#or only studying while sitting upright at a desk

[let-me-iiiiiiiin]

New hobby unlocked: I'm reading research papers while sprawled on the shower floor

[spatialwave]

Hello my love. It’s my 24th birthday today and only one of my friends remembered so I was hoping for a lil pick me up.

How about ~

luring your lover back to bed with kisses & kisses while sitting in your lovers lap

With our dear Viktor?

I love your work 🥹🤎

OH MY GOODNESS! Happiest of birthdays to you, love!!! I’m so sorry that you’re feeling down on your special day. I hope this adds a bit of sparkle to your mood! ❤���

pairing: viktor x gender-neutral!reader word count: 712 tags: mdni! sfw, fluffy, kissing, super sweet, viktor is a bad boyfriend but makes it up to you, takes place between s1 act 1 and act 2. notes: ask came from this prompt!

“You’re working too hard,” you pouted, talking through a hard candy that rolled around your tongue–sucked on long enough that you could bite into it and swallow down the sweet strawberry flavour. You sat atop Viktor’s desk as he studied one of the hextech crystals. The rigid orb rolling between his fingers.

It was the early days of their research, and he had taken a steep nosedive into the work, allowing it to consume him. So much that you hadn’t had so much as a kiss from him in days. 

“Not hard enough,” he retorted, sighing as he placed the crystal carefully onto velvet fabric to keep it stable. The last thing he needed was to replicate the explosion that had destroyed Jayce’s apartment.

He looked back down to a tome he borrowed from Jayce, fingers brushing against the paper as he read over histories of runes. Yet again, ignoring you.

“Do you know that it’s been exactly sixty-two hours since you last kissed me, and thirteen hours since you even touched me?” You whined, kicking your legs out as they dangled freely.

Viktor flickered his gaze to you, raising a defensive eyebrow, “it hasn’t been that long.”

“It has! I’ve been keeping track,” you were adamant, sitting upright again with a puffed chest, “why would I lie?”

He blinked a few times, gathering his bearings – at a loss for words, guilt rising up the back of his throat. He’d never been anything less than a great partner to you, and here he was ignoring you shamelessly. 

Viktor sighed, shifting to turn his body toward you and reaching over, so his hand could rest over your thigh as you sat on his desk, “I’m sorry.”

The touch on your thigh kick-started a heat inside you, your heart thumping against your ribs. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrugged coyly and moved from the table to shift into his lap. The sudden movement caused the table to jerk slightly, and Viktor panicked, stilling your hips with his hands as he looked at the crystal—making sure it remained undisturbed.

You looked down at him, jutting your bottom lip out. Your arms strung lazily around his neck.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, a dusting of pink colouring his pale cheeks.

You rolled your eyes playful as your hands lifted to his hair, brushing through the brunette strands. You sighed dramatically, “it’s okay, I guess.”

That brought a smile to his lips, nimble fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt, “all is forgiven?” He asked, leaning toward you.

“Mostly,” you breathed, closing the remaining distance as you two shared a long-awaited kiss. You hummed against his lips, savouring the touch you had been craving for so long. Viktor’s own impatience hadn’t gone unnoticed, feeling the way he rolled his hips against yours and how his nails scraped at your skin.

It sparked an idea.

After your tongue licked at his bottom lip invitingly, you pulled back completely. Satisfied at the way Viktor watched you with his big, gold eyes. Silently, you slid from his lap, and he chased your lips. You’d gotten him up out of his chair, his hands reaching for you as he moaned into your mouth, before you broke the kiss for a second time.

“What are you doing?” He groaned as you stepped back, huffing.

You giggled, chewing on your bottom lip as you reached for his hand, acting as his support as you pulled him for a third kiss. Four hands explored each other’s bodies as you led him backward, slowly and carefully, as your kisses brought him all the way to the bedroom–careful with his limp.

Viktor had been so lost in tasting the strawberry on your tongue that he gasped when you spun him around and pushed him back onto the bed. He blinked up at you, lips parted and shuddering, as you crawled back over and straddled his lap.

“Do you still like hextech more than me?” You asked coyly, hands slowly unbuttoning his academy-issued vest.

Viktor smirked, shifting to lean up on his elbows. “Do you want a serious answer?”

“I hate you,” you whined, but he was quick to laugh and pull you down into a kiss that rightly shut you up.

[princesssmars]

victoria with lab tech reader…nsfw.

when you were approached at your basic post-grad biomedical science research program with the opportunity to "study and develop a potentially groundbreaking medication", you immediately, but politely, called bullshit. but your boss and coworkers encouraged you once they heard the pay, so you accepted.

it was…challenging to say the least.

the lab and the workers were shady as hell, not telling you any details about the company you were working for, if you were even working for a company, what exactly this medication was for, etc etc. but the pay really was good, enough to help you splurge on yourself while also saving and paying off your student loans, so you couldn’t really complain.

after about two months of great work and progress on your tasks, the leads of your team told you that one of the head donors would like to “talk about utilizing your full potential”. you were expecting further praise for your work and maybe a pay boost, not to walk into an office with the super attractive congresswoman you’d seen on tv sitting at the desk.

she has just as much mysterious charisma as she had then, keeping eye contact as she pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before she places herself on top of the desk, pantsuit-covered leg only a few inches from yours. she gives you a mini rundown of why she personally picked you out from your university and she's been keeping a close eye on your personal progress to develop a cure for an unknown but deadly disease you had been keeping track of.

"so that's why im here? we're working on a disease?"

"yeah, you could say that."

her smile unnerves you but you don't mention it. nor do you bring up how weird it feels that a congresswoman would be following your manic studies over a disease that only ten thousand people in the world had. you do have to reel in your ego slightly, figuring this meant that your theories were legitimate.

things are weird after that. now that you have some more hints about what you are actually doing your work starts to move along slowly, even impressing your lead with the progress you started to make.

ok, maybe a tiny little part of it was so that when victoria came in on her weekly walk-throughs she'd observe your work and give you that pretty smile of hers, maybe even a 'great job, hun' if you were lucky.

as the weeks went by and the medication came along her affection only grew in intensity, from leaving coffee at your workstation to inviting you to take lunch breaks with her. it was odd and completely unprofessional, but when those slender fingers would move one of your stray hairs back in place while telling a story you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

but then it happens - that dreaded period in any medical science where just one stupid little thing stumps you for a week. you should be used to it at this point, having been through this process since you bought your first microscope in middle school. it doesn't make it any easier to power through though, especially when you know everyone on your team is depending on you to finish up your labs.

so now you've resorted to this, three red bulls and a heap of paperwork around you while you frantically rework the math on some of the work you need to turn in. you're a few minutes away from slumping over when a loud door slam forces you upright, looking to the entryway to make eye contact with victoria.

you dont know how it happens but you go from hunched over in your chair to lying on the comfy couch in her office, a short blanket draped over your body as you drowsily explain your conundrum to the older woman. she nods along the entire time, a soft hand rubbing up and down the bare expanse of your arm while she listens to your rambling.

'what on earth are you doing?' your brain asks yourself when you shift closer to her body that's sitting next to you, head delicately resting in her lap. 'are you really going to jeopardize your career like this?' when your eyes flutter when she runs her hand over your cheek and down your neck. she leans her head down ever so slowly until her lips are just barely pressing into yours, corners pulling up when she sees you arch your back in wait for her neck action.

"but you'll figure it out for me, won't you smart girl?"

you solved the problem the next morning.

i dont even wanna write for her GIVE HER BACK TO ME

[fandoms-x-reader]

Shy But Mighty

Oneshot

Requested By: @fernstarsblog

Summary: Lucifer gets surprised by how strong you are.

Lucifer never would have expected this power to come from you.

You were such a kind and caring person. And you tended to act a bit reserved.

Not only that, but Lucifer tended to think of humans as a weaker species.

It was nothing personal, it was just that demons were built so much taller, larger, and stronger.

So, it was only natural for him to think that he would be stronger than you.

-

The two of you were in his study, sitting across from each other at his desk.

Lucifer had a bit too much Demonus that night - granted, it was because of you encouraging him to keep drinking.

This was one of the rare nights that Lucifer had you all to himself, so naturally, he wanted to enjoy it to its full extent.

So he continued to drink away while enjoying conversation with you.

Then - you decided to challenge him to an arm-wrestling competition.

A small smirk formed on his lips as the words left your lips. There was no way you could be serious, right?

You - a mere but very adorable human - were challenging him - one of the seven rulers of the Devildom - to a contest of strength?

Lucifer tried to politely decline. He didn’t want to hurt you.

“Are you scared of losing?” you asked him in response.

Lucifer’s eyes widened slightly at your question but then they glowed with a mischievous glint.

There were a lot of things that Lucifer had control of in his life, but his sin wasn’t always one of them.

And telling a very prideful demon that they weren’t doing something because they were scared was a terrible idea.

Lucifer’s smirk turned into a devilish smile as he leaned forward, his raven black locks falling slightly into his eyes.

He placed his dominant arm upright on the desk, before telling you, “Fine, if you want to embarrass yourself that badly.”

You would have scoffed if Lucifer wasn’t playing right into your hand.

–

A week ago, you had been cleaning things in your bedroom when Belphie stopped by to ask you a question.

That’s when he noticed you moving your heavy furniture around like it was nothing. 

Belphie was stunned at first, then suspicious of whether you were really a human or not.

He dragged Satan into spying on you with him and when they both witnessed your strength, they had decided that you couldn’t be human.

Satan confronted you about it, and the whole scenario made you laugh. 

You explained that you worked hard for your muscles and that you were just really strong.

Belphie, of course, then wanted to challenge you to a feat of strength.

He was the one who came up with the arm wrestling idea. 

But, when you beat him quicker than either of the two demons in the room believed should have been possible, Satan wanted a chance as well.

He blamed Belphie’s loss on the fact that he was the seventh born. Obviously, the fourth-born would be much harder to beat.

Or so he thought, until moments later he was wearing the same defeated expression.

Belphie and Satan sat in silence for a few moments after, trying to comprehend how they were weaker than you.

But, then Satan’s eyes lit up with excitement. “We could use this against Lucifer,” he stated.

Belphie was, naturally, immediately on board. “That’s it! He’ll be so embarrassed when he loses a contest of strength to a human,” Belphie added.

“And we can sneak in and take a picture of his expression when he’s embarrassed and post it online for everyone to see!” Satan continued, the two of them looking like kids who had just discovered the greatest treasure.

“Hold on,” you stated, unsure if you were completely on board with the idea.

You would be the one who was putting themselves on the line here, so you had a couple of questions.

“First, how do we know that I can beat Lucifer? I’m strong but he’s the first born for a reason,” you told them.

Before they could answer your first question you continued to question, “And, we’ve tried to take a picture of Lucifer before. He always catches us in the act so how do you plan on pulling it off this time?”

There was a moment of silence before Satan said, “Demonus.”

Belphie’s eyes lit up again. “We just need to get him to drink enough of it, and then his strength and awareness will be down. So you can win and we can take the picture,” Belphie agreed.

You pondered the idea for a moment and your two friends looked at you with hopeful eyes. 

You let out a small sigh, already knowing the assignment that was given to you.

You nodded your head and watched as they got large smiles before moving to get everything you needed to pull this off.

-

Even though it was all a scheme, you were really enjoying your conversation with Lucifer.

You were somewhat grateful that you had the job of making sure he drank plenty of Demonus.

But, the time for talking was over. Now, it was time for the second part of your job.

You moved forward as well, placing your hand in his gloved one, giving him an innocent smile.

On his mark, the match started and you watched as his expression turned from confidence to confusion to slight panic as you began winning the match.

You had a smirk on your face as his hand hit the desk and Lucifer looked at you in bewilderment.

*FLASH*

In his moment of defeat, Lucifer had let his guard down just as you all had planned.

He didn’t notice that Belphie and Satan had snuck into the room to take a picture of his grand defeat.

The three of you quickly left the room, knowing that your scheme was sure to make the eldest angry, Demonus or no Demonus.

“We got it!” Belphie told you as the three of you ran for your lives. 

Funnily enough, Lucifer wasn’t angry until you posted it online, on multiple different platforms, from multiple accounts.

By the time Lucifer managed to get them all taken down, practically the entire Devildom had already seen the picture.

The Anti-Lucifer League received a very long lecture from Lucifer after that and you each had your own proper punishments.

But, Lucifer would be lying if he said that your strength didn’t impress him.

He could have any excuse as to why he lost that match, but the truth of the matter was you were so much stronger than he would have imagined.

And seeing that strength put to good use did happen to spark his sin and make him smirk as he watched you in action.

After that day, whenever there was something that involved physical strength, Lucifer would take the back burner and suggest that you help instead so that he could see your display of power.

He won’t admit it, but it excited him to see you looking so powerful.

But, if you ever needed a reminder of who was really in power in this relationship, he would be more than happy to show you.

[urfavfakeblonde]

can u write a smut where fem reader is a virgin and stiles is some what experienced and stiles goes slow with her??

ₛₜᵤdy ₛₑₛₛᵢₒₙ

hi!! yes <3 thank you so much for requesting love

Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

warnings: lots of foreplay!! fuffly, fingering, HEAVY makeouts oml, game sex??? idk lol, p n v, virgin!fem!reader, implied!experineced!Stiles

mdni

I cautiously walk up the steps to his house, nervous fingers picking at my chipped nail polish. I take a deep breath as I knock on the door lightly, my other hand fiddling with the ends of my hair. It's just a study session, stop shaking. At least that's what I tell myself before the door opens softly, and I'm face to face with Stiles. He smiles at me, and I almost forget how to breath. "Hi," I say with a smile, eyes avoiding his gaze. He moves to the side to let me in, responding with a 'Hey'.

"Thanks for coming over," he says, closing the door gently. My mind is swirling with thoughts, emotions-- and honestly, I don't know how I'm going to get through this evening. "I'm pretty sure you understand English a lot more than I do," he remarks, turning around to face my timid figure. I smile, blush creeping onto my cheeks. "I don't know about that," I giggle, looking around the house as if I hadn't been here before. But before, I mean that was just a pack meeting, this--this is more than that.

Well, not really, were just studying, but this is the first time it's just been me and Stiles. Alone.

I follow him up the stairs, and into his bedroom. "Where's your dad?" I question, setting my bag down beside his bed. "Work," he replies, sitting at his desk, shoving aside all his crime papers. I nod, even though he can't see me, and look around his room. A simple grey wallpaper, the typical teenage boy posters; half-made bed, a lamp, and of course-- lots and lots of papers. Eventually, we sit on the floor, looking through my notes, (because stiles didn't take any) and write his English paper. "Okay, I'll quiz you. What's a Caesura?" Stiles thinks for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as he lies on his back. "When the punctuation is in the middle of the poem before the line ends?" He finally says, glancing up at me. I smile and nod, flipping to the next flashcard.

"Okay, what's a Syntax?" He looks back up at the ceiling and furrows his brows. "No clue," He utters, sitting upright. "It's the-" suddenly he takes the flashcards out of my hand as I give him a confused look. "I was gonna tell you what it was," I say, sighing. He looks at me, and I feel my heart flutter. Pink starts rising into my cheeks again as he holds the flashcard in front of him. "Tell me what it is," he asks. "Why? You're the one who needs the help Stiles-" he cuts me off by shushing my lips with his finger. My heart literally skips a beat as he slowly drags it down, my lip following obediently. He moves his finger back to the flashcard, an action that he believed to be nothing but innocent. He asked me something again, but I continued to stare at him, specifically his hand. "Y/n?" He asks, shifting his head to capture my eyes again. This stopped me from zoning out; quietly clearing my throat. "Sorry," I mumble while my fingers pick away my nail polish again. "What's a Syntax?" He asks again, eyes boring into mine. "The way the piece is structured," I say as he smiles. It's quiet for a moment, and when my eyes lift up, my gaze is locked with his.

"I have an idea," he says, standing up. He reaches his hand out for mine, and I take it hesitantly. "You've been helping me, it's only fair I help you." He says, pulling me to my feet. When I'm up, I notice how close I am to him, especially that he hasn't let go of my hand. I swallow hard, trying my best to maintain eye contact with him. "We'll play a game; you ask me questions and every time I get one right you have to take off one of your clothes," he whispers softly. My eyes widen, and I feel my heart starting to beat faster. "And if you get it wrong?" I whisper back, leaning in closer. He just smiles as he dips his head, connecting his lips with mine.

I cannot believe this is happening to me. I am fucking kissing Stiles Stilinski, my crush since elementary school and God does it feel just how I always imagined it would. The kiss is gentle, caring. I pull back slowly as I make eye contact with him again. I swallow hard and feel my hands start to shake a little in his soft hands. "Um, I've never really...kissed anyone before. Well, before now," I whisper, nervous beyond belief. He just smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "See? You teach me, I'll teach you." He gives me a comforting smile before cupping his hand behind the base of my neck, pulling me in for another kiss. This time, it's more feverent, hurried. Like he was going to lose me if he stops. I learn as he kissed, opening my mouth enough for his tongue to slip in, a gentle hum coming from my throat.

My hands, more comfortable now, move up to dance through his dark hair, nails gently scratching his scalp. He was taller than me, causing my head to have to lean up just to kiss him, but it felt magical. I felt safe in his hold, rough, but gentle hands tilting my head up to meet his kiss. He pulled away enough to kiss down my jaw, down to my neck as my head tilts back with eyes closed. My fingers continue to dance through his hair, a soft whine releasing from my mouth when he found my sweet spot. I felt him smirk against my neck, mouth traveling back up to meet my mouth again. He moves me backwards, letting us fall softly on the mattress. He kissed back down my jaw again, but further this time as he reached my collarbone. He sucked a hickey on the side, causing my core to ache and clench around nothing. "fuck sti," I whine, letting my hands fall to his biceps. He liked the nickname--I could tell; a soft smile forming on his kissed lips as he rested above me.

"Ask away," he whispers, leaving sloppy, wet kisses all over my neck. In a way, it was all almost too overwhelming, but somehow it felt like it was supposed to happen. I couldn't focus, not with my core aching, legs moving softly as if to get some release. "What's a -fuck,-an enjambment," I ask, hands roaming his body. "Mhm," he kisses my collarbone again softly, lips trailing to my ear. "When the line ends with no punctation," he says, smirking as I nod. He lets his fingers dance under the hem of my shirt. He slowly peels it off, letting it slide over my head before throwing it on the floor somewhere behind him. He's quick to kiss my stomach, my body arching up into his gentle touch. "Next," he whispers, kissing the tops of my breasts. My breathing intensifies, hands running through his hair again. "How do you spell philanthropy," I ask, my teeth catching my lower lip. He looks up at me and grins, as he licks his lips. "If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask," he chuckles, leveling his face above mine. "That's not how the game works, " I giggle, running hands down his arms. "I bet you don't even know how to spell that," he smiles, taking off his shirt.

The navy-blue cloths fall onto the floor with a quiet, thump as he repositions himself above me. "But you wouldn't know if I was right, would you?" I playfully ask, biting my lip. He chuckles softly, catching my lips in a kiss once again. My fingers trace his stomach, soft enough to make him shiver. "What's a metaphor?" I ask as he looks down at me. "A figure of speech when a word or phrase is applied to an object or action that has no real relation to the word," He answers proudly. This time, his fingers dance under the hem of my jeans, before his fingers undid the brass button and zipper. He helps me drag them down, before adding them to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "Fuck," he whispers under his breath, eyes taking in the thin white panties that so effortlessly match with the bra. I bite my lip, trying to overcome my nerves. My body wants to close up, run away but I can't bring myself to do it. Not when he's looking at my body like he wants to fuck me till morning.

His fingers hover above the straps along my hips before lifting them up slowly before letting them snap back against my skin. I gasp, the wetness in my panties growing larger, it was almost embarrassing. "How do you spell rhythm?" I ask, a grin forming on my face. He rolls his eyes, kissing my stomach. "r-y-t-h-m-n," he answers, confident in his answer. I giggle and shake my head, "r-h-y-t-h-m-n," I say, watching as he sighs in defeat. He slips off his jeans, throwing them in the darkness somewhere. "Okay, I see how it is ms. I'magoodspeller," he says, messing with the straps of my bra. My face starts to flush, the realization that this answer could leave me bare in front of him.

"How do you spell Indispensable?" I stay silent. I have no fucking clue how to spell that word. Fuck. "I-n-d-i-s-p-e-n-s-i-b-l-e?" I answer. "Wait no, it's with an "a"! I-n-d-i-s-p-e-n-s-a-b-l-e!" I say quickly, trying to retract my previous answer. "You got it wrong the first time, no take backs," He chuckles, hands slowly lifting down the straps to my bra before reaching behind my back to unclasp it. It lays limp until he slides it off my arms; perky nipples on display as goosebumps litter my body. He lets his eyes linger for a moment, admiring the sight before him. "Fuck you're pretty," he whispers, his rough hand moving up to massage the soft flesh. I bite my lip, watching as he leans down, pausing for a moment before taking the bud into his mouth. "Oh shit," I whine, my hands returning into his dark hair once again-this time pulling and tugging. He swirls his tongue around before sucking it gently to let it go with a soft pop! He kisses between my breasts, taking the other bud into his mouth to give it the same attention.

My body arched up into him, my clothed clit brushing against his hard erection in his boxers. "Please Stiles..." I whine, my core pulsing at the lack of attention. "I know, I know," he whispers, sucking onto that sweet spot once again. His hand finally travels lower, antagonizingly slow I might add, as he slips his fingers over my white, lacy panties. He begins to rub small circles over my clit, kissing my neck, jaw and chest as I arch into his touch. He brings his lips back up to mine, accepting my moans as he fastens his pace. My legs wrap around his torso, my aching and empty hole begging to be fucked for the first time. "Sti-I, fuck, please-" I whimper, head thrown back in ecstasy. God if he can do this with just his fingers-no his hand, then fuck. The wet patch in my panties begins to grow, fingers rubbing fast and small circles around my bud. "please, please, please...fuck sti!" I moan, hips moving back and forth to fasten the rhythm of his hand.

Suddenly, he slips his fingers into my panties, letting a digit slip into my sopping hole. I moan loudly into his mouth as he kisses me, letting another digit in to fuck me softly. My body starts to shake from the overwhelming feeling, the band breaking as he curls his fingers into my G-spot. My mouth opens as a loud moan escapes me, body shaking as he slips his tongue into my mouth, fingers riding out my high. "That's it, I've got you," he coo's, kissing my neck as my body settles down the shaking. I close my eyes, sweaty body breathing heavily against his chest. I feel him slip my panties off, throwing them in the pile of jeans and shirts. "You okay?" He asks, caressing my face softly. I nod, licking my lips. "I want more," I whisper. "Please." He smiles at my question throwing off his boxers. "Whatever you want," he answers, kissing my cheek. He leans over to his drawer, grabbing a condom as he slides it over his length. He leans down to kiss me as he moves his hands under my legs, bending them forward as he pushes into me. I let a satisfied whine out into his mouth, the feeling of him inside me already feeling so good. He kisses me deeply, letting his tongue explore my mouth. He starts slow, letting his forehead connect with mine, heavy breaths coming from our mouths.

"Fuck you're amazing," he groans, pushing out slow before bottoming out quickly. This let moans come as they will, back arching off the bed, and the steady shaking from my legs to make it all feel so lifechanging. It didn't take long before I felt the cord in me about to break again, my hands cupping his neck as I moaned out soft praises. "Sti-" I whine, met with a groan from his lips. "Fuck, I know, me too-" he says, fastening his pace. My legs began to shake once again, breathing becoming heavier than before. "Fuck, please Sti-oh shit," I moan, hips meeting his thrusts. The cord finally snapped, body arching up off the bed as Stiles kisses my neck again. "Fuck," he groans, pulling out quickly to release in the condom. He lays next to me, tracing my stomach softly. "Are you okay?" He whispers, sitting up. I nod and smile, glancing at him. He smiles back, going to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and return with a wet rag. He drags it across my body, soaking up the sweat and spit from his kisses. "You wanna stay the night?" I nod as he leans down to kiss me.

[ytmanzwhore]

She Knows

Anthony Bridgerton x ofc!

Warnings: none. Straight up fluff lol

Anthony sighed heavily as he slumped further into his desk chair, the late hour evident throught the study as the moon shone in the window and the candles flickered low. The Viscount looked at his watch, frowning as he internally grumbled over having to finalize the months accounts rather than the numerous other things he could be doing at this hour, like sleeping.

With a sigh, he picked up his quill again, tracking the numbers on the leaf of paper in front of him when he heard the floorboards shift in the hall. When the door creaked open, his annoyance melted away as he saw his wife peek around the door.

“What are you doing awake my love?” He smiled and gestured her into the room, her form moving swiftly across the study as she made her way to his chair. Anthony had already pulled out his chair, preparing for her to come and perch on her thigh as she often did when she found him in her mate at night.

“We woke up and you were no where to be seen,” she pouted as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, leaning to press a kiss to his forehead. “You should come to bed.”

“I am almost done darling,” Anthony reached up to press a kiss to her neck, one of his hands drifting up to rest gently on her swollen stomach, where he could immediately feel a hand or a foot swat at him. “Are they giving you much trouble tonight?”

“Only because they want both of their parents in bed,” she gently scolded with a smile as she raked her fingers through his hair. Anthony let out a sigh as his shoulders dropped a bit in relaxation.

“I have to finish this ledger, and then I’ll be up,” he promised as he stroked his hand over her stomach again.

“I’ll sit with you,” she declared then, moving up and across the desk to a seatee Anthony had placed in the study barely a month into marriage when he realized his bride was content just spending time with him, even if it was in silence while he wrote letters and she read a novel.

“You’ll be asleep in a minute,” Antony teased as she got comfortable, picking up his quill to get the ledger finished.

“And then you’ll wake me up so we can both go to sleep,” she smiled at him, leaning her head against the cushion as he looked down at the paper in front of him. It took him a mere ten minutes to complete his task, and as suspected, when he stood up to head upstairs, she was snoring softly on her bench. With a soft smile he walked over to her, reaching out to gently cup her cheek.

“To bed my love,” he said softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her pouting lips before grabbing her hands and guiding her upright. The two slowly made their way from the study and upstairs to their room. Anthony was too busy making sure his wife got her shoes off safely to notice the three forms in their bed.

“Papa,” a little voice whined sleepily, calling out for her father as Anthony stood from his crouch.

“And what are the three of you doing in here, hm?” Anthony asked as Aurelia reached out her hand for him.

“Mama said we could sleep in here,” Benjamin said with a yawn as he turned onto his tummy. “Cal got scared so he woke us up and we got mummy.”

“And mummy went to get daddy so we could keep all of our little ones nice and safe,” she said with a soft smile, leaning in to press a kiss to each of the children’s heads. “Back to sleep with you, mummy and papa are putting on their night clothes and then we’ll be in bed.”

Aurelia, Ben and Cal needed no more invitation as the three of them cuddled into one another, Cal’s little snores almost immediately filling the room.

“Did you ever think this would be us five years ago?” His wife mused to Anthony as he stripped from his day clothes. “Three babies, another on the way, happily in love?”

“You gave me everything,” Anthony said heavily as he reached out to wrap his arms around her, bringing her in for a long kiss. “I never could have imagined what marrying you would bring me. I wouldn’t change this for the world. You’re the love I never saw coming, but it’s like the universe knew what I needed.”

“She knows,” his viscountess said softly, cupping his face. “She provides, even when you don’t know what you need. She does.”

[sealrock]

02. horizon

no content warnings word count: 809 words

The picturesque Sharlayan horizon never failed to take his breath away. Against the green backdrop of the Orn Wild, the clouds of night that blanketed the sky just hours before started to break apart as the sun stretched its rays across the mountaintops, the muted multicolored sky becoming richer in color.

Hues of oranges, pinks, and reds mixed like paint on an artist's easel. The call of mourning doves announced the arrival of dawn… Not that the city of Sharlayan heeded it, seeing how the colony never sleeps. The buzz of activity could be felt even from his vantage point from the Makers' Quarter, researchers running this way and that, preoccupied with whatever kept them up for three nights straight. Hector couldn't judge too harshly, for he couldn't sleep either, the rush of excitement thrumming through his diminutive body.

Hector's father continued to lament the boy's career choice to become a gleaner. As soon as he turned sixteen, an adult in the eyes of Sharlayan law, Hector walked straight to the colony's Gleaner's Guild and signed up. While Hector could've continued his studies to work alongside his father as a scientist, he took his mother's advice and followed his heart. For most of his young life, Hector's otherwise mundane love for horticulture began with a visit to Saint Mocianne's Arboretum as a child. By the time he turned nine, he already had a miniature greenhouse from the comforts of his room, taking the time to study each individual plant and its growth patterns.

And so it was decided. Hector wanted to witness many more horizons, not from the Great Gubal Library stuffed to the brim with tomes, but from cities he only heard about in those tomes. The world is vast, filled with many perils and thrills, and gleaners were allowed to travel wherever their assignment took them. After a year of training, seventeen-year-old Hector Wormwood, son of Esta and Jolyon Wormwood, was ready to take the world by the horns.

When the bell rang out, its resonating chimes echoed across the morning air, Hector was quick to head for the Gleaner's Guild situated in the Collectors' Quarter, his dark green uniform free of wrinkles and stray lint. It was at the guild that he met his fellow inductees—most were older than him, and others came from average families. The Wormwoods were part of Sharlayan nobility, though nowhere near the irrefutable status of wealth and recognition that was the Leveilleur family. To see the family's only heir amongst the crowd of, for lack of better words, errand boys and girls raised an eyebrow or two.

Tucking his wavy ink hair behind his ear, Hector anxiously waited for his turn to receive his backpack, he practically quivered in place as the line grew shorter. Maybe he shouldn't have drank all that coffee in one sitting this morning, but he couldn't help but feel like he could bounce off the walls in pure jubilation.

"… Hector Wormw-"

"Present!"

The lady at the front desk, an older Hyuran woman, jolted upright from her slumped position in her chair, eyes wide as saucers at Hector's louder-than-normal voice. It was clear she wasn't a morning person, judging from her wrinkled frown upon spotting Hector's raised arm and beaming smile. Muffled snickering and giggles came from behind him. Hector offered a sheepish smile as an apology and shuffled forward. A few pieces of paper signed here and an oral declaration of obedience and secrecy on behalf of the Forum there, and Hector became an official gleaner.

Hecto's first assignment—acquire a species of live seedkin from the Sea of Clouds. While others may balk at the prospect of going so high up, Hector didn't think twice about it. In his training, Hector's superiors deemed him most suitable to handle the study, cultivation, and capture of flora. With the trip funded by the guild, Hector was filled with a blooming sense of wanderlust. He already said his goodbyes to his parents the night before, knowing they would be too swamped with work to give him a proper sendoff at the Cenotaph. Hector didn't mind, that was the family's routine since he was born, and his plants kept him company either way.

Hopping into the chocobo carriage with other gleaners, Hector looked over his backpack for all his essential items; the guild provided temporary packing equipment, the rest he'd have to procure on his own. The carriage jerked forward as the chocobos started their strut along the bricked path down. Instead of looking back at the colony, its massive size shrinking with each passing minute, Hector kept his eyes towards the sun, the sky brightening with a brilliant blue as the morning yawned past the mountains. Hector was off to start his journey to distant lands, and he never felt more excited in his young life until now.

[age-of-play-i-say]

Daddy's Plush Replacement, pt. 3

(sorry this took so long y'all I had to study for work and could not spare the brain space, anyway this is part 3 of a 4 part story for @justpottytime, enjoy!)

(this one is heavy on the padding and the wettings, so if that's not your thing, respectfully keep scrolling)

If I try to be careful, I'm not gonna make it

I make a run for it and make a calculated leap for the potty and only let out a few dribbles as I settle down.

By the time butt’s fully on the seat, I’m already pottying full-force. I let out a gasp, punctuated by lifting one foot in the air while all my muscles freeze taut to focus on making potty. After about 20 seconds, my muscles start to finally relax. I start to feel the relief I craved while riding Teddie just now. I sit up on the potty and realize just how tingly everything feels.

I revel in the feeling, flicking my nipples and waggling my hips. I giggle, feeling silly at my urgent run over earlier.

Suddenly my butt feels entirely too warm and I panic and sit bolt upright.

Filled the potty already? But how? Am barely halfway empty! An I can’t stop making potty now!

Panicking, I cast around and see the little basket of puffy absorbent options Daddy left out right next to the potty. I lean forward and grab a thick, sturdy option and yank it open, standing only to shove the padding between my legs before collapsing to my knees, whining and yanking my regular-sized teddie to sit under the diaper, pressing the rapidly darkening padding up to my baby parts.

I drop my hands to the carpet and rock forward, letting the waves of pee shivers roll through me, guiding me slowly to grind back and forth, allowing potties to escape freely while pressing my stiff lil tdick to the crinkly diaper below.

Daddy is gonna be so proud of me! I realize, the relief of my half-controlled accident returning me to a comfortable, soft headspace. Made peepee in a diapey, hadda accident without him. I giggle sheepishly, and press my hips further down. The warmth of my pottie accident makes me moan out loud.

I close my eyes again and let my hips carry me, grinding and humping away at the warmth below. I wish Daddy could see me now, free and unashamed, I picture his proud smile, his hand gently and quickly pulling on my tdick while I tell him the details.

I need it so bad. I jam my hand between my legs, gripping my stiff baby tdick between my thumb and two fingers and stroking in short, even motions.

Ohhh, I want Daddy so bad. I need him, I need his praise, his smell, his voice.

“Daddy–” I yell as my tdick draws up and I come with one last gush into the soggy padding below.

After some deep breaths,  I look around shakily. No mess, just an almost overflowing bee potty and a diaper ready to go in the Diaper Genie under Daddy’s desk. I giggle, and come up on one knee. 

I did it! Kept Teddie dry, stayed in headspace! what should I–oh! 

Daddy’s not here to empty the potty (which has never filled before) until tomorrow morning. Clearly, I’ll need it again before then! 

The basket of padding options looms large in my peripheral vision. I’ve never let Daddy see me in any padding yet, but I want the freedom of diapers desperately. Lately, he and I have been going over ways to start with this addition to our dynamic, but nothing’s stuck yet.

But right now, alone with his love all around me, I think I can manage some padding.

I shrug alone like it’s no big deal, roll up the used diaper and toss it in the Genie. I scan through the diaper option and find that for all Daddy’s talk of the basket being “backup” there are enough options to last about a week. Shaking my head with a suppressed grin at Daddy's eagerness, I shuffle through the options.

I alight on a thick pullup for now, bladder sore from my unintentional hold. It has lilac lace patterns and a scalloped edge. I almost hold my breath while I tape it on, scared of hating it, scared of loving it.

I smooth my hands over the tapes and my hands automatically keeping feeling around, pressing the crinkly stuff to my sticky lil tdick and moaning.

Love it. Love it, love my daddy. I fight back a surge of anxiety and choose to stay in headspace.

“And Daddy loves me!” I remind myself aloud. The padding feels so right, soft and dry, and holding me close, promising to protect me.

I wrap my arms around my middle and do a little happy dance, enjoying the crinkles and tingles.

Still feelin’ all tingly everywhere I think. 

After a final check of the unusability of the bee potty, I close it and turn to Teddie, hogging the daybed. I know I want to play more, but I don’t know how yet. I certainly don’t want to take off my fresh padding to do it. I move towards the bedside tabe, going to grab my drink and take a peek at the other playtime toy options in the basket over there.

What's that?

A bit of motion in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I see myself mirrored in the frame of my still-recording, front-facing phone camera. As I step out of frame reflexively, I realize the closed bee potty and padding basket are in the dead center of the frame. I stop the recording and wait, heart pounding. Sure enough, scrolling through the frames of the video, I see myself bounce on Teddie, lots of motion and then a hard turn to the potty frames. I close out of the frame-viewer in my photos when I see my eyes cross. After a quick cringe break, I reopen the vid and find the moments of wetting padding quickly and my little happy dance. I freeze on my face after smoothing down the tapes.

I look so happy. And calm.

I take a screenshot. My heart pounds as I open the photo and the ‘share’ suggestions pop up, Daddy at the top of the list. I hit send, blush creeping down my neck to join the tingles all over my body. My phone opens his most recent messages, indicating he’s a restaurant with colleagues, having a lowkey and fun apps and drinks before heading back to his hotel room for the night.

Dots pop up almost immediately, Daddy’s seen it. It seems like forever a few minutes of typing before I get a bunch of emojis, an oh my god?? and a very sweet I’m so proud of you, Peanut!

Then a photo comes through, a bit grainy and dark. It’s Daddy’s lap, low light from a restaurant bulb just barely illuminating the unmistakable boner bulge in his jeans.

Fuck, baby, that’s so hot.

ye, Daddy? Wan see the vid?

Oh my god, baby, yes please. Then a few seconds later: Heading to the bathroom to watch because PHEW!

I send him the vid and tidy up my space for the evening, trying to let my padding and surroundings make me feel safe and cared for. 

Daddy loves when you’re his baby. He asked for the video himself. He won’t think you’re gross.

I queue up another movie and gather my next round of snacks and drinks to the bedside table.

It’ll be bedtime after this, I think. That’s what Daddy would want.

Feeling soft and obedient, I turn to the final task of arranging Teddie to sit up so I can sit on his lap, all cozy and padded, and then my phone chirps.

A video thumbnail appears, Daddy’s button-up in the center of the frame, with an arm in front of him pops up and I grab my earbuds, baby parts tingling with anticipation.

I hear him shuffling, skin against skin, and the camera focuses slowly, illuminating Daddy mostly from the waist up in a dim single-stall bathroom. He doesn’t look directly at the camera, but his breathing is deep and strained. I can hear, but not quite see, his belt jingling and being unbuckled. He backs away from the phone to get his big Daddy dick out, and immediately wraps it up with both hands, stroking it firmly and thrusting into his hands, humping faster and faster.

Suddenly he slows, shivers, and speeds up, violently thrusting until his cummies spill in the sink. He collapses forward onto his elbows on the sink, murmuring into the camera’s microphone Oh that was so hot Baby, oh my god, you did up your padding all on your own. Daddy is going to treat you so right when he gets home, little one, ohhhh my god, oh god. Okay. I gotta clean up and pretend my Baby didn’t just send me my literal wet dream scenario. Jesus fuckkk. The video ends after he tucks himself back into his pants and goes to wash his hands.

I’m burning for him, tingling ramping all over my body, but especially where my pull-up covers everything I’d need to get to to find release. I whine, too baby-ish to think of a solution. My phone chirps again.

Remember what I said about Teddie’s tail?

A surprise?

Yes, a surprise just in case you were brave enough not to break when the potty filled up. Something you can feel through any padding.

I approach Teddie, flipping him over as fast as his mass would allow to see his tail. What I see is the handle of a rechargeable magic wand, with the head of the wand making up the bulk of Teddie’s plushie tail. I settle Teddie so he’s nice and stable and stand behind him on the daybed, lifting my hips to settle my crinkly parts on his tail and flip on the wand.

Immediate sensation shoots through my pullup, vibrating my entire lower half, focusing on the aching clit and dripping parts. My tingles spread out under my skin and I remove my t-shirt when they climb my neck. I’m aching and dripping, getting closer and closer to a release that feels . . . Daddy-ordained. 

I turn up the wand and close my eyes. 

Daddy wants this, Daddy wants this, don’t hold back, let it all out!

Stunningly fast, the pulses from my baby parts radiate out from there, rolling through every muscle of my body in a warm wave of bliss. I turn the wand off and relax my muscles with my eyes still closed. I know I squirted, so I’m gonna have to remove this padding for bedtime anyway. I lean forward and throw out my camera’s kickstand again and shuffle around to press record.

“Gotta get out all the squirties before I pad up for sleepies.” I say softly into the camera, “following your instructions, Daddy.”

I get back behind Teddy, this time driving my hips into the re-engaged wand on his tail, grinding his prone form hard enough to hear the crinkling of my pull up.

I look right at the camera, not feeling shy in this space, feeling loose and uninhibited. I turn up the wand and hump faster, carefree and sloppy as my diapey crinkles on Teddie’s tail.

“Gonna let it out, Daddy, gotta let it all out for you, oh oh oH-” I say before my eyes start roll back.

Shaking, legs locked while standing, I crest over the top of a very intense orgasm, purposefully tipping forward to let the wand stimulate my tdick and peehole all at once. A loud hiss bursts into the pullup and I keep humping out all my potties until the hissing finally ends, turning off the wand, and reaching for the camera. Between the two orgasms and the wettings, I’m all tuckered out. I’m panting and smiling for the camera, happy I finally feel brave enough to let Daddy into this part of my sexual life.

“Time for night-night padding!” I say cheerily, before hitting the record button to end the video.

I send it, and hop down to dispose of my now-soaked pull up.

I was right, I needed one last release before bedtime.

I run over to the Diaper Genie, untape and toss it in. I feel a strange little loss, and hum unhappily. I grab the thickest diaper in the basket and tape it on. My brain goes quiet, my headspace is secure.

Am good baby.

I toddle around, grabbing some savory snacks and another big sippy drink, and flip Teddie over to sit him up and settle in his arms, wearing only socks and a diaper to watch Emperor’s New Groove. My phone chirps a few times, but babies don’t hafta answer phones. I let my lids get heavier and heavier, empty sippy slipping from my hand as I crash for the night, spread eagle between Teddie’s plushie legs. I snuffle and flip to lay on top of Teddie, pushing him back with my eyes half–closed to straddle him and fall asleep instantly. Teddie’s hard cock pressed against the outside of my thick padding and the last thing I remember before falling asleep is clenching and producing a small gush instantly absorbed by my padding.

Ni ni, Teddie, ni ni Daddy.

[kharia-adarkim]

Restless

Several months had passed since the Endsinger was laid low, and a sense of normalcy was returning to Eithirys.

In a private study room of the Sharlayan library, Kharia lifted an empty mug to her lips. After a brief, confused pause, she groaned and set it back on the table with a heavy thud. She briefly considered throwing the mug at the 'request mammet' button near the door. However, she realized that that would probably shatter the mug, and stood from the table with a groan.

"You should probably call it for tonight," a voice murmured in the back of her mind. "You aren't going to learn much half asleep."

"Are you a professor now?" Kharia replied, rolling her eyes.

"No," Ardbert chuckled, "but I've got a century on you in terms of experience."

"Being a ghost hardly counts for life experience," Kharia grumbled. He did have a point though - the clock on the wall read 1:28, and considering she didn't start her studies 'til after dinner, that meant it was far too late. She held the button, waiting for the telltale buzz to sound before releasing it. Returning to the desk with a yawn, she began stacking her notes and placing bookmarks into her tomes.

"Why did you sign us up for an accelerated course again?" Kharia's other self complained.

"First of all Red, we're not taking classes, I am," Kharia replied, "And secondly, the normal somanoutics course runs for a full year and I didn't want to wait that long."

"I still don't understand why the Source has so many regulations on healing magic," Ardbert mused. "Back on Norvrandt, you just... did it."

"Green wanted to do things the hard way," Red answered, "We could've gone to Gridania to learn conjury but no, we had to go to stuck up prick town instead."

"Fuck off," Green snapped, "you know damn well we can't do traditional magic. A sage's arts are the best shot we have at helping people."

"We help people by chopping up bad guys!" Red exclaimed. She was going to continue when the argument was halted by a knock at the door. Kharia took a deep breath before opening it. A Sharlayan mammet stood at attention.

"What... is your... request..?" it chittered in a mechanical voice.

"We're done with the room for now," Kharia answered, "but need to keep the books on hold. Please index my things for later."

"Affirmative. Please... provide... student... identification... for... indexing..."

"Adarkim, Kharia. Student S121-24."

"Bzzt... Thank you... Miss... Adarkim... For using... the Sharlayan... Library!" The mammet said in the most cheerful tone it was capable of. Kharia gave it a small wave goodbye as she left for the Baldesion Annex.

As late as it was, Ojika wouldn't be at the front desk, but fortunately Kharia had her own key to the dormitory wing. Plus, his absence meant she wouldn't be getting an earful about proper sleeping habits, so perhaps it was better this way. The annex itself was still, and the only sounds were the faint click of Kharia's heels on the stone floor. She paused, briefly, outside of G'raha's room. He was probably sleeping, like she should be, and while he'd never complain about her dropping in, she didn't want to disturb him. She turned to leave when she heard a faint, frustrated voice from the other side of the door. She couldn't tell what was said, or if they were words at all, but it didn't sound particularly good. Quietly, she opened G'raha's door and peered inside. The room was dark, save the thin beam of light from the hall. It was enough, however, for Kharia to see that G'raha was sitting upright in bed, clenching at his arm.

"Damn it..." he winced under his breath, "Why..? How..? Agh-!" Kharia whispered the command word to her nouliths, and they dutifully floated up behind her. She stepped into the room, and the faint blue light from her tools lit the chamber. G'raha's face turned and he gave a forced smile. "Kharia? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked, taking a seat next to him.

"It's nothing," he lied, quickly adjusting his posture. "I'm fine."

"Raha," Kharia said firmly. The miquote sighed.

"I swear to you, I've suffered no injuries. It's just-" he winced, and took a breath. "Ever since returning from the First, I've had dreams of my time as the Exarch. It's not unexpected, or surprising, of course.... But sometimes, the dreams are astonishingly vivid. It's as if I'm there, as if I'm him." G'raha paused, as if surprised by his own words. "That's a bit silly, isn't it? I mean, of course I'm him. I..." he trailed off, unsure of where he was going.

"Raha," Kharia said again, gently this time. "Are you, though? Are you truly the Exarch?"

"What do you mean? You know what happened with the Tower. A- and the soul vessel. I can remember everything that happened on the First, I- of course I'm him! I have to be! To suggest otherwise it- it doesn't make any sense..." Kharia noticed his poor attempt to hide his rising panic. She took a deep breath, adjusted her posture, and squeezed his hand.

"You don't have to be him," she assured him. G'raha looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"You... your... What did you do? Something's... different about you."

"That's because I am," Red replied. "Different, I mean. We're..." she paused, trying to find the right words. "There are two of me. Two different souls, tied together, in our body. We call ourselves Red and Green."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Ardbert's voice laughed in the back of their head.

"We'll get to you later," Green scolded, "stop distracting Red."

"Anyways," Red continued, "the two of us, we share memories sometimes. And feelings. But in spite of that, we're still own people. Green can explain it a lot better, but we felt that I'd do a better job of getting the point across."

"And that point is..?" G'raha was clearly confounded by this information, but the tilt of his ears suggested he was eager to learn more. Kharia let out a reassured sigh and continued.

"Just because you share the Exarch's memories, his pain... that doesn't mean you're him. If a nagging feeling in your gut says those memories, those emotions aren't yours, then maybe they're not. Maybe the soul fusion didn't go as perfectly as the Exarch had planned. And that's okay." G'raha sat silently, though the nervous flicking of his tail belied his anxiety. After some consideration, he finally spoke.

"Supposing that's true... if I'm not the Exarch... if his feelings aren't my own... then does that mean the feelings for you..?" He couldn't bring himself to voice his fear in its entirety. Kharia saw the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to face her directly.

"What is your heart telling you?" she asked, wiping a tear away with her thumb. G'raha smiled, and began to cry tears of relief. He collapsed into Kharia's embrace.

"Thank you, Kharia," he wept. "I think I finally understand now, just a bit."

"We're here for you," she whispered. "If you want to talk about it, we'll be here to listen. And if you have questions, we'll help you find the answers. But for now, you can relax, and rest."

"Take your own advice," Ardbert suggested, "we need a bit of shuteye too." As G'raha's tears dried and his panic subsided, Kharia stood to return to her own dorm.

"Kharia, wait," G'raha called out to her. She turned. His blushing was visible in spite of the blue light of the nouliths. "You can sleep here. I mean, if you'd like. It's late, and your dorm is on the second floor, and I-"

"Of course I'll stay Raha" Kharia giggled at the miquote's awkwardness. G'raha averted her gaze, but he could do nothing to stop the twitch of his ears and the rapid flicking of his tail. Kharia returned to the bed, and snuggled up to him beneath the blanket. Though she could feel his heart racing, she knew this was the most comfortable either of them had been in quite some time.

[loosingmoreletters]

Summary: In which Lan Qiren hears the rumors about Wei Wuxian supposedly being Jiang Fengmian’s bastard and comes to a wholly incorrect conclusion.

Lan Qiren did not want to think about Wei Wuxian more than necessary, but the accusations flung around stuck with him.

He had briefly run into Cangse Sanren and her husband during her pregnancy. The meet-up had been an accident, Lan Qiren out supervising a night hunt when he should have been watching over Lan Xichen. Cangse Sanren hadn’t been showing much yet, her robes still tied tight for combat as opposed to her husband’s loose ones, and she certainly hadn’t behaved like a pregnant woman, running circles around their little camp, eating messily when her husband handed her a bowl, just as much a menace as always. If anything, only Wei Changze acted appropriately, happy at the prospect of his impending fatherhood and offering a few insights into naming preferences between careful bites.

So bland! Cangse Sanren had complained about that night’s meal. All because of your nausea!

I’m sorry, my love, had been the reply, the expression as sheepish as Wei Wuxian when caught too early in his mischief.

No, Wei Wuxian was undoubtedly the son of Wei Changze. They looked too alike for him to be anything else. Although Lan Qiren supposed Wei Wuxian wasn’t quite as soft in his features.

The thought gave Lan Qiren pause. Any accusations of Cangse Sanren cheating on her husband, and that with a Sect Leader, were frankly speaking ridiculous. As chaotic as her behavior had been, Cangse Sanren’s morals had been upstanding and she’d loathed sect politics enough to avoid getting involved in them. Her boy looked nearly exactly like his father and her faithfulness should be judged by that.

But, sitting side by side with Jiang Wanyin, Lan Qiren thought he could almost make out some similarities. While Wei Wuxian was nearly lying on his desk instead of sitting as upright as his brother, refusing to fix his posture even after a dozen reminders, they both had similarly thoughtful expressions. The shape of their eyes too wasn’t dissimilar, something about the eyebrows maybe. They completed each other’s mannerisms in a way that, if entirely twisted, reminded him of his own nephews.

But that couldn’t be because Wei Wuxian couldn’t more obviously be his father’s child—

Once more, Lan Qiren had to halt his thoughts. There was a Nie disciple sharing a room with Nie Huaisang, who had handed a missive from their Sect Leader to their doctors. It wasn’t Lan Qiren’s business how the Nie Sect conducted itself, and he hadn’t found any flaw with the disciple. Unlike Nie Huaisang, who, admittedly, managed to enrage Lan Qiren in a way wholly different from Wei Wuxian and taken much more personally. If the boy would just apply himself to his studies as much as his little schemes—

Regardless, that missive had also passed through Lan Qiren’s hands and he’d been assured nothing untoward would happen between Nie Huaisang and said disciple. They were an excellent student, with the same kind of soft features and posture reminiscent of Wei Changze.

Wei Wuxian frowned at the paper and glanced at his brother – there, wasn’t that inquiring look quite similar to Jiang Fengmian?

Perhaps, they’d been looking in the wrong direction. Wei Wuxian resembled his mother in his behavior, likely even encouraged by Jiang Fengmian’s indulgence, but there weren’t too many physical similarities. If not for the way he pitched his voice and grated on Lan Qiren’s nerves, he wouldn’t seem like someone of Baoshan Sanren’s lineage. Certainly, had the boy been brought up Lan, a thought terrifying enough to make Lan Qiren more thankful for the members his sect actually had, he wouldn’t even be recognizable as Cangse Sanren’s son.

It were actions that spoke the loudest, peculiar acts—

Lan Qiren watched Jiang Wanyin glance at Wei Wuxian, his brother. Their relationship wasn’t just that of martial siblings.

Maybe Wei Changze had wanted a child, his own child, and what was his former sect known for if not their motto? He’d been so dear to his Sect Leader, if Wei Changze and his wife had asked for a favor, Jiang Fengmian would have obliged.

And how could Cangse Sanren deny the husband she loved so much and the opportunity to make a fool out of everyone else!

There was no missive like the one of the Nie Sect delivered to Lan Qiren’s desk, but a woman determined to pull the wool over their eyes! Most certainly to protect her husband’s reputation in part, which Lan Qiren couldn’t fault her for, but she had kept up the ruse obviously for her own entertainment as well!

That intrepid and audacious woman! To play a trick like that! Absolutely shameless! And then she didn’t even have the decency to stay alive and continue the ruse! Instead, Lan Qiren had to deal with disciples incapable of using their eyes and shutting their mouths and Jiang disciples getting into entirely unnecessary fights to defend the honor of their sect!

Wherever she was, that Cangse Sanren must be laughing at Lan Qiren’s troubles, entirely too pleased with herself and the chaos she caused.

Faking a pregnancy, Lan Qiren was tempted to ban the verbatim in their code of conduct. How outrageous a person must be to even consider such!

And Wei Wuxian didn’t even manage to override his mother’s influences with Jiang Fengmian’s more pleasant attitude.

It was a shame.

[byanyan]

@thxndercrestfallen sent:ㅤCue a funny little plushie seating itself upright next to, well, wherever Byan stored their makeup! At least, that's how they find the plush! Wasn't it just on a different surface earlier? Well, even if Byan hadn't seen it move, there it was! Curiously right next to a container of eyeshadow.

ㅤhuh. pausing halfway to their bed when they notice that something feels off, byan blinks and scans the bedroom. everything looks normal enough at first glance, but an extra moment of studying shows an empty space among the cluster of plushies on the floor next to the bed, as well as a certain dinosaur plushie seated atop their desk next the most used items among their makeup collection. ...weird. it certainly hadn't been sitting there before they'd gone down for dinner. their first thought is that si-u moved it, but that seems unlikely — he knows better than to cross into their side of the shared room, and why would he bother moving a single plushie that he can't even see anyway?

stepping over to the desk with a look of suspicion set across their features, eyebrows drawn together as they observe the oddly specific positioning of the plush beside one of their individual pots of eyeshadow, they glance around again for signs of any further disturbance. one of the other kids could have come in while everyone else was eating, they suppose... but that raises the question of why all over again, when the only thing out of place is this single stuffed toy. if it was stolen, fine, they'd hunt down every single person who hadn't shown up or turned up later than they had, but no— it's simply been moved.

ㅤㅤ" weird. "ㅤmurmuring to themself, attention drifting back to the strange little t-rex, byan rests their palms against the desk's surface and leans against it. they're not sure what to make of this. is someone just fucking with them? are they misremembering it not being here when they left twenty minutes ago? they had been pretty fucked up last night, could've moved it and forgot about it...

ㅤㅤ" well, you don't really match the vibe of everyone else. "ㅤthe rest of the plushies in their collection are a lot rounder or fuzzier, a lot pinker and more obnoxiously cute.ㅤ" an' the desk did kinda need a little more decoration... "ㅤsliding a few pots of eyeshadow to sit in front of the plush with a glint of amusement in their eyes, they then tuck one of their makeup brushes against its front so the dinosaur appears to be holding it.ㅤ" guess that makes you the makeup defender. "

[achronicwitch]

My Coding Journey

as a chronically ill nana 👩‍🦳 🛌 💻 💊

I've been thinking about learning to code for a while now. It's a skill that I could use in many ways to benefit my family and others. The problem is my chronic illness symptoms get in the way of everything. Trying to code while face down on the keyboard probably wouldn't work. On the other hand, if I wait until I "feel better" I won't achieve anything.

So, I've decided to record my journey of learning to code while maintaining my baseline. Hopefully it'll keep me on track and help someone else in my situation.

Day 1: 🥄��

I only looked after the grandcritter for an hour, with the husband's help, so I had a tiny bit of energy to Do Things with. I hoarded it at first, doing what I call Productive Rest, listening to YouTube videos while crocheting a new snack mat for my desk.

One of the videos I watched lit a fire under my 🍑 -- How I Learned to Code in Six Months and Got a Job Offer by Smoljames. He laid it all out very clearly and concisely, with the steps he took, where he oopsed, and what he did right. He fast tracked his coding education, but the video got me thinking that maybe I can slow it down while still making progress. I listened to it a couple of times, then dragged myself upright and took action.

Step one, sign up for GitHub. And right away I ran into a problem. I didn't receive the verification email. I had it re-sent, and still nothing. I squinted at the form and yep, in my brain fog I misspelled my email address. Irkitating, but fixable. But fixing it took my spoons and chucked them down the garbage disposal unit.

Long rest, during which I hung out with my husband, finished the snack mat, took care of the grandcritter again, and gathered my spoons. Then I set a timer for twenty minutes to prevent sitting long enough to flare my arthritis, and moved on to...

Step two, I signed up for FreeCodeCamp.org. I meant to just poke around, but before I knew it the timer went off and I was 15% through the first lesson. The dopamine! I didn't want to stop! But part of the point is doing this while staying within my current baseline.

Day 2: 🥄🥄🥄

I didn't sit down to code until late, and spent the entire twenty minutes stuck on one problem because of a 🤬 typo in the example they gave me. (Maybe learning to code during Mercury Retrograde wasn't my brightest idea.)

Day 3: 🥄

And now there's no example, or instructions even. Thankfully I found the answer on the forum and got it on my second actual attempt.

Either the instructions are vague/nonexistent or my brainfog is bad. I couldn't figure out the next one, either. We're told to do the thing but now how to do the thing. But there was an article on the site.

That's how it is now? Bugger. Maybe it's building on the previous lessons in ways I haven't been able to see? Part of the problem is it's all typing, and I learn best with a pen in my hand. I need to figure out how to proceed.

On the plus side I'm getting a streak going, of spending twenty-ish minutes a night studying coding.

[splendidissimus]

2012 - To The Pain

((Content warning: Cruciatus torture, beating / physical abuse of a vulnerable person, graphic bloody torture))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 18: Tortured for information ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: negligible

Angst level: 2/5

Draco's headspace: defiant / calculating

((words: ~4000))

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

Discretion was the nature of Draco's business. The specifics of his business varied from client to client — the two most common asks were legal advice or representation, or money, but he really appreciated more interesting challenges and would engage with basically anything that wasn't outright Dark — but the desire for discretion was near universal. To that end, he wasn't surprised when he got a terribly mysterious message asking for an appointment after most of the rest of Diagon Alley was shut down and with the utmost privacy, but he was intrigued. 

He came back alone to the office at midnight, after his secretary was long gone for the day. His health was well enough he could leave Theo to his work instead of bothering him for an escort; he had only a mild cough that the tea basically suppressed and, while he may not be able to walk much more than the length of the corridor at a go, it wasn't a large office and he had no problems staying upright at the moment. He found that the portrait of Elizabethan Lucius that hung in his father's study and watched the house had followed to the frame here, feigning complete disinterest that was rather undermined by the fact that he was there and didn't need to be. The manor must be boring this time of night. Unfortunately for him, privacy meant privacy, and the portrait sniffed disdain at his apologetic noises as he covered the frame with a muffling cloth. 

He was making tea from the charmed pot when he heard the bell that announced a visitor coming through the Vanishing Portal from Hogsmeade. "This way," he called, without looking but with his eye on the mirror that was positioned so he could see the door, as he poured a second cup. 

It was a solid, rough-bearded wizard of maybe a little more than his age who opened the door. He looking passingly familiar, and Draco was automatically reaching for the wand he'd set down beside the tea as he tried to identify him. 

"Expelliarmus!" 

Draco erected a shield spell with barely a thought; the attack ricocheted off and knocked several books from his shelves, and he turned around, lifting his wand…

And the wizard's fist slammed into his jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. 

"Yeah, knew you was a duellist." The wizard stepped on his arm and snatched his wand out of his hand. For good measure, he stomped on his hand, and Draco let out a noise as he felt it crunch. Sharp pain travelled up through his wrist. "Don't do much good against the Muggle kind, do it?" 

And now he recognised him. "Gerald Vick." Husband of one Mary Vick nee Patternel, who had engaged him a bit over a month previously to help her disappear, in large part due to her husband's violent tendencies; he'd seen him in a picture taken by the investigator who did background on his clients. He pushed himself up to sit against the cupboard, holding his broken hand gingerly. "Your wife's not here."

"That's what we're here to talk about." He pulled out Draco's chair and sprawled in it, wand levelled at him. Draco realised he wasn't sure where his own wand had gone. "I know the little bitch came to you. Now you're gonna tell me where she went." 

"I am not." Draco's attention fell to his desk behind Vick without actually moving his eyes. After the escaped Death Eater incident, he had installed an alarm for precisely these sorts of situations, a device rigged up of Protean and cosmetic charms that would activate copies with Theo and at home. But it was under his desk. If he could get to it… 

Bright red sparks shot into the cupboard beside his head, and he flinched his face away. 

"You are," Vick said. "Only question's how much's it gonna hurt before you do." 

He wasn't going to tell him — but if he could talk his way out of any more pain, that would be ideal. "Allow me to save you the trouble." He looked back at Vick again levelly. "You wife is under the protection of the Fidelius Charm — the ancient spell that locks her secret into a single living soul. No amount of threat or torture is ever going to get her location. You will never find her."

"Fuck!" Vick exploded out of the chair and kicked him viciously, screaming obscenities. Pain erupted through his sides, up his arms; he managed to hide his face but it got him in the back of the head, and he ended up curled on the floor, hiding behind his arms, a little noise escaping his throat with every new pain. 

If only the entire office weren't Muffled, for discretion, someone might have heard…

Eventually his attacker moved on to the furniture. Draco stayed where he was, trying to catch his breath with every movement of his chest squeezing pain from his ribs, listening to things being thrown around his office. Vick was demanding to know where the supposed records were. As though Draco's name wasn't 'Malfoy'. 

Something hit the wall above him and shattered into a shower of ceramic shards that rained down over his hair. "Alright, new plan." Vick grabbed his arm and yanked — Draco cried out in pain, that was obviously broken too — and pulled him halfway to sitting up. "Maybe you didn't write shit down, but you know who's got her secret. That's what you're gonna tell me." 

"I can't imagine why your wife wanted to leave," Draco said faintly. "You're so powerful when you're beating up a wandless invalid half your weight. Who wouldn't be impressed?" 

Vick threw him back so his head slammed into the wall, and he groaned and held it. Maybe one of these years he'd learn to keep his mouth shut. 

"Start talking." Draco lifted his eyes to see Vick was holding his wand on him. "Or I start taking off pieces." 

Draco considered the wand, then leaned his head back on the wall again. "Give it up," he said, with a weak cough to try to get breathing more deeply. "You're not going to kill me. I'm not going to tell you anything. I've been put under the Cruciatus by Voldemort… What do you really think you can offer?" 

It was one part truth, two parts bluster, and one more part self-talk. He could feel his old constant companion fear trying to take hold and he had to logic himself out of it. Even if absolutely nothing else went right, in five or six hours, his secretary would be in… He could handle being yelled at and kicked around for six hours. 

This wasn't like Voldemort. It wasn't like Rowle. This had an endpoint, a goal, a way to win. Focus on that. 

"That's a real interesting assumption." Vick grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to his feet; he gave a small sound of pain, but managed to get his feet under him, using mostly the wall for support. "That I'm not gonna kill you." 

Draco studied his face; they were about the same height. Watery, red eyes. Bad breath. He was at least half drunk. He tracked his wand without actually looking at it. It wasn't steady either. "You're not," he said confidently. "You might've been dangerous to her in a fit of pique, but premeditation doesn't suit you." 

Vick grinned sharply. "Shows what y—"

Draco didn't care what Vick was saying, or what he himself had to say to get him to; the point was to get him smug and relaxed. When he sensed the wand drooping, he lashed out with his left hand, snatching for the wand, and pushed back away from him along the wall. He didn't have the strength to pull it away entirely, but they were both holding the wand, and he was the more prepared; he twisted it toward Vick and yelled "Confundo!" 

It missed. The spell whiffed past Vick's head and ricocheted off the far wall. Vick yanked his wand back, Draco lost his balance, and then Vick punched him in the face, then again, and he fell to the ground, dazed and his head exploding with pain. 

"You done?" Vick kicked him onto his back and planted a foot in the middle of his chest, and leaned on it, wand arm resting on his knee. Draco choked desperately, weakly shoving and hitting his leg to try to move him, even using his broken arm, panicking for any air. 

Vick ignored him. "We're gonna try this again." He leaned more weight into his chest. A pitiful noise squeezed out of Draco's throat, a high whistling squeak that came out between the last of his air. His chest felt like his ribcage was about to explode. "You're gonna tell me how to find my wife, or I'm gonna kill you, real… fucking… slow." 

Draco shook his head, weakly and desperately. Vick shoved off his chest; the force made something crack, but the weight was off his chest and now he could start to breathe again. He clawed at the collar of his robes to pull it down, like that would help, dragging in a thick gulp of air that made his entire chest burn with pain, and then cough it back out in whimpering hacks. He couldn't breathe for coughing, he couldn't cough for pain, he couldn't breathe through the pain…

He tried curling up in a painful ball, but Vick grabbed him by the broken arm and yanked him back with a weak cry. 

"Now." Vick crouched beside him, wand dangling over him. "You know who's got my wife's secret?"

Draco nodded without trying to speak, eyes closed, still fighting with his breath. 

"Good." Vick patted his rapidly-swelling cheek right where he'd been punching him. "Who?"

He didn't respond or even bother to look at him. 

Vick's wand tip laid against his arm, then with a quick slash and the word "Diffindo," he laid a ragged gash down the length of his upper arm. Draco had just enough breath to cry out in surprised pain, rolling over to grip the wound. It wasn't clean and smooth, it felt torn, ripped into the flesh. The edges of the torn sleeve were frayed and rough and that showed how he used the spell. 

Vick gripped his jaw and turned his face up, shaking his head to make him look at him. "Take me seriously now?" 

Draco gulped in a painful lungful of air managed to control it. "I'm listening." 

"Funny how quick that happens." He smirked. "Go on then." 

"It's been… a month…" He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing as deeply as the pain shooting through his chest would let him. The blood was flowing freely through his fingers, and that was concerning. He couldn't take many more like that. He didn't have enough blood to spare. "I don't have it… on the top of my head." 

"Someone's a fuckin' liar." He moved his wand toward Draco's chest.

Draco flinched and tried to twist away from him. "No, stop! I'm not lying." He moved his bloody hand up to grip his hair. "Do you realise…" he had to breathe, "...how many times you've hit me in the head? Already had problems…" 

"Need help remembering, do you?" The wand wandered toward his face. 

Draco cringed back and put his hand between his face and the wand. "Notes, in my desk. I'll get it." 

"I've been all through your desk." He gripped Draco's jaw to turn his face to the upended drawers with their contents scattered on the floor. 

He pushed his hand to try to get it off. "Missed the false drawer." 

"Secrets inside of lies with you Malfoy's, ain't it?" He pushed himself up to his feet, but Draco only had breathing space for a second. Then Vick grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled him to his feet, dragging him toward the desk. 

Draco cried out and couldn't stay up, stumbling back to his knees, curled up over himself with his breath shaking. He really couldn't get up. It was all pain. How many broken ribs, how many internal injuries? Were his lungs still whole, and if so, how many more times of being tossed around until they weren't? Vick may or may not actually intend to kill him, but at this rate he stood a very real chance of killing him by accident. 

"Get up." Vick kicked him in the side.

"It hurts," he panted. "I can't stand. Need my chair…" He waved vaguely toward where Vick had taken it. 

"Anything else I can get you, princess?" He grabbed the chair to drag it back.

While his back was turned, Draco reached up under the desk, fingers searching for the alarm. Activating it would require a spell, and while he normally wouldn't have needed his wand to do it, properly done wandless magic required intense mental focus, which he wasn't capable of when he was in this much pain and duress. But once he had it, he could worry about that part.

His fingertips pried free the coin-sized item, but he wasn't quite quick enough dropping his hand — he sensed Vick's attention just before the chair slammed into him and sent him sprawling with a cry, sliding on loose parchments scattered on the floor. The alarm skittered unseen out of his hand and vanished somewhere in the mess. "You got another wand stuck up in there, do you?" He stomped on his broken arm, drawing a weak scream. "Think you can play me?" 

He opened his eyes and studied him, then painfully rolled up on his knees. "I know I can play you," he panted, holding his arm against his chest and curled defensively around his injuries, pushing himself away, fingers groping around in the scattered papers to try to find it. "I told you upfront I wasn't going to tell you anything… yet you still believed me…"

"Depulso!" 

Draco flinched behind his better arm and was thrown off the floor, slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster, with every bruise and broken bone screaming in symphony, and then collapsed in a shaking heap of pain. Don't throw up, don't throw up… He could tell already how much it would hurt if he threw up… 

Vick lifted him off his face by the back of his hair, and he moaned, trying not to move, but forced to at least lift his head. He found himself looking up at the covered portrait on the opposite wall. 

Proper wandless magic required intense focus, focus he wasn't capable of when he was in pain. But improper wandless magic… that just required letting himself go. 

Before he could think more about it, he flung his left hand toward the portrait, throwing his willpower with it. 

His magic ripped the portrait off the wall, and tore down the shelves beside it and sent books and decorative pieces pelting the pair of them in a hail of blunt objects. But it also ripped the cover off the painting, exposing it to the room.

The portrait tumbled end over end into the room, teetered on its corner, threatening to land uselessly face down on the floor, and then finally fell to rest leaning forward against the side of the desk where the inhabitant could see and hear the state of the room. 

But the frame was empty. 

Of course it was, his ancestor had no reason to sit around in a dark frame he couldn't see or hear from. He had just hoped.

He cried out as a gash ripped across his back. Then he was thrown onto his back, and the combined pain of his injuries conspired to paralyse his breath and voice, not even allowing him to cry out for it. 

"Let me know when you got something to say." Vick laid another ragged gash down the inside of his left arm, bone-deep, to stop him using it again. And then one straight through the palm of his left hand. Draco gathered enough breath to wheeze, trying to twist away from it. 

Vick studied his face for a long minute. Draco didn't know if he liked what he saw there, but it seemed unlikely. He held him down in a way he hadn't before, one hand pressing down his shoulder and pinning his leg with one of this feet, and set his wand against his stomach. Draco shook his head,pushing ineffectually at his wand with his mangled hands; it didn't matter. Vick said the incantation and dragged the wand over his stomach, so, so slowly. The agony pulled out a scream he wouldn't have thought he had the breath for. 

His clumsy hands clutched desperately at the stomach wound to try to hold it closed, to keep his guts on the inside where they belonged. It was a losing battle; he could feel a loop of entrails slipping between his fingers. Vick lifted his wand back into his line of sight, and there was actually blood on the tip of it. There was so much blood. He could taste it. Didn't have six hours now — probably didn't have one. Even a person whose blood would clot on its own wouldn't be able to handle this.

"Tell you…"

"Go ahead." Vick looked at his face expectantly, wand tracing slow circles above his chest. 

"…having to say the incantation, every time… makes you look childish…"

Face contorted in fury, Vick threw the spell into his chest, raking a deep gash across him. He choked and coughed a fine mist of blood into Vick's face. 

Really, that was on him for expecting that this time Draco was going to say something useful instead of something smart… 

Vick kicked him in the stomach — Draco barely had the strength to scream as the gash was ripped open further — and stomped on his chest. "I guess I'm gonna do this the hard way." He punctuated the words with kicks around his torso and head. "Start at the top and work down. Start with her parents, those old friends she used to have. Think you're so fucking smart, don't you? I don't need you, you're not gonna help an—"

"Crucio!" 

Vick immediately twisted to the ground, screaming; there was no space between the sound of father's voice calling out the curse and the sound of his tormentor being tormented. That was nice. After a few seconds, Draco raised his hand weakly to show his father he was alive, and to stop him. 

The sound of the screaming was replaced with "Stupefy," as his father came into the room, Stunning Vick unconscious. Then "Incarcerus," to bind him. He cast the counter to the Entrail-Expelling Curse — smart, Draco might not have thought of it, though without some powerful healing they weren't going to stay there. 

He crouched beside him in the pool of blood, hand on his chest briefly, probably checking his heart and breathing. "You're going to live," he said, in his way that was not an observation, it was a spell, impressing his will into the world. 

Draco nodded. "Aurors," he panted weakly. "Aurors first." 

"This is more important." He summoned Draco's lap blanket from the mess of the room and pressed it, folded into a thick pad, against the gaping wound on his stomach to try to staunch the bleeding. 

"Now." The effort of that made him cough and the spasms made the bleeding worse. 

His father considered with narrowed eyes, then looked over at the leaning portrait. "Nott?"

"Already on his way." Elizabethan ancestor Lucius smoothed his beard into an even finer point. "In fact…"

The signature waft of the floo was heard in the reception room, and then Theo's quick strides to the doorway. He immediately swore and came to his side; his father nodded and made space for him. "Two of these immediately." It was a blood replenishing potion he held and helped him drink. 

The immediate effect was that all of his wounds veritably poured blood, like it was running straight through him, but that was why there were two. With his healing resistance, it wasn't going to be a simple matter of spells to hold him together. The potions would at least mean the blood loss didn't kill him while they were working on it.

"All right." Theo touched his hair. "You can hear me?" He nodded. "Good. I'm leaving you another potion. Don't let yourself get lightheaded. I'm going to get help, I'll get Pye called in so he's ready by the time we get you to St Mungo's." 

"Take your time…" Draco invited breathlessly. 

"Hush." He ran his hand over his hair. "I'll be right back." He left his side and in a second Draco heard him calling out the name of the hospital in the floo.

And then, for a moment, the room was empty, still, and silent. Draco was alone. His father had left without drawing attention to it, and Vick was still unconscious and bound. Slowly, he pushed himself into a painful seated position against the wall for a little bit of pride, panting shallowly between wet, bloody coughs and trying to keep his intestines in.

A voice from near the desk proved he wasn't quite completely alone. "Have we learned a lesson about covering portraits, hm?" 

"I'll have to think about my policy," he allowed. Portrait-Lucius harrumphed. "Thank you."

"Better. Now don't go and die, it would be disruptive." 

"I'll try." 

Soon enough, the quiet was disrupted by the bell over the street door, and his office became a flurry of activity again. His father returned with a pair of Aurors, Janssen and a young woman he didn't know. She made a disturbed sound, probably at all the blood, and Janssen had her collect Vick and get him back on his feet. He was argumentative as soon as he was conscious, yelling that they didn't have anything on him and he was being held prisoner unlawfully.

"Gerald Vick," Draco supplied the Aurors. "Hunting down his wife… who does not want to be found…" 

"I didn't lay a hand on her." He fought as she started dragging him toward the door, and saw Lucius calmly observing. "Arrest him! Malfoy! That son of a whore used an Unforgivable Curse! He used the Cruciatus on me!" 

"That was me," Draco corrected breathlessly. "By accident. Had problems controlling my magic… St Mungo's can confirm… Normally use my wand to control it, but he took it…"

The Auror woman rifled Vick's clothes. She had presumably already gathered his wand from the floor and hadn't thought to search him. "White, about ten inches?" 

"That's it…" She made to return it to him, but he lifted his mangled hands to show he couldn't really take it, nodding toward his father instead. That had the not-entirely-unintentional side effect of exposing some of the wound on his stomach as the sodden blanket slipped. She muttered that she was going to be sick, and handed off his wand to his father. 

"I'll take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate, of course…" 

At the same time, the Mediwizard team from the hospital was flooing in. He held up a hand to keep them back and beckoned for Janssen to come close; he took hold of his arm to pull him even closer when he stopped at a normal distance. "Daniella Paradiso is Mary Vick," he whispered into his ear, then let him go and spoke in a normal tone, or what passed for one at the moment. "Let her know her secret's safe… and I can lift the charm if she'd like to give evidence…" 

"You?" Vick suddenly struggled against his bindings and the Auror holding him back, almost breaking free. "You were the secret-keeper all along?" 

Draco painfully but with immense satisfaction lifted two fingers at him, then rested his head back against the wall, allowing Theo and the healer team to come tend to him now.

[libertineangel]

Profane/Sword, for @tes-summer-fest

Sergius looked once more over the accounts, put down his quill and closed the thick, leather-bound ledger with a thud; he stood up from the expertly-carved oak desk, snuffed out the study’s lamp and left, heading up the narrow stairs to the bedroom. He crossed over to the farthest window and stood for a moment, hand resting against one of the ornate bedposts as he looked out, admiring the wheat fields – his wheat fields – under the light of the moons, acres of land stretching out before him, rippling softly in the breeze.

He turned toward the bed and then stopped, moving instead to a heavy wooden chest in the corner, still with a satisfied smile on his face as he stooped to open it.

He blinked, mouth now agape at the empty chest before him.

He whispered a low “fuck” through heavy breaths, hands gripping the rim of the chest before throwing himself upright and staggering back with a louder “fuck,” then screamed it once more as he turned back to the window, slamming his fist against the wall.

“Oh please, is the profanity really so necessary?" asked a nonchalant voice from behind the bedcurtains.

Sergius let out another short scream and steadied himself against the window-frame as he jumped away from the bed, then crossed back over and threw open the nearest bedcurtain to find a tall, slender figure draped across the bed like a lord. The figure wore a deep navy cloak with a delicate gold trim, its hood meeting an opulent silver mask at their forehead which left only their mouth and chin visible; they idly held up a hand gloved in opalescent silk, admiring the way it reflected the moonlight.

“After all, it’s only a bit of gold, and from the furnishings I daresay you’ve plenty already,” the figure continued, completely unfazed by the shock of the man stood before him; his voice was Alinori, and well-to-do at that.

Sergius could at first only manage a bluster of garbled syllables, before taking a deep breath and bellowing out the first sentence he came up with.

“What have you done with my wife??”

“Your wife?” the figure scoffed, sitting up slightly. “I’ve done nothing at all to your wife, she’s been out since three – she spends the first Loredas of every month away, have you really not noticed? No, she’s off down the road enjoying the pleasant company of Ms Veturius while her husband’s off with his old boys’ club, and if this is your average level of attentiveness I can’t say I blame her.”

This reduced Sergius to wordless blustering once again, this time raising his fist a few times too, before he found his next question.

“Who are you??”

“Suffice it to say I’m a representative of the Grey Fox, I presume you’ve heard of them?” He watched Sergius’ eyes widen, immediately followed by his mouth contorting with rage, and chuckled a little before continuing, his tone as blithe as ever, “I take it that you have. Wonderful! Well, we have been watching you for some time now, and we are aware that you’ve made certain promises to the labourers that work your land and fill your pockets – better wages, new tools, more hands to make for shorter hours and the like – but so far have failed to keep them.” Sergius opened his mouth to speak, and raised his fist a little with it, but the thief quickly held up a hand to stop him. “Ah- I have not finished, Mr Cantaber, you may speak when I have. As I was saying, you have reneged on every single promise you have made, even in spite of the bountiful harvest your workers provided last season, which left you more than capable of fulfilling your word, instead choosing to keep every drake for yourself. This is simply an insult to the hard-working peasants of this land, and just the sort of thing my colleagues and I will not stand for.” He lowered his hand with a wave, continuing to look Sergius in the face.

Sergius, by now, had recovered enough that his words came quick and low and harsh, with no more desperate blustering.

“Where’s my fucking money??”

“Oh, that money isn’t yours, not anymore,” the thief replied, a hint of derision creeping into his voice, “I really don’t know where it is because the redistribution wasn’t my job, but rest assured you’ll never be seeing a penny of it again.”

Again, Sergius began to move to strike the thief before thinking better of it, then crossed to the wall by the door; there, he retrieved from a display plaque a gleaming steel sword.

“I ought to fucking run you through, won’t be the first time this weapon’s had elven blood,” he growled as he pulled aside the curtain at the foot of the bed.

“Oh please, your weapon’s pristine, you just swing it about in your hand every so often,” the thief shot back, “and besides, you couldn’t harm me with it if you tried.”

“And why’s that, eh? You fucking bastard!” Sergius brought the sword down for a heavy blow, but as he spoke the thief clicked his fingers and a slender rapier of shimmering midnight blue appeared in his hand, and he blocked the strike with ease. Sergius grunted as the unexpected impact sent a jolt of pain through his wrist; he looked down at the blade and took an instinctive step back, his mind momentarily filled with whispered screams in languages not for mortal ears.

“Because I, Mr Cantaber, am a far superior duellist,” the thief replied coolly. With a flick of his wrist, and without getting up from the bed, he made a quick cut across Sergius’ fingers and another in the crook of his elbow, causing him to drop the sword with a cry; he then pointed the blade directly toward his neck before blowing the base of the hilt like a kiss, turning the weapon to smoke in Sergius’ face.

When he finished coughing and sputtering, the thief was nowhere to be seen.

[tomaque]

Elevate Your Comfort: The Rolling Stool with Backrest Advantage

In today’s fast-paced world, comfort and functionality are paramount, whether you're working from home, managing a busy workshop, or simply relaxing in your study. One often-overlooked piece of furniture that can make a world of difference is the rolling stool with a backrest. This versatile seating option combines mobility with support, offering a host of benefits that enhance both comfort and productivity. Here’s why investing in a rolling stool with a backrest is a game-changer for any space.

1. Superior Comfort for Extended Use

One of the primary advantages of a rolling stool with a backrest is its ability to provide extended comfort. Unlike traditional stools, which can lead to discomfort after long periods of sitting, the backrest offers crucial support to your lower back. This feature helps to maintain proper posture, reducing the strain on your spine and making it easier to stay seated for longer durations without discomfort.

2. Enhanced Mobility and Flexibility

The rolling feature of these stools allows for effortless movement across various surfaces. Whether you’re working at a desk, crafting in a studio, or performing tasks in a workshop, the ability to roll smoothly can save time and reduce physical strain. This mobility means you can move from one task to another with ease, improving your efficiency and workflow.

3. Adjustable Height for Custom Comfort

Most rolling stools with backrests come with adjustable height features. This flexibility allows users to customize their seating position according to their specific needs. Whether you’re working at a high counter or a standard desk, you can easily adjust the height of the stool to find the perfect level of comfort and support.

4. Compact Design for Space-Saving

Despite their advanced features, rolling stools with backrests often have a compact design that makes them ideal for smaller spaces. Their sleek, minimalist appearance means they can fit seamlessly into a variety of environments without overwhelming the room. This space-saving design is perfect for home offices, workshops, or even studio apartments.

5. Durability and Easy Maintenance

Many rolling stools are built with durable materials that can withstand daily wear and tear. The high-quality construction ensures longevity, while the easy-to-clean surfaces make maintenance a breeze. Whether it's a spill or dust accumulation, a quick wipe-down is usually all that's needed to keep your stool looking and functioning like new.

6. Promotes Better Posture

Proper posture is essential for preventing back pain and other musculoskeletal issues. The backrest of a rolling stool provides crucial support to your lower back, encouraging a natural, upright posture. This alignment not only enhances comfort but also contributes to overall health and well-being, especially during prolonged sitting periods.

7. Versatility Across Different Settings

Rolling stools with backrests are incredibly versatile and can be used in a wide range of settings. From office spaces and home studios to medical offices and salons, their adaptability makes them a valuable addition to any environment. Their functionality and comfort make them suitable for various tasks and activities, enhancing productivity and relaxation.

Conclusion

Investing in a rolling stool with a backrest is more than just a purchase; it’s an investment in your comfort and productivity. With its combination of mobility, support, and durability, this seating option can transform your workspace or relaxation area, making every task more comfortable and efficient. Whether you’re working, crafting, or just enjoying your time, elevate your comfort with the rolling stool with backrest advantage.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Shrove Tuesday followed by Ash Wednesday.  We’re probably all a few pounds heavier?  Unless you studied some carnal knowledge last night?  Hope your Valentine’s Day gave you what you wanted.

I know that there was love in the air yesterday but I suspect there might have been a little something else?  I don’t know what it was like for you but – and I’m trying to put this delicately – pretty much all day I was good to go!  Yes, you heard me!

Wednesday night, The Trouble decided to spoil her two boys (64 + 33) by buying Indian food again!  I don’t know what is wrong with us.  We are currently obsessed with our local Indian take away.  I taught an online class from 7.00 – 9.00 so, by the time that was over, I was ready for my bed!

Like my mother, I am now a two-bed sleeper.  I go to sleep in my bed but, if I wake up to use the toilet, I change venue.  For some weird reason, I can’t get back to sleep in my own bed, so I go to Bed No. 2.  Mum’s second venue is the recliner in her front room, my second venue is the comfy armchair downstairs.  So, I am sitting bolt upright, with a blanket over me but I sleep so peacefully in that chair.  I definitely don’t need to be horizontal to sleep.  My dreams are very different downstairs.  Weird!  The Trouble is not happy but I need my sleep!

While we are eating lunch or dinner, The Trouble and I are watching ‘One Day’ and enjoying it immensely.  It’s a rom-com but more like ‘This Is Us’; it discuses relationships but also families.  Two university students spend graduation night together and almost have sex … but they don’t and, as the years go by, their platonic friendship grows, although they both fancy each other like mad.  It’s charming and engaging, and we’re happy to have found something we both like.  We’re half way through and trying to slow down, so we don’t burn through it too quickly.    

Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?)  I love you all.