#ended around the same time with feature length specials too

[animasola86]

The Magic Toy (2/2)

Notes: Part 2 of The Magic Toy, a continuation of A Scholar and a Pervert.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Explicit sexual content! Oral sex. Vaginal sex. Double Penetration. Magical sex toys. Mutual masturbation.

Word count: 10.6k

Synopsis: After just having used your special gift from Sebastian, you end up in the Undercroft with him for more toy related shenanigans.

Warning: The horny teenagers are up to no good again and this time they're in the same room!

-- can be read on AO3 too --

The Magic Toy 2/2

(Context: You've just pleasured yourself with your magical toy that is directly connected to the one who gifted it to you: Sebastian, who had to find a quiet place to evade an embarrassing situation before the two of you had some remote mutual masturbation session. When you meet him on your way to the Great Hall, you know you need more and here we are...)

Moments after deciding to indulge in your desires once again, you found yourself kneeling in front of that old couch in the Undercroft, settled right between Sebastian's legs. Both of you hadn't wasted any time in undressing and had simply used a quick spell to get naked, and as you moved closer with your eyes glued to his very real arousal, he watched you with admiration and awe and a little bit of pride as he witnessed you succumbing to your primal needs right in front of him.

He wanted to think that he taught you well, but perhaps this lustful minx had always been inside of you and he had merely awakened it after its long slumber. Whatever the case, he was quite happy with how you had adapted to those new urges and how eager you were to satisfy them.

Leaning back against the couch cushions, he watched you gingerly cradling his cock between your fingers as you seemed to examine it rather thoroughly as if to compare it to the toy that was still in its box, waiting to come into operation as well.

You didn't wait long until you lowered your head and closed your lips around his tip while you moved your fingers to gently massage his balls, a feature the magic item didn't have, and you quite missed the feeling of his heated skin when you would indulge in the shaft-only version. You felt him inhaling deeply and when you looked up, he had closed his eyes and was simply enjoying your touch, letting you do your thing as he waited to become more active later.

You kept lapping at his length until it grew harder in your embrace and when the first precum drops found their way out of him, you licked at them hungrily, causing him to moan softly. Another thing that was different to your toy: it didn't make sounds like he did. And it was these sounds, falling from his slightly parted lips, that would travel through your body like a gentle tidal wave only to gather right between your legs, fuelling your growing desire.

Even though you could have played with his cock a lot longer, you felt a shudder in your groin, telling you to move things along. With one hand around his girth and the other cradling his balls, you then raised your body to clamber onto his lap, straddling him with confidence before you quickly guided his tip towards your entrance.

But before you could finally feel the real deal inside you, he had opened his eyes and got hold of your wrist, and when you looked at him, he grabbed your chin with his free hand and brought his face closer to yours, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he whispered: “Mind if I have a taste as well?”

You gave him a shaky nod and let go of his cock, your hands falling to your sides as you shifted on his lap. His hand slipped right between your legs and his experienced fingers quickly found your throbbing clit as he started rubbing it vigorously. Moaning softly, you leaned back on your arms and grabbed his knees, trying to stay steady as he kept assaulting your wet folds with precise movements.

You felt him dipping his finger in your slick until he prodded at your entrance, and with ease, his digit slipped into you all the way to his knuckle and you squirmed frantically on top of him when he curled it against your soft flesh. The wet sound he produced as he started moving his finger in and out quickly, gently stretching and scratching over your sensitive walls, filled your ears and only added to the sensation pooling inside your stomach.

Breathing heavily, you arched your head back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling, almost falling into the well of bliss already, but before you could, he withdrew his finger, and when you wanted to glare at him for leaving you hanging like that, you saw him licking it with slow and deliberate movements of his tongue, his dark eyes boring into yours. The shiver you felt at just this sight alone was enough compensation and your initial frustration turned into yet another shade of lust.

You dove in then, your hands grabbing his face as you claimed his lips for a heated kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as you pushed yours into his mouth. He grabbed your waist and held you on top of him, slowly moving you back and forth to grind against his erection, and all you could do was moan against his lips as he spread your wetness over his length.

In the midst of your passionate kiss, you felt him moving one hand between your bodies and with a quick push and your subconscious assistance as you mindlessly raised your hips, the head of his cock found its way into your tight channel. Then gravity did the rest as you lowered your body onto him, your walls enveloping him as they basically sucked him in deeper until he was completely buried in your warmth, his tip definitely prodding at your cervix.

You kept kissing him breathlessly, your moans and whimpers swallowed by his eager tongue and lips. His arms snaked around your torso and he pulled you right against his chest, the slight angle change coaxing a groan out of you, as he continued to let his tongue dance around yours hungrily. You quickly felt light-headed and when you eventually leaned back to catch your breath, you looked at him and saw the same passion burning within his eyes.

The both of you clearly were a match made in heaven with how you were willing to devour the other with just your gazes. Mesmerized by his dark eyes, you grabbed the back of the couch on either side of his head and slowly started grinding your hips against him, watching him closely as he reacted to the sensations rushing through both of your bodies while you felt his cock moving within you, pushing and stretching your walls which clenched tightly around him in return.

It was an agonizingly slow rhythm you fell into, but after having him push you to your limits countless times before, you felt a strange sense of glee seeing him squirm beneath you, eager to move more and faster and harder against you, but then being denied that pleasure as all he could do was sit there and hold your waist with his hands and look at you with his lips kiss-swollen and trembling as he watched you moving on top of him with the tiniest of motions.

His breaths were loud and certainly disgruntled as he dug his fingers into your skin, urging you to move things along, but you only grinned at him and relished in seeing him like this. “Be happy I won't tie your wrists and ankles while I'd do Merlin knows what to you,” you whispered slightly hoarsely, remembering the day he had done the same to you.

He chuckled darkly. “Who says I wouldn't like that?” he replied, and in your mind you took his words and committed them to memory for a future adventure as you watched him with a frown, your cheeks burning up even more.

When you focused back on the very present adventure, you brought your hands to his shoulders, gently massaging them at first, before you gripped them firmly as you started moving slightly faster on top of him, feeling your walls tightening around him, the friction intensifying with every motion of your hips.

You still only moved a little up and down on him, just enough to hold the feeling of having him prod against your cervix every time you'd slam your hips back down with a force that caused you both to moan loudly. For a moment you admired his patience, even though you could feel his fingers digging into your waist, and when you finally moved faster you told yourself it was for your own need, because frankly you did indeed need so much more than just those teasing prods.

And so you raised your rear and strained your legs as you held onto him, feeling him almost slip out entirely before you went down hard, your walls holding him in place almost possessively until they were stretched more and more. You quickened your pace and rode him with all the fervour that burned within your stomach. Your noises grew louder, as did his grunts, and the slapping of skin against skin echoed through the vast space.

Despite being finally fucked open by his eagerly throbbing cock, you soon felt your muscles contracting as the first wave of pleasure made its appearance. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned against him and rapidly moved on top of him, the friction igniting a feeling akin to a wildfire spreading through every single nerve, causing your entire body to twitch and shudder.

Your release came to you violently and you cried out as you felt it push out of you, the wet sensation only adding to your desire to keep moving and feeling more of this incredible experience. Feeling more of him. And even though you quite enjoyed being on top, you felt your legs trembling badly and you could barely lift your body as your orgasm kept spasming through you.

He felt your struggles and with a swift motion that you hadn't expected, he picked you up by your waist, pushed you up and himself out of you and then you were lying on your back and he was hovering above you, leaning on his arms and knees, his eyes staring into your soul as he looked down at you.

Your hands first found his face, before they moved down his chest and between your bodies and despite the shaking of your fingers, you managed to grab his soaked length and guide it back into your quivering cunt. He helped the motion by pushing in all the way, filling you up so deliciously you had to close your eyes under the sensation.

Before he started moving again, you felt his lips brushing against your cheek and as you cracked open an eye, you saw him smiling at you, his shallow breaths hitting your damp skin in an almost relaxing and definitely cooling fashion. With him buried within you, your hands moved back to his face and then up into his hair as you pulled him down to you and kissed him demandingly, but lovingly, barely noticing when he started thrusting into you at a slow pace.

As your tongue invaded his mouth to meet his, you felt his hips slamming harder against you, each thrust causing a moan to slip past your joined lips and the couch beneath you to creak dangerously. He kept this up until he had to break the kiss to catch his breath and when he leaned away, he really leaned away and sat back on his knees, his hands grabbing your waist to pull you closer to him while you draped your legs around him.

He held his movements there for a moment and tilted his head as he watched you with his lips parted and his hair even messier than usual. Yet his eyes were as attentive as ever as they wandered over your body laid out in front of him like that, with your hands resting palm up on either side of your head, your chest rising and falling fast and your breasts moving with every shuddering breath you took.

You always looked the most appealing to him when you were barely holding it together, as sweat covered your skin and your limbs seemed boneless and exhausted. He'd seen you like this on countless occasions and it would still take his breath away every single time he was lucky enough to experience this with you. His hands moved up your torso then and gently caressed your curves, his thumbs teasing at the soft mounds of your breasts. “It should be illegal to look this beautiful,” he whispered with a look into your eyes and he saw you smiling at him almost timidly.

Your hands twitched then and he knew you were eager to sit up and grab him and kiss him again, but your body seemed to protest against any kind of movement, so you opted to just smile at him. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing about you...” you said quietly and licked your lips, your eyes wandering over his strong arms, his broad shoulders, his toned chest and the fine trail of hair leading to where he was currently deeply connected with you.

The feeling of his cock warm and hard between your tight walls, not moving, just resting, felt divine and almost comforting, and you had the sudden urge to hold it in your hands, feel its texture and smell and taste it – and when you realized you could, you opened your eyes wider and a wicked smirk spread over your face. He frowned at the sudden change of demeanour and raised an eyebrow.

“Hand me the box,” you asked him a little breathlessly and chewed on your lips in anticipation. “Please?”

It took him a moment to comprehend your request, before he raised a hand and summoned the desired object to his palm. You quickly grabbed it and freed the magical toy from its silky bed. When the box fell to the stone floor below, you had already cradled his fake cock between your fingers and brought it to your lips. You watched him closely as you began to move your tongue around its tip and you could feel it thrumming against your skin, as if it came back to life through your very touch.

He inhaled sharply then and you still wondered what it must feel like to have two cocks currently being taken care of. He never told you, but he was almost a little too overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling your walls tightening around the real deal while you closed your lips around the toy version.

The magic he had used was coursing through his body, igniting all the nerves and muscles and fibres and cells as if his entire body was set on fire. He could feel it tingling on his skin and itching in his fingertips and it took him everything to not dissolve into a puddle right there and then.

To keep him occupied, he grabbed your waist and sat up a little straighter to allow himself to drive his very real cock into your tightness at a better angle, and when he started moving, you moaned against the toy between your lips, his thrusts moving you up and down the couch. While you kept pushing the life-like item in and out of your mouth, he kept pushing the original in and out of your quivering pussy in an alarmingly fast fashion.

To say you were overwhelmed was an understatement, yet you tried to hold the toy between your shaking fingers while your body convulsed and every muscle was contracting. You felt another wave of pleasure approaching fast and as it did, you let out a muffled cry as you almost bit down on the cock in your mouth because your jaw clenched up slightly.

He grunted at the notion and quickly grabbed it out of your hands, before he leaned over, keeping the rapid rhythm of his hips as he claimed your mouth for a heated kiss that you could barely respond to with your mind overcome by a bright light as the tremors of your orgasm swept over your senses.

The cock-toy rested between your breasts, thrumming and throbbing, and when you felt him twitching within you, his groans swallowed by your mouth, you were pushed to even further heights as he emptied himself deep inside you, his warm seed filling you up while it simultaneously spurted right into your face as he leaned back and held the toy in his hand like an extension of the real thing.

He watched his cum hitting your chin and lips and cheeks and the sight alone would have sent him right over the edge again. You kept your eyes closed and waited for him to finish, your lips parted and your tongue slipping out as if to ask for more, and he gave you more as he pushed the item into your mouth, scraping it over your tongue all the way to the back of your throat where he held it as you fought your gag reflex.

Groaning loudly, you felt him shuddering within you as if he was clenching every muscle to give you even more of his seed, and indeed you felt it hot and sticky as it hit your throat and slid down slowly. Your eyelids fluttered and when he would pull the fake cock out of your mouth, you coughed slightly, before you swallowed the rest of what he had given you.

When you looked at him, you saw him staring at you with warm eyes, admiration and awe and love oozing out of him, and while you tried to lick and wipe his cum off your face, you gave him the same look back, feeling the warmth spreading in your stomach, and it wasn't just his seed settling within you.

It didn't matter how often you would indulge in your urges for each other, it would always end in you realizing how lucky you were with him, and vice versa, as your love for him would only grow the more time you would spend connected like this.

And Sebastian stayed connected like this as he eventually collapsed right on top of you, dropping the magic toy between your bodies and the back of the couch as he did so. Burying his still slightly twitching cock deep into you, he pushed you even deeper into the cushions. You wrapped your arms around him then and held him close, your breaths no longer as frantic, as you slowly came down from the heights of your shared experience.

You didn't know how much time passed as you just lay there like this, his heavy body giving you the comfort you so desperately needed after exerting yourself so much today – and you realized it must still be only noon or early afternoon and yet you had already experienced more orgasms in those few hours than most others would not experience in days or weeks, not that you were comparing yourself to anyone, just the thought alone made you chuckle in a mixture of disbelief and adoration for the skilled boy on top of you.

“I love you, you know that?” you eventually put the warm feeling into words as you rubbed your hands over his broad shoulders.

“I've had some idea,” he said gravelly, his voice low and deep as he mumbled his reply into your collarbone. “And I love you too... I might even love you more...”

You laughed at that. “Impossible!” you exclaimed and shifted slightly beneath him. “I love you more, because you know what? I love you,” you said and pushed one of your hands onto his warm skin as your other moved to your hip where you felt something poking against you, “and I love your cock,” you whispered, gently pushing your hips upwards against him, “and I love your other cock as well!” you added and closed our fingers around the item and lifted it up carefully.

As you gave it a soft squeeze, he leaned back slightly and propped onto one arm while he faced you as you brought the toy to your lips to give it a gentle kiss.

“You have more to love, so I love you more. Case closed!” you concluded with a smirk.

His dark eyes wandered over your face, his gaze a little stoic as he took in your features and your words, before a sly smirk broke from his lips, lighting up his entire face. “Actually,” he said and rolled onto his side, and even though you felt him slipping out as he did that and you already missed the feeling of being filled, he distracted you greatly as he put his big hands on your breasts and kneaded them gently. “I think we are even then. Two for two.”

You watched him with your breath hitching in your throat, before you chuckled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replied and leaned his head down to trace the tip of his tongue around your hard nipples, coaxing a series of moans out of you. He halted then and leaned back up, looking at you. “You know, no, you're right, we are not even. I might have two cocks for you to enjoy, but you give me these spectacular tits to taste and your beautiful holes to fill. So, with that logic, I will always love you more because you have way more to love and give.”

You blinked slowly, then rolled your eyes with a laugh. “Can't we just love each other equally?” you asked with a frown as you mindlessly fondled the toy between your fingers.

“Do you love my cocks equally?” he replied instead and watched you with a smirk.

“Of course!” you said quickly. “I mean, hmm. No, I do love the real thing more because it is attached to you, the whole package.” You looked at the item in your hand then. “While it is nice to have this thing with me in my dorm at night, I'd much rather have you lying next to me...”

He gently pried the toy out of your hand and leaned over you, his breath ghosting your lips. “What about having both lie next to you?” he asked hoarsely and softly brushed his lips against yours. You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes as you leaned up and deepened the kiss, quickly losing yourself in the sensations of his warm lips and his eager tongue playing with yours as you completely forgot about his suggestion.

Eventually you felt him shifting slightly against you and when he suddenly grabbed your waist and turned you around until you were lying on your stomach, you gasped and tried to look at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I'm curious,” he said and brought his lips down to kiss you between your shoulder blades. “Would you be able to tell which one I'm putting into you?”

You shivered at the implication and bit your lip, accustomed to his constant experiments, yet still a little nervous about them. “Let's find out,” you whispered then and turned your head away, breathing deeply as your heart started hammering inside your chest.

You felt his mouth on your shoulder once more before he leaned away and positioned himself behind you. He pulled your hips up slightly, his knees pressing against your thighs as he worked your legs open. Bracing for the inevitable intrusion, you inhaled sharply, but then you felt his hands on your rear, gently stroking your soft flesh with his thumbs teasing between your cheeks.

Of course he was taking his time until you all but forgot about what he had initially planned, yet you were also not complaining. Having him prepare you so thoroughly was one of the things you loved so much about him. He might be rough at times and certainly unpredictable, but he would never willingly hurt you. Pushing your head firmer into the cushions, you focused on his hands exploring the curves of your body until they moved along your thighs and around them to finally tease at your wet folds.

You felt him pulling them apart with his thumbs before he rubbed the inside of your labia with precise motions, coaxing quiet whimpers out of you as you squirmed slightly against his touch. Then his hands diverted and one moved down to focus on your clit, while the other paid more attention to your entrance. His fingers rubbed and prodded, and all you could do was moan softly. When he would dip a finger into your tight opening, you let out a whimper, feeling your walls clenching around his digit immediately.

He pushed deeper and moved faster while he rubbed your nub almost feverishly. Tremors rushed through your legs and more moans escaped you as the tension within built and built. He added another finger and started stretching your walls as he caressed you from the inside, his knuckles brushing against your folds while he pushed as deep as possible, and you squirmed at the sensation, suddenly remembering how he'd had his entire hand in your pussy once.

The thought alone made you shiver and it weren't all good shivers. You hoped he wouldn't repeat that particular incident, yet in your position, you couldn't really do anything against it. With your heart beating faster and your breaths loud and hot as you buried your face in the cushions of the couch, you felt him opting to add another finger and with three of his long slender digits inside you, you felt already so full, but you knew he wouldn't stop there.

Yet instead of stretching you even more by pushing deep, he pulled his fingers out and hooked them into your clenching hole, holding it open, and the image of him inspecting you so closely let goosebumps ripple over your skin like waves. You couldn't help but squirm against him and when he would let go and let your entrance relax again, you sighed deeply. But the relief didn't last long, because he – and you – then remembered what he had wanted to do all along.

He pushed his cock in – and just from that motion, you had no idea if it was the real deal or not, all you felt was him stretching you, your walls clenching tightly around him as he slipped in almost all the way, before he pulled back and repeated the same movement over and over again until your walls had slightly adjusted to the intrusion. Yet the friction also caused your head to become completely empty and so you really couldn't care less about how he was fucking you right now.

Yet him being the scholar that he was, he had to know. So you felt him folding his body over yours while almost pulling out of you, making it extra hard to distinguish between the detached toy and its original. “And? What do you think? Which one is it?” he asked quietly, his voice right in your ear, making it even more difficult to form any coherent thought.

You let out a whimper and turned your head only a little to catch his face out of the corner of your eye. “I... I don't know...” you breathed barely audible.

“Try pushing it out,” he told you and it took you a moment to follow his words before you deliberately clenched your walls around whatever was pushed halfway into your tight channel. Yet you couldn't tell if you couldn't move it because it was attached to a strong body that made it impossible to push out or if you were just too weak to move anything on your own.

“I... can't,” you whispered. “I don't think I can...”

“So you're saying it's my cock, the real one?”

“I don't know...” you replied, working your muscles again, but nothing happened. “I really can't tell...”

When he then suddenly sank his entire length into you, prodding your cervix with an eerie precision that made you cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, you could certainly tell that it was the real deal as you felt his balls pushing against your folds. While you moaned and whimpered as he kept repeating that motion again and again, you felt his lips on your cheek, before he leaned back and grabbed your hips, picking up the pace yet another notch as he slammed his pelvis against your arse relentlessly.

You melted into the cushions and forgot about everything as soon as another orgasm crashed over you, rendering your body boneless and your mind empty, as your walls tightened around him, squeezing and pumping him while he kept driving himself in and out in a remarkably steady rhythm until you heard his groan echoing through the Undercroft.

Yet when you expected him to give you that final thrust right before he would empty himself within you like he usually did, a motion that would always add to your own pleasure, he suddenly pulled out, only to push back in again, yet this time you were sure he had put the toy inside you as he pushed it deeper than his cock would normally reach, even if it was just an inch or two.

You felt the object prodding right against your cervix and definitely beyond, causing your knees to shake violently beneath you as you arched your back and cried out in nothing but bliss (with a bit of pain) as he shot his load right into your womb, the warmth spreading further than usual as you moaned and writhed against the sensation.

But what you thought was the pinnacle of pleasure, was nothing compared to what followed while you were still blinded by your combined releases. Because suddenly the pressure was back and you felt a sharp pain as he stretched your entrance first with his fingers, then by forcing his cock past it and right next to the toy wedged deep inside you. You'd had the pleasure of experiencing both at once before and despite the haze clouding your mind, you remembered the pain and soreness that had come during and afterwards.

Squirming violently against him, whining and wailing quietly, you tried to keep him from moving by clawing at his leg, but he only put a hand on your lower back and rubbed soothing circles into your skin, and somehow it relaxed you enough to just let it happen. But it didn't ease the pressure you felt when he would slip into your tight channel and the toy would push against your walls painfully as he stretched you more than you were comfortable with.

Whimpering soundlessly as tears started pouring out from behind your lashes, you succumbed to the sensation and only when he moved his finger to rub tight circles around your clit and then started moving within you, did you start to adjust to having two cocks inside you. They filled you up so much, rubbing against each other and your walls, both of them scraping over your pleasure points and against your cervix and all of it quickly overwhelmed you enough to forget about the pain the double penetration brought along.

You felt your muscles contracting and as you dug your fingers into the lumpy couch, holding on for dear life, you experienced the constant up and down of your orgasm with every cautious thrust of his hips. It started with pain that jolted through you like lightning, only to explode in pleasure as a blinding light engulfed you. And it built and built and quickly took over your body and soul.

And you moaned and whined and squirmed and writhed while he drove his length in and out with the toy lodged in place as it was pushed forwards with every slam of his pelvis against your soft rear, always hitting the same spots that made your head spin more and more.

You almost felt your consciousness slipping at one point as you became too exhausted to even utter a single sound any more, but then his hands were on your hips, snaking around your chest, closing around your breasts until you were pulled into an upwards position.

The new angle sent a barrage of stinging pain through you as it seemed to move things around inside you that should not be moved that way and you surprised yourself when a long, agonized scream broke from your trembling lips, echoing eerily through the Undercroft.

And suddenly the pressure was gone as he put you back down and pulled out immediately. You were still too shaken to do anything, but you could feel him prying the toy out of you as well, before he wrapped his arms around you and held you close, his voice whispering soothing nothings into your ear.

“I'm sorry,” was the first thing that registered in your clouded mind and you didn't quite know why he would say that, you were too numb to feel anything at this point.

He gently rolled you around, then pressed you against his chest as he lay down beside you, his strong arms holding you tightly, but carefully. You gingerly raised a hand and moved your fingertips over his skin, then heard him issuing a relieved sigh, before you felt his lips on your damp forehead.

“Are you okay?” he whispered and with your face so close to his throat, you felt him swallowing hard.

You inhaled deeply and slowly your body came back to you. Your walls were clenching around nothing now, probably still a little too stretched to go back to normal just yet, but the pain was bearable without the pressure of the unusual intrusions. “I'm fine,” you whispered hoarsely and pressed your lips against his neck to underline your words.

He leaned you back a little to look into your eyes, his gaze dark and still very much concerned. “I'm sorry I hurt you...”

Shaking your head, you moved your hand up to cup his cheek. “It's okay --”

“No, I... I keep pushing you past your comfort zone and I really shouldn't be doing that...” he said quietly and you saw him clenching his jaw as he lowered his eyes.

“Sebastian,” you whispered and waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did, you gave him an exhausted but genuine smile. “It is okay, really. I'll be fine, you know I can handle much worse...”

“But you shouldn't,” he insisted, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “I shouldn't treat you like this, I should love you and cherish you and do all the things you want to do instead of these stupid experiments...”

You snaked your other hand up and grabbed his face firmly. “But you do,” you whispered. “You are doing all the things I want to do --”

“So you wanted to scream in agony just now?” he said darkly, working his jaw with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, that came unexpected, but yes, generally, I want to do what you want to do! I want to spend every single minute of the day with you and I want to experience all these things with you and only you and I don't want to be anywhere but by your side! And I love the fact that you are so eager to learn new things and try them out with me, really, I do,” you said with a somewhat firm voice despite the shaking that had settled in your limbs.

He listened to you intently, the shadow slowly pushed aside to be replaced by a softer expression. You kept caressing his warm cheeks and when you were done, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his.

“And if I may remind you,” you whispered against his mouth, holding his gaze. “I love you, unconditionally, with every fibre of my being. I am yours, Sebastian,” you concluded and you noticed his eyes widening a little when you said that. “All of me and I want you to use all of me,” you added and felt your cheeks blushing. “However you see fit...”

He raised his eyebrow at that, his lips parting slightly, but he didn't say anything yet. His eyes wandered over your face as if he was committing every detail to memory. “Are you done monologuing?” he then asked and a smirk broke from his mouth.

You scoffed in playful indignation and pushed your fingertips against his jaw as you let go of his face. He chuckled, then moved in to plant his lips against your cheek.

“Sorry, I love your monologues,” he whispered and kept kissing your jaw all the way down your neck. “I love every single word that comes past those beautiful lips... and I am honoured that you are mine, you have absolutely no idea. You are my... most prized possession... and you make me the happiest human being on this planet by allowing me to... use you...”

He accentuated his last words by gently grazing his teeth over your pulse before he actually sank them into your skin, coaxing a soft whimper out of you as he marked you. You felt his tongue lapping at the bruise and then his lips as he kissed the spot gently.

“Thank you,” he whispered and you cuddled against him as he leaned back to look at you. His hand moved up to push a strand of hair out of your forehead as he watched you quietly.

What could have been a tender, peaceful moment was slightly disrupted by the unpredictability that you apparently loved so much about him. A smirk crept onto the corner of his lips and with a swift motion of his arm, he had produced the magic toy that you also loved so dearly you would even accept it to hurt you. You inhaled deeply as he held it in front of his face as if to examine it and you saw it throbbing and glistening.

“You know, I wonder if it had hurt less if I had put this up your pretty little bum,” he then said and his words, as lewd and unexpected as ever, caused you to shiver deeply.

“Sebastian!” you exclaimed with a noise that could have been a laugh or a very startled cough.

He grinned at you. “That's one thing we never tried,” he said and lowered the toy to look at you. “What do you think?”

You took a shuddering breath and bit your lip. “Not today...” you whispered, your body already protesting just from thinking about whatever he might have planned to make that idea a reality.

“But you would try it?” he asked, his eyes lighting up immediately. “Really?”

“I would go against my own words if I would deny you this now, wouldn't I?” you said quietly.

He looked a bit more serious then. “You know you are still entitled to say no, right? I do not want to force you to do anything!”

“I know,” you whispered and leaned up to first press your lips to the toy he was still holding, then past it to give him a soft peck on the cheek. “But I meant what I said. I want to experience these things with you... and I know that if I don't like it, you will not push me further. I trust you.”

He dropped the toy then to grab your face with both of his hands, eagerly pushing his lips to yours for a quick but heated kiss. “You are perfect, you know that?”

“I've had some idea,” you replied with a smirk and claimed his mouth for another kiss while your hand searched around blindly until you could feel your fingers brushing against your precious toy.

Grabbing it firmly you noticed him flinching against your lips before he leaned back and watched you curiously, clearly wondering what was going on in that pretty head of yours. Your words, however, surprised him massively.

“You know, I think I cheated you out of an orgasm just now...” you whispered, starting to move your thumb over the tip of the toy.

He frowned at that, eager to remind you that it had been his own fault for pushing you too far, but you seemed too determined to accept that as you kept fondling his fake cock between your fingers. “You really want to go again, after... what I just did to you?” he asked quietly, watching you closely.

You tilted your head slightly, leaning against him as your eyes wandered over his face. “Yes,” you said firmly. “Make me feel good again, Sebastian.”

He clenched his jaw then and his mind was racing. Of course he wouldn't say no to such an offer and he immediately went through his catalogue of potential ways of coaxing all these different noises out of you, but then he thought back to your scream and your words and this whole encounter.

So when he eventually decided on what to do, you were too surprised to say anything. You watched him untangle his limbs from around you and get up from the couch, before he would grab his wand and walk a few feet towards the other corner of the Undercroft, and then you saw him conjuring a large bathtub, with steaming water and foam and soap bubbles filling the air around it.

Once he was done setting it up, he returned to the couch and swiftly picked you up, cradling you in his arms as you cradled your toy in your hands, and brought you to the bath where he would set you down gently until half of your body was submerged in the warm water that was surprisingly soothing on your slightly aching muscles.

Inhaling deeply, you leaned back and let the water flow around you as you watched him with a soft smile playing around your lips. “Aren't you coming in?” you then asked, and when you would playfully dunk the toy in the warm water he'd flinch and give you a deep chuckle.

“I'm already right there,” he said with a nod towards the magic item as he knelt down beside the tub, leaning his folded arms on the edge.

You looked up with a frown. “It's not the same...”

“Trust me, I really shouldn't be in there,” he told you, despite feeling the urge to do just that grow stronger by the second.

“Why not?” you asked rather innocently.

His eyes were on you. “Because I just couldn't control myself...” he whispered, licking his lips as his gaze wandered over your naked form and how the water splashed softly around your curves and glistened on your skin. “I want you to feel good again... and not be ravished into oblivion or worse...”

You opened your mouth at that, your eyes boring into his before you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. “Who says I wouldn't like that?” you then whispered and he just issued a loud exhale through his nose, while smirking at you darkly.

He was about to find more reasons against your request, but then you bent your knees and let your legs fall over either side of the tub, leaving your centre exposed and open, and as he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering right to your perfect pussy, he saw it before he felt it as you pushed the enchanted toy against your entrance and with only a little flinch, shoved it all the way into your tight little space.

He groaned quietly and gripped the edge of the tub with shaking fingers, feeling your walls tighten around his detached length deliciously. You kept chewing on your lip as you started moving it in and out slowly, your hips stuttering under the sensation. He watched you quietly, feeling his real cock spring back to life slowly with every snap of your wrist against your folds. Swallowing hard, he stood up slowly and noticed your eyes following his every move.

He gave you one last glance, asking if this was really what you wanted, and you understood immediately and nodded. With a deep sigh, he then clambered into the tub with you, sitting opposite you as he snaked his long legs under yours and put his feet on either side of your hips. You watched him with your eyebrows furrowed, your face flushed and your gaze a little confused.

“Just keep doing what you're doing, love,” he told you with a smile. “I'm right here.”

This wasn't what you had expected but it was better than nothing, because now you could watch him as he closed his hand around his cock and started pumping it at the same pace as you pushed the toy in and out of your tight channel. With your breaths quickening, you eventually felt your hand cramping as you kept a firm grip on the base of the item but the water made it quite slippery to hold.

He saw your struggles and with a swift motion, he moved closer, his bent knees brushing against your legs, before he gently grabbed your wrist with his free hand to assist you, only to completely take over and move the fake cock by himself as you lowered your hands and simply watched him in awe, moaning quietly under his ministrations.

With his real cock in one hand and the toy in the other, he quickly felt overwhelmed once more and it only got worse when he suddenly felt your nimble fingers moving over the inside of his thighs as you were determined to assist him now. He let it happen and focused on bringing you pleasure while he let you close your fingers around his hardening arousal.

With the water splashing around you, you kept squeezing and pumping him while he pushed the enchanted object faster in and out of your quivering cunt and you both started moaning and groaning quickly as pleasure built within your bodies.

You watched him intently, noticing every little twitch in his face as he was consumed by the sensations, and once you met his dark eyes, breathing heavily, you had the urge to lean in, and when he did the same only seconds later, your mouths collided with a smack as you kissed him passionately. He scooted slightly closer and deepened the kiss with his tongue frantically circling yours as you both worked against the other faster and harder.

Your moans were swallowed by his eager mouth and his groans vibrated on your tongue as you quickly lost yourself in the feeling of his captivating lips and confident prods and pushes. You barely registered the twitching of your thighs and the shuddering of your body, but you felt his movements, the throbbing of his cock in your hands, the jerk that made his hips buck against your touch, and then, as he grunted against your lips, you felt him spasming and his seed pushed out of him and disappeared into the water.

You kept kissing him even though he had halted his movements against you for a moment, trying to catch his breath despite having his mouth still claimed by your eager lips, and once he regained his composure, you felt him gripping the toy with nimble fingers before he worked it even more vigorously against you, determined to push you over the edge next.

Now it was your turn to moan into his mouth as the tension in your stomach exploded into a million little lights that blinded you for a long moment before you thrashed your head back and threw your arms up as you collapsed against the back of the tub, your heart thundering inside your chest as the water splashed around you. He kept pushing the toy in and out through the tremors of your body, causing your hips to stutter and your thighs to twitch and your toes to curl up painfully.

You were too boneless and your mind too fuzzy to register that he eventually pulled the toy out and moved closer until he gathered you in his arms and pulled you chest first against him. Then he leaned back and stretched his body the length of the tub, your motionless form resting on top of him.

“Do you feel better?” you heard him whisper softly, his voice vibrating through you in a calming fashion.

With your eyes closed, you somehow managed to shift against him, your arms snaking around his torso, your cheek pressed to his chest, your ear right over where his heart was beating fast and hard. “Yes...” you breathed against him, still feeling that captivating heat tingling between your legs.

With how you lay on top of him, you realized your rear was practically floating on the warm water, your cheeks exposed to the colder air around you, but it was the most soothing feeling you'd ever felt, especially after having worked your pussy so relentlessly today. Surely it didn't come close to that day he had pushed your body to its limits for what had felt like hours, but it had still been quite the workout.

No matter how much you loved it, having two of your favourite things to play with definitely seemed to take its toll on you.

You felt his hands moving over your back, his fingertips grazing your skin as they worked their way to your round cheeks. Coaxing a whispered gasp out of you, he grabbed your arse and started massaging it with eager fingers. You inhaled deeply, smiling to yourself at the feeling, and leaned against him, tightening your arms around him.

While you relaxed more and more, the warm water moving lazily against your bodies, his body heat so comforting and his touch almost mesmerizing, the fog inside your head lifted slowly – and frankly, you didn't think that was a good thing. And even though you didn't want to ruin the soft moment you two shared, you felt the need to voice your concerns.

“We probably missed a lot of classes, huh?” you mumbled into his chest, your cheek squished against him, and felt him shaking as he gave you a deep chuckle.

“That's what you're worried about?” he asked quietly.

“I wish I could spend all my days with you like this,” you replied and pressed your lips against his warm skin. “But we are still in school... and with the exams approaching...”

“Oh love, shush!” he grumbled and pinched your bum playfully, making you squeak and flinch slightly. “We'll catch up, don't worry. You picked a good day to be extra horny, it was only History of Magic we missed...”

“Oh, well, then...” you muttered under your breath as you moved your hands along his back and suddenly felt something brush against your knuckles. You felt him stiffening slightly as you closed your hand around the toy that had been unceremoniously discarded after it had brought about your current state.

Shifting against him but not moving away from his hands still working on your arse cheeks, you managed to bring his fake cock to lie beside you on his chest and when you tilted your head up, you noticed him watching you curiously, his eyebrows raised and a smirk playing around his lips. “What are you up to now?” he asked hoarsely.

“Nothing,” you said in earnest and smiled at him, while you cradled the toy in your hand and held it carefully to your chest as if it were indeed a beloved pet in need of some cuddles.

“You know, I would be really jealous if that wasn't my cock...” he told you with a frown and a crooked smile and you could hear the sincerity behind his words. You were about to reassure him that nothing could replace the real deal, when a mischievous twinkle settled in his dark eyes. “I was thinking...” he started and tilted his head, the tip of his tongue moving along his bottom lip.

Your turn to frown as you leaned up slightly to better look at him. “Yes?”

“As much as I love it when you use that thing to satisfy your needs, I think it's a little unfair,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through his and your body.

“Unfair? What do you mean?”

“Well, you can use it whenever you want and I have to comply, not that I am complaining, really, but what if I wanted to satisfy my needs? Play around with something of yours?” The smile he gave you was almost sinister and as he asked his last question, he dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of your arse.

You squirmed slightly and felt your mouth fall open. “Like what?”

“Hmm, a replica of your beautiful bum?” he said quietly and let go of it only to smack his hands on your cheeks, causing your body to sway against him and the water to splash around you.

The shriek you issued was muffled as you pressed your mouth to his chest. “Or perhaps... a mould of your other mounds...” he went on and his hands found your waist before he swiftly spun you around and you could barely hold onto the toy as he snaked his arms under yours and grabbed your breasts, pushing your back against his chest while he started fondling them eagerly.

“These would make for great pillows,” he explained with a chuckle, while you were hardly able to react to either his suggestion nor his touches. “Would you like that?” he whispered, his lips close to your ear now as he pulled you up a little, your nipples hardening quickly under the ministrations of his fingers. “Doesn't this feel nice?”

“Yes...” you breathed with your mind clouding up all over again.

“Just imagine it,” he continued and you weren't sure if it was his fingers rolling your nipples between them or his soft voice vibrating through you that caused the heat to rush back between your legs. “You are in bed at night, missing me dearly, and while you play with my cock, I can fondle your tits and show you how much I miss you too...”

You closed your eyes and felt them rolling back as the first moan escaped you. “Yes...” you said again, unable to form any coherent thought under the image and the very real touches. “Sounds... mhmm...”

“Good?” he asked with a chuckle and continued kneading your breasts. You nodded and started rubbing your backside against his front, the toy in your hand being squeezed unconsciously. Of course he felt your tight grip and when he leaned in and brushed his lips against your ear, you shuddered deeply. “Put it in,” he told you and his words alone coaxed another moan out of you.

With nimble fingers you obeyed and brought the magically enhanced cock near your entrance once more. You were still or already worked up enough to allow it to dip in without any struggle and when you felt it slipping deeper, stretching you and filling you up and gliding right where it belonged, you moaned and whimpered, licking your lips as he simultaneously groped and massaged your tender tits.

Instead of moving it in and out, you put it in all the way and kept your hand in place, you even clenched your thighs together, rubbing your rear against the real deal behind you in the process. And soon enough it worked its magic and started thrumming and vibrating inside you, making you squirm and moan and the water around you to splash about loudly, most of it now on the stone floor of the Undercroft.

Sebastian held you in place, his hands palming your breasts as you thrashed your head back into his shoulder, your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted and trembling, more and more noises falling from them. He kept grinding his front against your rear and you felt his real cock hardening between your cheeks.

“Now imagine having my cock in your tight little arse,” he whispered and his lewd words only intensified your experience as he pushed against you at the same time. “Both of my cocks filling you up and moving within and giving you all these... feelings...” His voice was low and he seemed to struggle to utter them as well as you both kept moving against each other, your entire body on fire as he stimulated all your senses.

The toy vibrated inside you more and more, shuddering against your walls with a force you hadn't experienced before, your hand cramping against your folds as you did your best to keep it in. Your stomach tensed up badly, your moans and whimpers louder and quicker, and you felt so light-headed and overstimulated as he continued to pinch your nipples and rub against your rear and whisper dirty words into your ear.

It was when he groaned behind you that your orgasm crashed over you with such a power you were sure your soul had left your body for a moment as you were engulfed by the brightest light yet, the worst and best tremors ever as your limbs twitched and shuddered, and in your frenzy you jerked your hips upwards, your hand slipped and amidst your overwhelming release you barely felt the magic toy slipping out of you.

It all went so fast, you were still floating on your high when you heard him issuing a pained grunt and his movements against you halted. “Fuck...” he cursed loudly and inhaled sharply.

You took a deep breath, your body was barely responding, but in your mind you registered his discomfort and slowly turned your head to him. “What's... wrong?” you whispered, your voice hoarse and shaking and barely audible.

“I once again...” he grunted and gave you a strained chuckle, “underestimated the power of your pussy...”

You frowned and when the haze slowly lifted and you came back to yourself, you shifted against him to fully look at him. “What do you mean?”

Instead of telling you, he raised one hand from your chest and pointed ahead. You followed his outstretched finger and took a look into the dimly lit, vast space of the Undercroft with its stout pillars and damp walls and cold stone floor. Not to mention the array of discarded crates and barrels and old furniture littered about, and suddenly you saw it, quite a distance away from the bathtub. Covered in dust and cobwebs. The magic toy, writhing slightly on the floor.

“What... no!” you exclaimed and already sat up, ready to retrieve it, rescue it, but he held you back by grabbing your waist. “Did I do that?” you asked breathlessly.

He chuckled softly and moved one hand between your legs, his fingers dipping into your still throbbing wetness, your clenching walls completely unaware of the force with which they had pushed out the intruder. “Indeed you did...”

“I'm sorry!” you told him and turned your head to him. “I didn't mean to...”

“I know, don't worry,” he replied and pressed his lips against your temple. “My own fault for pushing all your buttons at once, eh?”

You blushed deeply and gave him a shy smile that made him lean in and claim your mouth for a deep kiss. You raised your hand and held his face. “Did it hurt?” you whispered against his lips, your eyes full of concern as you watched him. “Does it hurt?”

“It's fine,” he whispered back. “You might have to check for bruises though,” he added with a smirk.

He might not have expected it, but you moved immediately, squirming out of his hold to kneel between his legs, the water splashing about some more until there was barely any left. You bit your lip as you put your hands gingerly around his real cock, carefully examining it with your fingers sliding over his heated skin, along the bulging veins and the agitated tip. You felt him flinching under your ministrations, causing you to look up in alarm.

“What is it?” you asked, very concerned about his well-being.

He inhaled deeply and smiled at you. “Give it a lick and find out,” he told you with a wink, leaning his arms on the edge of the tub as he watched you with a gaze full of dark amusement, and after your initial disbelief and a slight rolling of your eyes, you did as he had said and lowered your head towards his tip. You had barely closed your lips around it and extended your tongue as he started twitching against you.

Gasping in surprise, you felt the thick ropes of cum spurting into your mouth, hot and heavy on your tongue, filling you up so much that you had to lean back and let him continue to come on your chin and neck and chest. While you swallowed his seed with heavy gulps, you kept watching him shoot his load all over the front of your body. And you let him, even though you usually didn't like finding clumps of dried cum between your breasts hours later.

But you felt as if you owed him this after making his magic toy fly through the Undercroft like that. That poor thing... But apparently he didn't seem to have taken any damage, it all seemed to work just fine, maybe even a little too much.

Once he was done and spent and empty, or so you hoped, you looked up at him, moving your tongue around your soiled mouth. His eyes were even darker as he stared at you, taking in this rather unfamiliar sight of you covered in his cum. You saw him inhaling deeply and then he moved in and cupped your face and pressed his mouth against yours. You whimpered against his lips, but kissed him back quickly, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst of emotion.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he grunted against you before he pushed his tongue into your mouth and kissed you until you felt boneless and light-headed all over again. Putty in his hands, you barely registered how he leaned away and gathered you in his arms, definitely not minding his seed rubbing all over him as he pulled you against his chest.

While you took deep breaths to regain your composure, you noticed him lifting a hand and with a flick of his finger the water level in the tub rose up until its warmth engulfed you both almost completely, soothing your aching muscles and washing away the evidence of his last eruption. As you relaxed against him, your thoughts went back to the dirty toy lying on the floor, unloved and forgotten.

“Do you think it'll be alright?” you whispered against him, really dreading the thought of having damaged your favourite toy.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to your forehead. “Don't worry, I'll make you a new one... if you allow me to make a mould of your breasts.”

You groaned in fake displeasure, but then moved said breasts against him and smiled to yourself at the prospect of having him fondle them remotely. “Fine, if you insist...”

End notes: I honestly cannot for the life of me write shorter smut, I am so sorry! This got even longer than I had anticipated. And I could have gone on and on, but I had to end it somewhere, so I hope you don't mind this rather abrupt ending.

By the way, the idea for making a mold of her breasts and the general idea of making him have something to use "against" her came from @msiecrane and @amberlide - thank you both so much for your input! :D

So with that in mind, this will certainly get even more parts one day, the possibilities are endless! Pranks? Anal? Him tied to the bed? These are all things that will happen! (They are already happening in my head...)

MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER - AO3

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy reader insert #reader insert #smut

[stephenyoonkeeholdup]

🔞 clip it & ship it MDNI

inspired by: x x x x

pairing: Keeho ➞ fem!bodied reader

content warnings: masturbation (featuring the use of a certain toy), [LOTS of] dirty talk (I’m gonna end up hitting a record in the number of ellipses (…) I use 👀) there will likely be hella grammatical inaccuracies, and I'm trying so hard not to give a fuck.

POV: Keeho sends a special video message… after you sent him a very special picture!

“I woke up hard as fuck… thinking about… fucking you…” Keeho groans, sqeezing his hardened shaft while his wrist glides up and down his length in between everything he says. Dark, hooded eyes take a quick glance up at his phone gripping his other hand, making sure the camera app is recording what he wants it to.

“Then…” Keeho licks his lips before continuing, “you send me that pretty pussy that I love and miss so much… fuck…” He rolls his eyes behind his eyelids, simultaneously rolling his hips upward meditating on the half-naked photo you spontaneously sent him just moments prior.

“I wanna kiss you… wanna taste you… I want my fingers inside so bad…” Both you and him know how much it drives you wild whenever his fingers are even on you, let alone inside you. And to be fair, it does something to him too, hearing those pleasurable sounds escape from between your lips. The mere thought of it – as well as the absence of it at this very moment – causes him to subconsciously recreate some of those same moans himself.

He curses into the air several times before his attention returns to the device that’s been capturing his every move. “You see how hard I am, baby..? F-fuck – you see what you fucking do to me?” Keeho’s pitch rises with just about every word uttered, and surprisingly for him, his dick gradually does the same damn thing, and with precum for added effect!

“This dick wants to fuck… into you so deep… and hard…” Keeho begins to thrust up into his hand, matching the pace with the breathy delivery of his words. “Damn it. Want you… Need that pussy around me, baby…”

“This is not gonna be enough, shit!” He spits out before sitting up in his bed. Opting to put the phone down, he quickly gets up to retrieve the only thing he consistently uses other than his hands whenever you're not around – his fleshlight.

“Fuck, there it is," Keeho proclaims before he's back on the bed, repositioning the angle of his recording. He spits on his hand, resuming its position on his dick to lubricate it. He blindly runs his middle finger along a vein that's made its focused appearance onto the video. His thumb then brushes against his balls, and the rapid set of whimpers that escape startle him. A few moments are spent with his entire hand groping his nutsack, causing him to begin grinding into the air.

Keeho managed to gain some clarity on his surroundings, grabbing the pocket pussy in a slightly hurried state. The air he was humping was quickly replaced with the toy sucking in his member with terrible ease. “This feels so fucking good… Not near as good as you, though… Definitely not as warm… or wet… Oh fuck…” He immediately pushes the toy up and down his now leaking cock harder and faster for more friction.

“I wish you were here, babygirl… grinding and bouncing that tight, juicy cunt on me, oh god… Fuck, I miss you so fucking much!” His hips thrust upward a bit aggressively as he grunted out the end of that confession, and he’s not sure how much more he can take of this before he releases.

He takes the quickest of pauses to raise his shirt up past his chest, the hem captured by his teeth before proceeding his fucking into the fleshlight. On camera, the sight of his glistening, golden skin and his nipples that appear to be almost as hard as his throbbing, slicked dick even turns Keeho on.

After several deep, muffled moans leave his mouth, he lets go of his shirt completely, his pecs keeping it up and out of the way. “Babygirl… I’m so close… Yeah… I’m gonna cum… Do you think you can cum with me, baby?”

Something about the fact that he can only imagine what this particularly pleasing sight of him this close to his climax could be doing to you and your wellbeing absolutely fucks him up. The way you could be dangerously within striking distance of that knot in your stomach bursting urges Keeho on immensely. Since he was your muse, he desperately wants to be yours in this moment.

“Please, cum… Yes, baby; cum for me while I nut in this… fucking… pussy… Oh my god, yeah babe… Yeah… fuck!!” Your name being ejaculated as he shot off into his fleshlight, soiling the toy like it was your hole personally.

Keeho let the moment linger for a while, eyes shut the entire time his orgasm washed over him. He was still breathing heavy when his eyes did open, the toy hole having long since neglecting him – unlike your penetrable wetness probably. He picks it up and gives it a look before angling it – and the mess he made on it – toward his phone.

"You see this shit, angel? You got me losing my fucking mind. This," he tilts the phone downward, showcasing the wet spots on his thighs and bed sheets, "is what you do to me."

#keeho #yoon keeho #p1h keeho #p1harmony keeho #keeho p1h #keeho p1harmony #p1h #piwon #p1harmony keeho smut #smut #p1h smut #p1harmony smut #keeho smut #kpop smut #piwon x reader #piwon smut #piwon imagines #p1harmony x reader #p1h scenarios #p1h x reader #p1harmony hard hours #p1harmony hard thoughts #p1harmony headcanons #keeho x reader #keeho hard thoughts #keeho hard hours #kpop hard thoughts #kpop hard hours #kpop headcanons #keeho scenarios

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

#book review #sff #horror #the only good indians #stephen graham jones

[latoyalestrange]

THE FOOL

p .pascal x f!oc

jfc you guys. im so sorry for the delay, truthfully i have been so sucked up in work and my other hobbies that its hard to get to writing, especially at stuff this length. i hope the length of this one kind of makes up for it and also that i can get the next chapter out sooner.

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: Naela is nervous for the season premier. It ends up going swimmingly, but the celebration is ruined during the after party.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Angst, self esteem issues, violence, hurt/comfort, toxic bf, blood, sexual tension, mutual pining, toxic relationship, jealousy, hot bloody face trope, not edited

Taglist: @marvel-sw-lover , @lokislittle , @red-red-rogue, @babukat , @joels-darlin , @weho2kcmo , @violac0la , @poodlebae , @darleneslane , @absssposts

comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

CHAPTER NINE -- GRAND PREMIER

The weeks leading up to the release of the first season had Naela incredibly high-strung. Between the fan accounts posting edits of the little footage they had, and the constant questions from news outlets, she couldn't get Pedro out of her head no matter how hard she tried. Everything was Pedro this, Narcos that. Josh wasn't on social media that often so it wasn't hard to keep it all from him. Knowing it would upset him, she held it in and pretended it wasn't happening.

That was, until the premier. Luckily, Boyd was nice enough to invite Josh to the after party, although he wasn't psyched to be barred from the event. A part of her wished Boyd hadn't been so kind as she was putting the finishing touches on her look in the mirror.

Her signature scarlet color draped over her frame in a silk slip-dress that stopped just above her ankles. A teasing slit trailed up her leg, showing off her favorite feature: her plump thighs. She twirled her hair into a curly up-do, thinking it was a crime to hide the low back of the dress. Normally, she preferred a glowy, sheer makeup look but tonight she would be a flash-photography spectacle. She needed full-coverage, a dramatic eye and the perfect glossy lip to tie it all together.

Looking in the mirror, she could hardly recognize herself, but in a good way that made it impossible to stop smiling. She felt more confidence than the last four weeks combined since leaving Columbia. Seeing the look on Pedro’s face when she opened the door made that feeling skyrocket as well.

His eyes instantly lit up, darting up and down her body as he took in the sight. He too was dressed to the nines, a perfectly tailored black suit jacket covering his broad shoulders, accompanied by matching slacks and a pop of color in the partially undone dress shirt. His stubble shaped his sharp jaw perfectly and his tossled hair somehow looked devilishly handsome yet so casual at the same time.

“How’d you know I was wearing red?” She quizzed him, pointing at the evidence.

“You always wear red to special occasions. The first cast dinner and the last, you wore red dresses,” he quickly answered without another thought. She squinted at him and looked around for cameras jokingly.

He chuckled at her antics, “Hey, I know you,” he reasoned. Upon joining him in the doorway again, she realized one hand was hidden behind his back. He slowly drew it out, revealing a small, light blue bag.

No. No fucking way.

“I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, but I knew you liked gold instead of silver, so,” he shrugged casually, his smug expression contradicting his nonchalant tone. It was her turn to pick her jaw up off the floor as she recognized the logo on the bag, Tiffany & Co.

“Pedro, you have to return that,” she shook her head, a protective hand over her heart and the other covering her mouth.

“At least look at it,” he started, holding the bag out further. “You know you want to, c’mon.”

She sighed, glaring at him with a smile on her face before taking the bag and pulling out the matching rectangular box. He instinctively took the bag out of her hands to allow her mobility as she excitedly opened the gift.

Inside was a gold necklace that carried a dainty pendant, which apon further inspection, was a lowercase ‘p’. She looked up at him, a playfully unamused look on her face.

“Gotta make it seem real, right?” His smirk quickly turned to a smile at her inability to be angry with him.

“Right,” she agreed sarcastically before gently lifting the expensive piece of jewelry out of it’s box. Pedro took both in his hands, slipping the container into the bag and unclasping the necklace. He motioned for her to turn around, and she obliged, shivering at the feeling of his hands ghosting over her neck. Once she felt him secure it, her hand darted up to the pendant, feeling it between her fingertips as she turned to face him again. She couldn't fathom being able to just drop that much money on a necklace for someone you're not even dating.

“Thank you.” She admitted sincerely, almost making him melt with her doe-eyed expression. “Next time just get me sunflowers,” she added teasingly.

“Noted,” he played along, chuckling as he let his hand rest on the door frame.

She blinked, struggling to form words for a moment as he loomed over her with a smug look in his eye. "I-- um, just need to put on my shoes."

"Sure," he nodded, holding the door as he followed her into the living room. He noticed the strappy nude heels laid out perfectly next to the couch. She fell onto the plush cushions and one leg over the other, attempting to get the best angle. She tried to fasten the tiny buckle for a few unsuccessful moments before Pedro started toward her.

"You don't have to--" Before she could finish, he had already stooped down on one knee, a flippant expression on his face. He held out one hand, silently urging her to let him help. She rolled her eyes and tried the clasp again, only to find his hand sliding under her knee and gliding all the way down and holding her ankle gently in his grasp.

He furrowed his brow at the puzzle on the side of her shoe for mere seconds before securing it and placing her heel comfortably on the floor. He waved for the second half of the challenge, and this time she gratefully allowed him. Soon, he was straightening his spine and offering his hand once more, this time to pull her to her feet.

"All set?" She glanced around the room, looking for her purse until she spotted it on the kitchen counter. She quickly threw the small, faux leather bag over her shoulder and let Pedro lead her out of her apartment. She locked the door behind her and locked eyes with a grinning Pedro before following him to the elevator.

The only comparable experience to being on the runway that Naela had was when haunted houses used those strobe lights. It was almost disorienting, especially with dozens of people shouting for her attention. Holding tightly onto Pedro's muscular forearm and the encouragements he whispered in her ear were the only things keeping her grounded.

"You look so pretty."

"I'm gonna step forward so they can get some of just you, okay?"

"You're doing a really good job."

"Almost done, hermosa."

Once they reached the end of the photography portion, they separated to talk to a few of the interviewers. Pedro stopped at Vanity Fair, while Naela continued until she saw a younger woman with The New York Times. She honestly reminded Naela of herself, with her curly brown hair and tan skin, and she found comfort in that.

"Naela Rivera, just the girl I wanted to see! Morgan with NYT, so nice to meet you," she blurted out enthusiastically, extending her hand in greetings. Naela enveloped her soft hand in her own and smiled brightly at the woman.

"Nice to meet you too!"

"I won't take up too much of your time, you have so many people to talk to." She paused to laugh with her. "I just have three questions for you, Naela."

She nodded at the woman, giving her consent.

"So, I think what is pressing on everyone's minds is how you got your name! It's so beautiful!" Naela palmed her chest and smiled humbly.

"Aw, thank you-- the name itself has a bunch of different origins, but pretty much everywhere it means 'winner' or 'strong'." The woman nodded along with her, listening intently.

"I think we could all definitely say that you are a winner, Naela. You just landed this huge role, and on top of that you're dating Pedro Pascal! I don't think there's a woman out there that doesn't want to be you or be with you!" Naela laughed on the outside, but she desperately wanted to tell everyone the truth about Hollywood. For the sake of her career, she fronted with a dashing smile.

"Thats very kind of you," she added calmly.

"Now, I won't ask you about Pedro, I'm sure everyone bugs you enough about it," Thank god. "But I do want to know, what does your future look like to you-- do you think you'll stay with TV, maybe move to movies, or possibly delving into the music side of things." Naela scoffed playfully at the thought of her trying to write a song.

"Definitely not music, but I'm open to exploring new roles-- I'm really excited to."

"Yes, I think everyone is excited to see you in more projects too-- with just the small clips we've seen, you've gotten so much positive feedback!" Naela nodded, although she was mostly unaware of the comments left by fans. She tried her best to stay off of the internet these days.

"Well, Naela Rivera, thank you so much for stopping to talk with me, I just have one more question before you go-- I've got to know who you're wearing." Morgan offered her the microphone as Naela frantically searched her mind for the answer.

"Oh, my dress?" She asked, glancing down at the shiny fabric to try and regain her memory. "Ralph Lauren, I think!" She answered not-so-confidently, making the interviewer laugh once more.

"You look gorgeous, Naela. Have a wonderful night!" Just as they were finishing up, she felt a strong hand gently tug her away. She looked up to see Pedro smiling down at her.

"We don't have to do another one if you don't want to," he reasoned, as if he could sense she was ready to go inside. Naela shook her head and smiled bashfully, averting her eyes to the crimson carpet beneath her heals. Pedro reassured her it was okay before leading her through the back entrance of the theater. The inside was essentially a larger, more grand movie theater with security. Only a few people, of with Naela didn't recognize, were scattered in the seats. Pedro knew exactly where to go, leading her to the reserved part of the theater and stopping at their names, which were of course placed next to each other. Their seats were only a few rows back from the front and in the dead center of the isle.

The two sat mostly in silence as the attendees slowly trickled in, all dressed in semi-formal attire with a few sore thumbs here and there. Just before the designated start time, Boyd arrived with Joanne in tow and their respective plus one's. The group stayed standing to greet one another for a few moments before they noticed the sudden shift in the lighting. The spotlights at the edge of the stage lit up the area as the director, Tom, walked out. Everyone took their seats before he started.

"Welcome, everyone! Thank you so much for coming out, the support here and everywhere has just been so overwhelming," he paused for a bundle of applause. "I also want to thank my incredible crew and cast; you guys are what made this possible. Special thanks to Boyd, Pedro, and Naela, our main characters. They worked so, so hard on this, and trust me, it was a lot," he added, half-joking. Another round of applause, this time directed at the trio in the center of the theater. Those close enough congratulated them. Naela couldn't stop blushing between the praise and Pedro's thigh resting against hers.

The rest of the event went swimmingly; luckily the most the audience saw of Naela and Pedro was a steamy make out scene. However, the night was far from over. She was excited for the afterparty, but more so nervous because her boyfriend and Pedro would be in the same room, which was a recipe for chaos at this stage. She was going to do everything she could to keep the peace and make sure everyone had a good night. Except for herself, apparently, because that meant she was glued to Josh's side for most of the night.

Around an hour in, Josh already had a few too many. He was lounging on Boyd's couch as if it were his own, opened beer bottle propped up on his knee as he reclined. Naela's arms were crossed as she sat next to him, sober and bored out of her mind.

"Hey, I have a good idea," he proposed sloppily, slurring his words as he turned to face her. Naela raised her brow, urging him to answer with a fictitious interest. "We should get out of here." He bit his lip and let his eyes fall to the valley of her breasts. She tried to hide her disgust as she gently pushed him away.

"No, that's not a good idea," she answered simply, keeping her tone as gentle as possible. His face twisted to anger as he scoffed and downed the rest of the bottle in one go.

"Fine," he spat as he rose from the couch and walking through the glass doors to join the other half of the party outside. Naela sighed and rolled her eyes. She just hoped he wouldn't be too much of a bother without her to supervise. Free of her restraints, she rose to her feet, heels clicking against the wood as she made her rounds, looking for one familiar face.

When the only place left to look was outside, she felt a gentle tug on her forearm. The corners of her mouth turned up expectantly, but she was left disappointed when she was met with a woman she didn’t know.

“Oh! Hi,” Naela started politely, noticing the bright smiles on the woman and her friend’s face.

“Hi, Naela, right?” She nodded instinctively, but her expression faltered when her eyes darted to the woman’s hand that dug her phone out of her purse.

“Can we get a picture?” Before Naela could respond, the two woman took their positions on either side of her. They posed and before she knew it, the flash was going off and the photo was over.

“Thanks so much! Hey, do you know where Boyd is? We’d love to meet him.” Naela was starting to wonder who let them in.

“Um—“

As if he sensed the trouble, Pedro joined them, placing a comforting hand on Naela’s shoulder.

“Mind if I borrow you for a second? Cool.” Without letting her answer, he lead her in the opposite direction, back to the living room. She joined him on the empty space her and her boyfriend left moments ago.

“Some might consider that rude, Pedro,” she scolded with an unconvincing smile.

“I don’t care,” he shrugged, chuckling a bit at his harsh honesty.

“Thank you,” she added sincerily, squeezing his firm bicep for a bit longer than she should have.

“Sometimes you have to be rude to those people. If you keep letting them overstep your boundaries, they won’t stop.” He took an indulgent sip from the plastic cup in his hand as if what he was saying reminded him of something he’d rather forget.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she prodded as she shifted in her seat to face him more. With her entire body turned toward him, he had her full attention.

“I am,” he responded simply, taking another sip. “It happens to everyone. After my season of Game of Thrones released, a lot of people asked to put their thumbs on my eyes like this.” He demonstrated, turning his wrists so his thumbs were pressing into his eye sockets. She giggled at the pose, but continued to listen.

“At first I let them, I thought it was cool— but then one day, I got really bad pink eye.” He scrunched his nose with disgust as they felt a mutual cringe.

“Aw, no.” She mirrored his expression, sticking her tongue out at the thought of a dirty stranger’s hands on her face.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Probably shouldn’t have been doing that in New York, of all places—“

His sentence was cut short of whatever caught his eye. Naela didn’t notice at first, but Pedro’s smile had entirely dropped. She followed his gaze to see that Josh had suddenly appeared, standing just a few feet away from the couch. He stepped even closer, an unreadable look in his eye. Naela’s heart quickened as her entire body tensed in his presence.

“Hey, babe….what’s going on here?” he asked knowingly. He wasn’t yelling but Naela could tell he was more irate than she’d ever seen him. That coupled with the liquor had her heart racing.

“Nothing, we’re just talking—“

“Just talking? He sure showed up pretty quick when I left.” He took another step forward, his voice growing in volume with every sentence.

Pedro raised a protective hand in front of Naela, “Hey, man, let’s just calm down, okay?”

“Calm down? You need to calm down off my woman!” Although it made no sense, in his drunken state, his loud babbling was starting to attract the attention of the other partygoers.

“Josh, please—“

“Josh, please!” He whined mockingly at her. Pedro’s jaw clenched as his fists tightened at his side. “I don’t want to hear your whore mouth—“

“Okay, you’re done!” Pedro shot to his feet, using his hands to push John away from her. “Get the fuck out before I call the police,” he added in a low, but booming voice. They had the entire room’s attention now, much to Naela’s dislike. She followed the two, staying a safe distance away while begging them to stop.

“Sure, call the police instead. If you were a good enough man for Naela, you’d fight me!”

As if it flipped a switch it Pedro’s brain, Josh’s words suddenly alleviated any desire he had to diffuse the situation. He was no longer playing defense.

“Really? Cause I didn’t have to do any of this! She came to me, John!”

Josh’s face twisted up like Naela had never seen. His nostrils flared, his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed. There was a brief moment of silence before Josh drew back his balled fist and drove it straight through the side of Pedro’s face. Naela shrieked, covering her mouth instinctively. Pedro stumbled back a bit, but regained his balance fairly quickly, touching where he felt the burn of a tiny cut on his cheekbone. Josh stood there, seething, before Boyd and a few of his other male friends finally arrived to remove him. They roughly grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the front door, which wasn’t far away from where everyone gathered in the living room.

“Naela! Naela!” He called out hoarsely. They let go of him once they were in the doorway. He straightened his clothes before waving her over.

“Lets go Naela,” he demanded. She stood stunned for a moment. If she went with Josh, it would surely be hell when they got home. The rest of her contract would be hell, in fact. If she stayed…she would be alone. But maybe being with Josh was becoming scarier than being alone.

“No,” she answered simply. She glanced over at Pedro, a small streak of blood falling down his cheek. Somehow, he looked relieved.

“No?!” He called back, looking just as angry as before.

“How fucking dare—!” The men that still guarded him finally pushed him all the way out, shutting the door behind them before he could finish. A small group of a people clapped for his removal, but Naela hardly noticed as the party slowly resumed. She froze for a moment, entirely shocked that Josh would cause a scene like that. She folded her arms protectively in front of herself, trying to breathe and slow down her heart rate. Putting his injury aside, Pedro stepped toward her, giving her a comforting smile before engulfing her in his strong arms. She finally felt like she could take a full breath.

“I’m sorry," she muttered into his chest, lazily hanging her arms around his waist.

"You don't have to be sorry." He let his chin rest on the top of her head as she relaxed. Not wanting to intrude, Boyd gave Pedro a thumbs up, silently asking if they were okay. Pedro nodded, continuing to hold Naela as long as she wanted him to.

After a few moments of deep breathing, she withdrew from him to take a look at his face. She raised her hand, turning his face and wincing as she did so. She could swear his face had already started to swell.

"Here, I'll clean that up for you. Come on." She gently led him to the guest bathroom he was in just moments before and began rummaging through the cabinets and drawers.

"Should've guessed Boyd wouldn't have a first aid kit," she admitted, chuckling awkwardly and breaking the uncomfortable silence. Pedro huffed, his smile slowly returning.

"Towel and some warm water would do just fine," she reasoned as she took a cloth from the stack next to the sink and damped it in the sink. He leaned onto the counter, anticipating the pain. Once she could see the steam coming from the water, she rang out the excess and put the warm towel on his cheek. It was his turn to wince as it stung his small, but still fresh wound.

"I know, I'm sorry," she whispered, her focus locked on his cheek as she dabbed the cloth. Once the sharpness subsided, he allowed his hand to fall on her waist as she stood so close to him. He knew in his heart that it wouldn't be the right time for a while, but he was at least thankful he was allowed to touch her like this again. Once his face was clean, she folded the towel over the wrack next to the shower to dry. He still let his weight rest against the counter as he smiled contently at her. She mirrored his expression and joined him on the counter.

"Thank you," she added sincerely.

"I'm just happy you didn't leave with him," he admitted, the corners of his mouth slightly falling to give her his signature doe eyes. She shifted her gaze, trying to hide the way that look made her feel. Before she could retort, he gasped lightly, as if something suddenly popped into his head.

"You can't go home tonight, can you?" Seemingly, she hadn't thought about it either, as she looked surprised as well.

"No, you're right. I can't," she echoed, searching her mind for a solution.

"What a shame," he added sarcastically, a knowing smirk returning to his face. "Guess you have to come home with me."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, "I guess so."

Naela soon realized that Pedro was being incredibly modest about his apartment. It wasn't huge, but it was nothing short of luxury. Modern appliances and interior, scattered with bits of his personality in the decorations. Movie posters and various sports memorabilia lined the walls, along with sizeable DVD and record collection in the shelves on the other end of the room. She didn't look around for too long, though. Before they could settle in, she was already rummaging through his freezer for something to put over his eye. She found a bag of frozen peas pretty quickly, and instantly handed it to him to press over his eye.

"Thank you," he groaned, already feeling some sort of relief from the cold. She sighed, a pained look on her face.

"I'm just so sorry, Pedro--"

"Ah! No more of that." He raised his hand, warning her to stop. "This was not your fault."

She sighed, "It kind of was, though." She quickly started to spiral, listing her regrets over and over. "If I hadn't kissed you--"

"I would've kissed you anyway. I wanted to. You just did it first," he admitted. Naela sighed and let her shoulders drop again. Their eyes lingered on one another for a moment before Naela couldn't suppress her laughter anymore. There they were, having the most honest conversation ever, and yet he had a bag of frozen vegetables over his black eye. He shook his head and joined in. He knew how ridiculous it must've looked.

"You promise we're okay?" She needed to know. She was undoubtedly alone now, and even if she wanted Pedro, they both knew she needed to heal.

"I promise," he reassured her.

reblog if you made it to the end!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro #joel miller fanfiction #pedropascaledit #joel miller #pascalispunk #pascal

[dualdeixis]

[Image description: Digital drawings featuring a variety of characters from Octopath Traveler. There are full descriptions of all images under the cut. End image description.]

you know what? octopath is the only game i’ve ever played that accurately depicts what happens when you eat an olive. thank you octopath

[Image description: First is a drawing of Primrose, Ophilia, Kit, and Lyblac, with certain aspects of their designs altered. Primrose steps forward in a beguiling pose. She wears a red dress with a short, layered front and a long, flowing back. She wears gold jewelry including three rings on her right hand, a headband with a flower adornment, and a belt around her waist. Her knife is strapped to her right thigh and she wears medieval women's knee-high hose, black with red garters, beneath her sandals. A note next to her reads, "Elements taken from 15th century Italian illustration of dancers." Ophilia holds up her staff. A long lace veil covers her head and is tied beneath her chin. She wears a brooch on the left side of her cloak. The notes next to her read, "Mourning veil worn for varying lengths of time depending on relation (parent = 1 year). Mourning brooch of braided hair worn indefinitely by choice." Kit's design is much the same. He looks with slight wonder over at Lyblac, who stands tall with her hands clasped and a blood red halo around her head. She wears a black escoffion and a black and red houppelande with dagged sleeves.

Second is a drawing of Mattias, Esmeralda, and Lianna, with certain aspects of their designs altered. A note above Mattias and Esmeralda reads, "Obsidian fashion is ahead of the times (entirely because I mistook Mattias's sprite as having a ruff)." Along with the ruffs around his neck and wrists, Mattias wears a yellow doublet, orange jerkin, a gold necklace with a red jewel pendant, black paned trunkhose, a blue cape with a pattern of yellow stars, and a black cap with a blue feather. He has a confident expression, with one hand on his hip and the other splayed outwards. The note next to him reads, "If he's posing as a merchant he needs a stupid little hat and plume." Esmeralda holds up a black dagger in one hand and clenches the other into a fist with an irritated expression. She wears a French hood, a black gown with slashed sleeves, and gold jewelry around her neck and waist. The gown's skirt is full on the left side, layered and translucent in the middle, and has a slit on the right side to show the crow tattoo on her thigh. The note next to it reads, "Put it back." Then it points to Mattias's left leg and says, "He has it too." Lianna has a neutral expression as she holds up Aelfric's Lanthorn with a dark flame burning within. She wears the robes of a vestal of Galdera. The note next to her reads, "Love how he made her a special little anti-cleric outfit (takes off mourning veil)."

Third is a drawing of Alfyn smiling in profile, showing off his messy, dirty blonde hair with the sides shaved. To the right is a bouquet of seven white lilies. The text above them reads (in all caps), "Donio sam ja sedam ljiljana / Majko da li znaš još sam sam / Majko da li znaš još sam sam / Spava malena slatka glavica / Majko pokrila mi je travica / Majko pokrila mi je travica."

Fourth is a collection of doodles. 1. Lyblac and Kit stand in front of the Gate of Finis. Kit asks, "what are u trying to say." Lyblac points to the Gate with a smile and says, "go here." Kit asks, "in the dark ?" Lyblac says, "go in the dark." 2. Galdera says, "AND I'M BAD!" The souls around the Omniscient Eye say, "MEAN!! GREEN!! BAD!!" 3. To the left, Therion holds up a pair of rivet spectacles to his eye. To the right, he wears a paisley-patterned headscarf and a chador over it with a small smile. The text reads, "His chador swag. Based on an outfit my friend saw me wearing in a dream cuz I thought he'd look cute in it." 4. Two anthropomorphic birds wear cloaks and hold up staves. The first one has a neutral expression and the second looks more aggressive. The text reads, "My brother mistook Believer I + II in Seaside Grotto for bird people and now I wish they really were bird people." 5. A screenshot of a post by user tlirsgender: "Consider: a gay dude and a lesbian who are BEST friends and also dating the same person but not each other because they are a gay dude and a lesbian but their mutual partner has a weird enough gender for it to work. Polycule that’s lgbt like all at once." Beneath it, Alfyn and Primrose happily shake hands while Therion stands in the background with a neutral expression. The note next to them reads, "This concept is so funny to me that it kinda loops around to being compelling." 6. Cyrus smiles and quirks one eyebrow while pointing upwards. The text reads, "LOVE IS IN THE AIR? / WRONG! LIGHTNING BLAST." 7. Primrose leans back on a counter and Therion sits on a stool with his hands clasped. Both look miserable and share a thought bubble which says, "I'm the only bitch here who's incapable of love and sincerity." They glance at each other curiously, and then return to being miserable and sharing a thought bubble which says, "Nah I'm way more sick and twisted than you."

Last is a comic. In the midst of a battle, Ophilia holds up her staff and does 719 damage; Cyrus holds up a tome and does one hit of 1284 damage and another of 1365 damage; and Alfyn holds up his axe and does 649 damage. One enemy remains: a Creeping Treant with one shield and vulnerabilities to axe and fire. In the foreground, Therion says, "Alright..." He prepares a full-boosted Wildfire and says, "Time to end this." Cyrus shuts his tome and says blithely, "I think not. You shall do exactly 2 damage." Ophilia holds a hand over her mouth and blushes, saying, "Oh my, is the Professor teasing?" Alfyn laughs, "Pff, c'mon now, Therion knows what he's doin'!" Therion uses Wildfire on the Treant and breaks it, doing 2 damage. Therion, Alfyn, and Ophilia stand lined up and look very startled, while Cyrus smiles mildly and thinks, "Oh wow, for real? I literally just said that for no reason." The note beneath the comic reads, "*Based on a true story where I was Therion and my brother was Cyrus. I laughed so hard I cried." End image description.]

#octopath traveler #primrose azelhart #ophilia clement #kit crossford #lyblac the witch #mattias ot #esmeralda ot #lianna clement #alfyn greengrass #galdera the fallen #therion ot #cyrus albright #beast ot #drawings #im not a fashion historian or character designer but everybody MUST accept my vision of socks and sandals primrose. NOW #// #parental death

[magical-archives]

Magical Archives - Malleus Draconia

The dorm leader of Diasomnia and the next lord of Briar Valley, his hometown. He is the descendant of fairies and a magician powerful enough to be called one of the world’s top 5. He is a prince, but he enrolled in Night Raven College in order to broaden his views. At school, there are constant rumors about his powerful abilities, so his presence makes it hard for anyone to get close to him, and other students keep a distance from him. For some reason, there are many times when he is not invited to ceremonies or meetings, so his attendance rate is low.

His power is immeasurable, as he can use two types of magic rapidly at the same time, and he can disappear in an instant and teleport. There are even students who think they would be cursed just by having anything to do with him. Even at inter-dorm magift tournaments, it ends up being one-sided matches, and he has led Diasomnia to victory three years in a row.

The activities of the club he created, the “Gargoyle Studies Club,” are unconventional, consisting of observing gargoyles while strolling around. Also, he deeply treasures the small game device “Feed and care for it! What kind of pet will you raise? Gao-Gao Drakon-kun” which Lilia once gave to him as a souvenir from another country.

Gym Uniform Notes

- Wears a sports-type inner shirt

Lab Coat Notes

- Properly wears his goggles

- Wears his lab coat neatly

Expressions Notes

- His ears are pointed.

- His horns are quite big, so if you don’t draw his head smaller than the other characters, his head would look too big

- His bottom lashes are long, but his facial features are fairer and more delicate than Vil’s or Leona’s. (TN: the term used here is shiogao. This article explains it)

- His fangs are visible when he laughs

- He doesn’t get furious often, but when he does get angry, there’s a “Wow, this guy isn’t human!” feel to it

- He doesn’t lose his composure much, but he’s ignorant of the ways of the world, so there are many times when he goes “Oh”

- He sometimes sulks like a child

- His hair basically reaches to his chest in two locks, but it’s fine if they aren’t there depending on the clothes

Hairstyle Notes

- He sleeps with his horns facing comparatively backwards. He probably can’t sleep on his back or maybe he uses a special pillow (lol)

- The carapace (of his horns) is located under his bangs where it can’t be seen

Dorm Leader Uniform Notes

- Malleus already has horns, so his hat doesn’t have the horn-shaped parts

- It’s a long jacket, but its fundamental shape is racing jacket-like

- 4 spindles at the waist

- The zipper goes up above his knees

- The hem is evenly zig-zag

- The epaulet is racing jacket-style

- Long gloves taper around the elbows (embossed design)

- Only a zipper at his side (the right side doesn’t have one)

Dorm Leader Uniform Cape Notes

- A cape shaped like a dragon’s wing. Thorn and flame motif (leather)

- I drew the pattern in an easy-to-understand manner but please make it seem like it’s tooled into the leather for the actual drawings

- Bumpy looking pattern like it’s tooled into the leather

Dorm Leader Staff Notes

- A staff with the motif of a spindle and thorns. My image is that threads of magic power are fed through it and the wheel turns when it’s used (it’s just my impression, I don’t actually wish for it to move in reality!)

- Most difficult to handle, but I wanted him to have a grim and forbidding staff, so here it is

- A length that lightly surpasses 230cm

- Magical pen embedded in middle of staff

#twisted wonderland #magical archives #malleus draconia #twst malleus

[getlostsquidward]

can i request some eve fletcher celebrating reader's bday with a bunch of fluff but a smutty gift from eve in the end? thank you!! (also, my birthday is literally in 2 weeks!!)

a/n: happy birthday!! here's dom eve for u hope u like it <3

You weren't one to celebrate your birthday. It didn't feel special, it was just like a normal day for the past years, save for the greetings here and there which you felt awkward with.

But this year, this is one of the days you wished time didn't fly by too fast.

This year was special.

You started your day with breakfast in bed, courtesy of your girlfriend, Eve. You felt giddy as she roused you awake with soft kisses on your face, opening your eyes to her beautiful features. Her face lit up, whispering “Happy birthday, love,” before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips.

The two of you just lazed around in bed, surrounded by nothing but warmth and love radiating from each other's touches (with making out and a little grinding here and there, but Eve didn't take it far from your liking, saving the sexy time for later).

Eve took you out to lunch, saying that she wants you to herself before night came and your friends hog you around. After a nice lunch at an Italian restaurant, you went to the grocery to buy foods and stuff that you will need later. It wasn't a big party, just your parents, an inner circle of friends which consisted of five people, plus Eve. Only the most important people in your life.

As the guests have gone home, you helped Eve clean up even though she insisted that the ‘the star of the evening shall not lift a finger.’ You were a giggly mess, your body buzzing with all the alcohol you consumed. Now that you think about it, Eve didn't drink much tonight.

“Here's my gift, love.”

“You really didn't have to– oh.”

Good thing you weren't holding anything because you would have dropped it, same as your jaw did at her gift. Suddenly, your throat was dry and you were sobered up. Eve was holding a dildo, its length and girth making your pussy clench around nothing. It's huge, and you never wanted something so bad right now.

“Actually, two gifts. This,” she purrs, walking sultrily towards you, gaze fixed on your face as you froze on your spot, starting to feel buzzed again, with arousal this time. “and me pumping you full of cum. Do you want that, baby? Do you want mommy to fill that pussy with my cum?”

Oh, it wasn't just a normal dildo... good lord. Happy birthday, indeed.

You hummed in agreement but sounded more like a moan before you eventually found your voice again. “Can I...blow you first? I mean,” you checked the clock, the day hasn't ended yet. “it's still my birthday.”

Eve smirked, amused by your boldness and neediness, turning her on at the same time. “Alright, what the birthday celebrant wishes, the celebrant gets. On your knees, honey.”

#drabbles #eve fletcher x reader #eve fletcher imagine #eve fletcher x y/n #eve fletcher x you #eve fletcher #mrs fletcher imagine #mrs fletcher x reader

[aethertownusa]

In the last two months of college in a white-knuckle nonstop panic I wrote 2/3rds of a novel I had forgotten about for a while until now. I wrote it in the same possessed way I'm writing this thing now and I'm sorry to say, reading it this morning, it's about eight million times funnier and more fun than anything I've written since. I set it in Louisiana, a place I have never been and whose culture I know nothing about, and I filled it with the kind of people I like. Now you can read some fragments. Picture me writing this at 3am in an apartment without wifi above a chinese restaurant: I am probably wearing a black tube top as a mini skirt and a black leotard as a shirt and a brown poncho on top because it is frigid like death because I have to keep the windows open because of the restaurant smell

These are some fragments about the character I might like best of all, Ray. All the characters were hand-designed to be my little dolls. This one I think is my favorite. The novel is sort of magical realism and many of the main characters are kind of occultists. We learn at length that Ray is deep into goetia. That info will matter if any of you make it down far enough to read about his ex, Naomi. Basic plot is Joachim (Kim) returns to his hometown age 27 for what has been presented to him as a low-key reunion with his high school set but which is in fact an attempt by his old friends to fix what they've begun to think went wrong with the black magic they fucked around with in high school. Everybody likes one another a whole lot and everyone is super intelligent and hyperliterate and the devil stuff is legitimately creepy. It's a fun book

Mr. Ray, white as dough, amiable and bizarre. Since they were young he had feared nothing on the planet earth, though plenty made him tired and bored. His fearlessness either amounted to or expressed a cosmic open-mindedness—hard to say which had come first—to the effect that it was impossible to feel self-conscious in his company. He’d been a sweet boy and had remained a sweet adolescent, perhaps astonishing given his million mockable traits: he was shapeless and girl-voiced and nerdy and flat-faced, he couldn’t run, he made high marks and was liked by teachers. But he’d proved too baffling to mock: he’d just laugh and agree. “You're one trout-looking motherfucker,” so-and-so would say; “Ha ha! I sure am,” Ray would reply.

Now he did technical support at Loyola in New Orleans, accidental to his two real passions, which were video games and a vast, obsessive reading habit about which Kim knew almost nothing and into which Kim had been prying since they were fourteen years old.

...

Ray was struck by a thought. He opened his notebook with purpose and flipped to a photo stuck into its spine. He pulled out the photo and looked at it in his hand. Only after this, and as if Kim had been helmeted like a falcon for the last thirty seconds, Ray said “Oh,” with transparently affected surprise. “Here’s my friend.”

It was a Polaroid, the prettiest kind of photo. A concert in the aughts taken at a weird vantage, as if the photographer had been cantilevered over the pit. Out of the shining black goo of the club banked the cat-soft white faces of the audience, the honeyed end of the stage, the screaming body of the singer and the open thighs of the bassist. Emo; strapping MidWestern forms in reed-bodied clothes. One audience member’s face took special light and special attention for its strangeness: a boy, twelve or thirteen, big as a pocket, a tissue-paper Alain Delon in a button-up shirt. The beauty of his perfectly-ordered face and the emotional distance which these grown-up features afforded him had a comic effect. His surroundings gaped and swung and stretched—he moved ten speeds more slowly and was unimpressed. “Who in the hell is that?” asked Kim.

“That’s my friend. Ethan. He’s just a kiddo there.”

“Is he a model? What the fuck is going on with his face?”

“He’s getting his PHD in particle physics.”

...

“I guess I never thought of Ray as anything in particular,” said Kim. "Gay or straight or anything."

“Christ, why would you?” said Isaac.

“It comes as a surprise is all.”

“Have some dignity.”

Kim looked at Isaac. Isaac’s words turned like a big tubular lock in front of his body, iron parts curving slowly around one another, obstructing. “Huh?” said Kim.

“Listen.” Isaac visibly controlled his feelings. “It’s clear you just talking off the top of your head. But you’re shaming your own self. Shut up.”

“What’s it? Ray, you don’t want to hear about?”

Isaac gestured. “Stop.”

“What is your problem? Is it the gay thing?” Frostbite rose in points all over Kim’s face. “You have some kind of issue with that?”

Isaac looked up at God.

“Well, what the fuck is your malfunction?” asked Kim. “Come on, man, give me something! I don’t understand a word that’s coming out of your mouth.”

Isaac left.

...

“I was trying to gossip on you with Isaac,” said Kim. “And he absolutely lost his mind. He kept telling me to respect myself. Complete meltdown.”

“You can’t gossip with Isaac,” said Ray, with the purity and amusement of a recluse poet. It was as if Ray had taken Kim’s pointing hand and adjusted it so that it aimed at the moon, not a white dog. “Oh,” said Kim.

“I thought he was being homophobic,” said Kim after a while.

“He’s plenty homophobic,” said Ray. “But that’s because I’m always jumping at him suddenly in Halloween masks.”

“So in the sense that he is specifically phobic of you, a homo.”

“Exactly.”

...

“Like I’m not sure he is gay, is the thing.” Paul leaned forward on his fists like John Wayne. “I know his ex. Or I met his ex. This dancer, or this stripper or something. A woman.”

“A stripper?”

“That’s kind of the impression I got.”

“God, that guy’s weird.” Kim sat back and studied. “Was she nice?” he asked at length.

“Not to me,” said Paul.

“A stripper,” said Kim. “Good-looking?”

“No. Well—maybe you’d think so. Gigantic breasts.”

The world scrolled cheery and insane before Kim’s face. Clouds and crazy jesters, cacti playing trumpets, dancing bears. “He’s so fucking weird,” Kim said after a while, as the troupe shrank into the distance.

...

Ray took his hands from between his knees, then took his hands apart. “We got to call Ethan,” he concluded. “We need an atheist on this.”

“I’m an atheist,” said Kim.

“No, you’re not,” said Ray with throw-down scorn.

“Guess not,” Kim apologized.

“I got to email him first." Ray was thinking about Ethan again. "He don’t do good with surprises.”

“You couldn’t just text him?”

“No, I mean I better explain everything in writing and then he’s got to think about it for a while. The problem is he listens. So if we just call him up and start talking he’ll actually hear everything we say.”

“What’s the problem there?”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Kim,” said Ray. “As if 100% of what you say—never mind, I’m talking to the wrong man.”

It was true. Kim felt that everything he had ever thought should be engraved in stone.

...

Soft squares rocked on the screen. Black and cream-colored. A plunge of flesh. Red space. The hand withdrew from the screen and a young man glowered into the camera. “It’s fine, Ethan, it’s straight,” said Ray. “It’s fine. Ethan? Leave it—” Ethan’s hand loomed into the camera, grew huge, and the screen exploded in the flapping and smashing of fingers grabbing over the telephone’s mic.

Ethan sat back from the camera and then toward it, hands folded. He looked at Ray and Kim gravely. Beyond him, a black hallway and an empty wall.

“So you read the email?” asked Ray after a moment, and the question had the sound of a politeness, a ritual introduction.

“Yeah.” pronounced Ethan. “I sure did.”

Kim was an aural man. Sounds interested him and spoke to him, and he was by nature and by practice unusually sensitive to noise and song and voices. A very little hook on a very fine chain sank into the center of Kim’s forehead and drew itself taut, pulling Kim toward the open laptop: Ethan spoke in a thick and precise Bronx accent. After a moment Ray put his hand softly on Kim’s shoulder. Kim straightened.

[Big long dialogue then without break] "and hello to Kim, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Good to meet you,” fumbled Kim.

Ethan raised a finger. “Ray has played me selections of your work and I liked it very much. I bought a whole one of your cds on the itunes, and I’ve watched your music videos. You can probably figure it out that I’ve become a real fan. Boy, enjoyable stuff. You’re so gifted. I admire the talent and the,” he knocked the side of his finger on the table “Very hard work of musicians.”

“Thank you,” said Kim, and then, “I was never any good at math.” Ray looked at him.

“I just wanted to take a moment to let you know about that. [resuming dialogue]”

The camera revolved deafeningly. Standing in a wire clip there was a photograph Kim knew well, because Kim had taken it, and because once long ago it had lived under a magnet in Kim’s locker. Fourteen-year-old Ray sat in light on the Douin staircase, his legs spread and his round belly above. He looked at the camera with elusiveness and welcome. In one hand young Ray balanced a papier-maché globe which he had made for Social Studies. It was lazuli-blue and painted with gold stars made of plus signs. In the other hand he held a kitten. He lifted each with reverence and some actorly pride, as if they were evidence of his wealth.

...

Ethan was the loveliest man Kim had ever seen. Kim had seen bushels of beautiful people. This one was equally beautiful, but there was also goodness in his prince-shaped face, goodness as if it were the very meat of his eyes.

“You know what Ethan makes me think of,” said Kim, turning on his side toward Ray. Ray adjusted, reaching a hand behind his hair so that he could place the side of his head on his fat, blue-pale arm.

“What’s that,” said Ray.

“Did you ever read Strawberry Girl from when you were a kid?”

“No, I never did that.”

Kim coiled himself like a dolphin to take out his phone and type on it. He showed its sceen to Ray. “He makes me think of these drawings.” Ray lifted his free hand and scrolled. “Like he’d be building a house for orphans in his village in Poland in 1894,” said Kim, “and then he’d go pray and eat big hunks of cheese and bread.”

“He’s an atheist,” Ray reminded Kim, then interrupted himself to say, “But you’re not wrong.”

“Like he’d pick apples in Montana or something.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

...

A woman sat in the easy chair. Jean-Daniel sat next to her, and his eyes but not his face moved to Kim. Jean-Daniel's eyes were full of girl information which Kim couldn’t read, because he couldn’t spend the time on Jean-Daniel. Kim was already rifling his future for time to put toward this woman. “She’s here to see Ray,” Jean-Daniel said, because Kim wouldn’t look at him.

“Ray’s just by,” Kim said, sitting down opposite. She was the biggest woman Kim had ever seen, and the thinnest.

“He’s on his way,” Jean-Daniel said to Kim, interrupting.

She was an imaginary human woman. “I’m Kim Kasset,” said Kim. The woman looked at Kim, which blew all the skin off his body. She looked away. The woman moved like Cleopatra. She moved like her head was a ton-deep bucket of ocean on a neck and torso made of powerful and bending cable. The veins in her white arms were blue. Her giant red mouth and its shape weighed more than a house. Her face was onyx with contempt, but it was a contempt without cruelty. Her breasts were much too big for the iron sticks of her body. They were round and real. This was the woman Kim had dreamed of. This was Kim’s wife.

“Ray’s my dear friend,” Kim said. “He’s fantastic.”

The woman turned her god-head; Ray came into the room; a monster truck’s headlights clapped on from the woman’s two black eyes. Ray was illuminated like an angel but he didn’t blink. He smiled gently. “Hey, No-mi,” he said. She stood, Niagara, and let him embrace her.

“How you been?” asked Naomi. Her expressions inside her face were absolutely soft, like white birds crowding. She had stepped without a catch from Athena into Aphrodite, and now her breasts were bells in the spire of a white church, now her whole body was a green alp, absolutely snowed with wet flowers and birth-yellow lambs.

“I got so much to tell you,” she said sadly.

“Oh, yeah?” said Ray. He rubbed her back.

“Who else I’m going to tell this to? Who else I’m going to joke with? Every morning I wake up and there’s a whole lot of nobody else in the world.”

...

“What does she do for a living?" Kim demanded. "She a model?”

“I think she a researcher," said Isaac.

“Like a scientist?”

“No,” equivocated Isaac, and then he said, “No.”

“What she study?”

“I get the impression that she’s like Ray. Only maybe a little more.”

Kim’s nervous system convulsed and sparkled. Isaac looked at Kim with intense discomfort. He was a private man, and so deeply Southern that despite all of Kim’s pyrotechnic evidence to the contrary he could not believe that Kim or any man would reach for a personal subject much beyond its surface. Kim recognized this, but only vaguely, since the most recent rocket to his system had left his sensual capacities flop-mouthed and smoking like Elmer Fudd’s rifle.

“She’s a fucking witch?” asked Kim breathlessly.

“Kim, come on!” said Isaac as soon as Kim’s lips parted.

Kim climbed onto the car and sat on its roof. He looked down at Isaac. “Who pays they-all for that!” wondered Kim at length. “You say she do this for a living?”

...

“Tell me why you broke up with Naomi. Please. I really am literally pleading with you. You must tell me. Please.”

Ray rattled with shrugging and gestures. “I’ve told you! It just didn’t work out! Nothing I ain’t say!”

“I’ve never loved a woman so immediately or so thoroughly,” said Kim. “I would die for her. I want her to kill me. I want to kill her. I have to know what’s wrong with her, because I am going to crawl up on her altar and be like ‘go to town’.”

“There is nothing wrong with her. Kim. She’s not this salamander you’re making her out to be. She’s a regular girl. Or well -"

“Regular,” worshipped Kim.

“She’s like me, at any rate. She’s more like me than not. Her habits are a little unusual. Her lifestyle’s a little unusual. You know she doesn’t work? She goes from man to man. I guess somebody’d say that’s what’s wrong with her. But the reason we broke up was that we broke up. Simple as that. We aren’t right for each other. Ethan’s the one for me. I like Naomi a whole lot and I do miss her, but I won’t be with her and if she’s feeling like she’s got to be with me as a partner or we can’t be friendly, then that’s a shame.”

“Seems like she might be sad over you for the rest of her life,” said Kim.

“She wastes her time with these men. She thinks they save her time because she don’t need to work. I’ll tell you, she’d save more time doing eight hours at McDonald's. Then get her somebody she can talk funny with, and boom, suddenly she’s got extra hours in the day. As it stands she’s got nothing but her research and those imbeciles who I’m swearing to you will suck the life out of her one blockhead remark at a time.”

[thetomorrowshow]

the best you can hope for

It's been a while, I know.

But it's time for a trust au update.

At this link, you can find the masterlist for the entire series! It's also on ao3 under the same name.

Reminder that this fic features sausage, fwhip, and joey as villains--and an extra warning, they do some pretty nasty things this chapter. pay special attention to the content warnings.

and just for fun, in the rb i'll link the spotify playlist i've made for the au! i'm always open to song suggestions :)

cw: kidnapping, violence, torture, sleep deprivation, non-consensual drugging, vomit, hallucinations, blood, unreliable narrator, insects, paranoia

~

When Scott wakes, fighting the thick fog of sleep, his head hurts something terrible.

He reluctantly wrenches his eyes open, blinks around at his surroundings. He can’t see a thing.

This. . . .

This is not his bedroom.

His bedroom is usually significantly lighter than this when he wakes up. 

He hasn’t the faintest idea of where he is.

The last place he remembers being at was . . . right, the royal wedding. But the suite he’s been staying in also has windows that shine directly on his bed. Nothing about this place now lines up with where he should be.

Then Scott shifts, lifts his pounding head from where his cheek is pressed up against stone, and realizes he’s on a cold floor in a damp-smelling room with no bed.

Now how on Aeor’s green earth has he ended up here?

He takes stock of himself. He’s wearing a suit—the new suit he’d worn to the wedding, but judging by the tears he can feel in the fabric it’ll have to be retired. Other than his aching head (which, judging by the tacky dried stuff he can feel in his hair has sustained some sort of injury), he doesn’t seem to be harmed more than a few bumps and bruises.

He eases himself into a sitting position, stretches out his legs, squints around. Elves have decent night vision, and now that his eyes are working better, he starts to take in the room.

It’s a cell. Plain and simple. Stone all around, low roof, bars on one side. Beyond the bars is a dark room with normal basement stuff, so he’s presumably underground. Otherwise, he’s got barely more information than he did before. He can’t even tell what empire this might be.

There’s no noise—there’s very little noise, he amends. There’s a dripping sound coming from somewhere in his cell. Very aesthetic, nice and dungeon-y.

Right, fWhip had smashed a potion over his head, he suddenly remembers. After . . . after threatening Jimmy.

There was . . . it was a meeting on the docks. Scott had gone out to it, met Sausage and Joey, and fWhip had come up behind. . . .

Well. That would explain his rather grim surroundings.

There’s no one else in the area, which hopefully means that the three rulers have remained true to their promise, but Scott knows better than to assume he’s in the only cell in the only dungeon.

He doesn’t call out. Nothing for it but letting his captors know he’s awake before he’s fully prepared to meet with them. Not to mention, calling out for help is below him.

(Being in a cell is below him.)

Scott sighs, rolls onto his hands and knees and pushes himself to his feet. His head still hurts, but now that he knows the injury isn’t serious it’s easier to ignore it. Most of the pain comes from the residual potion effects, which should fade within a couple of hours, if not less.

It’s been a long time since he was drugged, but he’s had sleeping potions while in the infirmary before and they never fail to leave him with the worst headache of his life when he wakes up. If this was a sleeping potion (administered, perhaps, in a different way than he’s accustomed to, but a sleeping potion all the same), he should recover soon.

He paces the length of the cell a couple of times before stretching out his entire body (his wings are a bit too big to properly stretch, but he does his best) then sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. If he’s going to be here for a while, he might as well preen.

He stretches his left wing around himself, starts picking between the feathers for dirt and realigning those that have been bent out of place since his kidnapping. Can it be called kidnapping if he technically agreed to it? Did he agree to it? All he agreed to do was come out to the docks to meet with Graceffa.

They won’t hurt him, will they?

Scott’s not sure where the thought comes from, but he’s a little bit nervous now that he’s thought it. He’s always held the upper hand when it came to these three, but rarely all at once, and usually when he has the promise of his entire empire behind him. He’s alone here, trapped in a dungeon—

He digs in his front pocket for a moment, then all of them. No communicator. Nothing, actually, nothing but a pebble Jimmy had pulled out of his pocket at one of the wedding events and Scott had slipped into his own when nobody was looking. He rubs his thumb along it for a moment, then returns to preening his feathers.

It’s not a long task—he’d cleaned them just before the wedding ceremony, so he doesn’t have much to show for this, but there’s still a handful of feathers and dirt and even two or three leaves. By the time he finishes, the headache has faded into a dull pulsing and he’s beginning to get bored. This is certainly the most undignified position he’s been in for the past decade, but he might as well sleep.

He’s only just laid down when there’s a clanking sound from beyond his cell, and then light flickers into view.

Scott stands again, leans casually against the wall while he watches through the bars. He blinks several times as he adjusts to the approaching light, until suddenly the entire room is lighting up and he has to raise a hand to cover his eyes.

“Awake, are we?”

It’s Joey, a clear smile in his voice, and Scott bites back a sigh, peeking through his fingers. Sausage is there as well, using a torch to light the bracketed fixtures lining the rest of the room.

“Now, Major—”

“I do believe that I agreed to a conversation on the docks,” Scott interrupts. “Not whatever this is.”

“Now, Major,” Joey repeats, leaning tantalizingly on the bars of his cell. “I’m sure you know my boyfriend, Xorny?”

“I’m familiar,” Scott says, dread washing over him. So this has to do with the demon. This can’t be good. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, nothing bad!” Sausage has joined the conversation, wiggling his fingers in between the bars. “We’ll let you go, just as soon as you tell us where the End Portal is!”

That’s one thing Scott knows he can’t do. He hasn’t done much research on where the demon might be from, but he knows it’s got some connection with the End. Giving Sausage and Jimmy that link could be disastrous.

“No can do,” he tells them, straightening a bit. Joey huffs; Sausage only grins.

“C’mon Smajor, it’s just a couple of coordinates! We know you know them, so save yourself a lot of trouble and hand ‘em over!”

Scott doesn’t respond to that. He can’t give up the location of the portal. He’s been tortured before, he can survive whatever they choose to do to him.

For a moment it looks like a beating, Joey slamming on the bars suddenly enough that Scott jolts back. Sausage drags him away, whispering something in his ear. After a moment, they both turn to Scott, slow smiles spreading across their faces.

“Have fun in here, Scott,” Joey snickers, backing away. Sausage follows him, chortling. “You’ll be begging to give up that location soon enough.”

Then they’re gone, leaving the torches flickering in the dungeon.

Scott blinks. He feels like that should have been a longer conversation. He feels like they ought to have threatened him more, or hurt him in some way.

Then again, he is an emperor. Rivendell’s armies are well-trained and strong. Maybe they don’t want him to rain down retribution when he’s returned.

He snorts. If that’s their goal, it’s in vain. He can handle a little waiting until his advisors realize he’s gone, and when he gets back there’ll be nothing keeping Mythland or the Lost Empire safe. Or the Grimlands, to be fair.

Scott settles in for a long wait, his wings tucked around him, and after hours of running over all of his interactions with Jimmy this week (he needs to stop doing that, he can’t be in love with him, he has to move on), he begins to fall asleep.

-

He’s rudely interrupted what feels like moments after falling asleep by a guard banging on the bars of the cell. Scott blinks open his eyes to glare at him, curls up a bit tighter.

“Get up!” the guard shouts, smacking a halberd against the bars. The sound reverberates around the cell and in Scott’s ears, and he groans before sitting up. The guard raises the halberd threateningly and Scott stumbles to his feet, rolling his shoulders out.

“I’m up, jeez,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. So they will be torturing him, will they? Maybe he can slip out of the cell while it’s open, then fly home and declare war. Screw the House Blossom Alliance, he’s held back long enough.

But the guard doesn’t unlock the cell. They just glare at Scott, then step away.

What?

After a couple of minutes, he slowly slides to the floor. Nothing. What on earth was the goal with that? He’s on edge for a good hour, waiting for Sausage or Joey to enter the room, taunt him in some way, but there’s nothing.

His head still feels jostled by the loud noise of the halberd, but he lays back down on the floor, head on his arms, and drifts off.

-

Once again, he’s woken immediately by the halberd against the bars. He scrambles up to sit against the wall, breathing heavily. The guard squints at him, sidles away.

The third time he falls asleep, he’s woken before he even gets past the dozing stage. Dread settles in as he realizes exactly what’s happening.

They’re not going to let him sleep.

Scott’s good at staying awake. He can skip a night or two in order to work on a project, or worry about Jimmy. It's not a big deal.

Hopefully he’s freed within a couple of days.

He’s tired, but not tired enough that he’ll doze off while standing, so Scott stands. He stands, pacing here and there, tapping his feet. At some point he starts singing, sings all the elven folk songs and nursery rhymes he can think of before repeating them. The guard yells at him, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until his voice cracks and his throat is raw. Hours, he thinks. Hours of singing.

When he can’t stand any longer, he kneels. He kneels and thinks, plans out an amendment to a marriage law that he’s been wanting to adjust for a while. He’s not sure when his thoughts slip away, not sure when his head dips to his chest.

All he knows is that suddenly there’s loud banging on his cell and he jerks awake, blinking rapidly. It hasn’t even been that long. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but it hasn’t been long.

He moves every couple of minutes, forcing himself to his aching feet, stretching out his wings, contorting himself into odd angles. The next time his head falls the person to bang on his cell is someone new, a guard with a beard and a stern face. It seems as though the next time he blinks it’s another guard, this one with hair that trails down to their knees.

He glares down at the floor. He’s stayed awake for longer than this before. What’s wrong with him?

But when he’s stayed awake in the past, he’s had books and fresh air and things to do. Now he’s in an empty cell that smells of mold with nothing but a rounded pebble to occupy himself with.

And it’s not like he came into this fresh. He’s been losing sleep for weeks, even more this past week what with the wedding. Scott’s been running himself into the ground for a while now, and in a cell with zero entertainment, he’s going to fall asleep.

He reaches a point where he can’t stop falling asleep. He begins to jerk himself awake before the guard can bang on the bars, the guard who is now permanently standing before him, halberd ready and waiting. He’s ready to cry when the routine changes and Sausage brings him food, a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water, and he thinks his throat might be bleeding from how dry it is so he takes the water eagerly and drinks it all in one breath.

He hadn’t noticed the hunger over the exhaustion, but now that there’s food in front of him he can’t help but feel his stomach twisting in on itself. He reaches for it with trembling hands, glares when Sausage laughs at him.

“Aw, wittle Scott want his porridge?” Sausage mocks, and it’s all Scott can do to not throw the oatmeal back at him. He needs this. Food will help wake him up. He needs to swallow his pride for a moment and just eat.

He manages to eat slowly, his grip on the spoon tight and white-knuckled. He’s not going to give Sausage the satisfaction of seeing him eat like a desperate man.

Sausage doesn’t stop grinning, though, takes the bowl and glass when Scott’s done, carries them away with a “Toodles!” thrown over his shoulder.

Scott clenches his fists, stares into the flame of a torch on the other side of the bars. Maybe he can count how long he’s been awake by mealtimes. That was something to eat, and breakfast-y, so maybe he’s been here for . . . how long did he sleep after first arriving? How long was he unconscious in this cell?

He was abducted close to midnight, probably. If he slept until morning . . . has he been awake an entire day and night? Did he sleep until midday? Was he out until nighttime, and he’s only been awake a couple of hours?

A rooster crows from somewhere, somewhere nearby, and Scott jerks from where he’s swaying to stare off in that direction. Dawn? Why was Sausage even awake before dawn, let alone bringing him food personally?

It crows again, closer. Scott rubs his eyes, stands on wobbly legs. The water and food has helped to replenish his energy a little bit, but he really just needs to sleep. He glances around past the bars of his cell, at the three guards—two of which are twins—and their weapons, at the various chests and torches and other basement stuff.

The rooster crows a third time, close enough that he should see it in the room, but there’s nothing there.

Then he’s waking up.

He’s in a bed in the infirmary of Rivendell, and he barely has a moment to take in the pale blue of the room before he’s pitching over the side of the bed to vomit.

His stomach hurts, burns, tears at itself until he’s crying, close to screaming. He bites his lip to keep it down, even as several elves hurry over to him, help him sit up.

“My lord, you’re all right,” one elf says, trying to wipe his mouth with a towel. “Bad case of food poisoning. You’ll be fine, your fever just broke.”

“Hurts,” Scott whimpers, before clamping his mouth shut to silence another scream. The elf wiping his mouth looks closer at him, frowns, snaps xyr fingers. 

“Health potion,” xe says, holding out xyr hand. “My prince, your stomach is still trying to expel whatever was spoiled in your food. A health potion should help resolve that.”

Scott gags, but opens his mouth to let xem pour it down his throat. He nearly vomits it back up, hands shaking.

He’s about to ask after his family, but his father and brother are let into the room once the vomit is cleaned up. He can see in his brother’s eyes how scared they had been. It must have been touch-and-go for a while.

His brother steps closer to the bed, takes Scott’s hand. “It’s so good to see you awake,” he says, genuine and not at all like his brother.

Scott blinks at him, confused, and finds himself on his side, staring out of a cell.

The cell.

He sits up, rubbing away the chills on his arms. His senses are going haywire—where’s the infirmary? His father is dead, why was his father here? Where did his stomach pain vanish to so suddenly?

So many questions for an answer he has.

Maybe it’s just because the memory is so close to the forefront of his mind, but Scott knows instantly what happened.

He’s been drugged.

Something in the food—or the water—or—something is acting as a hallucinogen, bringing up old memories and twisting them because that isn’t how that had gone, nobody had visited him and when he’d finally gotten out of the infirmary and had been moved to his bedroom, when his family had come by his brother had sulked in the corner and not spoken to him at all.

He blinks when there are flowers sprouting from between the bricks of the dungeon, but he knows it’s not real. It can’t be real. A rooster crows and his head whips up (when had it fallen?) only to see nothing.

“It’s not real,” he mutters, then louder, “it’s not real!”

“Shut up,” someone says, and it echoes around the cell, whispering in his ears. Scott twitches his head, bends forward to escape the sound. It follows, staying in his ears as it fades.

Then it’s silent. Suddenly, utterly silent. Not even the pitch dripping from the torches is making sound. Scott rubs his ears. Nothing.

Where’d the sound go? Did the guards take the sound? Why can’t he hear anything?

He grabs at his ears again, just to make sure they’re there. He went from too much noise to nothing at all and his mind just can’t handle it.

Maybe the sound is hiding. Maybe he has to find it.

Scott crawls around the cell, ignoring the bugs skittering up the walls because they aren’t real, he’s hallucinating them, searching for where the sound might be. It’s not in the corners, it’s not anywhere above him, the sound is gone, maybe he needs to scare it out of hiding—

Scott shouts, short and quick, and the shout breaks through and comes out with noise. It all hits him at once, the pitch hitting the floor with a ground-shaking boom, the bugs creeping and crawling with rattles in their bodies, the guards whispering loud enough to be screams—

“Yeah, they’re making him hallucinate . . . just a little potion in the food . . . should wear off within a couple of hours, but he might be fun to mess with. . . .”

He groans, tries to cover his ears but the sound of his skin is too loud and he cries out, ducking his head away, shoving further and further into a corner but the noise keeps following until his head slams into the wall—and again—and again—

It doesn’t cure the sound, it doesn’t help anything, and it’s all Scott can do to not gouge his eyes out. He misses the silence, wants it to just be quiet again.

It’s the drugs, he knows it’s the drugs, but knowing it’s the drugs making him act irrationally does not mean that he’s not experiencing this. It’s sensory hell, and Scott’s not sure if his eyes are bleeding or if he’s crying but he wouldn’t be surprised about either.

There’s shadows standing in front of him, staring him down, and Scott grits his teeth and looks away. It’s not actually shadows. Right? It’s nothing.

The shadows grab him by his arms, though, drag him forward. One of them laughs, spits out “Sorry, your majesty,” and clamps something around his wrist.

It’s on his other wrist, too, then both arms are pulled up and held there. He shudders, tugs. His arms are restrained.

“Let me go,” he demands, pulling at them. He’s still in the cell, right? His surroundings are misty and unclear, the shadows fading into the background and leaving him alone. There’s still laughter, though, still laughter all around him.

His brother steps out of the mist, concern written all over his face. “Scott,” he says, kneeling down before him. “You look ill. Are you ill?”

“I’m—I’m not—” he shakes his head, sweat dripping down his temples, “you’re not here. You’re not real.”

His brother’s frown curves upward, and Scott stares as his lips pull back to reveal far too many teeth. “Aren’t I, brother?” he says, and Scott knows that echoing voice and it does not belong to his brother.

Does it?

“You’re not real,” Scott says again, and this time his head feels a little clearer. There were drugs in the food, or maybe the water. Everything is a hallucination. The only things real are the cell and the guards and the cell. And the guards. And the cell. “I’m real,” he remembers.

“Oh, good job, Smajor!”

He jerks his head up, eyes darting around. There’s someone here. He can’t see anyone. Even Xornoth is gone. “Not real,” he mutters, ducking his head. “Not real, not real, not real. I’m real. Stay away from me, you’re not real.”

“He’s really out of it, isn’t he? I wonder what he’s seeing. . . .”

“The guards told me he was hitting his head against the wall earlier!”

“That was an accident,” Scott grits out, pulling on whatever is keeping his hands above his head. “I was trying to make the sound stop again.”

Silence except for everything. The creaking of leather boots near-deafens Scott and he tries in vain to cover his ears.

“Smajor, look at me,” the first voice says, sounding as if it comes from all around. Scott checks the entire room—the room that’s just become clear as the cell he’s in—nothing.

A disbelieving laugh. “He can’t see me. How much of that stuff did you give him?”

“Just half the bottle!”

“Half the bottle? He must be tripping out of his mind right now. Sorry about that, Scott, it was only supposed to be about a quarter of the bottle.”

There’s no bottles. They aren’t real. He twitches his head. “Not real,” he mutters. He’s in the cell. There are hands on his wings.

He jolts forward, hisses when his shoulders strain from whatever is holding his arms up. “Don’t touch me!”

“Nobody’s touching you, birdbrain. Want some water? It should help it run through your system faster.”

Water.

No, no water. He can’t. “No water,” he rasps. “Can’t—something in it—”

A sigh, one that rattles Scott’s very bones. “I promise it isn’t drugged. Don’t fall asleep while I’m talking to you.”

A slap to the face and Scott’s eyes flash open. He doesn’t remember closing them. He doesn’t remember starting to fall asleep.

fWhip’s in front of him, the bars to the cell hanging open behind him. He’s wearing something fancy and red and detailed that Scott can’t quite comprehend (the wedding, something in the back of his mind tells him), a glass of water in his hand.

He wants it. He desperately wants to drink the water, and he would reach out for it if he could but he can’t—

There’s a water skimmer bug. Dancing at the top of the glass. And below that, in the glass, there’s a frog that Scott thinks must be dead because frogs aren’t supposed to be that bloated nor float upside-down.

His mouth clamps shut (he hadn’t even realized it had fallen open) and he turns his head away. Another long-suffering sigh.

“Smajor, I promise it’s not drugged. I’ll take a sip of it, see?”

And Scott can’t help but watch as fWhip swallows the dead frog whole.

Scott gags, his entire body seizing as bile rises to his throat and he throws up all down his front. fWhip leaps back, shouting in disgust.

Scott’s shaking. He’s been poisoned. The last time he threw up was because he was poisoned, and now he’s been hallucinating from something they fed him and it must have been poison. Forget the frog, Scott doesn’t just throw up.

“Not again,” he moans, “please not again. Please.”

And then everything is blessedly quiet. Scott blinks a few times. Still in a dimly-lit dungeon. He sniffs; the stench of vomit. His head hurts. There’s a guard outside his cell, maybe another that he can’t see. No one else. Nothing else.

No bugs, no Xornoth, no shadows moving toward him.

He must’ve lost time somewhere. Or maybe the drug wore off. Or maybe both. Whatever it is, he’s conscious of what’s happening and what’s real.

He feels almost like he has control of his own head again, and that’s what matters.

-

He’s not sure how long he's been awake, but he can’t keep it up.

The guard is no longer outside the cell. Instead he looms over Scott, halberd abandoned in favor of a whip. If Scott droops, if his eyes close for longer than a few seconds, the whip cracks across his skin until he wakes again.

The chains locking his wrists to the ceiling are gone, replaced with a bar on his shoulders that his arms are cuffed to, the bar itself held by two chains linked to the ceiling. Less chance of permanent damage that way, fWhip had cited.

fWhip had been in earlier, with more water that Scott couldn’t bring himself to drink. fWhip had had to pry his jaw open and hold it there to force the drink down his throat, repeating reassurances that it wasn’t drugged or poisoned in any way. Scott had still spat out as much of it as he could, water dribbling down his once-lovely silken shirt to join the vomit stains.

The vomit had been washed from him as well as possible, buckets of chilly water dumped over his head. The water had kept him awake for a short time, soaked and shivering as he was, but it doesn’t do anything to rouse him anymore. Now he’s so out of it that he can barely hold his own head up, only jerking up when the whip lashes across his calves.

“‘M awake,” he gasps out the most recent time, letting out a choked cry when the whip strikes again, across his wings. It burns, feathers pulled up the wrong directions, the delicate skin tearing. “I’m awake, I’m awake, stop—”

“Smajor, look at me.”

Scott looks up. fWhip. Again.

“I hate you,” he mumbles. fWhip grimaces.

“I know. Do you want to sleep?”

He very much wants to sleep, thank you. But he can’t. Every time he tries, the guard hurts him and he can’t handle that. He can’t sleep. He can’t let himself get hurt any more.

His feet sting with the crack of a whip and he blinks his eyes open, crying out, “I’m awake! I’m awake, I’m awake. . . .”

fWhip clucks his tongue. “The strong ruler of Rivendell, a blubbering mess at my feet. Tell me where the End Portal is, and I’ll let you sleep all you want.”

The End Portal. Why, it’s—

No no NO can’t think about it, can’t think about where it is because then fWhip will know and they CAN’T KNOW, can’t let the demon out—

“Hate you,” he says again, biting his cheek to keep back a micro-sleep. “You . . . you hurt Jimmy.”

“Where’s the End Portal, Scott.”

“He didn’t do anythin’, he just . . . why did you hurt him?”

“Are we playing twenty questions?”

Scott shrugs as well as he can with a bar pressed down on his shoulders. He doesn’t mind playing a game. Anything to keep him distracted. Anything to keep him awake. He can’t sleep. He can’t tell them where the portal is.

fWhip grins, sits cross-legged on the floor. “I love games! Okay, I won’t ask you anything about the portal, okay? This is just for fun. You first!”

“Um,” Scott tries to remember what he’d just asked. Something about the portal? Where is it? No, he already knows that. Jimmy. “Why’d you hurt Jimmy?”

“Because it was easy, and it was funny,” fWhip says, stretching out his arms. It’s a mockery of him, Scott just knows it. “My turn. You’ve been the emperor of Rivendell for like, my entire life. How old are you?”

He’s—he’s fifty-five.

No.

“One-hundred. And nine,” he says after a moment of thought, during which he surely slipped into a micro-sleep but he desperately hopes fWhip didn’t notice. He shakes himself. It’s his turn. His turn for a question. To be asked. To ask. He needs to ask a question. “How long?”

fWhip frowns. “How long . . . what? Have we been messing with Jimmy? How long have you been here?”

Scott’s not sure what he’d meant when he’d asked it. “Both,” he offers. fWhip chuckles.

“I’ll use it as your next question. We’ve been having fun with Jimmy for years, Smajor. Pretty much since he joined the alliance.”

Right, Scott knew that. Jimmy told him.

“How did you find out about our games? Us messing with Jimmy, I mean?”

Can he say this? What can’t he say? He can’t talk about the End Portal. He can tell fWhip this.

“His scars,” Scott says. “Saw ‘em once by accident. I didn’t know.”

fWhip nods. “To answer your earlier question, you’ve been awake for a little over three days—seventy-eight hours, I think.”

Seventy-eight hours. That’s nothing. Scott’s stayed awake that long on his own before. Just knowing the proper amount of time he’s been awake grounds him, bringing him back to proper awareness for the time being.

“My question,” says fWhip. “What does Rivendell’s defense lack?”

Scott snorts. There’s no way fWhip believes he’ll actually reveal that, no matter his condition. “Fat chance,” he spits out. “I’m not that out of it.”

fWhip chuckles. “Yeah, I figured. Are you really allied with Lizzie and Joel?”

“Yeah,” Scott nods, shifting his shoulders slightly to try and reduce the strain. “My turn. Er. Jeez. Did—did I scare you? When I caught you?”

“Oh yeah, you sure did,” fWhip laughs. “I was terrified. I was actually still scared of you until I saw you like this!”

He really doesn’t make for an imposing figure right now, does he? He wonders what he looks like. He wonders if his eyes are as dry as they feel. He spends a moment trying to touch his eye, test it, before remembering that his hands are restrained above him. Right. He’s out of it.

fWhip snaps in his face and Scott jolts from where he’s drooped. “Wake up, Smajor. It’s my turn to ask a question.”

He hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed. Only seventy-eight hours, he reminds himself.

Only seventy-eight hours. Out of what? How long until his advisors decide he’s been missing long enough? He’d told Ilphas that he was off on something demon-related. How long until he’s worth looking for?

No one else even knows he’s missing. He didn’t tell anyone else. Presumably, the three who had abducted him had returned to the celebrations, removing any suspicion from themselves. Presumably, Scott’s alone, and will be here until he breaks. He needs to sleep. He needs to take any opportunity to sleep.

“What’s your sudden obsession with Jimmy?” fWhip asks, and Scott blinks a couple of times. He can answer this, right?

Nobody can know. Nobody gets to know how he feels about Jimmy. He needs to lock that up in a scuffed little box in the back of his mind, right next to the location of the End Portal underwater near—

“I happen to be a decent person,” Scott manages. “Jimmy’s nice. He gives good hugs. Shoot.” He wasn’t supposed to say that last part.

fWhip raises an eyebrow. “Gives good hugs? What, do you have a crush on the guy?”

Scott doesn’t answer, but he can feel his face burn. He’s giving it away, he’s giving everything away, if his feelings for Jimmy got out of the box immediately who’s to say that the location of the End Portal won’t?

fWhip’s laughing, delighted and vicious. “Oh, you do! Oh, that’s just perfect! Does he feel the same?”

Scott shakes his head doggedly. “My turn, my question. Is—” he doesn’t want to ask this question, but he has to know— “is anyone looking for me?”

The smile fWhip fixes him with is gentle, almost patronizing. “No.”

Scott sags, ignoring the pain in his shoulders at the motion. He’s not going to survive. He can’t do this. He’s not going to make it. He can feel his lip quivering; makes a valiant effort to not cry. “I don’t . . . I don’t wanna play anymore.”

“How about this,” fWhip says, pushing with two fingers at Scott’s forehead until he props himself back up. “We finish the game. Just ten more questions. If you can finish the game, I’ll let you sleep for an hour. No strings attached, just an hour of glorious sleep. Sound good?”

Someone will come looking eventually, and that hour might make the difference between holding out and giving in. Not only that, but he’s so tired. He doesn’t care that it’s only been three days and three nights. He’s so out of his depth here, and it’s not like he started fresh, and he needs that hour of sleep.

He nods, two twitches of his head up and down. He’ll finish the game for the chance to sleep. It’s not that big of a deal.

“Great. My turn! Does Jimmy, The Codfather, like you? Like, like-like you?”

The tear that he’s been holding back finally drips from his eye, down his grimy cheek. Scott swallows, croaks, “No.”

fWhip grimaces. “Jeez, that’s awkward. Your turn.”

Scott doesn’t have another question. He casts around his overfull mind—anything will work, literally anything, it doesn’t have to do with this at all. . . . “Where’s Sausage?” he eventually comes up with.

fWhip shrugs, gesturing vaguely upward. “Doing something important, I guess. He and Joey have locked themselves up in a little meeting room. Who told you where the End Portal is?”

“No. No. No portal,” he says, rocking back and forth a bit. He can’t answer that. He can’t tell him that Lizzie showed him personally. He can’t mention Lizzie, because that’ll give it up.

“All right, no portal,” fWhip acquiesces. Then, with a sudden, conspicuous subject change: “Did you have a brother?”

He’s flying, he’s reveling in flight, he never gets to fly these days and he misses it, he’s just so busy—

There’s a hand on his wing, though, another on the other, and whoever is in the air with him (and he knows exactly who it is, there’s only one other person who set out to fly with him) yanks. He feels it, feels the delicate bones bend—

Both hands are on his left wing, a knee pressed into the bone—he’s falling now, right wing valiantly trying to glide—the hands pull against the knee and his wing snaps—

A shout is startled out of him as something heavy hits him in the stomach. He looks up—the guard is gone, has been gone ever since they started playing the game, and fWhip is holding his sword with the flat edge out. “Stay awake,” he says, voice tinged with something that makes all of Scott’s senses scream for him to run, hide, get away.

“Yes,” he gasps in answer to the question. “I-I had a brother. Why do you care?”

“Heard some rumors about a certain demon. What was your brother’s name?”

Scott doesn’t want to answer this, because he knows what it’s going to confirm. He bites his lip, looks away. Another blow from the flat edge of fWhip’s sword to the solar plexus sends Scott wheezing.

“Answer it,” growls fWhip. “Unless you wanna forfeit that hour of sleep.”

Scott breathes in, eyes fluttering closed. It’s only been seventy-eight hours. He needs an hour of sleep because his senses are already overloaded from the drugs and the sleep deprivation and he’s just so tired. “Xornoth,” he says finally, just as he hears fWhip pick up the whip from the floor of the dungeon. “My brother. His name.”

“Open your eyes.”

Scott does, as impossible as it feels. There are weights on his eyelids and every time he has to open them again, and again, and again, it gets harder. There are tears blurring his vision when he glares at fWhip.

“I hate you,” he croaks.

“I know. It’s your turn.”

Scott’s head dips a little, but he forces his eyes to stay open. There’s a question bearing down on his mind, one that’s been developing for weeks now, ever since he first heard what the demon’s name was.

“Is my brother the demon?”

A laugh bursts out of fWhip. He laughs a lot. He laughs at Scott far too much. “Scott, my good friend, I was about to ask you the same thing.” fWhip cracks the whip to the side; Scott flinches. “I would think he is. His voice sounds strangely similar to yours. What do you think? Is your brother the demon?”

His throat is dry. His lips are cracked. He needs water, but he can’t have water because it messes with his head. “I think,” he says, tongue heavy in his mouth. “I think he is.”

“Talk about family drama.”

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah. A few times, actually. Do you miss him?”

Does he miss him?

Sometimes, he thinks he does. Sometimes, he wakes up in the morning with no reason to get out of bed and he lies there with his eyes closed, pretends that at any moment, Xornoth will enter and throw a pillow at him, despite their parents’ disapproval of childish actions.

On the other hand, there’s literally everything else.

“Smajor.”

“I’m awake,” he mumbles.

“Answer the question.”

“What was it?”

fWhip sighs, longsuffering. “That’s strike two,” he warns. “Three strikes and you don’t get to sleep. I asked if you miss your brother.”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Scott says. “No,” he decides a moment later, then again, “I’m not sure.”

“Good job. Ask me a question.”

“What was the . . . um. The first strike?”

“It was earlier, when you fell asleep in the middle of answering.” fWhip reaches over, unlocks the chains that shackle Scott to the bar on his shoulders. “We’re all done, all twenty questions asked and answered. You can sleep for one hour.”

All thoughts fly from Scott’s head and he collapses as soon as he’s free, gone from the world in an instant.

-

“Wake up. Smajor. Wake up.”

Something hard cracks across his shoulders and Scott jerks up, crying out, “I’m awake! I’m awake, I am, I’m awake!”

It’s fWhip, holding a guard’s halberd. He discards it, pulls Scott up by his ruined shirt, reattaches the chains to his wrists that pull his aching arms around the pole.

Nothing’s changed about his cell. The torch beyond the open bars is still burning at the same level, the small pool of pitch below it no bigger than it had been. The guard standing outside is the same guard.

Something’s not right about this.

He blinks blearily at fWhip. “That . . . that wasn’t an hour, was it?”

fWhip goes still; grabs Scott’s chin, forces it up to look him in the eyes.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he asks, and his body is screaming danger, run, snake, but his voice is jovial, almost joking.

“I—”

“Because that’s a serious accusation to make when the person you’re accusing has the power to cripple you forever, Lord Smajor.” he kicks Scott hard in the knee and Scott screams as it stops supporting his weight, slipping down but he can’t slip because there’s a chain linking the pole on his shoulders to the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—you’re not lying, you’re not,” Scott insists, trying and failing to keep the tears gathered in his eyes from spilling out. “It was an hour, I swear it was an hour!”

fWhip backs off, picking up the halberd and hefting it over his shoulder. “I know that. But that was a rude thing to say, Scott. So I think I’m gonna head out, all right? Sausage and Joey aren’t going to be as nice as I was. They’re not going to play games. Don’t forget how nice I was.”

“I hate you,” Scott bites out, flexing his trembling fingers around the pole as he straightens, knee pulsing with pain. fWhip doesn’t reply, just sends him a cheeky wave and vanishes.

Scott doesn’t have the chance to get in a quick sleep, because as soon as fWhip is gone the guard is standing there, raising their weapon threateningly.

He can’t help but feel despair in the pit of his stomach.

-

When Joey and Sausage leave, Scott is shaking.

They’d made him hold himself up on his toes, they’d whipped the soles of his feet and made him walk the length of the cell, they’d taunted him with food that he couldn’t have.

He’s not sure he’s going to survive. He knows they want information, but it’s information that he doesn’t even think he has anymore. He can’t remember what they want. They scream it at him sometimes, they grip him by the collar and shove him up against a wall and demand it of him, but Scott doesn’t even know what they’re asking. He can’t understand anger.

“I’m awake,” he whispers near-constantly, intermingled with the occasional “I hate you” directed at his captors. Joey takes particular offense at that, shoves Scott’s face into a bowl of gruel (it’s drugged, he knows it’s drugged, he heard them say it’s drugged) and demands he eat. Scott refuses, takes the moment to slip into a micro-sleep. Joey always yanks him back by his wings to wake him.

“Just tell me,” fWhip whispers, well-rested and fresh. He rubs Scott’s cheek with his thumb. “Then you can sleep. Nobody’s coming for you, Scott. Nobody has any idea where you are.”

Scott sobs drily at that. Nobody’s coming. He’s all alone. Just him and fWhip and the guard and the shadows in the corner that are bundles of spindly spiders. He’s certain they move when he looks away from them.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he admits, voice barely-there. fWhip smiles, eerily wide, leans in closer.

“Tell me where the End Portal is,” fWhip says, perfectly reasonable. “That’s all you need to do.”

Scott’s head falls to his chest. He’s up again in moments with a hoarse cry as someone pulls a handful of feathers out of his wing.

“I’m awake, I’m awake! Please, please, I’m awake. . . .” fWhip sticks bloodied feathers into the pocket of his jacket. Scott watches, he thinks he watches, he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Where’s the End Portal?”

The End Portal.

The one—no. He’s not supposed to say anything. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know what’s happening, all he knows is fWhip and the unending pain and he can’t sleep, they won’t let him sleep!

“Please,” he moans. “Please let me sleep. . . .”

“You can sleep—after you tell me where the End Portal is.”

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

Scott shakes his head, little twitches from side-to-side. fWhip’s face darkens, and Scott just doesn’t have the self-preservation to try to escape. His senses have been in overload for what feels like years and everything is misfiring constantly. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants to close his eyes for a few moments.

“Twenty questions,” he begs, though he’s not sure why. “Please. How old am I? I’m fifty-five. No. Wait. They’re dead. Eighty. I’m eighty-two. I’m alive. Where’s the End Portal? No. Can’t tell you. Ask me a question.”

fWhip shakes his head. He steps away. “I really hate to do this, Scott,” he sighs, reaching for—grabbing—one of those accursed halberds. Scott shudders, knocks his chin into his chest several times. “Gotta . . . I’m awake . . . please. . . .”

The staff of the halberd smacks into his side and Scott shouts, cuts himself off. They keep hurting him, he doesn’t know why, he’s not even asleep and they’re hurting him. . . .

The staff hits his legs, his cut up feet, the delicate bones of his wings (something’s broken in one of them, something isn’t right), his face—Scott’s barely conscious; the only thing keeping him from passing out is the threat looming over him that if he falls asleep, everything will be so much worse.

“End Portal, Scott! Where is it?”

“I—I can’t—”

Crack! Crack!

“Where’s the End Portal?”

“Please—”

Crack!

“Tell me where the End Portal is!”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“I can’t—Lizzie told me I can’t—”

Another hit, another terrible crack of wood against his bruised body. Then there’s nothing, and Scott squints through the haze of pain and beyond exhaustion to see fWhip leave.

He’s alone for the briefest of moments, during which his eyes fall closed and his chin hits his chest, but a rough kick to the stomach has him shooting back up.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he croaks. He can’t feel his fingers. The stone walls are dripping. Melting. There are spiders in the corners. There’s a strange laugh coming from the corner of his mind. He’s falling apart.

He’s not sure how long he’s alone with the guard, their only interactions his head falling and their weapon falling upon him. He’s shivering, gasping for air that seems just out of reach. He’s so hungry his head is going to split in half. He’s so thirsty he’s going to shrivel up. But mostly, he needs sleep, so desperately that his body is periodically shutting down, despite his best efforts to stay awake without reminders.

There’s a series of sounds that Scott’s grown to dread. The door to the dungeon clunks open. The stairs creak.

He looks up. Nothing.

That’s right. That makes sense. He must’ve—that must’ve been from earlier, a sound that hadn’t quite caught up yet. That’s fine. “I’m awake,” he whispers, more to remind himself than the guard.

Then there’s a thunk, and the guard’s eyes roll up into the back of their head as they collapse.

And behind them, a sword raised in the air hilt-first in his hands, is Jimmy. Beautiful, glorious Jimmy.

“I’m awake,” Scott repeats, more to remind himself that what he’s seeing is as real as the guard on the floor and the spiders in the walls. His voice is almost entirely gone, and he cringes away, afraid of—of everything, but the way Jimmy’s face blazes with anger makes him feel safe. Jimmy’s here. Everything’s okay now.

“Scott,” Jimmy gasps, dropping the sword with a clatter that’s far too loud. Scott blinks for too long, and Jimmy’s in front of him, cradling his swollen and sticky face in his calloused hands.

“What have they done to you?” Jimmy mutters, before he appears to shake himself. “It’s all right, I’m here. I—I’ll get you home, yeah? Or—I’ll get you to my place, it’s quite a bit nearer—” Jimmy stands, and in moments the chain holding Scott to the bar releases and he crumples to the ground. He can’t even bring himself to lift his head.

“‘M awake,” he mumbles into the ground.

“Can you wa—oh, Scott. Your feet.”

They burn, the soles of his feet burn with open wounds but he tries to stand anyway. Jimmy stops him, holds him to the ground for a moment, before lifting Scott up and over his shoulder.

“I would carry you in my arms,” he grunts, standing, “but your wings are in rough shape. I can sort ‘em out, but anyone could come down here—regen on your feet, and—oh, your back—regen on open wounds, then if there’s anything I need to set I’ll do that and you can drink a health potion. . . .”

“Jimmy,” Scott breathes. Jimmy freezes where he’s about to begin climbing the stairs. “C’n I sleep?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, please do!”

Before Jimmy can say anything more, Scott is dead asleep.

-

Scott sits straight up when he wakes, crying out, “I’m awake! I’m awake, I’m awake!”

There’s no blow, though. Barely even pain, just some lingering aches. He looks around, blinking past the dryness of his eyes.

He’s in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. It’s quaint, paneled wood walls and a tie quilt over the mattress. Sunlight filters in through a window framed with floaty white curtains. The bedside table is roughly carved by hand, a glass of water sitting there.

Scott doesn’t drink it, his heavy head filled with memories of hallucinations and mean laughter. He swings his feet out of bed, winces when he puts weight on them. They’re bandaged, injuries pulling strangely and sharply on his skin when he stands. There are other bandages, he realizes—his wings are secured to his back in a way that isn’t quite right, one of his knees is braced, there’s bandages around both calves.

He’s hungry. By Aeor, he’s hungry, but he pushes it aside and instead focuses on the matter at hand—where he is, and what he’s doing here.

There’s noise. He’d thought it was silent, but from beyond the closed door comes the low murmur of hushed voices. He creeps toward it, body stiff and painful now that he’s walking. He rolls his shoulders experimentally, hisses at the swelling and the stinging pains present.

“—what I saw, and what I saw wasn’t a normal meeting!”

“Yes, but Jimmy—”

“No, you didn’t see him, you weren’t there—”

“Well, go get him! We want to talk to him—maybe he can explain!”

“He was being tortured, Lizzie. What else is there to explain?”

“You just tend to exaggerate, okay?”

Scott starts to push open the door, hoping to slip into the room relatively unnoticed. The door creaks loudly, though, and he freezes, door cracked in front of him, as the conversation halts.

There’s the padding of soft feet on wood, and then Jimmy’s there, easing the door open a bit more. And Jimmy, as always, is gorgeous.

“You’re awake,” he says, before Scott’s overworked brain can attempt to wax poetic, an adorable little crease between his brows.

“I’m awake,” Scott rasps reflexively, swallowing to try and ease the sting in his throat. It doesn’t work. Jimmy’s frown deepens and he gently pushes past Scott, to the glass of water on the table. Scott shies away when he brings it close, leaving Jimmy standing awkwardly.

“Is something wrong with it?”

Scott’s not sure how to express without a voice that he doesn’t know how long it’s been sitting there, how it could have been tainted by anyone while he was asleep. He points beyond the door. “Fresh?” he whispers. Jimmy nods, swaps which hand is holding the glass.

“Yeah, of course. Um, you’ve been asleep for around . . . fourteen hours? I think? You seemed pretty tired, though, so if you want to go back to bed. . . .”

Scott points again toward the door. “Lizzie?”

“And Joel. I didn’t tell them you were here—I didn’t want them bothering you—but they turned up a few minutes ago anyway and I started telling them what happened, but I don’t really . . . know. What happened. Do you feel okay—” Jimmy’s eyes flicker across Scott’s body— “seeing them?”

Scott looks down at himself, sees that his shirt is completely gone, replaced with bandages around his ribcage. His trousers have been cut away as well, creating fairly short shorts. He frowns at that, gestures to his legs with shaking hands. Jimmy sets down the glass, ducks into a closet Scott hadn’t noticed. He pulls out a long, green skirt, helps Scott step into it and pull it up to his hips when he finds that he can’t move his arms the way he wants to.

“I spread some regen on open wounds,” Jimmy explains as he assists, “but I needed you awake to drink the health potion, so I’m sorry if you’re feeling bad. I think there’s something broken in your wings, too, but it’s small and I don’t know how to fix it. And your shoulders are royally screwed up, but nothing that some time in an infirmary with healer magic won’t fix.”

Scott twitches his fingers, feels his shoulders pulse with angry heat. Yeah, that’s bad. What had Jimmy asked earlier? If he can see Lizzie and Joel.

He was kidnapped. Scott was kidnapped and he gave up information.

He needs to see them. Hungry, thirsty, tired, pained—it doesn’t matter. He needs to talk to them.

He points to the door again, flicks his wings. Jimmy’s right—something’s wrong with one of them, twinges of pain jerking down the left one. Jimmy understands, steps out in front of him and holds the door open.

Scott limps out, eyes on the floor. Twin gasps come from the living, a cut-off cry of his name. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to see Joel and Lizzie, face the shame of his appearance in the shock in their faces. 

He carves a slow path to Jimmy’s sofa, sits gingerly on the edge of it. Jimmy appears at his side a moment later, presses a glass of water into his hands.

He can’t drink it. Old paranoia rears its head and he just knows the glass is contaminated, he knows there’s something in it that’ll mess with his head or make him deathly ill and he’d rather go thirsty than drink it and he’s so very thirsty he might cry—

“Scott?”

He looks up; Jimmy’s watching, gaze concerned. He hands the glass back. Jimmy takes it. “Is there—is it your shoulders? Can you not reach your mouth?”

Scott hadn’t even thought of that. He reaches his hand up to touch his mouth, finds it stiff and painful but not impossible. Jimmy tries to hand the glass back; Scott pushes it away.

Jimmy just filled it up. It’s untampered with. Still Scott knows that his anxieties won’t rest until he does it himself. 

He reluctantly accepts the glass, stands with a groan, shuffles into the kitchen. From there, he grabs a different glass—one at random from Jimmy’s cabinet, one that no one would think to poison—and rinses it out several times before filling it up and returning to the sofa. Then he finally drinks, eyes fluttering closed as he relishes in the cool liquid reviving the desert of his throat.

The glass is half empty when he sets it down on the coffee table, stomach protesting even that small amount of water without any food. Then he wets his lips with his tongue, opens his mouth, and begins to speak.

“Jimmy—” he says, before being overwhelmed by a coughing fit. It tears at his still-raw throat, brings tears to his eyes. He blinks them away when he can finally breathe, takes another sip to soothe his throat, then continues hoarsely. “Thank you. For caring for me. As soon as possible, I will rid you of my presence and journey home.”

Jimmy starts to protest, but Scott cuts him off with a shake of his head. For the first time, he looks up at the silent Lizzie and Joel. They’re staring at him, almost horrified expressions painting their faces. Joel seems to take the eye contact as an invitation to speak.

“Smajor, you look terrible. Those bags under your eyes look big enough to carry my attachment issues.”

Scott can’t help a snort of laughter, rubs his face. It feels so good just to be able to move his arms again, ignoring the condition of his shoulders.

“Scott, what happened?”

He doesn’t answer Jimmy’s question. Instead he asks, slowly, “How long was I gone?”

Lizzie and Joel glance at each other uncertainly, but Jimmy immediately answers.

“Six days, about. You weren’t there the day after the wedding, and all your things were still in your suite, so . . . yeah, around six days.”

Six days. Six days awake, beaten and drugged and whipped. Six days of torture.

“Scott, what happened during those six days?”

Scott tries and fails to swallow back the lump in his throat, jerks his head a little. His skin is already itching with the feeling of being watched, someone making sure his eyes don’t close for longer than a few seconds.

“They wanted information,” he starts, and the lump in his throat swells bigger as a tear slips down his cheek. He can’t look anyone in the eyes when he chokes out, “And I gave it to them.”

#empires smp #esmp #empires smp fanfic #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #mcyt #trust au #mas writes #this is so long #it's abt twice the length of the other trust parts #like. 9k some words?? #we'll be back to regularly scheduled miscommunication angst next piece :) #idk i just haven't written a torture dungeon type thing in a long time #since like. 2019 i think #anybody remember mutually beneficial? #in my wip folder this fic is called 'ayo you wanna do shrooms' #this really should have been two parts i just could not for the life of me find somewhere to split it #anyways these fic titles come from the gambler by kenny rogers #and the line for this title doesn't matter as much as what it means with the following line #like alone it doesn't mean anything #but both lines together was too long of a title #anyways lmk what you think! #love you guys

[cunninghamschrissy]

Finally watched Vol 2 and I have a lot of feelings about Eddie and the last two episodes so I just gotta rant for a sec

They did my fictional husband Eddie Munson so dirty. SO DIRTY. I’m sorry I know it was foreshadowed a ton that he was going to die but the Duffers introducing lovable new characters and then immediately killing them off has gotten old at this point. It feels like lazy writing and it feels like that’s their solution to get a rise out of the fans without having to touch the OG group because they’re too scared of the backlash that they would get if they had killed off Steve or anyone else from the old crew. Literally it really feels like Eddie was just created to give them a character that was like Steve (good looking, kind hearted, has a special bond with the younger ones, etc) but hadn’t been around as long as Steve, so he was fair game to kill off. It would provide the same emotional impact for the fans, but save the Duffers from a ton of backlash (although I feel like they’re still getting a decent amount for Eddie).

IDK, I mean, I’m probably still going to watch Season 5, but I wasn’t super impressed with some of the writing choices in Vol 2, which sucked because Vol 1 I thought was incredibly well done. But for having two feature-length-film episodes in Vol 2, things felt very rushed and not well thought out, and the two day time jump at the end was weird too. Everyone is just laughing and smiling and going about their business while Max is in a coma? No one is there to support Dustin who is obviously grieving over holding his friend/older brother figure in his arms while he died Eddie’s death? No one other than Dustin even seems to mourn Eddie after a whole season of build up trying to clear his name? I don’t buy it. Something felt off and like a lot of shit was glossed over.

If anyone felt the same way and wants to talk about it, my dms are open. Come holler at me.

#stranger things spoilers #eddie munson #st4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 part 2 #joseph quinn #joe quinn #stranger things #Dustin Henderson

[narrans]

#4: “Shoulder or pocket, your choice.”

PROMPT

“Shoulder or pocket, your choice.”

Living Art

Instruments lined the walls, strings and percussion alike. The metronome next to the window stood silent watch next to the sleek black grand piano. There were a couple of chairs nearby but, otherwise, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a mahogany desk.

The desk was usually covered with dozens of blank sheet music scores, scraps of paper, and fountain pens accompanied by their bottles of ink. That’s not what was on the desk now.

Instead, there was a lone figure.

Neomaya paced back and forth across the surface of the desk. She wrung her hands on way, and then the other way. She didn’t remember the last time she was this nervous.

Well…

That wasn’t true…

She did remember one specific time – the day she was taken to her new home.

She stood on the same desk where she first met… him – Nathaniel Eragon.

Nathaniel Eragon was a tall, lanky man with thick, dark and curly auburn hair that was about shoulder length. His features were almost over exaggeratedly thin. He had narrow lips that formed a thin line on his face when he was wrestling with something but didn’t want to say.

The musician carried a whimsical, quick-witted energy that lurked beneath his reserved exterior. He often wore button down shirts with rolled up sleeves, revealing a few subtle tattoos he often kept private.

His most notable feature, however, was his honey-colored eye.

This is what threw Neomaya off the most when she first met him.

The one eye.

Evidently, when he was young, he had an accident which took his right eye. Now, he wore an eyepatch to cover up what would undoubtedly make other uncomfortable.

Neomaya hated that people would see him and be uncomfortable with him, especially after she got to know him. He was very sweet and generous, soft spoken and very encouraging when given the correct circumstances.

She didn’t know that when she was presented to him.

She stopped pacing and closed her eyes to remember that day.

~~~^*^*^~~~

The box she was in rattled and shook around her. They came directly from the Facility and were going to her supposed forever home. Neomaya was a pet, a biologically engineered entity derived directly from the human race. Fully sentient with no autonomy, but that’s how things were.

She was small of stature, barely above four and a half inches, and had mousey brown hair the frizzed out at the ends. Slate black eyes and pale, cream-colored skin, Neomaya’s appearance wasn’t the only thing that set her apart from other pets.

She also received special conditioning, which was why she came directly from the Facility. Neomaya was registered as a therapy pet, meaning she was especially obedient, highly empathetic, and intuitive.

Neomaya wasn’t sure why she was purchased, but she did know that the family seemed especially concerned about who she was being given to. She was tossed from side to side in the box, quietly listening to the chatter on the outside.

“Mom, I know this is a good idea. Trust me! He’s been so down and out lately. Having a pet will give him something to do,” said the woman who purchased Neomaya.

“I understand what you’re trying to do for your brother. It’s just…” said an older woman.

“It’s just nothing. He’s going to accept his new pet, love it, and thank me later for it.”

More jostling and the sounds of footsteps. The quick, jolting upward told the pet they were going up stairs. There was furious knocking on the door. From where she was, Neomaya could already feel the chill of the late autumn air seeping in through the cracks in the box and through the air holes at the top of the box.

The door opened and a soft, deep voice with a hint of masculine gravel greeted the two humans at the door. Neomaya was shaking and too focused on maintaining her neutral disposition to hear what it was they were talking about.

All she knew was that the top of the box was suddenly thrown open and a female hand engulfed her entire frame with little to no effort. She was lifted out of the box and suddenly placed on a mahogany surface. She stumbled a few steps before looking up into the singular honey-colored eye of a very thin man in his late twenties.

Instantly, she used her training and stood at her trained “attention” stance, shoulders relaxed, head down with gaze averted, straight back, and no fidgeting. Long fingers suddenly came into her field of vision. Instinctively, she tensed, but the fingers only rested near her.

“Katherine, what did you do?” he asked, voice sounding tired and annoyed.

“I got you a pet. Now you have something other than your booze to entertain,” snarked Katherine, the woman who purchased Neomaya.

“You make it sound like I’m an alcoholic,” he muttered as he walked way, which released the tension in Neomaya’s shoulders immensely. She dared to glance up and watch what was about to happen. “And I don’t need a pet. I told you. I’m grieving. That’s all.”

“Great! And a pet will help you get back to normal,” replied Katherine. When the man gave no response, she huffed a sigh and approached. “Nathaniel, listen. We’re worried about you. Right mom? We are all worried about you. You’re obviously exhausted. You obviously aren’t eating, at least not well. You aren’t even writing music for Heaven’s sake! Music is your life, and you’re not even doing that. I know Liberty was a little more than a friend, but…”

At the mention of this name, Nathaniel whipped around, a fierce and deep seeded anger in his face. “Don’t…”

Katherine rolled her eyes and walked toward the door.

“Mom is in the car. We were going to invite you to lunch, but you should get yourself together. Seriously, Nathaniel. I know it’s only been six months, but this isn’t healthy.” With that, Katherine left the two of them alone.

Nathaniel’s posture shifted from hostile to slumped, despondent. He walked over and hopped up on top of the piano, which Neomaya only now noticed, and he laid back to stare at the ceiling.

He said nothing.

He barely acknowledged her existence.

An hour passed while Neomaya waited patiently for some sort of order. Her training taught her that. It didn’t stop her from looking around the room cautiously. It was beautiful and spacious, instruments clinging to stands and hooks on the walls. There were frames of what looked like awards, but the pet would need to get closer to read what they actually were.

Another hour had almost completed when Nathaniel pushed himself up, walked over to the desk, and plopped down in the chair across from Neomaya. She held deathly still as she stood there, waiting for him to issue some kind of command or to start messing with her. It was what they said would happen during her conditioning after all.

She heard him click his tongue just before speaking.

“I have no idea why she brought you here to me. Kat always thinks she knows best,” he sighed. His finger suddenly came into view and rested on the top of her shoes before retracting and pointing at her attire. “Kat probably dressed you like that. Skin-tight uniform. At least the colors suit you. White and sky blue. You look like a nurse.”

Neomaya felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. This wasn’t even the worst thing that had ever been said to her, but it was just his presence that made her sad. He was obviously skilled, otherwise he wouldn’t have so many instruments and pieces of paper with signatures and awards. Still, he seemed angry and sad, which made him critical.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked briskly. Neomaya took the chance to look up into his face and mechanically shake her head even though every instinct in her squirmed under his scrutiny.

“No sir,” she said clearly, which made Nathaniel snort.

“Not a very good liar. I can see it in your eyes that you’re either afraid or uncomfortable. Is it the patch?” he asked stiffly. Neomaya’s heartrate quickened as she remembered her training. Reassure. Regulate. Be ready.

“Just getting to know you, sir,” said Neomaya.

Nathaniel sighed and folded his arms across his chest, leaving a solid five minutes of air in the conversation before speaking again.

“It’s freaky, you know,” continued Nathaniel, eye glazing over and looking not at her, but at something distant that Neomaya couldn’t see. “You look so human except for your height. Eyes, nose, fingers, toes, heart, brain. Basically dressed up to play a nurse, here to tend to a soul not worth the oxygen and carbon constructing it. How human are you anyway?”

He sounded so hopeless. It was heart crushing.

Maybe it was because, mere hours ago, she was plucked from training to be taken to an unknown fate. Maybe it was just being in his presence and feeling the heartbreak in the air around him. Whatever it was, she didn’t know.

All Neomaya knew was that her eyes were glistening with tears and her shoulders shook slightly under Nathaniel’s gaze.

She heard him sigh and he leaned back while she attempted to steady her breathing. Heart racing, chest tight, Neomaya knew immediately her training was failing.

Or was it…

A few seconds later, Nathaniel sighed again, leaned forward, and reached out to press his palm against her back, thumb barely brushing the side of her head. It wasn’t a display of power, nor was it meant as threatening. It was meant as a comfort, which Neomaya noted as a good sign.

His fingers closed around her delicately, closing around her lower half, before he tilted his hand for her to sit in. He used his fingers like a human would use a seat belt as he lifted her to his chest above his heart and tilted his hand, letting her lean forward until his palm was against her back.

He was cradling her in his palm, pressing her ever so slightly into his shoulder. Neomaya wasn’t sure, but it felt like he was trying to offer some kind of hug. She leaned into the touch, both out of training habits and because, honestly, it felt nice. She gripped onto his shirt and pressed her face into the nice smelling fabric.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, which still reverberated in his chest like distant, rolling thunder to her. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m just… tired. Sad and tired.”

Nathaniel leaned back into his chair, taking Neomaya with him, as he sat there and breathed. Neomaya listened to his heart deep in his chest. It was rhythmic and soothing, lulling her into a dazed, dreamlike state. She could fall asleep to this sound. After some time, he tensed his fingers around her, which instantly gained the pet’s attention.

“I guess I need to find something to feed the both of us. Pocket or shoulder, your choice,” he muttered. There was hardly any debate in her mind. Neomaya saw that the pocket he was referring to was mere inches from her body and so close to the hypnotic thrum of his heart, so the choice was clear.

“Pocket please, sir,” she replied.

“Ugh, enough with the sir nonsense. It’s Nathaniel. Just Nathaniel.”

“Yes si—er… Nathaniel.” With that, he tilted his hand and she slipped easily between the folds of the fabric and watched as Nathaniel made his way through his home to the kitchen, noticing the entire way how he shuffled past all of his awards as though they didn’t exist.

What happened to him?

~~~^*^*^~~~

The days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and Neomaya had been tracking the idiosyncrasies of her human. First was when he woke up, which was late in the afternoon. Most nights, she accidentally fell asleep and woke up in her cubby he made for her in his bedside table.

He didn’t say much and, if he did, he was clear and concise. Mostly, if he talked, he would ask her if she needed anything or if she would rather be in his pocket or on his shoulder. Every time, she chose pocket. The shoulder felt so exposed and, if she was being honest, Neomaya was a quiet introvert at best. She also liked listening to the deep, rhythmic pulse of his heart.

Nathaniel had this way of shuffling his feet when he walked, but he had excellent posture when he sat down. He barely ate and sometimes muttered in his sleep. His touch was delicate, and he never pinched or grabbed her unnecessarily. In fact, other than the odd night when he would press his loosely closed fist against her back, Neomaya was left to her own devices.

Nathaniel installed ropes and lines for her to climb. One day when he felt energetic, he even installed a couple of ladder and bridge systems so she could get from place to place on her own.

Neomaya could wander and explore as she pleased through the house and found a lot of her time open and free. It was an odd sensation, not being watched or monitored every second of every day. What was even stranger was that she, not once, felt uneasy around Nathaniel. It wasn’t at all what she expected, being someone’s pet.

There were a few times where she found frames overturned or pictures that were clearly torn up and taped back together, but with pieces missing. It wasn’t her place to ask or pry, but she made note to remember it.

What made Neomaya very intrigued, however, were the instruments. She didn’t dare ask about them and, instead, made herself readily available and close by if he needed anything.

It was one fateful day, however, when he stepped out of the room and left her alone on his desk that she blundered into what became the most special interaction they ever had.

Nathaniel had gotten up from the desk because he was cleaning a couple of fountain pens and the ink cartridge broke. He had pulled out some pieces of paper from the desk drawer with these funny lines on it and began scribbling on it. The lines came in groups of five and were covered in little dots and lines.

He crumpled the first and second sheet before pulling out one that looked like it was almost filled in before the cartridge exploded. Neomaya wasn’t usually very nosy, but she realized only now that she knew very little about Nathaniel. It wasn’t her job to ask questions, but maybe she could get the answers on her own.

She hopped down from the little swing she made which Nathaniel had attached to his desk shelf and walked across the desk onto the paper to get a better view of the top of the page. The page itself was pristine, crisp around the edges. There was not a smudge in sight on the entire page. It was clear he took very good care of this document.

One of the benefits of her specialized function as a therapy pet was that she was taught to read. There were no words anywhere on the page between or next to the lines except for a few words at the very top of the page – Freedom for Liberty.

Neomaya had heard that before – Liberty. It was a concept, yes; however, the last time it was mentioned was when Nathaniel’s sister said it like a name. The way the sister used the name made it sound like this person wasn’t around anymore. Was this paper for someone? Was that why Nathaniel was despondent?

Neomaya heard the familiar shuffle of Nathaniel’s footsteps and turned around to walk back to her spot on the swing when her heart seized in her chest. Her eyes caught something, and she knew she was going to be punished.

When Neomaya walked onto the page, she walked through the spilled ink first – and there was a trail behind her of her little footprints across the page. She took a few involuntary steps backward, leaving several more prints.

No.

Please no.

Nathaniel’s shuffles were getting louder.

Neomaya thought fast and knelt, attempting to use her hands to wipe away the ink she left behind. It only smudged the page more. She started to hyperventilate, heart pounding so hard it threatened to break her ribs from the inside.

She started trembling, trying to think of what her training would say. Sadly, the only thought that was coming to her was that the punishment for destroying something precious to her owner would be more severe than anything else she had endured.

The footsteps stopped.

“What the… what did you…” Nathaniel asked, his voice having a noticeable tremor.

Neomaya choked back a sob and couldn’t bring herself to look up into Nathaniel’s honey colored eye. She took a few more instinctual steps back away from him, instinct ruling her movement.

“I… I’m s-s-so-rry. I-It w-was an accident.” Neomaya saw his hand in her peripheral vision reach out to the paper and touch along the shoe marks she made on the page. His fingertips were shaking. “P-p-please. I can make it right. L-let me…”

Neomaya was suddenly cut short when Nathaniel’s left hand came up and plucked her off of the desk, fingers pinching the back of her dress right at the base of her spine and lifted her a foot off of the page. A whimpering squeak escaped her as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. Nathaniel held the foot smudged pages in his right hand for several seconds before setting them off to the side.

Neomaya was shaking violently, keeping her eyes pinched shut as she kept her arms wrapped firmly around her midsection as if, in some way, she could protect herself. She heard the drawer below open and close as well as the sound of paper being readjusted on the page. She also heard the sound of something pouring and, against her better judgment, opened her eyes.

The pet saw him pouring ink a small puddle of ink into a small tray next to the paper just in time as he lowered her back down onto the desk, setting her in the tray. He moved his hand a way, leaving her standing there, shoes soaking in the ink. She tried breathing slowly, but the compression in her chest from stress wasn’t letting her get a good breath.

“Walk across the page,” he directed, voice direct and unbelievably calm. Neomaya stifled another sob as she hesitantly stepped out of the tray and onto the page. Knees knocking the whole way, she made a direct line from one side of the page to the other, walking parallel to the lines on the page.

With incredible speed, Nathaniel reached out and plucked her off of the desk again, readjusting the page and setting her at the next set of lines down.

“Try again,” he said. Neomaya felt the intensity of his gaze watching her every movement. Was he going to make her do this to the whole page? Was this some kind of example he was going to use to punish her? She began walking again when he extended his right hand toward her. Instinctually, she flinched and stepped a few paces away, changing where she placed her feet. “Good.”

Neomaya’s heart still thundered in her chest, but there was something a little different in his tone. Fascination? Curiosity? He didn’t sound vindictive or angry. Could it be… he wasn’t going to punish her?

She took a few deep, calming breaths and looked up into his honey-colored eye, catching a gleam of something in his gaze. He wasn’t looking at her though – he was looking at the page. He could see something she couldn’t, which she took as a good sign.

Neomaya wasn’t sure what else to do but staying still didn’t seem to be the option. Instead, she decided to experiment slightly. The pet stared at the lines beneath her feet and chose a few different points to walk across that were on the top and bottom of the funny lines. She staggered her steps and leapt at one point until she reached the end of the line.

Sure enough, the process was repeated, pausing only to dip her shoes back into the ink, until the entire page was covered with her shoe prints. Nathaniel pulled a cloth from the drawer and set his pet on top of it before gathering up the paper in one hand and her in the other and walked over to the piano.

There was the slightest hesitation as he pulled the cover from the piano keys and set both Neomaya and the paper on top of the shiny surface of the piano. His eye was dancing with light as he remained standing and placed his right hand on the keys. With little effort, he pressed his fingers into the keys and began to play.

The reverberations under her made Neomaya jump slightly, but suddenly she was entranced by the sound. The rhythmic thrum beneath her reminded the pet of his heartbeat. A quick roll of his fingers suddenly caught her attention. She remembered dragging her foot across the page upward.

Was he able to do something with the little dots on the lined paper left behind by her shoes? Could he read the little dots?

He suddenly sat down, pulling the bench beneath him, as he placed his left hand on the keys and, both hands now dancing across the sleek black and white pieces of wood. He was making music – from the smudges of her shoes.

It didn’t last long and was incredibly repetitive and simple, but Nathaniel suddenly stopped playing.

“Not bad,” he muttered, eye suddenly flicking up to where Neomaya was sitting in the cloth which was now stained with the ink from her shoes. “Thoughts?” he asked

“I… um…” Neomaya was caught completely off guard by his question. “I… thought it was lovely.”

Silence. Did she say something wrong? Should she have been more specific? What did he want her to say? Should she…

Nathaniel interrupted her thoughts I the most unexpected way.

“I ought to apologize. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, and I should’ve explained my train of thought before acting. She…” Nathaniel stopped before looking back down at the keys, eyes locked on a memory in his mind. “Libs would’ve scolded me for behaving like that. So, Neomaya, I’m sorry I startled you.”

Neomaya, absolutely stunned, shook her head as she ran through her training’s mantra again. Reassure. Regulate. Be ready. Somehow, it didn’t seem to fit very well though. She glanced to her right and looked out the window, gazing at the drifting snowfall just outside.

Instead of relying on her training, she decided to rely on her instincts. She knew Nathaniel, and yet she didn’t at the same time. Maybe now was that time.

“Libs?” she asked, clearing her throat in hopes to relieve the tension in her chest. “Is… that for Liberty?”

Nathaniel nodded as he continued to stare at the keys. “She… was a friend of mine. I wanted us to be something more, but that never panned out; and it doesn’t matter now anyway. Libs… she had a taste for a thrill, and that’s what got her in trouble. I tried to get her off of them, but she wouldn’t listen to me. They’re addictive for a reason.”

It dawned on her all at once.

“Those words on the other page… was that for her?” asked Neomaya, daring to ask such a bold question considering she technically ruined it with her shoeprints. Nathaniel nodded, and Neomaya watched as he clenched his jaw and a gloss began to form over his eye.

That was what was going on. That was why he was quiet and not writing music. Everything suddenly made so much sense, and it made Neomaya’s heart clench in a terrible, untouchable ache. He was heartbroken, separated from the person he loved.

“Hey, you okay?” asked Nathaniel. Neomaya suddenly realized she was crying, tears uncontrollably sliding down her cheeks. She tried wiping them away with the ink-stained cloth she was on, but to no avail. “Oh gosh… I didn’t mean to scare you. I swear I just wasn’t thinking. I’m not some psychopath. I wouldn’t hurt…”

“It’s not that,” whimpered Neomaya. She felt Nathaniel’s hand come up behind her and press reassuringly against her back. She leaned back into the warmth as she tried desperately to gather herself. “I… I can feel your heartache. I can feel how much she meant to you. It’s not fair. You’ve been so kind to me, and you deserve to be happy. Libs had to know that too.”

There were several unsure seconds between them; however, thankfully, both refused to swerve in this game of emotional chicken. Nathaniel’s hand shifted around Neomaya but stopped before completely enclosing her.

“May I?” he asked. She sniffed and gave a slightly breathy laugh before nodding. He picked her up delicately and, as he had done so many times before, pressed her against his chest lightly. She gripped the fabric of his shirt for dear life, breathing in the smell of light starch and detergent mixed with his scent until it soothed her.

“Nathaniel?” she said after they stayed there for several silent minutes. He hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m… I’m glad you told me about her. Liberty I mean. I know it wasn’t easy and… and I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I don’t care what your sister says. It’s okay to be sad. It’s not okay to give up, but it’s okay to be sad.”

Nathaniel sighed and nodded before standing up and walking back to the desk. “Care to try again?” Neomaya looked up at him and smiled, wiping her red and slightly puffy eyes, before nodding. “We’ll need more ink and paper then.”

~~~^*^*^~~~

It had been a year since that fateful interaction, almost to the day. They had grown closer than ever and hadn’t stopped creating music with one another.

Nathaniel and Neomaya continued to write together, Neomaya dancing and twirling across the page and learning to place certain dots, or “notes,” together which she liked to hear. She listened to him bring her scribbles and dots to life.

It took some time, but she eventually developed a style of her own – but not through music alone. In an activity they tried together, Nathaniel discovered Neomaya had an extreme aptitude for clay sculpting. She made figurines of all shapes and sizes, some as tall as she was and some the size of her finger which Nathaniel had to see through a microscope to see in detail.

Sculpting was the pet’s forte, but, with some encouragement, Nathaniel watched her passion explode to sketching and watercolor, Neomaya sometimes using her whole body as her brush against the canvas.

They were exquisite, as was the music Nathaniel composed from their shared efforts. Then, after many long conversations, Nathaniel convinced her to give him permission to put her art on display as he recorded and performed their music.

When she was unsure, he always said the same thing which helped him be the musician he always wanted to be.

“It doesn’t matter if anyone else likes it. You like it. You have passion and a love for what you do. That is what matters. People will see your zeal, your spark, and be inspired by it. If they’re jealous and if they belittle you and criticize your work cruelly, it’s because they can’t do it themselves. They’re jealous because they see your talent and are disappointed in themselves. Feedback is one thing, criticism is another. Don’t confuse them. Finally, if you think you’re the only one who will enjoy it, this about this. What are the chances, in this vast world with the hundreds of millions of people, that you are the only person who enjoys art like yours? Don’t let their insecurities make you afraid to be the person you were meant to be.”

So…

That was where she was.

She was pacing back and forth on the desk in a sweet white dress with flowing sleeves that barely covered her shoulders that was smattered with all different kinds of paint starting at her belt and fading as it reached the ends of the white, flowing fabric.

Nathaniel stepped into the room, shuffling his feet as always, looking dapper in a white button down that was cuffed to his elbows to reveal part of his tattoo, dark blue vest and pants to match, and his unruly hair tied back in a low man-bun.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded timidly, keeping her once low hanging head high.

“Yes, are you?” She replied.

“Always,” said Nathaniel, rolling his shoulders confidently. “Now, here’s the real question. Pocket or shoulder, your choice.”

Neomaya smiled and bit her lip, now filled with confidence.

“Shoulder,” she said, a sassy quirk to her lip. Nathaniel’s brows knit in confusion and playful curiosity.

“Really? Not feeling nervous? Why the change?” he asked.

“Because,” she said thoughtfully. “How can I be nervous with you by my side? I’m confident and proud to be yours.”

Nathaniel smiled as he extended his hand level with the desk for her to climb onto.

“We’re each other’s,” he replied. “Now, come along. We’re going to be late for our debut.” She climbed onto his hand and braced herself as he raised her to his shoulder. It took a moment to situate herself in her dress, but she found the right fit – just like how she found the right fit with Nathaniel.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

HUGE shoutout to @ratcatcher0325 for inspiring me with the world forged by pure imagination. Show some love to this astounding author!

Also, as a personal note, thank you to @duscarasheddinn for your support and feedback. You always have fun feedback making me a stronger author.

Cheers and, as always, stay awesome!

~Narrans

#borrower #g/t #g/t community #borrowers #giant tiny #giant/tiny #handheld #tiny #giant #little #music man #musician #music #gt fluff #gt community #sfw gt #gt #gtcommunity #sfw g/t #g/t fluff #art #artist #cute #sheet music #musical instruments #piano #pet #fluff and nonsense #fluff and feels #g/t ocs

[rookie-critic]

EO (2022, dir. Jerzy Skolimowski) - review by Rookie-Critic

Every now and then I'll get hit with a surprise. Something I wasn't really expecting, normally something I hadn't heard of or hadn't planned to see until just before purchasing the ticket, that comes along and really sticks with me. EO is one of those films. It's this year's entry from Poland for the Best International Feature Film award at the Oscars and a reimagining of a Robert Bresson film from the 60s called Au Hasard Balthazar. EO follows the story of a donkey named, well, EO as it goes through life, with almost all of the film taking place from his point of view. These types of movies have always interested me ever since my dad showed me a French film from 1988 called The Bear, which is a mostly dialogue free film told from the point of view of a bear cub, although it's a bit more of a family film than EO with a story that's got a little more mass appeal. Giving a voice to something that otherwise would not have one in any conventional story is not only commendable, but it is also incredibly challenging. How do you keep a story like this engaging for a feature-length amount of time? Skolimowski manages to accomplish this by focusing more on the idea that we can't really know what EO is actually thinking, and therefore are free to project however we feel about all of these situations our donkey finds himself in onto him, which, in a way, is exactly what the people he interacts with are doing, too, for better and for worse.

The film is presented very coldly, and shot in a way that is both impersonal and fully empathetic at the same time. We're not connecting and empathizing with EO because of any particular thing that he is doing or thinking because he is just acting like a donkey, we're empathizing with him because he is an animal, pure and clean of all fault or wrongdoing. We want the best things to happen to EO because we would want that for any animal (or at least anyone in their right mind would), EO just happens to be the focus of this particular story. I heard another critic say that "the movie isn't so much about the donkey as it is the people around him," and while I think there is truth to that, it seems diminishing to lay that down as a blanket statement, because this film isn't just about the human condition through a lens that is alien to us, it's also about humanity's relationship with animals and how we treat them. Some see animals as true companions, deserving of as much love and care as we would give another human being, some see animals as a totem, a symbol of something, whether that be something good, something selfish, or something filled with hate, and some just see animals as a means to an end, and even that aspect has a complexity all unto itself that is worth exploring, and Skolimowski does. He explores all of these aspects at one point or another during the film, and that brings with it a wildly varied experience. There are times when this movie is absolutely hilarious, and other times where it gets incredibly hard to watch, and sometimes these sequences are happening right next to each other (not to worry, though, right before the credits begin to roll, the film tells us that, throughout the entire filming process, all of the animals' safety was always the top priority).

Regardless of how we as individuals view animals, this film seeks to paint them as being capable of just as much complexity as us humans are. My one criticism of the film is that, due to the nature of the storytelling, there are a couple of narrative jumps that don't quite make sense, but ultimately that's not really what the film's focus is. It does slightly break the immersion into the film's world, but it is quickly re-overtaken by your interest in where EO is going and what will happen to him next. This really crept up on me, and I left the theater last night knowing I had just watched something really special. I'm not sure if it will win the Oscar or not (I venture to say it probably won't), but I'm so glad that its nomination put it on my radar, because it is a truly wonderful film.

Score: 9/10

Not currently available to watch online anywhere. It's possible that it is still playing in some theaters, so look around.

#EO #Jerzy Skolimowski #Sandra Drzymalska #Lorenzo Zurzolo #Mateusz Kościukiewicz #Mateusz Kosciukiewicz #Isabelle Huppert #film review #movie review #2022 films

[dohnporter73]

Arlington City Guide And Travel Tips

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#Top Phú Yên AZ #Phu Yen

[clockmakingkit]

Just How Clock Kits Provide Leverage

Individuals make use of clock kits as options to putting together parts from scrape to construct watches. Clock kits conserve a lot of time and tedium compared to setting up, and yet they have virtually the same level of distinction and attraction. The only real drawbacks are having to go for a size and style not precisely what is wanted, and giving up complete control over the end product's appearance.

But clock kits come in a wide array of instantiations and are flexible enough to be versatile to various usages. For instance, the ended up wrist watch might be mounted on the wall, featured on a mantle, or placed on a workdesk. One actually has more alternatives than perhaps envisioned at first blush, making it not likely that none would be suitable for a particular task.

So, there are numerous benefits to getting a kit, such as not needing to scrounge around for parts, not needing to worry about making them corresponding, and not having to check their family member sizes. Moreover, what you're surrendering is not that substantial, and absolutely not a major sacrifice. As soon as you've made your selection, everything is after that determined, including hand length, dial look, and movement functionality.

Furthermore, there may be chances to incorporate personalization into the item, such as creating your very own clock dial with art work or photography from your profile. This isn't always limited to the dial history; small images could be alternatived to the figures. With special software application, you can create the clock face in a range of sizes.

Components providers bring clock kits in different designs as well as sizes. The antique look is preferred, tending to evoke fond memories, however there is a wide choice of typical styles too. The dial and hands are what draw out the style the most, while the motion is what offers capability and habits.

When you browse the web and search for kits, they are usually classified by size, given as dial diameter (in inches). The minute hand length will certainly be a bit less than the dial distance. You might discover the selections rather restricted; for instance, we know of one distributor who offers just 2 tiny dimensions (4.5 & 6 inches, claim) and 2 large sizes (16 & 22 inches).

The size constraint can be a drawback, specifically if you are remodeling a treasure structure and trying to place the set in a details spot. The choice of designs is not so much a problem; look mainly at dial history shade and the level of comparison of the hands versus it. A troubled cream color or black are prominent color options.

In general, the kits do not featured frameworks, yet they do feature directions for drilling an accurate hole for suitable the set into a frame. Lots of clockmakers have works of art that they wish to make use of as a frame, and simply desire a fast method to mount a clock on it. If that is not the case for the visitor, she or he will certainly have to obtain innovative.

An additional alternative is to allow the clock float, as it were, deserting a structure altogether. What this implies is that a small stand is devised to hold the kit for screen, or some other ingenious method. The product is of high sufficient top quality that you shouldn't need to embed it in anything.

Producing wrist watches from scratch is pleasurable and worthwhile for some individuals, providing a way to create a personalized artwork as well as something functional. Yet not every person is of this bent, and yet they may still wish to integrate a clock right into their home without investing a lot of effort or time. For such people it is handy to recognize how clock kits provide utilize.

clock parts

#Youtube

[ellasalterationsllc]

The Importance of Fit: Making or Breaking Your Suit Game

Introduction

When it comes to making a statement with your attire, nothing speaks louder than the fit of your suit. "The Importance of Fit:

Making or Breaking Your Suit Game" is not just a catchy phrase; it's a fundamental truth in the world of men's fashion.

Whether it’s for a crucial business meeting, a special occasion, or just everyday professional wear, the way your suit fits can profoundly influence both your confidence and the impression you make on others.

Think back to a time when you saw someone wearing a suit that seemed like it was made just for them.

It probably wasn’t the color, the brand, or even the style that caught your eye – it was the fit.

A well-fitted suit has the power to transform an ordinary ensemble into a symbol of elegance and sophistication.

However, achieving that perfect fit is often easier said than done.

It’s not merely about buying the most expensive suit off the rack; it’s about how well it contours to your body, respecting its unique shape and enhancing your overall appearance.

This is where the art of tailoring comes into play, bridging the gap between a generic size and a personalized fit.

In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the nuances of suit fitting, explore the art of tailoring, and provide practical advice for selecting the right tailor.

We'll also tackle the DIY versus professional alteration debate and help you understand the cost versus value in suit alterations.

By the end of this journey, you’ll be equipped with all the knowledge you need to ensure your suit game is always on point.

Understanding the Basics of Suit Fitting

The Significance of a Perfect Fit

The journey of impeccable dressing begins with understanding the basics of suit fitting.

A well-fitted suit not only looks sharp and sophisticated but also feels comfortable, allowing for ease of movement and confidence in every step.

It’s about creating harmony between your body and the fabric, a synergy that elevates your appearance.

Key Elements of a Well-Fitted Suit

The Shoulder Fit: The shoulders of a suit jacket should lie flat. The seam on top should be the same length as the bone under it. There should be no wrinkles or divots, and the shoulder pads should not extend beyond your natural shoulder line.

The Jacket Closure: A suit jacket should close comfortably without strain. If the fabric pulls and creates an 'X' shape when buttoned, it's too tight. Conversely, if there's too much room, it will look baggy and unkempt.

Sleeve Length: The perfect sleeve length ends right where the base of your thumb begins, allowing about a half-inch of the shirt cuff to be visible. Sleeve length is crucial as it can't be easily adjusted after construction.

Jacket Length: The length of the jacket should cover your pants zipper and butt. A common rule is that the bottom hem should align with your knuckles when your arms are relaxed at your sides.

The Collar: A well-fitted collar should sit flush against your shirt collar, without gaps or bunching. This fitting point is essential as it frames your face and neckline.

Pant Break: The break is where your pants meet your shoes. The choice here is a personal preference, ranging from no break (more modern) to a full break (more traditional).

Waistband and Seat: The pants should fit comfortably around your waist without needing a belt to stay in place. The seat should contour to your body without being too tight or too loose.

The Role of Fabric and Cut

The fabric and cut of the suit also play a pivotal role in how it fits.

Different fabrics have different weights and drapes, which can affect the suit’s overall look.

A good cut should follow the natural lines of your body, enhancing your best features.

Importance of Fit in Professional and Social Settings

In professional settings, a well-fitted suit can convey a sense of authority, meticulousness, and respect for the occasion.

Socially, it reflects your style and attention to detail.

A suit that fits well can make an impactful first impression.

The Evolution of Suit Fitting Over Time

Historically, suits have seen various fits and styles, from the sharp, tailored lines of the 1960s to the looser fits of the 1990s.

Today, there's a renewed appreciation for tailored, well-fitting suits, blending modern trends with timeless elegance.

Understanding these fundamentals of suit fitting is the first step in ensuring your suit game is strong.

Remember, a suit is an investment – not just in the garment, but in yourself. It’s a statement of your personal and professional life.

When a suit fits perfectly, it speaks volumes about your attention to detail and your understanding of style.

It’s not just about wearing a suit; it’s about embodying the essence of sophistication and confidence that comes with a perfectly tailored fit.

In the next section, we will delve into "The Art of Tailoring: More Than Just Adjustments," exploring how the craftsmanship of a skilled tailor can transform a standard suit into a masterpiece of personal style.

The Art of Tailoring: More Than Just Adjustments

Tailoring: A Blend of Art and Precision

Tailoring is where the true magic of a suit comes to life.

It's an art that demands precision, creativity, and a deep understanding of fabric and form.

A tailor doesn't just make a suit fit; they sculpt it to your body, ensuring each line and seam complements your physique.

The Role of a Master Tailor

A master tailor is akin to an artist.

They have the unique ability to see the potential in a piece of fabric and to envision how it will best suit the wearer.

Their expertise lies not just in altering a garment but in transforming it.

They consider your body shape, posture, and even the way you move, ensuring the suit is not only aesthetically pleasing but also functional.

Customization: Crafting a Personal Style

Customization is a key element in tailoring.

This involves selecting fabrics, patterns, colors, and specific style details like lapel shape, button placement, and pocket style.

It's about creating a suit that reflects your personal style and meets your individual needs.

Whether it's a classic business suit or a more avant-garde ensemble, a tailor can bring your sartorial vision to life.

The Tailoring Process: A Journey to Perfection

The process of tailoring a suit is meticulous.

It begins with a detailed measurement session, followed by several fittings to ensure each aspect of the suit is adjusted to perfection.

It's a collaborative process, one where your feedback and the tailor's skill work in tandem to create the ideal fit.

Tailoring Techniques: The Backbone of Suit Alterations

Tailoring involves various techniques, each serving a specific purpose.

For example, taking in or letting out seams ensures a snug fit, while shortening sleeves or pant legs aligns the suit to your exact dimensions.

More complex techniques, like adjusting the shoulders or tapering the jacket, require advanced skills and knowledge of garment construction.

The Importance of Fit and Proportion

In tailoring, fit and proportion are paramount.

A well-tailored suit adheres to your body’s proportions, enhancing your overall appearance.

It’s not just about fitting well but also about creating a harmonious balance that accentuates your best features.

The Impact of a Tailored Suit

A tailored suit does more than fit well; it conveys a story about who you are.

It shows that you value precision and quality and understand the power of a great first impression.

In both professional and social spheres, a tailored suit can be a game-changer.

Tailoring and Fashion Trends

While tailoring is a timeless craft, it also adapts to contemporary fashion trends.

A skilled tailor can incorporate modern elements into classic designs, ensuring your suit is both current and timeless.

Tailoring for Everyone

The beauty of tailoring is that it's not exclusive to a certain body type or style preference.

Anyone can benefit from the expertise of a tailor, and every suit can be enhanced with the right alterations.

The art of tailoring is an integral part of the suit-making process.

It's an investment in your appearance and, by extension, in your personal and professional brand.

By understanding and appreciating the role of a tailor, you elevate not just your wardrobe but also your confidence and presence.

In the following section, "Choosing the Right Tailor: A Guide," we will navigate the process of selecting a tailor who can turn your suit into a testament to your personal style and quality standards.

Choosing the Right Tailor: A Guide

The Importance of Selecting the Right Tailor

The choice of a tailor can make a substantial difference in the world of suit alterations.

A great tailor does more than adjust sizes; they bring expertise, advice, and an understanding of how to enhance your personal style.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Tailor

Experience and Expertise: Look for a tailor with a strong track record. Experienced tailors have a wealth of knowledge in handling different fabrics and styles and can offer insights that go beyond basic alterations.

Portfolio and Reviews: Examine their previous work. A tailor’s portfolio can give you a glimpse into their skill level and style. Online reviews and testimonials can also provide an idea of customer satisfaction.

Communication and Understanding: Your tailor should be someone who listens to your needs and communicates effectively. They should understand your style preferences and be able to guide you with professional advice.

Range of Services: Some tailors specialize in specific types of alterations or styles. Ensure that the tailor you choose can perform the range of services you require.

Location and Convenience: Consider the location of the tailor. A conveniently located tailor shop can make fittings and consultations more manageable.

The Significance of a Tailor’s Experience

Experience in tailoring is invaluable.

An experienced tailor can accurately assess what adjustments are needed and how they will impact the overall look and feel of the suit.

They can also handle complex alterations that less experienced tailors might not be able to manage.

Understanding Tailor Specializations

Tailors often have areas of specialization, such as formal wear, casual attire, or specific types of fabric.

Understanding a tailor’s strengths can help you choose the right person for your specific needs.

The Tailor-Client Relationship

A good relationship with your tailor is based on trust and communication.

It’s important to feel comfortable discussing your preferences and concerns.

A tailor who understands your style can become a valuable asset in your wardrobe planning.

Tailor Recommendations and Referrals

Word-of-mouth recommendations can be a reliable way to find a good tailor.

Ask friends, family, or colleagues who have a style you admire for their tailor recommendations.

Budget Considerations

While it's tempting to choose the least expensive option, it’s important to consider the value you’re getting.

A slightly higher cost can often mean superior quality and longevity for your suit.

Making the Most of Your Tailoring Experience

Once you’ve chosen a tailor, make the most of the experience by being clear about your expectations and open to suggestions.

Remember, tailoring is a collaborative process.

Choosing the right tailor is a crucial step in ensuring that your suit fits perfectly and reflects your personal style.

Take the time to research, communicate, and build a relationship with your tailor.

A good tailor not only alters your suit but also enhances your overall style, ensuring that each suit you wear is a statement of your personal and professional identity.

In the next section, "DIY vs. Professional Alterations: How to Get a Suit Altered," we will explore the pros and cons of DIY suit alterations compared to professional tailoring, helping you make an informed decision on which route to take for your suit needs.

DIY vs. Professional Alterations: How to Get a Suit Altered

The DIY Approach to Suit Alterations

In an era where DIY projects are gaining popularity, many consider taking on suit alterations themselves.

This approach can be appealing for minor adjustments like hemming trousers or tightening a waistline.

It offers the advantages of being cost-effective and provides a certain sense of accomplishment.

Pros of DIY Suit Alterations:

Cost Savings: Doing it yourself can save money, especially for smaller adjustments.

Learning Opportunity: It’s a chance to learn a new skill and gain a deeper understanding of garment construction.

Cons of DIY Suit Alterations:

Risk of Mistakes: Without the proper skills, there's a higher risk of making errors that could potentially ruin the suit.

Limited Scope: More complex alterations are often beyond the scope of DIY and require professional expertise.

When to Opt for Professional Tailoring

For significant alterations, or when precision is paramount, professional tailoring is the recommended route.

A professional tailor brings a level of expertise and craftsmanship that ensures the suit is altered with precision and care.

Benefits of Professional Suit Alterations:

Expertise and Precision: Tailors have the skills and knowledge to handle complex alterations. Professional Fit: A tailor can ensure that all aspects of the suit fit perfectly to your body shape. Time-Saving: Outsourcing this task saves you time and ensures a quick and efficient turnaround.

Choosing Between DIY and Professional Alterations:

The choice depends on the complexity of the alteration needed and your skill level.

For simple tasks, a DIY approach might suffice.

However, for intricate adjustments or when the suit is particularly valuable, professional tailoring is the safer and more reliable option.

The Process of Professional Tailoring

When opting for professional alterations, the process typically involves:

Consultation: A session with the tailor to discuss what changes are needed. Fitting: Trying on the suit for the tailor to mark necessary adjustments. Alteration: The tailor performs the alterations based on the fitting. Final Fitting: A follow-up fitting to ensure the alterations meet your expectations.

Tips for a Successful Tailoring Experience

Communicate Clearly: Be clear about your preferences and expectations. Be Open to Suggestions: A good tailor might offer advice that could enhance the suit’s fit and style. Check the Tailor’s Work: Look at examples of the tailor's previous work to gauge their skill level.

Tailoring Turnaround Time

The time it takes to alter a suit can vary depending on the complexity of the alterations and the tailor’s workload.

It’s important to discuss turnaround time beforehand, especially if you need the suit for a specific event.

The Cost of Professional Alterations

Costs can vary widely based on the tailor’s location, reputation, and the extent of alterations required.

It’s advisable to get a quote before proceeding with the alterations.

Conclusion

Deciding between DIY and professional suit alterations comes down to a balance of skill, complexity, and value.

While DIY offers a more hands-on and cost-effective approach, professional tailoring guarantees a level of expertise and finish that is hard to achieve at home.

Ultimately, the decision should be based on the need to ensure the best possible fit and appearance for your suit, as it is a significant component in "The Importance of Fit: Making or Breaking Your Suit Game."

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Revisiting The Saw Franchise & Reviewing Saw X

The Saw franchise is among horror's most popular. It's loved and hated all at the same time. From the first entry which launched the franchise, all the way to the newest film it has gone on for decades.

The core story at the heart of these movies is, well, lackluster to say the least. It's filled with tropes and much of the acting is not the greatest and the source material is not much help for these actors.

Let's break it down. It all started with a movie called Saw.

Saw

Leigh Whannell and James Wan came out of the gates hard with this feature length film with a great twist that no one saw coming. The writing was fresh. The movie was a hit for it's gore and it's story.

The movie wasn't great but it was saved by the gore.

There was something special here but for some reason they decided to completely go off the rails immediately after finding success with this one. Because every single movie that came after this wasn't good and has taken the initial story in a completely wrong direction.

We sat down and rewatched every single film in the franchise. We found it got worse and worse. Until Spiral, which was a whole new low. Right before Spiral, Jigsaw was the last one that came out and it seemedlike they finally did something right. The editing was at the very least, bearable. The color grading looked like a professional film finally. Like they CARED. 8 movies into a fucking franchise.

But then Chris Rock had to come around and bring us back to reality with the worst entry and one of the worst movies of all time. Spiral. Rock tried testing out failed stand up bits. They literally had Youtubers in this. They brought the editing back to being almost an unwatchable level. That movie made me sngle handedly vow to never support another remake or reboot or whatever you guys want to call them. Especially if it's from a comedian. Yikes.

With that said, I was, very obviously, absolutely dreading watching Saw X. But, here we are.

Saw X

Saw X was surprisingly not as bad as Spiral! At least? The coloe grading was fine again. The editing wasn't unbearable.

This one sees John Kramer in between the first Saw movie and the second. Meeting Amanda and going after doctors who worked on Kramer's brain.

Saw X, is too long. But the gore was finally good again. There were a couple really good scenes with some awesome gore that actually made us cringe, in a good way! But what the hell is that entiire Mexico side plot and why was it so long?!

At the end of the day, we would be absolutely fine if they never made another one of these. Over the course of these films there are some good kills and gore but most of these are sloppy and really really bad.

At least the 10th one was decent?

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