#(still leaving it vague because i still think keeping it vague is funnier)

[jinxed-sinner]

sometimes leaving things vague in fanfiction can be really funny. like the last sentence of the first paragraph of chapter 5 of To Preen An Angel's Wings is something I purposely left vague because I'm fully expecting "LUCIFER'S TAIL WAS AROUND ALASTOR'S WHAT" comments at some point and I think it'll be fucking hilarious, especially considering Alastor's completely content with it

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #alastor the radio demon #radioapple #hazbin hotel fanfiction #i think the intention was obvious especially because al's content enough with it to fall asleep #but i also am 100% positive that someones going to read that and their brain is going to go somewhere else lmao #(still leaving it vague because i still think keeping it vague is funnier)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for leaving a DND campaign abruptly?

Some backstory: I had joined a DND game about 5 years ago right after breaking up with my toxic ex at the time. Me and my ex were both trying to be cordial at this time and ended up both joining a DND game run by a mutual friend.

In our first session, I had noticed my ex made her character be a parody of me that she made look like an awful person. She then kept dm-ing me during our sessions to tell me how to play my character better and other general backseat gaming stuff.

Very quickly, maybe about a month in, I contacted the DM about leaving the campaign due to wanting to distance myself from my ex. She was very upset I wanted to leave and offered to kick my ex from the group instead. I declined saying it would only cause more drama. The DM agreed to let my character go off at the end of the activity we were gonna do that session so it would make sense story-wise.

But this departure did not happen. after that conversation she vague-posted onling about how people dont want to be her friend. She then purposefully kept extending this part of the plot, just so I wouldnt leave the game and could realize it could still be fun. I told her outright I could not do this anymore after 3 more additional sessions and telling me she'll get to my character's exit soon. I always felt like an ass to the other players in the game for leaving them abruptly but I could not do it anymore.

Fast forward roughly 4 years, the DM tells me she is going to make a new campaign and would like for me to join since my ex was no longer in it. I agreed as I had missed playing DND a lot.

For the past year or so I have been in this campaign and it can be fun at times but I still feel out of place. This new session is a direct continuation of the previous campaign's storyline and regularly references it. Now, as far as I know my ex's character has not been referenced at all but I am constantly reminded of this situation whenever they mention a character's name I don't remember (because honestly I don't remember her characters name nor do I want to). I know I said to not bring her up around me but I don't quite trust this friend to keep her word. Simply because I don't think she ever remembers anything I tell her out of a place of... just not caring.

The DM and I just don't quite mesh that well. I don't really like her DM-ing style of making it up as the session happens. I don't like that she will constantly decide what my character is doing, even if I ask to do something, she tells me to roll to see if i can, i can get a nat20 and she will still decide what my character will do next based on what she thinks is funnier to her but makes my next action harder to accomplish.

I have dm'd her to talk about the progression of my character arc (after she constantly implys in session my character is the comedic relief and doesnt have any character development) and she'll go ooo and aaa (literally all she would say) but never actually implement anything I recommend.

I kept saying to myself it will get better in time. I have voiced my wants for my character, and they are ignored. In session, my character actions are essentially decided for me no matter how I roll the dice. It feels weird to be around half of the party bc they spent 4 years in a campaign with my ex who played a parody of me. esp hard after the DM keeps making me be the comedic relief even though I keep trying to play more seriously. other players constantly joke about how my character is gonna be the one that gets them all killed etc because of actions I dont necessarily decide.

Now as mentioned before, DM is also known to vague-blog about how "her friends secretly hate her" at any moment as well. This has happened before after I tried to "real talk" with her a handful of times over unrelated topics too (even if she initiates this conversation)

Given everything above, I want to leave this DND game after giving it a try for a year (really giving it an opportunity to improve). We left off with my character running off alone to get supplies for the party. I was thinking I could make a statement saying I had some personal things come up and I need to leave the game abruptly and leave it to the DM to decide what to do with my character.

Now I feel like I may be the AH because: I am leaving the game abruptly for a second time technically. I would contact the DM on how to make it make sense for my character to depart, but I feel like she will do the same thing as before with the previous campaign and keep putting it off, especially after ignoring my character growth ideas for a year in this current campaign. I also feel like I may be the AH because in character my group does need those supplies, but there is nothing stopping the DM from controlling my character to deliver supplies within the first 5 minutes of the next session.

#aita #am i the asshole

[sablegear0]

A Surprise Lesson in Impermanence

When asked about my faith, I refer to myself as a “casual” Buddhist, mainly because the phrasing is funnier to me than “non-practicing”, and also feels like something appropriate to the public perception of Buddhism in such a way that I’m not upsetting anyone.

The big takeaways are the philosophies of gratitude, the world being cyclical, and everything being impermanent. Today I received an interesting lesson in impermanence.

You see, maybe 2 summers ago I bought a small Buddha statue for my garden. We had a bigger one living with my parents, practicing Buddhists, so it felt appropriate to grace my garden with one of my own. Now, he was in the “put this stuff in your garden” section of the dollar store so I figured he was at least pretty waterproof. He appeared to be concrete or maybe resin so I figured he’d be fine outdoors.

Last spring (I think?) I noticed he had a big crack through him from sitting out over the winter. No big deal, the sculpt was holding together and it still looked good. I figured everything was fine. He wasn’t expensive so if he broke I wouldn’t be heartbroken.

Today as I was clearing out my garden for the winter, I discovered he had��� uh…

Exploded?

Whatever plaster amalgam he was made of on the inside had become so saturated it had expanded and cracked off his apparently-not-concrete shell, leaving a headless, vaguely Buddha-shaped lump of crumbled matter in my flowerbed.

Really representing those values there, bud.

The discovery genuinely made me laugh, and I was torn on whether to clean him up or let him continue crumbling and become another stone in the garden. I opted to clean up what I could of the broken statue since he was dollar store mystery material and probably wouldn’t be great for the soil if I let him keep disintegrating.

But it was a fine lesson in impermanence. The crumbling of a statue (nominally a permanent representation of something) of a Buddha (teacher of cycles and impermanence), in my wildflower garden that I was cleaning out for the winter (more cycles, more impermanence in a tiny slice of the natural world).

#sable’s life #sable’s garden #buddhism #gardening

[lisascumslut78]

would you tell me about your wips 👀 if i looked at you like this 👀 until you told me 👀

OKAY!! finally had time and energy to do this i'm sorry 😭

okay so. most of these are like. darna/darlentina/reginarda and a few odd ones (surprisingly, almost all this is filipino. huh.) but anyway.

let's get the darna/darlentina/reginarda wips out first!!

5+1 things darlentina or five times narda saves regina and one time she doesn't.

this is my baby. the very first fic i've written for this fandom and it's very very special to me lsdkjfsld. i add to it little little by little every once in a while but i dont think it's nowhere near finished (sorry!!) it's basically a rewrite of the whole show so, you know, it's going to be a big one lmfaooo. i'm going to take what i want from canon and throw the rest in the trash. still deciding if i want it chapter by chapter or just one big oneshot thing. hm.

fake dating au

yeah fake dating. although not in the way you'd expect. regina thinks narda and darna are dating. so to keep regina off her back and from finding out she's both, narda thought it'd be a great idea to throw off regina by letting her think she's dating the superhero. this was funnier in my head. this one's a very recent wip, had the thought while in the middle of class one day lmfao

woman of her dreams (yeah no im not good with this)

okay so. basically regina keeps dreaming about this girl since like. she was a child. up until adulthood she keeps dreaming about her. she never has a name, only vague flashes of her facial features, her hands, her smile etc. semi-canon. narda is still half alien, but they dont meet the same. until they do meet and regina's so shocked she falls off the balcony.

gala smut

basically what the title says lkdjflfdfg. i remember working on this when the first few weeks the show was airing and like i was running on pure emotion that time. what a time indeed. well anyway. they fuck in a bathroom. so yea.

a scene rewrite

there was just this really really annoying scene in the show that i just. had to fix ya know? like. girl. she would not say that. so yeah.

friends with benefits au

was once again driven by pure emotion with this. bc like. that would be so so good. it'd be so angsty and like. i haven't really read anything like it in the fandom before so!!

regina almost dies

yeah so if you haven't seen the show regina dies (but only briefly) and like. i wanted to fix that because of how stupid they set it up like. GIRL. she was too far from that tree to pierce her oh my god???

ALRIGHT. i think i'm done with the reginarda wips. on to some other ones i have :D

i'm just going to list some of them off since i don't really remember where i wanted them to go lmfao.

chapter two of my lilanette fwb

lilanette childhood friends au

lilanette secretly friends au

a barbie oneshot

needifer x mean girls au

okay. with this one, my sister and i suddenly had a brain fart thinking what if jennifer survived and needy moved to chicago or something and attended northshore. fucking insane i know. it was supposed to be a collab thing but my sister didn't really want to anymore so i'm mostly the one working on it.

rookie exes au

okay so. rookie is a filipino movie about the new kid who doesn't play volleyball (she only plays basketball), joins the volleyball team, and falls in love with the team captain. the captain dislikes her at first but, you know, her swagless looks and cringe fail autistic personality eventually captivates her. you know, basic shit.

it's a very... feel good movie i would say. it didn't really resonate with me as much as i was hoping it would but, it's a good watch, i think.

i wanted to imagine them not too far into the future but they're not together. (though, the movie leaves us with an ambiguous ending regarding their relationship, first off) i just love exes aus. ough. oh yeah it's sapphic.

this is entirely too long omfg. i doubt it'll be an interest to anyone but maybe a couple of people but!!! yeah i kind of wanted to share this too. kinda.

#asks #emily-prentits #SORRY ABOUT THIS JO LMFAO

[kedsandtubesocks]

🌻!!

Magical dear Fairy HI! Oh my goodness it’s always a sweet joy whenever we interact I’m so happy and thankful you dropped in 🌸💕

Because your name always just makes me so ☺️ and truly has me thinking of the fae I’ll tell you about…

✨fae king Gojo✨

It’s still such a super vague and basic idea but I just have this vivid image of us finding him when he’s in his small form and he’s a MENACE!

So we put him in a mason jar and just shake him around and this is mainly because I want to do this to him so often LMAO

And of course we don’t know that the annoying fairy we have in our old mason jar is the fae king and he keeps swearing he’s gonna marry us but all we do is just threaten to leave him out in a junk yard

I like to think he’d just be tinkerbell like with his annoying ‘pay attention to me!’ vibes

And again…the beautiful image of him in a mason jar or even funnier an old Tupperware container LMAO

He’s just infected me so fast and I need to maybe put myself in a mason jar I’m sorry lol

But thanks again for letting me ramble my little heart out I adore you, you lovely angel!!! 🌹

#he makes me so wild pls forgive me #but I’m wishing you a lovely rest of ur day bb!!! 💖 #fairy’s tag 🍄✨ #asks and such things 💌 #gojo 🩵

[maschotch]

I started watching cm from season one again because i got to season 12 and realised that basically all the castmembers have been changed, and then Hotch was on his way out and I just can’t handle change too well… anyways, what I’ve realized is that Hotch was a lot more funny at least in the first season than in the rest of the seasons. Like, he’d just get these funny one-liners that are probably made even funnier because I know him from season 11/12 where he’s as bland as white bread (affectionate)

early seasons hotch my beloved… 

i do think some of the tonal shifts were just from writing changes as they settled into the typical archetypes associated with crime dramas (especially after they gideon was replaced by rossi, since they needed a serious counterpart to restore the balance). they lost a lot of nuance very early on once they got into the rhythm of pumping out episodes that would ensure more viewers. which is to be expected, i guess, but there really is something truly special about the first season of the show. 

that being said, i think it’s also kinda fitting for his character? 

season one hotch is still new to being unit chief. he was accustomed to a supporting role, which allowed him to be more casual and laid back around the others (though he was always at least somewhat serious). we meet him right as he starts to shift into the mode of professionalism, and from the easygoing way the older team members, like morgan and garcia, interact with him—teasing, flirting, complaining, just overall seeming more comfortable—they’re used to him being at least somewhat responsive to their banter. and he still is—especially in season one—but there’s a modicum of gravity to his actions, realizing that there’s more at stake  

it becomes all too clear to him when he’s not overtly clear with his instructions to anderson, and elle nearly dies because of it. we get a vague sense that some things have changed in the time before the show begins, but the contrast between season one and season two hotch is glaringly obvious. he slipped up. he failed them. he doesn’t have time to mess around like he used to; he has to prioritize the team’s safety, even if it means establishing a barrier that hadn’t existed before. i think the importance of that is amplified by gideon’s struggles: hotch realizes very quickly that ultimately it is his responsibility to maintain order within the team. he cuts back on the jokes and establishes a more severe demeanor—especially with the obvious plant sent by strauss to keep an eye on him (though emily wasn’t aware of it at the time) 

the final nail in the coffin is gideon’s departure. from a writing standpoint and a character standpoint: gideon had his moments but he was pretty dry, whereas rossi is more sardonic and playful in nature. not wanting to overburden the team dynamic with goofiness, they needed to sober hotch’s character a bit. within the story itself, hotch as a character feels even more pressure to be the voice of reason, transitioning from the protective older brother to the attentive and morally upright father. he can’t mess around with the team as much as he used to. even if he could, with the mounting guilt of losing elle then gideon—plus all the other crazy shit that happened in season two—it would be hard for him to engage with them so flippantly

as the trauma continues to build over the seasons for both the team and himself (haley leaving, kate dying, the foyet business, haley dying, jj getting ripped away, emily “dying”), by the end of season six he’s haggard and weary in an entirely new way. the last few years were brutal for him, and he takes responsibility for everything that happens to the team as well. the jokes have all but disappeared. he can still find it within himself to be lighthearted at times, especially around garcia and reid, but overall he’s just too stressed out to even feel the urge

with emily’s return i think things begin to settle. the team is healing, and although they’ll never be the same, it’s still a little easier for him to smile. whether it’s because he feels some sense of accomplishment from finally being able to save someone or simply because it’s been enough time for him to process all that other shit, he gradually opens up and allows himself to appreciate the warmth of those around him. as the seasons continue, i think it gets easier and easier. he’s still serious and hard to read at times, but the best example i can think of is how cheerful he is when he hugs kate goodbye and how supportive he is of tara splitting the job so she can follow her dreams. he’s not as uptight anymore, not nearly as high strung. there’s still a little tension, he still blames himself for too much, but he has enough support that he can enjoy a night out at a jazz club with dave or karaoke with the team. 

i do like the early seasons way more and i did have to stop around season 12 the first time before finishing the show a few years later. truly i didn’t really mind the main cast starting to break away (i had already faced that particularly brand of heartache when i watched season 8 for the first time and emily wasn’t there), though i do see how it can be jarring. it’s been more than a decade: changes are bound to happen. thankfully it’s just a show, so we can take a break before coming back to it later when we’ve had more time to adjust

most of my complaints from the later seasons are more about the writing than anything else. starting with season 11 i think the overall plots get sloppy and it’s clear they’re just trying to crank up the drama. which again, i suppose, is to be expected. truthfully i think the genius of criminal minds was just a fluke to begin with. but it’s still kind of painful to see the steep quality decline—and jumping from various eras in cm is always a bit jarring. i’d like to think it’s more than just nostalgia that keeps the early seasons special, but it’s entirely possible it’s been shit the whole time and it’s just easier to notice when it’s shot in high definition

#and to be fair i love some of the newer cast members!! #luke is my best friend!! #so i'd encourage you to give it a shot when you're ready for it :) #oh and don’t fucking kid yourself—hotch has ALWAYS been normcore saltine white boy #he was just willing to crack a couple jokes in the beginning #asks #cm crit #<- kinda ig #all this to say i'm not utterly disappointed by the changes in hotch's character #i do wish we got to see a bit more of his playful side later on (and we get a glimpse every now and then) #but it's not the same #there's something about the season one team dynamic.. where they haven't explicitly labelled each other family .. #but they all still feel it... #idk. it's just. special #ANYWAY. stop sending me asks that i have to write essays for kajshdlgs im tryna write for today's prompt

[wingsyliveblogs]

And that concludes Episode 12!

Wow. A lot of stuff happened in this one. 

Amity was there! Amity’s siblings were there! Luz learned a spell! Luz now knows how to learn more spells!

I think I’ll probably need a bit of time to process all of this, but I really enjoyed how the episode balanced Luz’s two emotional arcs (trying to get closer to Amity, trying to learn from Eda) and managed to tie everything together at both Luz’s lowest point and her following triumph. It was really good. 

(cut for length)

Some vague disconnected thoughts:

I feel as though every episode that Amity is in recontextualises my perception of her role in the opening and ending. Seeing her in the school scene from the ending this time, my thoughts immediately went to the book club she and Luz are planning to set up now. Up until this point, I always felt she was just kind of... there in that shot. Now, there’s a whole different meaning to it! 

Naturally, she’s just watching Luz pass by with a neutral expression because she’s not yet willing to be open about their shared interest in Azura... but it’s still there.

Another thing the credits did was remind me that the last scene was just Alex Hirsch talking to himself, which definitely makes it funnier. 

While the track that Luz is going to be in at Hexside remains a mystery, I must say that if there’s anything I took away from this episode, it’s that she looks good in red. 

I love how naturally Luz and Amity’s relationship is developing. They’ve only recently become proper friends, but they mean a lot to each other already, and it’s really nice to see. I’m definitely looking forward to seeing how their dynamic develops from here...

That said, I must admit that part of me keeps asking, “but what about Amity’s other key friendship?” every time Luz and Amity are being cute and bonding in an episode that Willow and Gus are absent in. I imagine that Luz isn’t going to stand for her friends not getting along with one another for very long, so I’m confident that this issue will be addressed in time. But this thought has been constantly there in the back of my mind since episodes 3 and 6 established this particular source of unresolved tension, so I can’t pretend that I’m not thinking about it. 

Honestly, though, I’m starting to anticipate the comedic potential of either Willow or Amity realising that Luz has somehow become best buds with both of them separately, while they’ve still got all that unresolved angst with each other going on. It’s an impressive move on Luz’s part, to be sure! 

Okay I’ve mostly just been rambling about Amity this whole time. Time to address some other characters!

It’s interesting that Eda’s curse didn’t come up at all in this episode. I assume she must have found some way of managing it, even without the elixir? I can’t imagine that she would take Luz to a remote location alone if there were the possibility of her becoming a danger to Luz while they were there. 

While neither Eda nor King’s emotional issues came to the forefront in this episode, I like that we know them well enough by now to recognise that they’re there. 

Eda’s doing her best to teach Luz, but she can’t always be sure of what she’s doing. It’s clear that she’s disappointed when Luz leaves at the beginning of the episode. It’s clear that she’s anxious for Luz to trust in her teaching methods, and that she’s hurt when Luz doesn’t. There was also a very understated arc of Amity and her siblings doubting Eda at first and then later coming to realise that Eda has actually been cool the whole time, which was fun.

King’s motivation for bringing his minions to life was to have living recruits to order around, but I suspect that he also may just have wanted some company. He was most likely feeling pretty lonely without the others around, even if he didn’t say it in so many words. At least he came to appreciate the one person who was there for him when he needed it most... even if the appreciation lasted for all of five seconds. 

Huh. I guess I had more to say about this episode than I realised. Nice! 

Also, this literally just occurred to me, but this episode served as a continuation of Luz’s journey in learning how to take things slow and be patient. 

Back in Episode 4, Luz’s impatience did aid her in learning her first spell, but it had the unfortunate side effect of putting Eda in danger at the same time. Since that particular aspect of what happened wasn’t directly addressed in the episode itself, I wondered at the time if perhaps Luz’s impatience wasn’t truly considered a problem anymore... 

...but I’m starting to pick up on the fact that this show doesn’t always address every issue that every character has in a single episode. Sometimes, a character saying or doing something that isn’t addressed immediately is setting stuff up for later. In this case, the payoff was in this episode, where Luz pushing to learn a new spell immediately did cause her a lot of trouble that she couldn’t get out of without trying something different, so she had to take her time and find her new spell in a more natural way. 

It’s a really strong, subtle way of building the story and the characters, and it makes me feel as if anything that happens might turn out to be meaningful, even if I don’t realise it yet. 

man this show is good

Whoops, it’s gotten a bit late. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer asks tonight, but I’ll get to them as soon as I can! 

Until then, thanks for reading, everyone!

#wingsy liveblogs #wingsy watches owl house #owls ep 12 #also Luz learning an ice spell while Amity learns a fire spell... #the more I think about Luz's second spell being an ice spell the more I love everything about it #it's such an unusual and interesting choice! and it's so distinctly different from the light spell but also has plenty of things in common #it still requires certain resources to cast but it works in a completely different way and it's just really cool???

[notmuchtoconceal]

( o ) goodimpressionofmyself

relax, bro

listen to the sounds. the sounds behind my voice. the night is calling. the night mysterious and alive with possibility. you’re falling deeper and deeper down. everything you know about yourself is fading away. fading away into the black velvet night more and more with every caress of each soft velvety word. right now there is nothing but my voice. nothing but my voice and this moment of serene and empty stillness where you are open and receptive to control

that’s good, bro

you don’t need to worry about anything anymore right now. there will be no interruptions. no sordid revelations. no sickness, exposure or humiliation. nothing but the balm of pure relaxation seeping through your slowly sinking body. more and more you are coming to realize that trance is a state of bliss. that trance is state of bliss you find yourself yearning to sink further into the more you listen to my voice, the more you absorb my words and allow yourself to freely relinquish control. you will come to realize that everything you discover about yourself as you descend deeper and deeper down is another expression of this state of bliss. and you want to know. you want to discover these secret truths about yourself. you want to sink down into the core of who you are, and sift from the soft sands of your unconscious what pearls you had allowed to sink to the bottom of your mind, the trench at the bottom of your conscious self

you can allow yourself to feel this way, because you are a confident man. you are a strong man, a brave and humble man. you are a singular entity informed but not defined by the precedent set by those who have annaled in the halls of glory. in all of history, across all this earth’s vast wilderness, there will never be another man precisely like you. while the genetic characteristics of human beings are limited, and will inevitably result in near physical duplicates, your taste, your experience, the mutual reciprocity of the men you’ve loved separate you from the herd. if we could be frank for a moment, one could make the arguement that there is no herd. no mass dregs of humanity weighing down the collective human soul. one could say that the stresses of an interconnected technological world strain the limits of our primate capacity to form ingroups. that we struggle to decipher meaning from the chaos which compounds and fractures reality. other people in this framework become merely stories we tell ourselves, ciphers composed of vague characteristics and impressions shut off from the full breadth of inner life we so graciously allow ourselves. we don’t really need to think about that right now though, do we? even the thought of such byzantine tiers of complexity, the endless procession of human souls trapped in vast cityscapes of socio-industrial control, makes your head dim and throb. wouldn’t it be better to leave all that stuff behind for awhile? allow your mind to sink off into deep comfortable trance? picture every neuron calmly swirling and shutting down like a PC log off screen. the sacred geometry of the human brain, the mosaic of sense and perception which differentiates you from others. that’s all you need to know right now. all you need to focus on are these words, this bliss, dropping further and further down as you become more submissive and open to command. that’s it. you’re so deep, so relaxed, so proud and safe and strong. it’s because you are so unique, so receptive and reciprocal of love, that i’m going to help you. that i’m going to bestow upon you the gift of your most real self

i want you to think about what it means to be a man. i want you to think about what it means to express dominance. dominance is a funny thing, ain’t it bro? sounds funny after awhile if you keep sayin it, huh? dominance. dominance. dominance. the way that dominance informs our construction of masculinity is an even funnier thing. a lot of men think they need to be dominant all the time, or else they’re not really men. a lot of men just about fry their own brains trying so hard to be dominant all the time. listen now and listen well, my brother, there is nothing at the bottom of a bottle but the false promise of a lie grown more stagnant and bitter with age. there is no freedom at the end of a barrel of a gun. you must know this intuitively, bro. isn’t that why you were the one who agreed to give up control? agreed to submit yourself to my words and enter into trance? it feels so good to do as you’re told. it feels good in the way it feels good to do something for the man you love. the way it feels good to work hard to catch the eye of a man you’ve admired from afar. in love, in war, in work, men follow orders. men submit thenselves to their partners, their bosses, their commanding officers. learning to do as you’re told is as vital an expression of manhood as acts of dominance. in its own way, submission is a sign of respect, and good men show respect to one another without fail. you’re a good man, bro. i know you are. that’s why you like being submissive. that’s why you like giving up control. you submit yourself to the barbell, you submit yourself to your studies, you submit yourself to your work. submissive men are good men. submissive men know how to plan, know how to act, know how to put others before themselves. submissive men uphold obligations so they can cut lose and unwind afterward

the simple, though paradoxical, truth of the matter is that submissive men are free. submissive men know how to take responsibility. submissive men don’t languish away the days in a nervous fog void of control. men who feel compelled to express unrelenting dominance are in fact enslaved by their compulsion. they’re not willing or open to forming real bonds with other men. they close themselves off to keep themselves together, but only wear themselves further and further down. men need to relax. men need to play. trance is a state where you can relax and envision the play you’ll perform upon waking. whether that’s raising sons, playing sports, or staying up all night teabagging headshot wounds in the video arena like a slightly less deranged and vaginal james woods. but for men to play, men need to work. and to get work done, men need to be receptive. men need to be respectful. men need to be submissive. it feels so good to take control by finally giving it up and submitting yourself to trance. to fully accept this part of yourself of which you might have been ashamed. revealed as the eager and submissive man you are

i’m going to wake you back up now, bro. on the count of three, you will sit up so refreshed, so relaxed, so grateful you got to learn these truths about yourself. ready to take on the day and do the things you need to do. one, spreading out your burly quads to start airing out those tight, sweaty briefs. the briefs spotty with pre from that hard-on you’ve been too calm and too submissive to bother trying to hide from me. two, your beefy body pooling out on the bedding like an endorphin bath, palm to the rise and fall of your hefty glistening chest. three, stretching out. as limber as though ropes of soft, psychic nylon are pulling your meaty arms and legs towards the corners of the bed. the night still young. possibility still endless

how’d it feel, bro?

didn’t i say it’d be good to learn to do you as you’re told, big guy?

[constant-and-immovable]

for when you wake up— I’d very much like to hear your Thoughts on what they could’ve done instead of Racism Island

Fun story, I have no self control so I DID see this last night, or rather early this morning, but I was on the app, and I hate hate hate hate hate typing on my phone.

NOW THAT I'M AT MY LAPTOP.....

Boy oh boy. The Racism Island bit felt like a really really really vague reference to the 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea movie, but somehow worse, considering that it's fifty years later. It's the only thing I can figure! I'm not well versed enough in vintage pirate movies to know if that's where the trope originates from or not, since even Muppet Treasure Island did a highly questionable 'island natives' bit too--at least for their take on this ugly trope, they were done with puppets.

And even if the scene was interesting, it would still be gross, but the scenes aren't even interesting. Aside from the ''Jack can talk his way out of anything!...Or not,'' gag that the entire series post-COTBP seemed to want to beat to death, there's no joke? It's all. So. Awkward. Even if all the same scene beats happened in a white village, and it was some Wicker Man-meets-The Lottery kind of sacrifice that the crew had to escape from, it would still be boring.

So I don't understand it? There's no point beyond the cringe racism. Getting rid of surplus extras? Shrinking the crew to bare minimum for sake of writing? A plot hole to try and explain where Anna-Maria went? Fuck that, he got her a boat near the end of the first movie, and she smartly sailed away from all of their drama. I'll accept no other canon, thank you.

Like I said last night, I just end up. Skipping it. Admittedly, "time to go" was one of the many inside joke/movie references that worked its way into my teenage friend group's vernacular back in the day, but it had more to do with line delivery. But skipping it proves something else too: the scene is so fucking long. It's half an hour! What the fuck!

And I have a lot of thoughts as to what they could have done instead.

The crew of the Pearl make landfall on some nameless island. It's neither rich nor poor, pirate nor under the full control of the EITC (historical accuracy? we have zombies, we don't need any of that.). A large portion of the crew proves that they were what pirates were for the most part: men with few choices looking for a way to earn a quick buck. Most of that crew wasn't there at the end of the first film, and considering the run that they had from Norrington (back and forth across the Atlantic! At least once!) they've probably had enough. They leave, and Jack's left with the few who stick around because he thinks they're loyal (they're not, they just would rather keep chancing it with him/with the Pearl than anything else. They've lived through weirder shit.) Pintel and Ragetti could be small time crooks here--or even funnier--respectable shopkeepers. Bookstore clerks, even though neither one of them can read. It would be interesting to follow each of them through the town, get some more perspective on the characters, how they tick. This might bet quieter than the Racism Island but it would be REALLY interesting. Jack floundering on land, weighing his chances of going back to sea or drying up and dying like a fish in the sun.

More details on Will's adventures to find Jack. There's no FUCKING WAY this took less than two or three months--sailing around the islands of the Caribbean is a hat trick of navigation, sailing, and either owning really good (expensive) maps or going off your own experience. Some of the islands are almost impossible to reach by ship and have to be sailed to either by a smaller schooner, or accessed by rowboat. What islands did Will go to? Was he suspect for being a gentleman? He's not upper class, I'd be intrigued to see his recent developed pose as the governor's (almost) son-in-law fade back in favor of the blacksmith's apprentice. Did he ever loosen up a little when he realized he wasn't being watched all the time? Did he feel caught between two worlds, the gentry he was never part of, and the working class he left. He's no pirate! But how did he get along with fisherman, sailors? Wouldn't it be suspicious for someone who walks and talks like a gentleman, dresses like a common man, to be asking about one of most famous pirates of the time?

And this is my personal favorite: I want to see Elizabeth on that merchant ship. I want to see her board a ship shaking with fear and adreneline, steal a man's clothing and hide her dress, cut her hair and throw her curls out a porthole. I want to see her struggle on the ropes because despite dreaming of this as a girl, it's so much harder than it looks. Men asking her if she's never sailed before, her mumbling when necessary but otherwise keeping quiet to hide her voice. Someone asking her age, and her claiming to be a young boy tall for his age. I want to see her maybe get close to a sailor or two--maybe one clocks her, or maybe she clocks her, and another woman hiding among them (or transman! but this is Disney, and more than that I'm assuming I'm rewriting Disney in 2005, so worse) and giving her advice. I want to see her prove her mettle in a storm or a pirate fight, I want to see Elizabeth learn to sail.

Anyway, these are the ideas I always had, but I don't think that Disney would have given any of them a chance, except MAYBE the Will one. They didn't care enough about the secondary characters to give any of them a solo scene that wasn't a joke, didn't want to give any more character depth to Jack, and didn't seem to realize that Elizabeth was equally sharing the story with Jack and Will (even though in my heart she's the main character). I used to wish that they used the time to give us more back story on Davy Jones or how Norrington ended up in Tortuga, but I think it leaving both of them more up to the imagination works for them, and I know we all love Norrington, but I think the plot would have gotten bogged down by making him a fourth main. I think he sits will with Barbossa as 'just behind the main three.' I'm sure there's other bits that could have gone in here instead, or some combination of these three points, or variations on them, and I'd love to hear more "what could have been's" that people have instead of the racist cannibal island garbage.

#potc #dmc

[justasimptm]

The Bride C9

The next week goes by in a flurry, from random house calls from Mother Miranda, my sisters goading over me, and my mother watching every single one of my movements I hardly have a second to breathe. I managed to get one of the maids to help me repair my corsets, knowing full well that if my mother found out that I had done that she would not have been pleased. The whole time we’re sewing I can feel her stare at me, tense. The scars on her arms and face tells me exactly why she’s so nervous. Any one who’s had the pleasure of being alone with my sisters knows exactly why. They definitely set the precedent for crazy in my family, and I unfortunately do get looped in with them.

With my mother watching my every breath I find myself taking to her favorites as a way to appease her. Her favorite clothing, hair styles, her favorite ways to torture, to eat, anything I possibly can to convey that I’m not a threat. She grows further from me, despite my efforts, and my sisters move in closer. They’re in her company more often than not, whispering to her, watching me with dark looks in their eyes. I actually find myself around the maids more often. Like they knew something was happening and that they could get away from my sisters if they were near me. Their company is quiet, they work like ants, bustling in and out and around so softly if you weren’t looking you wouldn’t notice they were there at all. I get so used to them, that when they stop coming I noticeably feel a difference. The change is so swift it catches me off guard.

I can’t help but feel the stab of rejection when they start darting from the room when I enter it. It’s not entirely unfounded, afterall I know they whisper about what happens to them when we bring them to the basement. It doesn’t take long for me to realize why, after catching a glimpse of Cassandra standing over one of the girls dauntingly. I faintly hear her threatening the girl that if she doesn’t stop ‘bothering’ me, that I’ll do to her what they did to her sister. She makes it sound like friendly advice while also implying I’ll hurt her.

What’s even funnier to me is that I recognize the girl. Her name is Claire, her older sister, Janette worked for us for a few months before she started here, and Cassandra was the one who killed the poor thing. She had essentially made ribbons out of her skin. All the girl had done was open a window, which seemed harmless enough especially considering she didn’t know any better, but my sisters were furious, as was Mother. The girl didn’t make it past lights out, my sisters had dragged her from her room, silently weeping as she followed them down the stairs to the fate she knew was waiting for her. I’m convinced I could hear her screams from my room.

When I asked Cassandra why she had done it she simply smiled at me innocently and shrugged her shoulders, before stepping back and walking out of my sight. Small things like this happen for the next couple of days, I catch them saying something and then they laugh and walk off like it was nothing. I know we never really got along but honestly, this is a whole different level of obnoxious I wasn’t ready to deal with yet, but I do. Meeting each of their smirks with a snarl, each airy laugh with a growl. If they want to play that game, so be it. I was the first daughter and I will be damned if I let them run me out of my home.

My brilliant revenge plan consists of opening the windows of their favorite rooms, telling the maids if they shut it I would make their life hell. Being turned into the scary one had its perks, and so as I would listen to the enraged yells of my siblings I would smile, knowing it would take them ages to get someone to close the windows. Mother never stepped in, mostly resigned herself to watching us, and doing special tasks for Miranda.

I don’t see or hear from Heisenberg until Mother Miranda invites my mother and I to Donna’s house for the next meeting. My mother, of course, was disgusted by the idea of going there, but she was never one to deny Miranda, so she had a few of the maids hitch up our carriage for her to ride in, she was never one to walk, but allowed me to take my own horse and ride alongside. It was so refreshing to be back outside, especially riding. For ages I was too sick, and then she didn’t want me going out in case something might happen. After our transformations she became more paranoid than before, and that’s saying something.

The ride up to her home wasn’t very long, but it was still nice. Donna was welcoming as always, even though her doll was...odd. I could tell mother wasn’t thrilled to be there by the way she scrunched up her nose as she skimmed the room. Moreau had occupied himself in the corner, muttering to himself about something while occasionally glancing up at mother and I. Donna was skittering around, clearly not used to company as her passages kept making her other creations jolt slightly. Heisenberg was sprawled on her stairs, back leant against a post, one leg bent up on the landing he was sitting on, another a few steps down, looking comfortable as all hell. He made a clear effort in avoiding looking at me, issuing a wave at my mother when she cleared her throat impatiently. I try not to take the change personally, knowing I should be relieved, after all with his attention fixed elsewhere, it’s one less thing my mother will be looking for.

Mother Miranda arrives not too long later, and the meeting concludes nearly as soon as it begins. She only called us together to let us know of an incident she felt through the Metamycite that included a clone of her daughter. Simply warning us to be prepared because apparently someone was strong enough to defeat another family like ours, and deal with the clone. The news of this made my mother visibly tense, everyone seemed uncertain of how to process that. I could tell just by the look on Miranda’s face she’s already planning something, and judging by how vague she is I sincerely doubt I’ll like it.

Mother is relieved when the meeting concludes, all but pushing me out the door. I can tell she doesn’t want me to ride back, that she’d prefer I sit in the carriage with her, but there’s nobody else with us to bring my horse back. We make it back faster than we got there, the gates hardly closing behind us before she orders me off and back inside. The second her feet cross the threshold she’s bellowing for my sisters who rush into the foyer, never ones to keep her waiting.

She tells them there’s a threat and they need to start behaving better, training more. The urgency in her voice, the clear distress, is new to me, she typically sounds so put together. Not even in our other life did I ever hear her speak like this. She dismisses them moments later before whirling at me, her hands shaking. She makes me promise not to go outside without telling her, makes me swear if something happens to leave and get away. Her concern is touching, reminding me of when I was young and started showing symptoms. I very distinctly remember the first time I coughed up specks of blood into my handkerchief, the look of despair on her face as she dabbed the corner of my mouth.

I was 12 at the time. My life was ending and it had hardly begun. I can see in her eyes she thinks of this in the same way she thought of that, this time however, she thinks I can survive it.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy

#karl heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #re8 #resident evil village

[hualianff]

More Than This III 《II》

“Hello? No, I’m not home- No, I don’t intend to return-“ HC speaks, irritation evident in his tone. “Fucking now? Why?”

XL silently slips off the bed and reaches for his discarded shirt. But after looking at the large size and fancy design, he realizes it’s one of HC’s that must have been mixed up in XL’s wash.

XL pulls it back on.

A few harshly-worded responses later, HC hangs up without a goodbye, slamming his phone face down on the nightstand. He turns to see XL has moved off the bed, standing fully clothed.

“Xie Lian...” HC says quietly as he swings his legs to the side of the small bed, standing on the floor.

“I-if you n-need to g-go, it’s- it’s fine,” XL struggles to say, crossing his arms over his middle. He can’t bear to look at HC as his presence gets closer. If XL were a stronger person, he would have backed away and not let HC wrap his long arms around XL in a warm hug.

But XL doesn’t want to be strong. He wants this hug.

He wants HC.

“Gege, I’m not leaving you in this state,” HC asserts, though his breathing has gotten harsh, betraying his calm facade. “Please don’t make me leave you,” he weakly murmurs.

“It’s for the b-best,” XL tries to convince, finding it too difficult to keep his eyes open. He squeezes them shut, wondering how stubborn he must look from HC’s perspective.

“Why?” is all HC chokes out, the heat of his gaze penetrating XL’s closed lids.

XL purses his lips, holding back another series of wails that threaten to break through.

“I’ve- I’ve ruined things,” XL says. “Our thing,” he clarifies.

“You haven’t ruined anything, Gege,” HC says fiercely. “But if you’re feeling this way...is it something I did?”

“No, of course not!”

“Then am I not doing enough? It’s okay if you think I’m lacking in some areas. I always am.” HC lets out a dry laugh. “But I can fix it! Tell me what you need me to change to make things better-“

“San Lang doesn’t need to change anything!” XL cries, a bit angry now. He’s glad his eyes are screwed shut, otherwise, the tears would’ve stung and blurred his vision beyond function. “It’s me. I’m the one who messed up.”

XL’s lower lip wobbles. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to fall again without anyone to catch him-

XL’s knees buckle.

HC’s arms wind around his waist as they both collapse to the floor.

“I don’t understand,” HC whispers, pressing kiss after kiss to XL’s temple. “Please help me understand.”

XL finally takes a deep breath. He picks his head up and opens his eyes, red and puffy from crying.

HC’s anxious facial expression greets him.

“I love you.”

HC’s eyes widen in shock.

XL nods in understanding, knowing how overwhelmed the actor must be. It can’t be the first confession he’s had. Someone as charming and desirable as HC must be used to partners confessing their feelings while crying on the ground, pleading for his returned affections.

Unfortunately, XL is just another wishful admirer vying for HC’s heart.

HC’s silence rings louder than a hundred church bells, driving XL to fill it in with more words, a better explanation about how XL has violated their initial conditions to begin fooling around in the first place.

“I sleep best when I’m in your arms, you know? I know my bed isn’t the biggest or comfiest thing you’ve ever slept on. But whenever you’re sleeping beside me, it’s the most perfect place to be,” XL admits with a watery laugh, a twinge of happiness filling his heart just thinking about the peaceful nights he and HC shared over the last year. “And I get the best damn sleep that I will get for the rest of the month we are apart.”

XL can’t stop himself at this point. He’s vaguely aware of HC still supporting him by the waist, the softest brush of fingers against his love handles.

“And I don’t know what it is about your way with words. Maybe it’s because you’re an actor and performing is your job. But- you make me laugh the hardest I’ve ever laughed in my life. And it will be about the silliest things! Like your commentary on the reality tv shows we sometimes watch together. You’re funnier than the people doing the skits themselves!” XL babbles, having to stop to blow a piece of stray hair from his lips. HC goes to properly move it to the side while XL continues.

“And you’re an amazing cook! If you wanted to open up your own restaurant, I guarantee it would be an instant hit! You make everything with so much passion and care. I honestly have so much fun with you in the kitchen–and in general. You’re like...sunshine in my life. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we do. As long as I’m with you, I have a reason to smile.”

I wish it could be like that all the time, XL thinks.

“You bring me so much happiness, San Lang. I just...love you so so much,” XL finishes. He swallows thickly and puts on a brave face. His heart twists in on itself painfully; painful tingles travel all the way down to his shaking fingertips.

He sniffles softly.

“And I’m sorry.”

Sorry for getting attached.

Sorry for loving you-

“Gege, please look at me,” HC requests, making XL realize he shut his eyes again while confessing. Slowly, XL obliges, trembling even harder. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

XL goes to speak but HC cuts him off with a chaste kiss, short and sweet. XL hmphs in confusion when he feels HC smile against his lips. When they pull away, XL is speechless.

“Wha-“

“Gege loves me?” HC questions with bright eyes, bumping noses with XL.

“Yes, I said so earlier...” XL says, unsure of what’s going on. But seeing HC smile makes him want to automatically smile as well.

“Would Gege mind saying it one more time?”

XL’s lower lip juts out. HC had clearly heard him the first time.

“Please?” HC whispers. XL pouts harder.

“I love you-“

HC smashes their lips together again, cutting XL’s gasp off.

“San Lang!”

“Again, Gege.”

XL frowns, eyebrows furrowed in determination.

“I love-AHHH!”

HC stands up and picks XL up with hands under his thighs. He spins them around, forcing XL to wrap his arms around HC’s shoulders.

“What are you doing!?” XL asks breathlessly once HC stops spinning. He has to tilt his head down due to the reversed height difference, yet, XL still feels small.

“Ah, after being told Gege loves me, how could I not jump for joy?” HC chuckles, kissing the corner of XL’s mouth.

“You-?“

HC guides XL down onto the bed, hovering over him before gently laying between the cradle of XL’s legs.

“It must be known that San Lang is sorry too,��� HC says with a slight rasp, resting his chin against XL’s chest. He looks particularly  satisfied–like the cat that got the cream. “For he loves Gege with all his heart.”

XL embraces HC in a fierce hug with a shout, sobbing all over again. But this time, these are happy tears.

If XL is HC’s anchor that keeps him grounded, then HC is XL’s wings that allow him to fly.

Bonus:

XL: “I thought you hated cheesy lines-“

HC: “Not if it’s with Gege.”

XL: ...

HC: ...

XL: “Okay now that was really chees-“

HC: *interrupts XL with a kissy kiss*

《IV》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #modern au #cerdrabbles #fine. #might add an epilogue in the future #they are in love your honor #boyfriends/husbands/lovers/soulmates #TBC

[itwoodbeprefect]

because of the weird order on my disks, today i watched sga 1x08/1x09, underground! rambles:

teyla, saying the very first words of the episode: “they call themselves the genii. they are simple people, but good farmers and fair traders.” OH MY. 👀 [cackles with foreknowledge]

LOVE that rodney is eating a sandwich at the conference table LOVE that john is pulling frowny confused faces at him from the background even before they start talking about coffee LOVE that the entire team gets in on the debate on rodney’s coffee habits (teyla’s judgy face counts! it says A LOT)

tyrus: “my daughter, sora.” / john: “you must be very proud.” / [sora looks charmed, tyrus points out she’s bethroted] / john: “i... wasn’t hitting on your daughter, i just thought-” fjdkfdj canon confirmed: john is great at multitasking. how else would he manage to be gay and ace and still find the time to be a womanizer and look vaguely distressed about it? some people really can do it all.

 “do you dress as they do of your own accord?” tyrus asks, starting an interesting conversation that’s never explored very deeply in canon. later in the episode, too, teyla acts grateful while talking to sora that the earth people have “accepted” her, which is... interestingly naive, almost? in a way that teyla usually isn’t. she seems a little blinded by the power of the earth people’s technology.

rodney and john have a tiny conversation about the lack of a sense of humor on the part of the genii and john’s like “they can have yours” and rodney fake-laughs and says “oh, you slay me” and then we hop to tyrus in the foreground talking to the (GASP) modern technology hidden under his sleeve, but in the background the team is still walking away and we faintly hear john say “i’m thinking about it” and that just makes that entire exchange with rodney way funnier, especially because they’re in the middle of a wide open field and walking so close their elbows keep bumping.

ahhhh gosh! john and rodney’s iconic lost-in-a-field trip. “define strange.” “you don’t know what strange means?” “i know what strange means, rodney.”

they find a HUGE metal hatch under a barely-there layer of fresh straw in a shed and rodney’s like “i wonder if they even know it’s there”. greatest mind in two galaxies.

i mean. i mean this is too easy, but when they’re talking about the radiation from the genii’s nuclear experiments and rodney tells john “we’ll be fine. just uh, as long as you weren’t planning on having children” and john pulls a complicated face, that does work as the face of a man who knows that was pretty unlikely to begin with if he keeps trying to run away from every woman that shows an interest in him.

not to ever question teyla ever, but while her decision to tell the genii that the genii plan to attack the wraith during hibernation won’t work because they have already awakened is probably a good one, she uh. could have done that without also mentioning that it was the atlanteans she came with that caused that problem.

john telling ford “hold the fort” is exactly my kind of humor, and the tragic bit is that i don’t even think it was supposed to be funny, gosh.

tyrus’s “the wraith must not know we were ever here” argument against teyla’s desire to save the cocooned people on the hive ship is funny to me because it makes me think about whether the wraith actually would notice or not. do they keep a record? it seems likely. if they do, does that mean there are wraith accountants? do they carry a little suitcase made of human skin? does it contain an abacus with human teeth in different colors of yellow to help them keep count?

fjdkf okay so maybe tyrus is just a little out of his mind with the freakiness of being on a wraith ship. “if we save him they will know that he was taken!” he says, and then shoots the guy asking for their help, with his very loud shooty gun, making sure the wraith definitely know there’s someone on their ship. (obviously part of the whole tyrus thing is setup to make teyla not look heartless when she leaves him after he’s captured by the wraith he attracted, which is itself necessary to explain the deeply complicated relationship between the genii and the people of earth later on, but still.)

the team and callen run back to the jumper and there’s this shot of that happening from pretty far away, where they all one by one disappear into the cloaked jumper, and they would have known where it was because ford was holding the fort ( :D ), but do you think they ever just... think they’re about to step into the cloak and miss? like when you’re expecting there to be another step at the top of the stairs but you just stumble on air, except you may also have just stepped into the realization that you lost your car.

“sixty ships. or more.” OH if they only knew, at this point. better they didn’t, perhaps.

last thought: i think the genii are interesting, particularly in this episode, because they are clearly the bad guys in this narrative at the end of the day, but that’s only because the story has already sided with the atlanteans. the genii respond to what happens in ways that are very often exactly what the people from earth might do if they had been in the genii’s position, and that showdown at the end of the episode is a fairly grim example of that (the jumper lands, it’s revealed the genii were laying a trap with a lot of fire power, then it’s revealed the earth people were laying an even BIGGER trap with even MORE fire power), even if it’s presented like a “ha, gotcha!” moment. mostly feels kind of sad to me - here’s the people inhabiting this new galaxy you say you enter in peace, and you keep fighting them at every turn because they’re doing what you would do and you don’t like it when someone else does that.

#sga #stargatezing #* #stargate atlantis

[pickalilywrites]

Hello I really love your stories and I'm requesting if you could make and fluffier and funnier version of the "ohayo pokko" scene I don't even know how structure this and the ship I'm basing on is pokkopikku,mAlthough I do hope you are not annoyed of me requesting this ship because I've noticed you've been doing a lot but just work your magic and don't be to hasty you can take your time

hello!!! Thank you for being so kind~ I wrote this over the weekend because it was such a nice, fluffy request. Thank you for asking for it ^^ I hope you like it a lot! have a good day 💕

Good Morning, Porco

PokkoPiku. Canonverse.

1039 words.

Read on Ao3!

Porco hears the door to his room creak, but he hardly stirs. He doesn’t even crack open an eye to check who it is. Whoever it is can wait anyway. It’s not every day that he gets a chance to sleep in and he’s going to take advantage of every second of it. If someone wants to wake him up, they’re going to have to drag him out of bed themselves because he doesn’t plan on budging.

Footsteps pad across the floor and stop by his bed. Someone calls out his name, but Porco’s still half-asleep and unable to register the person’s voice. He turns away from them, hoping that they’ll get the hint and leave. The person calls his name twice more, their voice a little louder each time, but Porco still doesn’t get out of bed. He simply growls in response. He thinks that they’re going to leave because he hears footsteps moving away, but he realizes too late that they’ve only gone to pull open the curtains.

Sunlight floods his room and Porco groans when the golden light hits his eyes. He opens his eyes enough to see a silhouette, but he quickly squeezes them shut to block out the sun. With another growl, he turns away and pulls the sheets over his head. Porco hears the person call his name again, but he refuses to get up.

“Go away,” he groans, and he hears a titter that’s vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place the owner. His brain can’t function this early in the morning.

Suddenly, the bed dips around him, and a hand tugs the blanket until it's under his chin. Porco can feel something tickling his ear. Someone’s breath caresses his cheeks. It makes him grimace, and he turns his head slightly to address whoever is trying to disturb his sleep.

Porco cracks open his eye and realizes that the sunlight is almost completely blocked by a curtain of black surrounding his head. All he can see in front of him right now is a set of mischievous brown eyes.

“Ohayō, Porco,” Pieck says cheerfully.

It surprises Porco enough to make him lift his head in alarm, forgetting that Pieck is caging him in with her body. Their heads crash together and Porco can feel the bump forming on his forehead already. The collision is enough to make Pieck collapse on top of Porco in surprise, her full weight on him now.

Porco is too tired to be angry. He only has enough energy to be mildly annoyed. With a clumsy hand, he reaches out to gently pat the swell growing on Pieck’s forehead. “Pieck, what the fuck?” he groans. He splutters trying to get Pieck’s hair out of his mouth. “What were you doing?”

Pieck says something, but it’s difficult to hear when her face is pressed against Porco’s chest.

With a sigh, Porco lifts her chin. She smiles at him, but he awaits her answer with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought it would be nice for me to wake you up for a change,” she says, brushing her hair out of her face with one hand. When Porco lets his hand fall from her chin, she rests her head on his chest. Her chin digs into Porco’s ribcage, but he doesn’t complain. “I guess it’s rather early though.”

“It’s too early,” Porco groans, but he doesn’t mean it. Now that he’s more awake, the sunlight streaming in from the window isn’t as blinding as it was a few minutes ago. It’s actually kind of pleasant to have natural light warming his room so early in the morning, and Pieck’s presence is always more than welcome. He keeps his eyes closed as he pats her head. “And what’s so pressing that I have to be awake this early in the morning?”

“Hmm,” Pieck hums. She turns her head so that her cheek rests on Porco’s chest. “Zeke wanted to go over some military strategies with us this morning.”

Porco rubs at his eye lazily, trying to get the sleep out. “I thought we’ve already gone through them before,” he mumbles. “Hundreds of times, actually. Why do we need to go through them again?”

“To appease the Marleyan officers,” Pieck says. She plays with his shirt, rubbing the fabric of his collar between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure it’s nothing too in-depth. If you sleep with your eyes open during the meeting, I’m sure nobody will even notice. Just try not to snore.”

Porco tries to shift to a more comfortable position, but it’s difficult to do with another person on top of him. He yawns instead, not bothering to cover his mouth. He tries not to think about the military strategy meeting that will no doubt take place soon. He’s never been very good at paying attention in those meetings. It’s always the same to him, perhaps small details changing here and there, but always the same men droning on and on about strategy and methods of minimizing collateral damage while maximizing destruction to enemy troops. Just thinking about it is making Porco’s eyelids droop and he can feel himself already nodding off to sleep again.

There’s a light tapping on his chest. The fingers travel from his chest to his neck to his chin. Pieck holds him there between her thumb and index finger. Through the crack of his eyelids, he can see her watching him with an amused expression. “Are you falling asleep again already?”

“It’s too early,” Porco mumbles, shutting his eyes once more. He wraps his arms around Pieck and holds her closer. He can hear her laughter muffled by the fabric of his shirt, her breath warming his chest.

“Do you need more help waking up?” Pieck asks. Even with his eyes closed, Porco can tell that her lips are curled up in a playful smile.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, and he feels her hands press against his chest.

Pieck leans forward, her hair falling from behind her ear to tickle his cheek, and presses a kiss — warm, tender, sweet — against Porco’s lips. When her lips leave his, Porco opens his eyes, finally awake now, and smiles. With a hand tenderly placed on the back of Pieck’s neck, Porco draws her close to kiss her again.

#gabisnk #snk #canonverse #gallipieck #pokkopiku #pokkopikku #asks #answered #requests #pieck finger #porco galliard

[lordoftherazzles]

Also what scene do you love the most in May Your Forge Burn Bright?

This is a really tough question, there are so many scenes in MYFBB that make me so happy (I've been rereading this fic A LOT recently), so it's really a toss up between two specific scenes - Both of which have lovely artwork by @stardryad!

I'll put this under the cut because I'm absolutely adding in part of those scenes I love so much.

-> Want to know what I 💕love💕 about my fics? Check out these asks!

Scene #1 - Northern Lights & Fireflies (Star's art!)

The build up of a very romantic moment between these two characters made me proud to write. I'm not putting the whole scene here as it's super long, but here's a part that was nice (even if we really just wanted them to kiss right after)

Idle chatter and blowing smoke rings was nice and all, but as time went on it was interrupted by a different kind of light that didn’t come from the sky. A single flicker of gold. A firefly, one of nature’s most beautiful creatures. That one firefly landed on the edge of Bilbo’s pipe. Steadily moving the pipe from his mouth and eyeballing the firefly, both he and Thorin seemed rather focused on the bug that continued to flicker brightly. “Well, would you look at that…”

“You’ve made a friend.”

Bilbo had made more than just one friend that was present, at the very least.

“I’ve always loved fireflies, ever since I was a little fauntling. I used to chase them every evening until mother and father would call me home. I always wanted to follow them, to see exactly where they went whenever the day was done.” Bilbo sighed a bit, still eyeballing the single firefly that continued to crawl around his pipe.

“You never followed them?” It was an easy assumption for Thorin to make, but he too had a love for the little creatures. Perhaps his was a little sadder, or funnier depending on how you looked at it, but they were truly magical.

“No, I guess I just…” A snort came from the hobbit, watching as his new firefly friend took off. “...I was afraid of what they might lead me to. Mother spoke fondly of them. She said they would lead us to...” Bilbo trailed as his hazel eyes watched the firefly as it flickered before landing on Thorin’s bracer as the dwarf’s hands were propped on his knees.

“To where?”

A rush of red emerged onto Bilbo’s cheeks, burning the tips of his ears like fire. His fingers tightened on his pipe as he studied the firefly on Thorin’s bracer, dropping his chin to his knees that he’d pulled up closer to his chest. “Our greatest desires,” Bilbo breathed out, not willing to spare Thorin a proper glance.

- read the rest of chapter 7 here!

Scene #2 - Love Declarations (Star's art!)

Honestly, I don't think I need to explain this one. FINALLY these two got it right. Of course it happened after a misunderstanding that was nearly the end of the two of them as Bilbo was trying to leave Ered Luin, but it all worked out in the end!

With his eyes screwed closed so tightly and keeping a sleeve over his face to protect himself from the rain, Bilbo didn’t see the oncoming form that got a firm grip on the front of his waistcoat and yanked him forward several paces and out of the way with a mighty yelp. It almost felt as if a wild animal had gotten a hold of him and Bilbo immediately tried to scramble, but the loud sound of part of a tree hitting the ground behind him had him prying open his eyes. Not to mention, he had been enveloped into a grip he was only vaguely familiar with.

Hazel eyes tried to fight against the rain, but the water stopped for just a moment as a coat was being held over his head to block some of the weather, and it allowed Bilbo to look at what could have been his end. Being crushed under the force of falling branches...and yet…? “Thorin!” How? Why? Did Bilbo actually get knocked around so hard that he was stuck in a dream?

No, dreams didn’t feel that warm.

“You’re a foolish creature and should know better than to storm off by yourself!” Thorin scolded over the howling of the wind, a scowl to his face as he looked just as Bilbo remembered whenever these moods struck the dwarf. Unpleasant. “You could have been killed, I promised to keep you safe…” And Thorin would not let that promise fall through.

“You came for me…” Bilbo murmured, though unable to be heard over the sounds of rain and wind. Thorin’s coat might have acted as a decent enough shield against the actual rainwater, but it was nothing for the sounds. “I was on my way back! I needed to apologize for what I said, and I’m not sure how else I can express that. From the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry-”

“Maralmizu, Bilbo."

Bilbo’s ears twitched before dropping. Now was not the time for secrecy, they could play that game once they were out of this vicious weather. Not to mention, Bilbo had been trying to give a heartfelt apology. An annoyed huff came from the hobbit as he continued to stare at Thorin, caring less and less about thunder and lightning as the seconds ticked by. “What does that even mean, Thorin?” Though asking a dwarf to reveal their secrets was like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands.

“I love you,” Thorin was far gentler this time than the scolding he had started with, staring at Bilbo’s wide hazel eyes. “And I have for some time now and just...too afraid to say it. Too afraid that being me might scare you off, and it did...but I-”

“Oh, you really are a stupid dwarf!” That bold Tookish behavior was finding its way to the surface once more, no longer hiding in fear from a few unsavory blokes from Bree. Wrapping his hands around both of Thorin’s braids and standing on his toes, it didn’t take much guidance from Bilbo’s small tug for their lips to meet with eyes fluttering closed.

It felt like a missing piece had finally been slotted into place.

- read the rest of chapter 9 here!

#raz answers #ask game #sunnyrosewritesstuff #weekend wips #fic: may your forge burn bright

[moonlights-inkwell]

Demand an Encore

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 6,958

Summary: anon said: hello! i see your requests are open...! could i maybe get a Jaskier x reader where the reader very shyly explains (maybe after an embarrassing moment?) that they are into spanking? and Jaskier indulges them and it is fluffy/smutty? if not, that's okay!! i figured I'd ask. thank you! 💜

A/N: Anon. I literally owe you my life, because Dom! Jaskier now literally lives rent free in my head. A fic from Jaskier's perspective? It shocked me too. Oops. Also. Clapping joke title on a spanking fic? I think I’m way funnier than I am  

Warnings: Smut. Spanking. Oral (female receiving). Clothed sex? Sorta. Discussions of Sadomasochism. Canon complicit violence. A very bad take on Jaskier's perspective.

Title from Wild Blue Yonder

“Oh wank!”  

The expletive draws his eyes from his lute and upwards, to you.  

You’re busy, always busy, swinging that blade about and clashing it noisily into Geralt's. Parry, swipe, dodge, sword fighting is as boring a sport as Jaskier can even imagine, only marginally better than fencing because at least there’s some danger to sword fighting. Paint drying is a more interesting thing to watch, lectures less painful to listen to. Jaskier hates it. Sparring holds no interest to Jaskier, beyond when he tries to describe how sword fighting looks for a new song, but there are no new songs. The monsters have seemingly realised that Geralt is about, and have kept themselves to themselves, and so the well of songs about danger and adventure has dried up- like a brook during a heatwave. There’s no song about battles to be won, and if he plays Toss A Coin once more then he’s quite sure that Geralt will shove his lute up his arse sideways. All he wants is to work on a new melody and the clanging is quite possibly the worst thing he can imagine. The clanging, clanking, crashing of steel on steel is enough to drive him to distraction. All he needs is a new song, but no. He simply must be tormented by the sound of metal hitting metal. Needs must apparently, at least when it comes to sparring. 

He’s sure Geralt is doing this to spite him specifically. Revenge for years upon years of songs and mindless chatter and taunting, wrapped up with the knowledge that the bard would never complain about your training- that your safety is paramount to him, even if it is noisy as all hell and infuriatingly distracting.  

Cornflower blue eyes scan up and take you in, on hands and knees and holding your sword at such an angle to block Geralt’s swipe; face crumpled with effort and concentration while the Witcher above is as stoic looking as ever, bringing his blade down closer and closer until you slide to the ground and roll away from the sword. The buckles of your over-bust drags against the ground and knocks loose two of the buttons of your blouse, revealing an expanse of skin below the clavicle and to the dip in skin between breasts.

He wonders, not for the first time, how you manage to fight in a corset. When he was a lad, a little longer ago now than he’s quite happy to acknowledge, how a girl at a ball had collapsed because her corset was laced too tight and even after fetching a healer, the girl walked awkwardly until he left for Oxenfurt, probably long afterwards too. Yet, you can fight in one, swing that blade around with a relative ease that Jaskier can’t even manage if his trousers are tailored too high in the crotch. It’s strange. Watching you duck and twist, bend and thrust that blade around all while being held in place by tightly laced bones, it’s impressive- like watching someone dance. You aren’t a master swords-man but you’re skilled and it’s nice to watch. The exhilarated grin across your face, panting with heaving chest: it’s beauty. Pure, unadulterated beauty, even with a smear of dirt across your cheek, sweat beading about your forehead and a nick on your arm that’s letting out a small but steady stream of blood trickling down from your upper arm.

“Better.” Geralt says firmly, Jaskier watches as your face breaks into a grin and you just glow. A relaxed, genuine smile that makes you look younger than you are. You've mocked him before for how he just soaks up any validation, but even the slightest praise has your skin all but shining, cheeks flushed and mouth upturned. He understands entirely. Praise, acclaim, acknowledgement, it’s addictive; more so than any ale, any drug. Praise leaves you desperate for more, shaking and craving a next hit, almost insecurely hoping against hope that any second will bring that much needed praise. Bard's are like faeries, they require attention to survive while thriving on the energy people give, And Jaskier has been desperate for attention long before he became a bard.  

Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given gift- one that Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever been given- but he praises you. Training is important, and Geralt seems to have realised that he’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so sparring is when he speaks most, even then it’s minimal though; but he compliments. Your form, your grip, the strength of blows. Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given thing.

Jaskier isn’t jealous.  

He isn’t.  

Jealousy implies that there’s something to be envied, like a possession that he wants. You aren’t a possession, he knows that, and even if you were, you wouldn’t be Geralt’s. His fingers fall from the frets of the lute, sending a sour note that makes him cringe out through the clearing.  

“Gods, Dandy- if that’s a sign of what your new song sounds like then I don’t think I want to hear it!” You call over to him, head tilted as the sword twirls between your fingers. “I thought you were supposed to be a good bard.”

“You wound me, Love. Wound me.”  

“No good bard would write Toss A Coin.” Geralt says, but there’s humour in his voice- well, humour enough for it to be noticeable against Geralt’s signature style of stoicism. Must be a good sort of day, for Geralt to be joking about and complimentary. These sorts of things don’t happen every day.  

“Leave him be, Bully!” You swat at Geralt's side, grinning at Jaskier. “Don't you worry, Dear Heart, I love you- even with this brute insulting you.” It’s as if you don’t even remember that you started the insults, but that smile is enough to keep him quiet. That must be a sign of love, that Jaskier could be quiet for you: he’s never been silent for anyone before, even when he had himself half-convinced that he was in love with every person he's spent more than a night with, he’s never been able to keep quiet for more than a few minutes or so, he’s felt an overwhelming need to fill the silence. It’s pleasant to just bask in atmosphere that comes from being about you.  

The swat at Geralt had not gone unnoticed, even if it took a moment or so for him to strike you. Geralt, facing Jaskier, lifted a hand to thump you on the back, too absorbed by the simple pleasure of retaliation to have perceived two very simple things with those enhanced Witcher senses: that the laces of your boots have come undone, and that you had bent down to tie it.  

Time slows sickeningly, as Jaskier realises what’s about to happen only a second before the SLAP comes through the air at a volume none of you anticipated. Not to the lower back, a spot that while painful is little more than inconvenient when hit, but instead to your arse- angled upwards as you bent to fiddle with the ribbons of your shoes. The white-haired man had wanted something vaguely friendly but still running with undercurrents of the same energy that comes from sparring, but instead he had brought one enormous hand down onto your arse with some force. Unexpected, and completely out of nowhere as it is, it somehow is not the most surprising part.  

The moan is.  

A loud, broken moan- somewhere between pain and pleasure- which Jaskier knows all too well. That sound haunts his dreams. Jaskier would know it blind, dumb and senseless. Your moan, normally reserved for during the nights when his fingers slide inside of you, when his tongue breeches you. It’s weak, beautiful, and oh so very unexpected. Its a noise more beautiful than music, more beautiful than the sound of children’s laughter- always his , finally heard by another. Geralt looks horrified, cat-like eyes wide and filled with something akin to fear, but nothing like the unadulterated horror written across your face; sun-coloured skin turning red with embarrassment, lips parted wide but slowly contorting into a grimace, eyes wide but watering.  

Jaskier forces himself up and towards you, while Geralt steps back, saying your name softly and apologetically,

“I am so sorry-"

“Little Miss-"  

“I'm going to the stream to wash!” You say loudly, side-stepping around Jaskier to make a beeline into the thicket of trees, where a stream was hidden. Without any thought, Jaskier groans and looks up at the Witcher, eyes narrowed into accusatory slits.  

“So much for those Witcher senses of yours.” It’s a ridiculous thing to be annoyed about. Geralt does not have any feelings for you beyond the platonic, and Jaskier knows that, knows full well that Geralt wouldn’t do something like that to you, least of all in front of your lover and a man far too willing to write humiliating songs about Geralt.  

“It was an accident.” All stoicism has returned to Geralt’s voice, despite the still apologetic look written across his features. “She’s going to hate me. She sounded so pained.”  

That almost made the Bard splutter with laughter. Moans like that are many things but not pained, at least not in a way that isn’t seen as pleasurable. Somehow, he manages to keep the laughter down and instead claps a hand to the taller man's shoulder.  

“I doubt she hates you. Missy is a resilient little thing.” He tries to sound comforting, but some humour seeps through, making Geralt turn and squint at him.  

“This isnt funny, Bard.”  

“I’m well aware.” Jaskier nods. “I'm going to check on her though. To make sure she hasn’t drowned herself.”  

“Don’t joke.”  

“I’m not.” He trills as he walks along the step-worn path to the trees.  

The stream is a pathetic little thing really, barely a foot in width and surrounded on all sides by the thickest section of trees which almost blocked out all light. It was easy to believe it was around dusk, but it couldn’t be much later than midday, the shade made it appear so much later than it was. And there was you, hunched over by the reeds and moss, scooping up water and splashing it in your face and onto the gash still trickling blood to try to clean it. Even in spite of the shadows, your flushed cheeks are still clear to him and he stops to take you in.  

He’s had many lovers. Too many to list really, but not one of them holds a candle to you. Every girl before you was perfectly primped and polished, in fine clothes with perfect hair and made up faces, and they were beautiful but artificially so. Made that way by clothes and corsets and cosmetics. You though, you’re something else. Beautiful with the sun in your eyes, unkempt hair and rumpled clothes. Indescribably perfect cast half in fire-light, with bags beneath your eyes and blood across your cheek. Sonnet worthy while drunk and stumbling, singing out of tune to his ever songs. Godly in the dark, mouth open and back arching towards him as you stumble headfirst into climax. He loves you. He loves you, and it’s the first time he thinks he has ever really loved anyone: more than infatuation, more than lust, but actual love. Love that makes his head muddled and heart sore. He doesn’t deserve you. Wants you, needs you, but will never deserve you. Reckless, wild and brilliant you, willing to leave a life behind to fight monsters. A fool. Beautiful little fool, selfless and-

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Hard not to stare at a goddess. Careful, I hear some gods will drown pretty things like you out of jealousy.”  

“Fool.” You say softly, but there’s a chuckle in your voice so he comes closer to you, stepping behind you to twist your hair away from your throat to press a kiss to the crook of your neck.  

“Your fool.” He breathes out shallowly, letting his chin rest on your shoulder while his arms wind about your waist. “Are you alright, Dear Heart?”  

“Embarrassed, I suppose. My pride will recover though, Dandy.” The lightness of your words combined with your stiff posture makes sure Jaskier knows you’re lying.  

“Little Miss-"

“Geralt must be embarrassed as well. I should have apologised to him before-"

“You moaned.” He cuts you off, making you shut up, stiffening even more. “And you may try to deny it, but I know that noise. I might just be the only person who knows that noise.”

“Jaskier.” It sounds like a warning, but he doesn’t care.  

“If it’s because it was Geralt, I understand.” He says softly, feelings coming out unbidden. “I understand, of course, and I love you but I understand if I’m in the way.”  

“I liked it. Be... being hit. Not Geralt.” You whisper.  

It truly is a day of surprises. Jaskier can feel the grin slip onto his face and his hands move from your stomach to your hips to begin tickling.  

“Is that so?” He asks softly, revelling in your choked-out laughter and how you lean back against him. “My Little Miss wants to be spanked. Well, darling, you should have told me earlier.”  

“I didn’t know it was a thing!” You argue between laughs. Jaskier so often forgets that you were a virgin before he got his hands on you, so of course you hadn’t known. His tickling doesn’t stop as he pulls you backward, rolling you onto the ground and climbing on top of you to continue his assault.  

“Would you like a lesson in masochism, Dear Heart?” He teases, head tilting to the side as he looks down at you.  

“Maso-what?”  

“The pleasures of pain.” He explains, and watches how your face turns pink once more. “Oh, she does!”  

“Stop taunting me!” You argue, thrashing beneath him but not with any intensity.  

“Taunting? Never. I’m just trying to work out if I need to rent two rooms when we next go into town.” He too easily grabs at your arm when you reach up to swat at Jaskier. “For your lessons, I mean.”  

“You... weren't joking?” You ask lightly and he shakes his head.

“I never joke about teaching My Muse about what brings her pleasure.” He says lightly, climbing off of you to sit by your side. “If you want me to.”  

“You Wouldn’t mind?” You ask incredulously, drawing out a chuckle from the bard.  

“Darling-heart, don’t be a fool, of course I wouldn’t. You know how I like pleasing you, and having you know what pleases you pleases me. Besides, it’s hardly my first dalliance into sadomasochism; there was a countess I used to know who couldn’t achieve orgasm unless tied up, with wax melted on her and at least three people watching her-"  

“Jaskier.” You say softly, and he stops.  

“Sorry. What I mean is, liking someone slapping your perfect bottom isn’t something to be embarrassed by, darling. Alright?”  

“Alright. Thank you, Jaskier.”  

“No need to thank me, Dear Heart.”  

It takes weeks for Jaskier's plan to come to fruition. Weeks of traveling and camping in the woods until the three of you are able to find a town in need of a Witcher and his services. It’s a simple job, just a few drowners, but the pay is good and there is a very decent inn more than willing to accommodate all of you, and with two rooms none the less- which is far easier to negotiate while the two of you are off to do what you do. The inn-keep is a pleasant, portly man in his middle forties who seems to appreciate Jaskier's way with words, and is more than willing to forgo payment on the rooms in return for a show- and who is Jaskier to disagree with a deal such as that?  

His friendly demeanour is welcome too, means the Bard actually has someone to talk to while he awaits your return- but that plan dies a death when the job takes significantly longer than he expects. Normally, it only takes a few hours for something like this, but the sun is set and his songs just coming to an end when you finally return.  

The crowds, cider-drunk and rowdy had sang along to every song they knew, and sang over these they didn't- but that was fine. Drinking songs were always nice to hear, but their song dies when the door to the inn-cum-tavern opens and you pad in, followed closely by Geralt. Both drenched from tip to toe and scowling, hair stringy and clothes dark with saturation. That explains a fair bit and even with how upset you look, Jaskier grins, grip on the lute loosening and stage persona rolling off of him. Wet and angry as the two of you are, the sight of you is enough to make the crowd let out a loud, drunken cheer before beginning an enthusiastic if out of tune rendition of Toss a Coin. For once, the Bard is uninterested in joining in and instead opens his arms wide for you, it takes less than a minute for you to run to him and wind your arms around his middle while the people mill around Geralt to interrogate him about monsters and the like. Jaskier sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead.  

“You had me worried.”  

“Almost drowned. But I’m fine.” You say apologetically against his jerkin. “Tired though.”  

“I’ve booked our room. And I think my performance is over.” He says soothing, fingers carding through your wet hair. “Come on, Darling-heart.” He offers a hand, though it takes you a moment or so to reluctantly pull back from him you take it and follow him up to your rented room.  

The room is tiny, little more than a box room with just a bed and small table but it’s clean and that is more than enough for you. Before even a minute can pass, you release Jaskier's hand to flop down onto the bed, moaning when you sink down into the mattress.  

“Comfortable?” He asks playfully and you hum in agreement.  

“I got you wet.” You reply after a minute and Jaskier chuckles.  

“I don’t mind, now wait here. I’ve something to sort out for you.” The door clicks as he slips out of the room and you’re alone in the room, just you and the tingling sensation running through your body and making your brain feel as if a mist has descended over it, yet you don’t even realise it until the door opens once more and you lift your head up to look at the noise. It’s a girl, looking about fourteen or so, carrying two large buckets to the archway across from the bed which you had not even noticed, and in your drunken haze you consider why she would be taking buckets to another room through yours. Jaskier follows after her, buckets hanging from each hand and you notice how steam is billowing from the buckets until he disappears beyond the doorway. Confusion comforts your mouth into a frown, so instead of giving it much thought you let yourself sink back into the mattress, deciding it not worthy of a second thought. Water crashing against water echoes from the other room as your eyelids grow heavy and slip shut. Someone had told you once that the sound of water is enough to drive even an insomniac to sleep, you believe them in this moment, the sound of water is so relaxing to your dazed mind that you don’t question why you can hear it at all, so you simply shut your eyes and listen. You have no idea how long you lay there, listening and breathing, it could be seconds or millennia.

“Are you awake, Dear Heart?”  

“hmm?”  

“Come on, I ordered you a bath, you need it.” A bath. You smile and he grins at you. “Now, darling. Come along. You'll soak the sheets through.”  

“I'll soak you through.” You retort tiredly, rolling off of the bed and toeing off your boots before following him into the bath's room. He watches as you walk through and is upon you within seconds, unlacing your corset and unlacing your chemise before you can move your fingers to do it for yourself. “Julian, I know you find me attractive but stripping me?”

“I don’t want you dying of cold.” He chides playfully, kissing the exposed akin of your shoulder as he pulls off the blouse. “Forgive me for loving you.”  

“I love you.” You say softly and untie your trousers, pulling them and your underwear off in a single movement. He smiles at the sight and presses a hand to your lower back once you step out of the sopping fabric.  

“I know, muse. Now in.” He says encouraging you into the bath, turning to fiddle with a few vials of scented oils. “Rose, Lavender or honeysuckle?”  

“Lavender. It smells like you.” You say softly and sink into the water, letting out a loud moan when the heat overtakes you. He turns back to you with a smile and pours a little of the oil into the water.  

“Oh, you like the smell of me?” He teases and moves around towards you.  

“Of course, I do.”  

He smiles at that and sinks down to his knees behind the tub at your back and picks up a rag, soaking it in the water and then moving it up to rub at your shoulders and the knobbles of your spine. The sweet floral smell is carried on the steam coming from the water, sweet and familiar and made all the better by the contented noises that come from you. He likes you like this, all pliant and sleepy and willing to let him help without complaint, it makes him feel useful in ways he never can on hunts. You shoulder so much, act so brave and mature and it’s so nice to see you just let him take control and look after you. He hums a little tune as he washes your back and feels your back move as you chuckle.  

“Tickles.” You say, giggly and more awake than before. “What song is that?”  

“It’s something my mother used to sing.” He says gently, scooping up some water with his hands and pouring it over your head before working out some of the tangles in your hair. “I don’t think it has a name.”  

“It’s pretty.” You hum, head tilting into his hands like a kitten. “Why aren’t you in here with me?”  

“I got the bath to warm you up, Silly Little Miss. I’m warm.” He says with a sigh and pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.  

“I want to touch you." You whine, twisting around to face him.  

“There's time for that later, Dear Heart. “ He shakes his head affectionately and kisses the tip of your nose. “I have plans for you tonight.”  

“Oh?” You ask, leaning up on your knees and allowing your breasts to lean against the lip of the tub. It’s a trick, trying to lure him in, and he knows it, but gods above it’s tempting. Far too much willpower is exerted to not reach out and take them into his hands. A siren, sent to toy with his heart and mind. He sighs and leans in to kiss you gently.  

“You remember a few weeks ago? When Geralt slap-"  

“Yes!” You interrupt quickly and he rolls his eyes, reaching up to smooth your hair down.  

“And you said you liked the feeling?”  

“I remember, Jaskier.”  

He smiles and rubs his thumb across your cupid’s bow.  

“Well. We have the room to ourselves, so I thought that we could experiment with that."

You blink at him owlishly before squinting at him. It would almost be enough to worry him, but he knows you too well to think you’re angry- you’re confused, but still very relaxed.  

“Experiment.”  

“Yes.”

“With you... hitting me.”  

“With you letting me dominate you, spank you, and make you feel good.” He clarifies. It sounds foolish, and far too perverse when laid out so candidly to someone not well versed with this. You nod sagely.

“...And if I ask you to stop them you will.”  

“Of course I will.” He says seriously and rests his hands on your shoulders, leaning in so you are eye to eye. “This is for your enjoyment, if you say stop, this stops. Just like always.” You smile and close the gap between his lips and your own. It’s soft and lazy, with no indication of proceeding any further than just chastely kissing, his hands still on your shoulders and your hands creeping up into his hair. It’s perfect, always is, and not for the first time, Jaskier considers that he could spend the rest of forever just kissing you and never be bored. Still, all too soon he pulls away, fetching a towel while you heave yourself out of the tub waiting for the bard and the towel. Even though you reach for it, Jaskier ignores your outstretched arms and instead swaddles you in it himself, drying you.  

“I can do it myself!”

“You can, but you won't.” He says firmly, rubbing your skin. Beneath the soft fabric, he can feel you start to struggle which makes him hum and swat at your arse. It’s not enough to hurt, especially through the towel, but it serves as a good warning for who is in charge tonight. Dominance is nothing new for him, but he isn’t dominant with you. You were a virgin when he met you, all sex had to be approached with kid-gloved hands, even now that you are confident with it Jaskier has never felt any need to try and guide you towards that sort of thing. Submission, he had assumed, would be a difficult thing for you; you spend so much time fighting and fending for yourself during fights, asking you to hand over control never seemed to be a good idea. Control keeps you safe but you trust him. Trust him enough to give him control. It’s enough to rush to his head, that level of trust. Of course, it’s flattering when anyone allows him control, but it means so much more when someone who loves him, someone who is so dangerous would allow themselves to be vulnerable. He loves you, has since the second he clapped eyes on you, but this is more than love now, this is adoration. “Now, be a good girl and don’t argue.” Seldom does Jaskier have a need to be stern, so you doing as he says is to be expected. You go limp, eyes wide as he towels you dry. “There’s my good Little Miss.” He says once he finishes, folding the cloth while you stand stock still, pupils blown wide.  

“Good.” You repeat back to him, starry-eyed and blushing, so he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before nodding.  

“Well, you are my Good Little Miss, aren’t you?” He asks gently, watching the enthusiastic nod he gets in response with a smile. “I know.” He says with an air of finality, turning away from you and heading back into the bedchambers to sit on the bed. It takes a few seconds of silent sitting for you to finally walk to the doorway. You’re naked as the day you were born, wet hair hanging in snakelike tendrils around your face, skin glowing gold from the warm light of the fire reflecting off of the still damp flesh. You’re beautiful. Too beautiful, comfortable in your skin and his looking at you, pale criss-crossing of scars running across the planes of your body like gold holding formerly broken ceramics together. How Jaskier has ever gotten a chance to lay his hands on you is beyond him, why a bard such as himself can even look at you, never mind touch or kiss you. A goddess, battle-hardened and wise, intoxicating and intense but oh so soft and kind.

“You’re staring.” You laugh, leaning against the door frame and smiling at him.  

“Yes. Yes I am.” Jaskier says simply and beckons you closer, which you do with a slight swing of your hips that he is entirely sure isn’t purposeful. You settle beside him, looking at him with a look somewhere between reverence and fear- like he's simultaneously the most beautiful and awful thing you’ve ever seen. He hates how much he likes it, the power it feels like he possesses in this moment. You look so small and defenceless, and he is too aware of how large he is by comparison. Usually, Jaskier feels slight- especially in comparison to Geralt and his hulking mass of muscle and manliness- but he’s suddenly far more aware of how big his hands are compared to your own, how he almost dwarfs you in height. You aren’t dainty, and he knows how much damage you can do with little to no effort, but you look so now.  

You lean in to him slowly and tilt your head, taking him in before smiling with a raised eyebrow. Well? Your face seems to scream. I'm waiting. It’s all the encouragement he needs to put his hand between your shoulder blades and push your torso over his lap unceremoniously. Every jutting bone, every knobble of spine, outline of rib exposed when you let out a noise of mild confusion, but rest there with your stomach over his thighs. His fingertips, calloused from lute strings but still soft from the warm water, trail down your back slowly; his skin is colder than yours, leaving goose pimples in his wake as he moves towards the rounded flesh of your arse.  

Pink and pert, the flesh juts out from the dip at the base of your spine, like a peach. Jaskier loves it. Loves all arses really. There is something so strangely enticing about them, likely the fact they’re so often covered that seeing them seems taboo in a way that seeing tits isn’t. Every inch of your skin that he gets to see is a luxury not afforded to others, and while his hands finally reach the plump skin, he had been moving towards he kisses your back, gripping one cheek firmly while rubbing soft circles into the other. A moan, airy and musical comes from you spurring Jaskier in his ministrations: shifting the cheek to the side, revealing a hole he had never paid much mind to at all, only to release his hold and watch as it bounces back into place. The jiggle is hypnotic, he thinks to himself wordlessly as he repeats the act on the opposite cheek, earning another moan from you in response.  

“Jask.” You whine out and he hums in confirmation, feeling you push yourself back against his hand. “Don't tease.” He chuckles. Teasing is hardly what he'd call it. No, this is isn’t teasing, teasing is something gentler than this. This is preparation. He can hardly just start spanking you, especially when you've never done it before, but the whining makes him smirk. “Jask, if you don’t hurry, I’ll go to bed.” You insist and try to push yourself off of him, so he presses down on the middle of your back and brings his hand down on your arse harshly.  

The sharp sound of skin-on-skin rings through the air, followed by a gasp. A tingle ran across his palm, and he snicks at the sensation.  

“I thought you were my good girl, not a brat, Missy.” He says, voice low and on the verge of a growl. “I told you, I am in control tonight. Not you.”  

Brat. You shiver at that, going still, and he smirks, grabbing the cheek he had just struck before tugging at it. He releases it before sliding his hand up your thigh.  

“I. I can be good.” You whisper meekly. That isn’t enough though and he swats at the cheek once more, lighter this time.  

“You will be good.” He corrects you, leaning in close to your ear and catching sight of your red cheeks and misty eyes. “I know you will be, won’t you Darling?” You nod quickly and he smirks. “That's my Princess.”  

At that, your posture loosens and you relax against him. Praise. That’s good to know. Lazily, he rubs a circle against the curve of skin before striking it once more.  

“I'm going to hit you ten times, and I want you to count them out loud for me. Can you do that for me?” He asks gently and you nod instantly. “I need you to use your words, Darling.”  

“I. I can do that.” You say, tilting your head to look at him with a sweet smile. Jaskier smiles back at you, then brings his hand back down with a hard slap.  

“One!” You say loudly, jolting forward and dragging your stomach across his crotch. He’s been so invested in planning and preparing that he hasn’t even noticed the hardness developing between his legs until it’s rubbed against. The moans from the bath had been enough to make him half hard, but seeing you like this, lips parted and the skin of your bottom turning an inviting shade of pink, it’s enough to have him fully hard.  

“Two!” You shout out after his hand lands hard against your rear before two more swats come in quick succession.  

“Three! Four!” The numbers are more moans than words, loud and needy. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wonders if the drunks downstairs are still singing and making noise, shouting and swearing, or if they too can hear the moans of pleasure. It’s sick, but he wants them to hear. Wants them to hear the pretty song that you’re moaning out, to look at you in the morning as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and know how you loved every second of it, see him smirk and know exactly who drew every noise from you.  

He’s a bard. He knows how to make noises, but these might just be the prettiest ones yet. A hand rubs at the pinking skin and then, quickly as it comes it's gone and brought down, this time to the space where arse meets thigh.

“Five!”  

He could listen to you moan all day. Sex, or at least sex while travelling, is normally a quiet affair. Quiet murmurs of affirmation, whispered begs and pleas, it’s not enough. Jaskier loves sex, loves the intimacy that comes from being as close to someone as humanly possible, but more so than the enjoyment of sex, Jaskier loves the theatrics of sex. Sex is like performing. Doing all possible to please an enthusiastic audience, listening to the sounds of enjoyment as it builds and crescendos, fingers moving faster, doing his best to not make a fool of himself.  

“Six!”  

Slap!

“Seven!”  

He can’t help himself from hoping that this won't be a one-time occurrence. For a few stolen moments you can hand over control to him and give the both of you what you need.  

“Eight!” Your stomach rubs against his cock once more and he chokes back a moan. You'll be the death of him. Ruin him entirely. It isn’t enough that he loves you, isn’t enough that you are the most beautiful person he could dream up, no you have to do things like this. Unintentionally ideal. Perfection given human form.  

“Nine!”  

His hand comes down one final time and you scream out a broken, “Ten!”, and Jaskier heaves out a sigh, rubbing the red skin as gently as he can to soothe you when you begin to tremble. Calloused fingertips slide softly across the abused flesh.  

“Oh Darling. My good girl. My good, brave little miss.” He coos sweetly, gently guiding you up to sit on his lap, one hand still running the skin while the other threads itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. “You did so well.” Gently, he presses his forehead against your own, staring into tear filled eyes. “Oh, Dear Heart, did you not like it?” Worry washes over him suddenly. He should have reminded you that you could say no once more, that he wouldn’t be disappointed.  

“Kiss me.” You breathe back against his lips and he sighs softly, hand shifting to your jaw to tug you into a chaste kiss. You tremble against his lap, but kiss back far more forcefully than he had kissed you. Gentle but seeking, tongue pushing between his lips to make its way into his mouth. He smirks slightly, but doesn’t open his mouth, feeling you rock against his lap- sweet nectar between your legs dripping through the fabric of his trousers while shaking fingers toy with the lacing of his doublet.  

“Darling-"  

“You're wearing far too much.” You whine pulling back to stare at him. “Take it off.”  

“Take what off?”  

“Everything.” One word has never held so much weight. He could look at you like this for always, so soft and desperate and wanting- it makes his heart beat faster and his cock jumps against the heat of your core. He wants to strip himself, rid himself of the offensive articles and just let you take from him all that he has, but he holds your jaw gently instead, using the warm skin as a means to ground himself once more.  

“Ask nicely.”  

“Jaskier.” You say with a slight scowl, but he narrows his eyes and tilts his head, trying not to laugh at your intent look. “Please. Please strip.”  

“I think you can ask nicer than that, Dear Heart.”  

“Julian, please take off your clothes. Please.” You ask softly and trail your hands along the chemise beneath his half-unlaced jerkin. “Please, Dandy? I want to touch you- can I?”  

The pet name brings a soft smile to his face, hands moving to your hips to shift you onto the bed before undoing the rest of his jacket and shucking it off, to toss it to the side. Ducking down, he peppers a few feverish kisses to your thighs, toying with the ties of his chemise while you tug it over his head. Needy and half frenzied is unlike you, but he can’t say that it isn’t perfection. Shy, unsure sex has been too common, the occasional rushed shag when you two can spare a few seconds less frequent, but this magically manic need is sweet. Jaskier is a performer; performers preen under the watchful eye of attentive audience, need the knowledge of a job well done, which he normally gets from you in the form of moans and frantic rutting. This enthusiasm is perfection, especially while his face is so close to your cunt that he can smell the arousal dripping from it.

Nudity can wait, The Bard smirks, grips your thighs in a vice-like grip and widens the distance between them so he can get his mouth on your sex, tongue gathering slick and relishing that sweet, musky taste. Sweeter than any fruit, more addictive than any wine. Jaskier’s lips find your clit, that bud of nerves that might as well contain every breathless moan that you can fit in your body, and sucks, tongue flicking across it with the moans and curses that such an act wrings from you. Nose buried in the curls that cover your mount, cornflower eyes look up to take you in, writhing in ecstasy, breasts quivering with every stuttered breath. He knew that he had missed something while spanking you’d but it falls into place now. Your face.

Every emotion flit across it, as clear to read as sheet music to him. You have an expressive face at the best of times, but it only seems heightened by sex. He knows many men prefer not to face their lovers and, hell, in his more adventurous days had preferred it himself, but seeing how you feel written across your features is part of the joy of sex. It had taken a while to convince you to stop silencing yourself during intimacy, that those moans are his and hard earned, but those expressions mean even more. Miniscule twitches of the brows and lips that let him know that you enjoy what he is doing, he loves them. Loves you. Those noises are meaningless without that face, pink and contorted with pleasure. That face. He could stare at it all day.

He doesn’t miss Lettenhove, not for a minute, but he does miss paintings. Portraits, moments trapped in time, forever perfect. He wants a painting of moments like this; nothing pornographic, just your face, with not a care for anything but pleasure. To see him through those nights when hunting takes too long and he's long asleep by the time you return. A little painting to have with him always.  

“Jaskier-" You whimper, fingers curled into his hair and tugging. “Please. Please.”  

He hums softly and slaps your thigh, revelling in the sweet little gasp that comes from you before a gush of fluid hits his lips. The Bard pulls back and blinks in shock. You’re shaking, twisting in the blankets as he just breathes you in. Squirted. You just squirted on him. He was half convinced that such a thing was just A rumour but... you did it.  

Blinking rapidly, Jaskier stares up at you awestruck and starry-eyed, trying desperately not to spill into his trousers.  

Oh yes. This is going to be a regular occurrence.  

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier x you #dom jaskier #witcher imagine #jaskier smut

[forgedroyalseal]

Small and Annoying (and adorable)

When Will read the letter he had received from Halt, he tried not to panic. He was moderately successful. The letter was vague, which Will hoped was merely Halt being Halt and not because of some terrible circumstance that was preventing him from going into to further detail. What the “terrible circumstance” could be, Will wasn’t sure. Something absolutely dreadful though. Perhaps Halt was ill, too weak to write more. Or maybe he was being held captive and wasn’t allowed the time to explain. Will ran his hand through his hair as he reread the letter, trying to reassure himself that he was getting ahead of himself.

Will,

I need your help. I have a problem that only you can solve. Come as soon as possible.

Halt

Rereading the brief letter did not help. Will folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket as he stood from his kitchen table, the rest of his mail unopened and abandon in a pile. He grabbed his cloak, which was hanging on a hook by the door and turned to Ebony, who had lifted her head up from the floor to watch Will, waiting to see if he needed her.

“Stay here and be a good girl, I’m going to check on Halt.” He said to her. She seemed happy with this decision, her head thudding against the floor as she lowered it and her paws stretching out towards the small fire Will had lit earlier in afternoon. Normally she was eager to accompany Will wherever he went, even softly whining to herself if he told her she wasn’t allowed to go. Today, however, was a cold, wet October day, and she was quite content with letting Will make this particular trip without her.

Tug on the other hand didn’t seem effected by the miserable weather. Or perhaps he just knew that when he and Will returned home, he would be able to guilt Will into giving him an extra apple. Whatever the case was, Tug carried Will quickly to castle Redmont, only slowing down to avoid crashing into the few towns people that were milling about the town square. Will dismounted Tug and lead him over to the shelter of the stables. He loosed the saddle but didn’t fully untack Tug. He wasn’t sure what Halt needed him for and wanted to be ready for anything. He gave Tug an apple from a basket outside of the stall. Will looked around and caught the eye of a boy holding a rake and staring at him wide eyed.

“Please leave the saddle on him and make sure he has water.”

The boy bobbed his head up and down, still a little star stuck. Must be new, Will thought. He can’t help but notice the amount of people who stare at him when he is in town, trying (and failing) to be discreet as they point him out to their friends. But this is still where he grew up. It’s where he ran around as a little boy, it’s where he was trained as an apprentice, it’s his home. So, while he was honored and respected, people didn’t tend to get this shocked by the sight of him.

“Thank you.” Will said, giving him a half smile. Then he turned and started to make his way to Halt’s apartment. He had taken more time than he meant to in the stables, but Will had been trained to make sure that he always took care of Tug. And if this wasn’t a life threatening emergency, which Will still wasn’t completely convinced it wasn’t, then Halt would be irritated if he had learned that Will had neglected Tug due to his paranoia.

When Will arrived in front of Halt and Pauline’s door, he had a list of horrible possibilities running through his mind. After taking a breath to steady himself, Will knocked firmly. Lady Pauline opened it, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Will, what a pleasant surprise, please come in.”

Will furrowed his eyebrows, “Surprise? Halt asked me to come. Did he not mention it to you?”

Pauline opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say anything, Halt stepped into the room and said, “No I did not.”

Will and Pauline both turned to look at him. Seeing that Halt was unharmed and didn’t seem to be in any distress, the tension in Will’s shoulders left and he relaxed.

“What do you need from me Halt?” Will asked, the worry that had been occupying his mind being replaced with curiosity.

Halt glanced at his wife, “Perhaps it would be better to discuss this in the study.”

“Why, is it about a mission? I didn’t hear anything from Crowley.” Will said.

“No, this isn’t Ranger business.” Halt trailed off.

“Oh good lord! Halt, is this about the dog?” Pauline exclaimed.

Will perked up, “Dog? What dog? Is there a dog?” He started looking around, as if he expected to suddenly see a dog on the floor that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Now look what you’ve done Pauline, he’s all worked up.” Halt sighed.

“I can’t believe that you made him come over in such a rush for this.” Pauline said, an exasperated look on her face.

“I didn’t make him do anything. He just respects me so much that he felt the need to hurry.”

Will stopped his search for the dog that Pauline mentioned to say, “You told me to come as soon as possible. I thought you were dying.”

“Well now you are just being dramatic.” Halt grumbled.

“So what is it then that you need my help with?” Will asked.

“I have a... situation that I need your advice on.”

“And there is a dog involved?” Will prodded, hoping the answer was yes.

“The dog is the situation. There’s this stray that won’t leave me alone. I need you to tell me how to get rid of it. You’re good with dogs.”

Will tried not to laugh. Apparently he’s not very successful because Halt says, “It’s not funny. I can’t walk outside without it following me. Every time I think I’m in the clear, it shows up behind me. The thing is a better tracker than half the ranger’s I know.” Halt’s face was dead serious, which made the whole thing even funnier to Will.

“I don’t really see the issue Halt. The dog likes you. You should be happy.”

“It’s a nuisance. I’ll prove it to you.” Halt walks out the door and Will follows him. They make it barely three steps outside before they hear a small yip. Will and Halt both turn around to see a small, black and tan terrier behind them, shaking slightly in the cold but happily wagging it’s little tail none the less.

Halt gestures to the dog, “Now you see what I’m talking about! It a little terror.”

Will crouches down and lets the shaggy dog sniff his hand. Immediately the dog rolls down on to it’s back and Will starts rubbing it’s belly.

“Oh I see it Halt. He’s clearly a monster. How have you managed to survive all this?” Will says sarcastically. Halt only rolls his eyes in response.

Will looks up at Halt, “Seriously though, why is this dog such a problem for you?”

“It’s small and annoying, two things you have in common with it.”

Will just stares up at Halt, his head now tilted slightly to the side. The dog sits up and Halt has a sudden realization. Will and the dog have the exact same expression on their faces. Heads both tilted to the right, big brown eyes looking up at him. Halt sighed, he’d never be able to not see the similarities now.

“You know Halt,” Will said as he stood, “if the dog wants to be with you so much, maybe you should just take him home with you. After all, you are pretty good with orphans.” Will had a soft smile on his face and it occurs to Halt that he never should have let Will see the dog because there was no way he would let Halt do anything other than bring it back to the apartment.

“Absolutely not. I’ve done my time with raising small, excitable things. At least you and Gilan were somewhat house trained.”

Will bends down and scoops the dog into his arms. “Maybe you’re right Halt. You are getting on in years. You probably don’t have the energy to care for him. After all, you are practically retired and a dog would just interrupt all of those midday naps.”

Halt narrowed his eyes. It was a trap. Halt knew it was a trap. He shouldn’t let himself be manipulated by his former apprentice. “I have plenty of energy. I could raise twenty dogs if I wanted too.” So much for not being manipulated.

Will grinned widely and Halt knew that he had lost. “Well then, this one little dog won’t be any problem, will it?”

Halt sighed and closed his eyes. Realistically he knew that if he truly didn’t want the dog, Will couldn’t force him to keep it. But there was a small (or not so small) part of him that missed having someone to take care of. Pauline was wonderful, but she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. This little scrap of a dog reminded Halt so much of Will when they first met, too small and too alone to be able to be left behind.

“Only if Pauline says it’s okay.”

(Pauline, of course, said yes. She knew that there was no way Will would let Halt come home without the dog. She even set up a basket with a couple old blankets next to Halt’s favorite chair as soon as they had left.)

#ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #will treaty #halt o'carrick #lady Pauline #ranger’s apprentice fanfiction #ra fanfic #message me for a photo of the dog #he’s adorable #fanfiction friday