#Absorbent paper market

[chemicalmarketwatch-sp]

Absorbent Paper Market: Projections, Opportunities, and Key Industry Trends to 2028

The absorbent paper market is experiencing strong growth, with projections estimating it will reach USD 177.3 billion by 2028 from USD 135.0 billion in 2023, at a CAGR of 5.6%. This growth is largely attributed to an increase in hygiene awareness, evolving consumer preferences, and innovations in manufacturing. Known for its high porosity and efficient liquid absorption, absorbent paper finds extensive uses across sectors, including personal care, healthcare, food service, and packaging.

Key Types and Applications

The absorbent paper market includes a variety of product types, each with specific applications:

Wet Crepe: Valued for superior absorbency and strength, wet crepe is widely used in hygiene products such as paper towels, tissues, and napkins due to its exceptional liquid absorption capabilities.

Tissue Paper: Soft and highly absorbent, tissue paper is indispensable in products like facial tissues and paper towels, where quick absorption is key.

Scrim-Reinforced Paper: Integrating a reinforcing mesh, scrim-reinforced paper is ideal for medical and industrial wipes, which require both absorbency and durability.

Surgical Drapes & Gowns: In healthcare, absorbent paper products like surgical drapes and gowns play a crucial role in infection control, maintaining hygiene in medical environments.

Absorbent paper’s applications extend beyond personal care to include food wraps, wipes, and filter papers, addressing the growing demand for convenience and cleanliness in various industries.

Market Drivers

The demand for absorbent paper is being driven by heightened awareness of hygiene and sanitation globally. With consumers prioritizing cleanliness, products such as toilet paper, tissues, wipes, and sanitary napkins are in high demand. The COVID-19 pandemic has further intensified this focus, significantly boosting disposable absorbent product use.

Healthcare sector expansion also contributes to this growth. Aging populations and advancements in medical technology are driving the need for sterile surgical attire, with absorbent materials offering effective fluid-wicking and infection control benefits.

Opportunities for Growth

Healthcare continues to offer significant growth opportunities, particularly with the rise in infection control measures, which is driving demand for absorbent surgical drapes and gowns. These products are cost-effective and eliminate the need for washing and sterilizing cotton-based alternatives.

In food service, the demand for specialty coffee and convenience foods is boosting the need for high-quality filter papers and absorbent wraps that meet hygiene standards, especially in packaging and food preparation.

Regional Insights

North America is among the fastest-growing regions in the absorbent paper market, driven by strong hygiene awareness and consumer preferences for convenience. Meanwhile, the Asia-Pacific region is emerging as the fastest-growing market due to rapid urbanization, increased disposable incomes, and rising health awareness.

To get more insights download PDF brochure : 

As the absorbent paper market expands, key players such as Kimberly-Clark Corporation, International Paper, Georgia-Pacific LLC., Metso Group, and Ahlstrom are driving growth through strategic initiatives and innovations. For professionals in the filter paper, toilet paper, napkins, surgical drapes and gowns, food wraps, and wipes industries, understanding these trends is crucial. Focusing on sustainability and meeting consumer expectations will be essential to thrive in this evolving market landscape.

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.

[theowritesstuff]

Everything

Kaz Brekker x gn!healer!reader

Requests: “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” & “You are everything. Everything.” Although I did change it to “You are everything to me. Everything.”

Warnings: bruises, knives, guns, stabbing, blood, murder (feral Kaz)

A/N: Yeah, this is pretty dark guys. If you’ve watched the show/read the books you’ll be fine, but the crows plotlines are usually dark. I actually really like this one though! Italics are Kaz’s thoughts.

Request a prompt with one of my characters!

Kaz Brekker was methodical. He planned everything he could down to the very minute. It was how he was able to become the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel. No one dared cross Kaz, in fear of losing their life.

His crew were nearly as untouchable as he was. Jesper, the sharpshooter. Inej, the wraith. Wylan, the demolitions expert. Nina, the heartrender. And Matthias, the druskelle. They, along with their leader, made up one of the most prominent gangs in Ketterdam.

Then there was you. You were the crow that Kaz kept tucked away from the rest of Ketterdam.

Nina had brought you to Kaz after finding you help a small child with a nasty scrape on his knee. She watched as you guided your hand over the scrape, and the cuts disappeared. She hadn’t seen another Corporalnik in Ketterdam before, and knew that having a healer would help immensely when it came to heists.

Kaz was reluctant to take you in, only agreeing once he’d seen you heal a black eye Jesper had been sporting for a few days. He gave you a room at the Slat, gave you a few kruge, and introduced you to the other crows.

They were all easy to get along with. Nina helped you ease into this new life, often times joining you for meals, or taking walks through the markets with you. You had an obvious initial distaste for Mathias, often times choosing to stay away from the druskelle, but seeing him with Nina quickly put you at ease. Inej was incredibly kind to you, and graciously thanked you whenever you healed her. Wylan and Jesper were easy to get along with, often times too absorbed in each other to be aware of other things going on around them.

Then there was Kaz. It was more difficult to have a working relationship with Kaz, anyone could tell you he usually kept to himself unless he was giving orders or collecting kruge. You tried not to take his indifference to you personally.

You do remember the day things changed between you and Kaz though. The group had all come back from a heist exhausted, some injured, some just tired, but you could see Kaz out of the corner of your eye walking to his room quicker than he usually does. You followed him upstairs, and softly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” He grunted.

You’d never been in Kaz’s room before, you don’t think anyone other than Kaz actually has. It’s dark, and honestly exactly what you’d expected. A bed in the corner, a desk against the wall cluttered with paper, and a wardrobe that he was currently riffing through.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace me with your presence Y/n?” He asks, his tone sharp.

“How did you know it was me?” You shuffle forward, and close his door behind you.

“Everyone else knows not to bother me after a job.” He turned his head towards you slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of red on his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” You take a step towards him. He steps back from you instantaneously.

“I’m fine.” He turns back to his wardrobe.

“Saints, why must you be so stubborn?” You sigh. He doesn’t answer you. “I thought you hired me to heal you, so let me do my job.”

It’s his turn to sigh this time. It would be nice to stop the stinging sensation on his face. He glances at you, then gestures you towards him. “Fine.” He sits down in the chair at his desk, and watches you slowly step towards him.

You slowly move towards him, aware of the way his shoulder tense with every step you take. You don’t know exactly what’s happened to him, but you can easily tell he’s got some sort of touch aversion after watching him for a while. The black gloves that never come off his hands are used as another layer to keep others away.

Once you’re standing in front of him you take a look at the thin cut across his cheek. “I didn’t know the bastard of the barrel could bleed.” You murmur.

You don’t fail to miss the slight upward quirk of his lips at your comment. He holds his breath as your fingertips hover over him. He expected to feel the waters rise up in his chest, drowning him, instead he’s surprised to feel warmth from your hand. You’re careful not to actually touch him, pulling away once he’s been healed.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You ask, stepping away from him.

That was the moment you became more than just the Dregs’ healer. Whenever you went out anywhere Kaz would send Inej with you for protection. He knew how valuable a grisha was in Ketterdam, and he was not going to let someone else take you away. He called you into his office in the Crow Club or his room in the Slat more often. Sometimes he’d need you to heal a paper cut, other times he’d just want your company while he planned out heists. On nights where he came back banged up more than usual he’d bare more skin to you, allowing you to heal him and provide him the comfort a part of him so desperately needed.

He’d never let it be known he was growing some kind of attachment to you. You were a weakness to him, and Kaz Brekker didn’t have any weaknesses.

It didn’t take long for the other crows to figure out something was different between the two of you. Kaz was a cold, corrupt gang leader, but they could see a shift in him when you were near.

He’d give you his coat if you felt cold on the walk from the club back to the Slat. He kept your favorite drink in stock at the Crow Club. He’d look to you for your opinion on plans for heists. He whispered comments to you while he thought the others weren’t paying attention, a smug grin growing on his face as you laughed at what he’d said. Soft isn’t the right word for what Kaz had become when you were near. He was gentle with you.

Jesper caught you sneaking out of Kaz’s room early one morning still in the clothes you’d worn the previous day. He smirked at Kaz as he ate his breakfast for the day.

“Have a pleasant night boss?” He asked over his cup of coffee.

Kaz raises a brow at him, silently asking what he meant.

Jesper simply looks over at you, who is currently in conversation with Nina and Mathias on the other side of the room. His eyes travel back to Kaz, gleaming with mischief.

Kaz looks like he’s about to hit Jesper over the head with the crow’s head of his cane. He gets a stern talking to in Kaz’s office later that day, and is informed that if anyone finds out about his meetings with you, his precious revolvers might end up on someone’s table in the market.

No one mentions any changes they’ve seen in Kaz after that. Everything goes smoothly from then on, until one particular heist.

It was a lot like any other heist, sneak into a place, steal something that costs an exorbitant amount of money, then sell it for twice the price. The problem was Kaz needed someone to sneak into a crowded party, and at that point most of the barrel could pick out any of the crows in a crowd. They needed someone that could be inconspicuous.

It was the perfect job for you. You’d always wanted to go on the crazy adventures your friend went on so often, and this was finally something you could swing.

When you volunteered to step in, Kaz immediately refused. There was a reason he kept you locked away in the Slat during jobs.

No amount of kruge is worth putting your life on the line.

He gives excuse after excuse as to why you can’t be used. You haven’t done this before. You don’t know your way around the building. They need their healer ready to treat them afterwards.

I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

“You don’t even know how to use a weapon.” Kaz sighed, barely looking up at you from the blueprints on his desk.

“Inej can teach me, right?” You turn to the wraith with pleading eyes.

Inej stutters as she looks between you, and the icy stare coming from Kaz.

“Besides, you said that you wanted me to learn how to fight.”

No, I said you should learn to use a weapon. I figured Jesper would let you shoot a few bottles behind the Slat.

“We need them boss. Y/n is our best bet.” Jesper shrugs as he becomes the receiving end of Kaz’s glare.

Kaz looks back down at his blueprints. He knows it’s going to be a busy event, and the others will be spotted on sight. He briefly wonders if he can hire someone else to do the job, but then he looks back up at you. He trusts you, more than he’s trusted anyone in a long time. He knows this is something you’re perfectly capable of, but is it something he’s willing to risk?

“Fine.” He grunts. “But Jesper and Inej will teach you to use their weapons first.”

Your hearts swells up with pride. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thrown yourself over his desk to hug him. “Thank you Kaz. I promise you won’t regret this.”

If only you knew how wrong you had been.

You did train with Inej and Jesper prior to the heist. You even practiced fighting with Mathias a little bit, who was significantly holding back his punches in fear of actually hurting you.

Kaz had made sure to drill his instructions into everyone’s heads, until they could repeat their schedules without thinking about it. Everything had gone to according to plan on the night of, until things took a drastic turn.

He kept an eye on you for as long as he could, until he was needed somewhere else, leaving you in the crowd of the large hall completely isolated from the rest of the group.

You were doing well on your own, slowly becoming more confident as you strolled around and made conversation. You managed to distract all of the merchants with conversation long enough for the crew to get what they needed. It was nearing the time Kaz told you to meet him outside when you were spotted by someone. You vaguely recognized the face, it was a man you’d seen in the Crow Club a few times.

He must’ve known about your affiliation with the crows, because next thing you know you’re being escorted the opposite direction you need to go. You try to stay calm, and remember what Jesper and Inej taught you about fighting, but you know with them holding onto your arms it’ll be near impossible to reach for the knife you have hidden away.

You end up in a courtyard behind the building when they start to question you. Simple things like “why are you here?” and “where are your friends?”. They quickly become aggravated with your innocent act, and become more incessant.

All it took was for one of the men holding you to loosen his grip for you to swing your arm away, and hit him on the side of his face with your elbow. Chaos ensued immediately. You were able to grab your knife, and used it as best you could against the three men fighting you. You had taken a few hits, but were able to stand your ground fairly well, until you felt a sharp pain in your side.

You froze, partially from shock, but mostly from the searing pain you felt. You looked down to see a dagger lodged in your side, being held onto by one of the men. He had a wicked grin on his face as he twisted the knife inside of you. You wailed out as he pulled the knife from your body, and watched as you collapsed to the ground.

“Brekker won’t be able to save you from that, little bird.” He snikered, then ran back inside with the others.

You could feel the blood pooling at your side. You tried to press a hand to the now sticky fabric of your shirt, and put pressure on the wound. You were far too hurt to be able to concentrate your powers to one spot. Your vision started to get spotty when you heard voices above you. A girl’s voice, clearly in distress, and a boy’s voice, sharp and stern.

More hands pressed to your side, then something was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You couldn’t hear what they were actually saying before you felt yourself being picked up, and held in someone’s arms. You looked up to see the figure that was holding you. A bigger build, wide shoulders, blonde hair? Mathias. Had you been conscious enough to speak you would’ve made a joke. Something about a druskelle carrying a grisha to safety. He’d laugh, but retort, telling you about how many times he’s had to save Nina.

You let yourself fall into the darkness after a while, your head lolling against Mathias’ chest. It’s okay, you thought, you knew you weren’t going to make it as soon as he pulled that knife out of you. You just wish you were able to see your friends one last time, to see Kaz one last time.

Kaz could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to keep a calm composure, but anyone of the crows could see the anxiety building up in him. He was barking orders as soon as he saw you laying on the ground, a puddle of your own blood surrounding you. The waves start to build in his chest. He wants to reach out and touch you, to give you any semblance of comfort, because you’re not dead, there’s no way he’s letting you die. He’ll destroy all of Kerch before he lets that happen.

He notices when your head lolls. “Quickly.” He urges the group, speeding his own pace back to the Slat.

Once everyones regrouped they all gather in your room, where Mathias has lain you down on your bed.

Kaz tosses a pouch of coins to Jesper. “Go get some medicine. I don’t care how much it costs. Get the best you can find.”

Inej kneels down next to you, whispering prayers to her saints. Mathias leaves to gather supplies to help you. Nina keeps your heartbeat steady, her hands hovering above your chest.

The waters have reached his lungs now, pulling him down deeper into the ocean. Your blood coats the scarf Inej tied around you earlier, staining the blue material a dark, deep red.

“Saints! Kaz, your heartbeat is obscenely loud! Could you please go anywhere else?” Nina snaps at him.

Kaz doesn’t move for a moment, then quickly leaves your room to go to his own. He attempts to slow his breathing, to calm himself down, but anytime he closes his eyes he sees you again. You and Jordie.

It’s days before he talks to anyone. He only ever leaves his room to step into yours. Nina occupies a chair near your bed, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Still alive.” Is all she says to him. He nods, then retreats back to his room.

He scours any and all information he has about the party, until he finds what might give him some relief. He leaves the Slat early one morning, and doesn’t return until late that evening. The gold crow’s head of his cane is now a bright crimson color. Blood is splattered on his neck, and one can assume his clothes as well, though the black hides it well from anyone giving him a second glance.

Jesper is surprised to see Kaz in such a state, knowing that he liked to keep up appearances.

“Hey boss, you’ve got a little…” he trails off, gesturing to his neck.

“It’s not mine.” He rushes passed Jesper, back to his room to start scrubbing the blood away.

You wake up about a week after the heist. Your throat is dry, and you feel incredibly hungry. Your limbs feel weak when move to sit up.

Nina sits next to you on a chair. She’s slouched over, soft snores falling from her lips. You softly nudge her, and let out a hoarse “Nina.”

She grumbles to herself as she wakes up. “Kaz, they’re fine.” She slowly opens her eyes to see you staring back at her, and she gasps. “Saints! You’re awake!”

You point to the cup that sits next to her, and gulp down the water when she hands it to you.

She stands up and looks towards the door to your room. “I’m going to go get Kaz.”

You grab her wrist before she can leave you. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can deal with incessant “I told you so”s right now.”

Nina scoffs. “Oh please, he’s been worried sick about you. I had to kick him out of here because his heartbeat was distracting me from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He even paid for some pretty pricey medicine for you. Speaking of which, here, take these.” She holds out a few pills. “Now, I’m going to go get Kaz, and maybe after this near-death experience you two will finally just tell each other that you love one another.”

“What? I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shake your head.

“It’s okay, he’s not very good at hiding it either.” She smirks at you before she leaves.

She’s only gone a few minutes before your door swings open with Kaz in your doorway.

“You’re awake.” He says.

You shift so that you’re sitting up on your bed. Kaz closes your door behind him, then sits down in the chair Nina had been using, his eyes trained on the floor ahead.

“I’m sorry about the heist Kaz. But I promise I didn’t tell them anything-”

“I know.”

You furrow your brows. “You know?”

He looks up at you. When he does this, you realize just how close you are to him. You can see every detail in his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled in the dim candlelight of your room. You could brush your leg against his if you shifted. You start to move away from him, afraid of touching him, but stop when what sounds like a plea escapes him.

“Stay.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding, and relax beside him.

“Nina said you were worried about me.” You say softly.

He laughs a little, shaking his head. It’s a sight he’s reserved for just you. “Of course she did.”

“Were you?”

He looks into your eyes as if he’s searching for something. “I was.” He takes a breath, then turns his body so he’s facing you. “You scared me Y/n. I thought you had died, or were close to it. And I…” His admission is quiet. “Don’t make me say it. I can’t say the words.” He hangs his head in shame. The bastard of the barrel can’t admit how he feels.

“I understand.” You nod. “I feel so much love for you Kaz, you consume my every thought. You don’t need to say anything. I understand.”

He looks up at you, surprised. Surprised that someone as pure as you, someone who was literally made to heal, could ever love someone who’s caused so much pain as he has. He slowly removes his right glove, and drops the leather to the ground. He lifts his hand to your face, hovering near your cheek.

“You don’t have to.” You whisper, body frozen.

“I want to.” He takes a deep breath in an attempt to push the waves down, and slowly caresses your cheek. His throat tightens up, and for a moment it feels like he’s drowning again. But he focuses on your warmth, and his breathing slows down again. “You are everything to me. Everything.”

-

[pix-writes]

Catalogues

Stanley Pines x F!Reader (one shot)

AO3

Tags: mild mentions of sex work, homelessness and implied sexual trauma, angst with comfort, fluff, smutty themes (stan gets a little of the TLC he deserves), newly established relationship, implied age gap (not specified but are both adults)

Rating: Mature | 18+ MDNI

Summary: based on the prompt on this post from lore on thisisnotawebsitedotcom by @razziematazz

Words: <1.6k

Shrugging with the heavy box in your arms to adjust your grip, you called out into the shack. “Hey! Stan! I’ve got a surprise!”

You couldn’t believe your luck when you had found this stack of old-looking comics at the big yard sale, Stan was going to be thrilled.

Now here you were, spreading the contents onto the living room floor. 

“So, did I do good or what?!”

“You did great, toots! How much did this cost?”

“Pff! That’s not important!” You grinned, watching as Stan flicked through one of the comics. “How old do you think they are, anyway?”

“Definitely vintage, some of ‘em are probably older than you!” He said with a wicked glint in his eye.

“Shut up!” You laughed, throwing a mock punch. “I’m not that young, you know.”

Stan caught up your wrist easily, motioning like he was about to bite off your fingers he chuckled at your squeal, before placing a kiss to your palm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say sweetheart.”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into you.” You muttered reaching into the box to pull out another pile, some of the glossy paper slipped through your hands, landing with a slap on the floor.

Stan snatched up a few just as you registered what you were looking at.

“Oh.” The heat rose to your face.

“"Now this is interesting! Who knew you were the type to buy a load of dirty ol’ mags, huh?”

“I didn’t know they were in there, the guy selling them likely didn’t either.” He was trying to be sly, but you could see he pocketed one of them and you reached to snatch one up. He stretched his arm up, so it was out of your grasp. “Hey! Stan! C’mon, that’s a double standard.”

“Hmm… I’m just gonna take a peek, maybe it’ll give me a few ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m glad the kids aren’t here!”

You dove to reach the ones in your partner’s hand and this time he let you take it.

Sitting on the couch you both glanced at the forbidden material and giggled.

“Oh man, some of this stuff is older than me! And terribly niche!” You were so absorbed in looking at the men in the catalogue, hair and clothing looking so dated now, that you didn’t notice how quiet Stan had gotten. “I mean, hunky drifters, who even buys this stu-”

You had turned the page to an image that was familiar from photos you had seen before, though admittedly, he had more clothes on in those. Swallowing thickly as you realised that the eyes staring back out of the page at you were definitely those of your partner’s.

Stan remembers it clearly, though some of the details are hazy, he remembers the ad, the amount of short-change in his pocket and the duffel bag with the broken strap he kept over his shoulder. The nice lady at the desk had the gift of the gab and reeled off what they wanted, how he fit into it, how much money he could get. The place didn't look too classy, but it was warmer than it was outside.

"That's all part of it, darlin', it's supposed to be real, that's what our customers want!" She'd said with a wink and a squeeze of his arm, after he'd voiced some misgivings about taking off too much. He remembered the beady eyed photographer and his small crew directing him…

The place was a total meat market too, as he glanced around, he’d seen other people there to model all under dismissive eyes or hungry ones. The comments he’d gotten had made him shiver and he’d tried ever since to block them out of his mind. 

He'd only left with a fraction of what they'd promised, but it was better than nothing, even if his ears were burning.  

You couldn’t tear your eyes away for a few long moments. Stan was lying, no leaning, against the hood of a beaten-up looking car, rough jeans unzipped, cock in his grip red at the tip and dribbling precum. His face held a crooked, almost nonchalant smile - if that was a thing. Like he knew he looked good and he didn’t care who was watching. And yet… the camera had managed to pick up the faint blush over his cheeks. It sent a spark of heat straight down to your groin.

You practically dropped the magazine when you saw the second photo, the younger Stan was in the backseat of the car, legs spread, the camera took the shot from a low angle which meant there was little left to the imagination, since the only thing he was wearing was a loose, open hoodie…

“Oh my, Mr Mystery! I never knew you did this, how scandalous!” You said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though your mouth felt dry.

But Stan didn’t say anything, your smile dropped as he turned away.

"Stanley.” That gave him pause. You only said his full first name when you were being serious or affectionate. "Tell me what’s wrong…. Are you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“Then tell me. I’m sorry, I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to poke fun.”

Stan sighed, turning to look at you once again. “It’s not to do with you, baby. I… you know about my driftin’ days?” You nodded. “I needed some quick cash, I saw this ad, talked to a couple people who told me it was some modelling photoshoot. Hah, well, naively it sounded kind of classy to me then, but it turned out to be… not. But it was okay, I guess. Just didn’t think any of it would still be lying around.”

"What did you, um... Think about, when you...?" You couldn’t help but let the words tumble out of your mouth.

"I don't remember thinking much of anything… 'cept wanting money for a warm bed."

You looked as the man shrugged like it was nothing whilst you felt like your heart, once again, shattered into a million pieces for him. "Oh, honey..."

He cringed at your tone. You couldn't have that.

You took his hands into your warm ones, stroking your thumbs over them.  "Stanley. Look at me... Do you honestly think I'd judge you for this?"

He squirmed at your directness. “I... You... I dunno, you're so..."

"So?"

"So... Uhm... Fine! I thought you might, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly a pinnacle of virtue, baby.”

“Yeah, but, you deserve better than me, ya know?” He smiled weakly.

“I don’t pity you and I’m certainly not going to judge you for surviving. Hell, I wouldn’t judge you if you’d done it for fun, either…In fact, I, uh…”

Stan registered the way you ducked your head, hands clasped together, like you had done on your first date. “You what?”

“Never mind.” You said, getting up to gather some of the magazines together. “L-let’s just-”  

"-Hey! Hands off the merchandise, toots." He swiped the damn magazine still open to the pages he featured in from underneath you.

“I’ve told you, now you’ve gotta tell me.” He crooked a finger underneath your chin, so you had to look up at him.

You bit your lip. "I found it, um, attractive."  

"Oh yeah?” He leaned in close, that same crooked smile forming, though you could see that the light of it reached his eyes this time. “How attractive?”

“Very.” Stan hummed in response waiting for you to continue. “I-I liked the way you looked, confident and also flustered. You looked good.”

“And what about now, does the real thing live up to it?”

Your hands had started to roam his body, pulling at his shirt, grabbing at his stomach, knowing he was self-conscious about it, despite your insistence that you loved it. You felt almost breathless and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “Let me show you.”

Finally, you were pushed back into the cushions as he kissed you. Feeling the heat of his body on top of yours as you deepened your next kiss. “Touch me.”

He pushed a hand up your shirt teasing and pinching your nipples with his hand. You whined.

“Stanley.”

“I know, doll, I know. So needy.” He rearranged your positions so he could properly grind against you, pulling off your sweater in the process. He moaned into your open mouthed kisses, tongue stroking over his own.

Just when you were starting to unbutton your pants, you heard as someone pulled up onto the gravel outside and a bunch of different voices.

“Shit!”

You don’t know how you managed to untangle yourselves, but soon you ware hastily gathering up the salacious material.

“Sixer's finished his trip with 'em early!”

Taking stairs two at a time, you managed to dump the box in a hidden spot in your room by the time you heard your names being called by Ford.

“Wait a second.” You took the copy of ‘hunky drifters’ out of Stan’s pocket and tucked it under the mattress. “For later.”

A blush creeped up his neck. "You'll be the death of me, doll."

[karlachismylife]

For the celebration! The Prompt: laying their hand on the other’s leg. The pairing SoapxReader or DammonxReader, you choose! >:3 pls and tyyy

Never ask me to choose again, darling, I'm polyamorous for a reason >< You get both! And also lots of love from me for your support and overall awesomeness <3

Link to the celebration post for anyone interested here!

Emotional Support Dog

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!civilian!reader

Even the air around you feels charged with anxiety. No amount of meticulously created comfort can tone it down: tucked into the soft corner of your couch, surrounded with pillows, a blanket, a steaming cup and a bowl of snacks to accompany fat stacks of papers to read, you still feel nervous. No one can blame you though: your boss wasn't particularly fair informing you of the upcoming meeting late. Very late. Couple of days before a very important meeting with your place at the company depenging on it - that sort of late.

Goddamn corporate.

So it's not surprising that you're slightly crumbling under pressure to get prepared with all available documentation; maybe they're trying to set you up to be at their mercy or fail, but you're not going down without a fight. Even if the fight makes your knee bounce nervously and the almost-forgotten nail biting come back as your eyes scan one bureaucratic word vomit page after another.

You're so engrossed in the process of absorbing vital information from the bulky speech figures and long columns of numbers that you nearly miss the sound of the apartment door opening and closing - and the one entering isn't even trying to be subtle about it. Poor door suffers a concussion in its core each time it gets slammed shut by the overly excited to be home individual; then follows the jiggling of keys thrown to their place, two hasty thuds of boots being enthusiastically kicked off, and finally - a dramatic pause. Were you a little less busy, you would've already been at the door, right where one hearty hug awaits, arms opened and everything; maybe you would've made him wait on purpose, just to see a sulky pout of an impatient pup light up with pure inner sunlight by your presence; but you can't just pull yourself away from this very important reading.

So in a minute Johnny peeks around the living room entrance, wary expression immediately replaced with a loving glint in the aquatic eyes at the sight of you. In two strides he is already at the sofa, plopping his ass right next to you and nuzzling the side of your face with one, two - three kisses: to the temple buzzing with brainwork, to the soft cheek and to the corner of your sightly frowned mouth.

"Whit are ye doing there, bonnie? Thought ye fell asleep, didnae even come hug me at th' door," here comes the famous pout, eyes full of betrayal boring straight into your soul in hopes of coaxing more kisses and cuddles. Would've definitely worked.

If not for the bloody headache fussing over this goddamn meeting planted into your skull.

You open your mouth with a sigh, planning to answer him - you're going to hug and kiss him alright, just a second, you just have to finish this paragraph, so wordy and inhumanely written that you almost don't doubt it was done by a real person - to deliberately make every reader's of this file head explode. An efficient way to balance the workforce market.

Soap, however, reads into your frowny silence and immediately smells that something's wrong. And it very much might be his fault - even though he did the dishes, took you to your favourite Italian on the weekend, showed impeccable restraint when a guy at the parking lot ran his mouth at you (that prick was lucky Johnny didn't want to start the date with a fight: "Ye better thank tis guardian angel 'ere fur haudin' me back, or ah'd teach ye a lesson, ye sod," - all said with a firm hand placed on the small of your back while you glared at the mouthy motherfucker), folded the laund- oh shite. It was the laundry, wasn't it?

"Bonnie, ye're nae angry at me, are ye?" Johnny tilts his head, trying to catch a direct glimpse at you, and almost shoves himself between you and your reading, squeezing in more kisses. "Ah'll dae th' laundry, ah promise, must've forgotten-" - you finally blink and emerge from your hyperfocused state, immediately cupping the Scot's worried face and planting a loud smooch on his nose.

"I'm not angry... not at you, at least," you give him an apologetic kiss on his pouty lips and look back down at the paper in your lap. "It's just work. Gotta read all this or I'll be in trouble, boss gave me a really short notice this time. It's like they're trying to set me up... sorry for ignoring you, sunshine."

Initial relief on Johnny's face that showed there when you confirmed he didn't get on your bad side (he did fold the laudry after all, just managed to forget that he did) gets replaced with a concerned look once again. Leaning back a bit, he gauges the stacks of papers laid out on the coffee table in front of you and furrows his full brows.

"'N' how long ye 'ave tae read all tis?" - "The meeting's two days away, morning." You rub your neck with another exasperated sigh, and a much larger hand, warm and calloused, comes up to do it for you, squeezing the sore spots and making you shudder as it forces the knots away. How long have you been sitting here, hunched over the papers?

"Steamin' Jesus, tha's a lot of reading tae dae," he mutters, squinting to try and make something out of the corporate gibberish - and inevitably failing. With a sigh, Johnny reserves to kissing your temple again. "Well, shite, nae lik' ye 'ave much choice, dae ye? Wanntae 'ave pasta fur dinner? Ah'll cook."

With a confirming nod and a grateful grunt from you, already deep in the papers again, he raises from the couch that creaks with relief, but then pauses and sits right back down. His big hand finds its way to your leg, squeezing your knee reassuringly and stopping the jittering with warm, heavy weight. You lift your eyes once again, meeting his bluest ones with a net of crow's feet around them, nothing but warmth towards you. This sight makes breathing, constricted by the pressure put on you by the situation, easier.

"Ye got tis, aye, bonnie? Ah ken ye got tis. Ye gonnae show 'em."

With a pat, meant to gently hammer in this confidence in case you were still worrying and doubting yourself, Johnny finally gets up, and your knee immediately feels cold without his big paw on it.

"Ah'll go start th' dinner, and ye holler if ye need anything, aye? Ah heard snoggin's good fur yer brains."

Of course he did. Bloody rascal with his innocent blue eyes winking at you and calming your wired self down. Well, why refuse such considerate service when offered?

Forged Under the Stars

Dammon x gn!reader

The cool of the night yields under the relentless burning of several campfires and torches lighting the clearing your celebratory party takes place at, their heat amplified by mulled wine and other drinks generously shared between everyone present. Sitting close to one of the campfires, you quietly observe folks with genuine smiles on their faces that only add to the pleasant warmth in your chest. It's nice, you think, seeing them relax and shrug off the heavy weight of barely avoided danger. They deserve this small moment of peace and quiet among impending doom, and so do you.

Drunken laughter at one of the barrels people gather for the good ale distracts you, your curiousity piqued as you lazily try to make out what caused the whistling and hooting - some brave soul trying to compete against others in absorbing a humongous mug in one go, perhaps? Whatever it is, it keeps your attention long enough for someone to stumble a bit clumsily and seat themself down with a quiet "oof", warm knee nudging your leg in an accidental move before the person straightens up. Snapping your eyes to the right, you can't help the wide smile tugging at your lips.

"Hello to you too, Dammon," you raise your clay mug as a greeting, taking in the view. The blacksmith doesn't look too out of it, but he's clearly tipsy - you aren't surprised, he does give off the impression of someone easily getting lightheaded from a drink or two. Even the warm orange hue of the campfire can't hide cute rosy blush on his cheeks and pointy eartips; neither manages he to conceal a certain glint in his bright glowing eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbles, probably referring to his clumsy landing, but you just shake your head - he didn't even really disturb you, holding up quite well. Same can't be said for everyone: with another glance around, you notice a completely plastered tiefling maiden try and dance with Wyll, who ends up catching her and preventing a fall after fall for the giggling girl. A quiet rustling from behind alerts you, but even without looking you realize it's just Dammon's tail getting restless, usual reserved attitude lifted by ale or whatever he was drinking.

You two sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the party and stealing glances at each other, smiles widening and chuckles escaping when you catch each other looking - after one of these accidental eye contacts Dammon and you burst out in particularly loud fits of laughter, leaning forward and shaking your heads. Alcohol makes it so much funnier, fuzzy, pleasant feelings coiling like furry cats in your stomachs.

"Gods above, I haven't laughed like that for a long time," Dammon sits back up and tilts his head back, inhaling fresh night air and watching the night sky. His vision makes the stars shine brighter, and while you watch him instead of the nightsky, you think you see the celestial bodies swirling in his eyes, reflected as if they were a crysral clear lake.

"Not much laughter in Avernus, eh?" Your slightly intoxicated tongue works faster than your brain, and you immediately stutter, cursing yourself for bringing The Descent - of all things, damn it! - up. "Sorry, didn't mean to..."

"It's alright. I know what you meant," Dammon's smile doesn't falter and he tears his gaze away from the sky to look at you. Maybe it's a play of the flickering flame you sit at, but it seems as if his eyes only shine brighter when looking at you. "And you're right, that wasn't... although there was this one time..."

He briefly checks if you're listening and goes off - waving his mug, unusually expressive and talkative, clearly encouraged when you prop your cheek on your palm and listen on. Maybe you don't quite keep up with the amout of terms and unkown words his slurred speech is littered with, but you still laugh, when he puffs his blushing cheeks, reenacting the way some poor apprentice thrown into his forge held a heavy anvil and tried to use it as a hammer when they ran out of those (how does a forge run out of hammers? why yes, of course, when a whole squadron of unprepared for battle soldiers swarms it and takes everything and anything they can use as a weapon. yes, the firepokers too.)

At the sound of your laughter, loud and unbothered, Dammon pauses with his antics and turns back into his shy self, holding his breath and drinking in the sight of you with a surprisingly sober shine to his eyes. Your fit of giggles dies down, when you feel a warm hand on your thigh, barely squeezing, long tiefling claws carfully denting the skin underneath your clothing.

"Thank you," sincerely whispers Dammon, looking at you like you've hung the moon in the skies and lit up the fire in his forge, "for everything. For this night."

He leans in closer, lips slightly parted, something else dancing on the tip of his tongue, something he can't brace himself to say out loud. You smile, covering his palm with yours - his is strong, warm, a hand of someone working hard, rough and with visible burns from accidental sparks scorching through the protective mittens. It startles Dammon, fingers twitching and squeezig a bit harder before he lets go of your leg and moves his eyes away. His ears slowly start glowing brighter, tail swishing behind you and nearly swatting your bum - turns out, it almost coiled around your waits while you two were sitting next to each other.

Unwilling to let his bashfulness to get in the way, you catch Dammon's hand before it slips away and hold it gently, allowing to rest on your thigh again, your fingers almost intertwined.

"I'm glad you're here," there's enough courage in you for the both of you, added in liquid form or coming to you naturally - doesn't matter. Dammon's shy smile grazes his lips once again, and he finally allows his tail to wrap around your seated form, carefully, ready to pull away if you show any signs of discomfort.

You don't.

"I hope we see each other again," with your support, Dammon allows his thoughts to spill out. It's a little bittersweet, a reminder that the celebration will eventually come to an end and you both will have to move on, heavy burdens on both of your shoulders. But maybe, just maybe the knowledge that wherever life chucks you, if there's a forge nearby, you might see a familiar face - maybe that knowledge lifts the weight just a little bit.

After all, this blacksmith has some fine, strong shoulders you can lean on.

If you know anything about the Faerûn traditions, it's that lovespoons are carved out of wood. Unlike that little forged one that you find among your posessions the next morning.

[arafilez]

☆ ⼂ LOVE, TAILORED ﹗one

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜[ fashion designer khj x ceo fem!reader ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤfluff, crack, e2l 𓏧 for the company assets you have to work with solo designer kim hongjoong. even if it meant him annoying you at every step. ㅤ warnings flirting ㅤ﹢ㅤ2.1k wc ꔫㅤㅤ ❜part one . two . three

Headstrong. Calm. Organised.

This is how you are described everywhere you step foot in. Wearing a Chanel dress, Louis Vuitton handbag and Balenciaga shoes you made sure you are an icon wherever you step, and that typical red-lipped smile in every camera that is ready to capture you.

You aren’t afraid to show you are made from money. And of money too. Yes, you got the company from your father. But under you the company grew bigger, made overseas branches and had more affiliations with other companies.

Your father trusted you enough to hand it over to you on your twenty-fourth birthday. And by your twenty-sixth birthday, you proved to be one of the best CEOs among all leading companies worldwide.

Known among your workers for a bright smile, kind heart and nice behaviour you are never anyone’s bad example. Your working style is organised and you are always calm, strict when only there is an absolute need to be.

So why are you now holding your secretary cum best friend Park Seonghwa by the collar against your table?

Seonghwa’s eyes bulge looking at your fuming face while he tries to explain, “Calm down, he isn’t that bad.”

Leaving his collar, you stand back as you watch Seonghwa fix his tie and shirt which was wrinkled by you. You scoff lightly and look at him saying, “Not bad? Of course, he isn’t bad, he is just simply terrible.”

“How do you even know that? You haven’t worked with him yet” Seonghwa retorts as you roll your eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, "but I have seen him on numerous shows. And he is the most arrogant, self-absorbed bit- I mean person I have ever seen. It is clear from his attitude."

The thing is, your company is about modelling. And though you do have your own fashion designers, Kim Hongjoong has a great influence on the world. He has no company behind him though. His bold fashion statements which he made alone and his dressing sense earned numerous applause from everywhere. At the mere age of twenty-seven, he can easily be called one of the most successful solo acts in the world.

“Look you understand right? How big this will be on the market? Kim Hongjoong is a self-made fashion designer. Collaborating with him will increase your company assets. And besides you know how people’s on-screen and off-screen personalities are different,” Seonghwa explains as you keep quiet.

Maybe he is right, maybe Kim Hongjoong isn’t such a person as he has built his image to be. You sigh quietly as you take your pen and sign into the contract paper, handing it over to Seonghwa.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

The cool November breeze hits your face as you see a black car stop and Kim Hongjoong getting out of it.

As soon as Kim Hongjoong enters your building you can feel the aura changing. He has a confident strut, holding a coffee in one hand and a black file in another. His body is covered by a black overcoat, simple light-blue jeans and a black silk shirt.

And you can say he makes it work.

You stand quietly at the entrance of your building in a black pantsuit with a black coat hanging loosely over your shoulders. But you feel extremely underdressed as you see the man and gasp a bit visibly but gain your composure back in seconds, a professional smile etching your face.

After the initial introduction, you shake hands with him as multiple reporters take photos before you head inside the building, ignoring the cries of the reporters. Seonghwa walks behind you and Hongjoong and reaching the elevator he presses the buttons while you stand there patiently waiting for it.

It feels calm, too calm for its own good, before Hongjoong leans in slowly and whispers to your ear, “Oh Darling, the reporters might not have noticed but I clearly saw you gawking at me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat feeling his face so close to you, face heating up as he stands up straight again casually and you try to process what just happened. His warm breath lingers in your ears as you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself.

And then you scoff lightly. You were absolutely right.

And Seonghwa was wrong.

Kim Hongjoong is a total jerk and you know it right then and there.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

You let him enter your office as Hongjoong’s eyes scan the room in a boring manner. You feel judged and that makes you glare at him from behind until Seonghwa nudges you and you look away.

Good lord, he has two-toned hair, what is this even? Why is one part of his hair black and the other white? You want to make a snarky remark so bad about it, especially after the elevator incident but you keep quiet.

Being a jerk is not how you deal with a jerk.

Seonghwa’s voice cuts your thoughts saying, “Mr. Kim, please take a seat.” Hongjoong simply nods before sitting down on the sofa as you sit down on the opposite side.

You cleared your throat lightly before nodding your head to the file and Seonghwa walked over to bring it.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Kim,” you say politely as he finally looks up and meets your eyes. “Yeah, nice to meet you too,” he replies before looking back at the file again.

You try your best to not gasp in disbelief. Seriously, like he can’t even say a greeting properly. You jerk in shock as Seonghwa’s hand touches your shoulder as he slips the file in between your hands whispering a quick “good luck” before leaving the room.

You sigh quietly before addressing Hongjoong and say, “Mr. Kim I believe we need to start worki-“ and immediately get interrupted by him saying, “Can you loosen up a bit?”

“What?” you stare at him as he makes himself comfortable leaning back on the sofa. “I said loosen up a little, what’s with all this uptight behaviour?” Hongjoong smiles as you roll your eyes visibly.

“In case you have forgotten Mr. Kim, I am a CEO. So yes I like things organised and I am not uptight, I am professional, unlike well,” you say laughing lightly, “you.”

“Damn you really are uptight, I used to think that was all for T.V,” Hongjoong says eyes boring into yours as you bite back a snarky remark.

Be professional. Do the business for the two months collaboration and then it will be over. You can deal with him for two months. You can.

“Anyways, I think we can plan this out-“ and again you get interrupted by Hongjoong saying, “Plan? Fashion needs no planning! It is all about spontaneity and with someone as uptight as you I can’t possibly do any work, darling.”

“Do not call me that, Kim Hongjoong,” you snap as he smirks, “Oh, leaving all formalities so soon?” he teases as you purse your lips. God this man is insufferable.

“Look, we need to work together for two months, and I want to make this work, Mr Kim, so please cooperate,” you try to make him listen as he finally gives in.

“Yeah alright, we can start with your plan now, but when we start real work we will follow my work ethic,” Hongjoong says as you mouth opens wide. You tilt your head slightly before opening your own file. This is some progress and you are willing to take it. Time was ticking away.

He nods at everything and much to your dismay never takes any notes but you don’t call him out as it will result in another pointless argument. After everything is done you close the file looking up at him as he keeps his eyes trained on his hands thinking something.

After a moment of silence, he gets up suddenly and extends his hand as you look back cautiously but shake it anyway. You voice out, “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Kim.” You see him smirking lightly and you wait for what remark he is about to make.

“Pleasure doing business with you too darling,” he replies in a honey-laced voice as you shoot daggers at his back glaring at him.

This time you were wrong.

You cannot possibly work for two months with this man.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

It has been a week since Hongjoong came here. He had wanted a week to design the dresses in his copy before showing them to you. You had happily granted him the week, the less you see of him, the better.

Now, Hongjoong is late- by twenty minutes. Your patience is decreasing with each passing second and you warily look at Seonghwa who just gives you a sympathetic smile. You curse Hongjoong in your mind but soon enough your door swings open as you abruptly sit up.

Hongjoong walks in and Seonghwa takes his leave as you stare at him.

“Ah yes, your eyes will be blessed if you stare like that,” Hongjoong says smirking as you look away scoffing. The audacity of this man- first, twenty minutes late, second, has no decency of mere knocking, third, thinking you are swooning over him.

“I am not swooning over you Kim,” you snap before realising what you called him and your eyes widen.

“I did not say you were swooning, did I? Darling?” he smiles in an innocent manner that just makes your blood boil. God why is he so insufferable.

You dismiss his comment and hate at the same time how your ears grow warm at the mention of the pet name that he probably calls everybody.

But then again he was free of scandals, to the point where people thought he was asexual.

You scolded your mind for thinking of unnecessary details before delving into work.

“You know what? Just show me which designs you have made. We are already behind schedule,” you sighed as you cocked his eyebrows at you.

“You and your schedule, didn’t I tell you fashion is all about spontaneity?” Hongjoong says lightly and your eyes bore into him. “Yeah well be all spontaneous as you want, I am not the fashion designer here,” you comment as Hongjoong shrugs.

He hands you the file as you flip through the pages. You awe at the designs because they have impeccable style and every one was unique in its own way. As much as you hate Hongjoong you cannot not underestimate his talent at these.

Your eyes get stuck in a drawing of a dress which has flowers as the design. It was so beautiful you almost wish he made it specifically for you.

Keyword- almost!

“Well looks like Miss Schedule is speechless now,” Hongjoong’s cocky voice makes you glare at him as you slide back the file. Goddamn, he just had to ruin the fine moment you were having with the dress.

“I will just come right out and say it- your designs are impeccable,” you smile pausing and then saying, “but you are very fucking annoying,” you smirk satisfactorily as his face changes from confident to surprise.

“Well that was some smooth-talking, wasn’t it darling?” he gains back his composure within seconds and you fume saying, “Don’t call me that.”

He smiles cheekily before getting up and walking towards the door. You groan in your hands quietly before getting up whisper-shouting, “Kim wait up, you have to meet the models.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ————

Meeting the models was a fairly easy process. Hongjoong asked for their proportions which Seonghwa promptly handed him over in a big copy.

You stood at the door quietly scoffing every time the models tried to flirt with him and he gave a deaf year to them. Where were people’s dignity nowadays?

After meeting with the models you are now walking with Hongjoong to show him his working area. Seonghwa leaves to get to some other work and you are now left alone with him again. The walk down the hallway was pretty quiet as Hongjoong looked around observing everything inside the building.

You quietly open the door to the lavish working room as he looks around and nods. You stand there patiently as he checks the drawers and sewing area. You now realise why he doesn’t take on any big projects, he has no workers and does all of this himself.

The tenacity he has is admirable. Only if he didn’t have such a big mouth.

He hums in satisfaction and turns towards you as you cock your eyebrows. “So do I get a schedule for this too? Maybe a binder?” he challenges as you roll your eyes.

“Just get along with your work Kim,” you replied gritting your teeth.

“Sure darling,” he grins and you turn on your heels to leave. The less time you are in the same room as him, the better.

“Did he just call you, darling?” you jump at the voice behind you as soon as you leave the room.

ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤidea credit to @iwishiwasrichasfuck. banner made by @/DathanHamen in wattpad. idk if i can bring the story to life. but i genuinely am trying my best ꔫㅤㅤ ❜ [ taglist ] ㅤ⋆ ㅤ@haneagerr @tunaasan @stellarlune-love @jeonghanfr @soocore @chaotic-floral @loveateezㅤmain mlistㅤ atz listㅤ navi ㅤtaglist

© arafilez on tumblr. please don't copy and repost my work as your own.

[baronessvonglitter]

Eating Out for Christmas

Max Phillips x f!Reader

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: your period comes early, ruining your fun for the office Christmas party. Luckily, your workplace enemy offers his assistance..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, blood kink, menstrual sex, oral (f receiving), office sex, Christmas smut, hate sex, no romance, shameless smut, reader doesn't know Max is a vampire, reader wears a skirt, mentions of period cramps, brief mention of giving a bj, no use of y/n

Author's note: my Christmas in July offering, written during a particularly AWFUL first day of my period. This was also inspired by a certain scene from "The Tale of the Body Thief", one of my favorite of the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice.

FULL MASTERLIST

“Shit!” you mutter, checking your panties in the restroom stall. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

You period is here early, and now your brand new white satin panties are ruined. You’d bought them specifically for tonight, your office Christmas party, when you’d planned to finally hook up with Jordan, the guy in Marketing you've been flirting with for weeks. Now that's down the drain.

The toilet paper is out, so creating a makeshift pad is out of the question. You have to slip your panties back on in order to retrieve the spare pair you keep in your desk drawer for times such as these. You make a sound of disgust as you put your panties back on and quickly wash your hands. It'll be just a moment and you'll get a fresh set of underwear and a tampon from your emergency stash.

Leaving the restroom you can already hear the Christmas party in full swing. So your night isn't going to go as planned, that doesn't mean you can't have a little fun in the meantime. Jordan isn't going anywhere, and at the very least you can give him some head in the supply closet.

A cramp stops you in your tracks and you nearly double over in pain. Leaning against the wall you breathe through it. Until you get some Midol in your system, nothing's going to happen between you and Jordan.

"What have we here? A wallflower?"

You hear that voice and automatically cringe. You can't stand your new boss, the sales manager Max Phillips, aka HR Nightmare. You ignore his little comment as he nears you in the hallway. He's wearing a Santa hat and a shit-eating grin. You inwardly groan.

He says your name in a singsong voice and it curdles your blood. "I know you heard me. What are you doing out here?"

"On my way to the party," you try to make your voice light even as another cramp overwhelms you. Max puts his hands on the wall on either side of you, effectively trapping you. His dark eyes take on a predatory look, like a shark who's just scented--

"Blood," he says in fascination. "You're on your period, aren't you?"

Weirded out while at the same time a little intrigued, you answer, "That's none of your damn business, is it?"

He chuckles and you hate how charming he's trying to be. "You are. I can smell it on you. I've been able to smell it on you all week, your body conserving just the right amount of blood, doing its job, just waiting.. and when the magic doesn't happen, all that blood just trickles out of you. It's messy work being a woman, isn't it?"

You take a moment to absorb everything he's said, your face frozen in a look of confusion. "Max, I'm just gonna go get a tampon if that's okay with you." You move his arm away so you can leave.

"No need." He easily traps you again, and for a split second you marvel at his speed. "I can take care of that for you," he whispers seductively into your ear.

Maybe it's the fact that you were expecting sex tonight, or that your hormones are wildly out of control, but something deep inside you is awakened when his breath tickles your ear. "What do you mean?" your voice is soft, yielding.

His eyes bore into yours. "Come with me."

He brings you to his office, traversing the party, but in the festive atmosphere you two are overlooked. Plenty of people are either too drunk or too engrossed in other activities to notice you.

In his office he cuts the light, leaving only a small lamp lit on his desk. He locks the door but leaves the blinds open, giving you a little smirk and a wink.

"What are you doing? Why am I here?" you ask him.

"I'm offering my help," he says easily, leading you behind his desk and letting you perch on the edge of it. "You're bleeding, you're cramping.. that's no way to enjoy tonight's party."

"So what exactly are you offering?" You have some idea, now sitting on his desk.

He gently lifts the hem of your skirt and your scent, mixed with the scent of blood, wafts up to him. There's that predatory look again. "May I?" But without waiting for you answer, he reaches under your skirt and caresses you through your panties. Your gasp is enough to encourage him. He moves the satin material to the side and then his fingers are inside you. You gasp again, louder, and put your hands on his shoulders.

"Jesus, you're soaked," he says, pumping his fingers inside you as you open your thighs wider. "So fucking wet and warm.."

You're so into it you don't even question his obvious predilection for your menstrual blood. It's a turn-off for most guys but Max seems to need it.

"I always.. thought.. you hated me," you said, panting as he switched up the pace: going rough and fast then slowly, curving his fingers so he could stimulate the secret spot inside of you. "You made fun of my presentation in front of our new clients last week.. we lost the account."

"I did do that," his face is buried in your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume, of your shampoo. "I had to. That client was flirting with you, he would have been all over you if I hadn't intervened."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Still you cling to him, still you allow this pleasure he gives.

"So I could eventually have the chance to do this," he says, and as he fingers you he swipes the pad of his thumb over your clit and you see stars.

But he's a tease, and deep down you know it. He pulls his fingers out, slimy with your blood, and licks them slowly, savoring your taste. Even you have to admit it's pretty hot, even if it's a little weird.

"On the desk," he commands you, his voice husky. In your delirium you obey, and he pushes your skirt up to your midsection. He's delicate about removing your panties, and runs his tongue along the bloodstain, catching what's left of its essence.

He's fucking crazy, you think to yourself, but at the same time you're excited for what he's about to do. He moves you a little closer to the edge of his desk and takes a seat in his chair, pulling up to you like you're his dinner. Opening your thighs his breath hitches and then he dives in.

You gasp in surprise at the feel of his mouth on your pussy, the way he licks along the edges, cleaning up the blood that somehow always gets to the crease between your cunt and your thigh. He's ubiquitous, licking everywhere, tasting you. Your mind races. Part of you wonders why you're even letting him do this if you don't even like him all that much, and the baser part of you unabashedly grinds your pelvis up, demanding more from him.

With a barely-contained growl he lifts your hips and tongue-fucks you, moaning at the taste of your blood and juices on his tongue. You try to stifle a scream, and Max stuffs his Santa hat into your mouth. You remove it, too worked up to try to be quiet, and throw the hat on the floor.

The blinds are open, and colored disco lights spin around the room. You two could so easily be caught, but the noises you both make are muffled by the sound of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree".

Max is relentless, sopping you up no matter how much you have to give. He drives you crazy when he laves his tongue over your folds, adding more pressure at your clit, and sucking hard until you've come and you beg him to stop. The bastard only starts up again once you've recovered, switching it up between tonguing your cunt and lapping at your so-sensitive clit. Your body trembles, thighs quaking as his fingers dig into your flesh. You lose count of how many times he sends you to heaven. All you know is a cycle of pleasure, seemingly endless, turning your brain to mush.

There's a knock at Max's office and the doorknob jiggles. "Hey, Max? You in there? The party's already started." It's Jordan's voice! Your eyes pop open but Max keeps at it as if he hasn't heard. You tap him on the shoulder with force.

"Go away Jordan, I'm in the middle of dinner!" Max only gives himself enough time to shout before diving back in. You close your eyes as the pleasure rises once more, a wave engulfing you and you can't help but cry out.

Max slows down, uncharacteristically placing a kiss on your clit before moving away from you. In the lamplight you see your blood smeared on his mouth, nose, and chin. He licks most of it off and uses his handkerchief to wipe the rest away. "Orgasm is a natural pain remedy, and if I counted correctly you came at least seven times.."

"Shut up." Even though your legs are weak you manage to scoot off his desk, looking for your panties.

"I'll keep them, if that's okay with you," he says. "And don't worry, I got all of it."

"Got all of.. what?"

"Your blood. Your period's over. You're welcome." He looks so self-satisfied.

"How..?" you begin to ask, but a part of you really doesn't want to know.

"I'm just very good with my tongue," he shrugs. "But next month, if you want to do this again, I'd be more than happy to oblige." The way he smiles at you is just evil, but damn if it doesn't make your pussy throb again. "For a favor, of course."

"What favor?"

"Stop seeing Jordan. He already knows about us, he was watching through the open blinds." You're speechless, angry even, but Max continues. "And you might have to put up with a little more of my teasing you at the sales meetings. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

"You're an asshole," you grumble, and arrange your clothing before heading for the door.

"So. My office, 8 pm, about 28 days from now?" He's wearing a smarmy grin as he waits for you to respond.

You hate Max, but you hate your fucking heavy flow even more. The man knows how to make you come, and it's not like you'd have to date him. Sighing, you pretend to look indifferent. "Sure. I'll be there."

dividers by @firefly-graphics 👑

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dow promised to turn sneakers into playground surfaces, then dumped them in Indonesia

Dow Chemicals plastered Singapore with ads for its sneaker recycling program, promising to turn old shoes into playground tracks. But the shoes it collected in its “recycling” bins were illegally dumped in Indonesia. This isn’t an aberration: it’s how nearly all plastic recycling has always worked.

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/2023/02/26/career-criminals/#fool-me-twice-three-times-four-times-a-hundred-times

Plastic recycling’s origin story starts in 1973, when Exxon’s scientists concluded that plastic recycling would never, ever be cost-effective (#ExxonKnew about this, too). Exxon sprang into action: they popularized the recycling circular arrow logo and backed “anti-littering” campaigns that blamed the rising tide of immortal, toxic garbage on peoples’ laziness.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/14/they-knew/#doing-it-again

Remember the campaign where an Italian guy dressed like a Native American shed a single tear as he contemplated plastic litter? Funded by the plastic industry, as a way of shifting blame for plastic waste from the wealthy, powerful corporations who lied about plastics recycling to the individuals who believed their lies:

https://www.chicagotribune.com/opinion/commentary/ct-perspec-indian-crying-environment-ads-pollution-1123-20171113-story.html

When I was a kid in Ontario, we had centralized, regulated, reusable bottle depots — beer and soda bottles came in standard sizes, differentiated by paper labels that could be pressure-washed off. When you were done with your bottle, you returned it for a deposit and it got washed and returned to bottlers to be refilled again and again and again.

After intense lobbying from soda companies, brewers and the plastic industry, that program was replaced with curbside “blue boxes” that promised to recycle our plastic waste. 90% of the plastics created has never been — and will never be — recycled. Today, the plastic industry plans on tripling the amount of single-use plastic in use worldwide:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

You know those ads from companies like Bluetriton (formerly “Nestle Waters”) that promise that your single-use plastic bottles are “100% recyclable…and can be used for new bottles and all sorts of new, reusable things?”

Bluetriton is a private equity-backed rollup that has absorbed most of the bottled water companies you’re familiar with, including Poland Spring, Pure Life, Splash, Ozarka, and Arrowhead. When they were sued in DC for making false claims about their “recyclable” water-bottles, their defense was that these were “non-actionable puffery.” According to Bluetriton, when it described itself as “a guardian of sustainable resources” and “a company who, at its core, cares about water,” it was being “vague and hyperbolic.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

With this high standard for plastic recycling, Dow’s Singapore scam shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it seems to have surprised the government of Singapore. Writing for Reuters, Joe Brock, Yuddy Cahya Budiman and Joseph Campbell describe how they caught Dow red-handed:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/global-plastic-dow-shoes/

The method is actually pretty straightforward: Reuters hid tracking devices in cavities in the soles of sneakers, dropped them in one of Dow’s collection bins, and then followed them. The shoes were passed onto Dow’s subcontractor, Yok Impex Pte Ltd, who sent them hopping from island to island throughout Indonesia, until they ended up in junk-markets.

Not all the shoes, though — one pair was simply moved from Dow’s collection bin to a donation bin at a Singaporean community center. Of the 11 pairs that Reuters tracked, not one ended up at a recycling facility. So much for Dow’s slogan: “Others see an old shoe. We see the future.”

Dow blamed all this on Yok Impex, but didn’t explain why its “recycling” program involved a company whose sole trade is exporting used clothing. Dow promised to cancel its deal with Yok Impex, but Yok Impex’s accountant told Reuters that the deal would be remain in place until the end of the contract. Yok Impex, meanwhile, shifted the blame to the low-waged women who sort through the clothing donations it takes in from across Singapore.

Indonesia bans bulk imports of used clothes, on the grounds that used clothes are unhygenic, displace the local textiles industry, and shipments contain high volumes of waste that ends up in Indonesian incinerators, landfills and rivers.

In other words, Singaporeans thought they were saving the planet by putting their shoes in Dow bins, but they were really sending those shoes on a long journey to an unlicensed dump. Dow enlisted schoolchildren in used-shoe collection drives, making upbeat videos that featured students like Zhang Youjia boasting that they “contributed 15 pairs of shoes.”

Dow does this all the time. In 2021, Dow’s “breakthrough technology to turn plastic waste into clean fuel” in Idaho was revealed to be a plain old incinerator:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/environment-plastic-oil-recycling/

Also in 2021, in India, a Dow program to “use high-tech machinery to transform the [plastic from the Ganges] into clean fuel” was revealed to have ceased operations — but was still collecting plastic and promising that it was all being turned into fuel:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-environment-plastic-insight-idUSKBN29N024

Dow operates a nearly identical “shoe recycling” program in neighboring Malaysia, and did not return Reuters’ requests for comment as to whether the shoes collected for “recycling” in the far more populous nation were also being illegally dumped offshore.

The global business lobby loves the idea of “personal responsibility” and its evil twin, “caveat emptor.” Its pet economists worship the idea of “revealed preferences,” claiming that when we use plastic, we may claim that we don’t want to have our bodies poisoned with immortal, toxic microplastics, that we don’t want our land and waters despoiled — but we actually love it, because otherwise we’d “vote with our wallets” for something else.

The obvious advantage of telling people to vote with their wallets is that the less money you have in your wallet, the fewer votes you get. Companies like Dow have used their access to the capital markets (a fancy phrase for “rich people”) to gobble up their competitors, eliminating “wasteful competition” and piling up massive profits. Those profits are laundered into policy — like replacing Ontario’s zero-waste refillable bottle system with a “recycling” system that sent plastics to the ends of the Earth to be set on fire or buried or dumped in the sea.

The ruling class’s pet economists have a name for this policy laundering: they call it “regulatory capture.” Now, when you hear “regulatory capture,” you might think about companies that get so big that they are able to boss governments around, with the obvious answer that companies need to be regulated before they get too big to jail:

https://doctorow.medium.com/small-government-fd5870a9462e

But that’s not how elite economists talk about regulatory capture: for them, capture starts with the very existence of regulators. For them, any government agency that proposes to protect the public from corporate fraud and murder inevitably becomes an agent of the corporations it is supposed to rein in, so the only answer is to eliminate regulators altogether:

https://doctorow.medium.com/regulatory-capture-59b2013e2526

This nihilism lets rich people blame the rest of us for their sins: “if you didn’t want your children to roast or freeze to death in the climate emergency, you should have sold your car and used the subway (that we bribed your city not to build).”

Nihilism is contagious. Think of the music industry: before Napster, 80% of the music ever recorded was not for sale, banished to the scrapheap of history and the vaults of record companies who paid farcically low sums to their artists.

During the File Sharing Wars, listeners were excoriated for failing to pay for music — much of which wasn’t for sale in the first place. But today, fans overwhelmingly pay for Spotify, a streaming service that notoriously pays musicians infinitesimal sums for their work.

Spotify is a creature of the Big Three labels — Sony, Universal and Warner — who own 70% of all the world’s recorded music copyrights and 65% of all the world’s music publishing. The rock-bottom per-stream prices that Spotify pays were set by the Big Three. Why would the labels want less money from Spotify?

Simple: as co-owners of Spotify, they make more money when Spotify pays less for music. Musicians have a claim on the money they take out of Spotify as royalties — but dividends, buybacks and capital gains from Spotify are the labels’ to use as they see fit. They can share that bounty with some artists, all artists, or no artists.

Not only that, but the Big Three’s deal with Spotify includes a “most favored nation” clause, which means that the independent artists who aren’t under Sony/UMG/Warner’s thumb have to take the rock-bottom rate the Big Three insisted on — likewise the small labels who compete with the Big Three. The difference is that none of these artists and small labels have massive portfolios of Spotify stock, nor do they get free advertising on Spotify, or free inclusion on hot Spotify playlists, or monthly minimum payouts from Spotify.

The idea that we shop at the wrong kind of monopolist in the wrong way is a recipe for absolute despair. It doesn’t matter whether you listen to music with the Big Tech-owned monopoly service (Youtube) or the Big Content-owned monopoly service (Spotify). The money you hand over to these giant companies goes to artists the same way that the sneakers you put in a Dow collection bin goes to a recycling plant.

Think of the billions of human labor hours we all spent washing and sorting our plastics for a recycling program that didn’t exist and will never exist — imagine if we’d spent that time and energy demanding that our politicians hold petrochemical companies to account instead.

At the end of Break ’Em Up, Zephyr Teachout’s outstanding 2020 book on monopolies, Teachout has some choice words for “consumerism” as a theory of change. She writes that if you’re on your way to a protest against a new Amazon warehouse but you never make it because you waste too much time looking for a mom-and-pop stationers to sell you a marker to write your protest sign, Amazon wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

The problem isn’t that you shop the wrong way. Yes, by all means, support the creators and producers you care about in the way that they prefer, but keep your eye on the prize. Structural problems don’t have individual solutions. The problem isn’t that you have chosen single-use plastics — it’s that in our world everything for sale is packaged in single-use plastics. The problem isn’t that you’ve bought a subscription to the wrong music streaming service — it’s that labels have been allowed to buy all their competitors, creators’ unions have been smashed and degraded, and giant accounting scams by big companies generate minuscule fines.

The good news is that after 40 years of despair inducing regulatory nihilism and “vote with your wallet” talk, we’re finally paying attention to systemic problems, with a new generation of trustbusting radicals working around the world to end corporate impunity.

Dow is a repeat offender. A repeat, repeat offender. Chrissakes, they’re the linear descendants of Union Carbide, the company that poisoned Bhopal:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_disaster

They shouldn’t be trusted to run a lemonade stand, let alone a “recycling” program. The same goes for Big Tech and Big Content company and the markets for creative labor. These companies have repeatedly demonstrated their unfitness, their habitual deception and immorality. These companies have captured their regulators, repeatedly, so we need better regulators — and weaker companies.

The thing I love about Teachout’s book is that it talks about what we should be demanding from our governments — it’s a manifesto for a movement against corporate power, not a movement for “responsible consumerism.” That was the template that Rebecca Giblin and I followed when we wrote Chokepoint Capitalism, our book about the brutal, corrupt creative labor market:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

We have a chapter on Spotify (multiple chapters, in fact!). For our audiobook, we made that chapter a “Spotify Exclusive” — it’s the only part of the book you can get on Spotify, and it’s free:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

Next Thu (Mar 2) I’ll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who’s-who of European and US trustbusters. It’s livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free. On Fri (Mar 3), I’ll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival.

[Image ID: A woman kneeling to tie her running shoe. She stands on a background of plastic waste. In the top right corner is the logo for Dow chemicals. Below it is the Dow slogan, 'Others see an old shoe. We see the future.']

[harukadrawsthings]

Super Mario is the second reason why I'm an old Nintendo customer. I've played many games in the franchise, the first being the 8-bit classic Super Mario Bros.

When you ask a fan what the best Mario game is, the answer is likely to be Galaxy 2 or Odyssey, but for me it's not either of the plumber's key titles (although the two I've mentioned are excellent 3D platformers).

I was one of those people who was overjoyed when it was revealed in September at the Nintendo Direct that they were bringing back "Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door" for the Switch with improved graphics and dialogue and with extras that didn't exist in the GameCube version! (And a good solution to the problem of scalping in the grey market of retro gaming).

I've loved the Paper Mario they made for the Nintendo 64 since I was a kid and I had the chance to play the sequel almost a decade ago and I thought it was amazing how they took everything that was good about the first game and made it even better. Never has a Mario game absorbed me as much as this one; Thousand Year Door is a lot of fun and a turn-based RPG that's both accessible and challenging. It's a shame that the sequels don't follow the same type of gameplay, although I really enjoyed Origami King in general. Here's a suggestion for my followers who have a Nintendo Switch at home. It was great to relive this story in search of the Crystal Stars to save the world and for me it's undoubtedly one of the best games available on the console. 😊

Do not repost. Do not modify. Always credit me!

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COMMISSION SLOTS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE

Twitter || Ko-Fi

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Paper Mario, Goombella, Koops, Flurrie, Yoshi Kid, Vivian, Ms. Mowz and Admiral Bobbery © Nintendo

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

Flufftober Day 4. Market Day

"Oh! There's another soap maker," Michael said cheerily, immediately beelining towards the stall. Gerry followed at a more sedate pace, eying the booth wearily. 

"How many soap stalls can one market have?" he grumbled, dutifully shadowing Michael as he began to sniff each and every soap on display. At least these bars were more subdued and natural-looking, instead of the brightly colored and outrageously scented soaps at the other stalls. Michael stuck one under his nose, flooding Gerry's senses with peppermint.

"That's nice, right?" he asked, pulling it back for another sniff. "They have other minty scents if that's too much."

"The lavender mint is really nice too," the seller piped up, leaning over the table towards them. "It's one of my favorites." Michael quickly picked up that bar next, expression brightening into a grin as he inhaled the scent.

"That is good," he sighed, offering it to Gerry. Gerry agreeably breathed it in and nodded his approval, holding on to the bar as Michael continued sampling soap smells. Even if he wasn't as enthusiastic as Michael about going to farmer's markets and craft fairs and such, it was still a good time, especially since Michael was in his element. He loved watching his boyfriend have a good time, and he also got to chat with any bakers and pastry makers who might happen to be there. It was nice.

Gerry's attention was caught by a row of bars on the bottom shelf, set away from the rest of the soap. "There's unscented, too," Gerry noted, picking up one of the bars. "Is that better for sensitive skin?" 

"That's what we hear a lot, yeah. There's also some unscented lotion if you want to try that." The seller pointed towards their other table, where rows of bottles were set up in neat lines. Michael immediately turned away from the soaps and snatched up a half-filled bottle that said "Try Me", squinting curiously at the ingredients list before flipping the lid and squeezing some lotion out on his hand.

"Oh, it's thick," he said in surprise, rubbing his hands together. Gerry offered one of his, and Michael gave him a dollop of lotion that he rubbed onto his arm. To his surprise, it absorbed into his skin quickly, without the unpleasant residue that other lotions left. "What do you think?" Michael asked, taking his arm and wiping more lotion onto it, studying his burns intently. "It seems really nice."

"It is," Gerry smiled, turning his arm in Michael's hold so that his soft slick hands caressed the other side, getting the last of the lotion on his skin. It was cool and moisturizing and felt absolutely fantastic against his scars. He could easily imagine how good that would feel after a full-body application. Without even glancing towards the price board Gerry grabbed three of the bigger bottles, carrying them over to the seller as Michael tried out the other lotion scents.

"I really hope that lotion works for you," the seller said genuinely, beginning to pack their items into a paper bag. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm standing on this side of the table. I really mean it."

"If it does, we'll definitely be back for more," Gerry told them, taking one of their business cards and tucking it in his pocket. Michael appeared at his side, smelling of flowers and adding another bottle of lotion and three bars of soap to their purchase. Gerry slung his arm around his waist, leaning into him as Michael continued chatting with the seller. He hadn't expected to find something so nice while they were out, but he was very glad they had.

[kayatoastkkat]

infodump time!

this is for my TOH au, some basic information for the big three of the cast and what their roles are! aaaand maybe also a sketch dump since I have too many pencil drawings of this au...

Dr. Henry Jekyll

Leader of the Secret Society for Wild Magic. Also a part-time potions seller. 

After graduation from Hexside, his initial aspiration was to join the Emperor’s Coven. As such, he began trying to test out his magical prowess and became a curse researcher, collecting rare curses (akin to Eda’s) and began looking for cures. While some of his methods proved effective, during this time Jekyll was deeply absorbed into his work and started neglecting his own health, leading Lanyon and Rachel to become very worried for him. 

One night, while researching a particularly gruesome curse, Jekyll believed he finally worked out a cure. With no other subjects, he could only test it on himself. Thus, potion in hand, he decided it was a great idea to go curse himself with a cure that he believed was mostly effective.

Lo and behold, that was the first transformation. The curse lashed out in black ribbons, enveloping Jekyll before diving straight into his heart, issuing several screams from the brunette until all that was left was a bundle of loose clothes, shattered glass, scraps of paper leftover from the curse and research, and one tiny blonde gremlin among said loose clothes. Thus, that very night, Hyde was born. A curse that should’ve killed Jekyll, torn his very body apart, taken control over the leftover scraps, now resides in his body as half of himself, shares his memories and would become the mask Jekyll uses to indulge in activities he finds unacceptable for himself to engage in. The potion that failed to cure the curse is now the key to transforming into each other.

With Hyde, Jekyll quickly realised that joining the Emperor’s Coven is no longer a feasible choice for himself and instead, with Lanyon’s help (due to his family being super wealthy and influential) was able to pull some strings and fake a Potions coven sigil, thus taking suspicion off of him while keeping his status as a wild witch.

His palisman is a crow named Crowley. His staff also never initially had the red gem lmao, he stuffed it in himself to try and give it a more sophisticated look. He also has ear piercings! First made just to get Hyde to stop whining, he later decided he may as well wear something, namely tiny black diamond studs.

Mr Edward Hyde

bithc.

Jekyll’s personal “assistant”. A trader and scammer at the Night Market. He often enjoys committing petty crimes and also trades his potions for rare ingredients required for more powerful spells. Sometimes he’d even bring a few of the Lodgers to sell their inventions too, to make sure the Society still has snails to spare for basic necessities. Most of what Hyde earns in the Night Market goes to his nighttime adventures, but whatever’s left by the time he transforms back will be used by Jekyll to keep the lights on in the secret Society. Besides the Night Market, he likes to go drinking at the sketchier parts of Bonesborough, often getting into skirmishes and bar fights. He relies on Jekyll’s magic and rarely ever uses his palisman to avoid divulging his identity. For transportation, he prefers teleportation spells or magic some wings to make a quick escape. No, he’s not a bird beast. I’ve long decided he is not some crow beast or something, he’s just an amalgamation of Jekyll’s worst traits.

He has about the same relationship with Jekyll as in TGS, perhaps even more tense as Jekyll is very concerned about ensuring that Hyde keeps a low profile and does not reveal the fact he’s a wild witch. Hyde hides it about as well as you’d expect, and eventually the information that he doesn’t have a sigil is picked up by the Emperor’s Coven. He’s never gotten caught before though, oh, and he also idolizes Eda the Owl Lady very much, but never goes to find her, since he’s terrified of Hooty.

The oopsy-doopsy arson will still happen, which I will cover eventually but bottom line is it’ll make Belos strengthen efforts into finding and tracing Hyde’s roots. Through the following disagreements and punishment from Jekyll, Hyde learns he can block Jekyll from using his magic for short bursts of time, and eventually with practice, longer periods spanning from hours to days.

He also has silver ring earrings. Every time he transforms he takes the time to take off Jekyll’s plain black diamond studs to replace it with them and I find that funny.

Dr. Robert Lanyon

A master illusionist, one of Jekyll’s closest friends and co-runner of the Society. Also helps around Jekyll’s potions business.

He’s the reason Jekyll was able to stay a wild witch in the first place. He was able to use his Illusion magic to fake a sigil for Jekyll and using his position of power, pulled some strings to prevent the scouts from investigating further. His father is a prosperous Constructions witch who helps Belos strengthen the castle and fortify bases for scouts throughout Bonesborough, earning him a position of high rank in the Isles. Lanyon despises it though, and took Illusions to spite his father, who wanted him to take a more “useful” track in school such as Abominations or Constructions so he would have more job opportunities. Outside attending dinner parties or finishing errands for his father, he does whatever he wants, usually sneaking off to parts of Bonesborough or to the Society to see Jekyll. He doesn’t even necessarily attend dinner parties, often preferring to have an illusion of himself attending. Lanyon Sr pretends not to notice this.

Unaware of Jekyll’s curse, he hated the idea of Hyde being affiliated with him and yet always so dangerously on the brink of exposing his identity as a wild witch, but so long as Hyde continues helping the Society stay afloat and doesn’t get caught, Lanyon keeps his thoughts to himself. That is, until the arson changes everything. While he helps sort out the paperwork and aids Jekyll in keeping the Society hidden, he is not close to any of the Lodgers and prefers to pretend he isn’t associated with them, mostly out of concern and to keep suspicion off him and by extension, his dear friend.

He has the most insane piercings too, with large gold spheres resembling Eda’s, along with two more piercings further up his ears.

also, minor thing but I've finally given this au a proper name lol, it's now called The Crow House after Jekyll's palisman, which is a crow! I've also updated the tag for it in my pinned post so not to worry!

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ Tíu ⸸

The Creature behind her eyes squirmed, the familiar rake hissing deep within the darkest parts of her mind as it often was. A voice and murmurs she had learned to block out over time until there was reason not to.

While Creature had proven a reliable weapon, it was often a game of words to him, especially about how he would lead Vahalia upon a course based on riddles and nearly nefarious natures. One she had come to appreciate for what it was, simply an entity that stirred the pot of thought all the more, the itch of necessity when it came to remaining the course.

“Lady Cress?” The voice sounded from the pearl nestled to her ear.

Within the cabin still in Tural, Vahalia’s hands absent mindedly smoothed over the papers before her, a tidy mess is what she often called it, “I’m here.” Vahalia replied, “The envelope I sent you with, open it.” she lead Miss. Bancroft on the other end of the transmission, “Within is a detailed report of everything that happened here in Tural, you may share that with Miss. Slater when you arrive. Within is also the blueprints for the Keep, be sure to give that to Greyson. You can find him in the market in three days time, I have it setup for you to meet with him on my behalf regarding the construction of the Keep, hand him the blueprints and gil I sent you with, he will have a white orchid pinned to his jacket.”

“Anything else?”

Vahalia paused, her brows knit and her gaze swept over the scrolls splayed out before her, “Yes, actually.” she continued, “Check on the advancement of the water way. Let Greyson know you will need his men in the coming weeks to construct two additional wells near the farms. The harvest is upon us, we’ll need to prepare for shipment and check the stores to ensure there is enough for the colder months. Put kale, radish, broccoli and chard on the list for this coming season’s bounty. I need trade for additional salt for the piers.”

A small hum of affirmation came from the line and Castien spoke again, “And the ruins?”

“A project for another day. I’ll be in Black Water in a few weeks time, perhaps sooner. I’ll see to the Laeves when I arrive, I have yet to fully take in the damage to the old structure.”

“Very well.” the response came.

The line fell quiet and the static in her ear began to blip out as Vahalia removed the linkpearl from her attention and placed it to the table.

Harvests.

Additional grain would have certainly been a boon to the market itself for colder months ahead, which was all the more reason to take the proposal from Hingashi seriously. While Ishgard supped easily upon winter-born vegetables and produce that were well rooted, that wasn’t to say that other places had the luxury. Wheat and rice would become a demand in a short time. It was simply time to meet the need with supply.

Spiced pumpkin filled the air with sweet apples. The festivities were in effect and the four children ran through the glade, the three girls with long dark hair squealing with delight as the older of the four, Willem, chased them with a blindfold over his eyes. Hands splayed as he reached for the voices he had been chasing. The laughter echoed out from the girls, wisps of bright ribbons afloat in long seas of ebon and sable, skirts absorbing the muck of the earth at their hems.

The Equinox was upon them as the greens of the trees gave way to vibrant pops of speckled oranges and reds that aimed to take their place. The air hung cooler these days and a fog settled in the mornings as the clime came to a slow crawl with each passing day.

Music and the chatter of the families beyond were nearly drowned out by the children playing and not too far off sat Odessa and Adelle at the woods edge, sister’s of old Mhachi blood, ever vigilant. Sigils of House Cress and House Blackheart in fabulous brocade respective to the two houses were woven neatly into their robes, their sashes simply homage to the families and their corresponding colors.

Odessa watched her youngest drift from the game, small body worn from the festivities as Vahalia made her way over to the two women and curled up towards her mother where she had rested her head along her warm lap.

“Finished already my dear?” Odessa smiled, hand lowering to comb through the child’s hair.

“I need a break.” the small child huffed out, she looked no older than eight summer’s at most.

The silken voice of Adelle seated next to Odessa chimed out, “Sister, when do you plan on having her meet the Whitlock son?” her voice was low as she looked between Odessa and Vahalia, who was more than happy resting within her mother’s lap, eyes closed and her attention elsewhere beyond simple chatter and the music in the distance.

“That depends on Adrian. I do not like the idea. I would not be faced with such heartbreak had I of had sons. Perhaps that is simply the pain we mother’s of daughters must endure.” she placed a slow stroke along Vahalia’s head before shaking her shoulder and soon ushering the child off towards her sister and cousins once more.

“It’s your turn Valeria!” Willem called out as he removed the blindfold from his face, hair wild, and he handed it towards his cousin, “Fair and square.”

“Awww you cheated!”

“I did not! You’re just slow!”

“It’s okay Valeria, prove him wrong.” Carrera piped up, excited to string the chaos along, “You’ll have to make sure he’s caught first. Revenge!”

The children laughed as Valeria groaned and Vahalia walked up to take the blindfold that was extended out, “I’ll do it.” she invited herself in as the predator, the other three simply prey in this game of catch.

The back of Odessa’s fingers smoothed over her lips, lost in thought as she watched Vahalia place the cloth over her eyes and the game once again began for the children. Once more scurrying and running about in the small glade that was soon to be kissed by the first year’s frost in mere weeks.

“Why not Valeria?” Adelle asked, “She is the oldest.”

“When you have twins, people tend to see them as one in the same when it comes to who is youngest or oldest. Valeria is…meek, timid. I fear she might not make out well in a forced situation.” Odessa peeled her eyes back to her kin.

“Yet you are entirely convinced Vahalia would be a better fit for such a burden?” Adelle loosed a huff, “An odd way of thinking.”

Odessa lifted her hand as she motioned to the children, “Look at her. She is a child who isn’t scared easily nor waves from anything new or difficult. Something within me feels she can handle the labors of expectation. With Valeria?....” she paused briefly before continuing, “ – It would consume her.”

A stern sigh escaped Adelle as she shook her head, “So what you are telling me in such subtle terms is, you have no other choice to bridge the Whitlock and Cress household and so you’ve picked and chose between your two daughters as to which one can carry the burden without crumbling?” Delicate and slender fingers found Odessa’s as Adelle gave her hand a small squeeze, “Sister, you cannot make a choice based off of the lesser of two evils. Tell Adrian you will not do it. Tell him the Whitlock’s must find another means of peace that does not result in you giving away your daughter.”

“I cannot.” Odessa stood firmly, her golden eyes lifting to meet that of her sister, “There is little I can do. There is ruin otherwise as Adrian has placed us in a hole we cannot climb out from unless we have assistance.” There was a stint of silence before Adelle spoke again, “I can speak with Hakurou and his clansmen, I’m sure there is som –” A shriek filled the mist of the glade as the children had stopped playing and Willem ran over to Adelle, frantically trying to slap the ambers of fire that cling to the hem of his tunic. The smell of burnt linen followed him as he approached, Valeria and Carrera in tow as the fun and games seemed to cease. Adelle rose to meet him as she looked at the scorched linen, “What happened?”

“Vahalia cheated! She threw a fire spell at me.” he glared over his shoulder to his cousin who had been tailing behind the trio of kin.

“I did not mean to! I was playing by the rules, it just HAPPENED!” she hollered.

“No harm no foul.” Adelle muttered down to Willem and her knuckles propped his chin gently, “Well find you a new tunic, come.” she ushered to the boy and waved Carrera along, a small pointed gaze was afforded to Odessa as she too rose to meet her girls.

Adelle led her children back towards the festivities with Valeria following in a close gait.

“Fire Vahalia? That’s dangerous for a silly game with your cousins. You should apologize.” Odessa reached for the child as she and Vahalia walked hand in hand several paces back from the others.

“I will not.” Vahalia proclaimed, “I did not mean it.”

“Even if we do not mean to harm someone, sometimes it is in our best interest to apologize all the same, child. Where did you learn to cast such a thing?”

Vahalia held loosely to Odessa’s hand as they made their way along the slick ground, “Your books, modir.” she admitted and she remained stonefaced to the area before them as Odessa walked and with some measure of surprise gazed down to her daughter.

The walk felt long and cold as they meandered to meet with the others, the joyous music of the Equinox hadn’t quite reached Odessa to spark some jubilant sensation within, she simply focused on the possibilities now laying before her as her daughter had demonstrated something quite extraordinary for someone her age.

Perhaps she could bargain with Adrian over this, now that Vahalia had proven some affinity for magikca that ran deep within her Blackheart roots, roots that would need to be carefully nurtured and fed.

One for sorrow,  Two for joy Three for a girl Four for a boy Five for silver Six for gold Seven for a secret never to be told. Eight for a tale that the stars have spun Nine for a gate that can’t be undone Ten for a river of forgotten lore Eleven for a key to the spectral door Twelve for a mirror that reflects the night Thirteen for a beast that lives in spite Fourteen for a realm beyond our reach Fifteen for a speech no tongue can teach Sixteen for a dream trapped in stoneSeventeen for the old gods’ hollow moan Eighteen for the abyss that gazes back Nineteen for the cosmic formless wrack

Twenty for a Magpie’s final verse in a universe where shadows converse the end of the rhyme the start of the dread where naught a single word is said.

Creature's words coiled through her head as he sang the slow rhyme, through the echo of darkness behind her eyes. Her attention was brought to the blackbirds that sat under the balcony’s edge to avoid the rain that had started to fall within Tural.

Without thinking, her mind washed over their forms, counting each from where she sat with her papers. Ten. She had counted ten as once more Creature continued the rhyme though this time opting to hum in through breaks of sickened chuckles.

Ten.

[pejite]

Autumn was drawing to a close, and the first chill of the winter winds was already making itself felt. The days had been exhausting as they gathered the last of the harvest, but now, as the sun set, they could finally rest. All the children had helped: Thomas, Rosemary, Robert, and Winifred, and now they were all relaxing in the sitting room.

Rosemary was seated at the piano, her fingers tentatively pressing the keys. She had been practising with the little her mother had managed to teach her, though Wilhelmina was not particularly skilled. The piano was a family heirloom, but it had fallen out of regular use over the years.

Thomas was warming himself by the crackling fire, his hands outstretched towards the flames, while Robert had fallen asleep on the sofa, exhausted from the day's work. He had barely made it inside before collapsing into sleep, utterly worn out by the harvest.

Meanwhile, Winifred was absorbed in an art book she had found lying around. She had recently developed an interest in drawing and had even asked Edwin to build her an easel so she could try her hand at painting.

In the kitchen, Wilhelmina had spent hours preparing preserves from the disappointing harvest. Though the crops had been a disaster, she salvaged what she could, pickling the vegetables that were worth preserving to last through the winter. She placed the glass jars in boiling water to seal them, and then sighed, weary from the day’s work.

She stepped away from the heat of the stove, removed her apron, and laid it on the kitchen table. As she left the kitchen, she found Edwin sitting at his desk.

Since their last argument, things had been tense between them. They hadn’t stopped speaking, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before. Wilhelmina had been cold towards Edwin, avoiding his affections, and whenever he joined her in bed with intentions beyond simply sleeping, she rejected him with the excuse that she was tired.

Edwin, for his part, had begun to realise that perhaps Wilhelmina had been right about some of the things she’d said, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. The past few weeks had been the sort that wear a person down to the bone. Edwin wasn’t the type of man who angered easily, and it was rare for him to raise his voice to Wilhelmina. But the stress had built up, and he had let it out in ways he now regretted.

Wilhelmina watched him from the doorway, adjusting her clothes after the long afternoon in the kitchen. She couldn’t see her husband’s face, as he was turned away from her, but she knew he was stressed. She sighed softly and approached him, placing a hand gently on the desk as she looked at the papers scattered in front of him.

Edwin looked up at her. His face was gaunt, marked by the stress that had been eating away at him for weeks. This year had been more than just a bad harvest, the rains and pests had driven up the prices of the few decent foods available at the market. They earned their wages by managing the Abernathy farm, but their expenses were rising, and Edwin was struggling to balance the books.

Wilhelmina met his gaze, and though her eyes weren’t cold, they lacked the warmth they usually held. Edwin knew he had let her down recently, but he felt trapped, overwhelmed by the weight of everything that was going wrong.

“The preserves are ready, but I don’t know if we have enough to last the winter” Wilhelmina finally broke the silence “In fact, I doubt we do.” Her words hung in the air, and Edwin nodded sadly, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “What will we do if things don’t improve by spring?” she asked, her tone gentle but edged with the frustration of someone who is upset.

Though she spoke quietly, Edwin knew her too well. There was a hint of reproach in her voice. “Things will get better” he insisted, though even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. Wilhelmina leaned slightly against the desk, her face showing a trace of the irritation she felt.

Edwin sighed, the tension between them reaching its peak. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a bit? How long have you been like this? Three weeks?” He was referring to her coldness towards him, the silent treatment she had been giving him since their argument.

Wilhelmina looked at him incredulously, narrowing her eyes. She sighed and looked away briefly before turning back to him. “Don’t you think I have a right to be upset? After the way you spoke to me?” she dared to say.

Edwin lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “Edwin, I see you working every day, working yourself to the bone. You come home exhausted from working all day, not even knowing if your efforts will bear fruit” she continued firmly “And the results speak for themselves” she added, nodding towards the window from which the recently harvested fields were visible.

Edwin was at a loss for words, tired and beginning to realise that Wilhelmina had been right about the children’s education. But it pained him to think that all his hard work might not be enough for her.

“I’m working myself to death for you, for the children, and for you” he said, his voice lacking the energy to argue.

“Do you think I don’t appreciate it? We have what we have because of you, and I would choose this life again if I could, because you are in it” Wilhelmina affirmed. Edwin pressed his lips together, struggling with his emotions. “But giving our children an education would mean they’d have a way to support themselves if the land fails us. Edwin…”

Wilhelmina’s expression softened as she saw the weariness in her husband’s eyes. “I wouldn’t trade farm life for anything, but our children… they deserve the chance to do more. Please, think about it. They can still help you when they return from school.”

Finally, Edwin’s pride gave way. There was no point in continuing to deny the truth just because he didn’t want to admit that Wilhelmina was right. He fiddled with his fingers as she spoke, realising how sensible it was to prepare their children for a future beyond the farm. He looked at Wilhelmina and nodded, acknowledging her point. “You’re right… I know you’re right…”

Wilhelmina’s eyes widened in surprise. “I… I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry” Edwin stammered, his voice heavy with regret. “It’s this damned helplessness… I feel like nothing’s going right. The farm is slipping through my fingers, and look at this pathetic harvest we’ve had.”

Wilhelmina swallowed hard, her heart aching for her husband. “You said yourself that things would get better, and they will. We’ll see better days, but while the land has its ups and downs, our children can learn the basics, enough to make a living another way if they have no other choice.”

Edwin nodded again, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. With a sigh, he stood up, prompting Wilhelmina to straighten up as well. Edwin moved around the chair and took her hands, holding them gently. “We’ll enrol them, but they’ll still have to help on the farm. There’s too much to do” he said, his voice softer now. Wilhelmina nodded, and Edwin buried his face in the crook of her neck, seeking the comfort he had missed for so long.

“I think I deserve an apology, don’t you?” Wilhelmina teased, though she welcomed Edwin’s closeness. He nodded against her shoulder before whispering “Forgive me, I won’t speak to you like that again. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Wilhelmina smiled and shook her head. “You’d better keep your word” she said playfully before leaning in to kiss him, a kiss of reconciliation. Edwin, who had longed for her touch for weeks, returned the kiss with fervour.

Wilhelmina placed a hand on the desk, on the papers with still-fresh ink. “Edwin, for heaven’s sake, the children…” she said, laughing softly. Both of them laughed quietly, and it felt as though an eternity had passed since they had last shared a moment of joy like that.

[vixenmulder]

I have another Yord X reader request if you don’t mind :)

Maybe something where Yord sees that reader enjoys reading books so as a way to show that he has feelings he picks out a book he thinks reader would like and brings it to them?

A Surprise

Summary: Yord gets Y/N a gift

Warnings: crowds, kissing

Word count: 1600

Yord Fandar walks through the bustling market of a small planet, his eyes focused and observant. The marketplace is abuzz with the sound of vendors hawking their wares and customers bartering for the best deal. Aliens of various species and humans mill about, creating a kaleidoscopic mix of life and culture.

Fandar surveys the stalls, taking note of everything from rare spices to sophisticated weapons, exotic animals to artisanal crafts. Occasionally, he picks up snippets of conversation that could be pivotal for his mission.

The marketplace is a chaotic symphony of color, noise, and life. Stalls teem with goods of all kinds, their vendors calling out to passersby in a multitude of languages. The air is thick with the scents of exotic spices, cooked meats, and unfamiliar flora.

Yord Fandar, with his keen Jedi senses, absorbs every detail, every sound, every scent, as he moves through the throng. His mind catalogues potential threats and allies, potential leads and distractions.

Nestled in a corner of the market is a small, unassuming bookstore. The sign above the door is weathered and faded, revealing the place's age. Rows of old tomes, their spines creased and pages yellowed, are visible through the shop's small windows. The scent of aged paper mingles with the market's other scents, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere.

Yord Fandar pauses at the sight of the shop, his curiosity piqued.

Inside the small shop, he finds an array of books on various subjects: history, philosophy, medicine, and fiction. The store's owner, a kindly old woman, nods in greeting as Fandar enters.

As he peruses the shelves, his thoughts drift to his girlfriend, Y/N. She loves to read above all else, and the thought of bringing her a rare, antique book as a gift brings a small smile to his face.

Yord Fandar scans the shelves, his fingers tracing over the spines of the ancient tomes. A particular book on the uppermost shelf catches his eye. Its cover is faded and battered, with the title barely legible, but something about it calls to him.

He carefully removes the book, opening it to reveal aged, yellowed pages and intricate illustrations. It's an old, likely rare, guide on the medicinal properties of various herbs. He knows immediately that Y/N would love it.

Fandar smiles at the thought of Y/N's face lighting up when she received the gift. He pays the old owner for the book and exits, the shop's bell tinkling behind him.

Outside, the market is still bustling with life. He tucks the book safely into his bag, his mind now focused on returning to the Jedi temple and reuniting with Y/N.

Yord Fandar arrives back at the Jedi temple. The tranquil atmosphere of the ancient building provides a stark contrast to the lively chaos of the bazaar. He crosses the spacious courtyard, passing younglings playing games and Jedi going about their daily routines.

He makes his way to the library, where he knows Y/N will likely be found.

The Jedi library is a vast room filled with towering bookshelves. The air is rich with the scent of old paper. Y/N is seated at a table hidden in a far corner, poring over an ancient text, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Fandar approaches her stealthily, a sly smile on his lips. He silently places the wrapped book on the table before her and leans down to whisper in her ear, "I have a surprise for you."

Y/N looks up, surprise and joy filling her eyes as she sees  Yord. A wide smile spreads across her face, the earlier frown replaced by unabashed happiness.

"You're back," she whispers, her voice a soft mix of relief and excitement. She reaches out to tug his hand, pulling him down to sit beside her.

As Fandar seats himself next to her, Y/N quickly checks the surroundings, ensuring they're out of sight. She leans into him, the scent of aged paper mingling with the faint musk of his skin.

"I missed you," she admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fandar wraps an arm around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her even closer. They're both acutely aware of the rules they're breaking, the secret they're keeping, but in this moment, it doesn't matter.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, his voice low and earnest. "I missed you, too. I brought you something."

Y/N turns towards him, intrigue piqued. "A gift?"

Fandar smiles, his eyes never leaving hers. He taps the wrapped package sitting on the table. "Open it."

Y/N carefully unwraps the package, her eyes widening as the book is revealed. She runs her fingers over the weathered cover, a smile spreading across her face.

"It's beautiful," she breathes. "Where did you find it?"

"I found it in a little shop in a market," Fandar explains, his voice soft. "I knew you'd love it."

Y/N opens the book, leafing through the pages with a reverential gentleness. The old paper creaks softly under her touch, the illustrations leaping off the pages in faded colors.

"This is amazing," she murmurs, her fingers tracing a diagram of a flowering plant.

Fandar watches her, a sense of warmth and affection spreading through him. Her happiness is palpable, her eyes sparkling with joy as she reads. She turns the pages slowly, absorbing each word, each image. Her finger skims over the old lettering, following a passage that has caught her attention.

"It's a guidebook on medicinal herbs," she says, her voice filled with wonder. "Some of these plants are rare, nearly extinct. It's like a piece of history in my hands."

After a minute Y/N gently closes the book, her fingers tracing the worn cover again. She looks up at Fandar, her expression one of both gratitude and admiration.

"Thank you," she whispers. "This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

Fandar smiles, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Anything for you," he replies quietly.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet of the corner providing an intimate shelter from the rest of the world. Fandar's arm is still around Y/N, his presence a comforting warmth against her side.

The silence is broken by a faint rustling sound from the nearest bookshelf. Both of them freeze, sharing a quick panicked glance. Someone is nearby.

They sit perfectly still, straining their ears to hear any movement in the vicinity. After a tense moment, the sound is repeated, closer this time.

Y/N whispers, "Let's get out of here." with a grimace.

Fandar nods, quickly rising from his seat and helping Y/N up. They begin to make their way out of the library, trying to appear as casual as possible.

Their steps are measured, their gazes sweeping the library for any sign of other Jedi. They're thankful for the quiet at this hour—the other Jedi are either meditating, training, or sleeping, and the library is mostly empty.

They reach the library's exit, quietly slipping out into the dimly lit hallway. The moment they're out of the library, they speed up their pace, hurrying towards Fandar's quarters.

They walk quickly down the quiet corridor, Fandar's hand on the small of Y/N's back, guiding her. They keep an eye out for any other Jedi, but the hallway remains blissfully empty.

They reach Fandar's quarters, and he ushers Y/N inside, shutting the door behind them. Finally alone, they exhale a collective sigh of relief.

Y/N throws off her cloak, laughing as she flops onto Fandar's bed, the book clutched to her chest. She props herself up on her elbows, a mischievous smile on her face.

"This is much more comfortable than the library," she teases, patting the mattress beside her.

Fandar chuckles, shaking his head as he walks over to join her on the bed. He sits down beside her, bracing himself up with one arm as he looks down at her.

"Comfortable, are we?" he teases, his free hand stealing the book from her grasp. He sets it down on the bedside table, his eyes never leaving her.

Y/N pouts slightly, looking from the book to Fandar with mock disapproval. "I was about to look at that," she protests weakly, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"You don't need that right now," he says quietly, shifting his weight to lean over her. His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle.

Fandar gazes down at her, a soft smile on his face. Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, her breath catching as she looks up at him.

His fingers come to play with the hair at the nape of her neck, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. Slowly, he leans down, his eyes never leaving hers, until their lips gently touch.

The kiss is slow and tender, an expression of the love and trust between them. Fandar's hand moves to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing a soft path over her skin. Y/N responds by wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Deepening the kiss, their bodies now flush against each other.

Yord's fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her closer. Y/N arches into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips. In this moment, the rest of the world has faded away, their focus narrowed down to the feel of each other's skin, the taste of their mouths, the beating of their hearts. All that matters is the silent declaration of love that the kiss represents.

[xartus]

The Cernunnos Debate- A Decade Later

As y'all know, I've been studying this deity for a decade now. Doing my own research has proven crucial.

The majority of recon folks follow Serith's theory that the Gaulish Cernunnos is a god of bidirectionality, liminality, psychopomp, ect ect. I disagree, on several points:

The first point is that there is simply no attested deity of that type that far west. The PIE Paxuson is found, at the Westernmost point, probably in Italy, though better attested in Greece. That is the full stop of his reach to the West

Iconography. Phyllis Bober wrote a paper in the 50s about the iconography of the Cernunnos deity, which argues that he is a cthonic deity of nature and regeneration. This is further supported by Miranda Green, who writes that Cernunnos may have a forest deity who came to be known for natural regeneration and thus the afterlife and a whole host of stuff

Green also writes that the epithet "Cernunnos" is uncertain, and could be a name for a type of deity. Furthermore, Paxuson has a distinct animal related to him: Goats. Deer are also an older symbol of the deity (based on Anatolian evidence, scant as it is). The Gaulish Cernunnos is most often depicted with a snake

Now, as for Paxuson, I do agree that he is a deity of roads, pathways, liminality, wealth, protection, man's interaction with nature, a psychopomp, a conduit of natural magic. I disagree with the bidirectional thing just because Jesus, that's advanced philosophical waxings for Romano-Gaulish iconography

Paxuson's reflexes are Pushan, Hermes, Pan (a hypostasis of Hermes), Faunus, and SOME elements of Mercury, though the indigenous Italic deity is more concerned with human commerce, markets, and wealth

As for Cernunnos, less is known. All we have are Romano-Celtic depictions. He cannot be divorced from that context. And in that context, I believe him to be a deity of nature and the regenerative forces of nature, especially forests. Each forest may have had their own antlered deity, we simply don't know

I suspect all this got mixed up with the Romans. Its easy to make the leap from Cernunnos being depicted with Mercury, back to Hermes, back to Paxuson. But Mercury absorbed many of Hermes' aspects, and the archaic version of both of them are pretty different from one another

((Its my UPG that the Gaulish Cernunnos isn't for us. He's not a human-concerned deity. We are a part of nature. His force can be harnessed but isn't directed at us. I pray for deceased animals to be led home by him and for the capitalist destruction of nature to be avenged by him. He isn't mean or anything, but is focused on the survival of the web of life- we can work with him or against him, but he will win in the end))

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Three Broken Threads

Hat tip to @myemuisemo for another excellent post that covers much of what I was planning together:

Data protection was not really a thing back in 1889. However, paper hotel registers would be something filled in by the front desk staff, not the guest. They would contain details of extra charges incurred as well, all stuff generally done by computer, but you can still buy paper copies today. Particularly for the Indian market, where less than half the population have Internet access. These registers are generally mandatory and in some countries, the data will still be passed to the police when it concerns newly arrived foreigners. That's why they ask for your passport.

Newcastle upon Tyne, the one people generally talk about as opposed to Newcastle-under-Lyme in Staffordshire, was at the centre of a major coal mining area in North-East England, the Durham and Northumberland coalfields being in close proximity. The industry was still employing children - boys as young as 12 could work in mines - and was still a pretty dangerous, not to mention unhealthy industry.

The British economy was heavily reliant on coal, especially the newly built electric power stations. While the railways had a big coal trade for internal transport for domestic purposes, boats also played a big role, either going via canal or down the East Coast of Great Britain to the London Docks. This route would become vulnerable to German attack in the World Wars, particularly in the second war from fast torpedo boats known to the British as "E-boats"; the East Coast convoys are a lesser-known part of the naval war, with Patrick Troughton having served with Coastal Force Command.

The Mayor of Gloucester, like most civic mayors in England, is the chair of the council, elected to a one-year term by their fellow councillors. The current holder is Conservative councillor Lorraine Campbell. It's a mostly ceremonial role involving going to various events while wearing a red cloak and a big hat:

Gloucester's Deputy Mayor is called the Sheriff of Gloucester. There is still a Sheriff of Nottingham, by the way.

The Anglophone Canadian accent was historically noticeably different to an American one and of course had its own varieties. They've gotten closer over the decades, especially due to television.

Sir Henry would have limited luggage space on the ship over, so three pairs of boots would be reasonable. He'd have to ship over anything else at further cost, so it could be cheaper to buy new in London.

Deliveries of telegrams that weren't in the immediate area of the office cost extra. Bradshaw's Guide for Tourists in Great Britain and Ireland would state the nearest telegraph office for a town, as the 1866 edition demonstrates:

Sir Charles' estate was worth around £80m in today's money, but that would not even get him onto The Sunday Times Rich List, which starts at £350m (Sir Lewis Hamilton, i.e. the F1 driver). It tops out with Gopichand Hinduja and his family at an estimated £37.2 billion, whose conglomerate is many focussed on India, but also are the biggest shareholders in US chemical company Quaker Houghton.

Westmoreland was a historical county in Northern England; it was absorbed into Cumbria in 1974, but its area became part of the Westmoreland and Furness unitary authority in 2023.

"Entailed" means that Sir Charles has stipulated in a legal document that the Baskerville estate would have to pass to Sir Henry's heir intact. This was a feudal era practice that has now been abolished in most jurisdictions, with limited remaining use in England and Wales. Simply put Sir Henry is not allowed to sell the house or the land, even part of it. He can do what he likes with the cash and probably the chattels, the movable property like the candlesticks and the toasting forks.

This page covers it in relation to the works of Jane Austen with relevant spoilers:

Borough is another name for the area of Southwark. It got a Tube station in 1890, when the City and South London Railway opened, now the Bank branch of the Northern line. It also is famous for Borough Market, then a wholesale food market under cover of buildings from the 1850s. Today it is a retail market for specialty food; kind of like a farmers' market.

In 1888, the 10:30 from Paddington would get to Exeter at 15:35, a journey of five hours. @myemuisemo provides route maps. I would add at this point, GWR services to SW England went via Bristol, adding a lot of time to the journey, while the LSWR route from Waterloo was a lot more direct. Wags dubbed the former "the Great Way Round". The construction of two cut-off lines allowed the GWR to go via Westbury and Castle Cary.

I will cover the modern day condition of the route in my Chapter 6 post.

The GWR still had some broad-gauge track at 2,140 mm(7 ft 1⁄4 in) left that Brunel had favoured, but this would be finally eliminated in 1892.

Finally, Holmes is referencing the sport of fencing when he learns the cabbie has been given his name. The foil is the lightest of the three swords used in competitive fencing, such as the Olympics.

In an age before electronic fencing equipment, point scoring relied on the eyesight of the umpire... and the honesty of the competitions.

I was in my fencing club at university. I can't say I was that great. I preferred the epee, which doesn't have the priority rules...