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gatheredfates · 18 days

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SEA'S COMMUNITY COMPENDIUM UPDATE

We have a massive one today! Huge thanks to a close friend of mine who sent me every single bookmark of xiv resources she had. 💖

Additionally, a good handful of these resources were sourced from a list originally created by @rinhkitty, which you can find here. I have tried to include the more recent/active of the lot, so it's not a one-for-one. Thank them for a lot of the large scale resources you'll find below! ✨

As of 04/12, I have added the following resources (in no particular order) to Sea's Community Compendium for FFXIV Creatives:

LARGE SCALE

GARLAND TOOLS — Contains XIV resources such as Garland Data, everything database, crafting lists and equipment calculators; Garland Bell, gathering timers, collectable resources and hunt windows; and FFXIV Fisher, daily fishing windows, bait paths and catch checklist. Maintained by Clorifex Ezalor of Zalera.

TEAMCRAFT — Create crafting lists and collaborate with others, set gathering alarms, simulate crafting rotations, and more!

CAT BECAME HUNGRY - FFXIV ANGLER — Contains everything and anything to know about fishing including specific fish guides, location, baits, aquarium fish and more!

FFXIV - CRAFTING AS A SERVICE — Crafting information and planning for FFXIV!

FFXIV GARDENING — The FFXIV Gardening Database is a collection of everything related to gardening in Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn. It was created to organize and visualize the results obtained from crossbreeding.

SIGHTSEEING LOG HELPER — This tool will help those trying to complete their pesky Sightseeing Log by letting them know upcoming weather patterns for each zone!

EUREKA TRACKER — For everything and anything to do with Eureka mobs, tracking and weather patterns.

FFLOGOS — for tracking of items/actions related to Eureka.

FFXIVSQUADRON — A comprehensive tool that helps you assess the success rate of various squadron missions.

FFXIV CHOCOBO COLOUR CALCULATOR — Will calculate what chocobo feed you will need to get from your current colour to your desired colour. *rng not included.

FFXIV HOUSING — A site specialising in the documentation of all housing items available in game.

HOUSING SNAP — A compilation of player-made housing designs. Can be used for inspiration or places to visit!

MISC

NPC CHAT BUBBLES — Would you like more NPC chat bubbles for edits? Say no more! Created by @alexoisxiv.

OLD TUMBLR LAYOUT BY PIXIEL — While not XIV specific I know a lot of people aren't fans of the new Tumblr layout, so this is a fix that will revert it to an as close as possible approximation of the new one. I won't tag the creator as I don't think they're in the xiv community, but it's run by @/pixiel!

HOW TO CURSE LIKE AN ISHGARDIAN — Do you want to make the church blush? Do you want to incur the wrath of Halone? @stars-and-clouds has compiled a list of appropriate curses/swear words for you!

FINAL FANTASY XIV SIDEQUEST GUIDE - HEAVENSWARD EDITION — maintained by @chatty-moogle, this guide explores interesting sidequests in Heavensward that will give you more information about the lore, titbits about locals and other interesting information!

TRUST BANNERS FOR XIV — If you have ever wondered how people mimic the Trust banners used in XIV, look no further! @locke-rinannis has a template for you.

MAKING USE OF RECOMMENDATIONS — created by @autumnslance, this guide will help you make your recommendations tab useful rather than annoying.

BOTANICA EORZEA — A guide to the flora of Eitherys and her reflections, including fungi and seedkin. For reference in writing and roleplaying. Maintained by @tinolqa.

GPOSE TIPS — A tutorial on how to achieve clarity and detail in your XIV screenshots! Created by @aryalaenkha.

UI MACRO MENUS — A guide on how to use macros to create small UI menus for XIV. Written by @diskwrite-ffxiv.

TYPHON GATE RESEARCH — Created by @mcstronghuge, these are the statistically best places for your character to stand for the Typhon Gate!

CHANGELOG

HYDAELYN HEALTH HAVEN has been removed at the request of the owner.

Moved THE BALANCE higher on the list to reflect alphabetical sorting, excluding names that start with The.

Misc formatting as needed.

Added some additional clarification around large-scale discords/spaces; in particular: Large-scale community discords such as the XIV Reddit Discord, Hunts, GPOSE promotions and broad-space roleplay servers that harbour a large number of people and are publicly available to all. These may not have an RP focus but will assist in other aspects of the game. Also includes well-known tools/resources that are utilised by large groups of people and assist in gameplay elements.

Added a quick-jump menu to the bottom of each of the table of contents menus to assist in navigation.

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here, send me an ask with the relevant information contained on the Compendium, or join my Discord at SEAFLOOR (21+ only)!

I am sure there's probably a couple of things I have missed or links/formatting that might be broken. Please don't hesitate to let me know if anything is out of place. I'm going to take a break now. I'm pretty sure that's the biggest edit that's ever going to occur on this document!

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #crystal rp #crystal roleplay #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea's community compendium #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea speaks

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shyravenns · 9 months

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141 Barn Cats AU

Thinking about an AU where Laswell is an unwilling participant in the cat distribution system, and the rest of 141 are just stray cats that she can't get rid of.

There's Bear who's name was appropriately given by Laswell's darling wife (much to her silent aggravation). He was the first cat who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and settled in as if he were the one paying mortgage. A great big, fluffy creature with faint scars littering his body and small nick in his ear that tells Laswell that he's as much as a soldier as she is. Amber eyes calmly staring back at her from his perch on their counter, as she startles at the sight of him in the morning, already a self made king in the home that she shares her with her wife. A small twitch to his whiskers, and she can tell (though she'd rather be tortured than say this out loud) that he's rather amused by her startled yelp. Her wife adores him given by the simple brown collar she managed to get around his neck, and Laswell knows it's rather embarrassing to be resentful of a cat when said cat strangely prefers Laswell's lap to sit on. Laswell's never been an animal lover, and cats are as much of an enigma to her as lions or tigers, but she's grown attached to the big brown cat with amber eyes that naps on her desk and purrs when she looks at him.

One cat is enough. One cat is supposed to be enough.

And then comes Ghost. A great big black cat that makes her hesitate and wonder if he's really a cat and not some sort of unknown species of feline given his size. A great big, black cat that watches her with a stillness that reminds her a little tiger. Seemingly even more scarred as Bear is, and she wonders just briefly how tough it must be to be a stray cat. A guest who Bear had seemingly brought to them. disappearing for a few days as he often does as they live in a great stretch of land that she inherited, and appearing almost out of the blue on their front porch with a cat that almost seems to fidget given the anxious twists of it's tail as Laswell stares and her wife coos at them. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and glares down at Bear as she widens her door just a bit and allows both cats to stalk inside and begins to wonder if they're even cats in the first place and not some cosmic punishment sent to fuck with her. Ghost doesn't interact much with them save for the occasional pat on the head, and allowing them to get close enough to slip a simple black collar on him. Laswell, knowing not to say anything, when he wife orders a collar with a skull design. Often spending his time prowling after Bear, or hesitantly allowing her wife to get near him while he sits on the window sill, and watches the world outside.

Two cats is more than enough, and she always gives a little sigh before adding kitty litter to her basket.

Bear and Ghost are enough. They're calm, quiet, and independent enough for Laswell to focus on other things.

Until it's 1am, and the yowling of a cat (that she knows isn't one of hers) drags her out of a sleep so blissful she'd cry if she weren't so annoyed. Soap is the name her wife gives him (and pouts when Laswell stares at her in disbelief), as they stumble downstairs to see their unwelcome visitor shaking off the excess bubbles off of his coat as he crawls out from the kitchen sink. Laswell isn't done mouthing "what the fuck" before her wife laughs, and grabs the spare towel on the counter in order to help him dry off. Ignoring the open window above the sink where they assumed he managed to sneak in. Soap is,,,everything a cat should not be in Laswell's rather unprofessional opinion, and reminds her of a dog more often than not. Energetic and noticeable as he makes their house his home within a matter of hours. Making fast friends with Bear, and oddly enough seeming to prefer the company of Ghost. It's not uncommon for her to catch them on the same window sill in the evening or grooming each other much to her own silent delight. He's a nuisance in her opinion, but a very welcome one (and her favorite, but she'd never say that out loud)

And just when she thinks that three is enough there is, of course, another expected unexpected guest.

She's not surprised in the slightest when she wakes up and spies the lean brown cat watching her as he sits beside Bear, Soap, and Ghost as if he's always been there (It's an interesting feeling to wonder if she's been gaslit by a cat) with a slight tilt to his head as if she's the one who shouldn't be here. She doesn't say much to her wife as they both give each other a tired yet amused glance towards one another and watch as he curls his tail around his paws and purrs when begin to take out another bowl. Gaz, they name his together, when gives a small chirp at the tv at the sound of the nickname. He's not as energetic as Soap (thank GOD), but he manages to worm himself into her wife's heart pretty quickly in a way that tells her that he won't be going anywhere anytime soon. He has a liking towards Bear, who often lets him nap beside him on the couch in her office. And appears to have made fast friends with Soap and Ghost as she catches all three of them curled up in the kitchen underneath a sunbeam.

They're good cats, all of them. She doesn't *quite* know where the hell they all came from, but it's hard to really want to know when she gets to fall asleep to the sound of purrs and her wife's gentle snores.

#call of duty #call of duty mwfii #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #implied ghostsoap #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty modern warfare #kate laswell #laswell's wife #aka ME #mywriting #im a work so you know it's time to get paid to slack off and write #laswell and all four of the little kitty squatters #i might draw this lmao #also implied gazprice

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sluttywoozi · 2 years

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Buy A Boyfriend || chs x reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: 4kish

Content Notes: voice kink, male masturbation, swearing, he is a virtual boyfriend for money, the texts will probs look like ass on mobile, gender neutral reader, reader has cats and I borrowed @sluttywonwoo 's cats bc im their aunt and I love them (sorry if u have your own, please imagine them 😭), they dont have sex (in this part) my bad, reader is a stem major bc I live to project, I think that’s it pls let me know if I missed anything!!

Vernon’s username: bandsboyvern

Reader’s username: allthoughtsheadfull

Vernon sighs as he opens up SVTHub, knowing he has at least three messages that ask, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

His answer will, of course, be “Yes and I would make you a cute little worm house in a jar and take you with me everywhere,” when he really wants to say, ”No I wouldn’t, because I don't know you at all and worms have a very short life expectancy.”

But this is the life he’s created for himself; getting paid to act like a boyfriend comes with answering cliche boyfriend questions. He’s scrolling through messages, answering good morning and goodnight texts with an appropriate selfie, when one message catches his eye, or actually, wow, 5 messages, all from one person.

Vernon tilts his head, considering how to answer. It’s a bit weird that you sought out a pretend boyfriend to tell these things to but he can’t say the messages aren’t more entertaining than the usual ones. And, honestly, snails are effervescent.

Vernon answers some messages from other users; badbitchesrus is having friend group drama again and he’s dying to tell her, “you’re the problem,” but a boyfriend wouldn’t say that so he just agrees, saying, “you’re so right, Jen did copy ur fit last night but u did it better baby.” He replies to a few selfies with paragraphs of fire and heart eye emojis, and sends out a couple ‘hope ur day gets better babygirl’s.

Clicking out of the app, Vernon tries to force himself to focus on studying. He’s got a music theory quiz this week and a sound design exam next week and he’s not prepared for either. His fingers tap out a rhythm on his knee as he runs over scales in his head, swearing to himself after missing the last sharp in B major for the fourth time. He’s about to pull out his keyboard for manual practice when his phone dings with a message, the tone telling him it's SVTHub. His head hits the back of his chair, hoping beyond hope it’s not another worm message, and he smiles in surprise when he sees it’s from you.

thought 5: legally blonde is peak cinema and has something for everyone so whyyyy is it universally disliked

Vernon tilts his head, realizing that even though he’d never seen Legally Blonde, he did dislike it for some reason. Huh.

His phone goes off again, another thought from you.

thought 6: why did stephanie name it twilight and then have bella meet edward in the daytime

He hasn’t seen Twilight either but, honestly, you bring up a good point. Why name it a certain time of day and then not have them meet at that time?

Happy to be distracted, Vernon settles in to ask you some questions and hopefully get some movie recommendations.

Before Vernon can respond, he gets another message, from bbygrill99 this time. She’s requesting an ab pic, her third this week, and he wonders why she’s so obsessed with his abs when his ass is great too, but complies nonetheless. Lifting his shirt, he tenses his abdominals and tilts his phone to get the perfect angle, his bottom lip just barely in frame and his gray sweats sitting low on his hips. He’s been trying to drink more water because apparently you need it to survive, so his abs aren’t as defined as usual and he hopes she doesn’t say anything. He sends the picture out with a kiss emoji and saves it to his folder of lewds, hoping he’ll be able to reuse it.

He’s very intrigued by the idea of threats to increase productivity, and asks you more questions. This turns out to be counterproductive as it leads to a whole conversation that makes him laugh all the way through, and consequently, he doesn’t get any more work done.

It’s almost time for his weekly goodnight stream, and Vernon’s still thinking about your last conversation. You’d lured him into a debate about living as a pigeon or living with pigeons, and he still wasn’t sure who’d won. You hadn’t sent him any new thoughts today, and even though you’d just become a subscriber last week, he’s missing you for some reason. He really enjoyed the randomness of your brain, and hearing what was going on in there throughout the day. It was a nice break from pretending to be the perfect boyfriend, and he got to respond like he wanted, not like he thought he should.

Starting the stream, he settles into bed and begins telling his patrons about his day, pausing at certain moments to let them respond to him. On their screens, it just looks like a personal facetime, and they get to pretend he’s talking to them and them alone. He tries not to frown when he realizes you haven’t joined, and hopes you will soon; you were the one person he actually wanted to say goodnight to.

You don’t join, and Vernon goes to bed sad and confused. Why were you paying for this if you weren’t going to use your membership to the fullest? His subscribers loved the introduction of goodnight streams, some are even asking for good morning streams too. You also hadn’t asked him for any pictures yet, even though everyone was allowed three per day. Maybe you just hadn’t read the membership benefits when you joined and didn’t know? He should probably ask, right? Just to be sure you’re getting your money’s worth.

Vernon gasps, staring down at his phone in awe.

A cat picture. You've sent him a cat picture. A picture of a cat. Your cat, presumably.

Vernon’s heart stutters, his eyebrows raising.

damn.

He sighs in disbelief before setting his jaw in determination and deciding the perfect combination and sequence of emojis to convey his true feelings.

Vernon puts the phone down for a moment as he remembers what you’d first said about your cats. One likes you too much and one doesn’t like you at all. He wonders which is which, they're both looking at you with such love.

He’s spinning in his desk chair, zoning out a little, when his eyes hit the open sound design program on his desktop.

Fuck, he has an exam tomorrow.

Vernon’s mouth stretches in a smile, his kicking feet sending him on a giddy spin in his chair. Putting his phone on Do Not Disturb, he forces himself to focus.

Vernon is sitting in his Audio Mastering Techniques class when you text him. He was already struggling to focus, fingers drumming on the table and leg bouncing under it, his neighbor sending a glare over every few minutes. He tries his best not to check, but you'd promised him your first thought and he wants to see what it is!

Glancing around surreptitiously, Vernon opens SVTHub with his phone under the table. You'd never sent him an explicit message before but there's a first time for everything (Vernon hopes).

Vernon looks up organic chemistry practice problems but sees ‘Stereospecificity in Addition Reactions’ and ‘Electrophilic Addition Reactions to Conjugated Dienes’ and immediately begins shaking his head, exiting out of the browser and texting you again.

Vernon’s heart starts racing as he reads your text. You want to call him. You want to speak words and you want him to listen and respond and then you’ll respond to his words.

Cool.

Vernon’s sitting at his desk, spinning around as the phone rings and rain pangs against the window.

“Hey! Sorry,” you sound out of breath, “it’s monsooning and i couldn’t text and hold the umbrella and keep my laptop out of the rain at the same time.”

“It’s okay, no worries. How’d the exam go? Did you cry?” He asks, only slightly worried.

“It went well, I think! I did cry but just a little and I didn’t get it on the exam paper this time, thank goodness.”

You tell him more about the exam and he just listens, absorbing your voice and tone and cadence. He wants to record you, wishes he could listen to you all the time, your voice is so entrancing.

“Did you have your midterm yet?” You ask sweetly, sounding concerned.

This startles Vernon out of his trance and he has to ask himself if he has taken his midterm yet today, and sighs in relief when he realizes he has a few hours left to go.

“Nah, it’s not till later so i’m just studying and vibing.”

Vernon chats more with you, trying to imagine what you look like and wishing patrons had a profile picture like he does, before he realizes it’s been an hour and he should get focused. Promising to call you after his exam and wishing he could just take you with him in his pocket, he hangs up.

Vernon does call you after his exam, and he calls you the next day too, and the next. It’s easier than ever for him to respond to messages, romantic words flowing and streams getting more and more popular. He just pretends he’s talking to you and it always works. You haven’t joined one of his streams yet but he’s holding out hope, and secretly wishing that you’d request a private videocall. You still haven’t asked for any selfies but he finds himself sending them anyway, hoping someday you’ll send one back.

He’s getting ready for his bedtime stream when he starts thinking about your last phone call, just a few hours ago. You’d just woken up from a nap, sounding all raspy and sleepy and cute, and he tried to picture your face, cheek lined with pillow creases. He doesn’t remember what you’d talked about because he couldn’t focus on anything but your voice, soft and sweet in his ear. He pictures you, laying in bed next to him, your head on his chest or his on yours, your legs tangled up with his own. He can’t help but imagine your fingers trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, running up and down his chest, and his own fingers start to follow.

Vernon thinks about your fingers moving lower, running along his waistband and dipping beneath. But you’re a tease, and they slip out and over the fabric of his sweats, pressing down where he’s starting to grow hard. He rubs his palm over his dick, squeezing harder the closer he gets to the head, imagining your giggle when his hips buck up. His phone goes off, startling him out of his fantasy and reminding him he has a stream to start.

He hasn’t done one like this in a while but the tips are always insane and he really wants to buy the lego set you told him you did the other day, so he shrugs and presses the red record button on his phone.

“Hey baby, it's so good to see you. How are you?” Vernon pauses to let his viewers answer, thinking about how you’d respond.

“I had a busy day, midterms finished last week but I have a project due soon and I haven’t made a lot of progress on it,” he hears you scold him in his head, telling him to get a move on.

“But I’m really tired, and i just wanna relax. Think you could help me?” Vernon asks, setting his phone down to pull off his shirt, missing the little notification popping up to say you’d joined. He smiles softly into the camera as he picks it back up, sliding on the bed to rest his head on the pillows. He pans the camera down to show his abs, running his fingers down his chest to settle at his waistband, pretending they’re yours. The tips start rolling in and he mutes his phone, the dinging sound beginning to annoy him.

Vernon tries to find that fantasy again, the one where you��re in bed with him and touching him and talking to him, and slips his hand into his sweats, fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He sighs, pulling his dick out and rubbing his palm over the head, his hips jerking at the friction. Leaning over to dig around his bedside table for some lube, Vernon wonders what you’re doing right now. He opens the cap and dribbles some onto his length, smearing it around with his hand. It’s chilly but he just tells himself your hand is cold, and starts squeezing his cock, pulling a little when he gets to the head. A punched out moan leaves his chest, lube warming up and dick getting harder.

It feels better than usual for some reason, but Vernon isn’t willing to think about why at the moment, and keeps jerking his cock. He’s panting a bit now, staring into the camera with half-lidded eyes and lip bitten between his teeth, feeling his abs tense with every pull. Closing his eyes so he can picture your hand moving on him, he tilts his head back into the pillow, wishing he could moan your name.

The heat is starting to rise in his stomach, his hips bucking into the movements of his hand, and he knows he’s getting close. He really is tired so he doesn’t try to draw it out, just squeezes at the head harder and tries not to whine at the pressure. He thinks about your hands on him, god, your mouth on him, and imagines your voice telling him to cum.

Vernon almost drops the phone on his chest with the force of his orgasm, trying to decide if he should turn the camera to show the cum shooting out of his cock and pooling in the ridges of his abs. He leaves it facing him instead, knowing his face is screwed up in pleasure and his moans are echoing throughout the room. Staring at the ceiling, Vernon tries to catch his breath and wonders why he just came so hard. He can feel his eyelids drooping, mind going hazy with sleep and oxytocin, and blows a kiss into the camera, saying goodnight.

You haven’t texted him in a week.

Vernon’s messaged you, selfies and thoughts and questions, but you haven't responded. He even checked your profile, just to make sure you hadn’t canceled your membership. He doesn’t know what to do; you’ve only been a subscriber for a couple months and you’ve only been gone a week, but he misses you. He misses waking up to a random philosophical question from you, or a picture of your latest A, or a video of your cats play(?) fighting.

But Vernon also doesn’t want to bother you, or overwhelm you, so he’s cooled it down a bit. He only texted you once yesterday, and he hasn’t texted you at all today. He just wishes he knew you’re okay, that nothing bad has happened to you, that you’ll come back. He knows now that being a pretend boyfriend is no fun if you don’t have someone whose boyfriend you want to be.

For now, he’ll just keep checking his phone and hoping to see a message from you.

Vernon's knee bounces, jaw clenching as he listens to the phone ring, waiting for you to pick up. He can't wait to hear your voice, it hasn't even been two weeks but that's more than long enough for him. You just soothe him, quiet his brain and still his hands. He's not sure if it's how gently you speak, or how your voice feels like a soft, warm blanket right out of the dryer, or how your words slide over him like silk, but he's missed you and as soon as you pick up and say hello, it's like his entire body relaxes.

He chats with you a bit, catching up on your classes and telling you about the work he's done for his project (little to none), letting you scold him for having done no work on his project and enjoying it.

The conversation draws to a natural conclusion, both of you having exhausted every possible topic in an effort to avoid the reason for the call. Vernon takes a deep breath and tries to steel himself; he's never been good with uncomfortable situations or feelings talk but he's willing to try, for you.

"So, you thought this was like a... pen pal situation? Didn't you have to put in your ID to prove you're over 18?"

"Well, yes, but I thought it was just so we could talk about adult topics, not because it's porn!"

Vernon blanches, he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was basically a porn star and he's not sure how he feels about it. He's not ashamed, sex is normal and human and he needs to make money somehow, but he does wonder how much longer he'll want to keep doing this. It's not easy to act like a boyfriend to so many people at once when he knows there's only one person he wants. And he does know it now, he wants you.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? That I do this?" Vernon worries, knowing he doesn't want to stop but also knowing he doesn't want to lose you.

"No, I mean, a job is a job and you get to make your own schedule and devote all your focus to school. It seems like a great gig, and you're good at it obviously..." You trail off, sounding sad for some reason. He hasn't heard you like this before, your voice a bit thready and foggy, like you're suppressing tears.

"What's wrong?" Vernon asks urgently, becoming more and more concerned with every sniffle that escapes you.

You stay silent for a while, Vernon tries to be patient but he can hear your breath catching, and he's about to start crying too just so you don't cry alone. He breathes out your name, hoping you'll respond.

"Ugh, I just-" you stop yourself, sounding... embarrassed?

"I..." you take what sounds like a very deep breath, and Vernon feels like he's at the edge of a cliff, just waiting to jump.

"I like you! I like when you call me babe and flirt with me and call me and I liked the face you made when you came and I liked how you sounded and then I wanted to make you sound like that! But this is your literal job, acting like a boyfriend, and I didn't know that so I let myself have a crush on you not knowing that it was all fake!"

It takes Vernon a second to process what you said, you'd said it all in one breath and spoken so fast, your voice shaking with the cutest mix of nerves and annoyance.

"Nononononononono!!! It wasn't fake! It was fake with everyone else but never with you," Vernon spits out in a rush, desperate to make you understand. He's pacing in his room now, phone pressed to his ear, arms crossed and fingers taptaptapping at his elbow. He wonders what he can say to make you believe him, to make sure you know that you've always been different, been special, to him.

"I look forward to your thoughts every day. Whenever you text me, I literally kick my feet like a little kid. Every time I streamed - they're not all like that, by the way - I couldn't stop checking to see if you'd joined. Patrons can only ask for three selfies a day, I send you like five, unprompted-" he could go on, but you interrupt him with a call of his name. He's not sure he's heard it on your lips before, but it does something to him. Something that's very inconvenient for him to deal with now, during this very emotional conversation. He's tempted to send you a picture, maybe that will convince you.

"Vernon," you call again, bringing his focus back to your voice and away from what your voice was doing to him.

"So, what are you saying?" you continue, starting to sound a bit less sad and a bit more like yourself.

"I'm saying I want to be your actual boyfriend, and not for money, so you'll have to cancel your membership, sorry."

There's silence for a few beats; Vernon feels himself teetering on the cliff again as he waits for your response.

"I mean- is that... allowed?" You seem unsure, sounding slightly hopeful but a bit apprehensive still. He wishes he could see your face, wishes he knew what you look like at all (knowing would definitely help at nighttime or in the shower or when he wakes up for ... reasons). He shakes his head to bring himself back to the conversation before you notice that his mind had wandered.

"Yea, I mean, my friend does cam shows with his partner and another friend of mine found out his roommate was watching his shows and now they fuck everyday! That could be us!" Vernon tries to reassure you, hoping you're willing to at least try.

"Ummmmm I don't know about that just yet but we could try... dating, I guess? It may be difficult just online but I like you and you say you like me so, why not?"

Vernon thinks that if he jumped out of his window right now, he just might fly. He won't because he's not trying to die now that you're letting him be your boyfriend, but the feeling is there.

"Yes! I do like you, I like you a lot. I like you so much. Please date me." He knows he's practically begging at this point, but he doesn't care. Vernon's willing to beg, on his knees if he needs to, if it means he can be your boyfriend for real.

"Okay! Okay," you giggle, a bit muffled as if you're covering your mouth. "I'll date you if you date me?"

Vernon can't contain his grin, spinning in circles around his room even though he's already dizzy.

"Deal."

Vernon squints, sitting in his 9 am and staring down at the purple pen in his hand, the one he’d found sitting on the desk when he came in.

There’s no way though, right?

Right?

Vernon tries not to freak out as he looks under the desk to find a water bottle. One with your name on it.

Vernon has a choice to make. He could sit here, try to focus on class, while he thinks about you somewhere on campus, struggling through an exam and dehydrated and sad. Or …

Not on my watch, Vernon thinks, shooting up from the desk and grabbing his stuff and yours. He’s jogging across campus before he knows it, dodging frisbees and dogs on the green, weaving through hammocks and hopping over sleeping students. He’s not sure what lecture hall you’re in but he knows the chemistry building, and if he books it, he’s sure he can make it.

He’s speedwalking down the hall, peeking in windows and listening at doors, trying to find your class. His eyes catch a paper taped to a door, warning, “EXAM AT 915. DO NOT DISTURB.”

He could jump in glee but, glancing at his phone and seeing that it’s 9:10, he knows he doesn’t have time.

Vernon’s hoping, praying you’ll listen to him when the door opens a smidge, and the most beautiful face he’s ever seen peeks through. It's like heaven’s light is shining down on him, he thinks he can hear angels, and is that wind? Blowing through his hair?

Staring back at him, your eyes shoot open in disbelief, before landing on your pen and water bottle in his hands. You squeal, bouncing in your shoes and throwing your arms around his neck. He breathes you in, reeling at the weight of your body against his, and you pull back before he can return your embrace. Vernon misses you instantly but he knows you have to go be a genius so, handing you the water and pen, he accepts a kiss on the cheek and watches you leave.

Hiiii!! Would love to know your thoughts, whether they come in a like, reblog, comment, or ask! Please feel free to come talk to me i will cry and smile all day!! Planning a pt 2 for this but i'm hoping to get pt 2 of like a cowboy out first!

Part 2

And check out the rest of SVTHub! A good few fics are out and you’ll still have something to look forward to as more will be posted over the next few weeks ☺️

I am so grateful to @sapphichui for trusting me with this and I’ve had such a great time collaborating with and getting to know other awesome authors on here!

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Collab Masterlist

#seventeen #svthub.collab #svthub #✨emily writes✨#vernon x reader #chwe hansol #chwe hansol x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt fluff #svt smut #any greendalians here 👀#kpop smut #kpop fluff #camboy!svt #camboy au #hansol x reader

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momotonescreaming · 8 months

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where the heart is

Rating: T | WC: 11K | Steve/Eddie For everyone who's followed my wip weekends, the wip once known as 'steddie dream house' has now been finished. Hope you enjoy!

“If you could build your dream house, what would it look like?” Eddie said, voice muffled from where it was pressed into the cushions of the Munson’s worn (but incredibly comfortable) couch. He had stretched over the whole thing like a lazy cat in a patch of sun; arm dangling off the side, hand loosely gripping the remote, feet resting in Steve’s lap. They had spent the whole afternoon like this, lazily wasting away time in Eddie’s trailer, enjoying each other’s company and doing not much at all.

Steve looked up from the magazine he had been absently flicking through to glance over at Eddie, to find he had stopped aimlessly flicking through channels and landed on some home renovation show. The volume was down low, but Steve could some blonde couple talking to some stocky builder type, discussing the 70’s conversation pit in some house they were looking to renovate.

“Why’d you ask?” Steve replied, putting down his magazine and resting his wrists on Eddie’s ankles, not bothering to keep place in the magazine he had been flicking through. He hadn’t really been paying all that much attention to it. “Finally planning on spending all that Government hush money?”

“Oh you know it, Sunshine,” Eddie said, smiling over at him and bringing his arm up so he could rest his head on his hand. “All that talk about conformity and oppression was all total lies. I love secret agents, shady Government agencies trying to pay me off, and I go to sleep every night dreaming about sucking Reagan’s dick.”

“Well we all know how much you love Reagan.” Steve snorted, slowly rubbing circles with his thumb on the patch of bare skin between Eddie’s sweats and his socked feet. “Seriously though, what bought this on?”

“This show has reruns on all the time. And there’s always a couple, or a family, or someone looking to build their ‘dream home’.” Eddie says softly, gesturing at the screen with the remote still in his hand. He looks over at the TV, and then back at Steve. “And it makes me think about your parent’s posh nightmare of a house. With it’s unused three car garage, big empty living room, and bedrooms with the ugliest plaid wallpaper I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey,” Steve protests, not really meaning it.

“And I just,” Eddie starts up again. “I wonder what your house would look like if you actually got to choose what was in it.”

Steve goes quiet. It wasn’t something he let himself think about with too much effort - his parents house - because his mother would have a conniption if he even suggested changing anything. All the furniture was carefully chosen from the latest collections, taken from catalogues and various interior designers she loved to talk about. There was a painting in the living room that was worth more than his car.

His own room wasn’t even safe. All of his things that his father deemed ‘inappropriate’ or his mother said ‘clashed with the design’ were tucked away in drawers, and boxes under his bed. Carefully hidden in the back of his closet. His father nodded approvingly when Steve displayed all his awards and medals, the baseball he got signed when he went to a Cubs game when he was a kid, a book about basketball he had never read. The ‘appropriate’ things’. His mother would just barge into his room in a whirlwind of perfume and designer clothes, and announce she had bought a lamp or a vase he was to display in his room.

Everything was decided for him. Harrington’s deserved the best, and they wouldn’t stoop for anything less.

Read on AO3

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/ eddie munson #My Writing #It's finally done!!!#it doesnt feel real!!!!#aaaaaAAAAAAA!!!!

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papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 5, Royally Caught

While tied down in a cartel interrogation room, König is forced to his mental breaking point when a certain sniper makes an appearance. Is she a rat, or here to chew him free...?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, graphic mentions of sex trafficking victims, abusive language, mentions of sexual violence.

Author's note: Please notice that warning have indeed changed for this chapter! Nothing happens in the story, but many hard themes come up as intrusive thoughts. Please be weary of these and feel no obligation in reading if doing so would make you uncomfortable!

Ahhh, well well well... it's finally here. Originally the concept of this chapter came from this YouTube Video as inspiration, specifically Labyrinth by OOMPH! And it sort of... wrote itself? The title is supposed to be a play on the phrase "Royally Fucked" because I did not feel like using a swear as a title. Anyways, you'll notice from my headcanons on König that I believe working as an insertions specialist for human trafficking seriously fucked him up. I also believe that he typically does not act out violently against women. So... what happens when he thinks Mouse is doing the very thing he hates so much? Well, you will have to see!

This chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, but the inspo was taken from the El Sin Nombre mission in MWii. Mouse is in the cartel house, undercover at a party and in an attempt to take out her target she saw an interesting video feed....

I must admit, this chapter has my favorite single or one off lines. I am really proud of it, please enjoy! But be warned, this is unabashedly horny/desperate/angsty/and the pining goes fucking nuclear. Have fun!

Also, if youre into the fake interrogation thing, then next chapter stays good for you, especially if you want mouse in the hot seat...

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀 PREV | Pt. 5, Royally Caught | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT (coming soon!)

König did not expect his Friday night to end up with him locked in a storage container turned jail cell in Mexico.

Yet here he is.

At some point while raiding the Cartel Mansion in Las Almas, or more appropriately, trying to open an exterior wall so that KorTac could raid it, he had been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The shot didn’t knock him out entirely, the dosage was probably not completely calibrated to his weight, but it was enough to slow his escape down. He got about two miles out before men in an armored Jeep jumped him.

And he woke up, here, about three hours ago.

Two hours ago he broke his thumbs in an effort to get out of his cuffs, but someone must’ve caught his plan because immediately afterward two masked cartel members came into his cell and stuck a syringe into his arm. When he awoke for the second time, there was a durable cord keeping his wrists together instead. Feeling around he could tell that the rope had been burned into itself, creating a lack of weak spots for him to abuse in escape efforts.

His legs were in a similar position, chorded down thick and heavy to the legs of the rusty metal chair he was in. He was still in most of his combat outfit, save his vest, weapons, and any tools he had on him when he was captured.

They’d kept the hood on his face and they hadn’t removed his helmet. This, to König, showed an extraordinarily eerie amount of understanding for his position within KorTac. None of his comrades would recognize him by his face, and judging by the multitude of cameras in the room, he was intended to be… recognizable.

At first, anyways.

This cell was, unfortunately, familiar to him. The layout of the cot, the chair, the metal table, the haphazardly soldered-in door and door frame, the holes drilled into the sides of the metal container, and even the rudimentary sink and toilet combo was something he’d become viscerally acquainted with.

This was a typical Al Qatala human trafficking cell, specifically designed so that multiple humans could be chained up in one space without sacrificing the capacity for good camera angles. Typically, these were set up in storage containers twice the size of this one, but he doesn’t really have any room to be complaining about getting put into a non-standard torture chamber.

His specialty was cracking these when he was with the Austrian Special Forces. His real calling in life, his one true hatred.

Fall on the sword you forge, he thinks. The understanding of what will become of him in short order is horrifying. He’s one of the few people on the face of the planet who’s seen this exact routine played out for other prisoners of war, usually at the behest of desperate governments seeking his expertise in getting their soldiers out of such dire confines. He wrote the book on what happens in these situations, when it happens, and where the person ends up.

They never end up alive. Prisoners of war are different from sex trafficking victims. In some terrible way, it’s almost better to be the prior because at least then you don’t have to live the rest of your life after what’s happened to you. Death is a shitty kind of freedom, but it’s freedom nonetheless.

Of his 86 consults, only seven were successfully rescued.

Two of those died in trauma surgery.

The last five had been in custody for less than 24 hours, he had personally rescued that group. To his knowledge, they’d all recovered decently well. Their mental health, however, could be a different story. Not like he was allowed to ask.

He’s going over every possible route of escape when he’s shocked out of his plans.

The door directly in front of him opens, and his dark cell erupts with sickeningly bright, white light. His eyes strain trying to adjust to the intrusion as he takes in the form.

A silhouette stands in front of him, all soft edges of black, arms braced on either side of the door frame. The backlighting gives the figure an almost angelic quality, a soft and fuzzy etherealness blends outlines and light. It’s the telltale curves of a woman, of soft thighs, of ample hips, of a woman’s bust. Little strands of fluorescence peek through a crown of hair on her head.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, meine majestät.” The cruel Angel hums, voice like forbidden fruit any man could be forgiven for falling for.

“Maus?” He calls out, desperate and confused and ready to shatter.

“Quiet as a.” She calls back, composed as if entrenched in amber and equally as unmoved by his predicament.

He’s always wanted to get his teeth around her pretty neck. He’s always desired to have his hands around her waist. He’s always hoped to be able to pound down into her quaking form. He’s been desperate to have her underneath him since their very first chance encounter. These feelings have been constant since he heard her beautiful voice, but suddenly they’re not the same.

Now he wants all those things, but instead of their motivation being love, it is bloodlust.

And intense bloodlust at that.

He’s never wanted to kill a woman, he finds it despicable that women more or less get turned into cattle during war. He’s sure that Freud would have something to say about his neurotic insistence on not harming the fairer sex even with his typical caliber of violence, but he’s never once cared to self-examine that. His entire military career, in fact, was dedicated to saving women and children from the horrors of a very male, very sexual world. Insertions specialist, yes, but specifically for human trafficking situations.

Looking into his wartime paramour's eyes, the intensity of hellfire overcomes him. His entire world crashes around him. He’s breathing in debris and dust as comes to the terrible conclusion that this entire time, it’s been her that has been perpetuating the injustice he so hates. That it’s been the thing he’s romanticized that’s been the fall of Rome. That it’s his savior that’s really been the perpetrator all along.

Perhaps the devil was once an angel, but to see his Angel for the demon she is? It breaks his heart into gory chunks of splintered bitterness and hacked arteries where once love pumped.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to kill a woman, never in his life he had loved a woman so completely either.

Those two ‘never’s die loudly and crudely in his chest as he recounts how to kill her most painfully in his own mind.

For her now obvious position perpetuating his most loathed evil? For tricking him into loving her? For both and neither? He doesn’t know. He’s about two seconds away from frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal that’ll break its bones escaping a trap. He’s got nothing in his brain, just white-hot anger from the tips of his combat boots to the tips of his ears.

Not even the outfit, or more appropriately the lack thereof, that she’s wearing can dissuade his anger. In any other circumstance, to see her in a black draped silk dress with hip-high slits on both sides and a full set of harness garters holding up sheer pantyhose would make him go feral. It would make him kneel, it would give him all the power to break out of these bindings on his own with no help and slam her down into the metal floor and have her right here. He has the desire to do all these things right now, but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s taking something out from beneath her left breast as he recounts every thought he’s ever had about her and how foolish they’ve all been. He thinks that the only consolation he may ever receive for this betrayal is if he can crush her windpipe in between his teeth.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” He remembers her saying to him in one of her flirtations during their secret radio romances.

The phrase echoes rough and screeching in his head as he thrashes against the metal chair and restraints. He doesn’t formulate any words, he can’t, she doesn’t even deserve them, as she takes the lighter and cigarette she’s produced from her brassiere to her mouth. Her expression is unconcerned when she takes the flip-top lighter (that has a fucking crown carved into it, the audacity, his teeth clench and voice roars at the implication she’s been planning this for a long time) and its little flicker of brimstone to the end of the cancer stick.

She takes a short drag and holds it between two perfectly manicured fingers. She’s gotten a little lipstick on the filter.

“You don’t smoke.” That is all he manages to spit out. The only thought he can think of. Nothing makes sense and he’s liable to maul her to death over it. Her tongue darts quickly and sinfully across the filter, her eyes never leaving his. She tosses her stare towards him playfully, her hips swing wide as she waltzes closer to him.

“No,” she says, as she takes another step towards him. Even in those ridiculously tall, faux leather heels meeting the tips of his combat boots, she doesn’t particularly dwarf his size. She's got the tips of her shoes to the tips of his, her stance is wide to accommodate the positioning. The edges of the stockings on her legs disrupt in wave-like patterns where they collide with the rough edges of his tac pants. He looks and thinks about how if his clothes were a little thinner he may be able to feel her warmth. He wonders just how long it would take her corpse to go ice cold, because she clearly does not deserve to be alive. He forces himself to look up at her and he thinks about clawing out her eyes.

“But you do.”

She reaches her hand towards his hood and strokes his cheek through the fabric. He snarls and snaps his head away from her, reeling from the touch he’s so deplorably yearned for. Her placid expression drops entirely as she sees his reaction.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that his perfect little Mouse looked heartbroken over his refusal of her blandishments.

He wants to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest for the sheer nerve to display that sort of emotiveness to him. That she acted like there was something there when there very clearly wasn’t. That she lied so thoroughly to him.

That she made him love her when now he can see she never loved him back.

She takes a shuddering breath in and makes a concerted effort to put her expression back into place, to impose some sort of divine rule back over her features. It’s strange to see her trying so hard when she’s obviously been such a good actor for so very long.

“I just need some information, darling. No need to be so skittish, I brought you creature comforts for your cooperation.” She purrs, flicking some ash from the cigarette. “I know you could use a smoke right now, handsome.”

The bile in his stomach flips at the pet names he would usually kill for. Pet names he’s never had until this moment. His two addictions lay in front of him, together, wrapped up in black silk, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to tear it all to shreds.

Her hand follows his cheek to where it’s escaped her grasp. He is powerless to stop her as she rolls up his mask.

To his surprise, she stops rolling it up just high enough to expose his mouth and leaves the bunched cloth on the bridge of his nose. He wants to scream at the tenderness of the action, she’s giving him as much of his well-loved privacy and solitude as she can while bringing him, an active prisoner of war, a fucking cigarette while wearing the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

The cruelty of it all had found the border of divinity and reality and ripped it open like C4 explodes plywood doors. There must be a God, and he must be in hell.

She gets dangerously close, close enough for him to bite, and her hand with the cigarette makes contact with his jaw. Her sharp, black, fake nails trail from close to his ear, down to his mouth at a tantalizingly languid pace. She bends down and puts her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear and he is about to actually bite her neck to kill-

“I’m trying to get you out. Play along.” She whispers and flips the cigarette into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

He feels the relief of nicotine in his lungs.

He closes his eyes.

He thinks about what she said.

He doesn’t quite believe her as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth before he has to fumble to exhale around it. Her thumb traces the outline of his thin, scarred lips. Her eyes bore into his from above.

She puts it back into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it out of his mouth and puts it into hers. She takes a shorter drag. He doesn’t miss the way that she keeps all the smoke in her cheeks, not actually smoking it at all. A little taste of non flavored-wax sticks to his mouth from the lipstick and he wonders if she can taste his mouth too…

The takes the lipstick-stained tube out of her lips, taps it clean, and puts it back into his.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it back out of his mouth and wipes at his lips with the pad of her thumb. His brain is too busy switching between wanting to bite her thumb off and wanting to suck on it like a dog for him to decide what to do before the obtrusive digit has been taken away.

“Sorry, big guy. Got some lipstick on you.”

She retreats from his form and goes to sit on the metal table slightly adjacent to the chair he’s strapped to. She puts the still-lit cigarette to rest in an ashtray next to her hip. She also puts the flip-top lighter down. On the bottom of the lighter, he sees some engraving, but he can’t make it out from how far away it is.

She crosses her legs on the edge of the table and the black silk she’s wearing all but flees off of the expanse of her now exposed thigh. She taps her fingers slowly on the metal, the pitter patter of plastic-press-on-nails on metal goes in time with his heartbeat.

“Who are you with?” She asks, and he laughs. She knows.

“Nein.” He responds. Is he refusing her, or this little game? He doesn’t know. She seems to understand, though, when she leans into his personal space and he has to fight the urge to look down her lack of dress and perfect tits-

“That’s no way to act after I got you a present, now is it?” She hums at the pulse point between utter cruelty and complete levity. He tests the restraints keeping his hands tied and sighs at the realization that they are still tighter than he can manage to worm out of effectively.

“I will not repeat what you already know.” He bites out.

“Clever boy,” she smiles and he can’t help but think and hope that maybe this cruel Angel is being genuine, maybe she really does want to get him out of here. He murders the hope in his brain the second he recognizes what it is. “So tell me, what were you doing here?”

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Her lips tense into a thin line and she looks down at her watch. She begins to swing the foot of her raised leg idly and-

She puts her foot onto the back of his chair right on his shoulder and oh my god her cunt is right next to my mou-

“Audio just cut out. I’m undercover here. Site goes dark for 2 minutes or less in 30 seconds. I’m going to pretend to interrogate you for a little while after we come back online to sell it. And then I’m out.” She warns, voice low and quick.

Once again, he has to fight every electric cell in his body to not lunge at her and rip her clothes to tatters (and maybe her, the jury’s still out on her trustworthiness) as he breathes in the smell of fresh nylons and her cunt like a fucking dog. Not making eye contact with her panties is also a losing game, and it’s one he seriously wishes he had decided against playing because it’s a sheer black lacy pair, because of course it is, and he can very nearly make out the curves of her sex through it.

“How do I know how to trust you?” He spits and blood flows out of his brain when he sees a tiny, minuscule amount of his saliva landing on her clothed cunt. He snaps his gaze back to her face. She looks rather smug and pleased with herself, he scolds his inner monologue when he dares to notice just how hungry her beautiful eyes look... He wants to wipe the smile off her face, through a kiss or through slicing it off with a knife, he’s not sure yet.

“You don’t.” She shrugs and somehow scoots even the littlest bit closer to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, if I was I’d have brought a little more stopping power.” Stopping power? What is she talking about? Her beautiful features soothe themselves into a giggle and Gott, she’s very pretty with eyeliner and lipstick on, the little vixen. I want to ruin it.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. Put your cheek against my thigh.” She laughs.

Even if it’s a trick, König decides that if he’s going to die anywhere, it might as well be in between Mouse’s thighs in mere milliseconds. The throbbing in his pants also suggests that he’s probably forgiven her by now as well. He leans his cheek and feels cool metal hit it. He whips his head to look and tucked into her garter is a sizable knife.

When he looks back to her eyes he notices dumbly that she must be able to tell how desperately he’s in love with her because she’s smiling something wicked down at him. Angels aren’t supposed to be cruel, but he’s forgiven anything and everything she’d ever done wrong in exchange for the expanse of her thigh and the promise of a knife.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” She says with a smile like absolution. His mind alights with a terrible test of faith for her, with a truly awful proving method to try her loyalty to his rescue. He turns his mouth to the knife, and instead of taking it in his teeth, he takes her flesh in his teeth.

She whimpers as he teeth attempt to gain purchase through the nylon of her stockings. He gnaws at them until he makes a little opening, and through it, he punches down his teeth until he’s sure he will leave a mark, but not draw blood.

“Does that include you, mein Mäuschen?” He purrs into her now-exposed flesh. He peers up at her and he revels in the shock on her face. She shudders at his words and attention and something worse than pride finds a home in his hollow but newly hopeful chest.

She doesn’t move her leg away and he hums in satisfaction at the gesture. Instead, she looks worryingly down at her watch.

“You have 1 minute. Take the knife, keep it in your mouth under your hood, and give me 30 minutes to get out of here before you escape.” She says instead of responding.

While realistically he knows that she doesn’t really have an option in leaving him, that it would be too dangerous to leave together, that they are still technically enemies even on neutral ground- he can’t help but be disappointed that his Angel intends on leaving without him. Even more so that she doesn’t seem to want to answer him when she made the rules in the first place.

“Why are you helping me?” He asks, hoping for some clarity, for some tell-tale sign that this isn’t some weird horny fever dream he’s made up in his own little hell, worried that she will drag him back down from heaven and reveal that this, too, was part of the ploy to destroy whatever of him remained.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.”

She says it without question but instead questions the motive. She says it like someone prays, like believing in the possibility of salvation but not quite sure how to get there. She says it like a guardian angel takes missions, unsure of her exact purpose but faithful in her understanding that there is one.

The deep cavern of his obsession temporarily closed and covered by the implication of her treachery, widens and deepens impossibly as he smiles into the knife on her thigh. It’s just a knife, but she believes in him enough to offer her only protection to him, and she believes that it is all he will need to make it back to her on the field.

He plucks the knife from her garter with his teeth. He tries to memorize her smell, her taste, the feel of her soft and plush skin on his cheek. It’s an intoxicating experience he isn’t quick to squander, but the implied hope that when not if he can get out of this she will be there waiting for him? That makes ending this warm-up worth it if it means he can get to the game and maybe, finally, win the prize.

She retracts her foot from his shoulder and lets down his hood from his face. She leans in terribly close and whispers, “After 20 yards, take your first left outside the second retaining wall. There’s only two guards there, it’s your best shot.” He hums in affirmation and adoration and she sits back into her position on the table. She looks at her watch and gives a curt nod: the game is back on.

She takes the cigarette back and draws the smoke into her cheeks and lets it flow out like a deadman’s soul floats to heaven, somehow rushed and languid all at once.

“We’ve been having quite the time trying to figure out your-“ he completely zones out whatever she’s saying in favor of watching the mark his mouth gifted her turn darker as the seconds draw on. It’s not like he could respond even if he wanted to, that would risk the knife she’s so lovingly gifted him into his lap and ruining the whole escape (and worse, endangering her.)

So, instead, he stares at her like the goddess she is. He burns the curve of her stomach between her hips behind his eyelids, he imagines resting his head there and kissing the smooth skin. He savors the way her ass flattens ever-so-slightly where it meets the metal table she’s sitting on, he thinks about holding her up by her ass alone and the plush yet firm give of her flesh. He drinks in the sight of her cleavage heaving when she emotes after a particularly loud question, he hopes what little he can’t see is the same type of perfect as the rest of it. Every once in a while he lets out a quiet huff around the blade in his mouth, in a vague response to something she’s said. Mouse gets “angry” in response, she even slaps him once or twice.

He doesn’t mind. It’s all a waiting game, after all.

König is many things, and a competitor is first and foremost.

If Mouse knows where he’s staring for the duration of their play date of an interrogation, she doesn’t mention anything. With one last stinging (and dizzying…) strike to the cheek, she all but yells “Fine! Let’s see if you’re so tough after 8 hours alone in this hell hole.”

When she turns to walk out of the door she came in, König feels a part of his heart leave with her. He breathes harshly over the outline of the metal in his teeth as he admires the confident sway of her hips. He bites harder on the metal when she tosses a sympathetic look back to him and blows a fucking kiss.

Sitting, alone in the dark of the converted storage container, he spends the most excruciating thirty minutes of his life occupied only with her phantom touch and his depraved fantasies.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.” Echoes in his head in time with his heartbeat, in time with his imaginary minstrations on her form, in time with what he is sure will be the death of him.

That and so much more, he thinks when he finally, finally, manages to rid himself of his binds with the knife his Engel so graciously snuck him, 27 minutes after she leaves when some cartel member comes to check up on him.

König loses himself in the beautiful catharsis of stabbing the man who comes to fetch him so violently, that the blade to the knife literally snaps off somewhere in his bowels. He loots the cadaver for his gun and ammunition as well as another knife. He feels awful to leave one of her gifts discarded in the abdomen of some filthy cretin of a man, but he recognizes he really does not have much of a say in the matter when he hears the footfalls of his fellow cartel members rushing towards his location.

With one last sigh and a wayward glance to assure himself that he really did get his mouth around her and this wasn’t some dream, he prays in the form of bullets as he guns down anyone stupid enough to get in his way to escape.

Be safe, my darling Maus. I will be back for you.

I promise.

taglist! @kneelingshadowsalomegshadowsalome @sprout-ficsout-fics @bucca2cca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyyy @haisebo @crowbird

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse #CW: human trafficking

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houseofpendragons · 2 days

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New Ideas for HOTD Alicent Fashion pt.3

So for this one, we’re going to be combining Rhaenyra in this again. The reason for this is bc I’m coving the nightgowns we saw/should have seen. The reason I say some of them are ones we “should have seen” is bc why was everyone still dressed that night on driftmark???? It was late af, why were Rhaenys and Corlys the only ones dressed for bed🤨

But to start, Alicent.

This:

We love this, we need this.

Idk what this is:

What happened, she was dressed so elegantly even if it was just for bed. Now she look like a spinster with a house full of cats.

I just don’t like the way the second dress is designed. The fabric is fine. I don’t like the buttons, I don’t like the sleeves, and I don’t like the bland embroidery around the neckline and the wrists and the waist.

The first dress is flowey, yet form fitting. I like the ties in the front, and the over dress that goes over the dress. It’s the same material and looks the same but the way it is positioned is very flattering and creates a more fanciful appearance.

So to firstly redo the nightgown we see in the picture above we need to take some things into consideration. Alicent has had a confusing interaction with Rhaenyra the night before, almost a ghost of their friendship in girlhood radiating around them, and she even says she will be a good Queen (previously having told Aegon that he is not her son). So, we don’t really know what’s going on in Alicent mind right now. Seriously, I mean this girl gave me whiplash sometimes. That being said, she’s still at the height of her Hightower propaganda kick.

Looking at nightgowns in other historical/period dramas, I’ve noticed that it tends to be the simple additions that you don’t even realize (a pop of color, the material of the dress, the way it hugs the body, a simple embroidered design place somewhere) that really give the dress a more fantasy appeal to them.

So considering her mindset and actions, as well as those design factors:

This actually isn’t too different from the original dress if you really look at it, only the high neckline is an overdress of sheer fabric, still allowing the (perhaps) less appropriate, yet more beautiful nightgown beneath. The overdress helps keep in tact that sense of modesty Alicent seems to be reflecting in her clothing after the time skip, whilst maintaining the more fanciful nightgowns of royalty we see her embracing in her youth. And it is a lighter shade of green as opposed to her usual darker greens, signifying her uncertainties or her wavering ideals.

It is true she also misinterpreted Viserys statement before she went to bed as well, thinking he wished for Aegon to succeed him. However, she is very against Rhaenyra being hurt in any way from the get go. Confliction, family vs. Old friendships

The one thing I would change is that the embroidery around the neckline, the wrists, and the waist would be a gold and red. Not quite Targaryen colors, but the small bit of red fabric on her nightgown could be like the small thought of Rhaenyra being queen tugging at the back of her mind.

Now for the redesign dress. Why is she still in her funeral attire🙄:

She should have been asleep, or at least pretending to be, so I at least think she’d dress the part.

Now I’m not gonna repeat myself with the yada yada yada about the dress should be bc royalty and style bc we been over that.

That being said, we combining again:

We’re keeping the long jacket from the first pick, and the dress in question from the second.

The darker green tone reflects the mood, and having been woken up I’d think she’d grab a coat as driftmark seems cold. The floral patterns add a beautiful design that takes away any simplicity, and I also imagine her liking to take strolls through the garden w/ Helaena so yeah. Just imagine this trailing behind her.

As for the dress, I love the white sleeves tucked into the belt, imagine this falling from her shoulder in her tousle with Rhaenyra, the fabric having ripped or simple fallen instead of the golden ornament across her chest in the original dress. It looks hella a lot more comfortable to sleep in that’s for sure. The simple shade of a slightly darker green making the designs subtle and elegant are just mwah. Just imagining her storming into the room half asleep with her messy hair is so pretty in my mind. No jewelry, no shoes, just messy curls, a nightgown, and an overcoat.

Now for Rhae:

This sucks😭 like it isn’t bad but idk I just don’t like the sleeves or the way the hair looks with the dress. I love the simple braid for bed, it’s literally just the sleeves and the way it hugs her that I don’t like. Okay maybe the shade it is as well. The bottom part looks fine from what I can tell, but the top is what bothers me.

Maybe something a little more like this:

The lighter red for her youth. She’s still been hanging around daemon, although he’s now been sent away at this point, he’s still heavily been influencing her since he’s been there and Daemon is big on Targaryen propaganda (though not Alicent level with faith of the seven stuff).

It’s again one of those where it actually isn’t too far off from the original dress. The color has changed, it’s more fitted, a little design was added, and the sleeves aren’t ruffled anymore. I didn’t care for those at all. And with this I feel I’d like the braid better, though perhaps have it resting over one should instead. It still holds a girlishness about it but has a little extra with the lace and the small design added to the top.

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ninadove · 8 months

Note

I feel like Felix should get a new outfit in season 6 to show him loosening up a little, becoming happier. (I’d imagine Colt prolly influenced how he dressed, too)

But the question remains, what should his new fit be?

Personally I could see some dark academia or on the flip side, academic fashion but with absolutely ridiculous socks. Like, with Shakespeare quotes or random cute things on them. Or, Kagami could give him ridiculous anime socks and despite not knowing what anime it’s from, he wears them happily just because they’re from Kagami.

Wondering your thoughts.

Oh this is a sign that I should really really get working on my redesigns, because @paracosmicfawn (💜) also asked the same the other day!

In the meantime, have a sneak peak of this profile pic I made him for Discord (coloured by my lovely girlfriend):

And some notes!

Colour scheme:

Black, because he’s edgy like that

Purple. Because why the Hell not.

Red accents, because Kagami

Golden accents, because that was the colour of his trail in Pretention and I feel like this says something about him

Style:

Sometimes he will dress like an overly formal British guy going to his office job in the City, with a three-piece suit and a long coat. Sometimes he will wear eyeliner and heeled boots. He likes to choose whatever is less appropriate in the moment, but overall embraces his rebel vibes a lot more.

Leather jackets are IN

So are T-shirts with provocative messages. All the T-shirts, with all the provocative messages. The one pictured above reads “Fuck This Shit”, but he also owns about 20 variants of “Eat The Bourgeoisie” and, of course, one of those Pri-DeMon-Th shirts.

Torn-up jeans, but rarely blue. We don’t play by the stupid rules in this house

However, he still doesn’t like to have his skin exposed (physical touch is complicated for him, he craves it as much as he fears it), so he will often wear these over tights and high-neck shirts (notice how the collar above is similar to his Argos suit’s, because I love it)

He tries to make it look like he’s not putting as much effort into his hair anymore, but don’t be fooled — this slightly messier style took at least half an hour to perfect

Key accessories:

Earrings! Because fuck gender norms! As a Transmasc Felix Truther, I like to imagine his canon design was him overcompensating after years of dressing femininely. Now that he’s fully comfortable with his identity, he’s not afraid to mix it up a little on occasion.

He’s still unsure if he wants to show off his ring proudly, in an act of defiance, or protect it as much as possible. For now he alternates between leather gloves (again, like in his Argos suit) and fingerless mittens.

I might steal the ridiculous socks idea from you Anon, because he so would!

BOOTS. All the boots. Combat boots, especially. We have yet to post the associated lore, but here’s the first draft of the Cat! Felix design I made for one of our AUs:

A dashing young man!

#miraculous ladybug #felix graham de vanily #argos #pluto #cat felix #pv au #mlb redesign #Transmasc Felix Propaganda #anon asks #I promised my girlfriend I would also make some for Kagami Mari Adrien and Luka #But then again said girlfriend blessed/cursed me with 28 PROMPTS TO GO THROUGH FOR FELIGAMI FEBRUARY #And I know myself well enough to know that if I don’t get started now they will never be done on time #So they’re coming but don’t expect them soon #Also he will always take his gloves off before holding Kagami’s hand #Something something exposed rings something something vulnerability

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tyranasauruslex · 4 months

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What did Roman and Lukas get each other for Christmas?

Lukas

Lego.

To prevent even more arguments and family hostility, the remaining Roy’s have decided to do Secret Santa which initially sounded like a good idea, until Tom kept trying to tamper with the selection process to get Lukas (an easy win to suck up to your boss over Christmas) whilst Kendal refused to let Shiv, Tom, Lukas or Greg participate. After much sibling bickering, Shiv and Lukas are allowed back in the Secret Santa draw but when Roman excitedly brings this up to Lukas, he’s met with a firm no.

Already perplexed by the vast amount of unwritten, and quite frankly confusing, Neurotypical social rules and expectations surrounding Christmas, adding surprise gifts into the mix is just too much for Lukas. If someone insists on getting him something - like Oskar or his mum - then he will provide them with a very specific list that must not be deviated from otherwise he gets overwhelmed and flustered. Roman reports back with a vague explanation that Lukas is fine not being in the Secret Santa which annoys Kendall because now they’re an odd number and Willa decide that she’s getting him something anyway which Roman has to repeatedly tell her not to do.

Oskar then makes it his mission to explain to Lukas that Roman would probably like to get him a Christmas present and after weeks of pestering, Roman is eventually presented with a piece of paper that just says Lego on it. Usually he would be more specific but he trusts Roman - although he does get increasingly more anxious the closer it gets their gift exchange; he’s still not quite nailed down the appropriate response to receiving something he doesn’t like.

At first Roman is a little underwhelmed that all Lukas wants is an assortment of plastic bricks, until he discovers that he can do a custom order and ends up with a large scale Viking Village, Viking Longboat and a bunch of villagers designed to look like Team GoJo. It’s a bit odd giving someone a gift they already know they’re getting, and unwrapped as requested, but Lukas seems genuinely excited when Roman hands over the Lego. Like, incredibly excited and Roman knows him well enough by now to know this isn’t Lukas masking or pretending he likes the gift to spare his feelings. They end up making the Viking Longboat together before Roman flies off to Scotland with the other Roys for Christmas and Lukas heads back to Sweden.

Lukas then keeps sending him “Building Updates” of the Viking village which is the most adorably dorky thing Roman has ever seen.

Roman

A cat.

The dog cage story comes up one evening after Roman has a nightmare about being trapped in a cage and unable to get out. It didn’t sound like the amusing childhood story he tried to make it out to be, and Lukas adds it to his ever growing list of reasons why he needs to protect Roman from his insane family. Once the panic had subsided, Roman joked that he’d always preferred cats anyway and Lukas knows enough by now to know that there’s a lot of truth hidden in those “jokes” so he sets about finding Roman the perfect furry friend for Christmas. A cat is also better than whatever silly Secret Santa gift the Roy’s will come up with, so Lukas is pretty confident that he’ll “win” Christmas. It’s a long process because’s Lukas is obsessed with finding the perfect cat for Roman until Oskar finds a Norwegian Forest Cat breeder just outside Gothenburg. They ditch their meetings for the day and head up into the countryside to pick one out.

There’s an amber coloured one, smaller than the rest, that keeps being trampled over by the all the other kittens that the breeder tries to dissuade him from looking at, but it’s also the only one that manages to scale it’s way up Lukas’s leg and eventually sit on his shoulder; purring loudly for attention. Twelve weeks later the newest member of Team GoJo is making his way through the Swedish countryside to Lukas’s mums house in preparation for Roman’s arrival on Boxing Day. Roman has barely got through the door before Lukas is pulling him up to their bedroom to finally give him his present that’s been trying to claw it’s way out of the cat carrier.

After he stops crying, Roman names his new BFF Sven and Lukas is satisfied with the knowledge that not only did he make his boyfriend happy but he also won Christmas.

Six months later Sven the Cat has 11 million followers on instagram and spends his time traveling the globe with his dads and invading Lego Viking villages.

#lukas matsson #roman roy #romelukas #roman x lukas #roman roy x lukas matsson #romanlukas #romlukas

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stiricidewrites · 12 days

Text

The Damage You Do: ch 23, pt 5

Originally, this chapter was supposed to keep going after this update, but now I'm like hmmm... I could split it, cause otherwise it might end up hella long if I include the smut that eventually follows....

Something for me to debate over the weekend~ See you Sunday!

CW: wwx once again contemplating whether he could be a cat lol

Previously

“You may join me. We can do some yoga. That should be gentle enough on your ankle.”

“Oh…” wwx trailed off, eyes catching on several yoga mats set onto a shelf nearby. “I don’t have clothes.” He motioned down at his ratty jeans and sweater. Not exactly exercise appropriate.

lwj’s lips twitched, ominous and foreboding and making wwx’s body tense. “I have some you can borrow.”

“Uh…”

“Come along, wy,” lwj said, already turning and heading towards another door.

wwx trailed dumbly behind. Wei Ying. It wasn’t that he’d come here expecting that they wouldn’t have sex—he’d actually been hoping for a more sane repeat of yesterday, if he were being honest—but this fast? This intense right from the start?

The door led into another bathroom, which, hilariously, looked almost exactly like what wwx would expect a gym locker room to look like. Benches and lockers, an open concept shower tucked against the back wall.

He raised an eyebrow when his dom looked back towards him. “Locker room kink, Mr. Lan?”

“Yes,” lwj replied shamelessly, making wwx laugh to himself as they made their way into the room.

“Cool, cool,” he said, spinning as he absently looked around. He could get down with a locker room kink. Public showers. Sneaking looks at one another. Fucking where they could pretend anyone could walk in any minute. Yeah, he could definitely make that work. His eyes caught lwj’s as he turned back to him, the man’s gaze such a heavy thing that it rooted him to the ground.

“Sit, wy.”

wwx sat, like he was a well-trained—well, not dog. He didn't want to be a dog. Could you train cats to sit? He felt like you could? He’d seen videos of people teaching their cats to hit buttons for food and treats and whatever the hell else cats wanted in life, so he imagined they could be trained to sit on command?

lwj pulled open a locker, stuffed full with clothes, and he wondered how many of the other lockers had things inside them. His dom could have sex toys stored in those things, for all he knew! The kinky man probably had sex toys tucked in every room of this house, actually! The locker slammed shut and then lwj was in front of him, manhandling him out of his clothes until he was buck naked—the man had even taken his underwear, which had actually been pretty damn nice!

“Gonna make me do naked yoga?” wwx asked, fluttering his eyes as he flashed a grin at the other man.

lwj hummed in contemplation as he pulled a loose tank top over wwx’s head. “Another day.”

He examined the tank top as his dom knelt to help him into a pair of shorts. It was black, with white abstract designs across it and long, gaping armholes that made him feel oddly exposed—like his dom’s hands would continuously be finding their way inside his shirt like this. The band of his new shorts—also black—snapped across his hips, and his eyes flew to lwj’s.

The man blinked up at him, pushing up his new shirt just enough to place a wet kiss across his stomach. “Shall we?”

wwx nodded, empty-headed, and let himself be dragged back to the fitness room.

#fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #wangxian #stiricidesmobji #dark lan zhan

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tibby · 2 years

Note

will u share more ab the decor around the jigsquad house w amanda, adam and lawrence?

oh happily!!!

they live in some like, victorian style home painted a shade of green that could be mistaken for an office space in a neighbourhood full of them. this is the best visual reference i could find for how i picture it in my minds eye:

amanda built a ramp that they placed over the stairs so it's easier for lawrence on a daily basis

lawrence gets primary say over the interior decor because he technically pays the most in terms of mortgage/bills. which isn't to say adam and amanda don't contribute, because they do, but lawrence IS a surgeon who comes from a wealthy family. so it's only fair that he pays the most, and therefore it's only fair that he fills the place with weird statues and nice pieces of art and intricately carved wooden furniture and silk pillows. and also his clock that we see in the first movie.

however. adam and amanda DO also live there so they DO get somewhat of a say. which is why the house's overall decor has the vibe of "trust fund baby going through an emo phase."

adam and amanda kept sticking posters of bands and movies that lawrence has never heard of to the walls and he decided that it was ruining the aesthetic so he had them framed and now adam's crumbled old nine inch nails poster is hanging in an expensive frame next to some painting that lawrence paid an obscene amount of money for.

the kitchen is...surprisingly very domestic and homey. whether or not the weed and shrooms that adam and amanda are growing on the windowsill adds to that or detracts from it is a matter of personal opinion. but yeah! the fridge is covered in photos of the family and drawings by diana and bills and a grocery list that has everything from gourmet cheeses written in lawrence's unreadable doctor's handwriting, kerosene in amanda's chicken scratch, and pop tarts (FROSTED!!!!) in adam's surprisingly beautiful cursive. they have one of those bread/flour/sugar/rice/coffee/etc ceramic container sets and they are ALWAYS filled with the appropriate things. erratic collection of mugs including: one that 4 year old diana painted for lawrence for father's day, the one adam had made that just has a photo of his cat (bastard) on it, the world's worst serial killer mug that amanda got mark for christmas (he tried to bring it into work one time ""ironically"" and strahm nearly had an aneurysm). shelf absolutely stuffed with cookbooks and a homemade spice rack on the wall and a coat hanger with a bunch of embarrassing aprons (they intentionally bought pink ones with heart shaped pockets or cringe ones like KISS THE COOK because mark does a lot of the cooking and they love to see mark "built like a brick shithouse" hoffman in the most ridiculous aprons they could find). sometimes they work on smaller traps on the kitchen table but for the most part that is done in the basement.

murder basement is dark and gloomy and adam hates being in there because well. it's where they make murder traps. so he tried to liven things up in the most intentionally annoying way possible by putting like, fairy lights and lava lamps and beanbags everywhere. it's tacky and they all hate it but if lounging around on a beanbag is the only way for adam to spend more than five minutes there then so be it. the lock on the basement door is all rusted and they tell everyone that "oh we can't get it open haha we just don't use the basement" which is a horrible cover story but it works so. who am i to judge. the basement is also where they store their holiday decorations so there's stuff like a christmas tree and a dancing skeleton figure amongst their tools designed to maim and/or kill. they're kind of weird.

i think amanda isn't used to being allowed to have and keep things so she's a bit of a hoarder. i said this in my mandy hcs post but she's a big reader and doesn't ever throw out any of her books, which range from big hardcovers to tacky romance paperbacks that are falling apart. the bookshelf is full so there's random piles of them all over the house and she WILL somehow know if one is missing and there WILL be bloodshed.

erratic shared vinyl collection? erratic shared vinyl collection. erratic shared cd collection? erratic shared cd collection. erratic shared dvd collection? erratic shared dvd collection.

lawrence got full control over decorating his and adam's bedroom, which adam didn't really care about because they just use it to sleep and have sex. his only request was that he could hang up a bunch of photos of them (many with diana) and lawrence happily agreed. anyway. it's all a nice wooden bedframe and matching drawers and bedside tables and like, silk sheets and an incredibly expensive mattress. they have a little ensuite and the light is ALWAYS on in there because adam can't handle full darkness anymore, let alone in bathrooms. it's kind of boring but like. whatever. let the murder gays be boring in their love nest.

amanda's room is more all over the place, there's barely an inch of free wall space because again, a little bit of hoarder tendencies. she's got postcards and photos and ripped pages from books and magazines stuck up everywhere. lots of reds and purples with the upholstery and the curtains and whatnot. she's got a little desk that's absolutely covered in sketches and trap plans and poems and letters because she's always working on something. adam is forbidden from smoking in his and lawrence's room (tbh lawrence keeps trying to get them to stop smoking in the house but they don't listen) so he usually smokes with mandy in her room.

adam's cat bastard as her own room. bastard does not usually sleep in her room in her fancy pet bed, because cats are like that. bastard is banned from sleeping in adam and lawrence's room after she ate a bird (that was still alive during) on their nice silk sheets. there are dead things in bastard's room and more toys than any cat could ever have. nobody is allowed in there except bastard or adam unless they want to lose an arm.

the other spare room is for diana, and it is constantly changing because she is a growing girl and her interests are constantly shifting. it is on the top floor of the house and has a giant window that looks out into the backyard.

ik the backyard isn't really decor but they do have a very nice large one and adam has a vegetable patch that he tends to religiously. adam's green thumb is a shock to everyone given that he once tried to serve them pasta boiled in gatorade. but. he loves his vegetables and his fruits and his flowers so love is love. they also have a hammock and a back porch with rocking chairs on it.

#hope this is enough lmao. mny thoughts about murder family living together.#ask #anonymous #jigsquad #sawposting #headcanons

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keyn-jender-bite · 6 months

Text

The Evening has Truly Become The Night in this Big Dark City

part one part two part three

The education district was suspiciously quiet when I ascended from the subway platform. I myself never attended higher education, but it was my understanding that university kids liked to party, and party hard. There was nobody visibly or audibly partying anywhere in the vicinity this particular dark and foggy evening.

Did I fail to mention it had become quite foggy? Well, it had. It was the kind of ambient fog a rock-solid private dick like me just craves. We're creatures of the fog, private detectives. It's not just an aesthetic thing either. There's something casually magical about a nice, thick, pea-soup fog that gives us gumshoes strength.

I breathed it deep into my nostrils, pulled my collar up around my neck and began to slink towards campus.

The large brick buildings of the City University loomed darkly in the night, lit scarcely by lampposts, themselves haloed in the fog and surrounded by fluttering moths. My footsteps echoed on the cobbled sidewalks, splishing a little in the shallow puddles gathered between the bricks.

I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I figured I would know it when I saw it, and thankfully I didn't have to wander too long before saw it I did.

The sign in front of the building was slightly obscured by clinging ivy, but clearly enough I could read "Marvin Chestermarvin Laboratory for Applied Theoretical Electrics and Mysterious Plumbing." This must be the place. I circled the exterior, looking for a less obvious entrance than the front door, which might be a bit too conspicuous for the purposes of snooping around.

There are different kinds of snooping. The snooping I partake in is functionally and physically different from the type of snooping that a cat burglar might employ, for example. Their form of snooping usually involves more creeping, skulking and especially sneaking.

I don't skulk. I've never skulked in my adult life and you're not likely to ever find my skulking unless I've fallen on hard times and it's required of me for work. There but for the grace of God and paying clients go any of us.

Around the rear of the building I found the perfect entrance into which I might snoop appropriately. The Lab had a small loading dock with a corrugated lift gate through which I'm sure various pieces of equipment and pallets of raw materials were loaded in. These cheap style of gates were notorious for locking insufficiently, a weakness that I intended to exploit, and did.

Using a nearby crowbar I was able to lever the bottom of the gate up until I could spot the poorly-designed hook latch. Employing a nearby tire iron, I manipulated the hook out of its housing and raised the gate just enough for me to wriggle underneath it like a hag fish in a trench-coat.

I was in.

Fishing the small flashlight out of my coat pocket, I clicked it on with a flick of the button and slowly padded up the stairs of the loading dock, through a heavy steel door into the hallways proper.

The wide, tall halls were constructed of marble, with columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above. The classrooms and offices were clearly labeled with small copper plaques, announcing their room number and the typical use-case for the space within.

An eerie quiet permeated the dark halls. Ghostly light seeped in through the windows to cast wiggly reflections on the imperfect floor. I could nearly hear my own beating heart in the silence.

A placard informed me the theoretical electrician offices were up a floor, with an arrow pointing to a broad staircase. I crept up slowly, keeping my feet precise and muted.

At the top of the stairs was a T-junction. To the right was a large lab filled with esoteric equipment, the purposes of which completely eluded me. To the right was an office door, shut and mercifully labeled: "Dr. Morose, office hours M-W 9-3."

A quick try at the doorknob confirmed my suspicions, the office was locked. Surely it would pose no challenge for me and my little lock picking kit.

Kneeling in front of the door I slid my favorite pick into the key-way, employing a 2 thousandths thick turning tool and a slightly hooked wave rake. A bit of fiddling solved the problem with a gratifying "click", allowing the door to swing freely open with a slight creak.

The air inside Klevin's office was musty and stale, with a hint of something I couldn't yet place. The soft circle emanating from my flashlight prowled the walls and furniture, seeking out items of interest. It was all pretty stock stuff—a desk with a comfortable-looking chair, filing cabinets, book cases, etc.

"Where did you go, professor?" I asked under my breath, scrutinising the books and papers which littered the space. Exploring their desk, I thumbed through the notebooks and folders thereupon, seeing nothing of particular import.

Sliding the primary drawer open, a small black notebook caught my eye. I fished it out and flipped it open. it appeared to be a diary or journal of sorts.

Most of the entries were pretty banal stuff, notes about classes, students and faculty. Petty inter-departmental drama and the like. An entry towards the end of the book jumped out at me for the speed with which it looked to have been scrawled.

"September - I know I'm being followed now. I suspected as much but now I have proof. I don't know to whom I might confess this. I can't be sure who else is in on it. It might have to do with the grant? No. Don't be stupid Klevin, it's the work. It's the EMF Drive. He wants it. I should have known it was him. A and L mustn't know, they would spiral with worry. I have to find more proof before accusing him or I could be disbarred. Talk to JD, they might be able to help."

That was the last journal entry. I closed the book and sat in Klevin's chair, my brow crinkled. Maybe they had been kidnapped by a rival in the college? Were A and L Aurora and their other partner? Who is JD? What on Earth was the EMF Drive and why would somebody want it? And what was that smell?

It was strongest here, at their desk, especially in their chair.

"We warned you, Magistrate!" a harsh voice suddenly screamed from the open doorway.

My reaction time was just quick enough to save my life. I flipped backwards in the chair just as the pistol fired, clipping Klevin's desk and sending a stack of papers flying into shreds.

I ducked behind the large desk, keeping my head down and kneeling. I couldn't see who was in the door, but I could hear them pull the trigger of their gun and the unmistakable sound of a misfire.

"Cribbage!" they hissed, followed by the metallic sliding sounds of a revolver chamber ejecting for hasty inspection.

Now was my chance. I wasted no time, vaulting over the desk head first. In one swift motion, I grabbed a dusty apple sitting on the table top and threw it at the would-be assassin's head, just winging their shoulder.

It was just enough to distract them. "Erk!" they croaked, grabbing their arm and twisting.

I attempted to jump off the desk and punch them, but a small pile of ungraded essays slipped beneath my shoes, sending me forwards ungracefully directly into the bookshelf beside my attacker.

I crashed through three shelves, sending tomes, treatises and various novels spilling onto the floor and at the shadowy figure, who was still stunned.

I managed to kick one leg out from under the pile of books, knocking the gun from their hand. "Hey!" they complained.

"Come here you!" I commanded, trying once more to heave myself into their stomach, only to trip on the same apple I had thrown at them moments before and careen face first past them and down the flight of stairs outside of the office.

My body tumbled head over buttocks down the first flight of stairs where I gracefully collapsed into a heap of books and papers. Struggling to my feet, I was just able to look up to see the figure jumping at me from the top of the stairs, brandishing a large, serpentine dagger.

"Hoooo!" they yelled.

My self defense instincts kicked in and I executed an imperfect round-house kick, tripping on the slick marble floor and falling backwards to perfectly hit my head on the windowsill behind me before blacking out just in time.

When I came to, I was alive. I raised myself up on my elbows, to survey my surroundings. I was still in the stairwell, books and papers were still strewn everywhere. The attacker was suspiciously absent.

Clambering stiffly to my feet, the situation became abundantly clear as I spotted the vaguely person-shaped hole in the nearby window. I peered out the shattered pane to the pavement below. Absent from the pile of glass was a body of any kind, or any other trace of the shadowy figure.

I sat down and rubbed the back of my head where a sizeable goose egg was already growing. Now I had a sliver of an inkling as to what was going on. Some puzzle pieces were falling into place. The shadowy figure had been wearing a long, dark robe, obscuring their features and body. I finally recognized the mysterious smell in Klevin's office as tarragon. The curved knife the assassin wielded was all too familiar in form and function.

I thought he was long dead, but these were the calling cards of my oldest nemesis and his weirdo cultists.

It seemed Warlock Geoff was back in town.

#do it weird #do it bad #do it scared #writeblr #apple magistrate

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