#~M: with this hand I will lift your queue

[thevalicemultiverse]

Hey guys! I have an amazing game we can play! It's called...

Never. Have. I. EVER!

I even made a little board game of it instead of using our fingers. If you already know the rules, here's just a small reminder. If you haven't done the thing the person says, you move forward, if you have, you stay back. And please be specific, I don't want any confusion going on.

Cuddlepile

Victor: I -- I've actually never played this game, with a board or fingers.

Alice: Neither have I -- comes of missing out on your normal teen years, I presume.

Smiler: I have! Don't worry, it's really easy -- the usual way you play it is that you hold up both of your hands with fingers spread, and everyone takes a turn saying something they've never done. Everyone who has done the thing has to tuck in a finger, and the game keeps going until there's only one person left with any fingers out.

Alice: Oh, all right, that's easy enough. And it sounds like in the board game version, you get to move forward a space if you haven't done the thing, and whoever reaches the end is the winner?

Smiler: That's what I got out of it! [glances at Toonsisters for confirmation]

[witherby]

I think a really cool day idea for Conner and mouse would be like the circus scene from Teen Titans were Robin let Starfire try some cotton candy and it’s really cute 



I remember that scene!!! Robin's absolutely lovesick expression was so romantic to me, even back then.

I didn't replicate that one-for-one, but they're certainly at a carnival! I hope you like it!

The Littlest Wayne: Carnival

(features: established relationship, Conner Kent x gn!Reader, fluff, discussions of structures that aren't OSHA compliant, kissing)

Masterlist is Here!

"That doesn't look safe."

"None of these rides really are," you admit, queueing into the line to ride the Wave Swinger with your boyfriend. "Pop-up carnivals are designed in such a way that they can be thrown up and taken down within a day or two. You can't really afford to bolt anything down because it isn't going to be there in a week."

Conner looks at you with incredulity. He looks like he's trying not to pout, which is adorable. You barely refrain from kissing him.

"Then why are we lining up to get on one?"

"S'part of the vibe," you explain, lifting your hands for emphasis. One of them is interlaced with your boyfriend's, so his arm gets swung around, too. "You don't really go to these things to walk around and then leave again. You gotta ride a ride while wondering in the back of your mind if this is how it ends. You gotta spend way too much money playing a rigged game to win a prize that wasn't worth even a third of what you spent to earn it. You gotta eat a bunch of deep-fried foods that shouldn't be deep-fried and feel incredibly nauseated for the next two days about it. That's the real Carnival Experience™."

"This doesn't sound fun, M," Conner says. "I can take you on a flight and pretend to drop you a couple times. I can ask you for an absurd amount of money and not pay it back for like a week. I can cook you dinner and narrowly avoid giving you food poisoning. We don't have to be here."

"Trust me, it wouldn't be the same," you insist, moving up in the line. This swing ride is one of your favorites, next to The Whip, but you haven't seen one of those in a few years. "It's also the atmosphere. You're surrounded by fun, neon colors and happy strangers and screaming children — it's all part of the experience."

"Yeah..." Conner grimaces, gaze a little distant. "I could do without the screaming children."

"Oh, right," you frown, digging out a specialized pair of earbuds from your pocket and offering them to him. They help muffle out extra sensitive sounds for him, like breathing and footsteps and other people's heartbeats, so he can better control what noise he chooses to perceive. "Here."

Conner takes them, briefly letting go of your hand to put them in, then un-tenses his shoulders and offers you a thin smile.

"That's better," he admits, "but I still think getting on rides knowing they aren't bolted down properly is stupid."

"Welcome to the carnival," you grin. You both shuffle forward in the line, close enough now that you'll be able to get on next round. "You're gonna love this."

"I can fly, M. I don't think I'm gonna care."

Then it turns out he cares. He cares a lot. He actually cares so much. When you and Conner get strapped into your seats, he's white knuckling the chains keeping his chair suspended off the ground.

"You're joking. There's one little bike chain keeping me in this chair and there's a single hook on top holding me up. You're actually joking."

You start spinning and twisting around in your own chair, gleeful. "Isn't it great?"

"No??"

"Alrighty riders. Please refrain from bouncing, spinning, twisting, or yanking on the chains. When the ride is in motion do not grab onto other riders' chairs. Keep the strap secure across your waist while the ride is in motion, and do not attempt to remove it until it comes to a complete stop again. Enjoy."

Conner flinches when the chairs lift into the air. He watches the ground get pulled out from under him, shitty carnival music starting to come out of the speakers while the lights on the ride start flashing. If he weren't invulnerable, he'd be losing his mind right now. How are you able to enjoy such risky activities!? Are you insane!? Actually — you're the one civilian child to a family of crime fighting vigilantes. Of course you're insane.

He looks up to make another comment, but the words quickly die in his throat. Because you look stunning.

You look great all the time, of course. Conner loves to look at you, and you know that. But as the ride starts to spin and your chair starts swaying with the wind, you throw your head back and laugh. You spread your arms out to your sides and kick your feet, eyes closed and hair fanned out.

You're practically ethereal when you're having fun. Conner watches the colorful lights dance over your skin and feels himself falling even more in love with you than he already is. He never wants the ride to end, if it means he gets to see you like this forever.

Using the trick Clark taught him, he speeds himself up to slow the world down, giving himself more time to admire you. To you, it's just a couple minutes in the air, but to him it's hours of unbridled admiration. When you're finally lowered to the ground again, he's unlatched himself from his seat and come around to kiss you.

"Let's go find another ride," he mumbles against your lips. You smirk, victorious, and grab his hand. He's utterly helpless to do anything but trail after you.

"Knew you'd come around. It's the Carnival Experience, babe; it pulls everyone in! Never should've doubted me."

"Yeah..." He says, smiling like a lovesick idiot. It's definitely the rides and games and people making him feel this good, and not the echo of your happy heartbeat or the image of your carefree smile under the neon lights burned into his memory. "Shouldn't have doubted you."

[inkbybambi]

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

He's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. You weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"I don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"I wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

Actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

He trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

Six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as Price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

He rushes to your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side — not the trigger. The front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. He almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

Curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded at the nape of your neck as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

He knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. You jump a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "I didn't mean to wake you."

And you hadn't. You thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'S'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "You okay?"

The look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

He learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. More than once.

They never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where Simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. They didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"I had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "It didn't change anything."

Something shifts after that.

He starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. The bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects Simon's books. You give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your continue to watch queue.

He doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. You sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down as you start the series from the beginning.

Nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. You don't understand why. You were getting better, you cry in Simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"Sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently petting your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"Make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

He starts sleeping in your bed.

He's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. He presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

He starts taking the balaclava off at night.

A morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"G'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. A flash of heat snaps through you.

"Morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

He cradles the back of your head, fingers thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. He holds you so carefully, like glass, as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

The sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

He nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. You mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"Fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Say please," he rumbles.

"Simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

You're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

He usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. He eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

But with you? He feels feral with need.

"It's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, lips hovering over that sensitive spot on your neck that he sunk his teeth into earlier, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

You claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"It's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

He grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"Feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "Could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

You make a strangled noise low in your throat. It's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

The stretch feels so good, though. Your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"Fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

He swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"Think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. You would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"Yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

For a man of few words, Simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"Never had a cunt this perfect." "Fuckin' made for me." "Can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "No one else can have you." "You're mine."

And you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

You mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him, wanting to stake your claim. You'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"Simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his length and thighs.

"That's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. You feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"Wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, his need to sink his teeth into every inch of your skin overwhelming. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

You grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. He feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

The way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

No one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

Simon? Fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"Baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. The slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"Cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

He fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

You stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

Simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "Y'alright?" he asks. You swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

He slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. You push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

He spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

Time bleeds together.

His contract renews on the twelfth month.

He heard rumors that Price might switch him out for another guard.

You're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. Price has two separate folders prepared. A sharp look from Simon is all Price needed to know about how he feels. The tongue lashing you give your higher ups has Price raising his eyebrows, and Simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

He wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

Ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and I didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

You grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

His hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"Don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

Eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

He's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

There's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

He makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

He's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

You've never felt more secure, more protected.

Until —

He doesn't know how it slipped past him.

He let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. He admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. You look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

He hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. His eyes, though. His eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

You look one second too late.

Simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"Stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

You can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. Two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

Simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"You okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"Fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"You're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

You grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. You gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"Simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

He looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

Fuck.

At least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

Nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

While he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

The hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. He hated it then and he hates it now.

Price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping Simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while he recovers.

You've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. The nerve.

Twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. Some of them in your writing, the others in his. The keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"Why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. You're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. Never dreaming he could hear it like that.

A lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

He laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

Twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

You smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

It's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large German Shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

He feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. He touches his own subconsciously.

You set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at Simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

There's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

Riley.

[angelickks]

02.  OFF  TO  THE  RACES         harry  castillo

▶︎  •၊၊||၊“My  old  man  is  a  bad  man,  but  I  can’t  deny  the  way  he  holds  my  hand…”   He  pays  for  dinner,  your  shoes,  and  the  bruise  on  your  thigh.

PREV.  ᯓ  LES  QUEUE  ☰  SHE  WILL  BE  LOVED 

main—play  this  while  you  ruin  me   •  pedro  pascal  mlist!

warning(s)                    nsfw.  mdni!  18+.  sugar  daddy  x  sugar  baby!reader.  age  gap  implied  but  not  specified.  possessive  behavior.  rough  sex.  dom!harry.  mild  degradation.  praise  kink.  luxury  kink/wealth  n  status  dynamics.  p  in  v.  creampie.  semi-bondage  (belt).  brat  taming/bratty!reader.  marking  (biting/bruising).  purely  off  his  vibes  obvi.  oral  implied  (f  and  m  receiving).  (gif  not  mine)

pairing           sugar  daddy!harry  castillo  x  sugarbaby

HE SAYS HE'S TOO OLD FOR YOU. He says it often.

Usually done with your legs over his shoulders and your lipstick smeared across the expensive sheets he insists you don’t touch with makeup on.

But he’s the one who likes the mess.

"Let them look, baby," he murmurs into the shell of your ear, hand at the small of your back as he walks you into the restaurant, four-thousand dollar heels softly clicking against the marble with a measured elegance.

"They all want to be you. Or me."

He orders for you, always. Your order and tastes he memorizes, always paired with a wine or drink you can’t pronounce.

You pout, but it’s performative now.

He knows you like it. You like being taken care of. Owned a little. Paid for in silk and scent and the tight grip of his hand around the back of your neck when you talk back in public.

Later, in the backseat of an undeniably expensive car, he shifts your panties to the side and slides two fingers into you like he’s claiming what he already owns.

"Be sweet for me," he says, voice low and dangerous against your neck.

You whimper around his fingers. You try. But you can't help yourself, who would you be if you didn't give him a little bit of hell in pursuit of his pleasure?

"Make me."

He doesn’t let you come. Not yet. Not until he’s got you spread out on Egyptian cotton, wrists bound above your head with his leather belt that’s still warm from his waist, the cold buckle grazing your skin like a warning.

These are the moments Harry savors—lingers in, sips on leisurely like he has all the time in the world, the way he does his thousand-dollar scotch.

The way your expression fractures under the weight of pleasure.

The way your thighs twitch, helpless.

The way your back arches, mouth parted in those honeyed, breathy sighs he’s come to crave more than anything money can buy.

And he watches obsessively as your arousal trails down his gold signet ring, catching the light like it’s proof you belong to him.

That’s the part he loves most.

The breaking point beneath your bratty little act—the one you use to bait him, tease him, test his limits.

And he always falls for it. Because he knows the game.

That attitude keeps your wrists wrapped in Hermès belts and your lips kissed raw. It’s why he laps at your palms obediently like they’re communion, only to sink his teeth into your shoulder an hour later and whisper mine, mine, mine like a curse.

He’ll spoil you. He’ll ruin you. He’ll keep you caged in satin and sin and call it devotion.

"That’s my spoiled fuckin’ girl," Harry growls against your throat, grinding into you slow, deep—deliciously cruel in the way only a man with too much time and too much money can be. 

His thrusts are silk-smooth, luxurious, deliberate, taunting. Like he's savoring each drag of your body like a fine wine, determined to fuck the brat right out of you inch by inch.

You’re already whimpering, hands straining against the belt he tied you with, voice thick with breathless defiance.

“Fucking finally,” you gasp, lifting your hips in challenge. “Took you long enough, old man.”

Harry just chuckles darkly, that low, dangerous sound that makes your stomach flip. He presses his hand to your throat—not choking, just there—his gold ring slathered in arousal glinting in the dim, ambient light of the penthouse bedroom.

“You think you’re spoiled now?” he murmurs, pushing in deeper until your breath stutters. “Hm?”

You bite your lip. “I know I am.”

He thrusts hard, rougher now, and you gasp like it’s a confession. His free hand curls under your thigh, lifting it higher so he can hit even deeper, dragging another wanton moan from your throat.

“You should see the things I won’t give you,” he rasps, lips brushing your jaw. “You wouldn’t survive it.”

“Try me,” you manage, voice shaking. But your smirk is defiant, even with tears brimming in your eyes.

Harry grabs your jaw, forces you to look at him.

“No. Beg me first.”

Your breath hitches. You hate that it turns you on. You hate how fast you obey.

“Please, Harry—please—fuck, I need it, I need you to—”

He cuts off your whine with a sharp thrust and a bruising kiss, his hips grinding into you until your body bows under him. And when you finally come, it’s messy and blinding. His name broken on your tongue, his bite sunk deep into your collarbone.

He follows with a guttural moan, spilling into you as your body shudders under him, his cum dripping out of you in warm, lazy rivulets like a freshly popped bottle of champagne.

You blink up at him, dazed, ruined, a little proud.

“Still think I’m spoiled?” you murmur, voice hoarse but smug.

Harry leans down, kisses your cheek, then your throat.“No, baby,” he says softly, breath hot against your skin.

“You’re fucking owned.”

bonus scene.ᐟ

You twirl in front of the mirror, the hem of the slip dress swishing against your thighs, all silk and sin. It's the third one you've tried on, each more risqué than the last. The sales associate watches nervously from the corner, she knows who he is. Everyone in this building does. But that doesn’t stop you from tossing your hair and asking,

“You don’t think it’s too... innocent?”

Harry sits across from you, legs spread, sleeves rolled, Cartier cuff catching the light as he sips his scotch like it’s water. His jaw ticks, hard. You’re pushing it—again.

“You want something sluttier?” he asks, tone clipped but low, dangerous. “In front of everyone?”

You smirk, stepping between his knees with a sway of hips and diamonds. “I just want what I deserve.”

He grabs your wrist, not hard, but tight enough to remind. “You deserve to be put on your knees, right here. Want the staff to see how you really say thank you?”

And then he’s up, crowding into your space, lifting the dress to find you soaked and bare beneath it. His ringed fingers slide between your thighs as he whispers, “My spoiled fuckin’ girl.”

"I just enjoy reminding you who signs the Amex, darling" You purr.

You gasp, high and breathless. You know you’re too much. That’s the whole point. He buys you Saint Laurent and fucks you like a problem he’ll never solve.

And you? You take it all.

[thevalicemultiverse]

((It returns, fully updated!))

AU Thursday: Mega Gender/Sexuality Headcanon Post

Because it’s Pride Month, and because I just did a post on all the various ships I have featuring Victor, Alice, and their friends/potential partners. Time to bring everyone up to date on my various headcanons regarding their genders and sexualities! To make things a little easier on myself, I’m using the names that they would have in the Running Headlong Into The Bullshit mega-poly ship (that is, the Modern AU one where the first nine people here are all in one big relationship tangle together), but you can assume that these headcanons also apply to other versions of them from other verses (e.g., the headcanon for Christopher White also applies to Sir Christopher Lloyd in “Secundus”).

Here we go:

Victor Van Dort: Cis male, Biromantic Bisexual (leans toward women partners)

Victor used to be my token straight person, but then I started realizing that I could picture him easily being in a relationship with the right sort of man (or nonbinary person, see below), and things evolved from there. He does still tend to lean toward women partners, and that preference is why he identifies more as “bi” than “pan,” but he is attracted to multiple genders!

Alice Liddell: Cis female, Demipanromantic Greyasexual

Otherwise known as “the complicated one.” XD This is largely because I’d already established her as willing to have sex with Victor to the point of having biological children by the time I found the “Ace Alice” headcanons and decided I rather liked them (also, noticed a lot of what they said about asexuality fit me…) Having played around with her character a bit more over the course of my stories, both public and not, I have come to the conclusions that a) she doesn’t really have any gender preferences, but she does need a strong emotional bond with someone to start seeing them as a romantic interest; b) she is generally uninterested in sex (if neutral toward its existence, despite her traumas) but has a few specific circumstances that can get her motor, if not running full speed, at least puttering. (These circumstances are invariably very specifically kinky because I know what I like when it comes to those sort of stories. There is a reason that I would call any specifically NSFW writing handle “Alice Dommes Victor” or similar!)

Victoria Everglot: Cis female, Biromantic Bisexual

By contrast, Victoria’s easy – she’s basically a “perfect” bisexual, with a roughly equal attraction toward her own and other genders. There might be a tiny lean toward men as partners, but I suspect that shows up more in Victorian-era Victorias than modern ones.

Emily Cartwell-Merrimack: Cis female, Biromantic Lesbian

I don’t recall exactly when I decided it would be interesting for Emily to be romantically but not sexually attracted to men, but it must have been around the time I discovered that romantic attraction and sexual attraction didn’t NECESSARILY have to match. But yeah, as it turns out, I picture Emily as someone who is happy to be romantic with multiple genders, but is exclusively attracted to her own when it comes to sex. Victorian-era Emilys either don’t realize they don’t have a “proper” attraction to men or figure everything will work out once they get married to their One True Male Love; more modern ones come to grips with their sexuality earlier and happily embrace their “three-quarters lesbian” nature. :p

Christopher White: Cis male, Biromantic Bisexual

Another fairly simple one – the Christophers were initially conceived of as straight, like Victor, but I embraced the bi when I updated the character for the Cuddlepile poly pairing. Like Victoria, they have roughly equal attraction to a variety of genders, with maybe a slight lean toward women.

Richard Hatter: Agender (amab) with “xe/xim” pronouns; Panromantic Asexual (no gender preference, no interest in sex)

Another one where things got interesting – learning about different sexualities also involved learning about different gender identities, and I was already familiar with neo-pronouns through earlier RP on LiveJournal, so I figured I could make one of the original Cuddlepile have a different gender identity than “cis.” Richard felt like a good choice, as I can’t see even Hatter in the games having an especially strong connection to the concept of being male. So yeah, Richard is like “Gender? Nah” – though obviously only the modern versions use the “xe/xim” pronouns – the Victorian-era “Richard Dodgson” from “Secundus” just goes with “he/him” because that’s what he’s used to by this point (and because I wrote that version, again, before learning about all this). I think I had xim as just bi all the way before, but panromantic feels more right to me the more I think about it – and I’ve also NEVER been able to imagine xim having sex (I’m not sure some of the more robotic ones even have the capability anymore), so yeah – asexual it is!

Preston Garvey: Cis male, Biromantic Bisexual

Back to fairly simple for good old Preston – he’s a romanceable companion in FO4, and you can flirt with him no matter your character’s gender, so – basically he’s CANONICALLY bi! Doesn’t get easier than that!

Piper Wright: Cis female, Biromantic Bisexual (leans toward women partners)

Piper is slightly more complicated – like Preston, she’s a romanceable companion in FO4 regardless of player gender, so canonically bi. But she ALSO has a reasonably well-known moment where she accidentally flirts with Magnolia and gets flustered if you take her to The Third Rail and then talk to Magnolia after her set. I’ve decided this is good enough for me to push her toward generally favoring women partners, though she likes guys too if they hit the right buttons (which my Sole Survivor Victor does – as does Preston!).

Smiler Alton: Nonbinary (amab) with “they/them” pronouns; Panromantic Pansexual

This one proved to be easy after I devoured as much information on The Smiler roller coaster as I could on tumblr – the moment I discovered the coaster and its theming shares the colors of the nonbinary flag, I knew my Smiler had to be nonbinary too. And given The Smiler’s thing is spreading joy and happiness to all, pan felt like the right label for their romantic and sexual attractions – why would someone like that have a gender preference? (Which is very much reflected in my Sim Smiler Always and their Wonderful Whims attractions. XD) Smiler loves who they love, and they’re very happy that way.

Lizzie Liddell: Cis female, Demibiromantic demibisexual (sex-repulsed after trauma)

Lizzie, by contrast, proved to be difficult simply because – well. The big character beat of her life in the Alice games is what Bumby did to her. Looking at how I wrote her in “In The Land Of The Dead” and “The Technicolor Phase” and thinking about the kind of person I picture her as, I have decided that, like her sister, she’s capable of being attracted to multiple genders, but she needs to form a strong bond with the person first. However, her experience with Bumby left her heavily sex-repulsed, so she’s unlikely to actually want to have sex with anyone. (Not that she can in the stories I’ve written for her so far, but yeah.)

Jeremy Samuel “Bonejangles” Thatcher: Cis male, Hetero-romantic Heterosexual

…I have decided we do need a token straight and BJ strikes me as such. XD He likes the ladies and that’s that. (Well, so far he likes Lizzie and that’s that, but I implied an at least sexual history with other women in “In The Land Of The Dead.”)

[teadari]

🥃 Nakahara Chuuya 🥃

A — Amber Cognac

He pulls you close and suddenly you’re wrapped in heat and high-end alcohol. His breath smells of fire and dusk. He presses his glass into your palm like he’s offering part of himself.

B — Bulwark

He steps in front of you during a fight without hesitation. His body becomes a wall—scarred, furious, immovable.

C — Cheek-to-Temple

When words fail him, he leans in and speaks straight into your skin. The sound lands in your bones.

D — Detonation Kiss

He kisses like his gravity: fast, controlled chaos. There’s always a sting in the aftermath, a bite where lips once were.

E — Exasperated Care

“Idiot,” he mutters, cleaning your cuts with soldier’s precision. His hands betray him—they’re far too gentle for the words.

F — Fatal Glance

The wrong kind of attention and his stare turns sharp enough to wound. You’ve seen entire rooms shut up from a single look.

G — Gritty Compliment

“You’re hellfire,” he says low. It’s the only approval you’ll ever need.

H — Heat of Palm

One hand at the nape of your neck, warm and grounding, pulling you toward the eye of his storm.

I — Iron-Tipped Boots

You hear him coming—heels like gunshots. But they only march for you.

J — Juggling Gravity

Sometimes, playfully, he’ll lift you—let gravity go slack. You gasp. He smirks. “Told you I could make your heart float.”

K — Knightly Shelter

If it rains, he tosses his fedora on your head and lets the water soak him through. “I’ll dry. You won’t.”

L — Lock of Leash

A curl of yours slips loose. It drives him mad. He twirls it around his finger like a leash he won’t admit he needs.

M — Mute I-Love-You

He holds you tightly to his chest, saying nothing. But his silence is louder than any vow.

N — Nonchalant Oaths

“Damn it,” he snaps when you’re reckless. Each curse is soaked in worry. His fury tastes like fear.

O — Outlaw Waltz

He’ll spin you on the edge of a rooftop, boots skipping just shy of falling. “Don’t be afraid,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

P — Pulse-Check

His thumb brushes your wrist too often to be casual. He always checks—just in case.

Q — Queue-Stealing Smirk

In a crowd, he plants a hand on your hip, gaze daring anyone to look too long. “Taken,” that grip says.

R — Ripped Laughter

It’s rare. But when you drag a real laugh out of him, it feels like watching stone crack open to reveal light.

S — Scarf of Warmth

Winter makes him feral about your health. He winds his own scarf around you, growling, “You humans break too easily.”

T — Tired Evenings

He collapses into an armchair like he’s fought a war. You curl onto his lap. The silence is heavy, sacred. Jazz hums in the background.

U — Unvarnished Truth

He calls you out without mercy—but steps in front of every bullet meant for you. Brutal honesty, tender loyalty.

V — Voice of Gravel

Before battle, his voice goes low and rough. “Come back in one piece,” he mutters—for your ears only.

W — Wounded Gloves

Your kisses leave faint prints on his gloved hands. He never wipes them off.

X — Exact Lines

No one crosses the invisible space around you. Except him. Always him.

Y — Yielding Storm Kiss

In the middle of a downpour, he grabs your collar and kisses you until everything blurs—except him.

Z — Soft-Edged Mockery

He teases you more gently than he does anyone else. He waits—not for you to protest, but for you to smile.

‡ — Temper of Steel

He doesn’t mind your temper—it flares beautifully against his. Every fight ends in heat, not distance.

§ — Sleep-Heavy Grumble

He finds you asleep again. Sighs. Lifts you like you weigh nothing. “Always pushing yourself…” he mutters, laying you in bed.

¶ — Quiet Mercy

After a fight, he’s the first to bend. “Enough of that,” he mumbles, reaching for your hand before pride gets in the way.

∞ — Extreme Guard

The second someone touches you wrong, he snaps. No hesitation, no restraint. Power floods the air like blood.

Σ — Southern Noon

Sometimes he just sits beside you, hatless in the noon sun. It’s a private surrender. No armor, no pose.

Ω — Gravity’s Vow

“You can go where you want,” he says quietly. “Just don’t forget where the center is.”

You know what he means. It’s him. He’s the center. He always was.

> Chuuya’s love is a full-bodied fire—too much for some, but warm enough to live in. If he gives you his trust, protect it. If he gives you his scarf, don’t lose it. If he gives you his loyalty—he’s already yours.

[thevalicemultiverse]

((*giggle* Oh, I like this one -- and I think Alice would indeed have that problem around her daughter XD Maddie's always gonna be her little girl to her!))

@thevalicemultiverse another one, and another one, and another one !! this time about maddie and alice uwu

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Useless - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Seventeen of Pedrotober: Arm Sling Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (No Outbreak)

Rating: I cannot emphasize this enough: E. I don't even know what happened here. I'm apparently feral for this man. Oral (m receiving & implied f receiving), unprotected p in v.

Word Count: 1456

a/n: To the wives - come get your old man.

"Let me get that for you, Dad. Don't strain yourself," Sarah goads as she reaches up to grab a mug from the cabinet. You watch from your place at the kitchen table as she proceeds to pour out Joel's morning coffee into the cup. She cautiously hands it to him with a smirk and a reminder that it's hot.

Joel, on the other hand, simply stares at his daughter with a sour expression. "I'm fine. I can get my own damn coffee," he grumbles, sinking into the chair next to you, mug in hand. He'd dislocated his shoulder a few days ago when he not so gracefully fell down the stairs., and now neither you nor Sarah would let him forget it.

You lean into his space, resting your head lightly on his good side. "Come on, you know it's just because we love you, right?"

"Speak for yourself," Sarah interjects, "I do it because he's old."

He grunts, sipping his coffee and ignoring the kiss you press to his cheek. Sarah giggles as she leans back against the counter, triumphant in her teasing.

"Isn't someone gonna be late for school?" Joel questions, causing Sarah's eyes to widen before she rushes up the stairs. As if on queue, the sound of an engine rumbles in the driveway, signaling Tommy's arrival. He's had less time to eat you out of house and home now that he has to make up for Joel being out of commission, a fact that amuses your boyfriend greatly, so it's only seconds before an impatient horn honks.

"Bye Dad," Sarah rushes by with a quick pat on Joel's hand before she addresses you, "make sure he doesn't work too hard, yeah?"

You stifle a laugh, Joel rolling his eyes as his daughter grabs her bag and heads for the garage. He sighs heavily once you're alone, and you can tell he's bothered by something more than the teasing. "Hey," you reach out, wrapping your small hand around his much larger one, "what's going on? Is it your shoulder?"

"Damn right it's my shoulder," he groans again, but he still grips your hand tightly. "I'm just tired of everyone acting like I'm useless."

"Joel, it's been three days," you point out, inching closer so your knees are pressed against the side of his leg. "We don't think you're useless. We just want to help."

"Then help by letting me get my own goddamn coffee." He's angry. You know he is. But not at you or Sarah. He's angry with himself. "Can't even take care of you."

Oh, so that's what this is about.

You stand, swinging a leg over him as you situate yourself in his lap, still careful of his shoulder. "Joel," you repeat, voice firm, "listen to me."

He stares at you, gaze intense.

"You are not useless, you hear me?" You take his head in your hands, thumbs running over the stubble on his jaw. "Plus, there's plenty you can still do even though you do need to take it easy." He seems to catch your drift as you lean in to whisper in his ear. "You hear me? Take. It. Easy."

Joel's dark eyes follow your path as you lift yourself from his lap and move down his body. He shifts the chair back from the table, legs scraping against the kitchen tile, just enough for you to drop to your knees in front of him.

"You don't have to do anything, you hear me?" you remind him. Your hand runs over the soft fabric of his sweatpants, lingering over his thighs as you work your way closer to where he's already hard and straining. You can tell he's desperate by the way his breathing has picked up. "Let me take care of you."

Joel seems to be in a trance as you tug at the band around his waist. He shifts his hips to help, his cock springing free. "Should be takin' care of you," he protests through clenched teeth when you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly. "Should be making you feel good."

"Shut the fuck up, Joel."

He's about to say something else when you take him in your mouth, forcing him to let out a rough groan instead. Your hands grasp what your mouth can't take as you work him deeper.

"Fuck," he mutters, his good hand finding purchase in your hair. "Fuck."

When you hollow your cheeks, the sound he makes resembles a whine, high-pitched and needy, and he hisses through his teeth when his length hits the back of your throat. You keep him there until your eyes water and the need for air overwhelms your need to make him feel good.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his length when you pull back. It's obvious he's trying to regulate his breathing when you run your thumb along the slick tip, mixing his arousal with the remnants you've left behind. "You, Joel Miller," you whisper before licking a long stripe that starts at the base of his cock and runs the length, "need to learn," you take him in your mouth for a lingering second before releasing him again, "how to let others take care of you."

Joel shutters above you, your eyes locked with his when you lean back in. Your knees ache against the tile and it's obscene, really, how wet you are, but you ignore it all as you focus on guiding him over the edge.

"Shit, Sweetheart, wait," he breathes out, fisting his fingers in your hair to pull you off him. You consider, for a moment, resisting so you can feel him spill down your throat, but you also know Joel.

His lips meet yours the moment you've crawled back into his lap, his cock trapped between you. "You are a menace," he informs you, hand guiding you back to his lips while his fingers inch lower. "Are you're missing the entire point."

You grind your hips against him, "no, you're missing the point."

"How about this?" he asks then. "I'll let you do one thing for me."

Raised eyebrows mark your surprise. "And what exactly can I assist you with?"

"Take. These. Off."

Joel's fingers are tugging at the waistband of your shorts, and you're more than pleased to help him. You stand, quickly shucking the fabric down your legs before climbing back onto him, sure to position yourself above his cock before you slide down in one quick motion. You both moan when you're seated fully, Joel filling you completely as you adjust to the stretch.

"Better?" you ask, one arm wrapping over his good shoulder as you carefully trace the bad one. "Or do you need more help, old man?"

He snaps, your plea for him to be more cautious with his injury drowned out by the moans he draws from you. He has you on the kitchen table seconds later, his good hand holding tight to your hip as he pounds into you without regard for the pain you know he must be feeling.

"Told you I should be the one making you feel good," he tells you as the wood beneath your back rocks with the force of his movement. "Gonna show you just how capable I still am."

His fingers move to your center, circling frantically, and you grip at the edges of the table. "Uh uh," he tells you when he realizes your eyes have fallen shut, "eyes open." It's all you need, and as his tip reaches the edge of your cervix, you're clenching tight around him.

"That's it. That's my girl," he whispers, something wild in the tone of his voice before he follows you over the edge, stilling against you with a final grunt.

You glance down to where you're connected, your combined release already beginning to dribble down onto the table. Joel looks positively wrecked when he pulls his cock from you, and you're sure that you do too, still sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen. He shifts his arm sling slightly, wincing as he does so.

"You okay?" you ask, the worry returning to your gut as you sit up and reach for him. "I'm sorry, we shouldn't have..."

He silences you with a kiss. "Feeling fine, Sweetheart," Joel reassures you. "In fact," he continues, lips trailing a path that leads lower, "I think you might need another demonstration."

"Joel, you don't have to prove anything..." you insist, even when he's between your thighs and you want nothing more than what you know he's about to do.

"That's where you're wrong, Sweetheart," he tells you, breath hot against your center. "I need to prove something."

And prove something he does.

[thevalicemultiverse]

Boy with a distant expression (looks to be about 14-15): *crashes headlong into Alice and freaks out* Sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't hit me!

Forgotten Vows

Alice: [starts backward at the crash -- then blinks as the boy freaks out before she can say a word] What -- oh, don't -- it's fine, really! I'm not going to hit you, see? [holds up hands, palm out] It's fine. Please calm down.

[zoros-fourth-sword]

LAW x FEM READER

Request Post:

@wonder-landscape- Well, I had an idea not long ago about pussy drunk Law or Sabo. They start eating you out, thrusting only to feel how wet you get, forcing your legs open once your are trembling in overstimulation.

{MDNI 18+ only}

This oneshot is a 18+ oneshot so read at your own risk

This oneshot contains the following: fingering, sweet name calling, overstimulation, dom energy, cussing, and more

SUB FEM READER x DOM LAW

MY WRITING SUCKS SO BEWARE

“Y/N-swan we have arrived at our destination” Sanji yells barging into the library with hearts in his eyes interrupting my studying

“Ah okay thank you Sanji I’ll be out in a sec let me clean up first” I say to the blonde cook before he went back outside to the deck

I quickly began gathering and cleaning up my belongings making sure it was spotless so I don’t piss off a certain cyborg and I also respect Sunny she don’t deserve that kind of treatment after all

I soon make my way outside to the deck only to see Sanji and nami

“Y/N” luffy screamed jumping into my arms and burying his head into my chest

“I missed you” Luffy said hugging me tighter

“I live with you luffy but I missed you too” i chuckled to the boy before hugging him back

“That don’t mean crap but anyway I decided that we should stay on the island for the rest of the week” luffy said releasing me from the hug

“That sounds like a good idea I need to stock up the fridge because someone keeps eating everything” Sanji said giving the biggest glare that he could muster on his face to luffy

“Yea my bad” luffy mumbled looking at the floor

“Screw the food I get to go shopping” nami said with hearts in her eyes

“By the way luffy where’s the rest of the crew” I ask my captain noticing that the rest of the crew was gone

“Oh yea they decided go on ahead without us and Law is in his study” luffy said pointing in the direction of Laws office

“Ah okay then I guess I’m going to stay put and wait on Law” I say to my captain feeling bad that Laws on the ship alone

“Fine by me I’m going to go help Sanji pick out the food” luffy said practically drooling out the mouth before taking off full speed into town leaving a trail of dust behind trying to catch up with Sanji

“That idiot always thinking with his stomach” nami mumbled out

“But anyway I’m going to head out Y/N I’ll make sure to bring you something back” nami said making her towards me before giving me a hug

“Okay be safe and I’ll see you later” i say back gladly accepting her hug

I lightly knock on Laws office door waiting for him to give me the queue that it was okay for me to enter

“Come in” Law said

I quickly enter the room to see law at his desk reading something from one of his medical books

“Ah Y/N what ya need” Law asked once he noticed me rolling his chair around with one leg in his lap

“Um uh- nothing I was just going to wait on you the rest of the crew decided to go ahead” i struggle to say putting my hands behind my back to fiddle with my fingers to calm my nerves

“how sweet of you” Law chuckled out as he looked me up and down

“Are you okay Y/N your face is red are you sick” Law asked concerned quickly getting up out his chair to walk towards me

“Um uh- yea I’m just hot” i say in a panic due to the fact that he was standing right in-front of me

“Are you sure your quite red Y/N” Law asked tracing his index finger over my cheek before tucking a piece of hair behind my ear

Y yes- I’m fine I’m just hot I swear” I stutter out causing my face to heat up even more

“Are you sure” Law asked putting his finger under my chin slightly lifting my head up to look at him and once I seen the expression oh his face all I wanted to do was punch him

The mother fucker had the most shit eating smirk plastered on his face he’s fucking toying with me and he knows it

“You know Y/N you don’t have to lie to me” Law said still looking down at me

“Huh bu- but I’m not lying” I stutter

“Mhm you know it really makes my dick hard to know that I make you this flushed and bothered” Law said softly tracing his finger over my cheek causing me to heat up even more

“Wha- what did you just say” I gasp out my eyes nearly popping out of my head

“You heard me I haven’t had the opportunity to get you alone we have been sailing for quite some time haven’t we” Law chuckled out

Did I die and go to heaven what the fuck this can’t be real I have to be dreaming

“Can I ask you a question Y/N” Law asked

I simply just nod my head yes not being able to form a sentence from my mouth

“Can I kiss you” law asked tracing his finger over my bottom lip

What the heck is happening right now I’ve thought about this moment in my head a million times but never did I once ever think it would become a reality

I simply nod once again still in shock from the situation

Before anything else could happen Laws lips were on mine in a instant and by the force of it I could tell this man has waited along time to do this i quickly warp my arms around his neck it slightly being struggle due to the height difference

“Fuck Y/N please let me make you feel good” Law asked pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against mine

“O- okay” I struggle to say slightly lightheaded from loss of air and the intoxicating taste of Laws lips

In one swift motion Law picked me up causing me to wrap my legs around his waist

Law made his way towards his desk pushing everything on the floor before placing me on it

He took a step back to get a good look at me my hair was a slight mess my cheeks were flushed and my lips were plump from the make out section we just had a second ago

“Shit Y/N your fucking beautiful” Law hummed out before taking his hat off along with his coat and placing it aside so it wasn’t in the way

Law soon made his way back towards me standing between my open thighs

“Are you sure about this” Law asked gently brushing my cheek

“I’m more then sure” I say looking up at Law

Before anyone could say another word Laws lips were back on mine I quickly wrap my arms back around his neck without hesitation

“You know how long I have been waiting for this” Law said pulling away from the kiss so he trace his kisses down my neck

“Fuck baby your so sexy” Law said as he began to grinding his hard on against my core

Causing me to let out small whimpers and moans from the friction

“I bet your fucking drenched” Law growled out adding more force to his grinds

The movement was Causing my skin to feel like it was on fire my body desperately needed to get out of these clothes

I quickly bring my hands down to the button of my jeans slightly struggling due to my nerves I guess Law got the idea so he replaced my hands with his swiftly unbuttoning my jeans before pulling them down my legs leaving me in only my crop top and underwear

“Just lay back and relax babydoll” Law said as he lowered himself to his knees so that his head was right in front of my clothed core

Law hooked his tattooed fingers into the waistband of my underwear before pulling them down my legs

“Fuck babydoll look how wet you are” Law hummed out tracing his fingers through my folds causing me to jerk backwards from the contact

“Fuck” i wine out leaning my head back while gripping the sides of the desk

“I know baby I know just lay back and I’ll make you feel good” Law said with a gentle tone before burying his face into my throbbing core

“Fuck Law” i moan out feeling his warm tongue against my core

“Mhm” hummed out causing vibrations to run up my body adding more pleasure

“Fuck Law that feels so good” i moan out grateful that it was just me and him on the ship right now

Law began flicking my sensitive bud back and forth with the tip of his tongue causing my legs to shake

“Fuck law” I squeal out from the pleasure he’s causing my body

Law took notice so he decided to slip one of his long tattooed fingers into my core causing me to roll my eyes in the back of my head nearly seeing stars

“Fuck law I can’t” i moun out grabbing a fist full of his hair trying to push him away

Law let out a growl before pulling me closer to his face by my thighs

“Fuck fuck fuck Law I can’t” I say trying to pull away

Law become irritated so he landed a harsh slap against my thigh causing me to moan out from pain and pleasure

“Fuck law you feel so good” i moan out as my whole body began shaking uncontrollably letting Law know I was close to my release

Laws mouth become more aggressive causing my whole body to tighten up making me see littoral stars

“FUCK” i moun out one last time before realeasing all over Laws face

I quickly look down at Law to see that his eyes were hooded and his dark hair was a mess he looked fucking gorgeous

“Fuck Y/N I could have you for breakfast lunch and dinner your fucking delicious” law said licking my juices off his lips

I had to rewrite this because tumblr deleted my last one I freaking cried bro so this one isn’t as good as the first one 😖😭

[eddiernunson]

Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Really Drives Me Mad Part 7 coming on Christmas Day

Word Count of Preview: 1.3k

Chapter contains: Wedding shenanigans.

NOW POSTED

Preview:

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect your wedding to be so soon,” Skyler admits, in the middle of chewing on a salt and vinegar chip, some in her hand in queue to be chomped on next.

You keep your eyes on the movie playing snacking on a peanut M&M, watching Amanda Bynes’ truly unmatched comedic timing. “I am not spending a whole year of wedding planning,” you protest, throwing another chocolate into your mouth, “my mom is far too opinionated for me to be able to handle all of that fuss.”

“Well, you still need to find a dress…” Bethany points out, taking a hit off her vape pen. “And a caterer, someone to marry you, and a wedding photographer, decorate the venue—”

“We have invited close family and friends only.” You remind her, rolling her eyes. “If anything, the reception will turn into one big dance party. Hell, we’re ordering pizza. I don’t need a fairytale wedding. Having him has made my life a fairytale already.”

“Gross.” Skyler comments, sticking her tongue out at you playfully.

“I think it’s cute.” Bethany offers, grinning.

“Also, I might have already decided on a dress.” You hesitantly say, turning your head around and up at them to see their reactions. They collectively stop what they’re doing to scream at you for it. The gist of their uproar was mostly how they weren’t invited to the time you spent looking, but this dress was a happy accident by every definition.

“You found a dress?”

You shrug, pausing the movie so it’s not such a distraction for the conversation. “Yeah…”

The first time Eddie gave you his card and sent you to the mall for him, you were anxious about holding his money and only spent it on things he explicitly said he had wanted.  The entire trip took about an hour, getting home and holding a few bags as you entered the front door. Eddie leapt from the couch, grinning wickedly as he met you in the kitchen. He held your hands as he smirked at you. “How was the shopping trip?”

“Good.” You answered, moving to your purse on the counter to hand him his card.

He put it in his wallet hurriedly, wanting to get back to you. “What’d you get?” He asks, starting to look through the bags.

“I found everything you asked for except for the socks, apparently they’re discontinued.” You answered, leaning onto the island counter.

Eddie’s face falters only the littlest bit, shrugging. “Damn, gonna have to find a new favourite pair then.” He looked through every bag one by one, seemingly looking for something he couldn’t find. “What’d you get?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding what he meant. “Um, everything but the socks?”

Eddie’s face broke into laughter, hands snaking themselves around your waist. “Yes, baby, but what did you get for yourself?” His voice was so gentle, smiling at you fondly with a gorgeous lobsided smile on his face.

“Oh, um, nothing…” you answered, eyes flickering to the ground. “It’s your money.”

A hand made its way onto your cheek, intertwining his fingers in your hair. His lips landed on yours, taking your breath away with how dreamy and dizzy it made you feel. As he pulled apart, your knees were weak, mouth half open as you stared up at him in pure bewilderment. After you were able to catch your breath, you finally asked, “What was that about?”

He smiled at you tenderly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You’re just so sweet, my love,” he muses, beautiful brown eyes roaming all over your face. “Sweetheart, you have a ring on your finger. If we’re about to get married, then my money is your money.”

A frown sat on your face, thinking over what he just told you, eyes fleeting all over his hardwood floor. “But…I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want—”

He hooked a finger under your chin, lifting your chin to look up at him. “I know you don’t want it.” His other hooked around your back, pulling your body against his. “However, I do want to share it with you, just like I want to share everything else.”

You smiled at him, sighing as his hand caressed the swell of your cheek, leaning into it. “I just don’t want you to think I’m with you for any other reason than how much I love you.”

“And how hot you find me, hmm?” He teased, eyes half lidded.

You rolled your eyes playfully, hands petting the nape of his neck. “Of course.” Eddie gave you a big kiss, lips wrapping yours, making you feel only bliss. “So, if I take your card to Sephora and buy a palette I’d had my eye on, you wouldn’t protest?”

Eddie sighed, sticking his tongue out in his true fashion. “You could buy the whole damn store as long as you’re happy.”

You squinted at him, lips pursed as you assessed his gorgeous face. “…How much do you have in savings?”

He smiled, tilting his head playfully. “Enough.” He said, twisting his face comically. “Maybe not enough to buy the whole store, but enough to shop comfortably.”

With his blessing, you started to feel something like a trophy wife on the occasional mall trip. Holding his black card as you swipe it unflinchingly at a large bill is so satisfactory as you see the glint of jealousy of the cashier’s eyes.

On your most recent outing, grabbing groceries and making stops at your favourite stores as you browsed, a little boutique in the corner of the mall caught your eye. You’ve never seen it before, a deserted area of the mall that has incredibly niche stores that mostly look like a storefront for a ring of some type. In the very corner is a sweet little boutique with hand made clothes, the kind of clothing one doesn’t come across very often anymore, all made with care with high quality fabric…but not at a designer price.

A dress with embroidered flowers around the skirt caught your eye in the window, and there were only cuter clothes in the store. With several hangers of clothing on your hand, the corner the store comes into view, and the prettiest white dress you’ve ever seen.

As soon as your size was in your grasp, you giddily ran off to the change room. Your reflection stared back at you, a pretty girl in a beautiful white dress. Your eyes welled up in bridal glory.

All for 85 dollars. (Well, that’s not the whole bill, just the dress.)

Your eyes flicker back to your friends, shrugging. “It just happened.”

“How far is Hawkins, exactly?” Bethany asks, leaning on her elbow on her legs crossed.

“A few states away.” You answer, pressing play on the movie again.

“You’re only inviting close family, right?” Skyler asks.

“Yeah, and you guys and Steve’s family.”

Bethany tilts upside down on the couch, feet resting on the pillows as she watches the movie upside down. “I’m sorry, who’s Steve again?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you guys ever listen to what I say?” They shrug, looking at you expectantly. “He’s Eddie’s best friend.” Still, their looks are completely blank. “You remember the photo I showed you of Eddie? He was the one on the left.”

Their eyes both noticeably bug out of their sockets. “Oh, you lucky bitch.” Skyler chuckles, definitely remembering the one of the left.

You roll your eyes, again. “He’s happily married, you dicks.”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it” Bethany accuses, knowing you too well, if you had anything to say about it.

The hesitation says everything. “Okay, maybe once or twice.” You admit, avoiding their eyes. “But again, he is happily married, and frankly unrealistic. Plus, he might be my sister’s father-in-law,” you joke, mostly hoping there’s no truth behind it.

 “Okay, this I gotta hear.” Bethany giggles, leaning in with much intrigue.

-

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken

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Y'all I'm so excited.

[nostalgiaclown]

Staring Role

Claude Delecroix - He/Him - 45(??) - Antivan Crows - ??? Optimistic -Eccentric - Secure - Theatrical - Reflective - Loyal

Everyone wears a mask, to hide their hurt, their wants, and their fears.  The mask that you believe gives you additional autonomy can also strip you of your power, though you may not realise this, at first. I am a man of many faces, which is your favourite? Do you know which one is real? Will I ever show you, I wonder...? A mask torn from the face leaves an ugly scar, which cannot be removed. You cannot undo that kind of damage when you forcibly take. The other must remove the mask willingly, must want to be known, seen. Will you gain my trust? Will I show you what’s beneath the mask?-

“Claude-! Get your pointy nose out of that perverted little diary of yours and help us!” The Antivan swore as he took down another Qunari soldier -(??) muttering under his breath as he continued to dodge and evade. “…fucking Orlesian- why did I get paired with this guy, is this my divine punishment? I make one mistake…” 

Claude gasps with dramatic offence, snapping the little book closed and stashing in the breast pocket of his coat. He grips his staff that was resting in the crook of his elbow with his left hand and lifts it, conveniently hitting one of the attackers in the head just behind him. 

“Oh! mon dieux!” He jumps to the side slamming his staff down to create a thunderous wave to knock the assaulter back before they can regain their balance.

A single bead of sweat drips down the side of his face below the mask he wore.

That was... too close for comfort. 

Now, you may ask, how did an Orlesian Theatre actor, a mage, end up as a Crow?

Well, I would also like to know.

“And scene!” The last of the qunari falls to the ground in a smouldering heap. 

“Well, all things considered, that rehearsal was not too bad- ah!” A blade pressed to Claude's neck halts his speech, lips pressing into a fine line.

“You! Almost got us both killed! What do you NOT understand about stealth mission? We were to get in, and out, swiftly. Not barge in through the front doors screaming “Hello we're here to kill you!””

Claude's mouth twitches up, he gently places his hand over Marzio’s wrist, the tip of their blade digging a little deeper into the scarred flesh on the left side of his neck.

“I did not… ‘scream’, I project! And the line was ‘A good evening to you all! We're here to find a Monsieur- well, whatever his name is, could someone please direct us?’ I did not say anything about killing-” The made motions idly with his free hand as he speaks.

“You think you can just waltz in, dressed like that?! And they'll just happily take you straight to him? You're not even in a disguise, you don't need to say anything for it to scream ‘I'm here to kill you!’-”

Claude can sense the man's rising panic, of course it's understandable, this mission was to be a way for him to redeem himself, prove his usefulness to the Crows. 

The taller mage, seemingly not too worried about the knife at his neck, takes a look around.

“Waltz? Well there is no music, but if you want to dance… we certainly can, my friend.” The mage turns his head back to his fellow crow, his thumb applying pressure to his wrist, he successfully catches them off guard, their grip on the knife loosening. Of course, a Crow has many hidden blades, but, this Crow has only the one left. Claude knows, he was counting. 

You see behind the masks and theatrics, is a highly observant man, he knows well, everyone's places, queues, the stage direction, costumes… of course he made sure to count how many hidden blades __ stashed away on his person.

“Claude-! What do you think you're doing?” The crow flusters when the mage rests his other hand on his lower back. 

“Oh, you did not want to dance, mon chéri?” Claude applies more pressure and the knife drops with a clatter to the ground.

“If you do not know the steps, I can teach you, bébé chien!” 

“Claude! We don't have time for- your theatrics!” The man's voice is a little higher now, urgent, his eyes flicker to the charred corpse near their feet, he does not really want to have to go toe to toe with a mage, unarmed. Especially not here.

Claude doesn't miss his tells, that's… not good. The mage contemplates how this man made it this far, his acting is atrocious, he can see why he was given his mission now, oh, a pity. 

Claude pulls the man closer, takes his hand. “You know, a lot of people find this glance to be quite scandalous…” 

“We really don't-”

“You know, it was not your fault, yes?”

“What?”

Claude sighs, before side stepping and pulling Marzio into a slow waltz. The man follows along, out of fear? or perhaps he's simply going to grab one of his discarded blades from one of the corpses as they pass and do away with the mage.

“It was not your fault, you would not have known they used a decoy, a body double, a very good one too, the likeness was quite startelling.”

“How… Do you know about that?”

“Oh that is not important, chéri!”

“Now, you have a few options to choose from, on how the story here ends…”

“Un, you attempt to take my life, who knows, maybe you succeed, but alors how do you explain that one? Especially if you return empty handed…”

“Deux, this one, I am not fond of, I extinguish your flame… and report back that, unfortunately, you were not cut out for this after all, bébé chien!”

“Trois, I use my impeccable skills, set the stage, giving you the starring role! Put you back in the, how would you say it, good books.”

A myriad of emotions cross the man's face as he takes in the older mages words, why does he know about that mission? Clarity crosses his features and dread sets in his stomach, they really sent this guy to test his usefulness to the Crows? That's beyond embarrassing to him. 

“What do you mean, starring role?”

“Oh excellant! I did hope you would pick that option, mon chéri.”

“It was so clever of you to stage a distraction, slip away, and collect the letter we needed, I would applaud you were my hands not already…occupied.” Claude squeezes his hand and pulls him just that little bit closer, scandalous indeed. The mage let's out an airy chuckle.

“Why would you do that for me..?” 

Of course he is suspicious.

“Oh, simply payment for indulging me with a dance!” He dips the man and pulls him back up close to his ear now his voice soft and low. “But if you're amenable you can thank me later, bébé chien!” He laughs when the man pulls his face away, but Claude can see the colouring of his cheeks and curiously behind his angered face. 

“Hah! You are terribly easy to read, mon chéri. If you'd like I can give you a few lessons, we could even make it a little more… exciting.” 

“Are you like this with everyone?”

“Ha! No, I just like you. bébé chien!”

“You keep calling me that, what does it mean?”

“Oh! Hm… a puppy.”

“P-puppy??” Oh now he's flushed. 

“Oui, you still need training. Now, have you made a decision? The smell of burnt flesh if not one I enjoy, or, are you going to kill me, bébé chien?” Claude releases the hold he has on the man. Eyes never leaving his. 

“My guess is you already got what we came here for then…?” 

Claude produces the letter from his inner pocket, holding it between two fingers. 

“Now I won't ask again, how is this story going to end, chéri?” The mages voice is more firm now, but still holds a playful edge.

The Antivan looks at him for a few more beats, weighing up his options. He takes the letter, pulls one of his blades from a qunari corpse, pauses, then stows the letter in his own pocket, sheathing the blade and turning his back to walk towards the entrance.

“Let's go. Smells awful here.” 

Claude chuckles and follows behind, placing a hand on the antivans back he leans over towards him as they walk.

“You should not turn your back on an enemy, you know?” 

“Good thing you're not one, then.” 

Claude laughs louder and the man winces and screws up his face.

“Oh, I do love the drama of this place! The game was starting to get rather stale, you know?” 

“Are you ever quiet?”

“When the performance calls for silence, oui.”

The Antivan shakes his head, but makes no move to pull away from the mage as he contemplates his motives. What does he have to gain from doing this for him? Will he simply betray him when they return? He would rather he killed him now than face whatever punishment he would receive. 

“I am serious, you know? If you'd like me to teach you to better control your emotions, school your features, just ask.”

Claude moves his hand away now, putting a more respectable distance between them.

“Or, I can do this for you, then simply leave you to your own devices, I'll watch your folly from the side lines.” 

The antivan is once again thrown off by the man's tonal shift, his voice is calm, serious, missing that playful melodic edge to it. Similar to when he told him it wasn't his fault. He also, begrudgingly realises he misses the gentle pressure of the mages hand on his lower back. 

“I think I'll reserve my answer until we report back.”

“Oh! He does not trust me! But that's good, maybe I won't have to train you as much as I thought, bébé chien.” 

Oh. There he is, back again with that playfully light tone.

“Please don't call me that back at base.”

“Oh? Reserved for private times, hm? Scandalous.”

“Claude…”

“Oh I'm just teasing! If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop. But I think you like it. Hm?” 

The Antivans silence answers for him. 

Claude chuckles again as they make the rest of the way back in silence.

If you look closely, you'll notice the ends of the mages hair by the nape of his neck curled slightly, sticking to clammy skin. If you were to remove his mask, you'd pick up on the slight twitch of his lip. If he was not moving his hands so much as he spoke, you would notice the slight tremor in the right. 

Yes, Claude was confident in his ability to talk his way through a plethora of situations, but put him in combat? Physical battle in place of a verbal sparring? 

He's afraid.

Fights are chaotic. A complex dance that you must be quick to learn and adapt to.

There's no set script in battle.

No rehearsal, it's improv, but mistakes cost lives. 

Claude can only keep up this act for so long, words and wit will only get him so far.

Joining the Crows then seemed like a good idea, at the time. 

Immerse himself in the tangled web of lies, deception, death. Great writing inspiration!

But he is untimely afraid, when that threat of death is but a whisper away and he has no control when it's time for curtail fall.

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." 

But, who is the real Claude now? He's not sure even if he knows anymore. But, he would very much like to meet him again, or perhaps, you will be the one to find out for him? 

[thevalicemultiverse]

((Further context about possible BG3 shenanigans that ALSO highlights just how obsessed I am with Valicer In The Dark! Double whammy!))

AU Thursday: Valicer In The Dark Vs Baldur's Gate III

Okay, so, yesterday I happened to mention that I'd gotten into Baldur's Gate III -- and that a certain Crime Trio of mine (based on an entirely different RPG, I might add), had decided to lay claim to it as a potential AU of their OWN AU. No, I don't know why I'm like this either. *sigh* Anyway, there's not really that much to it at this point in time -- while I have spoiled myself on the story (and seen a bunch of cutscenes thanks to my friend @gaydragonwizards), I haven't actually played that much of the game itself and thus don't know exactly how the trio would react to EVERY quest and NPC in the game. I do know some basics, though:

-->The AU starts with the Nautiloid happening to pop into the Valicer In The Dark universe by mistake while navigating -- the mind flayers decide they may as well abduct some people while they're here, and unfortunately Victor, Alice, and Smiler, walking the streets of Six Towers, are in range of the tentacles and taken aboard to be infected

-->Smiler wakes up in the canonical pod and finds their way to Us, saving them and immediately bonding with the little intellect devourer ("I'm a they/them too!"); Alice wakes up in a different pod nearby and is the first to meet Lae'zel, and helps her fight the imps; and Victor wakes up in the same room as Shadowheart, and is working on freeing her when the others arrive -- they get her out, get to the helm, and manage to fight their way to the transponder and connect the nerves

-->If you're wondering about potential language barriers, one of the good things about the tadpoles randomly connecting your mind to other people's is that it allows you to pick up Common super fast -- I basically see them getting a bit of an "information dump" on a few key things about the reality they're currently in during the initial connections

-->Also, in the process of freeing Shadowheart, the group find that woman in the other room and mess with her console, accidentally causing her to change -- a creepy moment made even creepier by Victor's Ghost Mind ability letting him briefly see the woman's soul escape...and then burn up as she transforms into a mind flayer. We will come back to this later

-->After the crash landing, Victor, Alice, and Smiler are very confused when they wake up to see a blue sky...and then, after waking up Shadowheart and being told, essentially, "it's blue because it's sunny?" are utterly GOBSMACKED to find themselves in a world with an ACTUAL SUN. Though shock and delight quickly turn to "oh wow, this is actually a lot hotter than we're used to, we need to find lighter clothes fast" XD

-->From there, they pick up the rest of the companions and work their way through the main plot, hoping to both find a way to get the damn tadpoles out of their heads and get home (because as nice as a world with a sun is, it's not Duskwall, and Smiler in particular would like to see their parents again plz)

-->Naturally, being pretty good-hearted people, they do the nice versions of the quests and help people out as much as possible -- though, also being a group of Shadows who nick things and sabotage schemes for their living, I can see them offering tips to the gang of tiefling children thieves and scam artists to help them in their chosen path. XD Also, Alice probably has to be talked out of killing Kagha right then and there when she threatens Arabella, and I'm not sure the snake survives THAT little encounter. Alice has a thing about people threatening children, as you might expect!

-->I foresee a lot of confusion on both sides about how different Duskwall and the Shattered Isles are from Faerun -- not just the sun thing, but also Victor having access to an entirely different form of magic (Gale in particular is like "wtf is this??? This is not Weave???"); the group not knowing what horses or cows are (both animals are extinct in their world) and having to be introduced to them -- while, on the flip side, being perfectly cool with eating rat; and the trio being briefly like "well, it's horrible what happened to that poor woman on the Nautiloid, but at least her ghost won't be slowly going insane and trying to feast on the life essence of the living" and the others being like "what." Leading to Victor, Alice, and Smiler learning that this world has an afterlife and being like D: as it dawns on them that the total destruction of the soul is not an accepted way to keep the world from being riddled from ghosts here. (The others are once again like "what the FUCK is wrong with your reality?")

-->Smiler spends a good portion of the early game looking for Us, before finally accepting sadly that the intellect devourer probably didn't survive the crash...and then they get to the mind flayer colony under Moonrise in Act Two and "Friend! You found the helm!" :D They are beyond happy to see Us and won't hear a word said against them from the other companions (who are naturally BAFFLED as to why Smiler wants an intellect devourer as a pet) -- and Us, for their part, is entirely loyal to their friend Smiler and all THEIR friends, because the kindness Smiler showed to them on the Nautiloid caused them to bond more closely with them than the rest of the hive :) Victor and Alice warm up to the little thing pretty quick, while the others...well, they get used to having a brain wandering around pretending to be a kitty. XD

-->Part of me would like Shar to somehow be responsible for the Shattered Isles no longer having a sun...and thus be real annoyed that people are still living in that world eight hundred and forty-seven years later (as Alice puts it, "you brought the darkness, and we just lit it back up again")

-->And in the "overpowered nonsense that wouldn't make it into any actual story stuff but is fun to think about," I enjoy pondering the possibility of the trio, when faced with the Avatar of Myrkul, using Victor's Whisper ghost-fighting stuff on it -- and successfully forcing it into a spirit bottle. I imagine the other companions would be like "how the FUCK did you bottle part of a GOD?!" while Myrkul would be just "...guess it beats dying again." Oh, and Withers finds it hilarious in his droll way. XD Bonus points for talking to Myrkul about what the damn plan with the Absolute even gets him, Myrkul realizing that he's somehow been had by the Netherbrain, and switching sides against his former compatriots because, yeah, this mind flayer invasion does NOT benefit him in any way, wtf.

-->Or, if you would like DIFFERENT godly intervention, I did have an idea where Mar-Mal is also able to access Faerun through the blessing they gave Smiler, and uses its influence to protect Smiler from the tadpole instead of Smiler having to rely on the Dream Visitor and the artifact. They task Smiler with spreading their influence and getting worshipers so Mar-Mal can do more on this plane, and Smiler happily talks up their god to anyone who will listen (also sharing what samples they have left of their Joy Serum). And fortunately for them, people are willing to throw at least a few prayers the way of a god of pure happiness...meaning that during the endgame, when it's time to fight the Netherbrain, Mar-Mal's gotten just enough power to come into Faerun, filling the sky with spiral clouds as they manifest. The gang still has to fight the Netherbrain, but it's easier as the Netherbrain is, um, a bit distracted trying to not be mindwarped by Mar-Mal! XD And once the threat is defeated, Mar-Mal is able to open up a temporary portal to bring Victor, Alice, and Smiler home. With the implication that they could get back eventually...like, say, in six months to catch up. :p

Whew -- bit more than I expected here! I don't know if anything is actually going to come from this -- I mean, I definitely have to get the REGULAR Valicer In The Dark stuff done first -- but it's fun to think about as I play the game. And it has inspired me to make a few not-incorrect quotes/shitposty scenes...

[burnwater13]

Clouds over Central Florida, November 2022 in the early evening. White to gold clouds in a vertical arrangement with blue sky in the background. Photo by me.

Din Djarin sighed. He felt like he spent half of his waking hours sighing and the other half saying, ‘No, Grogu! Put that down. Don’t touch that. Don’t put that in your mouth. Now I have to clean that again’ and similar phrases that must have been familiar to all parents. That hadn’t been what made him sigh this time. No. This time he was watching Grogu and could sense that his apprentice was getting bored. 

They had already taken the speeder bike in Nevarro City to meet with Greef Karga and chat with IG-11-M about potential threats to the peace and calm that was becoming the new normal for the former pirate hangout. There was nothing happening that gave any of them any concern. Djarin was happy about that. It meant all the rest of the work was paying off, but he could tell that Grogu wasn’t feeling it. Not just because he kept spinning himself around in Karga’s chair and sneaking the snacks from the High Magistrate’s desk when he thought they weren’t looking. But because he didn’t interrupt them at all with any questions of his own.

Since they had settled on Nevarro, Grogu had decided that he was as integral in the protection of his new home planet as the Mandalorian or even IG-11-M. He sat in their meetings, listened attentively, asked questions, although they weren’t always to point, and offered to help whenever someone needed to inspect, investigate, or research some aspect of a potential problem. Karga always took him seriously, even though Djarin could hear the laughter in his voice when he responded to specific inquiries. 

‘Yes, my young friend, it is important to make sure that the emergency exits function as advertised. If people need to exit during an emergency we want them to be able to open those doors with ease.’

Karga had been discussing an outdoor festival and what the banks of privies would look like for the use of the festival goers. That Grogu had cared about exiting in a privy was a source of amusement to all of them, until the festival was actually held and they realized that a very popular event needed to take into account that all species didn’t use privies in the same manner or for the same amount of time. The queues had been remarkable and Grogu’s point weeks earlier had come back to haunt the High Magistrate as the major aspect of the event that needed improvement before they hosted another one.

Din Djarin didn’t think Grogu’s smile that day had been smug or anything like it, but his apprentice had seemed very satisfied that people paid more attention to him the next time he offered his insights at a planning meeting. Today, however, Grogu had no interest in the topic at hand. He didn’t ask a single question or even lift an eyebrow to prompt a question from the High Magistrate or the Marshal.  

Then they stopped at the farmer’s market to see what was new and collect that day’s gossip and offer up some thoughts of their own. Grogu was normally the lead on this information exchange. All the stall keepers knew who he was, what he liked, and that he knew everyone else. A little patience and a piece of candy or two and they’d learn that their closest competitor was buying a new awning for their cart or was hiring a helper or had ordered something from the next system over and expected it to arrive any day. 

Djarin tried not to interfere in these information exchange sessions as long as he felt that people weren’t taking advantage of Grogu or each other. A little friendly rivalry was fine, but no one wanted a trade war to erupt in the middle of the market. Not with Nevarro’s past.

But again, this morning, Grogu just didn’t seem interested in the little squabbles and offer of tidbits in exchange for information. Grogu also hadn’t appreciated it when the bounty hunter took off his glove and felt Grogu’s forehead to see if he was running a fever. It was completely against character for him to turn down any sort of food that was offered to him. Karga’s snack bowl hadn’t been emptied, so Djarin knew his son hadn’t actually eaten his fill. He wasn’t even sure if Grogu could eat his fill because the only food he ever turned down had vegetables in it. 

They left the market without picking up any new gossip, but with a lot of the stall owners wishing Grogu a speedy recovery. It would have been funny if it wasn’t partially accurate. Grogu was not being himself and people noticed. 

On their way back to the cabin, Djarin had asked Grogu if everything was all right. Grogu had shrugged and sighed. Then the Mandalorian asked his apprentice if something specific was wrong. Grogu didn’t always appreciate that the two questions were intended to gather the same information so Din Djarin had to be specific. The answer didn’t change. Nothing was wrong. Uff. 

When they reached the cabin Djarin offered to play a game, act as a model for one of Grogu’s many ‘A Day in the Life of a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter’ sketches, and make him whatever he wanted to eat. Grogu had either sighed or simply shook his head no and walked out of the cabin to sit on the porch and just stared at the sky. 

If an adult human had been doing that Djarin would have written the behavior off to a sudden recognition of existential dread. It happened to everyone at least once. You recognized that life was short; what you were doing didn’t seem to matter much; and nothing you thought about helped you find a pathway out of those feelings. He’d felt that way more than once. Of course, what changed it all for him was having Grogu enter his life and shake it up like a fizzy drink and spray everything with it. Messy, sticky, and very energetic. That was life with Grogu on any given day.

Now, the Mandalorian supposed that even Grogu might need to recharge his batteries. He could spin in a chair, take a quiet walk and then just sit and watch the clouds float by. Why not? It was as good a set of things to do as any other. Which meant that Din Djarin could do that as well. He didn’t need to fill every waking moment with actions that fulfilled his purpose. He could just sit and watch the clouds float by and enjoy a little down time. It was okay.

With that in mind he stepped through to the porch and sat down next to Grogu. It wasn’t easy in his armor but it was worth it. He followed his son’s lead and just looked at the sky and smiled under his helmet as he noticed that one cloud looked a lot like a scurrier. Imagine that! If he hadn’t taken a time out from doing everything else he typically did, he never would have noticed it. He turned to tell Grogu ‘thank you’ for giving him a reason to just stop and appreciate what was all around them. The beauty of nature was something the Mandalorian dreamed about but didn’t make a lot of time for during his waking hours. This was nice. 

Grogu seemed deeply in thought. As if he was focusing all of his attention on something, but since no frogs were flying out of the pond, and his clothes weren’t putting themselves away, the Mandalorian concluded that Grogu was just appreciating nature as much as he was. Which was nice. They were sharing one of those rare father/son moments Djarin had heard about, but had not routinely experienced with his very unique son. 

He looked up at the sky again.

“Dank Farrik! Grogu, are you supposed to use the Force that way?!”

Din Djarin had just noticed that the scurrier cloud he had been so impressed with was now being chased by a cloud that bore a striking resemblance to a certain Jedi youngling and that a large, overbearing Mandalorian Bounty Hunter cloud was shaking it’s cloud finger at him. 

So much for Grogu being bored or needing to recharge or anything like that. He’d just made the sky his sketch pad and his series, ‘A Day in the Life of a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter’, had a new addition. 

Strange and Mysterious his left vambrace! Sometimes you just wanted to play a game by yourself and there was no explaining that to some people.  

[thevalicemultiverse]

Venus: (an amnesiac seven year old) *to Alice* Hi, the nice man says my name is Venus *points to an older teen with crutches then looks back at Alice* You look sad, like you need a hug. Can I?

Forgotten Vows Verse

Alice: [sad smile, because she's not usually a hugger, but this small child has managed to yank on all of her heartstrings] You may. [and she will get down to make the hugging easier]

[thevalicemultiverse]

"Indeed! Studies On The Nature Of Magic is -- well, it's practically required reading if you want to get into being a mage!" Clarence says, waving his arms. "And of course it is -- I mean, it's secret, and there's a few catches like most people don't actually have that much magic power, but living people can use it -- and how can this be the moment you learned magic was real?! As you have stated multiple times now, your father married a corpse bride! Did that not seem like magic to you?"

He does follow as she beckons, though he's clearly still dealing with recent revelations. He looks around the graves as Madeline explains this is a good place to start. "Right...I'm guessing these are family members of yours? The people prompting your trip Downstairs?"

"Oooh -- so it sounds more like it was her direct force of will that did it," Clarence says, tone thoughtful. "A vow made while dying is powerful stuff, according to my research...it's almost like she accidentally laid a magical trap on her grave, honestly. And your father blundered into it without realizing it was there."

He trails after her as she starts back toward the graves she was visiting before. "I suppose that's a possibility too -- I think a lot of people take up the practice once they're -- Elder Gutknecht?!"

He stops dead. "The Elder Gutknecht?" he demands, eyes wide. "Author of the most famous book on magic in Europe? Your father met him?!"