#sometimes I really really like something for no discernible reason

[puffcap-factory]

Of Vines and Grapes (Diluc x Reader)

Diluc x fem!reader; fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, established relationship (marriage), heartwarming. Diluc is a gentle sunlight.

You had small arguments this past few days with Diluc, and since he was busy with work and hadn’t got the time to sort it out, you planned on giving a little gift for him to lift his mood.

Kaeya appeared as a cameo btw

Notes: 

It’s been a while! The draft of this fic had been resting since like a week ago, but yesterday I decided to continue it, only to realize that April 30th would be his birthday lol. And the funny thing is his birthday art somehow falls perfectly to the setting of this story purely by coincidence xD

Anyways, enjoy the story! :D

•~•~•~•

You twirled your cup with one hand, the sweet aroma of grape juice filling your senses as your eyes shone towards the purple liquid. You could discern the freshness and the sweet scent emanating from your glass, a freshly handpicked grape juice.

“No wonder Diluc dotes on you so much, huh…”

You looked up at Kaeya, who was sitting casually in front of you, one hand supporting his chin as he smiled at you.

“Well, it’s just pure coincidence that I prefer grape juice rather than wine.”

“That’s not my point…,” he exhaled amusedly. “How unfortunate that you miss out on the fun in wine tasting, though.”

You were never a fan of wine in the first place, as you had always preferred something sweeter – like fruit juice. Although Kaeya sometimes teased you about your childish preferences, you were really keen on these drinks. 

This wasn't the reason you initially grew close to Diluc, though. However, upon discovering your likings towards grape juice, he granted you the liberty to manage your own section of the vineyard, specifically cultivated for grape juice rather than wine. You took the opportunity to try experimenting with different soils and fertilizers – much to your own curiosity, hoping to yield a slightly different taste with each attempt.

And now, one of the freshly picked grapes rested in your hand—sweet, velvety, with a hint of sourness, just as how you liked it.

“Mm, I'm sure I'm not missing out on anything,” you smiled as you stood up from your seat. Kaeya shrugged playfully in response.

You had been working as a librarian alongside Lisa in the Favonius Library, although you were not a member of the Knights of Favonius yourself. Though your works – well, practically circulating among them. Just like this evening, you were seated in Angel's Share, as Kaeya had requested some documents from you.

Business matters aside, you lingered a bit longer, planning to craft your own drink from the new batch of grapes you had brought to the tavern, intending it as a gift for your beloved.

You went up to the counter, where Charles had allowed you to enter. Kaeya followed you and sat across you on the counter seat. 

“So, how have things been lately?” Kaeya mused, observing as you gathered your mixtures.

You sighed at his question, shifting your gaze from Kaeya to the table. Truth be told, it had been somewhat tense these past few days. Diluc had been occupied with his immense work, and you two did have some petty arguments – mainly fueled from the work stress. While most of them ended with either of you giving up on the argument, you hadn’t had a proper talk with him.

“Well, it’s... alright, I suppose,” you attempted to downplay it.

Kaeya raised an eyebrow, sensing your change in demeanor. “Your expression suggests otherwise.”

Ah, right, he was good at reading people. 

“…I mean, he’s pretty busy lately, and we had few disagreements in these past few days, so…,” you reluctantly admitted, lowering your voice as you added fresh mint leaves into the glass as a finishing touch. “That’s why I’m preparing this drink for him as a small gift. There’s a new batch of freshly picked grapes this morning. I hope he’ll like it.”

You then handed the mixture of drink you had mixed to him – a fizzy, sparkling grape juice. “Try.”

Kaeya’s gaze lingered on your face for a moment, before taking the glass and took a sip of it. A playful smile appeared on his face as he set the glass down. 

“Too sweet for my liking.”

You shot him a sulking glare, which he returned with a grin.

“…But, I’m sure he’ll love it,” he reassured, his tone lower than usual. “He can be a bit of a pain in the ass at times, I know, but he’ll definitely appreciate your effort. I know his taste.” He winked playfully at you. 

You let out a small laugh at him. “Okay, I’ll believe you this time, Kaeya.”

•~•~•~•

You made your way back, carrying a selection of ingredients from Angel's Share, having obtained Charles' permission beforehand. Upon entering the manor, Adelinde greeted you with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, my lady,” she said warmly, helping you with some of the items you had brought. “Oh, and what’s this?”

“Some ingredients for a grape juice mix,” you explained, removing your jacket and hanging it on the rack. “Diluc’s been pretty occupied lately, so I thought making him a drink might give him a little boost.” You grinned sheepishly.

“How thoughtful of you,” Adelinde smiled, though her expression faltered momentarily. “…Unfortunately, the young master will be home pretty late today, as far as I know.”

“Oh,” you replied, unsurprised. It wasn’t uncommon for him to return home late or become absorbed in his work until the late hours in his study. “That’s alright, I’ll just prepare it when he’s back.” 

“Of course, please feel free to come to the kitchen anytime,” Adelinde bowed before excusing herself. After dinner, you made your way up to your shared bedroom. 

As you showered, your mind drifted back to the events of the past few days. The arguments you had few days ago was pretty trivial, honestly, with the recent one being two days back. Yet, as you attempted to assert your point, Diluc’s cold dismissal of your concerns stung. The tension that followed had left you feeling upset, but you chose to let it go rather than push the issue further.

Yesterday, you didn’t have the chance to talk through about it as the interactions were limited to brief exchanges of good mornings and goodbyes, leaving the unresolved tension to linger. By the time he returned home, you were already fast asleep. 

Though you were no longer upset now, you wanted to clear the tension between you and him. Hence, you had prepared a small surprise for him today: your original crafted grape juice drink. With the start of the grape harvest season yesterday, you wanted him to try the grapes that you had tended yourself. 

Settling comfortably onto the bed, you took out a book you had been reading, waiting for Diluc's return. Around 11 pm, you heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. The bedroom door creaked open as Diluc entered.

"I'm back."

"Welcome home," you replied, remaining seated on the bed as he went changing clothes near the closet and then heading to the bathroom.

"I'll be continuing my work in the study after this. It might get late, so you can go ahead and sleep," he informed you before disappearing into the bathroom for a shower.

As expected, he still had work to attend to. Seizing the opportunity, you swiftly made your way to the kitchen to prepare the drink. It didn’t take much time as you had prepared it previously at Angel’s Share. 

You went back up to his study, placing the drink on the side table near his work area carefully, before another idea struck you. Instead of interrupting him mid-work, why not leave a note for him to read anytime?

Grabbing a piece of paper, you quickly penned a brief message:

“Here’s a drink for you, made with freshly picked grapes! I know you have been busy lately, and I’m sorry about the day before. Hope this can get you a little boost for your work :) Love, y/n”

Neatly folding the paper, you placed it beside the glass before slipping out of the room. Walking on the hallway, you glanced downstairs from the second floor and saw Diluc – already out of the shower, talking with Adelinde. Good, he didn’t seem to notice your presence in the study. With a sense of relief, you returned to the shared room to continue reading your book, before falling asleep not long after. 

•~•~•~•

The next morning, you stirred awake to the gentle sunlight filtering through the curtains, warming your face. With a soft groan, you shifted toward Diluc's side of the bed, only to find it empty. Your heart sank momentarily, assuming he had already left for work, but then you heard the sound of him emerging from the bathroom. Moments later, Diluc appeared, his eyes immediately finding yours as he noticed you had awoken up. He approached the edge of your side of the bed and sat on the side.

“Good morning,” he greeted you with a tender smile, settling beside you.

“Morning,” you replied, still groggy from sleep. “Did you even get any sleep?”

“I did. Don’t worry, love.”

Love. The word, spoken after a period of tension, reassured you, melting away the lingering tension. It seemed he had read your message, after all.

His hand reached out to caress your head, and you leaned into his gentle gesture, a smile gracing your lips. His smile was tender and warm like the sun, a sight you had missed dearly.

Not long after, he withdrew his hand and spoke softly. “I wanted to apologize for the previous day. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“Oh, um... I'm sorry too, Diluc. I let my frustration get the best of me.” 

“But that doesn't excuse my behavior. I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but my work wasn't finished, and I thought it was already late night. I made you wait... I'm sorry,” he confessed, his expression weighted with guilt.

Diluc was never an expressive person, though he had opened a lot more since you two became a couple. By nature, he was private, and a rather prideful man, too – but you knew his intentions were always genuine. Sometimes, in moments of disagreement, patience was key; he, too, was striving to find common ground. After all, that was what partners should do, and despite his reserved nature, your love for him remained unchanged.

You took a moment to see his face from the side, before you reached out to cup his cheek gently, meeting his eyes with understanding. “Oh, Diluc, it's alright, love.”

His eyes closed briefly, feeling the warmth of your touch. With the sunlight casting a golden glow on his figure, highlighting the contours of his face and the soft strands of his still untied velvet hair, you couldn't help but marvel at his beauty.

Without realizing, you found yourself momentarily speechless, mouth slightly agape, as you admired the scene before you. Diluc noticed your reverie and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Hm?” he inquired, his expression puzzled.

“Oh—” you chuckled shyly, realizing you had been caught in a moment of awe, “you’re just too beautiful.”

He was a bit taken aback by the sudden compliment and let out a low chuckle. He then shifted slowly to join you on the bed, resting behind you.

“I love you.”

He murmured as he hugged you from behind, his head nuzzling behind your neck.

A warmth spread through your body as his breath tickled your skin. Like the comforting rays of the sun during the day, his displays of affection always had a way of melting your heart, even after all this time.

“I love you too, Diluc,” you whispered softly, gently holding onto his arm and closing your eyes, savoring the moment.

Before long, Diluc, still nestled behind you, spoke up. “The fruit juice was really delicious. I liked it very much. Thank you.”

“Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it. We can make more together,” you suggested. “…if you're free today, of course.”

“I’m free throughout the day. I've delegated the work to Elzer and the others.”

“Really?” You turned to face him in surprise. It had been weeks since you spent the day together, and you practically couldn’t hide your excitement anymore. Diluc had known that it was a day off for you today, and maybe he had planned this all along.

He nodded, returning your excitement with a smile of his own. “It's a beautiful day. We can pick some grapes if you'd like.”

“Absolutely! And we could have a picnic outside too!”

“Sounds wonderful,” Diluc chuckled, amused by your sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Let’s have breakfast outside, then.”

•~•~•~•

Under the shade of a tree, the picnic sheet was laid out, sunlight warming your feet near the section of the vineyard you tended. A basket overflowed with freshly picked grapes was placed on the mat. Beside it, your much-loved grape-jam pie which Adelinde had brought – apparently it was requested by Diluc yesterday night, according to Adelinde herself – rested atop a small foldable table, accompanied by cups of tea.

You plucked a grape and tasted its sweetness. “Sweet and fresh, just perfect! But this one…” You fed Diluc another grape. “A bit more sour, isn’t it? I had used another fertilizer for this one.”

“Mhm,” Diluc agreed, his gaze filled with adoration as he accepted the grape from your hand.

“Perhaps the sour ones would be better suited for a different type of drink,” you mused as you thought to yourself.

“I’d happily try any creations you come up with,” Diluc remarked as he shifted to the back, leaning back comfortably against the tree trunk, inviting you to rest your head in his lap. “Come here, love.”

You beamed a smile at him before settling onto his lap, his hand moved to cup your cheeks, caressing it gently. 

“Hmm, I could easily fall asleep like this…”

“Then maybe you should,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. “You don’t get many chances to sleep peacefully outside.”

“But you’ve slept less than me for sure, you should rest too, you know?”

He met your gaze with a gentle smile. “I will, I will.”

As the wind whispered through the leaves and Diluc’s caress lulled you into a drowsy state, you closed your eyes. Just for five minutes, just five–

–Huh.

You opened your eyes, only to realize that you had indeed fallen asleep. It hadn’t seemed too long, though, but you were not sure. You carefully gazed upwards, only to find Diluc sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady as he slept against the tree.

Smiling at the serene sight, you decided to stay still, not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber. Your gaze drifted to the trees and skies above, and before you knew it, you shifted your head to the side, inadvertently waking Diluc up. He was always a light sleeper, wasn’t he?

Stretching his body with a yawn, Diluc checked his wristwatch. "One hour. That was a nice nap."

"An hour??" You sat up, surprised by the length of your unintended rest, while Diluc smiled lazily.

You wanted him to rest more, but spending the entire day sleeping outside wasn't exactly what you had in mind.

“I had a nice nap, thanks to you.” 

"Anytime for you," you replied happily, moving to sit next to him and facing him. A gentle breeze played around you, and you reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Diluc tenderly took your hand and pressed a kiss to it, earning a shy smile from you before his hand moved to gently cup your chin, locking eyes with you.

You recognized the familiar longing in his gaze and leaned in, closing the gap between you until your lips met in a tender, blissful kiss.

“I’d love to get more of these from you from time to time,” he murmured softly against your lips.

“The picnic or the kiss?” You teased, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Both.” 

“Maybe you should try delegating your works more,” you joked.

“Well, that’s been on my mind, for sure,” Diluc replied, his tone thoughtful.

You didn’t expect him to take your joke seriously and frantically explained that he didn't have to do that.

But Diluc laughed tenderly, knowing that the time you spent together was far too precious to skip. 

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x fem!reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic #diluc x reader fluff #genshin fluff

[theworstcreature]

Just watched the first three episodes of Loki and I *REALLY* love it so far

The vibes are IMMACULATE

the story is surprisingly interesting and keeping my (easily distracted) attention

Also Loki is just a really interesting and entertaining character to watch in general

Anyways I look forward to watching the rest of the first season tomorrow (and then the next season when it comes out)

#sometimes I really really like something for no discernible reason #this is one of those times #this show is just so !!!!!! #it’s nice to watch a show I haven’t heard ten billion spoilers of for once #bc I had pretty much 90% of the movies/shows I watch spoiled to me via memes and whatever else #back when endgame released I wasn’t into marvel but damn if I didn’t get threayened with endgame spoilers at least once a day #like not a single detail was left unspoiled man xd #and with Star Wars well good fucking luck NOT knowing what happens in that #anyways I’m getting a bit off track talking about how nothing is left safe from spoilers #loki #loki Disney plus #Loki series #Loki tv series #anyways really really fucking good show I love it

[punctuation-completionist]

you don’t have to answer this ask but wow how are you supposed to be the bad guy fucking apologizing for reacting badly to being told to kill yourself?? i hate this website

well okay hold up i never said i was the bad guy. i said there were misunderstandings on both sides and that i was sorry for an issue in one part of how i handled it. just one.

#ask tag #not counting #like um. i do understand that maybe this person's sense of humor is way different then mine okay #but like. they said that they didn't mean it legitimately and once they saw it was haarmful they apologized #for me to say ''i am glad i understand your side of the story and you understand mine'' i am not saying i'm the bad guy #there's really no ''bad guy'' in this situation as i see it because the world is more nuanced then that y'know #like. sometimes people have a sense of humor that you can't pick up on. it doesn't mean you shouldn't state your point of view #and say ''that wasn't how i want people to talk to me and i also won't let you do that'' #also the only part i really ''apologized'' for was that i used a term for them that was uncomfortable #i assume for gender reasons. and i understand where that comes from. if someone called me ''girl'' while arguing i wouldn't like it #whenever i said sorry after that i did my best to try and word it in a way like ''i am sorry this happened but it's not my fault'' #like how when. idk. someone's grandma dies and you say ''sorry for your loss'' you're not saying that you killed their grandma #you're just saying that you feel bad that the thing happened but not that it's your fault #and yes. i do agree that the situation may have been fixed if they just said it was a joke but hindsight is 20/20 right? #anyways. that's my take on the situation. #and like. idk. if they apologized and told me how they saw it. i'm gonna believe them because i have had WAY more malicious people here #like idk. there have been anons who have said wayy worse and there's no discernable reason for why they would #like that one anon who told me that i should get my arms chopped off or something. idk. i deleted it before i could commit it to memory #and that was on purpose #but like. my point is. there's worse people. and if i focus all of my energy about being mad over a person who made one joke in bad taste #idk just seems like a waste of time #at least that's my perspective on the situation. never said i was the bad guy. just sorry it happened #also sorry it happened so late at night for me! i need an ibuprofen and a bagel now

[gibbearish]

also is the thing with the box ever. explained?

#barbie #like from what i remember it was just kinda Ominous Box but there didnt seem to be any signs it wouldnt do what will ferrell said it would #and like you can chelk her bailing at the last second up to her being conflicted about going back to barbieland or not but #the fact that she runs as theyre tightening the twist ties makes it read as more to do with fear of the box itself #and like the ceo's goal was to get her back to barbieland anyways and she was primed to want the same thing at that point #because she'd just gone through the Horrible Real World Experiences wringer so even if it was just based on internal #conflict that wouldnt be the time to do it #i think story wise it wouldve been better to either a) cut the box out entirely‚ b) make the ceo Actually Evil and have the box do #worse than just. be a teleport chamber? #(and yeah ik ik like him and his men chase her down which is upsetting to her but he's not like. maliciously #motivated really? like he wasnt looking to kidnap her and hold her prisoner or smth like. she wanted home‚ he wanted to #send her home‚ and then she bails for no discernable reason other than Thats How The Plot Goes) #or c) have her accept the box and have it work to teleport her home but then have the seeds of doubt that have already started in #her grow organically as she lives a few more days in perfect barbieland and is like Wow Actually This Life Sucks For Me #then have ken come back and do his whole takeover while she's distracted by something #for example thats how you could integrate the mom and daughter back in is have her find out they did send her back and #come out to barbieland to investigate thinking it /was/ against her will #idk the box was just weirdly implemented as a plot device imo #like theres a lot of things in the movie that don't make any sense outside of 'you know‚ like how barbies do?' #which sometimes works and sometimes doesnt

[bby-deerling]

Some Dick Headcanons for Law, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kid, Sabo and Killer? 👀

dick headcanons (nsfw)

ft. law, zoro, sanji, ace, kid, sabo, and killer masterlist

cw: talk about penises, oral sex, swallowing, reader has no specified gender

zoro

6.5", very thick, and uncircumcised. no huge curve in any direction, and has a mess of soft, green pubes at the base.

tastes like musk and salty sweat; if you're into that like i am then having him in your mouth is like heaven

contrary to what one might expect, zoro's cum tastes good, like sea salt with just the slightest hint of bitterness. sanji's cooking keeps everyone on the sunny well fed and with a balanced diet, to the point where all the alcohol he consumes is the only thing tainting the taste of zoro's seed.

sanji

5.5", so skinny, and uncircumcised. has a moderate curve to the right from jerking off too much. keeps his pubes neatly trimmed, but sometimes forgets and lets them grow longer; the hair is dark like his leg hair.

has no discernable taste unless he's sweaty from cooking in the kitchen all day, but the cologne he puts on fills your lungs as you take his length down your mouth.

purposely eats food that makes his cum taste good; he doesn't believe in wasting food, but he also wants to make sure the meal he gives you is worth savoring and then some.

kid

7", very thick, to the point where you're worried it might seriously harm you, and circumcised. does not bother with taming his wild, curly pubes.

tastes a little bit rancid, with hints of something metallic; he is a walking biohazard and doesn't bathe as much as he should. good luck.

has total battery acid cum. will argue with you that he doesn't, but it's so awful you nearly gag every time. eventually he has killer put him on a diet to improve the taste, since he's tired of your complaining and wants to watch you swallow.

killer

7.5", average girth, circumcised, with an upward curve. keeps his pubes long but reasonably trimmed.

tastes sweaty, and a bit musty since baths are rare on the victoria punk, though he is much better than his captain about personal hygiene.

he loves to cook and has a balanced nutritious diet. that being said, he also keeps himself wired with caffeine to help him get through the day, making him taste the slightest bit bitter.

ace

5.5", average girth, and uncircumcised. manscapes a little, but doesn't get too thorough with his trimming (he is afraid of nicking himself).

tastes good, mildly sweaty with a hint of something sweet lurking in the aftertaste.

extremely salty, with a hint of something spicy. it bothers you in the back of your mind for a while, until you finally realize the mystery flavor is steak seasoning.

sabo

5", thick, and knows what to do with it. has a slight curve to the left, and keeps his pubes well trimmed.

tastes absolutely normal. he cleans himself, but has a hint of musk from running around all day that lingers on the tip of your tongue.

tastes slightly bitter, but enjoyable enough to leave you with a smile on your face each time he paints the walls of your throat white.

law

7", skinny, circumcised with a slight upward curve. has an absolute jungle of wild, straight hair down there and loves it when you coat it in your drool.

keeps himself clean, and has no real taste, but if you really strain to find notes, you can catch a hint of the soap he uses lingering in the air.

law's cum tastes bitter, and a bit sour; he lives on a diet of coffee and horrid energy drinks, so it's bound to affect the taste of his semen. if you complain about the taste, he'll tell you to shut up, be good, and swallow it quickly if it bothers you so much.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #sabo x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #killer x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction

[beansprean]

Idk what happened but I woke up last Monday wanting to draw a 10th kingdom au for no discernible reason and SUDDENLY LIKE 2 OTHER WWDITS FOLK HAD THE SAME IDEA?? Sometimes a hive mind is TOO strong

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Sketch dump in red of Nandor and Guillermo as Wolf and Virginia, respectively, from the 2000s NBC miniseries "The 10th Kingdom". 1. Guillermo dressed in his trenchcoat over a zip up hoodie over a dark collared shirt, laying on his back on a narrow box bed with his eyes closed. Nandor, wearing a long coat with a ruffled collar and sleeves over a loose linen top and with his hair half up and tucked behind his ears, is crouched beside him with both arms propped up on the edge of the box, smiling down at him with hooded eyes. Nandor says, "and then a really cool, handsome prince comes by and he says "wow, what a rascal!" Guillermo snorts, tamping down a smile as he tries to continue to look asleep. 2. Close up of Nandor taking Guillermo by the shoulders and bringing him close with a wide, besotted smile. He says, "Guillermo, you make me all hard and soft at the same time!" Guillermo is staring at him, wide-eyed and confused, blushing. 3. Knees-up of Guillermo and Nandor sitting side by side, Guillermo sans trenchcoat and Nandor with his hair down and a visible wolf's tail curled up between them. Guillermo is looking down at the tail with some interest, petting it with one hand. Nandor has both hands clasped in his lap and his shoulders up by his ears, looking away with a silly wobbly smile and flushed cheeks. 4a. Knees up of Nandor striking a princely pose, one hand pressing fingertips to his chest and the other extended upward, palm up, as he shouts with a grin, "Rapunzel, let down your lustrous locks!" 4b. Repeat, a thick wave of shiny dark hair flops down on him from above. 5. Hips up of Nandor from behind as he braces both hands on a wooden post, shoulders hunched. His nails have formed long claws that are gouging into the wood, and the full moon is visible beyond. He looks over his shoulder, hair loose and wild, eyes glowing as his face contorts into something feral and hungry. 6. Full body of Nandor, sans jacket, skipping happily along with his chin and blouse stained with blood, flowers dancing around his head and tail bobbing along behind him. 7. Chest up of Guillermo trapped in a medieval style chair, sans trenchcoat. Nandor is standing behind him, one arm draped along the back of the chair and the other propping him up as he leans, palm out placatingly as he asks with a grin, "Don't you trust me?" Guillermo looks over his shoulder and leans away as much as possible, nervous, baffled, and angry all at once. He spits back, "No!! You tried to eat my grandmother!" At this angle we can see Nandor has a hoop in his right ear. 8. Knees up of Nandor and Guillermo standing side by side, showing off some closer details of their outfits. Nandor is smiling with a fang poking out between his lips, hands twiddling together at his waistline as he peeks over at Guillermo from the corner of his eye. Guillermo glances back at him, wary and flushed, pulling his arm up towards his chest to avoid Nandor's tail, which is wagging hard and thumping against Guillermo's side. Text nearby points to Nandor and says "wolf", and points to Guillermo and says "virgin". 9. Nandor and Guillermo sitting side by side in the back of a wagon, reading self-help books. Nandor aims an excited glance at Guillermo, biting back a silly grin. His book is titled "How To Fall In Love Without Acting Like a Freak About It." Guillermo is hunched over, eyes on his book with a kind of weary and hopeless expression. His book is titled "Become UnGovernable without compromising your morals" /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #the 10th kingdom #what we do in the 10th kingdom #wwdittk au #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #wolf nandor #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

[trulyonlygrapejuice]

hii not sure if you’re open to request but! could you do something about the reader playing with harry’s fingers/rings to calm them down?

A/N: This was so fun to write! I really hope I did this justice, but what you asked for doesn't feature as much as I would like :( The story took on a life of its own, but I hope you still like it!

Also, I'd love to get more suggestions/requests, it's a lot easier to write for them, than to write my own ideas haha

Warnings: Pretty fluffy, but a bit of angst. Anxious reader, with fidgeting coping mechanisms, a tiny bit of sad reader/Harry

Word count: 1331

Rings and Nervous Things

Why did you feel so trapped? The dinner wasn’t some rowdy party, but your heart was still racing like you were tangled in the middle of a raging nightclub. You stared down at your plate as you tried to focus on whatever story Harry was telling beside you, hands clammy and twitchy in your lap. Fuck. The table laughed suddenly and you glanced up, faking a giggle when you saw Harry giving you a concerned look out of the corner of your eye. You didn't want to worry him, not when you both only saw each other when you had time off from work to join the tour. It would be a shame for one of the last dinners you had together for a little while to be spoilt by you for no good reason. Because there wasn't a good reason… right?

The dinner was a semi-regular one you did while on tour, a chance for the band, crew and Harry’s team to all sit together and have a ‘family’ dinner. It was bonding and normally enjoyable, but today… all you felt was a tight feeling of anxiety between your ribs. Anxiety was not a new feeling for you. It often felt like an annoying dog following you constantly, sometimes choosing to nip at your heels and make you uneasy. But it was a little unusual that you were feeling it now, with no discernible trigger around. But anxiety wasn't always logical or something you could control, so there was nothing you could do but try to focus on what was happening around you.

Your fingers picked at the threads of your lavender sweater almost hypnotically, the action soothing you as your ears tried to concentrate on the muddled drone of conversation around the table. Usually, you would feel a little more centred and stable when your nervous energy had an outlet, something to make you relax, even just a tiny bit. Pick one thread, move on, pick one thread, move on… Over and over, your picking reducing the bottom part of your sweater to look like it was half finished, threads loose and sticking out at all angles.

The fabric was beginning to completely fall apart when a large, warm hand slipped discreetly into your lap. It gently nudged your fingers away from your poor sweater, before resting palm down in the cradle of your hands, fingers splayed out across your skin. It was fairly easy to identify as your boyfriend's right hand, three rings gleaming softly under the lights as your brow creased in confusion. It took you a beat to realise what he was doing, and you gently shifted your hands out from under his, wrapping shaky fingers around his wrist while the others began twisting the golden lion ring in rhythmic, calming turns. The warmth of his palm was grounding on your thigh and it took everything in you not to melt into his side when his thumb started grazing soft circles across your jeans. You let your eyes drift back up to the table in front of you, suddenly feeling more settled than you had in ages. Back and forth… back and forth…

“You feeling better, sweetheart?” You hummed a quiet agreement, nestling into Harry’s side as he leaned a little bit closer. He made a happy noise before pressing a kiss to your temple, pausing for a beat with his nose in your hair, seemingly breathing you in for his own comfort. “Tell me if you’re feeling anxious again, okay? Don’t need to pretend for me” His words sounded muffled against you and he pressed another chaste kiss to your skin before pulling away with a soft smile. You smiled back, his words warming you from the inside out and chasing the tightness from your chest for a little while. “I will.” You glanced back down at your lap, frowning at the mess that was your sweater. “My poor sweater…” Harry chuckled lowly, hand twisting in your lap to hold your fidgety fingers. “We can get you a new one, baby. Don’t fret.”

By now, hours had passed and you were really starting to feel it, eyes drooping and stinging. The muted murmur of conversation only made you sleepier, your head dropping to Harry’s shoulder with a dull thump. Your fingers went limp around his hand, a tender kiss being pressed to the top of your head as the room went quiet.

You could feel Harry’s solid warmth holding you first, a soft groan leaving your throat as you squirmed, strong arms tightening around you in surprise. “Don’t- Don’t wiggle around, sweetheart. I don’t want you to fall.” You just whined quietly as his chest rumbled against you in a barely muffled laugh. “I didn't mean to wake you, darling. Swear I didn’t.” Another whine was the only response as you tucked your face into the crook of Harry’s neck, eyes squeezed tightly as he began to climb the stairs. “Whiny little thing, aren't you?” He only got an indignant grunt in response as he giggled his way back to your shared room.

It didn't take long for him to set you down and help you get changed, your limbs feeling gooey and useless from the sleep clawing at your brain. He just smiled when you grumbled in frustration at your uncooperative limbs, gently guiding your arms through the right holes of your sleep shirt. It was times like this you’d miss, domestic moments that made your heart flutter. Maybe that was why you were anxious… anxious that you had to leave and go back to work. Leave him behind. That made you pause, frowning at your reflection in the mirror, your toothbrush hanging uselessly in your hand.

“Sweetheart, what's wrong?” He looked so concerned in the reflection that it made your already upset heart crack. Your face crumbled. “I don’t want to leave.” A sudden sob broke the uncertain silence, the toothbrush clattering in the sink as you tried to wipe away the tears. “Sweetheart-” You sniffed loudly enough for him to pause and you barrelled on. “I-I think that's why I was so anxious at dinner. I’ve o-only got a few days left with you and then I fly a-away, leaving you alo-” Your anxious, sob-strewn rant was cut short by Harry hugging you tightly to his chest, pressing soothing kisses to your hair, your shoulders shaking. “Shh, shh… Oh, darling. I don’t want you to leave either, but you have a job to get back to. I’ll be okay, I’ll have Jeff and everyone else to stop me from sulking too much.” That made you laugh wetly, pulling back from his embrace enough for your hands to slip up and cup his jaw. “I-I’ll just miss you. Like I always do. I think it’s just hitting me harder than usual.” Harry’s eyes softened at that, one of his hands beginning to rub up and down your back, in an attempt to comfort you. “Oh darling…” His own eyes started to glaze over and you giggled weakly, rubbing gentle thumbs under his eyes as a tear fell. “Oh look at the pair of us, crying in the bathroom in the middle of the night.” He huffed faintly, pulling you close again, your hands falling to grasp at his t-shirt, eyes fluttering shut at the calming thrum of Harry’s heartbeat. “We’ll be alright. You’ll be alright.” You smiled into his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, we will be. I will be.”

Harry hardly let you move away from him as you finished brushing your teeth, braiding your hair and pampering your skin. His arms stayed curled around your waist, his forehead settled in the nape of your neck as you shuffled about, the skin-to-skin contact causing a warm comforting feeling to bubble in your gut. And as you both slid into bed, immediately curling around each other, an arm over a waist, a leg over a thigh, the feeling grew, and you knew… you’d be alright.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles headcanons #harry styles fic #x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles writing

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Spirit Work II

Spiritual Imposters

Before committing yourself to a deity or spirit one must communicate by learning about the entity in question, making certain they are who they say they are. Discovery of a spirit you thought you were working with is something else that leaves one feeling betrayed, upset, and oftentimes empty. Knowing the signs can really help discern things.

Mental Sock Puppets

A mental sock puppet is the result of talking to yourself and concluding self-talks as something else. The ego talks, you listen to yourself. Not a spirit. Or you establish contact but are incredibly biased hearing your thoughts. Not theirs.

It acts in accordance to your expectations.

You received no new information.

It’s only as knowledgeable as you are.

It only abides by your will. No one else.

It gives no signs unless you’re looking for them.

These are easy to get rid of if you identify the problem, recognize the problem, and let the narrative and ego go. No one needs to hear it. No one wants too either. You only end up hurting yourself and other people if things get too out of hand.

Lying Spirits

Some spirits are opportunists. They can portray an illusion pretending to be someone they’re not in order to gain loyalty and trust. They can take the form of a deity, guide, companion, or anything else that you would be most receptive to. This is why it’s good to know the basics to energy work and magick. Remember to learn different energies and how they feel to you. Remember to analyze the situation, yourself, the spirit, the environment, and working before proceeding forward. A lot of these malevolent entities like to feed off you or cause more drama that’s not necessarily needed.

Spirit Work and Continued Relationships

Veneration and Practice

This is about worshipping the deities or spirits you work with and highly depends on your practices and influences you choose to use and construct.

Most times there will be an altar setup or shrine dedicated to these spirits. Offerings of food, drink, incense, and trinkets would be a way of showing your dedication and interests of the spirits. There are other forms of interaction I have seen before.

Connection through art, music, nature, and meditation are just some of these other mediums. You don’t have to make this complex, and sometimes people have busy schedules making veneration hard to come by.

Try to keep things simple and remember it’s always okay to take a break due to circumstances. Spirits understand life comes first.

Patrons and Matrons

A Patron and Matron are deities that a devotee has a connection to. Its beyond standard devotional relations and is the main contact point for guidance and protection. It’s important to recognize that these types of relationships are built. They are not assigned.

Wicca is known for the patron and matron concept where duo theistic practices entail encouraging practitioners to seek out two divinities. The patron and matron would represent the divine masculine and divine feminine.

This is not a requirement in most practices, but in Wicca it is recognized in many circles.

Fallow Times

There are times where communication between you and the spirits can be difficult, and that’s okay. It happens with everyone. It doesn’t mean a spirit has left or that you’ve lost your ability to communicate. This feeling is temporary, and it’s a reminder that whenever this does happen, you need to take care of yourself first. Get the rest you deserve and try again later. Remember, this is normal due to circumstances – including stress, environmental factors, and any sort of disturbances one may have.

Oaths and Vows

There are many reasons why an individual would take an oath and vow. That’s between the practitioner and the spirit. This promise can come about for many different reasons, and even sometimes at the request of the spirit. However, this isn’t required if you are just working with them. It doesn’t mean control or status either. You can’t parade this around to get your way in certain situations. It doesn’t look good or help. Be aware of that. Remember why you did this, and what does it mean for you. That’s the most important part.

Displeasing Spirits

Those that are new to Spirit Work sometimes worry about displeasing the spirits. Repeat after me, deities and spirits who choose to work with you won’t get mad at you for being a human.

They will know there will be shortcomings, quirks, and variations.

You have NO obligation to listen to ANY person on this subject otherwise.

IF you do upset a spirit or make it angry question yourself as to why. Remember, communication is the key, and sometimes frictions can happen.

IF the behavior seems off and out of place, you may be dealing with an imposter. Check your sources and confirmation methods before determining the circumstances.

#energy work #pagan #witch #witch community #witchblr #witchcraft #pagan witch #beginner witch #witch tips #baby witch #energy manipulation #spirit work #deity work #deity worship #pagan blog #paganblr #pagans of tumblr #witches of tumblr #witches #spiritualism #spiritualgrowth #spirituality #spiritual disciplines #metaphysics #metaphysical #occultism #occult #esoteric

[aeliuss]

warnings!: angst, mentions of self hate. hurt comfort.

on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible.

it's not that he doesn't love you--the opposite actually. sometimes he thinks the dead thing in his chest beats only for you. beats and beats and beats, pumps blood into veins he feels he is unworthy of because how then would he be able to hold you? to kiss you?

but on days like this, he is ashamed.

his knees buckle under the weight of his own existence. how could he hold you, kiss you, when he felt like a mere shell of the man he once was? how could he offer you anything when he struggled to find value in his own existence?

it's crippling. this feeling. this weight. this him.

so when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, he winces. turns away. the dark circles stretch under his eyes like black holes and he's in the same shirt he'd pulled on four days ago and the light that comes in through the crack in the door you just opened is blinding him and he's ashamed.

"what're you doin' here?" it comes out as a croak. he cringes at the sound of it.

but all that comes out of your lips is a small, "baby.."

you say it with so much love but all it does is repulse him. how could you still have love for a rotting carcass? it's the reason he's opted to stay in the dorms rather than your apartment these past few days. he's almost certain the boys had something to do with your presence here now.

"m' fine," he says, turning on the bed, away from the light, from you. he can't really tell the difference.

you close the door behind you, bathing the room in darkness once more. you take a step closer, the floor creaking beneath your weight. chan flinches, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. he wants to disappear into the shadows, to fade away until he no longer exists in your world. to shield you from the festering ugliness inside of him

but when you step forward, towards him, his body reacts, legs opening so you can stand between them.

your hand hesitantly reaches out, fingers brushing against his tense shoulder. he catches it, pushing it away.

"i haven't showered," he mutters, head bowed, unable to meet your eyes.

"chris."

"you should probably leave. this happens all the time, i'm fine." he's telling you to leave but his fingers are clenching around the hem of your t-shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i'm fine."

"chris," you say softly, your voice a tender caress in the dimness of the room. "look at me, baby, please."

he doesn't. can't bare to, so you have to nudge him gently with the palm of your hand, cupping his cheek. his eyes are dark, haunted, and they flick away as soon as they meet your gaze.

"you're not okay," you say, heart aching.

"i'm trying," his voice cracks. "i'm trying to be."

your finger grazes his jaw. "i love you."

and then he's clutching your hips, drawing you close to him, and the tears come like tidal waves. his face is smushed against your stomach, and you hold him, you feel the tremors coursing through his body, the weight of his anguish pressing against you. you don't flinch, don't pull away. instead, you hold him tighter, letting him know that you're there, that you're not going anywhere.

"i love you," you whisper again, your words a soothing melody in the darkness. "i'm here, chris. i'm not ever leaving you."

he clings to you desperately, as if you're the only anchor in a stormy sea. his sobs echo in the quiet room, mingling with the hushed sounds of your reassurances.

on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible. he doesn't want you to see the ugly he knows is inside of him. but you do anyway. you see the ugly, the part of him he tries so desperatly to hide. you don't flinch. you don't turn away.

in your love, he discovers his own resilience, his capacity to rise from the depths of despair and embrace the light once more. and though the journey may be fraught with obstacles, uncertainties, and moments of darkness, he knows that as long as you're there, holding his hand, he'll never have to face it alone.

#skz #straykids #straykids fanfic #stray kids soft hours #stray kids scenarios #bangchan x reader #chan x reader #bangchan angst #bangchan fanfic #bangchan fic #bangchan imagine #bangchan headcanons #bang chan #bang chris #bangchan imagines #bangchan fluff #bang chan angst

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐛 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: lars content yay! as far as i can tell, i'm one of the few to do anything on him, so i hope there's more than ten people out there interested in him

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: she blinded me with science—thomas dolby

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• This guy is a snacker

• Take one look at him. You can't tell me that he doesn't constantly skip out on meals in favor of research, usually just pulling a granola bar or stained tupperware from his desk drawer to eat while he works

• Don't get me wrong, Lars can still devour a good bit of food. Sometimes you like to make fun of him for how much good he'll get on his face in the process

• "You're looking at me weird." He frowned at you one day from behind the rims of his glasses

• "Uh, yeah. Wonder why." You grin with mild surprise, watching as leftover rice and beans from the burrito in his hands stuck to the corners of his mouth like glue. He was quick to wipe it all off, ignoring you as you laughed at him

• Aside from that, Lars usually keeps his workplace pretty clean. It's cluttered, sure, but you don't think you've ever seen him wonder where something went. He just always knew where things were. It was like he had a system in his head, and the more you thought about it, the more you decided he definitely did

• The one time someone had even tried to clean his place up, you watched as he immediately jumped in, convincing them that they were needed elsewhere and sending them off before they could mess with his set-up

• Often times, when it's just the two of you alone in the offsight lab, you'll bounce a tennis ball off the wall while Lars types away, only ever looking up to squint at you when the ball gets to close to his head

• "You should really give that to the possesor. I'm sure it'd appreciate it." He hums to you at one point while spinning around in his chair to reach something. Behind you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a metal chair tapping excitedly on glass, and you make a tsking noise

• "Pretty sure you just want me to stop distracting you with my awesome skills." You boast, attempting to do a trickshot only to smack Lars in the back. He glares at you, and you inch backward with a nervous chuckle

• "You know what, I think I'll give it to the possesor."

• "What a brilliant idea." Lars says monotonely. You were quick to get rid of the ball

• He hums while he works!

• It's not anything discernable. In fact, most of the time he isn't even singing real songs. Just little tunes he'll make up on the spot for himself; often as a way to pass the time and make minute tasks fly by

• You notice it quite a lot, but don't really say anything. It's quite entertaining, if you're being truthful

• "Sittin' and waitin' for food. Sittin' and waitin' for food.." He'd improvised once while waiting yet again for a t.v dinner of his to finish its cycle in the labs shared microwave

• "Wow Lars. Voice of an angel, you have."

• "Stuff it."

• Lars doesn't often need help with his work, there's a reason he landed the job after all, but when he does, you're always the first person he goes to. It's a side effect of having spent so much time with you at work, and even outside of it—if you counted lunch breaks and independent experiments as a non-work environment

• He likes being able to get a fresh set of eyes on whatever's stumping him, and it usually doesn't take long for the two of you to work around whatever was holding him up

• Overall, you couldn't think of a better friend/co-worker to have, and the same applies for Lars. Your relationship will only strengthen as time goes on, even withstanding the bizzar experiences that Garraka eventually brings later that year

• But that's for much later. Right now, the two of you are content to sit in the aquarium-turned-headquarters, watching as the hours ticked by without a care in the world

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters x reader #ghostbusters x you #ghostbusters x y/n #lars pinfield #lars pinfield x reader #lars pinfield x you #lars pinfield x y/n #james acaster #headcanons

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

#sterek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #pov derek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #established relationship #established sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #m/m #queer fic #queer fanfic #queer fanfiction #queer writer #claudia stilinski #adhd!stiles #stiles has adhd #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

[thepixelelf]

warnings: story starts after a car crash. wc: 1.6k

[sooo, what did I miss?] The first thing you notice when you come to is the acrid fumes in the air. They tickle your nose and rouse a cough from the deepness of your chest, which travels up your throat and comes out as a choke. Your head feels like it's filled with seawater -- like it's been drowning for hours, but you can't let the pain and grogginess hinder you from moving. You have to get out of your car if it's smelling this much like gasoline, and fast.

Your entire body feels stiff. At first, you try to flex your fingers, get the blood pumping enough to make use of them at all. Opening your eyes proves to not be much help. The fumes sting against your eyeballs, and you can't see past the engaged airbag anyhow. Instead, you keep your eyes screwed shut and grunt as you lift both arms to push the deflating airbag out of your way. On muscle memory alone, you fumble for the key in the ignition. Your fingers, for a few seconds, are too weak to twist the key, but after a few determined yanks, you successfully turn off your car. With one possibility of an explosion knocked off the list, you heave yourself off the car seat and shove your body into the driver's side door, thankful when you can open it just fine.

Whatever you'd hit after veering off the road, at least it didn't--

Fuck, why did you veer off the road?

As you fall out of your car, hacking up a storm, having inhaled too much smoke, you try to gather your memories together, but find nothing. There's this lingering feeling... You know something made you jerk both hands on the wheel and swerve off the freeway.

You just don't know what.

Deciding that the memory will probably come back to you later, you stumble a good number of steps away from your car and collapse once again to catch your breath. The cool night air does your lungs well, easing the fire that's still burning in your chest little by little. A metallic taste coats the inside of your mouth. You'd bitten your tongue during the crash.

The roads around you are empty, but what did you expect at sometime-past-three in the goddamn morning? You'd been... yes, you were on your way to the other side of the city, choosing the freeway over the hustle and bustle of traffic in the city streets. Seungcheol had called you.

Well, no. One of Seungcheol's friends had called you using his phone. They asked you to come pick him up from the club they were at because he was apparently "blasted". Though, he was lucid enough to have his friends call you rather than his older sister, who you suspected would chew him out for drinking during his university's exam season.

Even though you're closer to Seonhui, you tend to err on the side of the "cool uncle" type to Seungcheol, despite being only four years older than him. You know, the type of person you can call to pick you up from the bar without getting upset at you for being there in the first place. Someone who has no stake in any of your life decisions, so they get the privilege of not having to judge you for any of them.

He'd said something about Seonhui -- you had heard his voice yelling in the background of the call. Something about how she didn't have to know and about something important he had to tell you when you showed up.

You groan thinking about him. Poor guy; now his sister actually does have to know because her friend is an idiot who drives off freeways for no discernible reason. Feeling around your pockets, you sigh in relief when you find your phone. There's no way you'd want to search your now hellmouth of a car for it.

You know the logical thing to do first is call emergency services, but you could be on the phone with them for who knows how long. Might as well tell the person who's depending on you that you can't make it. Dialling the most recent number isn't difficult, really, although you're starting to feel the chill in the air. You shiver as you bring your phone up to your ear.

"You've reached the voicemail of--"

His voice interrupts the automated one. "Choi Seungcheol."

"--please leave a message after the tone."

You frown at the beep that rings in your ear. Seungcheol should be looking at his phone if he's waiting for you to pick him up, or at least have the ringer on. You wait only a few seconds after hanging up to call him again.

This time, the low trill rings twice before he picks up.

"...Hello?"

You're a bit out of it at this point, having just crashed your car and all, but you think he sounds... slow, like he just woke up, but also hesitant. Since you can't think of a reason he'd sound like that, though, you just ignore it.

"Hey, listen," you say, voice raspy from all those noxious fumes. "I can't pick you up anymore. Sorry"

He doesn't respond for a moment.

A long moment.

"...What?"

He must be pretty drunk.

"I got into a little accident. Princess--" That's what you, Seonhui, and Seungcheol affectionately call your shitty 2007 Honda Civic. You look over at your still-smoldering car and grimace. "--she's done for."

More silence. It's strange... there's no sound in the background, either. Did he move outside?

"Anyway, you're gonna either have to bite the bullet and call Seonhui or maybe try an Uber--"

"Is this some sort of sick joke?"

Your words come to a halt at his sudden, bitter tone, and you let out an incredulous huff of a laugh. "Look, man, I crashed Princess on the side of the road, so I'm sorry" --your tongue curls sarcastically around the apology-- "that I can't pick you up from your drunken bender."

"How do you know about Princess?"

"What the hell are you on about, Seungcheol? How do I know about my car?" An exasperated breath escapes you, and you choke on it for a second. After the short coughing fit has cleared, you bring your phone back to your ear. "You're drunker than I thought. Don't you have an exam soon or something?"

"Exam-- who is this?"

That makes you pause.

"Seungcheol," you say, simply. "It's me."

Another moment of quiet passes, and you wonder to yourself if you've suffered a concussion.

Then he asks, "What's my favourite food?"

"What does that have to do--"

"Answer the question."

Sighing, you wrap your free arm around your middle in a futile attempt to stay warm. "You tell everyone it's pork cutlet, but I know for a fact that you keep a stash of white chocolate in your room."

You hear him exhale. "Fuck."

"I don't underst--"

"Where are you?" he asks, a frantic tone to his voice now.

"Umm..." You glance around. "Highway 216... close to exit thirty-four."

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you."

You shake your head, struggling to keep up. "What? If you're calling me an Uber, don't bother. I have to call EMS to file the--"

"Don't," Seungcheol insists, and you have no idea why, but you feel inclined to listen. "Listen to me. Do not call anyone. Wait until I get there."

"There's a fine if you don't report an accident in twenty-four hours."

"Trust me." The sound of a car door slamming shut on his end of the line only gives you more questions. "You don't need to bother."

=

It takes only fifteen minutes for Seungcheol to find you, and by then you're shivering from head to toe.

A car you've never seen before pulls over and parks hastily near where you're standing (the cold ground got a little too cold). Its four-way flashers turn on before a familiar-ish figure exits and starts making his way towards you, silhouetted by the car's headlights.

"Since when can you drive?" you call out first, since it's definitely a surprise to you seeing your friend's little brother behind the wheel. You could've sworn Seonhui was whining about his lack of license a week ago. "And-- wait, should you be driving? You were just drinking--" He steps even closer, and you see the wisps of his hair lit by the headlights behind him. "Are you blond? When did that--"

You don't get the chance to finish your question. Seungcheol pulls you tightly into him, his hand on the back of your head pressing your face into his coat so all you can really say is "oomph."

Seungcheol's never really hugged you before. At least, not like this. His fingers dig into the fabric of your clothes, like he's clutching desperately to something that will slip from his grasp if he loosens his hold even in the slightest.

It faintly registers to you that he doesn't smell like alcohol at all.

You try to speak, muffled as you are against his coat. "Seungcheol, what--"

"I dyed my hair last week," he says, breathless. The words are panted over your ear, and it's then you fully realize how closely he's wrapped himself around you. You go to say something about how you saw his black hair just the other day, but he continues. "I'm four years sober next month."

The numbers are not crunching. "That doesn't--"

"And my license," he says, finally pulling back just enough so that you can see his face. "I got that in 2018."

You frown. "It's 2016."

Seungcheol breathes out your name, but all you hear is warning bells. You can tell by the pitying look on his face -- as much as it's mixed with relief. You're not going to like what he says next.

"It's 2023," he tells you, saying your name again like it's precious. He holds you tighter. "You've been missing for seven years."

#caratlibrary #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #s.coups x reader #s.coups imagines #s.coups scenarios #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines

[hecateslore]

I just want to make this clear, I don't write dark fics. Don't come into my inbox requesting it bc I will block you! So with that being said, I'm going share a couple of my thoughts and then I'm gonna shut up about it, So i'm warning you again, if you do not like that I'm against non-con or dub-con... BOOOO BITCH!

I saw this weird ass take that made my stomach turn reaaallll bad.

It was like "the cod characters kill for a living" "you can't be a moral police when they murder people" oh. you're one of them. (take that as you will idgaf.) Like y'all know in some cases murder can be justified, and so can robbery (but again they're characters out of a game like ????) . Like sometimes those two things are sacrifices people have to make in order to survive. Violating someone for your own personal satisfaction, is not the same thing. That shit is not excusable.

I heard something that rlly had me thinking and I was like "damn this is tumblr forsureeeee." Some of y'all lack discernment. It's kind of cray how bad y'all will do good people, just so you can do good by bad people, are you getting me? Im looking at you simonrileyscockring.

Like there is no way you will sit and let people romanticize r*pe, and then fucking attack when people voice their discomfort and I need some of you to realize, discomfort brings up anger and so many other emotions, It's discomfort. It's gonna do that, no one is rational when they're triggered or they feel uncomfortable, let's wake up peopleeee.

Especially when it's a touchy ass subject. I had to go on a unfollowing spree and at first I was really sad when some of my favorite writers blocked me, Like damn okay, but it just means y'all aren't seeing where some of us are coming from, so maybe we have to speak your guy's language.

And I'm not saying "oh these people are bad cause they write dub-con or non-con" whatever it's called, I'm just saying people who are ready to get behind a fucking canon and shoot bc of peoples obvious discomfort. You're weird, and there's a reason people are reacting the way they are. catch it.

And if you take this shit as a personal hit, then maybe you should start self reflecting.

peace!

Oh and let me add, yall are not gonna jump @ladygoth and you’re not gonna jump @albanskikoks !! They’re speaking their truth!!

Okay bye!!

#lunden’s open mic ૮ ˆﻌˆ ა #cod mw2 #task force 141 #cod mw3 #cod #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #konig cod

[magicalbats]

Day 14: Orgasm Denial

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7925

Warnings: Afab!reader, (lots of) gendered language, social power dynamics, boss/employee, upperclass/lowerclass, tbh I’m not entirely sure how to tag some of this xmdkxkdnd, manual masturbation, dacryphilia, I wanted reader to be a bit of a bimbo in this one so if she seems stupid that’s why lol

A/N: sorry this one is late! I am officially behind on my prompts now but regardless of how long it takes I WILL be completing this Kinktober challenge! Unfortunately the real world demands attention sometimes but I’m not giving up 😤

⭐

Stamping down the urge to nervously fiddle with your hands, you clutch at the front of your arpon to keep them still and try very hard to focus on what the man in front of you is saying. The Palais Mermonia housed a great many regular faces, some of which you only saw from time to time and could not seem to commit to memory, and yet you’d been seeing mister Danon’s more and more often than anyone else’s recently. You didn’t understand why that would be though, and had at first written it off as mere coincidence. A simple matter of happenstance and nothing more. 

But then it kept happening at an ever increasing frequency until it seemed like you were running into him almost every day now. Only then had it occurred to you, in a far off, distant sort of way, that he must have been making a concerted effort to talk with you like this. That was the only reasonable explanation for it that you could glean, because the one person you saw at the Palais with any amount of real regularity was the honorable Iudex himself and certainly not the man who’s job description you could not seem to recall. But that didn’t exactly explain why. 

You wanted to understand what would make him seek you out like this, so you attentively listen to mister Danon when he speaks even though you sometimes find him a bit difficult to follow. He seemed like he was probably a good person and respectable enough, but he had a strange habit of jumping from topic to topic without much rhyme or reason that you could discern. One moment he would be talking to you about matters of work, about documents he needed to have signed or the latest gossip that had everyone all in a buzz, and the next … why, he would suddenly say something off hand about recreational activities to do in the city or places to dine, a book he’d read recently and even the types of food he fancied. 

It was all very strange, and listening to him talk does not help in the slightest. In fact, it actually seems to make it worse. 

You didn’t have the slightest idea why he would want to discuss upcoming stageplays with you nor why he should feel the need to announce that his favorite dish was aspic as if it was something that should be of great interest to you. It was all really quite strange. 

“You see, if you take a few fish when they’re still flopping around and fresh,” He tells you, eagerly gesturing his way through an explanation you hadn’t asked for. “That will guarantee their taste and ensure your aspic comes out just divine. Like something straight from the Gods themselves, if you want the honest truth of it. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more sumptuous!” 

“A - ah,” You make a valid attempt to smile politely but it was difficult to keep up with him like this. What did you care for the precise steps to make such an unappetizing sounding dish? 

“You know, if you were interested, cherie … I could make it for you to try, if you would like. Ah, what I mean is — it might be nice if we can sit down together and chat over a meal at my residence. Just the two of us.”

Your brows slowly crawl straight up to your hairline. “Oh.” 

Before you can think to say anything else, an attention grabbing thud against the marble floor makes you spin around and a smile quickly overtakes your face. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It is a pleasure to see you today.”

The kindly man sends you a slow, vaguely bemused half-smile. “Good afternoon, mademoiselle. Mister Danon. You looked like you were having a rather lively conversation just now. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important?” 

“Of course not, monsieur. It was nothing important at all.” You beam up at him, eager and happy to hang on his every word no matter how benign or minuscule. Much to your surprise, though, he sends another unreadable look over your shoulder and when you turn back to Danon you’re more than a little surprised to find him slouched as if in defeat. Your eyebrows quickly make the climb up to your hairline again. “Mister Danon, are you alright? Goodness, you suddenly look quite unwell.” 

“Yes, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.” He waves off your concern, but it doesn’t escape your notice that he makes a concerted effort not to look directly at you now and instead turns his attention towards monsieur Neuvillette. “Forgive me, your honor. I’m afraid I must be going now. My break is almost over and my presence will be sorely missed if I fail to show up on time.”

The stately Iudex inclines his chin in a brief nod of acknowledgment. “You needn’t apologize, mister Danon. On behalf of all of Fontaine, thank you for the hard work you do.” 

Giving monsieur Neuvillette a stiff bow, he turns to do the same to you. “Mademoiselle.” 

You quickly bob a perplexed curtsy back. “Monsieur?” 

Ignoring or perhaps not hearing the question in your voice, Danon pivots on his heel and makes a hasty retreat down the long corridor without so much as a backwards glance. You can’t seem to shake the feeling you’ve said or done something wrong though, and you watch him go with a tiny flutter of anxiety in your chest until another soft thud of monsieur Neuvillette’s cane on the marble floor pulls you around again. 

With a small frown in place, you tip your head back to look up at him when he comes to stand next to you. “Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

He offers you a small, gentle smile, no doubt meant to placate and soothe, though it does little in the way of good. “Please do not look so put out, mademoiselle. Would you like to accompany me to my office?” 

Nodding, you fall into step beside him. You find yourself listlessly fiddling with your hands now, unable to stop it when it felt like you'd made some horrible faux pas, and they anxiously flit over your front to smooth out invisible wrinkles. What a strange and confusing situation to end up in, and with no idea how to navigate it either. It seemed like you’d done the exact opposite of what you’d initially set out to do … you didn’t understand it in the slightest. 

“Forgive me for asking you such a strange question so suddenly, but … did I say something to offend mister Danon just now?” 

Noising a quiet sound of consideration, monsieur Neuvillette thinks on that for a brief moment. “I am certainly no expert on the topic, mademoiselle, but if I am not mistaken I do believe mister Danon harbors a romantic interest in you. I believe he may have felt slighted when you said what you were discussing was of no importance, and he took it as a sign of rejection.” 

You jerk to a sudden halt with an inelegant scuffle of your heels. “Romantic?” Eyes widening in mute horror, you feel your cheeks start to grow uncomfortably warm. That did make sense, you were more than just a little stunned to realize. The way he made the effort to find you wherever you were working, stop you and talk to you; the way he would casually sprinkle in bits and pieces of his personal life and subtly suggest food, diners, places to go and things to do … had he really been laying out suggestions this whole time hoping you would show an interest in him back? But — “But he never said … oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I had no idea!” 

He looks at you with a soft, sympathetic smile where he’d stopped half a pace in front of you. “It is alright if you didn’t know. Situations like these can be difficult to — parse sometimes, and I do not think you acted with malicious intent. Come, let us continue this over a cup of tea.” 

Embarrassed and roiling with a crushing sense of guilt, you slowly trail after the Iudex to his large, exquisitely furnished office where you quickly fall into your usual habit of preparing the chinaware while he situates himself on the ornate lounge. It is muscle memory alone that sees you through your task, motions practiced and subconscious after working at the Palais for so long, which comes as a great relief in that moment. You were far too preoccupied with this startling revelation to give the pouring of the tea much thought. Mister Danon’s intentions were shocking enough but, perhaps even more so, you’re surprised at your own lack of awareness on the matter. 

You felt rather bad now, for listening to him so attentively and humoring the conversations he was always keen to share with you. Had he mistaken it for budding affection on your part? Have you unknowingly encouraged him to keep trying or, somehow worse, made him believe you were merely toying with his feelings this whole time? What a terrible thing to do to another person, intentionally or not. 

Monsieur Neuvillette silently regards you when you bring the tea over on a silver tray but you can’t bring yourself to look at him while you set everything down on the low table in front of him. He was always nothing but kind to you despite your lower station of housekeeper, just as he was with all of the staff that kept the Palais functioning as it should. Everyone from the notarizers and the title clerks right down to even the janitors were treated with nothing but respect and dignity, and that very much included you. But you were a bit too ashamed, too guilty to meet his gaze right now, and you quickly shuffle back a polite distance once everything is laid out so you can further avoid his eyes. 

A stretch of quiet settles over the room, and you have to try very hard not to start fiddling with your uniform again. 

“Won’t you make yourself a cup and join me?” He ventures at last. 

“I couldn’t, monsieur Neuvillette. But thank you.” 

He seems to deliberate over something for a short beat before half turning his body on the lounge to look up at you. “I must apologize for prying like this but what about the situation with mister Danon has you so upset? If you didn’t know what his intentions were then you certainly cannot be held responsible for not acting accordingly.” 

You hesitate to discuss this matter with him, well aware that it was improper and impolite to talk over such things with not only the aristocracy but also the man who was effectively your employer. It felt very much like an unspoken boundary that should not, under any circumstances, be crossed but … when you take in monsieur Neuvillette’s imploring expression your resolve starts to crumble. He was a wise and exceptionally astute figurehead who always treated every case laid out before him no matter how small or insignificant with the utmost care and consideration. Perhaps he would have some insight to share with you, or at least some advice. 

“Well,” You finally relent, tipping your chin down to shyly regard your buckled shoes. “I’m aware that this might sound a little odd but I just feel so guilty about everything … I should have realized sooner why he kept seeking me out like he did. As silly as it is, I can’t help but feel like I tricked him somehow.” 

“That is a silly thing, isn’t it?” He agrees in a soft, endlessly patient tone. “How could you have tricked someone if you weren’t aware of what they wanted from you? In the unlikely event that a case such as this were presented to me, I wouldn’t even be able to rule in favor of misrepresentation on the defendant’s part. You have to act with knowing and intention to be held accountable for trickery.” 

You despondently mull that over for a long stretch. Logically, you knew what he was saying to be true and you, as everyone else in Fontaine, trusted his judgment implicitly. It wasn’t so much that you doubted him but, rather, your guilt was so great that it couldn’t accept this answer. The thought alone that you might have broken mister Danon’s heart after stringing him along for months almost brings tears to your eyes. 

“Does that mean you wouldn’t deign to punish me for it?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“No, not unconscionably. No one in their right mind would.” 

It feels like you're withering on the spot. You didn’t understand it yourself, why you were so upset to hear this rather than relieved at finding you hadn’t broken any laws or regulations that would hold you accountable. Even if mister Danon were to try to file a suit against you to mend some of his bruised ego it sounded like he wouldn’t even have a case to stand on — and that was good. 

So why did it feel as if you were skating by without making proper amends for the transgression?

“Mademoiselle?” 

You finally bring your head up to look at him. “Do you think mister Danon will forgive me if I apologize?” 

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression softens, taking on a truly remorseful edge. “I don’t know, little one. He might. I can’t see into the future any more than you can, but I think if it’s something that bothers you so much then it certainly wouldn’t hurt to talk to him about it.” 

Blinking back a sudden deluge of tears, you take an impulsive step towards him with the tray clutched to your chest. “Oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I don’t know what to do! How can I possibly ameliorate my actions if he might not even accept my apology? I — I didn’t mean to lead him on!” 

Very neatly, calmly, monsieur Neuvillette folds his gloved hands on his lap and studies you for an indeterminable amount of time with that closed and shuttered expression. You aren’t sure how many minutes pass when you’re a right mess inside, all your emotions kicked up into such a veritable whirlwind that it’s all you can do just to hold it together. But, at length, he eventually draws a careful breath. 

“What I’m hearing is that your guilt over this matter will not be dissuaded until you feel appropriate action has been taken against you to right what is, in your mind, a very serious wrong, intentional or not. Is that correct?” 

You blink, more than a little surprised at how concisely he’s grasped your thoughts on the matter. It almost sounds foolish when he puts it like that, in such blunt terms, but there is no denying the pang that resonates within you. “Yes, monsieur. I feel terrible for what I’ve done …” 

He seems to hesitate, his brows drawing inward almost imperceptibly. “Guilt can function as its own form of punishment as well, and a very effective one at that. But you must understand something, mademoiselle. The law simply is not applicable here. There is no legal recourse and, therefore, no system in place to enforce any sort of repercussions against you.” 

You take another step closer, feeling fervent and hot. “Then will you punish me, monsieur Neuvillette?” 

Abruptly, he goes very still. “I am hardly in any position to mete out such discipline,” He says slowly, carefully. “And, far more importantly, I’m not quite sure what you would have me do. I don’t believe this situation would call for a monetary fine or even any corrective action on an employment level … and I’m certainly not going to spank you over my knee like a child.” 

Flustered heat crawls up your neck to settle in your cheeks. You hate the way your knees grow weak and knobby at the thought of that, but you were decidedly in agreement with him. It would have been inappropriate for him to strike you in any capacity, least of all over something like this. Still, though … 

“Isn’t there something to be done?” 

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression settles back into that somber mask again, eyeing you for a drawn out beat before he finally issues a clipped sigh. Leaning back to recline against the lounge, he stiffly crosses his legs and once more settles his folded hands atop the bent knee. “Come here, little one. Stand next to me.” 

Your feet almost don’t want to move from the spot but you force them to uproot so you can cautiously shuffle forward. You aren’t sure what to expect when your cotton stuffed head was such a mess, but all he does when you come up beside him is hold out an expectant hand. It takes you a moment to realize what he wants and you flush even hotter as you pass him the tray. Taking it from you, he sedately sets it aside on the cushion before fixing his attention on you once again. 

“This is another topic in which I lack expertise but I might have something in mind that could satisfy your need for penance. However, I will not force or otherwise coerce you into it, and you will likewise be free to walk away at any time. Once you have decided you’ve made the appropriate dues for leading mister Danon on, as you put it, then this arrangement will end immediately. Is that agreeable to you?” 

You bob your head in a quick nod. “Yes, monsieur Neuvillette. Thank you.” 

Squaring his broad shoulders, the usually kindly disposition with which he carried himself outside of the courtroom fades and is replaced by the stern set of his mouth, the slight tension along his brow, to indicate that it is the Chief Justice sitting before you now. A chill runs up your spine at the change in him, so subtle yet unavoidably obvious, and a sharp look from pale lavender eyes stops you from saying anything. You’d never before been subjected to such a hard expression from him and you can’t quite stop yourself from sympathizing with whoever was unlucky enough to find themselves standing before him in court. It really wasn’t any wonder why he held the title of supreme judge in all of Fontaine when you saw him like this. 

“Do not thank me yet, mademoiselle. If you would be so kind, please lift your skirt for me.” 

Your spine stiffens with a tremor so powerful it very nearly bowls you over on the spot. Obediently, though, you reach down with numb hands to gather the full, flouncy material of your uniform and shyly hike it up along with the lace petticoat underneath. 

“Higher.” He commands, intently observing the slow ascension of your skirts. “That’s it, up around your waist. Good.” 

Sucking in a faltering breath, you sway unsteadily on your feet and try not to lose your nerve. The thought that you would be able to alleviate your guilt with this steels your resolve though, and your hands start to shake as your stockinged upper thighs are revealed to him, the simple garters holding them in place and, finally, your lace panties. Your face is on fire while you nudge everything up a little further to make sure it was satisfactory and to his liking despite still harboring some very real doubts about this in the back of your mind. 

He did say he wasn’t going to spank you … didn’t he? 

Casually, monsieur Neuvillette reaches out a hand to slip long, elegantly poised fingers into the space between your thighs and you suck in a sharp gasp when he nudges them up against your cunt just so. The touch is featherlight and barely there, but it makes more blood rush into your face to leave you rattled and a bit dizzy. But you don’t pull away from him as he takes his time petting over the apex of your fleshy mound and the slit running along your body, determined to see this through. Somehow having him touch you like this was not nearly as embarrassing as the way his expression doesn’t change while he does it, you’re quite ashamed to realize. 

“Are you sensitive here?” He asks you softly, prompting you to swallow. Hard. 

“I … I don’t know. I’m not sure.” 

Quietly clicking his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette presses up against you a little more firmly, gloved fingertips digging into your defenseless clit to make you jolt and give a startled yelp. “You seem responsive enough to me. I only know of this particular activity in theory but … well, it doesn’t really matter. I believe we should have no problem at all using this method for your penance.” 

“W - which is, monsieur?” 

“I believe I’ve heard the people call this ‘edging’ before. It sounds rather dreadful, doesn’t it? Like some sort of barbaric torture technique.” Carefully observing your face, he pushes up even harder to grind tight, mean little circles against that sensitive pleasure button, and your eyes grow big as you stiltedly rock forward on your toes. “I suppose it could still be called that, depending on who you asked. The instigator or the receptee. I’m sure they would have drastically different opinions on the matter.”

Whimpering, you numbly readjust your hold on your skirt to make sure it stays up and out of his way while he’s doing this. Not that you were entirely sure you liked this specific method in terms of punishments when it was so obvious your body was eagerly responding to it – from the way your pussy clenches around nothing and starts to slick for him and even to the way your nipples stiffen against the inside of your shirt – but perhaps that was a good thing. Would you have really been able to say your penance was paid in full if this trial were not appropriately challenging?

“Wh … where?” 

Blinking at the little mouse squeak noise, monsieur Neuvillette just keeps rubbing over you with that steady motion of his hand. “I beg your pardon?” 

Trying valiantly to keep the fluster off of your face and failing miserably at it, you shyly avert your gaze. “I was just curious … where did you hear of this?”

“A reasonable question.” He relents, allowing the smallest note of humor to color his voice. “While it is true I don’t often partake in such crude conversations, it can be a little hard to avoid at times. Even here, in the Palais Mermonia. I believe they refer to it as ‘water cooler talk’.”

“Oh.” You’d overhead such things before too, now that you thought of it. The other women who worked at the Palais were more prone to gossip, joint complaints about their husbands or beaus, fawning over babies and first days of school, and academic achievements, while the men … they would sometimes change topics when they saw you coming but more than once you’d caught snippets of inappropriate conversations. A recent visit they’d had to a brothel or perhaps how they fantasized about doing certain things to their partners. You always felt mildly scandalized whenever it would happen, shocked that such discussions were being entertained at the Palais, and yet — 

Letting out a slow, stuttering breath, you carefully glance down at yourself to look at monsieur Neuvillette’s hand disappearing between the soft pudge of your thighs. This was vastly more inappropriate than any ‘water cooler talk’ and that realization embarrasses you a great deal. Your cheeks feel a little hotter, your blood pumping harder, and you whine, very low in your throat. Was this really an acceptable form of punishment? 

You think it probably is, because the shame that comes with it is potent and cloying, especially when your hips give a weak judder at what he’s doing. To think that the Iudex himself was touching you like this … 

“Does that feel good, little one?” 

Twitching at the sound of his voice, you give a stilted nod. “Yes, monsieur, thank you … but — but I don’t think I quite understand. Are punishments supposed to feel good?” 

“Not necessarily, no. But this is only a part of it. Relax, sweet girl. I will ensure your guilt is appropriately mitigated in due time.” 

You still don’t truly understand it, but you allow yourself to ease into it anyway. Relax into his touch. Slipping your eyes closed, you just take a moment to feel the sensation of him rubbing over your cunt. The press of his firm fingers pudges your lips to highlight how soft and pliable they are, the blunt tips of his gloves sinking into the slit. Even the thin layer of your panties is not enough to lessen the drag in any meaningful way, and it doesn’t seem to take long at all for you to start feeling sticky with arousal. It’s copious and excessive, almost implausibly so considering that he’d only touched you in this one specific spot thus far. Hardly at all. 

You hadn’t thought you would be so easily excitable and yet the proof of it is in the way you tremble for him, the way your breathing gradually picks up to make your breasts heave under your blouse, and it quickly becomes difficult just to stay standing in place. You wanted to twist and pull away, give your drooling cunt even a moment's reprieve, but you don’t give in to the urge. That wasn’t what he’d agreed to, and you trusted his judgment … 

So you stand there, trembling, while your stiff nipples cut up into your shirt in search of the same friction, and you try not to cry out. Your pussy tingles against his hand, the pressure it exerts so constant and steady that it rapidly starts to feel like the building pressure in you is reaching critical mass. Much sooner than you could have anticipated or guessed, it was as if your body was particularly weak for monsieur Neuvillette’s dutiful attention. 

Softly wheezing when your legs buckle and threaten to give out, you subtly tip your pelvis further into his hand and it becomes that much more apparent how wet you really are. How stiff and engorged your clit had gotten. A violent shudder tears through you at the meaty, swollen drag of it under his fingers, head tipping back and. - - 

He retracts his hand so suddenly it leaves you lurching in place. Raggedly gasping at the sudden loss, you turn wide, wild eyes on monsieur Neuvillette but he merely gives you that same somber expression as he interlaces his fingers on top of his bent knee once again, unfalteringly casual about it. 

“That will be all for right now, mademoiselle. Thank you.” 

You just gape at him, stunned and confused, with your skirts still hiked up around your waist like a shameless fool. “Wh - wha —“ 

A look of sympathy flashes across monsieur Neuvillette’s face. “This is the penance you wanted so badly. As many times as you like, I will bring you close to orgasm but I will not let you actually reach climax. It is the only suitable punishment I could think of for your specific … transgression.” 

It takes a great deal of effort for you to do it, but you suck in a slow, shuddering breath to steady yourself. “I … I see. Thank you, monsieur. I understand now.” 

“Very good. Now, run along. I’m sure you’ve got work to do elsewhere.” 

He offers you a small smile that you think is meant to be reassuring but it does very little to distract from the throbbing ache in your cunt or calm your pounding heartbeat. Numbly, you drop your skirt and petticoat back into place and run your hands over it to smooth out the (now real, not imagined) wrinkles as you slowly make your way towards the door. It was like you were in a trance. 

“And mademoiselle?”

You pause, turning to look back at him. “Yes, monsieur?” 

“I would like to see you in my office again around noontime. Please do not forget and don’t be late.” 

~*~

It hadn’t taken you long to realize just how insidious and cruel this strange brand of punishment truly was. You left his office such a sticky mess between the legs that even trying to clean yourself in the powder room did little good against the slick oozing out of you to stain your panties and make them stick to you, moulding against your cunt. It serves as a near constant reminder of how close you’d been to climax, how monsieur Neuvillette’s fingers had felt touching such an intimate part of your body, and how torturous it had felt to have that friction taken away so suddenly. 

The wisdom of the Iudex impresses you even now though, for you did indeed see why he’d deemed this the only appropriate corrective measure that would fit the crime. You had unknowingly strung mister Danon along with your feminine charm and wiles, so it did indeed make sense to turn that back around on you in some way. 

And although it does take a while, the distracting pulse in your cunt slowly fades into an afterthought in the back of your mind while you flit about the Palais tending to various tasks and seeing that everything was as it should be. At some point you even start to forget how your damp panties cling to you and that makes it much easier to view this trial as an easy obstacle to overcome. You would simply allow monsieur Neuvillette to carry out this task a handful of times, consider your self flagellation completed and then move on with your life. 

Yes, this really was the best method of making your peace with the situation. 

Comforted in your conviction, you return to monsieur Neuvillette’s office at the appointed time and issue a gentle rap at the door. His voice filters through without missing a beat, calling for you to come in, and you enter without reservation. 

Perhaps you should have been more wary of underestimating him or this game you were playing but you think nothing of it as you make your way across the room to stand in front of his stately desk. He looks up at you with a brief smile that inexplicably makes your pulse thrum a little faster, and that surprises you slightly. Catches you off guard. 

“Thank you for your punctuality, little one. I have a meeting scheduled after lunch is over so I wanted to tend to you before I got too busy.” 

Self consciously, you avert your gaze. “Are you sure this is alright, monsieur? I don’t want you to go hungry because of me.” 

“Nonsense. I planned accordingly and already ate before you came by.” Not lingering on the thought for very long, he takes a moment to straighten a stack of papers and neatly set them aside, out of the way. Nudging his high backed chair out from under the desk, he half turns and situates himself first before reclining against the backrest and finally looking up at you again. “Come. No need to feel shy.” 

His words have the opposite effect of making you feel ten times more shy than you originally did, and you can feel yourself starting to blush again as you slowly round the desk to come up beside him. Standing just a scant few inches from him like this it occurs to you, suddenly, that you probably should have been a bit more apprehensive about returning to his chamber like this. He was going to touch you again … oh, perhaps you had not thought this through all the way.

“Here.” He says, drawing you back into the moment with a gentle pat against his leg. “Sit on my lap, little one. This should make things a bit easier for both of us.” 

The flush that crawls up your face is an intense and overwhelming one. “M - monsieur, I — I couldn’t possibly be so presumptuous!” 

“Is it presumptuous if I’m telling you to do it?” 

Your spine stiffens at the slightly hardened tone in his voice, the edge that seems to cut across any of your weak excuses, and you quickly realize it is once again the Chief Justice sitting before you now, not the kindly monsieur Neuvillette. And he was looking at you very expectantly. 

Swallowing your nerves, you reluctantly shuffle closer and turn to lower yourself onto his leg with a slow, stiff motion of your body. The firm pressure and warmth of him underneath you is almost enough to send you running from the room in hysterics, but before you can even think to change your mind his arm comes forward to secure itself around your middle. A surprised little yelp bursts out of you when he hauls you back against him to settle more firmly on his lap, completely disregarding how you tense up and shudder on top of him. 

“There. Isn’t that much better?” He softly coos at you, tugging you back to lean against his front. Your face feels like it’s on fire but you don’t fight it, only whimpering quietly when he at last has you situated how he wants. 

“M - monsieur …” You mewl into the suddenly statically charged office, unable to stop it, but he just quietly tuts at you as he turns his head to press his mouth against your hair. 

“Now, now, you’re alright. I’ve got you. There isn’t any reason to be so nervous.” A violent tremor tears through you when you feel his lips purse against the side of your head in what you think must be a brief kiss — but you don’t get the chance to fully process the significance of that as he bends a little closer to put his mouth near your ear now. “Spread your legs for me, little one. Let me see you.” 

Dizzy with the surge of white hot arousal that abruptly crashes into you with all the force of a sack of bricks, you give a weak, twitchy roll of your body against him and reach down with trembling hands to grab at your skirt. Slowly inching it up, you tip your chin down to watch with him as more and more of your thighs are revealed. The soft pudge around the tops of your stockings embarrasses you somewhat but not nearly as much as your panties do. Even from this angle you can see a dark, wet spot staining the crotch when you ease your legs open and you whimper softly at the sight of it. 

“Goodness, you certainly soaked yourself earlier didn’t you? Poor thing,” With a quiet click of his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette reaches down past cotton and lace, and voluminous frills to slide his hand over your mound. Your breath hitches as you watch him do it, cupping your pussy with an almost apologetic squeeze, and you quickly turn your head away before you can say or do something else you’ll regret today. 

You had to admit, it was very naive and shortsighted of you to consider this an easy penance just because it was not a constant, pressing concern at the forefront of your mind. How very foolish you had been. 

“I was thinking about it earlier and I found myself quite curious,” He admits, still just holding your cunt in the palm of his hand. “Would it be too impolite of me to ask how often you usually pleasure yourself?” 

Your chest dramatically heaves with the ragged gasp you suck in. “Monsieur Neuvillette, that’s … why would you ask me something like that?” 

“Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you. That was not my intention, little one. Please forgive me.” A pause, while he turns his head to press his lips against your hair again. “It is just that you are so shy and your body is so sensitive. I wondered if perhaps you were too ashamed to take care of your own needs in this manner, that’s all. I’ve heard some women are.” 

Lungs painfully constricting inside your chest, you stiffly lift your hands up to cover your face. Having the Iudex pet you so intimately was one thing, but discussing such matters with him was something else entirely! 

“P - please forgive me, monsieur … you haven’t offended me it’s just — I have no experience with this sort of thing. I do it, sometimes. Pleasure myself like that. But I’ve never had anyone else t - touch me in that way before …” 

“I see.” 

Silence settles over the room for a long, drawn out stretch that soon starts to ride the line of being uncomfortable. You can just start to feel the sting of hot tears creeping through at the corners of your eyes when he gently pats your cunt with the flats of his fingers, startling a surprised noise out of you. Lowering your hands enough to see, you gape down at yourself as he somewhat possessively cups his hand around you again and gives the pudge of your labia a light squeeze. 

“Such a silly thing you are.” He says against your head, displacing some of the little flyways there to send them dancing at your peripheral. You barely even notice it though, trembling at the faintest hint of a growl in his voice when it sets your guts to vibrate and seems to reverberate inside your chest cavity. You’d never heard him sound like that before but don’t get the chance to linger on that thought or question it, because he nuzzles further into you until it feels like he’s speaking directly into your ear now. “In the future you should try not to be so forthcoming with your body when it comes to men. Had I been any less honorable I could have all too easily taken advantage of you earlier and I could still do it now had I wanted to. I understand your desire for wrongs to be appropriately righted as that is the very foundation Fontaine was built on but this is not the way to go about it, mademoiselle.” 

Your mouth warbles open but nothing comes out. All you can do is sit there, quaking on monsieur Neuvillette’s lap, while his fingers slip into one side of your panties and tugs them aside. The sight of your own cunt lips, puffy and flushed with arousal, surprises a faltering animal noise out of you that seems to echo endlessly inside the room. He pays it little mind though and simply curls his thumb to brush over your slit and the clitoris hiding within, smearing sticky slick with that fine leather glove and nudging your body into opening up to him. Legs twitching, you jerk your hands down to latch onto the arm locked around your middle, clutching at him even as you fitfully writhe against the sensation. 

All at once your earlier arousal comes crashing back with a vengeance, temporarily forgotten but not near as snuffed out as you would have liked it to be. Your clit thrums under his stilted caress as if the climax you’d been close enough to taste but not able to experience had lain dormant this entire time while you ensured the water pitchers were filled, the snack tables stocked and the fireplaces were appropriately stoked wherever they were needed. It shocks you a great deal to realize how powerful your arousal truly is, and you buck your hips with a whiny moan that would have embarrassed you under better circumstances. 

But better circumstances would not have found your cunt absolutely flooding with a deluge of fresh slick, nor would your clit have been swelling as eagerly as it does. You can feel the meaty, engorged drag of it under the soft petting of his thumb, almost idly drawing it back and forth with a total lack of urgency that makes your head spin perhaps even more so than the sharp stabs of pleasure do. You wanted to cum, and the knowledge that he would not permit you to just makes you want it even more. 

“Please, monsieur —!” 

Softly humming, he presses his thumb down a bit more firmly. “Are you already getting close, little one?” 

You tip your head back to rest on his broad shoulder, panting up at the ceiling while shuddering waves of yet unrealized ecstasy crash over you, each somehow more powerful than the last. Instinctively, you inch your legs further apart even as they tremble fiercely for him and you think, idly, you probably would have vibrated right off him had he not been keeping you pinned against his front. You’re helpless to do anything except sensitively quake like this, and you do so with great enthusiasm. 

“It is too much … I - I can’t take it!” 

“You will.” He assures you, his voice soft again but it still carries that subtle hint of an edge underneath the surface. You didn’t understand it, why he would sound like that. What had brought it on. Was he even more displeased with you than he’d suggested? 

The thought alone brings tears to your eyes almost as much as the cresting pleasure making you writhe on his lap, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to make him feel bad for causing you to cry when you were the one who had asked for this … but oh, it was so very hard not to give voice to the sobs threatening to wrack your body when it was all so much. The firm, weighty pressure of his thumb petting over your cunt, his other fingers idly teasing along your slit where they were still holding your panties aside. The smell of him, the taste of him lingering on the back of your tongue, his sturdy weight underneath you. It was all too much, and it felt like you were drowning in him. 

“Let this be a lesson to you,” He continues, unconcerned with the way you twist against him and choke on stuttering gasps. “Even more pressing than the matter with mister Danon, I’m far more concerned about how easily you gave yourself up to a man to do with however he pleased for the sake of penance. Needless self sacrifice is not justice, sweet girl. I do hope you’ll remember that.” 

Bending his head close once more, monsieur Neuvillette presses his mouth to your hammering pulse, and you mewl at the contact. It is not so much a kiss, you abruptly realize, as it is a not very subtle threat. Like there was a beast lurking beneath that kindly gentleman facade … 

“Oh, monsieur, I — I’m going to —“ 

“No, you are not.” He cuts across you, practically hisses it against your jugular, and you nearly jolt right off him when the arm around your middle slides up to lock across your front at an angle. Suddenly he pinches your nipple through your shirt where it’s stiff and straining against cotton, giving it a mean little tweak to make your back bow. Trying to twist away proves futile and you yelp at the pleasure laced pain even as your cunt drools even more obscenely in response. 

You felt like you were going crazy. Truly wild with potent, cloying arousal so powerful, so overwhelming, you can’t even process what’s happening to you while you shake right to the edge of your release. 

And just like that, the hand on your pussy retreats, pulling away altogether to leave your panties shamelessly askew in favor of latching onto the swell of your inner thigh and keeping them spread when you frantically buck your hips in search of that fleeting touch. You heave and groan, reeling at the total loss of friction, but it is useless. Monsieur Neuvillette is an unyielding presence at your back no matter how earnestly you squirm against him, and his gloved fingers give your aching teat another cruel tug to further stave off your release. 

You’re more than a bit horrified, in a delirious, hazy sort of way, to find that the pain serves its purpose in chasing away your climax enough to leave your pussy absolutely throbbing in the wake of this denial. No longer teetering right on the precipice, it seems to force you back a pace or two and all you can do is look on longingly at the promise of oblivion beyond with yearning and desperation. Wanting, but not allowed to have. 

You truly had underestimated just how tortuous this punishment technique could really be … 

Through the murky fever you feel monsieur Neuvillette brush his mouth across your cheek to press at the corner of your eye, effectively drawing you out of your groaning stupor. Sucking in a ragged gasp, you clutch at his arm all the tighter and try in vain to lean away. 

“M - monsieur?” 

“You’re crying.” 

Noising a soft sound of confusion, you blearily blink your eyes open to realize that they were in fact clouded with a swimming sheen of tears making them burn. Sniffling sadly, you start to reach up to swipe them away in shame but the hand on your breast comes up quicker and locks under your jaw, physically turning your face towards him. 

Laying spread out on top of him with your head forced back against his shoulder, you look up at monsieur Neuvillette from just a scant few millimeters away. His expression is still somber and unreadable but … the glint in his pale lilac eyes makes your chest hitch. It wasn’t hunger the same way you’d on occasion caught other men looking at you — men like mister Danon, you realize in retrospect — but it is a hunger all the same. Something old and primal, from a long forgotten dark age that inspires a slow curling tendril of uncertainty low in your gut. You don’t think it’s lust per se, not in the usual sense, but a kind of lust,  perhaps. One you didn’t have a name for. 

One you weren’t sure if you wanted to learn the true nature of. 

After silently studying you for a long moment, he finally drags his gaze from your face to regard the tall, stately clock standing sentry in the office, the only witness to this lurid state of affairs. “I still have some time before my meeting. I think we should be able to squeeze in one more session before I have to go.” 

You very nearly give voice to a hysterical, broken sob, just barely managing to choke it back with a frazzled whine instead. “Monsieur —“ 

“Hush, little one.” He murmurs and leans close again, stunned surprise washing over you when his tongue flicks out to lick up a wet tear from under your eye. You gape at him in shocked disbelief when he pulls back enough to look at you again, leaving behind residual moisture on your skin, but he doesn’t even look the least bit put out or sorry for it. Like it was a perfectly normal thing for him to be doing. Perhaps it was. You had no idea – and if he recognizes your surprised reaction for what it is, he certainly doesn’t show it. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will ensure your punishment is properly administered and then we shall further discuss your other behaviors in greater detail. Rest assured, you will be appropriately corrected in time. I will personally see to that myself.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #self insert bullshit

[traegorn]

Do you have any theories on why modern pagans are so obsessed with the idea of Lilith that they refuse to let her go? What is it about this false idea that sucks people in so deeply? It's maddening to see so many people just blatantly spout antisemetic rhetoric because they just REALLY want Lilith specifically for some reason.

Strap in, this is gonna be long.

There's a whole mess of events that kind of lead to this. First we start with the whole "Mesopotamian goddess" which (as I said in that other post) stems from Kramer's translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh in the 1930s and the subsequent misidentification of the Burney relief by Kraeling and Frankfort.

So we get that seed is floating around.

Now dipping out of the nonsense above, some folks in the feminist movement found inspiration in a specific interpretation of Lilith from Jewish folklore. They viewed the story of Adam's first wife as an act of anti-patriarchal feminist defiance. Whether this interpretation is accurate or not I'll leave up to folks way more educated in this than me. But that's where they were coming from.

Then you get the goddess movement starting in the 1970s, which publishes a bunch of stuff -- sometimes poorly researched. And, like, if you're not an academic, I kind of get it? Like you find academic sources talking about the Mesopotamian "Lilith," you don't necessarily have the discernment to look further? And what you get are a bunch of things that will talk about the Jewish Lilith (or at least say they are whether they get things wrong or not), and then just drop in "But she was also actually a Mesopotamian goddess" (without, like, any supposed related mythology) as a justification for the appropriation.

All of this kind of comes to a head in like the 90s and 2000s -- and you get this nonsense published all over the place. And suburban white folks eat it up. And, like, let's be honest -- they probably don't know any Jewish people to correct them. Like I went to high school in a suburb in a major metropolitan area. My graduating class was over 300. As far as I know, there was only one Jewish person in my graduating class.

And so these folks get on the internet. Suburban liberals who think they're progressive, who suddenly get told that they're repeating misinformation about something, and that it might be antisemitic. And they hear this and go "But *I* couldn't be antisemitic! I'm a good person!" -- and rather than listen and adapt, they get defensive.

And they dig in.

And that is, uh, kind of a pattern for a lot of things many white "liberal" suburbanites do when confronted with problematic behavior.

#Lilith #Witchblr #Witchcraft #Witch

[whumpshaped]

this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for ages... it was supposed to be the first of my robot drabbles to go up but here we are. i hope i'll have spoons to write more for these guys... i'll post some picrews sometime for the cast and also make a masterlist and give the story a title

masterlist

content: robot whumperee (literally whumpee and whumper in one i don't know how to describe it any other way), sci-fi setting, implied systemic whump, morally dubious caretaker, living weapon

Szoren grabbed the closest rag and did a cursory wipe-off on his tools before turning towards his robot: the Self-Sufficient Riot Control Unit, the very first one they'd ever created. SSRCU-01. Zaps, as they'd affectionately nicknamed it. An absolutely magnificent piece of machinery, something Szoren and his colleagues had been working on for years before they managed to get it to function properly.

Well, as properly as they could at the time. If he didn't count the unfortunate shocking incident from the first week, and the even more unfortunate airlock incident from the second week, he could say Zaps was doing a fine job of only hurting those it was meant to be hurting.

Which, of course... Szoren didn't like that his poor baby was made for such a brutal purpose... But he couldn't change the reality of it, and he was just glad to see his creation performing well.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked cheerily, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the custom murderbot.

"The central processing unit seems to be malfunctioning, sir," it said, monotone as ever. Szoren didn't mind. He wasn't good with emotions anyway.

"Malfunctioning? How? I'll run diagnostics, but you can talk to me in the meantime." He hooked up Zaps to the computer, hoping the 'malfunction' would be easy to spot and solve. At least it wasn't the motor functions this time — he really didn't need another injury.

"The reactions are delayed, sir. I hear the orders and I see the mistakes I'm meant to be fixing, but the body locks up before I can carry out the task. It almost allowed one of the workers to run away."

Szoren frowned. Zaps was entirely okay from the looks of it, or at least the computer didn't find anything wrong with it.

"I'll take a look myself. Maybe it's something to do with the joints and not the CPU."

"The joints are fine, sir," it said firmly.

"It can't hurt to check—"

"The joints are fine, sir."

Szoren felt a chill run down his spine. There was no discernible emotion in Zaps' voice; it wasn't capable of conveying human emotion. There shouldn't have been an intensity to its stare either... But for some reason Szoren felt like he couldn't push it. That wasn't a nice feeling when it came to something he himself had helped design and create.

"Zaps... I'm going to take a look at your joints now." He didn't want to do something without the robot's consent; but to be entirely fair, the robot not consenting wasn't something that had ever even crossed his mind. It was equipment. A tool. It didn't consent to being worked on any more than the screwdriver consented to being worked with.

For a long moment, Zaps didn't react. Then the light behind its visual sensors seemed to dim as it obediently popped open all cosmetic panels that were hiding major joint connections. "Yes, sir."

"Good robot," Szoren murmured, relieved. "You said they'd 'lock up'?"

"Yes, sir."

"It sounds like something that some oil should fix, but... Evidently, it's not. All of these joints are perfectly oiled."

"Yes, sir."

"And it only happens when carrying out orders? What if it's something like... Bad wiring, something triggered by the electrical impulse..."

"There are other malfunctions, sir," it interrupted, and Szoren looked up. "I'm unsure how to describe those. It is akin to a virus. Someone might have tampered with the programming."

"What's the malfunction?"

"Sometimes I get false orders to hurt my superiors, sir. While carrying out my regular tasks is difficult, these false orders are at times incredibly difficult to resist."

"What?" Szoren turned back towards the computer, frantically trying to find something in the code that could explain this. This was alarming. This was dangerous! Possibly lethal! If Zaps ended up hurting someone important, the whole tech department would be on trial; and not a favourable one. "What are these orders like? Are they like your regular orders? Maybe it's something about the target list, maybe... Maybe someone tampered with that."

"Sir?"

He barely glanced at the robot. "Yes?"

"What is the purpose I have been created to fulfil?"

Szoren stopped. "You know your purpose."

"To punish workers who fail to comply with the rules set out for them by the Seventh Earth Council." At least it remembered that line. Szoren had drilled it into its head before anything else. "But is that..." It... trailed off? It had never done that before. Robots didn't trail off.

"Is that?" he prompted, more and more concerned.

"Is that all I've been created for?"

Szoren inhaled sharply. That was a loaded question, and one he didn't really want to answer yes to. It was the truth, though; Zaps had been created to punish and execute.

"Yes," he breathed, acutely aware that if the robot disliked his answer, it could very well turn its weaponry against him. It shouldn't be able to, but clearly, it was doing a lot of things and having a lot of thoughts it shouldn't have been able to.

It stared at him for a long, tense moment. "Understood, sir," it said eventually. Szoren exhaled.

"I'm going to switch you off and ask Kiki for some help in fixing you. How's that?" He tried to go back to his cheery attitude from before, but his voice came out strained and a little scared. Zaps didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

~

tags: @whumpsday

#whump #whump writing #szoren #zaps #sci-fi setting #implied systemic whump #morally dubious caretaker #living weapon #riot (story)