#; answers

[laserbobcat]

If Leshy gets wet, does his leaf coat grow

Yes, and he loves the rain. His coat is mostly fur and bristle, but the leaves and moss love baths. I mostly draw his antlers thingies simple because they're a pain in the ass.

One of my favorite weathers is sunny rains. It's already hard to draw regular backgrounds for me, so I'm not happy with how this tricky one turned out. But hey, steps.

No I don't have a size difference thing.

[whatlurksbean]

How did you come up with the Tide as a character? Was it always going to be a crab?

the tide was always a crab, the idea of a hermit crab god made me laugh too much and i couldnt not.

In hindsight i wish i had made him a horseshoe crab, would probably make more sense, but he would not be as cute or ridiculous so

[rwac96]

Prompt

If Jaune compliments her eyes, Yang will not be affected much by it. If Jaune compliments her tits, Yang will be flustered and touched by his sweet words.

Jaune: "Your eyes are like purple gems that shine brightly."

Yang: *arches a brow upward* "Pretty cliche, VB."

Jaune: *clears his throat* "Your boobies are bouncy like balloons."

Yang: *blushes, giggling* "S-Stop it, Jaune."

[ogrepoppenangleaksofficial]

why is Giles kinda moe

[squeakitties]

Yknow what, a nyan skulls vore post is what I needed to see after having a mental breakdown caused by thinking about politics for an extended period of time. This is how I will heal

yay <3 yay

[alpoocka]

Hey your dead end prince au is really cool! Any cool details you want to share

yeeeeeeeaaaaah….. I haven't answered this question for almost 6 months because i wanted to tell the story in the plot and not in extras, but now i think i finally got some interesting facts!!!

(everything you read next is about au dead end prince) read part one

1.

The idea that the story takes place on the 22nd attempt comes from the tarot. The Fool Tarot card is number zero, there are 22 cards in total, so starting from 1, Hattie goes to zero. so it's a kinda cycle

two fools

and the meaning is also suitable, but you can look it up yourself if you’re interested ;)

2.

in fact, it is possible that if Hat Kid had stopped at the first try and stayed a little longer in Subcon (the attempt where she became close friends with Prince) everything would have been fine.

Snatcher would have been a little more merciful and would have recognized her after a couple of days.

But at that moment, the appearance of Snatcher for her is already a failure

3.

When Prince died, he had no fangs...

and he was not in his right mind.

Byeeee!

[forzafe44ari]

Rosquez lore is so crazy, I think it has brocedes beat for me. Brocedes is heartbreaking to think about. Childhood friends who's friendship fell apart due to competitiveness. Rosquez is just 'how did this event even occur'. I've never seen a rivalry or friendship fall out that divided the whole sport that even the riders were in on it. I'm pretty sure valentinos vr46 riders still don't like Marc except a select few that are cordial with him.

rosquez hits harder for me because of the rancid age gap and also their joint cunty diva behaviors lol.

like there's something very sexy about terrorizing your idol who is 15 years older than you so much that he kicks you off your bike, loses the championship, and then blames you like you said 'kick me off my bike' and then you continue to live rent free in his brain for ten years, long ago enough for him to establish dislike for you as a core tent in his vr46 teachings, while you pretend that you're not affected but clearly you're so affected you'd rather fuck around for a quali and not get pole so that you don't win a car with his fuckass number on the side.

like that's so hot.

[fratboykate]

ANOTHER BABY?! What does the world's most famous woman look like with three kids?

Not EXACTLY but...here's 4k of gross domestic fluff lol

---

They don’t tell anyone Kate’s pregnant.

Not Kate’s reps. Not their friends. Not even the publicist.

They just vanish. Two suitcases per head, two kids in tow, a private jet funded from Yelena’s paranoid worst-case-scenario stash, and a villa in the south of France where the only neighbors are an old couple who run a semi-abandoned vineyard and a flock of sheep who’ve claimed the field next door. The girls are partial to the chunky one with a single eye.

Kate doesn’t post. Yelena hasn’t opened social media since they got back together. Their phones sit unanswered except for Melina, Alexei, and one emergency line routed through Kate's agent, who was only told, "We're fine. Just taking some time off."

And they are. For the first time in their lives, they actually are.

The villa is three hours from anywhere with a name they recognize. Red-tile roof. Ivy-clad stone walls. Ten-foot gates and a view that swells out over vineyards and wildflower fields. The floors are cool tile. The air smells like rosemary, salt, and the ghost of distant rain. It’s all wraparound windows, thick wooden beams, and doors that seem to outnumber the rooms.

Ellie keeps getting lost. Mila learned how to work the latches in twenty-four hours…turning every door into a security hazard and making Yelena both ferociously proud and perpetually stressed.

The pregnancy stuck early. First transfer, first try. Maybe Kate’s uterus remembered what to do this time. Maybe the universe owed them one. Or maybe…just maybe…Kate’s body started cooperating once she stopped asking it to survive a shoot, red carpets, or fake a smile for a hundred and fifty million Instagram followers dissecting whether her ring had moved one millimeter to the left or not.

There’s no announcement this time. No People Magazine spread. No strategically timed airport pap shot. No designer couture hugging a curated bump. This one isn’t for anyone but them. By the time the outside world notices, the baby will already be here. A secret. A surprise. A thing fiercely, selfishly, theirs.

Kate never thought she’d want that. She does now. The quiet. The invisibility. The permission to have one thing that’s just For Kate. At least for a little while.

No press cycle. No screaming fans. No long lenses on street-corners. Just morning nausea, sticky toddler kisses, and a kitchen that opens onto a courtyard full of lavender, where Ellie insists the butterflies know her personally.

A private doctor makes housecalls. A doula will move into the guesthouse once Kate’s due date is imminent. A private chef cooks dinner four nights out of seven and spends the other three sending up meals with handwritten instructions and a wink. She leaves dessert whether they ask for it or not.

Ellie names every sheep. Mila tries to eat grass. Neither speaks a word of French and both are thriving.

Yelena wakes up first. Every day. She makes the coffee. Walks barefoot across the stone floors in those tight little t-shirts that send Kate’s pregnancy libido into a tailspin. She reads the news, only opens emails flagged ‘urgent’, and flips chocolate-chip pancakes shaped like stars. Mila always devours four. Ellie always demands her syrup be served in a ramekin like she’s minor royalty. Yelena is more than happy to oblige to any and all requests.

//

The first few weeks are rougher than Kate hoped. Worse than Ellie. Even worse than Mila, somehow. She thought it’d be easier on her after that.

The nausea is relentless. Her chest aches. She cries during a dish soap ad, then again when Yelena brings the wrong brand of crackers. The hormones are savage. The fatigue even worse. For the first few months, she’s asleep more than she’s awake.

Mila’s still half a baby herself, barely walking, which means constant carrying, constant lifting, constant aching. Kate's back screams before they even hit week ten.

But Yelena handles everything. Meals. Diapers. Mila’s chaotic sleep regressions. She lets Kate melt into the couch or the bed or the bath, wherever she lands, and only says: "Drink something" or "Don't fall asleep in the tub."

This belly pops faster too. It’s a good thing they got away. It would’ve been impossible to hide for long. The others lingered in that awkward "maybe bloated?” phase. Not this one. Yelena, who always claimed she could tell, doesn't have to pretend this time. From very early on, she gets to place her hand on the very undeniable swell of Kate’s stomach every night. Doesn't always speak. Doesn’t have to.

The nausea fades, finally, weeks after they arrive at the villa. The light at the end of the tunnel flickers into view.

//

Kate sleeps less now. After getting her ass kicked by the first trimester, the second hits like a breath of cool air.

She can eat again. Move again. Function again. She’s still tired, bone-deep, but she can laugh without vomiting. She’s counting that as a win.

Just like her belly popped much faster, her body changes faster than it ever did before. The bump rounds out almost overnight. The stretch marks bloom early. She lets Yelena rub oil into the skin. Lets Ellie kiss her midriff any time she wants. Which is often. Lets Mila nap against the curve of her hip like there’s nowhere else in the world she could possibly belong.

Afternoons stretch lazy and wide. They lie in the grass. Ellie tells stories that make no sense. Mila throws petals like confetti. Yelena sprawls behind Kate, hand splayed over her torso, murmuring nonsense in Russian to the baby like she’s already here. Kate can feel her ribs pressing into Yelena’s thighs. Everything is warm.

The house hums with a kind of quiet joy they’ve never had room for before. Shocking, what happens when you put the phones down. Shut the world out. Choose each other.

Sometimes, Kate cooks. She unfaillingly burns at least one thing.

It’s chaos. Yelena usually ends up stepping in to rescue the stove from disaster with terrifying efficiency while Mila screeches with laughter and Ellie belts out Disney songs into a wooden spoon.

One night, the power cuts in a storm. They light candles. Play cards. Mila scales Yelena like a jungle gym. Ellie curls up in Kate’s lap and hums the baby a lullaby she’s been practicing. Kate cries halfway through and no one makes fun of her.

They don’t talk about the outside world. No red carpets. No interviews. No "just one" fan photo. It’s just them. Just this.

Kate never thought she could live like this…locked in a house for months with the same three people without at least one person leaving in a body bag… but they’re hers. And she wouldn’t change them for anything.

Yelena talks to the baby every night. Sometimes nonsense. Sometimes fierce promises. Sometimes she just rests her forehead against Kate’s belly and whispers things Kate isn’t meant to hear. More often than not, Kate simply pretends she doesn’t.

“You have no idea how lucky you are,” Yelena murmurs once. Kate has to give her best performance yet and act like the book she’s reading is an absolute tragedy to justify the tears.

But it wasn’t the book. And Kate fully believes she’s maybe the luckiest one of them all.

//

The light here is different. Softer. Filters in slower. It doesn’t rush. Just glows.

Kate pads into the kitchen barefoot, loose sweatpants slung low on her hips, one of Yelena’s button-downs bunched over the belly. The bump curves round and undeniable against the thin cotton, too big for how far along she actually is. She moves sluggish. Still randomly queasy at times. But mostly functional.

She steps over a stack of Mila’s blocks and a decapitated stuffed giraffe bandaged with ribbon to find Yelena already at the stove. Back to her. Hair in a lopsided braid. Definitely Ellie’s handiwork. Yelena flips something in a pan that smells vaguely like sugary fruit and bad decisions.

Kate creeps up behind her, hooks her arms around Yelena’s waist, and presses her face between her shoulder blades.

“Can I bribe you away from that stove to come fuck me before they get out here?”

“Unlikely.”

“They’re still half asleep.”

“Eleanor is very much awake.”

Kate kisses her spine. “That’s not a ‘yes’.”

“It wasn’t intended as one.”

From the living room: a crash. Then a muffled, “I okay!” followed by Ellie’s tiny maniacal giggling.

“See? Awake.” Yelena adds.

“That sounded expensive,” Kate mutters into her back.

“Probably was.”

Kate whines.

“What was the point of kidnapping you to a secluded location if you won’t have your way with me whenever I’m dripping?”

“Don’t think ‘sexscapade’ was the vibe we were going for when we decided to bring the two infants.”

“You must’ve missed that memo then. I’ll resend it.”

Yelena chuckles. Flips the pan with noteworthy skill. Kate squeezes her tighter.

“I don’t know what else I could possibly do about your…situation.”

“I just told you. And you declined. Didn't even offer a finger to your desperate wife in need.”

Yelena laughs.

“They’re awake!” Yelena protests. “I’d very much offer more than basic services if they weren’t.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“More than happy to keep them entertained while you address the dilemma.”

“YOU are who I want to handle my ‘dilemma’.” Kate drops into a mocking impression, teasing. “‘Let’s have a baby, Kate. It'll be great, Kate.’ Now she won’t even fuck me."

Yelena turns, eyebrows arched.

“There hasn't been a single day since we got here that we haven't had sex. Most days more than once.”

“Yeah, well…” Kate gestures dramatically at herself. “…the situation in my underwear proves it's clearly not enough.”

“If you wait until nap time,” Yelena smirks, “I’ll take care of it.”

“They JUST woke up. Nap time is a lifetime away.”

Yelena shrugs. Unbothered.

“Then go. I'll keep them out of the bedroom.”

“I hate this.”

Yelena chuckles. Kate groans theatrically and peels away to open the fridge. Stares inside. Immediately forgets why she came. Slams it shut.

“God, this baby hates cold air. My nipples could cut glass.”

Yelena turns, takes a peak at the two shapes barely poking through her shirt. Smirks. Deeply unfair.

“They look perfectly healthy to me.”

Kate flips her off without heat. Yelena plates whatever was in the pan. Some absurdly bougie combination of mushrooms, toast, and soft eggs. Sets it in front of Kate.

Kate lowers herself into a chair like an eighty-year-old woman, groaning all the way down. Yelena kisses the top of her head and disappears towards the chaos beyond with two small plastic plates.

Kate stares at the food. Takes three bites. Then leans back, exhausted. Her body temperamental. Her stomach unpredictable.

Footsteps pad closer. Small ones. Ellie stands there, clutching a coloring book and a single pink crayon.

“I sit?”

Kate cracks an eye.

“Course you can, baby.”

Ellie climbs into her lap like she was always meant to be there. She opens her book. Colors with laser focus. Tongue poking out, brows furrowed.

“You ready to do your chores this morning?” Kate asks.

Ellie nods, smug. “Feed the sheep.”

“Even the mean one?”

“Yah.”

“Just like your mama.” Kate grins.

“Mama mean,” Ellie says gravely.

Yelena reappears at the doorway, deadpan. Two plates still in hand. It’s going to be That kind of day, apparently.

“I heard that.”

“She’s not wrong.” Kate retorts with a grin.

Mila barrels in after Yelena. Arms out, curls wild, no clothes, just the fresh diaper Yelena strapped on her minutes ago. She beelines for Kate’s like she’s got a homing beacon.

Kate catches her mid-sprint.

“Oof,” Kate groans, adjusting the two girls now on her lap. “Belly, baby. Mind the bump.”

Mila plants both hands on Kate’s stomach like she’s claiming it. Then rests her head there, humming gibberish.

Kate starts feeding the girls off her plate while Yelena chows down hers.

They sit there like that. Nothing urgent to attend to. Clinking forks. Toddler giggles. Mila blowing raspberries against Kate’s belly. Yelena pretending not to smile every time Ellie makes a face at her breakfast.

This is the part they never had before. No nanny behind the scenes. No assistant fielding calls. No schedule carved down to the second. Just this.

A long morning. A dumb drawing. A shitty bra that doesn’t fit anymore. And Kate’s hand curved protectively over the curve of her belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

//

It’s raining. Not hard. Just enough to fog the windows. Yelena’s already in bed. Hair damp from the bath. Reading something thick and aggressively Russian. Glasses slightly crooked.

Kate wanders in with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. Long sweater. Panties. Nothing else. She tosses her traitorous bra onto the chair.

“I think I’m leaking.”

“What part of your body?”

Kate gestures to her left boob.

“She’s just…leaking. Randomly. For no reason. You’d think she’d wait for the actual child.”

“Sensitive nipples. I’ll mark it in the notes.”

Yelena reaches for her phone. Kate collapses onto the bed, groaning.

“You’re not keeping notes.”

“I’m literally keeping notes. Why wouldn’t I keep notes? Things to mention during the next visit.” Yelena types without looking up.

Kate turns her face into Yelena’s thigh, voice muffled by cotton.

“Thank you for hiding me.”

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. Just threads her fingers through Kate’s hair. Gentle. Rhythmic.

“Thank you for bringing me to hide with you.”

Kate hums. Mila cries out down the hall. Once. Then silence. Kate sighs.

“Think she’ll remember any of this?”

“No.”

“Ellie?”

Yelena pauses.

“Maybe. She might remember the pool. The pancakes. The sheep with the broken horn.”

Kate closes her eyes.

“Good.”

The rain thrums deeper against the roof. Kate rests her cheek on Yelena’s toned abs, breathes her in.

"You think she'll be like them?" Kate whispers.

“I love how you’ve just never considered it could be a boy.”

Kate grins against her skin.

“Because it’s not."

"Definitely not." Yelena snorts.

"You didn’t answer my question."

"No two are the same," Yelena adds simply.

Kate shifts, rests her chin on her hand. Looks up at Yelena who does her best to keep reading while Kate rambles.

"I hope she’s quiet."

"She won’t be."

"I hope she sleeps."

"She won’t."

"I hope she’s sweet and calm and low-maintenance."

"She won't be. She’s ours."

Kate laughs, exhausted.

"We're so fucked."

Yelena lowers her book.

"That's the point.”

Kate reaches for her hand. Laces their fingers.

"You can fuck me now," Kate murmurs.

"I was planning on it."

//

It’s late morning. The sun’s barely crested the trees.

Kate lounges on the terrace, Mila sprawled across her lap, legs stretched out on the lounger. Mila is messy-cheeked, diapered, bare except for the dried apricot glued to her thigh and the rogue marker streak on her chin.

Kate doesn’t care. She holds her close, pressing kisses to her curls. Mila hums something tuneless against her chest, heavy and warm and so devastatingly alive.

Ellie’s at the little table they dragged outside, feet swinging, tongue poking out while she concentrates on coloring. She treats it like sacred work. There are three sheep grazing the field below, each meticulously named after supposed cartoon characters neither Kate nor Yelena have ever heard of.

“Can we has sheep, Mommy?” Ellie asks without looking up.

“No,” Kate says gently.

“Why not?”

“We live in a city.”

Ellie pauses, thinking hard. Looks around the rolling fields like she’s about to argue case law.

“Not now.”

Kate opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“That’s…technically true.”

Yelena steps outside carrying two coffee mugs. Hers black, Kate’s decaf. She sets them down, eyeing Kate warily. She knows there’s a fifty/fifty chance the contents of that cup trigger an argument. It's a risk she's always willing to take.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Yelena asks.

“Your daughter wants to buy livestock.”

“I pray you said no.”

“I did.”

“Miracles do happen.”

Kate tilts her head back and lets the sun kiss her face.

“Your littlest daughter says she needs waffles. Crispy. Eggs. Fried. Some spinach.”

“Your daughter sounds very demanding.”

“She’s your daughter too. And she’s explicitly told me she loves it when you cook for her.”

“Mama, up.” Mila extends her arms at Yelena.

Yelena raises an eyebrow, scoops Mila off Kate’s lap and hoists her onto her hip.

“Come on, bug. We’re your mother’s private chefs now.”

“‘Gain?” Mila asks, wiping apricot gunk on Yelena’s once spotless shirt.

“Always again.”

Kate watches them disappear into the house, chest aching in the best kind of way. The way that comes from being too full, not too empty. Like her body doesn’t know what to do with so much good.

Ellie colors quietly. The sheep wander. Everything hums with a lazy, relentless softness.

“Mommy?” Ellie asks after a while. “When baby come?”

“Not for a while.”

“Before Christmas?”

“Hopefully before.”

“I name her,” Ellie declares.

Kate grins. “Too late. I already negotiated those rights. I’d tell you, but your secret-keeping record is abysmal.”

Ellie shrugs like this means nothing to her and returns to coloring. Kate sips her decaf, grimaces at the betrayal, and yells toward the house.

“I BETTER GET ACTUAL COFFEE WITH MY BREAKFAST!”

“You had coffee yesterday!” Yelena’s voice fires back.

Kate gently nudges Ellie with her foot.

“Please go tell Mama I’m going to end up on some watchlist if she doesn’t send real coffee immediately.”

“‘kay.”

Ellie jumps up, starts to head inside. Kate pulls her in as she passes her, peppering her cheek with kisses as the almost three-year-old giggles. Once the little girl manages to squirm away, Kate nudges her inside then watches her vanish down the hallway. She rests both hands on her belly.

“I hope you’re ready for the madhouse, Natty girl,” she murmurs. “I hope you’re ready.”

Somewhere in the kitchen, Mila is probably smearing chocolate chips across Yelena’s shirt while Ellie tries and fails to deliver Kate’s caffeine ultimatum with the right degree of threat. And Kate…Kate has never been happier to be nowhere, doing nothing, with exactly these people.

//

Screaming echoes through the house. Not panicked. Not fear. Worse. Toddler outrage. That stubborn, disgruntled sound coming from a little person who has decided the bath is lava and the pajamas her parents picked are offensive.

Mila is red-faced and FURIOUS. Soaking wet and naked. Clutching mismatched socks in her little balled up fists like they’re a constitutional right. She shrieks on the tile floor while Kate kneels on the folded towel by the tub, trying not to cry. Her belly’s uncomfortably big. Her back is screaming. Her ribs are tight. Her hair’s wet. Her shirt’s wet. Her soul might be wet.

Yelena, conveniently, is nowhere in sight.

“Please,” Kate pleads with the almost two-year-old, desperate. “Just…pick a shirt. Literally any shirt.” Kate offers options. Farm animals. Rainbows. Planets. A plain one. Mila bats them all away as if repugnant. “You want my shirt? I’ll take your sister’s shirt off her right now if you want it.”

“NOOOO!” Mila shrieks, hurling a sock like a grenade.

Kate sighs, hand on her lower back, head thunking against the tub.

“I was so happy being single,” she mutters.

From the doorway: “I’ll remember that next time you tell me you love me.”

Kate glares up. Yelena leans against the doorframe, lazily sipping from a water bottle, doing absolutely nothing to intervene. Her braid’s fuzzy. She’s in sweatpants. And looks unfairly composed. Very much pretending like she hasn’t been hiding from…This…for the past ten minutes.

“Your child…” Kate hisses. “Your child is staging a textile rebellion.”

“We talked about the farm pajamas being itchy.”

“I’ve offered her literally everything else, Yelena.” Kate growls through her teeth, annoyed. “And she loved the farm pajamas yesterday.”

“She evolves…She’s sentient now. Quite unfortunate for us.”

Yelena finally strolls in, crouches, and scoops a disgruntled Mila up with terrifying ease. She burritos the baby in a towel and perches her on the changing table like it’s nothing. Mila wriggles and wails. Yelena holds her with one arm while managing to get a diaper on her with the other with seemingly little effort.

Kate watches, bitter and amazed.

“Go sit down…I got her.” Yelena throws over her shoulder, brushing Mila’s wet hair back.

“I am sitting.”

“Go sit down somewhere where you won’t rupture a disc.”

Kate huffs, shoves herself upright, and waddles away, muttering under her breath about moving out and taking all the sheep with her.

//

The doula arrives fifteen minutes later with a canvas tote full of terrifyingly labeled oils and a binder thicker than every baby book Kate’s ever thrown away.

Her name is Sabine. She smells like peppermint. She moves through the villa like she’s taking inventory.

Kate can never decide if she wants to hug her or trip her on the way out.

They sit on the couch while Yelena wrangles nap time. Somewhere else. Mila babbles. Ellie narrates stories to her sister in a fake accent. There are thumps. There’s shrieking. There’s an unmistakable splat sound followed by an “oops!”. Kate pretends she hears none of it.

“So,” Sabine says cheerfully with her thick French inflection, flipping open the binder. “We are in the end, yes? Thirty-five weeks?”

“Give or take.” Kate nods.

“Any new symptoms?”

Kate groans, readjusts.

“Not new. Just…worse. I’m tired. My pelvis sounds like a haunted door. I can’t sleep. Everything I eat gives me heartburn. The baby thinks my bladder is a trampoline. Oh…and last night I thought I was going into labor. It was gas.”

Sabine smiles serenely like this is all normal.

“That sounds okay.”

“Super.”

“How is your support system?”

Kate tilts her head down the hallway where Yelena is presumably bribing a toddler into unconsciousness.

“YOU SAID TWO BOOKS!” Ellie argues, firm.

“Loud. Aggressively competent. A little scary.” Kate smiles despite herself.

“Perfect.” Sabine beams.

They go over the birth plan. Low lights. Warm tub. Yelena by her side. Sabine there just in case anything goes wrong. Ellie allowed to peek once it’s over. Mila quarantined and kept as far away as possible. The last thing Kate needs is to get touched out during labor.

Everyone will be on call starting next week. The house stocked. The generator tested. The freezer full.

They’re ready. Kate is not.

//

Later that night, in bed.

The room is dark except for the soft glow of a lamp. The windows are cracked open. Kate catches whiffs of rain and grass when the wind blows just right. Mila’s sleep machine hums down the hall.

Yelena is propped on one elbow, brushing her fingers over the stretched skin of Kate’s belly. The baby kicks under her hand, and Kate winces. Nudges the little foot back down.

“I think today was her officially application to be my next stunt coordinator.” Kate grimaces, closes her eyes. “She’s trying to escape through my spine.”

“She’s strong.”

“She’s violent.”

Yelena hums. Doesn’t argue. The baby kicks hard against her ribs. Kate groans. Yelena just smiles, smoothing her palm over the curve of the stomach like she’s imprinting it into her bones. Like she’s mapping something sacred.

“You were amazing today.”

Kate scoffs.

“Which part? The weeping? The begging? The shampoo bottle throwing?”

“All of it.”

Kate snorts. Yelena presses a kiss just above Kate’s navel, soft and sure. Kate’s throat goes tight.

Quiet takes over. No city noise. No cars. Just wind and Yelena’s breath and the sound of Kate’s own body being lived in.

“We’re so close,” Kate whispers.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

“It’s not.” Yelena meets her eyes. “It’s about to begin again.”

Kate groans and shoves at her shoulder.

“That was so cheesy. Go to hell.”

Yelena laughs, low and indulgent.

“You love it…Are you going to tell me her name yet?”

Kate doesn’t answer. Just reaches for her. Pulls her in close. Lets herself feel full and heavy and grounded. She melts against Yelena, hand drifting lazily down to cup her bump.

This time was supposed to be just for them. It is.

And it’s perfect.

[tswwwit]

If Fiddleford never took a look in the portal and didn't damage his mind with the memory-eraser ray, what happened to him in your AU?

That.... is a very good question! I imagine he's still working with Ford in some capacity, but I have very little idea what he's up to.

[pookapufferfish]

17

Sneaky snails - Gideon

i actually am really curious if the snails will ever come back, unless they still are around but just in others povs?

anyways, silly snails

[laserbobcat]

About this

What if leshy didn't fuck it up and didn't give up to the urges and did what he wanted?

Original timeline

Alternate universe where the pink one wins! There's another Alternate Timeline where The pink one wins consistently and Morgan freaks out. There's another another Alternate Timeline where The pink one wins consistently and Morgan rolls with it and they fuck behind the temple kiss.

[whatlurksbean]

Is there anything you've ever wanted to add to the story last minute but couldn't make it work, either because it didn't fit or it would make older pages make less sense? I struggle with that during scripting so I think about it a lot

nothing last minute i can think of, but i DO wish i had shown another tribute ceremony within the first 6 chapters.

to me it was something that was Obviously Still Happening but i neglected to show it for 800 pages now. I dont like that the only real confirmation of it is what i say outside the comic.. hm.. much to think about..

i have also cut things out that i now regret,

there were more trans hake moments i wish i had kept but i ended up last minute cutting because i was being harassed and got nervous. I am beyond caring about that now though and every transphobic comment i get spawns one new trans scene / character for the future, yay

[rwac96]

Prompt: Jaune's cuddles after sex are legendary and apparently lull you into the best sleep of your life. This means everyone wants a turn on the Arc, which leads to Jaune's girlfriend being very annoyed by everyone's flirtation

"Back! Back, you harlots!!" Weiss Schnee shouts, hugging Jaune Arc and pointing Myternaster at the women surrounding them.

"How the heck did they find out about the cuddle thing?" Jaune wondered in concern, rubbing the back of his neck.

Meanwhile, Ruby, Blake, and Yang watch the chaos take place; Yang letting out an innocent, nonchalant whistle. The Reaper and Cat Faunus turn to the Buxom Brawler, squinting.

"What?" Yang blinks, "C'mon! It's obvious Weiss is less stuck-up since she and Jaune started fucking."

"That doesn't mean you blab it out," Ruby chided her older sister, "you big dummy!"

"Yang, no more posting our personal stuff online," Blake pleaded, "Okay?"

[ogrepoppenangleaksofficial]

If it's alright to ask, during production were there any serious rewrites of any of the episodes mid production that were changed because one reason or another?

I ask because with how finally written and tight chapter 4/5 are written there's gotta be some wildly different drafts!

[weirdestcornelius]

I am the creator of the flag, i was raped by my brother for years. Anyone can use this flag, the problem is that i dont want it dumbed down nor people who are "neutral" on kc to use it.

I dont want to attack kc, the point of this flag is also separating us from her.

You can vent and use the flag, but i didnt want thay specific user using my fucking flag when they are neutral on this.

🩷

Please don't disrespect Raf on this, any of you.