#damnit i usually manage not to get my hopes up like this

[galacticlamps]

Me noticing that Nicholas Briggs is one of the executive producers & script editors for the entire new Second Doctor series Big Finish just started, as well as a director and co-writer on its first boxset: Yeah I mean that’s kinda a lot but I guess it’s to be expected, he’s like the head of the company and apparently Two’s his favorite Doctor?

Me noticing that the other script editor & co-writer, and lead producer is the same guy who wrote That Which Went Away: Oh okay now you have my attention

[heartsforvin]

hi, i love your imagines so much, i wanted to request an imagine about vinnie using cheesy pick-up lines on his gf

YOU’RE SO CHEESY

gif felt fitting LOL hope you enjoy ! <3 (literally got these pickup lines from google LMAO)

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; vinnie using the most cheesiest pickup lines, cussing, just pure fluff <33

summary; vinnie uses cheesy pickup lines on you and you can’t help but laugh

“if you say one more of those damn pick-up lines on me vinnie, i swear to god-“ you were cut off by your boyfriends hand pressed against your mouth.

he smiled at you, and you knew right then and there you had made the awful decision to say yes to him asking if you wanted to hang out.

well, not awful, but you also didn’t know he’d be “rizzing you up” as he put it.

part of you thought it was adorable, but the other part wondered how the fuck he managed to get you as his girlfriend.

the two of you were now sat in his room, vinnie was in his gaming chair while you were on his bed with hera in your lap.

when you arrived at his house, he opened the door to let you in and you thought everything would go as it usually did, that was until about an hour later he had come downstairs and said, “thank god you came over, i was feelin’ a bit off today, but the minute i saw you, you turned me on.”

you couldn’t help but burst into laughter as vinnie wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your head. “you’re such a dork.” you told him once he turned your body around to face him.

ever since you got to his place, that’s all he’s been doing. trying to get you to take him seriously while he says the most cheesiest things.

“y/n come on, i’m being serious!” vinnie whines while he stands up.

he stretches his arms, making his t-shirt lift up and the tattoo on his lower stomach appears. you can’t help but blush, you decide to use his words against him.

“you know what?” you say, making your way over to your boyfriend. you wrap your arms around him, standing on your tip toes, he’s looking at you with pure love. “now that i think about it, i’m glad i came over too. i was definitely feeling a bit off, but you’ve turned me on.”

now it’s his turn to turn into a fit of laughter, he kisses you for a moment and then pulls back, pulling you into a hug.

✧∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

you smile when you see vinnie come towards you. you were currently in his bathroom, getting ready to go out.

“what’s it like being the most beautiful person in this room?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your neck.

you smile at him from the mirror. “could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.” you tell him.

vinnie’s cheeks flush red at the compliment, it’s not the first time you’ve called him that, but it makes him flustered every time.

“hurry up princess, we’re gonna be late.” he tells you with a smack to your ass before walking away.

after hours of being out you were glad to be home. you went into the bathroom and took off your makeup and got unready for the night.

once you were done, you climbed into vinnie’s bed and snuggled with hera, waiting for vinnie to join you.

“damn babe did you get a sunburn?” vinnie asks as he walks into his room and looks at you, you shake your head. “oh so you’re always this hot?”

you throw the pillow at him, making him laugh as it hits him in the face and lands on the floor.

he grabs it and puts it back on the bed, walking to his closet.

“i was serious about those pickup lines, hacker!” you shout as he’s changing into something a bit more comfortable.

vinnie pokes his head out to look at you with a smile. “you know what you’d look good in?” he starts.

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “if you’re gonna say something like ‘my arms’ save it.”

vinnie huffs as he makes his way to his bed, climbing in and snuggling up to you. “damnit babe, you ruined it.”

you ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek. secretly loving all the cheesy but cute pickup lines he’s said today.

you decide to end the night by saying one yourself.

“i didn’t know what i wanted in a man until i met you.” you tell him with a big smile plastered on your face.

vinnie chuckles and kisses your cheek. the two of you lay down snuggled up next to each other, with hera in the middle.

“goodnight my gorgeous girl.”

“goodnight my pretty boy.”

hiiii i hope you liked this !! i really enjoyed writing it n honestly it was so cute <33 i had rewritten this 3574635 times cus i couldn’t figure out how i wanted it to go, but i like this version so i hope you did too !! thank you for the request !! <3333

[final-fantasy-imagines]

Hi!! Redoing my request because I forgot to specify character. Could you please do a small sweet gale (soulmates au? Any kind works! If you want something specific tho: soulmate hears a specific song around the other) and sunflower for Cloud Strife.

Here you go, dear anon! Thank you for your request. <3 Hope you enjoy!

Prompts: Fluff, soulmate AU, “You have a beautiful smile.” (1k followers event: Vani's flower shop)

Every now and then the stars align – Cloud Strife x gn!reader

It’s when you enter the slums of Sector 7 when you hear that melody again. Albeit quiet and faint, you recognize it immediately; it’s the same melody you’ve heard the last couple of times you’ve been to the slums. And you remember you have also heard it up on the plate one or two times.

If you lived in another world you probably would have wondered if you were losing your mind. But in this world, hearing melodies out of the blue isn’t something unusual. In fact, it’s quite normal – it’s how soulmates are supposed to find each other. Each pair has a specific melody assigned to them, a melody only they can hear when their soulmate is near. And the soft tune that keeps playing in your head as you make your way through the slums can only mean one thing – your soulmate must be here somewhere.

You’re not sure how you feel about that, though. Of course, the thought that someone’s out there who’s meant for you and only for you is quite nice but at the same time, it’s equally terrifying. Because in the end, your soulmate will be a stranger – and how are you supposed to fall in love with a stranger?

“Damnit, (Y/N), stop overthinking,” you scold yourself in a low tone, a lousy attempt to distract yourself from the familiar song playing in your head, “you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. No need to puzzle your head about this now.”

The young woman passing you by gives you a strange look, probably because you’re talking to yourself. Most people see it as a sign of insanity, after all. (If someone asked you, music playing in your head randomly isn’t much better but since it’s linked to the whole soulmate thing, people usually don’t question it.)

“Um, excuse me,” you finally manage to say, and the woman stops in her tracks, raising her eyebrows as you approach her, “could you help me, please? I’m not from around here but I’m looking for someone. His name is, um,” you pause to look at the wadded piece of paper your friend Aerith has given you earlier, “Cloud. Any chance you know who that is?”

Without any hesitation, the woman shakes her head. “Never heard of him,” she replies, and you can’t tell if she actually doesn’t know him or if she’s just saying that to get rid of you. But it probably doesn’t matter anyways – either way, she can’t help you.

“You could ask Tifa, from 7th Heaven,” the woman adds after a few moments of uncomfortable silence (well, except for the melody that’s still playing in the back of your mind), “she knows almost everyone around here.”

“Oh. Thank you.” You hesitate for a second. “And where can I find her?”

* * * *

You soon find out that 7th Heaven is a bar located in the heart of the slums of Sector 7. The building itself has seen better days, just like every other building in the area, but that doesn’t make the bar any less charming. In fact, you’re pretty sure the run-down, industrial look is what makes it charming in the first place.

A jukebox in the corner of the entrance area plays quiet music that mixes in with the melody repeating in your head. At the other end of the dimly lit room is a bar with several stools, and behind it, you can spot a young woman, dwelling on her own thoughts as she polishes a glass.

Approaching the bar, you clear your throat. “Um, sorry for intruding,” you begin, giving the woman a brief smile when she looks up. If she’s surprised to see someone here at this time of the day, she’s good at hiding it. “It’s no problem,” she says and returns your smile, “you’re here for a drink?”

You hesitate for a moment. A part of you is tempted to order something, simply because the ongoing music in your head is proof that your soulmate is somewhere around the area and you need to calm your nerves, but for the same reason, you need to stay at least somewhat level-headed.

“No,” you reply eventually. “I’m looking for someone and a lady on the streets told me to ask someone named Tifa for help. Um, do you know where I can find her?”

The woman behind the bar laughs. “Yes, indeed. I’m Tifa.” She pauses, a patient smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She’s clearly waiting for you to introduce yourself, so you tell her your name. Her smile widens. “Nice to meet you. Now, how can I help you?”

Perhaps it’s Tifa, you think to yourself while you explain the situation but then, you remember that the music in your head would have stopped by now if she were your soulmate. So, no, probably not Tifa.

“Why are you looking for him?” she asks, not quite able to hide the curiosity in her voice. “Need a mercenary?”

“Hm? No.” So, that’s what he is. “To be honest, I have no idea why I’m looking for him. My friend Aerith told me I should go to the slums of Sector 7 and talk to him. I know this sounds so weird but she insisted.”

Tifa’s face lights up. “Oh, I know Aerith! We met a while ago. Long story.”

“I think I’ve heard parts of it.”

It’s hard to focus on a conversation when your mind keeps repeating the same melody over and over again, and you begin to wonder if that’s why Aerith sent you here – because she knows that your soulmate is somewhere around here. She has an ungodly sixth sense for this kind of things, after all.

“Cloud should be back soon. You can wait for him here if you want,” Tifa suggests, snapping you out of your thoughts. In that moment, the door to the bar opens, and the music in your head grows louder and louder, almost to a point where it becomes unbearable, and when you turn around, you see a blonde man approaching you. Then, stunning blue eyes meet yours, and the music stops.

Oh.

Oh.

You try very hard not to lose your composure but you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like he’s some kind of supernatural creature. But he looks at you the same way, so it’s probably not all that bad. (At least that’s what you try to tell yourself because the way Tifa giggles quietly and excuses herself convinces you that the whole situation is more than awkward.)

“Hi,” you say, and much to your surprise, you even manage to smile.

Cloud blinks before, all of a sudden, he blurts out, “You have a beautiful smile.”

It’s obvious that you’re not the only one taken aback by his sudden compliment because he has barely ended his sentence when he starts to blush vigorously, the rosy pink color dusting his cheeks a lovely contrast to his eyes.

Oh no, you think, he’s adorable.

Silence settles in but soon enough, you gather the courage to ask him to join you for a walk to get to know each other better. The slums might not be the most romantic place on this planet but still you feel your heart flutter when Cloud agrees.

You really need to thank Aerith later.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider reblogging, liking and/or leaving a comment. I'd really appreciate the support. <3

Taglist: @sixdaysofsilverashes @thevoidwriting @theimaginaryheir @asilverraven

[forgwater]

Off the Deep End and into the Abyss

Idea: Since it’s mermay, I thought I’d write something for our favorite shady sea creatures from NRC! It would seem that when the octatrio make an appearance in their merfolk form it’s usually tied in with pirates or the little mermaid and I want to try something a little bit different and write them as the mafia merfolk they were always meant to be! Hopefully I manage to translate my idea properly!

This is more or less the prologue. This piece sets the scene.

I might make this a proper AU and add the other dorms too. So, feel free to inquire!

Summary: You take a job with one of the local gangs to transport some goods for them. The madol they were offering for the finished job was an offer too good to refuse. What makes this even better is that you’ve done this before! worked with these people before, rowed your boat this rout before. It was gonna be so easy! It was supposed to be easy! It was supposed to be uneventful! Now you’re in deeper trouble than you were before… Let’s just hope you can escape in one piece… Oh, and! Good luck.~ you’ll need it.

Reader is gender neutral

WARNINGS: swearing, mafia stuff, yandere tendencies. Feel free to tell me if I missed anything

..........

.......

.....

....

...

“Load that crate up!”

Whoosh

“Is the coast clear?”

“Don’t just stand there! Move! Damnit!”

Splash!

“Careful! You idiot!”

Creak…creak….CREAK!

“These damn boats are too fuckin’ loud!”

“…you’re too loud…”

“Care to repeat that?!”

“Easy!”

Sigh

If there’s one reason you’re gonna get caught is because of these bastards and their ‘whisper’ shouting!

swish…swish…

It’s quiet.

swish...

The boat is gently moving though the water as you settle to remind yourself why you put up with all of that.

‘One more job and I’m done.’ you reason with yourself ‘Just this one and it’s over!’ The madol are piling up right in front of your eyes! You can almost taste the sweetness of victory! You’ll be living the good life for a while after this job!

It’s all gonna be so worth-

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

H-huh…?...

“WHAT IS THAT?!”

“IT CAN’T BE! NO!”

“IT-IT’S THE SEA DEVILS!”

No… this is not possible! You checked! There were no merfolk sightings! What-

SLAM!

....CRreaaaAK...!

“…No…” gulping down your anxiety, you turn.

Only to come face to face with a mismatched gaze. Bemused and thoroughly entertained at the hell being unleashed all around the both of you. Your breath stills at the sight of the creature’s teeth. So dangerously sharp they’d have too easy a time tearing into your flesh.

A strong cold touch followed by cutting, claw-like nails digging into your arm stops you from moving away. You wince and the merman... laughs. His grin parts and-

“Awwwww~ you really thought you could get away?~” he coos and leers “You know, it’s kinda rude to show up unannounced on someone else’s turf.”

Wait-! he’s-... he’s leaning too much on that side-

“Let G-“

Crreeeaaaaaak!

“So stay and make up for it!”

SPLASH!

Water fills your senses and you kick and thrash but he’s not letting go. You try to free yourself, to swim away... and somehow, finally you break the surface.

Gasping for air and desperately clawing at whatever you can you try to speak again: “I-“ cough “I SAID-“

“Oya~ What is going on here?”

The agonized screeches of your fellow humans die out as your breath leaves you once more when you face the mirrored image of the first merman.

‘No.. no no nonononono no no no NO!’ This can’t be happening! You’re imagining things! The canal was clear! There are no merfolk here! You checked damnit! The others checked! This… this just- When- when did they arrive?!

“Hehehe~ look at them Jade! They’re trembling! Don’t they look like a cute little shrimp?! Hahaha!”

“Fufufu~ Floyd! You’re being quite rude to our new friend. Can’t you see they’re experiencing trauma? They’re probably in… shock.”

“Now who’s the rude one?”

Kick!

“Owww! Jaaade! You said Shrimpy here was in shock!”

“Fufufu, my mistake.”

In response to your protest, ‘Floyd’ tightens his hold on you as ‘Jade’ fixes you with his sharp eyes and begins to speak: “Don’t loosen your hold on them, dear brother.~ We have to escort our lovely companion onto dry land once more. Azul’s waiting.”

‘Azul’…?...

What- what are they planning?! Why would they keep you alive? Why bring you on land? This… is not good…. This is probably worse than if they tried to drown you!

You begin your erratic movements again. Hopefully you can hit a sensitive spot. Hopefully-!

You can’t let them drag you whenever they please!

If you could just-

“I thought we went over this!” Floyd hisses, annoyed tone carrying through the cold night. “Jaaaade...! Can’t we just knock them out for a few minutes?!”

“I don’t think Azul would be too pleased with that.”

“Awwwww! C’mon!”

“We are supposed to bring them back conscious.”

“Where are you taking me?!” your voice comes out frantic “What do you want from me?!” Jade stares at you for a second before giving you a sly smile.

“Ah, but what fun would it be if you knew?~ That’ll just ruin the surprise.” So, he’s not gonna give anything away, huh….

“Yeah! Just be patient, shrimpy!” This is not good. This is not good at all!

.......

....You might as well let them take you back to land… maybe you can shake them then.

They’re merfolk. If they want to get on dry land they’ll have to crawl. ‘I can outrun them’ you steel yourself.

… But there’s someone waiting… can you dodge them too?

You go with the flow and allow your captors to carry you over without much resistance. You have to conserve your energy.

The mermen keep sharing glances. Are they onto you?

You gulp. The bite of the icy water is catching up to you.

Has the water always felt this cold…?

No. You can’t let that distract you… you have to get away the moment you touch the ground.

As the three of you get closer and closer to the water’s edge, a silhouette begins to make itself clear.

“…You’ve been quiet for a while…” Jade’s remark is followed by his claws lightly pressing themselves into your arm, the sensation demands your attention… but it also demands you face the merman first.

“…Just thinking…”

“About what?’ Oh… he doesn’t miss a beat, does he.

“…This and that.” you try to deflect.

“That’s boring.” Floyd joins the conversation. “Tell us what you’re actually thinking.”

Like hell you’re gonna do that!

“Who’s that on the bank?” you question.

“...Oh! That’s Azul! You gotta meet him!”

“They don’t really have a choice in that matter, Floyd.”

This is the guy they mentioned before! You have to learn more. It could come in handy.

“…Is he your boss?”

….

The mermen share a look.

“Not exactly.” Jade answers first. “We work with and for him.”

“He’s got fun ideas.” You can feel the shrug in Floyd’s voice.

Well… this... is an interesting arrangement…

“Ah! We’re almost there.” Jade calls to Floyd, who suddenly comes to a halt.

What are they doing now....?....

Jade brings out two vials, the glass glistens in the moonlight and the liquid moves back and forth. The merman uncorks one and helps the other drink before repeating the action for himself.

What… what did they just drink?

“Hold on tight, shrimpy! We’re getting you back on land.”

And with that you are once again being all but dragged towards the waiting shadow.

You’re getting closer…

And closer…

Closer!

The moment Floyd’s grip lessens you bolt!

The thud of your shoes echoes though the dark night and your clothes cling to you. But you don’t stop running.

Your heartbeat’s loud in your ears and the adrenaline is running high. Maybe you can do it!

You can escape!

You can-

“Having fun?~” Floyd’s voice feels like a punch in the gut. All air leaves your lungs but you don’t dare stop, nor look at him.

HOW DID HE-?!

WHEN-?!

“If you stop running, I promise I won’t break too many bones!” HE’S MAD!

HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT?!?!

Maneuvering away from Floyd’s hands you end up bumping into something- someone else.

Jade.

“This has been quite the impromptu run… although not unexpected.” He gives you an all too polite smile.

Oh… maybe you shouldn’t have run…

The two mermen… now human looking, catch you with practiced ease.

They’ve done this before.

“Now, shrimpy, it’s time you faced your punishment.” Floyd… he sounds too cheery for this line of work. He stands on your right side.

“It is time to face your crimes.” Jade’s chillingly calm voice rings from your left.

The silhouette you’ve seen before steps in front of you. He sighs and then he begins speaking:

“Well then! Now that that-“ he gestures vaguely “stunt is done, I believe we should be formally acquainted.” He points to the mermen flanking your sides and continues “These are Floyd and Jade Leech. My business associates. They also happen to be twins, if you didn’t figure that out before.”

The twins let out their greetings and then the white haired man resumes talking.

“My name is Azul Ashengrotto. I run the Octavinelle Mafia and you have been smuggling goods on my territory. How do you plan to pay for-“

“I didn’t know! I got all the info I could! This is considered neutral ground! And water!” you protest.

“Ah… I see your mistake.” Azul smiles and brings a hand to his chin.

“Do you-“

“I just so happen to have acquired this territory this very morning. Legally as well.”

…what…

…legally?...

Your face drops, together with all your hopes. But the man continues undeterred.

“Since I am quite gracious and us here at Octavinelle practice benevolence, I have come up with an idea that will benefit us both.”

So… was… this was planned… wasn’t it?

“I have drafted a contract for you to sign. Nothing big. You’ll be working for me until you pay all the money you have made by dealing on this very route. Ah!-“ he stops you before you can even begin “since you are the only one alive all the charges get transferred to you. I eagerly await your cooperation. You’ll be coming tomorrow to sign all the legal paperwork. Jade and Floyd will fetch you and bring you to the Mostro Lounge, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. You’ll start working immediately after.” Azul leaves no room for you to argue.

He then turns to leave, the twins following after releasing you.

“And don’t think about running away and skipping town." the man clears his throat.

"We’ll find you again no matter where you try to go or hide. You belong to Octavinelle now.”

.....

Good luck getting out of this.~

[victimeyez]

Levels

Professional//Victim

masterlist: x Prev: x Next:

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter @whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery @thembology @2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds @morning-star-whump

Please read content warnings in the tags.

LEVELS

Tommy woke up to his door shutting hard behind Caius, who re-locked it behind him before pocketing the keys. 

Tommy startled at the sound, and clutched his sheet to his chest for a moment, trying to calm himself. 

Caius wasn’t holding any food or medications. That wasn’t a good sign. He had that serious look on his face, the one where he pretended he didn’t enjoy his pain. Damnit. 

“You’re in trouble.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He started to sit up against his pillow, but hissed with the pain his movement inspired. He sank back down and pulled the sheet up over his nose.

“Why?”

Caius sighed, disappointment clear on his face.

(Fucking prick.)

“You can’t try to talk to me when you’re with a client, Tommy. You know that.”

(Oh.)

It all came back to him then. Lisa’s hair framing a face his mind had already blurred. Mark’s hands on him - no. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Stop. Stop the thoughts.

Tommy turned from him and stared at the ceiling. He hated that his eyes prickled, threatening tears. Was it not enough?  Was living like this not a punishment on its own? He felt like he couldn’t go any lower than how he felt after last night. 

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said, and his broken voice sounded sincere. He was sorry he ever tried. He was sorry he still thought there was hope. His apology was just a weak attempt to shield whatever was left of himself. 

“No meds for a week.”

He shot up in bed at that, grimacing at the pain. 

“A week?!”

“Could be longer,” Caius offered with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sucked in a breath and became silent. 

“Antibiotics?”

“You’ll get those. Nothing for the pain.”

“But- but,” He scrambled for some defense.

“Pain - pain management is an important part of the healing process, you’ll delay my recovery and it’ll be that much longer before I can - before I can go with another client.”

It was technically true. A plea to Caius’s logic was his only possible bargaining chip.

Caius pretended to chew it over for a moment. This logistic hadn’t slipped his mind, and he had already made peace with it. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it once more.

“I can wait.”

He didn’t give Tommy a chance to reply. The door locked behind him, and Tommy slumped back to his mattress. Helpless tears finally spilled from his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to take inventory of the damage yet. His ass felt like he’d been sitting on hot coals, it still radiated heat like a particularly brutal sunburn. His wrists and ankles felt swollen and sore to the slightest touch. Trying to move his hands only made the muscles spasm, and they were too weak to lend him his usual control. 

A whole week without painkillers. He’d taken them away before, but never that long. It meant he could count on sleepless nights up with the agony. Even though he rarely broke rules anymore, his punishments got worse, not better. 

He wanted to scream and curse Caius, but “throwing a tantrum” would only land him a harsher sentence. He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow and punched the mattress until he was exhausted and hurt enough to slump back down to rest. 

He clenched his eyes closed, begging his body for sleep again. One week without drugs would last an eternity.

—

He’d made it through four days. For four days, Caius made him take daily walks to keep his body from seizing with pain. The rest of the time, he laid as still as he could and wallowed. He wanted to be left alone, but Caius suddenly had all the time in the world for him. 

“Go,” Caius instructed, gesturing to the basement steps. Standing at the bottom, Tommy could not imagine making his way up them, just as he had every other day. He didn’t want his sentence lengthened, but he swallowed hard at the prospect of another arduous journey up.

Caius’s hands found his shoulders and he guided him to the first stair, his touch agitating the wounds on Tommy’s shoulders. 

“Could you - I could follow you? I just - need a minute.”

“You can do it. One step at a time.”

He was already trembling on his feet. His ankles pulsed with a dull, merciless pain. His legs hurt, his ass hurt, his thighs were still sore to the point of weakness. 

“I don’t think I can do this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, can we just - I can walk a few times around the basement maybe? I-”

He was cut off by a hard shove between his shoulders, sending him sprawling onto the stairs. 

“If you can’t walk, then you can crawl.” 

Caius moved up onto the stairs, and leaned down to grip a generous handful of the prone boy’s hair. He started to ascend the stairs, dragging Tommy close behind by his hair. Tommy had to start scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees to try to keep up. His hands fluttered around Caius’s grip, wanting to wrench his fingers open, but he didn’t dare. The cement was cold and gritty under his palms and his knees, but he dragged himself up each step, desperate to end the pain. At the top he was released, and he crumpled to the floor, breathless with the strain. 

Caius let him lay there for a few minutes until he bored, moving again and beckoning to Tommy to follow. Tommy pulled himself onto trembling legs, leaning heavily against the wall. Caius coaxed him forwards, taking him a different path than they usually took for these walks. 

Tommy grit his teeth and walked.

He was so focused on trying to stabilize that he didn’t realize where they were heading until he was led to the bottom of the upstairs stairwell. The stairs there were carpeted and clean, with an elegant banister slithering up the side. When Caius directed him to take the stairs, he balked.

Looking into Caius’s face was like trying to read a mask, but Tommy searched for a clue if this was some kind of sick test. He had never been to the upper floor. He assumed that’s where the others lived, or worked, or whatever they did with most of their time. 

Caius waved him on, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. 

“Caius…I don’t think I’m allowed up there…” 

(What fresh hell is this? A trick? He played those sometimes…)

“I’m telling you to go up, so you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else.”

Tommy held his hands to his chest, squeezing them to console himself. The stairs looked endless, curving to the side and out of sight after an already arduous stretch.

“Please Caius, I’m trying, I am, but the stairs, I really don’t think-”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap of Caius’s fingers in front of his face, followed by a sharp finger pointing up the stairs. 

“Three more days.”

Tommy gasped, his hand rising to touch Caius’s arm for just a moment before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, he just - wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to hold onto him. He had nothing more to comfort himself than the very source of his misery. 

Judging by the murderous glare Caius was giving him, he was out of time.

When Caius got in this kind of mood, Tommy knew to shut up and put his head down. In the moment it took to register consciously, he was already stepping up the stairs, his hands reaching out to the carpeted stairs ahead of him tentatively. His back felt agonizingly stiff, but being able to support himself more comfortably on all fours helped a little. 

(Ignore the pain. Put it in the back of your mind. Move. Just keep moving.)

He made it to the top and froze, unsure of what to do. Caius was only a step behind him, and his fingers hooked the back of his collar. He guided him by the back of the neck over to a tall white door. There was a skylight above them casting soft, bright light down, and Tommy’s eyes watered with the change from his dim basement room. Tommy pushed himself onto his feet and stood uncertainly in the hallway. Caius quickly moved to corner him up against the door, and Tommy blindly grabbed for the handle, finding it locked. Caius was too close, so suddenly, and Tommy could smell him, could feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body pressing him against the cool wood, reaching beside his hip to unlock the door and turn the handle.

He released his grip on the collar with a grin.

Tommy stumbled backwards as the door gave way, sprawling on the floor in a defeated heap. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, trying to shield his face. Some days, Caius just wanted his pain. It was starting to look like one of those days. 

Caius padded in behind him and closed the door. From between his fingers where he laid on his side, all Tommy could see were his feet. 

He shivered there, for a moment, anticipating the blows. (At least the carpet is soft.)

(Fuck. Really, really soft.)

He forgot how nice a good carpet felt. The one in his “bedroom” was old and ground into a thin mat over the cement. The carpet beneath him was a clean cream color with padding beneath him, making it cushier than his mattress. 

Moments passed and there was no strike. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up until he was sat against the side of an enormous bed, a rich blue comforter spilling over the side. He looked blearily up at Caius, who crouched before him. He pinched his chin and turned his face from one side to the other, looking at his eyes. 

(Why am I in your bedroom?)

He didn’t say anything. He’d already switched gears, resigned to whatever Caius fancied doing to him today. The new environment and the big bed put him ill at ease though, and he felt nauseous. His brain was in low power mode, trying to forget what was happening as soon as it did. He wanted to walk far away from his mind and stay somewhere where the carpet was always so soft and clean.

His eyes accidentally connected with Caius’s for a moment. He always forgot what he looked like somehow, and it was so hard to look him in the face. The clear rim of his glass, the chestnut strands that cradled his face. Those dark brown eyes. 

He looked like the devil to Tommy.

“Stay.” 

He nodded numbly, grateful when Caius turned away and broke eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself look away first.

Caius pulled a long chain lead from the top drawer of his nightstand. Tommy leaned his head back and submitted his throat to him, accepting the lead locking onto his collar with nothing more than a nervous swallow.

(Better than being dragged by my hair…I think.)

When Caius rose, he pulled the leash, and Tommy struggled to his feet. He was afraid to support himself on the comforter, the fabric too fine for his calloused touch. 

Caius coaxed him onto the bed with a tug of the chain. The moment Tommy made contact with the bed he whimpered, his muscles turning to jelly in fear of retribution. But Caius joined him on the bed and sat up against his pillows, winding the chain around his fist to gather Tommy closer. He reluctantly crawled to him, the nausea growing stronger.

(Don’t do this. Don’t open that door.)

Caius settled him on his side though, and drew his head down to his lap. One hand curled possessively in his hair again. Tommy braced himself, but his fingers gently combed through, soothing and untangling the strands. Lately, he could get whiplash with how fast Caius’s moods came and went. Shocking, blinding cruelty would be followed with unnerving gentleness

. A book was fetched from his nightstand and rested open on his cheek, one wing of the hardcover supported balanced on his face. 

“Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that…”

The bed was cushy, and sank in generously at his touch. It unnerved him, a gnawing feeling plaguing him that the mattress might sink like quicksand beneath him. In spite of himself, he began to relax to the soothing cadence of Caius’s voice, slowly relinquishing the tension coiled in his body. With his face covered, he didn’t have to focus on making his expression acceptable to his unpredictable host. The fingers in his hair didn’t pull or punish, and their rhythmic caresses started to lull him to sleep.

Caius smelled…he smelled like sandalwood. He smelled clean. He smelled warm. He felt warm, his legs beneath him radiating a comforting warmth. 

Tommy’s heart suddenly ached fiercely. Desperate to soothe it, he nuzzled into the warm body beside him. Caius paused as it upset his book, but he let Tommy cuddle closer without correction.

 It had just started to overwhelm him, this odd moment of domesticity. He’d been alone for so long, and the gentle touches were few and far between. He just wanted to embrace the feeling while he had it, before it could slip through his fingers. He’d spent so long just trying to numb the world out, it felt so good to be here and pretend he wasn’t prey in the arms of a predator. 

Caius held him, and it felt good.

“I never used to be able to keep a relationship.”

Tommy tilted his head to look at Caius. Their eyes met, and Caius looked into his face so fully and honestly that it paralyzed him.

“It wasn’t a problem getting them, but they never stayed. They wanted me until they saw all of me and then they left.”

Silence hung between them. Tommy was wordless at the sudden admission. 

“I guess my longest relationship is you, huh?”

A chill ran down Tommy’s spine. Caius’s hand touched his cheek and he stared at it, enraptured by the contact with his ward. There was something wrong in that look. He didn’t look at him like a lover, but like a doll. Like a muse. 

Tommy shrank away from his touch, but Caius’s hand caught him and pushed his head down to his lap. Suddenly his touch didn’t feel so warm and so gentle. The ache came back to Tommy’s chest, as the warm feeling drained from his face.

(You can’t always play pretend.)

“You know I used to do insurance? That’s how I met Rory. We just clicked, he was the only good thing about the job. One day he tells me that his tech whiz friend has got this start-up….that was Michelle. But he wanted us to relocate to Quebec. Can you imagine living in Quebec? Working for some french freaks?”

Tommy wondered if they would have taken him at all. If some boy up north was spared being in his place because of a sliver of francophobia. 

“Once he moved here, it all kinda fell into place.”

Tommy missed the other story.

“You know, I never let my licenses lapse. I’ve renewed them three times. I just kept thinking, this is too good to be true. Something’s going to happen and I’ll be back at a desk.”

His position no longer felt comfortable, and Caius’s hand was fully pushing down on his head, seemingly without noticing. He could feel his heart start to pound.

“I think I’ll let them go this year. All in, I guess.”

Anger burned suddenly on the back of Tommy’s neck. 

(Are you committed now? Finally into it? I’ve been in it all along. You took away my choice and locked me in a basement and let people torture me for money. You took my life away…but now you finally want to take the reins and invest? I hope Hell exists just so there’s a place for people like you.)

“Hey. I know you hurt. I know it’s been really hard to get through the last few days. How would you like to make a deal?”

Tommy turned his head at that. He was weak for Caius’s deals. He could never manage to turn them down, no matter how many times he paid for it. But sometimes it wasn’t so bad, so he always fell for the bait.

He stared at Caius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes again.

“That’s what I thought you might say,” Caius said with a smile, to Tommy’s obviously piqued attention. 

“You take another punishment now, and I’ll count it for the rest of the week.”

(Oh, no.)

(He had to take it, right? What’s a little more pain in the short term? He could just get his drugs right after, right?)

(No, don’t get ahead of yourself. At least ask.)

“What punishment?” he murmured. 

“You’ll get the cane,” Caius answered. He said it in that humiliating way, as if he was explaining something in a caring voice.

He mulled it over briefly. Canings were fucking agony, but it might be worth it to cut his time short.

(Fine.)

“Okay.” It came out in a whisper. 

As soon as he said it, it started to really sink in. He was suddenly stunned in disbelief that this was happening, As Caius moved him to the side and slipped off of the bed, making his way to his closet. When Caius returned, holding a long, thin whip of a stick. He suddenly remembered sobbing underneath it the last time Caius took him to task. He couldn’t even remember what he had done. Sometimes he didn;t have to do anything at all. 

Caius directed him on the bed like a trainer handling his dog, putting him in the same position his last clients had whipped him in. His face down on Caius’s soft sheets, his chest pressed to the mattress. On his knees, and Caius reached between his legs to take his hands. He pulled his hands through and coaxed him to grip his ankles, holding himself in that humiliating position. 

Caius’s hands brushed over his ass before slipping his fingers into his waistband and tugging them down. 

Tommy whimpered as he was exposed, the fabric feeling like sandpaper as it slipped over the raw skin there. 

“Wait, Caius, wait, I take it back, I don’t want to do this.” It came out in rush as the panic properly started to set in, realizing how bad this was going to hurt. He was already covered in wounds, the bruises fully ripened, the skin starting to itch and crack. He let go of his ankles and tried to pull his hands back before Caius could stop him.

He didn’t succeed, and Caius’s hands on his wrists gripped like claws. 

“No, that’s not how this works. You took the deal.” Already having anticipated this, Caius grabbed a roll of tape he had secreted onto the bed.

“You’ll keep your hands right there if you want to be forgiven the rest of the week. Otherwise, you’ll get both.”

Tommy held onto his ankles as hard as he could, until his hands hurt as much as his feet. He felt like a great weight was coming down on him as Caius wound the tape around his fists, mummifying him there as he bound the limbs together.

Tommy was already crying when Caius finished wrapping him. He felt a hand on his hip, a curious thumb tugging at the edges of his pain. Getting a good look at him in this state. He told himself he had only imagined it as soon as he heard the soft click of the phone camera behind him. 

“Caius please, please Caius, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me anymore,” He begged, but there was no answer to his prayers. 

He heard the soft whistle through the air before Caius struck him. It lit up a long slash of pain on his backside, and he panted under the blooming pain. Whip. Whip. Criss-crossing over and over on the backs of his thighs, down nearly to the backs of his knees and up to the swell of his ass. The blows were quick and merciful, reducing him to a sobbing mess of trembling flesh. It burned so bad and he pulled frantically on his bindings, trying to escape the steady battering. Caius started to hit harder, or maybe it just hurt more and more, or maybe both. Sometimes Caius just needed to work something out tanning his hide, and the pain was horrific. 

(His own, personal whipping boy.)

The soft mattress beneath him felt like less of a comfort as his face sank in, and he struggled to catch a breath as he wailed into the sheets. At least his knees didn’t hurt. The give of the cushion underneath him let him rock very slightly back and forth, the best he could do to ease the desperate need to move away. 

The steady hits sped up and plateaued, finally slowing and stopping. It could have been a hundred strikes. It could have been five, but it took centuries until he was satisfied. He was sweating frantically, and the salt stung his welted skin. 

“There we go, that got us there.” Tommy felt like a quivering slab of raw meat on a platter before him. Caius left for a while, letting Tommy cool off and finish his crying jag. When he returned, he had a pot of ointment in his hands. He worked the thick salve into his skin slowly, working an agonizing massage across the bloody strokes. Tommy whimpered and whined with the pain, but the intimate touch stirred unwanted tingles of pleasure in him. He pressed his thighs together firmly, but he couldn’t keep it up with how weak his legs felt.

Finally Caius was done molesting him and cut away the tape holding him in place. Tommy rolled over onto his side and dry sobbed until Caius decided to put him back. Mercifully, Caius helped ease him down the stairs, and took him over his shoulder to carry him the last few yards to his room.

Tommy laid on his bed and shivered. His bed wasn’t more comfortable, but it was familiar. His whole body pulsed with pain. Caius tethered him and Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was so tired after the whole ordeal, though he doubted he would be able to sleep.

(Wait. The meds.)

“Can I please have my medicine now?” The idea of getting some relief from the pain made his teary-eyed all over again.

“Yes, after the three extra days you earned.”

(No)

(No)

(No.)

“Caius!” he moaned, but then his breath caught in his throat.

“I’ll be back after tea,” Caius promised as he locked the door behind him, leaving Tommy to burn in his bed. 

[ameliagiovanna0]

Feel Your Kiss On Me

Title from For You by Liam Payne and RIta Ora

Requested by @whiskeyloverbae ​ , thank you! 💕

“Tim has a hickey and he thinks it’s hidden by his collar but Angela calls him out on it. “

“Lucy!” Tim called from the bathroom.

“What?” Lucy returned, coming around the corner from her bedroom.

He couldn’t help but rake his eyes over her in the kimono and sleep shorts she wore, her hair wound messily on top of her head.

He grumbled, remembering he was trying to be pissed at her, and gestured to his neck and the purplish mark forming there.

“Oops,” she posited, but the mischievous grin that spread across her features betrayed her.

“Lucy, we have work today! What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I’ll go put a spoon in the freezer,” she tucked her lips between her teeth, trying to suppress her laughter.

Lucy rounded the corner once again, wrapping her arms around his waist as he dragged a razor through the shaving cream on his face.

She pressed her lips to his bare back, “You adding to the mess you’ve created?”

She smiled against his skin, “I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it,” she chortled as she nipped at his shoulder.

“Luce!” he tried not to laugh, trying desperately to be mad at her, “We share a locker room!”

“Oh, like it’s the first time one of you’s had a mark.”

“It’s a hickey, Luce. I have a reputation.”

He tapped the razor in the sink before turning around in her arms to her raised eyebrow, “We both know that went out the window when you met me.”

“You’re impossible,” he said as his hand found the sides of her face. 

Tim wore a collared shirt into the station, forgoing his usual henley in hopes of hiding the mark his girlfriend left the night before, the frozen spoon not doing much to dull the offensive color. He put his white undershirt on and then uniform top on as fast as humanly possible, hoping none of the other officers noticed. He adjusted the collar in the mirror on the inside of his locker door and hoped it would stay in place all day.

“I should’ve starched these,” he complained to himself.

He left the locker room, seemingly unscathed. Angela asked him to see her when he came in for the day, so he made his way to her desk with two cups of coffee.

“Ange,” he set her cup in front of her.

“Hey, she greeted, “Thanks. The name Dennis Rand ring any bells?”

“Jesus,” he groaned as he balanced his arm on his duty belt.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes?’”

“I’ve arrested him maybe ten times over the years. Why?”

“He managed to get invol–”

Tim turned his head at the sound of glass shattering on the other side of the bullpen.

“Damnit, Smitty!” Angela barked before he even made it into her field of view.

“I’m sorry! It just slipped out of my hands!”

“Clean it up! That’s the third one this week!” she finally braved a glance at the mess of broken porcelain and coffee on the floor. 

Angela looked up, Tim’s head still pulled in the direction of Smitty dejectedly slinking toward the janitor’s closet.

“Timothy…”

His body stiffened as she stood up. It was never good when she used his full name.

He turned toward her, “Yes, Angela?”

She pinched the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his body and laughing like a maniac. He rolled his eyes at her antics.

“Tim,” she managed to get out between snorts, “Is that a hickey?”

“I’m going to kill her,” he griped.

Angela simply laughed harder, nearly doubling over, having to brace herself with a hand on the edge of her desk.

“Are you done?” he asked when she managed to stand up straight again.

“Oh, no. Not even close.” 

“You two have fun last night?” She giggled again, “Oh, lemme guess. You bet on who could list the most penal codes in sixty seconds, and this was your punishment for losing?”

“No, wait! Lucy decided that she’d had enough of other women hitting on you, so she finally decided to do something about it?”

Tim blushed. This is not the conversation he’d envisioned for his Monday morning.

“No, no, I got it. Were you misbehaving?”

“I have work to do,” he turned to walk away.

“No, Tim, wait!” she tried not to laugh again. 

He turned around only long enough to flip her the bird.

“Your life would be so boring without me!”

He shook his head, a reluctantly amused smile on his face as he made his way to his office. He kind of hated her for it, but it was just Angela’s way of showing affection.

Sitting behind his own desk, Tim placed his coffee down when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

A: Dennis Rand, asshole. I needed info

T: Maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of me then 

A: whatever, I’ll just ask Lucy. Among other things 😁

T: I hate you both

A: You love us

Tim shot a text off to the woman in question.

T: in case you didn’t hear the cackling coming from the bullpen, Angela found the monstrosity you left on my neck 

T: Maybe I should return the favor tonight

L: don’t threaten me with a good time bradford 

He chuckled, setting his phone down. 

This was going to be a long day.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today's rec list contains fics where either Louis or Harry is antisocial or untrusting. This is a shorter and more niche list, but we hope you enjoy it! If you want our rec lists to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33,319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

2) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

3) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42,979 words

Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation. Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world. When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light? Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation. Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world. When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

4) No Easy Choice, But You're Mine | Explicit | 45,603 words

Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

5) One Heart Broke, Four Hands Bloody | Explicit | 47,249 words

Louis’ life is really fucking dull until one day he happens upon the scene of a crime, as said crime is happening. A murderer with big hands and a charming smile somehow manages to change his life for the better.

6) Yesterday Came Suddenly | Explicit | 48,504 words

The one where Harry, the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.

7) Not Afraid Of Living On A Fault Line | Explicit | 55,218 words

His eyes widened when he realized he had just somehow managed to ask Harry to hang out. Judging by Harry’s own expression, he wasn't the only one who was shocked. Louis expected him to laugh off the ridiculous request but the beta looked up at him, almost hopefully. “Are you being serious?” “Um,” was all Louis could say, feeling every bit as speechless as Harry had been earlier. “Are you?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been told I need to get out more.”

8) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124,766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.” “Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.” “Wait, what?” Zayn asked. “Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,” “What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand. “I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.” “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[englass]

Plains and Valleys

Pairing(s): John Seed x Deputy/Reader

Warning(s): John is his own warning; Possessive/Obsessive Behaviour; John being creepy; Stalking; kind-of Crack, this isn’t taken all that seriously; Not Beta’d; Experimental Piece; NSFW/Explicit, my first (and likely only) attempt at smut -- please kindly let me know if there’s anything else I should warn of here, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Word Count: 4,020

A/N(s): The title is basically a placeholder for while I was writing this because I had no idea what to name it... and truly, I can’t be asked to think of something better for a piece that only exists to see if I can write smut (spoilers: I can’t, but I’m not letting a completed piece rot away in my docs just because I’m embarrassed; I worked and spent time on this damnit!).

On another note, I was gonna just give this piece over as my contribution to WIP day that @derelictheretic was kind enough to tag me in, but decided against it. I’ll post a proper response and WIP later this week or next, so bear with me please hun! Just wanted to get this out there first.

- - -

John had a problem.

Well, he had many problems. Not least of all his growing frustration at the continued resistance from the Fairgraves' in his pursuit for the deed to their ‘establishment’. He also had been unable to play with Affirmation as regularly as he would have liked, so that put him in an even fouler mood than usual. And he wasn't going to even think about the stress he was starting to feel with his brother constantly breathing down his neck; always questioning his actions as though he were a child constantly getting into trouble and needing twenty-four hour monitoring, always asking after the progress of things that take time. A lot of time.

John may have a substantial amount of money at his disposal, but that does not mean he can work miracles.

Not all of the time, at least.

And his problems don’t stop there, oh no. Despite what many likely thought of him (and what a stroke to his ego that is, knowing that people think of him) John was well aware of his problems, his faults. He’d spent a lot of time getting intimate with them, after all; and every now and again they'd crop up like daisies, weeding their way to the surface yet again. He’d become rather good at managing them, if he said so himself, but even John wasn’t perfect (he was damn close to it though, as many would agree). And one fault he hadn’t quite been able to trim back was his tendency to fixate on things; obsess. 

He obsesses over his plane, over its upkeep and maintenance, its flight records, the slightest scratch that wasn't there the day before-- how the fuck did that get there!?

He obsesses over the details on the manifestos he’s given, the contracts he’s made, dates and times for resource collection, rotations, their members' personal records (he denies having those), PR management, expenditures and everything in between. 

He obsesses over his home, the décor, the colours and lighting, materials used, the whole aesthetic. How he presents himself, the clothes and brands he wears (it’s vain but he needs those creature comforts), his posture, his presence, his overall look that creates an identity that just screams nothing but John.

He obsesses over things.

He knows he does. It’s a faulty blessing.

And he has found something new to obsess over.

John has had a few run-ins with the local Deputies of Hope County in the past. Mostly Joey Hudson, delightful as she is, but ordinarily he doesn’t think too much of them. After all, he’s untouchable and they all know it. There’s no reason to worry about them, let alone waste his precious free time (what little he gets of it) thinking about them. They’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance at most. Completely irrelevant.

But then he saw her.

Standing there, innocuous, looking out at something (for something? Nothing?) in the distance. 

There’s a hitch, the catch of a stilted breath.

Where they were keeping her hidden he has no idea, but he is taken the moment he catches that rogue glance of her.

And, strangely, he doesn't know why.

Sure, John and his brothers have been in this County for a good while now and he has never seen her before, so it’s perfectly normal for him to be curious about the unfamiliar face in town. Nothing wrong with that, it’s innocent enough.

Except there’s everything wrong with that.

Because that’s not it.

He can’t even blame his wandering eyes on her appearance; she’s wearing that drab uniform that even a charity shop wouldn’t take, and it does nothing to enhance whatever natural beauty she may have hidden underneath it. Although, the girl-next-door look she gives off is begrudgingly cute (if he dared to utter the word unironically).

Honestly, she’s not the type of woman that he typically would have paid any special attention to back in his lawyer days. Fucked her stupid maybe, for the extra notch in his bedpost, but he likely wouldn’t have taken her number or thought too much about her afterwards. Relegated to just another lay in a long line of bed partners that he doesn’t remember all the names of.

To be blunt, she isn’t anything special.

And maybe that’s part of the appeal, what hooks him in. Because she is different; unassuming and uncomplicated, modest to a point of simplicity. And yet there is something about her that he can’t actively see or name from his spot across the street that has drawn him in without even trying. And he doesn’t know what or why.

It’s as infuriating as it is intriguing.

Perhaps there is some iota of truth in what Joseph had said to him a while ago, John supposed silently to himself at the time: the simplest of things can be beautiful, in their own unconventional ways.

Although his brother could have said as much with far less words, verses, and vague allusions to a potential future that might never be-- a spark of sudden change that sets a new course in motion; scales tipped by the most consuming of emotions; scorched by a soul so deceptively unremarkable that no one would have thought to believe just how uniquely special they would become--

…

…… 

… Huh… 

John creates a special slot in his increasingly hectic schedule just for her from then on out.

He goes out of his way to find more reasons to harass and bother the local population, all in a fruitless attempt to get lucky and have her answer their call for aid and come and tell him what a bad boy he’s being. (Annoyingly she never turns up, though.)

He makes calls and pulls some strings to the businesses he’s procured, makes inquiries to anyone that would listen to him, including those doing menial tasks or even going through their Atonement (they don’t understand the relevancy of his questioning and he may have been a little harsher with them than he should’ve been because of it), and all in the name of his personal investigation into her.

After all, he had argued to himself in front of a cork board covered with documents and pictures of her with a feverish flavour, what sort of Herald would he be if he didn't know everything about everyone living in his-- their, his and his brothers, soon-to-be County?

His invasive and not completely legal search into this new Deputy (and she is new it turns out, freshly transferred in fact) goes on for a full, nonstop month before -- during one of his totally-random-and-not-planned stops into town -- he discovers something else about her.

When he first saw his Deputy (and doesn’t that feel good to say) she was alone, leaning against the wooden beam of the Sheriff’s Department’s porch and staring out into the distant fields; the late afternoon sun haloing her figure in its golden warmth, its light making the colour of her eyes blaze bright and her hair shine silkily. The perfect picture of ease.

This time, when he finally manages to spy another in-person look at her, he finds that she has company. She’s standing next to the ever friendly Hudson, posture held strong by an understated confidence and arms casually crossed beneath her bust, an amused smile on her decidedly pretty face as Hudson talks animatedly about something that he can’t hear.

And she’s looking up at her.

John blinks, and blinks again.

He’s definitely seen her file, he even remembers glossing through her medical records (which he would most assuredly deny having if anyone asked), so he knows how tall she is. But for some reason it apparently hadn’t quite registered to him until now what that would look like in a physical comparison between the two of them.

He knows that the lovely Hudson is a couple of inches shorter than him, not too far off from meeting him eye-to-eye. His Deputy, from what he can see, is about a full head shorter than Hudson. Which would put her, what, roughly just about eye-to-chest with him...?

He thinks about it. Thinks about her next to him, imagines what that would look like. Thoughts surprisingly innocent as he wonders after clichés of reaching for something that she can’t reach, of cocooning her in his arms as he effortlessly wrangles her into his lap. Envisions the domesticity of easily resting his head on top of hers as he holds her from behind, slotting himself into the mould of her figure like matching puzzle pieces, perfectly meant to be and belong… 

A high pitched, shaky sound slips free at the mental reel.

It’s not a secret the type of life that John used to live. He has been with numerous types of women, something he used to take a great deal of pride in, and has indulged in and explored his fair share of kinks in the comfort of expensive silk sheets. But who would have guessed that the former playboy, John Duncan now John Seed, would have a thing for domestic bliss.

Or rather, domestic bliss with little. ol’. her.

John makes the executive decision then and there to talk to his Deputy as soon as possible. Preferably alone. Without interference.

It feels like forever before he gets the opportunity.

A week later, on a daily walk through Falls End that has only admittedly become a thing in order to check up on the lucky woman of his blazing affections (I am not stalking her, Jacob, he had grounded out menacingly to his accusing older brother over Sunday dinner; who proceeded to look on at John with a slow quirk of an eyebrow), he finds his ever elusive Deputy resting around the corner of the Sheriff’s Department’s building. Eyes closed, head down, arms crossed, and safely concealed in the shade; unsuspectingly calm in her desired time alone.

And John is quick to ruin it.

He can’t help himself, he really can’t. The opportunity is here and he would be remiss to let it pass him by.

Even if she does look rather serene.

He's seen a few photos of her, more than a few actually-- albums worth even, so he knows what she looks like up close. He even printed one out (it’s a favourite of his, a near perfect replica of the first time he saw her) and has it framed on his bedside table; but it turns out no amount of photos quite do the real her justice.

The closer he gets to her the more he notices how petite she is, how the loose yet deceptively form-fitting hug of her bland uniform subtly accentuates the curves and slopes of her modest figure; the daintiness of her fingers as they rest against the exposed, smooth skin of her arms; that familiar magnetic draw snapping to life in the colour of her eyes as they lazily open, sparkling as he gets closer and she looks up at him, wide and wondering.

Innocent.

Oh, he was so wrong about her, he realises wondrously. Did her such a disservice in his initial judgement of her all those weeks ago. She is far from average.

And being here in front of her, close enough to touch, to be able to easily reach out and trap her against the wall and between his arms if he so wanted to, safely protected under the cage of his form -- her neck craning back in order to comfortably gaze up at him, meeting his eyes as he stares down at her… 

It makes something inside him go wild.

John lays the charm on quick and swift, hand attractively running through his hair as a practised but handsome smile lights up his face, eyes twinkling through his lidded gaze with an aweing hunger he knows he is failing to keep hidden.

Getting the first word in, he leans close to the wall, not quite putting his full weight against it (his shirt was expensive) but close enough to allow him a moment of privacy with her by limiting her field of view to only him. Blocking out everyone-- everything else with his taller frame (and doesn’t that thought spark a sudden twitch of interest) as he eagerly monopolises her attention.

Daringly he edges further into her space while he talks ardently to her, truly basking in the unexpected pleasure he gets in watching her unintentionally baring her neck to him; being so beautifully submissive for him without consciously realising it. Amusement colouring his tone in pale notes as he watches the way her pretty eyes darken and narrow at his progressive disturbance and invasion of her time and space.

Fuck. He didn’t know it would be this intoxicating to be so close to her.

Even as he dances through conversation with playful words and hinting remarks, becomes enamoured by the soothing intonation of her voice as she is dragged along with guarded comments and wary retorts, he can’t stop the way his mind ever so sinfully wanders… 

It really would be so easy to have her up against this wall. To crowd her in with his frame on all sides and her vision filled with nothing but him. The centre of her universe and attention, him; and his hers. The concept of that sort of all-encompassing intimacy and devotion makes John shudder. Hungry all the more for it and the woman that has unknowingly given him a taste of what it could all be and become, of what that level of pure, unadulterated want is inspiring in him.

He could easily have her against this wall. Have her looking directly skyward up at him as if he were her moon and stars, as he looks directly down at her-- his entire world and more.

Snatch her thigh and hoist it up towards his waist. Have her balancing precariously on the tips of her toes and clutching desperately at him, trusting John to help hold and support her and keep her steady as he shields her from the world around them. Hides her away from the unworthy just as the unworthy have hidden her away from him. His lips sweetly latching onto hers, her taste finally on his tongue after all these weeks of wanting, involuntarily grounding his hips into hers as a desperate sound breaks within his throat.

Oh, John can visualise it now: the two of them breathing in each other's air, bodies flush as he tugs and pushes closer, her shirt riding up as it's snagged by the rough brickwork at her back, arching into him on an unsteady foot to escape its harsh bite. Teeth nipping teasingly at her lips and tongue licking moreishly into her mouth as his free hand roams down her stomach, pulls the rest of her shirt loose and fumbles in his eagerness with the buttons of her jeans, yanking the zipper down and shoving his hand below the waistband and into her underwear. Hearing her whine sweetly into his mouth as he feels just how wet she is for him, how much she wants him and how eagerly she welcomes him into her as he plunges his fingers into her slick cunt with a needy and quaking moan of his own. 

Would she want it quick and rough? His fingers thrusting knuckle deep as he presses tight circles to her throbbing clit, teeth at her throat as he claws into her thigh held tightly in the dip of his waist. Listening to how her moans get higher, her breathing gets quicker, turning into desperate little gasps before he tugs his fingers free of her; lips devouring hers in quick apology as he battles to pull his aching cock free, cursing lowly against her lips as his slick covered fingers slip on the metal of his belt. She’d help him, he knows she would -- such a good girl --, nipping and kissing him back with wanton sounds as she bats his hand away, revelling in the noises he makes for her -- only for her, only ever for her -- as she pulls him free; rolling her hips until his cock catches on her slit and he’s thrusting home into her.

Only then -- while feeling her walls flex around him, mouth hanging open as they both bask in finally, finally being so intimately connected to one another -- would he finally hike her other leg up to wrap fully around his waist, fully supporting her weight and driving himself deeper into her, one of his arms coming up to press into the wall beside her, hand caringly slipping behind her head; bracketing her in. Shivering as her breath warms his neck and she cries out for him.

And considering her height… fuck, he can only imagine just how tight she’d be for him, chocking his cock as she squeezes him, milking him for all he’s worth until his teeth are stained red against her lovingly maimed neck. His hips snapping into hers with a guttural growl, panting sensual snarls of encouragement into her ear as he demands and begs in equal measure that she touch herself for him, dexterous fingers chasing her end as he chases his own until-- she’s coming around him with a high and shuddery keen. Her soft walls sucking him deeper into her, legs locking tighter around his waist and keeping him there as he spills himself into the back of her hot cunt with a strangled moan. Claiming her as his as he presses in closer, plugging her full with his cock and cum and praying that it’ll take-- 

…

……

… Huh.

He will definitely be exploring that at a later date…

Or perhaps she wouldn’t want it like that. Wouldn’t want him to be so rough and careless with her. Maybe she would want him to go slower, to be gentle-- to be good for her, to take his time and truly enjoy and appreciate every sweet beg and whimper that falls from her perfect lips. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to fuck him at the back of her shabby place of work, or even anywhere out in the open; maybe she would prefer privacy, for him to make love to her. Would want him to steal her away into his home, to carefully lay her out on his bed and unwrap her like a delicate gift, hands tracing teasing paths along her body before spreading her wide for his tasting pleasures. Taking his time to truly savour her unique flavour on his palette, wanton sounds pressed into sensitive flesh as he takes her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks.

Broad strokes of his skilled tongue parting her lips and drinking her down, fingers firm as they hold onto the soft meat of her thighs and hips, thumbs rubbing soothing motions into her skin as he opens her up for him. Urges her with hot breathes, praising words, the flick of his tongue and the dip of his fingers into her wet heat, to cum for him; pleads with sound and touch and a greedy haze over his lust-darkened eyes. The gravel in his gluttonous voice vibrating into her, in love with how she reaches and cries out for him as he tells her how good she’s being for him, how badly he needs her to cum for him-- a debauched sound choking out of him as she does. Completely enraptured as she reaches the height of pleasure -- pleasure he brought her, that he will always strive to bring her --, bearing witness to his own personal God-given vision as he watches her writhe against his sheets and listens to her songs of praise, easing her down from that divine high and back into his devoted embrace.

Kissing a line up to her bitten lips, answering her mewls with soft coos and grounding touches, brushing over a nipple before taking the perky flesh into his mouth with a brief suck and fleeting skim of teeth, letting go with a lingering kiss before moving across and repeating the process to its twin. Reluctantly drawing away to playfully nip and press wet kisses into the column of her throat before letting her taste the tanginess of her juices on his tongue. Languidly kissing as he strokes her sides, writing indecipherable words of affection into her skin, content to let her enjoy the bliss of post-orgasm before he slowly pulls away, descending back down the line of her body with a husky, ‘one more, just one more for me, darling...’ 

John knows he wouldn’t stop at just ‘one more’ though. Hopefully she’d be generous enough to give him a few more before he finally slakes his need for her.

And hopefully she doesn't see the hard-on he’s now sporting after such vivid fantasies.

In a particularly bold move, temptation spurred into a fever from improper imaginings, John reaches for her; fixates on a strand of hair that has become untucked from behind her ear. She tenses, muscles coiling tight as she gives him the most suspicious look somebody has ever given him before. He’s actually rather offended. And very hurt.

But it’s sobering, in its own way. Because suddenly he can hear Joseph’s voice in his head from last Sunday (what a turn-off…), advising him that if he wanted to pursue a relationship with this Deputy that he was so smitten with then he needed to be gentle, considerate.

John may have done his ‘research’ on her, extensively so, but that did not mean that he was entitled or even deserving of her affections. He could not expect her to be on the same page as him, especially considering he had yet to even interact with her at that point. She may not have even heard of him yet, Joseph had speculated-- John and Jacob quietly sharing a disbelieving look. Everyone in the County knew their names, and with her being a Deputy there was no way she hadn’t heard of them.

Regardless, Joseph’s point still stood: if John wanted a genuine chance with her then he needed to soften himself, to be delicate, more tactful with her. Demonstrate that he can hear and see her for all that she is and can be, and that he accepts her without reservation.

Think of it like Atonement, Joseph had supplied sagely, fingers steepled, she needs to willingly give her confession over to you, John. Her affections. You can’t just take them.

And to Joseph’s credit, that actually made sense to John.

Atonement was all about accepting one’s sins, confessing them to another whom they trusted would never condemn nor judge them for their past actions or choices; unburdening themselves so they may be reborn pure and untainted for the hopeful future ahead of them. In that regard, his pursuit of his Deputy wasn’t too dissimilar.

So in that brief moment, in that flash of hurt as she steels herself against his considerate gesture and where John remembers Joseph’s words, he pauses. Convinces himself to go slower, to not try to grab at her like a spoiled brat reaching for things that weren't his-- yet. Reigns himself in enough so he doesn’t give her anymore of a reason to potentially be wary of him, to which he has very likely just given her quite a few. Trying in his own distinct way to smooth over her obvious distrust of him.

John knows he’s made mistakes throughout his life. Many would say he’s not a good man, and he wouldn’t necessarily disagree with them. But seeing and learning of her, of recalling his brother’s words and advice, of the many fantasies he’s had before and even during meeting her in this moment, he thinks he could change that. Knows that, if she would have him, if she gave him the chance, he’d be good. He’d be good for her.

Joseph always talks about love, about the power and control it wields over people and-- admittedly, John doesn’t completely get it. 

But with her? For her? He thinks he just might.

… 

He thinks he already does.

[luniidae]

A day in the life of Luvia (HoH - Adult)

Note: I... Wanted to try something, haha.

____________________________________

7:00: Wake up, hear Raphael ranting from his office.

7:30: Breakfast at the grand table, love 🥞 ✨

7:50: Bath time.

8:00: Get dressed, put on makeup, jewelries and parfum (smell like coconut-vanilla).

8:30: On my way to the archives, avoid the Boudoir, even if I know Haarlep is still sleeping. This lazy bitch.

8:34: First lesson of the day, History of Hells with the Archivist (boring with him...)

9:30: Fall asleep, scorned by the Archivist.

9:55: End of lesson, on my way to Raphael's office.

10:00: Poetry time with Raphael ✨

11:00: Raphael happy with my performance, so happy too.

11:15: Practice Organ and sing 🎶

12:20: Lunch time at the grand table🍗

12:40: Second lesson of the day, practice of magic with Korilla (yay 💫)

14:00: Third lesson of the day, practice of blood magic with Raphael ✨, training on debtors, haha.

16:00: Listen to Raphael plotting, get jealous when he mentions "another mouse" 🐁

16:30: Get teased by Haarlep on my way to my bedroom. Threaten Nubaldin to relax.

16:45: Finally reach my bedroom and tell Haarlep to leave me alone again (Damnit, dude is never tired).

16:50: Reading, writing, singing, playing music.

17:30: Get bored, try some blood magic.

17:35: Quickly tired of my own room, get out to practice in the living room. Accidentally splash blood on Raphael's self portait.

17:37: Panic, try to find a solution before he returns.

17:39: Haarlep mocking me and me yelling at him to help me instead.

17:43: The Archivist gets a heart attack when he sees the painting and faints. Oh damn.

17:47: Finally manage to "fix" the painting with an illusion spell and pretend nothing happened.

17:55: Slap Haarlep who was getting too close once again. Then bring the Archivist back to the Archives.

18:00: Enjoy my free time with a bubble bath. Smell good.

18:40: Miss Raphael...

19:00: Someone's trying to break in the HoH ?

19:15: Find the intruder and use blood magic on them.

19:20: Like to hear them scream.

19:44: Throw them over the balcony into Avernus.

20:30: Raphael's back ✨ Listen to him about his day, get jealous again when he mentions Tav. Talk about the intruder I got rid of to show him I'm better than them.

21:00: Dinner time together (with Korilla)

21:45: Back to my bedroom, hear Hope's torture session.

22:00: Poetry time ✨

22:50: Hear Raphael getting angry about his portait. Accuse the intruder I killed earlier.

23:00: Discuss with Raph' about everything and anything as usual, drink wine, so happy.

24:00: Sleep.

[akela-nakamura]

Akela how much bodily harm would you cause me if I asked about 'Damnit Susi 5 for Akela' 😛

You're a little shit and I should have predicted this.

I haven't opened that doc since you sent it to me and now.

Now I have to actually remember what that was? Rude.

opens doc

oh. Oh fuck right.

DAMMIT.

Alright, so this is the "What if Walker took over Arkham Asylum and simultaneously made it both better and worse." idea. That's not the exact prompt but it's what it boils down too.

(OG prompt, from Tourettesdog is this:  Sick of hearing how frequently inmates escape Arkham (from the ghosts of their victims), Walker decides to take management of the facility into his own hands)

I haven't opened this doc in a bit, nor thought about it, so the thoughts on how this would go are still very vague. But I imagine that Walker starts out pretty reasonable. As far as like. Ghosts go. He hasn't been in the human realm is SO LONG and he knows the Rules are different here but obviously whatever Rules govern Arkham they aren't working.

So he makes better ones. Rules can be adjusted based on the place and he's not dumb enough to apply Ghost Zone Rules to a living realm facility.

But the major problem is Walker runs a prison. And Arkham is supposed to be an asylum. They are not one and the same. At the end of the day, Arkham is sort of set up to try and rehabilitate and release.

And like. Walker's not thinking of that. Or used to that. Ghost Zone prison sentences may not for like, eternity, but they are usually far longer than any human lifetime.

You add in the stories he's heard of these people, and he's not real inclined to let them go.

Unsure how Danny would fit in yet. Whether he's moved to Gotham and gets Sus when no one's heard from a Villain in...weeks or if he hears some GZ gossip and has to go see what's happened now.

Either way, Arkham is very different. Many people were fired (The amount of bribery happening in this place, holy hell) and the inmates are finding it damn near impossible to bribe these new guards. Or wait for them to fall asleep. Or just get bored.

(Which isn't to say you can't bribe a ghost, but I don't think Arkham inmates would have what any of these ghost guards want lol)

Anyway, chaos would ensue. Because it's one of my WIPs.

I hope you enjoyed the ramble. It's not completely thought out yet.

If y'all want to see a list of my WIPs, here you go:

WIP Tag Game

[mirx-xko-offical]

Going home...

Sad!Idia x Leaving!Reader

TWs: Angst (Ig?-), Sad bby Ortho

INFO~

I deffo recommend listening to ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine bc this one is kinda based off of that song. Idia being in depression :( Implied Fem reader I never proofread my stories so I'm not even going to act like I will later :,)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't leave me please..."

"I have to..."

"I'm begging.. Just stay please."

"I'm sorry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley had finally found a way for [Name] to get home (surprisingly-) which should be a good thing right? That's what [Name] had thought but after all the friends and relationships she had made in this world had made her rethink things.

Standing at the mirror, all of her belongings in her hands, [Name] held back tears as she looked back to all of her friends. "I guess it's time for my MC speech isn't it..?" She tried to lighten the mood, cracking on of her and Idia's usual jokes.

But even she couldn't cheer herself up. "I truly enjoyed my time here and I will miss all of the friends and more I made here. Sevens... I didn't expect myself to be so torn up by this." She chuckled a little, whipping a tear from her cheek.

Besides from Crowley's bawling, he managed to speak up. "S-Since I am ever so gracious... I shall allow you to have some one on o-one time with the students by dorm." [Name] could barely understand what he had said but she agreed to it nonetheless. "Thank you Crowley. May I request to speak with the Ignihyde dorm first?"

Crowley nodded before leading the rest of the students out of the room, leaving Idia and Ortho. "W-Why us first..?" Idia shyly mumbled, seemingly trying to not seem as sad as he was. "You're my friend, are you not?" She as Ortho jumped into her arms. "Big sis don't go!" He begged.

"I have to Ortho... You know that I'm not supposed to stay here." She answered him, holding him close before letting go and turning back to the older Shroud.

"I guess this is goodbye.." He said as he looked down to the ground. "Jeez that's cringy af..." He said with embarrassment. She only chuckled before embracing him, making him flinch is surprise.

"Please don't go..."

"Idia, you know I have to.."

"I'm begging you. please just stay..." His voice muffled in her hood, unable to hold it back anymore and ultimately crying into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry but I can't." She said as she let go, still holding Idia's hands. "I'll miss you." She said as she backed away, letting go of his hands.

"[Name] I-I have something to tell you before you go." Ortho looked at him in shock, realizing what he was about to say. "I... I love you." He said as he looked up to her, seeing her shocked expression. "I know this is a real cheesy confession and super late one too but I-I thought I should've told you b-before you left."

"Idia... I love you too." She confessed before Crowley busted in. "Times up. Any suggestions for whom should be next [Name]?" He asked as Idia looked back to you one last time and Ortho clung onto you. "You can just go in order now." She sighed as Ortho let go and followed his brother out the doors, allowing the other dorms to come through.

After everyone was finished [Name] tried to not look back this time as she stood at the mirror again. "Mirror bring this student back to her home." Crowley spoke up as the mirror turned black before clearing up to show [Name]'s hometown.

She couldn't help but look back to Idia, smiling a little before entering the mirror before vanishing.

"God damnit..."

AHHHHHHHHHHHH I'M GOING TO START CRYING OMG-

Erm-

Anyways I hope you enjoyed this honest shitpost.

Why must Idia's name keep wanting to autocorrect to Idea or India??

Also why did they make the dorm names so hard to spell ;-;

Enough with the yapping- I seriously make this at like 1 am for like to reason beside from my sister playing ceilings on repeat :,)

[forbidding-souda]

Hey could I get Hajime, Nagito, and Chiaki with an aggressive/agitated sleeper?

Hajime Hinata, Nagito Komaeda, and Chiaki Nanami with a S/O who is an aggressive sleeper

ya'll I found my favorite show on a free movie site and then apparently it's on disney plus so I

I used to be a hella aggressive sleeper so I'm gonna assume I know what you're talkig about.

currently listening: inamourada - 2019 mix by london after midnight

playlist: london after midnight mix

✯✯✯✯✯

-Mod Souda

✯✯✯✯✯

Hajime Hinata

✯ He's gonna try to find solutions, firstly. He is gonna do things like putting a wall of pillows between the two of you, else put you in a sleeping bag (not really, but he was thinking about it). When you annoy him too much he is going to grab a blanket and wrestle you into a cocoon. Whether you wake up during this struggle or not has no affect on the outcome.

You laugh, throwing a pillow on his stomach before jumping on it. "It's not funny," he says. "I think it's funny." You brush a few strands of hair away from his forehead. You had waken up in the middle of him forcing you into a cocoon, and you had someone managed to out strong him and escape from it. The loss made him grumpy. "See," you give him the lightest of kisses, "next time I'll let you win." "You'll let me?" "We'll see how generous I feel next time you wake me up." I could say the same, he thinks.

✯ He take punches like a champ so tbh eventually he'll deal with it.

✯ Intrusive thoughts will win and he'll elbow you back before being like god damnit why did I do that.

✯ You do have your own blanket, though. He hopes this makes your struggle a little less aimed at him. It's weighted.

✯ This man will drive you to the building of a sleep specialist and then leave you there.

✯ Where he draws the line is when you push him off the bed. That's when the forced blanket cocoon starts.

✯ Talking in your sleep is a no-go, he is going to leave the room, that shit is trippy.

.

Nagito Komaeda

✯ It usually only happens when something good proceeds it, of course. He knows when it's coming, too. The two of you will have an excellent date, and that night he will have a helpless smile on his face as he awaits the inevitable. He doesn't complain, since the whole thing means that something amazing will happen afterwards. Plus, it's not that bad. He's been through worse. Flying elbows and grumpy faces affects him none.

He had made his journey to the kitchen, getting waters, since now that he's waken up first he's made it his job to get you some water for the morning. He likes being considerate like that. He reenters the bedroom to find you already awake. "Good," you sigh. "I thought I had finally killed you in my sleep." "No," he says. "You're not that lucky..." You take the water from him and wave his words off. "No, but I've gotten close." He softly laughs, and you eye him to make sure he's not actually agreeing with you. He hums. "Ahah, but did you find yourself sleeping well?"

✯ If you didn't already know you sleep like a maniac, he isn't going to tell you. You won't find out.

✯ You won't find out at all.

✯ Your episodes of pushing him off the bed and growling in your sleep just means he's going to invest in a coffee machine (which breaks, because of course it does).

.

Chiaki Nanami

✯ Hey, stop making her lose her game. She will get up from bed and slide down the closest wall if it means that you'll stop bothering her. She has a hard time sleeping as it is, and your little unconscious gimmicks are not a fun thing to deal with. She is not going to actively find solutions as to make you stop, she is going to find ways to prevent herself from being involved with it.

"Where did the blue one go?" You eye the handheld console she's playing on. "Hm?" "You had... a blue one, didn't you?" "Oh yeah," she speaks with empty, distracted words. "You broke it." Your nose scrunches. "No, I didn't." "Yes," her eyes meet yours, even as she continues tapping. "In your sleep." You don't remember, of course you don't. She was playing in bed when you had sent your arm flying, knocking it to the floor aggressively. She has dozens of different consoles, so it's not like she was going to force you to apologize or cry over a broken game. It was just a funny thing she likes to tell Hajime about - it's cute.

✯ You can be one of the reasons she sleeps standing up all the time LMFAO.

✯ If you talk in your sleep then that's something that scares the shit out of her.

✯ She is keeping important things off of the bedside table. Just in case. Just in case...

[12timetraveler]

Hey Queen ❤️ hoping you're doing a little better.

Thinking maybe Charles teaching you how to braid your horses mane and tail. Maybe a little suprise kiss 🥺 always adore your way of writing.

Brambles and Braids

Short Sprint

Just a nice little piece with Charles helping reader with her horse.

The whole story can be read in it's entirety below, or on my AO3

"God damnit, Jasper," you grumbled as you fought to pull the brush through his mane.

Your horse Jasper, a beautiful tawny-colored mustang, had a deep love for rolling. So much so that you couldn't leave your saddle on him for long, for fear that he'd roll in the mud tack and all. He also was one of those strange horses who liked to lay down to sleep, often looking dead he was so comfortable. Usually it wasn't that big of a deal. Just meant he was always a bit dusty. But today he'd rolled in a patch of burrs, and they turned his beautiful mane into a matted mess and his tail into one giant bundle of hair.

This certainly wasn't the first time you'd had to fight to get burrs or thistles out of his mane and tail, as often as he rolled and slept on the ground. It was always a nightmare to deal with.

You could have just roached his mane, cutting it all off and letting it grow back out. But for whatever reason you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. He had such beautiful hair, even if he'd lose some strands to these burrs.

So here you were, painstakingly untangling each burr from his hair, only chopping off the really matted strands if you had to. You'd been at it for about an hour already and had only managed to detangle his forelock and the front third of his mane, slowly working your way down his neck.

"Need some help?" Someone asked from behind you, startling you out of your grumbling. You looked over your shoulder to see Charles, the newest member of the gang, standing a few feet back. In his hand he held a mane brush and a pair of shears, all ready to help.

You hadn't spoken to Charles much. You'd been friendly of course, but you could tell he was quite introverted, and wasn't used to the chatter of camp, so you'd let him be for the most part. But he seemed nice, and you’d all been eating better since he joined and started hunting food for the gang.

Okay and you had to admit, he was absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful, well-maintained onyx hair, soft but striking features, warm brown eyes. Even the large scar on the side of his face did nothing to dampen his good looks. He was built like an ox, big and strong. You’d caught yourself eyeing him across camp a few times in the weeks since he’d joined. You certainly weren’t the only one.

"Oh... You don't have to," you said with a smile. "I'm sure your busy,"

"I'm not," he shrugged. "I don't mind. Looks like he's got some pretty bad tangles there. Might take you all day," he noted plainly. You sighed. He was right, this was going to be a long job. A second pair of hands would definitely help.

"Alright, thank you," you said, giving him a smile. "I'd love the help. If you want to start on his tail, I’ll keep working on his mane,"

Charles just nodded and stepped forward, gently patting Jasper's side before sliding his hand down over his rump so the horse knew where he was. Grabbing his tail, Charles started carefully brushing it out from the tips, working out any knots at the bottom to make it easier to work out the burrs further up.

The two of you were quiet for a bit, just working on cleaning up your horse in silence. Jasper was a good boy, just stood there munching on hay as you worked. He almost seemed to enjoy the attention, even though you knew you were occasionally tugging his hair a little too hard when attempting to remove the burrs.

"He's a funny one," Charles remarked after a few minutes, his voice a deep chuckle. "The way he sleeps and rolls all the time. I thought he was sick at first,"

"Everyone does," you giggled. "But he’s just a character. Always has been. He just loves to roll,"

"You probably have to do this almost every day, then,"

"Not usually," you explained. "Most days he's smart enough not to roll in bushes or sleep in burrs," you tugged on Jasper's mane lightly, a small punishment. "But every now and then he gets it in his head that it's a good idea. Maybe once a month or so,"

"Hmmm," Charles studied your horse for a minute. "Have you tried braiding his mane?" He asked. “Might help keep it from getting so tangled.

"Actually I never even thought of that," you said, a little surprised at yourself. It was such a simple solution to the problem but it had never even occurred to you. You'd just accepted your fate. "I think I could do his mane okay but I'm not sure how to braid a horse's tail, with the dock and all."

"It's not too hard. Once we get him all brushed out I can show you if you'd like," he said.

"I'd like that," you smiled. "Thanks, Charles."

Charles gave you a small smile and nodded, turning back to his work. You were quiet for a bit longer. You were itching to ask him some questions and get to know him, but you didn’t want to push him into talking if he wasn’t comfortable. Fortunately for you, Charles broke the silence himself.

“So, how long have you been with the gang?” He asked.

“Mmmm... About a year I think. Maybe a year and a half,” You said, thinking back on it. “I was starving when I came across the gang. Saw the stew pot just bubbling in the middle of camp, and no one to guard it. It was well after midnight, so everyone was asleep. Didn’t see Arthur sitting in his tent until I had half a plate of stew dished up. He asked what I thought I was doing and dragged me over to Dutch’s tent. I thought they were gonna kill me, but Hosea and Dutch invited me to finish the stew on the plate and asked for my story. By morning I was officially part of the gang,” You chuckled fondly. “They like picking up strays,”

“They sure do,” Charles chuckled. “Seems everyone has a story like that,”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “They like misfits more than mercenaries. No one here really set out to be part of an outlaw gang. It just sort of happened. We’re all just trying to live our lives our own way,”

“It’s a good group, for the most part,” Charles nodded.

“Yeah. Most of us have at least a little bit of soul left,”

You and Charles spent the rest of the morning carefully working each and every burr out of Jasper’s hair, brushing it out until it was soft and shiny. Finally, a little before noon, you had it all brushed out.

“Alright. Now we can start braiding, but we need something to tie it with. Do you have any spare ribbons?” he asked.

“I think I do. Or the other girls might. Let me go get some,” You said, setting down your brush and striding across camp to the girls tent.

It took a few minutes to do, and the ribbons weren’t all the same color, but you managed to gather enough ribbon to braid Jasper’s hair.

As you neared where Jasper was grazing, you had to stop. Charles’ warm voice reached your ears.

“--good boy, aren’t you,” He murmured. Charles was standing in front of Jasper, gently scratching his forehead. “Yeah. You just like rolling in the dirt, making your mistress take extra time grooming you. I don’t blame you, she’s good company.”

You felt yourself flush at his words, and you had to take a moment to compose yourself before making your presence known. Charles was still scratching Jasper’s head, though he’d stopped murmuring to him.

“Found some ribbon,” You said, holding up a fistful of different colors of ribbon.

“Perfect,” Charles said with a small smile. “Let’s start on his tail, I’ll show you how to braid it. Then we can work on his mane,”

“Sounds good,”

You came to stand on either side of Jasper’s rear, careful not to stand directly behind him, lest he spook and kick out.

“So,” Charles began. “You can do lots of complicated braids in their tails, but I think for today just a simple braid will be best,”

“Yeah. Jasper’s no show pony. It doesn’t need to be fancy, just functional,”

“Alright,” Charles nodded. “So, on the top part of his tail, you have to braid over the dock,” Charles traced his fingers along Jasper’s tailbone, which was about a foot long. “After that it’s pretty simple. But to start you just take three strands, like a normal braid,” Charles began to demonstrate, “And start gathering the next section of hair each time you bring in one of the outside strands of hair,”

“Kind of like a french braid?” You asked.

“Exactly,” Charles said, showing you with a few more strands before brushing his fingers through it and undoing his braid. “Now you do it,”

You handed Charles the ribbons and got to work, doing your best to mimic what he’d done. You messed up once or twice, getting the braid a little tangled, but all you had to do was just undo the strands and quickly brush it out and try again. Soon you had a beautiful braid started.

“Beautiful, just like that,” Charles complimented. You tried not to preen under his praises. He was just teaching you how to braid your horse’s tail after all. “Now once you get to the bottom of his dock, you can just braid the rest of the hair like a basic three-strand braid,”

You did as he instructed, weaving the rest of Jasper’s long tail, leaving about six inches of tassel at the bottom. You reached out for a ribbon and Charles planted one in your hand so you could tie the braid off.

You stood back and looked at your work. It was certainly not show-worthy, but it was neat and would certainly keep his tail from getting tangled in brambles again. The ribbon was maybe not the most fearsome choice but you didn’t have another good way to tie it up, so it would do just fine.

“Looks good,” Charles hummed, standing beside you to look at the braid. “Nice job,”

“Thanks for teaching me,” You said with a small smile.

“Do you want help with the mane?” he asked.

“Sure. If you don’t mind,”

“Not at all,”

“Perfect. I’ll start near his head, you start near his shoulders and we meet in the middle?” you suggested. Charles nodded and the two of you got to work.

You left Jasper’s forelock free. You liked the way it lay on his face, and you could stand picking a couple burrs out of his forelock now and then. But the rest of his mane could go into braids. They were just simple three-strand braids, nothing fancy. By the time you were done Jasper had about ten braids in his mane.

The last braids, you and Charles were standing side-by-side, trying to respect each other’s space as you braided two sections of hair right next to each other. Your hands bumped on occasion, and he was standing so close you could feel his body heat radiating off of him.

As you tied off your final braid, you happened to look over at Charles. He’d just finished his last braid and was watching you. You met his gaze and you both flashed shy smiles at each other.

“Would... uh.. Would you like to ride into town sometime? Get a drink at the saloon maybe?” Charles asked nervously. “M-my treat,”

“I’m free right now,” You replied with a smile. “We could go for a little trail ride before heading into town,” You suggested.

“I’d like that,”

[opheliajupiter99]

Lil' Gid - A Fanfic to go with my voodoo doll Gid art

(Not sure when in the timeline this'll take place. Also I know I've done like, seven posts in two days but damnit, had a lot of inspiration lately lol)

It was a remarkably quiet night, for once, in the fetid swamp that surrounded the Inn at the End of the Road. Bugs buzzed about and the murky water bubbled, little frogs bouncing from lily pad to lily pad and ribbited as they went along their merry ways, some hoping in pairs and others alone. It was calm, peaceful even, which even in the safe areas of the Feywild wasn't exactly common.

A sudden, albeit small, noise cut through the silence though. Wet soil crumbled and cracked away as a small, cloth hand bust up from beneath the earth, a few fireflies buzzing out of the way in surprise as the tiny figure clawed its way free of the muck. As it crawled out from the soil, the area around it was illuminated by a soft, flickering light.

The little figure was a red cloth doll, a pair of large dark grey buttons sewn in place of eyes, and a stitched smile along its face. The flickering light came from the bundle of pitch-black string tied to the top of its head, as if it were hair, and while it was indeed merely string, the potent magic that gave the doll life in turn set its mop of string hair ablaze.

As the doll moved forward, the little metal chains that were shackled to both of its arms dragged along the ground, leaving marks in the mud and occasionally grinding against pebbles that were stuck amongst the muck. It had only one article of clothing; that being the black and red pair of overalls and suspenders, stitched quite expertly and of the same quality leather that real version wore, and upon its revealed chest was a stitched black heart, put precisely where one's heart resided to indicate where to land a lethal blow.

The doll took a moment to brush itself off, patting away bits of grime with its mitt-like hands, before turning its gaze towards the inn. It wasn't too far away; there was no need to emerge at a distance when there was soil all over the place, especially given it was so small that even a short distance could take forever to travel. It waddled its way up to the wall of the inn, looking WAY up towards the window, pondering to itself silently why even living voodoo dolls had to be barely a foot tall. It thought for a moment how to get up, then looked down to the chains on its wrist, and got an idea. It swung the little chains up; it took a few tries, but it managed to hook onto a crooked piece of chipped wood and began to pull itself up.

Sometime later, Kremy laid in bed in his room, his hat gingerly placed upon the bedside table, his arms curled up and supporting his head. He was having a hard time getting to sleep, truth be told - something about tonight just felt...off. He hadn't heard jazz, and things weren't anymore misty than they usually were outside, and beyond Gid's room he hadn't smelt any cigar smoke, so he figured he was just being paranoid, but even still, he couldn't quite settle his nerves.

He was suddenly startled by the sound of something metal rapping against the window, several clack-clacks in quick succession. He tensed instantly at the sound, his fists clenching instinctively. That...was metal; not a bird's beak, not a pebble tossed, not a fingernail knocking, that was -metal-. He again tried to convince himself he was just being paranoid, but even an expert lie couldn't make something up at this rate. Paranoia was usually a fine answer to worries, but in his case...

He sat up, and after a few deep breaths, slowly turned his head to look towards the window. He didn't see anything at first, but after a moment of staring, a flickering light came into view, illuminating the foggy darkness beyond the glass, quickly followed by a pair of button eyes, and even though there were no pupils, he could just -feel- that the doll was looking at him specifically. Normally, seeing a little ragdoll that's barely a foot tall in a window would be at most creepy, and at least downright silly, but for Kremy, that sight was enough to plummet his heart right down his gullet.

Kremy sat there for what was probably just a few seconds, maybe a minute, but what felt like forever, just staring wide eyed at the doll as it climbed up further into view, until it fully stood in the windowsill, staring at him with that stitched little smile. Kremy just...kept on staring, a million thoughts racing through his mind in a contained, but very, very real panic.

What had he done? Had more time passed than he expected and he'd already run out of time on his debts? But if that was the case, why couldn't hear the telltale ominous jazz? Why wasn't an eerie fog filling his bedroom? Why wasn't there the heavy scent of cigars and rum? He supposed the Baron could be trying to be subtle - but why in the hell would the Baron of all Loa want to be subtle? Usually when the Baron took a soul you could tell from the next town over; he was just too theatrical to not make it into a big production.

The doll rapped its chains against the window once more, pulling Kremy from his thoughts. The doll made a lifting motion with its stubby arms, indicating him to open it up. After a bit of hesitation, Kremy moved up oit of bed and towards the window, lifting it open, half-expecting a skeletal hand to jut out of nowhere and drag him away. That didn't happen, however, instead the doll simply hopped off onto the floor at his feet, staring up at the man in an almost expectant fashion.

"Look...I dunno why you're here, but if I've done anythin' wrong, I swear I can make up for it." The doll shook its head, leaving Kremy even more perplexed than he already was. "So...why the fuck ya here then?" The doll looked about for a moment, then waddled over to a small worn crayon near the bedside table, likely left behind by Hootsie when she'd came scampering in after a nightmare earlier that night. It picked it up, having to use both hands since it lacked fingers, and moved over to the wall, beginning to write upon it clumsily. It wrote 'HeLp' upon the wall, then turned towards Kremy and pointed to him.

"...The Baron, sent ya to help me?" The doll nodded enthusiastically. Kremy let out a deep breath of relief he'd been holding since the first knock upon the window came, putting a hand to his face. "Oh thank the fuckin' gods...ya scared the shit outta me, lil' man." He said with a chuckle, the doll putting a hand to its mouth in a silent chuckle of its own. "Well uh...shit. Wasn't exactly expectin' company but...ya can hang out in here, I guess? I know ya don't sleep but, ya can chill in here til mornin', then I'll tell the others about ya, okay?" The doll nodded, then held up its hands joyfully as if to say 'uppies!'. Kremy sighed with another chuckle and carefully picked the little doll up, the stitched smile upon its face seeming much more genuine now.

[dapandapod]

Hii! For mermay prompts, how about depth for geraskier (ofc)

WHY YES OF COURSE FRANKSTER! and uh, I made you choose between prince and amnesia, because both of those popped into my head at the prompt. Prince was chosen and here we are! Hope you enjoy! <3

(also feel free to prompt me, here or on tumblr, i am on a writing spree and olsdfkj sorry for posting like 4 times in a day)

Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️

On Ao3 here

Jaskier has been gone for too long. Geralt has been pacing their room for hours.

Yes, he did promise to stay put for a couple days, to wait for Jaskier’s… whatever he is doing. Or who.

The shoddy fisher village is gray, cold, everything covered in a thin layer of salt the spray of the waves offer in its violent rage.

Wind is whipping around the little wooden houses– sheds, really. It’s been three days since Jaskier left. Three days, and he was supposed to be back this morning.

Is this how it feels to be left behind when Geralt himself leaves for a contract?

Possibly, because no matter how much Jaskier had told him to stay put, to wait, to just fucking trust him damnit, Geralt is fretting.

Finally he gives in.

Leaving the room the kind elderly lady is lending them, Geralt stalks outside. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

The people here are not afraid of him, but seem to keep a distance from the bard. Everything about this place seems grey, but still it seems like the ever colorful Jaskier returns here, over and over again.

He starts with the aldermans house. They don’t have a tavern, the little gathering of houses far too small for such luxuries.

“The bard? You should check by the docks, or the boat house. He usually is out with the boat this time a year.”

He..what? Boat?

What the fuck is Jaskier doing?!

Geralt leaves without saying good bye, and the bard would have scolded Geralt for his bad manners, but he isn’t fucking here, is he?!

The boat house is, predictably, just down by the water. There is a long dock leading into the water, two smaller fishing boats tied to it.

An elderly man and someone who looks like his son sits by the house, mending nets.They look up when he approaches, shielding their eyes against the setting sun.

“Have you seen a bard around here? Jaskier? Brown hair, blue eyes, a lute and the worst fashion sense known to man?”

The elderly man presses his lips to a thin line and ducks his head. His son studies the witcher for a long moment, sizing him up, before responding.

“Aye,” he says, “What is it to you, witcher?”

“He’s my friend.” Geralt manages, working hard around a word that feels so inadequate. “And he is missing.”

“No more, lad,” the elderly man mutters, “Bad luck, it is.”

Geral frowns, trying not to let his impatience get the better of him.

“I’ll make it worth your while. Six crowns.”

“Florens.” The son corrects. “Ten. And I’ll take you to where we left him.”

-

The elderly fisherman refuses to come. Speaking of ill omens and bad luck, of not talking to the sea. The son takes him anyway, the sea getting oddly misty as they go further out with the boat.

“Coin is sparse out here, but my niece is sick. I’d rather leave the sea altogether than see her hurt,” the son says, rowing the boat towards a previously hidden little rock formation, barely an island. “Da doesn’t want to speak of it, speak of evil and it shall come, he says. We don’t need more sirens, he says.”

Geralt eyes him, then the sky. He can’t hear any flapping of wings, nor splashing of their tails. The water is calm, but the mist lays thick and hides both sight and sound.

The little boat touches the edge of the rock with a soft sound when they arrive.

“This is where I let him off every year,” the son says. “And pick him up after a few days. Know nothing but that.”

The florens trade hands, and when Geralt gets off, he pushes back into the water.

“I’ll be back in an hour. It’s probably superstition, but I don’t much like this place.”

-

Inspecting the area, Geralt finds it bare of both bards and life. He climbs around it, eventually finding an expensive looking chest with a solid lock on it.

It looks strange out here, oddly devoid of the wear and tear one would expect wood around the shore. Geralt picks the lock with ease, and when opens the lid, it doesn’t make a sound.

Inside it is a very familiar lute, and neatly folded clothes. Geralt’s heart sinks, but he has a trace now, something. He rummages around, finding everything Jaskier had brought but his jewellery. Even his underclothes is here.

Geralt closes it again, locks it carefully.

There should be traces here, anything to lead him to where Jaskier is.

The scent is old, barely there and hidden by the salty smell of the sea. Geralt will never complain about Jaskier’s perfume ever again.

It leads him to the other side of the little island, across the rocks on a path that looks surprisingly smooth and well walked.

Geralt stops when water starts lapping at his feet.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Either Jaskier has been hiding something from him, or something very bad has happened. And either truth still means Jaskier is missing, and that he went into the water. And from the sound of it, has been coming to the water for years.

Geralt trails back to the chest, takes off his boots and heavy armor. Takes off everything but his trousers, and two silver daggers.

The stone is smooth under his feet, and quickly gets slippery as it continues out into the water.

It’s cold, his skin pebbles when he gets as deep as his knees. Then the rock abruptly ends. Geralt breathes deep, and dives. Cat and killer whale would have been useful, but he didn’t know he would have to go swimming when they got out here.

Geralt has almost swum around the entire island when he notices the formations. Runes carved into stone, worn smooth by time and water.

With another deep breath, he follows it down, down, down, and what little sunlight was left quickly disappears down here.

There is an opening a bit further down. And eyes. Many eyes.

Geralt realizes too late that he is surrounded, and there are clawed fingers and webbed hands pulling him deeper still, and into the opening.

His lungs are burning for air, and he is quickly disoriented, his elbows scraping against stone and harsh hands making him unable to reach for his knives.

Suddenly, they breach the surface, and Geralt pants harshly as he is dragged onwards and thrown onto a slimy rock. Broken shells of crabs and clams are spread out, and bones of fishes of all sizes lie spread among them.

Now free from his attacker, Geralt reaches for the dagger and turns to face them, but a beautiful face filled with fangs hisses at him as they retreat backwards, and another set of hands grip him hard.

Geralt can’t entirely make out if it is siren or mer people or something completely else, but more hands grip him, wrestling the knife from his hand.

“Walk!” one hisses, “You were looking, and you found us. Walk!”

Her voice is almost human, but her tongue is unused to his language. They shove him forward, deeper into the cave. It gets darker and darker, until suddenly Geralt realizes the walls are glowing.

Aluminescent is probably the right word for it. Algae covers the walks, swirling lines make patterns he feels like he has seen somewhere before.

It takes him until the now narrow walkway opens up into a bigger space that Geralt realizes where he recognizes it from. The embroidery of Jaskier’s clothes.

When Geralt locks eyes with Jaskier across the room, the bard’s jaw is slack with surprise when he sees him

“Geralt,” he says, but oh.

Oh.

Jaskier doesn’t have a tail, but his skin is glimmering with the same pattern as the walls. He is sitting in the middle of the open space, on a rock slanting out to a deep, clear pool. It almost looks like a throne room.

Around his feet are merpeople of different shapes and sizes.

The guards shoves him back when Geralt attempts to take a step forward, and Geralt bares his teeth to them.

“Stop it,” Jaskier says, voice commanding.

The guards, now that Geralt sees them, look like a strange hybrid of fish and man. Claws and fins and webbed fingers and hissing breaths, but they keep their distance, as they are told.

Jaskier is still wearing his rings and his necklace, but little else. On his brow is a circlet, thin and adorned with shells and crowned with a mother of pearls.

“I told you to wait,” Jaskier says, tilting his head.

“You didn’t come back. It’s been three days,” Geralt says, feeling foolish without not really knowing why.

“Has it? I’m sorry, time passes strangely down here.”

They just look at each other for a long while, for once the bard too seems at a loss for words.

“You don’t look like them,” Geralt says finally, indicating at the more fish-like guards behind him.

“I don’t,” Jaskier agrees, “Many mer these days are closer to sirens, but those close to the royal family are more humanoid.”

Jaskier gives a crooked smile when he sees Geralt wracks his brain.

“I told you I was a noble, didn’t I?”

“You said viscount.” Geralt suddenly remembers. “Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenove.”

“Ah yes, well. That is some of the truth, yes. Don’t give me that look, Geralt, I didn’t lie to you. I just happen to be a prince too.”

Geralt blinks, and Jaskier looks back at him, sitting proudly despite the light frown.

“Mer prince? Is that why you don’t have a tail?” Geralt asks carefully, and the guard next to him rolls his eyes so hard his head moves with it.

“I do have a tail, my friend. When I choose to. The perks of royalty, wouldn’t you say?” he says with a smirk, “Now, as happy as I am to see you here, and for you to meet my family, this is… not ideal. I wish… It doesn’t matter. You are here now. Ligeia, let him through. I think it is time he is given the tour.”

“But my prince-” Ligeia says with her weird, hissing voice, but Jaskier waves her off.

“I have spent more time with him than you are old. Let him come to me.”

Geralt is let through, and Jaskier offers his hand. It is not something they usually do, not while awake, but Geralt accepts it anyway.

Jaskier is cool to the touch, but his hands feel the same. Same callouses, same scar just over his thumb from a stupid accident with a branch.

He is led towards the other side of the rock, into the clear pool.

“Not the way I wanted to show you, but I’m glad you are here,” Jaskier whispers, like a confession. Hand in hand, they dive.

-

When they return to the outside world, the stars are out. When Geralt worries about how they will get back, Jaskier waves him off.

“They always kind of know when I need to go back. I think that is a part of why they don’t trust me.”

Yeah, that makes sense. Splashing of ores breaks the serene silence around them, and the son stares at them a bit wide eyed.

The ride back is more tense than last time, despite Jaskier’s chattering.

When they get back to their room, Geralt realizes they are still holding hands.

“Well, my prince,” he says teasingly, “I think we have some talking to do.”

[thessalian]

Thess vs Ancestral Views on Cabbage

Welp, it was all the usual mess, and the usual tricks from the rest of the team. Everything from leaving the long ones for "later" (read, until I did them during overtime, assuming I got to those) to taking a whole bunch of dictation, dawdling through the short simple ones, and dumping the slightly longer and more complicated ones back into the queue towards the end of the day. So by time everyone was done working (except me, obviously), there were 405 bits of typing in the queue. I'd done just over 100. (New Girl had done 48, over a longer period of time, by the way.) There were still over 80 from yesterday still in the queue. A good dozen of these were longer ones. Two of those topped out at fifteen minutes.

I cleared all of the really short ones and most of the mid-length ones. But when it hit 10:30pm and I'd been at the overtime for three hours, I decided enough was enough. I'd cleared 75 bits of dictation out of the 80+. Scruffman said "anything I can do to help". Anyone else can bite me.

Oh, and if my maths seems off, there was a bit of an incident with dinner. See, yesterday I took the ground pork out of the freezer with a view to making cabbage rolls, and so it had to be eaten today. So despite the pain, aggravation, stress, etc, I tried to make cabbage rolls. And found out the following:

I don't have a large enough pot to blanch a cabbage

I don't have the manual dexterity to manage pulling cabbage leaves without tearing them in my current state (that or I fucked up coring it or didn't leave it in long enough, whichever)

I cannot cut the vein out of a cabbage leaf without fucking it up in my current state

I do not have a large enough pot to actually cook cabbage rolls to the first recipe I found online (there may be other methods; I have no idea)

So there I was, an hour after I'd started, with a whole lot of ruined cabbage leaves, a kilo of ground pork that I absolutely had to at least cook today, a litre of chicken stock I had no idea what to do with, the feeling that my Polish ancestors are very disappointed in me, a shitload of overtime waiting for me to get around to it, and the knowledge that this was going to mean that said overtime wasn't going to end until very late. Also hungry.

And then I thought ... "Fuck this. Yeah, I have a good chunk of Polish in my ancestry ... but I've got a fair bit more Irish and can therefore get a lot of mileage out of some pork and cabbage".

Chopped the cabbage leaves, dumped basically everything into my big skillet, and simmered that for awhile also boiling potatoes. After a few minutes, drained most of the juice out of the pork/cabbage mixture, back on the heat while the potatoes were finishing. I could have stood to do the potatoes longer, honestly, but it was getting late. So I ended up with this pork / onion / cabbage hash, which I had over potatoes. Turned out okay, though I'm going to want to spice the leftovers up more, and make more potatoes.

If all else fails, throw it in a skillet and pray.

So now I'm going to heat up the tuna broccoli pasta from yesterday (mostly so I have a decent-sized container to store my pork cabbage hash in, since my parentals still have my other big one from when I gave David some of my cheesecake - I should ask for that back), then have a bath and hope I feel better soon. Like, before tomorrow might be nice. It's more of the same tomorrow, except more potential for leftovers. ...I remember I did mean to have the leftover tuna broccoli pasta for lunch, but I never got a long enough break for that so I stuck with my emergency calorie go-to of peanuts and fruit (a pear).

If I'm still hungry after tuna broccoli pasta leftovers, I'm making myself a mug cake. Damnit, I deserve a mug cake.