#colored stone metal tile

[theecoden]

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[feyhunter78]

The Tower of the Wolf

Description: You, one of the last remaining ladies of Dowager Queen Alicent are brought before Cregan Stark, acting Hand of the King.

You attempt to cling to the former Dowager Queen like a child, your nails digging into her skirts. The fabric once beautiful, a vibrant green now dirtied and torn, her pale shaking hands holding your wrists trying to keep you with her. The both of you sobbing as Northmen pull you from her, ignoring your tears and your lady's pleas for your life. Your lady was good, she cared, she fought for you, even now in chains she fought for you, not only because you were her niece, but for you were a cherished member of her court

“She has done nothing wrong, have you no compassion, you beasts?” She spits out the word like it is poison, her nails digging into your skin, leaving raised marks as they drag you from her grip.

“Please, do not take me from her, she is my lady, my duty is to remain by her side!” You try to fight against them, clawing at the man's face, neck, hands, any skin you can reach, you will not leave your lady. Not when she is all you have left, not when you fear what they will do to her if she is alone. The Brothel Queens.

That horrid fool Mushroom had spread the tale, laughing at the way all color drained from your face. It had not been done, the usurper Rhaenyra had died before it could be, but who is to say it could not still be put in place? There are cruel men that remain within the Keep, cruel men who would see your lady punished for the Greens’ actions.

The Northmen clearly grow tired of your protests, and one backhands you. “Waste of time trying to reason with Hightower whores, Lord Stark should just get rid of them.” The force of the slap sending you stumbling into the wall as your lady cries out, tugging at the chains that keep you beyond her reach.

You hold your hand to your cheek, trying to scramble back to her, but you are caught before you can take a step.

“Quit struggling.” Another man snarls, before he flings you over his shoulder, your chin slamming against his armored back, the metallic taste of blood blooms on your tongue, and your vision blurs as more tears pour forth.

You can hear Lady Alicent’s cries as they carry you away. The agonized screams tear at your heart, echoing in your ears even when the door to the dungeons is slammed shut, and you find yourself back in the relative quiet of the Keep’s halls.

The Hour of the Wolf, that is what they are calling it, and you curse the whole of House Stark. How dare they, how dare they come here and act as saviors? You have not even seen Jaehaera since you were thrown in the dungeon with your lady, is she even alive?

You try to calm yourself, focusing on the floor, counting the marble tiles as your captor takes a brisk pace through the halls, muttering to himself in that barbaric northern way. He is taking you to the Tower of the Hand, and your stomach lurches. The screams of your cousin Helaena, sweet, kind Helaena return to your mind, the blood, Jaehaerys’ little body. It was beyond cruel that plot of cursed Daemon Targaryen, beyond cruel that Princess Rhaenyra would go along with it having lost her own son. How could she wish that pain upon sweet Helaena, a girl who had done her no wrong?

Finally, your captor lets you down, dropping you like a sack of potatoes, pain flaring through your body at your ungraceful landing upon the hard stone floor. Someone had removed the carpet, perhaps it had been dirtied. The remainder of the decorations were still present, the rounded window letting light spill in, the hearth empty and boarded up to prevent any assassins from sneaking in. Besides that, it was pristine, untouched by the havoc outside its walls. Though you and Lady Alicent had been allowed to bathe—to walk towards the Stranger in rags, but not filth—before Lord Stark had sent word that you both would be moved, you still felt dirty. Still felt as though the stench of death, the filth of grief, clung to your skin and hair.

“Lord Bolton, I asked you to escort Lady y/n, not drag her here as if she is a common criminal.”

“Apologies, My Lord, but she attacked my men.”

“Attacked?” You can hear the suspicion in his voice, picture the raised eyebrow.

“She attempted to claw their eyes out.”

He laughs, the damned Stark lord laughs, as if it is humorous that you feared so greatly for your life. “If your men are so easily caught off guard perhaps, they need to spend more time training, it does no good to have an army so easily defeated by a single woman.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, uncaring if more blood fills your mouth, you cannot stand to hear his voice, cannot even raise your head to look at him. Will he kill you? You were not a key player in the war, merely a lady-in-waiting, a loyal one, a third daughter of a second son who did not leave her aunt even when she ordered you to. Perhaps you can make a deal, offer yourself as a bedwarmer while the Stark lord is here? Attempt to convince him your lady should be sent back to Oldtown to remain under house arrest with what little family you and her had left. Though he is a Stark and their honor is known, he would not take a mistress…

Bowing your head, you take hold of the seven-pointed star around your neck, a gift from Lady Alicent. You swear that you will go with him, back to the frigid North, if it means your lady would not die in a cell haunted by the ghosts of this cursed keep.

You are too lost in your thoughts to notice that Lord Stark has dismissed Lord Bolton and is kneeling before you, his eyes fixated on the blood trickling from your lip, the ever-forming bruise on your cheek.

“Lady y/n?” He asks softly, much too softly for a man in his position.

You swallow hard and force yourself to raise your eyes, your mouth still tastes of iron, and you know you must force your spine to be made of it as well.

Lord Cregan Stark is handsome, strong jaw, dark hair, eyes like storm clouds, full lips and a scattering of stubble and roguish scars. But his handsome looks do nothing to dampen the raw strength, the aura of a warrior, a man who has killed and will again, that cannot be hidden beneath cloaks and clothing. Broad shoulders, large, calloused hands, and arms that tell of training and hard work, he towers over you even as he kneels, and you are terrified.

“My Lord?” You answer his question with a question, unwilling to give anything away to this beast.

“Are you hurt? You are bleeding.” Cregan says, reaching inside his cloak and pulling out a handkerchief, gently dabbing at your wounded lip.

You flinch back, and he pulls away slowly, his hand still outstretched, leaving the handkerchief between you. “I did not mean to hurt you, my apologies.”

“It was not your fault.” You say quietly, your eyes downcast, focusing on the handkerchief, the pristine white cloth marred by scarlet, blood scattered amongst snow.

“I will have those men disciplined, you are a lady, and should be treated as such.” He sounds earnest, you can detect no falsehoods, but still you are wary.

“Thank you, My Lord, but it is not necessary. I am a prisoner of war; I do not expect to be treated as an honored guest.” You say demurely, clasping your hands in front of you, wincing when you see the blood that covers them.

Cregan takes a waterskin from the desk behind him, the very desk Lord Hightower used to sit at, and wets his handkerchief before gently reaching for your hands. You watch as he cleans the blood from them, using soft circular motions, his calloused hands warm against your much smaller ones, and he does not release them until they are clean.

“This is your home, is it not? You should not be treated as such in your home.” His voice is warm, warmer than his hands, and if you close your eyes you can pretend. Pretend he is a brave knight who has rescued you, not a barbarian from the North who aided those who keep you prisoner.

“This is my lady’s home as well, and she is treated far worse than I.” You protest, praying that he will not grow angry and strike you.

“Your aunt—the Dowager Queen has been sorely mistreated; I arrested the men who cast her into those foul dungeons, and she should be returned to her chambers by the time we have finished here.” Cregan says, folding the handkerchief and setting it with the waterskin on the desk behind him once more.

“I am glad to hear that.” You say, finally able to meet his eyes.

“I am honored I could lighten your spirits.” He says, a wolfish grin gracing his lips, his gray eyes flashing with an unreadable light.

This is what you have prepared yourself for, you must do it, for the good of your lady, for Jaehaera if she still lives, for the realm. All women know a satiated man does not wage war, does not continue the fight when it has been won, he simply takes his prize and returns home. You gather your courage and place your hand upon Cregan’s, looking up at him through your lashes, hoping you do not look as horrid as you feel. “Perhaps you would allow me to show you how glad I am, My Lord?”

He sucks in a breath, almost imperceptibly, a blush blooming across his face, his eyes widening a fraction, and for a moment he does not seem so beastly.

“I cannot imagine you had many comforts on your journey, it is such a long way from Winterfell, is it not? And now after all that fighting you must hold a war-torn city together until others come to a decision, how awful.” You pout at him, for him, and allow one of the torn sleeves of your gown to slip off your shoulder.

“Aye, it was a long journey.” He manages to say, his fingers twitching beneath your hand, his breath catching in his throat when you move your hand to his wrist.

His shuttered breaths embolden you, and you shift forward, placing your other hand on his thigh, the muscle is firm to the touch, you note. “Such things must weigh so heavily upon you…if I am able to lighten that burden, I would be more than happy to.”

“You do not need to.” He says, his eyes flickering from yours to your hand on his thigh. “Truly, Lady y/n, I would never press myself upon you, I am not that kind of man.”

“But I want to, I want to help.” The lie rolls off your tongue easily, for it is half-truth. You cannot deny Cregan is attractive, but he still holds your life in his hands and could easily crush it at any time. There is something dangerously appealing about that, though, and you find that despite the dangers, you are desperate for the warmth he radiates.

Cregan’s eyes darken, and he groans low in his throat, closing the distance between you, stopping a hairsbreadth from your lips. “Tell me to stop, push me away, scream, slap me, I will not fight you, I will have you seen back to your lady, there will be no punishment.”

Liquid heat rolls through your veins at the sound of his desperate rasp, the restraint he possesses to not surge forward and claim you as his own. “Lord Sta—”

“Cregan.” He corrects softly, “I wish to hear you say my name.”

“Cregan, I do not wish you to stop.” You tell him, head spinning with the way his mere presence overwhelms your senses, the scent of pine and campfire smoke, his warm hands, his eyes, so dark, so deep you may drown.

Cregan’s lips meet yours, tasting of salt and honey, an oddly pleasant combination, his hands on your waist, beacons of warmth and civility, as his lips take you under, whispering heated words every time you part for air. “Say it again, I beg of you.”

“Cregan, please, do not stop.” You oblige him, grabbing at his tunic, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate for him to do something. Like sully that Stark honor and bind himself to you forever, giving you some kind of foothold in this new era that he has helped usher in.

He pulls back, breathing ragged, and he looks at you, truly looks at you. “If I do not stop now, My Lady, I will not be able to stop at all and I—”

“I wish to hear you say my name.” You echo his words from before, threading your fingers in his dark locks, and guiding his lips back to yours, but turning at the last moment and pressing your lips to his jaw.

“Y/N, please, if you do not stop me”—he lets out a strangled curse when your lips drift lower finding a seemingly sensitive spot, your teeth making a home there—“I am a man, an honorable one, and I have fought and won a war, and I am tempted, by the gods I am tempted, but I do not wish to view you as a prize.”

“Why not? I wish to be your war prize.” You press the words into the skin of his neck, reddened marks blooming in your wake, his grip on you tightens at your words, his head falling back exposing more of his skin.

“Others take me, will you truly have me live up to their stories, the barbarians of the North who steal innocent maidens away from their homes?” Cregan asks, even as he leans into your touch, moaning when you shift in his lap.

“My home is where my lord husband is, wherever he will have me.” Your words drip with implications, your lips pressed to his ear.

He shivers at the sensation, his eyes impossibly dark, his voice low, heady with lust. “I will have you in Winterfell.”

TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Americans move &/or retire to Mexico b/c it's cheaper, and the historic 1910 Casa Limon in Merida, Yucatan, Mexico has 4bds, 7ba, and at $482,300 it's a great price for a beautiful villa. Plus, it's just 7 minutes away from the bohemian park of Santa Lucia and within walking distance to Paseo Montejo where you will find some of the best restaurants, coffee shops, museums and art galleries of the Historic Center.

It has a lovely central entrance hall.

And, look at this magnificent marble staircase.

Lovely sunny living room has doors to a terrace.

Beautiful columns separate the living room from the dining room.

Colorful Mexican tiles in the kitchen. Isn't this an unusual sink?

A built-in dish cabinet.

Love that the kitchen has everything- colorful ceramic tiles, marble, stone, and tile floor.

Original doors with a decorative glass and metal surround.

Colorful ceramic bathroom sink and a vintage medicine chest.

This bath has a stone basin sink and everything else is tile.

Look at the outdoor kitchen.

The courtyard is decorated with art pieces.

And, look at the pool.

This outer building is interesting and has potential.

Solar panels make the house energy efficient.

This patio is so beautiful, especially the gate.

Look at how pretty it is lit up at night.

https://www.point2homes.com/MX/Home-For-Sale/Yucatan/Merida/Chuminopolis/Casa-Limon-Marvelous-Historic-gem/142193048.html?

[ddejavvu]

okay din djarin request! what about din being reader’s first kiss? with shy-ish reader maybe? he acts tough but I just know he’s a huge softie for shy!r

Technically, it might be a little unfair to sneak up on Din after his shower. Your feet graze slowly, carefully, over dirt and rocks, planting themselves in areas that will cut up the soles of your shoes the least. Then they hit tile, and you know you're approaching the showers. It's hard navigating with your eyes closed, but you'd rather ram into a wall than compromise Din's way of life.

Fortunately for you, you don't ram into a wall. You hear the sound of water being rung from a cloth, then a dry towel grating through Din's hair. God, you wonder, what color is his hair? What does it look like? Is it long? Is it short? Is it-

"Y/N?" You hear, Din's voice much less tinny without the helmet on. It's still deep, rough, though, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You startle, and you nearly drop your hands from over your eyes, but you catch yourself.

"You can't be here," Din scolds, already scrambling for his helmet, "I- You can't see me, not like this."

"My eyes are covered," You promise, and you hear him still, then shift, probably turning to face you.

"Did you need something?" Din asks, slightly less tense this time. It's still there, and you wish you could see the accompanying look on his face. Is it stern? Is it curious? Is it pretty? You bet it's pretty.

"I.." Now that you're here, you don't know what to say. You take a deep breath, pressing your hands further over your eyes, "I like you, Din."

He's silent; deathly so.

"And- I think you like me, too," Now you're glad you can't see his face, and you try to hide more of yours like you'll simply disappear, "And if I'm right... I want you to kiss me."

There's more silence, and you blabber to fill it: "I've never been kissed before. And I want you to do it, I- I want you to be my first."

"But if you don't want to," You feel pathetic now, shoulders sagging, lips trembling ever so slightly, "I guess I'll-"

"Stop." You hear, Din's voice suddenly inches away from you. You gasp, and your breath holds stiff in your chest.

A hand slides over your own, gentle in pressure but rough in texture. Din's hand keeps your hands pressed to your eyes, and his other comes to ghost against the underside of your chin.

It's better than you could have ever imagined. He tilts your chin up, soft and sweet, and his lips press against you hesitantly. You've never seen Din as anything but confident and stony, now you're sure if you opened your eyes and tore your hands away from your face you'd see a loverboy staring back at you. His lips are soft, but there's a mustache prickling against your skin. His kiss is such a sweet juxtaposition from his sleek armor, the beskar plating that you've dozed off against countless times since meeting and travelling with the Mandalorian.

He barely puts pressure there, he gives you just a taste. All he does is lock your lips, and hold it there. It lets you soak him in, and you hope he can feel the giddy adoration that you're pumping into the embrace.

Then, just as gently as he'd kissed you, he breaks away.

Cold air rushes to hit your lips, a chilling contrast from Din's warm, soft ones. He's still lingering by your face, you feel his breath on your skin, but he lets his hand slowly fall away from your own.

"Don't open your eyes," He warns, voice impossibly soothing and husky, "I want you to put my helmet on."

"Okay," You stammer, pressing your hands more flush to your face as his footsteps recede. Then you hear the scrape of metal on stone, and he pulls at your hands with a bare one of his own.

"Keep your eyes closed," He reminds you, "You need both hands."

"Okay," You nod, letting him peel your hands away from your eyes, though you keep them squeezed tightly shut.

"Feel it?" He asks, slipping his helmet between your hands. You nod, fingers tracing the curves you've only explored with your eyes before now.

"Reach up," He tells you, pushing your elbow. You do as you're told, and he takes hold of your forearms to guide the helmet over his head.

Lowering it feels like hell. You feel like he's slipping away from you, like whatever connection you'd had will disappear with his lips. But his hands stay on your arms even after you secure the helmet on his head, and he takes your face in his hands.

Gently he thumbs at your eyelids, voice once more filtered through his helmet, "You can open your eyes now."

A familiar sleek design greets you when your eyes open, albeit a blurry one from how hard you'd been squeezing them shut. Your eyes linger on the horizontal stripe, where you know his eyes are beneath the helmet, wishing you could gaze into them and see his soul through them.

All you can do is lean forwards again, pressing a soft kiss to the cold beskar, where his cheek would be. He keeps his hands on your face, but he lets you pucker your lips against his helmet, and you hope that he's blushing beneath the metal armor.

[briarcrawford]

A Common Problem With Fantasy Castles: The Details

Commonly, in both books and movies, the castles are shown or described as having bare, cold, stone walls and floors. They look dark, depressing, and sometimes not even all that impressive even though someone important is living there. What people are forgetting is that when you invite people into your castle, how it looks can be a representation of how powerful you are. As well as that, if you are going to live there, you will want to make it comfortable.

Yes some castles did have bare stone, but I just want to clarify that it is not your only option. Here are some ideas on how make your fantasy castles seem more interesting:

Flooring

Wood Stains. You can stain wood a variety of colors

Tiles. Hand-painted medieval tiles can be absolutely stunning (though expensive) and some have lasted even to today.

Rugs and Carpets. Not only do they help with warmth, but they can also send a message. If someone enters a castle and there is a rug on the floor that would have cost a fortune to make, that tells the visitor that this person has so much money, it is fine to walk on the rug.

Walls

Whitewashing. Whitewashing castle walls(sometimes after smoothing them with plaster) was extremely common, which alone brings a lot of brightness to the room.

Fabric. Tapestry was a quick and less expensive way to add extra insulation to a room, and also added color. Imagine elaborate hand-stitched artworks.

Wainscoting. This is simply just wood added to the wall for decoration, but it can be expensive.

Stonework. The stone of the castle itself could be made beautiful. For an example of amazing carved stonework, look up Rosslyn Chapel.

Paintwork. Yes, medieval times did have colorful paints. Many of the mural decorations were incredibly detailed, but even simple flowers were popular to paint on walls.

Other Décor

Even medieval people hung up items just for the sake of decoration. Commonly in movies, the most interesting thing you see on the walls is a coat-of-arms, or maybe a boars head, but you do have more options.

Suits of Armor. Many suits of armour for royals would never see battle, but they could be shown off. This was a way of showing your power. In fact, children, dogs, cats, and even elephants, have all had armour made for them, even though some of these would never see battle, or quickly grow out of the fit.

Imported Items. Imports were expensive, and having decorations from another culture made you look educated and rich.

Furniture. Could be metal, wood, or stone. It could be amazingly detailed.

Statues. Keep in mind that many of statues used to be painted, so they don’t have to all be void of color. They also do not all have to be about a families history; sometimes people are passionate about a certain subject. For example, a king might have an obsession with an ancient culture and collect statues about that cultures myths.

Weapons. I have been into a few castles where the collections of weapons cover the walls of the entire rooms.

Pottery. Ancient or simply just the most famous artist of the times.

Lighting. Candles, especially beeswax, were not cheap. Having enough candles to brighten an entire room is for sure a show of wealth.

[whump-in-the-closet]

Hi! I love your stuff!

And I don't know if this is a thing but I would love to see a sinerio where a whumper is about to torture whumpee but then finds out that whumpee is a sadist (someone who enjoys pain.)

I'm my twisted mind it's just funny that Whumpee is like:"Yes, that's the good stuff" while being attacked with a knife or a crowbar, etc.

And Whumper is just like:"Wtf just my luck, of course I chose a defective one."

LMAOOO yeah great vision anon I love this. Pretty sure someone who enjoys pain is a masochist so that's why it's tagged like that but nw I know what you meant :D

cw: masochistic whumpee with a whumper who's a dick about it and mocks them, kidnapping, ransom, beating, imprisonment, shaming, walks a fine line between crack whump and actual whump :/

The last thing Whumpee remembered was the flash of a crowbar in the corner of their vision.

Whumpee blinked groggily. They tried to rub their eyes but their hands were tied behind their back and all they could manage was a twitch. Their limbs spasmed beneath them.

They had been thrown with little ceremony into a small, dark room. It smelled of rot and faintly of iron. A light fixture hung from the ceiling and swang lazily back and forth, scattering Whumpee's thoughts with it.

Whumpee caught a glimpse of metal on the walls surrounding them. They swallowed, something tightening inside them.

Their eyes darted back and forth, assessing the vast array of knives and-- oh fuck was that a whip?--

Above them, a door creaked open. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs echoed against the stones.

Whumpee stiffened as their captor entered.

A tall man, with bright eyes and broad shoulders, paused on the final step-- probably for some fucking dramatic entrance, thought Whumpee-- and smiled.

He wore a red and black flannel, which gave him a distinctive lumberjack-esque appearance. As if he ate eggs and bacon every morning and liked it.

Whumpee was far more interested in the crowbar Whumper dexterously swung with a calloused hand.

Whumpee watched the dull metal flick back and forth with a fascinated expression. Oh.

Whumper approached them. He spoke in a confident stride. "I'll make this simple. I'd like twenty-thousand dollars delivered by the end of the week and you get to keep your teeth." He towered over Whumpee and smiled. "Most of them."

Whumpee glanced up, open-mouthed. The fluorescent lighting threw a halo around Whumper's face, making his features angular and disjointed. They were momentarily crushed by the reality they were facing. "Twenty-thousand? I- I don't have that kind of money. I work at a-- at a coffee shop."

Whumper hefted the crowbar, weighing it in his hands. "But your brother does."

Whumpee felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over them. "We don't talk," they shot back.

"Okay, okay, right," said Whumper in a conversational tone. "No worries."

Whumpee exhaled. This didn't seem so bad.

"But maybe this," Whumper raised the crowbar, "Will convince you otherwise."

Too soon.

Whumper hit low, the metal slamming into Whumpee's ribcage. There was a visceral thud and a rush of air.

Whumpee saw stars.

Oh.

Fuck.

They closed their eyes against the roaring in the back of their head. Bright, rapid colors flashed behind their eyes. They inhaled slowly, enjoying the heated rush of throbbing pain. "Oh-"

Whumper hesitated.

Whumpee tilted their head back to look up at Whumper. "Don't stop," they managed-- almost pleading-- "That was so good."

Whumper stepped back, looking at Whumpee with a realization that quickly turned into frustration. "You...you're sick."

"Sorry-- sorry," said Whumpee. "Just-- c'mon, hit me again."

Whumper threw the crowbar away. It rattled against the tiles. "No fucking way." He looked genuinely upset. "Of course, you're into this shit."

Whumpee scooched back into the wall, arms and ankles still tied together, and leaned against it. Their face was bright red. "Sorry about that." Effortlessly polite in a way customer service had forced them to be.

Whumper scowled. "Just my luck in choosing the defective one," he muttered. He pointed at Whumpee with a chipped finger. "Don't think you're getting out of the ransom because of this."

Whumpee sighed. "Shame."

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Ask Jeeves: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Bobby's presence is requested at someone's funeral/will reading. Since he's not here to go, his next of kin will have to do, i.e. you. Sam and Dean make you go thinking they are going to win big. You get something else instead, something deadlier.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Another motel. Another dull day with the Winchesters. Dean is working on his car while Sam is in the motel room. He requested some "me" time, but you know he probably wanted to jerk one off without you or Dean hearing about it. You're sitting inside the car on the passenger side looking through the glove compartment. There are a bunch of cell phones in there, no doubt John's and your dad's. There is the car's registration and insurance but nothing else of importance.

You groan out in frustration loud enough for Dean to hear. He shuts the hood to look at you through the windshield with a smirk.

"Looking for something?" he asks and wipes his hand on a greasy towel.

"No."

"Are you sure it's not this?" You look up and see Dean holding the remote to the metal piece in your fucking neck. You glare at him and slam the glove compartment shut. "Nice try."

"I'm gonna get that one day."

"Yeah, keep dreaming." He rolls his eyes and shoves the remote into his pocket. Sam walks out of the motel room freshly showered, and Dean turns to him instead of wanting to talk to you. "Hey, any leads on the scanner?"

"Nothing. Not even a cat up a tree."

"Right when we're ready to jump back into it, it goes radio silence," Dean scoffs. "Feel like taking a detour to Connecticut?"

"Why? What's there?"

Dean reaches into his back pocket and takes out a flip phone that belonged to your dad. He tosses the phone to Sam who opens it.

"I found this between dusting and listening to Y/N whine and complain." You glare at Dean from behind. "It's one of Bobby's. It has twenty-seven messages on it. The only one that counts is from two days ago. Apparently, Bobby's been named a beneficiary in Bunny LaCroix's will."

"Bunny LaWho?"

"The attorney said she's an heiress and Bobby's presence or next of kin is being requested in New Canaan. Y/N is his next of kin."

"How did Bobby know an heiress?" Sam asks.

"Bobby had secrets, man. Like loving on Tori Spelling. If he only knew Dean cheated on her. Anyway, road trip? Who knows, maybe Bobby earned us some beer money."

"Yeah, I don't want to go. I don't really care about beer money or a fortune."

"Well, I do. You're the next of kin so you're going."

Dean smirks as he passes by you, and you'd love nothing more than to cut it off him. All three of you pack up your belongings and make the long trip up to Connecticut. The property is like something out of a luxury magazine. There are very expensive cars in the driveway, cars you won't be able to afford. The house is tall and wide and covered with white paint. There isn't a splash of color anywhere. There are even tiles on the ground once you step off the driveway that leads to the front door. Stone white pillars go from top to bottom to hold up the bottom of the balcony that sits atop you.

"Wow, think we're a little underdressed?" Sam looks at their attire in concern. "The Fed threads are in the trunk."

"Are you kidding me? For once, we don't have to wear suits. You're lucky my waistband's not elastic."

Dean presses the doorbell and Beethoven's Fuer Elise plays. A young blonde woman in a maid's attire answers the door

"May I help you?"

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is Dean Winchester and his wife, Y/N. We're here on behalf of Bobby Singer."

The young woman looks around as if she is looking for someone.

"Mr. Singer won't be coming?"

"No, he died painfully as his mind withered away into nothingness," you answer, which earns Dean's elbow in your side.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Condolences for your loss, too," Sam says politely.

"Thank you. You just missed the funeral but the family's relaxing inside if you'd like to join. My name is Olivia." Olivia escorts you three inside the very expensive home and into the living room where Bunny's family is. She clears her throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Allow me to introduce Sam, Dean, and Y/N Winchester."

Two women look at Sam and immediately have heart eyes for him. They see how nimble and young he is compared to them and become smitten. You roll your eyes, not interested in Sammy having cougar sex with them.

"Sam, Dean, and Y/N Winchester of the Westchester Winchesters?" one of the blondes asks.

"No, there isn't a relation. Sorry."

"No matter. You two are adorable," she flirts with the brothers.

She slaps Dean's ass as she walks past him, and he jumps in shock.

"I'm Heddy, Bunny's cousin. This is my sister, Beverly." The other woman who had heart-eyes waves at Sam. Heddy points to an older man playing pool on the other side of the room. "That is Bunny's youngest brother, Stanton. Stan for short."

"Come on in, folks. Join the mourning."

There is a really young woman next to Stan who looks like a gold digger.

"Next to him is his child bride, Amber." There is a man who looks to be your age by the liquor bar who smirks when he sees you. "Then there's Dash. That's the baby of the family. He's Bunny's great-nephew."

"How did you guys know Aunt Bunny?" Dash asks and walks over to you.

"We don't," you put bluntly.

"Her dad, Bobby Singer, did."

"Bobby? Never heard of him, but you can fill us in over the weekend," Beverly grins and slinks up to Sam's side.

"The weekend?"

"Didn't the attorney tell you? The service was today and the reading of the will is tomorrow."

"You're welcome to spend the night," Beverly flirts with Sam. "All the rooms sleep two."

"Or three," Heddy says and slaps Dean's ass again.

You roll your eyes and walk away from the brothers to go to the liquor cart. If you're going to be here, then may as well be drunk for it. You pour yourself a double when Dash sinks up to your side.

"What do we have here? If they get to flirt with your brothers, then you're all mine."

You down the double shot and turn to Dash.

"First, I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than entertain you. Second, they're not my brothers. The shorter one is my husband."

"I don't see a ring." You step away from him and he calls after you. "Where are you going?"

"To get needles," you roll your eyes.

"Where's Colette?" Amber asks suddenly.

"She quit." You turn to the entrance of the living room to see the butler standing there. You know he's the butler because of his attire. His name tag says, Phillip. "Poor dear was so distraught over Mrs. LaCroix's passing. She went off to find herself." Philip walks over to you and the brothers and leans in. "May I have a word with you in the hall in five minutes?"

"Sure."

Philip leaves and Beverly turns to Sam. She touches his bicep and squeezes.

"So, Sam, tell me... do you work out?"

"I need another drink." You walk back over to the liquor car and make another double. Someone grabs your arm and it's not your husband. You glare at Dash who grins seductively at you. "I'll break that arm if you continue to touch me." Dean rushes over to you to save Dash for the very real beating you're about to give him. He guides you away with his arm around you. "He got lucky."

"You need to calm down," Dean hisses.

Five minutes later, you three step into the main hallway to meet with Philip who joins you with a manilla envelope in his hands.

"My apologies for being so oblique back there, but I'm doing you folks a favor. As you know, Mrs. LaCroix bequeathed something to your Mister Singer. the reading of the will isn't until tomorrow and I would hate for you to have to stick around and be forced to mingle with the family."

"Don't worry, we know which one the shrimp fork is. Kind of," Dean shrugs.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester, if you're implying that I don't think you're good enough, it's quite the contrary. You're far too good. The LaCroix family is--how shall I say this politely?--money-grubbing leaches."

"What are you talking about? I thought they were all loaded," you state.

"Loaded, yes. Rich, no. The recession hit every one of them, and I'm afraid if they knew what Bunny left you, those vultures would try to stake their claim. Since the attorney kindly agreed to a hand-off, you don't have to be subjected to their scrutiny."

Philip hands over the envelope to Dean.

"Do you have any idea how Bunny and Bobby knew each other?" Olivia enters the hallway and Philip straightens his posture. "Not in the slightest. Now if there's nothing else, shall I have Olivia show you out?"

"No, that's okay. We got it. Thank you."

Olivia and Philip leave you three alone in the hallway. Dean opens the manilla folder only to find a large jeweled cross on a chain. It's bulky and ugly. Why the fuck do you have this?

"What the fuck is this?"

"Maybe it's worth a lot of money."

"If Bunny was banging Bobby, then maybe these rocks are real." Dean grins.

The nearest pawnshop is ten miles away. You have no need for an ugly necklace so they're going to try and sell it for as much money as they can. The worker inside the pawnshop takes one look at the necklace and decides it's not real.

"What do you mean it's not real?" Dean asks, shocked. "The old bag was rolling in it."

"It looks like the old bag's got a soft spot for fake rubies and cubic zirconium." The worker grabs the necklace and inspects it further. "This is interesting though." He pulls the top of the cross away from the rest of the necklace to reveal a hidden key inside. "It's a key."

"A key to what?" Sam asks.

"One way to find out," Dean says.

If the key originated at Bunny's house, then it has to unlock something that's there. You hate the thought of going back there but trudge along knowing they will force you anyway. When you get back, there is a police car in the driveway that stands out like a sore thumb against the luxury. Philip answers the door when Sam knocks on it, and even you can tell this is a bad time to come back.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks.

"Not really." All three of you enter the house. "I presume you folks left something behind. I'll check the front closet for burlap."

"You two were here earlier?" 

You look up and make eye contact with a detective. He must be the owner of the police car out front.

"Who wants to know?"

He takes out his very real badge and shows it to your husband.

"Detective Howard of New Canaan P.D. Congratulations you three, you're now officially murder suspects."

"Excuse me?" you raise your eyebrows.

"Yeah, Bunny LaCroix's brother, Stanford, was killed this evening. His body's just gone to the morgue."

"You think we had something to do with that?"

"I don't know what to think. That's why you three and anyone else who stepped foot in this house today is being detained for questioning."

"No offense, Detective, but if I was going to kill someone, I wouldn't leave behind so many witnesses."

"Shut up," Dean hisses at you.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[catherinetcjd]

Windmill Parquet Floors

~ in 25 Metals & Industrial Varieties, and 3 size options ~

These floors were created for TS2 by CatherineTCJD of Sims Virtual Realty and MTS.

Most of these are metal, all of them are Industrial in nature... And, for lack of a better suggestion, I categorized them in with stone floors. Where they can be found for $7 each.

There are 25 different "Windmill" parquet floors, in 3 size options each. So... 75 floors, total.

I really like the largest 'slab' sized version - but, if you don't, you can easily delete them. (Those files are named with an XL.) Many of these would make terrific ceiling tiles too!

See more »

...a color swatch is included and the files are all properly named.

DOWNLOAD @ SFS

Or MTS.

Enjoy! 🦚

[bomberqueen17]

kitchen status

ok well. so. we're at the point now where the countertop guy (his name was Ken and he had a cool laser thing and confessed he often enjoys playing with people's cats with the laser thing when nobody's paying attention; alas our cat is not home and missed her chance) has come and measured, and now the countertops are due on January 4th.

Today the electricians are finishing the installation of all the outlets and such, which is exciting.

My mother advised me that the one thing she regrets about her kitchen remodel of, gosh more than ten years ago now, is that she didn't immediately install shelf liners. So I am going to do that. A cursory websearch told me that you can in fact make your own from fabric, but I think I am going to mostly buy premade ones, since they're not very expensive and I want this to get done.

BUT I do have a lazy-susan corner cabinet that's got these big round shelves that the liners won't easily fit, so I am going to make my own slightly-padded lil quilted guys to go on those, I think that's the most expedient thing. i intend to fill that cabinet with my saucepans and baking dishes, so it doesn't need to be spillproof and grippy and all that.

ANYWAY the next thing I need to think about is COLORS. I found a bunch of my notes from when we first started thinking about remodeling the kitchen and my big conclusion was "i don't want gray! i don't want a kitchen all in shades of gray!" and guess what my new kitchen is all shades of gray. BUT. that's because I realized that getting brightly colored cabinets would lock me into one color. Like blue-- a lot of bright blue options in cabinets or countertops exist, but then you're locked into that specific shade of blue. And what if the cool accessories you wanted don't coordinate? No.

So I figure, i will pick ONE very bold color, and will paint the east wall around the window, the window trim, and the west wall and entryway that color, and then perhaps a secondary bold color will be what the dishes, spoon rest, and other replaceable accessories will be in. (I think some floor rugs too, at least in a couple high-traffic areas.)

But I need help choosing colors, so please do weigh in.

The kitchen is all in shades of gray with both warm and cool tones. The floor is grayish-mottled faux stone vinyl with a kind of warm cast. The cabinets are warm wood washed blue, which comes out to a fairly cool grayish color. The countertop will be a mottled mostly-white quartz composite. The backsplash will be (boring, I know, I know) white subway tiles.

The neighboring room, the living room, which the kitchen is now wide open to, is bright, saturated buttercup yellow, with royal purple trim. (The bedroom is deep royal purple with bright scarlet trim.)

I don't like pastels or desaturated colors. The colors I prefer are primary or secondary colors in jewel tones.

So I'm currently considering cobalt blue, emerald green, pthlao green, deep teal, mermaid blue, royal purple, or bright crimson as my main color, with the smaller secondary color being either goldenrod yellow, bright scarlet, bright orange, bright turquoise, or metallic gold.

My everyday china is in the classic Blue Willow pattern, and a few of the pieces are mended with gold kintsugi from the time period in which Dude was into doing that. We also have some CalamityWare because his sister bought us a bunch of that-- and that includes some soft furnishings, a pair of kitchen towels and a hot dish mitt and an apron and such.

Middle-Little advised me that the Pantone color of the year is "Peachfuzz(TM)" and that a pale peach or bright coral would be great colors for the kitchen, and she is correct, but that is not in the slightest bit to my personal taste so I won't be doing that. Alas. She's super correct though. But I have discovered I am allergic to those types of colors. What category is that? I don't know but I know my answer is No. And I feel like anything on-trend will soon be dated. (Also, and I do know this by chance, the Pantone Color Of The Year for like 2018 was a coral color, and like, why. Why do they keep coming back to this.)

I don't know what that means but that's my story and I'm sticking to it, LOL.

[ftafp]

Protip: If you ever get burned out on the awfulness of the world, try to imagine it filtered through the perspective of a bronze age peasant

We live in an age of wizards, where even the poorest beggars are lettered scholars, and the violet robes of kings can be bought with a few hours of a commoner's daily wage. Steel horses gallop past on hooves made of tree gum, upon stone roads that rise into sky like tangled ribbons or nests of snakes.

Near every man, woman and child owns a magic mirror of polished obsidian. It feeds them with visions and songs of distant lands and times, and carries within a library greater than that of alexandria. and they are only the product of a thousand other wonders. Its face is made of crystal orbs which glow like the sun, shone through rubies emeralds and sapphires that are said to flow like liquid while still a gem. Its brain is a magic circle made of polished copper, decorated all around with lightning runes carved in tiles of clay. They say these eat lightning released by burning dragon bezoars and blood, or from metals from tartarus that radiate hellfire and plague

There are other lands beyond here the likes of which can't be fathomed. Though they are distant they must be seen to be believd.

beneath the waves lies a world both beautiful and dying. In cities of coral the octopodes live, using magic to take the forms of forests, fish and sand. There are deep valleys where darkness weighs as much as a mountain. Hideous monsters dwell in this darkness, using dim lights to spring their trap. The gods of the fish drift across the sky of this world. To approach when they are singing causes one to die and stream blood from their ears. When gods do die their titanic corpses rain from the heavens, and from their flesh the fish carve their cities

Off in the south their is a great sea of trees, it is a vast battlefield both above and below. In one men lead menageries of of steel beasts to carve away at this ocean, bearing swords powered by dragon blood which have grown sharp, gnashing teeth. beneath their feet tiny battle companies of six-legged men ride battle each other in black plate armor, and use not swords but their fangs. These tiny soldiers are said to have no minds of their own. instead a queen thinks for them, and leads them to fight with her perfumes

There are still farther lands men have not yet seen among the stars. celestial spheres of endless skyies that rain diamonds and acid and rivers of metal rush molten unbidden through dead worlds, and great clouds sparkle, in colors human eyes cannot see

This world is horrible, wonderful, awful and beyond description. One only needs to remember it for the wonder that it is.

[theecoden]

Discover the Eco-Friendly Brilliance of Unified Metal Stone Coated Roofing with The Ecoden

Have you heard about the innovative unified metal stone coated roofing system called The Ecoden? It combines the durability of metal with the charm of stone coating to give your home a sleek and modern look while providing long-lasting protection. The Ecoden is not only stylish but also eco-friendly, perfect for those looking to enhance their homes with sustainable solutions. With this roofing option, you can enjoy both aesthetic appeal and peace of mind knowing that your roof is built to withstand the test of time.

[goodpointsandbadpoints]

19 with nivanserra because im weakkkk for fake relationships

prompt 19: a kiss during a fake relationship

🌼 HI here you go!! This got 1000 words away from me because ~setting~ and also these two are ridiculous. I hope you like it!

tags: going undercover; fake relationship; kissing.

One of his hands is braced on the armrest of Luis’ chair because he’d asked, and the other is around a glass because it’s that kind of night out. The place is dark and bright at once—dark wood stains in gray brown, golden light from lamps on the bar and metal-trimmed fixtures on the walls—and it feels less like a bar and more like someone’s overly expensive basement remodel. This is a few degrees nicer than what he’s used to.

There are long floor rugs with flowered, reddish Persian design, and paintings and tiled backsplash on the walls that pool soft shadows below every ridge. It’s cozy. It made it easier to slide to the edge of this couch and put his elbow on Luis’ armrest. Like this, side by side and drinking, he thinks they pass off well. People are standing close to each other here as they drink and talk, and the place murmurs gently with it. 

“Why me, again?” Piers asks. When he turns, Luis is closer than he thought, and he sees reflections of gold and the miniature figures of people walking in his eyes. 

He’s sat near Luis in meetings before, and met him often at organizational get-togethers, but that’s never gotten close enough to see the deep, warm brown of his eyes. There’s a hint of lighter color in the inner ring of one, like a flare of sunlight off of a stone. It’s interesting. 

“I needed the muscle,” Luis says, shrugging. He has a swaying and confident air to him, and Piers is learning that it’s more genuine than he thought. His mannerisms are quick and light, even as he carefully watches the room, and his smile is the only familiar thing here. 

Piers takes another drink. His shoulders have gradually crawled up towards his ears, and he makes them relax. 

It’s been a minute since he’s gone out.

“Should have brought Chris, then,” he says into the glass. 

“I thought about it,” Luis says. He looks around the room. The man of the hour—lead investor or something like it—stands at the bar chatting with another one of the guests, and his teeth are alarmingly white. He stands out exactly the way Piers would expect, the business-type middle-aged man with a strong posture and the confidence of someone with too much influence. 

Luis goes on quietly. “But I thought I could use someone more convincing.”

“My acting might be worse than his, believe it or not.”

“I doubt it.”

He says this so sincerely that Piers has to laugh. He puts down the glass and lifts an eyebrows at Luis. “You’re about to find out.” 

“Just follow what I say.”

“Sure.” 

The evening has gone smoothly so far because Luis is the boss. Sending in the attendance confirmation, requesting a plus one, getting them out of the car and up the curb and into the little basement entryway in the ground, that was all his doing. 

Piers can be muscle. He carried the chair down the flight of steps to the bar, and offered an arm for Luis to hold as he came down after it. And he’s fully prepared for the crucial part of their plan later tonight, the real reason they're here. It’s the little details along the way that have him asking questions at all. 

He can go out to a bar and have fun with someone, but he’s never had to pretend that he was going out to a bar and having fun with someone. 

They sit on the couch and let the gathering simmer around them. As Piers watches the investor from across the room, he feels a knuckle at his jaw. 

“You’re being too obvious,” Luis says. 

Piers blinks and follows the warmth, letting Luis turn him by the chin. “You said not to trust him.” 

“Yes, but— I don’t think he’s going to do anything here. Don’t try to screw it up before then, ey?” 

They’re so close to each other. The whole atmosphere of the place—spirits in bottles, people talking, velvet and finished wood surfaces—feels like it’s pressing in around him. 

He feels Luis’ thumb on his chin. His skin is softer than Piers expected. “Is it time for acting?” he asks, barely audible. 

Luis’ eyes roam around to the other couches and the people occupied with chatting there, before they come back to Piers. “I think so.” 

There’s a moment of considering. Luis looks over Piers’ face, and his hand does a brief squeeze at his chin he might not be aware of, and then he pulls in close. 

Piers tips his head just enough, and the kiss is chaste. It’s something any two people might do while out together, a little reminder that the other person is there, or maybe on an affectionate whim. Piers draws from that feeling and plays on it here. 

When they part and he opens his eyes, the investor has moved. He looks around the room for the man, Luis’ hand dropping away, and finds him at the opposite wall near some bookshelves. He’s talking to another guest. 

“Dios mío,” Luis says beside him. “You need to tread more carefully, Piers.” 

“If he’s going to do what we think—”

Luis tugs on his ear, and he shuts up. 

The second kiss breaks his concentration completely. It’s got a hint of urgency to it, a bit of shut up and remember what we’re doing, especially when Luis’ hand slides down over the flat part under his collarbone. He can feel the man’s fingers firmly planted, the rings on his fingers pressing in. His hand reaches out for Luis’ knee reflexively. He might be the one who turns it into a third kiss, but he’s not sure. 

Luis is gentle with it, little seeking motions that somehow don’t feel desperate. 

Piers smiles before the kiss is even over. It makes Luis stop and huff, shooting a nervous look over to the bookshelves. 

“Are we convincing?” Piers asks him. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing, why they both suddenly feel so clumsy and unsure even though they’re in the middle of an operation that’s going so well. 

“If you would listen to me and stop staring, we would be,” Luis whispers. 

“Alright. I’ll get my act together,” Piers says. 

It becomes a little easier after that to keep his eyes away from their target. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows what Luis’ beard feels like on his face, or that there’s a flustered edge to Luis as he steals Piers’ drink from the table. This undercover thing might not be as difficult as he thought it'd be.

(read on ao3)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Befores & Afters are my favorite and I know you like them, too, so I found one and have to ask What the Hell were they thinking? The exterior is still the same colonial style farmhouse, but the 1846 home in Halifax, Massachusetts didn't sell, so it received a major remodel. 6bds, 3ba, $975K.

These pics are from the original listing. You can see that it's a true colonial farmhouse with wide plank knotty pine floors and original fireplaces.

But, baby, look at her now. One must wonder why they would attach ultra modern wires to the original colonial balusters and hand rails?

Crime against humanity, history, and all that's holy- they got rid of the original wide plank floor.

This was some historic colonial home. They could've decorated it beautifully.

But, what in hell are they doing w/this remodel? They did new floors, put either some kind of tile or wallpaper on the fireplaces, all modern, and put up a sliding barn door.

Even their original remodel sucked. They put a bathroom into a room with wood floors and a fireplace. These people need to stop.

They made some weird new bathrooms. Look at how high that chute faucet is above the black bowl sink.

And, who puts a washer & dryer in front of a fireplace, then goes thru the trouble of adding stone and a modern insert? This is madness.

Apparently they'd already remodeled the bedroom and en-suite once before.

And, here it is now. I like quartz w/a little pattern and color, rather than all white, but this is nuts.

They put a bedroom up here.

Attic stairs lead to another bedroom.

I saved the best for last. There are no photos of the original kitchen, but who doesn't want a kitchen big enough to fit a baby grand piano? Everybody needs one in the kitchen- music aids in digestion. BTW, what's up with the smeared crown molding?

And, look at the commercial refrigerators flanking the house fridge. My question is, does the wood and epoxy table convey? It's not done well, anyway, it's supposed to be even. Note the metal folding chairs in their sleek stretchy covers.

These plans were included in the first listing. I don't know how much they were asking before, b/c the old listing was removed. So, what do you think?

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/268-Thompson-St-Halifax-MA-02338/57182659_zpid/?

[merakiui]

[v.] ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵘᵗᶜʰᵉʳ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: yandere, captivity/kidnapping, restraints, mentions of blood/murder, pregnancy, drugging, nudity, use of syringe/needle, brief unwanted touches/manhandling chapter iv│chapter v (you are here)│chapter vi

Today’s Horoscope: Survive.

The floor has never felt more unwelcome than it does now. Curled into a fetal position, with your arms bent and wrists bound at your lower back, you feel like a slab of meat pinned to a cutting board. A splitting migraine greets you as soon as you open your eyes and you groan low in your throat. Normally you’d cure your hangover with another hour of sleep, but upon viewing the sterile bathroom you’re currently confined to bewilderment gradually replaces your need for a nap. Framed pencil sketches of various fungi have been hung on the baby blue walls and the mosaic tiles are cream-colored. Jars filled with shells, stones, and sea glass sit in perfect rows on a strip of antique wood, situated just above the door, and the frame that encases the arched mirror is made from the same material. To your right, pressed into the corner and a short distance from the toilet, is a walk-in shower, its frosted glass panels blurring the outline of a seat.

Everything about this bathroom is a pleasant sight, save for the black tarps that have been hung in place of where curtains ought to be. They cascade over the bath like a waterfall of tar, shrouding whatever lies within the tub in dark drapery. A fresh wave of discomfort crashes into you when the overbearing stench of cleaning products barrages your flaring nostrils.

This doesn’t look like my bathroom, you conclude with a shiver. It’s not Azul’s bathroom either. 

The chill continues to work its way into your bare skin and it’s then when you come to the jarring realization that you’ve been stripped of your dress. Not only that, but a thick piece of tape covers your mouth, preventing you from producing any coherent sounds. Fear grips your heart as the horrors of the situation slowly creep through the fatigue and awe, revealing an inescapable scene that births a raw, animalistic panic. You begin to shimmy your wrists in hopes of loosening your bindings, but after a few minutes of repeating the struggle and failing to free yourself you turn your attention to the cuff that hugs your uninjured ankle, its accompanying chain snaking along the floor up towards a shower bar. 

And that’s when you see it. A series of elegant scribbles have been meticulously drawn across your skin with a marker, and they remind you of cutting lines on paper, particular markings that guide a pair of scissors in its journey across fragile looseleaf. 

What in the world happened last night?

You take stock of your surroundings once more, gritting your teeth as the buzzing ache tears into your skull with so much force it feels as if it’s trying to lobotomize you. Pain invades your haggard muscles and it only intensifies when you rock yourself back and forth. Though the movement doesn’t free you, it scantily warms your shuddering body, a sensation you couldn’t be more happy to experience. It also provides you with the echoing clink of the chain, and that is more than enough to turn what little contentment you can muster into unease. 

There’s no way I can get out of this. Inhaling a trembling breath through your nose, you steel your nerves. But I have to try.

Counting to three in your head, you push off from the sink in an attempt to squeeze your foot out from the metal cuff. It gnaws at your ankle and you hiss at the horrid strain that soon follows. Despite this you continue to pull, hard and deliberate, so much that your skin breaks and a thin trail of blood dribbles down the length of your leg. 

Come on, you stupid thing!

It’s then when you notice that it isn’t just your leg that’s been graffitied. Your entire body has been marked with methodical scrawls that connect and twist around your limbs, and when you stare down at your stomach various parts have been sectioned off and labeled with words. Large intestine. Liver. Heart. Lungs. A horrible amalgamation of terror and confusion pierces your chest and you struggle with more intent, ignoring the way your sprained ankle throbs in agony when it’s slammed against the porcelain sink. 

You’re trapped in a stranger’s bathroom, vulnerable and cold. Azul isn’t here to provide comfort. You can’t dial Cater’s number and confide in him. Unlike the movies, no one’s going to come to your rescue. You’re helplessly alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Always alone.

You might die. No, you’re going to die. Isn’t that why you’re chained to a metal bar—so that you can’t escape when your killer marches in with a machete or a gun or their bare hands? And what will happen then? Will they grace you with a quick, painless death? Or will you suffer hours of anguish while they strip away pieces of your soul, little by little, until you give into the torment? Hot tears stream down your face as the possibilities overwhelm you.

Relax. Panicking isn’t getting you anywhere. Try to remember how you got here. You rest your cheek against the floor and blink rapidly to clear the fresh onslaught of tears that gathers in your eyes. Right. Remember. Okay… I talked to Cater on the phone, got dressed after my nails finished drying, and then I left for my date with Azul. There was pasta and wine. And then he proposed. We ate cake and I drank another glass. And then we got in Floyd’s car and he drove us back. More wine. Kissing. Ugly pottery. And then… Did we fall asleep together? 

You swallow rising bile. 

I can’t remember the rest. 

Just then, the door opens to reveal a man dressed in a pressed suit, a green apron, a surgical mask, and a pair of latex gloves. You recognize his outfit because it has the exact color scheme you used to wear when you worked at Azul’s club. His gaze crawls along your nude form to the shackle, and his grip on the meat cleaver tightens when he fixates on the blood blooming from your wound. You open your mouth to scream, but all that you can produce are frantic, muffled cries. The door shuts behind him with a soft click. Your heart pounds a hurried rhythm in your chest when he takes a step closer and you thrash wildly on the floor, your breath coming through your nose in panicky huffs. Despite how fiercely you squirm and struggle, the expertly tied knots keep your wrists in place and the cuff doesn’t move an inch from where it’s fastened to your leg. 

Why’s Jade here? What’s going on? This isn’t right. I was with Azul, so how did I get here?

“You can relax. I’d like to have a little chat with you before I put you to sleep.” He lowers to your height and you jerk away so fast that your head bumps into the sink. Tutting, he adds in a softer voice, “I’ll remove the tape, but you’ll have to promise to be good. I’d hate to kill you without explaining myself.” His eyes darken with shadows, reflecting a not-so-covert warning. “So you’ll be quiet for me, won’t you?”

You offer him your most obedient nod. Chuckling, he reaches out and rips the tape from your mouth. Wincing at the sting, you curl in on yourself in an attempt to protect what’s left of your privacy. Jade’s arm lowers to his side, his entire frame a motionless mass devoid of emotion, and you glare through your tears.

“S-Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking creep! Why the hell am I chained up in your bathroom?!” You swallow a hysterical sob. “And why do I have all these markings on me? W-What’re you going to do to me?”

Jade sits back on his haunches and continues to pick you apart with his intense stare. Disapproval flashes in his mismatched hues, so you lower your voice and try again.

“S-Sorry. I… I’ll be quiet. I promise I won’t yell, so please don’t do anything.” 

Calm down. Assess the situation from another angle. Even though he’s armed, it looks like he’s thinking about what to do next. The only thing you can do now is stall for more time. Keep him talking.

“I won’t tell anyone. Y-You can let me go and we’ll never have to speak again. I’ll leave you alone. It’ll be like I never existed.” A hopeful smile twists your lips. “I can move to another city. We’ll pretend we never even met. So please… Whatever it is you plan to do… P-Please don’t do it.”

“Begging and bargaining won’t get you anywhere. Besides, when have those lies ever worked?” He reaches out to grab your jaw and ice crackles through your veins. “Do you really think I’d let a quality meal go to waste after all the trouble I went through to procure it?”

Meal?

“Your foolishness cost me a perfectly intact ankle and you were on your way to spoiling the other.” He turns your head to the left and right, humming as he inspects it. “At least everything else is in pristine condition. You may have some bruising here or there, but that shouldn’t affect the taste.”

“I…don’t understand. What does my ankle have to do with this?” 

It hurts so much. But how did I hurt it? And why does that matter? 

Jade releases you from his hold and tugs his mask down so that you can view the eerie smile playing at his lips. It sickens you, but nothing brings you closer to retching than what he says next. You almost don’t hear it as static tingles faintly in your ears, but when it finally nestles into your brain your jaw slackens and you stare at him in horrified silence. 

He’s going to…

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I promise my methods are very humane. You won’t feel a thing.”

He’s going to eat me. I’m going to be killed and eaten.

“I… What? I don’t even—what even—you…” 

This can’t be real. There’s no way he’s serious. 

“Street food isn’t nearly as fulfilling or healthy as food that’s been well-kept. It’s such a pity when humans ruin their internal structures. I’ve had to discard so many inedibles.” Shaking his head in dismay, Jade sighs. “I suppose that’s the lottery of alley supermarkets.”

“You’re crazy,” you mutter breathlessly, pupils blown wide. “You’re telling me… You’re saying that humans…” 

“That humans are food? It’s really not so surprising, (Name). We’re all living creatures who require adequate sustenance to survive.”

“But humans don’t count as food!” You kick out at him with your good leg and he catches your ankle in a grip so tight it prompts a yelp from you. “I… I promise I don’t taste good. I’m actually really gross and I’m not super healthy! There are better options out there. Please, Jade… Please don’t do this.”

Jade holds your gaze for a tense minute before lowering your leg onto the tiled floor. He reaches for the cleaver that lies beside him, just out of your grasp, and you shake your head rapidly. 

“W-Wait! Wait!” 

He pauses, his hand hovering over the blade, and quirks a brow.

“You can’t kill me.”

“Oh? Surely you’re not as inedible as you think. Azul’s taken very good care of you.”

“T-That’s right! The thing is… S-Speaking of Azul…” 

The police will find me. People will come looking. Azul will save me. Riddle’s here. Cater knows me. No, no, no. He won’t care about any of that. What am I supposed to say? 

“How disappointing. I thought you’d be much more entertaining in your final moments.”

You have to say something. I’m thinking! That doesn’t matter right now. Think of something. Anything. There has to be a way out. A way out… Assess the situation and—no, there aren’t any other angles to assess. 

From the pocket of his apron, he produces a syringe. You stare at the clear liquid that rests inside and it occurs to you that this is the end. You’re going to be rendered unconscious by a dear friend—by someone you trusted and liked. And then you’ll be killed, dismembered, and cooked to suit Jade’s monstrous appetite. You can picture the headlines now: Young Woman’s Missing Person Case Gone Cold. No one will ever know the truth. Azul will be left wondering what happened that fateful night. Riddle will be alone in this unfamiliar city. Cater will be left without a best friend. All of these connections will be severed by a butcher’s cruel cleaver, and your existence will be blotted from this world. 

You’re going to die, and knowing that this is your dawning reality doesn’t make it any easier to digest. Then again, death is never easy to process, especially when it’s premature and looming directly above you, descending ever so slowly. 

Jade leans over you, the syringe poised at your arm, and you fight him as he works to pin your legs down.

“No, no! Stop! Let go of me! You can’t—mmph!”

His gloved hand clamps over your mouth, silencing the rest of your protests, and you taste rubbery latex. You flail under him, heaving snuffed screams. The syringe pierces your skin and you watch as the mysterious liquid is injected into your bloodstream. Jade holds you down until you stop struggling against the inevitable. Now you slump against the sink like the corpse you’ll soon be. Despair gnaws through your bones. 

There has to be something I can do or say. Look at it again. Assess the situation one more time. But there’s no time for that! Stop panicking. I’m not panicking! I have to do something. I can’t die here! 

Jade’s hand withdraws from your mouth. “It’ll take a few minutes to settle into your system, so please bear with it for now.”

“Please don’t do this,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t want to die…”

“And I’m not very partial to starvation. It seems only one of us can have the things we want.”

“B-But I’m pregnant!” you blurt, and the sudden announcement stupefies him. You inhale a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m pregnant. S-So that’s why… That’s why I don’t want to die. I can’t die. N-Not until the baby’s born.”

Jade’s eyes narrow into disbeliving slits. “May I ask who the father is?” 

“It’s...Azul.”

Please believe it. Please believe it. 

He’s silent for a while, eyes glazed over in contemplation. Eventually, he exhales slowly and says, “That would explain the ring. He’s taking responsibility, as expected. In any case, I’m afraid there won’t be a wedding in your future. How sad.” 

“H-Hold on! I… I love Azul. I love him more than I’ll ever love anyone else in this entire world, so I was really happy when he proposed. A-And I’ve always wanted to be a mother, and if it’s with Azul—”

“Forgive my interruption, but you were quite intoxicated last night. It’s not safe to consume alcohol when you’re pregnant.”

“Right. Um. W-Well, I was just celebrating. And I don’t plan on drinking anymore. At least, that was the plan before I woke up here. But I didn’t mean to drink so much! I was stressed and worried, and I thought Azul would hate me once he found out, which is why I was drinking so much. No, sorry. What I meant to say was—uh, t-the thing about drinking and pregnancy… I was just… Um…”

You’re panicking again. Calm down.

Jade rolls his sleeve up to glimpse at the luxury watch curled around his wrist. “Perhaps I should have given you a larger dose. This is quite troublesome.”

Shifting your legs, you wince as you force your stiff body into a bow. With your forehead pressed into the floor, your rear raised, and your arms bound, you feel like a prisoner awaiting a swift beheading. Which, in a macabre way, you technically are. Only your executioner wields a meat cleaver and your guillotine is simply the misfortunes of fate that have trapped you in this predicament.

“Please let me live for nine months! I know that’s a long time and I know you could care less, but this means a lot to me. I’ll never have another chance like this again, so I want to see this pregnancy through to the end. You can do whatever you want with me after I’ve given birth. I just want to hold the baby once. That’s all I want.”

He doesn’t say anything. You consider lifting your head to gauge his reaction, but you fear that doing so will only discredit your lie. So you remain on the floor with your eyes squeezed shut and your heartbeat in your mouth. A dozen scenarios flicker through your head and all of them end in death at the hands of a remorseless monster. You’re not sure what else you can do other than pray for his change of heart, but doing so only makes the gravity of this situation even more crushing. Do you have to rely on miracles in order to live? Is that what will guarantee survival—divine intervention? A perfect alignment of stars? A better horoscope? Luck?

When he still doesn’t utter a single word even after the world’s begun to slow and your brain has grown hazy with whatever drug he gave you, you're certain it’s over. 

I’m sorry, you think, but you’re not quite sure why an apology seeps through the panic. Every creature wants to survive. It's a basic instinct, but there’s nothing we can do. It’s over. 

“Nine months is a steep demand. As patient as I am, I’d rather not wait such a long time for a meal. It doesn’t benefit me in the slightest.” 

“I’ll do whatever you want. I promise you can kill me as brutally as you’d like after the baby’s born. You can turn me into your favorite food or whatever you’re craving. Just please let me live. For the baby’s sake, please.” When you open your eyes, the tiles blur and warp as fat tears slip down your face in rivulets. ”I’m begging you!”

“Do you intend to leave your child without a mother?” 

“A-Azul can… O-Or an adoption shenter—center can… They can…”

This isn’t working.

You shake your head, tongue heavy and numb. Keeping your eyelids open is a challenge you’re having trouble overcoming. Pursing your lips, you try to rise from your bowed position, but the bathroom sways with you and you flop pathetically onto your side. Jade leans over you, leering with an expression so neutral it shatters you. The scene is almost familiar in a crooked way, but you can’t recall why that is. Instead, you focus on the darkness crowding your peripheral and the sluggish enervation seizing your body until, eventually, you’re dragged into unconsciousness. 

And all the while you struggle to rouse yourself, he watches, his eyes pinned on your stomach.

Jerking awake with a gasp, you find yourself in an empty aquarium hall. The tanks that normally house hundreds of luminescent jellyfish have been drained of saltwater and replaced with a star-speckled void. You peer into it and hazy images of the night prior begin to play in rapid succession. From Azul’s proposal in a palace of overpriced, tiny portions to smoldering kisses that nearly left you bedridden to the car ride with Floyd, they stitch your fragmented night into a coherent quilt. In the center of the slowly forming celestial patchwork, a sloppy fight with Jade is presented before your mystified stare. It ends with you on the floor, with Jade standing over you, and your mind reels in an attempt to process everything.

How did he get inside? I never leave my door unlocked.

“I could’ve won,” the woman on the intercom seethes, her monotonous voice mangled with malicious static. “I hate losing to fools who only think with their stomachs.”

Is she talking about the fight? I don’t think I had much of a chance. He’s bigger and stronger and I was drunk. There’s no way I could've won.

“It’s not fair. You don’t deserve pain. I vowed… I promised… That day when—couldn’t protect you—there’s an instability—when you were—not right… Always alone…”

You pivot just in time to catch sight of a small figure darting through the corridor and out of view, a summer dress billowing behind her. Weighing your options, you abandon your place in front of the dark space and stride down the lengthy hall in pursuit of the rogue child. Cracks spiderweb along the floor, growing increasingly perilous with every step, and you turn swiftly upon hearing her airy laughter. The tanks on either side of you play various sequences; some are long-forgotten moments from your childhood and others are recollections that blend fantasy and reality. You don’t stop to analyze any of the portrayals, but you do listen to fractions of muffled conversations as you walk, each more scattered and staticky than the last.

I’d like you to look at these images. 

Are you going to run away again, shrimpy?

Tomatoes and strawberries are not the same.

Don’t cry. It’s a hideous look for a parasite.

From this day onwards, we’re a contractual couple. It’s…a working title. Please stop laughing. 

Of course they are! They’re both red and yummy!

Tell me what they mean to you.

If you’re worried about being strangers, we can be pretend-friends instead. Now it’s not so awkward if we sleep together!

I’d do anything for you. 

It would be even more amazing if you submitted your application.

What frightens you? 

After minutes of navigating the labyrinthine aquarium, you stop in front of a doorway. The space behind you has fallen away, devoured by an approaching galaxy, and when you move towards the gloom that stands before you another tile crumbles into stardust and the one you’re balancing on is just beginning to erode. You reach for the door and your hand goes through it into the frigid depths. With a gasp, you retract your arm and observe your hand. Hard, shiny scales materialize on your skin and more are climbing up the length of your arm, crystallizing in lustrous clusters. 

Peering into the inky abyss, you spy a pair of milky eyes. The girl pokes her head out just as the eyes shut and you meet her defiant stare. She sticks her tongue out at you before disappearing within. 

“Hey! Get back here!” 

You rush into the doorway, arms outstretched and ready to scoop up the mischievous runaway. 

“I got you, you little—”

Azul blinks at you, owlish. He sits at a circular table, knife and fork poised above a porcelain plate, and he offers you a lopsided grin. 

“You certainly got me.” 

You lower your arms to your side and survey the dining room with a frown. It’s exactly like the one in Azul’s penthouse, right down to the moon jellyfish in the cylindrical tanks. The doorway you came through is now closed, and the oval window offers you a view of the deep sea, where fish swim clustered outside. There’s an empty seat across from him, which has been set for another person, and you shuffle over to the chair. Like a haunted painting, his pale eyes follow you, but his head doesn’t move.

“Where’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“There was a little girl who just ran through here. She was wearing a dress and… N-Never mind. It’s not important.”

“So nervous,” he teases, pointing his fork at you. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“No, that’s okay. But what’s with all of this?” 

“It’s a feast. Is that not obvious?” He gestures for you to sit and you comply, albeit stiffly, and he runs his knife through the thick cut of meat on his plate. A dark liquid seeps from under it and you’re certain it’s not au jus. “Go on. It’ll congeal if you keep staring at it.” 

“Azul, you’re acting weird.”

“How so?” 

This isn’t Azul.

“You sound so excited, but nothing exciting has happened.” 

“That’s not true. There are plenty of exciting things happening.” He cleans the red splotch from the corner of his lip with a frilly handkerchief. “We deserve a special meal every now and then, and since we’ll be parents it’s only fitting we celebrate with something grand.” 

“Parents?” 

“That’s right. Or do you no longer care enough to use our relationship as a scapegoat? I must say, (Name), as wonderful as you are, you're awfully inconsistent with your lies. First it’s mutualism and now you love me more than life itself. If you want to con a conman, you’ll have to think like one, sweetheart. And the first step in doing so is keeping track of your little half-truths.” 

Your face contorts into a dark scowl. “What am I supposed to do? Accept everything and pretend like it’s fine? Like I wasn’t kidnapped by Jade?!” 

“You’ll figure something out. If it makes you feel any better, I'm flattered you’d use me in your fib.” He nibbles from the chunk on his fork. “But enough of that. Why don’t you eat? You’ll need the energy since you’re eating for two now.”

Wordlessly, you lift the lid on your plate and immediately drop it when you see what’s resting under it. Lying on the plate, garnished with bite-sized sea stars, is a human heart. Your head snaps up to view Azul, but Jade meets your horror-stricken stare instead. He smiles as he slices a chunk for himself. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know today’s color? Or is the world too real for you now that you can no longer rely on color symbolisms and horoscopes to get you through the day? I’d love to feel sorry for you, but I can’t find it in myself to care. What a shame.”

His razored teeth tear into the meat and crimson muddies his lips. You glance at the walls, the clock, the window—anywhere that isn’t Jade’s seat. Swarms of jellyfish take on the color of blood in vermillion waters outside, and you stagger to your feet in the stifling dining room. Jade continues to eat, paying no mind to the way the room shrinks and stretches. You spin around in search of a door and spot a rectangular mirror—the only means of escape when jellyfish crowd the window, pushing against one another until thin cracks run up the glass. Just as you approach it, a webbed hand shoots out, its skin so thin you can see the starry veins running through it. 

Their fingers wriggle through the air, searching for something to grasp. 

“Today’s color,” Jade begins, and his voice takes on the same quality as the woman from the intercom, “is blue. As vast and wide as the sky and sea, as deep and dark as water’s soul, blue is the color of trust and sincerity. It is the color of bruises and sadness. It is the color of you.”

Why is it always blue? 

Before you can find the answer to your unspoken question, the floor caves in and you fall into a starless void, just narrowly escaping the crooked fingers that brush your cheek. There’s a gaping hole in your chest and though you lack a heart you can hear something beating. It continues on and on, a steady buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum.

And then, as if someone’s cut the power, it stops.

Your head is resting on a pillow and a blanket is draped over you when you wake. At first you assume you’ve been moved elsewhere, but then you see the chain, which is lit only by the warm glow of a mushroom sconce, and it becomes apparent that you’re still trapped in the bathroom, condemned to lie on cold tiles until death.

I wish Azul was here. 

Groaning, you turn over on your side and press your ear against the floor. There’s a faint shuffling sound and then footsteps on the stairs, and you run your hands over your face, hoping to scrub the drowsiness from your facial muscles. 

I think he was in my dream. Right… I was dreaming. It was probably an important dream. You stare at your hands and your lips part in a soundless gasp. He…took the restraints off.

The door creaks open at that moment and you yank the blanket up to your head. Silence ensues and you picture Jade standing in the doorway, a knife in one hand and a jar of spices in the other. You refuse to believe that his motive for kidnapping you stems from his stomach. You’ve heard stories of cannibals, both in fiction and real life, but you never thought you’d meet one. Things like that only exist in nightmares and on the news, and if it doesn’t directly affect you then it doesn’t pose any tangible threat. 

Now that you’re cowering from him, chewing your tongue in hopes of stifling your fearful whines, you realize you were foolish to think you had some form of invincibility solely because you had never been the victim of a serious crime.

But how could you have known this would happen? Jade was so painfully normal. Boring, even. You never thought much of his presence when he’d accompany you and Azul on your daily runs. He was just someone who existed—a harmless shadow pulled to and fro on a tranquil tide. Even though he seemed kind and unproblematic, you’re certain there must have been something that would have warned you of your impending doom. But back then you were so focused on your relationship with Azul that you hardly considered Jade. As much as you want to kick yourself for not realizing sooner, you can’t fault yourself for what you didn’t see. After all, the best monsters hide in plain sight amongst law-abiding citizens. 

Was it the body at the boardwalk? you think, brows furrowing. Was that the first red flag? No, Jade might not have been responsible for that. I don’t even know if he’s killed anyone before. I could be his first victim. 

First victim. That cuts deeper than any knife, and it cruelly indicates that there will be more after you. 

Jade hums to himself as he steps around you. His foot is right beside your head. Any closer and he could stomp your skull into fragments. You’d claw at his ankle if you were bold enough, but your hands are so uselessly numb that they wouldn’t work well as a weapon. 

“I wonder where (Name) has gone. Maybe she escaped? No, that’s not possible. Maybe she shrunk to the size of a mouse instead? If that’s the case, it would be most unfortunate.”

Is he seriously joking right now?

“Stay away from me!” 

“Ah, so she’s not a mouse. Good to know.” With a chuckle, he adds, “I’m here to discuss something with you, so you can come out of hiding.” 

“What… What is it?” You peek your head out, clutching the blanket in an effort to keep yourself hidden from Jade’s wandering eyes. “You’re not going to kill me, right?” 

“Not yet.” He reaches into the bathtub and fiddles with the drain before turning the faucet on. Fresh, clear water rushes into the large basin and you’re now acutely aware of just how grimy your skin feels. Coupled with the doodles on your body, the sweat, tears, and blood you’ve shed, and your ruined makeup, you feel as defeated as you probably look. Cautiously, you watch while he adds a few pumps of soap to the water. Satisfied with his work, he sets the bottle down and sits on the edge of the tub, his hands folded in his lap. “Starting now, I’ll care for you through every month of your pregnancy. And once you’ve given birth, I’ll kill you. Is that agreeable?”

“H-Hold on. I’d like to add a few things.” Swallowing your fear, you look him in the eyes. “You can’t hurt me. You can’t touch me. You have to swear to nine months with genuine care. Prenatal and everything. And you have to give me a week after I’ve given birth—a-at least so I can be with the baby a little longer. And you can’t hurt them! You can do whatever you want to me, but my baby isn’t on the menu. Um, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Anything can happen within the span of nine months. I’d be truly…disheartened if you couldn’t uphold your end of our deal when the time comes, so I’ll only agree to your terms if you agree to mine. During these nine months, I expect you to live quietly. Issues of any kind will be dealt with immediately. I’d hate to punish you for useless rebellions, so do yourself a favor and use more than a fraction of your brain before you act. For now, I’ll do what I can to make this space comfortable for you and your little parasite. Do we have a deal?” 

“I promise I won’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble.” Your nerves tingle with electricity—the kind that can only be produced from a life or death gamble. “And you won’t hurt me? You have to promise. Please…” 

His countenance is an unturned page in an unknown novel, withholding the truth behind layers of silent indifference. Without hesitating, he lowers to one knee and holds his hand over his heart. The image reminds you of a knight bowing before his princess, and you’re brought back to the moment when Azul assumed a similar position, a velvet box propped in his palms. Only this time there is no ring, no candied sentiments, and no ounce of love, feigned or not. Your grip on the blanket tightens and you move further into the cramped space between the toilet and the sink.

“I, Jade Leech, vow to care for and protect you while you’re under my roof. I won’t lay a finger on you unless you give explicit permission for me to do so.” He smiles a smile that’s so breathtakingly sweet that it twists the invisible knife further into your chest, through flesh and past bone, until it reaches your most vital organs. He’s an actor in his element, stringing you along with superficial pleasantries, and you hate how natural he makes it sound. “Now say your vows.”

“I… I vow to… To live these next nine months without any regrets.” He looks at you, as if to say, That’s all? You narrow your eyes at him, reluctantly muttering, “And to uphold my side of our deal. To give you a…premium meal at the end of all of this.”

Those words are filthy on your tongue, but they have Jade beaming at you, all sunshine and sparkles—innocently pleased like he’s just been rewarded chocolates for good behavior. Now that your drug-induced daze has worn off, you release a woeful, pent-up sigh, your stiff shoulders drooping in partial relaxation. It fills the air between you and Jade, a bubble on the surface, expanding ever so carefully. 

It worked.

You may have earned yourself some time, but you can’t keep this charade going forever. Even though that’s the most pressing of your concerns, you push it aside and instead allow yourself a moment of internal celebration. You’re alive when you should have been dead hours ago. You’re alive. So beautifully, perfectly, painfully alive. All that matters is that your heart still beats within your chest, blood still flows through your veins, and your brain still functions well enough to send signals and commands. Exhilaration settles into your bones like stirred up sediment, and your body vibrates with alert, half expecting Jade to reveal another danger hidden up his sleeve. 

Gripping the blanket, you snuggle into it and stretch your leg out to examine your injured ankle. It’s swollen into a tender, ghastly mass that throbs in response when you prod at it. With a grimace, you submit to the pain and rest your head against the sink, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears. Relief tastes sweeter than any congratulatory chocolate cake you’ve ever eaten, and it goes down smoother than a milkshake from The Devil’s Delight. 

It actually worked. I’m alive.

Jade glances at the bubbles spotting the surface of the tub and turns the faucet off, cutting the flowing water within seconds. Now true silence thickens between the both of you, and he rolls his sleeves up to reveal sturdy, muscled forearms—arms that could crush your windpipe and leave you scrabbling for a handhold on life's precipice. He could very well kill you right now, disregard your pregnancy altogether and curl his fingers into your throat, and you’d have no chance to talk your way out of it.

But he doesn’t.

“The water’s warm,” he says easily, and you nod dumbly. “You’d like a bath, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh. Y-Yes! But…”

“I won’t drown you.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “‘You can’t hurt me. You can’t touch me.’ Those were your exact words, yes? Last time I checked, my harvesting method involves touching, and I’ve already agreed to let you live.”

“But why? You said it yourself. Nine months is a long time. Why wait?”

“Are you saying you’d let me have you as you are?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Then there’s no need to worry yourself rotten. I take these agreements very seriously.” He rises to his full height and gestures to the bath, mint-scented steam rising from it in wispy tendrils. “Well, there’s no point in letting the water go cold. I’ll be outside this door if you need me.”

“You’re not going to stay? Aren’t you worried I’ll try something?”

“By all means, try to your heart’s content. Although I don’t think you’ll be very successful.”

Right. Of course. Stupid questions. 

“Besides, you’re entitled to your privacy.” He spies your wounded ankle and sighs. “But you must allow me to patch that eyesore before it causes any more unnecessary damage.”

“O-Okay, that’s fine. But just my ankle. If you touch me anywhere else…” 

“I have no desire to.” He opens the door and you crane your neck to glimpse a bedroom illuminated by the lights that trickle out of the bathroom. “Now then, we’ll continue our discussion after you’ve bathed.”

“Wait! Before you go, can you tell me today’s horoscope? I used to read them as soon as I woke up, and since I don’t have my phone I can’t check. Hearing it would make me feel a little better. Y-You don't have to, but I’d just like to know.”

I can’t write my dreams down either, but for now I remember Azul, the color blue, a conman—or maybe it was Jade—and a little girl. Oh, and there were jellyfish. Lots of jellyfish.

“Today’s horoscope?” Jade turns to face you, head cocked to the side. He taps his chin in thought, a low hum rising in his throat. And when he smiles, a dozen needle-sharp teeth taunt you. “Survive. That’s all.”

The door shuts, leaving you all alone in the bathroom. Alone, but alive. Victoriously alive. 

I’ll survive, you think, shedding the blanket and crawling towards the tub. Your ankle smarts the entire way, and the pain finally lessens when you lower yourself into the bubbles. I’ll definitely survive.

And you’ll start by scrubbing the anatomical labels from your skin.

[medicinal-doll]

Wolf's Lair

Title: Wolf's Lair

Daddy!Vampire!Geralt rivia x little!reader

Word count 1.6K

Summary: being the stupidly curious baby you are you sneak into daddy geralts lab which you are strictly forbidden from entering

Warnings: Oral sex Male receiving,Daddy kink,Ddlg themes,deepthroating,dom/sub dynamic,intimidation, punishment,Graphic depictions of sexual acts, teasing

A/N: First post so bear with me

*Please don't repost without permission If you use my writing as inspiration please ask first and credit me

*read at your own discretion

........

You silently creep down into the dark brooding lair lit only by a few dim candles. it reeks of herbs,spices,and the faintest tinge of metallic blood. you swing your head around in all directions scanning for your tall and brooding master but he's nowhere to be seen.

with the coast clear you explore the lab touching everything in sight until your gaze focuses on a particularly colorful beaker with a mysterious liquid. you pick it up and twirl it back and forth in your hands watching the colors change the beautiful glow of it puts you in a trance like state. first violet then blue now green and yellow then it turns to-

"looking for something in particular dear?"

you immediately jolt up and the beaker comes crashing down from your hands onto the cold obsidian tile shattering into a million pieces. you quickly turn to geralt apologies spilling from your quivering mouth.

A light smirk tugs at geralts lip and he raises a polite palm up to silence you. "please my dear save your tears" he calmly says as he slowly circles your form like a shark surveiling it's prey. " what i'm more interested in is what's a meek little thing like you is doing wandering about my lab"

you look down at your feet mind racing to try and think of an excuse but geralts far too smart to buy into any of your poorly thought out lies. he lifts your chin with a black polished finger to meet his scrutinizing amber gaze. " that was a question hun" your voice quivers under his watch "i- was looking for you cause-". "ah ah ah i'm not interested in your lies little one" "why don't you tell me what you were really doing hm"

you're at a loss for words you had no good reason for breaking the rule except your curiosity. your turn your head away from geralt in shame. He let's out a dark chuckle. "well if you don't tell me then i'm left to make my own assumptions" geralts turns walking away before turning back to face you arms crossed and leaning on a stone pillar.

"what i'm gathering from all this is that my little girl needs a harsh punishment to remind her of the rules" "daddy no!" you run to him and fling yourself in his arms geralts punishments are the worst. he always gets you worked up and flustered, and then he leaves. ignoring you for the rest of the day denying you of his affections.

"please daddy i didn't mean to do it I just missed you lots" geralt wipes your tears and brushes a stray hair away from your face as he coos at your trembling form. "aww baby you know there's better ways of getting my attention than that" you sniffle up at him doll eyes and doe eyed "m'sorry daddy won't do it again promise" and you see him falter at your cuteness "hmm...fine" he rolls his eyes then glares back down at you.

"you're too adorable for your own good honey" you giggle up at him as he pinches your cheek "But...I can't just let you get off scott free baby that'd make me a bad daddy" he says as he gently strokes your hair "you don't want to make me a bad daddy do you doll?" geralt says tilting his head at you. You shake your head no profusely at him still softly sniffling "i'll tell you what, how about you and me play a little game" you tilt your head in confusion "what kind of game daddy?"

He smiles at your innocence and then he stands straight up to tower over you. him completely dwarfing your frame."get on your knees and i'll gladly show you bunny" your hesitancy falters at the use of the pet name and you slowly lower to the ground till the cool tile meets your knees.

you look back up at geralt awaiting his guidance he smiles the kindest smile to you with encouraging eyes and leans a veiny hand down softly stroking your chin "good girl now get daddy's cock out" a light glaze of lust clouds your eyes and geralt internally celebrates with glee as he sees your innocence slipping right infront of him. and the fact that he's the cause and one responsible for it makes it all the better.

you place a gentle hand on geralts muscular thigh claud in tight leather and undo his belt and zipper with the other. Geralt watches your every move in silence the slight shake of your hand the trembling of your torso as you tug his pants and boxers down.

His erection springs up practically hitting you in the face. the swollen pink blushed lilac tip oozes precum and an angry red vein with a rhythmic pulse challenges you "are you ready for the game honey?" geralt snaps you from your daydreams and you suck back in the drool that threatened to spill from your mouth. and slowly nod up at him eyes more glazed than ever.

geralt smirks and reaches for an old hourglass that was on his desk. "the game works like this sweetie" "if you can make me cum before the sand runs out you win and daddy won't punish you" then geralts amber eyes go dark and you gulp in fear "but... if you lose i'm going to hang you like a fucking chandelier in my lab with a vibe strapped to your little cunt on high and clothespins on your little baby nipples until I get done remaking the potion that you so generously dropped"

Fear fills your eyes and suddenly this game doesn't sound so fun anymore. but before you can protest geralt flips the hourglass and the tiny beads of sand start to fall "better get started baby or would you rather be my little fucking decoration hm?" he darkly chuckles at your panicked face you quickly grapple onto geralts meaty shaft and start pumping. he lets out a little groan in response "hmm...as nice as that is baby that won't make me cum anytime soon you better try harder if you don't want to lose"

tears well up in your eyes and you frantically wrap your lips around his cock head and suck hungrily at it. then reach your hand down to massage his heavy balls. you flick your tongue on his tip over and over and you see his stomach clench as he tries to hold in a moan. "mm...that's better baby keep sucking at daddys big dick make me lose it all honey" you open your mouth wide and take in as much of his length as you can before you feel him hit the back of your throat.

You lightly choke on his big cock and that earns a few softs sighs from him. but then your eyes flicker to the hourglass "shit.." you mentally curse it's halfway gone and he's not even close to cumming. you attempt to pray your gag reflex away and take him all the way in till his balls meet your puffy lips.

You grab at his hands to pull at your hair and are surprised when he indulges you. geralt fucks your slutty mouth and you glare at him with even sluttier eyes that are enough alone to make him come undone. "fuck baby mmm.. Your getting daddy so fucking close" he grunts as he fucks into your drooling orfice "yeah doll just like that" he encourages "swallow your daddy nice and good mhm just like daddy taught you"

You check the hourglass out of your peripheral vision and it's almost gone. it's now or never geralts stamina is limitless and he once edged you for 3 hours with nothing but his cock. There's only one way your gonna make him cum. you pop him out of your mouth and furiously start stroking him with both hands "please cum for me daddy" you say as you look up at him with those doe eyes you know are his weakness.

Geralts jaw clenches and he avoids your gaze you pump harder paying special attention to his dripping cock head and balls "look at me daddy" "look at your little girl" you use one hand to free your tits from your silk slip dress. And geralt folds and his fiery gaze lands on your supple chest. between that, your pleasing words, and that delicious gaze. you have him right were you want him you win.

Thick white milk spews from his twitching cock coating your hands and staining your dress. you smile up at him wringing the last few drops of pleasure from his hard shaft. you lick the liquid morsels from your fingers and his cock. not wanting to miss a single drop. then you smile up at geralt to find he's already smiling back at you....yeah he's really smiling why is he grinning so hard...

.........

whimpers and moans fill the room along with the occasional clinking of glass and metal "how's it going baby!" geralt shouts behind him saliva pools from your gagged mouth too stuffed and mind to clouded with so many orgasms you can't count. words don't even form in your head geralt knows this and laughs lighty to himself .

"don't worry dear i'm almost finished here" he says as he pours the liquid of one beaker into the other "when i'm done how about have ourselves a little rematch" "maybe daddy will be nice and give you a headstart"

his callous words fall on deaf ears as you lose yourself to the intense buzz between your legs and the ever growing puddle of cum dripping onto the black tile.

[weaper-reaper]

Eventuality Pt.2

1, 3+4, 5, 6

NEW CHAPTER JUST DROPPED!! FT. Jealous Konig (if you squint) so you’re welcome. As always cross-posted on Ao3 @WeaperReaper, check that out for quicker updates.

CW: Same as before in Part 1. Just more plot here really. No NSFW

Hot water never felt so good. My muscles eased as it glided over my shoulders and down my back, the steam from the shower drifted up and over the flimsy curtain that separated the tiny tiled space from the rest of the bathroom. It had been my plan to clean off the sweat and grime from yesterday the moment I got into my room last night, however the moment my head hit the pillow on the cot I was out.

It was a much needed rest, and though I really only got a handful of hours sleep, I wasn’t going to start complaining. The room I had been set up in was nice. Assumedly slightly larger than the others, with being at the very end of the hallway. There was a steel desk welded to the wall where another bunk would have sat normally, and I’m sure it made for a good place to study. Although with how lacking this particular home base was with any medical professionals- I doubt I’d be doing more studying then I would actual practice.

I unloaded only the basics this morning, never really making a habit of unpacking or filling out a space for too long. I quickly towel dried and dressed myself in the uniform I laid on the neatly made bed. Classical tactical pants and thick mock neck combo. My medic badge from my jacket flashed brightly against the rest of the dark colors, and I ran a hand through my hair to push it from my face as it dried.

The tablet I also took out earlier dinged from it’s place on the desk, I threw my boots on before I made my way over, sitting on the creaky metal chair. It scraped against the stone floor as I scooted it closer.

A new message popped up in my dashboard. It was an email confirmation for the transferring of my records from my old Sergeant to Captain Price, and a note that I’d be working solely under his jurisdiction. When I tapped on his icon however, nothing but an error message showed up. It was almost as if he wasn’t in the system. I went to the search bar and typed in Johnny, but no one stationed this far east came up.

I tried ‘Soap’. Nothing.

My fingers itched over the keys.

‘Konig’ I typed, unsure at first how to even spell it. Yet again, nothing. A KORTAC tag popped up for a moment, but being another national division I didn’t have clearance for any of that information.

I sighed, how was I meant to treat them if I didn’t know anything about them? If there were no files on anyone I’d met so far. I racked my brain to try to think of any other names I might have heard yesterday but nothing else came to mind. I glanced at the clock- 04:03.

“Well, since I’m up already..” I mumbled out loud to myself and turned to strap my pack on, shoving the tablet inside the bigger pocket. Maybe Soap would have more information, I could ask him to schedule a briefing with Captain Price and I. Something I was surprised I’d heard nothing about since landing, surely if they requested someone they’d at least fill them in.

Pulling my door shut and entering the hall, I was even more surprised to see it packed and bustling with early morning energy. Men had their doors open and some were half dressed- yelling across the hall at someone else. I did my best to keep my eyes mostly to the ground, and thankfully, was able to leave the testosterone fueled building without bumping in to anyone.

That wasn’t however- the case as I swung the double doors open to the outside. I immediately ran into the side of another soldier, dressed in all black and a hoodie that’s seen better days. He had a balaclava on also, the warmth from his breath fogged up into the air as he huffed from my intrusion. His snapped to mine and my breath hitched in my throat- if looks could kill.

His mask had been altered, a white skull painted onto the front made him even more intimidating.

Suddenly I forgot how words worked.

“Mack!” Someone shouted and I was almost too afraid to drag my eyes away from the behemoth in front of me.

“Mack!” The voice said again and a large hand cupped my shoulder, “Oi lass- I thought you wouldn’t join us.”

“Us?” I was able to meakly force out, my gaze finally settling over Soap, dressed in track pants and an almost matching hoodie. Must have been military issued.

His big dorky smile found it’s way up onto his cut face again. “Aye, I see you’ve met ghost.” He turned the both of us back to the brick wall of a man from before and punched at his shoulder lightly.

“C’mon now, don’t scare away the newbies.” Soap teased and I felt incredibly small between them, eyes wide in the relative darkness.

This ‘Ghost’ just gawffed in response to him, turning away slightly to avoid either of our faces.

Soap turned back to me, “You’re not runnin in that are ye?” He asked, motioning to my boots and tactical pants- filled to the brim with gaze, electrical tape, and whatever other medical supplies I could fit. I shook my head at him.

“Uh no,” I spoke, finding my voice once again. It was slightly scratchier from the morning cold. “I was hoping to do some inventory in the infirmary, y’know get stock of everything or whatever.”

He nodded but still let out a laugh. “Not here a full 24 hours yet and ye ‘already thinking too much. I know what you need.” He handed me a bottle that he pulled out of nowhere, emptied of its original water, and re-filled with some chunky looking slush.

I scoffed, the man to my right suddenly forgotten in the background. “There’s no way I’m drinking that.” I was 100% sure whatever was in that was in no shape healthy.

“Suit yer’self.” He said and took a swig of the concoction, letting out a forced sounding ‘Ahhh’ after his swallow. I let a laugh escape me and he eyed me from the side, turning to face ghost.

“Well if you don’t want to join us then maybe you’ll play score keeper. Here.” He handed me a small black notebook, opened to a page scribbled with tally marks. One side labeled ‘SOAP’ and the other ‘GHOST’ with a poorly drawn skull next to it.

“First to make a lap around the entire base, and touch that center pole there,” He pointed to a floodlight that sat in the middle of the courtyard between both buildings. “Wins.” He turned to Ghost who was already stretching one leg out behind him- getting into a sprint position.

“GO!” He shouted.

They both took off in a full sprint and veered right some, ghost reached out to give soap a push that made him stumbled slightly, giving ghost the lead as they wrapped around a building out of sight. Yells and other Scottish noises could be heard echoing through space and bouncing off walls. I let a smile fall on my face as I looked back down at the notebook.

Not wanting to peer too much into his privacy I thumbed over the random doodles and put a pen in the crack of the page, saving my place as I closed the book in my hand.

Some other men took after them as well, and that’s when I noticed the small crowd from inside slowly made their way out onto the yard. Doing random warmups and exercises, but mainly trying to keep up with the race I’m sure.

It was cute.

And it probably boosted morale too, which was always a good thing. My hopes for this place slowly began to rise as I looked around some more. I shifted from my spot slightly before I caught something in the back corner of my eye. A familiar figure stood hunched slightly, resting against the corner of the main building, he had his eyes at his hands, a small book similar to Soaps, and was scribbling something down.

He glanced up as I approached him, myself not even half-aware that I was until we made eye contact. He snapped his book closed and stood up straighter- easing his hand that held the book behind him. My eyes followed the movement.

“Were you drawing?” I asked, where I found the courage to randomly strike up conversation I’ve no idea.

His fingers thumbed the crease of his book and as he hesitated answering. Crap, was I pushing too much?

“Yes.” He spoke out after another moment.

“Cool.” I muttered, feeling like a child at the playground, feeblishly attempting to make friends. I didn’t meet his eyes again, but instead settled at looking at the mask he wore. I hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but there were bleach stains just under the holes that kind of represented tears.

What was everyone’s deal with wearing scary masks?

“How’s your cut doing?” I glanced up at him and his eyes were already on mine, they widened slightly when I spoke- like I had caught him off guard. I tried to contort my face into a pleasant look.

He stood unblinkingly at me for a moment. Then his eyes shifted up behind me and hardened ever so slightly. Stomps grew loud and rapidly approached us. I turned to see as Soap and Ghost made their way across the courtyard in full sprint. Soap moved with an ease and swiftness that I was instantly jealous of. Ghost was just a hair behind him, arm and fingers outstretched. He grabbed onto Soap by the back of his hoodie and pulled just hard enough to give him forward momentum to touch the base of the lamp just before Soap could.

The Scott swung around as they came to a stop and immediately turned to me.

“Did you see that!” His eyes were wide and he looked astonished.

Ghost joined him at his side and they slowly made their way towards where I stood with Konig.

“Bile yer hide!” He shouted followed by some more Scottish noises and pushed at Ghost in a friendly but competitive way. “You cheated.”

“You never set any rules, Jonny.” Ghost’s voice was gravely and he was slightly out of breath. Steam rose off the both of them in a comical way as they both huffed. I handed soap back his notebook when they got within arms distance.

“And you, lass? You saw what he did right?” Soap pleaded in a thick accent and looked almost childlike with big puppy eyes. I raised my hands up in defeat.

“Unfortunately I was talking to Konig here, so I didn’t see much.” I held in a laugh as he responded with another Scottish phrase that probably didn't translate over too pretty.

His eyes rose to the man behind me, and I could feel his larger frame against my back. His body heat wrapped itself around me and I had to stop the shiver that ran up my spine. Something in Soaps demeanor seemed to change slightly as the two of them made eye contact with the other, and he turned to tap Ghost out, their feud dead now. He signaled that they should go inside with a tip of his head. I watch slightly confused as the two of them turned and made their way back to the barracks- soap mingling a little with the others on his way past.

“Oh wait-“ I almost shouted, but the two of them were already halfway across the area, their larger bodies taking two of my strides in one. My hand hung in the air awkwardly. Damnit, I meant to ask him about Price.

I sighed and Konig cleared his throat behind me, reminding me of his presence. I turned to face him and I hadn’t realized how close we were standing together until I had to crane my head back in order to find his eyes. Which were already on mine, naturally.

I let in a sharp inhale, the cold and crisp air bit at the inside of my throat. God it gets cold here at night. The sky was brighter now then when I first came out though, and eventually the sun would rise and heat up the dunes again. Something I wasn’t particularly looking forward to, so I tried to enjoy the cool air while I could.

Konig cleared his throat again awkwardly and I realized I was staring at him, heat quickly warmed up my face and I moved my line of sight back down to the center of his chest.

“You are close with him?” He asked, a little too seriously to just be a curious question. I took a step back so I didn’t have to bend my neck so much when I looked up at him.

“Who, Soap?”

He nodded, the fabric of the mask shook under his movement.

“Oh no,” I corrected. “I arrived yesterday, that’s the first time I met him. Or well, any of you really.” I looked around, most of the men had started to fill into the main building now. Some came out to sit on the benches to eat their breakfast. Others started training in groups or faux fighting in pairs out in the courtyard.

“It is easy for you to talk, to him.” He said matter-of-factly.

I shook my head and corrected him again, “Not really, I’m not the best for conversation really.” I chuckled. I let out a little ‘hmm’ of conviction when he didn’t respond and gestured over to the entrance doors.

“So shall we take a look at you then?” I asked, he nodded and followed behind me to the room we were in before. The doors squeaked shut after us and I could feel everyone’s eyes on the pair of us, Konig followed so close at my back that I could feel the shift of his gear as he walked. Though I suppose being as tall as he was he drew eyes from everywhere anyway, I did my best to brush it off.

We made out way into the infirmary relatively smoothly after clearing through the cafeteria and other crowded rooms, and settled more comfortably in this room. Just the two of us.

My face heated up again at that thought.

Konig hovered by the door as I went to the desk in the back to unload. Tossing my bag up onto the counter I unzipped it and pulled out various items, trying to distract myself by taking account of what I had brought with me.

I glanced back at him, then in the far corner of the room where there hung a single curtain from the slide on the ceiling, a lonely cot sat behind it. I pointed over to it with my finger, “You don’t have to lock the door again, just have a seat over there I’ll be over in a second.”

I didn’t watch him, but I could hear as he crossed the room in less than three long strides. There was something slightly comforting about how quickly he could move. If I ever needed it, I knew who I’d use as a bodyguard. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat, and I took the chance to glance at him from the corner of my eye. He pulled the curtain closed just enough to block him from view of the door, and tucked the bottom of his mask up into his helmet so that only his lower jaw and neck were exposed. I found myself missing the sight of his lips.

I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts and his eyes drew back to mine to follow every movement I made.

The room was silent as I pulled my tablet out, opening an empty file and labeling it ‘Konig’.

“Since you’re here do you mind if we do a physical? I mean I don’t really know what equipment is here, so you’ll have to bear with me for a bit.” I hovered a pen over the screen and turned to face him slightly, his eyes traced down my body and settled on where my hip rested against the edge of the desk.

He nodded slowly and clasped his hands together in front of him, falling into a gentle slouch. His figure was so tall and built that he was probably used to constantly trying to make himself appear smaller and less intimidating. I appreciated the gesture.

“Good.” I mumbled and his eyes snapped back up to my face. I pulled out another alcohol wipe and approached his side. “Tip your chin up to me please, I’ll change these bandages.”

He did what I asked without resistance, and as my hands cupped his face he was less stiff then he was yesterday. I let a gentle smile find my face, glad I’m capable of creating a soothing environment. I slowly peeled off the old tape and gauze against his body and snapped on some gloves before reapplying new ones. The cut looked significantly better today.

“Y’know I don’t think it’ll even scar, Konig.”

“König.” He corrected softly, his German made it easier for him to pronounce then I could.

“Koo-nick.” I tried again, snipping off small squares of excess tape from his face.

The mask shifted above him as he huffed out through his nose in a little laugh. I thought I could see the faintest tip at the corner of his lips, I wished I could pull up the dark fabric to watch him smile- but I wouldn’t push his boundaries like that. Especially not when it seemed he just started to ease up with me.

“Close,” his voice was soft as he spoke to me, and the little praise sent butterflies straight to my stomach. I removed my hands from his skin and cast my eyes anywhere but his, settling on the tablet I brought over. “König.” He said again. “Do you know any German?” He asked.

I hummed a ‘no’ and sat myself on the little black stool, rolling back over to him, tablet open on my lap in front of me. Now that we were both sitting, he was still taller than me and I went up to just about his shoulders.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. If I shifted over just slightly, I could brush our legs together.

“It means King.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I said as I made a show to size him up again with my eyes. He shrunk a bit under my gaze, but still relatively hovered over me in a relaxed way.

“So King,” I mused and his eyes lit up at mine, “How tall are you?”

“82 inches.”

A low whistle escaped me and I noticed the more I probed for questions the faster he bounced his boot or wrung his fingers together. After a solid ten minutes or so of recounting his medical history and any procedures he had done, he settled on pulling his tags from under the collar of his shirt. I quickly jotted down his blood type and leaned back with a heavy sigh.

“I think that’s all then.” I mused and his eyes never left my face. I tipped my head up at him and intentionally gave him a bright smile, those bright blue eyes grew wide and snapped across the room, suddenly looking everywhere but mine. I stifled a laugh and rolled back over to the desk about a foot away from where he sat. Glad for some distance as the room seemed to grow warm.

“I hope to take some blood samples later, maybe today or sometime later this week so, don’t go to far okay?” I turned back over to him and crossed my legs up top the other.

He stood and re-settled the mask back over his face like it had been before and nodded. He turned to me just before he reached the door, one hand on the handle.

“I hope you like it here, Maus.” He said in a gentle and promising way, my face flushed and he quickly turned to leave, the door falling shut in his wake.

‘I hope you like it here,’

‘Maus.’ Rang between my ears.

Was I just given a nickname?

____

Kicking my feet and giggling the entire time I was writing this. The soap ghost race? C’mon guys GUYS guys pls. Also 82 inches is 6’10, I don’t actually know if that’s cannon but someone on TikTok said it so it must be real right?

Feedback apreciated