#i was TRYING to bring him out for enrichment

[dragon-ascent]

Hi hi hi!!! I absolutely adore your Zhongli fics your characterization of him makes me swoon he’s such a cutie

Out of curiosity, what’s your opinion on the Zhongli/Morax x reader trope of reader initially being a sacrifice to the dragon god only for Zhongli to be like “What no I don’t take sacrifices???” And just taking reader in as a sort of roommate or something like that. It’s a trope I find really interesting and funny and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it :)

Hi hi and thank you! Zhongli's the cutest patootie :) <3 And I freaking LOVE that trope!!! Like, easily top 3 trope for Zhongli if you ask me. (I could make a whole tierlist of tropes for him, but that's a post for another day haha.)

Ik you just asked for thoughts but have a little write-up, as a treat. :)

xxx

Rex Lapis is a tad offended that he'd be perceived as the type of god to take human sacrifices, since he does everything in his power to ensure mortals feel comfortable and safe around him. But he's assimilated many groups of people into his land, so it's only natural some may still retain the beliefs and customs they did under the deities preceding him, as grim as that may be.

When you're left in front of his abode as a sacrifice, he sees how urgently he needs to rectify those customs.

You're a jittery thing, all nerves and shudders and, to his dismay, rather scantily-clad especially given the season. He does his best to push the implications of your clothing to the back of his mind as he brings you into his home and warms you up by the fire with some nice warm blankets too.

He assures you he will not lay a finger on you with malicious intent, but you're staring at him like a deer in headlights - like he'll throw you into the fire at any moment if you so much as breathe wrong. Every movement of his makes you stiffen, and even the tea he brews for you is met with trepidation in every sip.

He can't send you back to your people as they'll believe you're a faulty sacrifice and kill you off themselves - so Rex Lapis takes you in his care instead.

He feeds you, clothes you, and even lets you rest in his bed while he takes the floor beside you. You're mostly quiet at first, but as the days pass and there's no sign of him hurting, devouring, or killing you, a seed of trust in his words blossoms. You believe the God of Contracts when he gives you his word he will keep you safe and cared for.

Given the way he treats you, there's no reason to feel otherwise - you've become something of a close companion to him, someone to share the tender joys and sorrows of life with. He used to go on strolls by his lonesome, but now he finds that having someone to walk with is much more enriching, giving his evenings an added tinge of fulfilment.

People do stare and whisper when they see you by the god's side, but if this is how Rex Lapis chooses to make use of their 'sacrifice,' who are they to argue?

Some watch, agog, as the golden deity takes you to the market and practically splurges on you. You shyly point to a sweet treat that looks appetizing, and he boxes a dozen of them without a moment's hesitation. A pretty accessory catches your eye for a second longer than the others, and when you turn to move on to the next stall, Rex Lapis is having said accessory taken off display and handed to you.

"These are the calligraphy brushes I spoke of yesterday," he tells you casually as he runs a finger along the sleek wooden writing instruments. "Would you like to give the activity a try?" It only takes one meek nod from you for him to get you a whole set of the brushes, promising to teach you when you both get home.

It's a shocking sight to everyone who'd betrayed you, everyone who'd so easily given you up for some false belief they held on to so stubbornly: here you are, being treated like you're actually worth something to the god, what with the way he smiles and laughs softly at something you say, the way he gently touches your elbow to veer you away from the evening rush, the way his footsteps fall in rhythm with yours.

As you pass certain familiar faces, your head snaps down and you fall silent, and Rex Lapis immediately knows they're the ones responsible for your plight. He throws them a sharp, stone-cold glare over your downcast head, and they recoil in fright, quickly turning the other way to pretend they can't feel like a whole landslide of shame now hurtles along their spines.

Needless to say, he is greeted by no more human sacrifices at his door. The one he does have, he ensures a long, happy and healthy life for.

[wolfoflyngvi]

named one of my horses in red dead online after copia.

he got a little too excited during a horse theft mission last night and t-boned my friend/posse member hard enough to send them flying into a wagon and point blank end them.

maybe it was an accident. maybe said friend accidentally hurt some poor rat earlier in the night.

[reanimatestar]

guess what i've been playing lately <3

[image description: three pencil drawings featuring characters from baldur's gate 3. the first is of the artist's original character, carxes. he is a tiefling with black sclera, long curly hair, and ram horns. he also has a scar over his right eye. the second is in a simpler style, featuring astarion grinning widely. the third is of astarion and carxes, looking at each other, with astarion being slightly shorter than carxes. astarion grins, baring his fangs, while carxes frowns at him. /end description]

[stompandhollar]

Honestly the most revolutionary thing about Gravity Falls to me is its commitment to sincerity.

I’ve been listening to Alex’s podcast where he goes into the details of each episode with different storyboard artists and writers who worked on the show, and it just baffles me how… cared for the story is. Right now in media there’s been an uptick in satire, and shows making fun of themselves for existing, or taking the piss at their own content to “win” fans to their side. It’s like whimsy is gone from so many pieces of media. But Gravity Falls just doesn’t… do that. It completely embraces itself. Weirdness and all. And so does the team behind it. I’m not used to something I care about being so cared about by everyone surrounding it.

Here’s this cartoon, written and illustrated by an entire team of people saying, “no, we’re serious. we mean this. we made this on purpose and we made it important.”

Throughout the podcast, Alex discusses little ins and outs of each character, offering so much deep internal struggles and enriching the story even farther. And listening to him unpack it with the utmost sincerity just warms my heart. Each character is so dynamic because they were cared for by people who imbued them with sincerity.

That’s exactly why we get quotes like “Shame is powerful, but it grows in the dark,” as Ford realizes the trauma he’s hidden for so long is being embraced by his family, diminishing it’s weight on him through their immediate support.

It’s why we get Alex describing Stanley with quotes like; “I always in my gut thought of him as somebody with a huge well of sadness, a loss of human connection. And that need to please? That need to get laughs from the crowd, and putting on a big show? He’s trying to get from them the affection he never got from his family, and that he lost with his brother.”

Or detailing how Mabel might be a goof… but half the time she’s doing a bit, because she’s really more mature than her brother and doesn’t want him to grow up too fast. She’s trying to help ground him and bring lightheartedness into his life. Because she knows otherwise, he’ll become too self isolated.

And those two mini character studies he dropped so casually in these podcast episodes just… color the show. It’s why the show survived so well even after ten years. It’s gruff-old Stan always calling his niece “Pumpkin” and “Honey”. It’s the family always holding hands without it behind laced with a joke, and falling asleep on one another in the car. It’s Alex explaining that people toyed with other endings, other plot lines, other twists, but it was always going to end with Stan and Ford mending the family tie they severed thirty years ago. Because that was their story. Messes and family and care.

Ten years ago, watching it for the first time as it came out, I felt all that. But now, as an adult, knowing that all the other adults who made it felt the exact same way? :,) What a special story we all got to grow up with, and get to continue being apart of.

[charliemwrites]

Part 1

Finally finished this! I think I put way too much pressure on myself to get this just right and it gave me some major writer's block. Anyway, please enjoy!

Content: Wet dreams, Somnophilia (sort of), Identity Porn, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy (through dreams), Uncomfortable Situation, Pushy/Predatory behavior (brief)

“Bad dreams again?”

Drowsy and sluggish, you blink at your aunt. She’s as sleek and coiffed as always, pressed business attire and shiny hair. Shoulders back, spine straight. A woman people respect and heed without question.

Your mother’s voice whispers in your ear, that lovingly patronizing tone. See how professional she looks, dear? Isn’t that nice?

It’s not Aunt Katie’s fault though. She does look professional, and it is nice. It suits her.

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “They’re not bad, really. Just… intense.”

She hums, elegant fingers tracing the edge of your borrowed desk. “They can’t be very good if they’re keeping you up.”

You’re tired enough that you almost correct her a second time. The problem is that the dreams are too good. You wake up panting, sweating, halfway to – well. You’re not about to discuss the finer points of a kinky wet dream with your CIA aunt. Besides, it’s silly to get so defensive of something that affects you seemingly negatively.

“Maybe,” you reply, rubbing at your heavy eyes. It feels like you’re trying to look through clear jelly.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Aunt Kate suggests.

You frown, a pang of guilt striking your empty tummy. “No… no, I’m okay. It’s not even lunch yet.”

She smiles at you. The same fond smile she’s always graced you with, on holidays and birthdays, whenever she could escape the secretive walls and red tape to be with family.

“You’re already ahead on paperwork. You’re not a bad employee for getting a little sun.”

Your eyes flick longingly to the door.

Apparently, the government doesn’t believe in things like windows or sunlight. Your little desk is at the very end of a long, half-empty hallway in the middle of a concrete cube and drowning in awful blue fluorescence. You can’t even bring yourself to drag a plant to this crappy little island because you’d feel too guilty putting it through this.

“Okay… maybe just for a few minutes,” you allow.

Her smile widens as she nods for you to follow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. I think the dogs will be free for some enrichment.”

Well, that certainly gets you out of your squeaky office chair.

Honey sunlight drizzles over your neck and shoulders, dripping syrupy-slow down your spine. It diffuses through your chest, chasing away the artificial chill of the office. The sleepy haze retreats like frost melting from glass.

You sigh into the fresh air, ignoring the tang of gunpowder lingering on the breeze, and turn your face to the sun. Summer is coming to an end, the heat broken into mellower warmth. There won’t be many days like this left before autumn bites down and shakes the leaves from the trees. A shame you’ll likely waste most of them in your administrative prison. 

The dogs stretch out in the grass around you, tongues lolling and eyes bright, keeping you company. A furry bouquet of black and tan in the manicured grass, their ears and tails like stalks to strange plants.

You bury your fingers in Zeus’s coat and get a fuzzy white tummy for your efforts. He’s a young and handsome thing, the newest addition to the K-9 unit, still a bit fluffy around the ears. You try not to think of how that will fade and harden, just like the older dogs in the unit, just like his human counterparts. Just scratch at that itchy spot by his ribs and smile when his hindleg kicks.

Friga stands and stretches on your right side, leaning her shoulder into yours. Then picks her way around the others to sniff at Zeus. Offended by her interruption, he flails onto his stomach and nips at her, one big forepaw thumping the ground.

She goads him into playtime, and you watch with the older pack members as they begin to romp. They tumble and grumble around you, heedless of bumping into any of the others. You laugh, bright and loud—

The back of your neck tingles.

You glance around, not even sure why. Until you see a figure across the field. He’s standing by the track where about two dozen men are jogging. Recruits, you guess. But he’s not observing them or barking orders. No, he’s clearly turned to face you. It’s too far to make out any features, apart from what seems to be an unusual haircut.

You quickly glance away, surreptitiously trying to determine if the man’s attention was on something else that happened to be in your direction. But there’s little else but you and the dogs in this field, the kennels noticeably off to the left.

Then again, someone sitting in the grass with half the K-9 unit is a bit unusual. He’s probably trying to decide if it’s something that needs investigation. You hope it’s not.

Still, you can’t shake the discomfiting sense that he’s looking at you.

You ignore him until it’s time for the dogs to go back - but that prickly feeling of being watched never subsides.

That night, in the guest room of your aunts’ house, the dreams take on new life.

It starts as it always does. A dark room. A lush bed. Silky sheets. Moonlight seeping through blinds like smoke. And him.

He’s behind you. A broad body so solid you’d think he was a wall if not for the heat. It’s so intense this time, like a wildfire raging out of control, crawling from his skin beneath yours. You sense more than feel the big hand around your jaw. Rough fingers clutch at the plush of your thigh. Hot breath fans across the back of your neck, rippling shivers down your spine.

There’s a voice in your ear. No words you can discern, just a thunder-deep rumble with smoky edges. Stubble scrapes the delicate skin of your neck and catches in your hair.

A thick, heavy cock is buried deep inside you, kissing the entrance to your womb. Your pussy twinges a sweet-sharp ache with each deliberate grind of his hips. He’s spreading you open to get as deep as he can, throbbing balls pressed up tight to your sopping entrance.

Your own hands are all but useless. One twists desperately in the sheets, the other clutches at the meaty swell of his ass. Pleasure upends anything like sense or thought, even hazy dream logic. There is just this man fucking you like he owns you, two of his fingers in your drooling mouth, petting your tongue. A ring clicks against your teeth.

“Found you,” he whispers.

You jolt, eyes flying open. The powder blue ceiling of your borrowed room greets you. You’ve kicked the cotton sheets into a tangled mess around your ankles, tiny shirt ridden up your chest. Your panties are soaked.

The taste of metal lingers behind your incisors.

It’s a busy day. For once, you’re free from the confines of your sad little nook. Aunt Kate must have taken pity on your sorry state the day before and has procured busy work. Files that need hand delivery, or physical reports for you to gather. You don’t care if it’s just something to get you out of the office, you relish the stolen moments outside between buildings.

If there’s a downside, it’s the glances you attract. Everything about you projects civilian, despite the access card prominently pinned to the lapel of your blazer. It draws curious once-overs at best and suspicious scans at worst – or speculative appreciation at the very worst. Every time a fresh-faced recruit or overly decorated middle-aged man lingers as you pass, you hear your mother’s voice again.

Don’t you know what those military men are like? Practically animals. I couldn’t possibly let you be exposed to them.

It’s long ingrained to keep your eyes forward, head level, and try to keep your hips from swaying as much as possible. You’re grateful for whatever bit of paperwork you can clutch to your chest, just to hide your figure and have something to do with your hands.

You’re picking up some personnel files from the infirmary, smile brightly at the receptionist as she passes them over. Mallory is only a couple years older than you, and she’s been working here a year already.

“Lunch in the mess today?” she asks, spinning a pen between her fingers.

“As if you even need to ask,” you tease. “Noon?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She blows you a kiss as you leave, counting the number of files to be sure you have them all. Your eyes skim over one of the names, a white label on the folder fin. “MacTavish, J.” in blocky typewriter font. You shuffle them back into a neat stack and pivot for Aunt Kate’s office.

You’re not in the moonlit bedroom this time. A half-moon grins down from a starry sky, wearing smoky nebulas for lipstick. Beneath you lays cool grass and soft earth, rich and loamy in your heaving lungs. Petals blooming in the dark kiss your overheated skin, little relief for the burn in your veins.

The change in scenery is almost as dizzying as the man between your thighs. Almost.

But it’s not the dew-saturated breeze that muddles your bewildered thoughts. It’s the hot, wet, clever tongue lavishing your drenched pussy. He licks in broad stripes from your aching hole to your throbbing clit, only ever pausing to indulge a slow suck to the bundle of nerves, before resuming that hypnotic circuit.

One thigh is hooked over a wide shoulder, your heel dug into the flexing muscles of a broad back. The other is spread by a big, calloused hand, giving him unfettered access to the softest, neediest parts of you.

You mewl desperately, hand darting down to his bobbing head. Your nails scrape shorn stubble, eliciting a gravelly groan that sends electricity up your tingling spine. It’s nothing compared to the growl you earn when your fingers twist into the longer, soft strands at the top.

For the first time, you’re able to voice more than helpless moans and wanton whimpers.

“Please,” you sob softly, “please.”

You feel him smirking, a wicked curl against your fluttering cunt. Then he focuses the tip of that awful, dexterous tongue on your clit, flicking in purposeful little strokes.

M-A-

“S-so close,” you whine, hips twitching. He pins you flat, pace never faltering.

V-I-

You shudder as your pussy clenches and spasms, finally, finally—

You wake with a sharp sound, head spinning. Your orgasm washes away like the tide, leaving disappointment and exhaustion behind. You nearly scream into your pillow as you press your thighs together. Still half asleep, it even feels like you have beard-burn.

You’re in line at the mess with Mallory, listening to her complain about some rude colonel that just had to share his opinion about her acrylics. She does the best impressions, and you’re grinning and laughing as the two of you shuffle through the options. You’re reaching for a scoop of rice when the conversation behind you catches your attention.

“—came in a couple days ago.”

“The whole squad?”

“With Braveheart himself.”

A snort. “You better not let MacTavish hear you say that. He’ll—”

“Helloooo?” You blink at Mallory, who arches her brows and waves a bagel at you. “Want one?”

“Oh, uh… sure, why not,” you answer.

“Atta girl!” she cheers, tossing it in the toaster. “Carbs for days.”

You giggle but can’t help glancing behind you. The two men have already moved on though. Not that it was any of your business – or anything interesting. You’re not sure why that caught your attention. Men are just loud, you suppose, snatching a couple to-go packets of cream cheese.

As you’re leaving the mess, you happen to glance over your shoulder. A pair of sharp blue eyes catch yours from one of the tables. A group of men, just about to sit. Mallory tugs your shirt to keep you from clipping the doorjamb and you hurry after her.

There’s heat at your back. Not from a body this time, but a fire burning low and hot in a hearth. No, the body is in front of you this time, filling up your watery field of vision. Peachy skin and coarse dark hair, an old scar slashing across a sharp hip, miles of lean muscle.

Not that you have much opportunity to ogle with tears blurring your sight. The fat cock bullying the back of your throat makes it hard to do anything but choke. You dig your nails into a thick thigh and pull back, writhing your tongue along a puffy vein as you go. The leaking head rests on your drenched tongue as you catch your breath. Smoke and leather and musk saturate your lungs, cloud your empty head.

He smells so good; you don’t even like cigars.

A rough thumb caresses your cheek, a silent request for you to continue. You can practically feel the lust-drunk moans vibrating in his chest – so deep, they’re barely audible over the crackling fire.

You hiccup as deep a breath as you can manage and swallow him down again. He’s silky on your tongue, you sigh softly through your nose as the blunt head flirts with your gag reflex. You slacken your jaw despite the ache already crawling into the joint. Even then, your teeth scrape the base a bit, but that only makes him twitch against your soft palate.

“Look here, love.”

Your lashes flutter as you try to focus your gaze, scrolling your eyes up his body. Most of the details are lost either in the haze of desire or the vagary of dreams, but the blue eyes that greet you are sharper than real life.

You jolt back to consciousness with a dry cough, the scent of him still haunting your senses. You stumble to the restroom for water. Don’t even realize that you’re glancing in the mirror over your shoulder, expecting someone to be there, until you realize you’re alone.

Oddly bereft, you trudge back to bed and try to focus on the clean soap smell of your aunts’ detergent.

In moments like this, it’s hard not to blame yourself.

Not because you’ve done anything wrong, or even feel like you have. It’s because the situation is so frustratingly out of your control that it’s almost easier to tell yourself that one decision or another would have avoided this outcome. A sharper response, a frown instead of a smile, a different walking route.

(There’s also your mother’s voice, always. Saying to be smart, to pay attention, to not “put yourself” in a vulnerable position. You silence that voice viciously this time.)

Still, the fact of the matter is, there’s no personal choice you could have made to keep Corporal Callahan from cornering you in this supply closet. You just wanted a box of tissues.

“Look, I know you’re Agent Laswell’s niece, but I don’t see why we can’t go out because of it,” he reasons. As if that’s the reason you’ve been trying to gently dissuade his attempts.

“It’s not that—” you begin, shifting. He’s standing too close, but you refuse to back yourself any deeper into this tiny space. The doorway is right there, he’s just taking up all of it.

“Then just say yes,” he chuckles. His tone is all smooth and easy, meant to be charming maybe? “Just one date, that’s all I’m asking.”

Except you’re not asking, you think with helpless frustration. The sharp words get trapped behind your teeth, cutting up the roof of your mouth. Your heart is beating so hard and loud you can barely hear his “romantic” overtures.

“I’m not really…” You’re not even sure what to say this time; you’ve already told him you’re not looking to date. He’d said some vaguely predatory line about changing your mind.

In the absence of a finished statement, Callahan takes the opportunity to continue cajoling.

“C’mon,” he sing-songs, “I’m not letting you out of there until you say yes.”

You pry your jaw open, about to agree to it just for the sake of getting free. Deal with the fallout later.

There’s a rush of air and suddenly the doorway is empty. You briefly see Callahan against the opposite wall, face blank in unpleasant surprise. Then a big body blocks your view of him. Broad, bunched shoulders and thick thighs. A shock of brunet hair shaved close at the sides and long at the top. Your entire body locks up.

“You come near her again, they won’ stop findin’ pieces of ya, aye?” A growl, low and rough, Scottish accent thick. You shiver.

Callahan stutters something, a few garbled syllables through a strained and winded voice. You think you might hear “captain” in there somewhere. The bigger man shifts, you hear a muffled thump – Callahan hitting the wall again, you think. Then, with seemingly no effort, your savior tosses Callahan to the side like trash. He stumbles, catches himself.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid.”

Callahan flicks one last frightened glance your way then hurries off, proverbial tail tucked between his scrawny legs. You don’t even watch him go, eyes glued to the stranger’s muscular back. He rolls his wide shoulders, cracks his neck, and finally turns.

Familiar blue eyes pin you in place as he steps closer. The scent of cigar smoke and leather teases your nose.

A voice you’ve known for months rumbles in his chest. “Found you.”

Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[gallusrostromegalus]

hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

[crescenthistory]

Hey darling, how are you? Hope your having an amazing day ❤️

So I saw your prompt list and I was thinking about b6 and b15 with Regulus Black and kinda Sunshine x Grumpy, like he really tries to keep the facade of being cold and unbothered but reader is just so kind and understanding with him that he just melts whenever it comes to her, the tipical "I hate everybody but you"

hi my love, have been a bit sick and stressed lately, but finding relief in writing, so thank you for your enrichment hihi<3 wishing u the best!

Prompts: B.6 "Are you falling asleep on me?" "..." "Alright then" & B.15 "How are you so cute right now?"

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, use of y/n, regulus black is traumatised and mentally unwell, reader is surprisingly stable and supportive (congrats), trying to make reggie have a dynamic and complex personality, not yet established relationship but Clearly Something, falling in love and fluff, implied fear of (unrequited) love on reggie's part

Note: y'all realllllly love the sunshine x grumpy dynamic with reggie, huh? me too dw

The library was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional scratch of quill on parchment. A low fire burned in the corner, its light barely enough to keep the chill at bay, but the two of you had stayed long past the warmth’s welcome. The vast shelves of books loomed around you like silent sentinels, their presence familiar and comforting in the way only a quiet, deserted library could be.

Regulus sat across from you, perfectly composed, as usual. His quill hovered over a parchment filled with notes – meticulously neat, with that sense of perfection you had come to associate with him, exactly as he intended. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes as he read, but he didn’t brush it away, too focused on whatever passage had captured his attention.

You admired him, hoping your tired gaze was not too obvious – though maybe it would be good for him to see it. The late hour was getting to you, but you didn’t want to leave, not yet. Nights like this, studying alongside Regulus, had become a routine your body craved. Though he rarely gave any indication that they meant something to him, you had come to peak far enough behind the cracks of his exterior to know he did. Should he wish to not be near you, he would have left, he never had any reservations for doing so when Barty got too many of his nerves or Sirius was too loud.

Yet here you were, both of you drowning in books, the silence broken only by the sound of your quills and the faint crackling of the fire. He seemed... content.

You shifted slightly in your seat, hoping to stifle a yawn as you stretched your stiff legs under the table. The movement caught Regulus’ attention, and he glanced up from his book, dark eyes scanning your face. 

“You’re tired,” he stated, his voice low and matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a question.

“Not really,” you lied, offering him a small smile as you looked back down at your notes, dried quill hovering over the page. You could feel his eyes on you for a moment longer before he returned to his book, but his silence spoke louder than any rebuttal. You weren’t fooling him, not for a second.

Regulus knew you as well by now, and he could easily see through your casual deflections. He was also sweet enough on you to not call you out on it yet.

Charms had never been so dreadful as it was tonight, all theory as you copied information from the textbook over onto your parchment. You felt yourself beginning to drift again, blinking only made you sleepier, and the words on the page blurring together in front of your eyes. You pressed your lips together, determined to stay focused, but the exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak.

You rearranged yourself to be more comfortable, bringing your legs up underneath you and leaning your head on your arm, taking up perhaps a bit more desk space than what is considered gracious.

Regulus’ quill still scratched against his parchment and you looked up at him through your lashes. He hadn’t glanced at you in a while, his brow furrowed as he scribbled something in the margin of the book he was reading. Upon your movements, though, you saw a small, soft smile tug on his lips, the kind that you weren't sure anyone but you would recognise.

It had become a familiar sight, both the smile and the way he hunched slightly over his work, his focus intense. It was like he was shutting out the world around him – around us, he had once absentmindedly corrected when you told him as much. His face blank then, not paying any mind to the giant grin growing on your own face.

“How do you do it?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. Your voice was soft, but in the quiet library, it felt like a disruption. Regulus looked up, his quill pausing mid-scratch, abandoning his sentence.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice even, though there was a hint of wariness in his eyes.

“Stay so… focused,” you clarified, gesturing vaguely to the piles of books around you. “I feel like I’m drowning in information, but you’re always so… collected.”

There was a brief pause. Regulus stared at you for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he lowered his quill, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“It’s easier that way,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft for the stillness of the room. His eyes flicked to the side, avoiding yours as he added, “When you don’t let anything else in, it’s easier to focus.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than they should. There was always something simmering beneath the surface with Regulus – something unspoken, something guarded. He never let it out, never gave anyone the chance to see what was really going on inside his mind.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from him in a quiet library, long after everyone else had left, simply because you wanted to. So far, he had been brave enough to let you.

“And is that what you want?” you asked, keeping your tone light, non-confrontational. “To keep everything locked out?”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the table for a long moment before he finally met your gaze again, his expression carefully controlled. “It’s necessary,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned back in your chair, letting his words settle between you. Necessary. The way he said it felt heavy, like there was so much more beneath that single word. You didn’t push. You never did. Regulus wasn’t someone who opened up easily, and the last thing you wanted was to make him feel like he had to.

You wished more than anything that he could see himself the way you did. That he could let go, just a little, and realise that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, almost to yourself, as you turned your gaze back to your parchment.

Regulus heard you, though. He always did.

A small silence fell between you again, this one thicker with unspoken thoughts. You turned a book on its side to read it from your position lying on your arm, trying to ignore the heaviness of the atmosphere. Regulus hadn’t moved, his hands still folded in front of him, his brow slightly furrowed as though deep in thought.

“I don’t–” Regulus’ voice cuts through the quiet suddenly, making you look up. His jaw tensed slightly before he continued, “I don’t let people in because it is… easier. Safer.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, as though he wasn’t used to sharing even that much. It wasn’t a full confession, not by any means, but it was more than he usually offered, and you understood how much it cost him to say even that.

“You've let me in, though, have you not?” you tried softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “And so far it's been safe.”

Regulus blinked at that, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but clearly not that.

It looked like he was at a slight loss of words, so you continued, smile still plastered on your face. "I understand what you mean, though. It's not easy to trust in general, and you have had it harder than most. Take everything in your own time, Reggie."

Regulus remained quiet, his gaze dropping back to his notes. You could feel him retreating, slipping back behind his mask, and you let him. You weren’t here to break down his defences, only to be there when he was ready to let someone in. His hand skirted closer to where yours was fidgeting with your quill – not quite touching, but close enough. Close enough.

You turned back to your book, allowing him his silence, trying to make sense of the words that felt increasingly foreign. The night was catching up with you, pulling you deeper into the edges of sleep.

“Y/N.”

Regulus’ voice brought you back to the present. You blinked, realising you had almost drifted off again, your head tilted dangerously close to the open pages of your book. There was a certain mirth in his gaze when it met yours, quickly subdued by what looked like a weary worry.

“I’m fine,” you said assuredly, straightening up in your chair with a slight wince. You could feel the stiffness settling into your back and elbow from sitting too long.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with that same quiet intensity he always had, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You should go,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than you expected. “It’s late.”

You gave him a sleepy smile, placing your head in your hand as you leaned on the desk. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, odd mixture of a sigh and a laugh. “I don’t mind being alone,” he said, though there was a hesitation in his voice that made you think he didn’t believe it as much as he wanted to.

“I know," you said, tone gentle, "but I do.”

"You mind being alone?"

"I mind you being alone."

That seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he looked down at his lap, his quill tapping against the edge of the table in an absent rhythm. 

"I don't really know what to say to that." His face was still partially shielded from you, but you could see there was no menace in his words – just confusion, maybe even... amusement?

"Admitting you don't know something is a good start."

He gave you the first genuine laugh of the night, albeit small. "Okay then." He looked up at you finally, slight smile still playing over his features.

You watched him for a moment longer, noting the contrast of his tense shoulders with his humoured face. He was trying so hard to hold it together, even now.

"I'll stay here for as long as you do, Reg, and I know you still have a few pages left in you."

You leaned back in your chair again, stretching and letting out a small yawn. Regulus eyed you carefully, as if considering something.

"I do," he started. "But if you're staying any longer, you should get more comfortable."

He nodded his head towards the place beside him. While you were sitting in a wooden chair, he sat in a comfy, cushioned love-seat with just enough space for you to join him in. Had you not been intent on studying, you might have sat there from the start, but the harsher chair usually helps you study.

Now, though, you did not hesitate to slip around the table and sink into Regulus's seat with a sigh.

He looked at you over his shoulder, body still angled towards his notes, smiling fondly at you. "Better?"

"Much better, though I hope you know you're playing a risky game right now."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, I might fall asleep here and you will have to stay overnight. It would be rude to leave me."

Regulus just laughed, not dignifying you with further banter, as he turned back to his books. You had one in your lap as well, but the words were mostly jumbled by now.

The next hour trickled by with sparse conversation between the two of you, mostly just the comfortable silence you had grown between you over the months. You asked Regulus a question every now and again, about coursework or life, and he gave you his usual, short answers, though with a much kinder tone than he reserved for others who pestered him with interrogations.

He was halfway through an explanation of why the professor thought it necessary to make you write an essay that is essentially just restating the textbook when he felt something soft thud against him. He looked down and saw the top of your head, hair slightly messy from the hours in the library, lodged between his uniformed arm and back.

"Amour? Are you falling asleep on me?"

"..."

"Alright, then." Regulus couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips, filled with more emotion than he would have let slide with anyone around. "You did warn me."

Careful not to startle you, he manoeuvred himself around so you were resting against his chest instead, and then slowly lowered you backwards to lean against the back of the chair. One hand cradled your head as he moved you, so you wouldn't get whiplash – there was no other reason, of course.

You were surprisingly soundly asleep for someone who asked him a question mere minutes ago, but then again, he suspected you had been fighting sleep for around two hours. To stay here with him. Regulus's heart clenched at that, and it did not go unnoticed by him that before he would have felt immense guilt for this moment occurring, and now he just felt... oddly soft. Warm.

He tried to place you in a comfortable enough position, still keeping some of your weight up with the left side of his body. With a tentative, slightly shaking thumb, he brushed away some hair that had fallen in your face

Part of Regulus ached to stay like this. To have an excuse to be this close to you, to feel so vulnerable without the overwhelming panic that often threatened to take over his body and mind. He basked in the sense of safety you were somehow able to provide him, but it would take hard work to be able to accept and embrace it. In the creeping darkness of the library, secluded just the two of you, it felt much easier.

Yet, despite your jokes about rudely waking you up, he did not want to risk detention for the both of you by being caught staying out past curfew.

"Y/N?" With a hand on your cheek, he tried to gently move your face to get your attention and draw you out from sleep. "Hey, amour, you need to wake up."

You let out an impudent groan, eyes squeezing as you turned your head a little – into Regulus's hand, he noted with hitched breath. "W'is it?" You slurred your words and he had to stifle his laughter.

"You need to wake up, darling. You fell asleep in the library, but we're done now. Time to get back to your dorm."

You just huffed at that, clearly trying to stay asleep by burying your face – still clutching Regulus's hand to the other cheek – into the cushion behind you. He tried to use his hand on your face again to lightly shake you, but you just grabbed his elbow and held it still in response. Eyes still decidedly shut.

This time, Regulus couldn't hold back his laugh, which in turn made you squint open an eye.

"What are you on about, Reggie?" Your voice was not only rough from sleep, but a bit annoyed, which in turn made Regulus all the more humoured. He never would have taken you, with all your painfully kind words and looks and understanding, to be grumpy in the morning.

"I don't even know," he said through a rather large grin. "How are you so cute right now?"

"Don't know, just am. Come sleep."

"No, no, darling. Time to get up so you can go sleep."

It seemed as if his words somehow seeped through your mind and you finally processed the situation. You opened your eyes and all-but-jerked into an up-right position – face now rather close to Regulus's, enough to see the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed at you. He was laughing at you. The bastard.

"Good morning," he teased, forgetting himself.

"Did you call me cute?"

The humour was almost washed from his face as he seemed to wake up himself, but an endearing smile still clung to his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't." Your smile now matched his. "How much do you have left?" You gestured to his books with your free hand – only now noticing that your other was still clutching his elbow. His hand dropped from your face the second your properly woke up, but you never let go of him. Maybe the sleep made you delirious or his comment made you brave, because you kept your hand on him.

"Oh, I'm finished." He gave you a look that you couldn't tell if was teasing because you clearly didn't or if he was lying about being done so you could go sleep. Either way, you accepted it.

"Great, let's get us to bed then, shall we?"

When Regulus got out of his seat, he held out a hand to you, to help you up. When you accepted it and ended up standing almost impossibly close to him, he didn't step back, and he didn't look away. He just smiled.

"Yeah, let's."

[applepixls]

please join me in imagining:

a sitcom starring the 4 Gs with their creaking neighbour as a frequent visitor and everyone else as side characters we see a lot. and they have super powers.

just imagine, cleo is a necromancer who on the daily has to deal with her sassy zombies and hide them to avoid dealing with the issues of them being undead (fitting 2 extra people in their already cramped flat, taxes, insurance,,, grown up things.) scott is supposed to be super powered but all he does is turn into random barn yard animals impulse can teleport but its not its all cracked up to be (once he sneezed and got accused of robbing a bank) pearl just has a tendency to do dolphin elytra hopping in the living room cause she never has enough room in their cramped flat. ft. their silly neighbour bigb (appears about as much as the landlord in one day at a time if you're familiar.) shows up for family breakfasts and dinners, helps fix things and brings his silly little creaky guys as enrichment for scott when he wants to be something other than a chicken

their neighbours include: 3 college aged guys (who mostly put up with each other and start gradually liking each other better as the show goes on.) who live in the flat below them, one sleeps at any time of day and tends to slow time down to be funny, one runs really fast and freezes water he steps on and the third bounces high with glorified farts and owns a really fancy meat tenderizer. (and is cousins with their other neighbours including a violent ginger girl, a guy obsessed with fast and furious and a guy who seems to be stuck as a 1910s carnival barker-) their 3 upstairs neighbours who more or less keep to themselves and have pet birds, one of them has been asking the landlord if they can build a rooftop rollercoaster (in lieu of a garden) and can.. sit on stuff.. and punches really hard and you ouch if you punch him, another one celebrates every day he lives and is able to go invisible. the third struggles to keep the other two alive and is able to blind others in a vicinity and briefly vanish making her effectively an enhanced cuttlefish. (she is married to their downstairs neighbour and therefore spends as much time as possible in their flat instead of her own. wise choice) then there's the 2 neighbours who are really into roleplay? one of them is nosy and peeps through peep holes cause he can hear everything he sees, the other one borrows peoples identities (no harm done tho mostly just to raid his neighbours fridges without getting yelled at by their roommates) the snooper accidentally trash compactors himself trying to escape the carnival barker and the identity thief is now looking to move in with someone- finally, the main 4's mortal enemies, a guy with a fancy car who can jump on air and a girl who frequently has out of body experiences in which she can talk to the dead. they've recently adopted a silly guy with a waffle who does all of the above but only one at a time on a 6 hour or so time frame. he recently lost his roommates (both in trash compactor incidents, tragic really. one got too close and got eaten the other was leaning out the window trying to see where it was and fell out. self defenestration. rumour has it it was actually one of his buddies but that guy's innocent until proven guilty. these two are ironically now cleo's goons) and couldn't pay the rent himself so he's had to move in with the torettos

i would watch it

[tevanbuckley]

some low points from the ry*an g*zman interview because i need you all to feel my pain.

when talking about his celibacy (yes he uses that word): "I haven't entertained any interactions with any other females" — gave me the ick 0/10

uses the phrase "a woman's touch," to explain why women are inherently good at interior decorating(?) and that this skill is how women are able to enrich a successful man's life — side note: at no point do they talk about how men enrich women’s lives.

immediately after this the religious imagery takes a left turn and exits my frame of reference, bc instead of just asking "do you think you still have things to work on?" like a normal person, the host says "I want to know what one Thorn is in your flesh." — someone raised more religious than i was needs to chime in on if this is normal christian doctrine or a sign he might be in a cult. (is it a reference to the thorns in jesus' crown?)

ryan makes a weird comment about how "you've seen civilizations built on [a man in love]" — genuinely idk what the fuck this means — but it leads into a tangent about like, men as providers and how "I would do anything for my women."

"peace is key yeah we got enough problems in the world outside the house and so long as I come back to the house and I get peace," — maybe i'm being pedantic but the way he keeps framing woman as belonging in the home is 🚩🚩🚩🚩

"for the next woman I would have in my life I can see that they navigate their their problems and still offer peace to their men." — again 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

surprisingly claims he has been to therapy, which assuming is true, idk it worked.

the host: "women may be fighting internal battles you know kind of themselves do you believe that a woman still fighting those battles are able to still bring peace" — because remember ladies, no matter what you're going through your job is to bring peace to your man's home.

there's some more brief gender essentialist bs where ryan talks about how men "like to fix things," but are bad listeners, and how "problems within women are so specific to women that I wouldn't even try and and say that I have a grasp on them."

then the host randomly asks him if he thinks men need to be financially stable before entering a relationship or if dating a broke guy is a way to "present loyalty."

weirdly ryan actually kind of dodges this question, but ends up suggesting social media is a good place to get "great examples of what does and what doesn't seem to work." in relationships — and no. no it isn't.

oh and then he starts talking about conor mcgregor for some reason? and how it's bad he disrespected his wife by stepping outside their marriage — and i mean sure, although infidelity feels second to the rape accusations??

says it's harder for a woman to come into a man's life when he's already established because "now the man has proven to himself that he never needed a woman." — which, interesting given how later he talks about how women need to stop trying to do the independent woman thing.

he also gets weirdly possessive over his daughter at one point. does the classic "God forbid I find out that man disrespects my little baby." — idk, on the surface he talks about how he wants her to know her value, but it seems like he has a pretty limited view of what that value is.

the host drops lore about how she moved out of her parents house at 14/15 and how she had to "stop thinking like a woman and start thinking also like a man," but stay feminine and "know what a man wants and how to cater to that but also still be soft." — i mean good lord, i don't even know where to start 🤢.

this btw is the preamble to ryan's rant about "independent women."

and god the more i read the more i am deeply concerned about the woman hosting (i saw someone earlier say she's 21). this woman is barely an adult and has so much internalised misogyny, talking about how "us women don't know how to direct our emotions." and "in today's generation a lot of men are deprived of even the small things because a lot of women are takers."

this whole interview is utterly bizarre and i feel like it's taken years off my life. like i said earlier, this isn't a normal podcast he got weird on, this is straight up christian propaganda

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, past trauma, mentions wounds, ptsd, anxiety, panic, fluff, mentions hurt/comfort, and smut. Plus sized reader. NSFW!

A/N: I missed Eddie. I’m feeling quite down on my body type, so I kind of wrote this with my own body size in mind ❤️

~*~

Eddie Munson always said he didn’t care. Didn’t want to be a boyfriend. Wasn’t pissed off if girls didn’t cling onto him after their brief time together (usually late nights, quiet places). If they don’t want the freak, why would the freaky freak want them? Fuck love, it’s just a facade.

At least, that’s what he used to say until he met you in the Spring of 86. You were involved in Henderson’s little banded family unit, constantly being talked about even before Eddie saw you. He was a bit perturbed already. If you were close to Wheeler and Harrington, you were probably a snob. Quite the contrary, as Eddie remembers clearly, watching you quiet from the sidelines as he’d been told monsters were real, but not cool dragons or slayers — just a teenage girl with mind powers.

Gentle, but rough. You dove in before Wheeler to save Harrington, you jumped back into that disgusting hole in the floor to try and help wake Nancy up, and when it came down to battle? You wore your outfit without fear, and silently had reached for Eddie’s hand on the way to everyone’s stations, squeezing. He’d seen that face before, your vacant expression, a false smile you attempted when you were not in thought. You weren’t okay, but you had been trying to make it that way for everyone else.

And it wasn’t, not for a long time. Not after you lost, he died, Carver died, and Mayfield went into a coma. A fight occurred in Hawkins before he was brought back, one that Eddie still sees in your eyes when the sun goes down and it’s quiet in the trailer, sans the beeping of the smoke alarm. Sometimes you just bring him impossibly closer, that he isn’t sure whose body heat is causing him to perspire. And others, you wake up in his arms, pulling him on top, clinging to his neck, your lips panting pleas into his mouth that ask for help.

Mutual scars, tragedy, blame, regrets, trauma, you helping his recovery, his process, even when he wasn’t so nice, that he wished he’d stayed gone. It’s all there, things that he feels safe only sharing with you. His marked body, one he is comfortable letting only you feel, see. He isn’t sure when it happened, really. But he knows now, especially looking at you beside him, your necklaces hanging around your neck, their charms dangling between your breasts, one leg propped, the other flat, lying open, evidence of the previous half hour shining between your thighs, and he’s propped on his palm, blowing out the last of his cigarette smoke, stubbing out the end.

You’re reading a piece of his work in progress fantasy novel, one based off of things that have happened. You’re lost in his vivid descriptions, captivated by his words, led by the hand that holds his pen. And his enriching, dark eyes, they caving into blown pupils, his ring clad finger trailing down your shoulder, following the curvature into your elbow’s inside. You’re already smiling by the time that he reaches your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, trailing wet kisses over your jugular. His arm elongates, easing his creation from your grip to throw aside.

You pretend to huff, and he catches your mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, tastes of smoke, but it’s precise, it’s familiar, it’s Eddie. Your fingers slide through his curls, freshly washed, yet frizzed from previous humidity. You tug on his blood stained pick, and he knows your implications, follows your soft look. He has to tilt your chin, shaking his head. “Remember that I’m right here, sweetheart. All of me but one nipple.”

He treasures you by bestowing that trademark Munson smirk, making your brief panic ebb away to pleasure. And you cave you into him, permitting his fingers to slide against your cunt, cupping. It’s a whine in his mouth that gets him to slide an ankle beneath yours, pulling you open for more availability. You could have anyone, you could’ve had something going on with Steve. But it’s Eddie you go to bed with every night, it’s he that you spend hours talking to on the phone when you’re not together, it’s him who holds you when you have a nightmare, and it’s Eddie Munson that you’ve already given your heart to, unbeknownst to him.

He’s falling into your grip, trying to situate himself, amused as he asks. “Already? Can you take it —“

And he goes head over ass, world Olympics type shit when you manage to maneuver him onto his back, unafraid, sat on top him in all over your glory. Your curves overflow, breasts sitting heavy, begging to be touched. You reach behind you, taking him in your hand. He’s nodding like an eager ass, little nerdy beaver. He could giggle right now. Your pupils are blown to the brim of your irises, a look of lavish possessiveness sweeping across him, and holy fuck does he feel sexy.

He doesn’t have to verbalize his consent, his brazen ‘take me now’ appears in the form of his hands reaching for your tits. You groan upon him getting a handful (and Christ, they still won’t fit). It’s a burning stretch, but you slide down his cock in moments, ones that Eddie holds his breath for, only able to gasp when you’re seated fully, sticky and spread around him.

He cares. He cares so much.

You grasp onto his wrists, clenching around him as he gives you two words, “Go, baby.” And then your hands are dropping to dig into his chest, thumbs beneath his chain, in newly grown out hair along his sternum, making scars feel like warrior wounds he’s proud to own.

You look at, leveling off his hands before they can drop from your breasts, pressing down so that he gets the message to grip tighter.

Fuck. He’s in love. He’s in love with you.

[incorrectbatfam]

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

[solarmorrigan]

omg I'm obsessed with your latest "don't fucking touch me" prompt. Would you continue it?

Hello! I know this is actually from earlier in the week than the one I answered a couple of days ago, but I was saving it because, while I don't exactly have a continuation, I do have a little stobin interlude I wanted to share

I'm still working on the "fix it" part of this idea, but at least in the meantime Steve gets a hug?

[Part 1]

It isn’t unusual for Steve to show up at Robin’s house well after any reasonable guest would come knocking. It isn’t unusual for him to do it by climbing the side of the house and knocking on her window (she hasn’t told him that her parents don’t really care anymore if he’s there in the middle of the night; she figures the physical activity counts as some kind of jock enrichment). Unfortunately, it isn’t even unusual for him to appear out of the dark because he’s upset.

What’s more unusual is the way he sits silently on her bed after she’s let him in, the way he’s almost folded in on himself, the way he won’t quite meet her eyes – as if there’s anything he can or even needs to hide from her.

What’s fucking unheard of is the way he starts crying when she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed to her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist like she might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

Robin doesn’t even understand what’s happening at first; she can feel Steve shaking against her as she rubs a hand up and down his back, but when his shoulders start to heave like he’s having trouble drawing in breath, a cold bolt of uncertainty lances through her gut. She tries to pull him back to look at him, to see what’s wrong, but she only gets him far enough away to hear one very quiet sob before he’s hiding his face again and she realizes–

“Oh. Oh, shit– okay, this is happening. Okay.” Robin resolutely does not panic as Steve sobs into her shoulder, even though crying isn’t something Steve does (not that Robin’s ever seen, and she’s seen Steve through a lot); instead, she goes back to rubbing a hand up and down his back, bringing her other up to pet his hair, and tries her best to project literally any kind of comfort. “Okay, you’re okay – well, you’re obviously not okay, but I’ve got you. You can just let all this out and when you feel up to it you can tell me what’s wrong because you’re kind of freaking me out, but not until you’re ready, okay? I’ve got you.”

She feels maybe her success is mixed, but Steve doesn’t complain and he doesn’t seem to be made more upset, so she can’t be doing too badly.

All told, Steve’s breakdown is unsettlingly quiet. Robin tries not to think about why he can cry so silently, and instead focuses on finding the transition from actively sobbing to sniffling and trying to catch his breath. The next time she tries to pull him back, he lets her, still not quite meeting her eyes and automatically bringing a hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on his face.

Robin has seen Steve all manner of beaten and bloodied and bruised, but somehow, sitting here in her room, still half-curled into her space with his face blotchy and wet from crying, she thinks this might be the most upset she’s ever seen him. She can only imagine what’s happened to cause it – at least until she can get him to tell her.

“Get it all out?” Robin asks, as gently as she’s able (she’s never been great at gentle, but Steve’s used to her by now, she thinks he’ll get it).

Steve shrugs, but then gives a little nod.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to give you some tissues so you can clean yourself up, because I love you, but I’m not going to wipe your nose.” This gets a congested laugh from Steve, and Robin allows herself an answering smile. “Then I’m going to go downstairs and get you something to drink, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, because I am this close to being seriously alarmed.”

“Sorry,” Steve says gruffly, ducking his head, moving to pull away.

“Nope, we don’t do sorry here, nothing to be sorry for,” Robin insists, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and keeping him close. “I just want to know what’s wrong, okay? I want to help. So here.” She shoves the box of tissues from her bedside table into Steve’s lap and gets up with one last squeeze to his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin slips out of her room and sneaks down to the kitchen (her parents don’t really care about Steve’s late night visits, but they will be grumpy if she wakes them up), poking around quietly for some kind of suitable post-breakdown sustenance. She ends up with a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and a half-eaten package of Oreos from the pantry – the late night snack of champions, she decides.

Back up in her room, Steve has shucked his sneakers (no shoes on Robin’s bed, it’s a cardinal rule) and settled himself up against the pillows; his face is dry and his eyes aren’t as red, but the tiny smile he gives her when she passes over her spoils still makes him look just as sad as before. Still, Robin valiantly lets him get through half the bottle of Gatorade before she elbows him gently in the side, demanding answers.

“Right.” Steve caps the bottle and rolls it nervously between his hands, watching the highlighter fluid yellow slosh around inside. “So, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing Eddie?”

Robin’s heart sinks. “Oh, shit, did you two break up?”

“Actually, it turns out…” Steve clears his throat. “It turns out that there wasn’t anything to break up. Apparently, we’ve been friends with benefits this entire time and I’m just a delusional idiot who made up an entire relationship in my head. So there’s that.”

There is nothing Robin can think to say to that. There’s entirely too much to unpack, and none of it makes sense.

“What,” she finally manages, a little flat.

“Yeah, he said that, uh. I’m not the type of guy you have a relationship with, and that I’m hot, but I’m just a good friend, and we’re just having fun.” If Steve’s voice cracks on the last word, Robin doesn’t mention it.

In fact, she’s too busy being consumed by rage to really notice. “He said that to your face?” she demands.

Steve clears his throat. He won’t meet her eyes. “Not– not exactly.”

“Steve.”

“The guys were over, and I went out to get some air, and that’s… what I heard Eddie saying to them when I came back in,” Steve says. “So now they know how pathetic I am, too, which is. Great. That’s fucking great.”

The world goes still. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense. Robin reaches out and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “I’m going to have to leave for a few hours, okay?” she says. “I have to bike down to the trailer park and fucking kill Eddie.”

In a flash, Steve twists in Robin’s grip and grabs her by the wrist in turn. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly.

“No, he doesn’t– he doesn’t get away with this,” Robin hisses. “He doesn’t get to do this to you and not face consequences!”

“He wasn’t trying to– I mean– I was the one who–”

“Are you defending him right now?”

“No, I just– fuck.” Steve lets go of Robin and shoves both hands up into his hair, grabbing and pulling. “I already feel enough like some fucking – loser reject, okay? I don’t want to be alone right now. Please just… stay.”

The rage doesn’t abate (if anything, there’s probably more of it), but Robin’s priorities do rearrange, and she settles back on the bed next to Steve. “Fine,” she huffs. “Munson gets a stay of execution.”

She pushes the package of Oreos into Steve’s lap and orders him to finish the Gatorade. She doubts if he’s going to escape tonight without a migraine, but dehydration on top of stress will only make it worse.

They sit quietly for a while, munching on cookies, shoulder to shoulder on Robin’s bed, before Robin breaks into the silence.

“You’re not a loser, Steve. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to be loved, okay?” she says softly, reaching over to wrap her hand around his wrist again. “And one day it’s going to happen. I’m choosing to believe in love, too.”

For a long moment, Steve says nothing. When he finally does speak, his voice has gone a bit rough. “If you make me cry again, I’m dumping what’s left of the Gatorade over your head.”

Robin snorts, squeezing Steve’s wrist. “There’s that mean girl I know and love.”

Steve laughs, too, small but sincere, and Robin takes it as a win.

Part 3

[miseries-mistress]

SOLICITUDE | LEGOLAS GREENLEAF

Synopsis: solicitude /səˈlisəˌto͞od/: care or concern for someone or something.

The fellowship had set camp for the night in a clearing in the forest. They had set a fire and took refuge around it to stray off the coldness the night always seemed to bring. However, when you elicit to sit by a tree, a decision made out of insecurity, you find yourself not alone for too long as a certain elf notices your disappearance, 

Warnings: female reader, insecurity, some self-depreciation, fluff. W/C: 3153

lotr masterlist

"Do you not wish to join the others?" a soft-spoken voice breaks you out of your stupor. You jump, startled by Legolas's sudden appearance, and he cocks his head to the side at your fright. He must have thought I heard him, you muse silently. 

You flash the elf a smile before returning to inspecting your blade slung casually over your thigh. The others, the fellowship, had gathered around the fire, telling stories of better times and victorious battles alike, their eyes gleaming with a joy that would soon diminish on your coming journey to Mordor. 

It was rather embarrassing to admit why you had secluded yourself to a tree away from your newfound companions. There had been a lack of room around the glowing embers, everyone else already fitting comfortably in their spot, laughing as the halflings cracked jokes, and well…you didn't want to intrude. It was evident that your presence was not warranted or needed, so instead of bothering them, you had taken refuge under the shade of the tree, and while the bark dug uncomfortably into your spine, it helped you ignore your strange longing to be apart of the group of men who had obviously grown accustomed to each other in your short time together. However, Legolas seemed to be the only one to notice your absence, hence his imposing figure standing above you with innocent curiosity adorning his profile. 

You admired Legolas far more than was permitted for a human such as yourself. His serene nature was a long-forgotten melody, gracing your ears with the enriched words that flowed effortlessly from his dainty lips. His personality, sharp wit, and impeccable features were a delight to be savored and worshiped, as his majesticness was truly a sight to behold.

It was painful to get around him when your feelings grew with every passing day, but the journey you had voluntarily embarked on was one without an end in sight. The ground you covered in a day trek was not nearly enough to get you to that wretched place in any small amount of time. 

But that endeavor of putting distance between Legolas and you was for not as he waited patiently for an answer to his question that took root in the back of your mind, the sweetness of his voice a delicacy to be enjoyed for centuries.

You try with all your might to maintain truth in your smile, but he sees through your thinly veiled lies, and his lips curve into a frown at your saddened gaze.  

"I fair fine here, Legolas. You should return to the others," you offer, dropping your gaze from the intensity of his. From the moment those words parted from your lips, Legolas seems to read your expressions, your feelings like a child's book in Elvish. Your inability to lie to him was humiliating, and you were mortified that you could not lace your words with enough sincerity to prove convincing to not trouble others with your burden because the last thing you wish for is for Legolas to pity you. That would twist your guilt further into something much darker, you surmise as your finger glides across the metal of your sword. 

You can feel his gaze bearing down on you as if he is considering an idea before his feet shift and some hopeful part of you wishes he would not abandon you; he would see through your struggle and wordlessly share his company with you. It takes a moment before you realize that he has, in fact, taken a seat next to you, and the air seems charged with energy and anticipation of what is to come. 

"Why do you detest me so?" The words leave him quickly as if he did not intend to speak them. In your surprise, you raise your head, only for your breath to stutter at his closeness. There's no more than a couple of inches separating you two. It's exhilarating but yet so daunting. "Please tell me what I have done to not earn your eye."

You blink at him, astonished. Even though words cannot convey the severity of your feelings, any other speech fails your tongue. 

Your irises which once held a far told sadness, fall away from his, and Legolas concludes that your lack of acknowledgment simply won't do. Gentle fingers lift your chain so you can gaze upon him once more. The connection is not rough or demanding but hopeful- pleading. Your heart scatters at the contact, beating erratically at the softness of his skin, being like the drip of silk, too impossible to feel so beautiful at the touch. 

You turn his question over and over through the gorges of your thoughts, the answer as clear as day, but a vulnerable emotion holds you back. 

Fear. 

It's easily recognizable and brings a dim chill over the cloudless sky of your admiration for the elvish male. 

"I do not detest you." Your words are simple, keeping your feelings at bay behind the motor and stone of your mind. 

"Then why do you avoid me?"

"I do not."

"I didn't take you for a liar."

Shame befalls your features, and Legolas's hand retracts from your face. 

"If you will not share with me that, then tell me why you retreat from the others."

Your eyes search the ground in determination for a good lie. However, Legolas reads your face with ease, practically predicting your formation of a lie, and his gaze falters at your unwillingness to share the truth with him.

More so, worry sets in his stomach. What had he done for you to despise him? He didn't think that your past conversations served with colorful banter were filled with ill intent on his behalf but had you taken something he had joked about to heart? Was that the reason he could not earn your gaze? Legolas was conflicted, toeing the lines of a worry that bordered something more than friendliness or natural curiosity with his willingness to right any wrongs he may have imposed upon you. 

"I would most certainly like the truth if you would grant it to me," he tries. 

Once more, you rip your gaze away, and embarrassment overturns your expression. You resign to following the thick roots that snake across the forest floor while you try to gather your thoughts, quite an impossible task with an elf of his caliber next to you. 

"It's rather foolish, I'm afraid. You would think me to be silly." Your defeated sigh does not go unheard, for Legolas's ears pick up every hint of dejection and the undercurrent of embarrassment lingering in the phrase cast into the open air. 

"I could never think of you in such a way," he affirms hesitantly, almost as if he had deliberated the action for quite some time. Then, finally, he places a tense hand on yours. 

Your breath stutters at the contact, and his muscles seem to pull even tauter at the breathless hitch. You silently chastise yourself for such an unbecoming reaction. He was only trying to comfort you as a friend would, yet you twisted his intentions into something entirely impure. It's shameful that you would even entertain the idea that he would want something more than mere friendship. He's never shown any inkling of that line of thought, and yet you let your fantasies run wild like some little girl. 

You turn your mind back to his statement, tossing it around, weighing the pros and cons while Legolas watches with interest, his careful eyes never straying from your hunched skeleton. 

"My presence was not needed, so I decided to resign myself to my solitude," you spoke plainly, your woes weighing down your spirits. Legolas stills. 

"It's silly, I know-"

"Why would you believe such a thing?" he asks suddenly, and your body betrays you as your eyes snap up to meet his worried ones. It takes a moment for his question to register, and before you know it, the words hastily tumble from your lips. 

"I was obviously not needed, and I did not want to be a bother and intrude..."

"So you thought you were unwanted?"

You frown, shame burning your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears. With your blade now forgotten on the forest floor, you curl within yourself, desperate to hide from your own insecurity and Legolas's gaze. What would he think of you now, knowing how easily you succumb to your insecurity? How weak and pitiful must you look, curling within yourself like a frightened animal? 

You hear faint shuffling before his body is pressed against yours so intently that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

"Look at me," his voice is a gentle command, yet firm in its intention, but you don't have the heart to meet his eye and face his disappointment. "Your insecurity is misplaced."

At this, you cannot help but search for his features for falsities or ways of deceit wormed into the etches of his skin only to find none, just kind eyes glittering with empathy. Legolas's expression seemed to brighten at your acknowledgment, and he continued. "You have no reason to believe that we lament your person accompanying us. You are part of this company, the same as Aragorn or me, and you have proven your worth and reliability many times over. You could never be a burden or an annoyance."

"How do you know that?" your question strays on the path of bitterness, and you are tempted to turn your head away but not before gentle fingers grip your chin, forcing you to remain in contact. 

"I have come to know you and the company. They would have expressed their dissatisfaction by now," he replies simply, the warm brown of his eyes blazing with the truth he believes so heartily.

"How do you know for certain they do not talk behind my back when you or I cannot hear?"

"I would hear them."

"Legolas," you gently scold. The twitch of his lips indicates his amusement before his face morphs to one of gentle compassion.

"Heed my words, you are by no means a burden, meleth nin." 

Legolas holds for a moment, his eyes aglow in surprise at his own words. 

The crease between your eyebrows furthers as you study his uneasy expression. You can't hold back your curiosity as the question slips between your parted lips. "What does that mean?"

"It matters not, only that you are not plagued by what appears to trouble you." 

Way to turn the conversation around, you think bitterly, your head falling ahead to the fire by which the others ignore the two of you.

"Confide in me if that would ease your burden. Seeing you so troubled over matters I do not know of worries me greatly," Legolas fairly pleads, his voice not rising above the faint chatter of noise and voices of the forest. 

"It is nothing in which you can aid me, Legolas," you reassure him, but by his dissatisfied expression, he does not fall prey to the illusion you have spoken of. His hand falls to your thigh, and in an instant, it feels as though all oxygen is violently sucked from the air, leaving you unable to swallow the growing lump in your throat. Every nerve comes alive at his touch as if your soul is burning with the same adrenaline you are feeding off of. 

"Please." 

Oh, valor almighty, you didn't know how you possessed the strength to stray from this elf as long as you have; to resist his presence that intoxicated you because now, at the slightest taste of it, you were addicted, like a practiced addict. 

Still, he begged so sweetly. An elvish prince asking for you to share your woes unknowing that he was the cause of them. Every second thought, every hesitation was a result of the influence he held so fiercely over your heart. 

It's as if the Maker was pulling every winding tension tighter, making the oxygen that has now returned to your lungs come in short pants and allowing your mind to spiral as each moment passed in minutes instead of seconds. Eternity felt closer than the second this instant would end. 

A shadow casts over his pale features, making his already unreadable countenance impossible to decipher. His dark pupils seemed to have swallowed the riches of his irises, drawing them into a sea of darkness. The source of this darkness, the specification of what kind of darkness that seemed to linger in his hardened sight, was unidentifiable in the light given to you. His hair, braided in the ways of his kin, framed the strong muscles of his face as his jaw clenched, and you could find the peaks of his ears behind the waterfalls of blonde spilling over his shoulder. 

Irresistible. 

You met in the middle. 

There was no tender or ounce of patience to be found in the dance of his lips but the hungry desire of a starved being engulfing you. From what you could decipher over your pounding heart, his lips were slightly chapped and thin as your mouths tangled and tangoed, learning that language of lovers as they explored every unknown crevice of one another. It was all so much, yet not enough. 

You craved to feel more of him, of his body's sinful softness or his hand's possessiveness, which had begun to move up and down your thigh tentatively as if he was unsure what was allowed. 

Among the silver of devotion coming from tentativeness, there was passion, built up and overflowing, and you couldn't tell what was up and down from the way his mouth claimed yours. 

Your mind moved too fast to comprehend the full scale of his actions. The elf you had secretly pined for was kissing you as if Middle Earth was going to end with you under a tree with your friends mere yards from you. But for the moment, you let yourself succumb to your passion and indulge in a moment of weakness before this moment inevitably ends. 

And it did as all things do. 

You both pull back, gasping for breath while short pants leave those kiss-bitten lips of his. 

"Forgive me if I have overstepped–" Legolas unceremoniously trips over his words as they rapidly slip out of his mouth fervently. You shake your head and press your forehead against his, sharing a breath. 

"No, there is no reason to forgive you." Legolas's hands meet your face in a touch so light you were unsure if it was there. He waits for a moment for you to raise your objection or pull away, but when you remain firm, his deft fingers become more confident as they trail the contour of your face. You sink into the feeling, pushing out all else for a second of forever; of all that could be. 

"I didn't know you felt the same," he chuckles elatedly, and you press your lips together to contain what might be a wide grin of pure elation. 

"I did not know either," you both share a peal of laughter before a moment of quiet passes over you, the tone shifting into something more doleful. 

"I still know not of that which troubles you." He brushes the hair from your face before tucking it behind your ear, his hand blazingly ghosting over the shell of it. 

"I was afraid. Afraid that you would never harbor the feelings I do for you." The audible slip of breath makes your chest clench in anticipation. "I distanced myself from you to protect my heart from heartache."

"Did it work?"

"It did nothing but make me long for you even more than I already had." His hands smoothed down your dirt-ridden skin. There was no need to address what would happen now after you revealed feelings towards one another and you found no reason to. For spoiling this moment you have dreamed of would be a great sorrow, but Legolas seems to feel otherwise. 

"What will happen to us now?" he asks, fingers passing over your lips before cradling your face.

"I do not know," you murmur, tracing the lines of his skin with the gift of light bestowed upon you and him. His hands slip from your face, and your head moves back, startled by the sudden loss of touch. However, he did not stand or even attempt to put space between you two, but his fingers began to undo his braid behind his right ear, his dominant side, with the ease and precision only an elf could possess until all that remained were strands of crimped hair and a delicate silk tie that mirrored the color of his hair in his hands. He gazed down upon the band as stillness filled with buzzing energy grew as the seconds he spent focused on the tie. 

You knew little of the elvish culture, but from what you did know, braids were quite crucial to them, and who did them appeared to change the meaning behind said braids. So why had Legolas taken his? Did he intend for you to braid his...?

Oh. 

Oh.

Legolas outstretches his hand, his palm facing upwards in an offering to you. Inside his palm sat a hairband of string. In what you could only describe as astonishment, you looked up to find him proposing to you a smile as sincere as the admiration brimming in the palace of his eyes.

You pulled away from his face, back to his hand where the hair tie stood waiting for you. No doubt stood in your mind, nothing besides your undying and unyielding feelings that filled your body with giddiness of the likes of which you've never known. You trusted Legolas, not with just your life but now with the very essence of your soul and the light in it. 

You took the hair tie. 

Your fingers began weaving through his silky hair, as soft as you imagined, sewing a new braid into his locks of gold with diligence and patience. You threaded a new promise through his soft strands, one that could not be conveyed by tongue but by emotion. 

It was as if the light herself guided your fingertips, showing you the path in which your hearts were now embedded to, destined to be intertwined for all of eternity.

[islayhawkin]

Rescue

Jack dawkins x f!reader

Summery: jack is accused of thieving and you take the blame for him instead.

Request: Hello could I request a Jack Dawkins x reader? Where maybe reader knows he’s a thief and is fine with it and when he maybe gets caught for something she takes the blame for it? And fagin and Jack have to scramble to save her

A/N: honestly had problems coming up with this whole plot so idk how to feel about it but hope it is somewhat what you had in mind

Jack wasn't particularly proud about his past and he tried to start a new life but it seems he couldn't escape it and it came back to haunt him. In the form of Fagin.

He had built a reputation around Port Victory town as a surgeon. And he met you. You were a great enrichment in his life as you brought your sweetness to his side. You were always there for him and he was for you. It was a unspoken promise.

Contrary to what he'd known since his childhood there was a good intention and softness behind everything you did. He relished the evenings with you in his room. Sometimes you came to watch his surgeries but you had to work hard to survive in the pottery factory too.

So naturally you understood that jack was a pickpocket back in the days. He was reluctant to tell you though- a part of him he wanted to leave desperately behind. You were okay with it. You reassured him that you understood that he needed to.

But something changed when Fagin came back into jacks life. You noticed immediately. He tried to hide things from you. He said you couldn't meet in his room anymore since he seemed to try and hold Fagin as far away from you as possible.

He wanted to keep you out of his mess and Fagin only did bring a mess everywhere he went. Jack was afraid you'd get caught up in it somehow. And as long as you wouln't get to see Fagin you wouldn't know what was going on. Or so he thought.

Of course you found out. At first you were angry with him. Especially for trying to hide it from you. But after you talked about it you let it be. You didn't like it. But it was okay.

Until that day were he got caught.

It was a quiet evening at the pub. Jack had his neckerchief loosely slung around his neck and a few drinks already drowned. Fagin sat across from him. A few high society families were seated near them. A girl came over to jack and sat in his lap with a smile. He shook his head politely and gestured for her to remove herself from him.

You saw them sitting at the table and joined them as you sat down in jacks lap yourself. Giving him a kiss on his temple in greeting. He hummed contently and pulled you close to him by the hip. "You had drinks already?" You questioned quietly.

"Yeah. Sorry. You want the rest?" He held the glass up for you to take.

"No thanks."

He sat the glass down on the table again and watched as Fagin got up and got another drink. A short moment later Fagin came back and patted jack on his vest before he sat down again.

The evening went on as you and jack enyojed eachothers company. He had a few more drinks and Fagin scrambled up a few times from the table.

Until a small shriek could be heard. "My pearls! They've been stolen!" A seemingly rich woman screamed histerically. Everyone looked around and started speaking incoherently. They started to search every man in the pub.

Your eyes twitched nervously around the room and you noticed jack to be particularly anxious as well. You were certain it couldn't be him since he was with you the whole time though.

As they came to your table and started to feel jacks clothes up and down they stilled at his pocket and gripped into it. A pearl necklace was fished out of jacks vest pocket.

Jack had a horrified expression on his face and started to stammer out excuses. Trying to deny his fault. A gasp went through the the crowd.

"Doctor Dawkins. Is this your doing? Our doctor is robbing the people of this town!" The people roared with shock.

He would be losing his job because of this. He'd be losing his life here.

"No sir I-" jack tried to reason but you interrupted him as you saw no better way out of this.

"It is my doing. I have to confess as I do not want doctor dawkins to be blamed innocently. He had no part in this. My conciousness can not lie to you anymore. I needed the money-" another gasp went through the room.

Jack turned his face to you. A look of fear in his eyes. He tried to grap your arm to stop you but you shook him off. He wouldn't be able to pull you both out of this so you took the chance to at least save him.

The man took you roughly by the arm. "You are accused and guilty of theft."

"No." Jack muttered shaking his head. But nobody paid any attention to him.

You glanced back at him as you were escorted outside and you could see a look of desperation in his eyes.

Jack couldn't believe it. You took the blame for his buggin' thievery. He knew it would get you in trouble if he got you involved and the one thing happened he was afraid of.

He turned around to grab Fagin by the collar and pushed him harshly against the wall in a quiet corner.

"I told you not to do anything when she's around! You should be escorted to prison. Couldn't even stand to your bloody action!" He roared into Fagins face. His eyes held pure fury in them.

Fagin held his hands up in surrender and looked sheepishly. "It was a good oportunity. I didn't know they'd notice so soon." Fagin shrugged.

"You got her buggin' imprisoned. She never did anythin' ." He pushed against Fagins chest again in frustration.

"That's her own doing."

"No it is not. It is your doing. Our. Mine." Jack pushed the words painfully out. He removed himself from Fagin and ran throught his hair with his hand.

His inability to stop with the thieving, with the gambeling, to leave his past behind got you into trouble and he'd never forgive himself for it. He never should have started with this. He should have kept you safe. Far away from the mess. Far away from him.

"How do we get her out of this?" Jack asked quietly.

Fagin was quiet for a moment before a smirk appeared on his face. "You're a doctor."

Jack frowned confused. "What has that to do with anythin' right now?"

"You're her doctor."

"You mean...I can't do that..." It dawned on jack and he shook his head.

"Do you want to free her or not?"

"I'd have to declare her insane. She'd be the talk of town. She'd have no job anywhere..." Jack closed his eyes and pinched his brows. Whatever he did it would come down to harm her life in some way. "I need to know what their doing to her." He whispered and dashed out of the door.

Fagin ran after him panting quite a bit. There was determined expression on Jacks face as he made his way across town to the police station.

Fagin complained a bit about the pace and that they should call a ride but jack ignored him.

Finally standing in front of the door he knocked. There was a moment of silence and no reaction. Jack sighed and walked around the building. Searching for any way in or at least see something. A small window with bars on it suggested a look into the cell at the back of the building.

Jack waved Fagin over and told him to give him a lift. Fagin grumbled but held his hands to the ground for jack to climb onto. He could barely see through the bars but he could clearly make out a form of a person pacing back and forth in the cell.

"Y/N?!" Jack whisper-shouted into the window.

You reeled around at the sudden voice and you saw his mop of blond hair pop up behind the bars.

"Jack?! What are you doing?" You looked up at him surprised.

"Trying to get you out of there obviously. Isn't there any bobby (name for police officers in victorian times) in there with you?"

"Uh..." you looked around the room to check again. "No. I think he left to gather more information or something."

""Y/N I need to testify as your doctor. They'll let it slide if I insist."

"Testify what? That it wasn't me? Then you're guilty."

"No." His head disapeared for a moment and Fagin seemed to grumble complaints. Then his head appeared again. "I have to testify as your doctor." He cleared his throat. "I'll have to come up with some sickness. One that is cureable."

You looked at him incredilous. "You want to declare me insane? That's your way of thinking about rescueing?" You scoffed.

"Sorry." His head disapeared again. You shook your head and sat down against the wall.

                                *** It was morning when the door to the building opened again and the bobby came in. Shortly after jack did too from what you could tell. You could hear them talk but couldn't make out coherent words until they came in your direction.

You sought jacks eyes for some kind of information or reassurence but there was none. The bobby unlocked your cell door and took you by the arm to pull in jacks direction.

"You have a close look on her. Something like this happens again I will not be so kind. She's your responsibility doctor."

"Of course sir. I will keep her in line until she's cured. Thank you." Jack gave the bobby a nod and he gave jack one back out of respect.

Jack hadn't even as much as glanced in your direction. He took you by the arm bow too to escort you outside. You stayed silent the whole time. Knowing your place.

As soon as you both walked around a corner jacks expression changed completely. He turned to you with his soft deep brown eyes. "What were you thinking taking the blame." He racked a hand through his hair.

You took his rough hand in yours. "I couldn't let you be blamed. You have way more to lose than me."

Jack opened his mouth and closed it again. "Wha- that's not the point. You had nothing to do with it. I didn't want you to be involved in that stuff. I should've never started again. It's my fault and I should own up for it too."

"I know. But I gladly did it okay? I just couldn't watch you loose everything you built."

He sighed. "Thank you. But you still shouldn't have done it. I feel so guilty. I was...afraid."

You pulled yourself against him. Wrapping your arms around his slender back. "Thank you for getting me out."

He buried his face in the crook of your neck. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'd always stand up for you."

"I'd always rescue you. Whatever it'd take."

[seat-safety-switch]

There’s something that we all can learn from stage magicians, and that is the value of having a friend in the crowd. If you’re picking a card out of a deck of cards, that’s hard. If you’re picking a card out of a deck of cards where your drinking buddy has agreed with you ahead of time that it will be the ace of diamonds, that’s substantially easier. You might think that this scam, such as it is, is only limited to the performance of magic tricks. And you’d be wrong.

There is another place in modern society in which ridiculous performances, shocking coincidences and underhanded collusion work together to enrich tricksters. It’s called politics. You can bring your drinking buddy with you to a city council meeting, make him sit far away from you, and suddenly he’s a “concerned citizen” who agrees that it’s “just common sense” what you are proposing. From there, herd mentality takes over, and suddenly a room full of real-estate obsessed seniors are screaming at The Mayor, wondering why in the fuck you won’t let them leave a broken car in the middle of the road for a month or two I thought this was a free country.

Once you’ve learned this trick, you can see it all over the place. Unpopular policy gets washed through a series of studies, think-tanks, and media surrogates into being the product of consensus. The guy playing three-card Monte on the street has already been beaten by a couple folks, surely it’s your turn to win next. And that guy at the bar surely can’t be an undercover federal agent, because he just told us all how much he hates cops and loves Plymouth Darts. Sure, he had to check his phone a few times while he was trying to tell us all this, but he seems legit.

Now that you know how to deceive others in a crowd, it’s up to you on how to use it for evil. Just don’t become a stage magician. I guarantee you that I’ve poisoned that well already, because I waited until Mister Magic here started a show at the community centre and then stole a bunch of the audience’s batteries out in the parking lot.

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of kidnapper/kept pet series:

You’re trying again with Johnny.

Or, more accurately, Simon is going to bring Johnny over so that you can (hopefully) adjust to him. Desensitize, at least. Warm up, best case scenario. Simon knows better than to get his hopes up.

He tries to set up for success though. Tells you that he’s bringing Johnny over this time. You make an annoyed noise, scrunch up your face. But he can see a little bit of intrigue in your eyes. You really could use a little more socializing.

He preps Johnny this time too. Reminds him that your shy (standoffish) and cautious (feral). Not to make any sudden movements towards you, or try to grab at you. If you come near enough to touch (unlikely) it’s in his hand’s best interest to let you make first contact.

“Be patient, she’ll come ‘round,” he reminds as he lets Johnny in.

And you, in pure spiteful fashion, are no where to be found. Simon sets Johnny up with a beer and goes searching, finds you curled up on the sun porch angrily crocheting.

“Time to come inside, feral.”

“But he’s here.”

“He’s not so bad, I like him.”

“Exactly.”

You fuss and grumble, but ultimately there’s very little you can do when he scoops you up. He brings you inside, your crocheting things in one hand, you secure with the other. Johnny watches your little parade with arched eyebrows. But he doesn’t say anything.

You get deposited on the couch, a scritch to the back of the head that makes you scowl even as you lean in a bit. Johnny has taken up residence in an armchair a healthy distance from you. When you eye him distrustfully, he chuckles and pulls his shirt collar aside.

“No tags this time, stray.”

You scoff and turn back to your crafting. Simon takes the other end of the couch, knows you’re a bit keyed up today. There, but not imposing on your treasured personal space. You settle in, more or less, though your eyes keep flicking to Johnny while he and Simon talk.

He’s much different from Simon; it’s why he wants you two to at least tolerate each other. You need the enrichment. He louder, brasher, more energetic. Eventually, you slink off to the kitchen for a snack.

“Grab us another beer, eh?” He calls.

You stalk out with a scowl. “I’m not a dog, get it yourself.”

Simon huffs with amusement as you curl up on the couch again, nibbling on your snack. Johnny points at you, empty beer in hand.

“You’re ill-mannered.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know ‘please’.” You hop off the couch and retreat to your room.

Simon shakes his head, though his eyes crease with amusement. “Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out. Again.”

“You spoil her,” Johnny complains.

Simon sighs. He still doesn’t get it.

“She’s not a pet, yeah? I’m just keeping her.”

“What the difference?” Johnny groans, standing to get another beer.

“A cat is a pet. A panther is not.”

“Och, and she’s a panther, is that it?” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want her domesticated, Johnny. I want her taken care of just the way she is. If you’d stop pissing her off, you’d see why.”

Johnny grumbles, but lets it go. Lets the thought sit. Considers all the things in this specially made house just for you. The tv, the overcrowded bookshelves. The plants for you to attend to and the craft supplies lying about. The room that is yours alone, off limits to johnny, even simon rarely enters.

When you emerge again, it’s because there’s food. You’re hungry and demand a plate from simon, hovering at his elbow while he makes it up for you.

Johnny makes more of an effort, keeping all the things Simon told him in mind. He knows your unlikely to speak to him unless antagonized, so he talks at you - a lot like how Simon did when you first started out.

Luckily for him, Simon’s paved most of the way for him here. At first you pretend to ignore him, but eventually you can’t help it, he is a very engaging story teller after all. So you end up watching him openly, eyes darting from his face to his waving hands to his shaking shoulders.

You’re so focused that he and Simon even manage to coordinate Johnny giving you dessert, him getting close enough to touch as you take the slice of cheesecake from his hand. He’s careful not to touch, doesn’t want to break this spell.

But the real victory of the evening comes when he’s actually stopped paying direct attention to you. He’s still got some cheesecake left, more focused on talking than eating, as usual. And unnoticed, you slip from your chair, circle him and…

“Oi, did you just-? Get back here!”

In a move of pure strategic genius, you tuck up behind Simon. First out of caution and a little genuine fear for his reaction, then when you see him floundering, out of safe smugness.

“Ah, yeah, should have warned you about that. She likes to ‘share’.”

Several times now, you’ve eaten directly off his plate, off his spoon, from his fingers, even. You especially like doing it when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Feral brat,” Simon chuckles, “I would have gotten you more.”

“Tastes better when it’s Johnny’s,” you reply.