#Smooth Stick Insect

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 

“From The Wizard of Oz?” 

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  

“You did?” 

She nods, shining with pride. 

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 

Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 

“Where’s your dad?” 

“Umm. Cleaning?” 

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?” 

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 

“You kill someone?” 

He stiffens. “What?” 

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 

You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 

“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 

“I’m not sneaky!” 

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 

“Then trick-or-treat?” 

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 

“They look stunning! You painted these?” 

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 

“You’re a talented artist.” 

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 

“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch. 

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 

“Now it’s perfect.” 

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 

“Go and look– get the treats.” 

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?” 

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 

She nods. 

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 

She nods again, equally jaded. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 

“Ew! Daddy!” 

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 

You gasp. “Penelope!” 

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 

“I was?” 

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 

“Oh. Am I still little?” 

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 

“She likes princesses’.” 

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 

“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 

“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 

“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 

“No?” Penelope giggles. 

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 

“Is that when we got pizza?” 

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?” 

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.” 

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 

“Very much. You?” 

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 

“Addams family?” 

“Who’s who?” 

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 

“You held it?” 

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 

“See you Friday?” He asks. 

“See you then.” 

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 

[mitsuyeaah]

STRAWBERRIES & CREAM

SANZU HARUCHIYO x f! reader

“if i’m dreaming don’t wake, don’t wake me up from you in that sundress, here in that sunset.”

cw: modern au, sundress season with sanzu, fluff, nsfw (mdni), smut, pwp, oral (f receiving), food play, unprotected sex, creampie, clit slapping (brief), multiple orgasms (f), pet names (baby), swearing, sanzu being down bad for reader for wearing a sundress.

word count: 5.9k

a/n: my entry for The #SummertimeMadnessCollab event by @saccharine-darlin !! thank you for this awesome event! happy happy birthday to my one and only, haru <3

The hot summer wind danced around your figure, the smooth fabric of your pink sundress flowing with the breeze. You were surrounded with hues of green and red, the blazing sun in all its glory amongst the vast azure sky—not a single spec of cloud in sight; the buzzing of insects and trees waving at one another filled your ears as you wandered down the never-ending strawberry fields. Rows and rows of green and red stretched across acres of land which brought joy to your heart, like a child discovering a sweet treat for the first time.

“Maybe I should’ve stayed at home.” Your boyfriend hissed, swiping a slender hand across his neck, attempting to wipe away the thin layer of sweat that has formed there. Rosy strands of his shoulder-length mullet uncomfortably stuck to the sides of his neck, his fringe slightly sticking together just above his aquamarine eyes and thick lashes, a slight scowl forming upon his pretty face. You whipped your head over to where he stood, turning your torso as you looked over your shoulder, “Oh, lighten up, would you?” You chuckled from underneath the brim of your straw hat.

Before Haruchiyo could say anything, another tropical breeze danced around the two of you, this time, lifting the hem of your dress a little too high for his liking. He leaned over and jutted an arm out, catching the fabric in his hand and smoothed it down your legs before any prying eyes could wander above your knees— parts of you that only he could see and touch.

You gave him a sheepish smile as you held the fabric against your thighs, he could only shake his head and give a small chuckle, turquoise eyes becoming a shade lighter underneath the sun as he looked up at you. His cheeks were almost the same colour as his hair, a droplet sweat rolling down the side of his face. Feeling sorry for your boyfriend, you grabbed the white strawberry-filled bucket that hung from his forearm and placed your straw hat on the crown of his head.

“We’ll fill this up a little more, then we can go.” You wiped the sweat that rolled down the side of his face with your thumb and ventured further down the field, following the narrow path underneath your shoes.

His heart skipped a beat at your little gesture, the familiar warmth spreading across his sweaty chest as he surveyed the back of your figure. God, you always managed to make him fluster at the smallest things, the two of you have been in a relationship for quite a while now and not once did you not make his heart flutter with something as innocent as that, not that he was complaining though.

You were cute.

He looked at the way your pink sundress swayed around your knees, the fabric peppered with little red strawberries to match today’s activity—strawberry picking. How did you manage to look so heavenly under this scorching heat? Meanwhile, Haruchiyo looked like he just ran a marathon from the way his white polo shirt clung to every part of his torso, pants becoming uncomfortably tight around his legs the more time he spent under the sun.

Haruchiyo hated sweating but for you, he’d endure it.

He knew how fond of strawberries you were and so was he but he’d rather be in the comfort of his own home, eating them without having to break a sweat and practically bathing under the tropical weather. Plus, he loved your strawberries and cream cheesecake—luckily enough, his birthday was tomorrow and you had suggested to bake his favourite cheesecake flavour. Although, he didn’t expect the part where the two of you had to pick fresh strawberries for his cake.

You opted for strawberry picking instead of store-bought ones since it brought joy to you; the feeling of wandering around the endless fields of green and the faint scent of strawberries filling your nose. Even though Haruchiyo urged you to just buy from the store, the experience was still different and plus, it was time to get some much needed vitamin D, per your words—to which he responded by saying you could get vitamin D from another source, earning a slight smack from you.

Nonetheless, it was perfect. The cold dessert was just what he needed after being out in this scorching heat. He couldn’t wait to dig into the sweet treat and feel the coolness of the cake against his tongue, the bursting flavours and strawberries and cream melting in his mouth.

Feeling much better, the two of you sat on a wooden bench under a parasol with the strawberry-filled bucket resting on the table. After picking strawberries, Haruchiyo suggested grabbing strawberry ice cream that the farm had; he’s a sucker for these since they used fresh strawberries from their farm.

You softly chuckled at the man sitting across you eagerly licking at the sweet treat, the slight scowl that he held underneath the blazing sun no longer evident on his face, instead it showed pure content. The breeze was also cooler under the shade, rosy strands no longer uncomfortably sticking to his neck and his shirt didn’t cling to every part of his torso anymore. You met his aquamarine gaze as he looked up at you from under the thick layers of lashes, “Why are you laughing?” Genuine confusion was now plastered on his face, brows knitting together underneath his blush-coloured bangs.

“You’re cute.” Embarrassment filled his whole body, hands ever so slightly tightening around the waffle cone. Haruchiyo was never the one to know how to act when receiving compliments. Yes, he complimented you a lot, endless praises spilled from his lips very easily but when he’s on the receiving end, he doesn't know what to do. In your opinion, that’s what made you fall for him harder—the way his cheeks turn crimson red and his shy turquoise eyes avoid your gaze.

Before he could even process your compliment, you made a small noise out of surprise as you felt the melted pink liquid make contact with your index finger. Haruchiyo watched as you placed the ice cream on your other hand, lips encasing around the digit that was stained with the melted substance. His keen eyes followed the way your tongue darted out to lick a long stripe from the cone and up to the ice cream itself, following the trail of the melted ice cream.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his cerulean eyes following your tongue’s every movement. An action so innocent yet it flipped a switch inside him, rather quickly, even. Hell, who was he even lying to, he has been on edge ever since he saw you in that goddamned dress. The way the thin fabric effortlessly cascaded down to your knees, and the low neckline of it, deliciously exposing your collarbones. Haruchiyo wasn’t worried about other people looking at you because he knew you were his and he was yours. Goddamnit he was the only one hitting that, and no one else.

God, the way the dress hugged your body in all the right ways made him lose his mind. He has never wanted to rip the clothing off of you as quickly as you put it on but alas, you guys had plans for the day. In all honesty, he was ready to go home and take you right then and there, maybe even keep the dress on while he pounds into you; the neckline yanked down to expose your breasts. But, his deepest desire can wait. He’ll have to behave, for now.

“What’s on your mind, Haru?” His heart skipped a beat at the nickname; you always called him ‘Haru’ but his mind suddenly went elsewhere. How cute would you look as you call him by his nickname while his cock is sheathed inside you, and to top it off, your strawberry dress hiked above your hips as he gives it all to you. It may be his birthday today but you deserve all the pleasure he’s about to give you once the two of you get home.

Haruchiyo shook his head and mumbled a ‘nothing’; before he knew it, the two of you were back home, a bag of strawberries in hand. He gently placed the bag atop the kitchen island before pulling you in for a deep kiss. His lips tasted like strawberries, just like you expected. A hand cupped your cheek which allowed him to deepen the kiss, his lips were full of want as it  moved desperately against your own. Haruchiyo didn’t shy away from shoving his tongue past your lips as you parted them to let out a muffled whimper.

You stood there, trapped between his body and the kitchen island, and all you could do was grip the collar of his shirt. “Mhm.. Haru, I still have to make the cheesecake.” You let out a sigh of content as Haruchiyo moved from your lips, trailing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, and down the side of your neck. A light sheen of sweat coated your skin but he didn’t care, he could handle a little sweat. He nipped at the sensitive skin there, earning a small moan from you. “Baby, you can do that later.. I want you all to myself.” Haruchiyo furrowed his brows as you breathlessly laughed at his reply.

“It’ll be quick. Plus, what’s a birthday without a cake?” “Hmm, the cake I need is right here, though.” He wrapped his arms around you to grope at your ass, causing you to yelp. Your eyes widened, meeting his aquamarine ones which were full of mischief. “Haruchiyo.” You lifted a brow at him, the smugness in his face slowly disappearing before defeatedly raising both arms in the air and walking towards the living room.

“I love you!” You called out to him from the kitchen. “Whatever.” Haruchiyo playfully grumbled from the living room. You shook your head and chuckled but before you could do anything else, he piped up again. “I love you.” A smile crept up to your lips, unable to bite it back. He was adorable to say the least, and you couldn’t have asked for more when he gave you his heart.

Throughout the entire time you prepared the cheesecake, Haruchiyo stood by the island counter. Pools of aquamarine never leaving your figure as you paced back and forth around the space. You’ve made this dessert countless times for him but he never fails to watch every single time, and despite watching it all, he has never jotted down a single process in mind. If he was being honest, he was running impatient. His cock grew harder with every passing minute, straining his pants; Haruchiyo couldn’t help his mind wandering to various things he’d do to you once you were done.

It also didn’t help how you decided to keep that goddamned sundress on while making the cheesecake. You were teasing him. He knew how much that dress drove him crazy, how it made him absolutely lose his mind. Haruchiyo watched the way you wiped your finger on the side of the bowl to gather the cream you’ve made and bring it up to your lips, sucking on your index finger. Fuck, the way your lips moulded around your digit, and the way you let go of it with a ‘pop’ pushed him to the edge.

Haruchiyo pushed himself off the kitchen island to make his way to you. You were finishing the last few touches for the dessert, decorating the top with freshly cut strawberries just like how you and Haru liked. Almost dropping a strawberry at the presence behind you, you let out a small yelp as he caged you in between the counter and his body. Haruchiyo placed his hands on your hips, pulling them back a bit just enough for you to feel his clothed hard on.

“‘M getting impatient, baby. Can’t let the birthday boy wait for too long, right?” He dipped his head to kiss the junction of your neck, earning a small sigh from you. Resting your head against his shoulder, his lips wandered further as you gave him more access—leaving trails of maroon and dark purple. “W-wait, Haru. Let me just put this in the fridge–ah!” A yelp slipped past your lips as he ground his clothed cock harder against your ass.

Everything became a blur after the dessert was stowed away in the fridge. Haruchiyo had you bent at the hips, your torso against the kitchen counter as he hiked your sundress up to reveal your ass. “Hmm.. so perfect for me.” He gave it a little slap before massaging the spot, earning a moan from you before nudging your legs wide open. As he kneeled, he yanked your soaked panties down so that your wet cunt was in perfect view right in front of his face. 

A loud whine slipped past your lips as Haruchiyo sucked on your wet entrance—the sounds that came from him were rather lewd given as to how hard he was sucking. The loud erotic sounds bounced off the kitchen walls, and went straight to your ears; it wasn’t like it was your first time being eaten out by Haru, it was just that the sounds never failed to make you flustered, especially with the way he hummed against your cunt like it was the most satisfying meal he’d had all day.

“H-Haru! Aah, slow down!” Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter, legs threatening to give up as Haruchiyo pushed his face further between your legs. “How can I hold myself back when you taste this good, baby?” He mumbled into your bare skin before shoving his tongue past your folds, earning a loud whimper from you. Your cheeks warmed at the way Haruchiyo’s tongue felt inside you, and the way his lips sucked at your entrance—it hit all the right places within you, and you swore you could almost see stars. “Haru! Fuck..!” Your knees buckled at the never ending stimulation at the apex of your legs.

Despite being not much of a talker, Haruchiyo was definitely skilled with his tongue in other ways—ways that would bring tears of pleasure to your eyes without a doubt. Your forehead met the cool marble top of the counter as his fingers rubbed fast, tight circles at your clit; your mouth parted but no sound came out. You could feel your head spinning from the amount of bliss you felt at this very moment; oxytocin coursed throughout your body as Haruchiyo didn’t falter with his movements.

Knees buckling, he tightened his grip around your legs to keep your lower half from meeting the tiled floor. Your stomach tingled, all the way to the tips of your digits as your sweet release was right around the corner—soft pants turned into hard, high-pitched breathing mixed with attempts of crying out Haruchiyo’s name as you neared your orgasm. “Haruuuu~ F-fuck, I’m cumming–ngh! Aah!” Your nails painfully dug into the hard material of the countertop as your orgasm hit you hard; the intense pleasure shot up your spine as your whole body trembled, the blissful sensation engulfing you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you finally let go, cumming around his tongue as the building knot in your stomach snapped. Haruchiyo hummed against your pussy, sending more vibrations up your spine. He rode out your orgasm with his fingers still mercilessly stimulating your clit, and his free hand snaking around your front to play with your hardened bud, pulling a loud yelp from you. He sloppily licked up all your cum, hums of satisfaction leaving his lips as he cleaned you up. Your back arched at the feeling of the heightened pleasure, whining as Haruchiyo pushed you to overstimulation. Reaching a shaky hand behind you, you tugged at his rosy strands, trying to push him off your cunt before cumming around his tongue again.

Haruchiyo laughed at your cute attempts to get him off but he obliged but not before placing a chaste kiss on your throbbing entrance and standing up. He pulled your trembling torso against his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your waist before whispering close to your ear, “Hmm.. you know what’s making me act this way, huh?” Shivering at the way his breath fanned at your skin, you shook your head no. You didn’t trust your words at the moment since your mind was long gone and fogged with thick clouds of lust. Nothing else.

Your boyfriend let out a saccharine laugh, his hands snaking around you to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of the sundress. “This. Fucking. Dress.” Haruchiyo harshly yanked down the top part of your dress with every word that came out of his mouth to expose your torso. He pressed his nose against the side of your neck, inhaling you intoxicating sent, “Fuck. I have been losing my mind since this morning. Ever since I saw you in this goddamned dress, I just wanted to bury myself in you right away.. You’re such a tease, huh..?” Haruchiyo skillfully removed your bra and tossed it somewhere in the kitchen, making a soft thud as it hit the tiled floor.

He wasn’t lying. As innocent as you looked in that sundress, he couldn’t help but think of every nasty thought that came into mind—it wasn’t his fault that you looked absolutely stunning with that dress on. You knew Haruchiyo had a thing for clothes that matched his rosy strands, especially if it accentuated your body in all the right ways, bringing out the most beautiful parts of you—though, he thinks that every single part of you is beautiful. He has been trying to keep his cool for the entire time in the strawberry fields. It also didn’t help how the flimsy material of your dress danced around the wind, hiking up your legs to reveal your delicious thighs.

Fuck, if Haruchiyo had the opportunity to take you right then and there back when the two of you were in the fields, he would have. He wouldn’t hesitate, not one bit. You were just so goddamned beautiful that he had to show you how much he loved every single bit of you. Breathtaking, to say the least. Sometimes he’d mentally curse himself for thinking of such lewd thoughts when you’re just standing there looking so innocent, so perfect but he knew you better than anyone. You loved to rile him up, and today was one of those days.

“Mhm—ah! R-really..? I knew you’d love it, Haru.” A smirk crept its way up to your lips, your voice shaky from your previous orgasm. Haruchiyo clicked his tongue, he wasn’t surprised that you specifically wore that dress to tease him. He absolutely loved it when you made efforts to rile him up, it was cute because he knew damn well it worked on him every single time. “Tsk. Wearing this just to tease me? How naughty, my baby.” You let out a moan as he massaged your breasts—Haruchiyo loved the way his large hands easily fit to cup at your mounds, like they were specifically made for your chest. 

Arching your back, you replied to him with a whimper, “Ngh! Well, I have to treat the birthday boy somehow, right—ah!” The chuckle that slipped past your lips abruptly turned into a full-blown moan as he pinched at your nipples, gently rolling them in between his digits, causing goosebumps to form under his lewd touches. “Always so good f’me my baby, aren’t you?” Haruchiyo trailed a hand up to your chin to angle your head towards him to kiss you. You moaned against his lips as he bucked his groin against you, rubbing it hard enough to feel the entirety of his length between the valley of your ass.

He chuckled at your attempts to form coherent sentences after pulling away from his lips, something along the lines of wanting his cock inside you. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth before letting it go to place a chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth. Haruchiyo skilfully turned you around so that the two of you faced each other; his eyes wandered across your bare chest, mouth watering at the way your breasts spilled from the neckline of the dress that’s been messily pulled down.

Haruchiyo marvelled at the way they looked, so tender, and plump from how he had been massaging them earlier. Fuck, he’s always had a thing for your chest. You furrowed your brows as he reached for something behind you, the glass bowl loudly scraping against the marbled countertop as he brought it closer to the two of you. “Since you don’t need this anymore.. Let’s not have the leftovers go to waste, hm?”

You blinked up at his aquamarine gaze, so full of mischief and slyness as he held the large glass bowl in his hand and the silicone spatula on the other. You watched as he scraped the spatula around the bowl, getting every bit of the cream you made earlier for the cheesecake and dropping it directly on your bare chest. A gasp left your lips as you were met with the cold cream against your warm skin.

It was a new sensation indeed but not weird enough to have you recoil. As a matter of fact, you kind of liked it despite knowing how much of a sticky mess it’d leave you—not like you haven’t felt that before, though. You and Haruchiyo were new to this whole thing, bringing food into sex; you never really thought of it as food and intercourse doesn’t sound as pleasing as it seems but now that you were experiencing it first hand, you didn’t mind at all. As long as it stayed away from your cunt.

Haruchiyo’s eyes were practically gleaming as he finished layering your breasts with cream—he was like an artist admiring his greatest masterpiece. “You’re so beautiful..” He let out a dreamy sigh and gave your lips a small peck before eagerly dipping his head below your chin to lick the sweetness off your chest. Your palms dug into the edge of the countertop, gripping them for your dear life as Haruchiyo licked a long stripe between the valley of your breasts, the sweet substance gathering at the tip of his tongue, all while holding your gaze—aquamarine eyes fixated on yours, like it was made just to look into your eyes and nothing else.

You let out a shaky breath as he stood up right, immediately resting a hand on your nape to pull you into a slow, sensual kiss. You hummed in delight as Haruchiyo didn’t hesitate to shove his cream-coated tongue past your lips, the sweetness of it dancing on your tastebuds. The kiss was messy, the sweet substance coating his and your lips which left wet, sticky trails around your mouths. He groaned into your mouth before swiping his tongue at your bottom lip, and kissing the corner of your mouth to clean up the mess he has made.

At this point, your head was spinning. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. The way Haruchiyo took his time to appreciate every single part of you left you breathless—your chest heaved up and down as you stared into his eyes with desperation. He was always like this, worshipping your body to the point where it drove you absolutely crazy; it may seem filthy and lewd to others with how he worshipped you but you loved it. Oh, you loved it a lot. It made your heart sing for his name, and every cell in your body yearned for no one but your lover standing right in front of you.

He placed his hands on your waist—the sundress still clinging to the lower part of your torso as he dipped his head into your chest once again, this time going for a breast. Biting back a moan, you threw your head back at his wet tongue languidly circling your sensitive nipple, rounding your back at the overwhelming sensation of his mouth, torso ever so slightly jerking. You tugged at his rosy roots as Haruchiyo gently bit at the supple flesh of your breast, it didn’t hurt, it was just the right amount of pleasure to send your mind in a frenzy.

Haruchiyo eagerly lapped up every single cream-covered spot on your chest, earning him whines and whimpers from you as you tugged at the rosy tufts of hair. He had his gaze on you the entire time, admiring all your  reactions under his tongue that your body had to offer him. You were cute—the way you let out short, shallow pants as he keenly sucked on your sensitive skin, the way you bit your lip as he swiped his tongue under your breast, and the way you looked at him with such adoration and lust; your brows knitted together in pleasure, lips slightly parted to whisper his name like a prayer.

Your front was left in a sticky, wet mess from Haruchiyo’s tongue; it was so naughty but you loved every bit of it. The way his tongue left messy, wet trails all over your body had shivers running down your spine, and the way his lips circled against the supple skin of your chest to suck it dark red, and purple left you breathless. He kissed every love bite that peppered your front, one so gentle and chaste that earned sighs of contentment from you, a contrast to what he was previously doing before, which pulled shameless moans past your swollen lips.

He turned you around once again, hips pressing against the edge of the marbled counter as he left open-mouthed kisses down your bare back, goosebumps forming under each wet kiss. “Haah~ Haru..” Haruchiyo hiked the dress up to your lower back, exposing your bare ass; he gave it a slap before grabbing the back of your right knee to prop it atop the cool surface of the counter. You braced yourself against the countertop, palms planted on the cool surface and back pressed against his chest. The sound of his belt unbuckling could be heard, the loud clang of the metal part startling you a bit as it met the tiled floor.

Haruchiyo didn’t bother stepping out of his pants as it pooled around his feet, and hastily pulled his underwear down, sighing as his cock was finally freed from its suffocating confines. He hissed as he circled his hand around his throbbing cock, languidly stroking it and using the bead of pre cum from his pink tip to lubricate his cock—it sat heavy in his hand, the way it pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own, so eager and so ready to be buried inside you. He rested his chin on your shoulder, running the blunt tip of his cock along your wet entrance, pulling a desperate moan from you.

A small chuckle left his lips. Haruchiyo figured he’d been teasing you enough, plus, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. The both of you let out a moan in unison as he pushed his cock past your wet folds, his length easily slid inside you due to your previous orgasm—the sound was wet and lewd, the way it squelched as he pushed his hard cock into you, your cum from earlier running down the inside of your legs as Haruchiyo filled you up with his dick. Your hands–which were previously flat against the countertop–balled into fists, nails uncomfortably scraping the cool surface. With your leg propped on top of the counter, it drove his cock deeper inside you.

A string of profanities eagerly left his lips. He let out hard pants like he’s just run a marathon—his face right beside yours as his chin rested on your shoulder. “Mhm..! So perfect f’me.. All mine.” He stilled his hips as the entirety of his length was sheathed in you, Haruchiyo knew you didn’t need time to adjust to him, no—you took him like a fucking champ every single time but he was the one who needed time to adjust. The way your walls hugged him tightly made his head spin, it also didn’t help how you had a habit of clenching around him once he was fully inside you.

He gritted his teeth as your walls clamped down on him for a few seconds, eyes glued shut in pleasure. “F-fuuuck..! Baby—haah! I might just cum if you keep doing that—ngh!” The grip he had on your leg tightened as he let out another moan; Haruchiyo let out a breath he’d been holding as he felt you relax around him, whispering sweet praises against the side of your neck before finally moving his hips. His free hand supported his weight by gripping the edge of the counter, effectively trapping you in between.

The pace he had set was relentless and merciless—just how you liked it. Short, high pitched moans left your parted lips as you closed your eyes shut, focusing on the way the tip of his cock deliciously kissed your cervix again and again. Haruchiyo knew your body like the back of his hand, he knew the certain angle that would absolutely drive you crazy, he knew which buttons to press to help you reach your orgasm quicker.

The sound of skin slapping and squelching bounced around the walls of the kitchen as Haruchiyo’s hips made constant contact with your ass—he watched the way your ass moved with every hard thrust he gave you, jolting your body forward and placing a dull pressure on your hips. He could feel your cum from the orgasm earlier drip down to his heavy balls, making a complete mess as his skin slapped against your own.

Your whole body shook from the way he pounded into you, moan after moan leaving your lips after trying to form at least one coherent sentence. “Shit.. Look at that..!” Haruchiyo let out an erotic gasp as a white ring formed at the base of his cock from how wet you were, this riled him up even more; the hand that gripped the counter made its way to your front, and down to your clit to draw figures of eight with his ring finger. You moaned at the heightened pleasure, arms giving up on you and before you knew it, your front was met with the cool surface of the countertop.

Haruchiyo used your bent figure as leverage to drive his cock deeper into you, standing at the ball of his feet and angling his hips higher. You could feel the back of your eyes heat up as tears threatened to spill, “Ah! Ah! Ngh—aah! Haru..!” Your back arched, deliciously pressing against the counter as he slapped your clit. This caused your knee to buckle, your lower half to almost meet the floor if it wasn’t for your other leg on top of the counter, and Haruchiyo’s arm snaked around you.

He grunted right by your ear with every thrust of his hips, his body molded against yours, his own hips bent as he pressed his chest to your clothed back; he knew how much the sounds he made turned you on—the way his erotic sounds flew right to your cunt to make you even wetter. “A-aah! Shit..! That’s it baby—ngh!” He groaned as he felt you squeeze around him.

It was truly a sight to see. The way your sundress barely covered you; the neckline yanked below your breasts and the skirt of it hiked up to your lower back as Haruchiyo mercilessly dicked you down. It didn’t even serve as an article of clothing anymore, no; now, it just looked like a reminder of what caused your boyfriend to be this crazy about you. It was like some kind of medal that you wore as he fucked you senseless, a piece of fabric covering your middle while the rest left you fully exposed.

The contrast between the pink blush of the sundress, and the strawberries that peppered the fabric and the way Haruchiyo was pounding into you was almost laughable. A piece of clothing, so simple, so innocent yet driving him insane like this—as the saying goes, less is more. Your leg that was atop the counter started to become numb, your foot tingling, and thighs burning as it kept that position but you didn’t care. Not when he was fucking you this good.

“M—aah! C-cumming, Haru..! S-shit!” You moaned, your fingers painfully digging into your palm from the immense pleasure that was starting to course throughout your body. Your boyfriend buried his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo before letting out a heated gasp as you clenched around him. He gave your nape a few kisses here and there, whispering such dirty things against your sweaty skin to help you reach your orgasm. The way his balls messily slapped against your clit, and the way his cock bullied your insides was enough to get you over the edge.

Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you let out a shameless moan, face contorted in nothing but pure bliss. You trembled as your second orgasm rocked through your body; tears streaming down your heated cheeks, knuckles white from balling your fists, and back arched from the immense pleasure. Haruchiyo did his best to keep thrusting despite your walls tightening around him to the point where it was almost pushing him out. “Ngh—ah! T-that’s a good girl..!” He sucked at the skin on your upper back, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest.

High-pitched whimpers escaped you as he pounded away at your cunt, trying to chase his own sweet bliss. Haruchiyo let out one last grunt before stilling his hips and stuffing his cock deep inside you to blow his load. “Aaah~ Ye–eaah..! Fuckin’ take it all—haah!” You gasped as you felt his hot cum paint your insides white, stuffing you to the brim, some of it dripping out and down your left leg, as well as down his balls. Haruchiyo stayed like that for a while, trapping you between his body and the countertop as he came.

Before your body could relax against the marbled surface, your muscles tightened as your boyfriend started to fuck his cum deeper into you. Since the entirety of his length was already sheathed inside you, he gave you quick, shallow thrusts, allowing his cum to reach you deeper while some of it messily spilled out and dropped onto the tiled floor. “Aaah! Shit..” Your body jerked with oversensitivity as his hips didn’t once falter. “Mhm~ That’s r-right.. Take all of me and make sure it doesn’t spill out, huh?” He panted against your ear, kissing it before slowly pulling out of you, earning a whine from the both of you.

“Mmm. Maybe I should keep wearing sundresses like this..” You breathlessly chuckled, stumbling into his chest as you took your leg off the counter to face him. Haruchiyo wrapped his arms around you—his cheeks were tinted pink, hair stuck to his forehead and neck, and eyes blown with lust, god, he looked handsome while fucked out. “‘M not complaining, baby. It is my birthday after all.. Maybe another one tomorrow. I’ll have my dessert then we’ll eat the cheesecake that you made.” He rested his chin on the crown of your head, squeezing you in a tight hug.

It took you a while to process his sentence. His dessert, meaning you.

© mitsuyeaah

[skyeslittlecorner]

Tails for all! - Kings edition

Other parts: Gehenna | Tartaros | Hades | Avisos | Nilfheim | Abaddon | Paradise Lost

Satan

The most classic tail, simple elegance. Ankle-length, black, with a red arrow at the end, just like his horns.

At the base, it is as thick as the wrist and tapers towards the end.

Identical to the horns to the touch, set won in the lottery.

You'll recognize his emotions more easily by his tail than by his face, he wags it like a cat when he wants to make some noise and lifts it at the base when he's happy.

The end has rounded corners, making it resemble an elongated heart instead of an arrow.

Sensitiveness 8/10. Doesn't like it when someone touches him by surprise.

When he's in a good mood, he gives tail slaps instead of kicks. The nobles are delighted.

It's not sharp at the end, so he'll try to stick it inside you. It's smooth and slippery, an arrow produces milk just like horns, and it fits so good.

Mammon

Big tail for a big man. Long, winding along the ground, golden and scaled. Standard tip without decorations, at least as thick as Mammon's thigh at the base.

His tail and greed gave rise to the legend that dragons collect treasures.

The upper scales look like pure gold, the lower scales are black and resemble obsidian. The entire tail resembles flakes of stones and precious metals.

The scales are bumpy like his horns, but it has no spines or blades.

Surprisingly warm. The scales at the base are very large.

Sensitiveness 5/10. He really enjoys being scratched hard as you leave lighter marks on his scales from the pleasure.

He likes to put his tail in his lap and you on top of him and watch you grind against him while he plays with your ass.

Leviathan

Not much longer than Satan, but covered with scales. They are soft compared to Mammon and shimmer like smoky mirrors. At the base, it is as thick as two cupped hands, shimmering purple and black.

Its ending is unique. On land it has a long, soft fur, but when he approaches water he can wrap a thin layer of skin around it, making it membraneous and resembling and looking like a fin.

Similarly, it has tiny long fins on its sides. They are a bit sharp, so sometimes he hurts himself with them. (Kiss these wounds, he will criticize you but he will love it anyway.)

Due to childhood trauma, he learned to hide his tail, wrapping it under his clothes and only showing the tip. That's why many demons think his tail resembles that of a deer.

Very, very sensitive. 12/10. Proceed with care.

He loves playing with his fins, but of course he won't tell you that.

Just seeing his tail in all its glory is incredibly rare, and being choked with it is the greatest honor. Not even Solomon experienced it.

Beelzebub

rainbow unicorn tail narwhal tail insect abdomen A long tail, similar in thickness to Leviathan's, but does not taper towards the end. Black, with dark green lines on the sides and back.

As befits the Lord of the Flies, his tail resembles a pelecinus polyturator. Composed of segments like a scorpion. Shiny, slippery and very hard. Chitin.

Green stripes are not just decoration. He can pull out the blades from them, and whipping will easily cut off your limb. He can pull out a sting at the tip, each blade producing a paralyzing venom.

His whip is almost a mirror image of his tail, but with golden blades instead of green.

While the rest prefer to wrap their tails around their legs, its natural position is twisted upwards, also like a scorpion. When he feels uncomfortable, he can "blow out" his tail into a swarm of flies that follow him. After all, it is a deadly weapon.

Sensitiveness 2/10. He likes it because it gives him an advantage over you. Until you start scratching his skin at the base. He's all yours on his knees.

If he doesn't pull the stinger out, the tip is rounded and a little bulbous, but you won't notice until he's deep inside you.

Lucifer

Long and thick, almost like a Mammon, phenomenally beautiful, angelic white with golden reflections. Resembles a snake. It splits in 1/3 and has two ends.

If you get close enough to it, you'll see that the base is as red as its horn.

You'd expect it to feel like reptile scales, but it's more like smooth feathers. Soft, but only the top layer. When you press it, you feel that the core is iron-hard.

He has the same scar as on his chest above his tail, only smaller.

Sensitivness 6/10. Unlike others, instead of pleasure, he may suddenly be struck by pain. Take care of him.

That doesn't mean he won't use his tail against you.

He wants to see your tears when you have his penis in your mouth and the tips of his tail in both holes.

[crevicedwelling]

what commonly missed/misinterpreted parts of bug anatomy should artists pay more attention to? I’m talking casual drawing here, not scientific illustration

antennae come before the eyes in almost all cases. there’s not too many inverts that have antennae that just stick out of the top of the head

bug legs follow a formula of segments (in insects, it’s coxa, trochanter, femur, tibia, several tarsi, claws). bothers me a lot whenever bugs in media have legs that just end in a point… little guys need feet to walk, and they usually have cute little claws too!

simple vs compound eyes… some crustaceans and insects have a pair of faceted compound eyes (many insects have a trio of simple eyes, on this mantis they’re between the antennae). arachnids, meanwhile, have simple eyes which are just a smooth dot, no faceted lenses

sorry if this comes off as peevish, but I look at bugs all day and wow movie bugs are so very often just anatomical trainwrecks! a lot of bad bug designs could easily be fixed with a quick google search of “do spiders have compound eyes” or “how many wings do bees have*”

*it’s four. they zip together and flap as a pair, but four distinct wings

[bettysupremacy]

I’m begging for anything with Steve and reader having a really early morning or late night swimming session in his pool. Just a cute couple taking advantage of Steve’s huge pool during hot summer. Just like lazy fluff pleaseee. Steve is so summer bf

Steve is my summer bf, and I firmly believe that! Thank you for your request!! ☆

Steve has beaten you in tag three times now. It’s admittedly not something he’s proud of, but it’s also not something he’s going to deny for a fourth round.

“Give me a chance!”

You crack up at the sounds of his boyish giggles getting louder as he advances. Just as breathless as you, he overcomes, prize set determinedly in mind. His hands on you.

His large wet hands grab you triumphantly as he advances, maneuvering you into his arms. “-And he destroys! Again! Is it his brains, his braun, or his beauty?”

He dunks you in the cold water, wiping your wet face sympathetically when he pulls you up.

“This is totally rigged!” He swirls you in his arms. Like a trophy. “How am I supposed to win tag against the captain of the swim team?”

He huffs a laugh, warm air smoothing over your cold face.

“You’re supposed to want me to catch you.” He grins, dropping you like he’ll let you dunk again. You shriek, grabbing his arms.

“Do you know how tag works?”

He laughs, shining brightly at you to make up for the lack of light. “You let me win so I can hold you, baby.”

“That’s not tag.”

His smile doesn’t falter. He nods to the deep end, letting your legs drop back to the rough pool floor. “Let’s go again.”

“I’m tired.” Your wet fingers tangle in his equally as wet hair. He leans into the touch. “Let’s go in.”

Those three words are a blow to Steve’s chest. He never gets you out here alone. It’s always stuffed with whiny teens. He doesn’t mind it, usually, but he’d like moment with his girlfriend where Marco Polo isn’t involved.

“Can’t we stay out longer?” He pouts, “we always have to share the pool.”

“It’s midnight.” You drop your hands into the water, bringing them back up to his neck and smiling as he shivers. “And we’re cold.”

He drops his head into your shoulder.

It’d taken no convincing to get you to come out here when you’d seen his red pool shorts, but keeping you in was another issue. The waters were frigid, and he’d had to push you to get in. Another thing he’s, admittedly, not proud of.

“We can get in tomorrow morning,” Your reasoning whispers in his ear. “We can wake up early.”

“You are not waking up early.” He murmurs in your neck.

You smile. “Probably not.”

He groans, and then it’s quiet. You can hear the cicadas in the woods surrounding his home. It’s a cacophony of insects. The water ripples around you, reflecting the moon.

Slowly, more slowly than you’d like, his lips find home planted on the juncture of your neck, twitching into a smile as you breathe through your nose.

The water sloshes as his hands push you into the pool wall. It’s cold on your skin, tickling your chilly arms.

“Y’so pretty.” He mouths greedily under your jaw.

It’s wet, your hair sticks to the back of your neck, but his hands roam lower and lower, pressing and grabbing needily. You can’t bring yourself to care.

He comes up for air. “Let’s go in.”

“I kinda like it here.” You look down at him.

His swollen lips tease you. Pretty and pink, you want them back on your neck. He knows this, smiling to taunt.

“I like it when I can see you.” His hand slides over your slick belly. You wrap your legs around him.

“You said I was pretty.”

He huffs a laugh. “I don’t need to see you to know that.” His finger pinches the fat of your thigh. “Prettiest girl in the whole world.”

Your stomach flips, a funny smile coming to your warm face. “Carry me.”

His lips are soft as they work their way back to your neck. They leave a trail of spit over your wet skin, you sigh as a breeze flutters past you. Languid with his kisses, he moves back up to your mouth, hovering, hot air warming your kiss bitten lips.

“Gonna need you to wrap your arms around me, honey.”

His hands squeeze your thighs.

[obguro]

The Pretty Boy

A KNY x Male Reader —— !?

> warnings; this is part two!!, angst, kinda following the same plot as kny, no happy ending bc i said

> a/n; guh sorry it took me so long i’ve been so busy with work and the hurricane that’s coming to florida

“Big Brother! Wake up!”

A voice was heard, awakening another up. The older male immediately sprung up at the sound of his younger brothers, Tanjiro Kamado, voice.

The (h/c) haired male looked at his younger brother in worry. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The male rushed up out of his bed that resided in The Butterfly Mansion.

Tanjiro’s face showed his normal smile as he watched his brother rush towards him. “Nope! I just wanted to see if you would like to take a walk with me! It’s nighttime!” Tanjiro beamed at the worried elder, holding back giggles.

Y/N rubbed his face in frustration, grumpy from being woken up in such a loud manner for something not serious. The male nodded towards his brother, before stating. “Yes, let me get presentable.” Tanjiro smiled brightly one last time before walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The male yawned and stretched as he walked over to his mirror on the wall. He sighed at his appearance, not a very glam sight. His usual hair that was kept up to be kept out of his face, was now down and sticking up everywhere. His usual clothes that were neat, were now wrinkled and part of his top revealed his shoulder.

The male took a hair tie and proceeded to tie his hair up into his normal style. He then walked over to his closet before pulling out a simple black kimono, slipping it on and smoothed it out before slipping out of the room to meet his brother.

The mentioned male was staring at the stars, while waiting for his brother. The door slid open, revealing the now presentable male. Y/N let out a smile towards the burgundy haired male, holding out his hand for him to take.

Tanjiro happily held the hand of his brother, something they have done since a young age. Tanjiro and Y/N started to discuss different things, including updates on their sister, his missions, etc.

The two walked around the large estate that belonged to the Insect Hashira. “Hey Tanjiro?” The (e/c) eyed male suddenly asked. The other male hummed in response, waiting for the next question.

“Do you think mom would be proud of me right now?” Y/N asked in a soft sad tone, thinking about all the danger his younger siblings have been through since the slaughter. Final Selection. His First Mission. The Spider Family. The Train Mission. The Entertainment District Mission. The Time at The Swordsmith Village.

Tanjiros mouth opened in shock at the question, before melting into a sad smile. “She would very proud of you, big brother.” Y/N looked at him with tears lining his bottom lash line. “But you keep being put in dangers way… and I can do barely anything to keep you safe.”

Tanjiro suddenly punched his shoulder, shocking the soft spoken male. “It’s my job! I’m not weak anymore N/N, I can protect myself now I promise.” Y/N’s eyes widened at his words. He was speechless. Tears started to fall down his face as his face was decorated in a soft smile.

Tanjiro brought the taller male into a tight hug. “I love you, big brother.” Y/N hugged back just as tight, if not tighter. “I love you so much. I’ll always protect you and Nezuko whether you like it or not.”

TIMESKIP — !!

A group of three is seen sitting in the sunlight, all of them beaten up. Many bodies surrounded them, injured, deceased. Those three were Tanjiro Kamado, Nezuko Kamado, and Y/N Kamado.

The three hugged each other as tight as they could, still recovering from the incident that occurred through out the night.

The eldest hugged his younger siblings close to his chest as tight as he could, like they would disappear if he let go. Though, his grip started to weaken as the extreme blood loss started to affect him greatly, since now he was back to being his human self.

The two noticed the weakened grip of their beloved older brother and how his eyes started to look hazy.

“Big brother! What’s wrong?!” Nezuko shouted in worry while more tears began to fall. She knew what was happening. She knew that look. She knew but refused to accept it. Tanjiro also knew what was happening. He couldn’t get any words out as his heart clenched as he realized.

In unison, the younger siblings eyes fell down to the stomach of their brother. Multiple gaping holes. Tanjiro felt like his heart was being ripped out. He knew what those were from.

Tentacles sprouted from the burgundy haired boy as his younger sister tried to hold him back from injuring others. Tanjiro Kamado had been turned into a demon.

Y/N sat up from his position of the floor as he heard his younger sisters yell. His gaze set on his younger siblings that laid a bit away. His heart clenched when he saw his brother.

Oh Tanjiro…

He knew what he had to do. He also knew the consequences.

With little to no hesitation, he ran over to his siblings as he helped restrain his brother. The cries of his younger sister and the sight of his brother hurt more than the tentacles that had pierced through his stomach.

Withstanding the pain, he continued to hold his brother tightly as Kanao had injected him with the medicine. The siblings refused to let go of the boy until they could tell he had turned back into himself.

Y/N grips significantly got weaker and his siblings noticed and immediately laid him down onto his back. The (h/c) haired boy looked up at his siblings with his soft (e/c) eyes. A weak smile spread across his face. His hands weakly went up and rested on the cheeks of his siblings, wiping away their tears.

“Don’t cry.. There was nothing that could’ve stopped this from happening..” Y/N started as he winced at the pain from his movements. “I’ll always be watching over you two..” The younger duo started to let out loud sobs, not ready to say goodbye to their beloved brother.

“Nezuko, Tanjiro.. take care of each other and live your live to the fullest. I love you both.. you’re both my pride and joy..” Y/N voiced out weakly as his eyes started to shut, his arms falling to his sides

“Y/N!” Nezuko and Tanjiro both yelled out, gripping onto his hands that were losing their warmth. The boy didn’t respond.

Y/N Kamado was gone.

[lovlidollie]

Random Feyd HCs?

you said random so prepare yourself 😭 also i went way too far into this, the amount of research i did into the first few hcs alone is insane

feyd has a thing for imported cheeses and wines. giedi prime does not have the correct atmosphere nor natural resources to make soft, delicate cheese. the planet doesn’t have any photosynthetic potential, no room for grazing animals (let alone grass and greenery) and is so polluted that those who come visit are stuck with oxygen concentrators and advanced oxygen masks. almost, if not all food is imported from other planets: slig (a cross between a giant slug and a pig) from tleilax (feyd didn’t like it much, it was too sweet and not game-y enough for him.), milkbugs (arachnids the size of a small hand) and turtlebugs (sweet insects) from harmonthep (he didn’t like either. bugs weird feyd out and he doesn’t like looking at them.), paradan melon and pundi rice from caladan (the melon was just okay, but feyd loved having the rice with gyrak (heavily seasoned meat from zimia) as his post-arena meal.).

now let’s get into the wines. champia from rossak was something he only drank at dinner parties and official meetings. it’s a cloyingly sweet white wine, and bubbly, which feyd thinks is the only thing that makes it bearable. it’s too flowery and heady for him to properly enjoy. feyd has a high alcohol tolerance, but champia has a way of getting everyone wine-drunk quicker than they think. zincal is a very popular wine from caladan, which makes it the most accessible to the harkonnens. it’s a light red wine, clean and woody and cherry-like (cherries are one of feyd’s favourite fruits, he likes the acidity of them and enjoys chewing on the pits.) it’s a basic wine that feyd neither hates nor loves. now casyrack? his absolute favourite. it’s a dry, intense red wine, that needs to be aged. less than 5 years and it tastes thin and harsh and not at all enjoyable. it needs to be drunk before it’s eighth birthday, but feyd prefers it aged seven years exactly. it’s velvety and rich, with a smoky, spicy aftertaste that leaves feyd’s stomach feeling warm and his head pleasantly thrumming. it’s not popular across the known universe, leaving thousands of bottles sitting idly in the atreides family compound. feyd had to pull a lot of ropes to get a steady supply of the smooth wine.

now, cheeses. again, feyd is not a fan of sweet things. he likes his food salty, bitter, sour. thick cottage cheese is a yes from him. not the runny type and it specifically needs to be made from sheep milk. while he doesn’t like arrakis in general, he has a secret fondness for the food. feyd loves aged camel milk cheese. it’s rich and creamy with a clean finish and pairs well with meats. on that note, camel meat is one of his favourites to have. he eats all his meat bloody and basically raw (like.. feyd… it’s basically still alive…), but he likes how fatty the camel meat is, leaving it tender and juicy. he also likes thick cream cheese made with goat milk. feyd stuffs the cheese into dates and then rolls them in spice as a special treat for not killing too many people who pissed him off during the day.

feyd loves dark chocolate. he doesn’t like sweets and only enjoys them on very special occasions, which is why dark chocolate is so perfect for him. it’s hard to source, but when he’s able to get it imported he does not share with a single person. his favourite would be the 99%-100% cocoa bars. it helps make him slightly more manageable and puts him in a better mood.

he hosts the best parties on the planet. they’re exclusive and elusive, and all the harkonnen elite want nothing more but to be invited to a feyd-rautha party. supplies the guests with the best alcohol and food one can get their hands on. he generally sticks with his pets, stroking their skimpy, scantily-clad bodies while he drinks his wine. he doesn’t have many friends, but he has acquaintances that he has to keep up appearances with, so feyd is sure to make his way around and greet (threaten) everyone.

ends up fucking one of his pets over a table at one of his parties and ‘accidentally’ starts an orgy.

elite music taste. only knows bangers. gatekeeps the good stuff though.

has a blood kink and would willingly eat you out on your period if you’ve behaved. in fact i feel like he’d be more inclined to eat you out even if you haven’t been the best, purely because he is bloodlusting and wants to taste iron on his tongue.

on that note, would be into wound-fucking .. 🤷

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the longnose gar!

The longnose gar, known well within North America by anglers, and for their distinctive snout. Scientific name Lepisosteus osseus, meaning bony or armor-scaled bony fish. Gars, as a particularly old species are often referred to as living fossils, in that many of them are exactly the same as the fossils of them we have been finding from millions of years earlier, and the longnose gars are no different. Gars first start appearing within the fossil record around 240 million years ago, and are the only remaining decedents of the Ginglymodi clade, a particularly successful fish group in the Mesozoic era. The reason for their low amount if speciation is because gars are the slowest rate of molecular evolution among jawed vertebrates.

These gar fossils can be found worldwide, but the longnose gar can first be found in the fossil records around 1.8 million years ago, fossils found in Cuba, Kansas, Central America, and area in-between. In the modern day the longnose gar lives along mainly the Mississippi River and the Eastern United States freshwater rivers, although they can handle relatively high salinity, giving them the ability to live in estuaries that other gars can not. In these environments they spend their times living in the shadow of vegetation, usually near fallen trees that they can hide within, or near rocky outcroppings that they can camouflage near, or sea grasses.

Referred to as a primitive fish sometimes, this is because their lack of change over the years. The longnose gar in particular is known for having their intestines in a shape referred to as a spiral valve. A spiral valve is a section of lower intestine that is shaped in a stack of potato chips on top of one another, with a spiral going between them, similar to the look of fish gills when opened, found only within animals that are particularly old and living fossils (sharks, sturgeons, lungfish, paddlefish, and gars). Shaped this way for excess absorption. other than this they also have some old trait such as the bony scaling referred to as ganoid scales, which can also be found in some variation on sturgeon.

Their diet consists of mainly insects and crustaceans, and occasionally small gamefish that they can catch, although this is a rare occasion and mostly made up of fry. Other than humans, they not predated upon, and are apex predators in their environments. Their lifehistory is rather long compared to the fish they live around, but shorter than most gar, living 15-20 years, although in captivity there have been longnose gars that live as long as 40 years. These animals spawn in the summertime from April-July, having as many as 30,000 eggs at a time which are spawned in areas of smooth stones, where the eggs will stick. These animals usually reach sexual maturity around 6 years but some males will reach maturity at 2 years of age. Once they reach their full size they can get as long as 4-5 feet and can weigh more than 50 pounds.

Have a wonderful day!

[tribbetherium]

Daggoths, with their subterranean lifestyles, unconventional limbs and even more peculiar senses, are easily among the most bizarre lineage ever to arise on HP-02017: a clade so derived as to look almost entirely alien. Yet, despite their otherworldy appearance, the daggoths are still mammals: giving birth to live young, and nourishing them with milk, at least for some period of time. And no other species combines the strange with the familiar as the spindled cheeseweaver (Lactarachne brevipus), a descendant of the roof stalac, an insectivore that dwells among the stalactites of the cave's ceiling, a biome obviously absent from the surface world.

Like its predecessor, the spindled cheeseweaver is an ambush hunter, pouncing on insects that it finds among the stone spikes. With long, spindly front digits, yet short, stubby rear ones, it ambles along predominantly with its forelimbs, while arching its back intermittently to secure its grip on another location, in a strange, nine-limbed inchworming gait. Its progress is helped along by broad pads on both fore and hind limbs that are equipped with thousands of tiny, densely packed hairs that allow it to stick tightly to even smooth surfaces, allowing it to negotiate the cavern roof, anchoring with its hind limbs while using its forelimbs to seize insect prey, be it feelerflits that blunder into its outstretched digits or other, flightless bugs that dwell on the rock surface, feeding on bacterial mats and fungi.

But easily the most remarkable characteristic of the cheeseweaver is the namesake ability the females have when rearing their young: they conceal their undeveloped, quasi-larval young in weblike cocoons that they affix to hidden crevices in the cave ceilings. These cocoons, reminescent of an arthropods', are perhaps the most unmammalian feature yet evolved by the daggoths, yet, conversely, is actually what ties the cheeseweaver to its mammalian ancestry: the webs are actually made of modified milk, and further taken to a bizarre extreme thanks to the fermentation and action of several species of symbiotic bacteria living in their mouths and plays a special role in the females.

In both sexes, these bacteria aid in an immune and digestive function, but in females, it contains just the right ingredients to make its silky webs. As daggoths rear their young for only a few days before they leave them, they produce particularly thick and concentrated milk rich in nutrients for their young, with high levels of protein to facilitate their quick growth. This feature is repurposed in this particular species, as when female cheeseweavers lactate, they do so shortly prior to birth, then use their long forelimbs to scoop up the creamy mixture into their cheek pouches. Here, the bacteria begin their work, separating out the proteins into a thick, stringy, and stretchy material after a period of at least 1-2 days that then, piece, by piece, the cheeseweaver female then pulls from her mouth in ropy threads and spins into a cocoon with her four pairs of fore-digits, stretching and spinning and weaving it in a disconcertingly arachnid-like manner into a protective pouch. Once finished, she inserts her rear end into the pouch, births anywhere from six to twelve tiny young each barely 4 millimeters long, and finishes it with a second layer of fibers to safely seal them inside a permeable shell that allows them to respire, as, at this point, the almost-embryonic young breathe entirely through their thin, vacularized skin that directly absorbs oxygen, as their lungs are not yet fully developed.

Once her job is finished, the female cheeseweaver conceals the cocoon with a lick of saliva that masks its scent and firms its adhesion to the surface, and then wanders off with no further care. She can spin several such cocoons during the breeding season, bearing her offspring in batches. The young, in turn, develop safely inside the cocoons, hidden away from predators that hunt mostly by scent. Inside, she has packed into the cocoons as well a rich reserve of the thick, fatty milk, semi-solidified to a soft, jelly-like consistency, to serve as a food source for the developing young. It is during this period that her symbiotic microbes again play an important role: they produce antimicrobial excretions that ward off pathogens and harmful bacteria that may infest the milk and harm the young, but which are tolerated by the beneficial bacteria that are then ingested by the young and become symbionts of them in turn. Once their teeth are fully matured, at the age of about two to three weeks, the young chew their way out of the cocoon and, after consuming the remainder of the empty husk, emerge out into the world, skilled hunters from day one that first practice on microscopic invertebrates before graduating to a diet of bigger insects as they progress toward adulthood.

-----------

And one final late-Spectember entry before schedule conflicts take over again. Sorry again to those who expected much content for Spectember, I hope you don't mind irregular random posting.

[butterfrogmantis]

I've been holding onto Matador since I got back from Barcelona months ago and here he FINALLY is. And also another newbie!

Matador Smurf:

-Ironically very anti killing. He just wants to show off more than anything. Can usually subdue large or dangerous animals into crashing into walls and stuff quite well but he's a noble heart, will never go for the kill. IS a skilled fencer for other sapient opponents when it's fair. Would fight Don more but Don's a swashbuckling kind of hero whilst Matador sticks to fencing rules and would probably lose in a real swordfight.

-The Barcelonian! From the Catalonia region of Spain. Knows both mainland Spanish and Catalonian but tends to use Catalonian to P off Elena who only knows mainland Spanish … bit of a cultural rivalry there XD

-As bad as Smooth for flirting with everything that moves. Actually that includes Smooth too. It's a flirt off. And by that I mean dating but not. It's similar to Smooth and Slammy, both are wayyy too non committal to settle down but after Smooth's 174758th rejection from Jokey and when Slammy is back to doing his part time dating of the band Smooth can usually be found crawling back to Matador

SmurfHemlock:

-Born SmurfSunflower (Sunny) was a shy kid who disliked the other typical grove activities like archery and dance. Thought she didn't really fit in with anyone and would usually just be found down by the swamp poking stuff with sticks. She had one friend tho, a friend she thought was just as weird. SmurfRafflesia was obsessed with the undead and paranormal, and through her admiration of her, Sunflower came to enjoy these things too, finding beauty in death and wanting to preserve it somehow.

-Teenage Sunflower takes on a goth not-phase and changes her name to Hemlock (Sunflower was so … preppy!) and begins to study the art of taxidermy. Still regarded as one of the black sheeps of the grove but she minds it much less now - she kind of revels in the solitude. Begins developing a fairly big crush on Rafflesia before one day … Raff just goes missing out of the blue. It breaks Hemlock's heart and she sinks further into the loner persona. Also some weird demon got out somewhere but Papa and Willow took care of that.

-Lol JK Raff isn't gone forever, she shows up one day as a ghost and claims some Archaeologist from the guy village found her and whoops she's been gone for a century what did she miss haha. Well Hemlock is PISSED. I mean who does that? Esp/ since Rafflesia admits she wasn't even trapped she was just vibing in the mausoleum Archie found her in (Raff and Archie are a bit similar in that way, they're both married to their work and can be a bit self absorbed in it at times)

-Anyway Hemlock's been doing great w/ her taxidermy all this time. She's very careful and only sources natural deaths or kills … but may adopt elderly insects with some ulterior motives. At least she's good to em and they get a very comfortable end of life before becoming art pieces. Go figure. She's made up w/ Raff, it is pretty cool to have a ghost friend after all, and apparently Rafflesia also made some new friends in the village - holy shit is that a talking skeleton?? That's pretty goth.

-Skelly groans internally. Yet more admirers. Will he 'ere be rid of his fans ("Shut up Skelly")

Smooth (c) The Smurfs

Matador, Elena, Rafflesia and Hemlock are mine

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow

Tirdas, 19th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Morning

Uthgerd

I've never understood why some people play jokes on others. Once, when I was seven, some kids my age gave me a stick, telling me it was a magic wand that would make my mother give me extra treats. Needless to say, it didn't work, and the boys laughed at me when I told them of the spanking my mother gave me when I ordered her to give me another sweetroll after dinner. They stopped laughing when I broke one's tooth and blacked the other's eye. So no, "pranking" has never been a past time of mine.

Why, then, did I feel such joy over the sight of Talao leaping out of his bed, drenched in water? Revenge, maybe. Well, not my problem he hadn't woken up earlier. I toss the now empty pail at him while he sputters away. "You overslept. Get into your traveling gear, get your pack, then meet me at the gates of the city in ten minutes, or I'm leaving without you."

The sound of his hurried steps follow me until I exit the inn. Then nothing. It's always bothered me just how quiet a city can be before dawn. Out in the wilderness, you're surrounded by noise. Insects buzzing, elk bleating, rivers flowing. Here, not even the most optimistic vendor has yet set up. I wrap my cloak more tightly around my armour, and set out to the gates, boots crunching against the frosty ground. Whiterun is warmer than most of Skyrim, but the province's famous chill is never far off, especially at night. I learned that the hard way a long time ago...

A patrol passes me by, and talks to the guard standing beside the gate. Shift change, most likely. I can see them throwing glances my way from inside their helmets, like they're expecting me to attack them. I ignore them, leaning against the wall. No doubt they recognize me and... What I did. I suppose getting out of town is the best I could do. Give the rumours time to die off, like the bard said, and for me to put it to rest in my own soul.

Before long, I see Talao walking swiftly toward the gates. I notice an odd hitch in his step, and a cane or staff in his hand, as if he were hobbled. Great, he's a cripple too. That's going to increase our travel time. I seriously cannot catch a break.

"You said we were to leave at dawn! It's well before then!"

Hmph. "I said dawn, not sunrise. There's light enough in the sky to see the path, and the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get to... Wait, where in Kyne's name are we headed?"

"Oh." He seems embarrassed at his oversight, as the gates close behind us. "Bleak Fall Barrow, just overlooking Riverwood. It'll take us most of the day to reach Riverwood, so we should spend the night there, or make camp near the base of the mountain."

"Fair enough." The road out of Whiterun is smooth, from the thousand of wheels, horses, and feet that use it every day. I see, out of the corner of my eye, Talao keeping pace with me, no difficulty despite his odd gait. An old injury then, one he's spent a long time with. Somehow I doubt I'll see him sprinting anytime soon, but at the least, we won't take threefold the time to get anywhere. Hopefully, he holds up as well on the mountain.

The Khajiit are up and moving as well, the fire from their camp burning brightly. I eye them with a cautious respect. I've bought supplies from their caravans many a time to make my travels easier, and it takes some guys to wander a country during a war. But I drew my cloak tighter around myself anyway, not from the chill. They aren't allowed within the city walls for a reason, after all.

"Wares for the weary traveler?" A grey-ish brown cat asks me, his eyelids half-open, but attentive. A sign he's relaxed. At least, I think that's what it means. All I really remember about Khajiit behaviors is that you should run if they "smile" at you, unless you like bite marks on your ass. "Ah, but this Breton Ri'saad remembers. It is Talao, yes?"

"Aye. Pleasure to see you, Ri'saad." He waves to the other caravanners, who return the gesture. Interesting how at ease he acts with them.

"Ri'saad is please to see Talao as well this morning."

"Is it morning?" he grumbles. "It still feels like night to me."

The cat - Ri'saad, I try to remember - hums, like a purr almost. "Ah, the Breton does not enjoy losing his rest. Khajiit finds dawn most invigorating. The slow rise of the sun, and of the sounds of the day, the smell of the dew upon the grass."

"Just smells strange to me."

We're getting off track. "We need to get moving if we want to reach Riverwood by nightfall, Talao." My pack is still rather full from my last outing, but I buy a few potions and some hardtack, just in case. Talao does the same, also grabbing a flask of wine, happily chatting about how alcohol can be just as helpful as a fire on a cold night.

Despite my best efforts, the chatty Khajiit drags Talao into another conversation. "Ri'saad has noticed that Talao is no longer wearing the robes sold by this one. Did the bard forget them in some fair maid's home?"

"Nothing quite so titillating, Ri'saad, but infinitely more interesting," Talao chuckles. "I was capture by Imperials, but then saved by a dragon!" The cats murmur in the background, as Talao spreads his arms wide. "Picture it: A misty dawn in Falkreath Hold. The sleepy town of Helgen awakened by a brigade of imprisoned Stormcloaks, preparing for sentence from their Imperials captors. Among them, a lone innocent, a victim of circumstance. He awaits, hopelessly, his inexorable fate. The chopping block taunting him with freshly spilled blood. But fate has other plans, unbeknownst to him as he is forced upon the block. A great roar resounds through the valley. The innocent looks up, past the gleaming executioner's blade, and a monstrous beast descends, clad in armor darker than blackest night, gleaming in the first rays of the morning, as if from Aetherius itself! Saving the innocent from the cold bite of death by mere seconds, and the chaos affords him the opportunity to escape."

"Hmm. Ri'saad believes this is the most outlandish story Talao has yet shared."

Silently, I agree. The man has a way with words that makes Mikael seem a brutish oaf in comparison, but the story is absurd. Although, there must be a reason the Jarl entrusted... A man like him with such an important task. Unless he's embellishing that as well.

"Outlandish, yes. But every word true."

The Khajiit strokes his chin, continuing, "This one has, however, heard rumours of the return of the winged lizards, few though these rumours may be."

"I've only seen the one," Talao responds, "but if one dragon survived supposed extinction, there could be more. And one is more than enough, if that one was anything to go by. It destroyed an entire town, holding an Imperial garrison, by itself. I'd hate for our next meeting to be with a burnt corpse, so eyes to the sky."

"A life without risk is not one worth living, friend. But then, it is best to remain alive to witness it in its entirety. Khajiit will take precautions."

"That is all I ask." Enough of this drivel. I nudge Talao sharply and begin walking off. He spits out a hasty farewell, "May your roads lead you to warm sands," and catches up.

The sky has brightened a bit, though the sun has yet to rise. I notice the head of Talao's cane, shaped like a dragon. A staff then, not a cane. "You a mage, Breton?" I ask, gesturing at the staff.

"Ah, no. A gift from Farengar. Sadly, I have very little aptitude for magickal arts."

Now that was odd. "A Breton with no magicka?"

"Aye, strange, I know." He grins ruefully. "I'm a bard. I don't think I mentioned."

"No, but after your story, I might have guessed. Still..." The question was still burning in my mind, so I decided just to ask. "Why would the Jarl choose you to go into a Barrow, famous for active Draugr sightings, if you have no combat expertise?"

"A fair question," he replies, shrugging. "I suppose I did think it odd how quickly he trusted me, but given the direness of the situation, perhaps he thought there was not enough time to find a more suitable person. Farengar did mention not wanting to spread rumours, and seeing as I was one of the survivors at Helgen... Hold up."

"What?" We've reached the bend at the White River, just at the bounds of Whiterun's farmland. Talao stops, staring up the hilly road to the south, but I see nothing. "What? Is it the hill? You can't expect me to believe..."

"We should get off the road."

"What are you...?"

"Now!" He shoves me toward a bush - or at least tries to, considering I'm twice his size - on the side of the road, before hiding himself in it. I sigh wearily, looking up the path. Still nothing. So now he's a coward as well as defenseless. Or possibly insane. I settle into the bushes, lamenting the fact that it is going to take us until the next era to reach Riverwood at this rate.

A moment passes. Then another. A few torchbugs buzz around our heads. A wolf bays in the distance. And still nothing stirs along the path.

"Talao..." He places a hand on my mouth, the other pointing. And then I see it. Or something. A hazy blue glow, still far in the distance, swiftly approaching. Mage light, perhaps? The closer it gets, the more I feel a sense of dread creep over me, and I understand why Talao had us hide. Whatever was approaching, it wasn't natural. My hand clutches the grip of my sword, ready to draw the instant anything happens.

Finally, the blue haze is defined enough to make it out, and my blood freezes. I've seen ghosts before, but this... An armor-clad specter, astride an equally spectral horse, flying across the ground faster than anything I've seen, fog trailing in its wake. And most unnerving, the ghost faced forward... But with no face to speak of, nor any head at all.

The specter is still heading directly toward us down the path, at an impossible pace. Then it slows. My breath catches, and my anxiety jumps. Some ghosts were weak to steel, but I doubted this one would be, were it to come to blows. The horse halts at the crossroads, and the headless figure shifted in its seat, as if checking its direction. My hand aches from its painfully tight grip upon my sword, but I dare not make the slightest move.

Suddenly, a piercing pain rips through my skull, and the ghost faces our hiding spot. Talao is yelling beside me, as the horse walks forward slowly, the figure pulling a large axe off its back. I try to do the same, but I'm paralyzed, held in place, unable to move or even fall from the pain. The horse whinnies loudly, as if laughing, and the ghost lifts the axe high. This can't be how it ends!

Suddenly, a blazing shaft of light bursts through the specter's body. He halts, his form slowly dissipating. At once, the presence lifts, and I fall forward, gasping for air. The sun finally peeks up from down the White River. Dawn has arrived.

A haunting laugh echoes through my head, and a phrase lingers in my mind as the ghost vanishes; "Such an abrupt end to our game." A chill runs down my spine, despite the warmth of the sun upon my face. A game? One I'd rather never play again.

Talao is a few feet away, on his hands and knees, retching. I can hardly blame him. Makes me glad that I skipped an early meal, else I'd likely be joining him. "By the blood of Orkey, what was... that?"

"I... I don't know. I've never heard of any tale like this." He stands shakily, heaving great breaths of air. "It was so... angry. Vengeful. I heard... 'All living shall fear the dead.'"

"What did we wander into?"

"A legend." Talao whispers. "One I'm not sure I want to be part of. But one I'll definitely write about. Someday."

One last stretch unravels the knots in my back, and I shoulder my pack once more. A quick glance around, but all seems quiet now. Without words, we set off down the path, the sun lifting our spirits. But I know that feeling at the base of my spine will stay with me for a while yet.

For once, I was looking forward to an uneventful trip.

For the curious, Uthgerd worships the traditional Nordic Pantheon, rather than the Eight Divines. Kyne is, obviously, the parallel of Kynareth. Orkey is generally considered the parallel to the Daedric Prince Malacath (rather than Arkay as you might think) and an enemy of the ancient Nords, hence its use as a curse.

Chapter 9 - Uthgerd I: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow

[crguang]

sweet reliable women 🥺 i'm excited to meet her!

if you had to pick your favourite 3 hsr and genshin women, who would they be and why? i think i could take a crack at guessing two of the star rail women you'll pick, hah

-💙

GSHDHSJSJFJF im unfortunately very predictable…. and my type is so obvious😭

for genshin my favourites are:

- ningguang. we go years back her and i, i love women in high positions of power who have to put on a performance for the world and have a softer, hidden side to them. i admire her composure, strength and the fact that she can navigate any social situation… people have a lot of misconceptions of her because of her ambitions but she’s a good person who knows when to be ruthless and i love her lots for it

- yelan. my little adrenaline junkie… shes just so fun?! she hides behind so many disguises, lies as she breathes, is a masochist and a secret intelligence agent. they made her for ME!!! her and ning are canonically partners in crime, she’s part of the reason why ning is the tianquan and is her most trusted friend. plus she’s sexy and smart and i need her in my bed

- arlecchino. my type to a T, she fits all of my attraction criteria— powerful, diplomatic, astute and sexy with a side of her no one really gets to see. she genuinely cares for her children despite her upbringing, wants to bring a change to the way the house of the hearth functions, is a little weird and off-putting… i love that its unexpected for her to be so chill because shes so intimidating 😭 like wym the 4th fatui harbinger loves watching insects in the wild and having barbecues with her kids

my fav hsr women are (unsurprisingly):

- kafka… KAFKAAAAA what an annoying, irritating, lying little shit im obsessed with her. i initially thought she was going to be a little like yelan (she kinda is… they’d get along fast) but she’s just an arrogant little shit who lies for fun. she’s cocky and confident and the worst part is that her bite matches her bark. i cannottt help but be attracted to her, she’s a jack of all trades and it makes her deliciously unpredictable. PLUS they made her a violin player!!!!! thats my favourite musical instrument!!!!! i listen to classical music every day. her design is also one of my favourites— i love that she’s completely covered and still the sexiest character in the game. people went insane just seeing her SHOULDERS, like we all turned into Victorian men catching a glimpse of a woman’s calves for the first time when she took off her coat😭

- black swannnnnn❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ just stunning. no notes. 10/10 design. that suave personality and charm makes me melt and every time she comes on screen so do i— i mean… i find memokeepers in general very interesting, but what’s better is that since they forego their mortal bodies and become memetic entities, they don’t really have human emotions other than what’s felt through people’s memories. but black swan does, a little; that primal fear she feels in acheron’s memories, her preference for warm, wistful memories… it’s just so interesting. i also love how consistent and transparent she is, some memokeepers steal or erase memories but she doesnt. she has morals (aesthetics of memory, as she says) and she sticks to them until the last resort. she’s supposed to be inherently objective, and she isn’t. i love that a lot. also, because shes very good at what she does her presence is so reassuring, her smooth, low voice just adds to the feeling i need her to hum me to sleep

- JINGLIU. that voice alone gets her in my top 5 but her LORE… the fact that she’s doomed by the narrative???? that she pushes past her limits, rises when she should have fallen, out of spite and hatred to fight her own inevitable end???????? incredible. she’s above material things and immaterial concepts like status and fame because she only lives for one thing: to kill a god. and as she pursues her goal, she becomes a little like them, indifferent and ruthless. she’s a woman who’s lost everything and who refuses to lose her mind despite it being inevitable. her will is incredible. i love her design (tho she shouldve been wearing pants or actual armor😒) the moon is my favourite entity and she embodies it. i’m one of those people who go “omg look at the moon” every night, they made her for meeee

[fishrpg]

2025-01-05: Desert (Hot) Encounter Map Tactical Elements

Tactical elements are things that creatures in the encounter map can interact with and stack the odds in their favor. Generally they are most useful in combat situations, but creative individuals can find uses for them outside of combat. Hopefully these elements provide a reason to use the environment in a more intentional and experiential way. Every tactical element is influenced in part by a d6 that is rolled at the same time.

Desert (Hot) Tactical Elements (d20)

Salvageable part from a broken cart (1d6: 1-3, a single wheel; 4, axle dripping with grease; 5, ten feet of chain; 6, yoke)

Boulders (1d6, scattered around the map). Each boulder takes up a 10 foot square and provides full cover or high ground.

Natural stone arch (1d6 x 10 feet long and 10 feet wide). Easily traversed and provides high ground for people atop it. If there is a chasm or similar gap, the arch can be placed in a way to bridge the gap instead of being positioned where the die fell.

Dune (1d6 + 3 squares, arranged in a contiguous crescent shape). Provides 3/4 cover.

Dry Brush (1d6+2 squares clumped together). If exposed to a spark or flame, it catches fire instantly and burns for 1 minute. Flames spread to adjacent brush on Initiative 0.

Ley Line Focus (1d6 + 2 squares arranged in a straight line). Anyone standing in this area while casting a spell has advantage on both attack and damage rolls. Concentration is not affected.

Tar pit (1d6 squares, contiguous). Movement speed is reduced to 5 in these squares.

Precarious rock pillars (1d6, each one scattered at different points from the map though the first one is always as close as possible to where the die fell). Dealing any amount of damage (AC 17) to the stone at the top of the pillar will cause the stone to fall into an adjacent space and the stone functions as though it were a hill giant's attack.

Tumbleweeds (1d6 squares, scattered across the map). Dry, crinkly, and able to be rolled.

Lithophones (1d6 squares, scattered across the map). When struck with a stick or a fist, it produces a sound like a xylophone.

Hiding Spot (can hold up to 1d6 squares of creatures, though only the square with the entrance is visible).

Stone wall (1d6 x 2 squares in a line). Crumbling wall provides 1/2 cover.

Hungry herd animals (1d6+2). Cows, horses, or another creature appropriate to the environment are wandering here.

Mostly-dead trees (1d6+2, clumped together). These are 15-feet tall and barely clinging to life in the harsh environment.

Cactus patch (1d6 squares, clumped together). Anyone pushed into these squares takes 1d4 piercing damage.

Lightning stones (1d6, scattered). These ferrous rocks intercept lightning damage that is targeted at a creature in a space adjacent to the stone. Any damage that the creature would receive is diverted harmlessly into the ground.

Swarming insect nest (1d6 squares, clumped together). Dealing any damage to the nest (DC 10) releases a swarm of insects that emerge from the nest at Initiative 0.

Makeshift sled (can hold 1d6 X 50 pounds). It's something smooth and flat that can help transport stuff over sandy/snowy soils.

Drainage basin (1d6, each a 10x10 square and scattered). Natural depressions of hard packed earth retain puddles of dirty water.

Odiferous things (1d6 squares, scattered). Something with a strong smell (unpleasant or otherwise) is here and the overpowering scent can mask smells. Any checks that rely on smell automatically fail within 10 feet of one of these things.

[drhoz]

#2546-2548 - Sooty Beech Scale, Sooty Beech Mold, and the Common European Yellowjacket

One of the features of the Antarctic Beech forests of New Zealand, particularly on the South Island, is the thick layer of what looks like black moss covering many of the trees. And the ground. And most of the plants in the understory.

The black moss is actually sooty mold, a complex combination of fungi from a variety of different Orders, thriving on the ludicrous amounts of honeydew pumped out by the Sooty Beech Scale Ultracoelostoma assimile. The white filaments sticking out of the mold in the first photo is the anal tube of the scale insects, the longest such tube of any insect. The insect is most abundant on Black Beech Nothofagus solandri (the black in the name is from the mold) and middle-aged trees may lose 80% of the sugars they make to them. Younger trees have smooth bark that doesn't offer safe nooks and crannies for the crawlers, and in mature trees the bark is too thick for the scale insects to drill through.

The honeydew is a keystone feature of the Nothofagus forests - birds, bats, reptiles and insects all feed on the honeydew. Some rely on it. There's at least two species of caterpillar that prey on the scale insects. And a beetle - the only one in its family - that feeds only on the sooty mold.

And then the wasps arrived.

Two species are the problem - Vespula vulgaris (see photo) and Vespula germanica. Both are now more common in the Nothofagus forests then they are anywhere else in the world, and by a horrifying degree. Not only are they getting a diet of pure rocket fuel for much of the year, they then denude the forest of invertebrate life to feed their larvae. By monopolising the honeydew supply they're starving the birds and other animals that need that food supply, especially since introduced mice, rats, and stoats are eating the fruit and seeds of the forest, or turning on the birds when they run out of mice.

St. Arnaud, Southern Alps, New Zealand

[welcomingdisaster]

statue of an elven woman

indis/nerdanel || light M rating || ao3

The air hangs heavy and humid around them; Indis’s braid sticks unpleasantly to the back of her neck. Beads of condensation form on the blue jewels she wears, accumulate as little tear-shaped spots and then burst suddenly downwards. 

She feels a twinge in her ankle, looks down to see a mosquito, flat black body nearly the size of her thumbnail. It leaves a smudge of brownish red when she swats it, one near-whole wing sticking from the mess. 

There had been no mosquitoes in Valinor before the darkening. They came from the water in those early days, just before the rising of the sun, and Indis can only guess that whatever force had been responsible for keeping them out was busy elsewhere. 

“At this rate,” she says, rubbing at the smudge until pieces of it flake off her skin and peel away, “you shall have to title this one statue of an elven woman eaten by insects.”

Nerdanel laughs. Her wide strong hands are covered in clay dust from the little sculpture in front of her; the preliminary sketch of a grander work. She dips her fingers in her water basin and wipes them on her slacks. She looks up at Indis, about to answer, then frowns, detecting some fine dissimilarity between her model and her work. 

“Tilt your head back a little,” she says, and Indis does, “mm, now forward. Keep looking at me.” 

As though Indis could stop. 

Nerdanel wears her hair scandalously short, just below her ears. She had cut it first when she had severed her bond with her husband — had let the thick red braid fall to the floor with the hair-jewels and golden chains he had given her. She had left the jagged cut for years, even as it had grown longer. Now she cuts it again and keeps it neat. Wears no jewels in it.

Wears no jewels at all. 

Wears nothing, in this heat, but her apron and slacks. 

Indis wants to trace the lines of her bare arms, lingering on the places where the sun kisses her shoulders and leaves freckles over her strong biceps. Wants to lean forward and slip her hands underneath the apron, push their bodies together until they can no longer stand the heat. To toss off the sheet she herself is wrapped in — in truth, after all of Nerdanel’s adjustments posing her, it covers now only her left calf and her groin— and to become something else entire. 

Statue of an elven woman nude. 

“Do you touch people,” she says.

Nerdanel looks up at her, sharp. “What?” 

“Do you touch people,” Indis repeats, “were it not for my daughter I would touch none.” 

Her husband gone, slain, spilling drop by drop into the land of the dead — but gone even before then, ever choosing Fëanáro before her. Her elder son gone beyond the sea (and before that, too, gone to the quiet cold anger, frozen solid and untouchable). Lalwen’s mouth quirked up as though half-laughing, a little shake of her head — you know I shall follow him, mother. Arafinwë so close, still, yet sealed away from her; untouchable as king and son alike. 

Only Findis remains, and Findis she holds to her chest as she cries. 

Nerdanel’s thumb sinks into the clay. Too much. Too hard. 

“I touch you,” she says, “you who welcomed me into your house despite it all.” 

Not how I wish you would touch me, Indis thinks, and says nothing. Her desire is a shameful thing; unsated hunger hollowing out her out from the inside. Is it her doom, she wonders, to ever want what she cannot have, to ever want what is not wise? 

Nerdanel smoothes out the clay. Her dark gray eyes stay on the little figure. She rolls a long, thin sheet of clay and begins to cover up the figure’s calf. Her groin, next — Indis watches as Nerdanel presses between the legs of the little sculpture with two wide, strong fingers. Her hands are slick with clay-stuff. Wet. 

“I touch my statues,” she says.

“They are stone,” Indis says, “marble.” 

For a moment she thinks Nerdanel is about to argue; to her the statues are, in some way, people. Thinks of seven unfinished blocks of stone, their features barely emerging before Nerdanel had abandoned the project. 

But Nerdanel speaks not of them. 

“You, then,” she says, “I touch you. Let us drape your hair a different way. This composition is top-heavy, now that I see it in clay.” 

Indis reaches for her hair, looking for guidance, but Nerdanel has turned from her. For some time she rinses at her hands in the wash basin, leaving the water faintly gray. She scrubs under her fingernails with one wash-towel, then lets them sink under the water again. Wets, scrubs. The third time her hands emerge from the water clean, and leave no residue on the white towel she uses to dry them. 

Then she closes the little distance between them and takes Indis’s hair. 

Her hands are strong, firm, her arms corded with muscle. A bead of sweat runs over her collarbone and down to her breast, beneath the apron. She picks up a hairpin from the bench and begins to arrange Indis’s hair, forming the crests of cascading waves. Indis feels the cool waves of her own hair tickle her nipple, and shuts her eyes, un-breathing, but Nerdanel’s artistic vision has no mercy; a moment, and her warm, calloused thumb comes to collect the hair. 

Indis feels the after-touch long after the hand has left her breast. It shoots sharp and hot to her belly, her groin; she sinks her teeth into her lip and prays for self control. Varda, she thinks, but Varda is no savior now — she brings to mind only the memory of Nerdanel’s statue of her, of Nerdanel’s hands chiseling away the form of star-dotted breasts. 

“I like this in you,” Nerdanel says, taking her by the shoulders, setting them slightly askew; minuscule adjustments. A sharp, hot thing pools in the pit of her stomach, threatening to spill. “The tension you hold now. It is dramatic. It is pretty. Keep it for me, and I shall commit it to stone.” 

And is that not a thought. 

“Uh-huh,” Indis barely dares to breathe enough to speak. To think of giving Nerdanel this image — to think of herself forever so, caught in this all-consuming, wanting thing, caught underneath Nerdanel’s hands and Nerdanel’s words and Nerdanel’s patient gray gaze — 

Nerdanel takes her hips and twists them back just slightly, and Indis feels her toes curl against the workshop floor. Wonders if she may blame her blush on the heat. 

“There,” Nerdanel says, “quite dynamic. We’ll make another mock-up. I like this more.” 

Indis opens her eyes and exhales, and tries to right her foot, straightening out her toes. But Nerdanel catches her by the ankle, bringing her foot to rest back against the floor. She takes the foot in hand and presses on Indis’s toes, curling them back in. “No, no,” she says, “just like that. And your eyes, Indis. Your lips.” 

So Indis shuts her eyes and bites down again on her lower lip, imagining what shall be wrought. Statue of an elven woman desperate. Statue of an elven woman aflame. Statue of an elven woman wanting, wanting, wanting. 

“Very good,” Nerdanel says, and Indis hums. 

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Suffixes- B

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

-bark: "[noun] an outer layer of a woody plant such as a tree or stick; [noun] the sharp explosive cry of certain animals, especially a dog, fox, or seal"

-beak: "[noun] the hard, pointed part of a bird's mouth"

-beam: "[noun] a ray or shaft of light; [verb] (of a light or light source) shine brightly"

-bee: "[noun] a honeybee; [noun] an insect of a large group to which the honeybee belongs, including many solitary as well as social kinds"

-beetle: "[noun] an insect of an order distinguished by forewings typically modified into hard wing cases that cover and protect the hind wings and abdomen"

-bellow: "[verb] (of an animal) emit a deep loud roar, typically in pain or anger; [noun] a deep roaring shout or sound"

-belly: "[noun] the front part of the cat trunk below the ribs, containing the stomach and bowels"

-berry: "[noun] a small roundish juicy fruit without a stone"

-bill: "[noun] the jaws of a bird together with their horny covering. A duck's bill; [noun] a mouthpart (such as the beak of a turtle) that resembles a bird's bill"

-billow: "[noun] a large undulating mass of something, typically cloud, smoke, or steam; [verb] fill with air and swell outward"

-birch: "[noun] a slender, fast-growing tree that has thin bark (often peeling) and bears catkins"

-bird: "[noun] a warm-blooded egg-laying vertebrate distinguished by the possession of feathers, wings, and a beak and (typically) by being able to fly"

-bite: "[verb] (of a person or animal) use the teeth to cut into or through something"

-blade: "[noun] one of the elongated linear leaves of a typical grass"

-blaze: "[noun] a very large or fiercely burning fire; [verb] burn fiercely or brightly"

-blight: "[noun] a plant disease, typically one caused by fungi such as mildews, rusts, and smuts (smut as defined as a fungal disease of grains); [verb] infect (plants) with blight"

-bloom: "[noun] a flower, especially one cultivated for its beauty; [noun] a delicate powdery surface deposit on certain fresh fruits, leaves, or stems; [verb] to produce flowers, to be in flower"

-blossom: "[noun] a flower or a mass of flowers, especially on a tree or bush; [verb] (of a tree or bush) produce flowers or masses of flowers"

-blotch: "[noun] an irregular patch or patches on a surface, typically the fur"

-blur: "[verb] make or become unclear or less distinct; [noun] a thing that cannot be seen or heard clearly"

-boar: "[noun] a tusked Eurasian wild pig from which domestic pigs are descended; [noun] a male domestic pig"

-bolt: "[verb] (of an animal) run away suddenly out of control; [noun] thunderbolt"

-bone: "[noun] any of the pieces of hard whitish tissue making up the skeleton in vertebrates; [noun] the calcified material of which bones consist"

-bough: "[noun] a main branch of a tree"

-boulder: "[noun] a large rock, typically one that has been worn smooth by erosion"

-bounce: "[verb] (of a cat) jump repeatedly up and down; [noun] an act of jumping or an instance of being moved up and down"

-bound: "[verb] walk or run with leaping strides; [noun] a leaping movement upward"

-bramble: "[noun] a prickly scrambling vine or shrub, especially a blackberry or other wild shrub of the rose family"

-branch: "[noun] a part of a tree which grows out from the trunk or from a bough"

-breeze: [noun] a gentle wind"

-briar: "[noun] any of a number of prickly scrambling shrubs, especially the sweetbriar and other wild roses"

-bright: "[adj] giving out or reflecting a lot of light, shining; [adj] (of a cat) intelligent and quick-witted"

-bristle: "[noun] a short stiff hair, typically one of those on an animal's skin or a plant; [verb] (of hair or fur) stand upright away from the skin, especially in anger or fear"

-brook: "[noun] a small stream"

-brush: "[noun] scrub vegetation"

-bubble: "[noun] a thin sphere of liquid enclosing air or another gas"

-bud: "[noun] a compact growth on a plant that develops into a leaf, flower, or shoot"

-bug: "[noun] an insect of a large order distinguished by having mouthparts that are modified for piercing and sucking; [noun] a small insect"

-burn: "[verb] (of a fire) produce flames and heat while consuming a material such as coal or wood; [verb] destroy, damage, or injure by heat or fire"

-burr: "[noun] a seed or dry fruit or infructescence that has hooks or teeth"

-burrow: "[noun] a hole or tunnel dug by a small animal, especially a rabbit, as a dwelling; [verb] (of an animal) make a hole or tunnel, typically for use as a dwelling"

-bush: "[noun] a shrub or clump of shrubs with stems of moderate length"

-buzz: "[noun] a low, continuous humming or murmuring sound, made by or similar to that made by an insect"