#Turning On Sludge Mode

[absylphe]

Hal Care About Me

..........

[krenia]

Progress has been made I managed to focus enough for 10 minutes to polish lineart of a piece be proud of me

[captainlexaproluvr]

Sweet Surrender | Quinn Hughes

warnings: male sub + reader as soft dom, mommy kink, handjob, thigh riding, allusions to various kinks (breeding, spit, daddy), mention of oral (m receiving) but none actually included, quinn being obsessed with reader's boobs (obvs), praise, established relationship, pet names, fluff, domesticity, a lot of dialogue (sorry not sorry!), stressed out quinn, talk of a quinnterview that does not exist, inaccurate depictions of quinn's hair‼️, andddd i think that is all.

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: quinn lets slip an unspoken desire and his girlfriend is determined to bring his fantasy to life. [part of Sweet Submission series]

wc: 11,530

included request: Omg please please quinn hughes x thigh riding 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

authors's note: so the only writing i have posted from september to december has been for sub quinn..... but he is just that guy to me!! i can't help it!! he speaks to me, as y'all can see by the long ass word count. but anyway, in addition to my usual beta reader (andy, duh), @tkwrites was also kind enough to give this a read for me. so special thanks to those guys <3 sub!quinn origin story lfg

It’s been just under a month since Quinn’s captaincy was announced, and it’s crazy how much of a difference you’ve seen in him already. He’s thrown himself completely into the new role, practically working himself into the ground because he doesn’t want to “flop” his first season as captain. He’s determined to have an amazing season– in his mind, it’s not an option for that not to happen.

When he first found out he was getting the C, he went into “full health freak mode,” as his had brothers put it, and he has since adopted the term himself. He’s been eating healthier, working out and training constantly, reading more, and avoiding alcohol. Not to mention just generally being grumpy as he obsessively prepares for the season, although that part hasn’t seemed to apply when he’s with you, much to his brothers’ envy.

He came home tonight, drained after a long day that included morning skate, a bunch of media, and then taking some of the new guys to dinner. You had been on FaceTime with your mom when he sludged into the apartment. Having already eaten, Quinn only stopped over to greet you with a peck to your cheek and exchange pleasantries with your mom before heading to your room to lie down for the night. “Sorry for interrupting, ladies,” had been his parting words. 

You join him in bed not too long afterwards and he’s still awake, restless, lying on his side facing the wall. He’s changed out of his clothes and is now left in only his boxers. Already in your pjs, you scoot into the space beside him. His shoulders are slouched forward, exposing more of his back to you and making him look even broader than usual. The room is filled with a comfortable silence as you bring your hand up, fingers dancing along his skin with a featherlight touch.

The movement of your fingers is purposeful, and he knows this immediately, seen by his posture straightening up ever so slightly. You have a habit of tracing words, or sometimes drawings, on his back for him to decipher. It’s something your mom used to do with you as a kid, but you’ve now turned the little game into a way of getting Quinn’s mind off things and lightening the mood before bed when he’s had a bit of a tough day. Like a mini reset. 

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, his eyes no doubt squeezed shut as he tries to conjure up an image of the letters in his mind. He’s gotten quite good at your little game, partially thanks to his competitive nature, you think. You pull your hand back to signal that you’re finished and he’s silent for a moment.

“Sauna?” he guesses after a beat, his tone unsure.

“Mhm. My mom thinks you’d like an in-home sauna,” you explain. “Says saunas are very relaxing and that you deserve some relaxation.” 

His shoulders shake with a laugh as you push yourself up and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turns to offer up his lips instead. 

“Hi,” he greets you in a whisper after you peck his lips. 

“Hi.” A soft smile graces your features.

He returns your smile and rolls over to face you, crowding into your space until your noses are mere inches apart and his hand slips below your shirt to find the curve of your waist.  

“An in-home sauna, huh?”

“That’s what she said,” you confirm. “Personally, I think she’s just saying that because she would like an in-home sauna. Not that you don’t deserve to relax.”

A soft hum escapes him. “Projecting her extravagant desires onto me?” 

You breathe out a laugh through your nose. 

“So you’re saying we should buy your mom a sauna for Christmas this year. Noted.”

You laugh again, giving a playful roll of your eyes at his joke. You gently brush the hair from his forehead as you take in the quiet moment that follows. His eyes soften as they meet yours, and for a second, everything feels right. You both just gaze at each other, taking in the peacefulness of the moment and enjoying each other’s company after a day apart, soaking up the quiet comfort of finally being together.

You’d known from the moment he walked into the apartment that he was feeling down. He was sweet, as always, while chatting with your mom, and did his best to come across as sincere, but you know him too well to miss the way the light in his eyes had wavered as he spoke to her. Your mom may have been mostly fooled, but you knew better. Even now, the familiar slump of his shoulders and the faint dark circles under his eyes betray his efforts to appear upbeat.

You’re the one to eventually break the silence.

“You’re tired,” you remark matter of factly.

“Yeah. ’M sorry,” he mumbles.

You hum, tilting your head slightly. “And why is that?”

“I didn’t see you all day and now I’m too tired to not be.. lame.”

“Oh, so you think cuddling with me is lame?” you tease.

That brings a faint smile to his face. “No, of course not. In fact,” he shuffles even closer to you to prove his point, adding, “Cuddling with you has been the highlight of my day.”

You hum again. “Well, why don’t you tell me about the rest of this very lame day of yours then?”

You shift your hand and begin to lightly scratch at his scalp and his eyes flutter closed, his features softening into a blissful expression. 

“Mm, I’d much rather hear about yours. Wanna hear about whatever had you and your mom giggling so much on the phone.” 

“Maybe we were giggling about your little, ‘Sorry for interrupting, ladies,’” you tease, imitating his voice. “Such a goof. You sounded like a dad.”

“Stop talking about making me a dad before I actually put a baby in you,” he mutters.

A loud laugh escapes you at his comment. “Not what I meant at all–”

“Well, then I’m choosing to take your words out of context,” he interrupts, eyes still closed but a tiny smirk now tugging at his lips.

“Yeah? Well, given that I don’t think either of us want to be parents at 23–”

“We’d be 24 when the baby was born, actually.”

“–and you look like you’re already half asleep, I’m choosing not to take your threats too seriously.”

“Hey, I’m very serious. Don’t make me prove it,” he mumbles.

“Yeah. Okay, baby boy,” you mock.

Under different circumstances, he would actually be springing into action. Quinn definitely has a bit of a breeding kink, which tracks given his… domestically impatient tendencies. But you and he both know there’s no real heat behind his words right now. If anything, he’s making an attempt to lighten the mood and distract from his evident stress— one which you see right through.

The two of you chat for a bit, him asking how your mom is doing and about your day, and you letting him share as much of his day as he’s willing. You trace gentle touches along his face, following his features as he speaks. He doesn’t linger on the topic of hockey for long, which is unsurprising— he’ll almost certainly have more to say tomorrow. 

Although he mostly avoids the topic, he does eventually bring up wanting to have the team over to the apartment at the end of training camp— the whole group. He says he’s been thinking about how he wants to start the year off right, but he’s quick to stress how it isn’t a big deal if the idea doesn’t come to fruition.

You can see his stress beginning to creep in as he rushes his words out. “I know we just moved into the apartment, and you’ve been working so hard trying to get everything settled,” he states, glossing over the fact that he has been helping a lot, “And you’ve done such an amazing job. I know that, and I appreciate it. So I get it if the last thing you want to do is host a bunch of hockey players,” he babbles. “We don’t have to do it if you aren’t up to it. It can wa–”

“Quinn,” you say softly, effectively silencing him. He looks adorable, lips parted and eyes slightly widened as he awaits your next words. You pause for a moment, smiling at him fondly, appreciating the way he said we. Now that you live together, it’s pretty much always going to be we. You deserve a moment to feel all giddy and warm inside over that fact. “Of course the guys can come here. I think that’s a great idea.”

You admire how badly he wants to be a good captain. He wants all the guys, even the ones who don’t end up making the roster, to feel like part of the team. He wants to make them feel welcome by opening his home to them. It’s important to him. You also love how much thought he gives to you, always factoring in how you feel and putting that first, so ready to give you grace if you weren’t on board with the idea, despite the fact that you would have never turned it down. You’d never deny him this, never give up the opportunity to see him embrace his new leadership role, the one you have no doubt he’s going to thrive in. His consideration for you is anything but rare, but the subtle hint of panic beneath it right now is something you only really see when his stress is running high.

He gives you a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says softly. “Maybe we can pick a date tomorrow.”

You nod. “You’re gonna make a great captain, Q.” 

His features soften even more, and the enamoured look he gives you makes your chest ache. 

You briefly fall back into silence. The tension mostly seems to have eased, but his fingers have begun to absentmindedly toy with the fabric of your sleep shorts bunched at your waist– a nervous habit of his.

“What are you at today?” you ask, voice low, careful, as if the words are fragile. 

The question is part of a little system the two of you have created, a simple way for you to check in when Quinn isn’t up for talking about how he’s feeling just yet. It’s not that he doesn’t want to let you in on what’s going on inside his head– he does. But sometimes, especially when he’s as worn out as he is tonight, dwelling on it only makes him more anxious. So, by supplying a simple rating of his stress instead, he can let you know how he’s doing without having to delve into dissecting his emotions right then. It’s quick and painless.

Your question doesn’t surprise Quinn, being one you ask him regularly, and you watch as he considers it. 

“Maybe a 7,” he offers.

“That’s a jump,” you frown, unable to mask the concern etched into your features. In all the time you’ve used this system, Quinn has never supplied a number that high.

“Maybe more like a 5,” he backpedals seeing your alarm.

“No, don’t do that,” you push back gently. “Don’t downplay how you feel, Q. I’m just worried, is all. Highest you’ve been before is a 5.”

“Yeah, I know,” he acknowledges with a shrug. “I’m fine, babe, just nerves about the season starting up, that’s all,” he dismisses.

There’s only two games left in the preseason and as the regular season inches closer, Quinn only seems to grow more anxious. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of the entire team on his shoulders before the season has even begun, and it’s unnerving for you to watch.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” you ask, wanting to honour the purpose of the whole rating system and not dwell on the matter tonight, but still needing some reassurance.

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding. “Just need to sleep it off. Promise I’ll be back in my usual 3-5 range tomorrow,” he quips, but his smile still doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You consider his words for a moment. Truthfully, you do believe that he’ll have settled after getting some sleep, but that does little to quiet the nagging feeling that he’s going to reach this point again, quickly, and eventually maybe even surpass it. You worry about this becoming a cycle, and the toll that’ll take on him over the course of the season. The season that hasn’t even started yet. But you know he’ll be more willing to talk about it tomorrow, and perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to broach the subject anyway, given you’re both tired and haven’t seen each other all day.

You finally sigh, admitting defeat. “You said you did media today?” you ask, shifting the conversation.

“Yeah,” he nods, a knowing smile creeping onto his lips.

You tend to watch most of Quinn’s interviews. You enjoy listening to him speak, even in clips where other people might say he sounds bored. But they can also come in handy on nights like tonight, to hold you over until Quinn feels like talking more. Sure, watching an interview of your boyfriend when he’s lying right next to you is perhaps a bit… strange. You realize that. But Quinn’s ready to knock out, you hadn’t had a chance to watch it earlier, and you’ll take any bits of insight into his day and how he’s feeling about the season that you can get.

You return his smile, leaning forward to peck his lips before delivering a light tap to his side. 

“Okay. Go back to how you were, bub,” you instruct.

He presses another kiss to your lips, then one to your forehead, before rolling over again and resuming his previous position. 

“Headphones, too,” he requests, though it’s more of a reminder. 

“I know the drill,” you reply, drawing out the words.

You begin to scratch his back, your nails dragging aimlessly across his skin, and he lets out a soft, contented hum. When he shifts slightly, relaxing further into the mattress, you grab your AirPods from the nightstand, plopping one in your ear and pulling up Quinn’s media from earlier today. You manage to do so one-handed, without needing to interrupt the gentle scratches that have Quinn practically purring beside you. 

You’d told him to return to this position, partially for the purpose of giving him back scratches, but also with the ulterior motive of wanting to watch his media and knowing from past experience that he doesn’t like to watch himself. This is a fairly regular occurrence– he knows you always want to watch, but he never wants to see or hear himself as you do so.

You stay like that for a minute, your fingers moving in soft, steady lines up and down his back, listening intently as Quinn’s voice rings through the tiny speaker in your ear. For the most part, it’s a pretty typical interview– they ask some average run of the mill questions, and he answers each one politely, albeit with little enthusiasm. 

Media isn’t Quinn’s favourite thing. Sometimes he gets lucky and the rare interview or promo gig ends up being enjoyable, but ultimately, it’s not what he likes about being a hockey player. He knows it’s part of the job, but it’s definitely more something he endures rather than enjoys. So when his face suddenly breaks out in a grin– wide, yet somehow still shy, as though he couldn’t contain it–you feel your heart flutter in your chest unexpectedly. Your hands spring into action as if it were a reflex: you click to rewind the interview ten seconds back, while your other hand abandons its movements along Quinn’s back in favor of assuming screenshot position, wanting to capture the sweet image of your boyfriend to your camera roll. 

You don’t get the screenshot though. You’re distracted by the version of Quinn beside you, who, at the absence of your back scratches, immediately lets slip an indignant, “Mommy.”

The room falls silent, as if on cue. You remove your AirPod, placing it and your phone back on the nightstand. 

That’s new.

He had been jostling around petulantly at first, like he always does if your back scratches cease, but this time his movements come to a sudden halt.

Neither of you can see the other's expression, but both your eyes go wide at his slip-up. Your expression is more one of intrigue, while his is undoubtedly one of panic. You may not be able to see his face, but the way his entire body goes stiff while a deep red blush creeps up his neck gives away how he’s feeling.

You aren’t really sure how to respond, but after a few moments of silence, you decide you’d better say something, settling on a simple, “Yeah?” 

You don’t mean it in a teasing way. More of a Yeah, baby? What do you need?– just to test the waters, wanting to see how this plays out. But either the word doesn’t land the way you’d intended, or your intention just carries less weight than you’d hoped, because Quinn remains silent and still beside you. 

You press a gentle kiss to his back before pulling him over to face you. He could stay put if he really wanted to, but he comes willingly. You only have about two seconds to admire the blush that has bloomed on his cheeks before he breaks, unable to bear it any longer. A cross between a groan and a whine leaves him as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin.

“Quinn,” you giggle, bringing a hand up to cradle his neck. Your thumb begins tracing soft circles against his skin. “Why are you embarrassed?”

Your question goes unanswered, which only reinforces your sneaking suspicion that there was more to his use of the word than just an innocent slip-up. You know your boyfriend well. You’d usually expect Quinn to recover and laugh off something like this quite easily, so you’re fairly certain he’s reacting this way because he accidentally revealed some sort of unexpressed desire.

“I’m actually surprised this is only coming up now,” you remark, testing your theory. When he still doesn’t respond beyond stifling a groan into your neck, you ponder. “Why is it only coming up now? Did you think that I’d judge you?” you ask.

That wasn’t it, and it’s important to him that you know that.

Quinn’s always had some interest in being more submissive, though he’s never really explored it before, beyond the indulgent fantasies that occasionally play on his mind. But, the recent stress of his captaincy has made his longing for it so much stronger. Taking on the extra responsibility and authority in his job has only added to his desire to surrender when he’s with you.

Being the captain, at least to him, isn’t just about wearing the C on his chest. It means constantly leading by example, rallying the team, and shouldering more pressure than he’s ever experienced in any of his past leadership roles. He takes pride in that– he loves his team and he wants to do anything and everything he can to support them and help them succeed. He’s always felt that way to an extent, but being captain had taken it to a whole new level. It isn’t just about his performance on the ice anymore. Now it’s about making sure the entire team succeeds, and that comes with a weight– a perpetual mental load of constantly looking out for the guys, motivating them, and being the one that everyone else can look to and rely on, all while elevating his own game and striving to be the best he can be in every conceivable way.

Naturally, all that pressure he’s put on himself has started to fuel a desire to be on the receiving end of that type of care and devotion. He wants to escape all the giving, leading, and looking out for everyone else, just for a little while. He desperately wants to let someone else take the reins. Well, not just someone– you. He doesn’t want to have to hold everything together all the time, he just wants to trust you to give him what he needs. 

And he does trust you. But saying all of that out loud? The thought makes him feel exposed in a way that sends ripples of doubt through him.

The silence lingers on and you suspect it’s because he’s trying to find the words to explain what’s going through his head, rather than a refusal to respond to your question. Quinn is never one to speak carelessly, always very thoughtful and deliberate with his words. It’s one of the things you love most about him. So you wait, giving him time as the seconds tick by, but he continues to remain silent and you can sense that he’s having some sort of internal battle.

“Quinn,” you murmur. “When have I ever judged you, sweetheart?”

He exhales against your neck, his breath warm and uneven. “I know.” His words are barely audible, muffled against your skin. “It’s not that I thought you’d judge me.” He pairs the reassurance with a gentle squeeze to your side for good measure, but doesn’t say anything further, seemingly hoping to avoid the conversation altogether, at least for tonight.

You can feel the tension in the way his body presses into yours, as if he’s holding something back. The silence that follows feels heavy, unspoken words hanging in the air. You find yourself absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, unknowingly soothing him. When you notice the way his body relaxes into you, how his breathing begins to even out, there’s no way you’re stopping.

“Your hair is getting long,” you note offhandedly.

He hums in acknowledgement. “I need a haircut.”

“Quinn,” you chide, prompting him to chuckle knowingly into your neck.

His laugh fills you with warmth and you smile to yourself softly, wishing you could bottle up the sound as his discomfort is momentarily forgotten. He shifts to rest his cheek on your shoulder, finally revealing his face, which is now far less red, just a light coat of pink still gracing his cheeks. 

“Just messing with you,” he says. “For now, at least. I’ll have to cut it eventually.” 

You make a discontented sound at his assertion. 

“I look like a caveman!” He laughs, a full-on laugh this time, and you can’t help but join in. 

Quinn is relieved that the topic of his little slip-up seems to have been abandoned, but his relief is short-lived. You let a comfortable silence fall over you for a couple minutes after the laughter subsides, but then you circle back.

“You’d want me to tell you if there was something I wanted to try, wouldn’t you?” you wonder aloud, voice soft as if treading carefully. 

“Of course,” he exclaims, frowning as if he’s offended by the mere idea of you keeping something like that from him.

“Okay, well, that goes both ways. I’ve never seen you this stressed. If there’s something more I can be doing to put you at ease, I want to do it, Q.”

“You already do put me at ease,” he argues with a groan. “This puts me at ease,” he adds as he shuffles down the bed a little to slip under your shirt, hiding with his head resting on your bare chest. 

The under the shirt thing isn’t out of the ordinary for Quinn, nor is the routine flick to your nipple you feel a moment later. There is no real intention behind his actions as he begins toying with the sensitive bud. It’s just a mindless habit he has whenever your tits are on display for him. He fidgets, for lack of a better word, but he also just really loves your boobs.  

You pull your shirt collar up to peek at him. “Hi,” you whisper. “Can I say something?”

“I guess,” he mumbles, eyes remaining trained on his fingers as they toy with your nipple that has hardened under his touch.

“I don’t think you’d be this embarrassed if there wasn’t a part of you that actually wanted it,” you point out. 

You weren’t even entirely sure what it entailed. You figured a Mommy kink was part of it, but you weren’t sure what else it was that he was longing for exactly. 

“You’re never dropping it, are you?” he sighs.

“You know I’m not going to force you into doing anything, but I do at least want to talk about it if you’ll do that.”

He bites his lip, peering up at you, and you interpret the look in his eyes: Fine, ask what you want to ask. The silent communication brings a fond smile to your lips, but you quirk a brow at him, wanting actual permission before proceeding with your interrogation. 

He huffs in defeat. “Go ahead.”

You pause for a moment, deciding what you want to ask first.

“Do you like the idea of me being the one in control sometimes?” you ask.

He gives a little nod of his head, so you probe further. 

“And calling me Mommy?”

Quinn’s face scrunches up and he averts your gaze, opting to instead watch as he continues to thumb over your breast. 

You tilt your head to the side as you observe him. “You don’t have to shy away from the question. You can call me Mommy, Quinn,” you encourage. 

He takes his lip between his teeth again, and you’re fairly certain you hear a strangled sound in the back of his throat. You can read your boyfriend easily, so you could already tell that he’d been trying desperately to keep the blood from rushing to his dick. Unfortunately for him, he’s having little success, as you can feel him against your leg. 

“I can quite literally feel how much you want it, Quinn.” You shift your leg slightly so that it nudges his semi and he doesn’t quite manage to stifle his groan. “Come on, baby. Please let me take care of you,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair once again. “Let me be what you need.”

Quinn removes himself from his little sanctuary under your shirt and looks up at you with wide, wary eyes. His gaze is filled with lust, but it also carries a certain vulnerability that you don’t usually see from him in a sexual context like this. 

“Yeah?” he asks sheepishly. “You want that?” 

The vulnerability in his tone and in the way he’s looking at you makes your heart swell inside your chest. 

“I do,” you assure him with a nod. “I’ve just... never really done it before, so I don't know if I'll be any good at it. But I want to try. Can you just sorta walk me through it? Tell me what it is that you want?”

You’re very in-tune with what you like when it comes to your partner being in control, but you’re fairly certain that Quinn’s version of that looks very different. 

He gives you a small nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

You flash him a wide smile. “Already being so good for me,” you croon, the praise falling from your lips naturally.

He exhales a short, shaky breath as your words hit him. “That,” he murmurs quickly, cheeks flushing as he identifies your praise as the first thing he likes.

Your words already have Quinn getting worked up. You were doubting yourself before, but you’re already so good at this. It shouldn’t surprise him–he knew you were good at reading him–but he’s still in awe at how flawlessly you settle into the new dynamic. You’re not just indulging him, you’re really leaning into it, giving him exactly what he’s looking for before he even has to ask for it.

“Praise in general, but especially stuff about being good for you,” he finally finishes his thought. 

“Okay, that’s easy. What else?” you ask.

“Well, I guess the general vibe I usually imagine is just.. you being sorta soft with me.” 

Right, that seems in line with what you’d expect from a Mommy kink. You try your best to appear unaffected by Quinn’s mention of imagining you playing out his sexual fantasies, but that is definitely an image you’re going to conjure up in your mind when he leaves for his first roadie of the season and you have to resort to using your vibrator in his absence. 

“But you’re still in control,” he adds.

“Okay. I think I’m following, but can you give me just a bit more? Just so that I’m sure.”

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment and you have to suppress the urge to nudge it free with your thumb.

“It’s mostly just about not having to think too much. Letting you take charge and just following your lead. But…” he hesitates.

“But?”

His face scrunches up and you find yourself wanting to smother it with kisses. 

“You’re taking charge, but it’s still… about me?” His voice drops to a whisper at the last part.

You bite back a laugh because now you know exactly why he was hesitant to say it at first. Quinn is the most selfless guy you know. Him outright asking to be the center of attention, especially when it comes to sex, is very much out of character.

“Right,” you send him a warm smile. “I’m making you feel good.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah. But that’s not to say that I don’t want you to feel good too– I do. Just… it’s a different dynamic than if I were to…” He loses his words again.

“It’s not me using you to get myself off,” you offer, filling in the blanks. “I’m kinda domming you, but not really in that way. Right?”

“Yeah, exactly.” The apprehension in his expression fades as your words sink in. You understood perfectly, and articulated it way easier than he could have. He thinks back to your words from before, and something clicks. “You’re taking care of me,” he admits, his features softening, almost as if he’s letting go of some sort of weight he didn’t realize he was carrying.

You hum, a faint smile on your face. “Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“I love you,” he breathes. The words escape him like some sort of revelation, as if he couldn’t hold them back. It’s as though the moment demanded it– as if those three words were the only ones that could do justice to the depth of what he’s feeling right now.

His chest tightens as he watches your expression shift, watches you look at him as if he’s the only thing in the world that matters.

“My sweet boy.” Your voice is warm, thick with affection, like honey melting into a cozy cup of tea on a cold day. “I love you, Quinn.” 

You admire him for a few moments, appreciating the fact that he’s finally able to hold your gaze. 

“Can I use the M word or will it send you into hiding again?” you muse and his face flushes in record time.

“No, you can,” he murmurs. 

You’re about to indulge him when a better idea comes to you. “Why don’t you try first?”

He coughs, presumably to cover up whatever strangled sound left his throat at your suggestion. 

“I like that, too,” he says. “You telling me what to do, I mean. Not too, like, mean, but just sorta taking charge I guess, like I said before.” 

He articulates his thoughts as eloquently as he can, but you make mental note of the fact that he sidestepped having to actually use the title. He likes you telling him what to do, but he doesn’t necessarily follow through with your instructions. You’ll have to clarify that.

“Okay, this is good,” you tell him. “Keep going, I can work with this.”

He thinks for a moment and you admire his concentrated expression. Suspecting that it may be helpful if you guide his thoughts in a general direction, you add, “Is there anything specific that you want physically?”

He considers this for a second. “There isn’t just one thing, really. I have lots of ideas, I guess, but it’s not like I want it to be the exact same every time.” He’s silent for a beat before adding, “I think I like the idea of you choosing.” He opens his mouth as if to add something more, but then seems to think better of it.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Your boobs,” he admits.

You hum as if his comment makes perfect sense. “Yeah, you love my boobs.”

“They’re nice boobs,” he mumbles defensively. 

“Good thing they’re all yours.” 

The corners of his lips pull upwards. 

“What about my boobs, baby? How do you want ‘em?”

“I just think they should be included,” he says.

“Right, we wouldn’t want them to feel left out.” 

He gives a playful roll of his eyes as a full-on smile threatens to form on his face. He’s grateful that you’re being so easy about this, keeping it light and making jokes to put him at ease. Then again, he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Okay, so you like the idea of me calling the shots, but did you want to give me some ideas to work with, or did you want me to improvise?” you ask. “How much artistic freedom are you giving me here?”

“You’re an artist now?” he teases.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at the sight of him starting to loosen up.

“Are you saying otherwise?” you challenge lightheartedly.

“Oh, no, never,” he smirks. “Sure. I can give you ideas, I guess. You’re really good at reading me though, so I think I trust you to take it from there.” 

His words fill you with pride, and you wonder if he can see it on your face. 

“Well,” he continues, “any position where I can get my mouth on your tits is a no-brainer.”

“Naturally,” you agree.

“If we fuck, I think I’d usually want you to be on top.” 

Okay, that makes sense. 

“You don’t want to fuck everytime?” you ask.

He blushes, just as you realize how silly the question is. It’s not like you don’t do other things when he doms you. But the question still proves fruitful when he finally supplies you with a response.

“Not necessarily. Sometimes maybe.. just your hands?” There’s a slight questioning tone to his voice.

“Not my mouth?” you ask.

He makes a contemplative sound as he considers your question.

“Is it because you wouldn’t get my tits?” you offer.

“Kinda,” he admits. “But I also just want you close,” he adds, absentmindedly gliding his fingertips over your bare thigh. “But that doesn’t rule it out entirely.” He turns his head towards you, letting his gaze fall to your lips. “I love your mouth.”

You bite back a moan at his compliment, the idea of getting your mouth on him sending a surge of desire through you. You never tire of Quinn’s ability to so casually go from saying something sweet and vulnerable, to following it up with something so dirty.

“Okay,” your voice is a little unsteady as you interrupt your own thoughts, pulling Quinn’s eyes up to meet yours in the process. “Fucking is optional. Got it,” you quip.

“I can still get you off, though–” he’s quick to rush out.

“Mm mm,” you chastise gently, causing his brows to raise. You chuckle softly at how quick he is to go against his previous request that this be about him. You hum, leaning forward to peck his lips. “My sweet boy. You were clear about what you wanted, Quinn. I want you to get what you want. Just let me take care of you and don’t worry about anyone else for once, okay? Let this be about you.”

“I want you to come this time, though.” 

You level him with an unconvinced look, but he continues. 

“I mean it. I want to.. thank you?” He visibly cringes at his word choice. “But I also just–cause it’s the first time–” 

He huffs in frustration, struggling to communicate his thoughts, so you give him a moment to piece together what he’s trying to say. 

“It would just feel like we’re really experiencing it together, you know? I don’t know, maybe that sounds silly.”

“No, that makes sense,” you relent. “You’re very sweet, Q. You definitely don’t need to thank me, but if you’re really intent on me coming, then I’ve got my own ideas for making that happen. If you want to try that?”

“Yes,” he blurts out, agreeing in an instant without even knowing what it is he’s agreeing to.

His eagerness earns another small chuckle from you. “Okay. But if it doesn’t feel right in the moment, just tell me, okay? Because this is still about you, no matter how much you try to shy away from that fact.”

“Promise,” he agrees.

He’s perked up now, the anticipation of what your dirty mind has thought up getting to him. You shake your head, a faint smile on your lips because the entire exchange is just so Quinn.

“I do have one last question,” you announce.

“Mhm,” he urges you to continue, noticeably more relaxed now compared to when the conversation first began.

“So, you said you liked it when I told you what to do. Right?” 

He nods in confirmation. 

“But earlier, you didn’t actually follow through with it. Is there a reason for that? Or, like, I don’t know, a particular way you want me to respond when that happens?”

“It’s a good question,” he remarks after a beat. “I guess that’s where it’s the most different from when I dom you. Like, when I tell you to call me Daddy or say you belong to me or whatever– that’s not really what I want when you’re in charge. I guess it’s more about you calling the shots by telling me what to do physically. But even then, it’s still in a sorta.. gentle way. Just sorta guiding me,” he explains. “To be honest, the, uh, Mommy thing isn’t really something I’ve thought about before,” he confesses a moment later. 

You’re slightly surprised by this. “But you’re thinking about it now?” you prod, prompting him to nod. “And it’s something that you want?” 

“I think so, yeah.” His ears are flaming red as he speaks. “It just might be more of a… learning as we go thing?” 

“I’m down for that,” you agree. 

“As for the… disobedience,” he lingers on the word for a moment. “You don’t necessarily have to punish me. I don’t know, maybe, like, a gentle scolding? Or just reminding me to be good.”

“Alright. Seems straight forward enough.”

“Maybe I’d be into punishment, too, at some point, but I don’t think I want to try that right now.”

“Got it. Baby steps,” you agree. “Okay, you ready?”

He nods, his expression reverting to the shy one he wore before.

You quickly rid yourself of your shirt and sleep shorts, but opt to leave your panties on. You guide him to where you want him on the bed– him slumped against the headboard, while you’re tucked into his side, body angled towards him. You duck your head down, tilting his up towards you with a gentle hand on his jaw, and connect your lips in a sensual kiss. The slow, steady movements of your mouth against his ease his nerves as he lets himself get lost in feeling, melting beneath you. It’s not long before your hand abandons his jaw, slowly dragging down his bare chest. You rest your hand on his abdomen, fingers splayed across his skin, and you feel his muscles tighten under your touch as you break the kiss to trail kisses along his jaw. Your mouth continues its journey, eventually reaching his ear. You gently tug on his earlobe with your teeth, just as your hand dips lower to palm him over his boxers and a delicate moan escapes him.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

“My beautiful boy.” Your breath tickles his ear as you finally get your hand on his cock that’s straining against the thin fabric. “You’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for me, aren’t you?”

You feel his dick twitch against your palm as a whine threatens to escape his throat.

You begin to leave open-mouthed kisses along his neck, careful not to leave any marks. That was something Quinn usually preferred to avoid during the season, despite how much he loves the feeling of your mouth sucking little bruises into his skin. Unfortunately, the guys had caught a glimpse of your little love marks one too many times and, of course, chirped him endlessly for it, and he’s been inclined to avoid a repeat of that ever since. So, as much as you’re supposed to be taking the lead here, you respect the limit.

You shift to your knees and settle back on your heels, propped up just enough so that your chest rests at his eye level. Quinn is immediately aware of this as his eyes lock on your tits. You lean in, prompting him to capture a nipple in his mouth, while his fingers come up to toy with the other, delivering his signature flick. He moans against you as he sucks for a moment, savouring the chance to finally be reunited with your boobs. After his initial excitement wears off, he flattens his tongue, lathing over the hardened peak. He continues to mouth over your chest reverently, and you have no doubt that your panties are now sporting an impressive wet patch.

“That’s it, baby,” you purr, the feeling of his mouth on you rendering you to a blissful state.

If you’re having any misgivings about the new dynamic, it doesn’t show. Your movements are confident and sure, as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. You slowly trace two fingers along his length before smoothing your hand over his hip, sliding it down until you reach the inside of his thigh. You let your fingers pet over the hairs there, a part of Quinn you’ve always been oddly fond of.

Quinn is already reeling, your every touch igniting flames across his skin. It’s pathetic, really. He feels like a teenage boy losing his virginity, at risk of shooting off when you’ve barely even touched him. But in his defence, this is a first time of sorts.

Your hand finds his clothed cock once more and you lightly circle his tip with your index finger. His hips jolt, bringing a smirk to your lips, and you finally slip your hand below the fabric and encircle his length. You begin to stroke him, movements still slow, and you feel his whole body react to your touch. His mouth is still latched onto you when you tilt your head to drop a kiss to his hair, and the tenderness of the act makes him keen. He pulls back, his lips swollen and red. 

“C-can,” he cuts himself off, unable to bear the humiliation of his next words.

“Hm? What is it, honey?”

He blanches at your use of the pet name. Honey. It’s not one you use often, but the tenderness of it, so soft and loving, has him feeling like his heart– or his dick– might explode.

“I–” He’s been reduced to a blubbering mess, barely able to control his words, which ultimately results in him blurting out, “I don’t want to come.” 

He winces in embarrassment, but you just hum in satisfaction, understanding perfectly. You’d originally figured that being teased wasn’t part of what he had in mind, so you hadn’t wasted any time getting to the good stuff. But evidently, you underestimated how excited Quinn would get from this type of attention. This is when it sinks in just how much he’s been craving this, and you’re grateful that he’s finally letting you satisfy that longing.

“I’m flattered, baby.” You drag your thumb over his bottom lip that’s wet with his own spit. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.” 

You peck his lips, having to strain your neck to do so, but it’s worth it when you see him try to chase your lips as you pull away. The sight brings a smile to your face, while his grows hot. 

“It’s okay, baby. You can be a little needy. I’m here to take care of you after all, aren’t I?”

At that, his lips search for yours once more, and you indulge him, slipping your tongue into his mouth. You shift gears, as promised, and bring your hand up to his chest. You give an experimental flick to his nipple, mostly on a whim, not really knowing how he’d react, but you’re rewarded with a quiet, high-pitched noise erupting from Quinn’s throat. His hand that had been gripping your waist returns to your chest to return the favour and you smile against his lips.

“Aren’t you generous?” you tease with a playful grin. “Did that feel good?” you ask, genuinely curious whether he liked it or if his reaction was more one of surprise.

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding slightly dumbfounded.

His hand fondling your breast once more only makes his itch to get his mouth on you return, and he wastes no time doing so. You rake your nails along his scalp as he does, while your other hand continues to roam his body. You carry on like that for a minute or so, murmuring out words of praise, until you decide that enough time has passed. 

Truthfully, you’d run out of other ways to occupy the time while in this position that didn’t involve your hand on his cock. Your current position, with him latched onto your chest like this, really doesn’t give you many options to work with, and as happy as you’d be to just stay like this, letting him ravage your tits and simply talking him through it, that isn’t the end goal for tonight.

You gently pull him back with a hand on his cheek, and he comes reluctantly. His eyes are quick to find yours and the lust you’re met with in his expression is no surprise to you.

“Wanna take these off for me?” you ask, lightly snapping the waistband of his boxers against his skin.

He obliges, making quick work shuffling out of them before looking to you once more, unsure of his next move.

“Thanks, hon.” 

The words have barely left your lips when your hand circles his member, thumb brushing over the bead of precum that has formed at his tip. He falters momentarily, not expecting you to spring into action so quickly, but you guide him back toward your chest with a gentle hand behind his head.

His mouth’s movements become more urgent as you begin to pump him. He cycles through different motions. His tongue alternates between swirling around your nipples and frantically flicking over them, with sporadic breaks to nip at the sensitive buds or just suck down in content. The way he’s ravishing you has fire pooling in your abdomen, but you manage to keep up the deft movements of your hand wrapped around him, drawing the sweetest sounds of pleasure from him in the process. The string of whines and moans passing his lips ripple through you, unravelling you further with each passing second. So, you carry on like this for only a little while longer until you decide to switch gears. If Quinn was already concerned about staving off his orgasm before, you figure you’d better get to work on your own.

He’s caught off guard when you suddenly shift beside him. He pulls back, features twisting in confusion as you swing a leg over to straddle one of his thighs. You send him a cheeky, tight-lipped smile as you rock your hips against him once, teasing, knowing he can feel the damp patch on your panties as they drag across his skin.

Quinn’s eyes widen as his brain finally catches up. A choked sound resembling an, “Oh,” escapes him, but you’re not entirely sure that it was a word at all. He has never been so grateful that you’re wearing panties, because he knows that if there was nothing separating your soaked cunt from his bare skin right now, he’d come on the spot.

You continue to move your hand over his shaft, now in time with the rolling of your hips. There’s a casualness to the way you’re carrying yourself. The usual signs that you’re chasing your high– brows knitted together, lip caught between your teeth–are absent as Quinn observes you. You appear to be completely absorbed in his pleasure, and he foolishly wonders if you’re neglecting your own, too preoccupied with pushing him over the edge. But when the first moan falls from your lips, it’s like his brain short circuits.

He thinks you might be a genius. He’d figured you were probably going to touch yourself, but this is so much better. It’s like you’re deriving pleasure from fulfilling his fantasy, getting off solely on the act of taking care of him. Well– that, and a little help from his muscle flexing beneath you. But there was something so undeniably hot about watching you like this, watching you take what you need from him as you somehow manage to satisfy his every desire, without him having to do so much as think. The sight is intoxicating, and he finds himself unable to look away.

You had only done this once before– just a couple months ago, after hours spent on the boat in Michigan, admiring Quinn’s muscular thighs as they held him steady on the wakeboard, his swim trunks riding up despite his continuous efforts to pull them down. After having a front row seat to that, inspiration struck, and you ended the night by coming undone on his thigh. He had been just as entranced by the sight then as he is now.

“Feels good, Quinn,” you praise, still rutting against his muscle. 

The praise sends a shiver up his spine and his muscle twitches beneath you, eliciting a soft moan that has him repeating the action. He rests a hand on your hip– not guiding your movements, but just overcome with the sudden need to touch you somehow. He stays like that, pupils blown as he drinks you in.

“Told you I had my ways,” you breathe. “Don’t need more than this. Gonna come just from your strong thigh and your pretty little noises.” You run your thumb over his slit, just to get a rise from him, and his fingers dig into your skin.

“Shitshitshit,” he whines, hips squirming beneath you of their own accord.

“That’s right, you don’t have to lift a finger, baby,” you continue, voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. “Just keep letting me take care of you. You’re being so good, Quinn.”

He’s looking up at you with parted lips and you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to spit in his mouth. You consider it for a moment and wonder if he’d like it. You like it, but your version of being submissive has been a lot different from his so far. You hold yourself back, deciding that the first time testing out his fantasy probably isn’t the ideal time to go rogue, but you file the idea away for future use.

Instead, you let your gaze wash over his every minute movement, your expression thoughtful as you study him. You’re determined to fulfill his fantasy as best you can, without having to take him out of it by asking if you’re doing a good job. You know if you do something he doesn’t like, he’ll tell you, and you’re fairly confident that if there’s something more he wants, then he’ll clue you in on that as well. But you’re an overachiever, and Quinn is a quick study– at least, he is for you. 

For instance, the fact that he’s still separated from your chest, opting to let his eyes rake over you instead, tells you that he’s enjoying the method you’ve chosen to get yourself off. Much like how the slight twitch of his fingers on your waist when your fingers dip to lightly tease his balls silently compels you to continue. 

You’re still observing him when your thoughts are interrupted by Quinn’s voice.

“You–” he cuts himself off with a strangled moan when your eyes snap to his.

“Hm?” you encourage. 

He swallows harshly, composing himself. “You just– you look so pretty like this,” he manages to rasp out.

The corners of your mouth curl up at the compliment. “Thanks, honey. So do you. Look so pretty all fucked out for me. So perfect, Quinn.”

He gulps, a whine dying in his throat as panic washes over his expression. You take that as your cue to speed up your grinding, working yourself towards your climax with more intent now in an effort to catch up to him.

“How does it feel, baby?” you ask, voice slightly breathless in your haste.

Like I’m about to burst is the immediate response that runs through his mind.

“Perfect–fuck,” he inhales a ragged breath. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Feels so good.”

“Good,” you reply. “And to think you were really gonna deprive me of taking care of you,” you goad, sending him a little pout. “Don’t you think you deserve to be taken care of, Quinn?”

An ambivalent whine sounds from him. He knows you want him to say yes, but he can’t quite bring himself to agree with the sentiment out loud, so he falters. “I don’t know,” he says, voice unsteady.

“I thought you’d say that,” you remark. “But it’s okay. I know that you do.” You lean into him until he can feel your breath hot on his face and you whisper, “’M always gonna take care of you, Quinn.”

He keens as his hips jump beneath you, jostling you slightly.

“Almost there, baby.” Your words are sincere– you’re right on the precipice, orgasm just within reach. “You always make me feel so good, Quinn. Just watching you like this, feeling your thigh flexing against my cunt so perfectly. God, you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

“Mommy,” he whines, high-pitched and urgent. His eyes squeeze shut as he wills himself to hold on, desperate to come with you.

His use of the title takes you by surprise. He wasn’t entirely sure himself if he was going to end up using it tonight, but his brain didn’t hesitate to spit the word out when you rendered him to a state he’s never experienced before. He’s feeling so many things at once– a level of desperation and pleasure he hadn’t thought was possible, but mostly just so much love and adoration for you that his brain can barely comprehend it. 

“I’ve got you,” you whisper.

You lean forward and find Quinn needs no more invitation than that. He smothers himself with your boobs, effectively muffling the symphony of sounds escaping him as his cock throbs in your grasp. Getting his mouth back on you was more so intended as a way to ground him, but the harsh suction you’re met with the moment he captures one of your hardened peaks in his mouth ends up being your undoing, as shockwaves of pleasure shoot through you. 

“Shit, Quinn,” you moan, back arching as Quinn continues to suck as though his mouth has been fused to your skin. 

You feel your walls pulsing around nothing, and you know he’s barely holding on himself as his whole body begins to tremble.

“Quinn,” you call out to him, but he doesn’t pull back. “Quinn, baby, can you look at me?” 

You panic briefly when his face remains buried in your chest. You consider giving up– after all, all you wanted was to watch him when he finally lets go. But you wrack your brain trying to remember what he had said earlier about him not obeying your commands.

“Quinn, you’ve been so good for me, don’t stop now. Come on, show me that pretty face I love so much.”

That does the trick and before you know it, his eyes are peering up at you, wide and glazed over. He looks like a wreck beneath you. His forehead is glistening with sweat and a couple stray strands of hair are sticking to the skin there. His lips are parted as he gasps for air, chest heaving, and the look in his eyes is enough to steal the air from your lungs, too. They bore into you with such intensity, as though he’s searching for answers, but the question is just how to please you. There’s a rawness in his gaze that feels like a silent promise. A promise that he’d do anything for you in this moment.

“I know you’re close, baby. Always love how responsive you are to me,” you praise, earning a whimper from him as his fingers bruise your hip. “Want you to come for me, sweetheart. Go ahead and come for Mommy.”

It doesn’t take more than that, and Quinn’s eyes roll back into his head as he comes, warm white ropes dripping onto your fingers as you coax every last drop out of him. You’re still grinding against his thigh when you moan his name, coating your panties with your release.

His body goes limp and you collapse on top of him. He rests his forehead on your shoulder for a moment before placing a kiss to your collarbone and leaning his head back against the headboard.

“Holy shit,” he says, still catching his breath as you roll off of him. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, letting his hands fall from your waist.

You slot your body next to his and place your hand on his stomach, his cock twitching as you do so. “Was that alright?” you ask. “Close to what you had in mind? I’m open to feedback.” 

“Are you kidding?” He breathes out a laugh. “I need a second.” 

His chest heaves as he comes down from his high. “That was–you were–fuck.” He shakes his head in disbelief, trying to string together a coherent thought. “You’re a dream,” is what he finally settles on. “Thank you, baby.”

You beam with pride at his words. “You don’t have to thank me, Quinn. I’m always gonna take care of you.” You lay a kiss on his temple. “Besides, that was so hot.”

“Really?” The word tumbles out, his surprise evident in his tone.

You nod. “Quinn, the fact that I can get you like that? Hot. The fact that you want me in control? That you trust me to take care of you and make you feel good when you’re feeling vulnerable? So hot. I wish you would have told me you wanted that sooner. We could have been doing this for months, baby.”

“God, I love you,” he practically moans the words. 

You chuckle, tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. “And I love you.” You lean over, hovering over him with a hand on the mattress to steady yourself as you peck his lips. “Be right back,” you promise, making your way to the bathroom and returning moments later with a damp cloth.

He’s quiet as he watches you clean him up and slip into a pair of his boxers before rejoining him on the bed. You rest a hand on his chest and admire his side profile as he stares at the ceiling. You love the shadow of stubble along his jaw and the definition of his cheekbones, but the curve of his nose is what always gets you. You bring your hand up, delicately tracing over it with the tip of your finger and a smile forms on his face. He waits for your hand to return to his chest before he turns to look at you.

“You smiled,” you say.

“Hm?” He assumes you aren’t talking about just now, but he isn’t sure what else you could be referring to.

“In your interview today,” you elaborate. “They made some comment about you being the youngest active captain in the league, and you smiled.”

“Oh,” he replies.

“More accurately, your entire face lit up.”

He hums as his cheeks begin to pink. “I’m sure you loved that.”

You let out an amused breath through your nose. “Well, yes, of course I did. You have the nicest smile when it’s genuine.” You trace your fingers over his mouth with affection. “But it also just made me think. I know, it’s gonna be stressful a lot of the time, that’s unavoidable. But you need to make sure you let yourself enjoy it, too.”

He stares at you for a moment, his features softening as he takes in your words. “I love how much you worry about me,” he murmurs. “Well, I don’t want you to have to worry about me, but it’s nice to feel so cared for,” he amends. “I don’t know how many times I can say I love you in one night before it starts to lose its meaning.”

“Cute of you to think I ever get tired of hearing that,” you reply. “C’mere.” 

You beckon him over until he’s on his side and you wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his face in your neck. He shifts to press a kiss to your shoulder, a silent thank you for always knowing what he needs. You eventually end up lying on your back, his head resting on your chest, and now it’s your turn to stare at the ceiling as you stroke his hair soothingly. You remain in a comfortable silence for a while before you take the opportunity to finally ask a question that’s been on your mind since your earlier conversation.

“So, you don’t want to fuck everytime. But I wonder if… sometimes you don’t really want me to do anything at all?” 

You can tell by the way his posture straightens up that you’ve got his attention.

“Like, how do you mean?” he asks.

“This is just an idea– you’d know better if it’s something that you want. But I know how much you love cuddling up under my shirt and getting at my tits, so I just wonder if sometimes that’s all you need from me.”

He parts his lips to speak, probably to remind you that this is already something he does, but you aren’t finished yet.

“To either just have that closeness, or to maybe…” you bite your lip just thinking about it. “Just sorta rutting against me to get yourself off. Maybe with some words of praise from me, but nothing else.”

Quinn is at a loss for words. He’s so aroused by the thought that he could almost go again. But your comment also makes him feel seen in a way he’s never experienced in any of his past relationships. He’d never have suggested it, but yeah, he can definitely see himself being into that when he’s in the right mood. He’s more shocked that you would be into it.

“Yeah,” is the simple response he offers you, but his voice is thick with emotion. 

“Okay,” you say, matching the simplicity of his response.

“I don’t know how, but sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Hm. I don’t think that’s true, but I’m flattered nonetheless.”

“You going to sleep?” he asks.

“Not sure. Don’t think I’m sleepy enough yet, might watch TV for a bit first. You sleep though, you need some rest. I’ll use my headphones so I don’t keep you up.” 

You reach for your AirPods, resting where you left them earlier, but you catch Quinn opening his mouth as if he’s about to speak, before promptly closing it again.

“What?” you question curiously.

He shifts onto his stomach, chin resting in the space between your boobs so he can look up at you. His expression is soft, almost childlike, when he speaks. 

“Can you put on It’s Always Sunny?”

A light laugh escapes you. “Sure. Not feeling so sleepy anymore?” You move to return your AirPods to the nightstand.

“‘M still sleeping,” he corrects in a mumble.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to put on something else then? You’re not gonna crack up like usual and end up waking yourself up?’

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, no, it would definitely keep me up. Headphones are probably a good idea, if you don’t mind.”

He requests a show but doesn’t even want to watch it? Sure, it’s your favorite, and you’d have probably chosen to put it on anyway, but none of what he’s saying is making sense to you. You shoot him a look telling him as much.

Quinn sucks the inside of his cheek for a moment and you notice faint pink creeping onto his cheeks.

“You always laugh a lot when you watch it,” he mumbles with a shrug. “Still have a lot on my mind. Thought it’d be nice to just listen to you laugh.” It’s silent for a beat before he groans. “God, that sounds so creepy.”

“What, that you want to use my laugh as some sort of white noise?” you tease, tone laced with equal parts humor and affection. 

He hides his face in the crook of your neck, stifling another groan into your skin. After a moment, you speak softly. “Quinn, I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He shifts so his cheek is resting on your shoulder, his breath fanning your jaw. “That I want to sit in silence and watch you laugh?”

“You said listen,” you correct. Narrowing your eyes at him, you add, “You were going to sleep.”

“Right. Listen,” he amends, but Quinn’s always had a terrible poker face.

“Wait. Is this, like, something you do? Something you’ve been doing? Watching me watch TV?”

“Well, only, like, a couple times,” he splutters. “I’ve just been in my head a lot lately, and you’ve been watching this show a lot, and I can’t help it. I just find myself watching you instead of the TV,” he confesses in a rush. “Makes me feel better. Lighter.” His voice has grown even softer at the admission.

You can’t see your expression, but if you had to guess, it probably bears a striking resemblance to Puss in Boots. Your eyes are wide, brimming with affection, and your lips are no doubt formed in the world’s biggest pout as you stare at your boyfriend. Your sweet, precious, wholesome, perfect boyfriend, who you’re now picturing watching you intently, smiling fondly as your face lights up over and over again, your laughter filling the room as you’re absorbed in your show, completely oblivious to his gaze on you.

You’re sure you’ve never felt more loved than you do in this moment.

“Well I guess I’ll have to pick a good episode for you then,” you say with a playful smile, already reaching for the remote.

He rolls his eyes but he can barely contain his smile.

You purposefully scroll back to the earlier seasons to pick one of your favourites. You end up going with the one where Charlie makes the gang perform the musical he wrote in an absurd attempt to woo the waitress. It’s an easy choice– you’d never be able to get through it with a straight face. 

You bid each other goodnight just as the show’s theme song begins to fill your ears. You feel Quinn adjusting himself beside you, making himself comfortable. He nuzzles his head into the space just below your shoulder and drapes an arm across your waist. You thrash around a bit to kick your feet out of the comforter preemptively, knowing Quinn is a human furnace and not wanting to disturb his slumber later.

You’re only a couple minutes into the episode when your cheeks pink as you feel his gaze on you, and your lips quirk up. “I do believe you said you were listening and sleeping,” you chastise, not pulling your eyes away from the TV.

“Am sleeping,” he denies, snuggling further into you, finally closing his eyes with a faint smirk on his face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A matching smirk forms on your lips as you shake your head, running a hand through his hair before resting it at the base of his neck. You can tell he’s settled after a few minutes of silence, so you whisper, “Goodnight, Quinn.”

A groggy, slurred, “I love you,” are the last words to leave his mouth before his breathing evens out and he’s passed out in your arms.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hear me out…

Baby ice dragon demon ZYC losing control over his abilities and going Elsa mode in freezing everything he touches 😭

ZYZ so concerned and trying to help but ZYC terrified he’s gonna freeze him too

"I leave for half a shichen and this is what happens when I'm not around."

Zhao Yuanzhou barely has time to finish his sentence before Xiao Jiu grabs him by the arm and drags him towards Xiao Zhuo's room. Mouth running a mile a minute, the boy genius starts rattling off without pauses or stops about how they'd noticed something wrong when temperatures dropped below freezing even when everything beyond the compound's gates was a comfortable balmy autumnal afternoon gander.

Ying Lei chirps up that no one can go beyond the corridor that leads to Zhuo Yichen's private quarters to check on him, and when Zhao Yuanzhou moves to ask why, he stops.

There could not be any wondering of the 'why', when right at the mouth of the corridor is a thick wall of ice.

"We tried breaking through." Ying Lei says, solemnly. "Some of the men are looking to build a fire strong enough to melt it down, but that'll take ages."

"So this is why you pulled me out of my sojourn?" Zhao Yuanzhou asks the little mountain god. Turning around, he spies the way Xiao Jiu is worrying at the bell in his hair, and opts to be kind about this.

"Stand back." He commands, calling on his power for a spell.

The ice wall shatters easily enough and Zhao Yuanzhou takes the initiative to be the first to walk through the frigid air. Not two steps in, accompanied by a loud lurch and the distressed sound of Xiao Jiu calling out his name, the wall reforms itself 3 feet deep, pushing the demon back.

A trap, then? He wonders. It's no matter in any case because very few things can hurt him. However, there are many things that could harm Zhuo Yichen at this stage. Practically breaking out in a sprint, he runs at full tilt to where his room is.

"Zhuo Yichen!"

"Xiao Zhuo--!"

At every step he takes, the ice that coats the walls go thicker and the air colder. With his senses, the great demon feels out the way just moving through the pulse of energy that beats through the corridor is like moving through thick sludge. Worry prickles in the corner of his mind, but he pushes it back to focus on getting to the mortal.

No. Zhao Yuanzhou has to correct himself. No mere mortal. Not anymore.

When the door to the bedroom won't open, Zhao Yuanzhou batters through with a whispered word. The whole space glows with an icy blue, unnatural but beautiful. If it were any other moment, he might have taken a beat to admire it all, but as it were, his attentions go to the curled-up form on the bed.

"Xiao Zhuo-daren..."

"Don't come close! D-don't come near me!"

Zhao Yuanzhou inhales, consciously relaxing himself. With gentleness in his voice, he takes half a step forward when he asks, "And why is that?"

This makes Zhuo Yichen sob. "Because I'll hurt you. I can't control it. I'll hurt you and everyone else."

A full step. Then another. "You could never hurt me."

"Zhao Yuanzhou, I'm being serious!"

"And so am I." The demon smiles, crossing the last few steps between them. With careful awareness in his gestures, Zhao Yuanzhou takes a seat on the bed. Keeping his body language light, he reaches out to take Xiao Zhuo by the hand.

He resists, but what is resistance in the face of a patient storm?

"Xiao Chen, here."

The first touch of their fingertips is like touching a glacier's surface. The second is the sensation of melting snow. Zhao Yuanzhou lets the icy feeling numb his touch, then bleed a little of his power into how their hands slide together; finger to finger, palm to palm, intertwined.

"There. Just like I told you, you can't hurt me." The demon whispers, reaching out for his other hand. Surprise gives in to delight when Xiao Zhuo does not hesitate to lean into him, letting Zhao Yuanzhou wrap his arms around him. He is freezing, almost a block of ice in his embrace, but the great demon holds on tightly. Uncaring for the almost painful the chill seeps into his own bones.

"I can't control it..." Xiao Zhuo murmurs miserably against his shoulder.

"I know. It's alright."

Xiao Zhuo shakes his head, rubbing his tear-stained cheek against his robe, "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"And I won't let you." Zhao Yuanzhou promises, carding his fingers through his hair. "I promise."

[mantisgodsart]

[...isolation of the transformation appears to worsen the standard disorientation of a new body. I believe that the familiarity of the upper body may be offsetting the psychological impact of the lower body - as not everything has changed, the subject still "expects", on some level, that their body will work similarly, despite radical changes to organ systems and locomotion and the near-total overhaul of the centre of gravity.]

[The subject appears to be leaning on hexapodal motion as a type of "crutch", despite the size of the lower body making most of these sorts of motions awkward at best - the tournament venue doesn't currently have many internal spaces sufficient to test this one's mobility, but outdoors venues seem more promising for testing, anyways. This confirms something that I've previously suspected, as well - subjects find it more difficult to adjust to addition of new limbs than they do subtraction of limbs.]

[Subject appears to exhibit difficulty with coordination in the lower limbs, and has adopted an extremely "cautious" form of motion, taking steps with one limb at a time. The difference between upper and lower limbs means that this mode of movement is extremely... clumsy, to say the least. I intend to keep them under observation for a few more days before release and see if this resolves within the initial settling period or not. After that, just some periodic check-ins should be...]

Hello, and welcome to: watercolor paintings for Round 2 of @bug-oc transmutations! Mirach by @ghost-of-hallownest. Some extra details under cut because this is a long post and we don't want to make it longer.

This one is based pretty heavily on Dragon!Falin from Dungeon Meshi, but we're bringing through some lizard-y aspects from last year, and very much having fun with the tabby-cat patterns on the back - though technically speaking, Mirach's blue is limited to her wings, adding some markings to the body helps us break up that big plane of sandy yellows and add some interest to the design. We think it turned out well!

If we could fit it in, we'd add a third bit of Marigold notes related to the actual transmutation method, since it's been living in our brain for a while, and we think our Potion Drawing might be a bit... abstract, otherwise?

More or less, the weave - the active transmutation medium - is woven to the inside of the lasso's... lasso, and upon encircling something with it, the weave is transferred to the target, thus making the lasso fall apart entirely as a major component of its structure abruptly ceases to be part of the object.

This transfer-and-break is the same general method through which most of Marigold's "one-use" charms work - as the effect is now tied to the target's body, rather than an object, it simply remains in effect until the weave "wears in" to the body entirely, shifting it from an effect active on the subject to a part of the subject's body.

This means that, before the effect is fully integrated into the body, it can be broken, though as with all charmcraft some effects may still linger. This also makes it so, technically, the charmcraft only casts an effect on the caster - the same effect through which pretty much all Medals work - rather than being a direct interface a la wiring it directly into the bug's body, which is illegal and what Marigold spends a lot of time tiptoing around to produce major effects on a bug's body without the single most useful method for bodily alteration Charmcraft has to offer.

...that was longer than we really expected it to be. We are working on the other contestants, both of this round and the last, though it's going very slowly seeing as the afternoon sun is currently hot enough to melt our brain into a fine sludge. We've got a solid idea of all three other Round 2 designs, and we've finally got a sketch for Mal - though Pola is being delayed, still, due to our poor comics-making decisions. We're working on it! Slowly!

If we could figure out how in the hell to represent it visually, we'd be working on making a loser's bracket, too, but as is... listen, we're not a graphics designer for a reason. If you are a graphics designer and we can outsource designing a loser's bracket to you then please contact us. We have a budget of approximately ten dollars. We can do PayPal but if your payment processor of choice is US-exclusive we cannot help you.

[giveafike]

Frosting Foundations -B.T.S

TLDR: cake comp in the house! This is part 7/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 3k + dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: half way over! Icl atp I was running out of ideas, this is one of my least fave of the series...moreso a filler chapter, but it was fun to shake dynamics up and mess around a bit. But it’s a cute idea, making a something as homely as a cake :) promise this is the last baking one hahaha

————————————————————————

The house buzzed softly with warmth, the heater humming in harmony with the low chatter drifting from the living room. Outside, the snow had resided but the sludge and black ice remained, meaning it was still too hazardous to begin trekking out, at least for one more day. Lisa had been begging Bryan all day to get groceries and it didn't take much convincing for him to melt, although it didn't come without a few groans and complaints as he begrudgingly stepped into the snow, excessively wrapped up for the lack of contact he was going to make with the weather. It was no wonder where Ben got his theatrics from.

The faint crackle of the fireplace in the living room added a cozy backdrop, making the icy chaos outside feel worlds away. As the rest of you lazed in the living room, trying to find more games to play and contests to hold against each other, the boredom started to creep in as a killer. The most exciting thing was hearing Bryan come rushing through with a few bags from his expedition. You could hear him shuffling as he put away the groceries, humming along as he did so. Then, cutting through the serene moment like a starter pistol at a race, Bryan’s voice boomed from the kitchen.

“Alright, family! Get in here! Fun’s about to begin!”

You lifted your head and turned to Ben who groaned from his place sprawled on the couch, his phone balanced precariously on his chest.

“Does we have to?” he whined, not even bothering to lift his head.

You smirked, reaching down to grab his hand and giving it a playful tug. “Come on. Knowing your dad, ‘fun’ could mean anything from a bonfire to building an igloo. It’s worth investigating.”

Ben sighed deeply, the epitome of melodrama, but let you pull him up. Together, you shuffled toward the kitchen, where Emma and Alex had already wandered in, both looking sceptical, their arms crossed in perfect synchronisation. Lisa followed from her perch by the fire, her expression hovering between curiosity and cautious optimism.

Emma glanced at the kitchen table, then narrowed her eyes at Bryan. “What now-?”

The table was a kaleidoscope of chaos: jars of dried fruit gleamed under the overhead lights, a bottle of brandy took centre stage like a guest of honour, and baking ingredients were scattered with a sort of deliberate disarray. Sitting at the heart of it all was a mixing bowl so enormous it could probably double as a birdbath.

Bryan grinned wide, gesturing like a magician unveiling his greatest trick. “Listen, I know we've had our fair share of 'sweet treats' but it seems like it's the only thing that piques interest in this family... so...we’re making Christmas cakes!”

Ben blinked. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas! It's...eh...tradition! Except normally it's just me and your mother making it,” Bryan replied with the enthusiasm of a game show host announcing the jackpot.

Lisa crossed her arms. “This isn’t going to turn into one of your team-building fiascos, is it?”

Bryan placed a hand over his heart in mock offence. “Fiasco? This is family bonding, Lisa. Pure and simple. And just for that, teams are going to be shaken up.”

Lisa muttered something under her breath about “pure chaos,” but Bryan was already in full coach-mode.

“Alright, here’s the play-by-play. Ben, Alex, you’re on fruit duty. Soak it in brandy. Be generous but not reckless.”

Alex’s face lit up with mischievous glee as he grabbed the bottle. “Generous is my middle name.” He waggled his eyebrows, unscrewing the cap.

Lisa pointed a stern finger at him. “For the fruit, Alex. Only the fruit.”

“Sure, sure,” Alex said innocently, already pouring a hearty glug over the pile of raisins and currants.

Bryan moved on, unfazed. “You two,” he pointed at you and Emma, “batter up! Eggs, butter, sugar, and so on. Lisa will quarterback your efforts.”

Emma leaned against the counter, her brow raised. “And what exactly are you doing, Dad?”

Bryan puffed out his chest and held up the oversized mixing spoon like a sceptre. “I’m quality control. Someone’s gotta oversee the masterpiece.”

“Control or chaos?” you murmured, earning a snicker from Emma.

Meanwhile, Ben and Alex were at the far counter, fruit and brandy flowing freely. Ben poked at the mountain of dried fruit with a wooden spoon. “Are we supposed to measure this or just... wing it?”

Alex waved him off. “Who measures fruit? That’s not in the Christmas spirit.” He grabbed another handful and tossed it into the bowl with gusto before tipping the brandy bottle dramatically.

Ben side-eyed him. “You’re not even trying to measure, are you?”

Alex grinned, then took a quick sip of the brandy. “It’s called quality assurance. You should know this from your business degree, c'mon man!”

Ben sighed, though there was no real conviction in it. He caught your eye as if to say, "God, help me" before Alex nudged him, prompting the bottle into his hands. He shook his head but took a deep sip and giggled with Alex as they passed it back and forth.

At the other end of the kitchen, you and Emma worked under Lisa’s steady gaze. You cracked eggs into a bowl while Emma measured out vanilla extract with laser focus.

“How many eggs does the recipe say?” you asked, holding up a shell-speckled hand.

“Three,” Lisa said confidently, flipping through the recipe book to double-check.

Emma tilted her head. “Three? Not four? This is a Shelton-sized cake we’re making.”

Lisa shot her a look. “Three. Trust me. I’ve been baking longer than you’ve been alive.”

Emma smirked. “Doesn’t mean you’re always right.”

You bit back a laugh, stepping in before a friendly kitchen brawl could erupt. “I think we’re good with three. Besides, there’s no way Ben and Alex are sticking to the recipe anyway. Something needs to be the control here.”

Emma glanced over and snorted. “Looks like they’re making a fruit-and-brandy punch instead of cake filling.”

Bryan called for attention, clapping his hands. “Alright, team! Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Alex held up the bowl proudly while Ben bit back a hiccup. “Our fruit is thoroughly... infused.”

Lisa wrinkled her nose. “It smells like a distillery over there.”

“Festive right!” Alex shot back, unrepentant.

Bryan took the wet and dry ingredients, stirring and folding them together with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission. He muttered something about “perfect consistency” and “the Shelton legacy,” and before long, the kitchen filled with the rich, spicy aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, and brandy-soaked fruit.

Finally, Bryan divided the batter into three cake tins, smoothing the tops with exaggerated care. “Into the oven they go!” he declared, sliding the trays in with a flourish.

Ben leaned toward you, whispering, “Why does he look so proud of himself?”

“Because he is,” you replied, stifling a laugh.

As the cakes baked, Bryan rubbed his hands together. “Now, the real fun begins: competition. Each team gets a cake. You’ve got one hour to come up with a masterpiece. The winner gets bragging rights and a prime spot on the Christmas table.”

Ben grinned at you, slightly tipsy and flushed as his hand made its way to your waist, squeezing softly. “Ready to crush the competition?”

Bryan's hand went up. "Not so fast, you're sticking with the teams I assigned. You're not getting a free win while your girlfriend carries you."

“Dad, what! That's not fair! I'm stuck with him!" Ben whined as he pointed at Alex who was still lightly sipping the brandy bottle with a look of love written all over his face.

Emma laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder protectively. "She's mine, Benny. Go work away, let us get to work."

He grumbled something along the lines of 'this is bullying' and 'I don't wanna work with drunk Alex' before turning to his partner for the night, sighing with pleading eyes as he looked over to you, eyes big and puppylike.

The kitchen buzzed with anticipation as everyone took their corners to create their cake plans. Bryan, naturally, started pacing like he was coaching a championship game as he distributed markers and paper.

“Alright, teams! No peeking, no copying. Keep it clean and creative. You’ve got until the cakes are cooled to lock in your designs.”

You and Emma huddled close to your side of the counter, a pen and paper between you. Emma tapped the table rhythmically, her mind clearly racing.

“Alright,” she began, “let’s not overthink it. A skating rink with fondant. Simple but charming.”

You nodded, sketching a rough oval in the centre of the cake outline. “Right. Blue fondant for the rink. Maybe some piped snowbanks around it?”

“Yeah, and little gumdrop skaters! Little people with scarves and hats,” Emma added, her enthusiasm growing.

You smiled, adding details to the sketch. “We could scatter some powdered sugar snow around the edges. Clean, cohesive, but still cute.”

Emma nodded decisively. “Done. We’re keeping it classic but fun. No gimmicks.”

On the other side of the room, things were far less... cohesive.

Ben and Alex sat side by side, the brandy bottle planted firmly between them. Alex had already taken a swig and was doodling lazily on their design paper. Ben leaned over, chin in his palm, bored as he was watching as Alex drew what looked like a lopsided triangle with a jagged mouth.

“Is that supposed to be...?” Ben trailed off, squinting.

Alex grinned, handing him the pen. “A gator. Duh.”

Ben heaved but couldn’t help grinning. “That looks like it’s been hit by a car.”

“Okay, Picasso, you try,” Alex shot back, passing him the paper.

Ben grabbed the pen, drawing a more refined shape, a wide, toothy snout with sharp eyes. Then, with a flourish, he added a Santa hat on top.

Alex leaned in, impressed.

“Now we’re talking. Big green Gator, bright red hat. We can use white frosting for the trim. This thing’s gonna look sick.”

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about my Gators" Ben folded his arms across his chest, smiling proudly.

“Mhm...I'm sure. And for the teeth, we could break up a candy cane and use the shards. Sharp, candy cane-striped,” Alex replied, side-eyeing Ben as he taking another swig of brandy. “And crushed cookies around the edges for dirt. You know, like a swamp.”

Ben nodded, grabbing the bottle and taking his own sip. “But snowy. A Christmas swamp.”

Alex snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Florida meets the North Pole.”

They sat back, admiring their chaotic, messy sketch, every few moments adding more colour, more noise, more mess to the page. Ben grinned, nudging Alex. “This is either genius or an absolute disaster.”

Alex grinned back, holding up the brandy bottle like a toast. “Here’s to finding out.”

Across the room, Bryan and Lisa were working in near silence. Bryan carefully outlined their traditional wreath design, piping perfect swirls on the paper to demonstrate his vision.

Lisa crossed her arms, unimpressed. “That’s it? A wreath?”

Bryan huffed. “Not just a wreath, a perfect wreath. Clean lines, festive colors, edible bow on top. It’s classic.”

Lisa smirked, leaning back. “You mean boring? We've done that every year, we have two guests stayin' with us and you're showing off with that?”

“Classic,” Bryan corrected firmly, pointing his pen at her. “And unbeatable.”

By the time the cakes were cooled and ready for decorating, the energy in the room was electric. Bryan clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, let’s do this. No whining, no shortcuts, and remember: winning is about teamwork.”

Emma glanced at you, smirking. “We’ve got this.”

Ben and Alex shared a sly grin, the brandy bottle clinking as Alex set it down. “Prepare to be amazed,” Alex called out.

Bryan, ever confident, grabbed the piping bag. “Let’s see what you’ve got, rookies.”

And with that, the decorating showdown began.

Ben and Alex had finished the bottle in the midst of decorating, the two of them loud and rambunctious as they fumbled with fondant and stabbed their own fingers with the candy cane shards. Every now and then, you and Emma would glance over, almost icked by the lack of composure the boys demonstrated in front of you. Your cake was definitely more uniform by miles but still looked...homemade and interesting for sure.

Lisa and Bryan worked in tandem like a true power couple. They took turns like it was second nature, cleaning up as they went along, making a wreath and small red berries and leaves, detailing it with perfection.

The timer dinged, signalling the end of the decorating round, and Bryan immediately clapped his hands, his coach voice kicking in. “Alright, kids! Step away from your cakes. Let’s see what we’re working with!”

You and Emma exchanged a glance, a mix of pride and slight embarrassment flickering between you. “Okay, ours isn’t terrible,” Emma whispered, nudging you.

“I think it’s cute,” you said with a smile, stepping back to survey your creation.

Your ice rink cake wasn’t professional by any means, but it had charm. The rink itself was outlined in white icing, its slightly wobbly oval shape giving it a whimsical, handmade look. Tiny gumdrop skaters stood, or rather, leaned precariously, on the fondant ice, their colourful bodies wrapped in frosting scarves. The edges of the cake were dusted with powdered sugar snow, and you’d added little piped trees at one corner, though they leaned at odd angles as though they had grown in windy conditions.

“It’s... endearing,” Emma said, crossing her arms with a satisfied nod. “Like a snow globe someone dropped once.”

Bryan and Lisa’s cake stood in stark contrast, pristine and traditional. The piped green wreath encircled the cake with mathematical precision, each leaf identical, each golden and red sugar berry perfectly placed. A red fondant bow sat squarely on top, glossy and flawless. It looked like something out of a catalogue, which, of course, was exactly how they intended it.

Bryan stood beside it with his arms crossed, a smug grin on his face. “A thing of beauty,” he declared, looking around as if daring anyone to challenge him.

Lisa, holding a piping bag with an air of professional disinterest, shrugged. “We’ve done better.”

But all eyes were quickly drawn to the disaster that was Ben and Alex’s cake.

The green fondant gator head sprawled across the top like it had barely survived a hurricane. Its “Santa hat” was unmistakably more of a baseball cap, red fondant lopsidedly draped with blobs of white frosting for trim. Two mismatched candies made up its eyes, one staring off to the left, the other slightly sunken into the fondant, pointing downwards. Around the edges, jagged shards of candy cane jutted out of its mouth and around the cake like some sort of festive swamp disaster.

“Is that…?” Lisa began, squinting.

“Go gators!” Ben giggled proudly, throwing an arm around Alex, who was still holding the now empty brandy bottle. “In a Santa hat. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Alex echoed, grinning like a kid who just finger-painted on the walls.

Bryan stared at it, blinking in stunned silence. “That is... not a Santa hat.”

“No, it’s conceptual,” Alex countered, waving the bottle for emphasis.

“And it’s wearing a baseball cap,” Emma pointed out, biting back laughter.

“Gator went to UF,” Ben said with a straight face, as if that explained everything. “Die-hard fan.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “It looks like it went through a blender.”

“It’s festive,” Alex argued, pointing to the crushed cookie crumbs and powdered sugar sprinkled haphazardly around the edges. “Swamp meets snow globe. Florida Christmas.”

Lisa sighed, covering her face with her hand. “It’s a hazard, that’s what it is.”

Bryan, trying his best to keep a straight face, leaned over the table and surveyed all three cakes. “Alright, let’s judge this properly. First, execution.”

“Wreath’s perfect,” Lisa said immediately.

“Obviously,” Bryan added.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ours is adorable. Look at the gumdrop skaters! They have hats.”

Bryan tilted his head. “One of them is missing an arm.”

“It’s cold on the ice, injuries happen,” you quipped, earning a snort from Emma.

“And then there’s…” Bryan hesitated, looking at Ben and Alex’s monstrosity.

“Art,” Alex supplied, completely unbothered.

“Nightmare,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“Alright, let’s move on to creativity,” Bryan said, valiantly trying to keep the process professional.

Ben straightened up, placing a hand on his chest. “Ours wins. Hands down. Y’all made cliché, typical, run-of-the-mill cakes. We made one in a million. Nobody else thought of a gator in a Santa hat.”

“Because nobody else should,” Lisa shot back, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Bryan clapped his hands again. “Fine. Let’s call it a tie between execution and creativity. The real winner? Christmas spirit!”

Emma groaned, throwing her head back. “Cop-out! Dad, you just had this competition to show off your cake!”

But you couldn’t help but laugh as Ben and Alex raised the brandy bottle in mock triumph and saluting. “To the gator,” Alex said solemnly.

“To the gator,” Ben echoed, grinning wide.

And despite the chaos, the mismatched cakes, and the questionable choices, the kitchen felt warm and alive, filled with the laughter of a family who clearly knew how to embrace the imperfect joy of the season. You smiled back at the cakes, looking at the silliness of it all, but this is what family is, isn’t it?

[elfdragon12]

So, for my own fanfic purposes, I worked on a list of canonical locations on Cybertron. I don't know if any site has a nicely formatted list of cities/city-states, so I thought I might share this list with others. This is mostly comprehensive as I left off locations that were too specific to one continuity or too confusing and it's quite possible I missed a few places. There are some continuity specific places included I think are more flexible. Many items on this list are not expanded upon, so you can have as much fun as you want.

Either way, here's what I got in one handy (very long) list:

Regions

Tri-Torus

- Petrohex

- Polyhex

- Dodecahex

Polar States

- Iacon

- Kaon

Tri-Penninsular Torus

- Uraya

- Praxus

- Protihex

Iacon (capital)

Iacon Central

- Great Dome

- Celestial Spires

-- Celestial Temple

Academy of Science and Technology

Jan-ja

Imperial Amphitheater

Maccadam's Old Oil House

Iaconian Aerial Academy

Metroplex

Trion Square

the Undergrid

Translucentia Heights

the Senate

Xeno Quarter

Hall of Records

Observatory of Iacon

High Council Pavilions

Chamber of the Autobots

Polyhex

Darkmount

Deadend

the original Space Bridge

Polyhex Toll Plaza

a canyon

Grease pits

Nova Cronum

Praetorus Wharf

Chamber of the Ancients

center of philosophy

Protihex

Protihex Medical Mechanics University

Uraya

bigger than Praxus and Protihex

Tyger Pax

idyllic and tranquil

Rust Sea

unstable planetary matter

emits a mostly harmless corrosive gas

Hydrax Plateau

- Damaxus

Toxic Sludge Swamps

Tagan Heights

Durax

Ultirex

- technoversity

Tetrahex

responsible for 40% of industrial output

Tyrest

Jekka Amphitheater

Tyrest University

Altihex

deep space research facilities

underground energon refinery

Altihex casino

Kalis

Pax Cybertronia Decommissioning Depot

Kalis Primary Energon Reserves Control

Kaon

Kolkular

- the Cradle

space bridge

gladitorial rings

Jump Joint

Wreckage Row

mines

Kaon Prison

Kaon Plaza

Ibex

Central Spaceport

Ibex School of Epistemology

Ibex Cup racing circuit

Crystal City

Drouhard University

Refracting Gardens

Geosynchronus Energon Bridge

known for elegant construction and scientific minds

Undercity

mostly deserted

near the Red Sea

Peptex

near Rust Sea

Dodecahex

Shuttle Complex Ohm

Petrohex

Upper Petrohex

Lower Perrohex

Rust Sea tributary

Harmonex

"Singing City"

center for art and learning

Lithic singing crystals

Alyon

uninhabited

Vos

rich in energy resources

close to Tarn

Air Command Center

Stanix

Yuss

- Amprodome

- Justice Building

Fort Scyk

Acid Wastes

Proximax

Transhyperwave Caster Tower

Hyperious

defensive walls

Burthov

docks

launch site

labs and factories

"belongs" to Science Division

Petrex

"twin-mode" city

Simfur

Simfur Temple

Chamber of the Dynasty of Primes

Tarn

power plant

border fortresses

gladitorial rings

original Senate Building

The Decagon

main control center of planetary defenses

Blaster City

low class industrial region

munitions source

weapons manufacturing facility

Rad Zone

dangerous

Plasma Energy Chamber

plasma energy reservoir

Tesarus

artisans and philosophers

Helex

Power Base

gladitorial arena

Axiom Nexus

The Blue Deployer

Widow's Cafe Cybertronian

The Heap

Rodion

waterways

Maccadam's New Oil House

Deltaran Medical Facility

Nyon

Rust Narrows

Acroplex

Gygax

tunnel to Ankmor Park

Ankmor Park

as old as Quintesson supremacy

chemical processing center turned biochemical garden

Galaxxon

industrial

slagwerks

K'th Kinsere

Vaulted Heights

home to High Priests

Triax

the Nexis

Ky-Alexia

stronghold

Plurex

Plurex Flats

Emirate Xaaron Spacebridge Nexus

just outside of Iacon

Well of Allsparks

afterlife

inside the Core

Sistex

Sistex University

Staniz

ship building

Centurion

bright

Praxus

the Assembly

Helix Gardens

Slaughter City

low class industrial center

illegal gladotorial games

Border Regions

borders Iacon

Promontory

Forum of Enlightenment

Predigeon Arch

Cities with no information

Nuon

Pescus Hex

Esserlon

Monoplex

Median

Hexima State

Perihex

Praxium

Bitrex

Ultrix

Valvolux

Carpessa

Glibax

Vaporex

Ambustus Minor

Tribat

Unitrex

Tesk

Teledonia

Detrona

Landmarks

Redox River

Timonium River

Straits of Yuss

Trannis Fork River

Mithril Sea

Argon Sea

- gaseous

Sonic Canyon

The Badlands

Manganese Mountains

Cataclysm Tundra

- Athenaeum Sanctorum

Tri-Torus Loop

Tygun Span

-road between Iacon and Nova Cronum

[dusknoir-whump]

"All of you miss the old (internet) fandom but you don't want to- *(blah blah blah"

I don't miss the old fandom

I am happy it is dead.

Yeah guys old fandom culture was so great I sure did love ERPing with adults at the ripe age of 11 and being asked what my position was by adult women who were fujoshis at 13. I also loved when I made my own version of Under lust at 11 that more adults took an interest in and got me to explain to them.

Fandom culture was so good when I was 12 and reading BlogTheGreatRouge's Jammies Daycare and learned being suicidal makes you burden. Fandom culture was great when I read the further works of that creator and joined the fandom they amassed as children as they started drawing porn and knowingly letting children interact with it.

I loved when I got groomed numerous times in fandom ERP communities around various anime. I absolutely adored how I was made to look and get into more and more extreme content that worsened my symptoms due to my trafficking when I was 9 and under, and especially loved when it worsened my dissociation and triggered me but I was too young to understand and it was the norm for children to have unfettered access to the internet and nobody cared to actually see what was happening.

Old fandom was great when it included self harming because of things from a show and being praised for posting pictures.

(all of that was sarcasm)

Old fandom was crawling with rot and decay and filth. It was a shambling mass of a carcass that had no reason to keep living. We put it to rest and let the flowers, grass, and other plants grow anew from its nourishment. The old fandom was built in the wild west of the internet. Nothing was tagged nothing was moderated, everything was heavily filled with a dark sludge in the form of online predators happy to be given a space to talk to kids.

Fandom was never a safe haven from that, if anything it was worse there. Even now I see the people who talk about the good old days turn around and scream at a "puriteen" and try to then tell that child that they should like the porn they like and sometimes even send it to them or go in depth on how it is and why it's hot. I've seen adults consistently engage in sexual conversations with children and specifically adults who are millennials talking to young gen Z and now Gen alpha children about how their evil for not jacking off to what they do. But the newer fandom that's emerging the people that care and properly tag everything, find the ways to actually remove minors, and shockingly DONT GROOM KIDS and know not to tell kids about porn or commit a felony by sending it to them- is a better fandom.

I prefer the newer fandom I'm seeing with rules and regulations. Ways to make sure children are safe and people who will get on the ass of anyone who dares to speak to a child about sex and porn when they're not an authority figure in the childs life who has the right to educate them in an age appropriate manner.

I prefer the fandom that is willing to point out that there's a predator problem. I prefer the fandom that doesn't like harassment sent to creators or pins in people's food. I prefer the fandom that don't see children as deserving access to the NSFW side and I prefer fandom that tones itself down in child friendly spaces.

I love that proper censorship has been instated to make it possible to not be triggered or to have a child safety mode for example. I love that tagging is more common, that it's not accepted to mock triggers. I love being able to write my Gorey horror without worries a child will be forced to see it or constantly having to make sure nothing in my specific spaces is from children. It's so much easier to find that out if they are and it's so less common that there's not adults in specific corners that are adult spaces.

New fandom is BETTER.

[timetravelersdoctor]

How do you think the Autobots and Decepticons (TFP) would react if they saw the interspecies pairings, courtship and innuendos that exist between Cybertronians and humans?

Examples: -Skids and Charlene. -Sludge really liked Joy Meadows. -Powerglide and Astoria Carlton-Ritz. -Seaspray and Alana. -Wheelie had feelings for Papika. -Starscream fell in love with Jenny's charms. -Jazz and Marissa Faireborn. -Bumblebee and Scarlett. -Glide is known to pick up cute human girls and ride them around in his motorcycle mode. -Sunstreaker drives faster if he smells Junko Shiragami's marigold-scented hair. -Paddles really liked Randall and Ed. -Brawn and Cover Girl got married and used various technologies to produce a human/cybertronian child. -Crankcase and CONS4EVA. -Rapticon and Ne'll. -Action Man tried to flirt with Arcee. -Tigatron and Snowstalker. -Possibly, Optimus Primal once fell in love with a female gorilla. -When Diver was singing, he attracted many female frogs because of his expectations. -Wheelie thought Mikaela Banes was hot and later turned his attention to Carly Spencer.

We don't have to be the same outside to share the same feeling inside.

-Alana

Hi Thank you for the Ask!

Tfp Optimus Prime: Optimus doesn't have anything bad to say about organic-Cybertronian relationships. He's just glad that there are open minded being out there in the universe.

Tfp Ratchet: While he isn't grossed out by hearing about the different relationships that exists he not that big on hearing about the details. he simply doesn't care to know the personal details of relationships. (unless of course the person happens to be friends with him)

Tfp Arcee: She thinks Organic- Cybertronian relationships are a little weird but there is nothing wrong with them. Arcee doesn't understand how they work and would be open to learning more about them.

Tfp Bumblebee: Bumblebee thinks its cool that people don't care about species when it comes to positive feelings (ex: love, friendship) He would ask questions about how a relationship would work on a deeper level but other than that as long as they (the people in the relationship) are happy he doesn't care.

Tfp Bulkhead: He's a little confused and weirded out at first not wanting to ask questions but eventually curiosity would get the best of him and he'd start learning.

Tfp Megatron: Megatron looks down on organics so for someone to be with an organic romantically he would look down on them to. he thinks Cybertronians are the superior race and should not lower themselves to such things.

Tfp Starscream: He finds the thought of those types of romantic relationships (humans and cybertronians) to be very gross. How can a Cybertronian lower their standards to the point of being willing to be involved with organics? he can not understand how some find humans attractive.

Tfp Soundwave: He understands the concept very well and isn't bothered by the different relationships there are. He doesn't really care about them and if he were to encounter such a relationship he would simply treat it like normal.

Tfp Shockwave: He doesn't see the point in interspecies relationships there is no logic in them. He would not approve of such a relationship but he also wouldn't out right try to destroy the relationship he has a very cold an indifferent attitude towards them.

[xdrakesboyfriend]

since minecraft story mode wont give us actual symptoms for the sickness petra/gabriel get from the wither storm, i will

tw: disease, body horror(?), mentions of throwing up n mentions of death

theres only two ways someone can contract wither sickness, either by getting sucked up into the wither storm (like we see with petra/gabriel) or by coming into direct contract with a wither storm tendril (ie: getting hit with a tendril like with my oc clem)

once one of those two things happen is when wither sickness can finally take effect, often effecting the immune and nervous systems the most

how severely and for how long it affects someone varies, someone with a weaker immune system might die from a mild case of wither sickness after a few months, while someone healthier might take a few years to die from a severe case of it, but the symptoms of wither sickness stay the same for each person, with the symptoms being:

(early stage wither sickness) headaches, dizziness, confusion, mild to moderate pain, patches of skin/place of contact turning varying levels of gray

(mid stage wither sickness) vomiting, moderate fever, constantly in and out of consciousness, black sclera and purple irises

(late stage wither sickness) full body turning a deep, nearly black, gray, places of contact turning purple, vomit coming out black and sludge like, skeletal growth/person becoming gradually taller, extreme lethargy, extreme dizziness/motion sickness, amnesia, a more 'enderman' like appearance and high likeliness of death

most people with wither sickness tend to not survive, and the ones that do end up not looking like their previous selves, most people who survive wither sickness tend to have a grayer or ashier skin, that is, if their skin hasnt kept the deep gray that they had when wither sickness was still affecting them

people who survive wither sickness also have more fucked up walks/legs, hands and arms due to how wither sickness affects the nervous system, most end up needing mobility aids such as wheelchairs and crutches to get around

wither sickness also weakens the immune system by alot, often making the victim more vulnerable to illnesses such as colds, flus, other autoimmunity diseases such as type 1 diabtes, etc wither sickness also makes people more vulnerable to neurological disorders such as epilepsy, dystonia, etc

most people tend to forget their previous selves once they recovered from wither sickness, this doesnt help that they tend to not look like their previous selves at all, though some do remember everything, or at least most things

[conkevi]

has anyone asked about the au version of spring trapped yet we need details STAT!!!!!!

no! heres some info :D (kobey's William Afton reference is under the cut... we call him wafton for short)

"It's an AU my bf (Kobey) and I made so that we can design our own versions of the animatronics / characters in FNAF... And put anyone we want into it. Specifically Springtrap in this AU takes more of a "monster" approach. Spring Bonnie originally has its own AI conscious that can be turned off when put into suit mode." "When W. Afton dies in said suit, their consciousness merges. Springtrap is his own dude, basically. With both of their wants, needs, and ideals. And new ones of his own. His memory is scattered, and only certain things can trigger it to make him remember." "There is not necessarily a "corpse" inside of there. The dead remains kept moving, growing around the suit, creating a "monster" rather than leaving a dead man inside of an animatronic. It left a LOT of this weird, endless black sludge. Yes, it stains." "The black goo is "agony." Kobey designed W. Afton and I (Con) designed S.T."

[prettyprettypretttyalien]

on a plane rn feel like throwing up and im like typing this from the plane but not posting on the plane cuz airplane mode obvi and this little french child is like screaming and crying but itd fine cuz i have the magnus archives.... hopefully none of the episodes 131-135 are abt planes or anything cuz id freak except the meat pit was pretty grotesque anyways i think the worst episodes r like the cave one like genuinely that had me turning off my computer and taking a nice long walk in the sun afterwards except it was new york in the winter so it was more of a walk through the half melted sludge under the sun(?) no clue also bruh jared hopworth sounds goofy asf like whats ur problem man

[ipsomaniac]

Mildly dismayed but not surprised to read that Nolan is adapting The Odyssey. It makes sense; the pomp and ponderousness of his movies often has an Odyssey-ish shape if you squint. Nolan likes a nostos, he likes amnesia, he likes timey-wimey stuff, he likes a voyage through physical space imbued with psychological symbolism. Does he ever. So this isn't out of the blue for him.

On the plus side he's going to have a stonking fat budget so it will probably be cool to look at. Hopefully the fact that The Odyssey takes place in the sunny Mediterranean will impede any attempt to make things visually dark and gritty although Nolan could probably find a way.

But it will suck because Nolan is only really interested in psychology as an arena for playing around with plot mechanics and doesn't really have anything to say about the human experience. The Odyssey is about a famously hard-to-pin-down guy, that is the entire point; every attempt Nolan has ever made to depict "a complicated man" has resulted in the flat archetype of a brooding genius anti-hero. Matt Damon is apparently slated for the lead which could be ok, he's actually a good actor although he doesn't have the right sort of face - but he needs to tap into the darkness he laid down in his Ripley and then some. Everyone loves the scalawag-trickster aspect of Odysseus but he's also a hyperviolent warlord and serial committer of atrocities. I think Damon could probably get there with the right script and direction but hell if Nolan will provide that given that Nolan's films are totally bloodless. He's even less interested in bodily experience and violence than in psychology. He cares about generating a sense of "epicness" (in the modern sense of the word) but he continuously shies away from the unflinching depictions of violence that actually characterise the original Homeric epics.

I'm less worried about Nolan's treatment of the first half of The Odyssey - I think that will actually be pretty fun. Of course there are plenty of potential pitfalls - Nolan cannot write women so I imagine there will be some cringe moments with Calypso, Circe and Nausicaa - but episodic adventure voyages play well to Nolan's strengths, he's usually at his best in that mode. What I'm really worried about is the return to Ithica, the massacre of the suitors and the inherently tricky ending. Nolan is bad at endings in general: he crafts overly-intricate Chinese-box puzzle plots, and then you get to the end and open up the box and what do you find inside? "Love", or, "a man's fragile ego", or "maybe it was all just a dream" or some other lame thing. The end of The Odyssey abounds in certain themes - the shifting sands between familiarity and strangeness, recognition and non-recognition - which require a delicate touch but which Nolan tends to approach with blunt-force-trauma literal-mindedness: time jumps and the like. Meanwhile the motif of a man coming home to his wife is one which Nolan typically turns to sludge. He loves a ponderous husband-and-wife silence (scored by Hans Zimmer and punctuated by black-and-white flashbacks). I am certain he will completely flub all the ambiguity of the second half with his signature 2x combo of sentimental moral kernel + bamboozling cinematic misdirection.

You know a popular contemporary director who is also clearly fascinated by Odyssean themes but who would do a WAY better job? Sam Mendes.

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

The dawn on Reach was as artificial as the concept of a normal childhood for its Spartan-II candidates. Yet, under this simulated morning light, Fred-104 was proving himself to be as real and gritty as they come. At eight years old, he was a compact bundle of determination, tearing through the obstacle course with the focus of someone who had never known cartoons and cereal Saturdays.

His next challenge? The zipline. A wire stretched between two points, seemingly innocent, but today, it was the stage for an unexpected encounter. Fred grabbed the handle and pushed off, feeling the familiar thrill of the wind against his face, the controlled fear of hurtling through the air. It was going smoothly until it wasn't.

Enter Kelly-087. If speed had a form, it would look like her—another eight-year-old missile with a mane of blue-dyed hair that seemed to mock physics itself. She was fast, faster than anyone had a right to be, and her control of the course up to this point had been impeccable. That is, until she decided that Fred's zipline ride looked too lonely to pass up.

With a whoop that was all enthusiasm and zero caution, Kelly launched herself onto the zipline, colliding with Fred in a spectacular fashion that sent them both careening off course and into the welcoming arms of a mud pit below.

The world turned into a slow-motion ballet of flailing limbs and surprised shouts before they hit the mud with a splat that would've made any cartoon proud.

"I'm so sorry!" Fred exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his Spartan-II stoicism. He scrambled to his feet, mud sliding off him in gloopy rivulets, offering a hand to Kelly. Kelly, for her part, lay in the mud, laughter bubbling out of her like a natural spring. "What for!? That was awesome!" she managed to say between giggles, her grin wide and infectious.

Fred blinked, the situation's absurdity finally hitting him. "You're not mad? I thought... Well, I thought you'd be mad."

"Why would I be mad at a free mud bath? Best part of the day!" Kelly said, accepting his hand and pulling herself up with an ease that spoke of her agility. She was a mess, covered in mud from head to toe, but she seemed to wear it like a badge of honor.

Fred couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, a sound so rare it felt foreign. "We're definitely going to pay for this, you know. Mendez is going to have our heads."

Kelly shrugged, her spirits undampened. "So we'll run extra laps. Big deal. It'll be worth it to see the look on his face when we show up like two swamp monsters."

That image, Mendez's face trying to maintain its usual stern composure at the sight of them, had Fred chuckling. "Alright, you're on. But let's make it fun. First one back to the starting line gets the other's dessert for a week."

"You're on, slowpoke!" Kelly shot back, her competitive fire ignited. They shook hands, sealing the deal in mud and spirit.

Off they sprinted, leaving behind footprints that were more sludge than sole...

Yesssss

This was adorable. Just little dorks playing in mud, going full-gremlin-mode. I loved it!

[littlekatleaf]

Roll here in my ashes anyway

Needed a little soft, holiday story for the Junkerboys. It's almost Christmas, I must be feeling melancholy.

I wouldn’t know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don’t ruin this on me. ~ Hozier, Almost Sweet Music

Junkrat leans closer to the paper, rubs his eyes, but the tiny print refuses to come into focus. Damn chicken-scratch writing, hand can never keep up with his thoughts. Roadie’s voice echoes in his memory, “Gonna need glasses before you’re thirty if you keep squinting like that.” Bloke’s got a point, as always. He sighs and sits back, giving in to his aching body. When he looks up reason everything’s gone vague and blurry is abruptly clear - light’s changed. Fat clouds’d been lining the horizon now blanket the sky, winter sun too anemic to dent them. 

He glances back down at the launcher, still in pieces, screws and metal bits scattered over the workbench. Not as far as he’d like to be - Chrissie’s coming on soon. Gotta have Roadie’s prezzie ready. It’s close, but detonation speed needs tweaking - don’t want anyone else losing a limb. He scribbles down a last thought then rolls it all up, plans and gun together, and shoves them in the very back of his desk, behind old comics and skin mags, shit Roadie’d not be caught dead reading. He straightens, stretches, spine pops. Stomach rumbling too. How long’s he been at this anyway? Hungry enough likely missed lunch. Maybe dinner too?

As he crosses the threshold between work room and shared living space, he notices a tray on the coffee table. Coffee gone stone cold, same with the eggs and toast. He sticks a forkful in his mouth anyway. Can’t let it go to waste. Breakfast food. Apparently worked all night. Explains a good portion of the headache throbbing in his skull, the leaden ache of his joints getting in on the complaints. Less so the congestion and vague sense he’s gonna need to sneeze. Rubs his nose. Ignores it.

“Oi, Roadie,” he calls. No answer. He frowns. Hog hadn’t mentioned anything, had he? Wouldn’t go on a mission without him. Wouldn’t go hang with Hana or Lúcio, sick as he’s been. Might’ve been trying to downplay it, pass it off as a lingering cold, but Rat noticed. Felt the fever heat at night, heard the crackle in his lungs when he coughed, the edge of a wheeze in his deeper breaths. Bloke’d been sick for a while and didn’t seem to be improving.

Lack of caffeine’s making his thoughts feel slow, his head full of sludge. Must be why he can’t seem to figure where Roadhog might have gone. He’s still trying to puzzle it when there’s a mechanical click and the door whirs and slides open, revealing Roadie, looking somewhat abashed, with Mercy right behind in Avenging Angel mode. Sheila might be a good couple meters shorter than the Hog, and several stone lighter, but way she looks right now, Rat reckons she can take both of them, not even break a sweat, and is more than ready to do so.

“As Mr. Rutledge seems to be incapable of following the simplest of instructions, I appeal to your better judgment, Jamison.” Her tone is clipped, precise. She steers Roadie into the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Rat steps back, out of her way, and grins. “Breaking out the surname and suggesting I have anything approximating good judgment? What the bloody hell’d he do?”

“I explicitly told him to return to his quarters to rest. Under no circumstances was he to exert himself in any way until he completes his treatment. Not even ten minutes later, where do I find him?”

Junkrat shrugs. “Not here.” 

“Indeed not. He was outdoors. Working in the garden. With neither jacket nor hat.”

Junkrat shakes his head at Roadhog, struggling not to laugh. Least it’s someone else getting the dressing down for a change. “How very dare you.”

“Just taking care of a couple of things,” Hog protests. “Not a big deal.”

“This is not a joke.” Mercy directs a glare at Junkrat before turning back to Roadhog. She sighs, deeply. “I am not coddling you or some such foolishness,” she says. “I’m trying to save you from yourself. While the infection is relatively mild at the moment, if you don’t take care it will worsen. I would not have you risk the lung function you still have, Mako.”

Roadie ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a child being chastised. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Take all of the antibiotics. Use the inhaler.” She shoves them into his hand and pivots to leave. “And don’t call me ma’am,” she adds, over her shoulder. “Doctor, if you must.” The door whirs open and closed behind her.

Junkrat blows out a breath. “Ain’t like no doctor I ever met.” Not like he’s met many; ‘doctors’ in Junkertown more like glorified butchers, but still.  He raises a brow at Roadhog. “Sheila’s got a point. You look like shit. The fuck you doing out there? Gonna snow any minute and I can feel the fever radiating off you from here.”

“Don’t start with me, Rat,” Roadhog grumbles. “I’m fine. Just need to put the last of the garden to bed before the weather shifts. Been meaning to take care of it for days. Thought I’d be better by now.” He tosses the bottle of meds toward the coffee table and misses. It hits the floor with a rattle. 

Junkrat moves to pick it up but is stopped by Roadhog’s glare. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and backs off. Knows better than to push straight on when he’s like this. Situation needs a little more… subtlety.

Roadhog leans down to retrieve the bottle, and immediately lapses into a fit of jagged coughing.  It drags on, impressively long until finally dwindling away, stealing most of his voice with it. “Fucking hell,” he rasps, breathless. Least it’s enough that he takes a hit from the inhaler without Rat needing to say anything. Probably better he doesn’t. Bloke’s emanating as much pissed off energy as fever.

Instead Junkrat drops a bag of Lúcio’s medicinal tea into a Pachimari shaped mug and fills it at the instant hot tap. He adds a dollop of honey, enough to soothe Roadie’s throat, but woefully small to Rat’s own eyes. Somehow Hoggie lacks a reasonable appreciation for the sweeter things in life. The rising steam smells of cinnamon and clove, comforting as Lù himself. 

Roadhog’s retreated to the couch, resignation clear in the set of his shoulders. He’s taken off his boots. “Ta,” he says, voice glass on gravel, when Rat holds out the peace offering. Makes Rat’s own throat ache to hear. “Doc’s right. I was acting like a bloody idiot. Garden’s gonna be what it is. Not the end of the world.”

“Already been through that once.” Junkrat floats the admittedly sad attempt at a joke. Testing. Predictably no response. Junkrat frowns, then nods. “Ain’t a lotta people smarter than the doc.”

“Just wish I’d gotten the roses wrapped.” Aims the words into his mug and Rat barely catches them. Roadie picks up a novel and disappears behind it. Over his shoulder the trees bend and creak in the wind. A few leaves that had been clinging to the branches tug free and scatter. Above it all the clouds hang, milk white and heavy with snow.

A shiver wants to creep down Junkrat’s spine but he manages to suppress it. Hoggie’s roses ain’t just any flower. Ain’t replaceable. Little bit of home, here in this place that isn’t theirs. Nothing for it; Rat knows what he has to do.

The wind cuts straight through his jacket before the door even slides closed behind him. He grits his teeth against the chattering, squares his shoulders and heads into the garden. Watched Roadie enough times, shouldn’t have a problem. Starts with the roses. Makes sure they’re trimmed and wrapped proper. Gonna keep the roses safe. The memories safe. He’s sniffling before he gets the first one finished, nose threatening to run. Guess he knows what Jack Frost nipping at your nose feels like. Least raking warms him enough that he opens the jacket even as the first flakes of snow drift down. 

By the time he’s done, everything set and settled down to the last twig, the world’s gone dim and silent with snowfall. It’s a lonely peaceful feel, the gathering dark, the swirling flakes, the way the air is sharp but the world is blurred. He sniffs, sleeves his nose, but makes no move to go inside. 

“There you are. Been wondering where you’d got to,” Roadie says.

Junkrat startles. “Gonna kill Hanzo for givin’ you the ninja lessons.”

This time Roadhog huffs the particular laugh means he’s torn between amusement and not wanting to encourage Rat. 

Junkrat wraps his arms around himself and sleeves his nose. Still itching, but knows if he starts sneezing Roadie’ll make him go inside and he’s not ready yet. Luckily Roadhog’s smart enough to have put on more appropriate winter gear. “See ya ain’t risking Mercy’s wrath.”

Feels Roadie smile behind the mask. “Nah. Once is more than enough.” He pauses and the snow drifts down, dusting their shoulders. “Thank you for this, Jamie.” Roughness of his voice now got nothing to do with being sick. 

Junkrat looks up at him, puzzled. “Well ‘course, mate. Couldn’t exactly let them die, could I?” 

“You could.” Roadhog says, still facing the garden. “Did a good job, Rat.” He puts an arm around Junkrat. 

Rat leans into the warmth, then curls forward with a harsh sneeze, hastily muffled in his scarf. Another follows, and a third. “Shit. Jig’s up.”

This time Roadie actually laughs. “Bless you. Better get back inside before Mercy hears you sneezing.”

Later, even in a pair of Roadie’s pjs and wrapped in several of their blankets, Junkrat still shivers. “F-fuckin’ freezin’. Ain’t never gonna be warm again. Barely more’n a corpse. Heat of life already left my bones…” Plays up the whinge, because he can, and muffles a round of sneezing in the blankets.

Roadhog reaches over, palms his forehead, but gently. “Definitely has not. And don’t be disgusting.” He tosses a box of tissues at Junkrat who can’t free his hands quick enough to catch it. It bounces off his chest.

“This the way you show your appreciation? Some caretaker you are.” Tugs free a handful just in time to catch another, in triplicate. “Fucking hell.”

“Nah. This is the way I show my appreciation.” Hog shifts so Rat can lean against him and begins to knead the tension from his shoulders. Rat sighs as the aching fades, the shivering stills. Feels himself begin to thaw, to drift. As he slides into sleep, he catches the scent of roses, the heat of the sun warming him through. Not the wan halfhearted thing here, but the encompassing burn of Australian summer. Maybe someday they’d go home. Least they had a piece, even if it slept in the winter dark.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

artists that have lyrics under their art and an easy way to find the song the lyrics are from we love you you are singlehandedly carrying our music taste and helping us stay ahead of the 'too familiar, too stagnant, brain will now turn to sludge' mode