#I always sing poke the puss

[ssl0t]

Poke the puss, crack cocaine and down with STDs are the best Steveo raps

[madangel19]

Keos Phone died :(

Anyway, here I am.

Singing for the other, Please? :)

This is adorable and I thought of something even cuter for this prompt :D

Enjoy! This is just pure fluff

Word Count: 804

“Sing us another song, daddy!” Cinder’s excited voice exclaimed, making Delia pause in her steps. She was just bringing down some laundry for the ghouls when she heard the request from Swiss’s room. 

A cacophony of happy squeaks and trills filled the air as if in agreement with what Cinder had said. There was a low chuckle from Swiss before he shushed them.

“One more, but the little ones need to sleep after this,” he said. 

“Do the hearse song! That’ll put them to sleep,” Nova chimed. 

Delia had never heard of that one. She crept closer to Swiss’s door that was open a few inches, making sure she was still hidden away. 

“That’s an excellent idea, babygirl. Ya’ll get real cozy now. Make sure the little ones are all snug in the nest,” Swiss said.

“They are, daddy. I’ll still give them another blanket though,” Vortex said.

“That’s a good big brother. They’re gonna love it,” Swiss said, a smile in his voice. Even though Delia couldn’t see him, she just knew he had the biggest smile on his face. 

There was a brief pause which was followed by the familiar coos and chitters of the smallest kits. They always did love it whenever Swiss sang to them. It was one of the quickest ways to stop them from crying. 

An unfamiliar guitar tune filled the air now and the sounds from the kits immediately died down. 

“Don't ever laugh as a hearse goes by

For you may be the next to die

They wrap you up in bloody sheets

To drop you six feet underneath,” Swiss sang.

Delia had never heard of this before, but it sounded nice despite the macabre lyrics. She crept closer, listening to her beloved multi ghoul sing.

“They put you in a pinewood box

And cover you up with dirt and rocks

It all goes well for about a week

And then, your coffin begins to leak.

And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out

The worms play pinochle on your snout

They eat your eyes, they eat your nose

As you begin to decompose,” Swiss sang as the older kits giggled amongst themselves.

Delia poked her head in and saw Swiss seated on the huge bed with the kits surrounding him. Cinder sat in his lap, swaying side to side with a beaming smile on her face. Nova was holding one kit while Vortex held two. The youngest kits looked calm and happy as they listened to Swiss.

“A slimy beetle with demon's eyes

Chews through your stomach and out your sides

Your stomach turns to rancid grease

And puss pours out like melted cheese

You spread it on a slice of bread

And that's what you'll eat when you're dead,” Swiss chomped his teeth at Cinder who covered her mouth to suppress a shriek of laughter. The ghoul smirked and pecked her on the cheek before he continued playing the guitar. 

“And the worms crawl out, the worms crawl in

The ones that crawl in are lean and thin

The ones that crawl out are fat and stout

Your eyes fall in, and your hair falls out

Your brain turns into maggot pie

Your liver starts to liquify

And for the living, all is well

As you sink further into hell,” Swiss sang. Cinder had joined him, her little voice drowned out by her father. Delia put the load of laundry down and reached into her pocket, grabbing her phone to take some pictures. This was the perfect opportunity to take the cutest pictures of her family. 

“And the flames rise up to drag you down

Into the fire, where you will drown

Your skin melts off as you descend

And Satan tears you limb from limb

Your suffering will never end.

And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out

They'll eat your guts and then shit them out

And when your bones begin to rot

The worms remain, but you do not,” Swiss poked Cinder on the nose, making her giggle again. 

Delia took a picture of the moment, feeling all the more in love with him. She looked over at the youngest kits and saw that they were now fast asleep. Nova was right. That song did put them to sleep.

“So don't ever laugh as a hearse goes by

For someday, you'll be the one to die

And when Death brings his cold despair

Ask yourself, "Will anyone care?",” Swiss ended the song.

Delia was about to take another picture as the youngest ones clapped silently, but she gasped when she noticed him looking right at her with a playful smile. Cinder looked up at him in confusion before following his gaze. The kit’s confusion turned to delight when she spotted Delia.

“Mama Delia’s been spying on us,” he crowed.

[chanelfunnell]

mail

so tthe mail, without crazies

a) anon, Connor Murphy is 29, it is certainly good age to get married and propose to ling term serious gf. Duchene has almost 3 kids in his 30s, Carcillo closee to 40 almost 40, the Sabres productivuty recordman, 25 yrs old, has welcimed a baby boy..Crosby and Toews are certainly exception in general man's world to be without offsprings in late 30s as good looking, wealthy, sporty fit men and with serious gfs.

b)

Estelle is Max Domi's gf and shes a make up artist based in Toronto..i have no idea how often they see each other and so and i dont care. She presents her work often.

c) Jenna Rozsell is the best looking of the Blackhawks WAGs according me based on her videos, filtered, unfiltered photos, more photos with make up, with casual clothes.

d)

maybe Elina got it from Marketa, maybe not. lets not poke a troll bear to jump here to accuse us of sort of her issues..Elina runs more IN influencers accounts and one is her cooking IN..i know her cookbook is still on Amazon..i am sure these two know each other at lesst a bit from Chicago B heydays and wag and zport journo women of similsr age they do. Kaner snd Tazer were their jesters.. it is normal to get an idea from others, friends or influences. it works better than PR or commercials. it looks like escalope and Swedish cuisine is not distant from German, Czech, British one . Pasta is not from these regions lol.

i lile that Elina is quite active with her work and life. She has looked like s broken sour puss a while ago refusing to leave USA anx posting tons of sexy or naked desperade photos as a call for support. i like on Marketa that she is always a team player as a commentator or former ceremonial head of marines or as a stsr or royal or a producer. Compared to Markle who parasites on the work of a producer doing all work for her

d)

well, anon, Pens WAGs are lazy as a charitable arm of the Pens. More like merch, sales and promo arm lol. all up to Kathy. more an exception in NHL to do it. Check more NHL wags, this time from Montreal Canadians. Pens wags are ridiculous with their pushy sales anx posing like the Habs trying to sing.

e)

yeah, Draisaitl reminds me Ovechkin with his strong back hand and little bit with similar bearded look.

Leon Draisaitl's better look is a left side like Ovi's playing one or fav photo shoot side for Arianna Grande. He scored manority of his goals from right side, not good look for him either. btw McDavid's gf did not finish her cookbook.

[dapandapod]

You bring me colours

Hello and welcome to mean and angsty hours. Today I bring to you a soulmate fic, but it is sad and hurtful.

Thank you my lovely enablers for helping me bringing this to life, despite my very weak protests. Be mindful, my loves, if you are having a bad day you might want to skip this one. It ends happily, do not worry, but the way there is ouchie.

Warnings; Implied character death (real and not real), vauge description of drinking and depression, just, sad in general. A little bit soft too, and hopeful, but mostly sad. Im sorry.

On Ao3 here

Everybody has a soulmate. When your One comes into the world, they bring colors with them. And when they go, so do the colors. Many a poet sings of a world gone gray, of a love unknowingly lost. Because you don’t always meet your one. For some, it is enough to know they are out there. For some, the hunt lasts their entire lifetime. Some lucky few find each other, and some never do, settling in peace anyway.

---

For Vesemir, he had color for almost a century. But a witchers life is rough, and he knows not to seek them out. Not to give hope, not to feel greed. Just gift them with colors as long as he is able. He has an inkling who is His. His One. They must know too, but they never say.

Vesemir sits at the teachers table. It is lively in the hall, the children are laughing and making a mess as children do. They are his pride and his burden. Not all will be allowed to grow up, but he will do his best to give them a fighting chance. He raises his spoon towards his mouth, the soup smelling warm and rich.

The spoon falls with a clatter to the table.

Everything is black and white.

He is in front of everybody. In charge of so many lives. He was gifted with color for such a long time, this was to be expected. But if his One is who he thinks it is, then….

The screaming begins outside. The sacking of Kaer Morhen has begun.

---

Jaskier has always seen color. Always seen the color of the sky, the flowers and the nuances of snow.

When Jaskier is six years old, that changes.

He runs to his mothers, tears streaking down his face. Her dress used to be a bright green, her eyes a rich blue.

“Where did the colours go?” He cries. He knows he is too big to cry, but he is scared and sad.

Mother seems to be sad too. Heartbroken in fact, and she picks him up and holds him close.

After that day, the only color Jaskier can see is yellow. The color of the sun, of buttercups, some cat’s eyes. Of puss, of stains and of age.

--

There are many ways to die. The old Geralt dies when his knife plunges into Renfri's neck.

Geralt's colors came some years ago. When it happened he didn’t panic. He followed Vesemir's advice and pushed it as far back as he possibly could. It was only a small disappointment that the world didn’t turn grey when Renfri died. Because that is what Geralt felt like.

The colours stay, and he despises them. They glare at him, blaming him for still being there. How can he think he ever deserves happiness?

-----

In Posada, Jaskier finds someone with yellow eyes. They call to him like no other, so he goes. It is the best decision he has ever made, if the most difficult one. But with Geralt around, it is almost as if his memories of colours are springing to life. Sometimes he remembers that poppies are red, that water can be rich blue, and that autumn leaves can look like a fire. The fire he remembers from his past, but around Geralt they are so vivid they almost look real.

His mother told him not to tell. To hold those memories close. She taught him the colors through names and pictures, so that if someone asked, he would know.

Jaskier knows that his lost colours means that his One is dead. Some kind of dead, at least, if the professors are to be believed. If you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance. So Jaskier leaps at every chance he gets. He is one of those who chase, and will continue to chase.

----

Geralt is reluctant to Jaskier. Reluctant, because when he is around he is starting to feel alive again. Jaskier pokes and prods and smiles and sings and talks, and it is all Geralt can do to fight it.

---

A hot summer day Geralt finally gives in and they're just being goofy and like wrestling in a river. All the sudden Jaskier can see the color of the grass and he freaks out and scrambles out of the river and just lays down in front of a tuft of grass like 'holy shit geralt look at that.”

The bard is absolutely mesmerized for a moment, but when Geralt comes to look at what caught his attention, before he catches himself. Shit. Geralt can’t know.

So he plays it off, especially when the tuft of grass slowly fades back to grey. There is a lump in his throat, hope so big in his chest he wants to explode. They are out there, his One. They are still here.

---

There are many changes during their travels. Yennefer, for one. It is with her arrival that Jaskier realizes he is in love with Geralt. Deeply, desperately in love with him.

Another change happens on a cold and lonely mountain top. Geralt finally breaks, breaks everything, and Jaskier feels a spark inside himself diminish.

The further away from the mountain he gets, the more muted the world becomes. Even his memories stay out of his reach, as in fear of the pain he feels.

----

The moment Jaskier leaves the mountain, his world goes gray. Things click into place. He closes his eyes against the pain, letting it tear through him, cut him open.

Jaskier was his One.

And he killed him.

---

Geralt doesn’t know why the sky is still blue. He doesn’t understand how Ciris cloak is not grey, her eyes as startling blue as the love he once lost.

He thought he lost Yennefer on Sodden hill, but when he meets her, she is wearing a dress the color of Jaskiers eyes.

He breaks down at her feet, finally crumbling after all this time. He tells her everything, and she wipes his tears with infinite patience. How he deserves that from her, he doesn’t know.

“Why blue?” she asks him. “What relationship do you have with blue?”

And Geralt thinks about it. It is Ciri who finally puts the pieces together. Blue as Jaskiers eyes, he had said. And if you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance, or so a bard had told her in her grandmother's ballroom.

---

There are many ways to die. Jaskier is drowning. Drowning in pain and alcohol, sinking to a bottom, looking up at a golden sun. Not even the bright yellow can cheer him up, not when it reminds him so much of Geralt's eyes.

He doesn’t chase anymore. He accepts. Accepts that he will be alone, that nobody wants to be with someone destined for no one.

---

Geralt finds him in a tavern. Geralt walks in, so Jaskier must out. The one thing Geralt asks of him, after all these years. The least he can do is listen.

But Geralt follows him outside. Grabs his arms. Cups his cheeks. Asks for forgiveness. It takes time for Jaskier to register his words, he is deep down, he is drowning. But the sun seems closer now, becking him upwards.

He doesn’t understand why Geralt is here, but his broken heart is held together with Geralt's arms around him.

---

Geralt is scared to tell the bard. After all the pain he caused, how can he possibly make things right.

Geralt does everything he can to get the colours back, but they won’t come. Now that he has had a taste, now that he knows that it was his words, not his hands, that took them, he fights. He won’t make Jaskier follow him anymore. He tries something new.

They walk beside each other, a careful pace forward is set. It takes time, but his colours return. Jaskiers smiles are brighter, his eyes cornflower blue.

Then Jaskier confesses to him, he sees no colours but gold. How he carried it inside all this time, hoping that his One is out there, and Geralt can’t wait any longer.

“I want to give them to you. The colours that you bring to me, I want to give back to you.”

And he tries. Everyday he tries. And Jaskier holds his hand all the while.

[yourssinfullyquiche]

My One and Only

My first ever tumblr post!!! Gosh, I'm so excited and it's all thanks to @playheej encouraging me and helping me set up step by step! Thank you so much!!

This ficlet was based on the song My Love, My Life from Mamma Mia! I attached the link, if anyone wants to read while listening to it.

Gavin x F! reader (You)

Word count: 1074

Beta: Quiche and the wonderful @playheej

Warning: This post will consume you with its fluffy sweetness with hints of bitter and spicy notes leaving you hungry for more!😈

Hope you enjoy!

--

“Babe, sing that song”, Gavin turned to face you on your lap with a gentle smile on his face. You were relishing in the comfort of your fingers running through his soft chestnut hair and felt annoyed at the sudden disappearance, but quickly discarded that feeling when you met his gorgeous face.

“What song?”, you said while brushing his bangs out of his face and caressing his cheeks, earning a soft hum in response. “You know, the one you always sing, especially in the bathroom”, Gavin chuckled when he saw your embarrassed face.

You cupped your face and peeked a little to observe him—he had this innocent glint in his eyes coupled with a boyish look which you’ve always loved. So you had to fulfill his wish but you were not going to do it that willingly. You wanted to have a bit of fun playing with him.

“Which one? I sing a lot. Try singing it for me, maybe I can remember it”, you feigned, trying to keep a straight face and hoped he would not see through you. He was deep in thought, probably trying to find out the best way to present it without sounding goofy. Despite being your fiancé and singing for you many times, he still feels shy about it, but you love that about him—it’s so adorable and you were determined to pretend until he sings. You need to apply that same determination to finishing your unattended proposal, your mind chided. You involuntarily let out an exasperated huff just thinking about your remaining work which caught Gavin’s attention.

“Are you thinking about work? Got tons to do?”, he sympathetically asked while tucking a few stubborn strands of hair behind your ear. “No, it’s okay that can wait. So which song is it?” He instantly blushed but resolutely started humming a faint melody. Wow he must really want you to sing that song. You knew he loved that song but you wanted him to sing it so you pretended that you couldn’t hear and suggested adding lyrics. He insisted on humming it and finally caught up with your shenanigans after your countless urgings to sing it.

“But I really don’t know!”

“Don’t lie”, he said pretending to be vexed while turning away from you.

“Suit yourself, I won’t sing it then”, you teased. He immediately turned and gave you his infamous puppy face much like Puss in Shrek. You have to admit, his puppy face is his most trusted weapon to render you vulnerable, especially those stunning golden eyes—you would gladly drown in them—but you were not going to lose this! In fact you were more determined to make him sing.

“That look isn’t going to help you because I don’t know which song it is. If you’re not going to tell me, I really need to work on my proposal now”. This would surely give him the push, you slyly remarked to yourself, and true enough he gripped your legs, preventing you from getting up. You giggled when he scrunched up his face at you and forced himself to start singing. He gently started singing, imbuing the room with his dulcet tones—his voice, sweet as sugar:

“Like an image passing by, my love, my life

In the mirror of your eyes, my love, my life

I can see it all so clearly

All I love so dearly...”

You sighed, closing your eyes and enjoying his voice, not realising that he stopped singing until he lightly poked your cheek.

“Go on. Why did you stop?”

“I want you to sing it,” he murmured.

Oh well, at least you had a momentary amusement of teasing him.

You started singing the song while slowly stroking the outline of his handsome features, loving the glow in his eyes anticipating his favourite part of the song. You stopped at his thin lips, tracing them; wondering how this man continued to love you even after years of separation, desperately waiting for a chance to reunite with you; and when he did, his aloof behaviour concealed his deep emotions—afraid of reigniting the flame in his heart; afraid of falling deeper than he already has—afraid of being hurt again and not ever recovering from this blazing emotion -

“Yes, I know I don't possess you

With all my heart, God bless you

You are still my love and my life

You're my one and only”

You leaned in closer, anticipating his faded peachy lips against yours, wanting to ease his painful journey with the same amount of emotions yet not gainsay them; so you kissed his lips tenderly, hoping he could feel your overflowing contradicting emotions of love, joy, desire, admiration and contrite while savouring the warmth that only he could provide to rekindle your hope for life. An epiphany struck you—you knew why he adored those four lines; it’s because those four lines encapsulated his fiery feelings for you which might seem reticent to others—you trembled slightly when he pulled your head closer, turning his own to further deepen the kiss, craving for that burning heat which you responded with equal vigor; needing him to understand your own aching love for him. After what felt like mere seconds, both of you were forced to part from the steamy kiss for the lack of oxygen. Panting, you stared at his lips, flushed and blooming almost swollen from the intensity of the kiss; his face was no different—cheeks and ears dusted with rouge. You wanted to imprint his inhibited state in your mind but secretly realised that there were many moments like this to come.

“You’re my one and only,” catching him off guard with a chaste peck to his temple causing his cheeks to redden more.

“I love you too,” he smiled; that one and only smile which he reserves for you; while planting a light kiss on your ring.

“I have something important to tell you,” your tone lowering an octave which earned an intense observation from your fiancé.

You bent closer to his ears and whispered mischievously; “I did lie. I knew what song you were referring to from the beginning.” You couldn’t stop laughing when Gavin gave you that betrayed look. In a heartbeat, your back was against the rug with him straddling your hips.

“Since when did my girl learn how to lie? A lie this severe requires punishment,” he seductively purred in your ears.

“Well, I am rather fond of your punishments, Officer...”

Delve into my world

[scarlettwitcher]

Úlfur minn Part One

Request: by @laneygthememequeen​: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2336

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of guts, lots of angst, canon typical warnings, also the title is in Icelandic, it was just something cute for plot.

Author’s Notes: So, I’m not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I found that Episode 4, Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials fit this request perfectly. This will be a four part mini series. I’m actually really excited to release this to y’all. Million of thanks out to my girl @queenxxxsupreme​. She’s been such an amazing help with writing The Witcher. Everyone send her lots of love! I am accepting requests so please, send them in! If you’d like to be a tag as well, just let me know! Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!

“I tell you no lie. It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!” The man took a second to breathe before scowling at another. “Of, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up for emphasis as he recalled the events he had witnessed earlier. “The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a Selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!” You tried to stifle your snort as everyone gasped. You took a drink of your ale, quickly scowling at the cup for the foul taste. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher… whole!” 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” You giggled quietly to yourself as you heard Jaskier and slowly reached over, poking his head gently making him look up at everyone staring at him in confusion. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh… and then what happened?”

“He died.”

“Eh… He’s fine.”

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own-” The door swung open, cutting the man off as Geralt slowly walked into the room, a thick awful smell filling the room. Everyone parted immediately, giving Geralt room to walk straight towards the man. Your eyes widened as you saw him, covered head to toe in guts and it took everything in you not to rush to his side to see if he was okay.

“See?” Jaskier let out a loud laugh and you elbowed him as you stood, making your way over to Geralt, touching his elbow gently before moving to the other side of the tavern, knowing Geralt would make his way over there.

“Oh… What’s that stench?”

“Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” 

“Toss a coin to your witcher. O, Valley of Plenty o-oh-oh” As you heard the song leave the bard’s lip, you smiled softly to yourself knowing how much Geralt hated it. Soon everyone joined Jaskier and cheered as they were now monster free.

Once Geralt received payment, he made his way over to you, laying his sword on the table as you smiled up at him and pulled out your handkerchief that you always carried with you and started to wipe his face. Geralt watched you with a reserved softness that he only had for you. Before either of you could get a word out, Jaskier approached behind the both of you.“You're welcome. And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.” The bartender handed Geralt a mug of ale but before you could advise him not to, he took a sip, and immediately spit it out to the side, getting some on your pants as he stared the bartender down with what could be called rage. “What debt, you’re probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor.”

“Jaskier, let the man breathe would you. He’s covered in guts.” The Witcher shot you a soft glance. He’d never admit it to anyone but he loved the way you cared about him. He never knew how you could be so kind, caring, and...innocent.

“Y/n, please. Geralt’s already ready for the nex-”

“Fuck off, bard.” You giggled as Geralt gave you a side smile and Jaskier rolled his eyes at your antics. He knew you both had some kind of feelings for each other but would never admit it, because frankly, you both were stubborn idiots.

“Listen Geralt, for one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-” You watched in amusement as Geralt turned around to leave, showing he didn’t care for what the bard was offering. “Fuck! Food, women and wine, Geralt.” 

This made Geralt stop in his tracks before slowly turning to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to you for a second, a bit of guilt creeping in as he saw the way you had momentarily slumped into yourself at the mention of women. Geralt sighed before nodding once, making his way out of the tavern, you and Jaskier following him in haste as you made way to an inn. Before long, you had rented a large suite for the three of you. You walked into the bathroom and prepared a bath for Geralt as he silently followed you into the room, carefully stripping himself of his clothes, not wanting to drop guts on anything else in the room. You knew what he was doing and instantly turned your back to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You already saw him shirtless and felt the need blossoming in your chest like it always did when you saw him or any part of him. 

“You didn't have to.” 

“I w-wanted to. It gives me a chance to see how you are. Besides, Jask has been on you since we left the tavern and we have a few minutes now, Úlfur minn.”

“You worry too much.” With that, Geralt slowly sat inside the tub. You finally turned around to look at him and it took every ounce of strength of your being to not look down. He knew he was affecting you as your cheeks turned a darker red and smirked as he watched you.

“A s-simple thank you would've been nice.”

“Thank you Y/n.” Geralt mumbled softly. You felt yourself melt at the way he said your name and cleared your throat, moving around the room, getting the necessary items to help him wash off the monster guts now dried on his skin and hair.  You grabbed a chair and sat behind him, laying the objects on the floor. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt (or in this case, Geralt’s shirt that you suspected he never noticed you took) and scooted closer to him. If he didn't stink so much, you could have sworn on your life you would've laid a kiss on his head. Before you could even do anything, Jaskier barged into the room and grabbed the bucket of water you had on the side, dumping it on Geralt's head. He grunted angrily at Jaskier as he looked up at him with disdain. 

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night body guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh. Oh, really? So, Y/n is your friend but I’m not? Do you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom or even Y/n?” You looked at Jaskier with confusion as you looked down at Geralt and you could’ve sworn he sunk a bit in the tub as he remained quiet and watched Jaskier, his eyes watching his every move threateningly. You took this opportunity to grab some soap and rub it into his hair, washing away all the grime he had. Geralt immediately relaxed under your touch and even leaned into your hands, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers in his hair, grunting quietly when a finger got caught in a knot. He would never say it but this was one of his favorite things: when you played with his hair.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” Geralt watched unfazed as Jaskier threw salt into his bath and you smiled proudly at Jaskier’s confidence and even did a tiny fist bump in the air for him to which he responded back with a tiny, dramatic bow.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt scowled at him, already regretting the decision he knew he was going to have to unwittingly take. You scrunch your face at Jaskier, wondering how he could sleep with so many women, how the both of them could. You would never admit it to the Witcher but it always pained you to watch him walk off, knowing he was in search of a warm body for the night. Jaskier always consoled you in those dark nights but after a while, you became used to the pain. 

“Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” Geralt grabbed the mug of ale you had brought him earlier, bringing it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Jaskier had plucked the cup and moved it away from him. “Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt groaned and you moved your hand quickly to his back, gently massaging him. It worked and he relaxed once more under your touch. Jaskier could only watch in amusement. You both acted like a couple but were just friends. ”A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt glared at Jaskier before leaning into your touch once more. “Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous? Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

You knew Jaskier was poking the bear. This wasn't the first time the bard asked Geralt this and probably wouldn't be the last but you hated how Geralt responded every time. You always scolded Jaskier when he asked the Witcher this. Jaskier was the only one who knew of your feelings for the big, white haired man and had bestowed the honor upon himself of getting you two together. But it never worked. It just confirmed your fears over and over. Geralt didn't feel anything for you other than strictly platonic emotions. Jaskier looked at you with sympathetic eyes before they dropped down to Geralt. He saw the conflict behind his eyes. His answer was always you. He wanted to tell you but since the first time you met, you made yourself perfectly clear that you only wanted to be friends. Ever since, he's got amazingly well at hiding his feelings for you. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier could only internally groan as he wanted to scream at the both of you. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier stared at you as he spoke and your eyes widened as you shook your head violently. Jaskier sighed as he looked at Geralt. You looked down at your hands, thinking of an excuse to get away from the two men. You didn’t notice the way he turned to look at you, his eyes softening. He turned back around to Jaskier, his face hardening quickly.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet…” You stood up so quickly, the chair you were sitting on fell back onto the floor. You almost ran out of the room, feeling your eyes hot with unshed tears. Jaskier sighed and shook his head, pointing towards the door where you had run out of. “Here we are.”

“Hm... Jaskier, don't start with this again.”

“If only you could see the way she looks at you.”

“I said don’t.” Geralt needed a distraction as his head was now invaded with thoughts of you. The way you ran out because of his words gave him just a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything Jaskier bugged him about, day and night, was true. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in Selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher and neither is Y/n going as the healer she is. I’ve got clothes for both of you, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Jaskier took his leave into the next room where he found you sitting on the bed with your head in your knees. He slowly approached you and rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the bard, red rimmed eyes, staring down his sad ones.” I didn’t think he'd answer so….I’m sorry Y/n.”

“I-it’s okay Jask. You’ve just been wrong. He really doesn't even look at me as more than a friend. That's all I am, a friend. Besides, he doesn't want a prude like me.”

“You're not a prude Y/n.” You stood and took a deep breath as you walked around the room with pensive thoughts clouding your head. “Look, I was able to get you a rather beautiful dress and I might've bedded a hairdresser...She agreed to help.” You frowned at Jaskier as you quickly shook your dress.

“Dress? Oh no, no, no. I don't like dresses. You know this Jask.”

“You're gonna have to deal with it Y/n. If Calanthe can wear a dress, then so can you.” You groaned loudly at him as he laughed softly. You nodded at him to show you the dress and thus, you all prepared to attend the dreaded event.

*~*

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[gaysofzaun]

So @dinahdarling and @witchertrashbag made a post about Jaskier and Vesemir and there was another post about Jaskier in Kaer Morhen being an absolute slut for Witcher’s, and Vesemir’s casting was announced which either inspired it or just fanned the flames and I started to bullshit in the tags of one of my posts and found out there was a tag limit…

which turned into me this half head canon half story mess about Geralt bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after he finds Ciri but before they confess any feelings…

this is an incoherent mess and not at all what i normally write but I couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head and I’m writing another serious geraskier fic so i need it out and here we are, we’re dying like men in this Chili’s tonight

....

Jaskier flirts with Vesemir as soon as he sets eyes on the older Witcher, he gets that cheeky smile like a cat that’s spotted a dish of cream. Vesemir, the old bastard, just chuckles, good natured. The old Witcher finds the bard absolutely charming and to the shock of everyone in Kaer Morhen, Vesemir flirts right back.

It sets a precedent for their relationship. Jaskier flirts, lays it on real thick, and Vesemir gives it right back. He likes to listen to Jaskier sing older songs, historical ballads and such and Jaskier loves to hear Vesemir’s stories.

“He’s much more eloquent than you are darling.” Jaskier tells him after the first week, transcribing his notes on sheets of spare parchment he’d filched from the library, already more comfortable in a castle full of witchers than he has any business being. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, he is! When I ask him to elaborate he does so in more that’s two syllables!”

He listens with rapt attention and Vesemir enjoys the feeling of those bright blue eyes.

Makes him feel young again he says, while Lambert pukes exaggeratedly over his shoulder.

Jaskier and Eskel fuck after the first month.

Geralt‘s out for morning meditation with Ciri and Vesemir and on his way down to the courtyard he sees jaskier slip out Eskel‘s door looking sleep warmed and ruffled, love bites all along his neck and chest and thighs.

Eskel’s a biter and Jaskier writes a drinking song about it.

and Geralt feels… funny about it, he can’t concentrate enough to slip into a meditative state, he’s jittery. Ciri asks him if he’s ok, he doesn’t know

he has to excuse himself when Eskel finally joins them looking so satisfied and loose and smirking into the middle distance and Geralt’s chest floods with … something vicious. It happens so suddenly he shocks himself out of it and doesn’t really know what happened

When it happens again, they’re all getting drunk over a big roast hog that geralt and eskel hunted in the valley to mark the changing of the seasons (minus Ciri, but Eskel and Lambert let her have sips of their ale when they think Geralt isn't looking) when Jaskier and Lambert disappear for a bit

Geralt looks up from his conversation with Vesemir and they‘re gone and he just stops and goes a little cold in his gut, then there they are

Lambert looks extremely satisfied, eyes lidded, unhurried, and jaskier’s looking very smug indeed and then and then the little shit looks fondly irritated when lambert fucking whispers something in his ear.

It’s too low for Geralt to hear, but it must be funny because Jaskier just smacks him playfully and Lambert laughs and Geralt wants to break everything. Then Ciri is asking him if he’s ok and Jaskier looks over at him and there’s concern in those blue eyes.

Geralt is not ok

it all comes to a head when Lambert says some dumb shit in the training yard. It’s harmlessly cocky. Just Lambert being Lambert.

Jaskier is fucking lounging on the ruins of the crumbling wall above the yard, long lines warming in the sun and loose shirts with plunging necklines to reveal the beginnings of his chest hair.

It’s distracting. Geralt tries not to look at him too hard.

He’s plucking through a new song, trying different lines and tunes over and over in different ways. The familiar sound is pleasant, it helps him focus on his movements as he demonstrates his footwork for Ciri as he spars with the two witchers and Lambert says something, too low for Ciri to hear, but Geralt can hear him just fine, about shutting the bard up for a little bit , something about using that pretty mouth for other things

and eskel, fucking eskel, makes that low appreciative ’mhmm’ noise and geralt goes fucking feral, suddenly it’s not training, that ugly feeling is back, the one that makes him want to break things and he’s got a sword in his hand, adrenaline high. He nearly slices lambert open before Vesemir‘s grabbing him and shoving him and shouting at him to take a fucking walk

meanwhile ciri is just standing there with the dummy and her wooden sword, eyes wide, grip slack. Jaskier‘s playing has stopped, the bard is looking at him with his blue eyes wide with shock and concern, Lambert’s yelling, asking him what his problem is and Eskel is just staring at him, with that knowing look, and it’s too much.

He storms off. Jaskier, inevitably, follows and Geralt ,inevitably, says some terrible things,

but unlike with the dragon and Yen, there isn’t a monologue about how much he hates Jaskier. Geralt is very aware that he very much doesn’t hate the bard, but there are feelings clawing at his chest and lodged in his throat that he doesn’t know what to do with. Doesn’t know who they’re directed at or why, just that it settles at the sound of Jaskier’s voice and he’s a little more focused

Jaskier however is a man on a mission and he intends to get to the bottom of all this emotional constipation and get the brute to express his feelings. He pokes and prods and pulls at Geralt until the poor Witcher is a stammering and confused ball of frustration and anger and poorly phrased feelings.

“Are you angry?”

“Yes! …No… I don’t know.”

“Well you’re clearly worked up about something, you nearly tore Lambert’s head off. So what is it?”

At the mention of Lambert that blind, directionless Something flares again, Geralt sneers, “You worried I bruised your toys?”

“My toys?”

“Don’t worry, little bird, Witcher’s heal quickly. He’ll be back in working order for you by tonight.”

“Working order? Geralt, what are you talking about?”

There’s some implied slut shaming (Jaskier: Excuse me, I do NOT fuck every man and woman I see! Geralt: Not for lack of trying! Jaskier: SOO?!WHY DO YOU CARE WHERE I STICK MY DICK? Geralt: CAUSE IT ALWAYS ENDS UP WITH ME HAVING TO CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!), Geralt expresses an acute frustration with the cut of Jaskier’s shirt collars, and implied regret of ever bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen,

“Well then why did you bring me here in the first place if you hate me and my slutty slutty shirts that damn much!?”

“I don’t hate you Jaskier, I brought you because I-“

And the truth hits him a split second before he can stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Geralt nearly chokes on his spit he stops talking so fast. His face goes red and,,,

Oh no

no that wont do at all.

Without a word he turns on his heel and flees,

He spends the rest of the day out in the valley with Roach trying to get himself under control.

When he comes back it’s to Vesemir standing arms cross in front of the entrance to the keep. He warns him, the whole of Kaer Morhen, and the Rock trolls that live in the caves below, heard his argument with the bard. They all agree, Geralt is being, as Lambert put it, ‘a big warty Cyclops dick’ and he needs to ’unclench and get his colossal bag of issues under control before he fucking kills one of us’. Also Lambert‘s words.

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Vesemir just sighs “You better prepare one hell of an apology, Wolf.” and leads him inside.

Everyone is settling in for dinner. It was Lambert’s turn to cook so the entire keep smells like garlic and spices (every Witcher has a hobby, something to occupy them in between monster hunts. Geralt likes card games, Vesemir likes to collect rare coins, Eskel likes to knit, and Lambert likes to cook).

They all look up when he comes in. Eskel is quiet, he has that knowing look in his eye. Lambert glares, “Welcome back, sour puss, your little tantrum ruin your appetite?”

Geralt has his customary ‘eat my ass Lambert’ on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses, looks at Ciri who looks at him reproachfully from Jaskier’s other side. Jaskier looks up at him with those blue eyes and Geralt feels something settle in his gut.

He knows he’ll be forgiven, but he cannot take that for granted. Vesemir is right. He better give the bard one hell of an apology. And then never fucking do that shit again.

He looks back at Lambert.

“Smells good.” and he takes the empty seat on Jaskier’s left.

It’s as close to an apology that Geralt and Lambert will ever get between them, and the other Witcher wont admit it, but the compliments on his food make him feel all tingly inside.

Later, when Jaskier, Ciri, and Vesemir are all asleep, the boys break out the Mahakaman Spirit and drink it straight from the bottle. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

“You know.” It’s not a question.

Eskel shrugs and takes another drink, “Didn’t before today. Don’t think you did either. I’ll admit I had my suspicions, you guys act like an old married couple, but he seemed pretty convinced you didn’t have feelings for him. If I’d known before I wouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Lambert snorts, he’s starting to slur his words. “I not. Get your shit together Geralt, cause if you don’t fuck him I will… again.”

Eskel nods with more enthusiasm than is really necessary considering the circumstances and Geralt doesn’t slam his head down on the table but it’s a near thing. Instead he just sighs and pours himself another drink.

Geralt get’s his shit together. Not that night,, but eventually.

That night, bolstered by a few more bottles and Eskel and Lambert’s encouragement, Geralt makes it all the way to Jaskier’s door before loosing his nerve and realizing that maybe stumbling drunk and dumb into the bard’s bed chambers in the middle of the night isn’t the best way to start an apology.

So he just goes to bed.

He asks Ciri the next day, or more Ciri volunteers her opinion. They’re in the library, pouring over books pulled for them by Vesemir (the old Witcher took one look at Geralt and the others battling their hang overs at the kitchen table and declared today an exercise in theory), detailing the different subspecies of Drowners when she brings it up.

“So, have you apologized to Jaskier yet?” She catches him by surprise in the middle of an explanation about the effectiveness of the Axii and Igni signs when fighting Drowners. He pauses.

“Not yet. He always sleeps past breakfast.”

“Are you going to?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know... Why are you so interested?”

“I don’t like it when you two fight. It doesn’t happen a lot,, but when it does Jaskier only sings sad songs and it makes everyone else sad.” A pause, “Plus, I have nothing better to do, nothing interesting ever happens around here.”

Geralt laughs at that, “Witcher training that boring to you?”

She gives the comically large book in front of her a pointed look ,”Yes.”

After a few more questions and answers and rapid fire quizzes on the differences between mucknixers and drowned dead, Ciri speaks up again,

“Take him on a picnic, bards love picnics.”

She says it with the kind of finality that only children can muster that Geralt can only nod and they start planning.

Geralt apologizes before dinner, pulls Jaskier aside and asks for his forgiveness. “You already had it Geralt, you knew that.” And he takes Jaskier out to finish dinner atop one of the high towers in the keep with a bottle of erveluce under his arm. He and Ciri had cut their studying short and spent the afternoon dodging Vesemir to set up the picnic before hand. In retrospect it was a very good exercise in stealth and evasion.

There are candles and an old tapestry they found draped across the stones. It’s disgustingly romantic. Jaskier calls him on it. Geralt is embarrassed, but he stammers out his apology and his confession without too much interruption.

“I’m sorry I called your shirt slutty… I don’t think it’s slutty… it’s a nice shirt.”

“Thank you , Geralt. I appreciate how hard that must have been for-”

“And I don’t hate you… I brought you to Kaer Morhen because…. Because… you were the first person I thought of when… I wanted you here… with me… I.. love you, Jaskier. Been shit at showing it but I do, have for a long time, and I… don’t… want you … sleeping with anyone else anymore. Just… just me.”

And then Jaskier jumps his bones. The end.

Lambert is only a little jealous.

[eye-raq]

Stop it girl

Erik X Black Reader.

Warnings: Fluff, regular shit.

Summary: Erik was tired, laying out on the floor of him and his girls shared bedroom while scrolling through his phone.

“You want me to buy you a new tapestry? I saw one the other day when I was out buying some new Jordan 1s”

Erik walked back into the bedroom with a bowl of milk, double stuffed oreos floating on the top. He had his dreads braided back fresh; his home girl had her own natural hair shop and cleaned him up nice with a fresh retwist and a tappered fade. He had on grey sweats that hung loose on his hips, and no shirt.

“What did it look like? You know I’m picky.” His girl, Blessing, was into anything bohemian with soft grunge. She had her hair in long thick dreads, soft curly baby hairs, thick lips, and a cute plump body, her chest and ass too thick for anything she wore and her cute muffin top didnt help either. She was squishy and adorable and sexy and Erik loved every roll and dip of her honey covered body. She was feisty too, and when she wanted something she didn’t hesitate.

“It has some type of galaxy shit going on, idk. Purples and pinks and blacks with these little ass twinkly stars, looked like Uranus or Saturn in the background, had a quote at the bottom of it in cursive.” He put his bowl on her nightstand before lowering to the floor with her, laying on his side before grabbing the bowl again. He stuck his index finger in the bowl, dipping the Oreos further. She was busy making waist beads, one nestled around her curvy waist digging into her love handles.

“You should have picked it up you know I love anything with galaxy shit in it.” He kissed his teeth, eyes trying to focus on the classic movie she popped in her VCR, “I cant believe you still have one of these bitches, it just got a little dust too, and it’s still functional.” His eyes lowered a fraction, sleep trying to creep up on him. That was his own fault too, staying up all hours of the night.

“It’s called taking care of shit of sentimental value instead of letting it waste away.” She spoke out, just finishing up her blue and purple one she was making for a friend her fingers were getting numb now deciding to finish later, and join Erik in watching the movie. She pushed everything to the side, crawling over to lay her head in his crotch area. Her cute chubby feet with toes painted a hot pink wiggled near his bowl. He scrunched his face, playfully swatting at her feet, “if you don’t get those fat ass feet away from me girl, looking like honey buns.” She swatted at his ass causing him to grip her wrist, “yo what I tell you about slapping my ass?”

She rolled her eyes, “and what I tell you about talking about my feet? Just for that you owe me a foot massage after work tomorrow.” Erik shook his head popping a moist Oreo in his mouth, “and what you giving me?” He tried to speak between chewing. She paused, mind in wonder, hands resting on her belly. Erik just eyed her fame, mouth watering from just the look of her thick short ass bunched up on him.

“I’ll think about it.” They both turned back to the TV, monsters ball playing and that one delicious scene almost approaching. She stole an Oreo from his bowl causing him to wine like a baby. “Ask first baby that’s all I ask okay? I spent money on these Oreos.” She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “Erik bye.”

“I’m being forreal. Everything I have don’t belong to you, girl.”

“I have about five of your hoodies in my closet right now, E. I take what the fuck I want when I want.”

Erik did a double take, dropping his Oreo back in the bowl and causing milk to splash on her legs. Growling, Blessing wipes at her legs aggressively.

“Chill out! You getting milk on me!”

Erik playfully bites into her leg, “You got five of my hoodies? Where they at?” Erik gets up from the floor, walking over to her messy closet with jeans sling over the rail and shirts hanging off the hangers. Sliding through her clothes, Erik finds all five of his favorite hoodies freshly washed and wrinkle free.

“My all black exclusive lost tribe hoodie?! You serious? I thought I lost this shit and your chubby face ass had it the whole time?!”

“Shut the fuck up with your odd shaped head! You knew I had it don’t play dumb,” Bored, Blessing decides to continue making her waist beads.

“I should throw you over my fucking knee, babygirl. You agree with that?” As mad as Erik was he decided to leave the hoodies there because they were neat and unbothered.

“Stupid ass,” he teased.

“Shut up. You’re the stupid one.”

As soon as Erik made himself comfortable on the floor, Blessing started poking him in his dimpled cheek, twisting her finger. Erik swatted her hand away every single time, finally kissing his teeth and grabbing her finger with force.

“Stop it, girl.” He shoves her hand away, causing her to laugh. This only made Blessing want to continue. She takes her chubby feet and plants them on his shoulder, wiggling her toes obnoxiously in his face. His eyes focused forward but she could see the way his jaw looked like it was going to snap from how hard he clenched it.

“You get so mad for what? I can’t mess with you but you can mess with me?”

“It’s because I’m Daddy and you do what I say.” Grabbing her foot, Erik begins to tickle her feet, that annoying screech she always made loud. Blessing yanks her legs back so bad that she kicked Erik in the head, pausing with a shocked look and a hand over her mouth. Nothing was said but the anger on his face and the reddened spot on his cheek made her laugh so hard her lungs hurt. Even through her teary eyes she could see his rage.

“Nigga, you look like you about to burn my fucking room down!” She shook her head repeatedly, “I’m so fucking humored right now; tickled.”

“Hehehe hahaha shut the fuck up.” That was his come back and it clearly went on death ears because she kept on laughing and hollering.

“Big nigga why you always mad? Chill the fuck out,” Shaking her dreads, Blessing went back to doing her waist beads.

Erik got up from the floor, seating himself on her bed to feel more comfortable. She thought he was being a sour puss but he actually had another plan. Grabbing one of her plush throw pillows, Erik wracked her on the side of her face so hard her eyes closed and her face scrunched up in ugly surprise. His laugh was the golden one, clutching his stomach and stomping his leg.

“Bro you should have seen your face! Looking like,” Erik mimicked her look before bursting into laughter again, “you mad ugly.”

She could still feel the sting like carpet burn on her left cheek. Blowing out hot air through her chubby cheeks, Blessing turned completely away from him.

“You got my fucking eye burning and my face all hot! I kicked you by accident dummy.”

“You want me to kiss it big head?” Erik tossed the pillow back in place.

“I don’t want your stinky ass lips on me ugh,” Blessing shoves his face away.

“Wasn’t saying that shit earlier when I was kissing all on you in the car,” he grabbed her by her dreads, gaining power. She fought through enjoying the force he applied by keeping a straight unbothered face.

“Stop it, girl. Stop acting like you don’t want me yanking you up and shit,” Erik kisses her temple, soothing the burn from the pillow hit. He started swinging her from side to side, humming no guidance in her ear that made her wiggle. He couldn’t sing for shit but she loved it when he sung this new song to her.

🎶 I don’t wanna play no games, play no games, 🎶

“Don’t say that last part because you know it ain’t happening,” Blessing stopped him mid song with a bitchy tone, “You don’t plan on making me Blessing Stevens I’m still gonna be Blessing Jones.”

“Forreal, B? You know I plan on making you my number one forever. Remember that time at red lobster when I fake proposed to get free cake? I can do it again but with a big ass rock.”

She smiles despite her salty attitude, “keep talking, Zaddy.”

“Nah, don’t pull that shit now,” Erik let her go, “you fucked up Blessing.”

“How?!” She pouted, “You mad at me now?”

“Yup. Turn around.”

Blessing groaned, folding her arms, “fight me.”

“Which means come fuck me.” Erik corrected.

“Shut the FUCK up.” Blessing rolled her eyes.

“Which means come eat this pussy.” Erik bit his lip to fight a smile.

“You ain’t cute. Leave me alone.”

“So basically I’m fine as fuck and you want my attention?”

“Ugh!!!! I hate you!” Blessing turned to him, ready to hit Erik upside his head but he caught her hand just in time.

“I love you too, Baby girl,” Erik gripped her chin, “you know you a bomb ass girlfriend? All that crybaby shit and getting mad only makes me want you more.” Erik gripped her neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

“You can be mad at me all you want but your ass isn’t going anywhere. You’re mine.”

“Says who? I got options.” Blessing fucked up with saying that to him.

“The fuck?” Like flipping a light switch Erik’s aggressive nature surfaced again to make her weak. Taking his hand, he wrapped around her neck with one hand and his mouth dangerously close to her hear.

“The fuck You talking to?”

“Daddy, not you,” she rolled her eyes into her head to fake annoyance. Erik just stared at her with his hard ass eyes making her squirm.

“What you looking at?” Blessing asks with a slight roll of her neck. He just licked his lips, looking her up and down.

“What, I cant stare?” He just grabbed her up and said, “man, come here.” She followed him like she just wasn’t mad at him a few seconds ago.

“Tomorrow ima fuck the shit out of you cuz you been acting crazy lately.” Erik rested his head on the side of her face.

“Why not tonight?” Blessing was wet and horny now she needed some dick, some fucking love, her hard headed ass boyfriend.

“I’m tired, B.” His eyes did speak that into existence when she turned to look at him. She admired his handsome face even though his eyes were focused ahead and ready to close.

“...damn, yo ex dumb as fuck.” She stated, causing Erik to chuckle. Blessing turns back around, pushing her booty into Erik’s crotch. He gripped her hip to stop her but she just kept on going, rolling her hips like she spelling out coconut. Erik lets out a frustrated sigh at his dick disobeying him.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? I’m just playing.”

“This is blasphemous,” Erik spoke in a fake surprising tone, “you’re molesting me with your phat ass.”

“Shut up you know you want me to sit this assssss on you,” Blessing spoke in a melodic tone.

“Blessing, don’t start this shit. I still got a fucking cramp in my neck from eating the pussy for an hour straight, my abs still burn from doing push ups in the pussy-“

“I don’t wanna hear that shit you got more stamina than a damn horse.”

“You don’t listen to shit!” Erik yelled in her ear, flipping her over on her back. He pinned her to the mattress, face all scrunched up.

“What, Erik? I told you i got options if you don’t give me what I want,” fighting a laugh at his frustration and anger, Blessing purposely moves her hips beneath him to force him into having wild sex.

“...Bruh im a fuck you up...you acting up...what’s your fucking problem? You need some dick? You need a hug? You need your pussy ate? You need kisses? Like tell me something.”

“You finish telling me to stop now?” She questioned while looking at him a hint in her eyes as to why she’s been acting up.

“You not getting no dick with that attitude then,” he lifted off of her, laying on the other side of the bed closest to the window.

“First of all, I’m sorry.” Her entire mood changed. She decided to act innocent even though she thought about riding the fuck out of him in that moment.

“Aight, So we good?” She chanced a look at him even though she knew that wouldn’t be successful. Erik just stared at her calmly, waiting for her response.

“Yes. We’re good. No more playing.” Blessing blinked up at Erik innocently.

“So that mean you ready to get your pussy ate again?” Erik sat up, taking his hands to pull down her bottoms. Laying flat on the bed, Blessing lifts her hips to help Erik out as he slid the right fabric from her round booty. Tossing it to the side, Erik went flat on his stomach, arms wrapped around her thighs to pull her close. Blessing shielded her face like always whenever Erik kisses her gently on her inner thighs. It was torture.

“Talking about YoU NEeD To Fix YOUrr AtiTude, first of all, nigga...eat it out of me.” Blessing couldn’t help herself. Erik slapped her inner thigh to calm her ass down but that also made her laugh. She was silly.

“Stop, B,” without a warning Erik started eating her pussy. Blessing locked up around him, doing that thing with her hands where she held him in place but at the same time pushed him off of her.

After Erik successfully shut her up and had her moaning, he laughs, looking up at her weak expression and says, “You good?”

Blessing couldn’t even respond to that smart ass remark because Erik’s mouth was back on her pussy like it never left.

“What happened to that attitude? All that make me shit? Like it ain’t shit. Like I won’t eat the fuck out your soul and fuck the attitude out your soul and never give that shit back?”

That’s all he had to say in that moment while she laid back and let his tongue crave her. Erik got her ass to stop now with his tongue flicking her clit. On the inside she battled to sass him but his tongue was hitting that spot so the shit didn’t matter anymore.

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs 14: The Ailment

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU Belle gets sick and Rumple gets excited. Read on AO3  

TW: This chapter contains non-consensual orgasms and non-consensual threats of violence.

It was a sunny morning, perhaps one of the last fine days before autumn fell into a dreary pattern of rain and clouds and snow. At home, it was a time for cidering apples, for butchering hogs, for making repairs to the homesteads and preparing the farms for winter. One of the last days a person could comfortably spend outside until spring. Perhaps in the evening there would be a bonfire, people would tell stories and sing songs.

It was a beautiful day, but in her dungeon, Belle was utterly miserable. The night before, she had gone to bed with a tickle in her throat. This morning, she felt as though she had been trampled by a herd of ill-tempered goats.   

“You look as though you want to die,” Rumpelstiltskin observed when he came to wake her. He didn’t seem upset by the fact, merely curious.

“I do,” Belle croaked. She buried her face in her pillow, but moving made her cough. The coughing had kept her awake all night, the coughing and the shivering and the aching. She didn’t get up to kneel at his feet, but stayed curled up in her robe with her eyes squeezed shut.  

“Well you can’t.” His hand was on her face, feeling her cheek and her forehead. “My whore isn’t allowed to die until I’m done with her. Is that clear?”

Belle tried to smile. “Yes, Rumple.” She was too tired to say his whole name.

“Can you look at me, Belle?”

Rubbing away the gunk that had crusted over her eyelids, Belle blinked into wakefulness. Her first sight was his face. His head tilted to the side, looking at her with something like concern. Belle blinked again, slowly. It was hard to focus. He crouched on the ground beside her, eye level with her on the bench. She could hear the squeak of his leather breeches when he moved.

“Good morning,” he said softly. He wasn’t smiling, but his face was gentle.

Belle blinked again. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurt. “Hello.”

“Can you sit up, little sickling?”

Shaking her head on the pillow, Belle whimpered, “Don’t want to.”

“Please?”

It was not a word she heard from him often. Rumpelstiltskin was a man of commands, not requests. He could order her to move at any time. The cuffs would jerk her body into whatever position he liked. But he had asked. He had said please.

With more effort than she would have ever imagined being necessary, Belle pushed herself up to sit on the bench, her legs still stretched out in front of her. Trembling, she leaned against the rough stone wall. The cold bit into her skin but she was too sick to move away, too weak to support herself. Blearily, she opened her eyes to look at Rumpelstiltskin.

“Good girl,” he breathed.

Groaning, Belle rocked her head back and forth until it hurt. “Not good,” she muttered. “I can’t be good for you, not today.”

“I know.” He reached out to her, his hands gliding over her cheeks and eyelids, running down her throat and resting on her chest. Even this tender touch was agony, fire on top of fire. Belle’s flesh was hot and cold, everything hurt. Rumpelstiltskin left one hand on the space between her breasts. The heat of his skin made her cough again.

Standing up from his crouching position, Rumpelstiltskin kept his hand on Belle’s chest while her body hacked and shook. He scooted her forward and sat down behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. Belle burrowed into his warmth, tears in her eyes by the time the fit had passed.

“My poor thing.” Rumpelstiltskin rubbed warmth into her arms. “You pitiful creature.”

His voice was not as sympathetic as his words. Through the haze of her exhaustion and her pain, Belle could hear how smug he sounded, how superior. He was enjoying this, as if it were of his games.

“Rumple,” Belle’s mouth was dry, her throat full of thorns. “Did you do this? To me?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “No, my dear. Your own sweet body is hurting you more than I would yet dare--more than I would dream you could handle.”

“I can’t,” she moaned. “I can’t handle this, I hate it!” She coughed again, a dry cough that pounded through her and left her ribs aching. She let out a high-pitched whine. Somehow, that helped. Rumpelstiltskin held her gently while her body convulsed in misery.

“You need to eat,” he said evenly. “I don’t believe in starving colds.” He waved his hand and the breakfast tray was sitting on Belle’s knees.

It was a bowl of soup. Savory chicken broth and green leaves. Belle leaned over the tray and took in the mouth-watering aroma. The steam made it easier to breathe, soothed her tired eyes and aching head. She balanced the tray on her legs and bent over to put her face to the bowl.

Could she dunk her head into the hot, salty brew? Could she cover her whole body with this comfort? Could she ask Rumpelstiltskin to conjure a tub full of soup? Would that help? Would he give it to her, if she asked?

She didn’t ask. She kept her face clean as she drank down the broth and lapped up the chicken and vegetables.

“Good girl,” Rumpelstiltskin said softly when she finished. His fingers traced lines in the pattern on the back of her robe. “Do you feel better?”

Belle nodded. “A little.”

He made a noise and his hands moved to comb her hair.

At his first touch, Belle flinched and pulled away. “No,” she whimpered. “No, it hurts!” Everything hurt. Even having him touch her hair hurt. She knew he was gentle but she couldn’t stand it, not now. Not while she was so miserable.

But then she realized what she had done.

He had claimed a special ownership of her hair. Touching it, combing it, tending to it--those where his tasks, things only he was allowed to do, things he wanted to do. He combed her hair every morning. But now Belle was telling him not to. How could she? How did she dare? Would the Dark One allow her to make such a demand?

“I’m sorry!” Fresh tears burst into Belle’s eyes, streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin. I-I don’t mean to deny you. But it hurts.” She swallowed a sob and covered her face with her hands.. She took a breath. “I didn’t know it was possible for hair to hurt.”

Rumpelstiltskin just patted her curls softly and moved his hands away. He turned her around to face him, both of his hands cupping the sides of her face. “My little thing,” he said gently, “you are in need of repair.”

Belle blinked. He wasn’t angry. The tears soothed her eyes but made her nose run. She sniffed. “What…” she had to pause to think of words. “What do you want me to do?”

He put a hand over hers. “How far can you walk?”     

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can even stand.”

“Don’t worry,” he hopped off the bench. “I’ll help you!”

He could order the cuffs to make her stand, Belle knew. He could order them to pull her or drag her anywhere in the castle--maybe anywhere in the world. But he would help her, if she couldn’t walk under her own power. He would help her.

Standing was a trial. Belle felt lightheaded and weak. The soup sat heavily in her belly, throwing her off balance. She took slow, shuffling steps to the cell door. Rumpelstiltskin followed her.

“In your travels through my castle, have you come upon a pea-green bedchamber? It’s in the western side, not far from the tower where I spin.”

Belle closed her eyes and leaned in the door frame. She had found a forest green parlor, and a grass-green room. But not a pea-green bedroom. “No,” she managed to say.

“I’ve always found green to be the color for things that disgust me. It’s ideal for a sick room, don’t you think?”

She just looked at him, wavering on her feet.

He waved off her bewilderment. “Never mind. I’ll show you the way, it’s not far.”

It was too far. Belle took five steps before she had to stop and lean against a wall to gain some strength back. In the same time, Rumpelstiltskin went ahead twenty paces and then came back to hurry her along. She took two more steps and had to stop again.

“Just order me,” she said through chapped lips. “Let the cuffs drag me. I can’t walk, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He scoffed. “You don’t get to say when and how I order you about, girl.”

Belle nodded, and began to walk again. After three steps, she felt herself lifted up off the ground. For a moment, she thought it was magic. But then she recognized the steady gait of walking, and felt the strong arms holding her at the knees and around her shoulders. She hadn’t been lifted, she was being carried.

Rumple was holding her, taking her to their destination.

Belle lay her head in the crook of his neck and melted into his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank my impatience, you dawdler. If I let you walk, it would take all day.”

“Do I need to hold on?” She made to wrap her arms around his neck.

He shook his head. “Save your strength, little one. I can manage a tiny creature like you.”

Belle rested while he carried her, and listened to his heart beat.

The door opened without Rumpelstiltskin turning the handle. It was a small room they entered, and not a pleasant one. From the edges of the drawn curtains, Belle could see sunlight trying to poke in, but the room was mostly in gray shadows. This was just as well because the plaster walls were painted an ugly pale green--not the color of peas, but the color of puss. Had this been the bedroom of a person who disgusted him?

But it wasn’t a dungeon and that alone made Belle marvel. The windows in this room could shut! There was a fire burning in the grate! There was a bed in the center of the room! The olive-green coverlet was already turned down and Rumpelstiltskin slid her bare feet in between the blankets.

“A bed!” Belle sighed. “Do I really get a bed?”

“Invalids get special treatment.” He helped her settle into the bed, arranging pillows around her head so she could sit up or lie down as she needed to. He pulled the blankets and coverlet up to her chin. Belle closed her eyes and let him fuss over her. “You’ll be back in the dungeon tomorrow when you’re better.”

Belle blinked. “Will I be better tomorrow?”

“Of course you will, my dear. I’ll make sure of it.”

“With magic?”

He placed a kiss on her forehead. Didn’t he mind the sheen of sweat that covered her brow? Didn’t she repulse him in this state? “May I use magic on you, my sweet? May I make a potion to make you feel well again?”

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “I don’t want to be sick. I don’t like it.”

He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. His eyes gleamed and he clutched her fingers. “There will be a price,” he said. “Will you pay it?”

“What is the price?”

He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, brushing the bone with the hard edge of his long fingernail. “The price is that you must come for me. The cure won’t work if you don’t.”

Sinking back into the pillows, Belle closed her eyes. “That’s a funny way to cure a sickness.”

He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It is a funny little spell. I’ve never had the opportunity to use it before.”

“Mm,” Belle let her head loll on her shoulders, too weary to say more.

“Rest for now, my girl. I’ll rouse you when the time is right.”

“You mean you’ll fuck me.” Illness and exhaustion loosened her tongue. It was almost like how she was after a game, when the pain pounded in her head so loudly she couldn’t hear her thoughts until she spoke them.

Rumpelstiltskin tutted. “That’s a dirty word for a lady to know. Who taught you such shocking language?”

Belle smiled and poked at his chest. He took her fingers and kissed them before he left.

The warmth of the room and comfort of the bed should have made it easy for her to sleep, but she was still too miserable. Her nose was clogged and she couldn’t breathe through it. She would suffer coughing fits and then shake with fever. The fever made her sweat, which made her want to take the blankets off, but when she did she became cold again. The mattress was so soft, but after a month of sleeping on a bench, Belle couldn’t rest on feathers.

But she tried to keep her eyes closed, and her body still. She did what she could to rest, even if sleep refused to claim her. Briefly, she thought of touching herself--in the hopes that an orgasm would push her body to a true exhaustion. But she was aching in her legs and arms, so the thought of moving her body even that much was painful. She curled up into herself and moaned through the pain as best she could.

****

When Rumpelstiltskin returned, he was in a merry mood. “It has been too long!” he declared as he bounded into the sickroom. “Far too long since the last time I got to properly experiment with new magic!”

Rolling over, Belle squinted out of her drowsiness. “What?” Sickness had made her voice so deep and hoarse she could barely recognize it as her own.

“How miserable you look!” he cackled, his broken teeth making a nightmare of his smile.

Eyes closed, Belle nodded. “I want to sleep for a hundred years.”

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. “Be thankful I loaned that spell to a friend and never got it back! No, sweet slut, I will cure you faster than rest or herbs or any other mortal method! Are you ready to start?”

In her sickness, Belle was ready to die. Any other activity would only make things worse. And he wanted to take her. He wanted to make her come, when the thought of sitting up in bed was enough to overwhelm her.

But he was so excited. He wanted this. He wanted to cure her, wanted to be with her. She couldn’t spoil his fun. And besides, it was in their deal: He could take her at any time.

She had to give him what he wanted.

“Do you really want me?” she whimpered. It was as much noise as she could make. “Even when I’m like this?”

“Oh Belle,” his nose crinkled in delight as he looked at her. “You know I like to see you wretched!”

“You need me to come,” she said. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to get any pleasure today. I’m so sweaty and grumpy and I’m shaking!” Belle held her arms over her chest and tried not to sob.

Gently, slowly, but in a way that brooked no argument, Rumpelstiltskin took Belle’s wrists in his hands and pulled her arms away from her chest.

“This is going to hurt you.” Her open robe exposed her breasts and Belle could see him looking at them. “And I dearly want to see you hurting. But I will give you pleasure too. Your pleasure will eclipse your pain like the moon covering the sun. And then I will give you the cure and you will be right as rain! And, in between your pain and your curing, I will take great pleasure for myself.”

Did he see the gooseflesh that covered her chest, even in this warm room? Did he see the sheen of sweat that coated her like a greased pig? Did he notice that her breath was shaky? That her lungs were heavy with phlegm and her ribs ached from coughing?

Or did he just see a nice pair of tits?

“Your pleasure,” his voice was deep, his eyes glinted, “is my concern.”  

Why did that sound like a threat?  

He pulled the blankets off her body and eased her out of her robe. When she was naked, he looked at her for a long moment. Again, Belle wondered what he saw. Wasn’t she a pale, weakened, unclean wretch? What part of that appealed to him?

He got into bed with her, fully clothed and with his boots still on. He faced her, his hands reaching out to touch her arms and sides.

It felt perverse to lie with him in a bed. There was a wrongness to it that didn’t exist when he was plowing her on the table or making her suck him in her cell. Beds had a purpose. They were for sleeping. They were for married couples, or mothers with their children, or sisters and close friends--or even for lovers who met in secret--but not for a prisoner and her captor. For her to be in a bed with Rumpelstiltskin while wearing the cuffs that marked her subjugation--it felt like an insult to all the good and lawful things that might happen in a bed.

His hand stroked along her upper arm and he seemed to delight in her gooseflesh. He kept going, touching her belly and her breasts. And though his caress was delicate, Belle’s body shivered with pain.

“I hate this,” she confessed.

“I know.” His breath was hot against her ear. He pressed his cock against her and she could feel how much he loved her pain.

A cough clamoured out of Belle’s lungs and she turned away to hack and wheeze. There was phlegm in her mouth by the time she could breathe again. Out of spite, she spat it at Rumpelstiltskin. “Is that what you want?” she snapped. “Does that excite you? My disease, my misery, my uncleanliness--is that what gives you pleasure today?”

“It will do.” In the gray darkness, she couldn’t see his face. His voice was deep and he could have been angry or amorous.

He could have been both, for all Belle knew.

“Get on your back,” he ordered and the cuffs flipped her over. Her hands were free to move, but he was on top of her and there was no thought of escape.

He put his mouth on her face, lapping up the sickness sweat with his tongue. Revulsion swept over Belle and she almost gagged when he kissed her on the mouth. He went to her breasts after that, sucking and biting at her nipples until the pain rose up to nearly drown her. She gasped and cried, but even to her own ears it sounded like pleasure.

At this point there was too much happening and Belle was too weakened to know if there was a difference between pain and pleasure anymore. It was all sensation--the way a battlefield is all noise and both victory and defeat are synonymous with blood. There was no winning this war in her body, only surviving it.

When Rumpelstiltskin touched her between the legs she was wet. How was that possible? How could she feel desire now? Perhaps her secret places knew what her mind had just realized: The only way for this to be easy was for her to make it easy. She must not resist, must only endure. She must give Rumpelstiltskin what he wanted. She must be good, must be obedient, must indulge whatever whims and fancies he devised.

The tears in her eyes made her feel better, made her eyes feel less dry and tired. Rumpelstiltskin had his head between her legs now and she tried to keep her mind on how good that felt.

It was good, even if it was exhausting. Her muscles hated the tension of desire, the holding force of it. It would have been so much easier if he wasn’t pleasuring her. But the pleasure itself was pleasant. She made herself think that. At any other time, it would have been lovely to lie in a bed on soft pillows with Rumpelstiltskin making her come.

As it was, her nose was running and she couldn’t breathe without feeling a bubble of snot on her nostril.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered, but he didn’t hear her. How could he? His ears were pressed against her thighs, his attention devoted entirely to exploring her secret places with his tongue.

She tried to force herself to enjoy it, tried to bring to mind the terrible things that brought her pleasure when she touched herself. The very scenario she was in could have been one of her fantasies.

After all, her husband wouldn’t care if she was sick. He would take what was his! Weak or coughing or belching bile, as long as she could lie on her back he would have her! Didn’t it pleasure her to think of her body being used for a man’s enjoyment? Wasn’t it arousing to imagine his desire for her, no matter how wretched she looked or felt? Why should Belle expect anyone to care about her well being?

But Rumpelstiltskin was supposed to be different.  

She couldn’t say where she had gotten the idea. Perhaps it had been as early as the first night, the first orgasm he had given her. She would have never had that from a husband. Or perhaps it was the games and how tender he was with her afterward. There was so much about Rumpelstiltskin that made him superior to any ordinary man. But now he had stooped to the level of the sort of man she was supposed to marry. Why did that feel like a betrayal?

“Stop.” Belle said, no more loudly than a breath. He wasn’t going to stop, but she had to say it anyway. For her own sanity, she had to say the words, even knowing that they would be ignored.

Intent on his work, Rumpelstiltskin swirled his tongue around her pleasure spot. Belle felt her back arch and her toes curl and her muscles protested even as they spasmed.

“No,” Belle whimpered as her body shook and she felt her heat leak out from between her legs. “Please, no more.”

“Did you say something?” The Dark One’s grin rose into her vision like a evil sunrise.

She closed her eyes against her tears. “It doesn’t matter,” she said dully.

Crawling up over her, Rumpelstiltskin wiped his mouth on Belle’s face. She could feel his salvia and her wetness meet with her phlegm and her sweat and her tears.

He kissed her then, slowly and tenderly. “Good girl.” His voice shook. “We’re halfway done.”

Belle nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t even want to ask what the second part was, what else he was going to do to her. She would find out all too soon.

“Sit up, my sweet,” he ordered, and the cuffs pulled her. He ordered her without thinking now. He must be done with coaxing and cajoling her to obey him.

He stood over her on the bed, his cock at the ready. Belle knew that if she put him in her mouth she would have to breathe through her stuffed-up nose. Belle also knew that at this point there was no argument to be had.

She braced her hands on his boots. How long until he made her kiss them again, made her thank him for the gift of this cure?

He held her by the back of her head and slowly guided his cock into her mouth. She let him. She sat on the bed and kept her mouth open wide, her jaw slack like some sort of dullard. He controlled her motions and Belle was glad to be spared the effort.

Breathing through her mouth all day had made it dry. She could feel her tongue scratching against his manhood. Didn’t he mind? Did he like that feeling? Did he notice at all?

He was shaking, Belle could feel it. As he slowly pushed in and out of her mouth, his hands and legs quaked. He moaned and grabbed clumps of her hair into his fist. If she wanted to breathe she had to blow the snot out of her nose. It was a disgusting business, but then again so was everything at this point. Everything that had happened since they had entered this puss-green room was revolting.

He came quickly. When it was time, he pulled Belle away from his cock. Seed spurted onto her face, but not in her mouth.

“Good girl,” he said, holding her face up to look at him.  She could imagine his black semen contrasting with the the yellow-white snot on her nose, mixing together with her tears and her sweat and her wetness. She must look hideous. “You’re so beautiful.” He waved one finger over her face and she was clean. Everything that had hurt her today was contained in a glass vial Rumpelstiltskin held in his hand. “Will you sleep now, little thing?”

Belle didn’t even nod. She rolled away from him and let the darkness take her.

****

It was nighttime when he woke her. Belle was still naked, still drenched in sweat, and still shivering despite the blankets.

“Ready to feel better, my sickling?”

She heard his cheerful voice in the darkness, saw the black outline of him against the orange light of the smoldering fire. He held something out to her, and Belle took it.

The thing was cold, that was Belle’s first impression. Beads of condensation covered it. And it was smooth and hard--a bottle, with a stopper in the top.

“Your restorative,” Rumpelstiltskin announced grandly. “Drink every drop and you’ll find it worth the price.”

“I hope so,” Belle said as she pulled out the stopper. “I didn’t like paying it.”

“What?” his voice went flat, but Belle didn’t answer. She drank the potion in one swig and many gulps, like a young man at his ale.

It was the most confusing medicine Belle had ever taken. For all that the bottle had been cold,  the drink itself was as warm as tea. Then on the second gulp it was cool as river water. The taste of it changed too: By turns it was salty, sour, and sweet. She could taste broth--hot and nourishing--and fruits--cool and refreshing. As she reached the end of the bottle, Belle felt that she was drinking the warmth of the sun and the clarity of the sky all at once.  

“Tell me what you said,” Rumpelstiltskin ordered as soon as she had removed the bottle from her lips. “About the price--say it again.”

Too sick to be afraid, Belle told the truth. “I didn’t like coming tonight. I didn’t want to do it. I told you I wouldn’t want to.”

“And I made you anyway.” His voice was strange, strangled. As though the words were choking him. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected when a monster takes a maiden for a mate!” That sentence was a growl, a snarling rumble that seemed to come not just from his mouth, but from his whole being.

“It never happened before,” Belle said. Was she trying to reassure him or herself? “You’ve never… forced me to do anything.”

The anger, the darkness, whatever part of Rumpelstiltskin it was that spat and hissed and roared--it had taken him over. His clawed hand gripped around Belle’s throat and she had to gasp for breath. “But I always could, dearie,” he snarled. “I could have raped you from the beginning and given you nothing in return!”

“I know.” Belle forced herself to stay still, to not let fear make her panic and do something stupid. Rumpelstiltskin was not in control of himself, so she had to stay alert. He had promised he would never break her. “You still can. You can hurt me however you like. I can’t do anything to stop you, Rumpelstiltskin. I’m too weak.”

The grip around her throat tightened and Belle felt herself go rigid. Her body tensed, waiting for an attack.

But it never came.

The hand at her neck went away, but she could still hear Rumpelstiltskin’s breathing. It was labored, panting, as though he were carrying some heavy load.

“You are weak,” his voice rasped in the darkness. “You are nothing! Now, fuck your ungrateful cunt and go to sleep.”

The door slammed when he departed, and Belle was left alone, safe for now but dreading what would come next.

[aticklishtem]

Something to Laugh About

((welp so~ I’m pretty new to writing this kinda thing but this Concept wouldn’t leave me alone, so I decided to give it a shot and yeah, maybe someone else will also enjoy this self indulgent trash pile, idk \o/ any kind of feedback is always welcome!!))

For a dame who made, employed, lived in and was even made out of so much candy, that Baroness Von Bon Bon could be an awful sourpuss.

In fact, Beppi wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her truly smile, and it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. Nothing filled his heart with more joy than a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile - the kids whose faces lit up with excitement when he handed them another of his balloon animal menagerie, the crowds who came by his tent to watch him willingly make a fool of himself, his fellow carnival workers and isle-dwellers, he treasured every single smirk, chuckle, giggle and reluctant grimace. Way back before he’d so much as dabbed the first lick of paint on his nose, Beppi had made it his mission to bring a smile to the faces of all of Inkwell, and he was proud to say that so far he had an almost perfect track record. Almost.

The Baroness’ place was over the other side of town, but the isle was small and even she had to venture outside to peddle her wares, so Beppi and Bon Bon had crossed paths plenty. Often enough that it seemed like he’d tried everything - his best jokes, his worst jokes, the pie gag, the seltzer, the banana peel, even his killer impressions of Djimmi and Wally and Grim and anyone else he could think of - to see her lips so much as twitch, but she still just looked at him like he was a piece of taffy stuck to her shoe.

Beppi wasn’t quite as much of a fool as he acted - he knew she fancied herself above him, above all of their colourful corner of carnival. She turned her nose up at their hot dogs and candy corn, declaring that her confectioneries were made with only the finest ingredients Inkwell had to offer, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would opt to shovel all that greasy garbage down their throat instead. But he hadn’t gotten to where he was by giving up easy - it was that dogged determination that had coaxed chuckles out of some of Inkwell’s grumpiest inhabitants, after all. And it would’ve been too tragic just to let them all carry on their way, stomping through town so sour-faced: he couldn’t imagine anything worse than a life of stony silence. Laughter was Beppi’s lifeblood, long before it had been his living; it filled him up, made him feel big and shiny and swell like a balloon (metaphorically and sometimes literally) until he could just about burst, in the best way. He wanted - no, he needed to spread the joy all over town, all over Inkwell, every way he knew how, and remain hopeful that it’d prove just as infectious as it was irresistible, even for the sourest of pusses.

He was optimistic for another day of sunshine and smiles, during a brief break in the afternoon’s frivolities to relax under the shade of one of the colourful parasols in the square. Beppi had been in the middle of telling Djimmi all about yesterday’s unfortunate yet hilarious incident involving an overzealous balloon giraffe and a fruit hat when Bon Bon shimmied into view.

Without missing a beat, he broke off into a comical double take, and then figured he might just as well fall out of his chair in shock that the esteemed Baroness had seen fit to grace them with her presence. Djimmi just shook his head fondly, long used to his friend’s antics; Bon Bon opted to ignore Beppi entirely as she and Djimmi exchanged polite greetings, simply manoeuvre around him like a colourful puddle as she took the chair on the other side.

Typically tough crowd, but Beppi was prepared for that - and he had a good feeling about today, the fact that Bon Bon had willingly descended from her fancy castle to mingle with the common folk suggesting she might be in a good mood, or at least not quite as much of a sourball as usual. If he could pull just the right rib-tickler out of his hat, maybe she’d even -

Hot dawg - Beppi had to glance up to check if someone hadn’t lobbed a lightbulb right over his head as he scrambled back upright, because had he just been hit with a doozy of an idea.

“Hey, hey, Bonnie.” Beppi leaned in closer to her, his usual ear-to-ear grin turning just a tad more mischievous than usual as he nudged at her elbow. “Gotta question for ya.”

Bon Bon turned to him with a long-suffering sigh, her eyebrows knitting together as though it pained her even to look at him. “What do you want? And don’t call me that.”

“My sincerest of apologies, Baroness.” Beppi just managed to resist putting on his snootiest voice in response as he bowed and tipped his hat - he was happy to humour her this time, since her hoity-toity act would only make his eventual victory all the sweeter. “Aaaanyway. How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“I neither know, not care to -“

“Ten-tickles!” he popped the punchline gleefully, sliding an arm around her waist and squeezing before she could get away. “One!” He felt her jump a little at the unexpected contact, but no giggles followed; undeterred, he kept it up, searching for a sweet spot with a few pokes to her ribs. “Two!” Still nothing: Bon Bon was just staring at him like he was doing something utterly ridiculous - which, in all (fun)fairness, was kinda what he was always doing. But this was getting weird, and not the fun kind - was this woman made of rock candy? “Three..?” Faltering for just a moment, he scribbled his fingers across her midsection and finally she reacted - but not how Beppi had hoped, as she seized his wrist and pushed him roughly away.

“Get off! What in the world do you think you’re…” Bon Bon’s big doe eyes widened even further, her eyebrows shooting up as realisation dawned. “Oh, I see - you were trying to tickle me, weren’t you?” Before Beppi could protest his innocence, she scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls. “Tough luck, Chuckles - you won’t get me to crack with such a cheap trick. Hmm, but I wonder…” Something almost in the vicinity of a smile slowly spread across her face, and it was more than a little unsettling, sharp as the glimmer of an idea in her eye as she glanced Beppi up and down, drumming her dainty fingers on the tabletop, and - whoops, he might’ve bitten off a tad more than he could chew after all.  “Perhaps someone else around here just might?”

“Ah - heh…” A nervous chuckle escaped as Beppi edged slowly away from her, until his back bumped against Djimmi’s broad chest and he pounced on the potential distraction. “Oooh - you talking about Djimbo here? He’s plenty ticklish - just watch this…”

Before he could attack, though, two strong arms shot out and grasped his noodly ones. Beppi let out an outraged squawk of protest as Djimmi effortlessly held him captive. “Hey - what gives…?”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Djimmi replied with a shrug and such a grand-piano grin Beppi was surprised his pants didn’t burst into flame, “but, as karma dictates, what goes around…”

“Well said.” Bon Bon nodded, her gaze positively predatory now as it lingered on Beppi’s now-compromising position; a bundle of nervous butterflies fluttered in his belly as she took a few steps closer. “I’m glad to hear someone around here has some respect - putting your greasy paws all over royalty like that? Why, I could have you executed. But…” She paused, actually licking her candy-heart lips as they twisted into a sadistic smirk, and with the slightest wiggle of her fingers Beppi knew he was done for. “I can think of something more fun.”

“N-nohohow, Bonnie, no need to be too hasteeheeheehee…!” Giggles spilled out the moment she spidered her fingers up his sides, barely touching him yet somehow unbearable all at once.

“Isn’t it funny,” Bon Bon purred, her sugary teasing sing-song only intensifying the torture, “how one who so desperately chases the laughter of others can be so easily reduced to such a giggly mess himself?” As if to prove her point, she dug right into his vulnerable underarms, and Beppi’s laughter pitched; with Djimmi holding him just a couple inches off the ground, he could do nothing but cackle helplessly. “It’s kind of cute, though. I might even prefer you like this, laughing too much to prattle on with your pitiful excuse for comedy.”

Beppi might’ve felt himself blushing even redder under his makeup at that last remark, if he could focus on anything other than her wicked fingers as they danced down across his ribs. “We may even have a new attraction!” she continued cheerfully, pausing to squeeze at his hips a few times; he could feel the tips of her nails through her silky gloves and his thin suit, digging in just enough to drive Beppi loopy as the teasing circles she was now tracing around his stomach. “Forget the dunk tank - how many coins for a go on this silly, terribly ticklish clown?”

“Bohohohon, nohoho - nohohot there!”

“Hmm? Not here? But that’s right where the target is!” Bon Bon just sped up, drawing faster and smaller circles until without any warning, she dug one of her devious digits right into his bellybutton; Beppi howled, writhing and bucking uselessly in Djimmi’s iron grip in a vain attempt to escape. “Oooh, look at that, I believe I just hit the bullseye! Where’s my prize?”

She wiggled away until Beppi was honking and wheezing like old Charlie, unable to even beg her for mercy or at least to think of his makeup, which was bound to be in ruins from the tears starting to roll down his cheeks. So this was how it ended - tickled to death by a candy lady. Well, he did always say to always leave ‘em laughing…

“Alright, now, Baroness, I think he’s learned his lesson,” Djimmi’s deep voice intoned, as he dropped Beppi back on his feet, Bon Bon finally ceased her attack - sure, she’d listen to him - and he gasped in relief, gulping in sweet lungfuls of air as he flopped back into Djimmi’s arms in a giggly heap, before remembering that he was a dirty traitor. “We don’t want the poor fella to literally laugh his head off.” He grinned, apparently unconcerned by Beppi’s best wounded glare. “It’s been known to happen.”

“That,” Beppi eventually managed to say, pointing an accusing finger at the both of them, “was cruel. And unusual.”

Bon Bon tittered, smoothing down her dress. “Oh dear, funny boy, was I too much for you? Can’t even take what you attempt to dish out? Well, I’d best be taking a powder anyway - time is candy, fellas.” She caught Beppi’s eye as she rose to her feet and shot him a sly wink, and his heart might’ve done a tiny somersault when she fluttered her fingers at them. “Let’s do this again sometime, shall we?”

She turned to saunter back off to her candy land, leaving Beppi and Djimmi to sit/float under the parasol in silence. Well, he’d better get used to it, because Beppi was definitely never speaking to him again. Not a word, not for the rest of their days, no matter how much he begged or -

“Djimbo.” Whoopsie - he’d just have to ignore him forever later, as he was already leaning over to nudge him repeatedly in the side. “D’ja-hear that? Bonnie thinks I’m cute.”

Djimmi chuckled indulgently, taking a puff of his pipe. “Perhaps you should be more careful how you address the Baroness,” he pointed out, eyes twinkling with gentle amusement, “lest you find yourself in another such ticklish predicament.”

Beppi shuddered dramatically, but his goofy grin only grew wider - because, well, Bon Bon had been smiling when she’d been tickling him to pieces. More than he’d ever seen her before, so maybe his plan hadn’t backfired quite as spectacularly as it might seem.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind letting her get the last laugh every once in a while, after all.

[jackblankhsh]

Truth Fact -- The Fool’s Ordeal -- “Hold your hand out naughty boy...”

This is based on a true story, in so far as anything can be called true considering that every story is a recollection warped, even ever so slightly, by perspective; and facts are not as objective as one may like to think since things like mood can't be measured by scientific instruments -- a set of calipers to calculate the dimensions of one's personal universe; suffice it to say this is an approximation of real events given the availability of particular details which may, or may not offer the fullest panorama possible, however, they do afford an opportunity for a slice of life, though perhaps roman à clef is more accurate given that some bits of fiction may have been overlain given the secondhand nature of certain anecdotes vital to the illumination of back story fleshing out some of the narrative's players, those being the parties involved with events described hereafter in media res.  

 "I took that jolly cunt by the ear, and slapped him so hard I hurt my own hand. Pass the greasepaint would you kindly... thank you darling," applying clown makeup he went on, "But fuck-all if I can remember why I did it.  There's only bits of the blackout I recollect with certainty. Like you fucking that donkey April Mars."

 "I did not."

 "You did too, Jimmy, you did too."

 "Nope, nope. She sucked my cock a piece, but no stuffing I swear."

 Shrugging, Mark used a brush to draw a black diamond on one cheek, "I've no reason to doubt, so I won't, but you know the saying 'in for a penny' and such?"

 Jimmy adjusted his oversized bowtie, "Yeah?"

 "Course you do, it was rhetorical ya pigfucker.  The point being any bit of a sexual doings with a cow is the same. Fuck an ugly duckling in the mouth, why not get some puss as well, eh?"

 Jimmy nodded, "I see your point, though at the risk of ridicule, I have to say, she's not ugly."

 "She's no cover model."

 "Neither is Daphne Greene, and you went for her more than once."

 Slamming down his lipstick, Mark turned to face him, half an exaggerated smile in place, "Are you comparing that dugong April Mars to the fine swan that is Daphne Marilyn Greene?"

 Jimmy stiffened, "I am."

 Shaking his head, and returning to finish the grin, "Well, I can't argue with an irrational man, but if you find the donkey desirable have at it mate."

 A soft knock at the door.  Mark slipped a bottle of whiskey out of sight in the bathtub.  Jimmy opened the door.  Mrs. Pembrook poked her head inside.

 All warm smiles she asked, "Are you gentlemen almost ready?  Folks are getting anxious."

 Mark gestured at his face, "As you can see, it'll be another minute, but no more than two."

 Mrs. Pembrook nodded, "Excellent.  You look wonderful James."

 "Thank you Mrs."

 The door closed. Jimmy aimed a middle finger at it, the gesture hyperbolized by the enormous puffy gloves he wore.  He glanced at himself in the mirror.  Even while he frowned the painted grin wouldn't stop beaming.

 He sighed, "This better be worth it."

 Mark slapped him, friendly backhand across the shoulder, "Course it will.  I've been on both sides of the line here.  You put on the clown gear, go out, and give the people a show.  It's simple. Better than prison, lemme tell ya."

 "I don't want to get hurt too bad."

 Never seeing a need for sugar coating, "A few cuts maybe, some bruises that'll last a week, but no one's ever broken a bone."

 Jimmy grabbed the whiskey.  He took a long pull from the bottle.  Chugging at least two shots he shivered.

 A thin glaze spread across his eyes, "Law of the land, I suppose."

 "No supposing, Jimmy.  And we must respect the law, to a certain extent, otherwise we're nothing but animals."

 This may not be the most opportune moment to intrude on the narrative, however, returning to the matter of truth, mainly as it applies to point of view, I used to know a man who operated under the absolute certainty that he occasionally excreted diminutive, Lilliputian sized people from his rectum, or to put it simpler, he thought he shit out people; but insisted to such an impassioned extent that these events were not delusions, hallucinations, or any of the myriad explanations offered by mental health professionals as well as the average person -- whatever average means psychologically speaking -- that at the very least one is forced to accept that for this man a reality existed wherein he defecated fecal homunculi.  We now return to the story, again, in media res.

 The Judge slammed the gavel down.  Silence descended on the orchard.  Mark brushed a bit of ash off his shoulder, grey snow from the surrounding bonfires. Jimmy tried not to the fidget, but the stern expression on the Judge's mask, the glowering made him nervous.  He wondered if he knew the person behind the porcelain.

 The black robe and white full-bottom wig turned the current Judge -- elected in secret by the town mothers -- into a somber specter.  As a child Jimmy used to have nightmares about Judges coming to get him, beating him in his bed with their gavels.  He never thought he'd stand before one in real life.  He wondered if the dreams would return.  

 The Judge spoke, voice distorted through a mechanism in the mask, "You have been found guilty, and for your crimes, you have been sentenced to the Fool's Ordeal."

 Mark glanced at the clock tower, visible even this far from town.  If things picked up a tick he might just make last bells at the pub.

 "Do you have anything to say?"

 Jimmy looked down at his feet.  Shuffling his floppy shoes, he shook his head.  Mark considered saying nothing, but then:

 "I don't think we did anything wrong, but we got caught, and law is the law.  So let's have at it."

 "Very well," gavel raised, "Let the sentencing be carried out."

 Bang! went the gavel.

 The Queen kissed the King, the porcelain lips of their respective masks clinking.  They stood, and gestured at the vacant throne of roses.  

 Mark sighed, "Let's get it done."

 "After you," Jimmy said.

 The two clowns sat on the wide throne.  Mark leaned on an armrest.  Thorns speared him, but he ignored them.  Now was not the time to look like he could feel pain.  The whiskey helped in that charade.  He glanced at Jimmy.  Poor sod sweating profusely to the point his makeup already ran, white droplets staining the red bowtie.  

 Figuring the ritual would distract the kid, Mark said, "Show time!  I went to a brothel the other day.  They had a sign up, 'Beat it.  We're closed.'"

 The Queen pantomimed laughing.  The King shook his head in disgust.

 Mark went on, "Feeling a pint might ease my sorrows, I go to the pub.  A barmaid, seeing I'm glum, says, 'I got something ought to distract ya.  You know a bit of archeology, right?'  I sez, 'Yeah.'  She reaches up her skirt, pulls out a used tampon, and splats it on my table, 'Tell me what period that's from.'"

 Jimmy started to get the feeling Mark enjoyed this.  Maybe it was just bravado.  He couldn't be sure, but he knew what worried him:  this didn't matter to Mark.  

 Mark carried on for a few more minutes until the King and Queen shook their heads in unified disgust.  Crossing their arms they stepped away from the throne.  The Queen made a slit-throat gesture.  The King nodded in agreement.  

 The Wolves emerged from the darkness.  Dressed in everyday clothes, but wearing wolf masks, townsfolk marched towards the throne of roses.  Some rubbed their hands in anticipation.

 Mark got up. Jimmy hesitated.

 Knowing better, "Get up Jimmy.  They'll just come get you."

 Jimmy shook his head, "I don't care.  Why make it easier?"

 "Show you're taking responsibility."  Mark walked into the throng.  The Wolves punched and kicked as he passed.  Some gave him more than one blow.  He walked until the beatings caused him to fall.  

 Reluctantly, Jimmy got to his feet.  He entered the Ordeal.

 I have one more point to make about truth, mainly the beauteous possibilities inherent in its malleability, perspective acting like a prism separating a single truth into a rainbow of truths, but I can tell by the look on your face, dear Reader, that perhaps it's best to get back to the action in media res.  

 He heard the ocean, a gentle shooshing of waves rolling lazily onto shore.  Then the darkness abruptly filled with a barrage of colors and shapes.  They seemed familiar, but his brain wouldn't comprehend any of it -- Jimmy winced -- yet something about the view seemed off.  It took a moment to realize one eye remained shut, swollen closed.  Though it hurt to move he sat up.  

 An explosive cheer resounded throughout the room.  

 Mark shouted, "He's awake!"

 Quinton started to sing, and the pub crowd soon joined in:

 "And when he landed back, his wife said, 'Tell me Jack, While you've been in Paree have you always thought of me?' 'Always darling,' murmured he, 'For your love I've been pining night and day.' And then the gramophone began to play.

 "Hold your hand out naughty boy. Hold your hand out naughty boy."

 A few patrons playfully slapping the backs of theirs hands, while they sang:

"Last night in the pale moonlight I saw you, I saw you With a nice girl in the Park..."

 Mark thrust a pint into Jimmy's hand, "See now, that wasn't so bad?"

 "I'll let you know once I've seen my face."