#just checked and yes it's lambert

[truthdawn]

amnesia the bunker has one of my favorite monster designs I've seen in a while

[aychama]

So writing is really really hard and my friend adviced me to just give you guys my ideas instead of writing a big fic for it and Im gonna do that!

And gonna at the little bit of writing I did at the end!

Royal Au Narilamb's first intimate night together

-The kisses to give Lambert the crowns power brings them intimately closer as rime goes by, Lambert tries to initiate it more, make it last longer and Narinder never turns them down or pushes them away.

-Lambert is clearly in love but denies it

-Because of pent of emotions the intimate kissings buil up, Narinder goes to a brothel to wind down instead of risking it with Lambert. He thinks that it's unfair of him to put them in this whole situation in the first place.

-Lambert sees Narinder getting into the brothel and gets extremely jealous and angry about it

-Days pass, Lambert goes back to the land that was given to them to govern and ignores Kings letters

-Narinder visits Lambert in an angry fit, demands the reason why they would ignore a kings letter and threatens that he could send them to jail for it

-They get angry again but they don't have any crown power left in them because they used it too much after seeing Narinder in the brothel so they feel weak

-Narinder kisses them and gives them power only a little bit to keep them up and expects them to explain their situation after feeling better

-He stays in their place? Mansion? -Lambert is not rich idk what to call it, a big place where they govern their land- and later Lambert visits Narinder at night to finally confront him about it

-Lambert confesses that they were jealous and asks him why he would go to a brothel when they were right in front of him. Cornering him on the couch he was sitting in. He says "I thought you didn't enjoy our...times...together. Since you even said it scared you of what would happen if we didn't do it."

So Lambert screams with their face completely red. "Argh are you really going to make me say it?! I'm jealous ok?! You go and sleep with others and I... Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check while kissing yo-"

-Narinder accepts the invitation. Lambert realises how much Narinder has been holding back as he hungrily kisses them, the two stumble to the guest bed and he rips apart Lambert's top.

-But just before they can fully get into it, the two half naked, someone knocks on the door and tells that Heket is on the move and their plan to take her down needs to start

-Narinder hesitates but after hearing Heket's name, he leaves Lambert

-Plot with heket happens and she dies but Lambert is injured

-Narinder does his best to heal them after they are brought back to his castle, to his room, they share an intimate moment where Narinder traces Lambert's fresh and old scars while healing them and in that intimate, alone moment Lambert asks if they are allowed to continue from where they left off

-and boom. They share a soft, passionate and gentle night together.

SO YEA. Writing all of this would kill me so you guys have to wait for it to be turned into the comic!

Here is what I have written so far. I dont think I will continue but yea! Have at thee!

●

A kiss. It was supposed to be simple.

Lambert just needed to kiss Narinder somewhat often so that the crowns powers inside them wouldn't turn them into a crazy blood thirsty maniac.

When such a thing was on the line, Lambert thought it would be easy. A simple kiss with a King they were active betraying, actively giving out information to his oldest sibling about what he was doing.

To be fair, Narinder was attractive... extremely. To Lambert, at the very least.

And yes their heart fluttered everytime they saw him, everytime he touched them, everytime they stared into his eyes.

Everytime they kissed him. But it didn't mean anything.

The kisses started out simple enough even though it was hard for them to initiate it first because Narinder refused to "force himself" on them due to the nature of their positions. It almost felt like he felt bad about putting them in this situation.

It didn't seem like that when he was constantly sending them out to deadly missions though...

But still, kissing on the lips, although it was to transfer power solely, was an intimate gesture. No body could fault Lambert for accidentaly prolonging it for just a few more second, just a few more pecks.

Aside from the kiss, the power also tasted sweet so it was impossible for them to not seek it out. It wasn't their fault! And it certainly wasn't because they had feelings for him. No way! It was the nature of the kiss, doing something like that with any random person would make you act like this if you did it too much! Lambert was sure.

And it's not like he couldn't stop them either. He could push them away like how he did at the start when he thought they had enough. But as time passed, he stopped doing it. Maybe he didn't care anymore or maybe...

What confused Lambert the most was the anger they were feeling that day. When they saw him walk into a brothel.

They thought,

"Maybe he is here to gather information. Yea, that must be it. Brothels are full of pent up people willing to spill out all of their problems after all."

So they hid and waited outside.

It...took some time...

But when he walked into the balcony, half naked, hair messy with a smoke in his hand, it felt like a punch to the gut. Stronger than any punch they had ever felt.

It was the second time in Lambert's life that they felt this kind of anger. So hot their thoughts melted together. So hard their teeth must have hurt from the pressure.

But this time they knew not to stay and let their anger do something they could never take back again.

So they left.

Walked into a forest and screamed their lungs out.

And they cried.

They were confused. Why were they feeling like this?

They needed to get these feelings out. OUT.

They let excessive amounts of the power they were given out in a burst. It looked like a curse Narinder had shown them once. Crushing force that broke everything around them.

The leaves and dirt of the forest were tossed around in chaos as the rocks and trees were torn to shreads.

Their mind started to clear up when their breathing sounded less like a dying animal.

His lovely unpleasant voice rang in their ear 'You need to learn how to control your anger.'

They broke the rock in front of them into pieces.

.

.

.

When they came back to their King given land, it was Ruri who greeted them.

"L-lambert! What happened to you?!" Was the only thing they listened to. They didn't answer and just let her tend to their wounds.

.

.

.

It had been days since their discovery of Narinder's... whatever it was and their outburst to it.

They decided that tending to their people and their needs was a better use of their time instead of constantly feeling a mixure of intense feelings. They had land they controlled now and people to take care of. Something they weren't really good at.

Thankfully Ratau was here to help them.

"This isn't how you should respond to this request Lambert." Ratau sighed for the fifth time that day and handed back the letter to Lambert.

Lambert grunted.

Ok maybe working wasn't the best idea to get rid of their already existing negative feelings.

---

[writing-rat]

Professionalism At it's Finest

Pairing: Joey x Reader, minor Sammy x Reader but not established

Content: 18+ Content, Thigh riding, masturbation, Sammy watching

Summary: Joey needs you to be professional after she caught you masturbating. She knows what she needs to do now.

WC: 720

Joey was a professional. Or she was meant to be? That was when she caught you in the bathroom. “Jesus, fuck. Sorry,” she apologised immediately before she went to leave. That was when she saw what you were doing though. You were masturvsting. “Aren’t you meant to be checking all the windows in case they missed one?” Joey asked with a raised eyebrow. You, blushing madly, nodded. 

“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am,” you immediately responded, embarrassed about being caught fingers deep in yourself. Joey raised an eyebrow as she glanced behind them, checking no one seemed to be about before she kicked the door closed. 

“If you really need pleasure I can help. I don’t expect to see any more fingerings,” Joey grunted, pinning you against the wall as you nodded. You had just pulled your fingers out too as you were both flustered and embarrassed. Joey smirked. “Words baby girl,” she teased. 

“Please mommy,” you begged, feeling your need rise. She nodded and smirked at how you were acting around her. “God, you are a slut, huh?” she teased. “Lambert said no grab-ass but here you are, wanting me,” she added.

“Aren’t you meant to be a professional?” you bit back. 

“You play dangerous games don’t you Star?” she teased. She was ready to fuck you. “I can be professional. This is so you stay professional,” she finished. You nodded before she suddenly grabbed you by the neck. “I found a bedroom, we can use that,” she explained. You were nodding. 

“Yes ma’am,” you responded, barely able to breathe as she was choking you but it turned you on more.

Soon enough you were in the bedroom and she pushed you against the bed, kissing you deeply. What you both weren’t aware of was Sammy in the corner, looking out the window. She was about to say hi but you already were kissing. Joey kept holding you, having you pinned down as she was groping at your chest and your hips. “God, you have to be one of the hottest people on the team,” she commented. “Those tight jeans look good against your ass too,” she stated. 

“They really do,” Sammy finally chimed in, having that little smile that she did when Joey said she came from money. You looked up in shock as Joey smirked. “You want her to watch?” Joey asked, her eyes dilated. You blushed, nodding.

Sammy was excited as she sat down on the bed, Joey sitting up as she was against the headboard of the bed, setting you on her thigh. “Grind,” she commanded. Doing as told you started to ride her thigh, moaning while doing so. “I caught Star here masturbating. Thought she would need this to be more professional,” Joey stated with a smirk. Sammy nodded as she kept watching, Joey soon pulling her shirt up. She still didn’t feel comfortable revealing her arms to anyone just yet. “Suck,” she demanded. You nodded, then sucked as you wanted to be good for Joey. You knew she could be a good punisher if you needed to be punished and you didn’t want that. Sammy meanwhile watched. 

“She seems to be doing good at least,” she stated, hearing how Joey was practically moaning. Joey nodded.

“She is talented with her mouth,” she commented as she was holding you, glancing down as you were leaving wetness on her jeans. It was getting more and more visible. Sammy couldn’t help but get excited over it too. 

“After this job, is it ok if we fuck together?” Sammy asked. Joey nodded, watching as she saw how you were soon stuttering your hips. 

“You close baby girl?” she teased. You nodded, moaning.

“Come for me,” she spoke. Under her command, you came instantly. Joey smirked as she was panting, you still sucking on her nipple. She admittedly came just from that as Sammy was excited. Safe to say, you knew you would get more after the job if you were professional. It was proven soon after. “If both of you are professional during this mission then yes, we may fuck after this. But be professional,” she spoke, slowly getting you off as she got herself ready, her jeans were still wet but she didn’t care. You nodded and glanced at Sammy, more excited. You would be good for Joey.

[skyartworkzzz]

have any headcannons to share abt kallamar and his spouses? honestly i dont see a whole lot of people ship kallamar with all four of them at once, i love your interpretations of their designs!!!!

AAAAAA tysm!! Sorry this took a bitsy to respond cuz I was still figuring them out, BUT! I do have some things to say about them now, so check the list under the cut! <3

FIRSTLY I wanna talk about how Kallamar chooses his Disciples:

Being the most narcissistic one among his siblings, Id think that Kallamar wouldnt just pick about anyone to transmit all his knowledge to. Meaning that he'd rather have someone who would without a doubt die for him and be as transparent as they could with their lord, without him having to read their mind or expect betrayals

Out of all the siblings, Kallamar was the pickiest and last one to recruit his apprentices. He was convinced for a while to go without anyone, until he fell in love with his first disciple and made them what they are today From then on, he realized the quickest way to trust someone was if they were completely infatuated with him. So that is the "merit" he goes by and the same one that gained him 3 more Disciples after the first

All of that is to say: yes, if you are one of Kallamar's Disciples, you are also dating him

NOW onto his lovely (and deadly) spouses:

Astaroth (they/them):

The first Disciple

Quiet most of the time

Speaks more through actions

Loves reading

Scary when angry or serious

The most skilled warrior out of all the others being a Witness

Completely obsessed with Kallamar, to the point where they'd kill the other Disciples should they ever turn on him (not that it'd be smtng that wouldn't traumatize them, given they are also in love with the others-)

Main love language is quality time, even if they may not say much

Saleos (he/him):

Quite cranky, doesn't really like people

Isolates himself most of the time

Loves recreational arts and crafts, tho he doesn't let many ppl see it

Used to be in charge of making Kallamar's weapons

Always arguing with Harboryn, but they usually make it up moments after

Awkward with physical intimacy, the others are very patient with him

Loves being praised, especially by Kallamar

Main love language is gift-giving

Harboryn (he/him):

Very fucking smart

Used to be the one to plan routes and conquering schemes for Kallamar (it was also thanks to him that they found Lambert's village back in the day)

Loves physical affection, is very touchy with Baalzebub and Astaroth

Loves being praised, he knows he's good

His narcissistic personality serves for both him and Kallamar to tease each other from time to time

Enjoys Knucklebones or other table games

Argues with Saleos from time to time, but always feels bad afterwards, desperately wanting to make it up with him

His main love language is physical touch or gift-giving

Baalzebub (she/they):

The cute one

Very affectionate, mostly with Harboryn since he's a fan of it

Also pretty quiet, speaks mostly through actions

The second best warrior and the most skilled magic user

Loves weapons, used to be Saleos' main test subject to try his new inventions

Collects seashells

Cuddles up with Kallamar and/or Saleos to sleep

Avoids venting to others, fearing to burden them, so she takes it out by destroying things. That's usually when her partners know she needs to talk

Their main love language is physical touch

And that's all I have for now! Tysm for the ask <333

[guccixstyless]

Intern (Pt. 5)

Author's Note: Second last chapter of the Intern Series, hope you guys like it xx

Word Count: 3598 words

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Masterlist

***********************************************************

You boarded the flight to Paris with a heavy heart. Your head was a mess, your thoughts were tangled, and everything felt so wrong. The moment you stepped onto that plane, you knew you were running away, but not from Harry—no, you were running from the feelings that had become too much to bear. You didn’t want to face him, not with the way everything had changed, not after the way he’d looked at you when you left the room.

Paris should have been a fresh start, a distraction, but the distance didn’t help. It only made everything feel more complicated. Your phone buzzed with texts from Ben, checking in on you, offering support, asking if you needed anything. He was so different from Harry, so easygoing and nonchalant. But the truth was, you didn’t need Ben to help you. You needed Harry to stop pretending like he didn’t care, or worse, pretending like he didn’t feel the same way you did.

When you arrived in Paris, the city’s energy was overwhelming, but in a way, it helped distract you from the mess you were avoiding. The last few days had been full of designs and deadlines, meetings with Lambert’s team, and, for the most part, keeping your distance from Harry. You hadn’t responded to his calls, hadn’t answered his messages. You didn’t want to. There was too much to untangle between the two of you, and right now, you couldn’t face it.

You had decided to stay focused on your work. Ben had insisted on accompanying you, but after giving it some thought, you’d realized you didn’t want to drag him into this emotional whirlwind. You’d made it clear to him that you saw him as a friend, a good friend, but nothing more. He’d accepted it, though his quiet disappointment lingered. But the misunderstanding that seemed to follow you everywhere was with Harry.

He didn’t understand why you hadn’t gone with Ben. Why you were suddenly so distant. But you couldn’t explain it to him—not in a way that wouldn’t hurt, not in a way that would make him feel like he was losing you. Harry had always been there for you, but now? Now everything felt different.

Days passed, and Harry finally arrived in Paris. You hadn’t expected it to be this way, but he was here for the concert, and as much as you tried to avoid it, you knew he was going to push to see you. Every text, every call, every message—it was like he wasn’t willing to give up on this thing between you, even if you were trying to.

The first time you saw him after his arrival was during the soundcheck, backstage, as you were talking to Sarah. You were laughing at something she said, still trying to pretend like you weren’t dealing with the tension that had been building between you and Harry.

Sarah’s voice suddenly dropped, and you turned to see him standing there, a couple of feet away, looking like he’d just walked into a room full of heavy silence. His eyes locked onto you immediately, and you could tell he was frustrated—he always wore his feelings on his sleeve, but today, it was unmistakable. He was pissed.

Before you could even say anything, Harry marched over to where you were standing with Sarah. His gaze was fixed on you, sharp and intense.

"Yn," he said, his voice tight with the kind of control he wasn’t managing very well. "We need to talk. Now."

You tensed up, feeling the weight of his presence more than you ever had. You couldn’t even look at him without feeling that familiar frustration bubbling up inside you.

"I'm not doing this right now, Harry," you said, trying to brush past him.

But Harry was quicker. He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. "Yes, you are. You're not just going to ignore me forever. We need to talk about what's been going on."

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the anger at his persistence mixing with the hurt you’d been carrying. You took a breath, keeping your voice calm, but it shook with the weight of everything you hadn’t said yet.

"I told you, I’m busy," you said, your voice colder than you intended. "I don’t have time for this right now."

Harry wasn’t having it. His hand shot out, grabbing your arm firmly but not painfully, pulling you toward a nearby dressing room. He didn’t say a word as he ushered you inside, the door shutting with a soft thud behind you.

Once inside, you spun to face him, your chest rising and falling with the tension you were trying to suppress. "What the hell, Harry?" you snapped. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?"

His face darkened, eyes narrowing with a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place. "You’ve been avoiding me for days," he said, voice low and tight. "What the hell is going on with you, Yn? Why won’t you talk to me?"

"I’m not avoiding you," you shot back, crossing your arms defensively. "I’m just trying to focus on what I came here to do. I’m not your responsibility."

"That’s bullshit, and you know it." His voice rose, and you could hear the anger, the hurt in his tone. "You’re not just my responsibility, Yn. I care about you. I always have." He stepped closer to you, his face inches from yours. "So don’t act like I’m just some guy you can toss aside."

You flinched at his words, a wave of frustration crashing over you. "What do you want from me, Harry?" you asked, voice shaking now. "I’ve told you—I need space. I’m not your damn property. You can’t just decide what I should do, who I should spend time with. Not anymore."

His expression faltered for a split second, and you could see it—the doubt, the confusion. He wasn’t used to you pushing back. He was used to being the one who made the rules between you two.

"You really think it’s just about you and Ben?" His voice dropped to a near whisper, as if the question was too painful to say out loud. "It’s about you and me, Yn. It’s always been about us."

You blinked, his words hitting you harder than you expected. You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying, what he meant. You knew the old, familiar ache in your chest—he was still holding onto something that you weren’t sure you could give him anymore.

But you couldn’t keep dancing around this, not anymore.

"No, Harry," you whispered back, almost too softly for him to hear. "It’s not about us anymore. You’ve got Camille, and I’ve got… my own life to figure out."

A long silence stretched between you, the kind that felt like it could last forever. His face crumpled, the anger in his eyes replaced by something else—something vulnerable, something raw. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just shook his head, his jaw clenched.

"I don’t understand," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "I thought we were fine. I thought we’d always be fine. We're best friends."

"We were best friends," you agreed, your voice breaking with the weight of your own emotions. "But things change, Harry. People change. And sometimes, you have to let go."

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at you as if he were seeing you for the first time—and maybe, in some ways, he was.

You couldn’t look at him anymore, so you turned your head, blinking back the tears you refused to let fall.

"Please, just go," you said softly, not meeting his gaze. "I can’t do this right now."

He didn’t move immediately. He stayed there, his expression unreadable, before finally turning and walking out of the room, leaving you standing there, alone with the crushing weight of your decision.

The silence that followed felt like a thousand unanswered questions. You didn’t know what came next—if you’d ever be able to fix this, or if it was already too late.

But you couldn’t change it now. The fight had been necessary, even if it broke something between you and Harry that could never be repaired.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were standing on your own—and you weren’t sure if that made you feel strong… or incredibly lonely.

***********************************************************

As the night settled in and Harry made his way to the stage, there was a noticeable shift in his energy. Normally, Harry’s presence was a beacon of warmth, his smile infectious, his energy contagious, but tonight was different. The usual buzz of excitement that surrounded him as he prepared for his concert felt off. He moved through the motions quietly, a far cry from his usual playful demeanor. His crew noticed it too, the way he seemed to drift in and out of his thoughts, distracted.

Jeff shot concerned glances his way, but Harry merely waved it off, mumbling something about needing to get in the zone.

But when the spotlight hit him, when the crowd roared and the music began to play, Harry was Harry again—charismatic, captivating, and alive in the way only he could be. He fed off the energy of the crowd, losing himself in the music, putting on the performance everyone expected of him. Yet, despite the loud applause and the high of being on stage, a part of him was still distant, a part of him still aching.

It wasn’t until he hit the final notes of "Just A Little Bit of Heart" that everything seemed to crumble. The song, one of his more vulnerable tracks, always held a piece of his soul in it. But tonight, as the familiar chords filled the arena, Harry's facade cracked. His voice wavered on the chorus, a break in his normally flawless performance. His heart wasn’t in the song anymore; it was somewhere else, with someone else.

As he sang, his eyes blurred with tears. His throat tightened, and despite his best efforts to push through the song, it felt impossible. The crowd sensed it immediately. They saw it in the way his voice faltered, in the way his tears threatened to spill. The energy in the arena shifted from excitement to concern as Harry continued to sing, his emotions raw and exposed.

By the time the final note ended, there was no mistaking what had just happened. Harry stood at the mic, chest heaving, tears streaming down his face, his hands trembling as he tried to regain composure. The crowd erupted into applause, but it was subdued, the cheers laced with worry.

Backstage, as soon as Harry made it off the stage, Jeff was there, his eyes wide with concern. "What the hell, man?" Jeff asked, pulling Harry aside.

Harry didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything. The pain was written all over him.

Jeff sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "You’ve been off all night, Harry. What’s going on? Talk to me."

Harry’s shoulders sagged. He let out a long, exhausted breath. "It’s... Yn," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jeff raised an eyebrow, his expression softening. "Yn? You two still having issues?"

Harry's eyes locked with his manager's, and for the first time in a long while, Harry allowed himself to be vulnerable. "I screwed up, Jeff. Big time. I let things go too far, and now she’s not talking to me. She’s... avoiding me."

Jeff let out a low whistle, his brow furrowed. "And you’re letting it eat you up like this?"

"I can’t let it go. She’s my best friend. I think I messed everything up with her. I don’t know how to fix it," Harry said, running his hands through his hair, his voice thick with emotion. "She’s been... different. I can’t stand it. Every time I try to talk to her, she pulls away. She doesn’t want me around."

"Why is that?" Jeff asked, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms.

Harry hesitated, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "Because of Ben," he said softly, his voice breaking a little. "She thinks I don’t trust her. She’s been spending so much time with him lately. And I—"

"Hold on," Jeff cut in, raising a hand. "You’re jealous because of Ben?"

Harry nodded, his face crumpling. "I don’t know. It just feels wrong, Jeff. He’s her friend, but I can’t help it. Every time I see them together, I lose it. And I can’t stand the thought of losing her, she's my best friend, mine. It’s killing me."

Jeff studied Harry for a moment, then shook his head with a knowing look. "You’re in love with her, man," he said bluntly.

Harry froze, his breath catching. "What?" he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

"I said it. You’re in love with her," Jeff repeated. "You’ve always been, haven’t you?"

Harry looked down at the ground, his mind racing. He hadn’t been able to admit it to himself, not until now. But hearing Jeff say it out loud hit him like a slap in the face.

"But I’m with Camille..." Harry whispered, his voice faltering.

Jeff raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Come on, Harry. You know as well as I do that Camille’s not the one. She cheated on you, for god’s sake. Let her go."

Harry winced at the mention of Camille’s betrayal, but the truth stung even more. He couldn’t argue with it. He had been holding onto a relationship that wasn’t real, that had been broken from the start.

"Yeah," Harry said softly, nodding as if he had just made a decision. "Yeah, you’re right."

Later that night, Harry found himself alone in his hotel room, his thoughts a tangled mess. He couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N, about how the fight, the distance, had torn something inside him. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone and dialed Camille’s number. The phone rang several times before she picked up.

"Hey," Camille’s voice was soft, hesitant. "What’s up?"

Harry felt a tightness in his chest. "Camille, we need to talk."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I know."

"I think we both know it’s over," Harry said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the emotions he was grappling with.

"Harry, I—I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry for everything," Camille replied, her voice shaky.

Harry’s heart softened slightly, but he knew what had to be done. "It’s alright," he said, his tone gentle. "I think we just need to let each other go. I’ve been holding on to something that wasn’t there, and I don’t think either of us deserves that."

"I agree," Camille said quietly. "I think... I think I’m better off on my own, too."

There was a beat of silence before she added, "I hope you find what you’re looking for, Harry. You deserve it."

"Thanks," Harry replied, his voice low. "Take care."

With that, he ended the call, feeling lighter, but still uncertain about what came next. The one thing he knew for sure was that he had to fix things with Y/N. She was the one who had always been there since the beginning of this tour, and now, he wasn’t going to let her slip away.

***********************************************************

After a long day of reflecting, Harry knew there was only one thing left to do: he had to find Y/N.

When he arrived at your hotel room, he knocked on the door, his heart racing with anticipation. When the door opened, there you were—looking just as conflicted as he felt.

"I broke up with her," he whispered.

"You don’t have to do this, Harry," you said before he could continue speaking. "I’m not a rebound."

Harry let out a small, humorless laugh. "You think that’s what this is?" he asked, shaking his head. "No, Yn. It’s never been about that. I’m not here to use you. I’m here because I can’t lose you. I never wanted to lose you."

Your eyes softened, but you still looked guarded. "Then why did you push me away?"

"Because I was scared," he admitted, his voice low. "I was scared of losing you, scared of Ben, scared of everything. But I know now that I can’t keep pretending. I care about you, Yn. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone."

As Harry stood there in front of Y/N, the weight of the silence between them seemed almost unbearable. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she was struggling to let her walls down. His heart was pounding, each beat seeming louder than the last. He had made mistakes, said things that had hurt her, but in that moment, all he wanted was for her to understand.

"I get it," Harry finally said, his voice trembling slightly. "I’ve been selfish, Yn. I let my jealousy and insecurities get in the way of everything—us—and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go this far." His words felt raw, but they were the truth, the truth he had been holding back for far too long.

A silence lingered in the air between them, thick and heavy. Harry took a step forward, closing the distance, hoping to bridge the gap. "I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. I was afraid. Afraid of losing you, and in the process, I almost did."

"I can’t do this anymore, Y/N." His voice cracked as he continued. "I can’t pretend that I don’t feel this. That I don’t feel… you." He stepped closer to you, his breath shaky. "You were right, I’m jealous. But it’s more than that. I care about you, more than I’ve ever let myself admit. I thought I could push it down, that I could ignore it, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept pushing you away. I should’ve said something sooner."

You felt like the ground had been pulled out from under you. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Or was this just some emotional moment where he needed comfort and you were the closest person? You didn’t know anymore. Everything felt like a haze.

“Harry, I don’t—” You tried to speak, but he cut you off, his hand gently cupping your face.

“No,” he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours. “Just… let me finish.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the rhythm of his breath matching yours.

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. “Not like this. Not without at least telling you how much I need you in my life. You’ve always been there, and I don’t want to take you for granted anymore.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and for a moment, the anger and confusion melted away. The vulnerability in his words, the way his voice shook, it was raw. Real. But still, a part of you held back, the self-preservation kicking in.

"I’m not just a rebound, Harry. I need you to understand that. I’ve never been just an option for you to pick up whenever things go wrong. I’m your best friend, and that’s what matters most to me."

Harry’s chest tightened at the weight of her words. He knew she was right. He had hurt her more than anyone else. "I know, and I swear, I don't think you're a rebound at all, I've been in love with you for so long, and it took me too long to accept it. All I can think about is you—what I’ve lost, what I might lose if I don’t fix this." His voice was desperate now, but it wasn’t just desperation; it was raw emotion, a reflection of everything he’d been bottling up for far too long.

You looked at him, your gaze searching his face for sincerity. Your lips trembled slightly, weighing everything he had said. Your voice was quiet when you spoke next, but the intensity was there. "I just don’t know.. I don’t- It’s not that simple."

"I know," Harry whispered, stepping closer. "But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Because I need you, Yn. I always have."

You stood there in silence, your heart racing, your emotions a whirlwind. His words rang in your head, but nothing felt clear anymore. Everything had become a tangled mess of confusion and desire.

You stepped back, trying to find some space between you two, but Harry followed, reaching out and gently grabbing your wrist.

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice strained. “I can’t go back to pretending we’re just friends. Not now. Not after all this.”

You pulled your wrist from his grip, taking a few more steps back, but the pain in your chest was suffocating. You wanted to run, to push him away, but another part of you wanted to fall into his arms and let him fix everything.

"I need time to think," you whispered, even though all these time that's all you wanted, for him to love you back, but it was so sudden that your brain wasn't comprehending.

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’ll wait for you, Y/N. I’ll wait until you figure this out. But please, don’t shut me out."

"Okay," you promised. He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead gently before leaving.

----------------------------------

Taglist: @ever-since-the-kilt @pxrrishly @jld20047 @thecraziestcrayon @emma1998sblog @lovrrysworld-ally @jackiehollanderr @sassamanda77

[astaldis]

Witcher Cat Fics

Do you like cats and The Witcher? Then maybe you'll also like Witcher cat fics! (sorry, not Cat Witcher fics). Here is a little list of fics I found that feature cats, but it's certainly not complete. If you know of other Witcher fanfics where a cat plays an important role in the plot, please let me know so I can add it to the list.

Have fun with cats and Witchers!

(The order is totally random)

Love, Joy, and Kittens by ForestWren

Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, Teen And Up Audiences, Words: 5,330:

When Geralt and Yennefer finally get a room at an inn after weeks of travel, Jaskier expects to spend a calm evening with his lovers and sleep in a real bed. This plan is derailed when they find an unexpected creature in their room.

worse enemy than monsters by RedDragon (TheDancingOcelot)

Jaskier/Geralt, Teen And Up Audiences, 471 words:

Jaskier investigates the cause of Geralt's tardiness.

5 Times Someone Else Had To Watch The Damn Cat

Foltest, Ves, Geralt of Rivia, Iorveth, Silas of the Blue Stripes, G, 500 words:

Five times someone else had to watch Roche's cat.

It's the latest in a series of drabbles about Roche's cat: Kits Out for Temeria by Faetality, check it out, it's so funny!

The Sorceress' Challenge by Annaatemychocolate

Yennefer/Triss, F/F, 11,485 words:

“The Sorceress Yennefer has set a challenge: capture her black cat and retrieve the key around its neck before the end of the month, and you get your wish granted. That’s why everyone’s here.”

Triss’ eyebrows were now dangerously close to disappearing into her hairline. “You’re not serious.”

flowers in every room by SummerFrost

Geralt/Yennefer, Ciri, F/M, 5,077 words:

Hey, Mum! Sorry, I can't stay long, there's this—" Ciri tilts her head. "What's with the cat?"

"Fuck if I know," says Yen.

Aka: The one where Geralt gets turned into a cat and dumped on Yennefer's doorstep.

Here Kitty, Kitty by round_robin

Geralt & Jaskier, Gen, 1,671 words: “Cats don't like—you can't be serious.” Geralt said nothing and Jaskier gasped. “Of all the weird fucking things they did to you, that takes the cake.”

This got a small chuckle. “Oh yes? The heightened senses that bring headaches if I'm in a town too long, the poison tolerance that still hurts like I'm dying, but no, cats hissing at me is clearly the worst...”

Of Wolves and Cats by A_hopeful_disaster

Geralt &/ Jaskier, Gen, 1,353 words: Jaskier adopts a cat. Geralt isnt sure what to think.

The Mystical Divinity of Unashamed Felinity by Star_dancer54

Geralt & Jaskier, Gen, 2,778 words: It's a morning like any other when Geralt wakes up, until he discovers that Jaskier's been turned into a cat. (unfinished)

The Way to a Man's Heart Goes Through His... Cat? by Frywen

Geralt /Jaskier, Cirilla, Yennefer , M/M, 16,861 words: Jaskier is a live-in cat sitter and Roach is the biggest and meanest cat he has ever met. Just what kind of owner does a cat like that have? (unfinished)

Ball of Purr by kentucka

Geralt, Gen, 1,211 words: A fluffy little thing (pun intended) in which Geralt gets to pet a cat.

Cat Got Your Tongue (But I’ve Got Your Heart) by WanderingDrui

Aiden/Lambert, Geralt/Jaskier, M/M, 31,093 words: After the mountain Jaskier throws caution to the winds and decides to use a secret he's kept his entire life to get back at Geralt. He expects a short and petty journey of revenge. Instead he makes new witcher friends, explores his past, and finds peace with who he is and what he wants in life. Meanwhile, Geralt hasn't heard anything about Jaskier since he sent him away and is growing worried.... (WIP)

Lovecats by Lula_Claims_The_Snakeskin_Jacket

Cahir/Yennefer, F/M, 16,404 words: Cahir and Yennefer acquire a stray cat. Or does the cat acquire them? As a witch, Yennefer vibes with cats well. Cahir is sceptical, as to his best knowledge cats are of no use on the battlefield. Obviously, some tensions are inevitable here. But this relationship will, yes, evolve.

powerful by mayoho

Rience, Gen, 100 words: Rience has always been drawn to power, even in the most unexpected places.

Figs and black pepper by calvaria

Assire var Anahid, Merlin (the cat), Gen, 233 words: Assire prefers Merlin to all astrolabes, signs and pendulums.

Cat Comfort by Molanna

Cahir, Assire var Anahid, Merlin (the cat), Gen, 1,805 words: Merlin is not only suddenly brought to a different place by his Witch, but, when he comes back to the apartment late at night from exploring the new garden, he finds a stranger in the bed he is not sure how to feel about at first. (POV Merlin)

A Furry Foundling for the Bard by Molanna

Jaskier/Radovid, M/M, 1,111 words: Jaskier and Radovid are disturbed in their very enjoyable nightly activity by a strange, eerie sound. Luckily, what they find in the street is not a monster but a pleasant surprise.

A Fiery Night by Molanna

Jaskier/Radovid, M/M, 500 words: Jaskier and Radovid are having a great time together at Radovid's little island cottage. Unfortunately, one night, something goes very wrong.

Esmeralda, No!

Jaskier/Radovid, M/M, 777 words: Radovid has prepared a nice Yule surprise for Jaskier. However, he has failed to consider what will inevitably happen if you add a cat to the equation.

Cat-Napping by Molanna

Rience, Gen, 500 words: Unexpectedly and totally against his will, Rience ends up with a fluffy tabby cat napping in his lap.

A Moment of Meows by Lohrendrell

Hansa fic, Gen, humour, 2,167 words: Geralt has been turned into a cat. Luckily, Geralt's hansa has a plan to fix this. No, really. They do.

[natalyarose]

𝓚𝓮𝓽𝓾 𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 & 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓬 ? 🌾🤍// 𝓋𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

Hi! 🔮 My recent post on Taylor Swift prompted me to take a look at the charts of prominent women in the country music genre. I did some research, and found a strong pattern of Ketu influence, which makes sense if you understand the energy of Ketu & the nature of country music/values.

Country music places a lot of value in authenticity, and being true to your roots/where you grew up hence why we don't tend to see a lot of country artists who didn't actually grow up in or at least spend time in regions associated with the country genre. Country music is also often very patriotic, & Ketu speaks of being in touch with your roots (especially Mula) & your ancestors (Magha).. oh and horses, lots of horses (Ashwini).

I just snoopy snooped and looked into some of major female names in country, and there was definitely a pattern that stood out. I'd doubt eeevery single artist who ventures to create country music will have Ketu influence (for example, another pattern I've definitely seen is Krittika, Rohini & Mrigasira influence AKA 'Garden of Eden' Nakshatras, which makes sense with country music's connection to nature, farming, agriculture, etc), but the prominence of Ketu is interesting. Usually Ketu or a Ketuvian Nakshatra on the Sun/Moon/Ascendant, or Ketu itself in a Ketu ruled Nakshatra (since artists tend to heavily pull from the energy of their Ketu).

I'm not really an avid country listener myself but I just thought I'd share the rabbit hole I went down lol, could be interesting to somebody.

*note that I am using Mid-Mula Galactic Center Ayanamsa, see my post on ayanamsa here ♡

♡

LeeAnn Rimes - Mula Moon & Magha Sun // Loretta Lynn - Ashwini Sun & Ketu in the 1st // Miranda Lambert - Magha Ascendant

♡

Dolly Parton - Magha Moon (& possibly asc) + Ketu in Mula // Taylor Swift - Mula Sun // Carrie Underwood - Ketu in Mula with Ashwini MC (I'll note that the MC is not traditionally used in Vedic, but I definitely see patterns showing its importance).

♡

Carly Pearce - Ashwini Sun & possibly Ashwini Moon (no birth time) // Lana Del Rey announced she will be putting out a country album and has been slowly incorporating country elements into her style lately (although it's not her typical genre) & she has Ketu conjunct Ascendant + Magha MC //

This transition to the country genre partially relates to Lana's friendship & involvement with country artist, Nikki Lane- we don't have her ascendant but I'd say it's very likely to be in a Ketuvian Nakshatra based on her appearance too- she looks a little like Eva Green to me (Magha Asc + Rahu), but that's just an idea for now

♡

Trisha Yearwood - Ketu in Mula // Faith Hill - Magha Venus + Jupiter & Ashwini Moon + Rahu // Shania Twain - Ketu in the 1st

I did check Beyonce's chart out of curiosity since she also recently put out a country album, but interestingly I can't seem to find any Ketu influence. I think that does make sense though if you consider that the album isn't necessarily a true blue country album, it stays true to Beyonce's image as more of a popstar/R&B sort of artist, but incorporates country elements. I think that was her intention too:

On March 19th, Beyoncé herself said in a detailed statement, “This ain't a Country album. This is a 'Beyoncé' album,” and said the album was an effort to, “bend and blend genres together.”

Again though, I'm certain that not every single country artist has Ketu influence anyway lol- in astrological observations like this we're just analysing and interpreting patterns and energy rather than dictating facts. I don't think there's a cosmic law that 'every country artist must have Ketu influence' but yes, there is a natural energetic pull & pattern at play.

Ketu also holds prominence among rock/heavier artists (see Alannah Myles; Mula Sun + Saturn & Joan Jett; Ketu in Ashwini) buut that's for another day lol. I think in general, Ketu influenced artists are going to be drawn to adding an element of 'grit' to their sound, whether that be pulling from a more country/blues esque root, or a rock/metal/punky one.

I hope this was interesting to someone, and I'd love to do more observational posts like this as the astrological patterns come to my attention ♡ 🩷

[hopelesslys-world]

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 2

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━���━━━

*𝘾𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. Was all I could focus on as soon as the elevator doors closed and she disappeared.

“Andrea,” I bark as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call.

I look at the paintings on the wall of my office and Miss Y/L/N’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.” She could so easily have been describing herself.

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need a background check.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

•••

Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N

DOB: ( The Month and day you were born ). 1989, Montesano, WA

Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

Social Security No: 987-65-4320

Bank: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:

Acct. No.: 309361: $683.16 balance

Occupation: Undergraduate Student WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences English Major

GPA: 4.0

Prior Education: Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

SAT Score: 2150

Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store, NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

Father: Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969, Deceased (The day before your birthday), 1989

Mother: Carla May Wilks Adams,

DOB: July 18, 1970

m. Frank Lambert March 1, 1989,

widowed (The day before your birthday), 1989

m. Raymond Y/L/N June 6, 1990,

divorced July 12, 2006

m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. 16, 2006,

divorced Jan. 31, 2007

Current Marriage Situation: m. Bob Adams April 6, 2009

Political Affiliations: None Found

Religious Affiliations: None Found

Sexual Orientation: Not Known

Relationships: None Indicated at Present

•••

I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. I cannot get the damned woman out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off.

This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The lip biting gets me every time.

And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.

You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?

I knew it would lead to this. All week…I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything.

I’ve never pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Y/L/N is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer.

Will she? Will she even make a good submissive?

I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been atthe forefront of my mind.

It’s the reason I’m here.

Why no boyfriend, Miss Y/L/N? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious thoughts since I met her.

That’s why you’re here. I’m itching to see her again—those eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams.

I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit.

I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

You’ve come all this way.

Let’s see if little Miss Y/L/N is as appealing as I remember.

Showtime, Grey.

A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual junk you’d expect.

I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items: Velcro, split rings—Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Y/L/N and have some fun.

It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger.

My cock twitches in response.

What am I, fourteen? My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.

She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.

She looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She pins me with a discerning stare—shocked, I think—and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.

“Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Grey,” she says, breathy and flustered. Ah, a good response.

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” A real pleasure.

She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and pants, kind of disappointing, earlier this week all she wore was flattering mini skirts and sweaters.

She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth.

I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did in the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I’m sure she reserves for customers.

Game on, Miss Y/L/N. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties.” My request catches her off guard; she looks stunned.

Oh, this is going to be fun. You’d be amazed what I can do with a few cable ties, baby.

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” she says, finding her voice.

“Please. Lead the way.”

She steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. She’s wearing Converse shoes.

Idly I wonder what she’d look like in skyscraper heels. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins.

“They’re with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” Her voice wavers and she blushes…

She is affected by me. Hope blooms in my chest. She’s not gay, then. I smirk.

“After you.” I hold my hand out for her to lead the way. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick hair keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips. She really is the whole package: sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes I value in a submissive.

But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey.

“Are you in Portland on business?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice is high; she’s feigning disinterest. It makes me want to laugh. Women rarely make me laugh.

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based in Vancouver,” I lie. Actually, I’m here to see you, Miss Y/L/N.

Her face falls, and I feel like a shit.

“I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science.” That, at least, is true.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” She arches a brow, amused.

“Something like that,” I mutter. Is she laughing at me? Oh, I’d love to put a stop to that if she is.

But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: taking a prospect out to dinner.

We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date?

Would she accept? When I glance at her she’s examining her knotted fingers. She can’t look at me… this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once.

“These will do.”

“Is there anything else?” she says quickly—either she’s being super-attentive or she wants to get me out of the store, I don’t know which.

“I’d like some masking tape.”

“Are you redecorating?”

“No, not redecorating.” Oh, if you only knew…

“This way,” she says. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

Come on, Grey. You don’t have much time. Engage her in some conversation. “Have you worked here long?” Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. For some reason she’s embarrassed.

Fuck, this girl is shy. I don’t have a hope in hell. She turns quickly andwalks down the aisle toward the section labeled Decorating. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy.

“Four years,” she mumbles as we reach the masking tape. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.

“I’ll take that one.” The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. Damn!

She pales. “Anything else?” Her voice is soft and husky.

I’m having the same effect on her that she has on me. Maybe… “Some rope, I think.”

“This way.” She scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate her fine ass.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope…twine…cable cord…”

Shit—stop. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.” It’s coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it…my rope of choice.

A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Organized group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

“What is your thing, Y/N?” Her pupils dilate as I stare.

Yes!

“Books,” she answers.

“What kind of books?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

British literature? The Brontës and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types.

That’s not good.

“Anything else you need?”

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” I want to see her reaction.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?” she asks, surprised.

I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. She’s checking me out!

“Coveralls,” she blurts out.

It’s the most unexpected thing I’ve heard her say since the “Are you gay?” question.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” She gestures to my jeans.

I can’t resist. “I could always take them off.”

“Um.” She flushes beet red and stares down.

I put her out of her misery. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing.”

Without a word, she turns and walks briskly up the aisle, and I follow in her enticing wake. “Do you need anything else?” she says, sounding breathless as she hands me a pair of blue coveralls. She’s mortified, eyes still cast down. Christ, she does things to me.

“How’s the article coming along?” I ask, in the hope she might relax a little.

She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile.

Finally.

“I’m not writing it, Bella is. Miss Clark. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.”

It’s the longest sentence she’s uttered since we first met, and she’s talking about someone else, not herself. Interesting.

Before I can comment, she adds, “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

The tenacious Miss Clark wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Y/L/N.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

She gazes at me for a moment, then shakes her head, perplexed, not knowing what to say.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” I can stay in Portland. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I’ll need Taylor to come down, bring my laptop and some clothes. Or Elliot —unless he’s screwing around, which is his usual thing to do over the weekend.

“You’d be willing to do a photo shoot?” She cannot contain her surprise.

I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey.

“Bella will be delighted—if we can find a photographer.” She smiles and her face lights up like a cloudless dawn. She’s breathtaking.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” I pull my wallet from my jeans. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” And if she doesn’t, I’ll head on back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture.

The thought depresses me.

“Okay.” She continues to grin.

“Y/N!” We both turn as a young man dressed in casual designer gear appears at the far end of the aisle. His eyes are all over Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Who the hell is this prick?

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” She walks toward him, and the asshole engulfs her in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold. It’s a primal response.

Get your fucking paws off her.

I fist my hands when she returns his hug.

They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe Welch’s facts were wrong. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can’t take his greedy little eyes off her. He holds her for a moment at arm’s length, examining her, then stands with his arm resting on her shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but I know he’s staking a claim and telling me to back off. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.

Shit. I should go. I’ve overplayed my hand. She’s with this guy.

Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. It’s clear they aren’t close.

Good.

“Er…Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.”

She gives me an odd look that I don’t understand and continues, “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, where he’s studying business administration.” She’s babbling, giving me a long explanation and telling me they’re not together, I think.

The boss’s brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. This woman has really gotten under my skin.

“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.

“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”

Yeah, that’s me, you prick.

In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.

“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”

“Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.

“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Y/N/N.”

“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.

“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”

“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind.

How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?

She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.

Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.

Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”

Is that all?

“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.

“Please, Y/N.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.

She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”

She nods as she hands back my charge card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave.

I have to let her know I’m interested.

“Oh— and Y/N I’m glad Miss Clark couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered. This is good. I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.

Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.

It’s disappointing.

I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Mr. Grey,” he says.

“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”

“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango?”

“Have Joe move her to PDX.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”

I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's been five hours with no phone call from the delectable Miss Y/L/N. What the hell was thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have.

The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself.

I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?

Grey, get a grip.

Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. I have Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.

Peace? I haven’t known peace since Miss Y/L/N walked into my office.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When I glance up, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen.

Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.

Is it her?

I answer.

“Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

My face erupts in a shit-eating grin.

Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Y//L/N. My evening is looking up. “Miss Y/L/N. How nice to hear from you.” I hear her breath hitch and the sound travels directly tomy groin.

Great. I’m affecting her. Like she’s affecting me.

“Um—we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties.

“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there,” she gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in her voice.

“I look forward to it, Miss Y/L/N” I hang up before she senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

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[ series masterlist ]

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Jaskier retreated from the main hall. Leaving the remaining Wolves to see to their injured and dead and readying himself for another night tucked away in his wreck of a room, determined to stay out of the way after already having been largely ignored since his arrival and then shoved away by Lambert twice. He found himself wondering if he should count the first time, considering that he probably saved Jaskier’s life in the process? Probably not. The second time though was just plain spiteful. But then, he and Geralt had been travelling together for years and the white haired Witcher tolerated his casual affection at best – why else would it always be down to Jaskier to initiate when he'd seen the Witcher freely hug and give causal touches to Ciri and Yen multiple times?

He swallowed down his self pity as he realised he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere – he definitely didn’t recognise that particular crack in the wall.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he slumped against the wall. Part of him wondered if he should maybe be feeling a little more panicked about this turn of events, considering he’d been warned that some parts of the Keep were unsafe (whilst neglecting to tell him which parts. So that was incredibly fucking useful). Then again, it wasn’t exactly like he’d be missed, even if the Wolves weren’t currently preoccupied with the aftermath of a possessed princess unleashing almost literal Hell. He closed his eyes and rest his head against the freezing stone. Sod it, this was just as out of the way as anywhere else. He’d try and get his bearings in an hour or two.

“Jaskier. Jaskier!”

Jaskier jerked awake at the shout of his name, squinting at the sun through the window, surprised by how little time had actually passed.

Geralt barrelled around the corner just as he was trying to shake some of the stiffness out of his shoulders, the Witcher looking panic-stricken as he practically ran to the Bard, “Jaskier.”

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Has something else happened with Ciri? Has Yen’s chaos - oh!” He was cut off as Geralt pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly and effectively trapping the Bard’s own between their torsos as he hid his face in Jaskier’s shoulder, “Fuck. Geralt, talk to me. What’s happened?”

“I couldn’t find you.”

Jaskier gave an eloquent “Huh?” at that, “Geralt, did you hit your head and not say anything again? You did find me. You broke me out of prison, remember?”

He felt Geralt shake his head, “No. Just now. You weren’t in the hall, or where Yen showed me you’d been sleeping or anywhere else I checked. I thought something had happened to you and none of us had noticed. I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled his face away, allowing Jaskier to fully look at him, “You scared me.”

Jaskier lowered his eyes, ‘Congratulations Julian. Yet another fuck up.’

“I’m sorry. I thought it’d be better for everyone if I stayed out the way.”

“No, Jaskier.” Large fingers tilted his chin up until sky blue met molten yellow, “I’m sorry. For pushing you away on the mountain, for keeping you at arms length here, for how the others have treated you.”

“I don’t think you have much control over the last one to be fair.”

“Yes, I do. Ciri made me realise I should have set them right as soon as I arrived back. She gave Lambert an earful for shoving you like he did after his injuries had been checked over.”

Jaskier gave a brief smile at that before the mood turned serious again, “Can I ask why though?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought we were ok after you trusted me to escort Ciri and then you just acted as if I were invisible. what did I do wrong?” He couldn’t stop the tears blurring his vision, “I know I can be too much. I was too much when we were together, I see that now and I want to try and fix things. Stop being so, well, me. But I can’t when I don’t even know what I did between the prison and here to make you angry at me again.”

Geralt looked at him like Jaskier had just been the one to sucker punch him, “You did nothing Jaskier, you never did. I acted as I did because, well, you terrified me. Still do.”

Jaskier gave a wet laugh, “I seem to be making a habit of that today.”

“I mean it.” Geralt continued, “You shoehorned yourself alongside me and you were – are – so full of life and joy and light. I wanted to keep you for myself. Something I’ve never felt so strongly before, not for Yen, not for Renfri. I wanted to know you completely and be known in return and that realisation scared me more than any monster I’ve faced. I didn’t know how to let you in like that, so I pushed you away.”

In a moment of bravery (or perhaps madness), he brushed his lips against Jaskier’s forehead, hearing the Bard’s breath catch, “You’re not the one who needs to change, Jaskier. You never were. I just don’t know how to start, but I’ll try. For you and Ciri and Yen.”

“My darling Witcher, you already have changed.” Jaskier, squirmed until he was able to loop his arms around Geralt’s waist, finally returning the embrace, “You and Yen are able to be in the same room and act like actual adults, you finally took responsibility for Ciri, and as for me-“ Jaskier gave Geralt’s waist a squeeze, “You do realise this is the first time you’ve hugged me first?”

Geralt brushed his lips against Jaskier’s brow again, firmer this time, “First of many. If you’ll allow it.”

“Always.”

[megalony]

Locked In

This is my first Dalton Lambert imagine from the Insidious franchise, do let me know what you think. Comments and requests are much aprpeciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@butlegendsneverdie@langdonzvoid@jennyggggrrr@rogmeddows@radiob-l-a-hblah@rogertaylorsbitontheside@chlobo6@rogertaylors-lipgloss@sj-thefan@omgitsearly@luckytrashgooprebel@scarsout@deaky-with-a-c@killer-queen-ofrhye@bluutac@vousmemanqueez-blog@jonesyaddiction@milanosaurus@httpfandxms@saint-hardy@7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls@mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

Masterlist

Summary: Dalton, (Y/n) and Chris go to a frat party but when Dalton loses sight of (Y/n) he searches everywhere to find her and make sure she's okay.

Enjoy.

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

The unique four knocks on the door broke Dalton out of his trance and made him feel like he had just woken up from a dream. He should have been adding some extra details to his latest painting but for the last twenty minutes or so, all he had been doing was staring blankly at the canvas. No more ideas were coming to mind, his thoughts had been wiped clean and if he tried too hard he would only ruin his artwork.

So he had taken to staring angrily at the painting, waiting for something to pop out at him or for his attention to dwindle so he could focus on something else.

But the person on the other side of the door would serve as a great distraction. He knew who it was before the door even opened. The rhythmic knock on the door told Dalton that it was (Y/n) and it was confirmed when she gingerly opened the door and peeked her head round, checking it was alright to come in.

(Y/n) only lived five doors down the hall. That was the excuse they both made when it came to late night chats, games and close encounters when the moon was high in the sky and it was time to call it a night but neither of them ever wanted to.

Dalton watched her tiptoe into his room and lean against the door once it was shut.

She looked lovely.

Somehow, Chris had managed to rope them both into going to a frat party despite knowing that Dalton wasn't the most outgoing of people and (Y/n) was more of a hybernated, quiet soul than a partying girl. (Y/n) had only agreed to go because Dalton was going and likewise, he only said yes because he didn't like the thought of (Y/n) going somewhere like that alone. Without him.

She was wearing highwaisted jeans, pointed flats and a thin, black lace shirt with blue and green butterflies sewn onto it. The shirt was seethrough, Dalton could clearly see her bra and the upper part of her stomach through her shirt. The sight alone made him gulp.

"Do I look okay?" (Y/n) pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tightened her ponytail out of habit.

There was no way she would go to a frat party wearing a dress unless she had leggings on underneath. She wouldn't put it past some of the idiotic boys there to try lift or pull her dress if she wore one and she was too self-conscious to wear a skirt or shorts. This combination felt the safest while still looking somewhat appealing for a party.

Although the only person (Y/n) wanted to impress and catch the eye of was standing right in front of her.

"Great, you look great."

(Y/n) watched Dalton stand up from his desk chair but he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. One hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans and he scratched the back of his neck with the other, ruffling the part of his hair that was still loose. Most of his hair was up in a small bun and (Y/n) always caved when he had his hair up like that. His hair like that was a particular attraction that (Y/n) liked to sketch when Dalton wasn't paying attention.

All they needed was Chris to come down and then they were ready.

"Do you have a plaster?"

Her question caught Dalton off guard and the half-smile he had slowly curved into a frown and he quickly walked over, meeting (Y/n) halfway in the middle of his room. He stood a little closer than usual, almost too close until there was barely any space between them.

Their chests were an inch away from touching but he could feel the lace of her shirt and his fingers itched at his sides to reach out and touch her.

Being this close to her made Dalton's heart race but it also meant that he had to look down on her due to the height difference.

"Why, what've you done?" The concern in his voice made (Y/n)'s stomach curdle with adrenaline and a shiver passed down her spine. She could feel his hands hovering over her hips, unsure whether to actually touch her or not as he waited patiently for her to tell him what she'd done.

"Just a small incident with a knife,"

Dalton watched as (Y/n) held out her left hand towards him which he took gently in both his hands and pulled away the wad of tissue to reveal a small gash down the side of her thumb. Thankfully it didn't look too deep but it was clear the wound had bled a lot.

In a flash, Dalton retreated and (Y/n) missed his touch and closeness until he was back with a triumphant smile and a plaster in hand. She stayed silent but her eyes couldn't look away from Dalton's chest that was so close she was breathing into his shirt and could see his collar bone poking through.

It felt good like sparks were igniting in her fingers when Dalton smeared the blood away from her cut before he taped the plaster tightly over it to seal the wound. She thought he was going to drop her hand but after a heartbeat, and then another, he stayed close but silent, running his fingertips over the back of her hand.

Then, before he could think or stop himself, he leaned down and kissed her hand. He wasn't sure why he did, maybe it was because that was what his family used to do, kiss a wound when it was patched up.

His lips stayed hovering over her hand but he looked up through his lashes, catching (Y/n)'s gaze, unable to look away until a carnal desire shot through his chest to reach out and kiss her properly.

Something about (Y/n) just drew Dalton in, attracted him like he'd never felt around anyone else before. He wanted to be close, he always felt the need to reach out and hold her hand or caress the small of her back. He wanted to be near her, guard her, keep her behind him when he could see her getting anxious or freezing over with dread. Dalton was used to the feeling of (Y/n)'s hands gripping the back of his shirt whenever he had took up a protective stance in front of her and when she had pressed her temple into his back between his shoulders he thought he was about to faint.

Their lips brushed.

Dalton wasn't sure whether he had leaned forward and took the leap or if (Y/n) had kissed him but it didn't matter who moved first. What mattered was he now knew what it felt like to kiss her deep, plump lips. They were wet and soft and inviting and he wanted to devour them whole.

He let go of her hands to hold her hips and pull her as close as he could get her until their chests were moulded together. His fingertips dug into her jeans, squeezing her flesh and a groan vibrated through his lips and against (Y/n)'s when he felt her fingertips pulling at his hair.

A knock at the door broke them apart and for a split second, (Y/n) buried her face into Dalton's shoulder and gripped his shoulder when she felt his hands tighten on her hips. Their moment, something they had been waiting to happen for weeks, now it was ruined.

(Y/n) turned on her heels to face the door just as Chris peeked her head round and a bright smile glimmered on her face.

She could feel Dalton's hand move to rest on the small of her back and a small membrane of space came between them so Chris wouldn't get suspicious or nosey into what had just unfolded between them.

"Are we ready?"

"I think so."

It didn't take them long to reach the frat house where the party was being held, they could practically hear the music the moment they left the dorms. And (Y/n) started to regret agreeing to this as soon as they reached the house.

Apprehension dwelled in her stomach and spread throughout her blood until her steps started to slow and she was about to turn around and head back home. She knew Dalton could sense of even feel her waryness because she felt his hand slip into hers and hold tight as they walked up to the front door that was wide open but at the same time, uninviting.

"Stay close," His words were whispered in the crook of (Y/n)'s ear and it made her shiver and a bubble of adrenaline coursed through her stomach.

She wouldn't be venturing far on her own tonight, (Y/n) was already regretting saying yes to coming here in the first place. There was no way she would leave either Dalton or Chris right now, not when she didn't feel at ease here.

The three of them drifted into the kitchen and Chris was first to grab a drink from the large bowl on the table but one look passed between Dalton and (Y/n) that instantly said no. They didn't know what had been put in that punch, anything could have spiked it and they didn't want to take the risk. Both of them decided on a canned drink from the table instead.

"We're not staying long, are we?" (Y/n) whispered the words to Dalton rather than Chris because she knew Chris would argue. She would only leave if the party was well and truly boring or something happened, she wouldn't want to leave just because (Y/n) was uneasy.

"Not if I can help it."

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

"Chris come on, this isn't fun." Tipping his head back against the wall, Dalton scanned his eyes around the room before he looked back at Chris.

They had been up here long enough now, it was time to stop snooping and go back down to the rest of the party before something happened. Anyone could walk up here and catch them in the act of scouting through a stranger's room. It was wrong and it was weird, no one would want people to look through their stuff when they weren't invited to do so.

The more pressing thought on Dalton's mind though, was the fact that he had been away from (Y/n) for too long. She didn't want to come scouting upstairs, even Dalton didn't want to but Chris was adamant someone was snooping with her for 'fun' and (Y/n) said she would be fine downstairs. She had found a seat near where people were dancing and she could sit and people watch and daydream until the pair of them got back to her.

He promised he wouldn't be long and now Dalton just wanted to get (Y/n) and go back to the dorms.

"Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

"Not particularly, no. I'm heading back down." Dalton dragged his fingers through the loose hair at the back of his neck before he pushed off the wall.

"Suit yourself,"

Dalton needed no more than that to leave the room and head back towards the stairs. He knew Chris could handle herself, she would be fine scouting round and when she was bored she would come back down stairs and find him and (Y/n). He didn't feel or think he had to feel as worried about Chris as he did about (Y/n).

He bypassed people on the stairs, shrinking close to the wall to get out of the way and get down both flights of stairs. This party was boring, the voices, music and screeches were too loud and people were too close, too drunk and too irritating.

A slither of fear shot up Dalton's spine when he reached the bottom of the stairs and walked towards the main room of the house.

(Y/n) wasn't where he left her.

Part of him expected her to move. He knew she wouldn't be sitting in the exact same spot he left her but at the same time, he wished she was. It would be easier if she was still near the sofa where she had been before so he could grab her and drag her away and text Chris later to say they had left.

Now he needed to find where she was and make sure she was alright because it was about time they left.

He weaved in and out of the bodies dancing in the back room, being careful not to bump into anyone or accidentally put his hands on someone to get around them. He didn't want to be dragged into a dance with any of the people here who seemed past the point of being drunk.

The unease Dalton felt just kept increasing the further he moved when he couldn't see (Y/n) anywhere in sight. He walked through the almost empty kitchen and back round towards the stairs to no avail.

There was no sight of her lacy butterfly shirt or the black bra that was so visible to the eye or her crimped hair up in a high ponytail. Dalton couldn't see her anywhere, she wasn't crammed into a corner trying to become invisible or sat out the way with a drink or stood chatting to anyone.

Where was she?

Maybe she had gone upstairs to look for him and Chris. That seemed logical, Dalton had swept the ground floor and couldn't see her anywhere and he knew if she saw him she would have called out and made her way over to him.

So he went back up the stairs and stopped on the first floor where he had just been with Chris, peering through the bodies to try and find the one person who always stood out to him.

Surely (Y/n) wouldn't be in one of the rooms up here? Not unless someone had enticed her or made her follow them into a room. Nevertheless, Dalton tried to open a few doors, most of which were locked, and he peered into the rooms that were open to search for (Y/n).

He knew she wouldn't have gone home without either him or Chris and she would have texted him if she was that panicked and was ready to go. She wouldn't go on her own.

"Come on," He muttered under his breath as he scanned the rooms, avoiding Chris who he knew was in the last room at the end of the hall. He didn't want her to panic or come searching with him, not yet. Not until he was sure he had searched every inch of the house and still couldn't find (Y/n).

Anger radiated through Dalton's bones as he headed up to the second floor. Why couldn't he find her? She better be okay because if she wasn't…

A frown pulled at his lips and his brows furrowed when he walked onto the landing of the second floor.

Why were people crowding round one of the rooms?

Something drew Dalton closer to the few students who were hovering in a circle around one of the doors but as he got closer, it felt like claws were scratching the back of his neck and digging under his skin. One or two people were laughing while the others were just, watching, frozen with curiosity and confusion. But what got Dalton's back up was the noise that got louder the closer he got to the room. He reached his arms out and pushed through the people until he was close enough to register what it was.

It was (Y/n).

Dalton knew that voice, he heard it in the few dreams he had when he didn't go wandering the halls of the dorm. He heard that voice when his nightmares plagued him and her voice drew him back into the real world.

But her voice was usually a lulling melody, so far away and quiet that it almost didn't sound real. This voice was shrill, it was broken and loud and desperate in a way that he hated.

"Open the door! L-let me out; let me out!"

"Move!"

With a harsh shove, Dalton pushed someone out of his way so he could stand in front of the door which for some reason, he was sure led to a bathroom.

His hand curled around the handle but it wouldn't open. Someone had locked her in there. (Y/n). His (Y/n), locked in there, screaming for help that no one was bothering to give because they would rather watch the spectacle than get involved and make it stop.

Rage bubbled up inside him like he'd never felt before and before he could process what he was doing, Dalton leaned back and raised his leg up. He slammed the heel of his shoe into the door a total of three times before the wood splintered and the lock broke free.

Dalton barely pushed the door open before a familiar frame burst towards him at full pelt. (Y/n) barelled into him and knocked him down to the floor in front of the crowd in one swoop.

(Y/n) couldn't open her eyes, they were glued shut from fear and her body was shaking, petrified. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to move or where to go or what to do. She recognised the voice on the other side of the door demanding people move and the moment the door was open, she fled. She saw the familiar face, lined with worry and rage and pelted into him, crashing on top of Dalton and they collided down to the floor.

Her arms cocooned around his chest just before he hit the floor and she could feel all the wind being knocked out of his system but she couldn't find the will to care. (Y/n) buried her face in his shirt and curled up against his chest, laying awkwardly between his legs until she felt those familiar broad hands spreading out on her back and his arms pressing into her sides, safely caging her to him.

For a few seconds, Dalton tried to find the ability to breathe and he shook his head to clear his vision which had turned to stars for a few seconds. When he managed to look down at (Y/n), all he could see was a shaking form laid on top of him, clinging to him like he was her lifeline.

With little effort, Dalton slowly pushed up until he was sitting upright which gave (Y/n) a better opportunity to curl into him and he didn't think twice before he pressed his chin on top of her head.

"Who locked her in there?" Dalton looked round the many faces crowding round, some of whom started to turn away and leave now the commotion had died down. He wanted to know who had done that to her, he wanted to see who thought it would be funny to lock (Y/n) in a tiny bathroom like that and listen to her cry and beg to be let out. "Who the fuck did that?!"

When no one answered, he could have quite happily got up and started throwing punches until someone told him what happened, but he didn't. He couldn't, not when (Y/n) was still in his arms like this.

Tightening his arms around her, he slowly stood up and pulled (Y/n) up with him, making sure to keep his arms tight around her waist so she knew he wasn't about to let her go or leave her alone.

"Come on, we're going."

(Y/n) felt like her legs had turned to jelly but when Dalton guided her towards the stairs and started walking, she went along easily. She could feel him shaking with anger, even as he took out his phone and whispered that he was letting Chris know they were leaving.

The walk back was quiet but it wasn't uneasy.

(Y/n) relished in the fact that Dalton hadn't let her go yet, he didn't dare let go of her. He had both his arms around her back and shoulders, his chin on top of her head and his upper body was twisted to the right to curl around her properly. From the height difference, (Y/n) had her head just beneath his shoulder, pressed into his shirt so she could breathe in his scent and cologne and her eyes were tightly closed. She let him guide her from the house and down the street, back towards their dorms while her arms stayed bound to his slim waist.

"What happened?" Dalton's voice was quiet and tentative when they got back to their dorm block and he only spoke because he felt (Y/n) turn her head to see where they were. She had her cheek pressed into his chest instead but her hold was still crushing but comforting around him.

"I tried to find you two… someone locked the door, I thought I saw something, I just panicked I guess."

He knew of her fear of small spaces just like (Y/n) knew of his fear of the dark.

The bathroom was so small (Y/n) couldn't see how anyone could comfortably stay in there for very long. When the door locked something ignited in her and no one would let her out. Then the light started flickering and for a few seconds, she could have sworn someone else was in that cramped room with her but when Dalton broke the door, no one else was there. Her panicked imagination must have gotten the better of her.

"Can, can I stay in your room tonight?" Her roommate was out late tonight and (Y/n) didn't want to be alone. She didn't fancy lying in bed, panicking and waiting for her roommate to come home so she could settle and not wake up in fright when the door opened.

And Dalton still didn't have a roommate since Chris got reassigned upstairs, he had the room to himself and a spare bed in the corner just screaming out for attention.

"Sure," He couldn't hide the smile from his face as they walked up the stairs. It was strange having the room to himself, sometimes it was good, when he had nightmares or when it was early in the morning and he couldn't sleep, he was glad no one was there with him. He could stay up drawing or painting or sketching or lay with his nightlight and not have anyone complaining.

But other times, he got too lonely and his own company could be frightening. Someone there in the dark would be good.

Dalton didn't want to take his arms away from (Y/n) when they walked into his room, it didn't feel right somehow to let her go even though he knew he needed to so they could go and sit down.

He tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of his head before he moved to sit down on his bed, unsure what to do or how to act or what to say now. But he didn't have to say anything. As he leaned back against the wall, (Y/n) took him by surprise and stood between his legs, staring at him like she was waiting for a sign, for him to encourage her or tell her to move away.

He dropped his hands before suddenly reaching out to hold her hips, hoping that was encouragement enough to tell her to carry on and do whatever she was thinking about. He could have cried in happiness when (Y/n) slowly crawled onto his lap and sat down on his legs, placing her knees on either side of his hips and looping her arms around the back of his neck. It allowed him to tighten his hands on her hips and tug her closer like he did earlier in the night, keeping her chest flush against his.

"Thank you for getting me out of there,"

"I'd do anything for you."

(Y/n) brushed her fingers against the back of his neck, feeling a shiver creep up beneath his skin before she leaned to capture his lips with hers.

[delurkr]

A barely-edited ramble as I try to figure out stuff about David and other 1692 folks

Under cut because boy those paragraphs got long

I was never a fan of how David is called a farmer in the subtitles before we learn his name, because with all the other type of people it took (and takes) to make a town just calling him a farmer with ultimately no textual backing comes off as rather uncreative or uninformed, as if someone just assumed that of course he would be a farmer because it's ye olden days and nobody did anything else (not an uncommon perception but super dumb). Of course it's possible that there was more thought behind it, but still there were plenty of positions available in towns like Salem and Andover in their time; craftspeople of all kinds and storekeepers and merchants of varying scope are some basic ones (also I've seen it said that the prior increase of business and trading in the area is considered to be a contributing factor to the societal instability that fed the witch trials, not that I'm going to fact check right now or give a citation for that). He's also only 20 years old, and under normal circumstances he's not likely to be a landowner yet so calling him a farmer in his own right is less believable, but it's certainly not a given that the Miltons' circumstances are normal so that's less important.

Now thinking about the museum, there's a mannequin dressed in David's clothes and it's set up at some sort of work table or piece of machinery, and I have no clue what it is but someone on reddit once suggested that it looked a little like a potter's wheel, which seems to be as good a guess as anything. So I've always liked the idea that David was trained as a potter but never progressed in that occupation before he turned to farming for some reason.

So in the interest of filling in backstory for the 1600s characters, because I'm woefully deficient in that department and grasping at anything, an idea I'm considering is that the father of Tabitha, David, and Mary was a potter who was training David in the business, but then when the mother Martha Milton was taken in the Commencement Day Massacre in 1690, when Tabitha was 20 years old, Mr. Milton couldn't deal and left to buy milk as they say and hasn't been heard of since (not to make it all dramatic but if he up and disappeared from LH town with no news from any of surrounding town near or far it leaves an open question with a good amount of potential answers). That would have left Tabitha as the head of household she appears to be, and there might naturally be debts to settle on top of a sudden loss of income with Mr. Milton gone which might have taken the pottery business and the associated livelihood off their hands one way or another, so the Miltons hired themselves to the Lamberts in whatever arrangement best made sense and lived and worked on the Lamberts' farm by 1692.

That gives David his farmer label, and the other side of it is that the Lamberts would have needed someone like him around, because while I know Strong Farmer Joseph is an appealing idea I lean towards the doubles sharing each other's physical capabilities beyond just physical likeness, and farming takes truckloads of stamina but even adrenaline couldn't give John a whole lot of that (I mean let's be real, John is normal in that situation and the others are generally abnormal in their ability to do that much running around for an entire night with barely any effect, but that's a tangent). John also seems to have some concern about his heart, whether there's an actual medical reason behind that idk, so that may be a thing for Joseph too. So I imagine Joseph needed to take a step back from the heavy work on their property and David was needed to take that place, and of course there's plenty for Tabitha and Mary to do as well.

So yeah, that's what I'm considering to give background to the idea of the Miltons working for the Lamberts, which was the one part I'm solid on. If anybody has other ideas I'm lowkey desperate to hear them lol

[samaraannhan20]

Harry Styles Imagine: Expensive

*not my gif*

A/N: I have said many times before that I write what I am currently struggling with. Hence this fic. Please do not judge or leave hateful comments. Enjoy!

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Oh, I got an email,” I say as I pull my phone out when we sit down in the hotel room. “From who?” Harry asks as he sits down on the bed next to me. “School. My cost estimation papers. So I can figure out exactly how much money I will owe them when I go back. In case you didn’t know, college is expensive.” “That sounds… fun?” he says in response. “Eh. not really. But it is usually quick. However, I want to shower and go to bed. It’s been a long day,” I say, and then scoot towards the edge of the bed to stand up. “You’re telling me,” he says with a laugh, and stands up with me. “Care if I join you in the shower?” he asks, pulling me into him. “You know I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, and then stretch up to kiss him, before smiling and pulling away. “You have to catch me though!” I exclaim, and then sprint away.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Did you know that schools change their prices every year? And never in a way that means the price went down,” I ask as Harry sits down next to me. “I did not know that. Are you looking at how much you owe for school this coming year?” he asks, and I just scoff. “Yeah, I am. And it’s stupid. I’m not sure exactly how much the price was raised, but I know it did. And now, what I pull out for my private loan to pay for school is going to be higher than it has been any other year,” I say, and begin to feel my eyes watering, and make a decision that I don’t want to do this right now, not in front of Harry. “No. I’m gonna do this later, not right now. Besides, I’ve got a month and a half before I go back. This can be dealt with after the tour ends, when we’re just chilling at your house. Besides, shouldn’t you be getting ready for your concert? And I need to change into my concert outfit.” “I think you look good right now,” Harry says, closing my laptop and setting it off to the side. “Thanks H, but A I’m in biker shorts and your sweatshirt, I’m not wearing that to your show where all your fans dress up and look super cute. And B Lambert told me what your outfit looks like tonight, and I bought a dress and some boots that almost match it.” “Well why didn't you say that to begin with? Go change!” Harry says, and shoves me off the couch. “Geeze,” I say with a laugh, stumbling a bit and then going to stand in between his legs. “You haven't even changed yet. Why should I change first?” “Because if I change first I’ll have to go do the final sound check. But if I’m not ready yet then I can't go yet,” he replies, looking up at me through his eyelashes. “What if,” I start, and then choose to sit down on his lap before finishing. I get really close to him and then whisper in his ear, “we both go to the bathroom and change at the same time?” He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss, before standing up, lifting me up with him, and carrying me bridal style to the bathroom where both of our outfits are, both of us cackling the entire time.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Hey,” I hear Harry say from the other room as I stand in the bathroom washing my face. “Hang on, I’m almost done, I’ll be right in,” I say, and quickly rub moisturizer into my skin before flicking off the light and heading into the room part of the hotel room. “What’s up?” “Well I was thinking about how you were filling out your school paperwork earlier, and I had an idea,” he says from where he sits on the bed, his arms behind his head as he watches me walk around the room, gathering my pajamas and the scrunchie I pull my hair back with every night. “Oh yeah?” I respond, stopping at the foot of the bed and starting to change my clothes. “Yes. And it is very simple. I pay whatever you owe for school this next year,” he states, very simply, and I yank my sleep shorts up my legs, settling them on my waist. “No,” I say, walking to the edge of the bed and climbing on before (very un-sexily) crawling towards where Harry is resting, and handing him my scrunchie for him to put my hair up. “No?” he questions as he gathers my hair into a ponytail. “No. If you do that,” I start, and pause to move when I feel him stop messing with my hair, coming to sit next to him on the bed. “If you do that, then all of your fans and everyone in the world will think I am only with you because of your money if it gets leaked that you did that. I don’t want to live with everyone hating me,” I say, and Harry sighs and pulls me into his arms. “Besides, one day when we get married,” I continue, not wanting him to think I’m telling him no forever, “if we get married, my debts will be your debts and we’ll both owe shit tons of money to various places in the United States. And you can help me pay them back.” Harry chuckles and pulls me into him. “Okay. I’ll take that offer. But,” he says, and pulls away so he can look me in the eyes as he says it. “But, I want to do your monthly payments on your private loans. I mean you said that they aren't that much anyway, and this way I am helping you out in some way. I love you, and I hate seeing you so stressed out about money, when I have enough to help you out,” he tells me, and then pulls me in for a kiss. I smile into our kiss and when we pull away I laugh a little. “I love you. Thank you for being willing to do this for me. But maybe we don’t tell many people. Just those who need to know, like Jeff, and your mom and Gem. I’m still worried that your fans, and other people out there, will just think I’m a gold digger if it gets out that you pay for some things for me,” I tell him and he nods his head in agreement. “Need-to-know basis. Got it,” he says, and pulls me in for another kiss. “Babe, I love you,” I say when we pull away. “But I’m also exhausted. Are you ready t o go to bed?” “Yes, of course. Let’s go to sleep,” he says, and then pulls the covers up to where they are covering us, before lying down and pulling me into him.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Okay,” I say a few days later, sitting in the dressing room in Warsaw with Harry. “I have officially finished this step of filling out paperwork for school, and finished the first step I can do for filling out a loan request for what is left to be paid for the year.” I close my laptop and stand up, walking over to my bag is and placing my laptop inside. “What happens then?” he asks from the bathroom where he is messing with his hair. “Then, once it is approved, I have to fill out more paperwork for the school to show that I am accepting the award information,” I tell him as I walk toward where he stands in the bathroom, leaning on the doorway and just watching him. “Award?” he asks as he finishes messing with his hair and turns towards me, taking my hand and leading me over to the couch, sitting down and then pulling my legs to rest over his lap. “Award is what they call any amount of money I’m “given” so to say. So when it goes through the school and they say “yeah she needs this money”, then I’ll get an email where I have to accept the money, and then I’ll be done for the summer. When school starts the loan company will disperse my loan to the school, and then I start making monthly payments of interest on it.” “I, start making monthly payments on it,” Harry says, exaggerating the I. “Righ, you start making monthly payments. Right now my other three are only about $70 a month, but with the addition of this one it will be around $95-100. Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask him, reaching my hands out to take his in mine from where they had been rubbing at my calves. “Yes, I’m sure. I want to help you. Besides, $100 is chump change to me honey,” he replies, and then pulls me into a kiss. When we pull away, we just rest our foreheads together and enjoy the other’s presence.  After a few minutes there’s a knock at the door, and Jeff peeks his head in. “Hey guys,” he says as I lean back to the other end of the couch. “H, you have ten minutes to places. Y/N, we should probably head out to the seating area.” “Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” I tell him, and Harry nods his head, a signal that everyone has come to know as “you got it”, so Jeff ducks back out of the room. “You’re gonna do great tonight bubs,” I say to Harry as I scoot closer to him, and then climb onto his lap. “Just like you do every night.” I lean forward and kiss him, and he grabs onto my hips, keeping me from pulling away. “H,” I whisper, slightly out of breath from the kiss, as he starts to kiss down my neck. “H, I have to go out to my seat.” He sighs and kisses me on the lips one more time, before letting go of my hips. “Go, before I cancel the show and just take you back to the hotel room,” he says, playfully shoving me off of him. I stand and grab my phone from the coffee table, and my VIP lanyard off the vanity, before heading for the door. “I love you. And I’m thankful for you. Break legs tonight baby,” I say, and blow him a kiss before heading out the door. As I close the door behind me I see Jeff standing there shaking his head. “I thought I was going to have to come pull you out of there,” he says as I walk up next to him. “Oh shut up, dad,” I say, voice completely laced with sarcasm. “Let’s go watch this concert.” He laughs and throws an arm around my shoulders as we walk out into the crowd.

[aychama]

Since nari has cat mannerism you know how cats meow when they want attention would the equivalent of that be Narinder walking around just repeatedly yelling lambs name

Pffft thats a funny idea!

N: Lambert.

L: Yes my king?

N: ... go check on Aym and Baal.

L: ... ok...

.....

N: Lambert.

L: Yes my king?

N: Your cape is stuck on your armor.

L: oh, thanks.

...

N: Lambert.

L: ...Yes my king?

N: Ah nevermind.

...

N: Lambert.

L: (about to scream their brain out) yes...my king. Is there something the matter?

N: Hmm no.

L: My king please excuse my rudeness but why do you keep calling my name for no- I mean if there is something troubling you please be upfront.

N: I just wanted to say your name.

L: oh um...why?

N: ...why indeed...

[stylessatellite]

Style’s Stylist

a stylist!y/n blurb

Warnings: fem reader, implied harry x reader (mentions it like twice)

Face claim: Jihoon Kim

A/N: k, so I lied and I’m posting my stylist!y/n blurb early. I got bored with dealing with my extended family so I finished up the piece instead. also for the authors name, I used a name generator, so if it’s your name i’m sorry.

- Feel free to like and reblog <3 | masterlist

Liked by river_johnson and 70,424 others

harryflorals: FIRST LOOK AT HARRY FOR COVENTRY NIGHT 2! via: user 1

view all 423 comments

user2: omg, praying he unzips the jacket

↳ tpwksunflower: me to 🕯️

Liked by river_johnson and 98,765 others

voguemagazine: @/river_johnson sat down with @/yourusername to discuss styling for @/harrystyles for his final leg of Love On Tour. Check it out with the link in our bio. 

view all 1,247 comments

ynfan1: so glad to know it technically wasn’t y/n responsible for some of the horrendous looks lately

Liked by river_johnson, harrystyles and 798,764 others

yourusername: sat down with @/river_johnson from @/voguemagazine to talk about styling our fav @/harrystyles. check it out here.

view all 638 comments

harry_lambert: lovely dear ❤️ see you soon

maneskinoffical: that’s our stylist! ti vogliamo bene 🩷

↳ conangray: you mean our stylist?

↳ harry&ynfan: not maneskin and conan arguing abt y/n and harry’s here enjoying his trophy boyfriend status.

harrystyles: love being each others muses ❤️❤️

article below | word count: about 1k

Styles’s Stylist

River Johnson | VOGUE

Many of you know the singer/songwriter Harry Styles. Whether it be his music, looks or daring fashion sense. Not many know the person who makes him look that good. With the last leg of Love On Tour having kicked off a couple days ago, I sat down with Y/N L/N to discuss styling for the past couple years. As one of Style’s stylists, L/N shares this position with Harry Lambert. Her other clients include Conan Gray and Måneskin.

L/N herself is dressed in custom Bode with a mint plaid set with a pair of baby pink converse to match. It’s clear that she’s planning on looking up to par with the hoards of fans outside of the stadium waiting to be let in for the second show in Coventry. She’s making me feel underdressed in my beat up air forces and dungarees. She assures me that a boa and a matching cowboy hat would have me fitting right in.

“So how has styling him been different post COVID? Have any of your creative processes changed?”

“It hasn’t been all too different from before I suppose. His looks have definitely changed, but a part of that just came with the album. Really the only difference is there’s less interviewing looks to put together because it’s only waist up now. I just have to make sure his shirt doesn't have wrinkles or a stain on it. Which is pretty easy considering we share the same wardrobe.”

“How do you come up with the different looks for each album and show? And does this differ from awards or appearances? Are there different processes? Acceptable designs?”

“I mean the process definitely depends on the event. His looks for the album are based on what he feels the mood of the album is and wardrobe is based on that. For the album he said he wanted to be more colorful and fun, so that's how we got the varying patterns. So don’t blame us for the mis matching looks, blame him (Harry).

“So I'm assuming his tour outfits are the same?”

“Yes. At the start of each leg, we’ll go through possible designs and what we feel will work best from both our (stylist & artist) sides and his opinions. Gucci and I will sketch some ideas and it’ll get sent to the group chats on which pieces we like, then we'll play mix and match and the night of the show it’s pretty much chosen by the band and him.”

“Elaborate on the band. Because I've noticed that they always seem to coordinate.”

“Yes, certain looks from the band go with certain outfits of his or at his request. If he’s wearing all black then he likes the band to wear pink for some reason. Or if some of the band's looks aren’t ready, then we’ll move that look to a different day and pull a different one.”

“Speaking of different days. I imagine it was quite the switch between show looks and award looks.”

“Oh, it actually wasn’t too bad, it was more of the execution. We had had the outfits planned for months, it was just a matter of making sure the tassels didn't tangle and the (red) carpet look came in on time. Show looks require less coordination because normally it’s just the people here”

“He also had a few outfit changes between the two events, he had what six outfits? What was that like?”

“Yeah no, he had six official outfits plus if he chose to change for an after party, which is all on him to decide, and I don't remember if he did.”

“Do you have a favorite look of his?”

“Are we talking shows? Or award wise.”

“Either”

“I mean any of the ones with the decals. It was really fun coming up with all of the different designs. Tonight’s also might win for this leg so far.”

I then proceeded to ask for a sneak peak but she just laughed me off saying how it’ll ruin one of the best parts of the show, the reveal. Upon more pestering, she revealed that color wise they were matching, which if you follow L/N tour looks, you already know. “Back to the decals. You came up with these designs? I thought you were taking a break from that?”

“I was meant to but then the idea was brought up from all of my doodles during the meetings. Plus I was working on Conan’s and the band’s (Måneskin) looks for their tours, so I was ‘cutting back’ on some work.”

Just then the fans started getting let in and I noticed just how seriously some fans took their outfits with a perfect recreation of a previous outfit or on the other side of the spectrum, various fruits. “How do you feel about the fans' outfits?”

“Oh my gosh. We all love them. They make the whole thing better and sometimes we steal inspiration from them. I swear some of the fans could steal my job and I’d be happy to let them.” She then proceeds to show me the album that she has of the fans outfits ranging from recreations of the Coachella outfits or the custom shirts with funny pictures of the band on it.

Upon wrapping up, she asks if I’m doing anything between now and the show starting. I wasn't, so she took me backstage to get a sneak peak at some upcoming outfits and let me tell you something, L/N really went all out for this last leg. The sequins, tassels everything.

Upon seeing tonight's show, I definitely agree with L/N on tonight's look being a favourite and the decal on the back making the outfit. I can definitely say that his outfits make him shine brighter and you should go see if you can snag a ticket to one of his shows to just watch how L/N’s designs enhance his performance at the very least.

A/N: lemme know if you wish to be added to my tag list

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 22

"You. You streaked through the Temple of Melitele?" Jaskier asked in disbelief as he steered his character away from an obstacle on the race track.

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier and Lambert guffawed and promptly crashed.

They both wailed in disappoinment as Yennefer's go cart zoomed past them.

Geralt: You don't believe me?

Jaskier: Seems a little sus to me. Like you would have the balls to run naked in the Temple and risk the Priestess' wrath!"

Geralt: I do, and I did. In broad daylight. Do you have the balls to streak in broad daylight?

Jaskier: I'll show you balls! *already taking off clothes*

Geralt: *stands and starts stripping*

Yennefer: :O

Lambert: You two better not be gonna f**k right in front of us!"

Yennefer: "Where are you going????"

Geralt and Jaskier ignored her question as they made for the font door.

"You're not--don't you dare go outside like tha--!"

Yennefer watched helplessly as her two bucka** naked friends disappeared out the front door and ran off.

By the time she reached the door, all she saw was a glimpse of a**cheeks and dangly bits bouncing through the front yard.

Oh, gods, this was it. They were both going to show up on an internet search with a blue dot! Welp, time to start packing!

Jaskier is giggling as he and Geralt run across the font yard. This is so much fun! The thrill of doing something that could get you into trouble it you got caught!

Ow! What the h*ll did I just step on?

I think I just bruised my heel!

F**K, my toe!

Ew, this driveway is really hard!

Geralt, how are you just running on the concrete barefoot like that?? Doesn't it hurt?

Why did I have to have such a big front yard?

Melitele's tits, Geralt, check out my d*ck!

Jaskier is running along, and it's just sort of... spinning in front of him. Like a propeller. They look like a pair of f***ing airplanes!

He can't help it, he has to make airplane noises now!

Geralt grabs him and quickly hauls him to the front door. Time to get back inside!

The fun turned to panic when they discovered the front door was locked.

Geralt tapped on the window rapidly, while Jaskier nervously kept a lookout.

He waved and gestured frantically at Yennefer and Lambert, who were still in the living room, playing games. Lambert straight up just gave him the finger, then went back to playing.

Geralt pushed Jaskier to the window so he could make puppy eyes at Yennefer.

It worked! She was getting up!

Yennefer walked over to the window, smiled, then drew the curtains. Lambert howled with laughter when Yennefer just casually closed the curtains. F**k, that had been so perfectly executed!

He'd seen the hope light up their desperate faces as she'd walked over. And then, the killing stroke! Bam!

The witch was more fun than he'd given her credit for!

Geralt and Jaskier quickly retreated to the relative safety of the backyard. They rushed straight to the back door, only to find it locked as well.

"They locked us out! " Jaskier squealed in lowercase.

"Mother f***ing Lambert!", Geralt growled. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

"What?!" Jaskier squawked, offended, "Are, are you blaming me for this?"

"Yes! It was all your idea! 'DeR, LeT mE sHoW eVeRyOnE mY bAllS !"

"aH dOoN't SoUnD LiKe ThAt!"

Jaskier jumped at Geralt.

Geralt danced off the porch, twisting out of the way as Jaskier tried to grab him. He pulled his hand back and slapped Jaskier's a**cheek as he stumbled past.

Jaskier's hands flew to his a** as he yelped, "Ow! You-you b**tart!" He spun to the side as Geralt swatted at him, trying to get the other cheek, and kicked him in the shin.

"Ow, you little f**ker!"

Jaskier's smug laugh turned into a little shriek as Geralt lunged at him.

The neighbor, one elderly Mrs. Biddlecombe, became aware of a quiet ruckus as she stood at her kitchen sink, washing up a few dishes. She took a quick look out of the window at the sink...

Goodness! Mrs. Yennefer's men were fighting outside!

And oh, my, they were in the nuddy!

*Puts on glasses*

Yes, they were very, very naked! Good gracious, they were rolling in the grass. Arms and legs and...bits were going in every direction!

Someone should really do something!

Yes.

Someone should stop them before one of them got hurt.

Look at all that gleaming skin and heaving muscle!

Goodness, someone should really do something.

Maybe offer them sunscreen so they don't get sunburned...

Mrs. Biddlecombe nearly ascended into heaven when the big, burly (and did she mention naked?) Witcher sat on the pretty, well-muscled bard (who, did she mention was also very naked?), and pinned his hands above his head with one massive hand.

Jaskier kneed Geralt in the a** and managed to pitch him off with a mighty heave. But Geralt was not about to let him get away. He grabbed Jaskier around the waist and yanked him back. Jaskier began doing a weird, repetitive lunging motion, trying to break Geralt's grip...

Mrs. Biddlecombe removed her glasses, cleaned them on her apron, then put them back on.

Melitele, preserve me!

Yennefer and Lambert were on the couch giggling about locking Geralt and Jaskier out, when Yennefer's phone rang.

"Yes? Hello, Mrs. Biddlecombe--! I--! They're in the backyard?" *Stifled snort*

"In the nuddy, you say?" *Smothered giggle*

"And they're fighting--! Not fighting? They're--! Oh. OH!"

Lambert saw the amusement bleed out of Yennefer's face as she stood up in shock. She rushed to the kitchen window and looked out to see them in the middle of the back yard, in front of the gods and everybody, looking like two dogs hate f***ing.

"Yes, Mrs. Biddlecome, I'll handle it immediately! Yes, ma'am, you go ahead and have a lie-down. Yes. Yes, he does have a very nice bum."

Yennefer raced outside, turned the garden faucet on, and proceeded to spray Geralt and Jaskier with the hose. Mrs. Biddlecombe got a nice encore performance as Jaskier and Geralt rolled and slipped in the grass, taken by surprise by the spray.

They were marched to the back porch, muddy and speckled with grass, and made to stand on the steps while Yennefer hosed them off.

The show ended with a lovely view of two sets of glistening a**cheeks bouncing inside.

[tinyficbot]

The Slient Song. (Side A)

The precinct was buzzing, but it wasn’t because of a major break in a case or a high-stakes operation—no, it was something far more trivial yet somehow equally chaotic.

Jaskier. The name of the elusive, masked singer was on everyone’s lips, with the buzz around his upcoming concert stirring a level of excitement the department hadn’t seen in years. Even the seasoned detectives—hardened by years of crime scenes and stakeouts—couldn’t help but get swept up in the frenzy over tickets.

Lambert, who usually channeled his energy into busting criminals or chasing down suspects, was a jittery ball of nerves, bouncing from desk to desk, checking in on anyone who’d listen—or wouldn’t.

“You know what tonight is, right?” Lambert asked for the umpteenth time, stopping by Geralt’s desk and leaning in with a wide grin.

Geralt didn’t bother to look up from his crime scene report. “No idea.”

Lambert gasped dramatically, as if Geralt had just committed a grave sin. “How do you not know? Jaskier’s concert tickets go on sale tonight!”

“Never heard of him,” Geralt muttered, flipping through the coroner’s notes with a feigned air of disinterest.

That earned him a loud scoff. “You’re hopeless, Geralt. Completely hopeless.”

Geralt was about to respond when his phone buzzed with a new case update. Before he could check it, Lambert practically shoved his phone in Geralt’s face.

“Watch this. It’s his latest single—The Ballad of the Bold. It’s about the grit, the grind of police work. He nailed it, man. You can almost smell the coffee, the rain-soaked streets, feel the weight of the badge when you hear it.”

Lambert’s enthusiasm was impossible to escape. Geralt glanced at the video, feigning disinterest. “Looks fine.”

“Fine? Fine? This is art!” Lambert was on a roll now. “You need to expand your musical horizons, Geralt. I’m sending you more videos on the group chat—don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re properly educated before tonight.”

Geralt’s phone buzzed again, this time with notifications from the group chat. Lambert had sent a barrage of Jaskier-related content: performances, snippets of songs.

“Geralt, trust me,” Lambert said, leaning on the edge of Geralt’s desk. “When you hear him live, it’s like... I don’t know. Like hearing angels. But cooler.”

Before Geralt could muster a reply, Yennefer’s sharp voice cut through the noise. “All right, that’s enough fangirling for one day! We have real work to do, remember?”

Lambert straightened, trying to look serious. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered under his breath, though his excitement still buzzed in the air.

---

Minutes later, Lambert was leaning on Geralt’s desk again, refusing to let the subject drop. “Seriously, you’ve got to know who Jaskier is. He’s all over the place. Biggest artist in the country right now. You live under a rock?”

“Can’t say I do,” Geralt responded, scanning a file on witness statements from the previous week’s robbery case.

Lambert groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me! How are you engaged to Julian and still don’t know anything about music? The guy has a whole room just for instruments!—Oh, speaking of,” Lambert said with a sly grin, “how’s it going with Prince Charming these days?”

Geralt’s continued sifting through reports, looking for inconsistencies in witness descriptions while signing casually with one hand: nosey prick.

Lambert’s head whipped around, and he pointed at Geralt, grinning. “I know that one! Julian taught me last week! Wait—aren’t you calling me an ass, though?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, then signed the actual word for ass.

Eskel, who had just walked in with a cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow at the conversation. “Is Lambert giving you trouble again?”

“Of course he is,” Geralt muttered without looking up.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Lambert added with a shrug, “you’re engaged to a guy who probably gets invites to all the fancy events, right? You’ve got to be rubbing elbows with some pretty big names.”

Eskel chuckled, settling into the chair next to Geralt. “I bet Julian drags you to all those high-society parties.”

Geralt's expression deadpan. “Not really. I’m more likely to be dragged to a charity gala than a concert.”

“That’s even worse!” Lambert said, throwing his hands up. “How are you engaged to a prince and still missing out on all the perks?”

Geralt finally lifted his eyes from the crime scene report. “He’s a Viscount, actually.”

“What? That’s not the point!” Lambert waved his hand in frustration. “Seriously, Geralt, my brother, with all your royal connections, you don’t have any special access? C’mon, Julian’s gotta know people. He’s got to.”

Geralt kept his expression neutral. “Maybe.”

That one word was enough to set Lambert off again. “Maybe? Maybe? Geralt, you’re killing me. Here we are, common folk, scraping together our hard-earned cash for concert tickets, and you’re just sitting there with access to the royal hookup!”

Eskel shook his head, amused by his brother’s antics. “Leave him alone, Lambert. He’s probably got enough on his plate dealing with royal family dinners.”

Lambert’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Wait a minute. That sounds a lot like... you do have access, don’t you? You’re just holding out on us.”

Before Geralt could respond, his phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a work-related update—it was Julian.

Julian: How’s your day going? Roach has stolen my spot on the couch. She refuses to move.

A small smile crept onto Geralt’s face as he quickly replied: I’ll deal with her when I get home. Miss you.

Lambert, always sharp-eyed, caught the change in Geralt’s expression and leaned in with a wicked grin. “Is that your prince charming?”

Geralt shot him a glare, locking his phone. “None of your business.”

“It’s totally my business,” Lambert said, crossing his arms. “You’re living a fairy tale, man. The least you could do is let us commoners in on the royal perks.”

Eskel chuckled again, clearly enjoying watching Geralt get needled. “Don’t push your luck, Lambert. One of these days, Geralt might snap.”

Lambert waved him off. “Please, Geralt’s too chill for that. Besides, he likes it when we bug him. Deep down.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Yennefer’s voice rang out from her office again.

“Would you three get back to work already? The paperwork isn’t going to do itself.”

They all turned toward her office, where she stood with her arms crossed, looking every bit the intimidating boss. But even as she turned back toward her desk, Geralt caught something—the faintest trace of a song. And not just any song. It was unmistakable.

Jaskier’s latest song.

Geralt couldn’t help but smirk. Even Yennefer wasn’t immune to Jaskier’s charms, though he’d never let her know he’d caught her listening it.

---

As the clock neared quitting time, Lambert was practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I’m telling you, we need to be ready,” he said, pacing around the office. “The second those tickets go live, it’s going to be chaos. We’ve got to be quick.”

Geralt watched with amusement as Lambert rallied the other Jaskier fans in the office, coordinating their efforts like they were preparing for a tactical mission.

Eskel, standing by Geralt’s desk, shook his head with a chuckle. “He’s really serious about this.”

“You think?” Geralt replied dryly, watching as Lambert scribbled numbers and times on a notepad like it was a briefing for a stakeout. Lambert was treating this like an undercover op, mapping out when each member of the team would log in, their exact clicks coordinated like a synchronized takedown.

As they packed up for the day, Geralt casually asked, “You two doing anything for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Lambert shot him a look like he’d just suggested jumping into a volcano. “Are you insane? We’ve got a concert to get tickets for! Everyone’s gathering in the cafeteria to make sure we all get in.”

Eskel nodded. “It’s all hands on deck. No distractions.”

Geralt shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Julian’s cooking steak tonight.”

Both Lambert and Eskel froze, glancing at each other for a split second before Lambert blurted, “Wait—Julian’s cooking? Like, gourmet stuff again?”

“Yep,” Geralt replied, his tone casual. “Steak. Medium-rare. He’s got the whole thing planned out.”

Lambert groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Geralt. Why’d you have to throw that at me right now? I’m still dreaming about that fancy pasta from last week.”

Eskel chuckled, though even he looked slightly tempted. “We’ve got to stick to the mission.”

Geralt smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Lambert shook his head, muttering under his breath as they made their way to the cafeteria, while Geralt headed for home, already imagining Julian’s reaction when he told him about the day.