#sad potato cat

[mamaweegee]

Sad potat

[gvardi-l]

bloody inheritance

[hayleylovesjessica]

I'm currently slouching like a dyke in the recliner, but my partner is on the couch with one of our cats, Potato, and is trying to comfort her, as there's thunder rumbling outside and Potato does NOT like storms.

[captainsparklefingers]

I'm trying to get the energy and motivation and desire to do...well. Anything. It's not really working out so well.

Like I know I need to write. I won't feel good about this stupid fic unless I work on it, finish it, edit it, etc. but I just...am drawing blanks as far as motivation.

I should draw. I feel better being creative. But there's no juice.

I should go to the gym. I like exercising, and I went yesterday after work and it was good, and with my work schedule changing again I won't be able to go on Wednesday for much longer...but I just want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.

Hell, I should actually try to find work to do at work. There's some things I could be doing; not much, but something...but what's the point? Nobody ever uses any of the stuff I work on in the catalog. Even with students coming back next week, nothing I do is going to feel like it makes any sort of difference or positive impact.

I need to catch up on CR and get excited for d20 tonight, but I just wanna lie down forever. Hell, I need to think about healthy actual food to eat and make, but all I've done is eat a sleeve of Ritz, insult myself, and decide that's probably enough food for the next few hours.

I'm really hoping the medication changes we're making are going to help, or at least cut some of this exhaustion and apathy off at the knees a little bit... I'm tired of not enjoying anything, not really, and of having things I like and want to do feel like this big obstacles that are easy to put off and ignore. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of being unhappy.

[plaid-n-converse]

listen,, i promise he's purring so loud rn

[mymarifae]

Ur kitties have grown up oh so much

THEY HAVEEEEEE......... look. the day i brought them home vs a recent picture:

also look how small turnip used to be oh my god

i haven't had mr. loaded baked potato for very long but even he looks all grown up now!! he's gotten so big. how.

ugly crying

[memecatwings]

eating is kind of a sensory nightmare for me rn which sucks bc i love to eat. why must i suffer so why has food betrayed me how can i love and peace in these conditions i need to chow the fuck down but i cant

[m34gs]

He’s beauty, he’s grace,

His tail Floofs in your face

[sinister--potato]

Listen, I love crows, but the way our local murder's been chasing around the newest litter of kittens, literally sharpening their beaks, is freaking me out!

I understand instincts and whatnot but come on, guys! You're not even hungry because I'm fucking feeding you every damn day!

[tirednapentity]

Oh the irony of me creatign a tournament for dead characters and my pet budgie dying immediately after

[alltheendings]

Uhhhh

[disteal]

yknow it’s more than a little sad that every artists ‘hand-wringing panicking’ about what ai would do to the industry and how it would replace a lot of the already slim meat-and-potatoes jobs we rely on to survive were overwhelmingly proven true months after the technology really became widespread. It’s sad that convention space is being taken up by enormous booths full of cheap ai prints soaking up the limited space and money available at cons, it’s sad that competitions are getting flooded with ai generated pieces, it’s sad that i’ve seen a lot of ‘man. i’m just gonna go work at target, i can’t compete with this.’ from ppl who have been working in the industry for YEARS.

But it’s INFURIATING to see supposedly leftist game devs and indie ttrpg makers on here try and astroturf a PR campaign for ai to make using it for their projects more socially acceptable, and in order to do this paint artists as pearl clutching hysterics. As if anyone would blink on here if factory workers threw a brick through a window when they were being replaced by automation, but because art is never respected or treated like actual labor our industry collapsing is just kind of a big joke.

Like I saw someone compare the gay sex cats to Duchamp LIKE NO!!!! THEYRE NOT!!! The people who would get pissed off at Duchamp’s fountain are a very specific demographic!!!! Namely fascists!!! Like the implication of a statement like that is actually absurd. who is the fascist in this analogy, 25 year old nonbinary artists?? If you don’t want to pay artists to do your backgrounds for your indie game like just SAY it. (edit: additional context bc this got out of hand but I’ve looked at the blog of the person who said this and i’m walking back the salt I expressed here. It’s a nuanced take that wasn’t expressed super clearly in the post that went viral and he’s elaborated on it a lot in a way that makes me feel this was an unfair interpretation of his words. My bad)

[suengmi]

- stray kids realizing they fell in love with you

genre: fluff/romance, gn!reader, established!relationships warnings/other: none just... GROSS FLUFF, kissing, play fighting

anyways... some more soft hours lesgooo

♡ masterlist / pls reblog if you liked! it helps a lot ♡

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ bang chan

it's probably a sunny early morning on no particular day, he's just admiring you in your sleep. he's appreciating some of the acne scars on your cheek and how sometimes it makes him sad when you say you hate them because he thinks they're pretty, and that it tells a story. that's the thing about chan is that he notices things, small lil things that you might not. maybe its the scar on your leg or the bite mark from that dog that bit you on the nose. or maybe it's just the way you cover yourself when he's on top of you telling you how glad he is you mustered up the courage to confess to him when he knew you'd liked him for months. really, he always was in love with you, he just didn't know how to say it or wrap his head around it. but with you next to him, hair splayed in a mess as you sleep he realizes. it finally clicks that he does and he always had.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ lee know

with lee know, when he knows, he knows. lee know kind of realizes it when he sees you on the floor of the kitchen, tears streaming from your eyes to your cheeks about the burnt dinner you wanted to cook him. so he'd pick up the burnt potato from the baking tray and put it in his mouth. he'd finish the whole mouthful and tell you (with a scrunched face) that it was 100% fine. you'd probably cry again, but him seeing how upset you were over a simple gesture to make dinner for him made his heart swell and burst. you'd be pissed and ask why he was smiling, but he'd simply shake his head. no hesitation or wavering in his voice as comforted you, telling you he'd happily order take out.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ changbin

you're just in your pyjamas, cleaning your teeth at his house. hair flicking in all directions and bare face showing with pride. he's just standing in the doorway, admiring the way you brush angrily, while you're being annoyed that it's taking two minutes of your life every night. "like... if no animals have to brush their teeth, why do we?" you'd complain spitting out the toothpaste. he kinda of loves how you think of these things, such random observations and thoughts you feel safe enough speaking and sharing with him. he'd listen to your rant about dental hygiene. but in the end, when you were done, he'd simply smile at you. it kind of clicks, all of the moments in your relationship til now. he just has a gentle smile on his face as he adores every part of you. no 'ifs' 'ands' or 'buts' going through his mind. just love.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ hyunjin

it's a multitude of things. hyunjin always notices the small changes in your voice. he notices how you feel just by your posture or the way you message him, but one thing he particularly loves is the way you like to line up the cups a certain way after cleaning the kitchen. it's on this one night, just any night, where it finally clicks for the first time. you're just talking about your day, how you need him to remind you to take your cat to the vet. it's when he bends down to give you a kiss mid sentence that he finally realizes it. the kiss is sweet and long, almost innocent with how he pulls back before pressing another small kiss on your nose. he'd feel a bit nervous, averting his eyes and speaking in a mumbled tone as he helped dry the plates you had washed. "what did you say babe?" you'd ask but he'd shake his head just continuing to help you clean. "oh, uh nothing."

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ seungmin

with seungmin, it's simple. he's always been one to be sure of his feelings. when he knows it, it just seems to fall in place. he doesn't feel the need to blurt it out at first, but he seems to show it in his actions. in all honesty, he knew early on. he liked your spice, he liked your willingness to learn and admit you were wrong. he especially loved how you called people on their bullshit, including him. no one had ever put him in his place, and he loved that you did that for him. you didn't pander to him and your honesty was refreshing. it's in a moment that he feels the need to say it, suddenly feeling nervous for the first time in your relationship. the thumps in his chest would worry him a bit, the urge to tell you, but he doesn't. he wants to save it for another time when he feels it'll be more special. because you deserved that.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ felix

it's probably a big 'aha!' moment with felix. he's never really questioned himself or his feelings for you, but it kind of waves over him like a numbing breeze under his skin. you've fallen asleep on your video chat, your cheek scrunched up against the pillow you're hugging and mouth a little open as you breathe. it's cold, so you're all rugged up with your doona up against your chin. he just watches you. he enjoys seeing you sleep so soundly and he loves that you feel comfortable enough to let yourself fall asleep while video chatting. you were just talking about something related to his game, but he knew you were tired. so he let you sleep, not ending the call or saying anything to wake you. he ends up laying down himself, just admiring you as you are. though, he does tell you he loves you but you're not awake to hear it. he'll tell you in the morning.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jisung

it's almost like a tree trunk fell on his head. you're just laying across the couch from him, legs entwined into his own. you're in his trackie pants, the ones that are probably a bit too tight for you and too loose for him. buuuuut he loves how it looks tight across your ass. it's when you say it to him for the first time. you're kind of debating about something and you'd chime in with a a simple 'well, that's because i love you so that doesn't count.' and he freezes. your confession made him realize that he felt just the same, but you were the one to take the lead just laying it out in front of him on a silver platter. you're totally fine as you continue talking to him about whatever it was you were prior, and he ends up excusing himself to get a drink. his head would be spinning with all the emotion he's feeling, finally realizing that he'd felt like this for a while.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jeongin

jeongin knows it when you're both having a play fight (not that this isn't a regular thing lmao) he jokes about how you're easy to flip over, regardless of your size because he has the 'man strength' as he coined it. you'd argue back, telling him that his masculinity has nothing to do with it as you pinched at both of his ears and pulled. he'd just karate chop at your arms, pulling you over himself to throw you into the snow. once he had you on the ground he'd eventually get your hands above your head, pinning you there gloating that he was stronger. you'd just make a fart noise with your mouth, wriggling beneath him. this is the exact moment he knows. his strength lessens, and his face would probably turn into a smile before giving you a quick kiss. "that's cheating!!!!" you'd protest face all >:( when he just grinned bigger letting his feelings wash over him.

DON'T ASK WHAT THIS IS

♡ taglist: @blankdyean @l3visbby @daddyjoonchua @abcdefgiwsmcty @moon0fthenight ♡

[gothofasaia]

What your favourite nevermore character says about you 🫵 (personal edition)

Lenore: you’re a hopeless homosexual

Annabelle lee: you’re a hopeless homosexual but with a very bad taste in women.. (type of person to pet a venomous reptile)

Duke: you’re a sucker for sidekicks aren’t you? you’re praying that he won’t die (again) aren’t you?

Pluto: you’re a furry and all of your Original characters have a tail and cat/dog ears (I see that mcr t shirt in your closet you can’t hide it)

Berenice: Nothings wrong with you you’re perfect (please let my family go now)

Eulalie: So,,, how’s that autism diagnosis process going?

Montresor: You think he’s hot and you’re desperately waiting for a redemption arc (not happening buddy.. sorry)

William: you didn’t have many friends growing up did you..? stop hanging out with people you don’t like just because you’re afraid of loneliness

Ada: No amount of tiktok “share and they’ll fall in love with you” videos will save you from your very bad talking stage (you’re also hoping for redemption aren’t you?)

Morella: you have definitely unironically referred to yourself as a smol bean/potato in the past and own at least one frog related item

Prospero: he’s your AroAce kin isn’t he? (i don’t blame you, i see it)

Theo: … you’re sad he isn’t in more panels and desperately trying to find fandom content about him

[slowd1ving]

ACT II: WITHER ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･ﾟ NEXT PART

Scene I: Rivalry . 　⁺

Vil’s not quite sure when his coldness towards you turns into unadulterated rivalry, but he thinks it started in the middle of the next Advanced Potions class, where Professor Crewel had asked a question and both your hands shot up immediately to answer.

“Shoenheit,” Crewel utters. You put your hand down, shrugging good-naturedly, but Vil can see past that forced body language into the annoyance of that casual gesture.

“The pH in which that particular enzyme denatures should be 2.8. Enzymes after that point should be avoided and Silvertear root is typically added in to continue as the second stage’s catalyst,” Vil’s voice is clear and articulate. Crewel nods in approval and continues the lecture, and he thinks that’s where your feelings of rivalry started blossoming.

He notices the little looks you send his way; the way your eyes are half-lidded in exasperation tell him everything he needs to know. You’ve been goaded into approaching the bait he’s left. No use in crushing you if you aren’t at your full potential, right? That’s the way it should be.

He taunts you with snide comments; you fire back almost immediately. You’re not as bashful as you initially look. This hatred is more cathartic than the deep resentment he has for Neige. It consumes him. It eats at his mind, his heart. When he shoots his movies, you’re always there at the back of his mind, taunting him into becoming impossibly beautiful. Adela’s only got praises for those emerging “fierce eyes” of his.

“What’d you get?” you peer over his papers every time he gets them back. He doesn’t know when sitting next to you becomes a second thought.

“You little fucker,” you always pout in mock-sadness when you see that red circled 100% on his written exams, before showing your 90% on the test that you had to verbally translate for Crewel to be able to mark it.

“You’re always so vulgar,” he scoffs back. He scoffs again when he sees those stupid doodles on the corner of your test paper.

Your remarks only extend to when you sit next to him in the laboratory. Otherwise, you ignore him when walking around the school, always focusing on whoever you’re talking to. It’s always those ruffians of first-years; you’re in the company of that red-haired potato and that dark-haired tuber almost daily. Regularly, you’re seen chatting with Rook. Vil watches from a distance, watching the hunter eagerly discuss the latest scientific theory with you. He watches you accept kisses on the hand from the vice Housewarden with a smile and laugh.

He does not care.

He watches you get along with Leona, of all people. He watches the way the lion actually listens to your suggestions if you have input on Spelldrive practice. Why are you suddenly such a precious commodity? Even the notoriously standoffish Azul makes an effort to at least greet and smile at you if he sees you, even after his Overblot (which you partly caused!). If Vil happens to be walking nearby, you’re always in the company of at least one of your friends, even if it’s only that unsightly cat.

He doesn’t think he cares.

He doesn’t think you care either. If you’re standing next to him in line, or bump into him at the library, you’re always carefully civil. Your eyes slide off him as easily as oil, looking through him. Do you not treat this rivalry seriously? Whatever remark he has always catches in his throat as you act as if he’s nothing more than a goddamn wall. It only fuels his resentment - it has to go somewhere, right?

Adela’s remarked that his eyes, when modelling, have a more wistful quality - nothing like the “fierce” look his fans had come to adore. This new look also garners a lot of popularity, with throngs of fans in his comments expressing their adoration for this newfound look.

Does he not take up your thoughts at all like you take up his?

Scene II: Song . 　⁺

It starts up all over again after the winter break. The sky is grey, peppered with clouds that slowly sprinkle snow all over Night Raven College. Vil’s heard rumours from Rook of you being involved in yet another Overblot; this made four in just as many months. He feels a headache blossoming just thinking about it.

He shivers as he takes his seat in the laboratory. The rankings should be posted within the next three weeks - plenty of time to brush up on his skills for the final assignment. Plenty of time to take back that number one spot. It’s been occupied by you ever since you arrived. Your practical work with potions is always polished to absolute perfection, though your grades with written work rarely ever meet that 100. But when they do, you turn to him with that shit eating grin on your face.

Speak of the devil. The distinct rhythm of your footsteps jars him out of his thoughts. Vil busies himself by looking at himself with his cosmetic mirror. Twice he adjusts his tie, ignoring you all the while. If you want to ignore him, he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. You simply open your notebook while propping your chin up again on your hand, doodling and rewriting your previous notes in your strange Latin alphabet. Vil takes in your tired appearance, how you look more exhausted than usual. A drop of pity splashes into his turbulent mind. Pity. That has no room in his mind, especially with the Song and Dance competition only a few weeks away.

Resentment fuels him to new heights. His dance practice runs flawlessly; spite powers him like an engine. The aches of his muscles leave his mind feeling euphoric as he stretches them out.

It’s only when he spots you and that idiot trio talking to Epel that his good mood shatters instantly. How dare you distract him from singing practice? Vil’s body reacts before he can fully think; he marches himself over to the well with a scowl on his face as he lectures all of you for disrupting such a crucial time. He does not miss the way your eyes smoulder with annoyance - his walk back to Pomefiore is one with a cheerful gait.

To his revulsion, you’re somehow roped into being the manager of the group after the SDC auditions, by Crowley of all people. Even worse, he’s forced to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm with the rest of the team to gain some camaraderie. It’s logical, he can’t help but admit it, but the thought of living in the same space as you makes him shudder. Even worse than that moth-eaten couch he’s currently perching on in the living room after the first day’s gruelling rehearsal. It’s a far cry for Pomefiore, but he’s always been a stickler for routine.

“Hey Rook-” your voice intrudes on his little bubble as you bound into the room, holding what seems to be a microscope and a bundle of mechanical junk, including electrical wiring. Vil swivels his head towards you, but you don’t even deign to look at him. Instead, you approach Kalim who sits criss cross on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

“Have you seen Rook?” you ask Kalim hurriedly. “I need that hunter for an experiment.”

“Nope! He might be in the kitchen though!” Kalim’s enthusiastic voice betrays his excitement. “What kinda experiment are you planning?”

“It’s like you’ve robbed Ignihyde,” Epel comments from behind Vil. “S’full of stuff like that.”

“Just some magic resistivity testing,” you explain, rummaging around in your stash of junk. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance around the room. “Have any of you seen my ammeter?”

As luck would have it, there’s an oddly shaped box lying half-submerged in those ugly rags you’d call cushions on the other end of the couch Vil sits on. A large triangular symbol is painted in black with a circle around it. Vil picks it up wordlessly and clears his throat. Your eyes turn to him finally - finally! - and you snatch the box up eagerly.

“Cool, thanks,” your voice is already slipping away as you turn around, a jive in your step as you seek the hunter.

“Good luck in your experiment,” Kalim calls out after you - with the way you eagerly yell something back indistinctly, Vil is sure you won’t need it.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Between the constant rehearsing and shaping those potatoes into something somewhat presentable, Vil expects the urge to compete with you to subside. It doesn’t. The fire within his blood isn’t beaten out by the long training he makes himself undertake - it doesn’t rest when he shuts his eyes either. That gnawing feeling of proving himself is fighting to be let out.

“Professor,” Vil’s voice is slightly shaky as he approaches Crewel. Normally he would’ve thought everything out before he came here, but his legs moved before his head had a chance to input anything. It’s been happening more and more lately, and he hates the feeling.

“What is this about? Aren’t you rehearsing for the showcase?” Crewel sounds slightly surprised at Vil’s appearance at his office; it’s very rare, after all, to see him when the SDC period begins.

“I want to hold the poison assessment,” Vil doesn’t need to specify to Crewel what this means. Crewel’s eyes soften with worry, but Vil doesn’t need any of that.

“There’s only one person who could have prompted this,” Crewel murmurs his sympathies to the shaking youth. His eyes flick down to his desk, searching through the schedule for the next few weeks. “It’s unorthodox for a non-Pomefiore student to- but.. if that is what you wish, pup.”

Scene IV: Resistivity . 　⁺

The date for the poison assessment is set for the week before the SDC. Vil receives the missive from Crewel; you, no doubt, have received the same one. For an assessment of this magnitude, there’s several days of waiting for the poisons to be tested and assessed by not only Crewel, but a panel of researchers. It’s a big deal.

It’s how Vil became the Housewarden.

Unorthodox. He supposes this whole ordeal is; the challenger is supposed to be the one vying for the seat of Housewarden. Instead, the Pomefiore Housewarden is challenging someone who isn’t even in Pomefiore. And for what?

It’s the ultimate challenge. The laboratory will be his stage for victory.

You shouldn’t even be allowed to undertake the assessment, but then again, you’re always the exception, aren’t you? Vil chokes back a hysterical laugh. He has to prove himself. One way or the other. He has to beat both you and Neige. Being reduced to second place isn’t an option anymore. At all.

A knock resounds on the wood of his room in Ramshackle. It must be Rook. Surely…

“Come in,” Vil feels as if he’s speaking through water. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollow.

The door creaks open. Instead of Rook, there you stand, holding that damned missive. Your brows are furrowed. You look the part of the mad scientists, with your customised lab coat and goggles still propped up on your nose. The smell of matchsmoke emanates off you in light tendrils. Vil just gazes at you. He doesn’t comprehend you.

“What’s this supposed to be? A duel? Rook just told me to go find you,” you unfurl the scroll again, squinting at the runes before you. With a start, Vil realises that one, he’s not even told you about the assessment, and two, you can’t even read the information anyway. What a fool he’s made of himself.

“Allow-” Vil clears his throat as his voice gives out. “-allow me to explain.”

“Go ahead,” you stride over to him, placing the missive in his outstretched hand. Up close, the coppery tang of wires adds itself to the kaleidoscope of scents he can feel. Underneath all the various chemical traces, clings a pure, unadulterated scent of.. the Dream Flower? Faintly, he remembers eavesdropping on your conversation - les fleurs des rêves. Somniablossoms. That’s what he smells on you, beneath all the conflicting scents.

“Right, the missive,” Vil scans over the parchment; it’s essentially the same letter he’s received, with a few inconsistencies. “It appears you have been selected as the student challenged for the poison assessment. Though you are not a Pomefiore student, your application has been approved by a figure of authority. Your assessment is to brew your most potent poison within a three-hour time limit, supervised by Professor Divus Crewel, alongside your opponent. The poisons are then sent to be assessed across a seven point criteria. May the legacy of the Fairest Queen guide you.”

There’s a long pause. Some rustling. Vil looks up from the letter to see you wiping away smudges on your goggles with the hem of your lab coat.

“Well,” you finally speak. Vil waits. “I’m assuming you’re my opponent?”

You’re taking this differently than he had expected. He thought you’d sneer down on him for this desperate challenge; that’s what he would’ve done had someone challenged him. Deep down, he isn’t surprised by your nonchalance - it’s something that’s intrinsically rooted in your being.

“Yes,” Vil begins to explain himself, but you hold up a hand to silence him. He shuts his mouth.

“Spare me the details,” you shrug it off. Like always. Vil feels a bitter laugh surge within him; it takes everything he’s got to suppress it. “I’ve got interesting news from my findings with Rook.”

The suspense builds. You take your time before your next words, folding your goggles and tucking them into your lab coat pocket.

“Come to my lab.”

Vil blinks, then follows you out the door. It’s a relief. You haven’t yelled at him, cursed him out, or anything someone else in this position would’ve done-

“Look, I really don’t like you,” you mutter, as if you’re deliberating whether you want Vil to hear you or not. “You’re an arrogant prick who picks fights for reasons that are beyond me. But I want to make something extremely clear before we start the assessment.”

You shove open a door before Vil has time to register what you’ve just said. It’s strangely gratifying to be the villain in someone else’s story for a reason other than his beauty.

A gust of warm air barrels past him as you barge into what appears to be your lab. An array of tabletops are arranged in the room, and shoved on top are all sorts of appliances he doesn’t even have names for. He can vaguely make out a fractional distiller perched precariously on the edge of a table, but the clanking and whirring machinery elsewhere throw him for a loop.

Rook stands in the corner of the lab, peering through what appears to be a microscope. He’s also decked out in what appears to be spares of your lab gear, judging by the ugly little doodles embroidered on the fabric. Not drawn on - embroidered. It’s such a waste of thread he almost laughs out loud.

“Welcome to my lab,” your greeting is completely monotone. “Where the equipment here is every scientist’s wet dream.”

Vil ignores this.

“I would know,” Rook chimes in, beckoning you over. Vil also ignores this. You make your way around a table to look at whatever’s on the slide, grabbing your class notepad and scribbling something down.

“The structure’s slightly different,” you murmur, twisting the fine adjustment knob. Vil wants to scream. You’ve invited him here and already you’re sidetracked.

“What’s going on?” Vil crosses his arms over his chest. He feels out of his league here, and as he spots you and Rook sharing a glance that feeling only seems to worsen.

“Magical resistivity,” your pencils scritches the side of your neck as you pull out a stool and sit on it. “It’s the reason why none of your potions or whatever you call it ever achieves that 100.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Vil scoffs as he stares you down. You meet his gaze.

“Yeah, because I’ve just found it,” you slide your notepad towards Vil across the table. He picks it up, noticing the two diagrams of what appear to be cells drawn on the page. One side is a typical animal cell here, whereas the other… the other appears to be missing a few organelles.

“It’s a side by side comparison of one of my skin cells and Rook’s,” your voice contains an element of barely restrained excitement. “Notice those structures in his? Those magic generator thingies?”

“Yes,” Vil’s heart is slowly starting to race.

“From examining the flora cells here, they’ve got a key difference against the ones in my world. That extra structure is what generates magic power in people here, and it extends to plants here as well,” your eyes begin to light up. “Then, I began questioning why my yield in Potions is so much better than everyone else’s. Rook’s kindly told me that 100 point potions are practically unheard of here, and it occurred more than once so it’s clearly not a coincidence right?”

“Right,” Vil’s mouth is dry.

“So, I ran some magic circuits using some equipment I borrowed, and some stuff I tinkered with, and I used both my hair and Rook’s to test for conductivity of magic. By hooking Rook’s magic pen up to the circuit, he could feed magic directly into the circuit.”

You motion for him to turn the page, where a page of incoherent scribbles meets his eyes. Vil’s eyes almost roll back into his head with exasperation.

“When my hair was hooked up, there was no magic lost - the initial magic was identical to the place where my hair was. But when Rook’s hair was hooked up… the magic output was only around 96%. And when we tested skin cells, his fell to around 94%, whereas mine remained constant.”

A pause.

“So when potions here are made, there’s always a margin of error in the precision, because of the magical resistance in your very being suppressing the natural magic yield of ingredients. Of course, this means I’m more susceptible to the spells here… so it’s not a complete win,” your ramble slowly dwindles out. Vil feels his eyes about to burst from their sockets. Of course. That consistent 100 in your potion work.

“Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy,” you puff out your chest proudly. “It’s like those triple threats in theatres.”

So what’s the third skill? Vil almost allows the biting remark to leave his lips before he restrains himself.

“Anyways, I’m going to wear some lab-issued rubber gloves for the actual poison assessment, so that should bring that magic resistivity up, since the gloves are made here,” you stand up from your stool, walking over to Vil. Your eyes are half-lidded with a deep annoyance.

“I’m going to beat you from square one,” you promise. Vil wouldn’t want any less effort from you.

“I adore the tension here; what a truly stunning display of beauty,” Rook chimes in, and Vil can practically hear the stars in his eyes.

“How did you get Crowley to fund all this?” Vil suddenly asks, as if noticing your lab for the first time. The equipment here almost gleams with technological prowess, and he’s genuinely curious.

“He didn’t,” you shrug. “I’ve made a side hustle selling potions, and I buy old equipment from both Crewel and Ignihyde and convert them into models I’ve seen in my world.”

“Don’t you need a licence for potion selling?” Vil frowns.

“I can’t read,” you shrug again. “That law’s irrelevant.”

Before Vil can respond to whatever the hell that response was, you shoo him away.

“C’mon Rook, I’ve gotta show Crewel these findings,” Vil can faintly hear your voice as the door firmly closes in his face.

[aforestescape]

more kidnapper simon, this time featuring light smut

content includes: gn!reader, dubcon, male receiving head, slight hair pulling. i’ll have the smut under the cut so you can skip that bit if you’d like

previous.

simon doesn’t like to leave you alone in the house for too long. beyond the fact that he always has that slight worry in the back of his mind. worried that you accepted your place with far less resistance than you should have and that you’re biding your time to try an escape.

it’s not you escaping he’s worried about. he’d burn a trail into the earth on a path to find you. drag you right back to your little cabin in the mountains. but if you had the chance and left it’d mean he was alone again. that everytime you cling to him, searching for salvation in his arms you were lying.

he’d never hurt you, he wouldn’t be like his father. sure he took you away from everything you knew but that was what was best. the moment he laid eyes on you he knew you were special. spent weeks stalking his little pet, finding out what you liked, what made you tick. he’d made sure his little home would be as welcoming as possible for you, for it to feel like yours too before he took you in.

the reason far greater than that small fear though was the fact that you’d be lonely. there were cameras installed in every nook of the home and some of meters of distance into the woods surrounding. whenever he checked up on you he’d catch you wistfully staring out the window. eyes darting over to clocks whenever you took a break from reading.

hugging yourself on the couch as the fire burned in the hearth nearby. he hated to see his pet so sad.

whenever he got back you’d offer him a smile, melting into his large, warm chest as he hugged you. face nuzzling into the cold fabric of whatever jacket he wore.

this was one of the days he had to leave for hours. he’s promised you that he’d have a surprise for you when he got back. it made you giddy, pestering him to give you a hint or two as to what it could be.

you didn’t expect him to come back hours later with a pet carrier in hand. a familiar green duffle with mesh pockets to let you see the cat on the inside. you were frozen in surprise as he opened the carrier to reveal the little black kitty inside, bright green eyes staring at you. a patch of white in the fur that made you almost think this cat was yours. the one you had before coming here with simon.

he huffs out a story about his days activities as the cat meows and comes prancing over to you. rubbing it’s body against you and yelling rather loudly.

he’d broke into your old house a few days ago apparently. just the front door really, left it open so your cat could escape. he’d went to the shelter today and adopted it after the workers let him know the family said the owner was gone. had them transfer the contacts on the chip and adopted your cat.

you listened to him as his story derailed to bitching about arguing with some grandma over the last cat stand on display at the pet store. your fingers trailing over long strands of fur as you took in the fact that he’d went through all that trouble to bring your child back.

to thank him you made a huge roast dinner. potatoes, carrots, greens, gravy to smother onto the beef. simon watched idly as you happily prepped and cooked the meal. smiles coming to your face everytime the cat came by to rub against your legs.

you thanked him again as he ate the hearty meal you’d prepared. sat on your knees under the wooden table, perched between his large, hairy, muscular thighs with his pants pulled down enough to free his cock from its confines. your hands running up his thighs, trailing kisses along the way to his center.

you took him in hand gently, peppering kisses along the length of him. he was a little bigger than average and thick, a defined vein running up the side of it and peaking from behind his foreskin.

you heard him let out a deep rumble as you held him firmer, moving your hands up and down the length of him. pumping him and pulling the foreskin back with each pull. watching as pearly drops of precum dripped from the head.

your giddiness was still there. you wanted to thank simon for all his kindness. you laved your tongue over the mushroomy head of his cock, moaning at the taste of him on your tongue. you glanced up to find him watching you and held your tongue out for him to see his cum collected on it. his brown eyes looked darker than normal, trained on you as you flicked your tongue under the head of him. swirling around the head and sucking lightly.

he went back to eating as you took him into your mouth. warm and wet wrapped around the first few inches of his cock. sucking lightly as you got used to the weight of his pretty cock in your mouth. keeping your breathing in check as you bobbed your head and licked the underside. one hand wrapped around the base and squeezing everytime you went back down.

you take your time. bobbing your head slowly, pulling off his cock to look at the trail of saliva you leave behind. kissing along the length, laving your tongue over him, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of simons thighs.

when you’ve finally got his full length down your throat, nose pressed against his greying pubes, simons hand reaches down to stroke your cheek. rough fingers tracing the shape of his cock inside your mouth. you hum around his length as you pull back. his hand moving to your hair and grabbing what he can into his hand.

you close your eyes and focus on your breathing and the scent of him, letting him take control. using your hair as reins to move you back and forth. your cheeks hollowed out and sucking him as you please. you glance up to watch as his chest heaves, his pace growing faster as he jerks his hips forwards. fucking into your mouth like he can’t help himself, bucking up to chase your mouth. you hum as you feel him twitch in your mouth, getting closer to his release.

he keeps up the pace until he’s spilling his seed down your throat. you moan as he does, swallowing everything you can as he keeps you choked on his cock. you keep your mouth on him as he finishes up the meal. you’re a little dazed as he lets you off of him, not before offering a kiss to his head. he helps you back up off your knees and you ask him if he wants a slice of the apple crumble you made.

he grumbles out a reply, leaning down to kiss you. slow like you, taking his time and letting his hands roam over your body. when he pulls away he makes you sit down and eat instead. you can share the pie once you’re done.