarrassment, even if the bright smile on Emma’s face did fill Vivienne with a warm glow.

“’Emma’s the only one for me’,” Mel quoted, grinning. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“I didn’t mean…”

Vivienne paused. Her denials just made her sound weak. Saving face in front of Melanie Adams didn’t matter. What mattered was getting a grip on herself. Vivienne still couldn’t afford to be so scatterbrained in front of a rival hypnogarch, even a mere wannabe like Mel. It was Emma’s video. It had to be. She’d been listening to it far too much, without enough sleep. It had left her exhausted and distracted. Even now, she could hear the words echoing over and over in her head.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

It was ridiculous. Vivienne needed to focus. She needed to assert herself properly. And she knew the perfect way.

Vivienne slipped a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingertips around her watch.

“You know, Mel,” Vivienne began, pushing Emma’s silly cheer to the back of her mind. “You really do seem enthusiastic about all this.”

“Do I?” A playful look appeared on Mel’s face.

“Oh, yes. Certainly. Your passion is obvious.” Vivienne was relieved at how easy it was for her to find her flow. She hadn’t lost her touch. “But there’s more than just admiration, isn’t there?”

“Is there?” Mel cocked her head.

“Yes,” Vivienne told her. “You sound like you want to be a bimbo, Mel.”

“Want to be a bimbo?” Mel echoed. “Why would anybody want that?”

Vivienne smiled to herself. Mel had taken the hook.

“Isn’t that what you’ve just been telling me?” Vivienne carefully modulated her voice to form a subtle but irresistible rhythm as she spoke. “For the blissful, dumb, mindless relief of it. To be free of all your worries and cares.”

“Free of it all.” Mel nodded agreeably. “Free of stress. Free of inhibition.”

“Right,” Vivienne nodded. She was surprised Mel wasn’t putting up a little more resistance. She really was naive. “If you were a bimbo, you could just… you could… um…”

Vivienne frowned. The words just wouldn’t come to her. That was unusual. For a hypnotist of Vivienne’s stature, weaving an induction out of their conversation should have been child’s play. Instead, Vivienne’s head just wouldn’t clear. No matter how hard she tried to think, she found herself distracted by the insistent, rhythmic chant burnt into her brain.

One, two, three! One, two, three!

“If you were a bimbo,” Mel supplied, after a moment, “you could just worry about looking hot and shaking your pretty little ass for your owner.”

“Right.” Vivienne blushed slightly, both from the images of Emma filling her head and from the embarrassment of needing help from her prey. “No more expectations. No more pressure. Just looking hot. Just exercise, and makeup, and pretty clothes…”

She trailed off briefly. Vivienne was suddenly dazzled by how right Mel had been earlier. In a sense, being a bimbo truly was something to envy. How long since she’d had time to devote a day to worrying about makeup and pretty clothes? Her assistants took care of most of that for her, so she had more time for meetings, and press briefings, and answering emails…

For things that just left her even more exhausted.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Vivienne pressed on, through the fog of her own confusion. “To just sink into that blank, blissful, bimbo headspace. To embrace being dumb for a change.”

“Being dumb?” Mel echoed again. There was a strange, keen look in her eyes; Vivienne wondered if she was already going under. “What’s so good about that?”

Vivienne seized upon the opportunity to explain. “It’s simple,” she said slowly. “When you’re dumb - when you can’t think - it only takes one little thing to take up all of your attention. No distractions. No bothersome thoughts. No stresses or worries. Just… um…”

It happened again. Vivienne fell silent as her attention wavered. Once more, Emma’s face and the blissfully dumb way she’d danced and cheered on the video were all she could think about. When she tried to form words, that ridiculous chant threatened to slip out of her mouth again.

“Just a blissful, blank, empty, bimbo mind,” Mel supplied. Her voice was so very soft.

“That’s right.” Vivienne seized her suggestion gratefully. “Just a blissful, blank, empty, bimbo mind.”

“You only need to think about what feels good,” Mel added.

“Only need to think about what feels good,” Vivienne told her.

She frowned. This didn’t feel quite right. It was so frustrating to feel so fuzzy and distracted at such a key moment. But there was nothing to do but press on.

“Here,” Vivienne said. To her own ears, her voice sounded slower. That was strange. “Let me show you.”

Fortunately, long practice proved sufficient to overcome her fatigue as, in a single, slick motion, she whipped her pocket watch out of her pocket and set it into motion in the air between them. Vivienne was pleased to see Mel’s eyes immediately fixed on the swinging object.

“There,” Vivienne instructed. “Look at the watch, Mel. Let it hold your attention. Let it drive all those other thoughts away. Focus on the watch.”

Mel simply nodded. “Focus on the watch,” she echoed.

If Vivienne hadn’t been completely focused on swinging the pocket watch, she might have rolled her eyes. It was astounding how defenseless this girl was. She would never be a hypnogarch. Better she be taken into Vivienne’s care.

“Focus,” Vivienne repeated. “Focus on the… on the…”

Her words died away. She was finding it difficult to keep the pocket watch swinging as she usually did. It was robbing Vivienne’s concentration; between that and Emma’s cheer, she could barely think.

“Focus,” Mel reminded her.

Vivienne nodded. “Focus,” she said slowly. “Focus your eyes on the watch. Let it drive all other thoughts out of your head, so you can focus on your mind on just one thing: you want to be a bimbo.”

“You want to be a bimbo,” Mel repeated.

“That’s right.” Vivienne allowed herself a small smile. It sounded completely backward when Mel said it like that, but a foolish mistake from a hypnotic subject was of no consequence. “You want to be a bimbo.”

She risked a glance at Emma. Emma was still perched next to Mel, seemingly lost in her own happy little world and entirely oblivious to what was happening to her owner. Yet again, Vivienne was struck by how wonderfully carefree she seemed. Vivienne herself felt as though she’d briefly touched upon that headspace while watching Emma’s video. What would it be like to exist like that permanently?

“You want to be a bimbo,” Vivienne insisted, turning her attention back to Mel. “You will be a bimbo.”

“You will be a bimbo,” Mel echoed back to her.

Vivienne frowned. Mel’s rote repetition was really starting to bother her, but she couldn’t seem to pinpoint why. Her head was getting foggier than ever. She was struggling even to string her sentences together. But she had to keep going. Vivienne’s style, as a hypnotist, was blunt and firm. She loved to impress her will upon her subjects. In a battle of wills, she never lost.

All she had to do was keep believing that.

“Imagine it for me,” Vivienne told Mel. “Imagine your thoughts becoming slower and slower. Simpler and simpler. Imagine how hard it would be to concentrate on anything difficult. Imagine…” Her brow furrowed. “Imagine…”

Glancing at Emma had been such a distraction. Suddenly she was having a hard time focusing on Mel. Emma’s presence was such a distraction. She was so perfect. So hot.

“Imagine how good the smallest little things would make you feel,” Mel suggested. “The color pink. Your own body. The beat of some fun music. Imagine how joyful those would be, if you didn’t need to think all the time.”

“Yes,” Vivienne agreed. She let out a plaintive little sigh. “Imagine… imagine that.”

“Imagine all those pressures and expectations, slipping off of your mind,” Mel went on. “Imagine how free you’d feel. Too dumb to worry. Too dumb to care. Too happy to let anything trouble you.”

Vivienne’s brow twitched again. Something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. Just keeping her pocket watch swinging was now taking all of her concentration. She couldn’t see the watch’s face, but her gaze was fixed upon its back, on the way the reflection of the lights above glinted and shifted on its metal surface as it swung.

“Yeah…” she found herself saying. Suddenly, everything was warm and heavy. Her voice. Her eyelids. Everything.

“Good,” Mel murmured. “Don’t worry. Just keep focusing on the watch. Keep it swinging. Nice and slow. Nice and even. Letting it take up all of your thoughts.”

“Yeah. Yes. Right. Focus… on the watch.”

That sounded right to Vivienne. Focus on the watch. That was all she needed from Mel. It was nice to think that focusing on her watch was all Vivienne needed to do.

“You… want to be a bimbo,” Vivienne said, after a long moment. She thought that was important.

“You want to be a bimbo.” Out of the corner of her eye, Vivienne could see Mel smiling as she spoke. “That’s right. I know it must be so hard. So exhausting. Being in the lead all the time. Being responsible for so many people. Needing to watch your back every moment of the day. Maybe that’s why you want to be a bimbo. Maybe, deep down, you just want to set it all aside.”

Vivienne twitched abruptly. Mel’s words felt like they were going right through her, setting off a sudden wave of alarm and nausea.

“I…” she bleated. “I… no… that’s…”

Part of her was crying out for the relief Mel promised. But another part of her was screaming that she’d never let it go. Her position as CEO - stresses, worries, responsibilities and all - was her pride. They were part of her, and so was her ambition. For Vivienne, giving any of it up would have been like severing a limb. It was unthinkable.

No matter how good it would feel.

“Calm down,” Mel soothed. “Breathe. Nice and deep. Focus on the watch.”

“No,” Vivienne replied, a little stronger. This wasn’t right. None of it. She needed to find her rhythm again. She needed to hypnotize Mel. Not this, whatever this was. She started blinking, trying to peel her eyes away from her own pocket watch.

“Focus on the watch,” Mel repeated, urgently this time. For the first time during their meeting, she sounded genuinely unsure of herself. That uncertain tone in her voice energized Vivienne. “I need you to… damn it… Emma, could you?”

She gestured, and Emma immediately rose to her feet. Vivienne gasped when the gorgeous bimbo stepped over toward her and sat down beside her on the couch, so close she was practically draped across Vivienne’s lap. She stopped struggling. The simple fact of Emma’s presence, of Emma’s touch, was dazzling.

Emma was so hot. So amazing. So perfect. Seeing her on OnlyFans was nothing compared to this.

“Tell her, Emma,” Mel urged. “Tell her how good it feels.”

“Sure!” Emma let out a light giggle and turned to Vivienne. “Um, well, she’s totally right! Being a bimbo feels fantastic.”

Vivienne whimpered. Her willpower was fading. Somehow, when it was coming from Emma, she just couldn’t fight it. Emma was all of her longing, condensed and made manifest. She was irresistible.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

“I, like, don’t really remember too much about how I used to be,” Emma whispered into Vivienne’s ear. “I mean, most times, it feels like I’ve been Mel’s bimbo since, like, forever! But, um, sometimes? I get these, like, bad dreams, about being all boring and stressed out and stuff.”

Vivienne was hanging on her every word. How could she not? Emma was her idol.

“And… wow,” Emma sighed. “In those dreams, I’m always sooo miserable. And when I wake up, I really, like, don’t miss it. Y’know?”

Shivers raced through Vivienne. She’d never really bothered to consider who Emma might have been before her bimbofication. The prospect that she’d been someone much like Vivienne, at least in temperament, was instantly intoxicating.

“It’s sooo much better this way,” Emma drawled. Her lips were so close to Vivienne now, practically kissing her ears as she poured in her words. “Trust me! You trust me, right, Vivienne?”

Vivienne couldn’t help nodding eagerly. Emma, the bimbo superstar, had said her name. She’d actually said her name. Vivienne’s stomach filled with butterflies.

“Yay!” Emma exclaimed. “So just listen to her, m’kay? Mel is sooo smart. So much smarter than us, anyway.”

Than us. A whimper escaped Vivienne’s lips. She couldn’t tell if it was a protest or a girlish squeal.

“You love doing whatever I tell you to,” Mel broke in. She sounded calm again. In control. “Don’t you, Emma?”

“Of course!” Emma replied instantly, eagerly. “Obeying Mel feels sooo good. So much better than, like, having to think for myself. That gets soooo hard. So much better than having to worry about what all those other people think.”

“All you have to think about is me,” Mel said firmly.

“All I have to think about is her,” Emma repeated. She sounded as intoxicated as Vivienne felt. “Looking hot for her. Shaking my pretty ass for her.” She giggled. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yeah…” Vivienne breathed.

She couldn’t help it. Deep down, she longed for what Emma had. For that simple, dim-witted, obedient, joyful bliss. And now, as her head spun with fog, another element was being added to the mix: Mel. When Emma explained it like that, Vivienne just couldn’t keep it separate.

Being simple and dim-witted, for Mel. Being obedient to Mel. Being joyful and blissful, because of Mel.

“Let’s face it, Vivienne,” Mel told her. “You’re just not good enough.”

Vivienne tensed again. That was the one thing she never wanted to hear.

“But that’s OK,” Mel assured her at once. “Even if you’re not good enough to be a hypnogarch or a CEO, you’re good enough for me. Good enough to be a bimbo.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Emma whispered to Vivienne. Vivienne was instantly spellbound; how could she sound so happy about that? “I had to try sooo hard, all the time. Until Mel set me free.”

“Don’t you want to be free, Vivienne?” Mel asked.

“Don’t you want to be free like me?” Emma added.

Vivienne paused for a moment. Then, she sagged. She slumped back onto the couch, and the arm holding the pocket watch threatened to drop.

“Yeah…” she sighed dreamily.

She’d never imagined defeat could feel like such a relief.

“Good,” Mel praised. “Then I think this should actually belong to me, shouldn’t it?”

Mel reached forward and plucked Vivienne’s precious pocket watch out of her unresisting fingers. She kept it swinging just as Vivienne had, following the same rhythm, but it was now perfectly clear to both of them who was really in control.

“Are you ready to go all the way down for me, Vivienne?” Mel asked her.

Vivienne knew what that meant, and shivered from hot licks of humiliation - but only briefly. She was done fighting. She wanted to be like Emma. She was accepting that - at least subconsciously. She nodded.

“Then you already know what to do,” Mel told her. “Three… two… one… zero.”

As she counted down, Vivienne felt her thoughts fade. When Mel said ‘zero’, Vivienne went completely limp. Her eyelids fluttered for the briefest of moments before they fell closed. She fell back, letting the soft, comfortable couch catch her. She surrendered, and let a blissful, empty peace settle across her mind.

For the very first time, Vivienne Gilbert was truly and completely hypnotized.

Only after several long seconds could Mel bring herself to let out the breath she had been holding. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. She’d ensnared Vivienne. It was more than she’d dared to hope for - but once the tension passed and it became clear she had won, Mel found herself laughing helplessly.

“Did we do it?” Emma asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” Mel replied jubilantly. “Yes! Oh my god. Yes, we actually did.”

Emma smiled, then pouted at her. “And… did I do good?”

“You sure did, my love.” Mel bit her lip, and beckoned Emma back to her side. “Come here.”

Emma giggled and practically threw herself at her owner, leaving Vivienne slumped and entranced alone on her couch. “So, like, what now?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” Mel replied thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how much of this she’ll remember, or how much of it will take. It takes more than one little trance to break a woman like her - but I think she’s ready to take the first few steps into her new lifestyle. At least, once I figure out what those should be.”

“Wow.” As she sat across her lap, Emma looked up at her owner with awestruck eyes.

“Yeah.” Mel giggled. “But before that, I think you deserve a little reward.”

“I do?” Instantly, Emma’s eyes were shining. “Yay!”

Mel put her hand on Emma’s hip and squeezed playfully, provoking an eager squeal.

“Absolutely. You did amazing - plus, seeing my perfect little bimbo help bring down Vivienne Gilbert was incredibly hot.”

They kissed - a long, drawn-out, passionate kiss that immediately threatened to turn into something more. After enjoying the make-out for a few moments, Mel used her grip on Emma’s hip to spin her girlfriend around beneath her, straddling her in the process. Emma submitted to her without hesitation, of course. Mel used her free hand to pin Emma’s wrists to the couch above her head, and let out a throaty, lustful purr as she brought her lips to Emma’s neck.

Hypnotizing Vivienne had seriously gotten Mel in the mood.

But before the two of them crossed the threshold into uncontrollable passion, Emma threw a glance across the room at where Vivienne was still sitting, limp and senseless. Mel paused, curious.

“Hey,” Emma said slowly, breathlessly. “I think I, like, have an idea for what her first step should be.”

Mel drew back briefly, keen to indulge her beloved bimbo. “Oh yeah?”

“Her clothes are, like, sooo boring,” Emma complained. “How about you take her out shopping and give her a makeover?”

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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Finally, special thanks to Neana for commissioning this story!

[colorisbyshe]

List of my Veilguard Complaints... just all together... getting it out of my system and then making it reddit's problem:

This game felt so emotionally flat. I think... the reviewers calling out the game for "therapy speak" weren't entirely wrong. It's more exposition speak and the fact that EVERY SINGLE feeling EVERY SINGLE trauma EVERY SINGLE event needs to be processed, out loud. It's not "too woke," it's just emotionally... spacious. Because you're forced to explore EVERYONE'S interiority... it feels like they have none left, does that make sense? No one has hidden depths because they announce and process every thing they go through, often immediately after it happens. It's hard to imagine any additional depth

It's also hard because... no one... has that much depth. Everyone has weaknesses and bad things that happened to them but it feels like there was a lack of... real character arcs? People had character sub plots. "Accept this thing about myself" was the main one. Which... doesn't help the therapy speak accusation.

No one is a bad person. The crows? The human trafficking, child soldiering, murderous gang? They're the good guys and we should be happy they rule Treviso! Lucanis is just a good guy doing good work. Neve works with Magisters and Templars and some of them are bad... but not her friends. She only works with the good ones! The dalish form a group with Qunari and human members and they're just a diverse coalition who... love mages now (despite having kicked them out last game?? okay). Literally NO ONE is allowed to be EVEN A LITTLE morally dubious unless they'er a Bad Guy or they're fucking solas

I MISS BIOWARE GREY MORALITY! THATS HOW BAD IT IS! I FUCKING MISS IT I MISS IT I DO BRING BACK ANDERS BRING BACK ZEVRAN BRING BACK MORRIGAN AND FUCKING CULLEN AND FUCKING BLACKWALL BRING BACK ISABELA BRING BACK MERRILL AND HER DEMON SHIT! BRING IT BACK

"Oh, we're treasure hunters but we're not COLONIZERS! We don't steal cultural artifacts! We return them to the real owners, we're pirates but we're NICE AND RESPECT PRONOUNS!" CHRIST ALIVE!!!

EVERYONE WE MEET IN TEVINTER IS NICE??? EVEN THE GANG??? THE THREADS GANG IS NICE!! THEYRE SCAMMRES BUT THEYRE SO GOOD ITS A HAPPY ENEDING IF ONE OF OUR COMPANIONS RUNS THEIR GANG??? WHAT???

It was... a little bit awesome to have dorian become a violent revolution man but like????? Then Minrathous gets nuked so the game is too cowardly to even do that shit

AND THATS THE OTHER THING! This game made sure NOTHING matters choice wise! Oh, you chose to save Minranthous? It gets nuked at teh end. Oh, your choices fro previous games? Only matters if you romanced Solas but Dorian might call your Inquisitor "Amatus" in a non-cut scene dialogue. FUck you if you romanced anyone else. Southern Thedas is just.... all dead now... it's over... so any choices you mad ether eare NEVER going to be relevant. The companion personal quest choices really don'tmatter and won't matter next game.

THEY KILLED THE DNA OF A DRAGON AGE GAME! No grey morality, no meaningful choices, fuck... barely any romance once you flirt (NO POST-ENDING ROMANCE SCENE!!! EVEN MORE SHY ABOUT NUDITY!), AND NO FUCKING THEMES!

What was the theme of this game? Following Solas' story, it might be redemption or letting go of the past, I guess, but?? Do the main stories tie into that? Not really. We have ONE part of a hcapter be about Rook letting go of regrets... for deaths that jUST happened not even anything lingering.

Plots around OPPRESSION ANTI-ELF AND ANTI-MAGE DISCRIMINATION?? Gone... IN A STORY ABOUT TAKING DOWN SLAVERS... LIKE THE OG SLAVERS??? Yeah, it doesn't matter. We have idle talk about slave revolutions and that's... it?? I'm an elf in Tevniter and no one cared. What? Qunari and Elves and humans are all besties except the Antaam (some of which still become besties)... what? How do yo drop the single strongest through-line in the series?

"Oh, well it takes place in the north, it's different rfrom the south!" OKAY BUT THE FALL OUT IN THE NORTH LITERALLY NUKED THE SOUTH OUT OF EXISTENCE, I CAN'T GET SOME LINES ABOUT CULTURAL DIFFERENCES! Or like... a line referencing what happned to the southern wardens after... y'unno... the whole betrayal thing last game? That's all chill?

Varric's plot twist was fucking stupid. See: this post.

The romance with Neve was sooo promising btu felt passionless towards the end. Maybe there are better choices but... the lack ofreal closure burns. No final kiss, just a wobbling "I love you" that sounded like it came after pulling teeth like... no passion for real?

Taash's nonbinary plotline sucked. I'm sorry. It did. As a nonbinary person I can say that.

Harding was so OOC it fucking hurt.

I chose her for the mandatory death because that wasn't my harding. It's absurd that that limited the mandatory death thing to two potential characters?

Larger casts are always hard but it feel slike they rly struggled to make all characters relevant to the main plot. Taash's mom/gender struggle could've been skipped. Emmrich was amazing but felt like he was a part of an entirely separate game. Bellara's archive plot felt close-ish to teh main plot of letting go of the past but the fact that you can choose to keep it going kinda... makes it less relevant. Idk.

Besides... Lucanis... and sometimes Bellara and sometimes Harding no one feels like they're reacting to the plot. The fact that a character can die but it's skimmed over after a scene and some chats is insane. The pacing is terribleeeee like oh I can watch Harding and Taash's terrible romance (I'll say it!! Harding acts liek a doting mom and NOT in a sexy way) in dialogue across several missions in the Lighthouse but we zoom past companions dying? THe world ending??

The world was beautiful BUT THE WORLD BUILDING SUCKED! Sorry but SOOO many locations make NO sense construction wise. Why is a chest in the middle of street? Why does this bridge only appear when I have a quest? It's hard to tell when an area is inaccessible because you haven't figured out how to get there vs you literally aren't allowed to go there yet. It makes the world feel more like Oh I'm playing a game rather than you're exploring a real place. They did not navigate inaccessible areas well as a concept.

CHARACTER MOTIVATION EQUALLY AS FUCKING MESSY! I still don't know what Elgar'nan/Ghilan'nain's plan rly was even though Ghilan'nain literally wails about them. They wanted to rule, they were blight addled so I guess they're insane, but... why did they have to do it this way? What were they gonna do as rules?

Solas wanted to tear the veil down ti imprison them even harder except tearing the veil down lets out the blight except letting them out of prison also lets out the blight and don't worry when he tears the veil down he'll imprison/kill them again and make sure the blight isn't too bad even tho the veil was the only thing keeping the blight in?? And oh haha killing them lets down the veil. Also, AFTER killing htem, the veil takes a while to be torn and actually stays in place long enough for Solas to feel bad and patch it up with his own essence... okay?

The Butcher Antaam dude looooves Treviso so he accepts the blight into his body to rule it but you have to fight him.. to prove you're worthy of keeping him... from destroying Treviso? He loves it and also wants it destroyed. Again, he's blighted so he's CRAAAZY but... what?

Even with Emmrich! He's scared of becoming immortal because he's a afraid of death. So you resolve that by either pressuring him to never die by being immortal... or by not letting his friend die? Huh? We conquer fear of death by just... not letting things die?What?

Not the same thing but why would dorian stay up in the north to become an archon if he romanced an inquisitor who is fighting for their life in teh soutH? again this continuity SUCKS

[aiscapades]

touchstarved m5 as black friday songs

continuing the tradition of starkid x ts :3

leander — feast or famine, adore me vere — do you want to play, caliform.i.a. ais — made in america, wiggle, tickle me wiggly jingle mhin — monsters and men, black friday kuras — if i fail you, what if tomorrow comes

brief explanations:

leander

feast or famine: starting off strong with the song that was #4 on my spotify wrapped for 2024. as the title hints, this song is about survival of the fittest against a backdrop of mind-controlled consumerism chaos—but more simply, it's about taking what you think you deserve. it's about greed and gluttony and indulgence. the lyrics "you never should settle / for the lifetime that is handed to you / there's always a line to be cut / someone to barrel through" remind me of how leander left the senobium to instead slum it with poor people in lowtown, presumably because he wants to be seen as a hero of the people. he's forging his own path to power (and probably doing some fucked up shit to get there). "and if you should find that / you're about to get the short end of the stick / take what you want / return what you get!"

adore me: now originally i had this song chosen for vere! but i need 2 songs for each character and ended up moving this one up to leander (i still encourage you to imagine this song for vere as well). the first line of this song "as a pillar of the community... it gets exhausting, everyone looking at me" is sooo leander. like ok we get it you're the hero or whatever. then "it's a tunnel vision opportunity / to coax their love / to break their cold hearts down" soo you're using the people who look up to you? fucking them over? "you will adore me / you'll kneel before me / i demand your love and worship too" ok you just want undivided attention and love from people who rely on you? mhm. this song also has some reprised lines from feast or famine!! "take what you want / return what you get / no matter the cost / idle the threat" so it fits very well here for leander!

vere

do you want to play: in all my starkid x ts posts, vere has two running themes—hunting and rebellion. i gotta say, those themes are pretty fitting! this is the hunting song. it's essentially a sickly-sweet lure for a little girl who has something the singers want. the lyrics are pretty straightforward, just "do you want to play with me? lovely girl, lovely girl / do you want some candy? my lovely girl, my lovely girl / let's play some games" but the vocals, the music (that guitar riff after the evil laughter!!) lend such a darkness, a hunger to the song that i think resonates with vere's character. this song feels like slinking through shadows and cornering your prey in a serving-scary-cunt kinda way.

caliform.i.a.: and this is the rebellion song. vere is a rebelling teenage girl pt 2. like i mentioned in my tgwdlm post, the toxic mother x rebllious daughter dynamic is meant to represent vere and his handler/the senobium. it's a song about lex finally cutting ties with her alcoholic mom. "dearest mom, it's been bad. real bad. i'd say you did your best but i'm not a liar... i'd give you an address but i don't want to. don't write. don't call. don't ask. sincerely, lex. p.s. - get yourself a new trailer 'cause this one is broke! as! shit!" idk it gives petty, sassy vere to me lol. i know he's a former god and not a grungy teenage girl but the VIBES

ais

made in america: also such a banger!! on the surface, this song is about overconsumption in america, but it's also about exploiting others' weaknesses to serve an eldritch god's greater purpose. definitely fitting for ais! "you thought that you could outsmart / the very thing that runs / the blood of your kind / for that, you will give up / your will and your pride" there's a running theme of giving up your humanity. "you're hoping to be saved / no matter what you have raised" this reminds me of all the people who drank from the seaspring to cure whatever ailed them only to become another puppet for ocudeus. the lines "and now the end is nigh / the apocalypse is here / in a package that's not what it appears / you may ask "why a doll?" / well, that's all that it takes / when you're made in america" make me imagine being served the seaspring's red water in an ordinary teacup and thinking this can't possibly be all that bad as i gulp it down, hoping for salvation. when people are desperate, blinded by weakness (be it pain or greed or loneliness), they'll take any help they can get, no matter the cost.

wiggle: this is very straightforward. "i hear his voice / i feel his power / i see his kingdom and his plans laid out for me" this whole song is the god's chosen prophet announcing their dedication to serving their god, specifically in helping birth him. "my god awaits... oh, he's my, my god / to love and to worship / oh, it's my, my job / to prepare for his birth." the god in this musical, wiggly, is called such because he has tentacles. so the comparison with ocudeus is just perfect!

(bonus) tickle-me wiggly jingle: just like tgwdlm, black friday is also about world domination through mind control... so you see why ais has 3 songs. sorry (not really). he got the blue goo coffee jingle, so he gets the tickle-me wiggly jingle too! the voices in his head gotta be singing something to pass the time

mhin

monsters and men: this is the call to action, the you gotta fight back song of the musical. "sometimes you gotta slow your breath / sometimes you gotta step into the black and white / and face the thing you dread ... 'cause there are monsters and there are men / there are monsters that live in your head." i like giving mhin any songs that have very this/that phrasing. black and white, monsters and men. mhin is a monster, but we know they don't want to be; they've got a complicated relationship with good/evil, normal/monstrous. "the truly good / versus the truly bad... you better align your soul / with what's good and right." they don't want to slaughter humans in the night, and they look down on people they deem evil or too monstrous. they seem to have fairly strict rules on what's truly good and they don't think they themself fit in the category.

black friday: and here's the angst! "there's something that's beautiful / being awake for my funeral / you can close the casket now" this is the finally giving in to my fate song. mhin knows they're doomed by the narrative and they've tried to fight it—but maybe it's just time to give in. "should i never have wanted? / i never even got started / or were the decks always just this stacked? ... i don't want your half-baked sympathy / when did it save those in need?" after all, dying is better than living as a monster.

kuras

if i fail you: i struggle with kuras so bear with me okok. in this song, the singer realizes he's been serving a cause he doesn't believe in and he's hurt the people he cares about in the process, including himself. "the hell i've been thinking? / my heart is so empty / everyone's dying and that includes me too... if i fail you one more time / the punishment won't match the crime / 'cause there's no pain / that could ever explain / how i let you down" kuras is an angel, some greater being who lacks empathy, but he knows when he's in the wrong. he's repenting for something. he'd know his actions have hurt MC and he'd understand there's no punishment that would befit his crimes, even if he may not feel remorseful. there are also some biblical-apocalypse-sounding lines "and if a fail to hear your voice / or if i make the easy choice / the world would tear asunder / drowning all..."

what if tomorrow comes: this is the closing of the musical, so placement here is extra fitting! as the clock ticks down to midnight, ending black friday, the characters are all worried about what tomorrow will bring, if it even comes at all. "tomorrow will come / tomorrow won't come / will tomorrow come today / and turn the light off?" anything dealing with the end of the world fits kuras in my mind, given the whole biblically-accurate angel aspect of his character. "what if tomorrow comes / to break the dawn / and take the night away? / what if tomorrow comes / to break the dawn / and there's no one to stay?" the ending of the musical is left sorta ambiguous; you don't know if everyone is now dead or if tomorrow came and went like any ordinary day (though that's unlikely given the plot). this song reminds you how fickle human life is and how we take every day for granted. kuras has outlived more humans than he hasn't, and with the power to end the world as we know it, i wonder if he sees much value in humans after all.

thanks for reading 🩷

these are so fun to do! i've been waiting for cinderella's castle to drop publicly so i can get that one done (oml i cannot wait), but in the meantime i rewatched black friday and these comparisons wouldn't leave my head! seeing touchstarved characters in lyrics for other media helps me get hyped for their real storylines and arcs bc i just wonder!! i wanna know what they've got going on and if my assumptions are hit or miss!! i'm dying to know. anyway,, hope you enjoyed :3

[dgrailwar]

Round 8, Day 1 - ALL TEAMS (but mostly Team Pretender) - [ TRUE NAME DISSOLUTION ]

Team Pretender chooses to trigger the Pretender's True Name Dissolution! Oberon's gameplay style, personality, skills, and perhaps even the current state of the Grail War will cha--

"Ahh… you're sure? This would be a pretty nasty spoiler… I mean, might spoil things in a pretty nasty way."

"Well, if you say so. Let's put up a curtain, just in case anyone wants to remain in this illusion of bliss."

Ah. So you decided to keep reading? Good. I hope you're ready. Because in exchange for visuals, you'll have to live with words.

You watched as the form of 'Oberon' began to decay, his form withering and rotting away into dark, pulpy matter. The process was vile and agonizing, the smell of sloughing sinew and blackening bones filling the forest. The bugs crawled to the disgusting carcass, worming their way in, making nests and feasting greedily as the fairy king dropped to the earth, his body no more than a dark puddle that slowly grew in size, before rising.

Rising, and rising.

A swarm of darkness, rising and rising.

A vile king, an abyssal worm, rising above the digital space.

An empty entity that loathed existence itself. An eternal pit that swallowed worlds.

And as naught but innocent bystanders, the Masters could only watch in horror, for how could they have known this would happen?!

Hah!

Yeah, right. That's horseshit.

Of course they knew what would happen. They just didn't care. Not about the others, or how things would change. That's human nature, you know? Ruin things because it seems interesting at the moment. That's the simple fact of the matter.

They probably looked on proudly. 'We did it!', they would declare, 'We summoned such a mighty and powerful Servant, and none will stand in our way', they probably proclaimed. Or, perhaps even more naively (and perhaps even worse), 'Our friend now has the power to win'! Blegh. Anyways.

Then, as the audience is given a beat to grapple in the horror of the scenario, in a manner of surprising comedic timing they would check their Command Spells… and they would be gone.

'Gone? How could they be gone?', would be the question buzzing in their minds, panic beginning to settle in. Of course, the answer was simple.

That giant abyssal creature did not exist, and yet did exist. A 'hole', only truly meant for a Lost World.

Anyways, do you want a big explanation on how each Servant suffers and dies under the curse, and how the Grail crumbles and withers into itself, reverting to nothing, and how the magical energy suffused by this dark entity breaks free from this digital prison, dooming this world? I mean, I could. Sure.

But why bother? It's basically settled. Here.

What was that thing that Shakespeare had Puck say at the end of that bullshit play?

"If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber’d here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream."

It's over. You can leave now.

The dream is done.

The Abyssal Wyrm comes and everyone dies. Meaning you've reached a...

I said you can go.

Leave, shoo. Go away.

There's not much past this, so bye.

…Hah! Fine. I lied. I mean, obviously. What a shit ending that would be otherwise. Let's keep it 'sporting', then. This whole farce makes me want to puke, so I need to let out my anger on someone before this ends. Ah- wait, this is narration. No more 'I'. Let's stay detached, lest this become a monologue.

Now, let's settle the matter of where this story stands.

There was the melting, the decay, the ruination of the idea of 'Oberon'. Check.

The insects feasting, nesting, and crowding on his decaying body, a ritual to send his body to the earth, and arise anew. Duh.

The vanishing Command Spells, as you realized that your connection was nothing more than a scam. Of course.

The giant abyssal creature looming over the horizon. Obviously.

That stuff happened. Remember it.

But the Servants didn't die (yet).

The digital space wasn't swallowed by darkness (yet).

All isn't lost (yet).

Those were lies. Though, if I'm the one saying it…

Ah, whatever. Now... how did these sort of things go for the others? Right, right.

Behold, the vile king of the abyss. He who resides wherever 'emptiness' lies. The wrath of the Planet, given form and cursed with eternal loathing and hollow truth. He who only should have existed within the confines of the Lost World, as he has no role within human history. He, made of lies, sheds his farcical shell. He who makes you go 'Oh, we, uh, should have summoned the Archetype of the Planet for this one' with dumb mouths agape!

Behold, the end of worlds and dreams. The one who fells the morning lark. The one who consumes the evening shroud. The one who devours the twilight.

Behold--

The Extra Class of Endless Deceit, Pretender!

[sweaty-toothed-mad-woman]

if we shadows have offended

think but this and all is mended

that you have but slumbered here

while these visions did appear

and this weak and idle theme

no more yielding but a dream

gentles, do not reprehend

if you pardon, we will mend

and as I am an honest puck

if we have unearned luck

now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue

we will make amends ere long

else the puck a liar call

so goodnight unto you all

give us your hands if we be friends

and robin shall restore amends

[lovelytsunoda]

take my breath away // tom 'iceman' kazansky

a traffic jam on the interstate and a diamond ring in a glovebox compartment

temporarily stationed in nevada, tom and heather decide to take a weekend in las vegas to see their favourite new wave band. all the while, all tom can think about when to ask heather to be his wife.

part of the heather and tommy universe started in 'tell me something girl'

pairing: tom kazansky x female oc (named heather)

warnings: fluff overload, marriage proposals, traffic jams.

author's note: guys i know that 'kick' didn't come out until 1987, but bear with me on this one, i was trying to make all of the dates work without the wedding feeling rushed (you'll know what i mean if you check the date headings on 'tell me something girl')

October 25th, 1986. Just outside Las Vegas, Nevada.

the weak air conditioning system in her boyfriend's hummer did nothing to block out the nevada heat as they sat idle, listening to the sounds of engines humming and horns honking. heather schneider held a small camcorder in her hands, the viewfinder trained on her boyfriend's face as he raked his hands through is hair, aviator glasses hiding his eyes. duran duran played on the radio, a tree shaped air freshener dangling in front of the windshield.

"babe, i’m so sorry. i had no idea traffic would be this bad." tom sighed, pushing up his glasses so he could run his hands over his face.

the move to nevada had been sudden. back home in virginia after graduating top gun, tom wasn't expecting to get marching orders so fast after coming back from a mission. the two harrowing weeks in the ocean after the academy had rattled him a little, and he was looking forward to finally spending time with heather again. now, he was scared about what nevada would to do his relationship with heather, until heather dropped a bombshell of her own.

she was quitting her job.

working in a law firm that did work closely with the us military did things to a person. and one day, heather just snapped. she came home in tears and told him that she couldn't do it any more.

and then she quit.

and now she was in nevada with no idea what she was going to do with her life. tom was stationed at the nellis air force base, which was very near to the las vegas motor speedway, a place they spent many a weekend watching stock car racing. tom was easing into his role at nellis quickly, seamlessly and with his trusty backseater ron kerner at his side.

heather was still lost. deployment was only for five months, part of a training program for a plane that most people in the military weren't even aware of yet. and after that five months? would they go back to virginia? stay in nevada? where would she work?

"kaz, stop worrying. the concert isn't until tomorrow night anyways." she soothed, running her thumb over his knuckles. the hummer eased forward, but traffic was still at a crawl.

"nellis is eight fucking miles outside of vegas, why can't we get into the city on a friday?"

"because everybody else is also trying to get into the city on a friday."

in the three months they had already lived in nevada, despite only living eight miles outside sin city, heather had still never been to vegas. never walked down the strip, never seen a show.

until tom surprised her with tickets to watch australian new wave band INXS play at ceasers palace. the band meant so much to heather, and she had been waiting for this weekend for the last six weeks.

tom, on the other hand, knowing the significance of the weekend had something bigger planned. the ring was burning a hole in his glove box, right next to his service weapon.

all that time away had taught him one big thing: he wanted heather in his life, by his side, for the rest of his life.

"hey, heath, do you remember that blue bungalow in miramar? the one that was on the water, with the backyard that walked out onto that small square of beach?"

"yeah, why?" heather hummed, panning the camera over at the traffic in front of her. the pair never went anywhere without their cameras, digital or video. there were envelopes full of negatives in their apartment, shoeboxes bursting at the seams with pictures they'd taken since they started dating in the spring of 1985.

tom tapped his slender fingers against the steering wheel, easing the hummer forward another few feet as traffic picked up, and then promptly slowed. he moved to roll down a window due to the heat, but then reversed his decision after smelling the latent gasoline exhaust in the air and hearing the noise of the jam.

"it's for sale. has been for a while, miramar isn't a hot area for us young people." he stopped to take a breath, looking over at heather. her eyes sparkled as she turned to look at him, popping a small pretzel into her mouth. her large, round prescription sunglasses made her look like an owl.

he adored every part of her.

"i want to put a deposit down. with your permission, of course. i know your life is in virginia, and we can go back if that's what you want. but i see a life for us in that house. kids, a dog. at some point, i want to teach at top gun. that's where maverick is, where slider is going to go. but none of that means anything if you aren't with me, heath."

heather closed the camcorder, dropping it into her lap as she reached for tom's hand, clasping it between both of hers. "tom, i'd love to. let's do it. let's move to california."

tom's heart swelled with love as he brought heather's knuckles up to give her a gentle kiss. everything was finally coming together. they were ready to start their life together.

and he knew he needed to ask. he had planned to wait until they were in the city, planned to get down on one knee underneath the false eiffel tower and present heather with his grandmother's ring.

but, as impulsive as it may be, he knew he needed to ask her. in the middle of stalled traffic on a nevada freeway. his hair had grown out since he'd come home from top gun, bangs curling into his eyes and sticking up in all ways after he pushes his glasses up.

"babe, pass me the camcorder and take a look in the glove box." tom said, putting the hummer in park. he would have turned the engine off to save gas, but who knew if traffic would pick up again and he'd have to drive off the freeway?

after heather passed him the small metal camera, he popped it open, discreetly recording as she opened the glove box. her sunglasses held her long, brunette hair back like a headband as she rooted around the compartment.

"behind the service weapon, sweetheart. it's a small pink box."

"found it." she hummed, her manicured fingers clutching the small cardboard box. (tom had been insistent that she go get her nails done with slider's girlfriend maria before they left nellis, but she had no idea why).

she pulled the lid off the box, a gasp getting caught in her throat when she saw the stunning sterling silver ring, and the large blue stone in the middle, framed by diamonds.

"this is your grandmother's ring."

tom's parents were polish immigrants. when his parents left poland with nothing, they brought his father's mother with them (his mother's parents would follow later). angela kazanzky was classically trained ballerina with the warsaw ballet corps, but had left poland with almost nothing after her husband was killed. all she brought with her was a suitcase of clothes, and that sapphire engagement ring.

"heather, the time i spent at top gun taught me a lot of things. how to be a better man, a better soldier and a better pilot. but it also taught me that i hate being away from you. i hate waking up at the crack of dawn and you aren't there next to me." tom began, reaching for heather's hand. she turned to look at him, eyes wide and hands shaky as the gravity what this was set in. "i hate coming home at the end of the day to an empty dorm without you there. yeah, i love the guys, and i love this job. but none of that holds a candle to the way that i love you, heather anne schneider. i was going to wait until we actually got to vegas to do this, but now's as good a time as any."

he smiled nervously, a shock of giddy, pure love shooting through her veins when she looked at him, an equally wide smile breaking out across her face.

"heather, will you marry me?"

"yes! yes, tom, of course i'm gonna marry you. is this what that house talk was all about? yes, of course i'll do it!"

"thank you." tom exhaled, speaking so softly that she almost didn't hear it. he extended his open palm, waiting for her to press the ring into his palm. she was a giggling mess, trying to hold her hand steady while tom slid the cold metal band onto her ring finger. "i'm so in love with you, and i hope we stay this happy forever."

god, she loved that man.

"i love you more, lieutenant."

stretching as far as her seatbelt would allow, heather leaned over the hummer's center console, kissing her fiancé with an intensity that was out of place on the freeway. she couldn't stop staring at the rock on her finger, and thinking about the promise that it represented.

they were forehead to forehead, full of giddy smiles, the camcorder resting on tom's lap still recording as the pickup truck behind them began to honk.

traffic was flowing normally, and they hadn't even noticed.

they broke apart, laughing as they stowed away the camcorder and the now-empty ring box. tom put the car in drive, throwing his middle finger up at the driver behind them.

they were both still smiling, daydreaming about what their new life together would bring them. heather reached for the radio, turning up the volume as they began to play INXS' 'never tear us apart'.

tom smiled fondly, looking over at her as she began to sing.

"this is going to be our wedding song." she smiled to herself.

the following year, they would get married in monterrey, and they would have their first dance to that same song, heather in a simple white dress, and tom in his navy dress whites. and two years after that, they would welcome their first of three children.

and when mitchell kazansky got married? he used that same sapphire ring to propose to his now-wife amelia.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @diorleclerc @lorarri @cartierre @userlando @thatsdemko

[lucyav13]

Super Dimentio

(A/N: Credits of the art to: @snuffydoo her art is amazing!)

Super Dimentio, is a gargantuan clown-like puppet monster that serves as the final boss of Super Paper Mario. It was created through a fusion of Mr. L (after Luigi was brainwashed again), Dimentio, and the Chaos Heart. 

He also possesses an ability similar to the Pal Pill item, in that, should he be provoked by guarding techniques, Super Dimentio will create several grunts in the form of 8-bit Luigis. They run and jump in the direction the player was when they were summoned, although they are incredibly weak enemies that die if they hit anything, including the walls surrounding the arena.

(A/N: In all the times I've played, I have never had that attack, Can someone tell me how it is activated or something like that?)

Despite Super Dimentio being the final boss, Shadoo (with the heroes' dark clones' HP added altogether) is stronger than Super Dimentio; additionally, Brobot has higher health and has the same defense as Super Dimentio on the body. The Dark Muth also has higher HP and attack power, although Super Dimentio has significantly higher defense on the body and was even invincible at the start of the battle. Once he can be damaged, there are ways to avoid an arduous battle, such as using Slim to hide from attacks, or simply jumping onto Super Dimentio's shoulders when he extends his neck and remain there, safe from most attacks and persistently jumping with good timing until he is defeated.

 (A/N: Checking out this fact, it's true! Brobot's health is 255 HP, and Super Dimentio's is 200! What the...)

Additional information:

Catch Card: 196

Max HP: 200

Attack: 6                                

Defense: 0 (head), 4 (body)

Score: 9990

Card description: This monstrous clown was created by Dimentio. He used Luigi and the Chaos Heart to create it. In the end, it was no match for the power of love.

Tattle: That’s Super Dimentio, a freakish blend of Dimentio, the Chaos Heart, and Luigi... That monstrous body has immense power... Max HP is 200. Attack is 6. Concentrate attacks to the head. You’ll have to climb those platforms to reach the head to attack. This is truly the final battle... Winning is the only option...

Fun facts: 

Super Dimentio's stance resembles Mario or Luigi's idle stance from Super Mario Bros. and Super Mario Bros.: The Lost Levels.

Super Dimentio is the only final boss in the Paper Mario series who is not associated with monarchy. (A/N: What do kings and queens have against him?)

According to the InterNed, the battle theme of Super Dimentio is called "The Ultimate Show," and is composed of Dimentio, Mr. L and the Chaos Heart's themes remixed together, though a majority of the theme's motifs are from Dimentio's theme.

In the 'Super Paper Mario Player's Guide', Super Dimentio is referred as Mr. L/Dimentio.

(A/N: Finally, one last announcement: the next part of Super Paper Mario Researches is going to be the last one. More details in the next part.)

[hurtspideyparker]

Hi, if it’s not too much trouble could you please share some songs you think are Peter Parker coded? No pressure of course, thank you

HOW DID U KNOW I MADE A PETER PARKER PLAYLIST LITERALLY THIS WEEK?

I'll give out the link, it's based on MCU Peter and is vaguely chronological. Heavy on the angst soz. Also I don't have a super broad or unique music taste but I tried my best !

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0IeIl3Kj7L1hFoyyTIR21P?si=PkQ3NKseS0eL-sVyUFI5qA

Some specific thoughts on each song and how they relate to Peter if interested:

Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown - civil war Peter. just a crazy little guy, absolutely bonkers baby boy kicking super soldier ass.

all-american bitch by Olivia Rodrigo - homecoming Peter expected to be this tidy neighborhood hero for Tony but he's young and stupid and eager for action.

tolerate it by Taylor Swift - Homecoming Tony and Peter. Peter idolizing Tony and doing everything he can to prove himself and catch his mentor's attention, while Tony barely pays attention to him. "You're so much older and wiser and I, wait by the door like I'm just a kid" "I made you my temple, my mural my sky, now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life".

Reflections by The Neighborhood - same theme as tolerate it. "tried to put it out for you to get, could've should've but you never did" - Peter trying to warn Tony about what's going on but Tony not listening. Bonus "I see my reflection in your eyes" (I just wanted to be like you!).

Rose-Colored Boy by Paramore - Peter being this young optimistic hero, slowly losing that spark.

clementine by Halsey - general childish, stubborn Peter attitude. "I don't need anyone! I don't need anyone! I just need everyone and then some."

brutal by Olivia Rodrigo - Peter trying his best and losing so much of his normal teenage life to be the hero everyone demands, but he's never good enough.

All These Things That I've Done by The Killers - Peter coming to terms with the chaos and danger he causes others, begging for a mentor or a helping hand because he's in way over his head. "yeah you know you gotta help me out, oh don't you put me on the back burner" is so Tony coded in Homecoming. "I've got soul but I'm not a soldier" Peter has heart but he's only a hero by chance, he didn't ask for the fight.

this is me trying by Taylor Swift - Far From Home Peter reliving all his mistakes and thinking of the people he's nearly gotten killed, Fury berating him, telling Happy how he messed up. Him thinking about Tony a lot, and how he's failing to be the next Iron Man.

Gold Rush by Taylor Swift - this just makes me think about how enamouring and beautiful Peter is.

Social Cues by Cage The Elephant - Far From Home Peter. Literally that scene where Peter gets overwhelmed by the reporters, pressured and frazzled by the expectations of being the new biggest hero. Shy little guy in his Iron Spider suit.

Idle Worship by Paramore - Fury and so many others expecting the world of Peter when he's still just a kid who's expertise is stopping bike thiefs and helping elders cross the street. They set him so high on this pedestal that when he falls the impact will be so much harder.

The Kids Are All Dying by FINNEAS - Everyone turning against Peter because of Mysterio's lies. Peter frustrated they're so focused on him, just a kid who's trying to do good, that they're blind to the real problems. Everyone is so gullible and maybe Peter is second guessing being a hero considering how angry everyone is at him for it.

Figure 8 by Paramore - "all for your sake, became the very thing that I hate, I lost my way" this song is Peter's frustration at Mysterio and shield in general, how they took him and forced him to be someone he wasn't and how it backfired "I was only being kind but you mistook me for weak" Peter is far more trusting and forgiving than most, but once he's mad... his true strength shows.

Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift - Peter regretting trusting Beck. "If I was a child did it matter, if you got to wash your hands" Beck doesn't care that Peter is an innocent kid in this, only cares about his goal and hatred for Tony. "but lord you made me feel important, and then you tried to erase us" Beck made him feel seen and special in a time where no one else was (Peter had low self esteem and was easy to manipulate).

Why by Derivakat - another Beck and Peter angst theme (Mysterio is my fave villain sorry lol) "look at what you've done, is this what you call glory? do you still believe you're the hero of your story?" Beck has caused so much suffering just because of his grudge against a dead man. "you act like a judge enforcing your personal grudge. am I to pay for this war you've raised?" Beck admits that Peter is an innocent chest pawn in all this, and still Peter ends up losing the most.

Daylight by Taylor Swift - Peter and MJ anthem 🥺 finally seeing the great thing that has been right in front of him all along. Also- "I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked" hurting his friends because he trusted Mysterio. "Clearing the air I breathed in the smoke" Peter clearing his name from what Beck did to protect his friends, but he ended up poisoning himself (No Way Home ending).

because i liked a boy by Sabrina Carpenter - all because Peter trusted Beck he nearly destroyed the planet and then he lost everyone he loves. "now I'm a homewrecker I'm a slut, I got death threats filling up semi trucks. tell who I am, guess I don't have a choice. All because I liked a boy" change homewrecker and slut into menace and murderer and it's just like what the media is saying, sending Spider-Man constant hate and telling him who he is, and all is happening because Peter trusted Beck and gave him the power of EDITH.

What I'm Becoming by Cage The Elephant - Peter and May :(. "I'm so sorry honey, for what I'm becoming. Everything you wanted, seems so far from me. never meant to hurt you no, never meant to make you cry" May wanted Peter to be selfless and kind, to vouch for second chances even for criminals and villains. Now Peter is the one trying to take Green Goblin's life because he got May killed, and deep down he knows May would be disappointed.

my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift - No Way Home final battle and saying goodbyes. "you wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me... cause when I'd fight you used to tell me I was brave, and if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake. cursing my name, wishing I stayed, look at how my tears ricochet" MJ still wearing the necklace after forgetting. Desperate and making Peter promise he'll get her to remember, sharing tears. They're all haunted by someone they used to know. "I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home" is of course Peter being a free man but at the cost of losing everything he called home.

R.I.P. 2 My Youth by The Neighborhood - basically Peter losing all of his mentor's and support system, leaving school and getting a place of his own - the end to his youth. He steps fully into his role as Spider-Man and with it Peter Parker, the sweet naive kid he was, has died.

Making the Bed by Olivia Rodrigo - "push away all the people who know me the best, but it's me who's been making the bed". Even though it was Peter's decision to erase his name and protect the people he cared about, he hates going back to that dingey apartment all alone each day. "another thing I ruined, I used to do for fun" is about how bittersweet being Spidey is now.

Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant - "cigarette daydream, you were only seventeen. So sweet with a mean streak" this song's vibes are sweet boy beaten down, still trying to remain gentle in the face of violence :( Peter looking for reasons to remain good while everything crumbles around him.

Your Best American Girl by Mitski - "you have so much to do, but I have nothing head of me" Peter to his friends. He knew being Spider-Man he'd never have a normal life, so he decided to let them go instead of dragging them down with him. "you're the one, you're all I ever wanted I think I'll regret this" is Peter in that coffee shop making the final decision to leave them.

Happy Now? by FINNEAS - Peter's journey as Spider-Man, a post No Way Home Peter reminiscing about his career. I love the line "always such an anxious child, never wild, always worrying". Makes me think about homecoming Peter and how he was giving up all his clubs and time with his friends to be a superhero just because he felt a responsibility (civil war Peter telling Tony why he does this speech).

The Plan (Fuck Jobs) by The Front Bottoms - sardonic Peter, bitter and sarcastic post No Way Home. Him vs. the daily bugle, a broke and mentally unstable young adult. Comic Peter vibes.

Ya'burnee by Halsey - Peter thinking about MJ and how badly he wants to confess to her again who he is and why he loves her. They had so little time to be a couple together, immediately sweeped into a media circus and having their lives endangered time and time again. This song is just a Peter Parker open heart surgery.

I miss you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams - bittersweet anthem to Peter MJ and Ned ending their friendship. "nothing happened in the way I wanted... I don't want go think I'll make it worse, everything I know brings me back to us" :(

Matilda by Harry Styles - "you talk of the pain like it's all alright, but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside" Peter is such an optimist. He left that coffee shop with a smile for his friends getting into MIT, but he doesn't allow himself to feel grief for that life he was supposed to have too. I think he deserves to feel his sadness and understand it wasn't his fault, that nothing is wrong with him. "you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up/for doing it on your own" I hope he doesn't regret his choices, and that things will get better for him.