#solely to get the birds to shit everywhere

[bibleofficial]

lol uni accom sent an email saying that theyve ‘received many complaints from staff students & guests’ & it just makes me laugh but they DID include a place accommodating me feeding them at the end of the car park which is fine bc that is all i wanted to be fair. this was ALWAYS ABOUT POWER like 😭😭 it’s deadass so miserable living here we are all postgrad students so 22+ but we literally have room inspections 2x a semester like we’re fucking 12 to make sure things are ‘clean’ as if the building isn’t as old as our parents & literally falling apart. they restrict u so much like u can’t have a kettle in ur room …. but those guests can ??? ur putting a like 3 inch suicide bar on my window ? that i PAY FOR ???? girl … ‘it gives ppl anxiety & diseases …” & ???? having no fucking security here gives ME anxiety & these mfs are givin ME diseases shut the fuck up !!! THE ASBESTOS IN THE WALLS CAN HEAR U & IT’S LAUGHING

[i-cant-sing]

What are your thoughts on the yandere haikyuu teams x their manager?

Boring. I need some spice in it. How about-

Yandere Daichi as a cop and his darling is a civilian and now he's so obsessed with her that he murders her husband, frames him as a criminal and will literally stop at nothing to get darling in his arms because again... who will suspect good old, everybody's best bud COP Daichi to be able to do heinous crimes???

Yandere Sugawara as a psychiatrist because come on- he gives major "master manipulator" vibes and now he's obsessed with his darling patient and will continue to do malpractice and gaslight her and prescribe her all the wrong meds until she loses it and he gets to admit it her under his "special care" and now he can play with her mind all day long🤍

Yandere Oikawa is now a pro volleyball athlete and he just saw Ushijima's little sis, the same one he used to bully and even rejected (and ofc, HUMILIATED) when she confessed to him back in highschool. But now Oikawa's obsessed with her and also still hates his nemesis Ushijima, so what's better than killing two birds with one stone??? And Oikawa still has a very devoted fanclub, only now it's larger and more powerful than ever so now he uses them and his socials to peer pressure you into dating him and eventually, marrying him because he ain't getting any younger honey and he needs some cute babies out of you ASAP.

Yandere Kuroo who is the smart IT tech guy at your office but in reality, he has his own cyber security company that he uses to spy on you, controls your entire life through your socials and don't even get me started on your online banking shit. If its any consolation, he's very rich so... yeah. He may not look like a million bucks, but he does have them. In several offshore accounts.

Yandere Kita who somehow ended up as a mafia leader, probably inherited it as family business and he has like severe OCD so he wants everything done to perfection or so help you, you will 1000% end up 6 feet under. Mafia Kita who has this vision of you being the perfect wife, solely based om the one time you offered him your handkerchiefs because he had a nosebleed from stressing too much and now Kita thinks you're an absolute angel and he wont let you destroy that fantasy of his. Seriously. He will pick out your outfits, tell you how to act and all, punish you if he must, but he does love you.

Yandere Ushijima who is a farmer and has decided that the reader whose car broke down and came to his door asking for help, will now be his wife and be a countryside mom to many kids (u can't say no, okay? He wants a big family) and animals! But hey, he's a very caring husband and will massage your feet, give you baths and feed you his homegrown veggies and meals daily once you are round with his babies🥺

Yandere Bokuto who is now a popular politician and he needs an obedient wife to keep up appearances and play the "family man" image up. So he decides to threaten reader who had a one night stand with him, and Bokuto somehow has very intimate images and videos of you and he uses them to get you to marry him. And now he controls every aspect of your life and tells you to do exactly as he says, and he abuses this privilege more as he gets more powerful and you could only imagine the horrors he would inflict on you if he does actually win elections, but you can't run away because again- he has eyes and contacts everywhere.

[pinksunsetsandstarrynights]

Adamsapple Harvest: Falling Leaves

Hey, sorry about posting this fill late. I lost my momentum over the weekend and I got a bit stuck on this prompt, hopefully it turned out okay. Like my other fills, it takes place in my Human AU.

Charlie has always been the excitable sort. Ever since she hatched in Lucifer's incubator, she was full of energy and practically radiated joy. Happy to give and receive affection from anyone.

Vaggie, not so much. The duck was more reserved in nature and wary of new faces, but she was still willing to join in whatever caught her mate's (?) fancy. Unfortunately, that included times when Charlie was in an adventurous mood.

One afternoon they'd managed to find a gap in the fence that he was planning to fix the next day. They got past through the admittedly flimsy barrier he put up and wandered out. Lucifer was grateful that they hadn't waddled onto the road, but Vaggie still ended up paying the price for his negligence.

It was why Lucifer was taking extra care to ensure their safety. He refused to let either of his girls get hurt again.

"Can’t believe duck booties are an actual thing," Adam remarked as he hooked a steel gray leash onto Vaggie's red harness.

"Their feet need protection for their walks. Who knows what kind of trash might be littering the sidewalk," Lucifer pointed out. Charlie was already good to go. She was pacing and quacking about.

Adam nodded in understanding. "Well, Vaggie's ready. Want to lead the way, Luce?"

"Yup!" With that, the group set off. It wouldn't be too long a walk, it'd been some time since Lucifer took the girls out of his property. This was mostly to get Charlie and Vaggie used to wearing their harnesses again.

----

The walk was going well. Lucifer and Adam were making plans for scary movie night. Charlie and Vaggie seemed to be enjoying the change. They hadn't even tried to wander off yet!

Damn, he spoke too soon.

Charlie was veering toward a large leaf pile on a neighbor's fence-less yard.

"Sweetie, we're not visiting Alastor today!"

He was too slow to stop her dashing through the leaves, sending them flying everywhere.

Charlie has always loved the sound of crunching leaves. Lucifer knew this well. She's been jumping on dry leaves since she was a hatchling. There was even a picture on his mantel of his duckling hopping around a tiny pile of leaves.

Now she was recreating that old photo.

"Oh shit."

Just then, a man in glasses with a garbage bag in came out of the house. He stiffened at sight of his work being undone. The man forced a smile on his face as he tersely stated, "Lucifer, I just raked my yard."

The blond quickly picked up Charlie. "Look, I'm sorry. She's usually better-"

"Lucifer, while it's a pleasure to see Charlotte and Vagatha again after such a long time…" Alastor interrupted.

"Vagatha?" Adam silently mouthed at Lucifer. He didn’t respond, his focus mainly on Alastor.

"…One would hope that they hadn't forgotten how to behave properly in their time away. But alas, that hope has been dashed. I don't blame our dear ladies, of course. The fault solely lies on the one training them."

Lucifer glared at Alastor. Bullshit that he only blamed him. He knew for a fact that Alastor only treated the girls with so much sweetness as a way to get under his skin. The man didn't even like birds, he was mainly a cat person. Unfortunately, more often than not, Lucifer would end up losing his temper at him. Especially during the times when Charlie naively accepted the false affection.

She was his baby, damn it!

The man's smile became a touch more cruel as he uttered the following words, "The one who was careless enough to let Vagatha get mu-"

"Okay, that's enough."

Lucifer froze, watching Adam step in-between him and Alastor.

"Look, I don't know who the fuck you are and honestly? I don't give a shit. I don't like having my time wasted by some prick's pointless babbling, so we're leaving now." Adam placed his hand on the small of Lucifer's back and gently led him and the girls away. "Later, asshole!"

As the group got further away from Alastor's home, the more easily Lucifer's heated anger faded. Now all he felt was the lingering weight of guilt. As much as he hated Alastor, he almost said a good point. What happened to Vaggie was his fault.

"You okay, Luce?" Adam asked, briefly touching Lucifer's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Lucifer tried to give him a reassuring smile.

It didn't seem to work since Adam was frowning.

"You know what happened wasn't your fault. Most ducks wouldn't have been able to get out. Plus it was my bird that hurt her."

"I guess…"

The silence was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"…Is Vaggie really short for Vagatha?"

"Uh… yes, it is." Lucifer was taken off guard by the random question. "What did you think it was short for?"

"I don't know, Vagina?"

Lucifer snorted and bursted out laughing, with Adam joining in, the mood lightening once again. Meanwhile Charlie and Vaggie ignored the two silly men, too busy taking in the autumn sights and stepping on crunchy leaves.

[teecupangel]

Desmond when he's dying: This would've never happened if I was just a pigeon.

Desmond: *Becomes a pigeon in the next life*

Introducing Desmond the Assassins suspiciously long-living pigeon.

(I love this for the sole purpose that turning Desmond into an eagle would have been the most obvious choice but you, nonny, deliberately turned him into a pigeon which is hilarious. Alright, let’s make Desmond’s pigeon life super weird)

=================================

When Desmond woke up as a freaking pigeon, he was annoyed at himself. If he knew he could have been anything, he would have picked an eagle or even a freaking cat.

But nooooo. He just had to think he wanted to be a pigeon of all things.

Goddamn it.

Well, no use bemoaning his own cursed life.

He should get high up and see where the hell he was because this open sky was definitely not the Grand Temple.

…

…

…

Soooooo… how was he supposed to fly?

Just… flap his wings?

Flap

Flap

Flap

Fuck.

It wasn’t working.

Okay.

Maybe he just needed… momentum. Yeah, momentum might help?

So Desmond took a few step-

Sigh.

Desmond took a few hops back before running straight ahead into the edge of the roof where he had woken up on, flapping his wings the entire time and…

Yes! He was flying.

Holy shit, he was flying.

Wait.

Nope.

He was gliding.

He was fucking gliding and he was going down fast.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohf-

Slam.

Feathers flew everywhere as he smacked straight to a wall.

As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, he began to skid down, falling into the grassy ground with a pathetic thud.

A shadow appeared over him but he didn’t move.

He could feel one of his wings was now broken.

But more importantly, he was too embarrassed by that pathetic attempt at flying that he’d rather lie down on the ground for a while and contemplate just letting this bird life die out here.

“Are you dead, little one?” A voice that cracked at random asked and Desmond kept his eyes closed in total defeat.

He would like to say ‘yeah, pretty much’ and also 'uh, rude?' but it only came out as a sad cooing sound.

“It’s alright.” He felt hands grab him a bit too roughly, making him let out a pathetic cooing sound once more and the hands lessened their grip. He was cradled into someone’s arms and he was bounced lightly as the person carrying him began to run.

When he finally opened his eyes once more, he blinked when he recognized the gates ahead of them.

The front gates of Masyaf…

He was in Masyaf…

And it wasn’t the Masyaf that he had been in pictures after he heard from Shaun that Masyaf was under Abstergo’s control.

No.

This was the Masyaf he was familiar with.

This was-

“Altaïr.”

The teenager holding him stopped running and held him close as a…

Holy shit.

Was that Al Mualim?

He looked…

Young… ish.

“We had been worried. You shouldn’t leave the training ring without being dismissed.” Al Mualim said in a kind fatherly voice that made Desmond immediately want to peck him.

“I’m sorry, master. It’s just…” The teenager (holy shit, it was Altaïr. Not only that… it was Altaïr with a cracking voice! Desmond couldn’t stop himself from finding this amusing) raised his arms slightly to show Desmond who tried to glare at Al Mualim as a pigeon, “This little one broke its wing when it was trying to fly. I figured the healers might be able to do something about it.”

Al Mualim stared at Desmond for a moment before his eyes softened, “Very well. You’re dismissed today, Altaïr. Have the healers check the pigeon but…”

Al Mualim placed a hand on Altaïr’s shoulder and said, “Do not get your hopes up. Sometimes, it is impossible to fix a thing that is too broken already.”

Altaïr’s hold on Desmond tightened just a bit as he said quietly, “I understand, master.”

Desmond let out a cooing “yeah, fuck you too, asshole” that Al Mualim didn’t respond to, which made sense, since Desmond was now a fucking pigeon.

Ugh.

He just knew this new life of his was going to be a pain.

=================================

(More of an idea summary)

=================================

Altaïr

Desmond spends most of pre-AC1 getting treated for his broken wing and trying to learn how to fly afterward. The recruits and novices like him because he doesn’t act like a normal bird and likes to screech whenever Altaïr tries to leave him (in his defense, he was a grounded bird in a place that likes to find ‘alternative’ uses for stuff they can’t use and he can only think of one way to use a flightless bird who can’t even deliver messages).

He likes sitting on Altaïr’s shoulder. Whenever Abbas is nearby and being annoyed, he uses his minimal ‘flying’ skills to reach Abbas and peck him until he falls (Altaïr is always there to catch him). Because of this, Desmond got a hang of gliding and swooping (the falling is, unfortunately, still his greatest nemesis).

Abbas once threatened to cook Desmond and he almost got his eye pecked out because of it. (then received a very descriptive morbid detail of what Altaïr plans to do to him if he ever just as much try to pluck any of Desmond's feather)

Desmond will not, under any circumstances, eat worms. Kadar is the one who finds out Desmond likes fruits. Altaïr says Desmond is getting fat from all the fruits Kadar is giving him but Desmond pecks him. After that, Altaïr just gives Desmond a disappointed glare every time he sees Desmond eating the fruits Kadar brings him (who likes seeing him eat because Desmond makes this little sweet cooing sounds when he eats).

Malik secretly gives a bit of his own food whenever Altaïr is away because Desmond likes staying with him whenever Altaïr is busy. Malik never tells Altaïr about it and Desmond is a bird so it’s not like he can tattletale on him. However, Desmond’s soft spot for Malik makes Altaïr and Malik have a ‘nicer’ relationship… sorta.

Desmond finally learns to fly during Altaïr’s ‘punishment’. He saw Altaïr being chased by guards after killing one of the nines (maybe Garnier?) and he just… swoopes in to peck the guards to give Altaïr a chance to escape.

Maria is the one who actually asks outright why nobody is asking why this pigeon is still alive? Altaïr just says that it might be connected to the Apple of Eden because it does light up whenever Desmond touches it with his talons (Desmond doesn’t feel anything. It literally just lights up like a touch-activated lightbulb and Desmond is both disappointed and amused at the same time. He uses it to tell Altaïr he's been studying the Apple for too long and he needs to take a break.)

Darim likes giving him fruits too but he stops when Sef was born because he wants to be seen as a responsible big brother. Sef, on the other hand, loves Desmond and plays with him a lot. Desmond becomes an unofficial babysitter because everyone just agrees that the POE must have done something to his brain. That’s the only explanation they could think of as to why Desmond acts so intelligent. Desmond questions everyone's sanity for letting a bird babysit two children.

On the other hand, any time Desmond tries to actually communicate to someone by trying to write on the sand or that one incident where he tipped the ink bottle and used it to make some kind of ‘hand writing’, his words always end up gibberish and Desmond isn’t sure if ‘something’ is making him unable to write properly OR if there was some kind of human speech to bird language thing going on in his mind and that’s why he understands everyone but that shit doesn’t work when he’s trying to write his bird language. (Although, he can’t communicate with any other animals anyway)

Desmond stays with Sef when Altaïr and the other go to assassinate Genghis Khan. At this point, Desmond is a freaking master in bird stealth and manages to find incriminating documents that shows Abbas was planning a coup (Abbas and his cohorts got sloppy now that Altaïr was away). The coup was unsuccessful and Sef and Malik lived. (because fuck canon)

Desmond stays with the Ibn-La’Ahad bloodline (especially Sef’s bloodline) until something inside him suddenly calls to him, creating a golden thread-like mist that only he can see.

Having a feeling of where it was going to take him, Desmond only leaves after staying with his last ‘owner’ until her dying breath.

=================================

.

Ezio

When Desmond gets to Italia, Ezio has just been born.

He stays by the window and watches Ezio. The maids tried to shoo him away whenever they see him. Giovanni sees him at least twice but just thought he was a normal bird.

Ezio grew up seeing him as his guardian angel (“Your guardian angel is a pigeon?” “At least I can see mine!”) and that idea only solidified when he was a teenager who just learned pigeons are not supposed to live this long.

However, Desmond keeps his distance because he knows that people would find it weird (and maybe even the devil’s work) if Ezio has a pet pigeon who is still alive after all these years.

He does, however, always fly near Ezio whenever he used the rooftops and stays with him if they’re in a hiding spot or really high up.

This, inadvertently, helps Ezio be better at freerunning and climbing (and stealth) before that fateful day.

On that fateful day, Desmond leaves Ezio to warn the Auditores by squawking really loudly on the rooftop until Federico had enough and went up to see what has Ezio’s guardian angel all squawking up a storm when it was usually silent. Federico sees the guards coming towards the Palazzo and alerts his father because Desmond made a show of diving in and getting one of the wanted paper that they all had to identify the Auditores and giving it to Federico with a flapping motion that says “run, fucking run!!!”

The Auditores don’t get captured but they had to go into hiding instead. Giovanni tries to talk to his friend Uberto Alberti about this with the evidence but Desmond is not having any of that. Federico is stuck because he’s been ordered to protect his family but Ezio was still out in Firenze so Desmond goes to him and takes him to Giovanni.

Ezio gets there in time to see his father being cornered by guards and he and Desmond helps Giovanni get out.

Unfortunately, the only thing that shows that the Auditores were innocent was with Uberti and he had burned it in front of Giovanni for dramatic effect and because he isn’t stupid.

Left with no choice, the Auditore family leaves Firenze to seek shelter in Monteriggioni.

(Altaïr’s statue has a pigeon on his shoulder and Desmond tries to get Ezio to realize that he’s the pigeon by sitting next to his pigeon statue and mimicking the puffed-up pose. Ezio just chuckles and says “Yes, angelo mio, you are more beautiful than Altaïr’s pigeon”)

=================================

(Okay, that’s as far as I got. If anyone wants me to do a semi-summary/semi-fic continuation of the Kenway soap opera, Arno and the Frye twins, let me know XD)

=================================

(Unorganized ideas)

There is no eagle connection ala Layla Trilogy between Desmond and any of his ‘owners’. He's literally just a pigeon with a long lifespan.

Sef once pinched a feather from Desmond without his approval because he dropped the feather that the Rafiq gave him, Desmond pecked him in the ear the entire time they were back in the bureau and the Rafiq just looked at him with an expression of ‘Do you really think I don’t know the difference between a pigeon’s feather and an eagle’s feather? Bitch, I’ve been Rafiq longer than you’ve been alive.’ but only takes the feather silently while Sef grins at him. It took lots of fruits for Desmond to stop being angry at him (and Sef knew he fucked up because the moment they returned to Masyaf, Desmond sat on Darim’s shoulder with his back turned, making Darim go “What did you do now, Sef?” in that tired older brother tone that he has used so many times by now)

Petruccio absolutely believes Desmond is Ezio’s guardian angel. Claudia and Federico didn’t until Desmond helped them escape

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Instrument of Surrender

VOLITION - You think you have a pretty hot suspect right now, don't you? That Ruby of yours.

Yeah? And?

I don't need this criticism right now, this chapter is closed. [Discard thought.]

VOLITION - Notice how it came together without casting too much suspicion on *Klaasje* -- it was nice and *Ruby-centric* in the end.

What do you mean?

VOLITION - Anything strike you a bit off about this mish-mash?

Well... the bullet didn't have to come from the roof, it could have come from anywhere on the coast.

The bullet was jacketed -- these don't just lie around everywhere, do they…

It turned out the bullet was an antique…

The footprints in the pinball workshop didn't fit with the Odd Sole's prints on the crime scene...

So far no one has mentioned hearing the shot.

I'm done thinking about this. [Finish thought.]

VOLITION - Absolutely. It could have come from *anywhere*. But you're suddenly so certain it came from the roof behind the window.

2. The bullet was jacketed -- these don't just lie around everywhere, do they...

VOLITION - Good point. It is rather rare these days... But do continue.

3. It turned out the bullet was an antique…

VOLITION - True. Strange how you conducted the whole *advanced ballistics analysis* and then hand-waved it?

4. The footprints in the pinball workshop didn't fit with the Odd Sole's prints on the crime scene...

VOLITION - No, they didn't.

5. So far no one has mentioned hearing the shot.

VOLITION - Notice how this hasn't come up at all -- even Hardie and his boys didn't mention it. Neither did you.

That's as much a point against Klaasje as it is against Ruby.

6. I'm done thinking about this. [Finish thought.]

VOLITION - That's right. *Finish thought*. Just finish it and conveniently go on. She's watching you leave right now, you know that? Free as a bird on that roof. Lighting up a cigarette and thinking: am I glad Ruby's in this shit and not me!

We could still go back and arrest Klaasje, if we really wanted to. She hasn't left. Yet.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Don't listen to this guy. The theory was solid. He's just jealous. Move on, it's no use harassing her further.

On our way past, I stop in at Frittte and buy a pack of Drouamine, since we don't seem to be getting much in the way of Health pickups lately. Also...

KNICK-KNACKS STAND - You see several packaged raincoats fill a low shelf beneath a display of croissants and juice bottles. The raincoats are transparent, except for the big 'FRITTTE' slogan on the back.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - The packages are small. Discreet. Sloppily stacked, making them easier to take unnoticed -- no need to worry about knocking over a display.

2. "I want to buy a raincoat." 3. [Savoir Faire - Challenging 12] Steal a raincoat.

FRITTTE CLERK - "Here you go." The clerk removes the garment from the lower shelf and hands it over.

"FRITTTE" PLASTIC RAIN COAT

+1 Endurance: Part of Frittte's army

A transparent plastic rain coat with FRITTTE (sic!) written on the back. The package photo shows a group of happy Revacholians dancing in the rain.

You know, let's chat with Mañana one last time.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Olá, wandering man." He looks at you with soft and hazy eyes. "How can I help you?"

2. "Why are you striking?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "We're negotiating our share."

"Your… share?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Aye." He seems pleased with himself.

2. "How large a *share* would you like?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "All of it. However, right now we want all the harbour workers to be on the company's board, so they could take part in *the decision-making process*."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - This seditious talk sounds like communism. (Just so we're on the same page: Communism is basically wanting to kill the rich people or deporting them to a labour camp in southeast Graad. But don't say that out loud if you're a communist.)

3. "You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about the political situation."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Sure, I've had the necessary free time." He spreads his arms wide, using the reach to show how much time he has. "Fortunately, there's always time."

COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] - The look in his brown eyes conjures up an understanding: for him, having command of his time is the most important thing.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - It all comes together now, the way he speaks about scabs, his general attitude. He's a follower of a 500-year-old Franconigerian boiadeiro code -- itself an appropriation of Vespertine cool...

This is where we hit a new direction in the conversation -- last time we spoke to Mañana we had a 1 in Encyclopedia.

That of a noble peasant or a travelling herdsman. True to yourself, independent in your actions, loyal to your friends.

Maybe I am a boiadeiro?

It doesn't sound that cool. Sounds antiquated, obsolete, *passé*. It's not *disco*.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - No.

I could...

But...

What if...

Maybe...

Unless...

ENCYCLOPEDIA - No.

CALL ME MAÑANA - The man sits on the railing, his hands reaching far and wide, yet it feels as if he could effortlessly go even wider, if need be. An endless torrent of time.

4. "Got the picture. Let me ask you something else."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Sure thing." A gust of wind blows through his hair.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - What is this, news of the world? Talk about *personal stuff*. Get to know him.

3. "Wait... I don't even know your name. Who are you?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Call me Mañana. I'm just a humble harbour-worker... for the past six, seven years."

+5 XP

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Mañana sounds like a mesque word, but he doesn't actually look much like a mesque.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Not a given name, for certain. It's a taken name -- the kind for artists, or criminals, or revolutionaries and the sort. An alias. A *nom de guerre*.

"Mañana? You don't look like a Mesque..."

"Call Me Mañana.. What kind of a name is that?"

"Well met, Mañana. That's a sweet-ass name."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "I'm not. I'm *Vacholiero*. Not all Mesques have the Mesque look, either, you know. Things in the real world are a bit more... fluid. Stuff ain't always what it appears to be."

"Hold on, have you had any other names?"

"So it's a... nom de guerre?"

"So, not a given name, I take it?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Plenty to go around. Don't get greedy and try to swipe mine, though." He smiles merrily. "You've got your own."

"So it's a... nom de guerre?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "A nom de guerre would be more like *Guerra Mañana*." He chuckles. Then realizes something.

"Now that we're getting so well acquainted -- what's your name?"

"I just found my name some time ago, on the coast. Finally! The name's Tequila Sunset."

"Okay, I think might be Harry." (Conclude.)

"My name is Harrier Du Bois. I think." (Conclude.)

"All right then." (Conclude.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - He reaches his hand out to you and shouts: "Boiadeiro!"

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The man is deeply moved. You see his eyes turn teary with appreciation. He is extremely happy for you.

Shake his hand.

Leave him hanging.

CALL ME MAÑANA - You receive a good, strong handshake in return.

"You said boiadeiro? Tell me about them."

Have a moment of silence.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "A really cool guy."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - It feels like there's an entire history behind the word... but it doesn't really matter. You got it. You know what it *means*.

"What kind of a cool guy exactly? It's not *just* a cool guy, is it?"

Nod knowingly.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Like me and you. Exactly so." He takes a swig from his flask, then offers you some.

Thought gained: Boiadeiro

[acrisius-ii]

The Skeeter is a fighter plane devised by the most devilish minds of the KSM designed to 1. strike fear into the hearts of enemies, 2. make it seem like they were winning the war against the fey (at least to their citizens) and 3. strap as many heavy weapons as they could to as small of a package as possible for 4. the least amount of money.

the Skeeter is propelled solely by the ramjet-blackblood engine they strapped directly behind the cockpit. it is capable of producing a sonar wave powerful enough to evaporate small birds-- it does this to knock sonically sensitive entities off its trail (servants of the Queen of Butterflies, for example) and also as a last ditch effort in case the thing crashes and is beset by the wild hunt, which, make no mistake, it will. the pilots of the Skeeter are, unlike their brethren pilots of the Stork, heavily modified. Their bloodstream has been replaced with syrup-like blackblood to resist blackouts from immense g-forces. nearly all of them are deaf-- they replace their burst paper eardrums at every station possible.

it is armed with two MGs mounted behind the cockpit on either wing, to ensure that the pilot can reach out and unjam the bullet belts if they get caught in something. underneath each wing is a hardpoint, on which is typically mounted a rocket pod, each firing up to 21 unguided missiles. On the belly of the skeeter is a bay that holds five incendiary bombs. Every armament is poised to explode should the vessel begin its unceremonious hurtle to the ground to ensure that every pilot, even in death, is a scourge unto the world.

The skeeter is, like its namesake, not deployed in groups or formations, but in clouds. This is partly because of the thick line of smog that erupts from it's tail end when it flies, and partly because of the sheer volume of skeeter families. Where you see one, you will soon see five, and where you see five, ten are to follow. If you have seen ten, your world is to be soon drowned in high yield explosives and salted earth

the Augers (that is, those repairers and engineers who speak Machine Tongue) say that this machine is angry. it seethes with hate and screams its displeasure every day it is activated. angry at its designated targets, at its creators, its pilots, its repairers, designers, and builders. It is a temperamental machine-- less of a diva and more of a wild horse. do not treat it gently: this weapon must be beat into submission, or it will explode in the hangar and take with it everyone it so hates. the pilots are adrenaline junkies-- they love the chance. they prod it and push at it while in flight. bony fingers slam against the dashboard, cigarette butts are tossed everywhere, a combat boot slams into the pedals. They say "C'MON YOU LEAKING PIECE OF SHIT, DO YOUR JOB, HIT THE FUCKEN BASTARDS!"

they are, at least a little voluntarily, insane. if you turn it too sharply, it rips itself apart. run the guns too hot, the fuel lines ignite and detonate. put too much gas into the ramjet, and the entire thing goes up in flames. the skeeter, like its namesake, is made from eyelashes and gossamer. the pilots laugh their black-spit laugh, cough their engine-starting cough, and run the fragile craft like a stubborn horse. they say the pain they inflict on their steed makes it run faster, better, more filled with murderous rage.

when a Skeeter is swatted, it screams in a final wail of anguish. depending on where it was hit, its armaments detonate in a second-sun of a supernova, illuminating the sea of fog for seconds on end. any armamaents that survived the primary explosion are sent careening far away, where they will explode again. If the craft remains unexploded, the pilot screams with gleeful joy and cranks the fuel injection to maximum, aiming the nose at the largest target. they wait until the last possible instant to open the lid and jump out-- sometimes they make it, mostly they do not. on detonation, the nosecone, propelled by high explosive filler and fourteen millimeter rounds, pierces its target clean through as a molten spearhead. If the pilot goes down, so too do their enemies.

Each and every skeeter is a machine of death-- to its targets, its manufacturers, its pilots. It is just as ready to kill its rider as it is its enemies.

[sr-sam-bodypillow]

hoogh im thinking about stancat123. he’s so cute frrrrr… so behold! nsfw stan x reader headcanons since I’m simping on main. no gendered pronouns but reader is afab

[full disclosure this was first put into my drafts in fucking January. time is a myth i have adhd]

stan is overall kind of a disaster of a guy (affectionate). you would absolutely have to make the first move and flirt with him

he’s so warm…. like human hot water bottle. good for hugging.

he would absolutely ramble about topics that he likes for hours on end and it’s adorable

i don’t think he’s a good cook. like, at all. im pretty sure he managed to give himself food poisoning within a few weeks of living by himself. he goes into the kitchen and creates biohazards modern horror writers only wish they could create. but he makes up for it with enthusiasm and puppy-dog eyes, so you two spend a lot of time cooking together (he improves. eventually)

when you snuggle in bed he starts out as the little spoon but you end up waking up to his limbs tangled around you as he clings onto you like a weird lanky koala

he’s also NOT a morning person at all. he’s like a siren but instead of leading your ship into the rocks with his singing he leads you back into the warm and comfy bed in the morning when you have things to do with his cute snoring and 🥺 face. when he does get up it’s always after 10am (unless he has something to do) and he shuffles around awkwardly like a zombie for an hour until his brain properly wakes up. he has fallen asleep in his breakfast and on your shoulder whilst standing several times and you’ve got a lot of photos

it’s so easy to make him flustered, you hold his hand in public in the beginning of your relationship and he can’t make eye contact with anyone for the next two hours

you accidentally give him a hickey once and he walks into the office, screams at a such a high pitch that has some people think that a bird has gotten stuck in the room, turns around runs out and promptly falls down the stairs.

the only thing he bruises is his ego. you were the one bruising his neck ;)

he’s very submissive in bed. he likes the feeling of someone else taking control of him, telling him exactly what to do and how to do it. he doesn’t have to think for a while, and for a few hours all he will ever be is a pretty little pet, a living dildo for you to use and pleasure yourself with as you see fit, exisiting solely to make you feel good and he fucking loves it.

he’s definitely got a big dick, and his dick’s pretty thick too. this does not change how much of a bottom he is and if anything it makes it more adorable

pet play. god, he’d be so big on pet play. again, he loves being ordered around, so he happily puts on a collar and lets you put a leash on him, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he pants slightly. his mind goes fuzzy and he finds it hard to think, but he doesn’t mind since you’re doing all the thinking for him. he finds it a bit harder to control himself, so sometimes he ends up humping your thighs sloppily to get off and even though both of you know that you’re going to need to punish him later for being a bad boy and touching himself when he wasn’t allowed to, you don’t stop him because the little moans and whimpers he makes as he tries to fuck your thighs, spreading his pre everywhere as he bucks his hips against you shakily sound so damn good

he’s really fucking kinky even though it embarrasses him a bit. like you name it he’s either willing to try it or he’s already jerked off to it. hands? check. choking? absolutely! face sitting? god yes, he wants you to smother him so badly. pegging? spanking? wax play? he’s already been trying to figure out how to ask you about that. knife play? he wasn’t too sure about this but he had a dream recently where you held him at knifepoint and he woke up to realise that he’d come in his pants, so yes.

also PEGGING. holy shit he’d probably love to be pegged, love the feeling of your skin pressing up against him as you slam into him over and over again ruthlessly until he cums all over himself. spanking, too. he wants you to slap his ass till it bruises, and there’s a chance you could probably get him to finish just by slapping his ass

yknow how i mentioned that he loves to ramble about topics he likes? imagine starting to grind up against him as he talks, slipping your hands underneath his shirt and seeing just how long he can keep his composure, words starting to slur together as he gasps and groans, desperately trying to stop himself from moaning like the needy little whore you both know he is. he doesn’t last long, and soon he’s on his knees with his head in between your thighs, using his mouth for something that’s equally as productive and enjoyable for the both of you.

he probably sends you a lot of nudes. like every single image/video he sends you during the day is a Risky Click because it’s either something absolutely adorable and goofy like him showing you how many books he can stack on his head or it’s his fully erect, thick throbbing cock with precum leaking from the tip as he softly moans your name like it’s the only thing in life that matters, tears of overstimulation rolling down his cheeks, pretty brown eyes clouded with lust, one hand groping his chest and playing with his cute pink nipples, the other slowly pumping two of his fingers in and out of his perfect ass whilst he’s rambling about how he wishes you were home with him because he wants you to fuck him so badly and he just can’t wait any longer and he’s so sorry but surely you can understand that he’s too horny to not fuck himself like this

Voyeurism kink…. it’d absolutely embarrass him to admit it but he definitely gets off to the thought of people watching him, you included. he’s put on a show for you quite a few times, taking off all his clothes and slowly edging himself with a dildo or vibrator until he can’t take it anymore, the overstimulation breaking him. he just wants you to watch him be your perfect little slut <3

once you get past the initial hurdle of literally everything embarrassing him and you realise just how much of a needy pervert he actually is you both start to do a lot more somewhat public stuff. he starts wearing a collar around everywhere, hiding it beneath his clothes, starts asking you to give him more hickeys in visible spots because he loves it when people can see just who he belongs to

if he ever tops you it’s more of a service top thing with a lot of body worship. he may be on top but he’s still submissive, doing exactly what you ask of him and doing all he can to make sure that you feel good

all in all, adorable subby pervert. thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[chloromanci]

Did anyone tell you what happened?

Over a year later and the city’s still half underwater. The effects still flood the streets and keep people out of damaged property and all the while Gotham moves on. Gotham moves on and Gotham wallows. Something to be said about a city that holds a grudge as readily as it picks itself back up. Some people can’t even multitask so well. Maybe even most people. Daniel can’t relate to that though. He’s got his fingers in too many pies not to hoist his baggage everywhere he goes. Seems birds of a feather flock together.

“Nah.” Newspaper so wet it could make a paste sticks itself to the bottom of one of his shoes. Daniel half leans against the closest building to pick some of it out of the rubber grooves in the sole and flick it back whence it came. The sidewalk is splattered like a Jackson Pollock painting. “Heard about it in the news. Like anybody else. What’s it say about a guy that he hears about a city being blown up and thinks to himself, ‘Y’know what? Seems like a sensible place to raise my kid in’?”

Daniel’s smile is wide and crooked when he straightens upright again. Easy, easy. Even scraping shit off the bottom of his shoe doesn’t put him off. “You get fucked over from it much? Or were you safe uptown?”

🌱 STILL BORN. (for @banschivs)

[magic-is-something-we-create]

Writer Education Tag

THANK YOU @ashen-crest FOR THE TAG NOW I HAVE REASON TO SHARE A BUNCH OF THE WEIRD THINGS IVE HAD TO RESEARCH <3<3<3

Rules: Writers often have to research some pretty out-there stuff for our wips. What are some weird, unusual, or oddly specific things you’ve had to learn about or look into?

-- Turkish Reflex bows (construction materials, draw weights, differences from recurves, use in combat, how they're drawn (using the thumb instead of the forefingers) and also dips into variants from other cultures like iirc Mongolian archery) (Related fun fact: I've tried out archery a few times just to get an idea for how it feels!!) -- A Lot of weird animals for creature/fantasy race designs (Gharials, cowtail stingrays, phantom jellyfish, oarfish, orchid mantises, bronze parotia birds of paradise, gyr cattle, etc. etc. etc.) -- Legal terms for things like "this dude is standing in for someone who isn't here" and "knowing about a first degree murder before the fact and not stopping it" (pro tempore and accessory to [crime], respectively) which prompted deep dives into niche lawyer things of which only like 2% stuck in my brain -- Sign language!! And Language-Assisted Signs, because those are different a lot of the time and I wanted to know How and Why to portray Ash and Ice respectfully (Another related fun fact: half of my ASL research has been for use outside of writing, too, because I have Deaf family members. Also, I learned the ASL alphabet when I was 9 and that's come in clutch.) -- Speed of travel for different types of age-of-sail ships, and how to calculate that for a fantasy world where the routes are up to you and not currents of wind and water alike -- Altitude sickness/the Bends -- Ocular autohemmorrhaging (aka squirting blood out your eyes as a defense mechanism. lizards do this a lot) (this was for dragons) -- Differences in symptom presentation between Multiple Sclerosis and Transverse Myelitis (I determined that Lorelei has Multiple Sclerosis) -- Necrosis (Don't look this one up if you have a weak stomach) -- How bog bodies happen and work -- Rabies -- Different forms of paddle boats historically used for swampy navigation -- Traditional Chinese junk rigging, and how it was used in Sampan ships -- Gyroscopes and how they work/what they do/specifically the one in the plane that flew a telescope and had to keep it steady but the name of which ive forgotten -- Many Illegal Kinds Of Knives (did you know certain kinds of switchblades are illegal almost everywhere?? i didn't until semi recently. theyre some of the sexy ones too </3) -- How wing shape affects flight ability in birds -- How owl wings, specifically, are so Quiet (its the feather construction. i still dont quite get it but im tryin) -- Afrofuturistic architecture/the Afrofuturism movement as a whole -- Dancing swords/sabers with a specific focus on their grips and lack of hand guards, and the forms people used when fighting with them -- An Unreasonable amount of sewing techniques which I am now trying to make excuses for annie to reference. -- Fresco painting techniques (ended up not relevant) -- Marble sculpting techniques -- And of course a ton of research into PTSD, traumatic memory loss, OCD, the Autism + ADHD spectra (so i dont just copy-paste myself on everyone), Schizophrenia, etc. etc. for better/kinder portrayals

That is. By Far not an exhaustive list but yeah <3 i enjoy research and talking about the weird shit i learn solely through the hodgepodge of information axes i follow on the regular

I'll tag: @vacantgodling, @space-cadead, @sleepyowlwrites, @athena-anna-rose, and @comicgoblinart!! As always, absolutely 0 pressure to play if you dont want to, and this doubles as an open tag if you do!!

[watchyourdigits]

1, 6, 8, & 40 for the otp ask?

More Eve/Mac for the OTP ask game :') Some Frankie/Danse sprinkled in because I'm starting to feel inspired to write them again (please clap). AS ALWAYS, I am so easily carried away & these are lengthy af

(nsft toward the end, not explicit)

<3

1. Who fell for the other one first?

Eve/Mac

MacCready fell first, hitting his head a few times on the way down. He's often grateful he didn't just run for the hills the moment he realized what was happening because it sure as hell was terrifying getting close to someone again after Lucy.

Evelyn didn't really fall, so much as she was hit by it like a freight train. She spent a lot of time at first being hyper-fixated on Mac's intentions and him as a concept in general that she didn't realize she had a "problem" until she was already in too deep. It took him being shot and kidnapped by the Forged for her to really feel the enormity of what losing him would do to her & come to terms with what it all meant.

Frankie/Danse

Frankie. The moment he laid eyes on Danse, he knew that beefcake would be the death of him. Like, Frankie isn't blind c'mon now. The thirst was baaadddddd and, as such, was mostly a physical attraction at first. It didn't take long for it to blossom into something more than that once he got to know him. For Frankie, there was no coming to terms with anything, no having to think twice about it. He's always been very unashamed in his affection for his Paladin. Still, he handled things as subtly as he could manage and waited (mostly) patiently while Danse figured his shit out.

Call it overconfidence, but he always had a feeling Danse felt similarly & was dealing with a lot of internalized roadblocks. Frankie wasn't about to push him into anything. Not only that, but he wasn't sure why Danse would even want him with his face being messed up by the deathclaw. Thus, his rule always was that Danse had to make the first move. Even still, Frankie would continue waiting for as long as it would take for Danse to come around. It's the only time this man has exercised patience in his goddamn life.

6. What random everyday object/activity makes them think of each other?

MacCready sees metaphors for her everywhere; flowers, birds, the rising and setting of the sun, to name a few. Evelyn thinks of him when she sees more real concepts. Like when she sees an empty bed, she's wishing he was there (even if he's not far behind). She thinks of him whenever she sees ammo casings scattered around. Clear days remind her of the color of his eyes.. You know the vibes.

(Me at them like ffs quit it with the yearning, you're in the same room together!!!!)

8. Do they get along with each other’s friends and family?

I sort of answered this one accidentally in one of my other responses, but yes! Most of the friends Evelyn and MacCready have are mutual ones. I'd say Deacon is an exception to this. Eve ends up coming around on Deacon, and they're kind of actually friends in the end. MacCready can't stand him sometimes and generally finds him annoying, but he tolerates him because he's the sole reason Evelyn got out of the Institute alive. He feels indebted to Deacon and repays said debt by not punching him in the face on sight for all of the Prior Transgressions - including, but not limited to: stalking, attempting to steal the courser chip, being funny and hot and sexy, etc.

40. Who tries to distract the other when they’re trying to do something else?

Eve/Mac

Evelyn and MacCready are both very annoying in this sense. Both are very needy/insecure, always seeking reassurances that things are still good between them. They also both indulge each other far too often and have very little self-discipline about each other. A disgusting "fuck whatever youre doing, give me snuggles or I'm going to BITE YOU" and "for you, anything" couple.

(nsft-ish warning for the following)

Frankie/Danse

Frankie is ALWAYS distracting Danse. He starts by asking innumerable questions about whatever he's working on. Danse isn't sure how it happens, but the situation degrades pretty consistently. Any time he tries to get work done, one of them ends up bent over his workbench or on their knees within thirty minutes or less.

A good example is the time Danse offered to fix the rifling on Frankie's shotgun - a project that should've taken a day or two at most ended up taking a full week longer. It was an amazing week, he wouldn't deny that, and it's what made Danse learn that Frankie has a very intense Thing for watching him work on stuff. He's subsequently banned from the workshop. Eventually, Danse started 'accidentally' leaving the door open after he put away his actual projects. Frankie is happy just to be there and doesn't comment on the fact that Danse is usually just pretending to re-organize his tools and not doing actual work.

[nattousan]

ok but imagine being the fursuit artist that he contracts to make his costume tho

He contacts you via an anonymous email and is very exacting and precise in his request. Money is no object, which isn't uncommon in your line of business, you're a professional and more than a few customers have been in the 1% range.

So you ask if he's local so you can meet and take measurements and he says no but he will meet you at (conveniently close local craft store) tomorrow after work (you did not mention where you live)

You're a little shaken but you meet him anyways because daddy needs to pay rent, and he's probably not a serial killer, right?

Right?

You had no idea what kind of person to expect, but a 6'2 bald white guy built like a fucken shit-brickhouse with a "FurCon2023" shirt wrapped around his brolic frame was rather on the shorter end of your list. His cargo shorts and pure white sneakers looked like they'd just been picked up off of the shelf and his glasses looked too small for his massive head.

You jump because you don't even notice him until he's tapping you on the shoulder and introducing himself. How did he know it was you?? Alarm bells are going off everywhere but there's cameras all over, he wouldn't try something in public right?? You take his measurements and look at fabrics together.

You ask about his fursona and he very seriously produces a laminated folder with several crudely drawn pictures of a polar bear suit. Well, you guess you shouldn't be mean, they were clearly drawn from references but you could tell this was someone who did not draw often. It didn't even have any accessories, it was just a normal polar bear... But the notes surrounding them were so neat they looked printed! And so in depth! There was one page solely dedicated to the visibility needs, with advanced notes on the camera and display system he wanted in the head. You'd only seen this sort of thing at the national cons, just who the hell was this guy??

You haltingly ask him if he was sure. You tell him this is really advanced stuff and he was looking at at LEAST 10k with all the specific modifications on it. When you first started making suits you would have never been this firm on pricing, lowballing and trying to make up the difference so as not to upset the customer with a hefty price, but you'd learned eventually that undervaluing your work was a waste of your time and effort so even though you couldn't gauge his reaction, you figured being upfront about the price would at least be a test to see how serious the guy was.

He nodded silently and reached into the fanny pack around his waist to produce the cleanest stack of hundreds you'd ever seen in your life, like straight printed from the treasury mint. He places it in your palm and you almost drop it out of shock.

"Will this be enough to get you started? I included some extra to compensate for lost wages as I do need this suit fairly quickly" he says, tone unreadable.

You stammer and try to look professional thumbing through the crisply banded notes and would you look at that, you think this will do just fine!

He nods again, shakes your hand and leaves without another word.

You exit the store, just trying to comprehend what in the hell you'd just gotten yourself into, zoning out so hard that you didn't even realize someone was yelling at you until the word "-fuckin furry faggot" pierced through your thoughts. You were looking at your phone so you didn't notice the band of truck bros creeping up behind you in their suped up pickup truck. There were three or four in the bed of the truck, dangling out over the side in between giant "TRUMP 2024" and "Lets Go Brandon" flags. They have their phones out, recording you and shouting slurs.

You raise double birds at them and turn to walk quickly in the opposite way, hoping you wouldn't see them as you walked home. You'd heard of a couple beatings happening locally and you didn't want to be around if that's what they had in mind.

So when you hear tires screeching and and engine roaring behind you, you break out into a run, hoping to make it to the bus terminal across the parking lot.

But they catch up to you before you'd made it halfway. They all get out and one grabs your phone that you held out to record with. He smashes it on the ground and shoves you into the pavement. Hard.

They all stand over you, jeering and laughing and you try to escape but your limbs won't listen to you. You always figured if something like this happened you'd stand your ground, maybe get in a couple of hits yourself, but in reality you could barely breathe and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, so your attempts to scream for help end up coming out as breathy wheezes. One of them levels a crowbar at you and thats when the screaming starts.

You curl up into a ball to protect your face but the pain never comes. You hear screaming and sneakers skidding across asphalt and oh god, wet crunchy impacts followed by something warm and wet being splattered across your arms and legs.

Its suddenly silent except for the drone of the truck engine but eventually you crack open an eye to get a look around, and for the second time that day you almost lose your lunch.

Its straight up something out of a video game, just absolute carnage surrounds you. All of the tall frat bros are out cold in varying stages of fucked up. You do actually start to hurl a little when you see one with his nose completely sideways like a gory Picasso.

And in the center of the carnage is -no fucking way- your fucking fursuit client, calmly wiping his hands of the blood with some baby wipes from his fannypack.

He looks over at you when he sees you're up and for a second there you see something, a slip in the mask, something angry, something violent. You flinch as you realize it, but oh fuck, this guys like.. killed people before. like, for fucken sure.

He walks towards you and you suddenly feel like a very small animal being stalked by a tiger. You try to stumble away but the mask is back on and he just looks down at you and offers you a babywipe.

"You alright?" He asks plainly.

Turns out the guy is "ex-military" and he hurt himself so he's back in the states and bored out of his mind. His daughter is a furry and wanted him to go with her to FurCon and insisted he get a suit as well. You keep on glancing at all the deep scars running up and down his arms and wondering how the hell you didn't see it before.

He's saying something to you but you only snap out of it when a phone is being placed into your hands. You look up and suddenly you're standing outside your apartment building (did you tell him where you lived???)

"This is a secure line, if anything happens to you or you have questions, I'll answer immediately." He says, pale blue eyes drilling into your skull with their intensity.

The tears start bubbling up in your eyes before you can stop them and you just lean forward, bumping your head into his chest and choking out a thank you as you clutch the phone to your chest like an amulet.

As you figured, his body is make out of steel and he stiffens at the contact, unsure of what to do.

He just lets you cry it out for a bit before eventually placing a heavy hand on your shoulder, pulling you off but he keeps the hand gentle.

He's not looking at you this time but he clears his throat and murmurs a quick "Take care" before turning around and disappearing into the night. You unlock your door and collapse into bed.

"What the fuck" you murmur to yourself as you pull out your tablet, and you start to sketch...

They’ll never do a Hitman level set in a Furry Convention because gamers would absolutely ruin it but imagine. like the target isn’t a furry he just owns a hotel that happens to have one every year but you can disguise yourself in a fursuit and some guy will ask you “what species is your sona” and 47 would be like “a wolf. i always felt a connection with…hunters.” and then diana would be like “let’s see if you can sniff out some information, furrty-seven” and then he comes to my house and kills me for writing this

[vvatchword]

I fucking moved. Fuck that city in particular and fuck everybody in it except for the cool Bat Dude and the lady who gave me a ride so I didn't get rained on and the nice old grandpa who saw me staring into space at the hamburger joint (as one does).

Yes, I got into a stranger's car, but look. She was very nice and she reminded me of a dear friend, and I was so darkly miserable that the fact she asked was like a little ray of sunshine. Like look. Not everybody is fucking horrid, sometimes they're a nice librarian-looking lady in an SUV.

Oh, now I can't stop thinking of nice people. Let's face it: there were plenty of nice folks there. It's just that I'm not made for cities. There's what I thought I wanted and there's what I actually wanted.

I hate cities

I hate noise

I hate traffic

I hate rich people

I hate pollution (and so does my bird)

I hate the horrifying cost of living

I hate lights and need a real nighttime. If I can't see stars I begin to die. If your lights are so bright the moon disappears, you're too damn bright

I HATE public transit because...

I hate having to maneuver around homeless shenanigans. You know how many times I'd be genuinely terrified per month? Way too many times.

There were too many people everywhere I went. I would try to go shopping early to avoid rubbing shoulders and end up rubbing shoulders. There was just no easy way to avoid crowds.

Tamed nature. Do you know what I mean? Nature made as humans desire it, not nature existing outside of humankind. At the very least--nature that hasn't seen more than two separate human beings per month. I have learned a brand new appreciation for wastelands. I am not renewed by a park with a tree in it. I need to see land that doesn't need a sprinkler system.

I was constantly overwhelmed and I never got to do anything fun because I was too poor. Cool shit happens here, too, though. So I'm just going to try and go to something nice at least once per month. It's more expensive because you have to drive, but it's less expensive on the whole because half of my income isn't going to rent.

Moving was a nightmare. I basically packed up and left in a week. My dad contracted some friends from his church. They said they could help me pack if I wasn't done yet. Joke's on me: those guys didn't give a single fuck. They launched my belongings like we were Cape Canaveral. I thought I was going to die from the agony of seeing brain-dead rednecks bodyslam my books into boxes. I still haven't found parts of my stuff yet. Who knows where it's all gone. I'll find it eventually? I guess?

I proceeded to drive home in the dark and the rain, where I chugged energy drinks and longed for death. I stopped once to buy the best possible snacks I could find (Muddy Buddies, Dot's Pretzels, some donuts. My life is falling apart. I deserve nice things). My traveling partner was the sole surviving African Dwarf Frog (long story, but they started dying one by one, and she is the last).

Got home and weeks of abuse caught up to me. I proceeded to fall into a catatonic state for about two days. Caught up with myself today and finally set my PCs up. I have two; one is an old-school mid-tier gaming device from like. 2012. The other is my custom-built gaming PC from about three years ago. Anyway. I've been wanting to make them both dual-monitor machines but I had to do some troubleshooting, and I figured it out today.

I can't connect to ethernet because this house wasn't built with ethernet in mind. It's going to have to be WiFi. Ewwww. Oh well

Being home is a HUGE relief. My parents are ecstatic to have me. The DOG is ecstatic to have me. The bird is angry because I can just straight-up leave his sight now. The apartment may have been a hideous, dimly-lit hole, but it was a SMALL hideous, dimly-lit hole, and he knew where I was at all times. He has to hunt for me now and he hates it.

I can begin job-hunting again in earnest, as well as begin NaNoWriMo. I need to hit 5,000 words today. Wish me luck lol

[onimaji]

a surprise visit from a perky kitsune--his slender arms and dainty hands slip down the back of the oni's shirt, gently dragging his finger tips down his back. with a sly, toothy grin, the kitsune whispers in the demon's ear, "ooh, oni-sama, you're so tense... perhaps i help you... alleviate your stress~?"

/ unprompted asks, always accepting! @bellsliturgy.

Within the confines of the bar (which doubled as a space he was the sole master of), there was an additional door that could only be found on two conditions:

a) you were seeking and audience with the Oni,

and b) he was allowing visitors at that time.

Otherwise, the door would open into an elaborate broom closet.

If allowed within, however, the door would open into the scene of a sunny, forested clearing with a path that lead down towards a wide lake in which a roaring waterfall jetted into the waters.

There were signs of life everywhere.

Birds. Squirrels. Insects. Deer, even.

The forest itself was alive with life all created from his own mind for his own comfort.

Still, with the Kitsune appearing there and getting close to the Oni, close enough to touch him in this comforting place--it was very much a surprise. Majima's immediate thought was that Nishida probably said something--that was the only way. The Kitsune had no power in this place. It was his after all.

Though, even that train of thought was pushed aside in favor of turning the Kitsune's words over in his head again, processing. It only took a moment, but . . . could this guy be believed? His favor past time seemed to be to tease him, the little shit. . . but he could help but notice those hands on his back, couldn't help but notice how . . . good . . . they felt.

"I ain't gonna turn down an offer like that," Majima replied, still a bit suspicious, "as long as ya really are offerin', Fox. How can I be sure it's worth in when ya play 'round so much, haw? Ya get one shot at this."

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

--

He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

--

masterpost

[julek]

for love, for love, for love

for @writinglizards <3 love you, i hope you enjoy the filth. | READ ON AO3

rated E | 2.8K | warnings: A/B/O, intersex omegas, knotting

The sun was shining, birds were singing, and Jaskier was in love.

After years and years and some more years of pining and moping around miserably, Jaskier had finally gathered up the courage (and the liquor) to look into soft vanilla-eyes and utter the most important three words that had ever crossed his mind. And he’d watched as Geralt’s eyes had softened, melting into amber, and crinkled around the corners; felt the way his scent had gone sweet and the faint smell of lust had begun to fill his senses.

And they’d fallen into bed — after a murmured yes, I do too, and a sigh of relief, and sweet nothings whispered between long-coming kisses. And Jaskier had found himself pressed flat against the rickety inn bed as Geralt’s breaths came hot and heavy against his throat, their hips pressed together. They’d come just like that — legs entwined and sweaty kisses being pressed into each other’s skin.

Jaskier had expected Witchers to be different — Geralt had offhandedly mentioned some of the changes they’d had to go through in their adolescence, the way their skin stretched and their muscles tore apart just to be rebuilt anew. He was the only omega in his pack, he’d told him, and had therefore been trained harder, pushed into new limits just to be assured he would stand his ground in a fight. What a load of shit, Jaskier had thought, the image of a brown-haired Geralt chained to a bed, crying out in pain making his hackles rise.

“I want you to knot me,” Geralt had murmured against his chest, unprompted, that first night. Jaskier groaned.

“You— that— you can’t just say that to me, Geralt,” he’d huffed, frowning at Geralt’s self-satisfied smirk. “You’ve basically rendered me useless for the months to come, dear.”

Geralt shrugged. “I want you to,” he said simply. “I wanted you to, tonight.”

“Oh?” Jaskier made an inhuman effort to sit up straighter, propped against the wall with two-hundred pounds of satisfied Witcher on top of him. “I didn’t— I would never assume.”

Geralt pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, burrowing closer into Jaskier’s warmth. “I know,” he murmured. Then, he took a deep breath. “It’s harder, for us,” he said. “To be… prepared.” He looked up at Jaskier. “Here,” he said, and took Jaskier’s hand, guiding it down to his crotch. Jaskier’s breath hitched as his fingers gently brushed against Geralt’s folds, but a tiny frown appeared on his brow when, instead of hot wetness, he was met with dry skin.

He looked at Geralt. “But did you—”

“I did,” Geralt reassured him. He closed his eyes. “Witchers— I can’t produce much slick. No matter how much I want to.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, his voice small.

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand back, began playing with his fingers. “I’m— I can’t carry. The Trials took that away, and they thought… they thought I wouldn’t be tempted to try, either, if it was harder for me to…” He trails off, gesturing at their bodies. “I’m broken. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier took him into his arms and hugged him tightly to his chest, his nose pressed against the crook of his neck, and felt Geralt’s shoulders release some of the tension they were holding. “I love you,” he murmured. “You. You’re not broken.” He kissed the top of his head. “I want you to feel good. To enjoy yourself.” He pulled back, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “You make me feel—” He spluttered, at a loss for eloquency, and it made Geralt laugh. “I don’t even have words for it. You make me feel incredible, love, and I only want the same for you.”

Geralt leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Thank you,” he said, his voice small. “I do want your knot, though.”

Jaskier laughed, his thumb rubbing Geralt’s hip soothingly. “And I’d love to give it to you, any time, no questions asked,” he replied. “Is there something we could do?”

Geralt leaned back, sitting on Jaskier’s lap. They were touching everywhere, and Jaskier couldn’t get enough of it. “Oil could work. Takes too much time, though, and it— it doesn’t feel good.” He frowned. “We could… when my heat comes,” he said, awkwardly. “No way of telling when that would be, though.”

The sole mention of sharing Geralt’s heat made Jaskier’s Alpha preen. “You’d like that?”

Geralt nodded. “I would.” His shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m sorry it’s all I can offer you, Jask.”

Jaskier shook his head, his hands coming up to rest on either side of Geralt’s head. “You are enough,” he said. “All of you, always. Believe me” —he rocked his half-hard cock against Geralt’s thigh— “you will never leave me wanting. I want you because I love you, not because I want to fuck you.” Geralt smiled. “Which I do want to do, because you drive me insane— but I’d happily be by your side if all you ever wanted to do was kiss,” he said, and pressed a sweet kiss to Geralt’s lips to emphasize his point. “Because I love you.”

There was a faint blush on Geralt’s cheeks, and he smirked. “You’ve said.”

“And I hope you know I’ll never stop,” Jaskier replied, grinning. “I love you, I love you, I lo—”

Geralt had shut him up with a kiss of his own.

Seasons had passed, flowers had bloomed and empires had fallen, and they’d gotten creative. Geralt was insatiable, Jaskier had learned, and he’d discovered countless ways to make him come — on his fingers, on his mouth, rutting against his half-blown knot. Their scents were intermingled, now, sweet jasmine and olives entangled with leather and fresh bread.

“My heat is near,” Geralt whispered to him one night, pressed against his body as they were laying on their bedrolls.

“Yeah?” Jaskier replied, willing the thumping of his heart to slow down, even if Geralt would be able to tell anyway. “How near?”

Geralt rolled around to face him. “A week.”

Smiling softly, Jaskier pressed him closer, wrapping his arms around him and dropping a kiss on his temple. Tentatively, Geralt purred against him. “A week.”

As the days passed, Jaskier could feel Geralt grow more and more restless, pacing around their camp on nights when he had nothing else to do and kicking and thrashing in his sleep. His scent was changing, too, turning sweeter and heavier, making Jaskier dizzy whenever he caught a whiff of it.

He secured an inn room for them, his hard-earned coin going into the sticky hands of the innkeeper. Geralt had protested — had argued he could spend his heat in the forest, for crying out loud, but he’d taken one look at Jaskier and realized there would be no bargaining.

He hadn’t let Jaskier help with the nest, though. In fact, he’d made him leave the room — just outside, though, as he couldn’t stand it if Jaskier wandered too far — and had looked very sheepish as Jaskier had walked in again, his eyes falling on his arrangement. Jaskier had refrained from calling it adorable and shedding a tear or two, only because Geralt’s heat was hours away and he could not get his hands off him.

“I need you,” Geralt whined, already scrambling to get Jaskier’s clothes off. “Now.”

Not one to argue, Jaskier hurried to remove his doublet and chemise as Geralt hungrily tore at the knots on his trousers. Their mouths clashed against each other, hot and wet, as Geralt kissed him fiercely, Jaskier giving as good as he got. He got a hold of Geralt’s undershirt and took it off, tossing it on the floor, and his pants followed. He pulled back, and took a moment.

“What?” Geralt said, and Jaskier’s Alpha roared at the sight of him — fully nude and covered in a light sheen of sweat, the sunlight pouring from the closed window enveloping him in warmth, his flushed cheeks and tousled hair the picture of his dreams, his hard cocklet jutting against the cut of his abdomen, an inviting sight.

“Look at you,” Jaskier rumbled, his hands coming down to frame Geralt’s waist. Geralt let out a pitiful whine, embarrassed. “No, no— how could you be ashamed, when you look this beautiful.” He nosed at his throat, breathing in the sweet, ripe scent of him. “I want to eat you up.”

“Please.” Geralt pressed himself against Jaskier’s body, his cocklet rocking against Jaskier’s half-hard cock. “Please, Alpha.”

Any thread of sanity Jaskier had been holding onto snapped as he growled low in his throat in response, mouthing at Geralt’s shoulder, feeling the shudder that ran down his spine. “Geralt.”

“Yes, please, yes, Jaskier,” he panted. “Please.”

Pressing a tender kiss to his mouth, Jaskier led him to the bed. They fell against the soft, worn blankets, Geralt’s back pressed against them as his thighs winded around Jaskier’s waist.

“So eager,” he teased, but rocked down against Geralt. He pressed kisses to his mouth, his cheeks, his throat, any part of him he could reach as his fingers travelled down Geralt’s chest, down, down, down until he brushed against his cocklet, making him moan. “There you go,” he said, jerking him between his fingers. “Good boy.”

Geralt gasped at the praise, falling back against the mattress, boneless, as Jaskier pressed open-mouthed kisses down his body, following the invisible line his finger had drawn just a moment ago. “Such a good boy for me,” he murmured, reveling in the needy mewl it pulled out of his Witcher. “So beautiful.”

“Jask—” whatever Geralt wanted to say died in his throat as Jaskier licked a stripe up his cunt and his words dissolved into a punched-out moan. “F-fuck, Jask.”

Jaskier hummed against him, his tongue lapping gently against Geralt’s folds, the taste of his slick inundating his senses. He wasn’t dripping, not yet, but as Jaskier pressed his finger against Geralt’s opening, he could feel its warmth as it clenched around nothing. “So wet for me,” he panted, pressing a kiss to the curls just above his cocklet. “Such a pretty omega.”

“Jask,” Geralt moaned, his hand coming down to rest on Jaskier’s head as he continued lapping at his cunt, the filthy sounds of Geralt’s moans and his slick going straight to his cock where it hung heavy between his legs, neglected. Gently, Jaskier pushed his tongue against Geralt’s entrance, fucking him with shallow thrusts in a rhythm he knew drove Geralt crazy, delighted in the barely-there resistance he found as he pushed his tongue inside.

“I’m— Jask,” Geralt panted, his grip tight on Jaskier’s hair, “I’m gonna—”

Jaskier hummed against him, and that drove him over the edge. Geralt’s thighs pressed hard against Jaskier’s head, locking him in, his cunt clenching around nothing as his hips rocked forward against Jaskier’s tongue, little ah, ah, ah sounds being pulled out of him.

“So good,” Jaskier purred, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on Geralt’s thighs as his breaths evened out. Jaskier had always teased him for how useless he was rendered once he’d come, but the scent of his heat was thick and heavy around them, and he could see in Geralt’s eyes that he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. Good, his Alpha rumbled, let’s keep our pretty mate awake.

Jaskier shook his head, willing his possessive Alpha away. Geralt wasn’t his — as much as he’d wanted to — and he wasn’t going to be yet another knotheaded alpha who couldn’t keep his teeth to himself.

“Hey,” Geralt said softly, bringing him out of his reverie. He was looking at him with tenderness in his eyes. “C’mere.”

Jaskier went happily, his mouth finding Geralt’s in a slow, deep kiss. He swallowed Geralt’s moan as he tasted himself in his mouth, his fingers brushing lightly against Geralt’s soft stomach.

He grinned when he felt Geralt whine.

“Desperate already?”

In response, Geralt flipped them around, positioning himself above Jaskier as he ground down against him. His cocklet was rock-hard again, brushing against Jaskier’s leaking cock, making him moan.

“You feel so good, pup,” he managed, his hands resting on Geralt’s hips, not guiding, simply holding. “So— fuck, so perfect.”

Geralt bent down to kiss him, filthy and hard, and suddenly the movement stopped. Jaskier was about to complain when Geralt lifted himself up a bit, and Jaskier felt his dripping cunt grind against the base of his cock.

“Fuck, Geralt— fuck.” The pressure on his aching knot made his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure, and fuck— Geralt’s cunt was wet and soft against him as he moved up and down. They both moaned as, on a well-aimed thrust, the head of Jaskier’s cock caught on Geralt’s opening.

“Jaskier,” his Witcher panted, and there was a needy edge to his voice, “please.”

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked, out of breath himself, his hands running up and down Geralt’s sides as he rocked his length against Geralt.

Geralt whined. “You.”

“You’ll need— ah— to be more specific, dear.”

“I want— fuck,” Geralt shuddered. “I need your knot.”

Jaskier was a mere mortal, after all. In a swift movement, he pressed two of his fingers to Geralt’s sopping cunt, rubbing his entrance just to get him used to the feeling. He was used to it — had come on Jaskier’s fingers rubbing against him more than once — but Jaskier needed to be sure.

“C’mon, I’m good, please.” Jaskier pressed his fingers inside, punching out a groan out of his Witcher, who rocked down on his fingers as deep as he could go. “More,” he pleaded, and Jaskier could do nothing more than comply.

With three fingers deep inside of him, Geralt deemed himself ready. “Now, Jaskier, please.”

Jaskier used his slicked-up hand to smooth over his cock, and Geralt whined at the loss, chanting feverishly, “Please Alpha, please, I need your knot, want it so bad, I need—”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, reaching for a kiss. Geralt melted against him, and Jaskier positioned him over his swollen cock. “Ready?”

Geralt clawed at his back. “Yes, yes, please—”

In one smooth motion, Jaskier entered him. It felt heavenly, the wet warmth enveloping him and swallowing him whole, the feeling of Geralt’s body against him, sweaty and wound-up and perfect, his needy mewls coming out of his chest unbidden. He reveled in it.

But then, Geralt started to move, and whatever ode Jaskier had been composing in his head flew out of the window, because this— this made Jaskier sob, for there was nothing like it.

Jaskier leaned back against the blankets and watched, enraptured, as Geralt bounced up and down on his cock, and it was filthy — the way his hair was messy and disheveled, his cheeks dark red and his eyes shut with pleasure — but it was also oh so tender, watching him chase his release with abandon.

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt moaned, his hands on Jaskier’s chest as he picked up speed, Jaskier’s swollen knot catching on his entrance. Slick was dripping down his thighs. “Feel so good.”

Jaskier groaned, his orgasm building up inside him. “Geralt, dear— fucking Melitele— fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Good,” Geralt purred, his pace never faltering. “Give me your knot, Alpha.”

And oh, how Jaskier wanted to. Still, “Are you sure?”

Geralt slowed down the slightest bit, and pressed a soft kiss to Jaskier’s lips. “I’m sure,” he said. “I love you.”

Jaskier pushed his knot inside as he came with a groan. All he could think of was Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as he felt him clench down on his knot, milking him. “Fuck, Geralt—”

“Yes, yes, good Alpha,” Geralt chanted, reaching down between his legs and rubbing his leaking cocklet. “Jaskier—”

He kept coming, pumping Geralt full of it, and the thought made him shudder. “My sweet omega, so beautiful, so good to me—”

Geralt came with a cry, his hips stuttering and pushing Jaskier’s knot deeper inside him. It dragged a moan out of Jaskier, feeling the tie tug against him, and Geralt collapsed on top of him.

Gently, and with as much care as he could manage, Jaskier arranged them on their sides. They moaned as the movement tugged on Jaskier’s knot, and Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s temple, his arms wrapped around him.

“Geralt,” he whispered.

“Mmm.”

Jaskier laughed, dazed. “Love.”

“Mmmmmmm.”

Ah, useless after coming. “How do you feel?”

Geralt pressed back against him, clenching weakly around him. “Good,” he rasped. “So good.”

Jaskier hummed behind him, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. “I’m glad.”

Geralt turned his head, reaching for a kiss. Jaskier gave it to him. “I love you,” he whispered against his lips, and Jaskier felt his heart leap in his chest.

“I love you too,” he answered.

Geralt watched him through half-lidded eyes. It made Jaskier laugh. “Go to sleep, old man.”

Geralt frowned at him, then clenched hard, making Jaskier gasp.

“You—” Jaskier hissed, “are lucky you’re pretty.”

Geralt closed his eyes, smug, and nestled himself against Jaskier, kneading at the blankets.

“Sleep,” Jaskier murmured. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Geralt’s scent spiked with lust. “Gather your strength,” he mumbled sleepily. “You’ll need it.”

[scottfuckingreed]

It’s a Pogue Thing - Part Three

This is a JJ Maybank story

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Warnings!: swearing and mentions of abuse

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     I wake up alone. Not only without JJ, but also without Kiara. I’m confused until I smell it... breakfast? It can’t be. Throwing myself out of bed, I dress myself and prepare myself for the brightness outside this room. “Ah there she is!” John B smiles. Before I can even react. a bit of toast bounces off of my head. All I can do is shut my eyes. I’m not even a fully functioning human yet. “Thanks,” I slide my feet across the floor, all the way to the couch. “Nice sleep?” Kiara chuckles, handing me an ‘in tact’ piece of toast. “It was alright.” I shrug. Internally I feel giddy. “You looked like you were pretty deep into it,” she adds. I was. She’s absolutely right. “I bet she was,” the husky morning voice of JJ erupts as he comes out of the bathroom. “Especially after last night.” His words get linked with a wink, followed by my heart stopping. “Yeah I’m sorry about that guys...” I flash my eyes straight over to John B. I’m definitely overthinking everything. Why would anyone even think JJ and I would ever? We wouldn’t. I guess that’s not true anymore. Either way, I’m fully awake now. “I didn’t realize it would be such a dead end.” Kiara’s hand cups John B’s shoulder in attempt to comfort. The blend of pain and disappointment in his voice was radiating through him. I wish there was another way; an easier way. “We just need to look closer. I’m sure there’s something,” I lie. “Are we sure there’s anything to find at all?” I throw my bread at the jackass. “JJ!” Ki follows. “You’re just pissed ‘cause I’m being honest. I’m sorry John, but what are we going on again?” I decide to stay quiet. “It doesn’t hurt to look again-” “You guys do what you want.”

     Not fully sure why, I rush my shoes on and follow the boy storming away. I feel somewhat protective over him. It’s a strange feeling. “JJ! Wait!” I call, jogging to catch up with him. He hardly slows. The anger was pretty much radiating off of his body. “If you’re here to-” “I’m here because I agree with you,” he pauses and frowns. “Even if there’s nothing, we still have to try.” Saying those words aloud feels like betrayal. I wish I had the guts to say what I thought, just like JJ, but there’s a time and a place. And both of those were wrong in that moment. “It’s false hope.” His words are blunt. “I know,” I whisper. I smooth my hair back with my hands. “You- he needs this JJ.” As he nods, he rolls his eyes. “He’s my best friend Y/N-” “I know JJ, but you just need to be a little more sensitive.” Once again, he rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just can’t lie to him,” shrugging, I realize this will continue to go in circles. “Fine,” I give up. A little frustrated, I turn around and start walking back to John B’s. “Where are you going?” I turn around quickly. I can’t help but frown at him. Like a dog, I tilt my head slightly to the side. “I thought we could grab some breakfast?” “I- what?” “I can tell you’re pissed.” Wow. Is it that obvious? I guess I don’t hide my emotions very well. “We ate at John’s...” I don’t know if I want to eat with him right now. “No. I didn’t eat, and you threw yours at me. Come on,” he nods and walks away from me. That’s it? And of course I follow him. I can’t not. 

     The walk was too quiet. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it had the ‘do I speak now or not’ vibe. When we get to a table in a small cafe, I sit opposite him slowly. “You can’t be that mad at me...” He chuckles slightly. Then comes the smirk. I didn’t know a look could do so many things to a person. It makes me want to slap him so bad. It also just makes me smile. “I’ll buy the food?” He tempts. “Do I even want to know where you get your money from?” The top and bottom lip press together on the boy’s face. “Probably not, you’re a good girl,” he winks. 

     Food. The boy truly knows me. So once that glorious breakfast spread was displayed in front of me - those exquisite eggs, the beautiful bacon, that tasty ass toast - he was forgiven. No grudges. I don’t even remember why I was even annoyed at him. “Wow,” is all I can express. Only a very small number of things can make me speechless. This is at the top of that list. “I know, I’m amazing,” he nods with a smug look on his face. Even when he’s joking about it, he always looks incredibly pleased with himself. I wish I had his confidence... or arrogance. Which either one it is, it works for him. Which is an utter shame. 

     We both indulged in every bite. Our plates looked both new and pristine. I am entirely and completely stuffed, and yet - if someone offered it to me - I could probably eat more. Although, I would definitely be sick. “That was so fucking good,” I let out in a ‘little too sexual’ of a moan. “That’s hot,” he informs me. God he’s so annoying. “Don’t even try it, JJ,” I wave my fork towards him. My threat just causes his to smirk. “So, what do you wanna do now?” A pleading smile gleams across his face. It’s not like me to give in to such tendencies. I just cannot seem to help it when it comes to JJ. “You don’t wanna go back to your boyfriend’s?” I tease. “Not really,” he shrugs. “I need a break from all that crime shit for today.” I don’t blame him. I hate to say it, but it brings an awkward and depressing atmosphere. I do feel bad for John B, but it’s too much if it’s all the time. A break, as selfish as it sounds, is what I need for today.

      As I stand up from my seat, my eyes immediate lock to the next customers walking through the door. Topper and Rafe. All I can think to do is sit back down. Just before my body starts zoning out, I hear JJ’s voice. “What are you doing?” He laughs in confusion. I haven’t been very open about mine and Rafe’s ‘relationship’ at all. I hate to even call it that. They know that he was a dick, which is the biggest understatement of the century, and they know we had a pretty awful break up. That’s it. At least I wish that was it. 4 months isn’t long enough to heal after... him. It’s just not. He’s mentally, emotionally, and literally physically everywhere. I nod my head, hinting at him to turn around. “Ah.” Is all he says. Rafe sends an obvious smirk to Topper, before making a straight line towards me and JJ. “Hey beautiful,” my skin crawls at his words. He makes me so angry, but I struggle to find the words to say. “What do you want Rafe?” I let out in a harsh tone. I wish I could scream at him, and just call him out on every single thing, but I can’t. Fuck. “Just here for something to eat,” he raises his eyebrows and smirks, placing a heavy hand on JJ’s shoulder. He doesn’t even budge, just lets an annoyed smile spread across his face. Topper chuckles at his best friend’s revolting sexual innuendo. “Why are you such a little bitch?” JJ nudges Topper on his side. It was just a poke, but it sent Topper moving. “What did you just call me?” Topper moves back towards him. JJ shoots up out of his chair. “You heard me, I don’t think you can move much further up his ass,” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Can we just go?” His eyes just stare into Topper’s, while Rafe looks proudly at his boy. “JJ...” I wrap my hand around his forearm and pull slightly. “Fine.” Just as I get the boy to move away from the scene, Rafe decides to make the comment, “Who’s the bitch now?!” As you can expect, JJ does a 180 and darts back towards the two assholes. A fist hits my ex’s face. 

“God JJ,” I raise my voice slightly at the boy, sucking in my sad emotions. If anything I’m annoyed at myself for not being to stick up for myself. It’s just so hard to see him, let alone hear his voice. And to communicate with him? It feels almost impossible. “Why are you annoyed at me?” He snaps. “I’m not, I just wish you’d know when to leave things alone,” I roll my eyes. “I’m not your bitch Y/N.” I ignore him. I know he’s not. I realise I am probably projecting my frustration out now, and taking it out on someone who is very easy to argue with. “No, you don’t even fucking listen to me.” I speed up my walk. There are several things I need to do; breathe is the first one, then probably punch something or someone, then cry. Crying sounds like a plan. Footsteps inch closer and closer behind me. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just-” “I know.” I stop him. If he asks that question, the question I have avoided since the break up, I will break down. Fragile is an understatement. I’m like a bird with a broken wing, or a dried out twig ready to snap. One little gush of wind and I’m done. I will break. “Did something else happen, with you and Rafe?”

flashback

I made a joke. That’s it. I was caught up in the moment, and made a joke that he didn’t find funny. I could tell. He didn’t shout. He didn’t even raise his voice. He just stayed silent. His face just dropped. He’s pissed. He’s pissed at me. There was no retaliation, solely because his friends were around. Topper was there. There were other’s there. Now there’s not. I’m fucked. 

“Look, Rafe, I didn’t mean-” “You didn’t mean it? All you do it fucking embarrass me! You always mean it!” He shouts. The rasp in his voice startles me, and instantly pushes the tears out of my eyes. I’m scared. I’m scared of him. I’m scared for me. “I was just joking around, I-I-I-I” I stutter. The words pause as I get pushed against the counter. The harsh corner stabs into my back, making me fall to the floor in pain. I sit quietened by the wind being pushed out of my body. My mouth stays wide in agonizing pain, but my scream is silent. There’s no weep. There’s not a cry. Just tears falling down my now heated cheeks. I take a deep inhale of breath. I have no strength, emotional or physical, to get myself off of the floor. I can’t... Not on my own. Rafe’s face sits in the sight of my blurred eyes, as he places himself in front of me. “I don’t know why you always do this baby,” his fingers, which were previously on harsh hands, caress my chin softly. A thumb wipes my tears. Instead of pushing him away like I should, I nuzzle my hand into his hand. I’ve made enough mistakes tonight. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. A set of lips go to my forehead. 

“Y/N...” A soft voice snaps me back to reality. That was early days. It wasn’t even bad then. I cough slightly. How awkward. “Did he hurt you?” He asks, in a tone I don’t know if I’ve ever heard JJ use. It was gentle and careful, and had meaning behind it. Despite JJ being an idiot, I trust JJ with my life. Literally. But this... I can’t tell anybody about it. Not a soul. “He broke my heart JJ,” honestly, I’m not sure if I lied to JJ or not. I don’t ever remember loving that guy. I must’ve. 

We head back to John B’s. Everyone other than Pope was still there. John was looking at the research his father gathered, and combining it with the little amount we’ve managed to find. Ki was cleaning his shitty place up. She’s way to good to that boy sometimes. Somehow, no matter how many times it gets cleaned, it’s always a huge mess. “Where did you guy’s go?” Luckily, with the long-ish walk back, we no longer look stressed. “We got breakfast,” I throw myself onto the couch. John B looks up from his pages and raises his eyebrows. “You never take me to breakfast!” He throws his hand over his heart, clearly in pain. “You’re not as good company as me John, just accept it.” “Did you pay for it?” Kiara asks. I immediately sit up, snapping my head to the boy as I realise. “You little thief,” JJ says before I can even speak. “No I-” “Damn Y/N, I must be rubbing off on you, finally.”