#tw: nudity mention

[headcanonsandmore]

Some perfectly normal Doctor Who factoids

The Master is canonically Rasputin.

Time Lords can all levitate and fly. The Doctor seems to forget this.

The Doctor is canonically Merlin.

There are two different explanations for the Loch Ness Monsters.

The Doctor once had a talking penguin as a companion.

Vampires are a canon species.

Tegan and Nyssa have such a strong queer subtext to their friendship that there is a wiki page online dedicated to it.

Speaking of Nyssa, she once got turned into a vampire and became obsessed with eating Tegan.

Ace McShane once fell in love with a cat-girl.

The Doctor is both a semi-mythical figure in the founding of time lord society, as well as also being the reason for the time lords having regenerative abilities. They are also just a run-of-the-mill time lord who ran away from Gallifrey. All of these are equally canon.

The Doctor once broke the fourth wall to wish the viewers a Merry Christmas.

The Third Doctor knows various martial arts.

It's implied that Time Lords cannot get drunk on alcohol unless they drink ginger beer beforehand.

The Eighth Doctor was once sentenced to death and promptly demanded to die in the nude.

The Doctor effectively kidnapped their first companions.

Time Lords reproduce via a technology known as looms.

[xtinyslip]

"ALL I CAN SAY IS THAT IT WOULDN'T BE AS IMPRESSIVE AS ME NAKED." she shrugged her shoulders, offering him a slight teasing smile at that. it was strange to smile, to joke and act like everything was fine when they were the only one who knew just how wrong things were. still schenk wasn't going anywhere -- the cocky little shit and so she supposed they had time to plan this properly. ensure no one else got hurt and to make sure they nailed him once and for all. "not how i remember it and pretty sure if bos was here he would agree with me. you're the one who likes to hide behind being a rogue. huh?" she gently nudged his shoulder. "i don't mind you being rogue, unless you're interfering with work and being a pain in my ass but what's new?" her tone was teasing but what was new? it was the same cycle they caught themselves in and clearly it worked. they hadn't driven each other away yet. "honour demands shit of you here. not when it's me. it's fine, seriously." it beat being hunched over her desk which was where she'd spent the last several weeks worth of her nights. "it's the second best whiskey i own. figured we deserved to give ourselves this much? the first? is being saved for you know..." when they catch him. @lcvenderhcze

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Hi! I was wondering if you were going to do a pt. 2 of the ghost and thief reader post? Also, I hope you drink enough water and have an amazing day!

Simon Riley - Medieval Au Part 2

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

Tears stream down your face and your heart pounds out of your chest as he drags you inside of a cottage just out of town. You continue to beg him not to kill you, clutching at his wrist. He shuts the door behind him with a slam, and you choke out more sobs, he's gonna do something worse than kill you.

His grip loosens on the collar of your worn shirt, and he grabs your bicep instead. You finally start to notice that you aren't in the dungeons, and you are so confused. You glance around, eyes flickering over the room. He's brought you to his home, and by the looks of it, he is a very high ranking official.

Your sobs stop in a moment of confusion as he drags you by the arm to his washroom. It's a miniature bathhouse, you've only ever dreamed of such luxury. The floors are ornate, handmade tiles and you can smell all of the expensive soaps. He closes the washroom door and he sits you roughly against the wall, you start to cry again as he takes off his armor.

He removes his helmet last, and he is the most angelic person you've ever seen. It's ironic to even call him angelic after the treatment he has put you through in the last 20 minutes. He ignores your crying as he takes off his boots and rolls up his sleeves. You scramble away as he approaches you again.

His face betrays no emotion as he grabs you by you arm again. He sits you back in the original spot he had placed you in by the door.

“Don’t fucking move.” He lears at you, and he seems satisfied when you freeze in fear of his tone. He narrows his eyes and lets go of your arm. He goes to the corner on the other side of the door where he starts to warm up some water over a fire. It's a giant metal basin, and you shakily watch as he fills it up to the brim. He makes sure the fire is big enough to warm up the water. He glances back at you to make sure that you haven't moved.

After several minutes, steam starts to fill the small bathhouse, and the air gets warmer. You watch the man with wide eyes as he makes sure the water is warm enough, and he effortlessly bumps the basin into the porcelain bathtub in the middle of the room. He returns to the fire and refills the basin full of water, then he turns to you.

You begin to cry as he grabs you, he doesn’t seem to be as rough anymore. He shushes you as he takes off your shirt, and you scratch and fight him. He seems annoyed but he makes no comment as you try to fight him.

He pulls your trousers off as you cry and sob, begging him to not hurt you. He picks you up by your underarms and he plops you into the warm bathtub. You are shaking from fear, you've never had a warm bath before. The water is nice but not nice enough to fight off the thoughts of what he might do to you.

He looks over his several bottles of soap, you’ve never seen a bottle up close before. He decides on a green glass bottle, and he pops the cork off and he dumps the soap onto the top of your head and the rest into the warm bath water. He starts to scrub you clean, starting with your hair.

His movements are very firm, like he wants to scrub your skin off. You feel so vulnerable and exposed by his treatment of you.

“You're not as filthy as I thought’ you’d be..” He says to you, rinsing your hair out with a clay bowl and the warm water from the basin over the fire. He moves to scrub your arms with a rag and more soap from the green bottle. You finally notice how nice it smells, like wild mint and rosemary.

“Makes things easier for me.” He mutters the last part as he finishes cleaning you up. He picks you up out of the bath as you continue to sob quietly. He rinses you off with the clean and warm basin water. You feel goosebumps all over your body as the heat from the water quickly leaves you. You curl into a ball on the tiled floor and shake from the cold and the fear of the unknown.

He dries you off with a towel, and he wraps you in it. He picks you up and puts you back by the door. You shiver and try to cover yourself up more as you watch him empty the bathtub of dirt water. He pours the water outside his window using another large clay bowl as you dry off.

You can’t believe that this is happening to you. Is he going to sell you for money? Is that why he gave you a bath, so you could sell for more? You can only imagine, and the thoughts of horrible things seem to consume you.

[romanrhodes]

Roman had managed to tear himself away from other people before Andrew had. He sat at the edge of the room, people-watching, then flashed his boyfriend a small smile as he approached. "I'm ready to go." He admitted, reaching out his hand and letting Andrew pull him up beside him. It was nice getting to see so many familiar faces, but he'd been away since 5.00am, and he was mentally wiped out. All he wanted now was a bit of private, quiet time with the man he loved, and a nice, soft bed.

"I'm gonna have a hot shower when we get back." He told Andrew as they left the main function room, holding hands as they walked through the many corridors of the hotel to find their room. Roman kicked off his shoes almost immediately, then started pulling off his clothes. His chef whites and t-shirt were already in a small, tucked-away heap on the floor, and the rest quickly followed until he was naked. He gave Andrew a quick kiss as he passed into the bathroom, grinning against his cheek. The shower was hot and strong, the kind of water pressure that made Roman want to replace the pipes at the farmhouse. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, including his hair and his hands, exfoliating and getting in with a nail brush to remove as much as he could of the trace of food. When he came out, he towelled himself and reappeared in a fluffy robe... that stopped just above his knee.

"That was just what I needed." Roman sighed, propping up enough pillows so he could flop down onto the bed, letting out an even deeper sigh of contentment. He looked at Andrew with a smile, his eyes sparkling. "But a kiss wouldn't hurt either."

His eyes closed when Roman nuzzled his cheek, sighing contently. He'd amused himself long enough without Roman by his side he felt fully recharged with the mere minute he had him back. "I'm like that sometimes, I take one for the team. Apparently I look skinny so she said I could have it all." He shrugged, though in his opinion he was starting to climb up a little again, eating more consistently now that he lived with Roman, albeit temporarily.

"I'll come with you." He announced, getting up alongside him. He was determined not to leave his side for a while and he did, spending his time with him for their drinks, for a dance or two, chatting with people and so on. It was well after midnight when he tore himself away from chatting with two colleagues when he made his way back to Roman, giving him a sheepish smile. "I'm headed for the room. You coming with or are you staying a little longer?" @romanrhodes

[solazu1]

[3-2-whump]

The Scent of Jasmine

<prev next>

Who's in the mood for some carewhumping after the emotional rollercoaster of almost dying? I know I am!

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for being awesome beta readers

TW/CW: aftermath of mock execution, trauma aftermath, extremely dubious consent, nonverbal whumpee, whumper turned carewhumper, dubiously consensual nudity, death threats, chastity devices (yes, it’s back), forced domesticity, food whump (sort of) (tagging it anyway to cover my bases), intimate whumper

The boss noticed Khaled’s grateful enthusiasm slowly fade into a catatonic silence on the drive home. He didn’t think much of it, though. Poor boy is just shocked is all, he told himself, we can work on that. He parked, got out of the car and led Khaled out of the garage and to the elevator.

His first order of business was to strip Khaled when they got home. The poor thing was soaked in melted snow and cooled piss. He was barely responsive as Thomas pulled him into the laundry room and slowly peeled each layer of clothing off his shivering body. “You need a bath, Khaled.”

Khaled didn’t reply, instead opting to stare at his bare feet with empty, starless eyes. I can’t blame him for being quiet. Anyone would be a little messed up after a mock execution, he figured. He sighed, gently taking the slave’s hand in his and leading him to the master bathroom.

Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he knelt by the large, deep bath tub. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub as Thomas poured a generous glug of bubble bath solution into the marble expanse and cranked the water full-blast, making micro-adjustments to make sure the temperature wasn’t too hot. As a finishing touch, he uncapped a tiny bottle of jasmine oil and dripped a few drops into the tub. The floral scent rose on the plumes of steam coming from the frothing tub.

Once the tub was full enough, Thomas turned off the tap and pulled Khaled closer to the tub. He effortlessly scooped the young man’s cold body into his arms, settling him on the edge of the bath tub before gently lowering him in. “I’m going to help you wash your hair and body. Nod if you understand me.”

Khaled faintly nodded, eyes fully closing as he slumped into the soapy water. “Good boy.” Nothing but a small, contented sounding whimper answered him. At least he’s becoming verbal again.

Thomas methodically washed the young man’s body and hair, being mindful of not getting any soap in his eyes as he massaged his scalp with the shampoo. He noticed the newly forming chafe marks on Khaled’s wrists as he scrubbed his body. All the while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear, like “good boy, you’re being so good right now, we’re almost done, I gotta rinse you off and drain the tub next.”

The awareness in Khaled’s eyes was flickering back on once Thomas helped him out of the bath tub and began towel-drying him. “Back with me, beautiful?” he teased.

“Mmm.” Inky dark eyes glittered up at him from dark lashes and damp strands of black hair as Thomas wrapped a soft fluffy towel around his shoulders.

“Yeah, good. Very good.” He procured something small and metallic from behind his back.

Khaled instinctively backed away as soon as he saw what it was. “Khaled,” he warned. It was all he needed to say for the boy to stay rooted on the spot. “I haven’t forgotten about you running around and getting an STD,” he explained as he wrapped the cock cage around Khaled’s privates. “And I’m still mad about it. But maybe I will let you out once we’re both all better.” He padlocked it in place and held the small caged appendage in his hand. “Or once I put that dumpster lover of yours under, like the horndog he is. Whichever comes sooner.” He marveled at how it was but a microcosm of Khaled’s greater captivity. As he craned his gaze upwards, he saw Khaled pout. “Oh, don’t give me that look –I’m doing this for your own good!” The boy smoothed his frown back into a neutral expression of apathy as he hid his eyes behind his lashes.

“That’s more like it. Now, can you change into your pajamas and wait in the living room until Master is done in here?” He measured out his words slowly and carefully, explaining it as if Khaled was a child again. Another quiet hum answered him. “Good boy. When I’m done, we can eat, and then we’ll watch whatever you’d like.” He gestured him out with a small wave of the hand, then hopped into the shower for a quick rinse off himself.

When he got out of the shower, towel-dried himself, and changed into a fresh pair of flannel pants and a wife-beater tank top, Thomas made his way to the living room, where Khaled sat on the floor, at the foot of the couch, gazing down at the carpet with desolate eyes. He was still wrapped in the bath towel. Seeing him there brought back memories of when Khaled was younger, when he would lean against his shins and let him brush his thick black hair. The memory brought back fond feelings in Thomas’ chest. He turned around and went back to the bathroom for a hairbrush.

Once he was done brushing his slave’s hair, they ended up sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, each with a plate of reheated takeout from a new Indian restaurant Tom had wanted to try. While the boss himself ravenously devoured the bhuna ghost, Khaled kept tearing the same corner of buttered naan between his fingers while staring apathetically at the murgh cholay.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food?” he asked again. “You hardly touched your portion.”

The boy merely shook his head.

“Come on, at least two more bites, Khaled,” he coaxed. “Give me at least two more bites before I put it away.”

Khaled cast him an empty, weary stare, not breaking eye contact as he tore off the weathered chunk of bread, dipped it into the curry, and ate exactly two more bites.

They ended up cuddling onto the couch together after dinner, a rarity in their household. Thomas man-spread on the couch and rested his arms outstretched along the back. Khaled, still wearing nothing but a damp bath towel around his shoulders, leaned against his side with his head resting on his chest. His hands curled around a steaming mug of chai, which he occasionally sipped as they watched a rerun of the AFC World Cup. Khaled didn’t cheer, or groan, or offer any commentary of any kind throughout the whole match. It was unusual for Khaled to remain this quiet and glum during a game. Thomas gently took the mug from his hands and set it on the table. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet this evening? Is it –oh, is it because of that little scare off the side of the road?” he guessed. Khaled pushed his weight up against him, just short of burrowing into the man’s side.

“I guess I scared you pretty badly, didn’t I? Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know now it wasn’t you, but I had to be sure. I promise I will never fake you out like that again.”

The young man remained silent as he leaned against his chest.

“If anything, you should be blaming that boyfriend of yours,” he continued. “I bet he never would’ve attempted that hit if he knew what I was about to do to you tonight. But, what’s done is done, and now you’ll never see him again.”

Khaled did not respond.

It took about an hour more of mind-numbing soccer footage for him to realize the boy had fallen asleep on him.

Oh. He softly smiled as he turned off the TV. He carefully got up and lowered Khaled onto the couch, disentangling the towel from his unconscious, nude form. He propped a throw pillow behind his head, then unfurled a fleece blanket and draped it over him, making sure his feet were covered and he was properly tucked in for the night. “Goodnight, Khaled,” he whispered, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the side of the boy’s parted lips. “I… love you...”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[triple-pupil]

I know it's late for the day off trans visibility but hey, When is it not a good day for that?

‼️I am not trans, this is HIGHLY based on the experiences of @aka-baka-shiki's experiences and information as a trans man‼️

‼️Also PRE-TRANSITION DICE, if you don't like that‼️

Anyways-

✨King Dice And his journey post-top surgery✨

But first, lil' testoretone shots intermission.

"Everyone's so mean to me"

The initial t shots got him horny, REALLY horny. Bitch was looking forward for the shots with the doc because someone would be touching his ass.

"Hey handsome, ready for my t-shot ♥️"

It was bad.

And it left him with scars right above the ass because ig injections in old times leave scars.

Now to the post-op, a couple of years later.

"shit fuck fuck shit fuck shit shit fuck"

He couldn't feel shit, he lost sensitivity on his chest for a long couple of days, to the point of thinking he's never get sensitivity back.

He also wouldn't be able to raise his arms or move greatly for a couple of weeks to not fuck up the stitches and open the wounds. So he ended up incapacitated, spending most time in bed, with basic needs taken care of by nurses in the clinic or by servant demons at his hotel.

This sounds restricting but nice because of the constant assistance, but Dice's pride and need to be independant were CRUSHED because of this.

He needed help getting on and off bed...

... Dressing up and stripping...

... Eating...

...Going to the bathroom, bathing, etc.

"I wanna die"

This was the most he has lost control in recent memory, he felt so humilliated he'd recall it later on as hell on earth.

He was SO bitchy about strangers seeing him this weak and vulnerable that the Devil had to take on a few duties like bathing and eating.

More of Dice being a bitch:

"Just let the Imps bathe ya, damnit!"

"I AIN'T NO FUCKIN' BABY, BOSS!!"

"YER ACTIN' LIKE ONE!!!"

Can't add more pics, I'll make a second part soon.

[xtinyslip]

"when it comes to you, me and hot tubs? when i am ever not serious?" of course, he was grinning. hearing her jest, he brought a dramatic hand to his heart as if her words had actually hurt him. "bloody charming." he joked, in return. the truth was that he found amanda to be fantastic, she was someone he actively CHOSE to be around which said it all. not that he approved of the company she kept otherwise but as long as he wasn't being forced to spend time with them then that was fine, he supposed. "wow! well, i suppose all can be forgiven when you look like that! although, were we supposed to be wearing clothes?" would it have surprised anyone to find out he might be naked under those bubbles? well, it shouldn't. "do you like it?" he smiled, leaning across the other side to grab the wine he'd freshly poured for them ; holding out her glass to her. "i am never wrong. not about this." @moonglowmuses

❛ Aww, you wanna come in the hot tub with me? ❜

amanda could not help but to grin. she couldn't believe her ears right now. "is that a SERIOUS offer?" amanda asked, cracking a smile. "no one could pay me enough to get in a hot tub with you." she was joking, of course, but it was fun to try to get under lucifer's skin, that was for certain. "give me a second to change and i'll jump in with you." amanda disappeared only for the length of time that it took for her to slip on a one-piece black swimsuit. when she stepped outside, the air was frigid, but when she settled in the water, she sighed contently. "god, this is nice," she admitted. "you were right to DRAG ME IN HERE."

@xtinyslip

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Disobedience sparks pity

word count: 4114

Tags: Servant whumpee, caretaker, humiliation whump, royal whump, royal caretaker, whump, tw whipping, tw slavery, whipped whumpee, non con stripping, whumpee taken in by royalty, crossdressing whumpee, og ocs, og world, og story, whumpee, whumper, noble whumper, whumpee perceived as female, possessive whumper, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past torture, tw stoning, past injuries mentioned, non con nudity, stern caretaker, multple care takers, multiple whumpers, forceful caretaking, fear of eye contact, defiant whumpee, whumpee that doesn’t talk a lot, curious caretaker, stranger whumpee and caretaker, mentions of non con activity, mentions of forced non con, manhandling, healing arc

Sonnet flinched as his master’s whip flew past his head, barely missing his ear. The next time his master didn’t miss, connecting with his shoulder and splitting his skin open. He cried out, having already lost count at what number lashing that was. Two more followed after before his master finally started wrapping the whip around his arm. 

Sweat dripped into Sonnets eyes despite the wind being cool this morning. The sun had only begun to rise a couple of minutes ago, shining light onto the small crowd that had gathered. Humiliation burned in Sonnet’s cheeks, and he leaned against the wooden pole he was tied too. He was sitting on his knees with his wrists tied behind him, making his shoulders strain. His torn up servant dress was in taters before him, though his skirt safely covered everything below the waist. Despite everything, he somehow had enough dignity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to glare at his master. Mr.Winslow caught his eye and fumed. He advanced on Sonnet, grabbing his jaw and forcing him upwards. His shoulders screamed, if not for his voice. 

“You stupid boy, show some shame for your crime!” His master screamed in his face.

“Make me,” Sonnet spat.

That comment made Mr.Winslow livid, and he kicked Sonnet in the ribs. Sonnet struggled to heave in a breath through the pressure in his chest, and he leaned forward like a wilted flower. Clearly not done with his anger, Mr.Winslow took a swing at Sonnet. His fist connected with Sonnet’s cheekbone, cutting skin open. Sonnet saw stars as an insistent ringing began in his ears. He could hear Mr.Winslow speaking but couldn’t make sense of it. 

Once Sonnet was able to blink away the stars, he saw that his master was speaking to the slightly larger crowd. Sonnet could just make out Mr Winslow barking out an order for ‘no one to touch his stupid slave’. Then Mr.Winslow walked away to drag his pitiful wife home. Mrs.Winslow looked over her shoulder at Sonnet and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. She had always liked Sonnet, and was usually very kind to him. But no matter how much she tried, she could never get Sonnet out of Mr.Winslow’s punishments. 

The ringing in his ears slowly dimmed to nothing but the voices of the crowd. Some were still watching, others had grown bored and walked away. Sonnet avoided eye contact with all of them. The last thing he needed was to realize just how much he had humiliated himself. He was likely going to sit there till sunset where Mr.Winslow would hand him right over to a merchant to resell him. 

Sonnect closed his eyes and started collecting his thoughts. If Mr.Winslow really was going to sell him, there was no way he would be seeing any of his stuff again. Even if they did let him keep his stuff, it would likely be taken from him by the next family he was bought by. And on the off chance Mrs.Winslow could convince her husband not to get rid of him, he would be dumped in the furnace room to work till exhaustion. He didn’t know which one he wanted less. 

…

Sonnet looked up at the sky and deduced it was a little past noon. The sun burned into his skin, making it turn bright red and soaked with sweat. He was still shirtless from this morning's whipping, and would likely be for a while unless a townsperson decided to cover him with something. That's how it worked in the kingdom of Montrose. If servants were disobedient to their masters, their master had the choice of how they would like to deal with it. Public humiliation was a popular pick, beating lessons into most servants the first time. If the public felt bad enough, they could give the punished water and feed them, could even give them clothes in Sonnet’s case. But most would not, either convinced the victim deserved it or too scared of the public eye would shame them for helping the weak. 

So Sonnet let the sun roast his skin and parch his tongue. The blood that once poured from his wounds dried on his skin. The market had long been set up and became a bustling place for passersbys. Everyone would give him a wide berth, not daring to get their polished shoes near what they considered filth. Sonnet liked it that way, it meant no one would further harm him. 

That was until a group of boys started making a beeline for him. Sonnet noticed the stones in their hands and felt a sense of dread. Before they had even made it within the circle everyone else avoided, they were throwing the stones and shouting obscenities at him. Bruises would definitely bloom later, joining the list of injuries Sonnet would have to tend to. In the distance, Sonnet thought he could hear a trumpet being played over the boys shouting. 

Sonnet continued to shrink away from the boys until he heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the sidewalk. The king was back from his trip from a nearby country, and he was coming down this very street. The boys who were once throwing stones realized this as well and froze. The horses were thundering down the street fast with the crowd already parted away. One of the boys tried to dart away, either from fear of being caught or the fear of being trampled. It clearly couldn't be the second as the boy ran straight in front of the horse's path. 

Everyone including Sonnet gasped in horror as the knights reared the horses, towering over the boy. A few members of the crowd screamed as the horses came down, knocking the boy to the ground. As soon as the hooves touched the ground, the knights were climbing off their horses and dragging the boy up. Yelling and threatening him, the crowd divided into chaos. In the corner of his eye, Sonnet saw the door of the carriage fling open. He held his breath as he watched the king himself leave the safety of the carriage. 

“SILENCE!” The king's voice boomed over the crowd. 

Sonnet watched in awe as everyone within the next few miles stilled. The king glared around, clearly already in an awful mood only to be dealing with unruly people. The king walked over to the boy, his friends having abandoned him. One of the knights neared the king with hesitancy. 

“Your highness, it's not safe out here–” The king raised his hand to silence the knight. 

“What happened here?” he asked calmly. 

“I-I didn’t hear the trumpets and tried getting out of the way,” the boy said, cowering under the gaze of the king. The king huffed, then noticed something. 

“What are you holding?”

The knight holding the boy let go assuming the king was talking to him. The boy also raised his hands for the king to see. There were two small stones in his hands, waiting to be thrown at Sonnet. 

“Why do you have stones?”

“I uh um, I like collecting s-stones?” The kid stammered. The king eyed him as the boy's friends sniggered in the crowd. 

Feeling someone staring at him, the king turned around. Sonnet immediately averted his gaze and looked at the king's shoes. He instantly became aware of his shame and his cheeks started to go red like his sunburns. He looked down at his bloodied, sun burned, and sweat stained skin and wished he could have been swallowed up by the earth at that moment. Having been deep in his thoughts of humiliation, Sonnet hadn’t noticed that the king was standing in front of him. Sonnet looked up at the king before realizing his mistake and averting his gaze again. 

The king took in the sight before him. A bloodied and beaten servant was stripped nearly bare and tied down on display. He noticed the rocks surrounding the servant and connected the dots together. The king turned to his knights to address them. 

“Bring me some water for this servant to drink. And arrest that boy for stoning a citizen of Montrose.” 

Two knights grabbed the boy and dragged him off in anger as his friends watched in shock. A third knight presented a water bottle to the king which he took. The king then knelt down and cupped Sonnet’s cheek.

“Untie him,” the king ordered his knight. He then turned to Sonnet and began helping him drink water. The cold water rushed down his parched throat, cooling his flaming insides. The king paused the water stream when Sonnet sagged forward once he was released from the ropes tying him down. The king offered the water bottle to Sonnet and he took it, finishing it in a few messy gulps. He wiped away the few drops that escaped his mouth and flinched when the king draped him in something. He realized it was the king's cloak and he stared in astonishment. 

The king was too busy speaking to his knights. Sonnet closed the king's cloak further in to cover up as much of his bloodied chest as possible. In the next moment, arms pulled him up from his armpits and he yelped. He held the skirts at his waist, making sure they wouldn’t fall down as he wobbled on unsteady legs. He was dragged by the knight up and into the king's carriage, before being sat across from the king. The door shut behind the knight, leaving only the king and Sonnet staring at each other. 

He avoided making eye contact with the king, it was what he was taught since he was a kid. They sat in awkward silence as the carriage lurched forward and began to move. Sonnet grabbed onto the railing, startled by the movement. The king chuckled quietly and Sonnet blushed. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and he almost wished he was left at the whipping post. 

“Why were you tied there?” the king asked. Sonnet pulled the cloak further in on himself to hide the marks. Sonnet tried formulating the words, to try and sum up all the variables that played into today’s punishment. 

“Because I wasn’t a woman,” Sonnet finally said. He could tell that the king was confused but didn’t know if continuing to explain would be over stepping. So he stayed silent, like he always did. 

In actuality it was more than him not being a woman. Mr.Winslow always resented Sonnet, and often looked for any reason to punish him. But it came to a head this morning when Sonnet wore his servants dress like he always did. He helped Mrs. Winslow with her morning bath like he always did. Mrs. Winslow and a few other staff were the only ones who knew Sonnet was really a man. Though they didn’t seem to mind, if anything they seemed to find it attractive which only increased Sonnet’s discomfort as their servant. Apparently, Mr.Winslow was never informed of Sonnet’s identity and had always assumed that Sonnet was a woman. He was also known for having romantic flings with women other than his wife. So when Mr.Winslow made his advancement and Sonnet turned him down, he tried to force himself onto Sonnet, thus learning that he was in fact not a woman. He never actually told the king that, because he never asked. But it was sad for him to think about. 

The king never filled that silence. He stared at Sonnet for the majority of the ride to the castle, no longer amused whenever Sonnet would startle from a bump in the road. Sonnet gripped the railing of the carriage tight, to stop him from falling onto the king's feet. There was no need to further prove his humiliation. 

Sonnet could tell when they had reached the castle gates when the carriage became enveloped in voices. Soon they were rolling through the gates and stopped before one of the side entries into the castle. The doors of the carriage opened and the knight waiting there helped the king down. Sonnet hesitated and before he could make the decision to leave or stay, the same knight that helped the king before now yanked him out of the carriage. He stumbled and was barely able to catch his balance before he hit the floor. An iron glove gripped Sonnet’s arm and held him close, making sure he wouldn’t escape. The king was too busy talking to some of his royal staff to notice the mistreatment of his new possession. But the man who was currently talking to the king did. 

“--I'm sorry to hear about the failed- who is that?” the man across from the king asked. The king turned around and seemed to remember that Sonnet existed. 

“Oh, him.” The king snapped and a servant scurried over. “Go tell Sister Florence to run a bath for this servant. I want him properly dressed and seen by a physician afterwards.” As the servant walked away, the king motioned to the knight holding Sonnet to follow. 

The grip on Sonnet’s arm tightened where he swore it would leave bruises, and he was dragged off into the castle. The servant they were following split off in a different direction than the knight was taking him, presumably to grab whoever Sister Florence was. There were several times where Sonnet nearly fell from the pace at which they were walking. And everytime the guard would scoff and yank him onward. By the time they had reached a spacious and lavishly designed bathroom, the knight was more than happy to let go of them. 

Sonnet stood alone in the entrance of the bathroom, too scared to step further in or to leave. So instead he looked upwards as he pulled the cloak closer together. There was an intricate chandelier above him, twinkling glass charms dangling from lit candles. It was a luxury Sonnet never personally experienced, never allowed to be in fancy bathrooms unless he was with Mrs Winslow. 

There was a knock on the door and Sonnet startled. He stared as a woman dressed in all black entered, followed by a handmaiden. The woman in black gave him a sweet smile and extended her hand to him. 

“My name’s Sister Florence, I was sent to make sure you were properly taken care of.” 

Sonnet neither spoke nor took her hand to shake it, leaving the room to rest in awkward silence. Sister Florence let her hand fall to her side after a few moments of no movement. 

“Well, I’ll go draw that bath for you,” she said, walking past Sonnet and further into the bathroom. The handmaiden scurried after her, barely giving him a second glance. He started to wonder if it was too late to leave now. 

Sonnet could hear water running from where he was left standing. In a few minutes he watched the mirrors in the distance start to fog up from steam. The air became filled with scented oils, rich with lavender and lemongrass. Scents he only knew the names of because of the amount of times he had run them for Ms. Winslow. 

“Come on dear,” Sister Florence called. 

Reluctantly, Sonnet stepped further into the bathroom. Sister Florence had her hand in the water to test the temperature while the handmaiden was bringing soap bottles to the edge of the bathtub. Noticing him, Sister Florence flicked the water droplets from her hand and came closer. 

“Put your hands on my shoulder.”

Sonnet didn’t listen and watched as she knelt onto the floor. She pulled his foot out from under him and he stumbled, inevitably grabbing her shoulders. She carefully took off his shoes and chucked them to the side. Sonnet took his hands off of her as she stood up. She grabbed the cloak and pulled it off of him. The handmaiden behind him gasped and covered her mouth. Sonnet flushed, feeling exposed, both literally and metaphorically. 

“Ameila! Watch yourself,” Sister Florence scolded.

“Sorry sister,” Amelia replied. 

Sister Florence turned back to Sonnet and took his hand in hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Now, let's get the rest of these clothes off of you.” 

He was thankful when Sister Florence let go of his hand. He was not so thankful when they began to take off the rest of his clothes till he had nothing left to wear. All of his clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Sonnet unclipped his dagger sheath he had attached to his thigh for Sister Florence and handed it to him carefully. She took it and looked at it curiously before setting it carefully on the bathroom counter. He was then guided into the bath, more or less against his will. Despite his reluctance, the water was quite warm and soothing. The soapy water stung against his open wounds, making them alight with fire. 

He audibly winced when Sister Florence dumped water over his back. She and the handmaiden Ameila took great care in washing him. He hated the hands that were on him, invading his skin. They lathered soap into his skin then rinsed it off before repeating it over again. By the fourth time he was rinsed, his skin felt as if it was rubbed raw. 

Sister Florence then had Sonnet sit as close to the edge of the tub as possible and tilted his head back. As he looked up at the ceiling she scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He almost relaxed into her touch, the feeling somewhat soothing. She titled his head up again and blocked his eyes while dumping water over his head. She repeated this process again before doing it one more time with conditioner. With his head thoroughly washed and the bath water having turned murky gray, they finally let him out of the bath. 

He was wrapped in one of the softest bath towels he’d ever known. Sister Florence sent the handmaiden Amila to grab his clothes while she gently rubbed him dry. Amila came back with clothes in hand. Sister Florence went to take off his towel when he stepped back.

“I can dress myself,” the first words he said to her. Sister Florence seems surprised that he spoke but respected his wish. She and the handmaiden Amila turned around while he carefully dressed. Sonnet quietly grabbed his dagger off the counter and strapped it back to his thigh. He adorned undergarments, a silk button up shirt, and wide length shorts. He was slightly disappointed he wasn’t allowed to wear a dress, but he made no fuss about it. Sister Florence and Amila turned around while he was pulling up the socks they had given him. Sister Florence had him sit down while she began to work on his hair and Amila helped him put on shoes. 

After about twenty minutes, his hair was brushed out and trimmed slightly to shoulder length. Sonnet protested against any length shorter than that. Sister Florence helped Sonnet stand up and they led him out of the bathroom. Stepping into fresh air that wasn’t filled with scented oils felt intoxicating. He followed quietly as they brought him to a bedroom. It looked like a noble’s personal suite, much too big for a servant to stay. 

“A physician will be with you shortly,” Sister Florence told him before leaving him alone in the room. 

Sonnet didn’t know what to do with his new found aloneness. He looked around the room without moving, letting himself admire the room. He could tell this was a guest bedroom with how unlived in it looked. He wondered when the last time someone had touched this room besides servants cleaning it. Would he be the first to grace this room with a living breath? A very exhausted, yet living breath. 

The door opened and Sonnet snapped his head to look at the person who entered. It was a man in a doctor's coat, holding a briefcase in one hand and the doors handle in the other. He smiled at Sonnet and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’m Dr. Clarke, and you are?” the physician asked. 

“Sonnet.” 

“That’s a lovely name.” Sonnet didn’t respond. “If I could have you sit on the bed, we can get started,” Dr. Clarke said as he gestured to the bed. 

Sonnet followed his gaze and sat on the very edge of the bed. Dr. Clarke followed, setting his briefcase near Sonnet. He opened it up and pulled out a few tools. He started by checking Sonnets eyes, ears, and mouth. Once the normal routines were done, Dr. Clarke put away his tools and put on a set of gloves. 

“If I could have you take off your shirt for me.”

Sonnet did as he was told, and held the folded shirt in his lap. Dr. Clarke began his work with each wound. Pouring antiseptics into the open ones, burning out any possible infection. Gently covering them in ointment before wrapping them in cloth. He would gently press against any bruises Sonnet had to test whether they needed attention or not. He had Sonnet turn around so that he could do the same thing over again for all the wounds on his back. Those ones hurt the most and Sonnet had to bite his tongue multiple times to stop himself from crying. Sonnet was allowed to turn back around when the physician was done. He buttoned his shirt back up while Dr. Clarke changed his gloves.

“Now I’ll have you take off your pants,” Dr. Clarke stated. 

Sonnet hesitated under the physician's gaze, but eventually took them off. There were fewer wounds for Dr. Clarke to focus his attention on, making it a lot quicker then when he worked on his torso. As soon as Dr. Clarke was done, Sonnet pulled his shorts back on, wanting to be left alone. Dr. Clarke packed up his briefcase, then handed a bottle to Sonnet. 

“Drink a cap-full of this tonic with every meal till your bruises are gone.” 

Sonnet held the bottle in his hands as the physician left. He leaned against the bed and exhaustion finally settled onto his shoulders. He looked out the window of the guest room and saw that the sun had well past setting. Stars were already creeping up the skyline. Just when Sonnet thought he had actually been left alone for the night, there was a knock on his door. A servant walked in with a tray of food. They set it down on a side table next to some bookshelves before addressing Sonnet. 

“I was told to inform you that you will be spending the night here. Silas will be coming to get you in the morning for your audience with the king.” 

They then gave a small head bow before leaving the room. Sonnet looked at the bottle in his hand before sighing and walking over to the tray of food. A small voice in his head warned him of the food being poisoned, but at this point he really didn’t care. So what if the king had him treated this nicely just to poison him in the end, it was better than the Winslows ever had. Sonnet sat at the small table and ate slowly, watching the castle's life dwindle by the night. By the end of the meal, he felt even more exhausted and in pain. He poured out a cap-full of the tonic before shooting it like whiskey. 

It tasted bitter in his mouth and he washed it down with a glass of water. With a full stomach and a tired mind, Sonnet blew out the candles in the room and crawled into bed. The mattress was softer than any cot he had been allowed to sleep on. Despite his history with insomnia, the soft blankets and the comfort of safety in sitting in his stomach lulled him down enough to actually fall into soundless sleep. 

[xtinyslip]

❛cue creepy murder music. i knew i was missing something. ❜

luci found the other to be rather refreshing. all those human emotions and habits flying around. ugh, it all got quite dreary and tiresome. besides, where had any of it gotten him in the end? HURT and hurting him was no easy feat, let him tell you. stefan was free of all of that, just like he was and although at times it was quite pitiful to see the struggle; even though it was clear as day stefan wasn't even aware of it. the rest of the time it was good bloody fun. that he knew. "at it again, i take it?" all he could do was chuckle, not caring that his robe was open and he was naked underneath. why should he care? he knew it was a fine sight, indeed. "that's not all your missing! come, sit? fill up a glass. my finest is out." gesturing to the whiskey on the counter. "i suppose it being you and all, that i might just be willing to share." @lcvenderhcze

[whump-in-the-night]

Something a little different from my usual fare today, but I want to talk about an interesting whump trope for team whump, military whump, cults, secret societies, etc: hazing, humiliating/painful initiation rituals, etc.

Since this is very much something that can happen irl (I was in greek life in uni; personally I was never hazed and my organization took that very seriously, but I did see a frat get shut down for hazing), I'm going to list trigger warnings at the top, right here: TW: hazing, humiliation, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of nudity, mention of cults.

whumpee is a new member of a team/group/organization. To "prove" themselves "worthy" of being in the group by doing something dangerous or humiliating.

The hazing could involve use of drugs or alcohol, like making whumpee drink or do drugs.

Or they could make whumpee do something humiliating like making them dress in embarrassing/skimpy clothes or go nude

Maybe it's a small group of members who are facilitating the hazing. Maybe it's all of them. Maybe the leader is the one who is pushing the hazing

Justifying the hazing by claiming it promotes team/group bonding

This can work great for military squads initiating new soldiers

Or also. Consider. Secret society/cult having dangerous and/or humilating initiation rituals whumpee has to go through to join. Whumpee really wants to join, but are they willing to do the messed up stuff the whumpers want them to do?

Or, cults using hazing to keep members in line.

[bleep-bloop-boo]

ima start snippets of me and my friend duck cuz.... we need help

me: iM NOT SENDING YOU THE BABY NUDES

duck: SHOw ME THE BABY DICK PICS

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Girl, I neeeeed a pt. 3 of the medieval au. When you feel up to it, of course. Have a good day! :)

Simon Riley - Medieval Au Part 3

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

Once he's finally done emptying all of the water from the bathtub, he puts the empty basin down and he walks toward you. You cower from him, trying to cover yourself with the towel. He bites back a scoff, he kneels down in front of you with another towel and he dries your hair.

“You’re fine, stop being so dramatic.” He grumbles, his face blank. You can't get a read on him at all, his face doesn't show what's going on in his head and it freaking you out. He finishes drying your hair, getting out as much water as he can. He doesn’t want you to get a cold, would he?

“Stay here, I’ll get you some clean clothes.” He says as he stands up, leaving you on the spot on the floor. You curl into a ball, you feel so vulnerable and confused. You watch him leave, and you are scared enough to listen to him, as he is more than capable of hurting you if you try anything stupid.

He comes back a minute later with a pair of trousers and a blouse. Both are definitely his, they are going to be way too big for you. You sniffle into the towel, watching as he approaches you.

“I’ll get you a belt in a minute, put these on.” He drops the clothes in a pile beside you, he leaves again to presumably get a belt. You quickly change into the clothes, not wanting him to watch you change. He even has a pair of undergarments your size? Why would he have these?

You put them on anyway, wanting as much of your skin to be covered. You put the tan trousers on, they are also your size. You pause for a moment in mild shock and confusion, but you quickly put the shirt on when you hear his footsteps coming back to the bathhouse. God, even the shirt fits! Did he guess your size? Why would he have clothes your size if he lives alone?

You straighten up your posture when he walks back into the room, he hums in approval when he sees that you have dressed yourself already. He has a simple leather belt in hand, and he walks right up to you. You have to fight yourself so you don't back away from him.

He loops the belt around you, practical wrapping his arms around you. He buckles the belt and tucks your shirt in. He looks you over, seemingly satisfied with your much neater appearance.

“Much better..” He mumbles, smoothing out the blouse. He looks back up at your face and he frowns when he sees tears. You feel your heart sink when he frowns, is he mad at you? He uses his thumb to wipe your tears away, and you wince, thinking that he might strike you. He sighs, seemingly a little disappointed at your reaction.

[ashdoeswhump]

Tws: abuse, implied noncon, non-sexual nudity, blood mention, restraints, alcohol

Some summer whump ideas for you:

Whumpee is forced to lie out in the sun for hours without sunscreen or even clothes as punishment. Their skin burns and peels. Maybe they were tied down, so they have stark white lines cutting through the red.

Whumpee is made to wear a long sleeved shirt and long jeans while working. They're covered in sweat, and whumper tells them how gross they are, how filthy and smelly and sticky.

Whumpee is the guest of honour at whumper's pool party, wearing a revealing bikini/speedo for the guests to coo over and stare at. Whumper's friends force them to drink alcohol on an empty stomach, to dance for them, to go in the water where no one can see the guests' straying hands.

Whumpee's cell has awful insulation, so all the sweltering heat comes in. Salty sweat mixing in with the tears and blood. Maybe they're in a stress position, their muscles already burning from exertion, the heat just making everything worse.

[3-2-whump]

Falling Like Snow

<prev next>

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed.  His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

-

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[xtinyslip]

lcvenderhcze​:

“HUH. THE FUCK? WHAT IF I WAS NAKED OR SOME SHIT? WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE THEN, EH?” zeke mused, attempting to joke, because… yes, these days, it was what he did better. it was what he tried to do, in order to make things better. of course that it was and yes, zeke banks did often hide behind humor. of course that he did. it was… just about the only thing that he knew how to do. right? “and yeah, nah. come right in. you can sleep in the couch, it has your name on it. just kiddin’. of course that i’m going to be a gentleman and give you my bed. course.” he wanted to have her in here, because.. once he locked the door, he’d know that she was safe and yes, right now - that was all that it mattered. “jeez. my birthday or somethin’, ang?” he wondered, hoping that would get a smile out of her. a good one. @xtinyslip

“WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS THAT? you think i’m going to blush and turn away at the sight of you naked? please?” however, she couldn’t help herself but to smirk at his joke because she figured that’s all it was. they had been doing this a long time, she liked to think she knew him well enough by now. not that he knew all of her. did he? well, from their talk the other day... maybe he did now. what the fuck was she supposed to do with that? “you be a gentleman? shit, i must have worked into the wrong apartment.” she teased. “not here to kick you out of your bed zeke. i’m fine with the couch. i’ve slept on worse.” it was true and she wasn’t here to get in the way, not that she cared if she did or not. they had to do this together or it was never going to work. she knew that. “now you can ask me if it’s your birthday!” holding out the bottle of whiskey she had tucked under her arm to him. perhaps, getting drunk was a bad idea but it wasn’t as if they had any fucking good idea’s was it? besides, she needed to shut her brain off from thinking about this shit for more than two seconds. @lcvenderhcze

"NO QUESTIONS." not allowing him the chance to ask why she was even here because she felt like that much was obvious. no, she wasn't going to stand outside his apartment door and wait for an invitation. angie moved passed him, waiting till she was safely in his apartment before she rubbed her hands down her face. this whole thing was a mess. she had no idea what they were doing but that it felt like nothing. they couldn't keep this up. "... i didn't think it was a good idea that either of us are alone right now. do you?" turning to face him. "i brought burgers." it was better than nothing. "you need to eat." @lcvenderhcze