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y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

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Gods and Clergy: Bhaal

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church in an area is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The High Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

#Durge is basically a crime boss #Also; Bhaal please have more than one fucking idea for once in your fucking miserable life I AM BEGGING YOU #dark urge #orin the red #long post #bg3 #durge #the dark urge #baldurs gate 3

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annabelle--cane · 7 months

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I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

#also to be clear after the first paragraph I'm using 'you' in a general sense not directly to You The Anon Who Sent This #I'm not trying to insinuate anything about whether You The Anon Who Sent This does or doesn't have any experience w substance use #tma #answered #anons

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mauesartetc · 4 months

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A while back I got a comment that demonstrated a misconception as to what the character design process actually entails, and I thought it had real "teachable moment" potential. So let me make this perfectly clear:

Drawing a character is NOT the same as designing one.

Let's say I wanted to draw a guy. No backstory, no defined personality traits or preferences, no details about his current life, just doodling some random, generic guy who popped into my head.

That's just a drawing.

But what if I decided to flesh him out more? What if I wanted his appearance to reflect his lifestyle and inner life as well? Here's where the note-taking comes in.

And now for the visual research:

I thought the bodybuilding angle would provide a fun contrast with this guy's profession. The mental image of a huge, burly dude working on a clock or watch with tiny, precise movements just makes me smile. Perhaps I could give him small, nimble hands that would suit his line of work.

Now that I have a better idea of how Mikhail's face and body will look, it's time to establish a pose.

Of course, I never expected to employ all the personality traits I started out with inside this single pose; those were just a jumping-off point. No one drawing will ever be able to encapsulate every single facet of a character, unless they're extraordinarily flat and generic (see also: random guy I doodled at the start of this post). If I wanted to write a story with this guy, I'd have to figure out how all the traits play off each other and how they'd cause him to react to different situations. There would be a lot more note-taking and development involved, but for the sake of keeping this post (somewhat) brief, let's just focus on visuals for now.

On to color!

I decided to give Mikhail a carnation in his pocket (for its round shape), specifically a red one, which represents deep love and an aching heart. Thus, the flower needed to maintain its red color for the symbolism to come through.

For some reason I initially pictured this guy wearing a pink shirt (perhaps as an offshoot of the "romantic" angle), but I wanted to try some different colors inspired by the 70s catalog pages I found. I ended up really liking the contrast of the cool blue shirt with the warm red pants, and that option made it into my top three as a result. I lined them up next to each other to compare them, and in the end, blue won out over pink. I think it also reflects the "colder", more cerebral, less-emotional parts of his personality well (namely "systematic", "stern", and "callous"- one from each column!). Just goes to show that you shouldn't get too attached to your first draft, as better ideas are just around the corner.

I then lightened the blue of the shirt so it wouldn't compete so much with the rest of the outfit, and wouldn't be quite as loud and "in your face". Mikhail strikes me as a bit of an introvert, so the calmer, quieter blue is a better fit. I added a darker belt and watchband and de-saturated the flower just a bit to make the values feel more balanced, and I think we've got it!

Let's see the final result!

Y'all, I was not expecting this process to make me emotional, but there's something special about fully realizing a little guy you've spent hours working on. All of a sudden you look at him and go, "Oh my god, there he is. That's him." This man wasn't even a twinkle in my eye a couple weeks ago and now I'd protect him with my life.

And the thing is, the only reason I'm calling this design "done" for now is that I basically just brought it into existence to make a point. But if this dude were attached to a larger story, he'd be nowhere near finished. I'd have to make a ton more iterations and go a lot more in depth with my research than I did (especially with the Armenian cultural stuff). Overall, though, I hope this quick project properly highlighted the difference between a single drawing and a more fleshed-out character.

Later!

#character design #art tips #art advice #art help #concept art #long post

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kaylawritesfics · 2 years

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anything on being nancy wheeler's sister and dating either steve or billy ?

Being a Wheeler and Dating Billy Hargrove

headcanons

summary: dating billy while being a wheeler kid

pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader (wheeler!reader)

WARNINGS: swearing, very brief mentions of sex, mentions of abuse

note: i wanted to do one of these for billy because i haven’t written anything for him yet so :)

You met Billy right after he moved to Hawkins. Obviously, he radiated bad vibes at first. He was rude, arrogant, and not someone you had any desire to spend any amount of time with.

Then, the two of you were partnered up for an English project, which meant spending a lot of time with Billy Hargrove.

Initially, you thought it would be up to you to do the entire project. Billy didn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who would contribute to partner work at all.

However, Billy was totally infatuated with you. He thought you were the prettiest girl in Hawkins, so he did what he does best. He tried to flirt with you. Obviously, his reputation preceded him, causing you to vehemently turn him down every time.

The last thing you were gonna do was become one of Billy Hargrove’s groupies. You were not the kind of girl who was just going to fall to his feet and beg him to take you in the backseat of his camaro. This only egged him on.

He loved the fact that you weren’t gonna give into him so easily. If he really wanted you, he had to work for it. You fully expected him to get bored and move onto another girl in a weeks time.

But he didn’t. Instead, he spent most of his free time at your house, working on a stupid poster board over the symbols in Romeo and Juliet, instead of partying or hooking up with other girls.

His behavior seemed to do a complete 180. He was no longer out drinking every night, instead he was doing homework and going to bed at a reasonable hour??

Your parents loved him, especially your mother. She would often come up to your room while the two of you were working, bringing snacks or art supplies for your poster board. Billy would occasionally shoot her a flirty smile or make some kind of weird comment, which earned him a glare and a “Don’t flirt with my mom!”

Over time, you grew pretty fond of Billy. You were even sad that the deadline for your project was coming up so soon. The two of you had finished it a week before, but Billy kept coming over with the excuse of “What if we need to fix something?”

He was weirdly sweet and polite. He made you laugh and teased you over your taste in music.

Billy likes to look through your things. Not in a weird or creepy kind of way, but more in a getting-to-know-you kind of way. He tries to be respectful, avoiding your underwear drawer and anything that could be deemed too personal for his eyes, no matter how badly he wants to take a peek.

Your sister, Nancy, didn’t trust him at all. She knew his typical behavior and immediately decided that his fake niceties were just a sick ploy to get into your pants.

Nancy’s words made you question your semi-friendship with Billy. You couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was true.

Your little brother, Mike, couldn’t stand the thought of you being around Billy. Mike had firsthand accounts of how vile he was, being friends with Billy’s stepsister, Max.

Mike often tried to talk you out of seeing Billy, but to no avail.

When the two of you presented your project, you made an A, which is the best grade Billy had received in a long time. He’s actually genuinely proud and grateful.

You continue inviting him around. He comes to plenty of family dinners, which can sometimes make for an awkward experience given the fact that both your siblings detest him.

He asks you out soon after and you accept, letting Nancy and Mike’s concerns fall to the back of your mind. You had no reason not to trust Billy’s intentions.

He remained super respectful on your first date, taking you to a small diner in town. He has you home by curfew, much to your parents appreciation.

While he still manages to uphold his reputation at school, he doesn’t focus on any other girls. He remains loyal to you, showing you off in the halls as often as he can.

He walks you to and from class, holding your hand and carrying your books for you if you need.

He recognizes that he has a good thing going for him and he refuses to let his assholery ruin it for him.

Your relationship is definitely the talk of the school. Billy Hargrove and Y/N Wheeler? There’s more gossip going around than there was when Steve and Nancy first got together.

He picks you up every morning and takes you home every afternoon. You form a pretty good relationship with Max because of this.

Billy would protect you with his life. If anybody said anything bad about you, they would have to face his wrath. He gets in multiple fights for you.

After a couple months, Billy is forced to come to you after a bad fight with his dad. He pecks on your window, effectively scaring the shit out of you. You gasp when you see the state he’s in, thinking he got into another fight with a boy at school. However, your confusion grows as you notice the tears pooling in his eyes as he climbs through the window and immediately pulls you into him.

He breaks down, telling you everything he’d been holding back for so long. He tells you about his mother, about his dad’s abuse, and everything else. You clean his wounds and hold him in your bed until the sun rises and he’s forced to head back home.

Cleaning his cuts and holding him until sunrise becomes a regular occurrence after this.

After a while, Nancy comes around to the idea of your relationship. She sees how different Billy is around you and she can see how happy you are. All she wants is for you to be happy, so she eventually gives you her approval.

Mike, however, never comes around. He hates Billy and nothing can change that. It doesn’t really bother you, though.

Billy loves seeing you in his clothes, especially his jacket. Sometimes he “accidentally” leaves it in your room just so you’ll wear it the next day.

He likes sitting with you while you read or do homework. He appreciates the fact that the two of you don’t even have to talk to have a good time. He likes just being near you.

He just loves seeing you and spending time with you.

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sillyyuserr · 2 months

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A longer, more in depth (9 parts all in one) terukane analysis, and/or everything i could find, compiled (one of my better pieces of work imo) ⭐️

Ok so it might be the fact that i ship them so i see alot of things they do as possibly romantic even when theres no romantic undertones, but the amount of times it feels like AidaIro seems to be implying that teru likes akane is getting to a suspiciously high number. Like lets look at this from a non-shipper’s pov

Item A: teru looking at akane

If you told me (with context) this was a STRAIGHT man looking at another STRAIGHT man, i’d be a little iffy (for lack of better words). Without the fact that he’s looking at akane, he genuinely looks like he’s showing something of raw emotion, unchanged by his “fake persona” but a genuine reaction. I mean i wouldn’t say “omg hes so in lovveee!!!” But considering he doesn’t really open up to like anyone, i think this is definitely something.

Item B: them going together on a romantic outing

Yes i did make it sound much more compelling then it actually is but cmon man. The school festival is considered a “romantic event” and these two spent the entire time hanging around the school together. Giving the excuse that "it's our job being in the student council" (which i guess it is) but in reality it was because no one wanted to come with them.

Which i mean they also did technically go on an actual date together

also nene looking like a hamster 😭😭

Item C: teru trusting akane more than anyone (?)

Teru likes talking to akane, trusts his intellect, and considers him someone he can rely on but doesn't like it when his whole world starts to revolve around aoi. My guy, that's jealousy.

He is shown to trust him and even show his back to him in multiple instances, knowing he wont hurt him, and he’s someone he can trust (lets ignore what happens on the literal next page)

Even literally being one of those “i fight alone” type of people but when akane’s there, he’s never fighting alone

Item D: not sure if thats whats happening here but im pretty sure he tried rizzing akane up, even going as far as to blush, all so he doesnt rule him guilty

And then got agitated when it didn’t work

Item E: akane knows teru better than we think

When kou and teru were fighting, the reason teru even walked out in the first place was because of the fireworks. And whos idea was that?

Akane’s. He knew he liked fireworks and that they’d lure him out of his room. And again, he was right

Item F: valentines day event

i dont think i even need to break this one down. Its a picture of JUST them TOGETHER posted on VALENTINES DAY. 2/14/24. THE ANNUAL HOLIDAY THAT CELEBRATES NONE OTHER THAN ROMANTIC LOVE. Also teru’s color being used as akane’s sparkles and akane’s color being used as teru’s sparkles kinda shows that AidaIro arent just showing us two characters, they’re showing us TERU and AKANE, TOGETHER. If it really could be anyone im sure they’d put them in a general setting, but with the paired colors i’d say that says otherwise.

some might say they’re looking at eachother

Item G: possible fruit symbolism

first off, this picture.

First lets look at hanako’s. We can see he has two drinks, both red + with strawberries, along with a red straw. While also being pictured near other red fruits.

In this picture, nene’s flower(s) are literally strawberry flowers, putting the association between strawberries + nene out there. Meaning the strawberries in his drink could be purposeful, along with the red undertones. (red being her eye color) (sorry for quality im doin this on iPhone)

Moving on to teru’s, he has one drink, being yellow-ish with pineapple on the side, and chunks in the drink itself. Whilst his straw is orange, while also being pictured around a ginormous pinapple

And this isnt the first time we’ve seen him pictured with pineapples

This god awful picture unfortunately exists so im adding it as proof/evidence for my argument. (Oh and not to mention akane has green pants on so everyone’s a lil funky igs)

notice how as soon they got to his house his outfit changed? This is him when they got to his house (clearly in a long-sleeve shirt, not the hoodie)

this is him with akane + nene going on a date

All within the same chapter i think, but him changing outfits i feel like says something. Like we’re supposed to associate that with something other than aoi (them talking ab how to save her at his house) or his family. He even straight up left when they started talking ab how they missed aoi at the karaoke place. (More or so when he left they started talking but ykwim) Since nene is being associated with strawberries it leaves the only other person to be akane, this making sense also because of the straw color. (The straw being orange)

also the fact that fruit is literally associated with the queer community

Item H: triangles + queer symbolism

Quick history lesson, A triangle has been a symbol for the queer community, initially intended as a badge of shame, but later reclaimed as a positive symbol of self-identity. In Nazi Germany in the 1930s and 1940s, it began as one of the Nazi concentration camp badges, distinguishing those imprisoned because they had been identified by authorities as gay men. In the 1970s, it was again, reclaimed as a symbol of protest against homophobia, and has since been adopted by the larger queer community as a popular symbol of queer pride. More or so, the upsidown triangle. and guess whos ALWAYS wearing a fucking upsidown triangle

My guy has one for EVERY OUTFIT 😭 also im not even shitting you i would add more but ive reached the limit of 30 photos per post

Item I: extras

This picture. Him holding akane’s shirt and aoi’s bag really shows that AidaIro REALLY doesn’t want us to know which one he likes 😭 (if you’re confused, to sum it up AidaIro did a really good job keeping teru’s stance on the “love triangle” between akane, teru and aoi, ambiguous. If you are STILL confused go check out my other analysies i only have like 5 other posts, they go more in depth ab it)

Him looking at akane after he ate his “home made cooking” 😭 ALSO HIS EYES?? Dude they’re glistening. And the slight blush too

In the “kiss comic” part of the art book, not only are teru and akane’s on the same page, but they also look like they go together

Thats all i got for now (´-ω-`) MAN this took me like 5 different consecutive days. I wrote like 3 parts on one day, 2 more parts the next, and 1 more part today. 😭 hope you enjoyed and this re-gave you faith that terukane might be canon one day 😔 fake it till you make it

Feel free to comment and tell me ab anything i may have missed!! :3

#aoi akane #minamoto teru #akane aoi #aidairo #tbhk #terukane #analysis #real

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hypnostouched · 5 months

Text

Thinking about James and the Collar again

I do agree with people that it doesnt work exactly the way James and Will thought it did, however I do think it would be very anticlimactic if it just. didn't actually do a lot, negatively, after James has spent two entire books being terrified of it. Narratively, the Collar has to be important and it clearly has changed James; even if hes not the mindless toy that he assumed he might be.

But ive also been thinking about - if indeed peoples theories about Anharion siding with Sarcean before the Collar was put on him are correct - why the Collar would exist at all. And it makes me think of what Sarcean was accused of.

Sarcean was accused of ensorcelling the Sun King; or attempting to. But even if Sarcean wasn't at the height of his power yet - he wouldn't have failed. His two powers, according to Kettering, are control and death, so yeah of course accusing him of controlling the King makes sense but what doesn't make sense to me is that Sarcean would have attempted it and failed. Now clearly Sarcean had been intending on getting caught at some point, because he needed to get into the oubliette, but he did seem bemused that it was happening when it was so he wasn't actively planning all the details of it - he knew he was being trapped and went willingly, but he didn't actually put this into motion directly. If Sarcean wanted to control the Sun King, then the Sun King would be controlled. I think the accusation was false.

I also think, that very often in political issues, false accusations are oftentimes a redirect. The accuser is often guilty of the crimes they claim others have committed. I wonder, then, if the Sun King had Anharion under some form of control and the Collar was made to negate that.

There's a lot of talk regarding consent around Will and Sarcean's abilities. Will and Sinclair are only able to control those who have been branded and the interesting thing is that all those Sinclair had branded had been willing. They'd not understood the extent of what they were agreeing to, but it didn't seem like it was forced on people. Will repeatedly thinks that he didn't force people to follow him like Sarcean did, the entire everything about James and the Collar, the Lady telling Sarcean that people wouldn't follow him if they knew him, the Returners stealing bodies. Consent and free will are very key topics.

And while I don't entirely believe this idea that Sarcean was faultless, I do think a lot of what we know about him has been skewed by the Light over time - I do think Sarcean is far more grey than believed. Sarcean doesn't seem to be able to control people without the Brand, to the point where the branding rod is the symbol of his power. If, like Sinclair's version, most of these Branded followers take it willingly, then for Sarcean to rob Anharion of his free will entirely seems off.

So yeah I am of the mind that the Sun King was playing at his own control and had some power over Anharion that Sarcean sought to break. Perhaps it couldn't be removed, but instead replaced.

#dark heir spoilers #dark rise spoilers #dark rise #dark heir #will kempen #james st clair #my dark rise posts get notes i forget that when you actually post things people interact with them

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (15/22)

Chapter summary: You make a decision about Vision, the video, and your lingering feelings for your ex-wife

Chapter word count: 6.6K | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: If you decide to yell at me after this chapter, I guess this is a good time to tell you that I'm smol.

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Sixteen

Fifteen

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer - David Kushner "Daylight"

"Will you let me know once you figure out what you'll do?" Wanda asks, her voice wavering as remnants of dried tears cling to her cheeks, leaving faint trails in their wake.

You respond with a subdued sound of agreement, but deep down, you harbor doubts about your ability to follow through on your promise. The thumb drive still burns in your palm, and your clenched fist refuses to release it.

Alone in your apartment, hours after Yelena has departed for work, you find yourself replaying this memory time and again. Having taken the week off, your days are largely spent fixated on a particular file on your computer screen. That’s the last time you’ve heard from Wanda. Neither of you has made any effort to reach out since then.

“He recorded us having… having the affair.”

Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace of raw pain. Each breath feels heavier than the last, like you're dragging them from a place deep within you that you've been desperately trying to avoid. Your gaze remains fixated on the screen, eyes glassy, as if staring longer could somehow give you the answers you so crave.

A small, dark corner of your heart wishes you had gone further than just cracking Vision's skull with that vase, now knowing that he did more than violate a marriage.

You hover your mouse over the file.

"I’d take it all back if I could.”

Blinking rapidly, the strain in your smile grows more palpable, etching lines of tension across your face, until you’re gritting your teeth in an effort to maintain some form of control over your emotions.

But in the end, the tears well up and they spill over.

In the end, you can’t bring yourself to watch how Wanda chose to break your heart.

You delete the file from your computer, erasing any trace of the painful reminder. As you empty the trash bin, it feels like a symbolic act of letting go, even though the ache in your heart remains.

***

“Wanda? Did you hear what I just said?”

Wanda blinks, appearing slightly disoriented, as if she had been drifting away, coming back and forth to the present like a restless ghost. Calliope regards Wanda with a gentle caution, noticing that she appears different from her usual self this morning. There is a noticeable absence of her usual active engagement in conversation, with Wanda providing only succinct and dismissive replies to her questions.

“Hm?” Wanda's gaze focuses on Calliope, a flicker of apology crossing her features as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I... got distracted.”

“Wanda, I was asking about how you spent Y/N's birthday last week,” Calliope repeats with a soft smile.

Your birthday. It had been one of the best days in recent memory, a rarity considering the limited number of such occasions. And unfortunately, the joyous feeling it brought her was short-lived, lasting only two days before Yelena shattered the blissful bubble she was in.

"I, uh, baked her a cake, but it was more for my own enjoyment and for my customers,"

Wanda shares, and though her expression becomes slightly dreamy, it’s still tinged with despondency. “And then in the evening, we ran into each other by chance, and she treated me to dinner. All in all, it was better than I imagined."

“That sounds wonderful, Wanda,” Calliope says. "But how come you don't seem as happy about it now?"

“A lot has happened between then and now,” Wanda explains. “Her birthday isn’t the last time we saw each other. It’s actually just three days ago, and we, uh, didn’t exactly end that meeting on a good note.”

The only indication that Calliope looks slightly concerned is the eleven that appears in between her brows. Otherwise, her face remains soft and void of tension. “Can you tell me more, Wanda? But of course, only if you’re comfortable to share them.”

Wanda takes a moment to weigh her options. On one hand, there is legal information that she would need to disclose, but on the other hand, she can sense the possibility of her spiraling down if she keeps these things to herself. Ultimately, she decides to place her trust in her therapist and rely on the foundation they have built together, telling Calliope everything. She begins by recounting Yelena's visit and the subsequent confrontation with Vision. Then, with regret she describes the following morning when she visited you to give you an option to fight Vision back another way.

Calliope listens attentively, and though she usually maintains a professional demeanor throughout these sessions with her clients, she couldn’t help but inwardly sigh in relief that Wanda chose to talk to her about the crucial week she’s had.

There are at least a dozen emotional and mental implications for someone who had gone through what Wanda did in the recent days. As someone who lives and breathes science, Calliope doesn’t believe in good or bad luck, but this is one of those rare occurrences that she’s handling someone who’s gone and continues to go through a multitude of life-changing storms in just a year. Wanda's resilience is a force to be reckoned with, refusing to bow to the hardships she constantly faces.

“It must be beyond overwhelming to be confronted with such things at the same time,” Calliope says. She retrieves a pad and a pen from her desk and looks up at Wanda. “Do you mind if I write some of these things down? So we can go over them one step at a time?”

Wanda gives her a short nod, placing her complete trust on her therapist. Calliope proceeds to write on the pad and then suddenly, she stops and looks up at Wanda who’s chewing on her lip.

“When you learned that Vision filmed your trysts without your consent, how did that make you feel?”

Wanda feels the familiar coil of anger tighten in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

Her response slips out slowly. “Violated. I–I know I’m half of that affair, and I have no right to feel like a victim–”

“Wanda,” Calliope quickly cuts her line of thought, dispelling right away the notion that just because she agreed to something, she agreed to everything. Even though the sex was consensual, the act of recording it without consent was a violation of trust and not to mention, a breach of the law.

“Your role in the affair does not negate the fact that you can still feel violated by this type of invasion to your privacy. You have the right to acknowledge your own feelings and experiences, separate from the affair itself." Calliope tells her.

Wanda presses her fingertips against her temple for a few seconds. “I feel like a victim to my own stupid decisions. I’m angry at Vision, but mostly I–I’m angry with myself.”

“Blaming yourself may be a natural response, but the responsibility for the violation lies with Vision. It's not a reflection of your worth or intelligence. You trusted him that time, and he betrayed that trust.” Calliope says.

Wanda is silent. It’s been a long time since she felt like none of Calliope’s words make sense. None could make her feel better at the moment.

Sensing that she’s not getting through to her, Calliope continues, “You don’t have to believe me right now. All of it is new, and you can take as much time as you need to face your feelings.”

"You know what else troubles me the most? I find it very difficult to reconcile myself with the married woman who slept with a kid all those times. Who is she, Calliope? And by asking this, I'm not trying to absolve myself of responsibility because she was me, but I simply can't comprehend how I allowed it to happen. If you were to ask me now why I entered into that affair, I honestly wouldn't have an answer for you.”

Calliope nods in understanding. It's not unusual for individuals to struggle with recognizing the person they used to be, even if it was just a year ago or even a week ago. Personal growth and experiences can drastically change people’s perspectives and actions, often leading them to question their past choices.

“We are always changing. You're a different person today than you were yesterday, even if the change isn’t that significant. There’s always something in us that’s changing, progressing, growing.”

“Why couldn’t I have grown back then,” Wanda mumbles in regret. I should’ve been able to prevent it. Things would have gone differently.

Calliope smiles, understanding Wanda's inclination to obsess over what could have been. “We only realize what's wrong within us when the signs become apparent, like having a fever. A doctor wouldn't say you're sick with a fever alone; it's just a symptom. There's an underlying cause. But the fever serves as an important indicator that your body needs treatment.”

Wanda sighs; she can’t think of any argument to that. “Maybe you’re right.”

And as she replays the memories of that day in her mind, a sudden realization strikes Wanda. There was a vivid detail from her conversation with Yelena that she had almost forgotten.

“Yelena said something,” Wanda begins, her fingers idly toying with the wedding band now adorning her necklace. “Something about Y/N not being completely hers.”

“Go on,” Calliope encourages.

“Do you think she was indirectly telling me that Y/N still has feelings for me?” Wanda's voice is tinged with uncertainty, yet her eyes shimmer with hope.

“Interpreting someone else's words can be subjective," Calliope says. “I want to be honest with you, Wanda–it’s always best not to read too much into it. Yelena's perception of the situation differs from your own, and her words might not necessarily reflect the true feelings or intentions of Y/N.”

Wanda's hopeful expression wavers slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. She nods, understanding the need to approach the situation with caution.

“I know it's easier said than done. Believe me, I struggle with it too, sometimes…” Calliope trails off as if reminiscing her own experiences, before continuing, “But whether or not Y/N still has feelings for you, your well-being should remain a priority. Overthinking and making assumptions can be detrimental to our happiness.”

Happiness. It’s elusive, and she wants nothing more than to hold onto it longer than a fleeting moment.

***

“Are you certain about this? Once we send this letter to his attorney, it cannot be retracted,” your lawyer states as she neatly organizes the pages of the counter demand letter into a folder.

“And if they agree to the terms, will it finally be over?” you inquire, seeking reassurance.

“Yes. I have drafted every clause to safeguard you from any future legal actions regarding the same matter,” she assures.

You take a moment to process the information before a new concern arises. “You mean, he won't be able to sue me in the future if he decides that $800,000 isn't enough?”

“No,” she says with a confident smirk. “If he does that you can sue him for double the amount.”

“That’s quite impressive.”

“It's what you hired me for,” she replies with a hint of pride.

After your lawyer leaves, you pick up your phone and dial Natasha's number. The ringing persists until a recorded voice message greets you.

“Hey, Nat? It’s me. Uh, when you get this call can you please call me back? I–” Your voice breaks, and you close your eyes, envisioning Natasha's stoic expression as she listens to your message. This silence between you is uncharacteristic, as you have never gone this long without talking to each other except when she's working. It pains you to realize the strain in one of the most important relationships in your life right now.

“I’m sorry, okay? I hope we can talk soon and I’ll explain everything. Please, Nat,” you say. “I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

***

“It’s a send off party for those who are racing the New York City Marathon this year.” you explain to Yelena as you stuff your socks into a duffel bag.

Since joining Valkyrie's running club, you have mainly trained alone, only joining the group for runs on two occasions. However, you've come to realize the benefits of running with others who are faster than you. It pushes you to increase your pace during tempo runs and has led to a faster rate of improvement in your performance. Wanda has chosen not to join the weekday runs with the club, and you secretly appreciate the opportunity to focus solely on running and enjoying the company of other people. Wanda never fails to catch at least some of your attention. It’s one of your more serious flaws.

“Yeah, I get that it's a party,” Yelena mutters, gathering toiletries from the bathroom to pack in her own bag. “What I don't understand is why the party is being held at a park.”

“You know athletes–we need some form of activity first before we drink the booze and eat the cake.” you say.

Yelena wrinkles her nose. That doesn’t sound like the parties she’s familiar with and knows how to enjoy.

“When’s the NYC Marathon anyway?” Yelena asks.

“It’s this Sunday,” you reply, organizing the items on your packing list. You realize that among all the things you need to bring, a pair of shoes and sunblock are the only essentials. The rest are optional.

“Are you running in it?”

“Nope. I wasn’t picked in the lottery.” you say.

Yelena's expression shifts to one of surprise. "There’s a lottery?" she exclaims, clearly unaware of the selection process. The idea of so many people willingly participating–and paying–to tire themselves out is baffling to her. Yelena tried jogging one time and only thought of it as a grueling experience. So this interesting trivia about marathons just leads her to the conclusion that people must truly have a fondness for pain and suffering.

That causes a laugh to bubble up your throat. "If you don't feel like coming, it's completely fine."

Initially, you hadn't planned for Yelena to join you, but since she expressed a desire to spend the day with you on her day off, you casually suggested she could come as your plus one. And since you knew how she felt about the sport that you do, you assumed she’d turn you down.

“How about we just stay in?” Yelena mumbles, wriggling her eyebrows in suggestion, making you laugh harder. “You know… Netflix, and the other thing.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you reply, still chuckling, “I can't. I'm responsible for bringing a damn good apple pie for the potluck. People are expecting it.”

Yelena pouts playfully, feigning disappointment. “Well, I guess I'll have to settle for cheering you on then. Just make sure that apple pie is worth it.”

“I'll do my best. And hey, there's always Netflix and 'the other thing' waiting for us when we get back.” you say.

Yelena grins, satisfied with the compromise. “Deal.”

***

As you and Yelena arrive at The Great Lawn in Central Park, the sight of tables and chairs being set up in preparation for the event greets you. Shaun, the closest friend you made from the running group, approaches you, dressed in a similar fashion of running shorts over a base layer, dri-fit shirt and the latest Alphafly. Introductions are made, and Shaun takes the dessert from your hands, ushering you and Yelena to a table near the spread of food and drinks.

Yelena makes a quick remark about feeling a bit overdressed for the occasion, but you dismiss her concerns with a smile, complimenting her appearance, which prompts her to lean in and give you a long, tender kiss.

A kiss that your ex-wife witnessed as you catch her looking at you and Yelena from afar when you open your eyes at the end of it.

You’re unable to hide the look of surprise from your face because you weren’t expecting Wanda at this party. While everyone else confirmed their attendance, Wanda remained quiet, never participating in the conversations. Had you known Wanda would be here, you wouldn't have invited Yelena.

Yelena follows your line of sight, and then seeing Wanda, mirrors your surprised expression.

“Why is she here?” she asks, her voice holding a hint of accusation though she tried to hide it.

“I... don't know,” you mumble absentmindedly as your attention is drawn to the person Wanda arrived with.

Valkyrie.

“And why didn’t you tell me that Wanda also belongs in the same running group?”

You shift your focus back to Yelena as Wanda and Valkyrie engage with the other runners, their presence quickly absorbed into the conversations and exchanges happening around them.

“I honestly didn't think it was important to mention,” you admit. “Wanda hasn't been actively involved in the group–she never joins our runs.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, I think it's worth mentioning.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming today. We all confirmed in the group chat and she never said anything.” you say.

“I get it, just remember, be open with me, especially about her,” Yelena says, her face softening. “I don't want to be 'that' girlfriend, but trust takes time. You not telling me the whole story about her doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again,” you promise.

Yelena nods, pulling you in for another kiss. This one feels more intense, more insistent. Just as Yelena's tongue finds its way into your mouth, Wanda happens to glance your way. The sight causes her to promptly look away.

As Yelena's lips leave yours and she steps back, Valkyrie saunters over, her hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of her vest, a cheeky grin playing on her lips.

“Glad to see you again, Y/N,” Valkyrie greets, her gaze shifting to Yelena. “Who's this?”

You offer Valkyrie a tight smile and proceed to introduce Yelena as your girlfriend. Valkyrie extends her hand to Yelena, their handshake lingering a moment longer than necessary, with Valkyrie's thumb softly brushing the back of Yelena's hand before letting go. And then she excuses herself, winking at you both as she returns to Wanda’s side.

It might just be your intense dislike of this woman, but you can't help but worry about Wanda trusting someone who evidently likes to flirt.

As you slide an arm around Yelena, you both find a quieter spot, away from the buzz.

“You don't seem too thrilled about her,” Yelena notes.

With a small scoff, you try to dismiss it. “Valkyrie?”

"Yeah. Right there, when you say her name... It's like you'd rather jump off a cliff," Yelena remarks, noticing your disdain.

“She's just... too full of herself for my liking.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look. “You sure it's not because she showed up with–”

“Of course not,” you retort, a bit too quickly. Feeling the conversation veer into uncomfortable territory, you quickly reroute. “There's beer in the cooler, want one?”

Yelena is momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift, but she nods and replies, “Sure.”

They decide on a casual game of Ultimate Frisbee, as suggested by Valkyrie.

You find yourself on one team, while Valkyrie stands on the opposing side. In the sidelines, are your ex-wife and your girlfriend, both seemingly enthralled by the competition that’s about to unfold. You've never played this game before, but Shaun takes the time to show you the ropes of throwing a frisbee with a backhand and a forehand. He explains the rules, which turn out to be fairly easy to understand, given their similarity to soccer. The objective is to get the disc to the other side of the field and avoid turnovers.

The frisbee soars through the air, hurled by none other than Valkyrie to signal the start of the game. Adrenaline courses through your veins, as a fierce determination fueled by the seemingly permanent smirk on Valkyrie’s face propels you forward.

With every throw and catch, you channel your frustrations into the game. It's no longer just about Valkyrie, but also about Vision and the money he managed to extort from you. It's about Wanda and how closely she's watching your every move with something akin to regret and longing in her wide, green eyes. It's about the video you chose not to watch, yet its very existence continues to haunt you.

Valkyrie, agile and naturally athletic, matches your intensity on the field. Each time she catches the frisbee, you feel a surge of anger ignite within you. It's as if every point she scores is a personal affront to your pride. You relentlessly pursue her with a goal in mind to outmatch her every move.

The crowd cheers and gasps with each spectacular play. Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her expression caught between concern and admiration, and you return her gaze with a look of spite as you try to block the movements of the person you’re guarding.

In a pivotal moment, Valkyrie sprints toward the end zone as the disc flies in the similar direction. Taking this window of opportunity, you charge after her, consumed by a desire to tackle her to the ground.

With a surge of strength, you lunge forward with an aim to bring her down.

But fate has a different plan.

In the chaotic collision that ensues, you crash into Valkyrie with all your might. But the strong and sturdy body she’s paraded around for weeks proves to be impenetrable. As the dust settles, you find yourself sprawled on the ground, nursing a deep gash on your elbow. Valkyrie, remarkably unscathed, stands tall, a defiant smirk on her face.

Both Yelena and Wanda rush to your aid, much to your chagrin.

“What the hell was that?” Yelena yells as she leans over you with worry.

Wanda, keeping a cautious distance, chimes in, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Valkyrie, offering you a hand to help you up, dismisses the incident casually. “Oh, she's fine. It happens often in these games.”

Reluctantly, you reach out and steady yourself on Valkyrie's arm, disliking the fact you need her help in that moment. You take a couple of steps back from Valkyrie as soon as you find your footing and grab Yelena’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you tell Yelena.

"You're bleeding," Wanda points out, eyes fixed on the wound on your elbow.

“It’s just a small scratch,” you argue, even as the blood drips from your skin and onto the grass.

“Sorry, but it's a general rule to sub out a wounded soldier,” Valkyrie cuts in.

You sneer inwardly at Valkyrie’s flowery choice of words.

“Come on, babe. I'll help you clean that up,” Yelena says, placing a hand on your lower back as she leads you back to the sidelines.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Wanda says. Yelena looks at Wanda over her shoulder and you hold your breath, anticipating their exchange. But your girlfriend simply offers your ex-wife a small smile and thanks her.

The night approaches rather quickly after the game.

Everybody helps pack up the picnic spread before the sun sets, as the group collectively agrees to move the party to a pub that Valkyrie claims she managed to reserve at the last minute. The bar she picked is also unbelievably convenient, only being a few minutes away from the park by foot. So, now, everyone looks at Valkyrie with a sense of awe, seeing how effortlessly she can organize a good time. You remain skeptical, however, suspicious that she’s planned everything in advance.

“This Valkyrie–is she some kind of socialite?” Yelena wonders aloud as the two of you enter the bar. Taking in its classy interior, you can tell almost immediately that reserving the entire area must have come at a hefty price.

You shrug in reply, walking straight to the bar to order a double right away.

Valkyrie hasn’t left Wanda’s side all day after the game. Your only interaction with Wanda so far was when she returned to where you and Yelena sat as your girlfriend tended to your wound. Although she didn't utter a word, a small smile graced her face as she handed the first aid kit to Yelena.

“Are you okay?” Yelena asks, rubbing your shoulder, trying to ease the tension she finds there.

“Just tired,” you answer, knocking down your drink.

“May I have everyone's attention, please?” Valkyrie's voice cuts through the blaring music, drawing everyone’s attention towards her.

“I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for joining us at this event. Your presence is invaluable, and it greatly contributes to the success of this gathering,” she states, and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. Valkyrie lifts her beer can, prompting everyone else to raise their drinks in unison. “Here's to our courageous participants of this Sunday's NYC Marathon. May you conquer the finish line with strength and surpass your own expectations. Cheers!”

With the toast complete, the assembled crowd joins in, raising their glasses and cheerfully clinking them together. Just like that, the party that Yelena is more amenable to officially begins.

Yelena mingles with the group of people who have come to support their partners' interests, all sharing a similar confusion about the appeal of waking up early to cover long distances that, typically, should not be covered by foot. You relax at seeing her chat with them animatedly, looking like she’s enjoying herself so far.

With Yelena occupied, you allow yourself a moment to sulk in a corner of the bar. As you look around the room, you can't help but think about how your lawyer hasn't given you any updates about the counter demand letter. You think about Natasha, who still hasn’t called you back. It makes you feel uneasy, not knowing where things stand.

You try not to think about Wanda, who currently has her head thrown back, laughing at something Valkyrie said. It strikes you that you haven't seen her so carefree in quite some time.

“Hey,” Yelena taps you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Me and some of the girls want to go check out this band playing a couple of blocks away. It won't take long, just a few songs. Is that alright with you?"

“Sure,” you respond. “I'll be ready to leave when you get back.”

“Great,” Yelena replies, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

You observe Yelena as she happily leaves the venue with her new friends, while you catch the bartender's attention and order another drink.

An hour passes by swiftly, and there is still no sign of Yelena or any message from her. You take a break from alcohol and sip on water, trying to sober up in case Yelena gets back. Shaun tries to engage you in a conversation about World Marathon Majors and his aspirations to qualify for Boston, but your lack of interest is evident, and he eventually excuses himself to join Valkyrie's group. You notice that they are now playing a drinking game, and Wanda receives a shot glass from Valkyrie.

“Truth or drink, Wanda?” Valkyrie teases, hovering a bit too near Wanda for your comfort.

“Truth,” Wanda responds.

“Got anyone you're into at the moment?”

A laugh escapes Wanda, followed by a nervous gulp. “Actually, I think I'll take that drink,” she deflects.

Valkyrie's expression drops, clearly let down by the missed chance to pry into Wanda's love life.

“Since you dodged the truth, you're up for two shots,” she announces, her lips curled into a roguish smile. Wanda obediently follows, and you observe her wince as she slams back the tequila shots. A delicate flush on her cheeks hints that this isn't their first round.

You remain an onlooker as a series of questions are effortlessly answered by various individuals until Wanda is in the hot seat once again.

“Can I pass? I think I've had enough.” Wanda says.

“Oh, don't quit on me now. We're just warming up.”

Wanda offers a weak smile, then capitulates, “Alright. Just one more round, okay? Uhm, truth.”

Someone from the group throws the question. “Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Wanda's smile evaporates almost immediately. She forces a feeble laugh as she once again backtracks from her initial selection. Her gaze flickers towards you before darting back to Valkyrie, finding you already watching her closely.

“I think I want to drink for this one,” Wanda declares, going ahead to down two more shots in line with the game rules. The group cheers her on while Valkyrie, laughing, refills the emptied shot glasses.

Valkyrie finds herself intrigued. Wanda could've simply said 'no' if she hasn’t. She only becomes more fascinating in Valkyrie’s eyes knowing that she’s not as saintly as she looks.

The game continues, everyone takes their turn and it lands on Wanda once more. This time, she dismisses the drink pushed towards her. “I really should pass this time.” Wanda says.

Yet Valkyrie keeps pushing the drink towards Wanda, seemingly blind to her discomfort. Seeing this, you feel the urge to step in.

“She said no. Didn't you catch that?” you squeeze yourself in between Shaun and another girl who looks stunned at your sudden interjection. “Because I could hear her just fine from way over there,” you add, thumbing back at your former spot, some distance away.

“Chill out, we're just having a good time.” Valkyrie shrugs.

“Fucking respect her boundaries, okay? She’s had enough. And she has good reasons to avoid it, trust me.” you assert, your eyes narrowing slightly as you emphasize your point.

Almost immediately, Wanda stands, her lips clenched and her face flushed with annoyance.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Wanda says to no one in particular.

“Need me to come along?”

“Just stay here, Val, okay?” Wanda interjects, her voice softer as she deftly maneuvers past you.

Your heartbeat quickens as you trail after her.

“Wanda, wait!” you shout, pushing through the crowd.

She pays no heed, her steps resounding heavily as she marches on. Her shoulders are stiff, her movements terse. You can almost sense the anger radiating off her like a dark halo. Chasing after her, you weave through the throng of nosy people who are all looking at you openly, as they watch the commotion continue to unfold before their eyes.

A second later, the door shuts behind you, effectively muffling the music from inside.

Wanda has made it a good distance from the pub, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

“Wanda!” you call out again, your voice softer this time, carrying a note of desperate concern.

At your call, she finally stops.

She stands frozen for a moment before turning to face you. Her face, usually so tender and kind, is etched with an unusual hardness now.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly steady.

“What are you talking about? It was clear she was pushing you into drinking more than you wanted. I simply backed you up there–for which, by the way, some gratitude wouldn't hurt,” you snap back, irritation seeping into your tone.

Wanda's empty laughter rings out in the quiet night. “You practically just implied to everyone that I have a drinking problem!”

“Don't you?” you hiss through a sneer. “I remember getting a call from the person you cheated on me with because you were almost passed out on the street after a night of excessive drinking.”

Wanda visibly flinches, her body recoiling as though she’s just been slapped. The instant your words escape your lips, remorse floods over you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath. Watching the shock on Wanda’s face slowly shift into a profound sadness only deepens your regret.

“Wanda–”

"Thank you... for standing up for me earlier. Good night, Y/N." she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. With those words, she turns her back on you and starts to walk away.

You think about stopping her, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to do anything.

For the next few minutes you just stare at the spot where Wanda stood, haunted by the look of hurt on her face. In the distance, Yelena’s unmistakable voice reaches your ears, signaling her return.

‘Hey, baby!” she slurs, elongating the final syllable, leaving no doubt in your mind that she's drunk.

You approach Yelena, keeping your steps hushed, while she bids farewell to her companions.

“Ready to head home?” you ask in a calm voice.

Yelena's face lights up with enthusiasm as she eagerly nods. Taking her hand into yours, you signal a passing cab.

Later, a little before midnight, your pretense of sleep is broken by the piercing ring of your phone. The truth is, you haven't slept a wink, instead lying still with eyes closed, the happenings of the day replaying ceaselessly in your mind. You pick up the call immediately, taking care not to disturb Yelena's peaceful slumber beside you.

“Y/N?” Wanda's voice comes through the phone, quaking with fear. “I came home and there's… there’s sick all over. Sparky... he's…” Her words fragment into inconsolable sobbing.

“Hey, hey. Just stay calm, okay? I'm on my way," you reassure her before ending the call. You turn to Yelena, sprawled unconscious on the bed. With delicate motions, you snugly wrap the comforter around her and carefully place a pillow under her arm that was previously draped over you. You plant a kiss on her temple before dressing up quickly to meet Wanda.

Around 1:30 in the morning, the veterinarian steps out of the examination room to announce that Sparky is now stable. Wanda's eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying, but she pays careful attention to the doctor’s report on Sparky’s condition. The situation was critical, but thankfully, Sparky has rallied, his vital signs settling back into normal ranges. Despite this, the vet recommends keeping him under observation for an additional 48 hours to ensure his continued recovery.

You settle the bill out of your own credit card and escort a grief-stricken Wanda back to her apartment. You instruct her to get comfortable on the couch as you move around the kitchen and prepare yourselves a cup of tea. As you re-enter the living room, you notice Wanda remains in the same position, her gaze fixed on Sparky's dog bowl, a few kibbles still left untouched.

“Do you remember when Sparky first became a part of our lives?” Wanda asks suddenly.

You nod solemnly, settling down beside Wanda as you hand her her tea. She accepts it gratefully, cradling it in her hands to soak in its comforting warmth.

“It was on your 25th birthday, and he was my surprise gift for you,” you recall with a hint of nostalgia.

“Your sneaky way of adopting him without telling me,” Wanda retorts, finally managing a small smile.

The fond memory brings a soft chuckle to your lips. Wanda had never been keen on having a pet, especially in your small Manhattan apartment. But Sparky quickly won her over within just a couple of days. She would serenade him with renditions of "You Are My Sunshine" every day for a week, until she eventually grew tired of the song and moved on to another tune to sing to him.

“I always knew that we would outlive him. But it's just too soon,” Wanda sniffles, new tears welling up in her eyes. “He deserves more years. I want him to stay with us for as long as a dog possibly can.”

“Me too,” you sigh.

Before you know it, you’re gathering Wanda into your arms. She instinctively nestles her face into the crook of your neck, tears dampening your skin. Your hand gently rubs soothing circles on her back, while your other hand softly strokes her hair. In a hushed voice, you whisper reassurances, telling her that everything will eventually be alright.

When Wanda’s trembling subsides, you feel her shift in your arms. And as you begin to lean your head back from where it’s resting on her shoulder, a magnetic force seems to hold you in place, and you find yourself unable to completely let go. Your forehead ends up resting against hers, watching her calm face in silence. Her eyes stay closed a bit longer, and when they eventually flutter open, you're captivated by the most perfect shade of green, and in that moment it becomes perfectly clear to you that you love her and you never stopped.

Not even then.

A hint of worry appears in Wanda’s deep, emerald eyes as she meets yours. “Y/N–” she starts.

But her words get lost as your nose delicately grazes against hers, and your lips find hers in a clandestine kiss.

She responds to your kiss instinctively, and you merge in a manner that's both wonderfully familiar and refreshingly new. Your fingers trace a soft path across her neck before firmly cradling it, eliciting shivers that ripple through Wanda, right to her core.

The need for breath brings an end to the kiss, and you part from Wanda's lip with a slight wet sound. You take in as much air as you can, ready to lean in once more. But before your lips can meet hers again, she gently places a hand on your chest, giving you a gentle push.

“This... this isn't right,” Wanda stammers, pulling herself back from you. The spot on her neck where your hand rested is warm, the embers of your touch still smoldering as she tries to extinguish the fire you had sparked within her. “We can’t do this to Yelena.”

“Wanda, I–”

“You’re better than me,” she reminds you. “I’m sorry.”

It feels as if you're being jolted awake from a surreal dream, and you instinctively distance yourself from Wanda. Her eyes, filled with worry, attempt to meet yours, but you evade her gaze, the gravity of your actions slowly sinking in.

In a heartbeat, you find yourself bolting from her apartment, your feet pounding the pavement beneath as if trying to outrun the harsh reality of what you’ve done. You just betrayed Yelena. You'd just kissed Wanda. And you don’t know what was more frightening: your actions, or the fact that part of you didn't regret it.

In the waning hours before dawn, sleep proves stubbornly out of reach. The lingering taste of Wanda's kiss and the guilt eating at your conscience keeps slumber at bay. You had done to Yelena the very thing that ruined your life. You spent these hours looking at Yelena’s sleeping face, knowing that this may very well be the last few hours you get to be this close to her.

And just as your eyelids begin to droop, Yelena stirs, slowly waking up.

Yelena hums as she stretches like a cat, and then blinks up at you, a smile already working its way to her lips. Your heart is ringing loudly in your ears by now, making it impossible for you to mirror the delight on your girlfriend's face.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Yelena asks, concern creasing her forehead as her hand lifts to cup your cheek.

“Yelena, I–” Your gaze drops, focusing on the unforgiving reality of the mattress beneath you, avoiding her piercing eyes as you muster the courage to confess. “I… I relapsed–”

“Don’t,” Yelena's voice cuts through your racing thoughts, her intuition already piecing together your next words. "Don't say it."

The silence that looms over your heads is oppressive and suffocating.

“This has gone on for long enough,” Yelena finally declares, her tone resolute. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Yelena–” you stutter, your mind scrambling to string together a sequence of words that might lessen the blow of your betrayal. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere far away from you,” she replies, her words carrying a frosty undertone.

It stings. And you deserve it.

With that, she gets up and leaves the room, leaving you to the wreckage.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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bruciemilf · 1 year

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you had any baby Batkids headcanons, just all of them being extra clingy and obsessed with their dear dad. 😊

YES!! daily dose of fluff!!

Jason keeps a meticulous collection of poems that remind him of Bruce; Some collected from his favourite books, some he's written himself. They progress from love, to rage, to sadness, to regret, to a final, angry forgiveness, to love again

When Dick moved out, when his body was still clumsy and unfamiliar in his apartment, he spent hours just staring at his contact list.

Just aching for the courage to call Bruce. The little boy in him was begging to go home, and Nightwing kept denying him. But he'd know. it's a family tradition that Bruce always calls first.

Damian was never tickled; He hasn't giggled since he was 6, and Talia couldn't give to him what Ra's never gave to her. He was a blade, and blades don't feel.

When Bruce tickles him for the first time, he thinks its a punishment. His stomach hurts from laughing too much.

Tim's obsessive tendencies go root deep. He's vigilant, keeping a faithful watch on Bruce's every move. That's why he's there for. That's his purpose. He's good at that. He's useful for that. Keeping Gotham safe. It makes up for his invasion in the family.

One time, Jason gets hurt on patrol. Its a stab wound. Standard and measly. Just another scar on top of many. But it's a scar Tim could've prevented.

" I should've warned him. Should've-- saved him, been faster," And Bruce says he did warn him; He did everything right. There's no such thing as a good patrol. " I didn't do it on purpose. Bruce, it wasn't on purpose. Please believe me."

Bruce commands emotion in a way Tim is envious of. You think you see past the mask and he always shows you something different. Tim expects to get yelled at, and scolded, and berated for his sloppiness.

And then Bruce holds him, with an intentional tightness and unyielding tenderness, " Oh, my boy. My poor baby."

Stephanie doesn't get upset when people DON'T assume she and Bruce are father and daughter. Mostly because they're right. They're not. At their best, they're co-workers. At their worst, they're Bruce and Steph.

Fathers are overrated, anywhere.

But just for once, she'd like people to assume. She'd like to be mistaken for Bruce Wayne’s bastard child, or his one night stand, or drunken mistake, like the rest of the boys.

But when Bruce does put a hand on her shoulder, when a creep flirts with her at a Gala, " You're not in my daughter's league. You can't even afford tickets." It does feel good.

Cass and Bruce have particular love languages. Cass is tactile. She needs to touch you, and feel you, even if she doesn't speak. It's a proof of existence. It proves she's not an instrument of danger. Even danger deserves gentle things.

If there's anything true about Bruce, it's his lack of judgement. He asses, weights and critics, sure, but he's never one to judge. "Hey, honeybee. " and Cass loves that she doesn't have to hide. She can exist around him, and he can just hug her, and that's enough.

Cass has a tattoo of the bat symbol on her chest. Blsckbat rarely works with officers, but when she does, there's no pleasure in it. Especially when she has to stop them from putting a bullet through a starving kid's head.

"I gotta ask you; How do you do it? Why do you do it? No one's looking. No one's gonna know."

And Cass, angrily, rips a chunk off her suit to reveal the bat symbol. Gotham's mark of worship, it's unholy saint.

Thought saints aren't saints because they're holy. Saints are saints when they bleed. And they don't know how not to do that.

" This means mercy. This means Life."

#yayy fluff time-- SIIIIIIKE #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #batman #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #cassandra cain #batfamily #batfam #angst #batdad #bruce wayne is a good father #bruce wayne is a good parent #writing #batfamily headcanons

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lunariiawrites · 8 months

Text

Stay

Pairing: Rain x f!Reader

Rating: Everyone

Tags: Fluff, cuddles with Rain, overworked reader.

Summary: After countless hours of translating ancient texts, Rain wants to make sure you sleep.

A/N: I had to choose whether to make Rain sweet or absolutely feral for this fic. Sweet won out in the end. This is my first time writing Rain so I hope I did him justice!

---

2:35 AM

The numbers blurred together as you closed the book in front of you, groaning as a ball of pressure formed at the base of your skull. Sister Imperator had been adamant that these ritual texts be translated as soon as possible and being one of the only translators on hand meant studying long hours in the night with little to no company.

The sister who kept the library organized and maintained had checked on you well before ten, no doubt to remind you of the late hour. However, you had thanked her for her concern and waved her off before diving back into the ancient texts. Pangs of hunger made you wish you had heeded her warnings as you stood, stretching muscles stiff with inactivity.

Ah well. The kitchens were closed now. Not much to do about it.

The library was dim, the main lights turned off long ago. Heading towards the door, you pulled it open with a dull creak, the wood groaning as it shifted. The hallway was even darker and there was a second of hesitation. Sometimes it wasn’t wise to wander the halls of the Ministry after dark. Siblings had told you of strange noises plaguing the hallways at night, screams and laughter being a few of the notable ones.

‘It’s not that far.’ The thought repeated like a mantra in your head, as you tried to calm yourself. The dorms that the siblings slept in truly weren’t far away, but normally the paths to and from were well lit and not plunged in darkness as they were now.

The light echo of your footsteps did nothing to ease your nervousness as you walked down the hall, fighting the urge to turn around and investigate the slight noises coming from the darkness of the other corridor.

‘Calm down. There’s nothing there.’

A scream rose in your throat as a hand gripped your arm and a slight sting of pain blossomed in your back as it hit the wall, coexisting for a moment with your headache before fading away. Wide blue eyes stared back at you and the fear drained from your body, leaving only exhaustion.

“Sorry, sister.”

Rain smiled sheepishly, pulling you gently away from the wall. The water ghoul patted your arm comfortingly and you gave a tight smile in response. He was dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, something way more casual than the uniform most had grown accustomed to seeing the ghouls in.

“What are you lurking around in the dark for?” He looked up at you with a passive expression, shrugging slightly.

“Taking a walk.” Leaning against the wall, he smiled, fangs showing slightly. “I could ask the same of you.”

“I was working.”

Searching your face, Rain scowled upon seeing the bags under your eyes as well as other signs of improper care.

“No.”

No?

Grabbing your hand, he pulled you down the opposite hallway, ignoring your protests to stop. After a few twists and turns, you two stood in front of a black door, decorated with some symbols of the Clergy.

‘The Ghoul Dorms?’

It wasn’t your first time in the dorms, having spent a lot of time with the ghouls themselves whether it was reading in a corner with Mountain or laughing as Dew swore up and down you cheated at Mario Kart or anything in between.

As Rain dragged you through the common room, you looked at the various doors you passed, assuming most of the ghouls were already asleep. Finally, he pulled you into a room at the end of a hallway, shutting the door behind you.

The smell of petrichor enveloped you as you realized it was Rain’s room. A few books lined a shelf with various decorations and a few plants that he had once gotten as a gift from Mountain. His guitar sat perched on it’s stand and a small window showed a beautiful moonlit view outside the Ministry.

Gently, Rain pulled you towards the bed, gesturing for you to lay down. The bed looked soft and inviting but you stubbornly looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Sighing, he crossed his arms, giving you a look that you had once seen Aether give Dew when he disapproved with whatever he was doing.

“You aren’t sleeping well,” He said softly. “I want to make sure you get proper rest.”

Before you could say anything else, he frowned, holding his hand out, eyes pleading.

“Please.” Taking your hand, he squeezed it softly. “Let me take care of you.”

“Fine.”

Brightening instantly, Rain lifted up the covers, ushering you under them and tucking you in like a prized possession. The instant your head hit the pillow, your eyes felt heavy and you mumbled a word as you fought the warm embrace of sleep. Rain looked back at you over his shoulder as he went to turn off the light and step out.

“Stay.”

Pausing, Rain took a moment to make sure he heard correctly before he crossed back over to the bed. Lifting up the covers, he pulled you towards him, purring softly as his chest pressed against your back. He could tell you were losing the fight as you cuddled into the pillow, evoking a small smile from him. Laying down, he wrapped his tail loosely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Sleep well, (Y/N).”

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost bc fanfic #rain ghoul #rain ghoul x reader #female reader #reader insert #x reader #fluff #rain ghoul fluff #lunariiawrites #lunariia #sweet rain #cuddles #my writing #writing #nameless ghouls x reader #nameless ghouls #ghost x you

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boundinparchment · 4 months

Text

Con Clavi - I

You serve the church of the Tsaritsa, under Father Pantalone. Faith is a gift you received long ago but a certain heretical Harbinger is determined to push those boundaries. Il Dottore/Female Reader. Eventual Pantalone/Female Reader. Reader is a Canoness/Nun. Inspired in part by straw-bunbun's Priest Pantalone art. Story is rated Explicit. Minors DNI. Religious symbolism, corruption, many many liberties, eventual smut. Dead Dove applies. Available on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you listened to the reading by the man standing at the pulpit. This hour was always the most difficult, you found, not because of the service itself, but because it was always coldest just before dawn. Of all of the hours of the Divine Office, Prime was, by far, the most tedious.

Those who wanted to stop in for service before they began their day of work did so and were scattered amid the pews.

Father Pantalone continued on with a prayer concerning work and called for a blessing from the Tsaritsa for those whose safety would be compromised that day. He treated Agents and miners as equals in his service; before the eyes of Her Most Holy, all were human, Hers to protect.

Your knees ached from genuflection, the wooden kneeler only marginally better than the stone beneath it. There was no cushioning here. Some said it was because the Father was a stingy miser; others claimed it served as a reminder that the Tsaritsa’s love was the true comfort.

After this, you would eat in silence before delving into a contemplative study for the morning. Terce would be observed, and then you would begin your day.

As a canoness, it was expected of you to take on a social service as part of your dedication. You spent most of your mornings and afternoons educating noble daughters in-between observations of the canonical hours.

You felt more like a governess than a nun at times. If not for your strong pull to the faith, you would have considered such a position.

Fate had other plans.

And it was better than nursing.

You needed the Father’s opinion on a particular student prior to their appointment, now that the thought crossed your mind.

As service wrapped up, you responded with the appropriate, “Glory to the Tsaritsa,” before the procession exited the sanctuary, accompanied by song.

The Father usually waited in the narthex to see people off. With so few in attendance, save the monastic communities, perhaps you would be able to speak with Father Pantalone early...that would save you the headache later.

You waited until the congregation cleared out and then made your way over to the golden-eyed priest, smoothing out your white tunic, the color expected of your order.

“Good morning, Father. May I have a word?” you asked.

“Blessing be upon you, sister. What can I assist with?”

He always wore a smile, as he did now, one that fooled the common person into making a decision to put even their very last mora into the donation tray during mass. Such an act would, to some, seem disingenuous, corrupt even. It ensured that the church remained open.

Towards you, the gesture was an attempt to keep you from taking too much of his time. If he were approachable at this hour, you would not seek him out again.

“One of my students was recently betrothed, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yes, I gave approval on the match to both families. The announcement should be out this week, Archons willing. Is there reason for concern?”

His smile grew tighter as the words passed his lips. A strange man, Father Pantalone; full faith in the Tsaritsa but a strange disdain for the rest of the pantheon. Your revered mother once said that with the way he balanced the church’s books, one would think he worshipped Deus Auri (or Yanwang Dijun as you once heard used).

Usually the request you were about to make would have gone to the revered mother you served but both families supported the church financially. They paid for the recent reinforced ceiling above your head and the doors that kept out the cold.

Doors that were pushed open by a single figure with a white cloak, bird-like mask over his eyes, and a vicious grin. His blue hair was plastered with snow, which he trudged in without so much as a toe-tap.

Only Harbingers such as the Father himself wore martial bands on their cloaks, you knew. And this man certainly wasn’t Tartaglia.

“Shut the door, Dottore. You didn’t have to bring the weather with you,” Father Pantalone snapped, his smile dropping instantly. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

The man you now knew as Dottore waved an errant hand and the front doors to the church slammed shut with a final gust of wind.

“I’m heading back to the Palace after an examination of the northern chasm. Surely even you wouldn’t allow a fellow heretic such as myself to freeze, would you? Doesn’t everyone have a place among your flock, Father Regrator?”

He spoke with an arrogance that made your blood boil even more. As if his interruption wasn’t enough.

The priest regarded the other man with exasperation and disdain, his authority immediately undermined. It was well-known that Father Pantalone held the Tsaritsa in the highest regard, which most used to refute the rumors that he was nothing more than a money-hungry clergyman. It was an accusation you never thought to be rooted in anything other than envy and spite.

But Lord Harbinger Dottore spoke with a level of certainty that only came with his position.

Father Pantalone turned his attention back to you, intent on ignoring Dottore, who was now looking up at the ceiling with a sharp-toothed snarl.

“Excuse my colleague’s interruption, Sister. What were you saying?”

“The young lady wrote a recent essay regarding the duty of the faithful. It was an interesting analysis on the purpose of marriage and how one might consider matchmaking to be an antithesis to fate. Her family’s recent choice is clearly a source of contention.”

“A topic that you’re more than equipped to handle, Sister. After all, you ran away from your own betrothal, did you not?”

You swallowed the dark desire to ask the Tsaritsa to damn him.

“Something I’m certain neither family wishes for her to emulate. It would be a shame for them to blame the church if that came to fruition.” The quick, humble save fumbled from your lips as your eyes darted between the Father and the other Harbinger.

Golden eyes disappeared in amusement as the priest gave a soft chuckle.

“I suppose you are correct, dear Sister. I’ll speak to the Revered Mother about the matter.”

His tone was dismissive; you would receive nothing else from him and determined to escape higher political matters, you bowed and began to head out of the narthex. You caught whispers before Father Pantalone’s voice rang out again, stopping you in your tracks.

“Sister, you are on your way to breakfast, are you not?”

You turned and regarded both men again. Dottore’s obscured gaze was no longer on the ceiling but on you and you felt your skin crawl. Anyone in service to the Harbingers, to the Tsaritsa in any capacity, knew of Il Dottore, the Second Harbinger of Eleven, and his unusual stance on the world.

Completely unfaithful in the Seven, including the Archon he served, and yet he held a station only surpassed by Capitano. He was outranked by empathy, some said, for the Captain was often willing to lend his strength to all who asked, provided their goals aligned.

“I am, yes, Father.”

“Please take our guest to the kitchens and see he leaves through the back entrance when he’s finished. I would rather he not be seen coming and going from the front doors and not immediately combusting. I have a schedule to keep but even I am not unkind to blasphemers.”

In any other capacity, you would have found his remark humorous. Father Pantalone’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight, and although he smiled, nothing in his brow signaled he enjoyed nor believed the words that came out of his mouth.

And you had no choice but to agree, even if it meant interrupting the usually silent breakfast, for Father Pantalone had already walked away. Naturally. You asked something of him; it was only expected he would ask something of you in return.

To Dottore, you said: “If you would follow me, Lord Harbinger.”

You led the Second Harbinger through the side corridors and back outside, along the covered walkways around a courtyard. The sun had yet to rise, torches imbued with Pyro throwing shadows as you made your way to the kitchens. Dottore stopped for a moment, and when you no longer heard a second pair of footsteps, you paused and turned to find him regarding the snowy courtyard, the fountain frozen.

The firelight made his shadow look like a hulking bird.

“Is your student wrong, in your opinion, Sister?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure I understand your question, my lord.”

You did but you weren’t going to outright answer him. Not when he was keeping you from the warm hall and your morning coffee.

“To consider an arranged marriage sanctioned and approved by the Tsaritsa to be an attempt to control fate. That by your student not having a say in the matter, having no control over her life, her own fate is undermined?”

It was too early for this, you thought bitterly. And Pantalone said too much in front of the wrong person. Not the first time your own history slipped through during conversations it shouldn’t have.

“That would depend on whether one believes it is the Archons or Celestia who has control over fate,” you said at last. “Archons interpret the Heavenly Principles but there is a divide on whether the Archons act on their own or Celestia can override their will and therefore they are nothing more than figureheads. Either way, free will is…difficult to define. Some find comfort in it; others prefer the idea that another power is in charge of everything.”

“Diplomatic, Sister, but not what I asked,” Dottore chuckled. “I suppose I should expect as much from someone in Pantalone’s realm but you strike me as someone who has defined free will for herself.”

You suppressed a shiver as you watched a black bird, some kind of corvid that lived around here, flew from a nearby tree and settled into the snow. It buried its head before it wiggled, covering itself as it played with the newly-fallen powder.

“One should have a say in the long-term decisions of their lives,” you replied. “Marriage is one of those decisions. Many know how to wield a hammer and nail two pieces of wood together. Some can build houses. Others simply rely on that skill to repair what needs to be fixed and leave it at that. Faith should be a compass, a guidebook; nothing more than a tool by which to live.”

The corvid made a sound as it wriggled and hopped about, soon joined by its companions. Here, the birds were well-fed and clever for it, often seen as blessings of the Tsaritsa for their playful and comforting nature.

Elsewhere in the nation, they were absolute menaces.

Your answer seemed to satisfy him, for Dottore’s chest rose and fell once, warm breath snaking from his nostrils as if he were a long-lost dragon.

He fell in step with you again and when you reached the kitchen, he left your side and settled in front of the fire almost immediately. Attentive eyes fell on you as you spoke to the cook about making sure the Harbinger left through the service entrance.

In silence, you brought a cup of coffee and a plate of food to Il Dottore. The only acknowledgement you received was a silent turn of the head along with a slight nod.

At least he had the decency to respect the atmosphere.

Normally, the smell of coffee and warm bread was enough to shake you from the cold. You would have spoken softly about what others were reflecting on that morning, sought guidance on which verses might provide insight.

Not today.

The coffee tasted burnt. The bread felt stale. The meat was cold.

And too many people were watching. As if they knew.

You left your hot drink unfinished and tucked the errant bread into your pocket. As you wished your fellow Canonesses a good morning and departed, you felt ice bloom over your shoulders, unfamiliar and attentive.

As you passed the courtyard, you paused only long enough to break up the bread and feed the eager birds. They fluttered and squawked, picking up the pieces eagerly.

This morning’s reflections would be tedious but worthwhile. Reminders of why you came to the arms of the Tsaritsa to begin with.

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #priest pantalone #tw religious themes #eventual smut #dddne #dead dove #corruption

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devildom-moss · 6 months

Text

Roses for You (9)

This had all started when you noticed a link between a book on the language of flowers you had borrowed from Satan’s room and the current lessons from your Seductive Speechcraft and Magical Potions classes.

In Seductive Speechcraft, you had just reached a section on the effectiveness of spells using non-verbal communication: enchanting glances, dance, and offerings. Meanwhile, in Magical Potions, the professor had been discussing the significance of using specific quantities when concocting potions; they had spent fifteen minutes just providing examples – including adding petals from two different flowers when using them for a love spell.

You couldn’t resist discussing the use of flower language – utilizing the type, color, and quantity of the flowers – to specify the magical intent of an offering as a form of seductive speechcraft. Asmo and Solomon listened intently. The same idea popped into both of their minds, and before you knew it, everyone was looking into color and number meanings, searching for the perfect combination to convey their feelings for you and try to put you under their spell. The only rule for their little competition to charm you? Only roses are allowed.

Will you be charmed by their attempts?

Nine Roses - Barbatos

Word Count: +1,500 (sorry. I think my bias is showing.)

Eternal love

“Hey, Barbatos, why did you want to see me today?” You stood at the door to the Demon Lord’s castle.

Barbatos chuckled and stepped aside to allow you in. “What would you say if I told you I simply wanted to see you?”

“I’d say, ‘I’m glad you invited me because I missed you, too.’”

You missed the brief widening of his smile. He was delighted by your response, but the thought of someone walking into the foyer and seeing him practically fawning over you caused him to suppress that joy.

“Actually,” Barbatos started with a hint of something between hesitation and musing. “I was finishing up a task that I believe you might enjoy. Would you like to try your hand at making a flower arrangement?”

“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it, but it sounds fun.”

“Excellent. Come with me to the garden.” Barbatos turned, hiding the sudden appearance of a grin, and led the way. Perfect, he thought. It was no coincidence that you “caught him” in the middle of this particular task. He had worked hard to complete his necessary duties ahead of time so that he could spend the entire afternoon with you. This last task had been postponed until you were on your way with the hope that it would spark your interest – with the expectation that his plan would come to fruition. “I have a table set up in the garden where I was previously making arrangements. The flowers around the castle required refreshing. Although, as you can see, I’ve already completed a few.”

There was a vase slightly ahead of you on a table in the hall. You recognized the purple basil and black calla lilies, but there was something else in the arrangement – some alien- or Devildom-looking plant. It was a large dark reddish-brown, almost black, with petals that resembled wings – some pointed, demonic version of an orchid. Even stranger were the long, whisker-like tendrils that jutted out from the center. You’d never seen anything like it. “What type of flower is that?”

“I take it you mean the black bat flower?” Barbatos hummed and stopped in front of the vase.

“Is it native to the Devildom? It’s incredible. I half-expected it to growl at me as we walked by.”

“No, my dear,” Barbatos chuckled. “This plant is from the human world, but it tolerates Devildom conditions quite well; in fact, it flourishes here – much like yourself. I’ve heard about your recent interest in flower meanings, would you happen to have learned about any of these?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s the same for purple basil, but basil is usually a symbol of love, right?”

“It is now, although I’ve read that it once symbolized hatred. It was said to drive men insane. What an interesting turn of events. Both the calla lilies and the bat flower symbolize transformation, strength, and mystery. However, the black calla lily has a rather unique association.” Barbatos paused and turned to face you. His tail wrapped around the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to him. He held your gaze seductively and spoke, slow and heavy: “forbidden love.”

Barbatos had brought you here on purpose – both to see that particular arrangement and because the hall was quiet and not prone to foot traffic. He gave you a gentle smile that smothered the spark of heat you had felt in his eyes.

You found yourself searching for something to say – to cut the charged tension in a still-very-public part of the castle. “It’s a beautiful arrangement, Barbatos.”

Barbatos chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, dear, I lost myself momentarily. Shall we continue to the garden?”

He didn’t wait for a response before he turned and began to walk. You immediately felt his tail drop and encircle one of your calves, pulling you along with him.

The table Barbatos had set up in the garden was filled with a variety of flowers. You could see that he had nearly completed another arrangement before you had arrived. Barbatos added a few more hell roses and a sprig of black grass before he wrapped it carefully. “I’m going to place this in an empty vase. You’re welcome to use whatever you’d like to create your arrangement.”

“Will you display it in the castle when I’m done?”

“I’d like to, yes – if you don’t mind.”

You grinned to yourself as Barbatos walked away. The thought of Barbatos looking at an arrangement you made throughout the week as he went about his duties left you nervous but eager to please. Instinctively, you reached for a blue anemone. Sure, you probably should have considered what would suit the castle and the potential surrounding décor, but all you could think about was Barbatos. You added a few purple hyacinths, and cursed baby blue eyes, rotating the placement of each selection, but you felt that something was missing. The pale blue glow of hell jasmine called to you. Strange; the scent of hell jasmine was said to make a demon extremely needy. Why would Barbatos want to display these in the castle? That seems a bit dangerous. However, on closer inspection, the scent had been hampered significantly compared to other times you had run into this plant.

“Let me guess,” Barbatos spoke up as he returned to the garden. “You’re wondering if that hell jasmine has had an effect on me today?”

“Sort of.”

“Worry not. This variety has been modified. Its scent has no power over me. That honor is all yours today. It’s perfectly safe to use in your arrangement.”

“Oh!” You felt the heat rise in your face. You weren’t sure you believed him with all his sweet-talking. But that didn’t matter. If the hell jasmine was safe to use, it would make for the perfect final touch. You wanted to surprise Barbatos with your creative decisions. “Close your eyes, please.”

“As you wish.” Barbatos made no attempt to get closer and shut his eyes. You finished your arrangement and brought it to Barbatos, holding it out to him like an offering.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.” You watched as a look of pleasant surprise was sketched on Barbatos’s face. The smile on his lips filled you with an unfamiliar pride – so warm and encompassing as if you had performed a miracle. There was no restraint in that smile. “I made it with you in mind.”

“Oh my.” Barbatos brought the knuckle of his index finger to his mouth. “I beg your pardon, but would you indulge my selfishness and put your arrangement in my room? There’s an empty vase on the table near the door.”

“You want to display it in your room?”

“I would feel better knowing something so thoughtfully crafted by you was in my room. I’m afraid I would feel quite jealous allowing someone else to admire it. That is, I want the sole joy of seeing it and thinking of you each day. Is that okay?”

“Are you certain the hell jasmine has had no effect on you?” You looked at him suspiciously as if that would distract from the way he flustered you.

“I’m afraid not. This seems to be a consequence of thinking about you so much today. Now, will you do me a favor and deliver those to my room? I believe you’re adept at finding my room on your own by now,” Barbatos added a seductive tinge to the last sentence. He turned you towards the entrance and gave you a gentle nudge. The warmth of his hand lingered as you headed to his room.

When you returned, Barbatos was carefully wrapping a bouquet of blue roses and darkness thyme – likely both of which were cultivated by Barbatos. It was simple, but the blue roses were stunning, and their rarity was only complemented by an equally rare herb. Barbatos tied a silky blue bow around the bouquet and held it out to you with both hands – an oddly elegant gesture.

“Where would you like me to put these?” you asked.

“No, my dear, these are for you.”

Your eyes widened and you took a closer look at the bouquet. Nine blue roses. Nine was for a timeless, eternal love. Blue roses signified mystery and uniqueness, but they could also mean something unattainable or impossible. You frowned. “Eternal love is impossible?”

Sure, maybe Barbatos wouldn’t love you forever, but that message seemed a bit cruel.

“Not quite.” Barbatos laughed at you softly. Had his laugh not been so sweet, you might have been upset. “Blue may represent the impossible, but here it is – a dream come true. If I can be so bold, you are a dream come true – the only one I could adore like this for all of time.”

The frown fell from your face, and you were left with shock and shyness. Something must have gotten into him today. In truth, the thought of the others giving you roses only encouraged Barbatos to charm you as much as he could, and that meant he would need to bare his heart to you. Barbatos pulled you in close and kissed you with a sweetness that matched his words.

“For a demon such as myself, eternal love is a rather serious proposal; will you still accept it?” His thumb ran across your lower lip.

“That would be a dream come true.” It was your turn to kiss and fluster him now. Hopefully none of the little D.s would go into the garden that afternoon.

#this was not supposed to be this long. I just got too into it. I'll try to go back to shorter posts next time.#I took my idea and ran with it so here it is #barbatos #gn!mc #obey me series #obey me #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #barbatos x mc #please let this one get some much craved (by me) attention #also did I give Barbatos soft dom energy or what?

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mrwavellswaps · 9 months

Text

Power and Authority

(A gift for @authoroffantasies ❤️)

Just before this story begin I want to take a moment to say how proud I am of this story in particular. It started as a just fun story experimenting with a few AI images for a friend and somehow turned it into something even more fun and amazing along the way! It’s a long one but I hope you all stick around to give it a read because I think it’s one of my favourite stories yet! - Wavell

~~~~~~

Jason sighed as he lent back in his office chair. He couldn’t help looking at the work he’d done with a feeling of dissatisfaction and pointlessness. Like it wouldn’t matter if he completed the task he was given with exceptional speed and quality or if his work was average at best. It didn’t feel as though it made a difference anymore as no matter what he did, he never seemed to go anywhere. No matter how well he worked or how much he contributed, he never seemed to move up the ranks in the workplace.

Was it because he hadn’t done something so groundbreaking that it shook the foundation of the workplace? Was it because he didn’t work ridiculous overtime at the office? Was it because he simply looked like your average Joe and not one of those stupidly hot guys he’d seen getting promotions who looked as though they’d been ripped right out of a modelling magazine?

All his life Jason believed that if he just worked hard at his job then he’d slowly rise up the ranks and eventually would maybe even gain some notoriety and authority. As someone who’d always been forced to follow the commands of others, it’d always been a deep seated desire for Jason that one day he would gain that kind of power. The kind of power that would demand attention and respect from his subordinates who would do anything he asked without question. The kind of power that would have people looking up at him as a shining symbol of success. The kind of power that would no doubt make him filthy rich with his employees throwing themselves at his feet and begging for just a small slice of his success up at the top.

He shook his head. At this point a life like that seemed like nothing more than a fantasy. He’d worked his ass off for years now and all it’d gotten him was a slightly above average paying job. Now he was in his thirties with a bit of a belly starting to form and it didn’t look as though he’d be going anywhere fast. If he was lucky he’d maybe get another half decent promotion by the time he was forty…

Jason turned his head to look at a portrait across the office. It was a massive portrait which was impossible to miss and it was of none other than the big man himself. The CEO of the company who of course stood at the pinnacle of the pyramid that Jason had once longed to ascend. He was an older gentleman with a distinguished look that radiated confidence and authority. His silver hair was perfectly styled and matched with a thick well groomed beard that framed his face, both of which looked equally as immaculate in person. And then there were those eyes. Such a bright and dazzling blue colour that made it feel as though he could see right into your soul. To top it all off the portrait perfectly captured his stern expression, one which he wore almost exclusively. Below the portrait itself the frame read ‘Robert Jefferson’. That was him. The big boss of it all around here.

As he was rather low in the rankings Jason had hardly ever seen Mr Jefferson in person but he knew from the few times he had seen the man, big boss was certainly the best way to describe him in more ways than one. Not only was he the top man around here but he was also known for being a rather portly man as well. Being the CEO of the company meant Mr Jefferson was a very busy man, usually sat in his luxurious office doing paperwork meaning he didn’t get a whole lot of free time and it showed. He’d gone up many suit sizes over the years as the big boss himself got only even bigger, packing on the pounds with how much time he spent sitting in his office. Despite that his growing size didn’t do a thing to knock the man’s confidence, if anything it boosted it! Mr Jefferson had always been on the slightly shorter end of the scale height wise so getting a little wider and fatter in a way gave him that bit extra he needed to make up for it. And slowly but surely a huge belly would start to form which would soon become impossible to miss as it continued to stretch out his shirts and waistcoats no matter how many times he went up a size. He even stopped bothering to do up the buttons on his suit jacket after a while. A suit jacket that of course would almost always match whatever right pair of suit pants he was wearing, no doubt clinging tight to his thick legs and fat butt. Not to mention those always shining Italian leather dress shoes he wore with style. Lord only knows how many pairs like that he owned.

On the few occasions Jason had seen the man in person, he had mixed feelings. On one hand he was practically green with envy. Jefferson had literally everything Jason ever wanted. Power, status, authority, respect, money… the list goes on. That man was living his dream! It was infuriating! Yet at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry about it because he kinda had a thing for big ol Robert Jefferson at the same time. Jason had always thought larger, well dressed men of a mature age were extremely attractive and the fact that he embodied everything Jason desired to be only made him seem hotter. He was practically Jason’s walking wet dream at this point!

The average looking 30 year old found himself groping his bulge through his pants as he continued to stare at the portrait of his boss from across the room, wishing he could’ve had all that. Maybe in another world, another lifetime, that could’ve been him. All the way at the top of the food chain.

“He seems like a rather excellent man doesn’t he?” Said a sudden voice which almost gave Jason a heart attack.

“W-what!? I wasn’t-I was just-…” Jason scrambled for words as he feared he’d just been caught touching himself inappropriately while staring at a picture of the CEO of all people. Spinning around in his chair he found himself face to face with yet another admittedly very handsome man. One that seemed to be older than himself judging by the salt and pepper hair. Though looking at his attire he didn’t seem as though he worked here? His clothes were fancy for sure but also tasteful in a way that he didn’t think anyone who worked on this floor would bother with.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to report you.” The man reassured, emailing confidently. “I can certainly see how a man like that would ignite a little something in you… you’ve jerked off to him quite a few times as well haven't you.” It wasn’t even a question. It was as if this man were stating a fact. And by the embarrassed look that crossed Jason’s face, it didn’t seem as though he were wrong. “Hey there’s no need to feel shy. I get it. A handsome powerful man like that? I’m sure there’s many others working in this office that feel the exact same as you, whether they’d admit it or not.” He claimed. “I’m Christopher Wavell by the way. But you can just call me Wavell.” He outstretched a friendly hand towards Jason.

With a moment of hesitation and uncertainty, Jason cautiously took the mysterious man’s hand. “I’m… Jason.”

Wavell gave Jason’s hand a hearty shake. “It’s nice to meet you Jason.” He said kindly while pumping his persuasive aura into the air around them. “Now, if I may ask, could you tell me what it is exactly about Mr Jefferson that pulls you towards him?”

“I’m jealous.” It was that simple. “He has everything I’ve ever dreamed of having. Being the head of a huge company. Having so much authority over the people around him. Owning a huge house and a fancy car. Owning all those incredible suits which he buys with he practically endless supply of money. And he’s just… so fucking hot…” Jason’s crotch bulged a little once again as he listed off all those things. “I just wish I could’ve had a life like that… but I guess not everyone is that lucky.”

“You’re right. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a life like that.” Wavell agreed. “But what if I told you that I could make you one of those lucky few.”

Jason looked up at Wavell, eyes full of confusion. “W-what do you mean? How?”

The mysterious stranger didn’t answer. Instead he simply placed a hand on Jason’s head and before Jason could even ask what Wavell was doing, a surge of powerful energy rushed through his body. Imbuing Jason with an incredible power he was not at all familiar with.

“What the hell was that!? What did you do!!?” Jason screamed, almost falling off his chair.

“I granted you a tiny bit of my power. More precisely I’ve placed a spell on your body that’ll allow you to steal the life and body of anyone who’s shoes you wear. However it’s a one time only spell so I suggest you choose carefully.” Wavell explained though he already had a hunch on who he expected Jason to go for.

Of course to Jason this sounded like crazy talk. There was no way something like that was possible right. Yet for some reason, there was something about this Wavell guy that just made him feel so… trustworthy. “But… How the hell am I supposed to steal someone’s shoes? I can’t break into someone’s home and I don’t think I’ll get very far trying to pull them off someone’s feet.” He pondered.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got you covered.” Wavell reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a necklace with a gorgeous looking pendant that hung from its golden chain. The pendant was only small but shone a beautiful violet colour that immediately caught Jason’s eye. “This right here is infused with a fraction of my own power. Wearing it won’t allow you to do all the same things I do however it will grant you an ability that I naturally possess. As long as you have the pendant hanging around your neck, everyone around you will be forced to bend to your will. To do exactly as you say. To agree to everything you want them to. No ifs, ands or buts. They just won’t be able to help it. Kind of like you right now.” Wavell graciously offered the necklace forward. “Here. Take it.”

Jason hesitantly reached out and took the necklace, looking down at it with awe. Was it really legit? What Wavell had said wasn’t exactly wrong. For some reason he had found himself just agreeing and going along with whatever Wavell told him. Could this necklace really have that much power?

“Now seeing as we both already have a pretty good idea as to who you wanna be, how about we take a little trip to the top floor? What do you say?” Wavell smirked.

Jason gulped before pulling the necklace over his head and allowing the pendant to rest softly on his chest. Ordinarily this would sound like an insane idea but being with Wavell made him feel like this could actually work! He glanced over at the portrait of Mr Jefferson again before clenching the pendant tight. “Yeah. To the top floor.” He said with determination.

———

The building itself had a total of 51 floors. Jason usually worked on the 4th floor which already tells you all you need to know about his position in the company. To get to his target however, he’d need to ascend all the way up to floor 51. A task which would usually be impossible for a nobody like Jason but now he had a little something extra that would help him get there.

There were multiple elevators in the building but there was only one that went all the way up to the top floor. However that elevator had some heavy security that would normally be impossible to get past unless you had express permission from the big man himself. But with a little magic now on his side, that wasn’t going to stop Jason.

If you weren’t logged into the system as someone with a fingerprint ID, the only way to access the main elevator was with a temporary pass which would be impossible for Jason to get under normal circumstances. But today wasn’t a normal day. Jason made his way downstairs with Wavell following curiously behind him until they reached the front desk. Once there he simply told the receptionist that he had a very important appointment with Mr Jefferson and that she needed to fetch him a pass right away, not noticing the pendant glow slightly as he asked. And surprisingly enough she did exactly that with no questions asked. Going into the back for a moment before re-emerging moments later with an elevator pass in hand. Jason thanked her, trying to keep his excitement hidden as he realised everything Wavell told him was actually real! Before long both Jason and Wavell found themselves stood in the ornate elevator together, smiling deviously at each other as the doors closed.

“Wait… I just realised something.” Jason turned to Wavell after pressing the floor 51 button. “If you have the same powers as this necklace then why did you give it to me in the first place? Couldn’t you have just gotten us to the top floor?”

Wavell chuckled a little. “Of course. But once this is all done and finished I’m not gonna be by your side anymore. Not for long anyway. But with that necklace you won’t need me to be. You’ll be able to effortlessly assert your dominance over anyone you please all by yourself.” He said, giving Jason a pat on the shoulder.

“Hold on. You mean I get to keep this thing? Forever??” Jason reached down and grabbed the pendant hanging around his neck, thinking of all the potential he had with this thing

“Of course. A gift from me to you.”

Jason’s excitement shot even higher now as he watched the elevator numbers go up. He was just your average dude until now. Was meeting with this magical stranger like a way of the universe rewarding him for all of his hard work over the years? Either way he couldn't help being thankful beyond words as finally the elevator rang, reaching the 51st floor.

Immediately the two were met by a pair of bodyguards who were quick to ask why they wanted to see Mr Jefferson. Jason smirked as he looked the two men up and down. Both were extremely tall and practically bursting out of their suits with muscle. One was bald with an almost Viking-like beard that was thick and imposing while also well maintained. The other had short ginger hair with stubble that coated his sharp jawline. Needless to say, both guards were absolute hunks. For a moment Jason thought about the power Wavell had given to him. He could use the Pendant and force one of these men to give him their shoes instead. He could become a massive muscle stud with a very high paying job… but even then he wouldn’t be at the top.

“Move aside gentlemen. Your new boss is coming through.” Jason stated confidently, now knowing for sure that his little gift really does work.

“Y-yes sir?” Both guards say in unison, confused as to why they were obeying this random nobody, before stepping aside. Allowing Jason and Wavell to pass.

The pair walked directly through the lobby area of the 51st floor and straight up to huge embellished double doors at the far end. Doors Jason had never imagined he’d get the privilege to stand before. And yet here he was. Ready to take exactly what he was owed.

With a deep breath and a reassuring look from Wavell, Jason grabbed one of the fancy handles and opened the door. What he saw was an office that was nothing short of magnificent. It was massive for a start, seeing as it took up over two thirds of the floor. It had a completely different vibe to the rest of the building with expensive wood panelled walls which were lined with all sorts of paintings. One of which was of Mr Jefferson himself. Along with them there were also plenty of certificate plaques hung around to show off the bosses many achievements. Not to mention the shelves worth of trophies and antiques. To add some extra green into the room, there were also a few plants scattered around, looking very kept. The floor was made of a similar wood to walls that would make the most satisfying tapping sound if you were to walk across it in dress shoes. That is unless you were to step on the fur carpet to the left side of the room which housed a glass coffee table and curved two black leather couches around it. There was just so much to say about it that Jason couldn’t comprehend it all at once!

“Oi!” A deep rumbling voice came from across the office. “Who are you? I don’t have any appointments today. Who let you two in here!” Of course it was none other than Robert Jefferson himself, who sat behind his giant mahogany desk with a scowl on his face after the sudden intrusion. Jason couldn’t help but notice the massive full wall window behind Mr Jefferson as it let in tons of natural light while also giving a beautiful view of the bustling city below.

“We let ourselves in sir.” Jason replied in a somewhat snide tone. “Because this office along with this entire company is about to belong to me.” He added confidently, taking a few steps closer to the desk across the room.

For a moment Mr Jefferson sat frozen in mix of confusion and bewilderment at the statement this random employee of his had just made. That is until he burst out laughing! “Okay okay… I have no idea how you managed to get up here but that was a funny joke.” He was practically wheezing at the very sudden and bold claim. It was almost strange. Whether it be in person or online, Jason had never seen Mr Jefferson laugh beyond just a small chuckle. “But in all seriousness I have work to do. Now if you wouldn’t mind, kindly leave my office so I may continue to work in peace.” He asked as his expression gradually returned to usual stern look.

“Sorry sir but I’m not going anywhere.” Jason stated. “You on the other hand are going get your ass up off my chair and march your way over here for me.” Such a statement that under normal circumstances would almost certainly get him fired but Jason had faith in his new friend as the pendant subtly glowed once again…

Of course Jefferson’s first thought was to call security to get these two clowns out of his sight but instead of reaching for the security buzzer, he instead found himself pushing back his chair and getting up off his ass just as Jason had told him to. He had no idea why he was doing it but the next thing he knew, Jefferson was walking around his desk before making his way over towards the two men. “What?… why did I…” The cogs in his brain slowly turned as he stood at attention before Jason, puzzled as to why he’d actually done what this random nobody had told him to do.

“Good job sir. Already learning your place.” Jason was definitely letting his new ability go to his head a bit. As his eyes glazed over the once big and scary CEO now stood helplessly before him, he couldn’t help imagining all the hot and embarrassing things he could get the big boss to do. “Do a dance for me.” He ordered.

Ordinarily Mr Jefferson would’ve been outraged at such a request being made in his own office. And yet as soon as the order was issued, the CEO began dancing around his office in a hilarious display. Jumping and twirling around in his expensive suit while showing how surprisingly well his portly body can move as his thick belly jiggled against his waistcoat. It was a sight Jason could never have imagined he’d get to see from the manly boss he’d always admired but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every second.

As much as he loved seeing Mr Jefferson embarrass himself in such a hot fashion, Jason thought of something even better as a devilish smirk crossed his lips. “Now get back over here and twerk for me.” He demanded

In an instant Jefferson stopped his little dance performance before marching back over towards Jason and turning around. He bent down slightly and arched his back before pulling up his suit jacket a little and what Jason saw blew him away. He watched with wide eyes as his boss began shaking his huge ass. To see that the older man was capable of throwing it back like that forced Jason’s already semi-hard cock up to full mast in an instant. Wavell, who’d gotten himself settled on one of the black couches, couldn’t help sniggering a little as he watched the hot scene before him play out. “God… I can’t wait for that ass to be mine.” Jason mumbled before winding up and giving Jefferson’s ass a hearty smack!

“W-whoa… What the FUCK AM I DOING!?” Mr Jefferson roared as the smacking of his sizeable rear must’ve brought him back to reality. “I don't know what’s going on but you two need to get the fuck out of my office! NOW!” He demanded, his face having gone beet red at the realisation of what he’d just been doing for these men.

Jason only laughed at the rich older man’s demands, frustrating Jefferson even further. However before the CEO had a chance to say anything more, Jason made his own demand. “Yeah we’re not going anywhere so instead how about you just do as I say and take off those nice shiny brown shoes for me.” The words rang through Jefferson’s mind. Even if he didn’t want to obey this man, his body just couldn’t help itself. Before he knew it he was bending down past a large stomach and untying his laces before slipping out of his fancy dress shoes. Jason did the same, taking off his cheap work shoes and picking them up.

“Now. Give me those lovely looking shoes and I’ll give you mine.” Jason grinned. Jefferson, as expected, did as he was told and offered his shoes to Jason who was quick to snatch them up before shoving his old ones into the boss’ hands. He looked down at the pristine leather oxfords with an almost maniacal look on his face before glancing over at Wavell of whom gave him an affirmative nod. This was it. All of his wishes were about to become a reality.

“Now. I want you to put on my shoes while I slip into yours. After that, if what my friend says is true, then something truly magical is going to happen.” The thrill of what was to come was written all over Jason’s face as he spoke those words, watching as once again Jefferson followed his order and began pulling on the cheap shoes. Then, after a deep breath, Jason bent down and began putting on his boss’ shoes, sliding his feet inside them and immediately feeling the difference in the luxury material used for them. From soft, inviting soles to the snug Italian leather that would no doubt fit even more perfectly in a few moments. He made sure to tie the laces back up again before standing back up straight. He looked over at Mr Jefferson. Eyes scanning over every inch of his thick mature body under that suit while wearing a mismatched pair of cheap office shoes. “All mine…” he murmured to himself.

There was a short moment of silence before a gust of magical energy crackled to life around them. Waves of pure magic flowing through the air, creating a glowing purple vortex around their bodies that slowly began to lift both Jason and Mr Jefferson up off the ground until they were helplessly floating before one another.

“What’s… happening!?” Jefferson is just about able to say through the chaos with fear in his eyes.

Jason was quick to respond. “I’m taking everything I deserve! Everything you have. Everything you are. It’s all gonna be mine!!!” He shouted back in an almost crazed manner just as the spell began to do its work…

Both men let out startled grunts as their feet began to change, reshaping themselves to fit their new footwear until Jason’s feet now fit perfectly inside his boss’ expensive shoes. Like they always meant for him. Simultaneously Jason’s hands grew thicker and more weathered, implying decades worth of hard work. Looking over he could see that Jefferson’s hands had shrunk down to what his hands used to be. It really was happening.

After that Jason could feel the magic flowing over his arms and legs. Transformative energy flowing through his veins and quickly taking action. His legs shortened slightly, reducing Jason’s height down to about 5’10. Despite that however, his legs quickly began to chub out with fat, and a tiny bit of muscle, particularly around his thighs causing his jeans to become rather ill fitting. However, as his shorter legs plumped themselves up, his jeans started to undergo a transformation of their own. Starting at the bottom they began changing into a very familiar pair of grey suit pants more befitting if the fancy shoes Jason was now wearing. They were becoming Jefferson’s suit pants! And while all this was going on Jason’s arms received a similar treatment as they too became slightly shorter but made up for it by packing on some decent fat. All the while his cheap white shirt followed the same sample his jeans were setting as the sleeves began morphing into that of a much more luxurious dress shirt with the sleeves of a suit jacket beginning to materialise over it.

Looking up again Jason saw how the opposite had been happening to his boss. Jefferson’s arms and legs had gotten longer and leaner while his overpriced suit was gradually morphing into the average office attire Jason had been wearing. “Yesss moreee! Give me more!! Make me Robert Jefferson!!” He shouted greedily.

At last Jefferson started to realise what was happening as he watched both Jason’s and his own body change. “No! Stop!! You can’t do this! Please!… Urghhhh…” The CEO grunted as he felt a strange rumbling in his stomach only to look down and see that it was… shrinking?

Immediately Jason’s new hands flew to his own stomach as he felt the same rumbling sensation. Then out of nowhere he let out a satisfying groan as his small belly began to inflate. Years of nothing but sitting on his ass doing paper work and business meetings while gorging himself on fancy meals everyday were swiftly fattening him up, causing his belly to expand like a balloon as the fat piled itself on while Jason’s body grew older. That fat soon began spreading itself out, causing his chest to grow two big bearish tits. The only way Jason could explain it was like he was suddenly being stuffed full of all kinds of fattening foods that were instantly processed to make him bigger. As if every ounce of fat from Jefferson’s body was being transfered over to him! Even his face started feeling chubbier and he loved it! All the while his hips and waist being forced to widen along with his ever growing belly. And one would think with all that extreme weight gain Jason’s clothes would’ve been ripped apart but in reality his clothes had done a good job keeping up with their own transformations. His new shirt having increased many many sizes to accommodate his growth while the grey suit jacket had now fully formed around him. Not to mention a fitted blue waistcoat had also wrapped itself around Jason’s stomach underneath the jacket along with a baby blue tie appearing around his neck to finish off the look. All clothes of which had been worn by Jefferson mere moments ago.

Speaking of Jefferson, he was now looking rather lean compared to before. His jacket, waistcoat and tie having disappeared completely in favour of a simple white shirt and nothing more. Not only that but he was starting to look much younger than he did before.

Back over to Jason, he was rubbing his giant belly through the waistcoat that held it in place as its expansion finally came to end. Leaving him with a massive gut that would lead most to believe he was quite the foodie. Some would be self conscious about having such a big belly but Jason relished in it, loving how large it made him feel. But the spell was far from over as Jason let out another grunt, feeling even more fat packing itself on in a different area. His ass. Without warning Jason’s once flat ass started inflating just like the rest of him had. His butt shook a little as it grew into two massive heavy globes that would jiggle with every step just as much as his new belly would. And of course as it grew, his new suit pants completed their journey up his legs and over his butt, leaving just enough space for his massive rear end to stretch out and not a trace of the $9 jeans left on his body.

By this point Jason was looking a hell of a lot more like Mr Jefferson than well… Mr Jefferson! Who as of right now looked both bewildered and terrified by the transformation taking place. Good news is, for Jason anyway, the switch was nearing its end. There were only a few things left un-transferred at this point but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Jefferson’s face filled with even greater despair as Jason’s eyes lit up with even more excitement than before as both of them felt exactly where the magic was moving next. Their crotches. And it didn’t take long for the warm feeling of transferal to begin down there. Right away Jason knew all of his assumptions about Jefferson dick size were correct as he felt his average dick starting to thicken just like the rest of him had. Gaining some extra length that pushed him up to about 8 or 9 inches while also packing on some extreme girth that was already creating a noticeable bulge in his expensive new suit pants. And to top it all off, his bulge grew even bigger when his balls expanded into giant bull balls, hanging lower and brimming with cum! All while a brown belt wrapped itself tightly around Jason’s waist to secure his larger dress pants. No wonder Jefferson was always so confident with a cock and balls like these swinging between his legs!

Well he did anyway as since Jason’s genitals had grown, Jefferson’s had of course shrunk down to much more modest size. A size that felt tiny to him after having lived his whole life with a monster like that in his pants. A monster that Jason now owned. But he had no time to cry about that because final change was already on its way!

Due to the aging of his body, Jason’s face had already changed a little. Gaining a few wrinkles along with plenty of silver hair yet he still looked like himself with some extra chub. But that was about to change as his facial features began twisting and contorting. One would think it’d be painful be really it felt more like his head was cramping in a way. The bone structure of his face reorganised itself to shrink or enlarge certain features. His nose for example grew more prominent while his eyes became more deep set than before. Speaking of his eyes their colour brightened to that of a piercing blue. And to finish things off a couple more wise wrinkles made themselves known as his lips plumped up while any trace of brown left in his hair was replaced by a mix of grey, silver and a snowy white.

With that their bodies were complete. Jason had become a perfect replica of the large and powerful CEO while Jefferson looked like the average employee Jason once was. However the vortex continued to spin around their floating bodies and that was because there was one last transfer needing to be made. The mental one.

By this point both of their new faces had already gone completely slack as the mental transferal began. All the memories and knowledge on how to run a huge company such as this were ripped out of Jefferson’s mind and implanted into Jason’s. Along with it personality traits such as Jefferson’s unwavering charisma, confidence and determination to push his company as far as it’ll go were all traits that were pulled from him and transferred right into Jason’s head. Quite literally everything Jason needed to become the new Robert Jefferson was being given to him all at once. Expanding his mind to an even greater level of intelligence. Only once all of that was finally transferred did the purple vortex finally begin to disperse.

Moments later the two men find themselves with their feet back on the ground as they come back around.

“Bravo! Now that was a wonderful performance!” Wavell clapped from across the room as the pair finally gathered their bearings.

Immediately Jefferson began to scream and panic as he found himself in the smaller, but slightly taller, body of the man who’d barged into his office! “How!? I-I… my body! It’s… it’s… How!? What did you do!?!?” He stumbled for worlds as his hands traced along his body in an almost terrified manner before looking back up at the other man whose body he now owned. “Y-y-you look… just like me!?”

An evil smile creepy across Jason’s stolen lips. “I think you’ll find that I look nothing like you.” He stated, already loving the deeper, husky tone to his new voice. “You’re just a skinny office boy wearing a cheap suit. I on the other hand am a distinguished older gentleman with a strong heavy body who built this company from the ground up.” He fixed his jacket a little before bringing his hands underneath his massive gut and giving it a hefty shake. “I am Robert Jefferson and we are nothing alike I’m afraid.” He added with a shit eating grin before giving his belly a big satisfying smack through his waistcoat.

“N-NO! PLEASE!” Jefferson screamed as he scrambled over towards Jason before grabbing onto his jacket. Looking into his own eyes now they were no longer his own almost made him wanna puke. “You can’t do this! That’s my body! This company is my legacy! You’re stealing MY life!” He begged, almost on the verge of tears as he clutched Jason’s suit.

“What do you think you’re doing!? Get your hands off me!” Jason shouted sternly. With the necklace being the only item of clothing that didn’t transfer as it was now tucked underneath Jason’s shirt, its power came to life yet again.

“S-sorry sir…” Jefferson stammered, immediately letting go and taking a few steps back. It was just like before. He didn’t want to obey but he felt as though he had to somehow.

Jason fixed himself up again. “I bet you don’t have a single clue how much a suit like this costs.” He taunted. “A whole lot more than someone on your salary can afford I’ll tell you that much.” He continued as he glared across at the meek looking man who was once so powerful now cowering before him. “Now how about you get down on your hands and knees when you’re in my presence. I am your boss after all, right?”

“Yes sir… you’re my boss.” Jefferson replied in a deflated tone as he dropped to his hands and knees just like he was told.

“Yes sir who?”

Jefferson didn’t want to say it but he knew exactly what the man who’d stolen his body wanted to hear. “Yes sir… Mr Jefferson.” He corrected, calling the imposter by his own name.

The new CEO smirked triumphantly. “That’s better.” He commented before raising one leg and placing one of his brown oxfords firmly on Jefferson’s back in a glorious display of his dominance. “Now if you don’t want me to fire your ass then I suggest you start kissing my shoe.” He added, pushing Jefferson even further down under his foot and forcing his face closer to the shoe that was still on the ground

With a truly defeated look, Jefferson did as he was ordered. Without a moment's hesitation he pressed his lips to the expensive leather of Jason’s shoe. Planting kisses along one of the very same shoes that’d been his not long ago. All the while his former body looked down at him past that big gut from above, watching with a satisfied look on his face as he groped at his fat bulge. Making sure he was being properly worshipped like he deserved to be.

“And don’t forget the sock.” Jason added as he tugged up one of pants legs a bit to reveal one of his new sheer socks underneath. Jefferson didn’t argue. Simply obeying and kissing along Jason’s ankle and lower calves as he worshipped the sock just the same as he had Jason’s expensive Oxford.

“Good. Now the other one.” Jason took his foot off Jefferson’s back but it was only a moment's relief for the weaker man as soon he was being pressed down again by the shoe he’d just been kissing. Knowing he had no other choice, he reluctantly continued to kiss the second shoe. Deep down he felt as though he should hate this. That he should be protesting against it with all his might. That he should be trying to take his body back! But the more he kissed his new boss’ shoes and socks… the more he started to enjoy it.

A good few minutes of worship later, Jason finally decided to have mercy. “Alright you little boot licker. That’s enough. Get up.” He barked in the deep baritone he loved so much while stroking his beard a little. Being released from under the powerful shoe that’d been holding him down, Jefferson quickly scrambled to his feet once again. Fixing himself up as best he could to look somewhat presentable in front of his boss. His will to fight against was Jason’s new authority swiftly fading.

“Now I suggest you get your ass outta my office and back downstairs where you belong.” He berated harshly. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll bring you back up here again some time to worship me and kiss my shoes again. I can tell just by looking into your eyes how much you’d love that. But in the meantime you’d better keep your head down and do your work like a good little bitch. You got that?”

“Of c-course Mr Jefferson… sir.” The former Jefferson could hardly look him in the eyes as he responded.

“Good. Now get out of here.” Jason motioned towards the door and Jefferson quickly scurried towards it, looking incredibly flustered. Meanwhile Jason couldn’t help letting a genuine smile spread across his face as he realised he’d done it. With the original Jefferson leaving the office with his tail between his legs, Jason had truly secured himself as the one and only Robert Jefferson!

“Now that was a display almost as spectacular as you stealing that body! Well done!” Wavell praised as he hopped up from the couch before sauntering his way over towards the new owner of the building they were currently standing in. “Forcing him onto his knees like that and making him kiss your shoes and socks was perfect! Though dare I say you might be enjoying all this new power a little bit too much.” Wavell laughed as he glanced down at the massive tent that’d formed in Jason’s grey suit pants and was bulging obscenely.

“Oh. Apologies Mr Wavell. It’s just… with this body. How big it is and… these incredible clothes and everything else that comes with it… I just can’t contain myself! This is truly incredible!” He ran his hands along the thickness of his large body once again. Every touch sending sparks of pleasure through his entire being which only made him hornier. “Please. If there’s anything I can do to repay you I’ll gladly oblige.”

Wavell smirked. “Oh I think I know exactly what I want in return.” He reached around Jason’s large waist until his hands finally rested upon the new CEO’s massive bubble ass. Wavell’s hands groping the fat cheeks greedily. He then leaned in before whispering “I want to be inside that.” before giving it one big squeeze.

The old Jason would have blushed very hard at such a bold move but now he was able to keep his composure. “Well Mr Wavell… I was planning on being a more dominant man from now on…” He claimed, stifling a groan as Wavell went to town on kneading those massive globes Jason now called an ass. “But… I suppose I could make an exception for you. As long as you promise to do me one last little thing afterwards.” Jason gave in to the warlock, not being able to ignore how good it felt to have his giant ass groped.

“It’s a deal.” Wavell confirmed before reaching down to Jason’s thighs and picking the massive man up off the floor! It was an incredible feat that Jason wouldn’t have thought possible. Sure Wavell looked to be very fit under those clothes but to be strong enough to pick up a man as big as Jason was now? Only then did Jason remember he was dealing with a normal man as Wavell’s eyes glowed the same purple as his magic, using said magic to increase his physical strength no doubt.

With little to no effort at all, Wavell carried Jason over towards one of two couches before allowing the pair of them to fall onto it. All the while kissing deeply, allowing their tongues to explore each other's mouths as their beards rubbed together. While they made out Wavell flicked his wrist to increase the size of the couch a little to accommodate them both properly. It was gonna need to be big if it was gonna handle what was coming next.

They rolled around in each other’s arms for a moment, totally absorbed into feeling up each other's bodies. Naturally they thought of getting undressed but they decided to make things a little kinky and keep their clothes on instead, loving how it felt to run their hands across one another’s body through their expensive clothing. Holding themselves close as they kissed with a hot passion, hands roaming and crotches rubbing together. Jason might’ve had an impressive cock now but Wavell’s was just as jaw droppingly huge judging by his own bulge.

But of course they already knew who was gonna be on top as soon enough Wavell was able to roll Jason over onto his stomach. Finally getting a good view of that giant ass he’d been hungering for as it was barely contained by those suit pants. Wavell made sure to give a good smack and jiggle through the pants while trying not to salivate at the recoil of it. What a gorgeous fat ass this man was now blessed to have and shake at will. “Don’t worry. I can fix these with a little magic later.” Wavell said seemingly out of nowhere.

“Fix what up?” Jason questioned but he soon got his answer when a loud ripping sound filled the room. Wavell had grabbed the back of Jason’s pants and without a second thought had ripped open a hole so he could get to that ass.

“Mmmm there we go…” Wavell murmured before plunging his face into the rip and between Jason’s colossal ass cheeks. “And a nice bit of fur too…” Wavell commented before ploughing his face in deep, on a mission to find that delicious hole he wanted to fuck so badly and it certainly didn’t take him long to find. Before they knew it Wavell was digging his tongue deep inside Jason’s hole and in doing so he made quite the discovery. “I can’t believe it.” Wavell said after coming up for air. “This hole is a virgin. The original owner of this ass never used it once! How can someone be born with an ass this beautiful and never put it to good use!? Not even one time!?!”

Jason shrugged. “That’s straight men for ya.” He joked a little before shaking his butt a little for the warlock. “Luckily I’m as gay as they come. Though in fairness I plan on being top from now on but as I said… you’re a special exception.” His ass continued to wave back and forth hypnotically until Wavell couldn’t stop himself from diving back in for more. Gorging himself on a huge serving of ass that Jason was happily offering up.

Lord only knows how long Wavell had his face sandwiched between those ass cheeks before he finally had the strength to pull away. All they knew for sure was that Jason's virgin hole was as ready as it was ever gonna be to take some fat dick. And that’s exactly what Wavell was serving. The warlock undid his zipper and reached into his pants before finally pulling out his thick veiny cock, already bucking with excitement and drooling precum from the tip.

The warlock couldn’t help using his big dick to tease Jason a little. Smacking his massive length against those cheeks he’d been enjoying so much before sliding it between them a little. Brushing over that sensitive hole a couple times which, judging by the muffled sounds Jason was making, was definitely setting off some unfulfilled desires of his new body. “Now. I think I’m ready to receive my thank you gift.” Wavell said as he lined his cock up with the hungry hole he’d prepared. He didn’t even give Jason a chance to respond before plunging his cock inside.

Suddenly the office with filled with loud groans. Luckily Wavell had soundproofed the room so they would be disturbed because otherwise they’d have had security busting in wanting to know what the hell was going on. And they’d certainly be surprised when they saw their boss getting his fat ass pounded by the big dicked warlock himself. But luckily they would have no such intrusion, leaving both Wavell and Jason to moan as loudly as they wanted. Something Jason certainly did. Partially because he loved hearing his new voice rumbling in pleasure but also because his hole was struggling against all hell to adjusted to Wavell’s giant member. In reality it would’ve been better starting off Jason’s now inexperienced hole with something a little smaller but that just wasn’t how Wavell rolled. After all his dick gave off so much pleasure to the recipient of it due to the magic it was imbued with that anyone he was fucking usually didn’t care about the pain. As was the case right now. Despite as much his hole was stretched, Jason couldn’t stop himself from begging Wavell to fuck him deeper and harder. Luckily for him, the warlock was willing enough to oblige.

The thunderous clapping of cheeks was almost loud enough to rival the groans. Wavell wasn’t holding anything back as he jackhammered himself inside Jason as per the portly man’s request. Jamming his cock as deep as he possibly could inside that hole before pulling back and doing it all over again. Balls swinging back and forth with every thrust as they were winding up to shoot another fat load like always. And Jason was ready for it. He wanted it. To be bred for the first time in his new body. He was practicing shouting at Wavell to just let go. To drain his balls completely inside him. And those pleas were music to the warlock's ears that he just couldn’t ignore.

A few minutes of powerful thrusting and ass slapping later and Wavell was just about ready to blow. He could feel it in his balls. “Oh fuck… get ready I’m GONNA-” before he could even finish his sentence, he let out a deep roar which would’ve been familiar to anyone who’d been lucky enough to have Wavell inside them before. It was a roar he only made when he orgasmed but Jason didn’t need to hear it to know that. He could feel the flood of cum filling up his insides, coating the inside of his ass with the warlocks seed.

Wavell pulled out a minute or so later, some of his cum squirting out of Jason’s hole as he did with how much he’d overfilled it. “Damn that was amazing! One of the best fucks I’ve gotta from a ‘client’ in a long time.” He praised while tucking his dick back into his pants. “Oh. I also have one last thing to give you before I forget.”

Jason turned to look at Wavell properly with a puzzled look. “What else could you possibly wanna give me?”

“Just wait.” Wavell smiled before gently placing a hand on Jason’s forehead. He concentrated for a moment. Focusing on a certain enchantment before flowing some of his magic inside of Jason’s body.

“Woah! What the hell was that!?” Jason remarked, feeling a surge of energy.

“I stopped your body clock.” Wavell responded nonchalantly. “Temporarily of course. For the next 50 years your body won’t age a day. It’ll stay in the exact condition it’s in right now for the entirety of that term. I thought that since you lost quite a few years of your life in that swap, you’d maybe want a little extra time to live and enjoy your new form.” He explained much to Jason’s astonishment. “And don’t worry, nobody around you will question why you’re not aging. They’ll all just think it’s normal so just roll with it.”

Jason stayed silent in shock for a moment before finally responding. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Wavell stroked his chin for a moment. “Hmmmm… nope. Don’t think so.” He chirped humorously.

“God you are incredible… you wouldn’t happen to be single would you?” Jason tried his luck, still feeling Wavell’s cum dripping from his ass.

Wavell chuckled. “Sorry. Taken. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend huh? And he doesn’t mind sleeping around with other men like me?” Jason asked, curious to know the answer.

“Nope. He knows exactly who I am and what I do. Sleeping with other men comes with the job. Sort of. Besides… whenever one of us sleeps with another guy, we make up for it by having sex for hours on end, constantly recharging ourselves over and over until we’re both finally satisfied.”

“That sounds hot.”

“It is hot.”

The two laugh before cuddling in each other’s arms again for a while, allowing the post sex glow to wash over them. That is until Jason decides to bring up their deal from before…

“Now. You promised you’d do one last thing for me…” Jason said with a devilish smirk.

———

Hours later, Robert was now sitting at his new desk going through some of the paperwork that the former Mr Jefferson had made a start on but didn’t get a chance to finish before being… demoted. It was some pretty important stuff though most of it seemed simple to him now. Like filling out this kind of paperwork was nothing more than second nature to him now. It only made sense considering he had decades worth of experience beamed into his head. But just the fact that he was now the one writing up all these papers and making decisions for the company made him feel beyond amazing. He’d finally achieved his life’s purpose. To be at the top of the pecking order. And now he was Mr Robert Jefferson, the man who answered to nobody but himself and ruled over his company with a fair iron fist. The man who everyone wished they could be. Who everyone aspired to be like. The man who everyone respected both when he was present and when he was not. Because how couldn’t they respect a man of such high status and authority? He might’ve had quite a bit of weight on his hefty frame but he carried that weight with such dignity that it only served to make him sexier. The way his ass and belly wobbled with every step he took was a now staple of who he was and why people considered themselves lucky whenever they got a chance to see him in person.

After finishing one pile of paper, Robert decided to take a quick break and with one of his deluxe cigars. He stuck the huge things in his mouth before grabbing a lighter and lighting up the cigar. He took a nice long drag before exhaling delicious smelling smoke. He hadn’t been much of a smoker in his former life but now that he was Robert he thought why the hell not. He had to play the part right? This was only the second one he’d had since taking this thick new body but he could already see why the old Robert loved these things.

“You’re doing a good job down there Mr Wavell.” Robert said as he lent back in his chair slightly to get a better look under his desk. Underneath was none other than Wavell himself, the powerful warlock who’d not long since fucked Robert’s ass to oblivion, now with his pants around his ankles and his ass in the air. Wavell’s hole of course being stuffed full with Robert’s thick daddy cock which was poking out through his zipper. Oh how the tables had turned. “Just try not to rock on it too much. Remember, you’re just my sexy cock warmer. I don’t plan on spilling my load inside you until the end of the day. Until then, your only purpose is to keep my cock warm and hard. Got that?” Robert’s new commanding tone really came through as he took another drag of his cigar.

All Wavell was able to get out was a muffled “Mmhmm…”. Most of the time Wavell was more of a dominant character in most situations but right now he found himself really enjoying the feeling of being used in such a way by Robert. Being treated like nothing more than a hot piece of daddy ass for Robert to keep his dick stuffed inside all day long while he works. Being so submissive like this for once just felt so damn incredible! Maybe he’d have to try it a little more often because right now being a good cock warmer for Robert was giving him far more joy than he’d anticipated.

Of course Wavell planned on returning to his boyfriend at some point soon but for now he could just enjoy the feeling of being stuffed completely! Eagerly awaiting the end of the work day when Robert was finally ready to give Wavell the fat load that was no doubt churning in those giant balls. But until then he was happy doing as he was told for once and staying under Robert’s desk as he thought of how he was going to tell all this to Dane when he got home.

Potential Epilogue in the future?

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