#HOLY FRIGGIN HECK

[skyloftian-nutcase]

*sneaks in,

Gives you this*

*runs away*

WKQIWGEOFFHDKAOQHDLFISHALAHQFKCU

I—YOU—

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

Dude you went SO HARD on this like I—THIS IS AMAZING????? I WILL BE THINKING ABOUT THIS ALL WEEK

[cokoweee]

COKO. Dude. This latest update- Holy MONKEY FEATHERS.

Let’s begin cause there’s a LOT TO COVER HEHEHEH~

Firstly

LOOK AT THIS MAN’S EXPRESSION. Just- FRIGGIN LOOK AT IT. He’s blushing, he’s tense, he’s confused and flattered and weirded out, and happy- This man don’t know what emotions are and he just got hit by a truck full of them.

And AGAIN- KENDRA IS COMPLETELY INEBRIATED- She will most likely not even REMEMBER THIS MOMENT- Will Donnie tell her? Will this be a hilarious story that causes an argument later down the lines in their marriage?

WHO KNOWS. 🤷‍♀️ And it DOESN’T END THERE-

Not ONLY is Donnie flying through the five stages of grief like a boss level mini game- but Kendra, even in her drunken state, noticed that Donnie had that dumb makeup on him to cover up his markings for the party. And she just- gently- caresses his cheek to wipe it off.

Yeah, Donnie’s gonna die from either too much happiness or being way too flustered. Either way-

Awwwwwwwwww 💜

NEXT.

Despite being completely paralyzed in fear love, Donnie’s gaze quickly makes its way to where Big Mama and Frida are. And what does he see that gives him this horrified of an expression?

OH- SHEEEELLLLLL NO.

So, like the reasonable turtle mutant Donnie is, he gingerly picks up Kendra and leaves the party.

Also can we just study this anatomy for a second cause GUYS- as an artist myself this kind of posing and proportions is NOT EASY TO DO. So-

���👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

WELL DONE, COKO!!!!!

Ok, so after they make their way back to their room, Donnie plops Kendra into bed. We’ve seen this before- he’s never gentle, literally throwing her and it’s absolutely hilariou-

… Expectation SUBVERSION- the SWEETEST I’ve ever seen. 🥹 Donnie’s being so gentle with her what the HECK DJFUJWVXMISUDHWBSUW I adore these two- they love each other so much- caring for each other despite their qualms and history- AAAAAA ITS SO GOOOOOOD!!!

And now that Kendra is safe and away from Big Mamas prying eyes, Donnie has time to ABSOLUTELY FREAK OUT.

THIS DUDE went from feeling nothing to feeling EVERYTHING. And we get to watch and die laughing at his expense~ *WHEEEEEEZE*

This dude is totally broken HAAAA

Alright- with emotions and feelings and imagination WAY TOO HIGH, Donnie tries to distract himself.

The comedy in this chapter is just top tier~ I was at work when I read it the first time, and I broke out laughing and wheezing. (So grateful I work alone HA)

And just when Donnie thinks he’s in the clear-

*Chaos Gremlin chortling sounds* Coko, you absolute GENIUS- HAHAHAHA- I love that you simply allow the audience to imagine what Donnie saw- No one needs to outright say it, we all just know. And it’s utterly hilarious.

Donnie’s never gonna recover from that brain poof- You can just see all of his brain cells and bad boy image DISSOLVE in an instant at such a sight. 🤣 HIS HAIR EVEN CURLED UP- HIS EYES ARE BUGGING OUT- HAHAHA THIS DUDE’S brain went from dead to running a marathon in a MILLISECOND.

Alright, I think this has gotten long enough, so I’ll stop there. 😅 Amazing work, Coko!!! I am VERY excited to see what happens next!

~ Melissa

AUUUGGHHH ill never tire of these asks pointing out the little things cause yall almost always get like 80% of the lil things i slap in updates

THANKS FOR SEEING MY EFFORT IN THAT PANEL! THAT ANATOMY WAS A BITCH.

While sketching the update I may have been watching some goofy shows and movies so influence from those was high. Figuring out ways to show without showing what was going on took longer than expected but HEY! YALL GOT THE IDEA SO SWAG.

If my shoulder stops hurting I might have the next update by morning. Im gettin a lil too excited for what’s next. Already picked an emoji for the next chapter thing

[sarahowritesostucky]

Tips for coping with depression

As someone who struggles deeply with depression, I thought I'd post these very simple but very crucial tips for overcoming a low time

FIRST AND FOREMOST, IF YOU ARE UNHAPPY ENOUGH THAT IT'S AFFECTING THE WAY YOU ENJOY LIFE, YOU'RE UNHAPPY ENOUGH TO SEEK OUT THERAPY AND POSSIBLY MEDICATION. My depression doesn't usually manifest as sadness. It manifests as exhaustion, lack of drive, and tanking self-care. So it took me a long time to realize that it "counted" as depression. If you don't have insurance, look up a therapist who is willing to do a payment plan and to see you only a couple times a year, maybe just via tele appointment. They might be able to prescribe you medications if that's what you need. I was VERY hesitant to start meds, but I tried low doses of two meds and they rapidly turned my life around.

But in addition, here are my personal recommendations:

BRUSH YOUR TEETH. Always do this first. I don't know what the heck it is about depression that makes brushing your teeth so damn hard, but it's a thing, and you'll feel better if you do this first.

START WITH A SHOWER. Once you finally manage to force yourself out of bed, please for all that is holy, just get a shower. I prefer baths, but I've heard from others that the shower part is crucial to them. Get a shower and stay in there as long as you friggin' want or can. Get some tingly mint shampoo. Get a tingly face wash. That shit is invigorating. I actually keep my toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower and brush at the end of my bath (whatever I'm depressed and weird)

GO OUTSIDE. Even if it's just opening a window or standing on your apartment's balcony for a bit. Go outside and see the earth. Go for a walk.

GET SUNLIT. get assessed for vitamin D--you probably need supplements. Purchas an indoor SAD sun lamp; you can get them pretty cheap on Amazon and just 30 mins a day with that thing makes a difference!

SUPPLEMENTS. Important and useful ones I like are Vitamin D, Ashwaganda, CBD oil, Kratom (approach with care if you have addiction issues). And take a friggin' multivitamin--you're a grownup.

ALWAYS DO SOMETHING KIND FOR YOURSELF. do something small, simple, and kind for yourself, for no reason other than it's a simple pleasure. Eat one of those tiny half cup portions of ice cream they have at the grocery store, put vetiver oil in your bath, get the overpriced drink at Starbucks you always tell yourslef you shouldn't waste money on, light a candle or get one of those misting waterfall thingies and plug it in. Watch some cat videos, do a coloring book, bake a batch of muffins. Whatever feels nice to you.

LISTEN TO HAPPY MUSIC. I'm a big fan of angsty, dark rock and alternative music, but I force myself to avoid it when I'm having a hard time mentally. Instead I listen to upbeat gym music or pop, music that sound how I wish I felt.

CLEAN YOUR SPACE. If you're my kind of mentally ill, your living space sometimes can get pretty bad. There can be are piles. Put on some of the aforementioned music and get going, one item at a time, you can always take a break or stop whenever you want.

GO TO THE GYM. People who've never really worked out don't seem to believe us gym rats, but it's true: regular exercise can help almost as much as (or more than) antidepressants!

DRINK LOTS OF WATER AND EAT WELL. I used to be a diet soda addict, okay? But water is what our bodies thrive on, and you'll be amazed at how much more awake a simple chug of water can make you feel.

CALL A HELPLINE. If you need to talk, call a helpline. It's so easy. You don't have to be in crisis mode or at the end of your rope to call, and unless you're on the phone actively threatening immediate harm to yourself, they aren't going to do anything but give you a kind ear. I volunteer at one of these helplines, which strangely also really helps with depression.

BE KIND! To yourself and others. It's free to do and worth its weight in gold to the people on the receiving end. As Ru Paul likes to say: "Kindness is the highest form of intellect."

[rosecarnivale]

Holy hecking CANNOLI, paisanos! It’s me! a person you’ve never friggin’ heard about!

I plan to start using this hollow landscape of a blog soon, it’ll mostly be dedicated to posting my art >:)

I have a bunch of doodles and stuff to share, but i’ll try to start making newer stuff to post! this space will be mostly dedicated to size difference and wholesome giant/tiny content, such as the example i will show below, though I will not shy away from posting other things I enjoy, maybe even snippets of plans or ideas! could be fun… without further ado, the piece i’ve decided to kick this blog off with! 💜

This is a drawing of me and my ultimate bestest ever bestie, an artner like no other, one of the most important people in my life! our ideas tend to come almost symbiotically, she’s the big thinker/writer, I am illustrator/idea-giver

Together! we are the ultimate brainstormers!!! and talented tinies like this can be hard to find… satyrites like @biscuit-rambling must recieve proper care and pamperings! it’s the best way to recharge their battery and keep them happy, but listening to their giant’s heartbeat speeds up the process ten-fold! ^v^ <3

[pedrito-friskito]

uh

holy friggin heck

I'm??? so????? y'all I don't have words

I always say the same shit about remembering my old tumblr days and how all we care about were notes and followers and how things have changed and things HAVE changed but still, seeing big numbers like this, I'm like me???? little old me??? you want to read the things I write??? ME????? shook. forever shook.

forever shook, forever grateful, forever happy as a friggin clam that I got pulled back onto this hellsite

I'd tag mutuals but there's so many of you??? I cannot fathom the friendships I have made here

I'll shut up now, I love you all, hope you're having wonderful weekends xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxo all my love forever and ever xoxoxoxo

[jeany545]

Shaded Colored Sketch for Sykes

This came out so friggin rad, I loved mashing up this design but holy heck that outfit was complicated too. I love how the shading made the metallic textures pop

I'm so happy they were so patient, this took way longer than it should have xAx

[pitayas-plushies]

Day 295 !!!!!

hello friends !!!! holy heck guys im a friggin billionare can you believe it ??!!

38 days left !!

[flowerandthesongstress]

Recently someone told me that it must be ‘so hard [writing stories in a secondary language]’ and I burst into tears. Of gratitude. 

Not that I don’t value compliments and assurances, but sometimes all I want is for someone to understand and acknowledge how hard it is. 

I write with several dictionaries open. More often than not, I ponder over short phrases for hours not because I don’t know how to express a thing, but because I don’t know how to translate a thing. It’s there, in my head, expressed and formed, and yet I struggle to write it down. I know thousands of idioms and proverbs, they’re always at the ready, but there’s a stretch of time between remembering one and actually using it; time spent on forums, reading up, asking, in order to make sure that there’s a corresponding one in English that does not have any other nuances or hidden meanings. I hear that something is a dead metaphor in English — yet it’s a combination of new and exciting words to me. Oops. I like a word and start using it extensively — then accidentally learn that it’s a no-no or, for instance, a filler word. Oops! I had been writing for years before switching languages, I had a style already formed and cemented. I had the cultural context and an audience. Favorite expressions, jokes, mannerisms, etc. And then ... Then I had to start all over. Items gone, levels gone; look at this dork in the starting zone, with a wooden sword and a flimsy chain shirt pulled off a dead paladin, and being pummeled by a kobold. 

Paired with my brokey brain (who the heck promoted dysfunction to executive?!) it’s hard. Aside from a few initial lessons, I had no teachers but the internet. 

I often see praises directed at people who do this, praises in the vein of ‘whenever I see a fanfic preceded by words ‘sorry not my native language’ I know that it’s gonna be superb’. Again, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with compliments, it’s just— I always feel an urge to inquire of the native speaker who offers this compliment: you do understand why, though, right? And why they’re apologizing, why that faux-warning is there? Because of perpetual doubt; it’s nearly impossible to assess yourself in a secondary language. Because of fear and shame; ‘they will notice each bump, and I notice none’ and ‘they all probably speak it so much better than I do’. And because of perfectionism; brought on, in part and sometimes subconsciously, by what could be called the immigrant effect — ‘my otherness means that I have to work twice as hard’. Compliments are awesome. Assuring a person that they have nothing to be worried about? Awesome. 

Saying ‘holy forking shirtballs, that must be hard as heck’, though? God tier validation. Makes a person feel so heard and seen.

Of course I’m not complaining; it was my own choice. Moreover, choosing English over a ‘native’ 🤮 language that was forcibly imposed on me and has nothing to do with my ethnicity, culture, and upbringing, was an act of defiance on my part. Whatever anyone would say, however anyone would mock me for ‘trading an imperialist for an imperialist’ (not my words), I’m proud of myself for doing this. It’s like healing from an abusive relationship, step by tiny step (but healing is hard). I will always choose to see the positive side of English, to only perceive it as a unifying factor that brings people together. What Esperanto should have been. Kaj jes, jes, kompreneble I would have wanted Esperanto to win instead 😁but the world doesn’t work like that, alas. 

Either way, no, please don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. Just saying that it’s really really friggin’ hard, and it’s very very very nice to have the hard acknowledged. 

And hey, you. Yes, you, the person writing in a secondary language. I understand how you feel. I know how hard it is. I understand your fear and pain and doubt. You’re awesome and you’re a fighter. 

[ursaribbon]

actually, i DID do something productive for my own versatility as a human being

since i was so sleep deprived today i just kinda huddled in a corner and put my head down for a bit and then i still couldn't fall asleep

so i decided while i had some extra time i would finally watch ratatouille, which i've somehow never seen despite hearing about it on the internet every now and then and being a disny kid at heart

i was talking with my brother about it a while later and he said he's already seen it at least twice even though he's younger than me which is like?? then how the heck did i avoid it all this time

and then i was talking about it at dinner and my dad was like "i think we all saw it as a family once" and my mom was like "and i think we saw it when they were doing those free kids movie screenings at the theater that one summer" and i was like "no bc i literally didn't know ratatouille was the name of a dish they serve in the movie until a few days ago and i had no idea what the plot was at all before i saw it today"

and then also my dad mentioned that he heard they were making a sequel to turning red (i looked it up and apparently it was just a rumor) and my brother said he didn't like turning red and i was like why and he was like "bc they never told her about the panda curse and blah blah blah something about the pacing of the movie that wasn't even how it happened and didn't make sense as an argument" and i was sitting there like "BRUH IT'S A METAPHOR FOR HOW PEOPLE WITH UTERUSES ARE MADE TO FEEL ASHAMED ABOUT THEIR PERIODS AND ALSO WTF ARE U TALKING ABOUT" and then my dad was like "i actually really liked it" which kinda surprised me but like go off king

so anyway back to ratatouille so uh it's one of my favorite disney movies now. i saw john lasseter and brad bird in the credits and i was like ofc it was them lol

bc like. it's so disney but it's also so unique and poetic and my mom texted me during like the last 5 minutes during ego's final review and i was just. frozen. could barely peel my eyes away for more than 2 seconds to respond. i already liked the movie, the suspense was perfect and it wasn't too suspensey in an annoying way because it was like they were always solving suspense while new suspense was being introduced. like it was more of an underlying thing that you can still enjoy the movie while it happens but you still kinda wonder what's gonna happen with some stuff

like. ego's review was really the moment where it all came together. it was like time stopped and all the themes of the movie came together in a cohesive whole like the cheese and the strawberry or whatever and it was just friggin pristine

come oN MAN I JUST WANNA MAKE SOMETHING LIKE THAT WHERE PEOPLE FEEL LIKE TIME STOPS AND I WANNA SEE IT COME TOGETHER I WOULD LITERALLY GIVE UP BEING ABLE TO WATCH ANYTHING SPOILER-FREE EVER AGAIN IF IT MEANT I COULD HEAR EVERY STROKE OF THE PEN ON THE STORYBOARD AND ok i'll be normal for now bc like the feelings are accurate but i cannot build comprehensible sentences anymore i need sleep holy sh

[spnwoman]

Holy heck girl that was amazing and sooo friggin hot! 😅😅😅🥵🥵🥵 I should not have read that before work lmao😅 I’ll have nice daydreams tho! 😉 I loved how there still was little bits of the real Dean here and there, this was very yummy 😋

Pretend You're Mine

This is my first entry on my 2024 @jacklesversebingo card. It will fill the "I don't like people touching what's mine." square. The quote will be bolded in the fic.

Summary: Y/N knows the person standing in her bedroom isn't really Dean, but it's hard to keep that in mind when he's so close.

Pairing/Characters: Demon!dean x Y/N

Warnings: Mostly all smut. Oral (f. receiving). Overstimulation. Light bondage. Use of a belt (no spanking). Brief, light choking. Edging. Rough, unprotected PinV sex. Slight breeding kink. Slightly Dom demon!dean. Slight dub-con. (Warning out of an abundance of caution.) Angst.

Word Count: 3,673

A/N: This is my first entry for jacklesversebingo 2024! I'm so excited to participate again this year. So much fun last year. Hope you guys enjoy my naughty little demon!dean offering. 🥰

A/N 2: Edit: I'm a doofus, cause I also meant to mention that this fic was filling this request I got from the lovely @viviwatchestv I hope you feel like this fic captures the feeling in that song of the inescapable pull of the bull towards the Matador, even when you know it's no good for you.

These lines especially inspired me for the beginning:

Your stare is steely and your tongue is sharpened Can carve me like a steak knife

Hope you like it, hon! ❤️

Y/N walked through the door to her bedroom in the dark, tossing her sweater onto the chair in the corner as she flicked on the light. As the room lit up, a movement across the room caught her attention and she gasped and cut off a scream as she realized who it was.

But then her heart started beating triple time as that realization sank in.

Dean stood just in front of her open window, the curtain blowing lightly behind him in the soft October breeze that blew through. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt over his gray t-shirt, and well-worn, dark blue jeans. 

He looked so cozy and soft and so much like himself that Y/N almost ran into his arms immediately, but she stopped herself. No matter what he wore, or whatever he looked like, this was not Dean. His eyes were green and shining at her from across the room, but she knew they could blink black in an instant. 

This was not Dean.

As she stood silhouetted by her doorway with her hand on her chest, still breathing heavily, Dean smiled lazily. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Scaring the shit out of you wasn’t really how I’d planned on making you gasp and pant tonight.” His expression was warm and teasing, and his voice had butterflies pirouetting in her stomach.  

Y/N forced the feelings of elation and desire down where they belonged, and dropped her hand from her chest, closing it into a fist at her side. Her voice was still breathless, though, as she spoke. 

“What are you doing here? Get out.”

“I missed you.”

Y/N shook her head. “No you didn’t.”

Dean tilted his head. “Sure I did. Haven’t you missed me?”

Y/N gritted her teeth against the pain that shot through her when she thought about how much she missed him. No, how much she missed Dean.

Dean stepped towards her a bit and she took a step back before realizing that retreating was pointless. There was nowhere she could go to escape him, nowhere he couldn’t follow. So, she looked him in the eye and let her anger show. 

“No, I haven’t missed you.” Her voice was still weaker than she’d like. “Get out.” She repeated.

He drew closer, barely three feet separating them, and shook his head slowly. “I know that isn’t true. I’m the love of your life. You told me the last time, remember?”

Y/N’s chest tightened further as she remembered the last time she’d seen Dean, how she’d begged him to come back to himself, kissed him desperately as though true love’s kiss could somehow wake him up, or force him to shed the monster of his twisted soul. But the demon had just laughed as she told him how much she loved him.

That had been almost a month ago, and every day since had been torture; she did miss him, so much. She spent her empty days remembering him and her empty nights aching for him. She craved him like water in a desert. Looking at him now, all long limbs and tall, solid strength, the pull towards him was magnetic and irresistible.

She shook her head again, trying to gather her scattered wits. This is not Dean. She reminded herself. She nodded slightly.

 “I do miss Dean, every day. But you aren’t him.”

He tilted his head slightly, an action so reminiscent of her Dean that it felt like he was reaching inside her and crushing her heart in his fist.

“Like I told you before, sweetheart, it’s still me.” He shrugged. “Or mostly anyway.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “You’re a demon. You’re not Dean.”

He chuckled softly and her eyes popped open again to watch him. He shrugged one shoulder. “Actually, I’m both.”

He moved to stand right in front of her, and she dropped her eyes to his chest; looking at his beautiful face so close up was just too much. But he wouldn’t let her look away, tipping her chin up with his knuckle as he spoke soft and silky.

“The Dean in me misses the way I could make you smile, and the demon in me misses the way I could make you scream.” Y/N’s eyes bulged as another seductive smile slid onto his face. “I came here for both.”

Dean slipped his hand up to cup her cheek, pressing his thumb against her lips and then slipping the tip of it into her mouth. She gasped and turned her head away, closing her eyes, desperately hoping against hope that he would leave, while deep down her soul was begging him to stay.

When she turned away from him, Dean let out a questioning hum. “Hmm, interesting.” He said quietly. “Maybe you don’t miss me anymore. Maybe good ol’ what’s-his-name is taking care of you these days.”

Y/N snapped her head back to face him, fear filling her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Dean’s expression turned calculating. “I’m talking about you and loverboy out and about earlier.” His voice dipped to a sinister whisper. “I saw you.”

Y/N felt a drop of dread slip down her spine when she thought of the sweet guy from work, who’d taken her to coffee this afternoon. Her voice wavered as she asked the question that terrified her. “What did you do to him?”

Dean’s expression shifted, becoming slightly mocking. “Nothing permanent.” He shrugged. “I don’t need to draw more of that kind of attention.”

Quick as a flash he had her by the throat and twisted them both so he could drive her back into the wall. His grip was not tight, but it was binding, ensuring she couldn’t move as he bent his head, skimming his lips up her neck and then nuzzling his nose behind her ear and making her tremble.

He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eye, his gaze unwavering and scarily focused as he warned her.

“But I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her throat as he continued to stare at her and in spite of her fear and heartache, she could feel her stomach tighten, and her panties get damp.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t belong to you.”

His gaze hardened. “Yeah, you do.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but he slammed his lips down on hers, immediately thrusting his tongue into her mouth and swallowing her protests. She brought her hands up to grab at his forearm, trying to pull it away from her, but he let her throat go, so he could grab both her wrists in a vice-like grip and slam them against the wall on either side of her head.

He shoved his knee between her legs and rubbed against her soaked center. She couldn’t stop the whimper that slithered its way out of her mouth, making Dean chuckle. His voice was knowing and triumphant as he spoke against her lips. 

“You want me to go, baby? Just tell me. Want me to stop?” 

He let go of her wrist to slip his hand under her t-shirt and cup her breast in his big hand, squeezing hard enough to send a pulse of need straight to her cunt. He smiled wickedly as though he felt it too. 

“Just tell me to stop then, sweetheart. That’s all it’ll take.” He taunted her in deep, silky tones.

He let go of her other wrist and she dropped both hands onto his broad shoulders. With his free hand he flicked open the button at her waistband and lowered her zipper. Y/N was shaking her head back and forth, trying to convince herself that she wanted him to stop. 

He was moving incredibly slowly, giving her ample opportunity to refuse, to push him away, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t put a stop to the pleasure coursing through her veins as his hand slid down her pants and into her panties to find her clit and swirl around it softly.

Instead, her head fell back against the wall with a hard thump as she tried to press down harder against his gently probing finger. But he wouldn’t let her, pulling his hand away whenever she tried, and making her whimper some more. He laughed outright at her neediness, licking her lips open to claim her mouth again.

After a few minutes, he pulled both of his hands off her body and braced his palms against the wall, one on either side of her shoulders, trapping her within his solid, unbending frame. He breathed against her lips, and she chased them as he pulled away from her. He shook his head. 

“Uh uh. Stay or go, baby, what’s it gonna be?”

She stared into his burning green gaze and tears filled her eyes as she capitulated. “Stay.” She whispered.

It wasn’t Dean. But it felt like him, smelled like him; he kissed her the same, his touch hadn’t changed, and she missed him so much. Her body never stopped aching for him, her heart never stopped breaking over his loss. But now he was here, and her body didn’t care about what was different, and her heart could pretend for a night.

So she nodded and repeated herself as she frantically pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”  

Dean growled at her surrender and as she slipped his t-shirt over his head, he ripped hers off her body, followed quickly by her bra. In one smooth motion he grabbed her by the waist, twisted to face the bed, and then tossed her onto it. He reached her in two strides and grabbed her jeans by the cuffs, yanking them down and off of her.

She trembled under his gaze, with only her panties still on. She watched him unhook his belt with his right hand as his left reached out to rub against the wet silk of her panties. They completely flooded as he slowly pulled his belt off; the leather made a soft whoosh over the denim as it slid through the loops. He dropped it to the ground and Y/N jumped at the sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor with a loud thud. 

He rubbed harder along her slit, causing her to moan loudly and throw her head back, pressing it into the mattress. She looked up again as she felt the bed dip as he climbed on, kneeling between her legs. His torso was bare and beautiful as he towered above her and she reached up to run her hands across his wide, broadly muscled chest and down over his flat stomach. 

He lifted her further up the bed and then bent her in half as he pushed her knees into her chest, sinking down slowly and kissing a path down her leg as he pulled her panties off.

Almost as soon as they were off, he was on his belly with his mouth buried in her cunt. He wasn’t gentle; he wasn’t teasing. He sucked her clit into his mouth and drew on it deeply. Her knees locked against his ears, and she screamed out her immediate climax. 

He let her legs stay clamped around his head as he continued to fuck her with his mouth -  through that climax and into another, and then several more.

Each subsequent climax was more drawn out than the last. Every time she came, he slowed everything down even further so that he could tease and torment her for longer, even as her nerves became more and more shredded with pleasure. So that by the end, all he was doing was kitten licking her over-stimulated clit, but she was so sensitive that it felt like white hot fire licking her, and it made her scream and beg for him to end the torturous pleasure. 

Eventually he pulled away, and Y/N was almost too woozy to notice that he was shedding his jeans and underwear. He came back to her and flipped her onto her hands and knees without effort, but her muscles were exhausted, and she was wobbly on all fours. 

Dean reached over her to grab a pillow from the head of the bed. “Put your face in the pillow.” He instructed roughly as he tucked it into her arms.

Y/N pulled it to her gratefully and sank her upper body down onto the bed, laying her flushed cheek against the cool pillowcase, and pushing her hips back towards him so he could claim her body.

But instead he stood up. Her blood started pumping hard and fast when she saw him pick up his belt and walk back to the side of the bed. He climbed back up and got in position behind her again. The belt was folded in half and he slid the cold leather slowly up and down her pussy making her shiver.

“Dean.” She whimpered. “Please.” 

“Please what, sweetheart? What are you begging for so prettily?” He asked.

She felt her cheeks flame brighter, but she was beyond trying to be demure or coy. “Please, fuck me.”

Dean chuckled lightly. “You sure about that, baby? You didn’t seem too happy to see me earlier.” He set the belt down beside her and started to move off the bed.

”Maybe I should go like you told me to.”

Y/N sat up quickly and grabbed his hand as he stepped onto the floor. “No, I told you to stay.” 

Dean shrugged. “But first you told me to get out. That was practically the first thing you said to me. Hurt my feelings. I should go.”

“No, don’t!” Y/N cried out and she was humiliated by her desperation. But still she sat on the side of the bed, clinging to his wrist and shaking her head. “Don’t leave, please.”

Dean leaned down and kissed her softly, sweetly. “Okay, I won’t go if you tell me that you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Only me.”

“Yes, only you.”

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Y/N?” 

Dean’s voice was soft and seductive as he reached out his big hand to squeeze her breast. Y/N bit her lip against the pleasure spike as he pinched her right nipple and she quickly breathed out her answer. 

“I want you to fuck me.” She admitted again.

“Do you want my cock, Y/N? Do you need me to fill you up with it? Pound into you endlessly till I prove I fucking own you?”

Y/N nodded, but Dean shook his head. “No, baby. Tell me.” He picked up her hand and wrapped it around his dick. “Pump me fast and tell me what you want me to do.”

She began pumping, but he tapped her fingers. “Use your slick to slide better.” She reached down to scoop up the wetness that coated her pussy, and began pumping him again with her wet hand.

Dean grunted. “Fucking yes. Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want…I want you to fuck me with your cock, fill up my pussy.”

“And pound you till I fucking own you?” He reiterated.

Y/N nodded. “Yes.” Shame burned in her heart as she begged him. This wasn’t Dean. She should be letting him leave, telling him to go. But it felt like she’d explode into a million pieces if he walked away now.

Dean nodded and immediately manhandled her onto her hands and knees again, facing away from him, but this time he stayed standing, at the side of the bed behind her. 

Directly across from her was a large standup mirror and she could see them reflected in it. Dean smiled wickedly and she knew he’d manoeuvred her into this position on purpose, so she could watch him fuck her senseless.

He pushed the pillow over to her and she laid her head back down on it. Then he picked up his belt and pulled her arms behind her back, wrapping the leather around her wrists so they were bound at the small of her back. 

He stepped up close behind her and she felt the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. He slid into her excruciatingly slowly. When the head of his cock was notched inside her he stayed like that, without moving for what felt like forever to Y/N.

She was whining at him, desperate for him to push further, but every time she tried to push back against him, he'd pull back out a little.

“Dean!” She cried out, frustrated and needy

But he just laughed and landed a swat to her hip. “Don't be greedy, sweetheart. Take what I'm giving you. If you want more, ask me nicely.”

Y/N shook her head even as she whimpered. “Please, Dean, give me more. I need more of you, all of you.”

He gave her another teasing half inch and then another as she begged him. 

Finally when she was weeping with need and achingly tense muscles, he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her head up so she was watching in the mirror. With one hand in her hair and the other on her belted hands, he slammed himself to the hilt inside her clenching walls. 

Y/N screamed in pleasure at the sudden invasion, even though it stretched her to the limit. Dean pulled back until he was almost out of her body before wrenching her back against him as he thrust deep and rough.

He continued to fuck her, pound into her as she'd begged him to, pushing her through countless more orgasms. He angled his cock in such a way that every single, brutal thrust, hit her g-spot perfectly. 

“Dean.” Y/N's voice was weak with exhaustion. “Please, I can't take anymore.”

Dean's answer was a particularly deep, hard thrust and a growl. “You're gonna take everything I give you baby. I told you, you're mine.” 

He pulled out and slammed back in again, making her scream out another moan as she came on his cock again, having completely lost count of how many orgasms he'd fucked out of her.

As he slammed into her again, he bent over her to grunt into her ear. “I'm gonna come, sweetheart. Want me to come inside you? Fill you up, make a little demon baby?”

Fear exploded in Y/N’s brain as some of the fog of want and need lifted and she shook her head. 

“No, please don't do that.” She whispered. 

Dean just laughed again and rutted into her deeper than ever.

She was shaking her head. “Please, don't.”

But before she'd even got the plea out, Dean was pulling out of her and pumping his cock fast. Thirty seconds later he threw his head back with a ragged roar and spurted his cum onto her ass and up her back. She watched him in the mirror and her cunt was clenching again as she saw his muscles tense and go rigid as he thrust into his hand. 

As she watched, his eyes popped open - slick like oil and bottomless black. The sight made her start to cry, partly because of the reminder that this wasn't really Dean, but also because, in spite of that, she knew she wanted him again, still; she knew she didn’t need him any less. 

There was still a part of her heart that clenched pleasantly at the idea of carrying Dean's child, even if she knew it would be a monster.

I'm sick. She thought, and as Dean let go of her hair, she laid her head on the pillow to weep quietly. 

Dean was shuddering with the end of his climax, groaning deeply. He let go of her arms too and she sort of sank onto her side. Reality and realization was beginning to flood back into her mind and with it came regret and shame. 

This wasn't Dean.

She looked over at him as he pulled his boxer briefs and jeans up over his hips. He buttoned and zipped them up before reaching behind her and unwinding his belt from her wrists.

He grinned at her as he slid the belt though its loops and buckled it. 

“Looks like I followed through on my promise.” His voice became hard. “You won’t forget who you belong to now, will you?”

He leaned down and squeezed her cheeks lightly as he sank his tongue deep into her mouth, making want and need begin to stir once again, starting to tighten that coil in her lower belly.

He pulled back, his expression triumphant and smug. “So, who do you belong to, sweetheart?” 

Y/N looked up at his beautiful face, black eyes receded back to shining green and felt her chest tighten; she thought of the way she'd begged him, the way she was coated in his cum, the way her body still responded to his simple touch, and she could only answer truthfully. 

“You. I belong to you.”

His eyes widened slightly, as though he didn’t think she'd actually give him the answer he was looking for. 

“Fuck yeah you do.”

He kissed her again, and it was slow and gentle and it was playing tricks with her mind, making her think that it was her Dean kissing her so sweetly.

He pulled away and his gaze was more intense than smug as he studied her. “Maybe I should come by more often to remind you. What do ya think?”

Something stirred in Y/N's stomach. Was it possible, or was she only deluding herself again? If she was with him more often, could she coax her Dean back to her, at least enough that the demon would agree to the blood cure?

Fuck it, she thought. Delusion is where I'm living now; it's worth trying.

So she nodded. “Yes, Dean.” She smiled at him lazily. “I think that's a very good idea. But next time, use my door.”

The grin that crossed his face was all Dean and almost no demon.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

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@safiyas-world @aylacavebear @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7

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@leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2 @fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar

[pippipdiddlydoodles]

MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON MARICHAT IS CANON

[lionillustrated]

Tagging Game

Rules: answer 21 Qs and tag 21 people

Tagged by: @sadskeletonscientist

Nicknames: Lion

Height: 5 something

Following: 374

Do I get asks: sometimes not a lot, but I love getting them!

Last movie I saw: Spiderman into the Spiderverse

Last thing I googled: the other day (don't ask the context isn’t very interesting)

Favorite musician: AJR and Fall out Boy

Song stuck in my head: Genghis Khan by Miike Snow

Other blogs: @prin-konfanblog​ (a fan blog for an artist but its p inactive)

Amount of 💤: Shoot uhh, 10 hours I think

Lucky #: 69

Whatchya wearing: rick and morty t-shirt, basketball shorts and socks

Dream job: Animator

Dream trip: Japan probably

Play an instrument: I have a guitar next to my bed but I'm too lazy to learn to play it lmao

Favorite food: SUSHI!!

Languages: English but I also know some sign language

Favorite songs: Wilson (Expensive mistakes) by Fall out Boy and Sunflower by Post Malone

Random fact: I almost never wear matching socks (I'm lazy)

Describe self with aesthetics: google ‘gay aesthetic’ and that should sum it up

@macithemahsee @hadesaedes @your-local-cryptic @marble-soda-floof @cyrusiceut @xmilkydreamx @xarrior @i-dont-sell-urls @fuckin-cryptid-binch @xrad1cal @thesinbintrashbin @lazyartistdalek @carlosnoodledraws @computerglitch8 @aurazzy @suchamazingness @megalomaniac242 @878-sparksofmagic @kaz3313 @kitty-cat-kate @undertale-rulez

[rosebete]

Gift Exchange Fic

Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy this, it’s been great getting to know you the past few weeks :D

Hooked on All These Feelings

  The snow fell, silently, onto the grounds outside the library window. Belle hadn’t yet noticed the change in weather, as she was currently reading one of the few mystery novels at the castle she hadn’t yet read, and was getting caught up in the unravelling investigation. While admittedly slow in the setup of the mystery, the novel was swiftly growing denser and denser with each revelation. She was sat on a window seat, one leg curled beneath her, the other dangling over the edge towards the floor. The curve of her skirt – a light green that brought out the same colour in her eyes – was deep enough to cover most of her lower body in its volumes of fabric, but it was not quite long enough, given her current position, to cover the good inch of her stockinged calf that showed between her skirt hem and her boot.

  The boot wasn’t hers – none of the clothes she was currently wearing belonged to her, as a matter of fact. She had arrived at the castle still in summer shoes and a light dress, to match the light, breezy October day. When November breezes had blustered across the countryside and begun to chill the castle, both the Beast and her servants had insisted that Belle wear some of the clothes in the wardrobes, since they were actually made with winter in mind. She had agreed, probably more out of her own discomfort than because the Beast had asked her to. They were still wary of each other then, unsure where either stood. The Beast flattered herself that they were closer now. It might have been because of Belle’s sweet smile, or the way she could laugh at the Beast, or crack jokes. Or it might have been because seeing a beautiful woman wearing the Beast’s old clothes, and looking far more comfortable in them than she ever had, did something complicated and strange to her heart.

  Belle’s foot swung idly back and forth, in time to the rhythm of some song that only she could hear. The Beast watched her out the corner of one eye. The eyelets caught the light as her foot moved, glinting copper. The same copper could be seen in Belle’s hair, thick and resplendent over her shoulders. The Beast could count the number of times Belle had worn her hair loose on one hand. The first had been the night she ran into the woods, and the Beast had run to save her.

  (She can still remember it now, over a year since the transformation, although she doesn’t like to. The loss of her temper, and the look of terror on Belle’s face. How Belle ran out of the castle as quickly as she could, reneging on her promise – and who could blame her? A guilt-ridden check of the mirror, which revealed the wolves, which resulted in her following Belle to the forest before she consciously chose to. She can still see the scars on her forearm that the wolf-fight left, no longer raised and pink, but there nevertheless. She can still remember the split-second before the wolves noticed her presence, and one was inches away from Belle’s face. She doesn’t remember fainting from shock, or the half-conscious state in which Belle eased her onto Phillippe and took her back home. But she remembers waking up in her armchair before the fire, and seeing Belle, her hair loose around her shoulders, worn out and worried, but there, for better or worse.)

  The second time had been a week ago at some point during the night, when both of them had come to the library for some comfort-reading. Belle had been in her shift, dark circles under her eyes and hair half-falling out of the plait she had braided it into for sleep. It had taken her a moment to realise that the Beast was there, and she had jumped at the sight of her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” she’d said. “I didn’t realise anyone was awake.”

  “I come here sometimes, when I have trouble sleeping,” the Beast had responded by way of explanation. “Books are a comfort, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Belle had smiled. “I never felt quite as alone, growing up, as long as I something to read. Whenever I had a nightmare, or trouble sleeping, I’d open my curtains and read by the lamplight – or the moonlight, once we moved to the country.”

  “You didn’t always live in Molyneaux?” The Beast had sat at that point, realising that the conversation would not be their typical short exchange.

  “No,” Belle said. “My parents and I used to live in Paris, many years ago. But there was a plague scare, when I was around five or six, and they decided to leave for Lyons. After my mother died, Papa decided to move to the countryside, and we lived in several different towns before Molyneaux.” The speech, tempered as it was with a hint of a smile, had the air of something well-rehearsed.

  “Have you been living in Molyneaux long?” the Beast had asked. A decade of speaking with the same people had left her conversational skills rusty, to say the least, but she could remember the basics of politeness.

  “Since I was fifteen, so … nearly five years, now,” Belle said. “I didn’t realise it had been that long,” she added in a murmur.

  “Did you … like it there?” The Beast was unsure why she had kept questioning her. The topic of Belle’s life was one which could only bring awkwardness to both parties. But there was something intriguing in Belle’s words and manner which had urged the Beast to keep her talking.

  Belle had shrugged. “It was very beautiful,” she’d said. “Like a painting. Or a model set. And the town was always bustling with some news or other.”

  The Beast had said nothing, instead letting her tail swish silently beneath the folds of her shift. She had almost forgotten that she was wearing something feminine in front of Belle – but when trousers were more dignified for everyday use, and the cut of her old clothes only emphasised the form which she no longer possessed, it was little wonder that stays, petticoats, and bodices held little of the appeal they once had. She now only wore her shift to sleep in, and she had decided long ago not to question how her clothes had altered to her new size.

  Judging the conversation to be at an end, the Beast had walked over to the farthest corner of the opposite sofa to where Belle was sitting, just close enough that the candlelight could reach her. There, she picked up the book she had abandoned earlier that day – a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo she was making her way through for the third time. Silently, the two women had read until the candle began sputtering hopelessly – and by then, the first light of predawn had begun to stain the horizon. The Beast had looked up, noticing the differing quality of light, only to see that Belle had fallen asleep in the middle of reading her book. Her plait had come fully undone by then, the shimmering ribbon tangled in her dark hair. Without putting much thought to the action, the Beast had lifted a spare throw from another chair and draped it over Belle’s body, tucking it in with almost impersonal neatness at her shoulders, knees, and feet. She’d fled in a panic moments later, once her thoughts had caught up to her again, and Belle hadn’t mentioned the incident in the week since then.

  Now, the Beast realised with a rising horror that she had allowed her gaze to linger on Belle’s form for too long, and she was looking back at her with a vaguely puzzled expression.

  “Is everything alright?” Belle asked.

  “I – uh – well, yes – it’s snowing,” the Beast said in a clumsy rush, jerking her head to the window beyond Belle. She hoped that while she had been distracted, she had been looking at least slightly at the window, for her excuse to be at all plausible. Belle turned her head, and the Beast saw the curve of her cheeks rise in a smile.

  “So it is,” she agreed. “It hasn’t snowed since – since the night I came here,” she said. “I wonder if it’ll stick.”

  The Beast hummed non-committedly. “It’s a pain when it snows.”

  “Really?” Belle asked. “I love the snow – even when it means extra work, shovelling the paths and taking care of Phillippe, I can’t help but look out at the untouched countryside and just … just drink it in.” She laid aside her book, keeping a finger in her place. “And you can warm yourself by the fire, just thinking about how good it is that you’re in a warm house, and can look out at the snow – of course, if it’s stormy then that’s a different matter. But I don’t see what’s so awful about snow.”

  “Whenever I go out in it, the snow clumps around my legs so that I look like I’m covered in large, white pebbles,” the Beast did not whine. “I walk stupidly until they can melt off, and even then it’s a choice between letting it melt before the fire, and rinsing it off with hot water.”

  “Oh, woe are the sufferings of suchlike as ye,” Belle teased. “If it’s stuck tomorrow I’m going out there, and you’re coming with me, and you’ll enjoy it.”

  The Beast laughed. “I never said I disliked snow – just that it was a pain, which it is. Even you can’t deny it.”

  Belle blushed prettily, and the Beast felt a sudden flutter in her chest. “That may be,” Belle said, and the Beast suddenly had to concentrate on what she was saying. “But I’d still like to go out, if it’s clear.”

  “Alright, then,” the Beast smiled. The two of them smiled companionably at each other for a moment, before Belle picked up her book again. The Beast felt a hunger within her, for the conversation to continue. For her to make Belle smile or blush again. “What are you reading?” she asked casually. “You go through these so quickly, it’s like you’re on a new book every three days.”

  Belle laid her book aside again. “It’s The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins. I’ve never read it before, and the blurb was intriguing, to say the least.”

  “I remember that one,” the Beast said. “The one with two sisters – one ugly and intelligent, and one beautiful and naive, isn’t it?”

  “And a man,” Belle laughed. “Since he begins the narrative, I’m surprised you forgot him.”

  “I choose to remember the enjoyable parts,” the Beast countered. “And men, valuable though they may be, hold little enjoyment compared to the exploits of women.”

  She didn’t know why she said that. She had never told a single soul outwith the castle about her nature before. But ever since she had been rescued from certain hypothermia and a blood infection, the Beast had trusted Belle. Hidden behind her legs, the very tip of her tail began thrashing to and fro as an outlet of nervous energy.

  “I have to agree with you there,” Belle said. “It’s a shame that our contemporaries view women as too weak or feeble to have adventures of their own, otherwise I would scarcely bother reading about the thoughts and feelings of their male characters – which, of course, are always vastly superior to the thoughts and feelings of their female ones.”

  Words which were innocent enough – a girl’s expression of frustration at not reading about adventurous, excitable women. But there was something in the tilt of her head, the shy half-curve of her lip, that assured the Beast that Belle, quite definitely, viewed women the same way that she did. The Beast smiled fully, and Belle ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder and hide her face like a curtain.

  “You would probably enjoy this part of The Count of Monte Cristo, then,” the Beast said. “Dumas has many dynamic characters, of course. But in my reading, I had forgotten just how engaging Eugenie Danglars and Louise d’Armilly were. They are … intimate friends, who plan to run away together.”

  “Intriguing,” Belle said, setting aside her book with a bookmark, rather than her finger. She swung her other leg down off the window seat, so that now her skirts hung an inch or two above her dangling toes. “But when you say intimate friends …”

  “I don’t know how familiar you are with the Greek poets,” the Beast said, “but Eugenie apparently wears Minerva’s breastplate, which was said to cover Sappho.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand the reference,” Belle said.

  “They are … certainly more than friends,” the Beast said with a chuckle. “Sappho lived on the isle of Lesbos, with only women.”

  Realisation dawned on Belle’s face. “I see,” she said, tucking a strand of her behind her ear and winding the rest of it along her finger. “Do you have any of her poetry?”

  “I don’t think so,” the Beast said. “My parents … my father prioritised Homer, Hesiod, Sophocles, Cicero, Dante – the Classical men.” Her lip stiffened. She remembered her father as a loving man, but he and her mother had died so long ago that her memories of them melded with the impressions they had left upon the castle. “Whatever female writers you find in this library are my mother’s influence, and hers alone.”

  “Oh,” Belle said quietly. “Well,” she continued in a slightly brighter tone, “it’s good that Mmlles Danglars and d’Armilly have each other to run away with.”

  “You can read it, if you like,” the Beast offered. She held the book out slightly, but Belle shook her head a little.

  “I would, and happily, but you’re in the middle of reading it. It hardly seems fair to take you away from it.”

  “I’m right at the chapters where they run away,” the Beast pleaded. “It won’t be any trouble to me – I’ll even mark the page.”

  “You could read it aloud,” Belle suggested. “I – I mean,” she suddenly continued, blushing steadily, “it just seems like a simple solution to the problem – this way we can both experience it at the same time – I’m sorry, you’ve probably got better things to do –”

  “Belle,” the Beast said with a small smile. “It’s quite alright. I’d be happy to read it aloud. I must warn you, though,” she said with a grimace masquerading as a smile, “that my voice will not stretch to different character’s voices.”

  “I like your voice just fine,” Belle said. “It’s deep, and husky, but it suits you.”

  While there were few things about her curse that the Beast was thankful for, the absence of a visible blush was one of those things. Belle had paid her idle compliments before, praising her taste in books or laughing at her jokes. Those had been, to the Beast’s knowledge, the kind of things any girl would say to her friend – or someone she was cordial with, at least. But to have a compliment from her now, with the knowledge that they were both women who loved other women …

  “Come over here, so you can hear me better,” the Beast said. “Sit by me; tell me if I’m going too fast.”

  Harsh words; words which Belle would have bristled at three weeks earlier. But the Beast had stammered over every one of them, and had patted the sofa beside her gently, twice. Belle stood, her skirts swinging down to the floor, and settled beside the Beast. She kept a little distance, but not enough for the Beast to be unaware of her steady breathing, and the heat of her arm.

  The Beast took a breath, and began to read.

    “… and the people gave a great shout. ‘Arthur is King.’”

  “Told you so,” Ève said with a grin.

  “Ève, you’ve read this book before,” Belle laughed. “You know what happens in it.”

  “Am I not allowed to take pleasure in re-reading my own books, now?” Ève gasped melodramatically, clasping one hand to her heart. “You wound me, Belle. You really do.”

  “Drama queen,” Belle smirked. She lifted a hand to Ève’s chin, and pulled her down into a kiss. Ève hummed happily, moving her hand down Belle’s shoulder to her waist. The book fell, forgotten, out of Belle’s hand to the floor as she ran her fingers through Ève’s long, fair hair. Belle’s bodice was soft against Ève’s fingers, and she rubbed in light, soothing circles as they parted lips with an intake of breath.

  “Ève, you made me lose my place,” Belle complained, only half-serious. “We are supposed to be reading this to practice English for the Ambassador.”

  “I didn’t catch you complaining,” Ève smirked. She slipped her hand further around Belle’s waist, shifting her closer by the small of her back, and was gratified by her slight blush. “And besides, you are the one who kissed me, so the distraction is really your fault.”

  “Your interjection started this whole conversation –” Belle started, but was swiftly cut off by a rain of kisses over her face from Ève. When she eventually reached her mouth again, Belle twined her arms around Ève’s neck, the force of which sent them tumbling backwards onto the sofa. After a few minutes of thorough kissing, Belle pushed herself up on her elbows, her lips slightly swollen and her eyes bright.

  “Do you ever wonder if this … this joy will stop?” she asked. “Not completely, I mean, but – well, it still feels like a honeymoon phase. I keep finding myself wondering when we’ll settle down and be calmer about everything.”

  “It’s been almost a year already,” Ève said, reaching up to stroke Belle’s face. “And we’ve fought more than once since that day, my darling. This might be what it’s like for us.”

  (Last January: The ball with Belle, which had been entirely Cogsworth’s idea and which had (in the end, at least) worked. Ève had worn hose and an old riding jacket of her mother’s, since the thought of exposing her ridiculous body in one of her resised dresses was too much to bear. Surprisingly, she hadn’t hated the way she’d looked. Belle, of course, had been radiant as the sun in that golden dress. Ève’s tongue had been hopelessly tied throughout dinner and on the balcony. If she hadn’t learned that Belle was also like her, and Cogsworth, she would never have even begun to work up her courage.

  She skips over the evening and long night of despair, when she remembers it. If she could skip over the man in red, too, she would; but the man in red who tried to kill her is engraved on Ève’s mind forever, for better or worse. The moment of mercy she gave him, and the immediate betrayal when he saw that Belle had rejected him for something neither human nor male. To this day Ève is unsure which enraged him more – Belle could have told her, from a desperate plea in the village gone wrong, but she never had.

  Instead, Ève remembers the last moments as a Beast, in the dim light before the sunrise of her twenty-first birthday, that would seal her fate. Belle crying, holding her paw to her face. The whispered hint of her lips on Ève’s palm, before Ève …

  And then the transformation, and the look of disbelief on Belle’s face. The discovery that even as a woman, Ève was taller, broader, more muscular. The fear of a moment that had lasted for eternity; it was one thing to love a woman who looked nothing like one, but when presented with a girl the same age – but Ève’s thoughts had cut off there, when Belle had stepped into her space and ran a strand of her ash-blonde hair through her fingers. She had cupped Belle’s sweet, intelligent, funny – and yes, beautiful – face between her hands, and had leant down to kiss her.

  And, miracle above all else, Belle had kissed back.)

  “Maybe,” Belle said. She sat back on her heels, over Ève’s thighs, allowing Ève to push herself up slightly. “And I suppose you have a point about our occasional disagreements.” Ève slid a hand around the back of Belle’s neck, keeping the other planted behind her for balance.

  Belle suddenly gasped. “Ève, look! It’s snowing!”

  Ève twisted around to see out the one window where the curtains hadn’t been drawn – and sure enough, the snow was falling steadily outside. “First snowfall of the year,” she said, turning back to face Belle. “It’s awfully late for it. Let’s hope it sticks.”

  “I hope so,” Belle said with a wide smile. “I’m more than ready to beat you again at snowballing this year.”

  “Want to bet?” Ève asked, a familiar glint in her eye. “Now that I don’t have fur to stick to the snow, I’ll be faster.”

  “I still managed to cover you in it,” Belle pointed out, her eyes and nose crinkling as she laughed.

  Ève took the opportunity to slide her hand back down to Belle’s waist, flipping them so that Belle was lying on the couch now. Belle gasped at the sudden movement, still laughing, and Ève joined in helplessly a second later. “Careful now, Belle,” she smirked, leaning down to drop a series of short kisses to her neck. “We both remember how frozen we were last year after the battle; don’t you remember that revenge is best served cold?”

  Belle shivered below her. “Game on,” she said, claiming Ève’s lips again in a kiss. “But not until tomorrow.”

  “You have a point,” Ève said, pushing up off of Belle and sitting properly on the sofa again. “I suppose we should get back to Arthur’s exploits?”

  “Cheer up,” Belle said, joining her and picking the book up. “Guinevere shows up soon.”

  “I await her with bated breath,” Ève said. “Now, where were we?”

  “Uh … here,” Belle said. “And the people gave a great shout. ‘Arthur is King’.”

  Ève settled beside her, laying an arm casually over Belle’s shoulders and peering down at the book in an attempt to translate the English in her head before Belle read it aloud. Outside the window, the snow continued to fall.

    Two notes:

I am very unfamiliar with 18th century literature, so I just went ‘Eh’, and made it 19th century instead. See also why Belle is reading Wilkie Collins and not another French author, and why Ève is reading Alexandre Dumas in a pre-/no-Revolutionary universe.

I also shared this with a group of other writers, when I was unsure what the Beast’s name was going to be. I jokingly said ‘Well since everybody thinks the beast’s name is adam, fem!beast should be Eve since, yannow, Adam and Eve?? Kinda like how Beau is always male!Belle’s name??’ This was both the best and worst thing to happen, as now I can’t stop calling her Ève.

[scleroticstatue]

Couple of problems here. Some people say they're Christians but don't live it, and because they don't invite the Spirit into their lives by action, they aren't filled with the Holy Ghost. They may have had their previous sins washed away but they haven't truly turned to God and are totally capable of being possessed. Like, the Holy Spirit doesn't have to dwell with you if you don't want it and don't behave in ways that will force it out. Heck, King Saul was filled with the Spirit when he first started ruling and by the end of it, he was possessed himself so just being Christian is no guarantee. You have to live it. So saying "Christians can't be possessed" is, at best, a half truth because a bad Christian is still a Christian.

(Also, it's really friggin rude to tell a person whose family might be going through possession that obviously, their family member was never actually saved because Christians can't get possessed).

Second, you can be oppressed by a demon even as a Christian with the Holy Spirit. Spiritual attacks can cause you to give up the Holy Spirit because you feel unloved by God, cut off, depressed, hopeless, you may have clouded judgement and do stupid things that cause the Spirit to retreat (like misusing your creative powers) or have a weakened willpower that does the same. Possession requires you to give up your body to demonic control, but if someone comes to you in a dream after you've been getting maybe two hours of sleep a night for a solid month and says to you "if you just give this up, you can sleep," it's really fricken hard to say no.

Third, 👏 NOT 👏 ALL 👏 MAGIC 👏 COMES 👏 FROM 👏 THE 👏 DEVIL 👏

I'm not about to say I'm a witch (I'm not), but God gives his followers spiritual gifts. And some of them are things like translation and getting answers to prayers, but some of them are things like exorcism and healing. The Spirit of God allows us to do incredible things both in this world and the spiritual realm and saying every single person who is doing "magic" is using the devil's power is antiscriptural at best and evil at worst because it's a rejection of God's gifts to you.

Western Christians have been avoiding this because it makes us look primitive in the eyes of unbelievers, but we should be the first to say “yes, magic is real, magic has power, magic often does just what the practitioner says it will, but it is animated by demons and the practitioners are not the ones in control” because I guarantee our brothers and sisters in the third world will say it without hesitation

[asillyloner]

when I first acknowledged about dinluke some months ago on Pinterest I never thought I would love it as much as I do now. And I never thought I would return to Star Wars because of this ship after the (personally) great disappointment of TLJ.

like, it was one normal day scrolling through my messy Pinterest page looking for some cool shit, and I met baby Yoda. I knew about him, he's pretty famous on the Internet; saw him on some memes, he was on Twitter trending some time ago, that one artist I like drew him once,...And I scrolled down 2 more centimeters and saw a dinluke fanart with baby Yoda in it. At first, I was oh so confused. Like , is that Luke? When did Luke and baby Yoda met? And who's that person with him? Wait a sec is this..."romantic" vibe I'm seeing right here? Who in the world would ship Luke Skywalker with this weird...um, "silver helmet armored person"? Didn't he have a wife named Mara Jade in Legends? What about the Sequels? Because I left Star Wars since TLJ, I didn't know a shit about The Mandalorian, just baby Yoda being kinda famous.

But man, I just got a little curious ya know, wanted to figure out where the heck did this ship emerged from (and if it's gay or not lol ). So I clicked the image and the next thing I saw was a bunch of dinluke fanarts - totally quality contents spreading through my PC screen. So I got MORE curious and clicked several more images until I reached that one short comic by ngrogu. (you know, the one that is still residing at the top of the dinluke tag? about war trauma angst? yea that one. I still friggin love it.) I thought it was interesting, so I went strait to the Tumblr link to read it in full context. In which the link leaded me directly to the top section of dinluke tag. AND HOLY MILKING SITH I WAS MOTHERFUCKIN SURPRISED WITH SOOOOOO MANY DINLUKE CONTENTS HITTING MY EYES. And it was also here that I learned-- " wait is that Luke? Is it him in that huge black hood? oh it is... wait a sec I don't remember any scene like this in the originals ...does that mean Luke Skywalker returns on screen?-wait, no that's impossible , is this some kind of high quality fan made thingy then?-*sees tags*- HOLY SHIT LUKE SKYWALKER RETURNS ON SCREEN IN SS2 OF THE MANDALORIAN??????? HOW DO I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS!!!!!?????? "-- and then I went to Youtube, watched the hallway massacre, took in some deep breaths("HOLY FUCK, HOLY FORCE, HOLY FUCKIN SON OF THE FORCE"), return to Tumblr to scroll down from the top of dinluke tag to read and see almost every content of dinluke I can until my PC got too slow. After that I decided to watch every episode of The Mandalorian there are to exist.

---And here I am , after months of falling deeper and deeper and DEEPER into dinluke. After months of checking Tumblr everyday just to see new dinluke stuff. After months of reading dinluke fics into the midnight hours. I have realized that I have never loved and adored an OTP this much. Or maybe it was the first OTP I have ever had. I can't count how many times I have imagined my "Sequel trilogy rewrite ~feat dinluke " fic in my head . I can't stop praying for the ship to be cannon although I definitely know and UNDERSTAND that dinluke can possibly never be cannon. I got so mc'fuckin frightened when there was a rumor on Youtube that says Mara Jade will be making an appearance on the Luke Skywalker show that Dave Filoni is planning to make- if this was before knowing dinluke, I would joy, joy that Star Wars is finally back . But this crack ship, dinluke, has changed me.

It had changed me with the template Star Wars found family trope, but this time with "an absolutely powerful and pretty space magic wizard sunshine twink" on one side and "a space Viking single dad who is also a fierce bounty hunter but actually introverted himbo" on the other side with "a green cute gremlin baby alien son with magic powers who has became an Internet celeb" in the middle; with it's absurdly immense potential (ancient enemies, the last of their kind/tribe, Luke "daddy issuse" Skywalker and Din"single dad"Djarin,..etc,etc...) ; along with it's incredibly talented writers and artists all over Tumblr and ao3.

I had fallen in love with this one hell of a ship and I'm in agony everyday just thinking about this ship.

AND I REGRET NOTHING.

[officialelliottprescott]

ELLIE HOLY FUCK FRISK BASICALLY EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU THEY ARE NOT A GIRL STOP BEING SO FRIGGIN D E N S E YOU ARE SO FAR IN THE CLOSET YOU CANT EVEN SEE THE HECKING D O O R

I-I AM NOT!!!

[YEs good tease the child]