#let me make these tags more legible

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo)  squirting (sue me),  Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him. 

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel. 

Boiling water for pasta? Joel. 

Doing the dishes? Joel. 

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel. 

And this morning is no different. 

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters. 

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements. 

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not. 

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.  

 Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time. 

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache. 

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend. 

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year. 

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. 

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible. 

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel. 

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment. 

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise. 

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything. 

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.  

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech. 

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence. 

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you? 

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile,  learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you. 

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you. 

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face. 

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice. 

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought. 

“O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house. 

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you. 

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country? 

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore. 

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you. 

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again. 

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Driving home from work? You. 

Making dinner? You. 

Making his morning coffee? You. 

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you. 

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience. 

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron. 

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. 

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.” 

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable. 

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.” 

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab. 

“You’re doing great.  Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.” 

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough. 

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet. 

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her. 

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him. 

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven. 

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?” 

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination. 

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes. 

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie. 

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too. 

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion. 

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go. 

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places. 

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra. 

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot. 

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy. 

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn. 

 Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home. 

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed? 

“What uh-what’re you doing here?” 

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings. 

You have a moment of realization. 

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

 You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises. 

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so. 

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace. 

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation. 

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.” 

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here. 

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel.  You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation. 

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile. 

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat. 

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny.  He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again. 

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants.  You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too. 

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him. 

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind. 

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together. 

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same. 

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears. 

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together. 

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time. 

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves. 

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core. 

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties. 

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter. 

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort. 

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?” 

“Mhmmm…”  You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.  

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him. 

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions. 

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it. 

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.” 

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable. 

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice.  His rock hard cock twitches in his pants. 

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him. 

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests. 

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning. 

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. 

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs. 

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more. 

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure. 

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad. 

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched. 

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.” 

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed. 

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release. 

 You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-” 

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole. 

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth. 

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex. 

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong. 

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours. 

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure. 

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before. 

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene. 

You fucking squirted. Everywhere. 

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.” 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.” 

His gaze goes dark. 

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you. 

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough. 

THE END

[chngfrthwrst]

‘09 Ghoap + Reader

fem reader

a/n: cod brainrot means making a whole blog dedicated to just cod fanfics 🤞 also i’m still new to posting on tumblr so if anyone has any tips to make this better pls lmk thanks 🫶

look at the tags b4 u read ❤️

♡︎ ♡︎ ♡︎

Soap smirked down at you both, grabbing each of your chins and making sure you were both paying attention to him fully.

“Ghost. Fuck our darling girl, won’t you? Be a good boy now.” You felt a shiver run down your spine, the idea of Soap completely ignoring you and treating you like some kind of toy he could play with was doing things for you.

Ghost nods quickly and moves behind where you’re currently sitting on your knees. He softly touches your waist and gently pushes you to lean forward.

You obey his hands, moving yourself forward so you sit on all fours, presenting yourself to his prying eyes. He hums an approval before leaning forward and hugging you close to his chest.

“Good boy, Ghost. Now fuck her like you mean it.” You can feel Ghost groan against your back and his cock twitches near your cunt.

Ghost leans away from where we was holding you close to his body and takes a hand away. Before you can ask any questions or even make a sound of disappointment, you feel Soap’s boot pressing between your shoulders and you let him push your chest to the floor.

He keeps his boot pressed roughly between your shoulder blades, heavy and dirty against your soft skin. Ghost pushes into your cunt just as you try to protest your position and you moan loudly.

Soap had been teasing you both for so long and you were finally getting the reward you’d both worked so hard for.

Ghost wastes no time in rutting into you, hips snapping back to yours hard and fast. He hits all the right spots and leaves you a whimpering mess under the Captain’s boot.

“Such a good girl. You’re taking it so well, baby.” He coos, pushing his boot into your back a little harder. You clench around Ghost as he does this and you feel more than hear the resulting groan from the man behind you.

“That’s right, keep going. Don’t you want to cum for me?” Soap’s talking to both of you now, teasing you and degrading your efforts. He’s completely broken you. All you can do it beg and whine underneath them both as they use you.

“Fuck. So tight.” Ghost is mumbling behind you, groaning and panting each time he thrusts back into your cunt. You can feel him twitching more and more and you squeeze around him.

“Please fill me up, Ghost. God please it’s all I need- FUCK!” You yelp in pain as you feel a hand slap your ass, the skin tender from the previous spanking.

“Good toys don’t speak. Unless you aren’t a good girl like I thought you were?” You almost cry at the implication and you squeeze on Ghost’s cock in protest.

You do stay silent though, biting your lip to try and silence the pleas threatening to burst past your lips.

“She’s so fucking tight. Fuck. Please can I cum inside her please please.” Ghost is barely legible, begging and moaning as he fucks you like it’s the last time.

Soap digs his boot into you even further before muttering out an approval for Ghost to cum. Said man wastes no time in following his orders and stills himself deep inside you.

You whine, another denied orgasm breaking your spirit even more. Ghost mumbles unintelligibly into your back, a string of ‘thank you’s leaving his bruised lips.

“Make her cum, Ghost. Be a good boy and clean up your mess.” You can hear the smile is Soap’s voice and finally you feel his foot leave your back and instead rest next to your head.

“Now, Sergeant.” Ghost whimpers pathetically, but immediately flips you over and kisses his way to your cunt which is now covered in a variety of all of your mixed fluids.

Ghost’s fingers dance across your thighs teasingly and you groan in annoyance. He takes this as a sign to hurry up and puts his mouth to your core.

You throw your head back and make eye contact with Soap. He smiles fondly at you before squatting down so he’s closer to you.

“Does he feel good? Is he eating you out right, baby?” You nod weakly, throwing your head back a bit further when Ghost finds the perfect spot and starts attacking it relentlessly.

“So good, so good.” You blabber, grabbing a fistfull of Ghost’s hair and reaching your other hand to wrap around Soap’s boot.

“Good. You’re both so fucking perfect. You listen so well, don’t you?” You nod, completely dazed and holding onto them both for dear life.

Then Ghost is pushing his fingers into you instead of his tongue and you cum. White hot fire lashes at the edges of your vision and consumes your body as you finally get the orgasm you’ve been denied all night.

Slowly but surely, the fire flickers away and you come back to your body and you notice Soap is sitting on the ground next to you and he’s holding you close.

“You with me?” You nod, words escaping you completely. He turns to Ghost and he nods as well, probably feeling as boneless as you do right now.

You smile sweetly at him and offer a hand to him. He grabs your hand softly and leans in to cuddle with you both.

You stay like that for a while, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm and enjoying the warmth of their bodies surrounding you and drowning out the rest of the world.

“We should get you two cleaned up, hm?” You feel Ghost grumble and shake his head against your chest, effectively moving your tits to a less comfortable position.

“Ghost. My boobs hurt.” You grumble back at him and he sighs, lifting himself and looking at you both.

You can almost see the hearts in his eyes.

“Good. Come on now, both of you need a bath.” Soap gently lifts you before wrapping an arm around Ghost and leads you both to the bathroom.

He sits you down on the countertop and pushes Ghost to sit on the lid of the toilet. Ghost slumps against the back of his makeshift seat and you giggle to yourself.

He closes his eyes and leans back and you stare at him, taking in the soft freckles that litter his skin and the old scars that carve into his flesh. The dingy light in the bathroom makes it hard to make out every part of his face and you long for the daylight to touch his skin again so you can admire it properly.

You were too busy staring at Ghost to notice Soap had filled the bath and finally stripped off his jacket. He had also rolled up his sleeves and you could see his arms threatening to rip his shirt to pieces.

“Come here, you!” He playfully grabs you and you giggle, wriggling in his grasp. Despite your best efforts, he keeps hold of you and delicately places you in the large bathtub.

You pout at him, still very much in subspace and not willing to let him leave you alone any time soon. He looks at you knowingly and smiles again.

“I’ll come wash you soon, let me get this lump in there with you first, though, okay?” You roll your eyes dramatically and slump against the edge of the tub. Soap smiles and turns to Ghost who is now snoring softly.

“Wake up, baby. You need a bath.” Ghost groans and picks himself up only to sit back down almost immediately. His legs shake a little and you giggle again.

“Damnit.” Ghost groans. He always hated being helped but sometimes he really needed it. Soap knew this and simply picked him up and slotted him right next to you in the tub.

You smiled and crawled over to the opposite edge, looking into Soap’s eyes.

He was always so sweet after he’d broken you to pieces.

But he always knew exactly how to put you back together.

And you always knew how to put him back together as well.

You kiss him softly and lean back, letting him do as he pleases.

Ghost lets Soap clean him as well and hums softly when you start massaging the shampoo into his hair.

“I like this.” You say quietly. But not quietly enough as both boys smile and hug you tightly.

What a way to end the night.

[slushiecookie]

❗️NEW DUE DATE: JUNE 15TH❗️

Okay, so sadly y'all don't know about Pilot as much as my Insta, so this may seem a bit random :') Basically, today (May 14th) is the day he was created! And he's now 2 (creation years) old! He's my most popular OC on Insta, and is fun to draw, so to commemorate him, I decided to host a fun event on his birthday every year! :D

With that out of the way, here's the contest options!

Option 1:

🩸 GORE ART CONTEST!! 🩸

Draw the most creative and/or disturbing gore art you'd like! <D From drinking acid to being crushed by a snake, the only rule is to not let your morals get in the way! ^^ (If you'd like, you can draw him with your or my characters!)

Option 2:

NON-GORE ART CONTEST!!

Draw Pilot, with 1 of his friends, in any situation you'd like! He can be enjoying a cake, being sold on the black market, or just simply hanging out at the beach! ^^ His beloved roommate is Chewy, his other friends are Strawberry Pillow, and Glowball!

🎁 PRIZES!! 🎁

Please keep in mind that this is cross-posted to my Insta! So you'll be competing with my followers there too! ^^'

Each contest will have 2 winners!

1st Place (🩸GORE ART CONTEST🩸): 1 Finished Art Peice

2nd Place (🩸GORE ART CONTEST🩸): 1 Flat Color Peice

1st Place (NON-GORE ART CONTEST): 1 Finished Art Peice

2nd Place (NON-GORE ART CONTEST): 1 Flat Color Peice

❔️CLARIFICATION❔️

Any medium and type of art (Drawing, Animation, Comic, whatever!) is accepted! And so is any skill level! ^^ However, if you do traditional art then please make sure it's well-lit and legible!

If you really want to, you can choose to do both contests! :D and multiple art peices per entry are also allowed!

Extensions can and will be given if needed! <] it's the middle of testing season and I know many of y'all are busy! Simply DM me and tell me how many days!

I live in the Central Time Zone area! :0 And the specific due date is 12:00 AM, June 15th! Please keep that in mind if you have a different one!

If you wish to join, use the tag #pilotbdaydoubleartcontest and @ me in your entry!

If you have any further questions, PLEASE ASK! I'm more than happy to help, and don't worry about annoying me ^^'

🍤 REF SHEETS! 🍤

Glowball Her coding is probably a bit ugly if you're in light mode :'>>

Pilot

Tw: Cartoony Blood & Impalement!

Chewy

Tw: Body Horror!

Strawberry Pillow (Can be her "normal" form or her regular form!)

Heights! (Glowball is about the size of Strawberry Pillow!)

Tw: Organs and Bones! (In an anatomy way tho!)

Here's Pilot's anatomy sheet! Of course, more info is shown in his toyhou.se!

[whxtedreams]

Lovesick in Jackson - Preview

comming soon, a coral island, stardew valley inspired Rancher!Joel fic.

no tags yet as I'm starting to write this tomorrow but will update with tags. It's going to be fluffy! But basically Jackson is a little coastal town known for it's farmland. Characters from the last of us will be included but it's a strong AU.

or: Joel finally get's his sheep.

Sarah has passed in this fic but he has a healthy relationship with Ellie, a run away orphan who he found on his ranch stealing food and eventually takes in as family.

I'm looking at making this into a medium sized series? 10-20 chapters and well under 100k. seriously under 100k. (will probably be 100k lets be honest. I don't know when to stop)

a little thank you to @toxic-seduction for helping me brainstorm this idea and being as obsessed with coral island as I am. if this story gets sad, blame her.

little sneak peek, preview under the cut!

You stand before the front door to your grandmother's cottage, a place long forgotten and now abandoned. Cobwebs and critters are scattered all across the exterior of the house, the once meticulously maintained walls now covered in unkept vines that are slowly crawling their way up the structure. The exterior has an eerie and uninviting aura to it, as if the place has been left to become an echo of time lost to memories.

The inheritance letter hangs loosely in your hand, your fingers turning the creased paper over and over again. The words on it have been worn with time, the writing now barely legible.

At the center of the front door hangs a small piece of paper, its edges frayed and fluttering in the breeze as the rusty nail it's held to struggles to keep it in place.

Heard someone was moving back in to Rose's place, if you need a hand rebuilding, let me know. Joel Miller ps. I used to work in construction, I know what I'm doing.

You rip the note off the front door and sigh as you look back over the farm, its beauty all but fallen apart since your grandmother's absence. The farm, once a beautiful and lively space, seems almost lifeless now. The plants are all unkempt and overgrown, most of them withered and dry while others are covered in a thick layer of weeds. It's a sad sight, one that reminds you of how much time has passed since she was last here.

How long it's been since you've been here.

You look at the sprawling space, trying to figure out all the work ahead of you and feeling slightly overwhelmed by it. Maybe having an extra pair of hands around for help wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

As you look down at the note in your hand once more, you can't help but exhale. "Joel Miller," you mutter to yourself, slightly amused and even grateful knowing someone actually wants to help you rebuild this place.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you turn back around, opening the front door before you and stepping into your new life. You know that it won't be easy, but you also know that it will be worth it.

[pixiemage]

My Fate Is In Your Hands - Entry 7

[ Entry List ]

[ Previous | Next?]

[A/N: This is a story entirely guided by you guys, by the readers. Be sure to vote at the end of each entry! ALSO, if you'd like to be added the tag list, please let me know and I'll be sure to add you next time!]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

➤ Examine the patches. He could learn something new about the familiar stranger.

Learning more about the stranger Jimmy rescued can only help the situation…right? The more they know about him, the better they can handle the situation…and the better they can help him.

The spacesuit the pilot is wearing used to be pure white, Jimmy’s sure, even if it was now dusted in gray and black and red, ash and soot and mesa sand. But even then it’s in fairly good condition despite the crash, and the patches stitched into the fabric and their accompanying lettering are still legible. Jimmy squints at the text, reading past the damage.

The word H.A.S.A. is stitched on a round blue-and-red patch at his shoulder, though the logo isn't one he recognizes. And there's another string of letters across the man's chest, backed in red and sewn in black - something Jimmy can only assume must be a name.

T. TEK

It’s familiar, much like the stranger himself. This, too, feels like something Jimmy should know, and it tugs at his mind, at a memory just out of reach.

"...of the Tek variety. Nice to meet ya! So he dragged you into his game too, huh? Heh, should be a good time..."

There's a cocky sort of grin hovering out of sight, and eyes he can't make out the color of that sparkle with a chaotic sort of mischief. He pauses and pulls the cleaning cloth away to stare at the still and expressionless face of the man on the bed. He swears he knows him.

"...welcome, contestants! This is Dare to Flare..."

"...called You Bet Your Life. Basically, what it is..."

Jimmy reaches out against his better judgment and runs his fingers over the nametag, the stitching raised beneath his touch. He frowns, chewing his lip, a flurry of familiar words and voices running through his head like an echo as he puzzles over what that first initial might stand for. Then–

“Noooo! No, I’m so sorry–”“What happened, Tango? Take me through it…”

Tango.

Tango.

Tango Tek.

Jimmy lets out a breath with wide eyes, tracing the letters again with his fingertip and letting that revelation sink in. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s right, he just knows. He can’t explain it. He’s still staring in wonder at the soot-dusted nametag when he hears the sound of approaching rockets and jolts from his thoughts.

Oh, void, right. The crash. Shelby. Potions. Gods, he’s being an idiot–

Jimmy carefully cleans the rest of the blood and soot from the pilot’s face with all the gentleness he can muster, and he’s only just depositing the cloth back in its bowl when he hears Shelby calling from the front door.

“In here!” he returns, his eyes lingering on the stranger - on Tango. “Bedroom!”

Now that Shelby’s here, he feels a little (a lot) more confident that Tango’s going to be alright. For now, he can focus on helping patch him up. For now, he can shove the odd familiarity of the not-stranger from his thoughts. Later, he can ponder at why he even knows Tango’s name and why his face feels so achingly familiar…but later. Later. Maybe when Tango is finally awake. Maybe he’ll gain some answers to his questions then. Later.

The door clicks open and Shelby nearly trips into the room, clutching her oversized hat to her head with one hand and scrambling to catch her broomstick with the other, just barely managing not to fall.

“Who is it? What happened? Whaddaya need?” she asks in a rush, clumsily kicking the door shut again and leaning her broom in the corner of the room. “What’s – oh my gosh.”

Jimmy sets the water and rag aside as she comes closer, smiling sheepishly at her wide-eyed expression.

“So, er…” He gestures toward the pilo- Tango. Toward Tango. “Funny story. A spaceship crashed outside Tumble Town an’ this is the pilot.” Shelby’s wide eyes turn to him instead and he chuckles weakly. “Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds,” he says, and she comes over to stand beside him and stare down at Tango’s unconscious form.

She pokes his leg with her finger.

“Is he an alien?” she stage-whispers, and Jimmy almost laughs. Almost. Instead, he twitters weakly and gestures to Tango’s non-human features.

“I don’t know!” he says, a bit hysterical. “He fell out of the sky! And he was unconscious when I found him, it’s not like I could ask! He’s - look,” Jimmy yanks off his hat and rakes his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. “Look, all I know is he’s hurt, alright? I just wanna help ‘im.”

At this, Shelby jolts.

“Oh! Potions! Right! Sorry!” She swipes through the air, summoning her inventory and rifling through it for what she needs. Colorful glass bottles fall into her hands and she sets them on the bed one by one, red and pink and orange clinking softly against each other. Health. Regeneration. Fire resistance.

The last one makes Jimmy pause. He hangs his hat on the chair by the bed and picks up the orange-filled bottle from the collection. He tilts it in his hand, the light of the lanterns overhead reflecting off the glass and making the potion inside look like lava. He recalls what he thought he’d seen on the flight over, the dancing light in Tango’s hair that he was so sure were flames. Then his eyes fall on Tango, remembering the bruises and the scrapes he’d acquired…but no burns, as far as Jimmy could tell. No burns.

“...I don’t think he needs this one,” Jimmy murmurs, and that same certainty stirs in his chest that he’d felt upon realizing Tango’s name.

Shelby doesn’t notice, too busy darting around the bed to get a closer look at Tango - what little of him wasn’t covered by his spacesuit.

“Hmm…we probably need to get him out of this thing to see how bad it is,” she muses, her head tilting to the side and her hat tipping precariously. Her eyes widen. “Oh, geez - he’s bleeding. Hang on–”

Jimmy’s breath catches and he abandons the fire resistance potion where he found it. Right! The head wound. Void, he’d forgotten–

Jimmy quickly offers her a clean cloth across the bed and she pours bright red potion onto it, tugging aside Jimmy’s makeshift bandage and replacing it with the healing-doused rag. Shelby sets the open bottle on the bedside table and reaches for a pink one instead, tugging out the cork with her teeth.

“Any chance you know how to get this spaceman armor off?” she asks, dripping regen carefully onto the rag she’s already using, the scent of sweet melons and nether spice wafting into the air.

“Er–” Jimmy blinked down at the spacesuit, at the odd stiff collar the helmet had been attached to and the thick material the suit was made from. He can’t see a zipper or buttons of any kind at a glance - though he’s sure he can find an opening somewhere if Shelby really needs him to.

“I dunno,” he tells her with a wince, taking up a cloth of his own to start tending to the other scrapes and cuts littering Tango’s face from his shattered visor. “But he got into it somehow, right?”

Shelby nods, her tongue sticking out between her teeth as she focuses on her task.

“Let’s get this sorted first, then we can take a look,” she tells him, taking a tick to glance up at him. Maybe she can tell how concerned he is, because she flashes him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Sheriff! He’ll be fine. I’m great at potions, and you’re great at taking care of people. We’ve got this!”

Jimmy lets out a soft, tired breath and returns the smile.

They’ve got this. The stranger will be okay.

Tango will be okay.

...

At the maw of a glowing purple rift that cuts a jagged shape into the wall of the massive cave it calls home, an avian with macaw-colored wings stands gaping at its purpureal light. A pair of well-worn goggles is clutched in his grip, flecks of redstone dust rubbing off onto his skin. He’s quiet. He’s quiet, and his eyes mirror the rift before him in both color and luminescence.

Almost an hour has passed since he arrived to find a friend standing where he now stands, his blue hair ablaze and an untamable emotion spilling off of him in waves. Tango had looked so upset, so desperate…and Grian hadn’t quite been able to talk him out of his insane idea.

“You said it’s a portal to other worlds. Plural. So one of ‘em could be his.”

“Technically, maybe, but - but it’s unstable! Why d’you think I’ve been experimenting with–”

“Screw unstable! You said you sent stuff through, right?”

“Yes, but I haven’t gotten anything back. And I haven’t even tried to send a player through–”

“Then send me.”

“What?! Tango–!”

“I’m going through either way. You might as well collect the data when I do–”

“No! Absolutely not! Xisuma would have my head - Impulse would have my head if I let you–”

“You’re not letting me do anything. I’m going.”

The rest of the conversation had spiraled, had exploded, had careened out of control - and Tango had thrown himself through the rift before Grian could stop him. He hadn’t been able to stop him. So…he’d Watched. He’d kept an eye on his friend, as well as he could when following a speck through an endless and unpredictable schism in space, but he’d Watched.

He’s Watching.

He sees the connection, the transformation, the way the narrative of the Empires server brings Tango into her fold, morphing a piece of his past into the form he takes in the present. He may have been acting as a dungeon master on Hermitcraft, but on Empires he becomes a pilot. He becomes an astronaut. He becomes the desperate not-quite-hero he’d been at the end of the last season, and he crashes.

Grian keeps his Eye on Tango for as long as he can, or at least up until he watches Jimmy salvage him from the wreck and bring him home. It’s only when Jimmy and a witch from a neighboring empire are arranging potions on the bedside table that he pulls away, letting out a breath and massaging the bridge of his nose.

Voidammit, Tango.

At least now Grian has more reason to rush and finish fixing the rift. They’re going to need to get Tango back eventually…he can only hope the narrative doesn’t affect Tango’s memories too much in the meanwhile. And at least he found his soulmate again. He’ll be happy there until the Hermits can reach him. Jimmy will make sure of it, Grian knows.

Soulmates don’t ever stop being soulmates, after all.

:3

[Tag List] @firefly124 @mellioops @beaversuenightly @aris-has-a-paracosm @sincerely-nines @changeling-ash

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[merakiui]

VNSJSCJSKKGKSKWKF PUNK JADE????? as a jade stan i am CLAWING my walls istg

so we have himbo jock virgin floyd,, WE HAVE TO ELABORATE ON PUNK JADE CUZ THE THOUGHT OF HIM JUST MAKES MY WORLD SHAKE

seriously still kicking my legs at that tag omg the thought of punk jade fkkfjsjjc like those stereotypical wattpad bad boys but somehow he's a little more charming and... tolerable (to an extent), i guess...

he leans on lockers, probably rides a motorcycle his rich ass mafia father gifted him, and is definitely brooding and mysterious, but oh my god is it so attractive... you don't mind and it's as if you were put into a spell; especially after you realize you're tangled up in the sheets of his bed, your mind hazy and memories hardly legible <3 you realize he's just as bad as his brother but then again, he's soooo much better in bed, you don't mind in the slightest anymore !!! <33333

fjsjjfjdkrjv i'm just spilling my brain worms now jade has affected me once again

— (a new-ish follower named star hehe <3)

orz punk Jade is so fine omg,,,,,, he has so many piercings, a few very intricate tattoos here and there, and in my heart he kills it on the electric guitar. <3 he rizzes you up with just a few chords and you know his fingers do more than skillfully play chords. Omg omg and he has a split tongue!!!!!!! He always wears his hair in messy styles, uses hair gel to keep it spiky when he wants it to be, and maybe he smokes on occasion; perhaps even coerces you into smoking. >:) getting high with him is an experience omg,,,,,,, maybe you hotboxed with him in Floyd's van once and the two of you kissed a few times and you learned that he's so good at kissing???? So much better than Floyd, and you have to wonder how he's leagues better when Floyd's so social, loved (and feared) by all, popular enough to be with anyone he wants. Jade's just so alluring in a way that his twin isn't. Whereas Floyd's all broad shoulders and bulk and muscle, Jade's all lean muscle and willowy and agile.

You don't trust him to take you for an innocent ride on his motorcycle, so Jade suggests using Floyd's van for stuff. Floyd doesn't really care because he's so busy with sports; his van is already messy enough (he draws the line at cum stains, though. At least, cum stains that don't belong to Floyd himself lol). It's a little unfair that Jade's really good at sex because you want to experience all of this technique with Floyd (who has yet to make you cum with his dick, mind you). Jade just knows what tips you over the edge. He wrings orgasms out of you like he's trying to prove something, and maybe he is. You never really paid much mind to him because he was the "quiet twin," the one who, despite his notable fashion and style, didn't really draw your eye.

Jade just loves showing up in your life when you're trying to avoid him and his bad influence. He teases you about that all the time, playfully calls you good girl/boy/goody-goody when you insist you're only visiting his apartment to see Floyd. He has the stickiest, sleaziest smile on his face when he lets you in, speaking in that mocking drawl of his, "You know Floyd has practice at this time, right?" And god you want to punch him, kick him in his dick, tear his hair out. But you don't because you can't. Because he's addicting. Because he's good at fucking you and talking to you and being your friend and making sure you're safe and sound when you have a bad trip and asking if it feels good when he lays you down in Floyd's van and ruts into you like he has all the time in the world. You hate him, but then you don't because he's so much better than Floyd. And of course you still like Floyd, but he doesn't hit in the way Jade does.

You wake up in his bed more times than you can count, twisted up in the sheets or, more recently, in his arms, and Jade has such a fun time teasing you for it. But then he's so tender in the mornings, so soft and gentle, caressing your cheek or pressing kisses over the marks he left the night prior. The two of you are way more than friends, but neither of you say anything to make it official and so you're stuck in a situationship that feels so comfortable and enjoyable.

Omg and when he plays the guitar for you....... orz Jade is the worst thing to ever happen to you (or so you adamantly claim), but he's also the best because if it weren't for him you'd never form such a genuine connection with him. <3 also, he opened your third eye. You shouldn't settle for bad, sloppy sex with his brother when he can fuck you six ways from Sunday and leave you satisfied each time. He takes immense pride in this, too. Annoying, but you love him. You really, truly, honestly do.

[blorbingqls]

"We accept the love we think we deserve" - seeing this quote in terms of love and control as subjects in Only Friends

With @tomatoland 's brilliant post on TopMew on the above quote here , i think that with 7 eps in, we have understood that love and control are very well linked with ephemerality as a subject.

As i have previously linked epheremality with control here, i would like to talk about how love also makes us lose control with the impermanence of life. This is a long overdue post for 4 eps now.

linking the ephemerality squad here so that you can also share your opinions on this @waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @slayerkitty @respectthepetty @ranchthoughts (anyone else i am missing, pls tag, i really appreciate it)

TopMew

As Tomato (@tomatoland i hope you're okay with that nickname; i really tried to find a name on your blog for you) has referred in their post, Mew left his bubble of insecurities and got his heart broken. Completely legible and correct on his point. Top really loves Mew but now Mew has no reason to believe him anymore. With the play in their power dynamics, both of them loved each other and lost control of the way they wanted the relationship. Yes, if Top and Mew has stuck to their original plans - just reaching to the point of ideality and sex, then, this relationship should have ended after they got their goals. I dont think that sex was a goal for Mew as much as it was for Top, but, we can say it was in the secondary.

But as they fell in love, they, especially Top understood how the love he received from Mew is so much more than he thought he deserves (taking into account his trauma and past experiences). So , even though Mew is projecting his hurt by doing things that literally are asshole-ish as fuck on his accord, Top is willing to let go all of that since even he knows he is in the wrong this time and he is willing to lose all control he has on his life - of fame, money and insecurities in order to have Mew back. Top is willing to be as obsessive as Mew said he would be in a relationship in order to get and accept the love he think he deserves from Mew, even if it won't be good.

But, I also feel, the concept of love as explored in the series so far, not just runs along with TopMew because of the books, but also with all the remaining couples in the show. I won't discuss P'Yo and her partner, CheumApril in this segment, because I want more angles on this from the coming episodes in order to validate my point. But, I'll discuss this point with our other views on the couples: RayMew, TopBoston, SandRay, and BostonNick.

RayMew

Now, RayMew is a pairing that is being enforced on the viewers for the past 3 episodes now and the last episode shows a pretty good view of how as characters, Mew and Ray view each other.

For Ray, his love is unconditional for Mew because it correlates with that fact that Mew was the only reason who made him stay in this world - who made him believe that he deserves the love from his friends, the love which he didn't get from his parents or any potential partners. But potential partners were never in the scene because Mew was Ray's emergency contact. Their relationship runs deep and however much you may think, even if Ray thinks Mew's love for him could be more as a friend, he also believes that because as he is so damn shitty and a fucking burden to society, he can't ask for more from Mew for the sake of their friendship and his esteem. He keeps entertaining the idea of them as partners several times, but, until ep 7, Mew has never entertained the idea that his love for Ray will be any worthy of more than a friend. Because, Mew wants to continue making the boundary and keep the control, according to me.

Now, as Mew has entertained the idea, i am interested how it pans out in the next episode (not very promising tho). just linking this out here because its so fucking interesting.

TopBoston

We will mainly take here Boston's viewpoint since Top gave up on this since the very beginning and became firm with it post ep 3. He gives no flying fucks about the possiblity of it. Top considers Boston to be a one night stand and a one night stand only.

Boston, as has mentioned so many times, considers Top to be top tier; the person who gives him something as close to love because as an Machiavellian prince (refer here) Boston considers Top to be the only worthy competitor in his reign. And he really doesn't care if he hurt others feeling. Mind you, Boston has been the most truthful to himself, maybe not to others. And as a prince, his love speaks volume through keeping them in their reign because ultimately Boston wants power and control in his arena. That's the fucking politics of it. And Top is the only worthy contender who can damage his reign. Hence, he wants the top tier power as much as possible, and only Top can give him that. Him fucking off to America, that can easily happen through Top, because he is a very well known hotel chain owner/manager. So, Boston wants his loves, because he very well thinks he deserves it and he accepts it as much as he can. But, he also knows that for him, he can't make this love into a weakness, because that will be out of his control.

Boston however, as Mew so incredibly pointed out, is gullible. Ray couldn't see through him, but, MEW FUCKING DID. That is why even though Boston didn't consider Mew as his competitor, he was fucking jealous of him because Mew got Top and was chosen over eventually by Top. Mew has the power that Boston didn't think he had, till now. And tbh, Mew is now winning the game, despite his insecurities with his relationship with Top.

THE WAR HAS BEGUN, MY FRIENDS.

SandRay

God, I have so many feeling for these babies. Where to start? Okay so, you know in second episode, Sand built that boundary with Ray regarding friends with benefits? Well, it has backfired on him. COMPLETELY.

As ep 8 preview says, I love how Sand realised the fact that they were never friends to begin with, for even to have made that boundary to make sense. Sand is a pathetic little man, as so many of you have pointed out, but, why is he the way he is?

His incredible nature to be so caring of others around him has made him feel like its his responsibility to take care of everything. His mother, his business, his money and job, his style and even his fucking roommate. Now, Sand is so emotionally attached to this damsel in distress, pathetic burden to society (affectionate) Ray, that even before they became friends, he made Ray his responsibility. Sand has no right to ask for love from Ray, because they are not friends, lest friends with benefits to ask for any care towards himself. But he selfishly asks, for the first time.

Because, as a person who keeps on taking care of others endlessly, it is harder for them to ask for the care and love they expect and deserve from whom they love while keeping their self esteem intact. And for Ray to completely shut him down at that time, and him still following Ray while he was drunk, makes him so much real because you feel responsible for that person. You are their emergency staff, even if they don't consider you to be.

While Ray comes from another perspective itself. He initially wanted to know Sand more as a person, because he is a person who wanted to explore the life beyond what has been given to him. He is a spoilt brat, and when he realised that he can't buy Sand's love, he explored it with him.

But because I think Ray believes that Sand will always be for him, even when he does asshole-ish behaviour (because thats where everyone leaves) he has taken Sand for granted. The backup option. Anything goes wrong with his ideal relationship, he can always go running back to Sand, because Sand has become his addiction.

Apart from drugs and alcohol, Mew and Sand are the only people he can keep coming back to. For Mew, it is only at a cost. At some conditions, only for something personal. While maybe Ray wants explore that possibility with Sand, but he is afraid. He is afraid that Sand will go away. just as Mew did. A person who can only consider him a friend and nothing more. Even if he wants to explore that possibility with both of them, loving them at the same time, he can't make people his priority, because he doesn't know how to do that. Nor does he think he's worthy of it. So, he accepts whatever he thinks he deserves off Sand's love and care.

I am interested to see how it pans out for these idiots once his relationship with Mew falls out. I am concerned for Ray so much. Give him access to therapy and rehab soon pls. Sand and Ray's father I think are going in that direction, with this speculation by @prapaiwife.

BostonNick

Now, our final pair has been the most interesting couple in this show so far. Why do I say that?

Well, for Nick, Boston is one of the top-tier gays. As pointed out by Boston, he likes bad guys. And lets be honest, Boston, most dishonest, cunning bastard out there. So, Nick believes that he will be that gay who lands the top tier dick and fix this problem. Right?

Wrong. Nick very well knows this won't happen. Still he keeps hoping for more as Boston doesn't know how to not be a hypocrite as a prince. He keeps giving some here and there false hope through his actions, not words which makes Nick believe he's special, but he's not. He takes whatever love he thinks Boston gives him, despite him not being his number one, despite Boston cheats on him over and over again. He just wants whatever of love as actions that Boston can give to him because that proves wrong all of his low self esteem. So he accepts whatever he thinks he deserves because he can't ask for more in a bed friend relationship. With Boston's guard so up and his will to leave the country, Nick knows he can't do anything but try to make him stay. Even if that's a 99% chance of not happening. He tries because he doesn't want Boston to hate him. He only wants him to love him. Because for him, thats enough.

The sadness keeps on piling up for these outsider, hard working roommates, doesn't it?

While, for Boston, he is nothing but a rebound from the angst of not getting Top. He wants a serious relationship, and maybe, he does look for it in Nick, maybe not, but he doesn't love Nick. He doesn't love Top either. For Boston, Nick is a toy he wanted to play with.

Because he cares about his reign, his reputation. And, Nick realised that. Hence, Mew contacted him and Nick gave that information to Mew. They will bring Boston down together because Nick somewhere believes he can get him back.

But Nick babygirl, he doesn't love you bub. He doesn't. And, it hurts so much. Because Boston keeps on taking from you, whatever he deserves. And that is your care for him, for granted. He is a leech bub. He is.

Now, how does it all link to ephemerality and control?

Well, love itself is impermanent. It doesn't stay.

The world knows this and still we chase it. And at an age as our characters, we chase love and freedom like anything. In order to gain control. We take up jobs, more courses to learn, experiment with love and relationships, with people because the time is ticking and people say now is the age. We break hearts and get it broken.

As P'Jojo says "This show is Hurt People Hurt People", tell me who hasn't been hurt by love, by control and by living at its time? And also by missing out each of these experiences because you were lonely with your own life and burdens?

We accept the hate and love the life gives us, because this is what we think we deserve out of this. And tbh, these feelings, are never permanent. They keep changing with time, and that's the only thing thats permanent.

Change is the only thing that remains permanent.

[wordsofhoneydew]

fic pride

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tags @anincompletelist and @firenati0n

(no pressure) pressure tags to : @cha-melodius @whimsymanaged @cricketnationrise @alasse9 @sherryvalli @nocoastposts

reading back at my work has only reminded me how proud and happy i am with the fics i have written, and i hope y’all enjoy them just as much as i do!!

+

stolen glances with a string attached

Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape.  That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you. And he’s not wrong. Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read.  The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.”

+

your body comes back to me in dreams [nsfw]

He comes back to himself in increments, the places where they’re touching becoming lighter and colder, and his vision softening around the edges. Henry grabs the other man’s shoulder with a vice grip, wanting to laze in the gratification of their love. He surges forward to kiss him again, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, but he feels almost nothing. Henry pulls away resentfully, in search of brown eyes that bear unwavering devotion—but they’re gone, replaced by nothing, and he is faced with the iciness of the man’s absence. 

+

i became your device to name and soothe

June blushes violently and whispers, “It’s not the same when I do it to myself.” The air is eerily silent for a beat, and June hates everything that is coming out of her mouth right now.  Nora’s face goes almost stoic, serious, but the sparkle of interest in her eyes never falters. “Tell me why.” “What?” “Tell me why it isn’t the same.” June stares back at her staggered, at a complete loss of what to say, or how to say it. June has never had to explain the reasoning behind why she likes spanking. Hell, she’s never really thought about it in depth herself. Knowing that it brings her euphoric pleasure is enough acknowledgement for her.  “Well… I guess it has to do with the attention and— uh, being taken care of is part of it, too.” She chews on her lips subconsciously, looking down at her lap. “I see,” Nora trails off, thinking deliberately before saying: “I can help you. Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.” Nora places her hand on June’s knee, it’s a comforting sentiment more than anything, and June realizes that she really does mean to help. Not in the exact way June wishes she would, but she’ll take what she can get at this point. “Okay.” “Really? “I trust you, Nora.” “Yeah, of course. I trust you too.” June tries to swallow down the knot in her throat before speaking again, “It’ll be like, nonsexual, platonic—“ “Like a massage.” Nora’s expression is unreadable, the same face she makes when she’s in the middle of coding a script or calculating how many red bulls her body can tolerate without a wink of sleep in three days. Like a project she’s undoubtedly going to excel at. It makes June squirm in her seat. “I’m not an expert, so you’ll have to give me some… guidance.” God. What has June gotten herself into?

+

What are the chances? [nsfw]

“This what you wanted?” Nora whispers on her navel, kissing and licking up to the sweat that has begun to form between her breasts. The position of Nora’s fingers remain hooked inside of her, massaging repeatedly at her sweet spot, and June is seeing fucking stars. Her chest pushes into Nora’s face, giving her full permission to abuse them with her mouth. Instead Nora pulls back, laying her hand flat on June’s chest to settle her back onto the bed again. She gives a light slap to one of her breasts. “How does it feel? You were so desperate for it earlier, huh, baby? So, tell me how it feels.” June is unable to speak for a moment, her jaw slacked with no sound escaping. Her head is buzzing and her legs are trembling from how much stimulation her body is receiving. “Feels— oh fuck, ” she huffs, “feels so good, Nora. Please, don’t stop.” Nora unties one of her wrists, still maintaining the consistent rhythm of her hand. Once free, June immediately reaches out to touch her face; running her thumb over Nora’s eyebrow, cheekbones and then her lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Nora takes that as an invitation to kiss June again, this time with a more deliberate, loving touch—she can taste a bit of herself on Nora’s tongue. 

[raffe156]

Chain Mail and Silk

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summary - Little fluff drabble for the Knights AU

A/N - The brain rot I have for this AU is crazy haha I wrote this today while nursing a hangover from being out very late last night so please enjoy!

I really appreciate all the recent feedback and asks! Please keep em coming! Especially to the anon that started this DLC 🤣

Warnings - slight angst, forbidden love? Language, fluff, Age gap Relationship, Price (40) Tank, (25) she defo should be married off by that age haha

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank & Luke

Tags: @shuttlelauncher81 @fanficandartgal @deadbranch @soapyghost​ @mostannoyingbillioner @chb-7

“My lady, please let me finish it off for you, your fingers look sore…” Cece pleaded with you.

“No…it’s quite alright…ow…I want to do it myself”

A few more stitches an you were finished, your initials just legible in gold thread, it wasn’t perfect but it would do. You looked at Cece triumphantly.

“Very nice mlady”

“Let’s just hope he actually does ask for my favour after all that”

********

Price watched as you took your seat in the royal box, your father being an advisor to the king allowed for that privilege. He had donned his best armour and rode out onto the field, his heart pounding with anticipation. The slight scandal of him asking for your favour was not lost on him. He was the knight commander his mind was meant to be focused on battle plans and strategies, not wooing a lady of the court 15 years younger than him.

Your eyes fixed on him as he rode towards you. You had convinced yourself he wasn’t going to ask you and ask one of the other women instead, but there he was just below you with that eye crinkling smile that made your heart flutter.

“My lady, may I ask for your favour? Such a token would be an honour to an old knight commander such as myself” there were a few mumbles as you leant forward.

“Of course Sir Price” you handed him your handkerchief his hand holding on to yours for a few seconds longer than needed. As you slowly withdrew your hand Price looked down at the silk handkerchief, your initials embroidered in gold thread on the corner, just under the last stitch a tiny dark spot, you must of pricked your finger.

“Thank you my lady, I shall keep it next to my heart for it shall protect me better than any chain mail” he bowed his head as he folded it up tucking it under his breast plate. You bowed your head in return his kind words making your cheeks flush. The mumbling started up again, but you didn’t care, The knight commander had asked for your favour.

*******

The day was long and grueling, but Price fought with all his strength and skill. And in the end, he emerged victorious, having unhorsed all his opponents and won the tournament. Even at his age his level an skill never let him down even against men half his age.

As he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow, he felt a surge of pride and joy at the sight of you stood applauding his final victory your eyes wide with excitement. He hoped Garrick had got the message to Cece that he wanted to meet with you later that night in the eastern tower.

*******

As the whole castle slept you creeped through the dark corridors all the way to the eastern tower a tall candle lighting your way. You climbed the steep stone steps to the top opening the door to the small room, you thought maybe Price had changed his mind as it was empty but then from the shadows he appeared his dark blue eyes as if light from behind greeted you from the dark.

“I thought you’d changed your mind” you placed your candle on a near by dresser.

“Never…” he closed the distance between you in one stride, his arms wrapping around you pulling you back tight to his chest his face buried in your hair.

“You did well today, I heard the king singing your praises and you made a lot of men very rich by the way” you rested your hand on the back of his head.

“I don’t care about making other men rich and I’d take you singing my praises over the king any day” he mumbled the words into your hair.

“Don’t let the king hear you say that…or my father for that matter…he still wants me married off to sir Luke the one with the highland cows” Your words made Price step back he hated when you spoke of your fathers numerous attempts at marrying you to the highest bidder, it caused his heart to ache and blood to boil.

“Sir Luke can gladly fuck off…” Price scowled at even the repetition of the name.

“Never mind all that…..what was it you wanted to show me?” There was that child like excitement in your eyes again, your hands clasped together tight.

“Sit down” he guided you to sit in the small seat by the candle light, the glow illuminated your face and it almost caused his heart to cease, you were the most beautiful creature he had ever had the grace to lay eyes upon and here you were entertaining an old fool of a man.

Price handed you a small velvet box. Inside was his gold signet ring, his family crest engraved on the front.

“I know this is not nearly as beautiful as your handkerchief," he said, "But I hope you'll wear it in some form as a symbol of my love for you” as he spoke you took the ring from the box and slipped it on to your ring finger holding your hand up to admire how it looked in the candle light, you smiled at him, your best smile only reserved for him, it made his heart pang back to life in his chest.

“It looks rather nice on that finger doesn’t it?” Your smile turned to a grin. Price gave you a small smile, he would love nothing more than to slip a wedding band onto your finger, fully an finally claiming you as his an him yours, for the whole kingdom to see, but that was a new kind of war he hadn’t yet planned a strategy for, but for now he simply agreed with you.

“It does my love…it truly does” he held your hand up kissing it just below where the ring sat.

******

You had both been talking for hours entangled on the old ornate lounger as the tall candle was now just a wick fighting to stay alight.

“You better get back to your chambers mlady…I’m sure Cece will be thinking I’ve had my wicked way with you…” Price nuzzled his face into your neck his beard tickling you.

“I’m sure she will be climbing the walls, that or hunting poor Garrick down!” You laughed at the thought as you made you way to the door Garrick was a highly decorated knight and had fought in many battles but he was terrified of little Cece.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You looked back at him.

“I’ll make sure to find you, maybe I’ll escort you on you afternoon ride? Cece permitting” He bowed his head taking your hand in his again to kiss it. You longed for his kisses on other parts of your body. Parts that made your skin run hot an heart to beat loud like a drum.

“I’d very much like that…” you made your way down the steep steps the cold wall guiding you down.

“Good night mlady” he bowed his head once more. This parting ways was always bittersweet as now you had to return to your respective roles only offering small glances an secret smiles across crowded rooms. Price watched as you made your way back to your chambers the glow from the moon lighting your way. Though it pained him, he knew you would hold his token of love close to your heart an he yours.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Down in the (link)dumps

On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine. On October 2, I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab.

Back when I was writing on Boing Boing, I'd slam out 10-15 blog posts every day, short hits that served as signpost and public notebook, but I rarely got into longer analysis of the sort I do daily now on Pluralistic. Both modes are very useful for organizing one's thoughts, and indeed, they complement each other:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

The problem is that when you write long, synthetic essays, they crowd out the quick hits. Back in May 2022, I started including three short links with each edition of Pluralistic, in a section called "Hey look at this" (thanks to Mitch Wagner for suggesting it!):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/01/reit-modernization-act/#linkdump

But even with that daily linkdump, I still manage to accumulate link-debt, as interesting things pile up, not rising to the level of a long blog-post, but not so disposable as to be easy to flush. When the pile gets big enough, I put out a Saturday Linkdump:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

All of which is to say, it's Saturday, and I've got a linkdump!

First up, a musical interlude. I've been listening to DJ Earworm's amazing mashups since 2005 and while I've got dozens of tracks that shuffle in and out of my daily playlist, the one that makes me wanna get up and dance every time is "No One Takes Your Freedom," a wildly improbable banger composed of equal parts Aretha Franklin, The Beatles, George Michael and Scissor Sisters:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaboIeW1A_4

I defy you to play that one without bopping a little. I think it's the French horn from "For No One" that really kills it, the world's least expected intro to a heavy dance beat.

Moving swiftly on: let's talk about fonts. I remember when Wired magazine first showed up at the bookstores I was working at in Toronto, and my bosses – younger men than I am now! – complained that the tiny, decorative fonts, rendered in silver foil on a purple background, was illegible. I laughed at them, batting my young eyes and devouring the promise of a better future with ease, even in dim light.

Now it's thirty years later and I'm half-blind. Both my my decaying, aging eyes are filmed with cataracts that I'm too busy to get removed (though my doc promises permanent 20:20, perfect night-vision, and implanted bifocals when I can spare a month from touring with new books to get 'em fixed).

Which is to say: I spend a lot more time thinking about legibility now than I did in the early 1990s, and I've got a lot more sympathy for those booksellers' complaints about Wired's aggressively low-contrast design today. I'm forever on the hunt for fonts designed for high legibility.

This week, Kottke linked to B612, a free/open font family "designed for aircraft cockpit screens," commissioned by Airbus. It's got all the bells and whistles (e.g. hinting) and comes in variable and monospace faces:

https://b612-font.com/

B612 arrived at a fortuitous moment, coinciding with a major UI overhaul in Thunderbird, the app I spend the second-most time in (I spend more time in Gedit, the bare-bones text-editor that comes with Ubuntu, the flavor of GNU/Linux I use). A previous Thunderbird UI experiment had made all the UI text effectively unreadable for me, causing me to dive deep into the infinitely configurable settings to sub in my own fonts:

http://kb.mozillazine.org/UserChrome.css

The new UI is much better, but it broke all my old tweaks, so I went back into those settings and switched everything to B612, and it's amazeballs. I tried doing the same in Gedit, but B612 mono was too light for my shitty eyes, so I went back to Jetbrains Mono, another free/open font that has 8 weights to choose from:

https://www.jetbrains.com/lp/mono/

Love me a new, legible font! Meanwhile, a note for all you designers: the received wisdom that black on white type is "hard on the eyes" is a harmful myth. Stop with the grey-on-white type, for the love of all that is holy. This isn't 1992, you aren't laying out type for Wired Issue 1.0. Contrast is good, actually.

Continuing on the subject of software updates: Mastodon, the free, open, federated social media platform that anyone can host and that lets you hop between one server and another with just a couple clicks, has released a major update, focusing on usability, especially for people unfamiliar with its conventions:

https://blog.joinmastodon.org/2023/09/mastodon-4.2/

Included in this fix: a major overhaul to how you interact with posts on servers other than your home server. This was both confusing and clunky, and the fix makes it much better. They've also changed how sign-up flow works, making things simpler for newbies, and they've cleaned up the UI, tweaking threads, web previews and other parts of the daily experience.

There's also a lot of changes to search, but search still remains less than ideal, with multi-server search limited to hashtags. This is bad, actually. Thankfully, we don't have to wait for Mastodon devs to decide to fix it, because Mastodon is free and open, which means anyone with the skills to code a change, or the money to pay techies to do it, or the moral force to convince them to do it, can effect that change themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/

Case in point: Mastoreader, a great new thread reader for Mastodon:

https://mastoreader.io/

Every time that guy who owns Twitter breaks it even worse, a new cohort of users sign up. Not all of them stay, but the growth is steady and the trendline is solid:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/of-course-mastodon-lost-users/

It's the right call: while there are other services that promise that they will be federated someday, promises are easy, and there's world of difference between "federateable" and "federated." As GW Bush told us, "Fool me twice, we don't get fooled again":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/06/fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again/

One big difference between the kind of blogging I used to do in my Boing Boing days and the long-form work I do today is the graphics. When you're posting 10-15 times/day, you can't make each graphic a standout (or at least, I can't). But I can (and do) devote substantial time to making a single collage out of public domain and Creative Commons graphics every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

I am not a visual person – literally, I can barely see! – but my daily art practice has slowly made me a less-terrible illustrator. I got in some good licks this week, like this graphic for the UAW's new "Eight-and-Skate" work-to-rule program:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule

That graphic was fun because all the elements were from the public domain, or fair use. I love it when that happens. I've spent years amassing a bulging folder of public domain clip art ganked from the web and this week, it got a major infusion, thanks to the Bergen Public Library's Flickr album of high-rez scans of antique book endpapers. 86 public domain textures? Yes please! (Also, the fact that Flickr has one-click download of all the hi-rez versions of every image in a photoset is another way that it stands out as a remnant of the old, good web, not so much a superannuated relic as an elegant weapon of a more civilized age):

https://www.flickr.com/photos/bergen_public_library/albums/72157633827993925

Speaking of strikes: there are strikes! Everygoddamnedwhere! After 40 years in a Reagan-induced coma, labor is back, baby. The Cornells School of Industrial and Labor Relations' Labor Action Tracker is your go-to, real-time observation post as hot labor summer turns into the permanent revolution. As of this writing, it's listing 968 labor actions in 1491 locations:

https://striketracker.ilr.cornell.edu

There's no war but class war and it was ever thus. Brian Merchant's forthcoming book Blood In the Machine is a history of the Luddites, revisiting that much-maligned labor uprising, which has been rewritten as a fight between technophobes and the inevitable forces of progress:

https://www.littlebrown.com/titles/brian-merchant/blood-in-the-machine/9780316487740/

The book unearths the true history of the Ludds: they were skilled technologists who were outraged by capital's commitment to immiseration, child slavery, and foisting inferior goods on a helpless public. You can get a long preview of the book in Fast Company:

https://www.fastcompany.com/90949827/what-the-luddites-can-teach-us-about-standing-up-to-big-tech

Merchant also talked with Roman Mars about the book on the 99 Percent Invisible podcast:

https://99percentinvisible.org/episode/blood-in-the-machine/transcript/

If that's piqued your interest and if you can make it to Los Angeles, come by Chevalier's Books this Wednesday, where Brian and I are having a joint book-launch (I've just published The Internet Con, my Luddite-adjacent "Big Tech Disassembly Manual"):

https://www.eventbrite.com/o/chevaliers-books-8495362156

Where is all this labor unrest coming from? Well as Stein's Law has it, "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." 40 years of corporate-friendly political economy has lit the world on fire and immiserated billions, and we've hit bottom and started the long, slow climb to a world that prioritizes human thriving over billionaire power.

One of the most tangible expressions of that vibe shift is the rise and rise of antitrust. The big news right now is the (first) trial of the century, Google's antitrust trial. What's that? You say you haven't heard anything about it? Well, perhaps that has to do with the judge banning recording and livestreaming and not making transcripts available. Don't worry, he's also locking observers out of his courtroom for hours at a time during closed testimony. Oh, and also? The DoJ just agreed that it won't post its exhibits from the trial online anymore. You can follow what dribbles of information as are emerging from our famously open court system at US v Google:

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

If the impoverished trickle of Google antitrust news has you down, don't despair, there's more coming, because the FTC is apparently set to drop its long-awaited suit against Amazon:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ftc-poised-sue-amazon-antitrust-163432081.html

Amazon spent years blowing hundreds of millions of dollars of its investors' cash, selling goods below cost and buying up rivals until it became the most important channel for every kind of manufacturer to reach their customers. Now, Amazon is turning the screws. A new report from the Institute for Local Self-Reliance details the 45% Amazon Tax that every merchant pays to reach you:

https://ilsr.org/AmazonMonopolyTollbooth-2023/

That 45% tax is passed on to you – whether or not you shop at Amazon. Amazon's secretive most favored nation terms mean that if a seller raises their price on Amazon, they have to raise it everywhere else, which means you're paying more at WalMart and Target because of Amazon's policies.

Those taxes are bad for us, but they're good for Amazon's investors. This year, the company stands to make $185 billion from junk-fees charged to platform sellers. As David Dayen points out, Amazon charges so much to ship third-party sellers' goods that it fully subsidizes Amazon's own shipping:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-21-amazons-185-billion-pay-to-play-system/

That's right: as Stacy Mitchell writes in the report, "Amazon doesn’t have to build warehousing and shipping costs into the price of its own products, because it’s found a way to get smaller online sellers to pay those costs."

Now, one of the amazing things about antitrust coming back from the grave is that just the threat of antitrust enforcement can moderate even the most vicious bully's conduct. Faced with the looming FTC case, Amazon just canceled its plan to charge even more junk fees:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/amazon-drops-planned-merchant-fee-ftc-lawsuit-looms-bloomberg-news-2023-09-20/

But despite this win, Amazon is still speedrunning the enshittification cycle. The latest? Unskippable ads in Prime Video:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-09-22/amazon-prime-video-content-to-include-ads-staring-early-2024

Remember when Amazon promised you ad-free video if you'd lock yourself into shopping with them by pre-paying for a year's shipping with Prime? The company has fully embraced the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further."

That FTC case can't come a moment too soon.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/23/salmagundi/#dewey-102

[trickstarbrave]

WIP Whenever

I GOT TAGGED BY @thescrolls-haveforetold !!

we've got a serious picture of my little idiot ahkrinaak <;3 im also working on secret santa stuff but NO ONE can see those. not yet.

also i have some moon and star spoilers im really happy with >:) cw for blood

ALSO TAGGING: @boethiahspillowbook @soundwavefucker69 @orfeoarte @caliblorn and @mulberrycafe (if you guys wanna)

--

He hissed as the blade hit skin, slowly peeling away layers of gold to reveal deep, crimson red. 

“Good boy,” Nerevar cooed to him softly, praising him for his resolve. “You’re doing so well for me.” The praise was enough to make his mind feel hazy, gasping and groaning. It hurt—that was obvious. It stung and burned, every little breeze on the injury like fire. The ache though was a reminder of his dedication: proof of his devotion and love. Voryn would only allow Nerevar to hurt him in this way, and would gladly take the pain from his beloved’s hands. Hands that were all at once so violent and gentle, so loving and destructive. 

Finally, it was finished, and Voryn breathed in a sigh, healing spell in hand. He made sure to heal it slowly, stitching the wound shut carefully. He needed it to scar properly after all, leaving Nerevar’s brand on him for all to see. Voryn smiled fondly however as he traced his hand over it; it wasn’t Nerevar’s full name, just the first letter. N—Neht. What Voryn called him so fondly, engraved on his skin in a large enough symbol that it was impossible to deny.

“I thought it would be better like this.” Nerevar explained with a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m not that good at it after all, and my name has too many damn letters.”

“I love it.” Voryn whispered back, reverence in his voice. It would be more legible like this with Nerevar’s clumsy technique. He was not trained in it, after all, and anything more complicated would take an artist’s hand.

Luckily for Voryn, he was in fact an artist.

“Lay down on your stomach.” Voryn mumbled after a few soft, messy kisses. “It’s your turn.”

Obediently—if not excitedly—Nerevar moved off him to lay on his belly, practically buzzing with anticipation. 

Voryn remembered, knife in hand as he crawled on top of Nerevar once more, old Velothi stories and ways their people used to tell fortunes. A mark on your back was often interpreted as from the future, for you couldn’t see the future coming. A mark on the front of one’s body was, by extension, from the past. He wondered if the Three knew that when they placed the moon and star on his chest, if that Ashlander woman was to be believed. 

An injury to the back was at once sacred and profane for the chimer. Hidden attacks and stabs in someone’s back were the ways of Mephala and to some extension Boethiah. To stab someone in the back was an attempt to destroy or change their future, and usually an attempt to cut their life short. But here he didn’t want to take Nerevar’s life, though he knew the other would let him in all of his tender vulnerability at this moment. 

If Nerevar thought it was his future--his destiny--that Voryn would leave him, Voryn would change that. With the knife in hand, Voryn would carve away all the parts of his future that would keep them apart, and make his mark on Nerevar’s very flesh so that it could never be denied. Let the Good Daedra smite him for his hubris if they must, but there must be a reason they marked his chest and left his back bare. 

Nerevar hissed softly at the sting of the blade, fingers clenching and unclenching as Voryn wrote his own name in daedric script across Nerevar’s left shoulder. It would leave his sword arm still free to move with ease while it healed if he needed to fight, and also Voryn found himself drawn to the left side of his body at the moment, pulled to leave his mark there. 

As he carved, slicing skin off in a way that would be sure to scar as cleanly as possible, it became rhythmic and almost trance-like. Red bloomed under the knife, moving down his trapezius to pool along his spine, or slid down the deltoid muscle to the blankets. In the dark, the blood looked more and more black than it did red, mesmerizing as Voryn continued his careful work. The lustful, burning need gave way to something even more primal; a compulsion, an instinct, a drive. He had for so long had the urge to carve his name into Nerevar’s body and repressed it, fearing what kind of a violent, selfish lover that would make him. Yet now, blade in hand and on bloodied sheets, he felt at peace, as though such an act was written in fate. 

Finally, Voryn finished the last letter of his name, the same as the one on his thigh: neht. It was oddly fitting, as though the two of them came full circle, a closed loop. He cast a healing spell on Nerevar’s shoulder, smiling fondly as he stitched the wounds shut carefully so that they would scar as well, before turning his attention to the blood that pooled along his lover’s spine.

“Voryn~” Nerevar moaned sweetly as Voryn lapped it up. It tasted particularly metallic right now; perhaps it was the alcohol in his system or the heavy feeling that clung in the air he had no name for, but he savored the taste all the same. 

“We’re connected.” Voryn whispered with bloodied lips against the pale gold of Nerevar’s skin. Voryn then was hit with deja vu as he remembered saying almost the same when they first made love. Perhaps they really had come full circle; the first time they knew each other’s bodies was just the start of them shedding off everything they used to conceal their love and desires. Now, they had finally completed the cycle, fully open with one another, and fully bound. “Neht…” Voryn whispered with reverence as he continued lapping up the blood from his spine, before trailing his lips up the vertebrae he could feel through his skin, coaxing shiver after shiver from his lover, and placed one last, almost devout kiss between his shoulder blades, before Nerevar rolled over and took Voryn by the waist with him. 

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: The Lemonade Leak

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: "Leo can not sleep, because there is a thing in Donnie's lab, pretending to be his twin. Or: It turns out that being created as a biological super soldier comes with a few... modifications. Some of those, more dangerous than others."

The Lemonade Leak: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is unfinished, and as such, this post will be updated as fanfic updates. This fanfic is only available to those who have an Ao3 profile. This fanfic is written by @turtleinsoup, so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Its complicated, confusing, and filled with exciting plot twists! This is the kind of fanfic where you could read it many times over, and find hints/spoilers in the beginning chapters that you never would have seen till reading further in. So much intricacy!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has incredibly high amounts of suspense, and by suspense, I don't mean 'oh no, what ever will happen?' suspense. But rather 'OHMYFREAKINGGOSH WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN?!?!' kind of suspense. The Lemonade Leak is an incredibly hard to put down fic, and especially because each chapter leads to cliffhanger after cliffhanger! The mystery in The Lemonade Leak is wonderfully well done, and interictally woven into each chapter! I always assume each offhanded sentence said could mean something, and often times, it has meant something!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Angst/Hurt is four out of five!! The Lemonade Leak contains a healthy dose of angst, and hurt in both the physical and emotional departments. The angst is often layered, and is achieved chapters later i.e. a sentence said five chapters ago, comes true, or hurts feelings five chapters later, making it so much worse ^^"

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is two out of five!! This fanfic contains low levels of fluff, and very minimal comfort. There is no happiness, only pain lol. If you enjoy a very angsty, low comfort fic, this one is for you!!"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! While reading this fanfic, I felt so many emotions (including high amounts of stress and anxiety lol) and this fanfic even made me think on a deeper level. I could feel how the characters felt, making this more than just words on a screen."

Drama/Tension Level:💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! The Lemonade Leak is a highly intense read that will for sure have you on the edge of your seat! The tension in each chapter is very palpable, filled to the brim with sibling and twin drama. The best part? Each chapter ends on a cliffhanger, making the panic real."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Triggers are four out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has its fair share of triggering things, ranging from volatile thoughts, to body horror, to medical triggers, and even more! Made me shudder more than once."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! The writing style is incredibly smooth, poetic, and even has some special effects later on, that are incredibly fun to read!! Eye pleaser for sure."

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Legibility (Audio) is two out of five! While some of the poetic writing is incredibly fun to listen to in audio book form, once you get later on in the story, audio book is very hard to listen to. Some of the later chapters, which are in Donnie's POV, are almost impossible to listen to due to the symbols used, and intricate equations placed in the writing. Very hard to understand while listening to, but absolutely gorgeous to look at! The Lemonade Leak is for sure a fic that is more fun to read rather than listen to."

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! The Lemonade Leak has a chapter count of 37 chapters, though that may change as the story progresses."

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

The Lemonade Leak: Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

Chapter 1: The Apostate

Chapter 2: The Fool

Chapter 3: The Maker

Chapter 4: The Prophet

Chapter 5: The Witness

Chapter 6: The Liar

Chapter 7: The Body

Chapter 8: The Carver

Chapter 9: The Believer

Chapter 10: The Devotee

Chapter 11: The Gardener

Chapter 12: The Hostage

Chapter 13: The Caretaker

Chapter 14: The Weapon

Chapter 15: The Bearer

Chapter 16: The Twin

Chapter 17: The Corpse

Chapter 18: The Noun

Chapter 19: The Sculptor

Chapter 20: The Missing

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 3 Available Now!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Carlos is an IDIOT. He’s never listening to his sisters again. He’s never texting again. He’s going to become a monk and live a life of solitude.

He stares at the photo on his screen that is decidedly not Deacon from the bar. Deacon’s eyes didn’t sparkle like that, his smile didn’t look like literal sunshine, and his hair definitely wasn’t perfectly tousled in a way that makes Carlos’ fingers itch to run through it. 

This guy looks vaguely familiar, but the name T.K. doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe he’s seen him at the grocery store? Or they go to the same coffee shop?

However he does or doesn’t know him, Carlos ha never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. His fingers fly as he types out an apology.

Carlos

[8:53pm] Oh my god. I’m so sorry.

Not Bar Guy

[8:53pm] No worries.

Did Deacon give him a fake number? Carlos gets up and searches his mail bin for the cocktail napkin he’d brought home from the bar. The number is still legible and Carlos’ eyes scan it quickly. 512…

Carlos checks the number he’d typed into his messages. 212.

Whoops.

How had that happened? Where the hell is the 212 area code even from? Definitely not Austin. Carlos sighs and shakes his head. Whatever. It’s done. He’ll just…text the right number and try again. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe not. 

He flops back onto his sofa, his head a little swimmy from the whiskey. What a fucking mess. He lets his eyes slide shut. Maybe he’ll just go to sleep and when he wakes up this will all have been an alcohol induced nightmare.

His phone buzzes and he reluctantly opens his eyes to find another text message.

Not Bar Guy

[9:02pm] I definitely would remember kissing someone like you. I hope Deacon appreciated it.

He jerks upright, his heart pounding. Is this guy, T.K., is he…flirting? 

Something about the words and the screen and the whiskey and the calming sound of British bakers in the background emboldens him and he types back.

Carlos

[9:03pm] I like to think he did. I’m a pretty good kisser.

Not Bar Guy

[9:04pm] I’m sure you are. Did he give as good as he got?

Carlos huffs out a breath of surprise, the pounding in his heart easing into a more relaxed sense of fun.

Carlos

[9:04pm] He was all right.

Not Bar Guy 

[9:05pm] Just all right? That was a pretty hot pic for just all right.

He flushes. Yes. Okay. He’d been trying to make a little bit of a point. And maybe it was a tiny bit desperate. But he doesn’t want this guy, T.K., to know that.

Before he can formulate a good response another text comes through.

Not Bar Guy

[9:06pm] Just saying, you look like you deserve a little more than that.

Carlos snorts as he types back.

Carlos

[9:06pm] You’ve decided that from one picture?

Not Bar Guy 

[9:06pm] What can I say? I call ‘em like I see ‘em. It’s a very convincing picture.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Thanks. Yours is pretty good too.

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:07pm] Just pretty good? Ouch.

Carlos

[9:07pm] Ah I knew I could see a sensitive ego in those green eyes. How would you like me to describe it?

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:08pm] Charming, captivating, endearing…

Carlos

[9:08pm] Pushy? Forward?

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:08pm] Forward? Says the guy who sent a thirst trap to a complete stranger…

Carlos

[9:09pm] I thought you were Deacon!

T.K. doesn’t respond for long enough that Carlos wonders if he’s finally gotten tired of the conversation. It’s crazy how disappointed that makes him. He’s just about to call it a night and go to bed when his phone lights up once more.

Not Bar Guy- T.K. 

[9:15pm] Sorry, call came in. Gotta go. This was fun though. We should do it again sometime.

A call? Carlos frowns and pulls T.K.’s picture up again, zooming in. He’d been so surprised and embarrassed he hadn’t even noticed the AFD logo on his shirt. This guy is local? Even though his number is clearly from somewhere else?

That’s probably why he looks vaguely familiar. They’ve likely been on some of the same calls. Big ones, obviously, otherwise he would have gotten a more decent look at the guy. There’s no way he would have forgotten those sea green eyes if they’d ever locked on his in person before. 

The whiskey is making him sleepy, pulling his eyes downward so he drags himself upstairs and readies for bed.

If T.K.’s picture is the last thing he looks at before he closes his eyes…well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Carlos arrives for his shift the next day in a good mood. A really good mood.

“Morning,” he says, setting a coffee from the place down the block on Lexi’s desk. 

“Morning,” she says, looking up in surprise. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Carlos says, sitting down at his desk and booting up the desktop. 

She eyes him suspiciously. “You look perky. More perky than usual.”

Carlos shrugs. “I had dinner with my sisters last night. We had a good time.”

“Mmm….no,” Lexi says. “This isn’t sisters happy. This is something else.”

“Okay, well if you figure it out, let me know,” he tells her. He pulls up his email and then tries to keep his voice casual, as if he hasn’t been planning his next words since the moment he woke up. “Hey, you don’t happen to know a firefighter named T.K. do you?”

It’s the first time he’s said T.K.’s name out loud and it makes his heart flutter. The letters feel familiar in his mouth and send sparks through his stomach. It’s stupid, but this is the feeling he was trying to convey to his sisters last night. Which is dumb. Because he literally knows nothing about this guy.

“T.K.? As in Strand?” Lexi asks.

“Um, yeah?” Carlos hedges. How many T.K.’s can there be in the AFD?

“Isn’t that the firefighter that got shot a couple months ago?” she asks. “Out of the 126?”

Oh. Oh. 

That’s why he looked familiar. His picture had been on every news network, the talk of the department for over a week. Firefighter shot on duty. Crazy stuff.

“Right,” he says. “Now I remember.”

“I think his dad’s captain of that station,” Lexi says. “Why are you asking?”

“His name came up when I was out with a couple of the guys,” Carlos lies. “I couldn’t place him and thought you might remember.”

“That whole house was killed in that big explosion too, remember?”

“Right,” Carlos says, remembering it all too well. He knows people who’d gone to the scene that night and found total devastation. It was awful.

He waits for Lexi to go back to her work and then Carlos does something he promised himself he would never, ever do. He runs a background check for personal reasons.

T.K. stands for Tyler Kennedy. Carlos thinks of the picture he saved to his phone. T.K. is definitely a better fit. It’s fun and cute. Tyler Kennedy is…a little too stuffy for that rumpled hair and cheeky grin.

The shooting pops up obviously, but it’s not the only thing. Carlos clicks on a file from six months ago. T.K. was brought in for drunk and disorderly as well as assault and battery, but he blew a point zero and no charges were pressed. Huh. Interesting.

He clicks on the report of the shooting. It’s grim. Carlos feels sick as his eyes scan the words. Point blank range to the chest, a kid was involved…T.K. is damn lucky he survived.

He can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. They head out on patrol and he can’t help secretly hoping they’ll get rolled to a fire call somewhere. Then he realizes how stupid that is. Fire is a twenty-four hour shift. If T.K. was on last night, he’s probably off the rest of today. 

Carlos hits the gym after work and then the grocery store. Usually cooking puts him in a good headspace, but tonight he’s a million miles away. He can’t stop thinking about their conversation. Or the shooting. Is T.K. okay? Does he have permanent damage? He’s obviously back at work since he went out on a call last night, so does that mean he’s okay now?

This is so stupid, he doesn’t even know the guy. He shouldn’t care this much. It’s just, the thought of that beautiful face no longer being in the world isn’t sitting well with him.

He settles into bed intent on reading, trying to take his mind off of things. But his eyes keep drifting to his phone. 

He should not do this. You don’t text random strangers out of the blue. That’s not normal. It’s not okay.

He picks up his phone and then almost drops it when it buzzes in his hand.

T.K.

[9:13pm] So. Did you get in touch with “Deacon”?

Carlos stares at his phone like it’s some kind of poisonous snake. Did he make this happen? What are the chances T.K. would text him at the exact moment he’d made up his mind to do the same?

Carlos

[9:14pm] What’s with the quotes?

T.K.

[9:14pm] I’m not convinced Deacon is a real person.

Carlos

[9:14pm] You think I kissed an imaginary man in a bar?

T.K.

[9:15pm] Alcohol can make you believe a lot of things…

Carlos

[9:15pm] I’d had one beer!

T.K.

[9:15pm] You’re avoiding the question.

Carlos

[9:16pm] I was at work all day today. There wasn’t time.

T.K.

[9:17pm] No time like the present. Do you want help? I’m very good with words.

Carlos snorts and types quickly.

Carlos

[9:17pm:] I’m not going to text him. That ship has sailed.

T.K.

[9:17pm] Good.

Carlos

[9:18pm] Good?

T.K.

[9:18pm] I feel a sense of responsibility now that I’ve seen your abs. Those deserve to be protected from the average Deacons of the world.

Okay this guy is straight up flirting. They’re about three texts away from a booty call. Which is not something Carlos does. But the shiver dancing up and down his spine whispers at him to make an exception. 

He decides to change the subject before he does something stupid. 

Carlos

[9:19pm] So you’re AFD?

T.K.

[9:20pm] Yep.

Carlos

[9:20pm] But you’re not from here.

T.K.

[9:21pm] Not even a little.

Over the next half hour Carlos learns that T.K. came with his dad from New York to rebuild the 126. And not just New York, but like New York, New York. The kind of New York that Carlos has only seen in movies and on TV.

Even through the phone Carlos can tell it wasn’t an easy move. T.K. seems to be glossing over the finer details, but he does talk about his dad’s cancer and how hard it was to leave his mom.

Carlos can’t even imagine uprooting his entire life to move to somewhere so different. His family is here. His entire life is here. 

Carlos

[9:47pm] That must have been really hard. To leave your whole life behind.

T.K.

9:48pm: I needed the change. My dad saw it. There was nothing left for me there. But yeah. It wasn’t easy. Why does everyone here smile all the time? What’s with all the friendliness?

Carlos

[9:50pm] Well you never know when you might need to borrow somebody’s tractor or an extra pair of hands for calving season. You have to be nice to your neighbors so they’ll return the favor.

T.K.

[9:51pm] Ah, see. I knew that niceness didn’t come honestly. It’s all a ruse.

Carlos

[9:51pm] You got us.

Carlos glances at the clock and sighs.

Carlos

[9:52pm] Hey sorry, I have an early shift again tomorrow. I should probably call it a night.

T.K.

[9:52pm] A shift? At the…hospital? Coal mine? Car wash?

Carlos

[9:52pm] Those might be easier. I’m APD.

T.K.

[9:53pm] Wow you really withheld the evidence on that one officer.

Carlos

[9:53pm] Well I can’t tell you everything all at once. Where’s the fun in that?

T.K.

[9:54pm] I look forward to continuing to play detective.

Carlos sets his phone down and heads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and pauses. He’s smiling. A lovesick, dreamy smile. The sight makes him laugh at himself. He’s an idiot. 

[epithet-beloved]

We need to get Alcatraz some love on here, any ideas for friendships with Allie?

PLATONIC ALCATRAZ HEADCANONS

synopsis… being friends with Alcatraz, the beloved.

ft.  Alcatraz, california slim (sorry he has to be here)

tags… epithet erased spoilers, it’s all fluff, Alcatraz is a sweet guy

word count… 727

a/n… I LOVE ALCATRAZ LIVE LAUGH LOVE ALCATRAZ also calling him Allie is so cute I’m stealing that ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) ✧ 🦇

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Oh Alcatraz. Sweet sweet Alcatraz. He almost cries when you announce yourself as his friend, his high pitched sobs (?) almost entirely covering Slim’s loud groans and protests.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He makes you friendship bracelets!! They’re a bit uncomfortable because he used the steel wool from the prison’s supply closet but please wear yours he’ll be ecstatic if you do.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Hugs you every time he sees you!! If you happen to be just a little too far for him to reach (cough more than 25 feet away from Slim cough) he will definitely pull on the boundary that ties him to Slim just to reach you. Slim slams face first into the ground.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’ll be so thankful if you help him clean his visor of all the ashes and cigarettes; maybe he’ll protest because he can see Slim glaring and complaining, but he truly appreciates it. He feels so clean and fresh after!!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Will definitely shower you in confetti if you tell him about some achievement of yours, no matter how big or small. Every win is still a win and he’s so happy for you!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Talk to him about stuff you like!! He’ll be so happy to listen and ask all sorts of questions, he’s so curious and always loves learning something new.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Definitely asks you for opinions for any jokes he has written down. Some cards are barely legible but he’ll help!! He reads them out to you and if you laugh he’ll be the happiest man (epithet?) on earth!! He’ll also accept any criticism you have on them: he trusts you!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Sometimes you catch him being a little distant with you. If you manage to ask him why, he’ll let out a mumbled apology and admit he’s worried about you being so close to him; he doesn’t want to risk you getting hurt, and it’s a genuine worry with Slim around.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The above probably happens after instances where he had to be fused with Slim for a period of time and forced to do whatever he was doing, which was definitely…. Not up his alley.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Alcatraz will try to stop you if you go to argue with Slim about how he treats him, but deep down he’s moved by how much you care about him.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Trust me when I say Alcatraz is definitely strong. Like hello that’s a whole suit of armor. If he manages to physically interact with you correctly (being a ghost is hard) he’ll definitely carry you around or hold you close to him like you’re some cat.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Speaking of him holding you: he’s cold.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 But like literally; he’s made of metal AND is a ghost, I’m sorry but he’s probably freezing cold.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Wrap him up in a nice blanket and put him in front of a heater for a while he may become a little warmer and you can hug him no problem 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He makes you little gifts in his free time!! He loves handcrafting stuff :) 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He also picks up nice rocks he finds to give them to you and stores them in his helmet for until he meets you again (they’re covered in cigarette ash. Wash them before you display them anywhere–)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The fact you consider him enough of a person to be his friend warms his heart; the kind and friendly way you treat him that contrasts so heavily with how Slim treats him makes him very happy.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He’ll take a while to open up to you to more personal stuff or issues he feels he has, he doesn’t want to burden you

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He hopes you trust him as much as he trusts you!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 I feel like Alcatraz is the kind of guy to just. Never get mad at you. The only times you have any sort of argument is when you want to argue with Slim about his treatment of your friend (!!) and Al feels the need to stop you before you do anything stupid and/or get in a fight with the man

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He Will start calling you his best friend at some point and there’s nothing you can do to stop that <3

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you call him any sort of names that aren’t his full name or Al he will get all giddy. He loves nicknames and will definitely give you one back. 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 It’s honestly more likely he will be the one to give you a nickname first

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Legacy - PART FOUR: MUTAGENS

Summary: What should have been a short stay in Beauclair, turns into something much more complicated. Both to your and Geralt's present and future.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Parts: I II III

Warning: PG - Witcher!AU, Dad!Geralt, Protective!Geralt, Sassy!Reader, Language, Nicknames, Medical Experiment, Portals, Monster Fight, Mention of Smut, Fluff, Mention of Grave Robbing, Witcher Mutagens, Bickering, Mage Technology

Inspiration: A subject from my story, A Witcher’s Destiny, Season Two of Netflix’s the Witcher and the quest, Turn and Face the Strange, in The Witcher 3!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to be added A Witcher’s Legacy Tag List, please message me!

I also have the story on my AO3

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“Who's the letter from, Geralt?” You asked, watching the little carrier boy run off, excited about the ten crowns Geralt had kindly given him.

Frowning, Geralt unfolded the parchment, finding another piece of folded paper inside with a familiar writing in black ink. “Yennefer.” He said softly, casting his eyes up to you for a moment.

“Oh.” You replied, a tight smile pulling across your lips. “A wonder how she found out we were in Toussaint, since we just arrived.” You commented to yourself, moving to a vine covered staircase, with roses the size of your hand, the color of butter and the finest Toussaint Red, making the air so fragrant.

Letting out a humming grunt, Geralt read the letter aloud.

“My dear friend, I've been told you're on a jaunt in Toussaint, with your sweetheart. I've come upon some information which might be of interest to you. While browsing through a colleague's, Tomas Moreau's, book collection, I found mention of him conducting research into mutations.” Geralt scowled at the letter, a troubled feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. “The details I've come to learn are rather vague and his laboratory's location remains a mystery. Yet his journal should at least provide hints as to both. It is said he was laid to rest with it in his tomb. I enclose a map I found in the tome I happened upon. Though less than completely legible, I trust it will prove useful.”

“Your friend, Yennefer.”

“So, mutations.” You echoed, turning back to Geralt and folding your arms tightly over your chest. “What kind of mutations? Was he trying to mutate the normal stuff or do you think he was trying to fuss around with Witcher mutations?”

“It's hard to tell without finding his laboratory and discovering more about his research.” He replied, pushing his jaw forward has he stared down at the letter, mulling it over in his mind. “I need to look into this. If he was testing mutagens for Witchers, then I have to find it and get it back to Vesemir.”

“Before anyone else finds it.”

“All right then.” You nodded, chewing on your lip, just as concerned. “Where to first?” You asked, wishing to help.

“Yennefer's letter said he was possibly buried with the location of his laboratory.” He said, unfolding the map the Sorceress had enclosed. “So, we go there and find it.” Geralt examined the map for a long moment, his brow twitching in his concentration. “It looks as if he was buried in Orlémurs Cemetery. That's not too far from here.”

“We can walk.”

“Lovely.” You smiled, then glanced about. “Which way, you big grump?” You asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Geralt smirked back at you, waving a hand towards the gently sloping, pathway. “This way, Firefly.” He replied, with a cock of his head.

Nodding yours at him, you started down the brick street, Geralt following closely behind you. The Capital city of Toussaint, Beauclair, was gorgeous and it filled you with a light, gaiety that put a skip in your step and a pleased smile on your face. As you looked about. Taking the architecture in, the hot sun beaming down on top of your head and shoulders, reflecting your mood. Geralt smiled at the back of you, seeing and sensing the joyfulness inside of you. He felt it seep into him.

You had an effect on him and his ordinarily sulky moods.

“It's so beautiful here.” You commented, glancing at Geralt over your shoulder.

“That it is.” He agreed, looking about, seeing the bustling stalls and shops, the Toussaintois going about their business and day. “We'll have to make our stay a more serious one.” He said, moving around to your side, his arm wrapping around your waist as you passed through a thick crowd. “I know this is your first time here.” He smiled, dipping his head slightly to press his lips to your temple, in a rare show of public affection.

“Hm.” You hummed, nudging your shoulder into his side. “That would be nice.” You cooed, looking up at him, trusting him to guide you. “You do still have a few injuries to nurse from that Wyvern contract, you took in Caravista.”

He grunted back at you, still smiling as you crossed out of the city gates. “It's settled, then. I'll investigate this matter, and afterwards, we'll find the best room in the best inn, and we won't leave until you wish to.”

“So, until they kick us out?” You quipped, giggling.

“As you wish.” Geralt chuckled, as you both stepped off the paved path of Beauclair and onto the well trod trail to the large, Orlémurs Cemetery.

Making it to the Cemetery, that looked like a manicured set of ruins with grave-sites dotting it, you and Geralt drifted apart, searching the faces of cracked and crooked, tombstones, that had seen many years out in the open weather and tears of loved ones.

“What did Yenn say, this colleague of hers name was?” You called out to Geralt, reading the worn name of Patrick Moulins, who, according to his headstone, had talked himself to death.

“Tomas Moreau.” Geralt returned, walking along a line of graves, before stopping. “Found him!”

You joined him before the overgrown and disheveled grave, the heavy stone that was meant to seal Professor Moreau's coffin in the ground, slightly askew. You looked at Geralt a confused and questioning expression on your face. Frowning back at you, Geralt moved closer to the grave, dropping to a squat to read the mossy etching.

“Typical Mage. It's in Elder Speech.” He huffed, shaking his head. “Ellas k'havani allder aen Dol Naev'de, ellas allder n'corrason. Glorsann a'Aelirenn.” He read aloud, despite it sounding like gibberish to you. “Salvation lies not in Dol Naev'de, but in our hearts. Glory be to Aelirenn.” He translated, as he reached into the grave, through the small opening, feeling around.

“Oh god.” You frowned, biting your lip and imaging his hand touching one of the Professor's bones.

Not the worst thing he's ever touched, honestly. You thought, shaking your head.

“Do you think it has anything do with what you're looking for?” You asked, as he glanced side to side, knowing he was falling into his Witcher seek and find mode.

“Maybe.” He rumbled back. “Someone's robbed the grave, the journal isn't inside.” He said, narrowing his eyes against the bright, cloudless sun and looked around, before standing back up. “The grave won't tell us anything more.” He said, pull Yenn's map from his back pocket.

“A regular ol' treasure hunt.” You quipped, peeking around his arm. “Anything helpful?”

“The map has mention of Aelirenn and Dol Naev'de, also known as Valley of the Nine.” He said, pointing them out on the map for you. “There's a small mark on it. So, it's worth a look. I'll have to grab Roach to make the trip though. It's a long way from here.”

He folded the map up and tucked into his pocket, then turned back towards Beauclair.

“Geralt.” You called out to him, motioning to the grave, when he turned back to face you.

“What?” He frowned, not catching the meaning of your gesture.

“Close it.” You cooed at him, with a somber expression. “It's not right someone disturbed him for a book.”

“We just disturbed him for a book, min minne.” Geralt countered, the corner of his lip twitching.

“Still, Geralt. He deserves his rest, as we all do.” You entreated him.

Drawing a soft sigh, Geralt returned to the grave side and leaned over it, he used the strength of his powerful arms to shove the thick stone slab back into its rightful place over Professor Moreau's coffin. He straightened up and looked at you, lifting a brow, and you nodded at him, satisfied.

“One less dead person risen from the grave you have to deal with.” You commented, sarcastically. patting him on the back and kissing his cheek.

“Funny.” Geralt chuckled, giving your bum a playful smack, making you yip. “You can't come with me.” He said, as you returned to Beauclair and where you had left Roach.

“Why not?” You frowned, a bit disappointed, you enjoyed helping him with his contracts.

“I don't know how dangerous this could be.” He reasoned, grabbing Roach by the reins. “I won't endanger you. So, I'm going to take you to the Rose and Knight inn, in the center of the City, and you'll wait for me there.”

“What if something happens to you?” You argued, following after him, while he led you through the streets.

“What else would be new?” He chuckled at you over his shoulder.

“The new thing is this matter isn't about you going to slay a monster in the countryside.” You huffed, annoyed by how nonchalant he was being. “This professor was mucking about with mutations.”

Geralt's shoulders slumped and he stopped, his head hung for a second, before he finally turned around to look at you. He could see all the concern and fear in your eyes over this task, more so than usual. Which he understood. Considering it for a minute longer, Geralt tugged Roach around and mounted up, then reached down and pulled you up behind him.

“If anything should happen-”

“I know, I know.” You assured him, leaning against his back. “Tuck tail and run.”

The ride through the Toussaint countryside was stunning. The rolling hills of vineyards baking in the cloudless sun, their vines drooping with fat grapes waiting to be picked and turned into area's finest wine. Homey and extravagant villas dotted the landscape as well, abuzz with their daily chores as you Geralt rode by them.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against Geralt's shoulder blade, relaxing. “I could stay here forever.” You cooed, as Geralt guided Roach onto a path that led in a thicket of trees, cooling you with their leaf-y shade, after the unrelenting heat.

“Oh.” Geralt answered, his chuckle rumbling against your cheek. “That's because you haven't seen it in the winters.”

“It can't be much worse than Kaer Morhen.” You commented, smirking.

“Oh, you'd be surprised.”

Coming out of the woods and around the bend of a sloping hill, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop on the shore of a large and startling clear lake, where the two of you got down. Geralt took a sword from a holster that hung the horse's saddle and the pouch of his vials from in the bag, before the two of you started looking for any indication of an entrance to a mysterious laboratory. You walked along the one side of the shore, where the bank was built up, eroded from years of the lake water lapping at, while Geralt check the water.

“What is it with Mages and their mysteries?” You sighed, shaking your head.

“They live too long.” Geralt grunted back. “After so many years on the Continent, they become paranoid and full of themselves.”

“Starting to make a lot of sense.” You agreed, spotting a unique little rock sitting on the edge of the sand and grass. Going for the rock, you noticed a narrow, grassy culvert that went back a good way. You couldn't see where it ended, or if there was an end, with the limbs of several trees flanking the culvert drooping over it, like a leafy curtain.

“Geralt.” You called out, cocking your head and taking a step into the ditch. “What about over here?” You mumbled, inching further.

The Witcher turned, just as you disappeared and called out your name. “She'll be the death of me.” He sighed, hurrying to follow after you. “Wait.” He hissed under his breath, grabbing you by the wrist as he came up behind, pulling you to a halt. “We don't know if the Professor's lab is down here or what is.”

“You need to be careful.” He softly scolded you, protectively.

“Sorry.” You whispered back, but cast your eyes up ahead. “But don't you think we should check it out?”

“I will investigate it. You will stay behind me.” Geralt corrected you, pulling his sword and moving forward.

You stayed on Geralt's heels, while he used the tip of his sword to part the tree branches, the muscles of his body tense and every one of his keen senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary and wishing ill intent. You jerked and gasped softly at the whoop of a bird in the distance, instinctively grabbing the back of Geralt's black shirt.

Coming out of the other side of the foliage, you and Geralt discovered a decayed stone wall. It was covered in moss and dead, creeping vines, several of its ashy stones laying in the spongy, overgrown grass and mud. You saw nothing special about it and figured Geralt hadn't either, so you started to turn back.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled under his breath, stopping you.

“What's wrong?” You frowned, turning back to him.

“I hate portals.” He scowled, moving closer to stone wall and bent over, picking up what you had figured was just a rock, then slotted it into one of the gaps.

A low hissing, hum filled the space around you and the hair on your forearms stood up as the static from the portal mounted. Geralt stepped back from the wall, took a deep breath, and with a jerk of his arm, produced the Sign of his Aard. The Aard hit the stone, making it wobble in its base, before it started to glow and an arched portal appeared on the face of the wall.

“That's promising.” You commented, looking at Geralt with a lifted brow.

He shot you a dark, narrow eyed look and approached the portal, taking deep slow breaths. “What's wrong with a good, solid locked door?” He complained under his breath, before stepping through.

“Kills giant, poisonous monsters for a living. Terrified of portals.” You grinned, hooting with laughter, and following after him.

You came stumbling out the other side, gasping for air, disoriented and nauseous. But managed to land on your feet and was slowed down by Geralt's strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his torso. He looked you over, with an expression that wanted to make sure everything was in the right place and you had all the part you were meant to have.

“I'm fine, Geralt.” You cooed at him, gently kissing his stubbly cheek.

Nodding, he let you go and glanced around the cavernous room you had been spit out into. It smelled damp, moldy, airless and like a nest of Kikimore had been using it as a litter box. You could hardly see more than two feet in front of you, but thankfully Geralt had no such issue. His sharp, cat-like eyes could see around you, as if it was a well lit room. So, you made sure to keep near him, putting your feet where his had been.

The place was like Elven ruins that had caved in or been covered over across time. With tall arches and columns. Rubble and rubbish littered the ground, making your footing unsure as you went deeper in. Geralt stopped, causing you to bump him, your lips parting in question of why he had halted, until you saw the spark of his Igni, lighting something you couldn't quite make out in the shadows. Until, it ignited, a iron brazier, casting an amber glow against the wall and a small radius around its base.

“This is a crazy place to have a lab.” You criticized, giving the place a better look, now that the brazier was lit. “I can understand wanting to do your research in peace and privacy. But hiding your portal in such away, then having to navigate through a ruin to get to it.” You shook your head, confused.

“It seems like over kill.”

“It is.” Geralt agreed, lighting another brazier, that revealed a crumbling set of stairs. “It's only making me more suspicious of what type of mutagens he was working with.”

Your eyes shot up to the back of his head, an uneasy feeling filling your stomach at the thought of Professor Moreau testing Witcher mutagens.

Carrying on, you descended the stairs and passed through a narrow hallway, coming out into an elevated cross way, leading off in three directions, one of which was blocked off by a large statue of a panther. Sighing, Geralt moved forward, investigating the other two paths, in doing so, he discovered the body of the grave robber.

“Hm.” He grunted, shaking his head at the poor soul, but nevertheless, he searched his person for the Professor's journal, only finding a few loose pages of it.

“Geralt.” You called out, softly.

“One moment.” He answered, scanning the pages, learning the Professor had become paranoid with someone trying to break into his laboratory, and had installed security measures.

“Geralt.” You called again, a bit more urgently.

“What is it, min minne?” He sighed, turning on his heels to look back at you.

Your eyes were fixated on the panther statue standing menacingly above Geralt. “Is-is that-” You licked your lips, trying to compose yourself. “Is that statue-the panther's eyes—supposed to glow?” You asked, your voice squeaking a bit at the end as your eyes flared.

Geralt's head jerked upward to the statue, just in time to have the creature strike out against him. “Run!” He roared back at you, fumbling for his sword.

Not needing any other prompts, you turned on your heels and bolted down the hallway from where the two of you had just come. The panther knocked Geralt flat onto his back, forcing him to brace his forearm against its throat in prevention of its powerful jaws from biting into anything vital. Unable to grab his sword, Geralt brought up one foot, yanking a dagger from inside his boot and driving the needle thin blade into the snarling animal's neck. The panther gurgled, then dissolved into a pile of ash, revealing itself to be a specter, one of Professor Moreau's security attempts.

Getting up, Geralt searched for you, running almost full speed down the passageway and up the crumbling stairs. But skid to a halt, when he found you by the first brazier, a look of terror and worry on your face. Seeing Geralt was all right, you ran to him, colliding into his chest and locking your arms around his torso, to hide your face in his neck.

“You see now, why I didn't want you to come?” He sighed, resting his head on top of yours.

You nodded, still to overcome to speak for a second. “I do, but I still want to help.”

“I don't know what help you can be.” He countered, tipping your head back, so you looked at him, studying your eyes. “You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met.” He chuckled, shaking his head, knowing he couldn't deter you.

“It's why you fell in love with me.” You quipped back at him.

“One of the reasons.” He teased back, before becoming serious again. “You'll stay in the room I've cleared, before going any farther, do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear, Witcher.” You nodded, pushing up on your toes to kiss him.

Continuing on, You and Geralt navigated through the maze, hoping you were getting closer to the Professor's lab and the answers to your questions. There hadn't been any more specters to jump out and attack either, but there had been a few traps Geralt needed to disarm, before either of you could move forward. Such as a spike trap, that came up out of the floor.

“This place is endless.” You remarked, edging around the disarmed spikes, heart pounding in your chest.

“Seems that way.” Geralt answered, waiting for you, then entered the next room. “The fuck.” He barked, brow wrinkling.

“What?” You called out, staying in the other room, just like he wanted you to. “Is it safe?”

Geralt took a deep breath, studying the creepy Gargoyles that lined alcoves on the main level, with an inactive portal, while the next two levels were lined with inactive portals. “Stay there.” He barked, slowly approaching two pedestals in the center of the room, on either side of a massive statue, and examined them, finding scrap marks on the sides.

Looking at the Gargoyles, he noticed two of them were missing hands. Narrowing his eyes, Geralt approached one and broke the hand off with blast of his Aard. Taking the heavy piece of stone to the pedestal, he rested it on top and a loud clicking noise echoed in the room, followed by the unmistakable whoosh of a portal opening. Turning in a circle and casting his eyes around, Geralt found one of the portals on the upper level active.

“Geralt.” You shouted, planting you hands on your hips.

“Just wait.” He growled, seeing if he could map out a way up to the portal, but wasn't sure where it would take him or if he could get back.

Taking the stone hand off the first pedestal, Geralt shifted it to the other one, gaining the same results he did with the other one, but opening a portal on the middle tier. Humming, he broke off another Gargoyle hand and set it on the other pedestal, activating both portals, but not the portal on the main level.

“What's the issue, Geralt?” You called out to him, growing curious.

“Mage shenanigans.” He growled under his breath, circling the statue and regarding the other gargoyles and inactive portals.

Impatient with waiting for Geralt to tell you the way was safe, you strode into the room, but jerked back a step, surprised by the thick set of grotesque gargoyles. You recovered quickly though, spotting the singing portals and your frustrated Witcher.

“What's the rub?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“That portal-” He pointed to the portal in question. “needs to activate. But so far, only these two have.” He explained, motioning to the others.

“Mmhm. Quite the situation.” You nodded, biting your lip.

“Yes.” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I loathe mages.”

“Didn't you date one?” You inquired, giving him a teasing and sharp gaze.

“Against my better judgment.” He replied, rolling his eyes.

“So, what happens, if you only have one of the pedestals active?” You asked, studying them.

“Only one of the portals open.”

“Have you tried going through one of them?”

“No, not yet, and I'm not really in a rush to.” He answered, pacing. “I don't know where they go, or if once I go through them, that I can get back here.”

“Perhaps, you're right.” You sighed, gazing at the statue. “Mages do live too long.”

That brought a soft chuckle out of Geralt. “They do.”

Seeing no other options, Geralt began climbing towards the portal on the middle tier, just as you noticed a crevice, low in the robe of the statue. Glancing between it and Geralt, you slipped your hand inside of it, praying not to come into contact with any unsavory creatures that could make their home in the small space, and felt around.

“Geralt, wait!” You called out, your fingers coming into contact with something.

“What is it!” He called back, spinning around as he stood before the portal. “What's wrong?”

“I found something! But I can't quite manage it.” You told him, staining.

“Don't touch it!” He warned you, jumping back down and quickly moving to your side. “It might be a trap.” He told you, his breath hot on your neck.

“And if it's not?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Move, I'll do it. Go back into the other room. In case, something happens.” He ordered you, jerking his white head towards the door.

Knowing that arguing with Geralt was useless, you did as he asked of you, but angled yourself so you could see him. Geralt pulled his glove off and wedged his large hand into the crevice, just finding the button that was hidden inside. With a little wiggling, he pressed on the button and yanked his hand back out again, readying himself for the worst.

Several of the gargoyles turned on hidden bases in the floor, all turning to face the statue and the direction of the inactive bottom portal, and a suspenseful moment later, the portal came to life. Geralt let out a huff of amused surprise, looking the portal over.

“It worked!” He called out to you. “And, it's safe.”

You ran into the room and grinned at the portal, proud that you had figured out a Mage's security system, but felt your stomach twist a little bit. “So, do we go through it?” You asked, looking up at Geralt.

“It's through there or back the way we've come.” He replied, pulling his glove back on. “I'll go first, in case there's anything dangerous.”

“Very well, I'll wait a minute, then follow after you.” You nodded, lightly touching his arm.

Nodding, Geralt stepped through the portal with no further ado and you waited anxiously for a minute or two, stomach in knots not knowing if Geralt was in the fight for his life on the other side, wherever it led. Unable to wait any longer, you slipped through the portal after him, coming out the other side gasping and sick to your stomach, but intact.

“Geralt?” You called out, pressing a hand to your tummy.

“Welcome to Professor Moreau's laboratory.” He replied, coming from around a corner.

You looked about the strange and disheveled space with a shake of your head. “I expected more.” You answered, moving down a set of stairs.

Geralt had lit the many braziers and standing candelabras situated around the room, giving the already unsettling room an unsettling feeling. You found cluttered tables, bookcases, tall brass instruments, a Mage communication device, a large, iron cage and a huge and grotesque, glass specimen jar with something black and almost human floating in it.

“Well, have you learned anything yet?” You asked, hugging your arms against your chest, even with the braziers, there was an eerie cold about the place.

“There are Megascope crystals on a pillow next to Moreau's Megascope.” He motioned to them, next to the mage communication system of three stands, that stood in a circle, a loop at the top, where the crystals rested and a powerful piece of glass to project the image magically etched onto the crystal. “I found another on that desk over there.” He added, motioning over to it.

“I'm going to see what our dear Professor has on them.” He said, moving over to the Megascope.

“I can dig around, see if there are anymore.” You said, glancing about. “Or anything else of interest.”

“All right, just don't touch whatever those are.” He said, pointing to the brass instruments, one of which looked like a strange Iron Maiden.

“Don't have any plans to, love.” You gulped, getting goose-bumps as you edged by them.

Geralt picked up the three crystals, slotting them into the Megascope and turned the rune cylinder at the bottom of one of them, activating that specific crystal's information. A bleak image of Professor Moreau, devoid of color, flickered to life in the center of the Megascope stands. Professor Moreau wore typical mage robes, he had a wrinkled face with a pair of pinch glasses perched on his nose, and spoke with a typical Toussaint accent.

“Today, I begin my great life's endeavor, one greater and more significant than any I have thus far undertaken, for it relates to me personally. To me and my son.” He spoke, confessing his son, Jerome, was a Witcher and he made an oath to recover him, his apparition turning in circles as he spoke.

“So, it is Witcher mutagens.” You said, poking around a bookcase.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, troubled.

The crystal ended with the Professor vowing, Gods being on his side, to reverse the Witcher mutagens in Jerome and make him an ordinary man again.

“I wonder if the Professor managed to do so.” He frowned, turning on the next crystal.

“Observation twenty-two, despite applying a surfeit of toxic substances, significantly more than usual, the subject displayed no symptoms of overdose.” Professor Moreau's reanimated projection explained, as Geralt stroked his scruffy cheek. “This is a minor success. Jerome may be able to tolerate better toxicity.”

The crystal ended with a soft pop and Geralt moved on to the next crystal, explaining how to make the mutagens less taxing and listing the mutagen base. He slotted the last crystal he had in, listening to Moreau speak about how one mutagen could be transmuted into another through the addition of certain ingredients, and of his subject, though on the brink of death, was much stronger than he had been and came back from the edge of death.

“It seems he's enhanced his subject, instead of cured them.” Geralt commented, more to himself than you.

“Have you never met this Jerome?” You asked, coming to stand beside him.

“No.” He shook his head. “But that's not too uncommon. He might be from another Witcher school or dead.”

“Ah. Well, I did find the Professor's journal on Witcher Mutagens.” You informed him, holding up the worn, purple, cloth bound book to him. “I suppose, you want to take it and the Megascope crystals back to Kaer Morhen with us.”

Geralt gave you a golden glance from the corner of his eyes, that told you he did, but not before getting into something you weren't going to be happy about. You sighed at him, letting your hand drop back to your side, eyes falling shut for a moment.

“You want to test this mutagen stuff out, don't you?” You asked, needlessly.

“I do.” Geralt answered, with a short nod.

“Why?” You groaned, looking up at him with a pleading look. “Can't we at least go to Kaer Morhen and do it in a safe environment, with Vesemir? That way, if something happens, we'll have him to revive your stupidity?”

A broad grin passed over his lips. “But all the equipment is already here, min minne.” He cooed at you. “We'd have to build all of it at the Keep.”

“Then, you'd have to fight Eskel and Lambert for first go inside.” You added, knowing that was going to be his next argument. “I thought you were over the whole Trial of the Grasses! You bitch about how hard it was! How much it hurt and blah blah! But you're all pony up to do this?” You scolded him, shaking your head. “Jaskier would be tripping over his lute, if he was here to witness this.”

“What if it fails and you die!” You protested, waving the book in his face.

“I'm sure I'll be fine.” He smiled, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

You rolled your eyes at him. “It's not like I can talk you out of it. So, what do you need me to do?” You sighed, giving in.

“I want you to go through his book and tell me what ingredients I need.” He said, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek, trying to pacify you.

“Very well.” You glanced around and found a low stool by the table, next to the strange Iron Maiden, and took it up, starting to skim through the book, while Geralt investigated the rest of the laboratory.

“Something about a Pale Widow.” You said aloud, still skimming. “Getting a syringe full of mutated giant centipede albumen from the Pale Widow and the Ashwagandha herb.” You looked up at Geralt.

“That's all it states.”

“Well, he has to have it readily here.” Geralt answered, scanning the room, spotting an opening in the stone wall inside the iron cell and a well used needle on the wooden table you sat beside. “Stay here, I'll be right back.” He said softly, heading that way.

“Ger-” You started to call after him, before giving up and going back to reading the book.

Geralt ducked into the opening in the wall, finding a dank and dripping tunnel, following it into a large, cavernous space, the floor deep with stinking mud. He slowly pulled his sword as he dropped into the mud, knowing a space like this was a ripe place for a creature to live and attack. But he only saw the walls lined with eggs, quiet and dormant. His medallion was still, giving no indication of magic or monster wishing ill intent upon him.

Though, he kept a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, approaching one of the eggs. He squatted down and pulled the dagger from his boot, slicing open the egg, to be greeted with a putrid scent, making his nose wrinkle. There was a long dead, juvenile, mutated giant centipede inside. Geralt wouldn't have been surprised if the Professor had been keeping its parent as a pet, breeding it for the eggs in his countless Mutagen experiments, then killed the elder after he gave up, leaving the babies to starve and rot off.

Stuffing his dagger back into his boot, Geralt pricked the curled up corpse with the syringe and drew out what little albumen was left inside of it, getting half a syringe full. He cut open another, until the needle chamber was full, then returned to you.

“All right, Albumen acquired.” He said, holding up the syringe.

“I found the herb, Ashwagandha, in one the chests.” You answered, pointing to where you laid it on the table. “All you have to do, is put them both in that boiler, then get into the machine yourself.” You told him, a hard lump forming in your throat, at the thought of your beloved Wolf getting into the iron maiden contraption.

Nodding, Geralt set the syringe down carefully, along with his sword, before pulling off his boots. He stripped naked and looked at you, seeing the worry and conflict on your face. “I'll be fine, Firefly.” He cooed at you, reaching out to cup your cheek for a moment.

“You best be, or I'll never forgive you.” You whimpered back, turning your head to kiss his palm.

Adding the ingredients and activating it, Geralt stepped into the machine, while you stood there, helplessly. You paced before the machine for several minutes, figuring that's all it would take, listening to it pop, hiss and clank. But ten minutes went by and Geralt didn't step out. Thirty minutes, still Geralt was inside. You grew concerned, debating on whether or not you should open it and check on him.

Perhaps he'd passed out and couldn't open the door himself? Or what if he was-

No, he's fine. You cut off the thought, pressing a fist to your mouth. He knows what he's doing. Geralt knows his limits. You tried reassuring yourself, pacing from the bottom of the stairs to the back of the room, your restless impatience growing as the hour and half mark was passed.

You started at the sound of unoiled hinges opening, lifting your head from the table you had rested yourself on, several hours before. However, seeing the door to the machine open and realizing Geralt was finally coming out, you jumped to your feet and rushed to him, just getting your arms around his torso as his legs gave out from under him.

“Geralt!” You panted, feeling his burning skin through your clothing, his head heavy on your shoulder as you both went down to your knees. “Are you all right?” You inquired, hearing his breathing slightly labored.

You cupped his face in your hands and pushed his head up, shocked to find his eyes glowing, the skin of his face dark and marked with black lines, as if he had taken one of his potions or elixirs. He didn't speak for a long time, just catching his breath and resting against you, his eyes and skin returning to normal.

“I'm all right.” He rasped, gulping thickly, his throat and mouth dry. “I'll be all right.” He groaned, pushing himself up onto his feet, wobbling for a second. “How long was I in there for?”

“Hours.” You replied, standing as well. “I was starting to think you weren't coming back out.”

He nodded, moving around the table for his clothing, which in your anxious impatience, you had folded. “We should go.” He said, sluggishly pulling them on.

“For fuck sake, Geralt, sit down and rest for a moment.” You barked at him, pointing to the stool by his leg.

“I'm fine.” He grunted back at you, bunching up his black shirt to pull it over his head and jamming his feet into his boots.

“All right, fine.” You huffed back. “While you were having a merry jaunt in there, I found a map of this place in the Professor's journal.” You told him, with a lifted brow. “Behind that bookcase is supposed to be a hidden passage out, that's shorter.”

“Good.” He nodded, looking towards the Megascope.

“I have the crystals and the journal.” You assured him, resting your hand on his back, feeling the tense muscles there. “I took care of all that, while waiting for you to finish cooking in your Mutagen steamer.” You quipped, forcing a smirk.

Grunting and nodding again, Geralt continued and shoved the bookcase out of the way, finding a vulnerable wall behind it. Without hesitation, he used his Aard on the loose bricks, blasting them inward and rocking the room around you.

“Gods alive!” You gasped, grasping the back of Geralt's arm.

Geralt chuckled and the two of you followed the low ceiling tunnel, finding another portal, that was simply activated by a crystal that laid on the ground. Stepping through, you found yourselves back on the shore of the lake, but a mile or two down from where you had originally entered. With a shrill whistle, calling Roach, you and Geralt walked along the water, to meet the horse, while also enjoying the fresh and cool air.

“I look forward to that luxurious room at the inn.” You commented, getting up behind Geralt on Roach. “To a nice, hot bath. That experiment has made you a bit-foul.” You chuckled, resting your chin on his shoulder and peeking around at him.

“More than usual?” He asked, cocking a brow at you.

“Just a tad.” You laughed, squeezing your arms around his waist.

He spurred Roach back to Beauclair and got a handsome room for the two of you, at the Rose and Knight Inn, that sported its own tub and a balcony, letting you see the vineyards and apiaries in the rolling hills past the city gates in the distance. You stayed for two weeks, not leaving the room for anything. Having your meals brought up to you. Preferring to stay in bed or the bathtub together. It was romantic and refreshing.

[chaotic-lesbian-but-also-a-tree]

hi this is saph os dear-ao3 and i am queuing all of your posts rn and it makes my heart so entirely happy that 1. they're all cropped properly 2. they're all edited properly 3. they're all legible and 4. they're all funny. submit all the tags you want at literally any time this is a wonderful queuing experience i wish everyone who submitted was exactly like you i haven't had to delete a single one yet MWAH

♥️ I am getting a good grade in submitting posts, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve

(I do have more but it wouldn't let me submit any more, I'll try again later)