#he'd make a very handsome throw rug

[amandamadeathing]

Several years ago, before I joined Tumblr, I posted this on James Earl Jones's birthday. Posting here for the first time. I hope you think it's funny.

RIP

[semisolidmind]

Macaque to Wukong before stealing Peaches from Azure, probably.

"He'd make a very handsome throw rug."

"And just think, anytime he gets dirty you could take him out and beat him."

the boys are plotingggg

(sorry for lack of art, school has been keeping me busy)

[cosmic-metanoia]

Masculinity Concepts in FFXVI

***Spoilers for Final Fantasy 16***

I wanted to focus on the concept of masculinity in Final Fantasy XVI.

I really love how we see different aspects of masculinity portrayed in the characters. I won't go over every male character in the game but I'll mostly focus on the Dominants along with some side characters.

*Clive - I have a whole character analysis post dedicated to him but to highlight a couple points - he has many wonderful qualities that make him very admirable not just as a man but as a person. Despite his handsome looks that we all know and love, he has a surprising softness inside him and wears his emotions on his sleeve at times especially when it comes to Jill. We see moments when he bares his soul and weeps out of sorrow or joy which makes him more masculine, in my opinion, not less.

*Joshua - His masculinity is incredibly refreshing as it is the complete opposite of toxic masculinity. His face has soft and almost feminine-like features. He may have spent his young life being physically frail but he demonstrates a fiery strong spirit. He has this honest chivalry to him yet views everyone as equals and has a gift for poetic words as a result his study of books. He is merciful and incredibly kind but is unafraid to demonstrate his prowess on the battlefield like his older brother.

*Cid - Now this guy is your classic smokin' cowboy archetype but with MUCH better attitude. He oozes masculine charm, wit, and charisma but he uses it for the betterment of society and to persuade others to join his revolutionary cause. But his motives are candid and straightforward. I love how he didn't exist just to flirt, be eye candy, or simply be the comic relief. He becomes the mentor whose legacy lives on through Clive and bonds the hideaway folks into a real family.

*Dion - He IS the reason why Sanbreque was able to tip the scales to its favor - because he is the powerful Dominant of Bahamut. He is the prince but he climbed the ranks and earned the respect of his elite dragoons. He exudes military spirit and possesses a flair for political language as a future leader yet has a sense of honor and duty to his people. And along with that I can bring up Terence who is also a military man and climbed the ranks to be by Dion's side. Their love for each other is tender and beautiful and perceived as just another aspect of themselves.

*Kupka - Now this guy is your typical gym bro and is quite the buffoon (I cracked up when Sleipnir says something like "seems Hugo's head was filled with rocks afterall.) He gives the strong impression that he does not respect women (ahem, that servant he kicked) with the exception of Benedikta who could care less about him. Kupka is your stereotypical toxic masculine type.

*Barnabas - Another villain who uses his masculine aura to dominate and overpower. Even when it came to the intimate scene with Benedikta, he certainly gives the impression that carnal pleasure is just a means to an end. Benedikta knew immediately that he'd throw her away as soon as she lost her use to him. Also... I mean...the dude carries a huge sword like he's trying to make a statement LOL!

In terms of side characters, we see that even the hardened Blackthorne is encouraged to open up his feelings which (through many side quests) he is eventfully able to do and make peace with his past. We see the rugged Otto and his eyes brimming with tears when speaking about the late Cid or about the Bearer son he lost. We see Goetz as the gentle giant who is working on his own self-confidence. We also see Gav who gets emotional after a few kegs of ale and cares deeply about Edda and her baby. And even Uncle Byron who shows his sense of power through his financial generosity but loves to put on a good show (he would be quite the actor in Shakespeare theater!)

There are many male characters that I missed but I wanted to focus on a handful of characters. We're so used to seeing the typical battle-hardened and gruff heroes that eventually claim victory over their enemies and get the girl. It's nice to have a story where you have men with different pasts and drives that pull them forward to their futures.

I will also (hopefully soon) write about the female characters as well! :)

[sunshineandteddybears]

Falena: *watching Leona walk away* What am I going to do with him? Kifaji: He'd make a very handsome throw rug. Falena: *surprised laughter* Kifaji! Kifaji: And just think, whenever he gets dirty you can take him out and beat him.

[mjrtaurus]

Crocodile, watching Buggy storm out of another meeting: What am I going to do with him...

Mihawk: ... He'd make a very handsome throw rug.

Crocodile: Dracule.

Mihawk: And just think. Whenever he gets dirty, you can take him out and beat him.

[handsomethrowrug]

He'd make a very handsome throw rug.

Indie Scar RP blog. Mostly dead. Can be written alive. Low Activity. Rules | About | HandsomeInfo - mobile tag

And just think! Whenever he gets dirty you can take him out and beat him!

[ivefallenfordemonsandicantgetup]

Lucifer, sighing: "What are we going to do with Mammon?"

Diavolo: "He'd make a very handsome throw rug."

Lucifer: "My lord???"

Diavolo: "Whenever he gets dirty you can take him out and beat him."

[julia-beatrice]

-He'd make a very handsome throw rug.

-Zazu!

[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (Pt.14)

A Matty Healy Fanfic

Chapter 14 We were sitting on Matty's patio the next morning, drinking our iced coffees that he'd grabbed us from the coffee shop downstairs when Matty's phone began to ring. He answered the phone, placing it between his shoulder and ear while he used his hands to light a cigarette.

The patio we sat on was gorgeous- luscious, green and private. Along one side was the giant wall of windows that looked into the living space, on the other was a tall concrete wall covered in greenery. There were potted plants scattered all over, all happy and thriving considering the gloomy weather London was known for. A large set of dark wood and soft beige linen patio furniture sat in the centre of the patio, along with a giant faded pink and orange Moroccan-style outdoor rug underneath. An old wrought-iron staircase adorned one end of the patio, leading up to likely the roof, peppered with even more small potted plants.

It was an especially sunny and warm day. We'd just finished eating breakfast when we'd decided to go bask in the sunshine with our coffees before Matty's phone rang. I savoured his little frown of concentration while on the phone, the way his cheeks hollowed as he took a drag on his cigarette.

I held out my hand, requesting a drag. He wagged his finger at me, and I gave him my best pout in response. A small smile appeared on his face and he shook his head before reluctantly holding out the cigarette.

"Just one puff!" I mouthed at him, holding up a single finger as I reached to take it cigarette. He snatched my finger before I could retract it and placed a big kiss on the tip of it, before letting it go with a smile. He handed me it, holding up his own single finger, mouthing, "Just one." I inhaled the smoke, then as I exhaled, attempted to blow rings. All but the last attempts failed. Matty applauded silently at the successful ring, giving my knee a light squeeze before taking back the cigarette.

After another few minutes on the phone, he gave me a look of boredom. He looked so handsome in his sunglasses and bedhead, the cigarette now perched between the two fingers that held his coffee, the other lazily tracing circles on my thigh which hung over his lap. In addition to the sunglasses, he wore an oversized black hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts. My outfit matched his, as I had donned a pair of his boxers that morning too, in addition to his favourite blue hoodie.

I watched Matty's face break into a wide grin as he spoke to the mystery person on the other end of the call. He turned to look at me, throwing a fist in the air and shaking it in celebration, then excitedly grabbing my thigh and shaking it, making me laugh.

He said his farewells to the person on the phone before he turned to me, tossing the phone on the seat beside him.

"I've got wonderful news. Our videographer has the flu!" Matty said cheerily.

I raised my eyebrows at Matty.

"I'm sorry... am I missing something? Why are we happy that they're sick?" I asked in confusion.

"That means I have the entire day free! All I had today was this video shoot, but we have to postpone, so now we get to hang out instead!" Matty said enthusiastically.

I laughed at Matty, charmed by his excitement.

"Matty, that sounds like a dream come true, but I have to go to the studio today!" I reminded him.

"Well, can I come with you? How long do you have it booked for today?" he asked eagerly.

"Only five hours today, but it won't be very entertaining. There isn't much else to do at the studio aside from pottery. Plus, I really don't think I'll get much done if you come with me." I reasoned with him.

Matty pulled a grumpy face, and I reached out my hand to squeeze his.

"Five hours is much too long to be apart..." he said, hanging his head off the back of the couch in frustration, "but I understand. I won't pester you. I guess I should be responsible and work on the new album today now that I have some free time," he said rolling his head to one side to look at me with a smile. "Maybe I could come for the last half hour? You could give me a tour and maybe show me some of your work?" he asked hopefully.

My heart melted at his request to see my work and my studio. It felt so nice to have someone so genuinely interested in my craft.

"Of course, babe. I'd love that," I said with a smile.

Matty hummed a sound of pleasure. "I love when you call me that," he said before taking another drag from his cigarette, blowing out several perfect smoke rings.

"Let me try again," I said, reaching my hand out, but he didn't pass me the cigarette this time.

"Look, now I know you are a grown woman who can do as she pleases, and I would buy you a thousand cartons of these if they didn't cause cancer, but I will not let my nasty addiction become your new hobby."

I once again gave him a small playful pout, and he took his sunglasses off to reveal a pair of warm brown pair of saddened eyes.

"Oh please, Anna. I know I'm being unfair, but let me be a hypocrite just this once?"

I rolled my eyes at him, knowing he was right. "Oh, fine." I huffed, dropping my hand. I didn't want my hobby of making shapes with smoke to become an addiction that could ruin my lungs. Besides, I didn't really care that much. I mostly just liked that we were doing something together.

He smiled at me and picked up my hand, kissing the back of it. "How can I make it up to you? I feel bad telling you no. World's your oyster- what would you like?" he asked sincerely, his doe eyes locked onto mine.

"Hmmm," I pondered out loud. "Maybe a back rub?" I offered.

"Not an expensive dinner at a Michelin-star restaurant? Or a trip to Paris? Or a night under the stars in the Sahara?" he said, brow furrowing. "If you could do anything, what would it be?"

I laughed, then once again realized he wasn't joking. "I mean, I'm happy with dinner and a movie at yours tonight?"

"That's it?" he asked bluntly.

"Well... I'd also like the back rub." I said with a smile, nudging him lightly with my knee. He looked confused, so I explained. "I don't really care what we do, I just want to spend time with you. We could go have dinner in the Italian countryside, or go swimming off the coast of Mykonos, or go eat sushi in Tokyo, or we could sit in my living room and stare at each other in silence for four hours and I'd be happy either way..." I shrugged. "-although I'd rather it not be in silence if I get to choose... I like talking to you too much... but my point is, all I care about is spending time with you. The rest doesn't matter to me."

Matty stared at me in silence, then turned his head away, looking at the far end of the patio. I felt his energy change, so I tapped the back of his hand with my finger and asked, "Hey, is everything alright?"

He dropped his head, and I felt a splash on my hand. A tear had fallen, and I could see his lower lip tremble slightly.

"Hey-" I said, sitting up quickly. I shuffled over to him on my knees and sat down in his lap, taking his face in my hands. The way he looked up into my eyes broke my heart, eyes wet, brow creased, another tear streaking down his face. I wiped his cheek gently with my thumb. "What's wrong?" I asked delicately.

He shook his head, then wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in. I hugged him back as he burrowed his face into the crease of my neck. He held me so tightly. I ran my fingers along the back of his neck and through his hair as he stifled quiet sobs. We sat there quietly holding each other as I waited.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucked up..." he whispered in my ear.

"Shhh, shhh, don't say that," I said soothingly. "You're perfect."

At this he squeezed me even tighter, so I squeezed him back.

After a few minutes, he loosened his grip, and I pulled my head back slightly to look at him. He kept his head hung low, taking a breath to speak.

"I've... I've never dated someone who doesn't want something from me. Whether that's money, fame, music, drama, or the idea of me... Everyone always expects something of me," he said, voice shaking in frustration and emotion. "And I've spent so much of my life playing the part- like my life is one big play... because it's my job to... and it's made all my personal relationships so toxic. People expect something from me, and it melts my brain trying to dance between reality and expectation because my job is my reality... It drives me mad. I'm sorry if none of this is making sense," he shook his head, eyes hiding from mine.

"No, no. You're making perfect sense," I said reassuringly. I nodded my head encouragingly at him as his eyes peeked up at me briefly.

"I try to be myself but I can't set boundaries, because you can't in this industry. So I play into them- exaggerate everything so that no one can really know who I am. Not truly." He took my hand into his and began to fiddle with my fingers anxiously. He took another deep breath, gaining more confidence. "You don't know, but publically I'm a bit of a bad boy. I play into the character a lot- as my own form of protest kind of... I don't let people know what's authentic and what's not because fame and celebrity performance are all so meaningless, yet people attach so much meaning to it all... And I guess it's a bit of a defence mechanism as well... if I'm not myself then I can never truly be to blame for anything..."

He lifted his head, his watery eyes looking deep into mine.

"But now with you, I feel like I don't have to act. Like the play is over... You don't expect anything from me... You just want me." his voice faltered, wobbling with emotion. He sniffed loudly, then carried on determinedly. "You don't just make me feel like myself- you let me see myself for who I truly am, which is something I forgot was even possible. Being with you is amazing, fun, exciting and all these wonderful things. But amongst all that, it's also a giant relief, and in moments is disorientating. I only now realize just how emotionally exhausted I've been. It feels like I've been running on empty for the last five years and I've only just noticed now."

He looked back and forth between my eyes, searching for something. I placed a hand on his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Matty. I can't imagine how that must feel..." I said sincerely. I took a breath to continue, but he interrupted me.

"But you do, Anna. You do know how it feels. Maybe not in the same way, but you had expectations put on you by the people who claimed to love you most, and played the part you thought you had to too. You and I have wanted the same thing- we just want someone to want us for who we are. Not for what we provide or what is expected of us. We just want to be ourselves and to be accepted for who we are. We want truly unconditional love. Real love."

Then, I understood. Truly understood. The emotional exhaustion, the confusion, the fear, the relief... it was all the same. My heart broke even further, for him, as well as myself. My eyes welled, but I wanted to stay strong for him at this moment. That felt important to do.

I looked at him straight on, his chocolate eyes desperate for my understanding. I needed him to know that I understood- that he was right. That I felt the same way. He looked so sad, so hopeful, so handsome, so sincere in his emotion. My chest broke wide open, and I couldn't hold its contents back any longer.

"I love you, Matty. I love you for who you are. Not for what you do, for what you have, for how you act, for how you look... Just for you. Nothing more, nothing less. I love you." I fought back the tears that threatened to fall and watched as his face transformed.

His eyes crinkled in that way I loved, his smile wider than I'd ever seen it. His cheeks reddened, shining from the fresh tears that now fell. His eyes glittered with happiness.

"Anna..." he began, pausing from speechlessness. He stared at me in silence, mouth agape. Then he gathered my face in his hands, and slowly leaned in, placing a long and meaningful kiss on my lips. I kissed him back. The room spun, and suddenly we were in a world full of stars, flying through these emotions together. 

As he pulled away, he tried to look serious, but his face was still stained with his smile from my declaration. He kept holding my face tenderly as he said, "I have never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you, Anna. From the moment I met you, I knew... I just knew. You have given me everything I never knew was even possible. You saved me. Thank you, Anna."

He kissed me again, and again we started to fly. I felt our hearts connect, veins intertwining, becoming one. Every emotion possible swirled around us as we kissed, deeply, love dominating them all. 

He pulled away, looking tenderly into my eyes and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too," I whispered back.

We sat there smiling at each other with big wide dumb grins on our faces. We were drunk in that moment, eyes hazy, minds melted. We were gloriously happy. After a few minutes, I laughed to myself before saying, "Well, we made it- what?- 12 hours before finally saying it? I guess that's not so terrible..." I joked.

His eyes crinkled once more. "I'm pretty impressed with us if I'm being honest. That's better than I expected, don't you reckon?" he said sweetly.

I was overcome with adoration at that moment, leaning in once again to kiss him, still not feeling like I'd had enough. This time, he kissed me back fiercely, a strong intention behind his lips.

He pulled away, resting his forehead heavily against mine, his eyes closed in silence for a moment.

"I'll be careful with your heart, Anna. I promise. If you can be careful with mine too." He whispered to me softly.

I nodded into his forehead, and we sat there bundled in each other's arms whispering 'I love you' over and over again, like we'd finally come home.

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

We could always feed [redacted] to the Nightlords.

I mean there's no Doubt that he'll be punished. But if they wanted to go the route that his victims "maintain the moral high ground" by not killing him, there could always be the option of them not having to Save him either.

I've not doubt he'd make a very handsome throw rug, maybe a nice flesh wall. Use his bones for the chandelier.

At least he'd Finally make somebody happy by being around.

Taxidermy his whole body. Leave him up like a scarecrow to frighten the children it'll be fun!

Poison

Author's note: This is more of [Redacted] in Husb

Warnings: More Unhinged Fuck head, character death, one character murders another one. Dehumanization. Again. let me know if I need to add any more warnings.

Summary: [Redacted] has Opinions on a lot of things.

Past =-=Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

He and a couple of his brothers that had become a Crusade on this most Holy of places, Ancient Terra are from all sorts of times and places. Having been sent here by the God Emperor from missions, some from the jaws of death, some from their sleep, others in mid battle, but not yet slain.

It was terribly fascinating to see and hear their stories, the Apothecary in this band of brothers had heard and heeded his distress call and had patched him up. Thankfully they had believed his words as the version of the truth that is- he had been betrayed by someone who he had considered an ally and he’d fought the bastard- but unfortunately the other had the greater strength.

The purity of his cause and truth had been seen by the God Emperor, who had blessed him with a chance to survive and live upon Ancient Holy Terra. If it was what the false High Marshal said was so, that the slaying the unholy abominations that are the Primaris Marines was heretical and incorrect.

Then he wouldn’t have survived, wouldn’t have come to Ancient Terra and had been found and healed. So, his cause is just. His cause is righteous. His cause is Holy and in the Name of the God Emperor and Dorn. 

Granted, he lost the fight to the death with the High Marshal, but he hadn’t gone into the God Emperor’s light and walked beside his brothers who had fallen in Glorious Battle. He had come here. He had survived. He had been saved. 

He heard a vox call- a plea for aid- and in the babbling voice of a younger brother- the language is that of the Black Templars- and he’d called out to the younger brother over the vox. There had been a pause, a silence, so profound as he tracked down the younger brother frowning, he barked out an order for a response, of which they stuttered out.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, such weakness and cowardice will be flogged out of the younger brother, once he recovered enough to take such punishment. He thinks about sending a message to the Apothecary in his Crusade- but something gave him pause and he waited until he found the younger brother.

Ah- now he knows why he waited before sending a message to the Apothecary, he remembers this Apprentice aged Brother now. One of the unholy abominates who dared to don the armor of the Black Templars.

“Kesto Cazzetiaz,” He rumbles out and the half armored Primaris Black Templar flinches back and away from him.

It’s eyes are staring down at him, the blue eyes are hazy as it tries to move away from him. He shakes his head, and continues speaking, “I remember you- I had you punished for failure.”

The Primaris Black Templar’s shoulders are shaking a little as they gasp for air. He scans their form and notices the patterns of bruising and wounds. The smell of their filthy blood filling his nose. He hadn’t realized that at least one of the Unholy Abominations would end up here.

Then again, he murmurs a prayer of gratitude to the God Emperor, and he ends the prayer with, “Thank you for letting me finish what I started back in M-42 again, with this abomination, who shall be purged from this life, and it’s blood shall stain Holy Terra’s soil.”

“N-no,” Kesto stutters out as he tries to send a message to someone- anyone else. He doesn’t want to die again. 

The Punishment was grox-shite, what he had failed to do was not die on a mission that had taken the lives of the rest of the Primaris squad of brothers that he had been on. He had gotten the objective completed and had reported to  the first born officer- who had been upset by the fact that he had wasted so many resources.

“I will have to make this quick,”He says with a twist of his lips, “Unfortunately there are others nearby who don’t know about you abominations and wouldn’t understand what I am doing. And might come to foolish conclusions.”

He pulls his blade and moves swiftly as he cuts the head of the abomination clean off of it’s shoulders. That was far too quick a death, but anything slower and his Crusade might have caught up to him and might have tried to help save it.

He cleans his blade and ensures that it’s tainted blood hasn’t tried to stain his armor as he leaves the area. And informs his brothers that the distress signal had died out- and he’d found a dead body. Since they didn’t have the resources for it, they couldn’t harvest the organs. 

He told them that he’d done the funerary rights and that it was just to move on. His brothers in the Crusade followed his orders, long since learning that to question him was the wrong thing to do. They were headed on out of the woods and they were going to one of the cities that bustled with baseline and astartes life.

He had been visiting the same city that the Slanneshi Whore Zaarius lived nearby in the Chaos Scum Base, he had his brothers don’t attack it, simply because he’d have to find another source for the Delights, he takes one of the chocolates and takes a bite, the bittersweet taste of the chocolate,

With salty the caramel core is delicious and the slight sour-bright taste that leaves a buzzing feeling on his tongue as an aftertaste is the Chaos Poison that the Slanneshi Whore put into the sweets. They are also fortified with Astartes grade nutri-paste. 

His brothers that he shepherds and leads believe that they go to this city regularly because of the Imperial Fist and Salamander Run base, is the main reason for their regular stops in this city on this continent in particular.

Its one of the reasons why they stop here more frequently, as their older brother chapter is more willing to trade with them at reasonable prices. One of the main ones is the Whore is there and makes the Delights, and while his prices are exorbitant they aren’t as bad as some of the other fuckers who prices are much, much higher.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Attachment Objects

Geralt

Geralt has an old hoodie that Yen wishes he would just throw out. It's starting to get ragged at the cuffs, is stained, and has a few small ratty spots

He used to wear the hoodie whenever he had to go out in heavily populated public areas. Most people didn't like Witchers, so he would use it to blend in.

It made him feel a little less exposed and he could pull the hood up and kind of hide from the stares and frequent dirty looks.

He didn't feel as insecure in public after he became friends with Jaskier and the bard started going on errands and hunts with him, so he didn't wear it as much.

Yennefer thought he was finally going to get rid of the old thing, but Geralt kept it. It had become a sort of security blanket he would use when his emotional support bard couldn't go on errands or hunts with him.

He also has an old black t-shirt with a faded drink logo on it that he puts over his eyes or most of his face when he sleeps. It's one of Jaskier's old shirts from back when they first started travelling together.

Geralt had trouble sleeping because of his light sensitivity, so one night, Jaskier had tossed him an old t-shirt he'd been going to throw away.

It had been the perfect weight and texture. So much better than a towel or corner of a blanket, and softer than the cheap shirts Geralt usually bought.

Yennefer always has it ready to put over Geralt's eyes when he comes home from a hunt with toxicity. She puts him in bed, covers his eyes, turns out the lights, and makes sure it's as quiet as possible while she goes to get the White Honey.

Yennefer

Yennefer has a vintage stuffed siamese cat plush that has definitley seen better days. She's had it since she was a little girl.

His name is Sammy. Because she's not overly creative with names. But she's still better than Geralt at naming things.

At least she doesn't name everything 'Roach'

It's plush fur has been loved into the texture of an old bathroom rug, and is a little discolored. It has one ear that has a spot on the back of it that is just a little threadbare where she rubs it between her fingers.

It has a good weight to it, and it fits nicely against her shoulder. Sammy is very huggable. She can't sleep without him.

Yennefer will carry her plush cat around when she's worried about something, feeling down, or when the boys are out and she's maybe missing them just a little. Or when ever she just wants to relax.

Geralt and Jaskier know something is bothering her and will always give her extra hugs when they see her carrying the old plush cat.

Geralt says it looks like a bad taxidermy fox, but f**k him, Sammy is a handsome boi!

Jaskier pretends Sammy is a real cat and talks to him in That Voice pet owners use. He was thrilled when Sammy let him pick him up and hold him. "Look, Yen! He likes me!"

Yennefer let's Jaskier hold Sammy while she patches him up every time he gets hurt after he and Geralt do something stupid in the name of fun.

Jaskier

Jaskier has a small, old blanket that is soft with age, really dingy, patched in many places (it's mostly all patches now), and probably needs to be washed,( but then it wouldn't smell right.)

When most people came home from work, the first thing they did was change into comfy clothes. Jaskier walked around with his blanket around his shoulders.

When he was stressed, tired, anxious, upset, or just didn't feel well, the first thing he reached for was his dingy blanket.

Then he started traveling with Geralt, and there was no way in h*ll he was going to tell Geralt of F***ing Rivia that he had a blankie! He somehow managed to hide it. For years.

Which was quite impressive, considering they were often on the road, sleeping in random motels, or in the old creeper van Geralt had named 'Roach'.

Not even Yennefer knew about it, even though they lived in the same house.

Geralt and Yennefer didn't seem to care about the other having an attachment object, and were nothing but supportive. They even took care of each other's things, but Jaskier still kept his a secret.

At least he thought it was a secret. Until he had a stress (and alcohol) induced meltdown while apologizing to Yennefer outside of a bar and he found out they did know.

It took a while, but Geralt and Yennefer eventually succeeded in convincing him that they didn't think any less of him for having the blanket

Bonus: How Yennefer and Geralt Found Out About The Blanket.

It had started with basic allergy symptoms, and before he knew it, Jaskier had the full blown flu. He was in the middle of writing a new song, so he tried to ignore the sore throat, the coughing, the stuffy nose, the fatigue...

He insisted that it was just allergies, so Yennefer and Geralt would stop badgering him.

But then the fever and body aches started. He'd been on the couch the morning Yennefer and Geralt had both gone out on personal errands. He'd assured them he was fine, and didn't need a babysitter.

Yennefer and Geralt return at about the same time a few hours later, Geralt purposefully parking his massive 70's model creeper van in the middle of the driveway just to annoy Yennefer, who was trying to pull in right behind him.

He had a good laugh at the rude gesture Yen made, then decides to move out of the way so she can park her car, and he doesn't wake up with his head shaved or sharpie marker on his face. Or both. Because Yennefer could be as petty as f**k.

Yennefer went inside first, and saw that Jaskier wasn't on the couch, and figured he must be in his room.

She found him sitting on the floor in the kitchen, half conscious, holding a bloodied kitchen towel to the bruised scrape on his cheek. She yelled his name in a panic, kneeling beside him in an instant, hands running over fevered skin and brushing sweat damp hair out his eyes.

She swore and started yelling for Geralt.

Geralt is already running inside as soon as he hears her startled shout, and spits an emphatic 'F**k!' when he sees Jaskier on the floor. He picks him up and heads to the bathroom while Yennefer starts making a potion.

Geralt gets Jaskier in the tub to get the fever down, then gets him into clean clothes, and puts him in bed.

Jaskier mumbles groggily and tries to sit up. Geralt shushes him, slips an arm under him and is lifting him up as Yennefer comes in with the potion.

Geralt holds him so Yennefer can help him drink it, then lays him back on the pillow.

The witch leaves to get something to put on the bloody burise, and Jaskier shifts around restlessly, making quiet, displeased noises.

Geralt starts rubbing his back, frowning at the heat he can feel through the thin t-shirt.

Jaskier's hands keep moving around, tugging at the edge of his pillow as if seaching for something.

Then Geralt sees it. The faded, dingy corner of the blanket sticking out from under the pillow. Geralt can smell it. The scent he'd catch traces of on Jaskier for years, but couldn't place.

The familiar, comforting scent that he's just assumed Jaskier was picking up from his own hoodie, and that t-shirt... He knew immediately that was what Jaskier was looking for.

With great care, Geralt eased the soft, worn blanket out from under the pillow and layed it over Jaskier. The bard shifted onto his stomach with a wheezy hum and pulled one corner of his blanket to his face.

Yennefer returned with some salve for Jaskier's cheek. She gave the blanket a mildly surpised look when she saw it, before her eyes softened when she realized what it was.

Yennefer carefully pulled the age softened fabric away from Jaskier's face and rubbed a bit of the salve onto his cheek, making quiet soothing noises when he flinched and mumbled in his sleep. She tucked the blanket back up to his face and stroked the back of his head for a few minutes before kissing his temple.

They sat with Jaskier for a few minutes, listening to his congested breathing, before quietly sneaking out so he could sleep.

Jaskier had woken up the next morning, and been very nervous when he ventured out of his room, watching and listening for any sign that Geralt and Yennefer knew.

But there were no funny looks, no vague hints, no strange behavior. Nothing. Just their genuine concern for him, and a straight forward explanation of how they had come home and found him on the kitchen floor, gotten him cleaned up, given him a potion, and put him to bed.

There was no indication in word, tone, or behavior to indicate that they knew anything about the existence of the blanket, so Jaskier breathed a silent sigh of relief and let the whole incident get shuffled into the dusty corners of his memory.

[jd-loves-fiction]

➤ Jason Todd x Reader

➤ Warnings: gun kink, unprotected sex [don’t be silly, wrap the willy ;)]

➤ @catxsnow @internalsealpanic​ @littleredwing89

[22:50] Your lungs burn as you leapt from one building to another, begging you to slow down at once. 

No chance of that, not with the sound of heavy footsteps thundering behind you as a grunt is heard after the man chasing you lands. 

So you keep running, despite the tightness of your chest, the soreness of your feet and burning in your muscles. 

But somewhere deep inside, something urges you to stop. Something more abstract than the discomfort you feel.

"Come on, princess. Stop and let's talk this out!"

"No way in hell, you glorified eyesore!" You yell back, jumping yet another gap between buildings almost perfectly. 

Almost.

You misjudge the distance and are unable to stick the landing, rolling across the roof until you stop on your back. You don't move, already hearing how his footsteps become slower. He approaches your defeated form, panting as your ankle throbs slightly. You know you can't run anymore at this point, so why tire yourself out.

Red Hood steps over you, placing his boots on your spread arms, barely applying any pressure, just enough to send a message. 

You can hear his heave, distorted, and you imagine him to be sweating bullets under his helmet, while you cool off with the cold, humid air of late night Gotham.

"Did you need to do all that? I just wanted to talk." Red hood protests, exasperated and still panting as you do the same with a skeptical look. 

"Seems it was more your gun wanting to do the talking." You bite back, feeling small under his gaze, so far up from you, but refusing to show it. 

You can almost see his red helmet contort into a frown as you both know what you said isn't true. He may threaten you but he'd never actually shoot you. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he enjoys this dynamic of yours. And so do you. 

The sexual tension, usually pointed out by others around you, could be cut with a meat cleaver. And it just keeps building. Every encounter or skirmish usually leaves you with sticky underwear and him with tighter pants. You excite him, keep him on his toes, and he does the same to you. 

Not to mention the more intimate moments you've shared. 

Walking the grey line of morality meant that your friends could be your enemies and vice versa. For you two, it meant that one day you could be bandaging each other up (still with the masks on) and the next day you could be the ones creating a need for the bandages. 

And that is fine. You both think it's fine.

Until the tension brewing comes to a head spills over from the cauldron. 

Red Hood takes his feet away from your biceps, stepping just below them to take the weight off and still keep close. He then takes his shinny, polished gun from its holster, not yet having been used on that night. 

His large thighs flex as he crouches over your chest, placing the gun under your chin as you stare into the white eyes of his hood, hoping to catch a glimpse of what's behind. 

"Well, if that's the only way I'll get you to talk." His deep voice, seemingly deepened by the voice modulator, rumbles through your chest as he speaks. 

"There are other ways…" You whisper suggestively, mask slits lowering as you smirk seductively. The complete switch from your feisty defiance to a velvety tone and alluring expression makes him pause. 

"Oh? And what would those be?" The gun feels cool against your skin as he presses it harder against you.

"You could start by taking off your helmet." You say confidently. And just like that, the gun's pressure leaves you as he pulls it away slightly. 

Red Hood sighs deeply, shoulders dropping, "You know I can't do that, princess." 

"Not for me?"

"Not for you, not for anyone I'm afraid."

"Won't even let me try to change your mind?" You purr. Your hands crawl up his tense legs, feeling the muscles quiver under your fingertips before they settle on his hips. 

"I can't promise you anything." His tone turns stern, almost cold, but his breathing wavers at the feeling of your warm hands on his cold body. 

"Then don't. Just let me do my thing and see how you feel afterwards." You suggest, nails scratching just above his belt. His hand flexes for a moment, contemplating, before he traces his gun down your throat and towards your warm chest. 

"Think you can change my mind, do you?" His free hand brushes your hair away from your face before he grabs your chin between his gloved fingers. "Let's see what you got."

You slip your legs out from under him, placing them around his waist and throwing him off balance to the side, following the momentum and sitting yourself over him. 

Red Hood's helmet hits the floor as he lets his head fall back. You lay your weight on his middle before gripping both his wrists while leaning closer to his face. 

"You sound quite cocky. Not much reason to, since you're the one on the ground while I could just get up and run. You'd be left all alone to take care of your little problem." You whisper while grinding your ass against said problem.

"True, but we both know you don't really want to. And it's not so little, princess." His voice is deep and raspy as you continue your hip movements, taking his gun out of his hand. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then you better start working, doll face."

You scoff at his tone before realizing the safety was off on the gun. "The safety was off?" You ask, shocked, as you turn it on, placing it by your side. 

"Sorry, forgot about it. Had more interesting things to think about." His hands reach for you before you grab them, pinning them beside his head.

"You forgot about it? Not very professional of you, considering your impulses." Your chest meets his as you lean heavily on his wrists. You both know your hold on them means close to nothing and that he could easily get out of it, but he'd allow it if it meant having fun.

"Not the impulses you should be focusing on, sweetheart." His legs bend, urging you forward and making his crotch grind against yours.

“Ooh, I’m so scared of a man whose face I can’t even see. Not to mention the fact that you clearly have a very soft spot for me, sweetheart.” You tease, grinding your hips down firmly, reveling in the deep grunt that makes him chest vibrate against yours.

Red Hood lets out a slow breath, body relaxing completely as he stays silent, “Yeah, you’re right.” he finally says, quietly, absentmindedly. You stare deep into the whites of his mask as he stays tight-lipped and seemingly contemplating something. 

"Can I trust you? Completely?" He asks before you hum, taking your hands away and sitting up. You ignore his boner poking your ass.

"Yes, of course you can." Your expression turns soft and serious as you speak. You hope he can hear your honesty more than see it through the mask. 

He nods before reaching for his helmet, "Wait!" You exclaim as your hands stop him. "What are you doing?!"

"Listen, princess. I want this and I trust you. So I'm acting on all this fucking tension because honestly, I can't wait anymore." And so you let him reach for the back of his helmet, clicking it open with a hiss, before he takes it off and you're baffled by the image before you.

His hair is short and black with a white streak, just as messy and sweaty as you expected. His eyes are a startling, pale green, and they watch your reaction for a moment before his cheeks darken. There's the beginning of dark stubble on his jaw and chin. Even the small scars all across his face, from his cheek to the bridge of his nose, add to his rugged handsomeness that nothing your mind has ever conjured up could compare to. 

"Don't comment too much. We can leave the soft stuff for another time. Right now, I just need to be inside you." The heated look in his striking eyes makes your breath stutter, along with his words. Before you smile cheekily while trailing your nails down his hard abs. 

"'Leave the soft stuff for another time?' That better mean you'll be taking me out on a date, or I'm not having it." You tease, winking at him as he smiles fondly. You take off your mask and place it by his helmet, ego massively boosted by the immensely flustered look on his face as yours is revealed. 

"Do comment all you like. And you can call me Y/N." You whisper into the night, lips a breath away from his. 

"Jason. Nice to meet you, finally."

His soft lips crash against yours as months of tension come to a head while teeth scrape and tongues battle for dominance. You lose it and let Jason suck on your tongue as you rush to unbuckle his pants after raising his shirt slightly.

You feel his hands grip your waist tightly, meaning to flip you under him, before you hold him back by placing your hands on his, "Let me ride you, please." 

"Ah fuck, doll face." Jason's voice wavers as you reach past his boxers to grab his hot member in your cold hand. Your hand moves up and down, feeling him harden fully in your palm as your forehead rests against his. 

Your lips suck on his pulse while your other hand brushes a long scar in the middle of his torso, that you refuse to comment on. 

"Princess, you better stop or I'm gonna cum. And I just wanna do it inside you." He grunts, tugging at your pants while holding your wrist to slow you down.

You take your pants off, thankful for the roof's tall walls and the fact that, for once, it isn't raining like hell. The stone digs into your knees as you settle over him once again. 

"You ready?" Jason asks as you move his cock through your folds. You're not sure of the answer. He looks too girthy for you to take without prep painlessly. But with the burning ache on your core begging to feel him inside, your patience is quickly running out, so you're sure going to try.

You sink down instead of answering, slipping only the head of his cock inside you, making his eyes widen and nearly roll back at the unexpected pleasure, before they close tightly as he struggles to hold his own hips down as you adjust.

"Ah! Doll…" He sighs, hips twitching as they try to raise against the weight of you. You hold yourself up on his stomach as your walls are stretched to their limit, trying not to impale yourself too quickly.

You breathe hard and deep as you move down, the base being thicker makes it harder and not painful, but it's worth it for Jason's face as you finally descend all the way until your hips meet his and he gasps before moaning loudly and deeply. His cheeks become even redder than before, looking to the side at his loud noise.

You lean towards his ear to whisper, moving him inside you slightly which makes him groan again, "Be as loud as you like, nobody can hear you. Plus, not sure anybody cares."

“Fuck, princess, please tell me I can move. I just wanna fuck this pussy so bad.” Jason says, hands holding onto your hips. You nod desperately, already half gone with the feeling of his hard cock fully inside, raising yourself with a whimper and dropping again.

“Shit, doll!” He exclaims, hands helping you move as his hips raise while you drop, his tip hitting you impossibly deep as a layer of sweat starts to form on both of your foreheads, hair sticking to the skin.

“Ah, Jason.” You whimper, grounding your clit against his pelvis at the bottom.

“You feel so good, doll. So warm and wet, fuck…” He sighs, hand grasping your hair and pulling your lips against his as you set a hard and fast pace. 

Your lips barely connect for more than a few moments, kisses interrupted by moans and whimpers as you breathe against each other's mouths. 

Your toes begin to curl as sparks of pleasure travel all over your flushed body, breathing heavy as your heart pounds against your chest. Your body jerks as Jason’s rough and calloused finger starts rubbing firm circles on your clit.

“You close, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? Clench even tighter, shit!” He sighs, followed by a groan as you do clench tighter around him at his dirty words while the pleasure builds.

“Jason, please! I’m so close.” You moan desperately, muscles twitching as you allow Jason to do the most work with his powerful thrusts and rough fingers.

Your back arches as you finally reach that peak, shivering, nails digging into his stomach as you let him thrust into your pussy until he lets out a grunt once he reaches his orgasm, warm filling you as his cum drips out of you and down your thighs.

You open your eyes, gazing up into the dark sky, catching your breath before looking down. Jason lays back, sighing as the aftershocks of his high wears off slowly, leaving him sated and tired, pent up tension finally released.

You lean forward, ignoring the way your pussy twitches as he nudges the inside, and placing a kiss to his red cheek and smiling at his hazy, faraway gaze.

“So, about that date, you free on Friday?”

[vampire-clowns-r-us]

i have to finish this actually

reblog and put in the tags a dumb thing you have memorized

[totiredtowrite]

"Ｔｈｅ Ｐｒｏｓｐｅｃｔｏｒ"

Warnings - Mentions of Alcohol

Note: Part twooo ahaha. Also I'm just gonna make the dni thing bigger and bigger until people stop missing it cause come on y'all it's not hard.

FEM READERS DO NOT INTERACT (SHE/HER, SHE/THEY)

/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

There was definitely a cycle in this town.

It was hard not to notice. Come spring, maybe even January, and there were people lining up in front of your store for supplies. You used to be perfectly content just selling clothes, bedding, cooking utensils, basic household items. Now, though, you also sold gold pans, crevicing gear, sievers, you name it.

In the summer, there were out of towners everywhere. The people didn't mind, surprisingly. Despite being a rather secluded western town with some...less than natural things going on, the people were very friendly. And, in winter, there were only a couple gold diggers left. Come January and the cycle starts again.

To you, though, everyone was starting to look the same.

Which, of course, is why you were so confused right now. Confused as to why a prospector, of all things, is the only person who'd caught your attention.

You didn't know what it was. Perhaps you'd just gotten tired of the other gold diggers throwing backhanded compliments about 'what a handsome young man' you were. (They were never in your age range anyways. It was kind of creepy). Pretty boy, boy toy, handsome, you name it, you've probably been called it.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your face. You'd probably just gotten attached to quickly. All he did was give you a genuine compliment and shoot you a smile, and now you had some sort of embarrassing crush on him. The amount of slimy people that come through your shop have really lowered your standards, huh?

Dropping your hands, you moved to start closing up shop. You lived on the second floor, so it's not like you had to leave the building. You closed the cash register with a slightly broken click. Just as you went to flip the sign on the door though, you were stopped by a knock on the glass.

The prospector.

His rather volumeless brown hair shifted with him as he gently opened the door, cautious to step on the rug with his muddied boots and not the floor. "Are you closing?" He asked, his voice somewhat rushed as he steadied his breathing. He'd been running.

You nodded cautiously, watching every move he made. "Great!" He said. Then, attempting to mask his excitement and seem uninterested, he added "I mean, that's good." It didn't work, you could pretty much feel the energy buzzing underneath his surface.

"Right," you started slowly, stepping back, "Did you need something?"

He, still attempting to be aloof, shrugged. "No. Well- yes, but also no?"

You raised a brow. "Right," you said, dragging out the 'r' sound.

He laughed softly, if only to ease his nerves, and turned to face you. "Actually," he brought his hand behind his head to awkwardly rub his neck, "I was wonderin' if you wanted to get a drink."

You blanked. Even if it wasn't visible on you, you could feel the heat rising to your face. "A drink," you echoed.

He nodded, removing his glove and extending his hand slightly. "I caught you just in time!"

You rubbed your face again. No way this was actually happening. He waited a moment for you to get your bearings, his hand not moving. You peeked out from between your fingers. "What d'ya say? My treat," He gave you that cute smile again.

Gently, you placed your hand in his. His hand was warm, worn from work with scars visible on his fingers. "Fine." Your voice came out less shaky than you thought it would.

He beamed at you, standing up to his full height. Any nerves he, or you for that matter, dissipated. "You won't regret it," he said with a playful glint in his eye. "Promise."

~

Do not repost, translate, or copy my work on to other platforms.

[nervousmendes]

Drunken Haze | Shawn Mendes

Shawn x reader (smut)

a/n: this was a failed attempt at writing smut for the first time. (it's very mild, mostly just sexual tension and making out) do check out more of my work on my masterlist right here

summary: Shawn sees the reader at a bar and makes a move.

warnings: mild smut (making out) and very little swearing

Cez does his fair share of research when it comes to choosing a bar to spend the night at, and when you're in Paris (yes, with a French accent) it's totally worth it. Brian walked in first, Shawn and Cez not far behind. "Man I'm so getting shit-faced in here." he sighed as the three of them observed the fancy lights, furniture and wall hangings, taking in the scent of alcohol and cigerettes suspended in in the warm air of the closed space. Cez being the only bright one in the three, quickly spotted an empty booth in the lounge but Shawn's eyes fell straight on a blond haired women, her black dress hugging her hips so well and her toned legs crossed one over the other while she tipped her head back, letting the expensive wine in the glass she was holding flow into her system.

There was something about her that intrigued him. Maybe it was the confidence she radiated, the way she sat with her back poised, the way her silky hair flowed down her shoulders or maybe it had something to do with how her skin glowed in the dim lighting. He felt the urge to approach her, like she pulled him towards her. And it was as if his legs knew what his heart wanted when they started making calculated steps towards the bar counter that she was facing. His thoughts went every which way trying to figure out what to say as he took the stool exactly beside her's, completely ignoring the five (or more) empty stools on his other side.

"Hey." He internally patted himself on the back for sounding a lot more confident than he actually was.

"Do I know you?" Her face broke into a polite smile, and her thick french accent dripped with the words she spoke out of her red stained lips.

"Maybe?"

Too cocky.

"You don't give me a businessman vibe." She said looking at him from head to toe. Looking. She saw the black denim that covered his toned legs, his satin, white shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and the little scar on his cheek that gave his soft facial features a more rugged look. Shawn watched her keenly. His hand went to his hair, fingers pushing a stray curl out of his eye.

"What makes you think I'm a businessman?" He turned in his stool and rested his arm on the bar counter to make her shift her vision from his face to his forearm that flexed under the thin fabric.

"They're usually the cocky ones." He was searching for what to say slightly taken aback by the fact that someone found him cocky, considering that no one has ever called him that before, not in a bad way. He wasn't offended, just surprised. In fact he liked that the whole 'be confident' thing was working.

"But you seem nice, I'll give you that." She chuckled while twirling the empty wine glass in her small hand.

"Will you let me buy you your next drink?"

She considered it, and almost nodded yes for affirmation but then her brows drew in an L shape. "I think I've already had too much to drink." She was mentally trying to count how many times the bartender filled her glass with Chartreuse.

"So why don't you tell me your name, mysterious, handsome, American man?" She said leaning close to him. The already deep cut neck line of her dress plunged down even further, dangerously low, making Shawn draw in a sharp breath through his mouth.

"I love mysterious and handsome, but I'm actually Canadian." He narrowed his eyes at her with a smirk and she couldn't help but smile.

"And nice to meet you, I'm Shawn. Et toi?"

"I can tell you skipped your french classes often back in school." She broke into a chuckle, making Shawn grin right back at her, his face very close to hers.

"You know nothing about me, but I'm afraid this one's true." He whispered, his minty breath fanning her face. She laughed again while placing her hand on Shawn's toned bicep that was rested on the countertop.

"You're funny." Her gaze burned into him.

"I wasn't even trying." Liar.

"I'm guessing that's a lie." They never broke eye contact.

"For someone that guesses a lot, you're pretty accurate."

"You know nothing about me." She said just like he did a minute ago, her lips almost grazing his making sure to not touch them. What a tease.

"How about," the tips of his calloused fingers went to her bare shoulder, "I start with knowing what those pretty lips of yours taste like?" and stroked the soft, supple skin on her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

"That's a good start." She inched closer.

"So is that a yes?"

Instead of giving him an answer, she touched his lips with hers, hands going to either side of his neck. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the expensive alcohol she had been drinking all night. He nudged closer to get a better angle, his large hands taking purchase on her waist. Their tongues danced with each other's, deepening the kiss. He moaned under his breath when she licked the roof of his mouth, and he used that as an opportunity to suck on her lower lip. Her nails scratched his scalp, tangling her fingers in his long, soft curls and she quickly figured how much he liked it from the way he kissed her harder in response to tugging his hair. She broke the kiss for air, he assumed but then when he pulled her in again, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I live only ten minutes away, let's get out of here." She was breathing heavily. He nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before getting off the stool and helping her down shortly after. He left a quick text to Brian asking them to carry on with whatever they were upto and rolled his eyes at Brian's response telling him to "not bust that nut too quick". They got in an Uber and sat beside each other, lips red and swollen, breath heavy, and their thoughts everywhere. They didn't say a word to each other. They didn't know what to say but they were both trying to reach out for some sort of connection. She cleared her throat in an attempt to gather the right words before she spoke. Her eyes were set on her hands that played with the hem of her dress.

"Is now a good time to tell you.." He looked up at her, signalling for her to go on. She gulped, "that I actually know who you are, and I acted like I didn't because I didn't want you think of me as someone who would see you as an object just because you're a celebrity." She made air quotes on the word 'celebrity', like it was such a weird thing to say, a word that gives a human, with a little fame they never knew was coming their way, the title of an object.

"That is the best decision you ever made. If I knew you knew I'm sure I wouldn't even have made a move. You have no idea how glad I am that you did that."

She finally dropped the hem of her dress and looked back at him through her long eyelashes. That was it, there was no holding back anymore. Shawn's lips crashed into hers and she kissed his mouth back with that much force, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. His one hand went around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back, and the other was tangled in her beautiful, blond locks.

Their lips didn't leave other's even while unlocking the door, and just like you see in the movies, they kissed their way into her bedroom until Shawn's legs hit the cot and his butt landed on the soft spring mattress of her bed. She kicked off her heels and threw one leg to his other side, her knees on either side of his legs, straddling him. His hands slid down from her waist to fill his palms with the flesh of her toned bum. He cooed as he kneaded them with every movement she made sitting right on top his hard-on that strained his tight denims. Shawn drew his lips away from her mouth to leave wet kisses down her jawline and along the expanse of her throat. He attached his lips to the spot under her ear and sucked on the skin there, causing a shivering moan to tumble down her plump lips. He explored her neck and her chest with his hungry lips, tasting the lavender flavour of the soap she lathered on herself earlier that evening. Somewhere along kissing and a lot of exploring later, all the clothing they helped each other get rid of were scattered on the floor, sweat covered bodies moulding and crashing to give each other the climax they longed for.

(I cannot write smut for shit so I cut the crap out and got to the point.)

She woke up to the warmth of the sun shining on her golden skin through the half drawn blinds, feeling a mild headache from all that she had to drink the previous night. That's when she remembered him. She jutted her head out of her pillow to see that his clothes weren't on the floor anymore. She shifted under the sheets to find an empty bed beside her and a post it note neatly placed in the centre, exactly where he slept. She took it in her hand, squinting until she could read what it said.

Sorry, I left without saying goodbye. I'm playing a show today and I have to be there early. Last night was really fun. x

- S.M

Her lips formed a shy smile and her cheeks were tinged a shade of red as she recollected the events of last night. She folded the piece of paper in her hand contemplating whether she had to throw it or save it. She looked down at it one more time, and that's when she noticed that something was written on the other side. She turned the post-it around, to find a phone number written on it and under it he'd written, "maybe I'm glad I didn't say goodbye".

She laughed to herself, carefully placing the paper in her journal, already excited by the idea of seeing him again. She met Shawn less than twenty four hours ago and hardly knew anything about him, but there something about him that drew her in, made her want to get to know him better and of course feel that pretty mouth of his between her legs once again.

_______________________________________________

I'm thinking maybe I'll do a part 2 to this so let me know what you think. Hope you liked this one. Reply to this or leave me a message if you want to get added to my taglist!!

[wh0lemilk0vich]

I'm feeling attention needy so I'm gonna share my current D&D character (well the one I want to play once I eventually have a game 😭) and their backstory!

(Commissioned Art by filibusterfrog)

Backstory below the break (references to critical role's Exandria/Wildemount but otherwise the hometown is my invention)

In his small Menagerie village of Milă Micuța, not far from Nicodranas and nestled in the outer forests of the Quoraska jungle, Mihai Mormântului was not often to be found in his family home, the funeral home of the Breasa Fii Laspezi (brotherhood of the flagstones). From a very early age he delighted in visiting the wise women that lived at the edge of the woods; a trio of spinster sisters (ladies throwster, windster, and orrice weaver) who, beyond their beautiful silk and yarn textile work, had knowledge of herbs and remedies and most importantly, stories.

He would listen to them for hours, while they spun and thre, wound and wove and sewed, telling stories about beautiful lovesick peasant girls who would fall in love with handsome princes, only to have the ill fate of their births keep them from what they desired above all else.

It would always come to pass that the girl, having lost all other options and at the brink of despair, would go in search of the Prism Sage. She would travel through forest and field, through swamp and meadow to the heart of the continent and foothills of Mount Mentiri and blistering lands above the Phoenix's grave. There she would find a small windowless hut with a great big porch nestled in a bramble forest. Having arrived the girl would throw herself on the on the sage's porch, and if the lady of the hut were swayed she would offer potions and spells to make girl's deepest desires come true. The girl needed merely to offer her payment and she would live happily ever after at her beloved's side. If the girl's future child became distant and moody and yearned every day for the bramble forest, this was mentioned only in passing.

Such endings, warnings that they might have been, were of far less importance to young mortician's son who saw himself in the stories of these girls; tragic victims of their own circumstance. These were the thoughts and dreams and emotions that circled the tormented mind of a lonely queer boy in town that didn't want color.

Indeed Mihai was unlike the men of his village. Rather than developing a rugged physicality or rough and tumble nature, he was a passionate, and sensitive soul, while silly and gregarious in equal measure. He was his mother's baby, her favorite, and she often encouraged his uniqueness. When she passed he lost his strongest advocate, and his eccentric personality quickly became a mask to cover his developing feelings of inadequacy, shame, grief and isolation.

Mihai could have stayed in Micuța if not for Ionats Iovanescu, the son of the local priest of Pelor. The handsome towheaded young man caught the eye of every sighing blushing cow-eyed girl, and Mihai. So smitten was he, that after years of daydreaming, desiring, and willing them to come together, he finally mustered the courage to confess his love to the man of his dreams.

It went far from well, and his former life of quiet isolation became a barrage of insults, prayers, curses and ostracization. It was in his dreams the nights followed, after crying himself to sleep, that he would see the windowless bramble wood cottage in the Mentiri foothills and a great boney hand beckoning through the open door.

It is soon after that Mihai decided to travel north, risking the perilous journey to find the Prism Sage and beg her for a way to change his fate, to change decisions of the past or at the very least to change his desires; the source of his torment. Isharnai would not take this bargain. She saw far too much potential in the young man to let him abuse or disfigure himself that way. No, she would offer him  much more. Why should he waste his love, his passion, his beauty on those who would spurn it? Why should an eagle clip it's wings to nest among hens? She would give him power. Power to take what ought be his, and forge his own path. Such power would come at a price, but really what price was too dear for a life of open happiness, devoid of the chains of the past? Mihai, despondent and desperate agreed quite willingly, believing he'd be giving up the memories of his past, of his love,

of his family. But Isharnai takes more than that. Mihai would be free, even free to remember, but the tethers to his home would simply cease to exist. As her rasping chuckle filled the cluttered room of the hut, and impossibly long, bony fingers dragged across his eyelids, Mihai is offered a vision of the price he paid, in a glimpse of his village and the empty, lifeless eyes of each person there. His father's, the cow-eyed, pink-cheeked girls, and the cornflower irises of Ionats Iovanescu.

The crone made a final gift of a small leather bound book emblazoned with with a title in his village's dialect "Pavat cu intenții bune." His road was certainly paved with good intentions. He refused to return home, choosing instead to wander in search of a way to undo his greatest mistake.