#at least i can rest easy knowing shes not one of the dozens of people reading my fic when i see her on ao3 in the break room 😂

[television-overload]

I hope my coworker isn't ever on NCIS tumblr because I'm about to tell you I just mentioned NCIS in the break room and excitedly told her about the Tiva spinoff, and she said "ugh" and talked about how much she dislikes Ziva and how her character "made no sense" LOOOOL

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

[spidey-x-male-reader]

can you pls do a hobie brown x Male reader? Like yk how every Spider-Man has like a Gwen or an mj and all the other spiderman ask hobie like “what abt you do you have a gwen or mj?” And he introduces his bf to them?

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x male!reader

Requested: yes / no

Warnings: ///

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm finally getting back into the mood to write again. This is the first x reader I've written since a long time but I'm always happy to get requests to better myself

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

“Aaand MJ and Mayday are finally back home” Peter said when walking back into the main hall to look at his team members. “But she really liked finally meeting all of you. Even you, Miguel.”

Hobie looked over at Miguel with a slight smirk, watching how Miguel clearly seemed unhappy with this whole situation. But it wasn’t like he could stop Peter at this point. He brought his daughter to work here so why not his wife too? At least for a visit. 

“We’re not going to make a habit out of getting visitors here, understand?” Miguel spoke in a stern tone. 

“I think we should do quite the opposite. Get more visitors”, Peter grinned, now finally turning to Hobie. “I mean you haven’t brought anyone over yet. You got a MJ or Gwen?”

Hobie let out a scoff. Most people seemed to be having a MJ, or even a Gwen, even if that one seemed to be working out less. He still shook his head. “No MJ or Gwen. I have a (y/n).”

Miles now also moved closer. “(y/n)? Who’s that?”

Apparently this was a community meeting now since Gwen sat down with them too. “Are we talking about (y/n)? He’s Hobie’s boyfriend. The absolute coolest really. We played the drums together one time and–”

“You got a boyfriend? How didn’t we know that before?”

Hobie shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“You gotta invite him.”

“Didn’t you just hear how I told you that there shouldn’t be more visitors.” Miguel clearly looked annoyed with his colleagues.

“Well now I really have to get him.”, Hobie smirked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You walked into the compound looking around, dozens of spider-people walking around everywhere. “You really didn’t overdo it, Hobie” you grin, while walking next to him. 

“When have I ever overdone anything, love?”, he smirked at you. “We’re almost there.”

“Gwen’s there too?”

“Gwen, Miles, Peter, Miguel, Pavitr probably. They have all been excited. Well most of them. I don’t think Miguel ever gets excited.”, he looked over when he realised you were slowing down a bit. “You don’t gotta be nervous. They’ll love you. And if they don’t it’s their loss”

You nodded, but still grabbed his hand before you two entered the room together. It was almost a comfort to have him this close. And it was almost a comfort that he didn’t seem to mind. He never said anything about it, he didn’t judge you for anything. 

The only person you recognized in the room was Gwen who immediately ran over to you. 

“(y/n)! Good to see you!”, she grinned, giving you a classic fistbump. “Come on. You gotta meet the rest”, she said, pulling you along.

“Hey Gwen. Try not to steal my boyfriend.” Hobie just chuckled, just walking after you two. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to you stealing everyones attention wherever you went, even if you didn’t mean to. He couldn’t quite blame anyone for being fascinated by you either. 

Every day he looked at you, he fell in love all over again. You once asked him if he didn’t get tired of that one point but he had just shaken his head before saying ‘How could I ever get tired of you?’

And now all of that proved itself true again. You, Pavitr, Gwen and Miles had hunched over in a corner, snickering about something for the first part of your meeting. He was glad you got along with everyone so quickly.

With Peter it was easy too, even if the amount of Baby pictures he tried to show you was almost concerning. You handled it well though. And then it was time for the big boss fight. Miguel, who had menacingly stood in the corner the whole time, watching closely so you didn’t touch anything.

“If you manage to keep him under control I don’t have anything against you being here from time to time.”, Miguel simply said.

“I don’t keep him under control. No one can do that, trust me.”, you grinned, looking over at your boyfriend. Sure he was chaotic, constantly getting the both of you in trouble but honestly? “I wouldn’t have it any other way”, you lightly patted Miguel’s shoulder before moving back to Hobie. 

“Already done with meeting everyone?”

“You told me there was a cafeteria.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

[420technoblazeit]

in my mind dean was always supposed to get older and become the new bobby. like ok you're a hunter, maybe a little new to the scene and still figuring things out. and you're tracking down a werewolf, easy case. except some things don't line up quite right and now you're thinking it might not actually be a werewolf. so you ask around a hunter's bar and they all say the same thing. go to this one bunker in the middle of nowhere in kansas

and you're like sure what the hell. you're stumped anyway, might as well check it out. maybe it's a weapons storehouse or something. but then you get there and there's a doorbell and a bee-shaped welcome mat out front and you're starting to think you've got the wrong place. the door swings open and there's this middle aged guy with a robe and batman pyjama bottoms. and he laughs at the look on your face and tells you to come in, he doesn't bite. not since he got that vampire cure, anyway. you're not sure what to make of that last part but he winks at you when he says it so you figure he's joking. maybe.

he gives great advice about hunting everything under the sun and if you stick around long enough he'll go on and on about how he saved the world at least five times. ok sure. you don't want to be rude so you just sit there and sip your coffee politely while he talks about some guy called chuck and how much of a bitch he is. and another guy who's aged a little more gracefully comes padding down the hallway in a metallica t-shirt and rolls his eyes. has he told you about tvland yet? ('i was just getting to that part!')

if you go to the basement you'll find shotguns filled with salt, wooden stakes, holy water, and demon-killing bullets for sale. and if you're lucky the witch who sells hex bags might be around. low-grade curses only, of course. you better leave the powerful stuff to the professionals. and she'll get in trouble if she gives you anything stronger, not that she can't be persuaded. a girl's gotta make a living after all and she's always encouraged eager new witches. it's worked out pretty well for her so far. and then a guy you swear is twice your height will raise an eyebrow at her and insist she only sell the weaker hex bags, please. you don't need any more witches in your coven, rowena. you've got plenty

pagan god giving you trouble? there's a man who swings by every once in a while who knows how to deal with those. give him some candy or a fun magic relic and he might help you out. it depends. he's a little picky about dishing out advice and he likes to play favorites. and if you've got a demon problem they can give you the number of a guy who swears up and down that he used to be the king of hell. but you've seen him walking around with a purse-sized terrier tucked under his arm and a dozen more following him so you're not really sure if you believe him

idk i like to think that dean got to grow old and retire. that doesn't mean he stops helping people, it just means he hangs up his coat and becomes an old man who rambles on and on about 'back in my day' and makes a dent in his leather armchair. there's a foosball table where the dungeon used to be and sam complains about beer bottles being everywhere and it becomes a safe haven for anyone still fighting the good fight. it's just that for dean and the rest of team free will the fight is over. they're done hunting now

[rvllybllply2014]

I am trying to process something horrible that a customer told me over 6 years ago? Yes. Is Aeron the victim of that yes,yes he is. At least he has Davos.

Shitty customer being shitty. Parental death mentioned. Davron donut shop au. Also Oscar being an awesome coworker. Shitty customer based on real life.*

Aeron’s father had died unexpectedly. Well you never really expect a car crash and the person dying from a car crash. Anyway Aeron took a week off to grieve the loss of his father. When the week was finished he felt somewhat ready to be out in society without randomly crying, plus he had bills to pay and he needed to be a human again.

The donut shop is a franchise and the other shops accept gift cards but the one Aeron works at does not. He’s had the whole I’m sorry we don’t accept the gift cards here conversation with people a million times. Most people accept that, some do say awe man but all move on and use cash or a credit/debit card.

This customer from hell though didn’t do either. She’d ordered a dozen different donuts with her boyfriend, and she had a bad attitude the whole time. Aeron didn’t think much of it he was on autopilot and pretty numb to the world and due for his break soon. Anyway when they get to the register she pulls out the gift card and Aeron states that he’s sorry but he can’t accept the gift card.

She insists that they can, if the other franchises can then surely he can? He then explains that no he can’t the card reader can’t read gift cards.

The customer is getting angrier by the second, her boyfriend tries to tell her he’ll just pay. But she wants to cause a scene, so he walks out while the customer is still being a bitch. Aeron is at the end of his rope by the time that Oscar is walking up.

Oscar only catches the tail end of the conversation in which the customer finally accepts that he couldn’t take the gift card and gives him a credit card. While Aeron’s running the card she says this is really inconvenient for her. Aeron snaps back oh he’s sorry that she’s been inconvenienced but he’s been inconvenienced by his fathers death for the past week and this is his first day back so yeah he hopes that this is the only inconvenience that she faces today.

The customer leaves shamed faced and Oscar asks if Aerons okay? And hey it’s time for your break. Oscar also manages to text Davos about what just happened to Aeron and tells him to check up on Aeron when he gets home. The rest of the day passes relatively fast and before Aeron knows it he’s back in his shared apartment with Davos.

Davos knowing that Aeron hasn’t eaten lunch yet and how the customer was a real fucking bitch, runs a bath for Aeron with his favorite scented oil, and finishes up the pasta that Aeron loves and pours him a big glass of wine.

Aeron asks what’s the special occasion?

And Davos tells him Oscar texted him about the shit ass bitch ass customer and to make sure he takes extra care of Aeron. At hearing that Aeron bursts into tears and Davos hugs him tightly until Aeron stops crying.

Davos tells Aeron he’s sorry that Aeron had to deal with that customer while he’s learning to deal with grief and how to be a human again. He knows the grief fog is still with Aeron and while it will never go away, he’s there to help him in whatever way he needs. Aeron just thanks Davos but Davos brushes it off while telling Aeron it’s what boyfriends do and he’d be a shit boyfriend if he wasn’t there for him.

Later on Aeron texts Oscar thanking him for giving Davos a heads up, it made it easier to open up to him about his day. Oscar says that’s what friends are for and he hopes Aeron’s day and week goes easier for him than it did at the beginning.

Oscar also texts both Aeron and Davos in the group chat later on telling them he’s there for both of them if they need him. He also cares about them and Aeron please take it easy on yourself, you won’t get fired. He’s already talked to the manager explaining what happened and the manager said that they’d pull up the video to find the customer so if they ever came back she’d be refused service.

*Yeah I had that shit customer and she literally said that by not accepting a gift card from a different franchise I was inconveniencing her. Yes her man left after offering to pay. But no I didn’t get to say oh I’m sorry you’re being inconvenienced right but you see I just lost my mom last week but you’re right not having a gift card accepted is such a huge inconvenience. I was the only person able to take of customers while my manager was on break. So yeah just be nice to people you never know what someone is going through, I was a numb robot that day and the week before I went back to work.

Also happy birthday mom I miss you.

[lizardrosen]

It's Like the Darkness is the Light

part four of the penelope werewolf au, takes place in Season One

Everyone knows the chestnut hair shared by all the Bridgertons, at least under the light of a dozen candles. It would be easy to think that it is jealousy for those naturally thick curls that summons strangers to their sides, rather than their money or prestige or amiability, much less anything that distinguishes one from the others. “Oh, you must be a Bridgerton, I recognized you at once by the back of your head! Now... which one were you?” To which the siblings will answer with varying degrees of grace.

Anthony affirms it gruffly, but then he's gruff with everybody, simply because he's annoyed to be attending a ball in the first place, while Colin makes a gently self-deprecating joke, so used to putting others at ease that he forgets his own needs. Daphne dips into a perfect curtsy and Eloise usually either shoves food into her mouth or pretends she's seen someone across the room so she doesn't have to answer – apparently unaware that this identifies her quite definitively. Out of all of them, Benedict seems to chafe the most at it, and Penelope has seen him bite back the hurt to stiffly say, “Number Two” more times than she can count. She's not sure when she began counting.

Much fewer than everyone slows down enough to notice what moonlight looks like when it lands among that hair. In a garden outside a party, most people will identify each other by silhouette among a mass of bodies which could contain anyone. Few but would-be suitors care enough to pick out strands of color in the dark, when eyes or dresses are what sparkle – and not even all of them bother to pay attention to the moon turned to stars in the hair of a Bridgerton. Suitors, and anyone whose living is based on attention to detail. But then, who knows what happens at the other sort of party, where all the guests thrive on minutiae.

Only a very select group have the privilege of knowing what that particular brown looks like as a pelt, and not all of that number can keep up with the four strong legs carrying that load apace like Diana's own hunter. Wolf fur is not nearly as varied as human hair, so not all of were-kind matches their usual forms, but she knows Benedict at once, as he knows her. It isn't just that out of the Bridgerton clan he most seems the type – she has her suspicions about Hyacinth, too, when the time comes – but he carries that loose-limbed slouch in his body no matter which one it is. He's even easier to read when his entire face is a beautiful crooked grin.

It's different being in a group here compared to anywhere else in London. Nothing pushes her to the outside, not even herself, no matter how they may look at each other when dressed in their finery. As beasts hiding their true face from the rest of the world, they are all one pack, one body, in a patchwork of colors. When they run it is together, with no chosen leader and no orders shouted back and forth; they all feel the choice to turn to the right, so easy the thought must have come from all of them. It's even better than her long-held hope of finally being in on the joke and not just the butt of one, and better than dictating the quips that will make the rounds of Mayfair with a flourish of her pen.

But Penelope is still learning this body of hers and not yet used to running such long distances, even with her increased stamina, and she begins to lag behind. She is not so slow as to break off completely, but she is further towards the back than when this night began. And up ahead someone registers a Penelope-shaped space and falls back to join her. He doesn't turn around through the crowd, but he slows to let the group part around him, until she has caught up with him, and then he picks up the pace to match hers.

She is drooping – if she were dressed in her customary tangerine she might say wilting, but for tonight she gets to avoid plant metaphors. Her ears and tail hang low, but it cheers her to see a friend who cared enough to come looking. Not many would notice she was gone, much less think to follow. Not even Eloise, most of the time – Penelope loves her to death, truly, but love means recognizing the whole of a person, and El doesn't tend to miss someone until she's had some brilliant idea she can't contain anymore and rushes off to pour it into a waiting ear. As for Colin – well. One of the benefits of her lupine form is that such bothersome thoughts are far away.

To have a fellow monster concerned for her and not just what she could mean is such a relief that she lets herself feel as tired as she is. When she stumbles sideways his shoulder is right there to catch her near the ribs before she even comes close to falling. He nudges her shoulder with his nose and gives an encouraging snuffle, then watches her only from the side of his eye to be sure she's regained her balance before he steps away to let her stand on her own. She can tell he won't need to be told how much that means to her – the support and the discretion both. She may tell him anyway.

They're not even pretending to run anymore, but are now so in rhythm that they move as a single body quite apart from the larger group. Their lazy lope is still faster than most humans could manage comfortably, and he lets her lean against his shoulder when she needs to. She can feel his muscles tense and shift a few seconds before he comes to an abrupt halt, but she's still not prepared and her momentum carries her forward before she skitters to a stop and turns to glare at him. A wolf's glare is nothing to scoff it, but he meets it with one of his own. He's got that look in his eye that means trouble but she can't guess what he's got in mind until he darts up to nip at her shoulder and dashes ahead.

She barks a laugh and chases him down, right into the thick of bodies. He must be anticipating her pounce because he uses the motion to roll her over, but before he can bay his triumph someone else tackles him off of her. Soon four or five others have joined the tussle. It's a game without rules, a dance without choreography, and a pack of grown adults are just having fun, jumping and tugging at each other. Eventually Benedict catches her eye and nods towards a side street. She follows without question, and they leave behind a scene of chaos begun by themselves.

Benedict bows so deep his nose almost touches the ground, inviting her to seize the night with him, and she cannot be as afraid of the sudden warm glow in her chest as she would be in her human skin, so she leans into the moment and lifts her forepaw as she might when accepting a dance.

They wander the streets of London together almost without a plan, knowing that while they may not be the most dangerous people out here, their teeth and claws will make anyone think twice before messing with them. The pack had already strayed past the fashionable parts of town before they went off on their own, and for a while Benedict points out the homes of artist friends and even more disreputable associates. Soon enough they find themselves in a neighborhood where one does not go in the family carriage wearing their best finery unless one wishes to become an easy mark. Penelope realizes with a start that she knows where she is.

Before she developed her small network of runners, she would borrow clothes from her lady's maid and take her articles directly to the printer's. Halfway into the season, Lady Whistledown's name is too well known for her to risk showing her face, so she only comes here herself when she has to negotiate prices or fair treatment of the boys who sell the papers. Still, she's been here often enough to know how to get discounts on her truly absurd number of quills, and where to buy a hearty stew and a crust of bread around here.

As if he's heard her thoughts of food, Benedict pauses to burrow into the satchel he's got strapped to his side. He tosses a sausage Penelope's way and she leaps to snatch it out of the air – it's juicy and delicious and exactly what she was craving. She turns to thank him and finds him polishing off a sausage of his own with a smug wolfish grin, and then she lets him catch the glint in her eye before she sets off running and leads him in a merry chase.

Finally they return to the banks of the Serpentine to rest their weary paws and flop on the ground to await the sunrise. Penelope circles her spot three times before she lays down and leans against his side with her nose tucked under her tail. She can feel the steady expansion and release of his breath and trusts she is safe here in a way she doesn't believe she has felt anywhere else.

Slowly the dark blue stretching above them begins to glow like a jewel or the silks to make up a trousseau, and she shifts to get a better view of the sun when it deigns to make an appearance. The wolf beside her looks different in this light, softer somehow. Pure moonlight will carve harsh shadows into the planes of a body even as it brings them alive, but it is becoming the lesser light once more, and now the sky is pale and waiting. He floats on the grass like a cloud, somewhere between wake and sleep, and she looks at him as much as at the main event.

The sun bursts red between the branches to gild the clouds and dazzle her eyes, adapted to the night as they are. It gets so she cannot even look at it directly, so she turns to watch her companion enjoy the sight for himself, only to be stunned all over again. That rich brown of his is now painted with a thousand shades of red and gold, and it may be the loveliest thing she's ever seen. All at once she wants nothing more than to feel that fur with her fingers and palm. She stretches her whole body and shakes off her moonlit form, letting her bones shrink and shift to fit a smaller skin. It's getting easier to transform lately, not the terrifying groan of muscles and sinew that she remembers from the very start, when she had no control.

She reaches out to bury her hand in the ruff at his neck, coarse hairs smoothing together in an inviting, fascinating way. Her own fur must feel much the same but she doesn't find it remarkable from the inside. She loses herself in the warmth of him and rubs his sides everywhere she can reach, while Benedict thumps his leg against the ground, clearly enjoying the attention. The sun is almost high enough now that she is not in danger of searing her eyeballs if she so much as glances towards the horizon. But with the light comes the realization that she has been naked in front of a man for quite some time now. It hardly seemed to matter when they were both animals, and she believes him to be nothing but honorable, but now she gasps and turns away, blushing furiously.

He huffs his breath in what is clearly laughter, and after a moment she feels fabric settle around her shoulders. The cloak is of blue wool with pockets and a hood, several shades darker than the standard Bridgeron Blue, more like the hours they have shared tonight, so late it's nearly early again. She wasn't wrong that he favors this time of day, then.

She waits long enough to miss the moment of transformation – it seems too personal and private to witness on first acquaintance, though they've known each other in years, if only in passing. Benedict is buckling his breeches and when he sees her looking he stretches his arms above his head to show off his bare chest. And then he actually winks before he pulls on a billowy white shirt that leaves little to the imagination once she's already seen it all. She rolls her eyes while he can't see, but somehow she thinks he knows anyway.

Whatever he knows or doesn't, he bows and offers his hand to help her stand, and then he pulls her into a dance that doesn't know whether to be a reel or a quadrille.

“It will be your own fault, sir, if you get your toes trodden on this morning, for these are surely no steps I've learned before.”

He answers her attempt at austerity with a merry smile. “Seeing as neither of us are wearing shoes, I think I'll risk it – ow!” he adds as she grinds her heel onto the top of his foot. “What was that for?”

“Oh, just proving that I'm perfectly capable of dealing damage all on my own.”

“Perhaps I deserved it, then,” he acknowledges, then nods at the cloak. “You should keep that, by the way. It suits you.”

“Hmm, perhaps I will. How convenient that you had something on hand for just such an occasion.”

“When you've been at this long enough you learn that it helps to be prepared with supplies for any kind of circumstance. Shall I escort you to your home now?”

“Only because our lodgings are so close. It may not be wise to be seen together, and I'll be sneaking in the servant's entrance anyway. But yes, we can walk together up to a certain point.”

“As the lady commands,” he answers with a little bow.

And nearly a year later, when Eloise asks who is a secret monster, Penelope first stresses the importance of discretion, then smiles to herself and says, “There may be one person I can tell you about, but I'll have to ask permission first.”

[thespectral-wolf]

An Idle Conversation

My (only) submission to this year's Shadamy Week. I actually started writing this back in 2021, but I wasn't satisfied with it. But since I saw that it thematically fit both of the prompts of the first day (Immortality/Late Night-Early Morning), I went ahead and reworked it.

---

Amy lay in her bed, eyes closed. She stayed like that for a couple of minutes before glancing at her clock. 5:49 am. She has been hoping for the sweet embrace of sleep to take her back again for almost an hour now.

This has been a recurring problem lately and more and more had she been wishing back to her young days when she could sleep like a stone after an adventure. Maybe she missed the thrill more than the ability to sleep longer. With Eggman gone, there wasn’t anyone bold and ambitious enough to kickstart world threatening events anymore. Not that she would give up the peace that she and her friends now have. All she has to worry about is keeping her little business going and making sure to stay in touch with the others. Still, some days, she still longed for adventure…

She let out a silent sigh and sat up. Might as well start the day early instead of making futile efforts to fall back asleep. She yawned as she stepped out of her bedroom and went to the kitchen. She has been staying in her weekend house for a few weeks. She planned for a little alone time, however an unexpected visitor similarly looking for some peace changed her plans a bit. The door of the guest room was closed, but Amy knew he was up from the freshly brewed coffee in the pot. She took out a mug and poured herself some, grabbing a few sugarcubes from the counter and a spoon from the drawer before going outside.

She stepped out to the porch, and took a deep breath of the chilly morning air.

“You’re up early.” Shadow was sitting at the coffee table solving some sort of newspaper puzzle.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Amy said as she took a seat across from him. She started stirring her coffee before she continued “Why’d you make coffee this early though? You don’t even like it.”

“As a drink,” Shadow rebutted without looking up, “and I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“It would’ve gone cold by the time I normally get up, don’t you think?” she picked at him playfully.

“That’s what the microwave is for,” he said with a slight edge in his voice, although his faint smile showed he wasn’t actually annoyed.

“True,” she took a sip while resting her eyes on her garden, which was basked in the golden light of the rising Sun.

“What’cha solving?” she asked after a brief pause.

“Crosswords,” Shadow answered without as much as glancing at her.

Somehow the whole idea of Shadow occupying himself with ‘old people entertainment’ amused her.

“And how’s it going?” she asked, barely containing her smile.

“Too easy,” he folded the newspaper and reached down beside him. He showed a dozen of other newspaper pages with the crosswords already filled out. “They hardly give me a challenge. At least if the punchlines were better…” He promptly threw the papers down and returned to solving the one in his hand.

“If you dislike them so much, why do you bother then?” Amy inquired.

“It keeps me busy, I guess,” Shadow shrugged.

Amy mused on that a little.

“You know, this isn’t such a bad idea actually,” she pointed at the paper. “Doing mental work, I mean. Maybe I should start doing something like that. Old people have to keep their brains oiled, right?” She joked.

“You’re only 56, Amy. You’re not old.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Forever-Young,” Amy teased. She was just taking in the scenery when she noticed that Shadow went quiet. She looked over to him. He put the paper down and stared with an unreadable look on his face. Amy cocked her head:

“What’s wrong?”

Shadow seemed to shake out of his trance, his eyes dashed to her for a moment before he shook his head and averted his gaze.

“Nothing,” he hesitated. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon,” Amy pressed. “I can see that something’s bothering you.”

“It’s just,” Shadow sighed. “I don’t like it when you call me that. It reminds me that I’m…”

Oh… that.

“I’m sorry,” she said, almost instinctively.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her.

"No, I’m really sorry, I know you hate when we bring that up.”

“It’s fine, really!” Shadow said with a bit too much force on his voice. He blew out some air. “Let’s just… talk about something else.”

But no other topic seemed to come to either of them. They sat there in silence for several minutes, staring off to the treeline surrounding the yard. There was a low mist still hanging to the ground in the distance, making it all seem ethereal.

“I like these moments,” Shadow spoke up eventually. “When everything’s slow and you can just exist in it. I just wonder… if I’ll remember them a hundred years down the line.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Amy blinked at him.

Shadow shrugged.

“I have forgotten so much already. If it weren’t for the logs, I would not remember much of my time on the ARK. And if a single trauma was enough to wipe my memories,” he tapped his head for emphasis, “how can I be sure that it won’t happen again?”

Amy could practically feel the sadness in his voice. She knew all too well about Shadow’s fear. Even now, there were moments when he wasn’t quite there with them. Moments when he woke up and seemed to be completely lost for several seconds, as if he did not recognize his surroundings. Moments when he was quiet even by his own standards, looking at nothing, breaths deep and heavy. It took so many years for him to open up and tell those who were the closest to him that the damage Professor Gerald and his fall through the atmosphere did still left his mind vulnerable. 

“But you’ll have pictures and videos to keep by your side. And your family will be there to remember us,” she made a weak attempt at comforting him. “And I’m pretty sure Omega will be around.”

“Pictures will fade, data can corrupt. And they weren’t there with us on our old adventures. They don’t have our shared memories,” Shadow’s response sounded like as if he practiced it. “And in a generation or two, there will be no one left to remember. Also, “he gave her a pointed look,” what do you think Omega will do once he has hunted down and eliminated the last of Eggman’s legacy?”

“Well, I’m stumped,” Amy threw her hands up. It was far too early to deal with all of this. She didn’t even finish her coffee yet! She rested her head in her hand. She wasn’t frustrated with Shadow’s rebuttals, but she hated that even after all these years he could still get so caught up in his own thoughts. And in some sense, he was right. They didn’t know just how long will Shadow live, but it was obvious that for someone in his fifties — or nineties if they counted his time in stasis — he looked like someone fresh out of college. Only his soul aged.

“It’s just…” Shadow continued. He fiddled with his hands as he went on, staring in front of him. “I have sworn to keep the world safe. And I am keeping to that oath. And it means that I’ll have to go on, no matter the circumstances, but,” he breathed out slowly “So much has changed since then. I tried keeping everyone at distance thinking it would make it easier, but I was just lying to myself. And now… I don't want to lose this. Just thinking about the fact that there will be a time when I’ll have nothing left of you outside of fickle memories, it…”

“It terrifies you,” Amy finished for him. Shadow nodded, eyes looking away.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Listen, I’d be lying if I said that I would know how to handle outliving my loved ones. And it pains me to think about how you’ll have to watch us go, but… look, I know you’re strong. And I know you’re able to let new people in your life, even if it takes time. And you will be making new memories,” just then, a thought came to her. “There is a saying, you know… ‘nobody is really gone as long as we keep talking about them’,” she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

Shadow gave her a defeated look.

“I guess,” he swallowed. “When the time comes, I can… tell our stories. As long as I am able.”

Amy squeezed his shoulder.

“I trust that you will tell them truthfully… But that being said,” she nudged him lightly, “it’s not like these are urgent matters,” light playfulness returned to her voice. “You said it yourself, I’m only 56. And I’m not planning to go till I’m at least a hundred!”

A faint smile appeared on Shadow’s lips.

“You better keep yourself to your word then.”

“Oh, you bet! You’ll have me at 99, still kicking, and ready to talk your ear off whenever you try to question yourself.”

That got a small chuckle out of Shadow. He shook his head, amused look on his face, as he picked up the newspaper and his pen again. “I have no doubt about it.”

Amy smiled, and discreetly watched him work through the crosswords while she finished her coffee. The melancholy feeling still lingered; she knew there will be a time when Shadow will have to face all of this, and neither she or the others will be there to walk him through it. But maybe, moments like this will be enough to help him. What she knew for certain was that however long he can, he will cherish them.

[emulation-0]

ok so ive been thinking, takako her entire life has been viewed by what she can do for others, how she can be of service, who she is as a person and her own identity never mattered because she was just a tool, she never had the autonomy to make her own decisions, whether they were rash or reckless or not. after incarnating is the first time she can do whatever the fuck she wants but still shes working to someone else's end goal and can't rest

yuki as a star plasma vessel up until the failed merger had been viewed for her utility. her identity also didn't matter since it would've ended up only as "i am tengen-sama, and tengen-sama is me." even after the failed merging the looks that she would get by those who knew her probably were still calculating her worth by how much she didnt do, considering her wasted potential. even outside of spv stuff, a special grade that"bums around" overseas, especially a woman, is not worth any concern

yuki and takako, having been on their own for quite some time, wouldn't consider loneliness as a struggle. i dont think they would desire understanding. being alone for a while might even be a privilege, after years of nothing but eyes on them, watching their every move from life until death (or at least until yuki refused the merger). but still something great is missing from their lives. yuki might deem it too abstract to search for it in the face of her work, and takako would be too focused on survival to care deeply about that hole

when yuki convinces takako to join her and they begin working together, takako cant stand her. she cant stand her cavalier attitude, the way she seems to disregard every danger coming their way, and the way she doesn't seem bothered at all to be working with takako. takako's conditioning from her previous life alerts her to all the flaws yuki is presenting her with, and she doesnt understand how someone like yuki can exist in this world. in the worlds she's lived in, it seems like such an impossibility. and especially after her experiences and what happened in the fight in the sendai colony, takako isn't feeling particularly trustful towards anybody, even if she and yuki have come to an agreement. it becomes exhausting watching after her own back around the other special-grade, but necessary, because any moment can reveal a dozen knives in the back when she's not looking

yuki herself isnt bothered with the blatant mistrust, as its to be expected from a sorcerer who had just been in the culling games. years of being brushed aside for her "crazy ideas" has numbed her to the doubtful looks, and even has her expecting it, to which she's made it fun dismantling the arguments people make against her research. as it is, yuki has put her focus entirely onto the matters ahead of her and ignores the abstract thing shes missing

as the two go about their business, yuki ends up learning more about takako and vice versa. takako also ends up learning more about herself, like the way she hates food thats drenched in sauce and that shes a fan of the color orange, and she will only wear pants if they are baggy and soft and cant feel them against her legs. yuki enjoys taking her around to experience more things while they're on their mission to stop kenjaku and cant help feeling fond of takako. they both learn things of each other that they haven't told anyone else; why does yuki hate tengen? what happened to takako before her execution? which other ancient sorcerers did takako know? when did yuki first hear the other vessels?

but as much progress as they have made in their alliance, old traumas aren't so easy to overcome. inside takako still feels a deep sense of wrongness, that one missed move and she will have to give up all her freedom, that she will have to kill the sorcerers or be chained up again. the jujutsu college isn't trustworthy, and continuing this alliance will only be another prison. on the other end yuki doesn't want takako to run away. she's found something like a kindred spirit in her, takes joy when takako feels joy, feels the mutual understanding that they don't outright desire but feels like a sense of belonging. but yuki is proud (and won't admit it, but too scared) to say these things out loud, that she doesnt want takako to leave, because admitting these things in such a life often does not do her any good

it comes to a head one day as theyre having dinner; its a particularly cold day and the feel of clothes has takako wanting to rip her skin off, so yuki has given takako her jacket for some warmth. their food is hot and both of them are tired after a heated disagreement earlier in the day about some executive decision. the two of them butt heads often, both of them stubborn and takako hot-headed, especially when yuki is being irritating on purpose, but today is just not the day. takako explodes after having been on her toes all day, demanding why yuki hasn't killed her yet after so many opportunities. like their first meeting, yuki asks "why would i do that?" to which takako has many answers but none of them really are answers, and yuki traces the rim of her cup of water with her finger and asks "is it hard to believe that i want to be here because i like who you are?"

but it is hard to believe. takako, who does not trust anyone as far as she can throw them, cannot imagine such a thing. these past few weeks with yuki she has been forming this identity of hers, something she has never had before; how can someone like her for who she is? when has someone ever liked her at all? her eyes widen and she gets flustered, and unwittingly her technique activates and her hair starts floating because ?????? what?? huh?? what?? HUH??

and though its difficult, though it screams inside her, takako sets aside the lenses of danger to see that yuki looks tired, so tired she has to be genuine. its not easy to trust someone, but after that night, takako tries to lower her hackles. and without viewing yuki primarily with apprehension, one foot out the door, takako starts seeing her in a new light. one that feels a little lighter and a little truer than what she felt was total vexation before. the part of her she didnt notice was missing feels more pieced together, a little more whole

and that night, having noticed the atmosphere changed, yuki became apprehensive, thinking that she'd offended takako once again somehow. but later, when takako allowed yuki's hand on her back to steer her away from the street, when takako grabbed yuki's arm and tugged her away to eat something, when takako began standing in a more personal distance to yuki, it was difficult to keep the smile off her face. so she didnt. and whenever takako looked in her direction and she smiled at her and takako quickly looked away, it only makes her smile harder. being alone is a privilege, but it feels so nice to have a companion, that you make each other laugh and you argue with and eat hot dinners in a cold winter with

one day yuki begins ranting about her research, explaining how she plans to go about erasing cursed energy, how so many of jujutsu society's problems have been upheld with tengen's continued existence, not really expecting a response. but takako listens attentively, and to yuki's surprise (especially from a sorcerer from the heian era) takako agrees. and she believes her. and "find a way to make it happen, then. if we both survive this, i'll even help you. i've never been a fan of old rotting sorcerers anyway."

to takako, someone she can trust. to yuki, to be trusted and believed in. both of the offer the things that they need. yuki's heart feels full and this abstract thing too abstract to search for feels like it's slotted a place into her life.

so anyway two women who had their identities stripped from them at one point in their lives, finding each other and offering each other the things they need. ITS SO PERFECT ITS SO PERFECT ITS SO PERFECT !!!! read my takayuki propaganda and suffer!!!

[ink-flavored]

1-5 for pride & 20-25 for justice's friend group? :D

(thanks as always for making all these ask games idk how u do it but they're so good)

thank u!! 💛💛 i am happy this one is another banger i just really like writing question in numbered lists!!

Pride

1. Are they good at making friends? What makes it so easy for them?

Absolutely not. He sucks at being nice, so friends are hard to come by.

2. Do they struggle to maintain friendships? Why?

So Pride hasn't really had a friend since before the rebellion that got him sent to Hell. Demons aren't pals. When he does get to Earth, he resists interacting with humans as much as possible, and isn't trying to maintain any sort of relationship with Justice at all.

When he does accidentally make friends, he kind of... ignores them unless he wants to do something? Like if he's bored or something. They all just met him, so they don't know how normal this is or if he's busy, and kind of accept that Pride will leave them on read sometimes.

Why does he do this? Because he's used to relationships being transactional and assumes people don't care about him. He doesn't think anyone misses him when he's gone, or... want to have a relationship with him unless they're also getting something out of it.

3. Do they have a best friend? Multiple?

Ollie is his best friend, he'll admit that right away (when he gets enough character development to say so). She's the only motherfucker in this city who can handle him.

4. Do they prefer a ton of friends or a small group?

Definitely a small group. He does Not want to be vulnerable with more than a few people at once.

5. Do they ever wish they had more friends? Fewer friends?

Pride wishes that he wanted to have more friends. The idea of being someone who's popular and has dozens of friends and has everyone's love and attention calls to him. In reality though, he would never be able to or want to handle that many people being in his personal circle.

Justice

20. Do they have any “unlikely” friends? How did they meet?

Pride would be quite an unlikely friend of his lmao

In the book club specifically, though, Basil is perhaps the unlikeliest? They keep to themself most of the time, and really only talk to Emelia at length outside of meetings. During the book discussions, they might chime in with their own observations, but are just as often quiet for the whole hour. Thanks to his Angel Powers, Justice is immediately trustworthy to all humans, or at least makes them feel inexplicably "safe" so it's much easier for him to make unlikely friends. They began their friendship with Justice asking about their TTRPG dice, and the rest is history.

21. Are they a physically affectionate friend? With certain people or with everyone?

Yes, absolutely! He will ask first, but given the option to be huggy with his friends he will always take it.

22. How would they make friends in a new location where they don’t know anyone?

Justice is quite a social butterfly and likes going to places and talking to people. That's actually how he found his book club friends in the first place—in an attempt to learn how to be convincingly human, he went to the library and saw a flier for it. He showed up because it sounded fun! And there's people there!

23. Do they have any “dealbreakers” when it comes to making friends with someone?

Generally, just... don't be a dick? Justice is a very forgiving person, since being able to detect everyone's pain makes it hard to really hate someone, but even he draws his lines. He has a particular distaste for injustice, or unfair treatment, and there's probably no amount of Sad Backstory that would make him forgive someone who consistently treats people unfairly.

24. Do they consider their co-workers friends? Do they have a separate “work friends” category that’s separate from their “regular friends”?

Justice doesn't work, necessarily? Unless you count Heaven, that was sort of his career. In that case, yeah definitely he considers them a separate category, but more like "human friends" vs "angel friends."

When it comes to just his human friends, he has different groups that he organizes in his head. His book club friends, obviously, then his church friends, and his volunteer friends—which are close enough to coworkers, and some of them overlap with his church friends.

25. How do they celebrate with their friends? Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, etc.?

The second Justice learned what a birthday party was, he loved it. He's always down for celebrations, and would LOVE to help plan them. He hasn't been on Earth for long enough to have that happen, but when his book club friends invite him out to like, a big birthday dinner or something, he ALWAYS goes. And gets a little present!

Certain holidays hold more weight for him than others when it comes to his friends, and he is, of course, a huge fan of Christmas which is when most people are home with their families. He does always offer to extend his holiday celebrations out to those of his friends who are alone for the holidays (Chris is totally cut off from its family, Basil is on-and-off, Kit's family lives far away and she can't always afford to go out of town, etc.), and when they accept, he is delighted about having people over.

[check out my 100 question platonic dynamics ask game]

[theoddcatlady]

We Killed Bobby Tanner

It was me, Jessie Bates, Hunter Gilch, and Gabrielle Edison. We are the reason that Bobby Tanner never returned home that Friday night ten years ago, why every year his parents send out a plea asking for their son to come home. It was us. The senior class rejects.

Jessie was a bit slow and would believe anything you told him. You could tell this boy over a dozen times that ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling and he’d believe you each of those times.

Gabrielle was pretty popular until her sophomore year when she got gonorrhea after having sex with her cheating shitbag of a boyfriend who didn’t know how to put on a condom. He, of course, blamed her for giving it to him and it didn’t matter what the truth was after that- Gabrielle was labeled a dirty slut and became a social outcast.

Hunter was just… off. Jessie followed him around like a lost puppy, but Hunter was that kid everyone was sure was either going to one day shoot up the school or become a prolific serial killer. Casual conversations would quickly turn sadistic as he’d brag about catching squirrels and birds in traps before killing them and cutting them up. He was the leader of our lil group, probably because the rest of us didn’t have a backbone.

Me, you can pick a reason why I was picked on- I’m fat, I had a serious acne problem, I’m socially awkward and a crybaby. I was an easy target because I’d start to cry when the words got too much and that was exactly what the bullies wanted.

Bobby was one of those bullies. He was everything we weren’t- he had money, he was good looking, he thought he was pretty smart, and he was funny… at least, if you weren’t the butt end of his jokes. We usually were. The only one he didn’t really pick on was Hunter, at least, not if he didn’t have a pack of friends around him. Hunter scared him, and probably for a good reason.

It was Hunter’s idea to kill him, after all.

It was after school, we were all at Hunter’s house. His parents were never home and it was a safe place to chill. I’d just finished throwing the pizza rolls in the microwave when he came out with it.

“What’s your perfect plan to kill someone?” Hunter said, interrupting Gabrielle’s rant about our stupid English teacher Mr. Shea.

Jessie laughed while Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Really? I don’t have one, Hunter. Because I’m not a sociopath.”

“Come on, it’s all hypothetical,” Hunter waved his hand, “Just go with it. What’s your go to plan?”

Jessie stroked his chin, which had a few scraggly hairs on it that he proudly called his ‘beard’. “Huh… I mean, I guess I’d kill them with my dad’s shotgun so he goes down for the murder? Fuck my dad,” He said.

Hunter snickered while I took a seat on the couch arm and pondered this hypothetical question. “I mean, I’d probably go for making it look like an accident. Like they fell off a cliff or a building, or the brakes in their car just gave out,” I answered.

Hunter looked genuinely impressed. “That’s actually not half bad! Come on, Gabrielle, what do you think?” He asked.

Gabrielle scoffed before she started twirling her hair- she always did that when she was thinking on something. “Oh my god, fine… I think I’d just poison the bastard? I’m not really strong, I mean, neither is Noelle, but here she is threatening to throw people off of buildings,” She elbowed my ribs teasingly.

“It’s a hypothetical question!” I threw my hands up in the air before looking down at Hunter. “Since you asked, I’m sure you already have an answer.”

“Lure them out to the woods before slicing open their throat so I can shower in their blood,” Hunter grinned menacingly and I had to suppress a shudder.

“That’s fucking gross… and would leave so much evidence, you idiot,” Gabrielle shook her head, “Actual sociopath, Hunter Gilch.”

We all laughed until Hunter brought up the next question. “Okay, who would you murder then? Say you could murder anyone and know you could get away with it. Name your picks,” He said as he crossed his arms.

I shifted uncomfortably while Gabrielle shook her head. “Too much, Hunter, too much,” She said.

“Who would you murder?” Jessie piped up with.

Hunter opened his mouth to respond when I heard the microwave beep. “Natural segue, it’s pizza rolls time!” I leaped up from the couch arm and ran into the kitchen. I did hear Hunter say he had a few possibles, but my return with the delicious snack had us completely forget about murder.

Almost.

The next week the cruelest prank was played on me. I got to my locker to see a present from a secret admirer, a box of chocolates with a sweet love letter. I was so overjoyed and I ended up enjoying two or three chocolates before class.

Chocolates that Bobby had laced with laxatives.

Just as the teacher was about to hand out the assignments, my stomach made that oh so uncomfortable gurgling sound and I had to bolt for the bathroom. I… didn’t make it. And I'd been wearing a skirt that day.

Liquid shit dripped down my legs as I scrambled for the bathroom, only to hear the cruelest laughter behind me. I looked, I saw Bobby, I saw his friends taking pictures with their phones, and I realized what happened.

I considered killing myself that night. The whole school knew what had happened. One of Bobby’s friends had texted him to let him know it was going down and that’s how he knew, and the incriminating pictures of me waddling down the hallway with a brown trail behind me spread like wildfire. I’d never live this down.

I’d already decided that I’d take all my mother’s sleeping pills and wash it down with a bottle of vodka when I heard my doorbell frantically ringing.

My mom was out so I ended up dragging myself to the door. When I opened it, there he was- Hunter. It had been raining out and he was soaking wet, gasping for breath as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Bobby. That’s who I’d fucking murder. Bobby fucking Tanner.”

I burst into tears and collapsed in Hunter’s arms.

That’s when we seriously began to plan to murder Bobby.

Jessie took no effort to convince, although I’m not sure he knew we were serious until the night it happened. Gabrielle was on the fence, but after she heard people laughing about ‘Shitstain Noelle’, she agreed to help as long as she wasn’t doing the actual killing part.

We all had a part to play. Gabrielle was the bait. Hunter and Jessie were the muscle. And I was the clean up crew.

I remember going to Jessie’s father’s home improvement shop to pick out the weapons. Jessie might’ve been dumb as a box of rocks when it came to things like school and common sense, but he knew tools. He chattered my ear off about how this certain brand of hammer was known to have its head come flying off if you used it too roughly and how this other brand was hardy and good for long term use.

Hunter picked one of those hammers and tossed it in the air. I never saw him smile quite so genuinely as he added it to the basket.

It was much more fun to actually plan the murder than commit it, at least for me. Each of us did get our own hammer, Jessie jokingly called us the hammer bros and Hunter laughed until he cried.

Gabrielle was probably the best damn bait. She made sure to approach Bobby when he was alone and actually let the bastard feel her up before saying if he wanted more, he should come with her after school. I was her back up, watching from around the corner just in case he got too much. I saw how he ogled her, he was entranced. Sure she was a slut, but she was still hot, and Bobby was still a teenage boy.

She had him drive them to the woods near Jessie’s place. We were all in position. The car pulled up and Bobby was far too focused on making out with Gabrielle to notice Hunter storming up to the car. By the time Hunter ripped the door open, it was too late for Bobby to get away.

The plan didn’t feel real until Hunter cracked the hammer against Bobby’s mouth.

Bobby screamed as Hunter dragged him out, bringing the hammer down again and again on his head. Jessie joined in and began smashing him wherever he could, but Hunter did most of the work. Jessie was more timid, he didn’t have it in him to really kill someone else.

Hunter did though. Bobby screamed and begged for him to stop. I don’t think he ever threw a punch back, he didn’t have a chance.

When he finally ceased crying and struggling, his face was a swollen, bloody mess. You couldn’t tell who he used to be. I think Hunter would’ve continued beating him if Jessie didn’t tell him it was enough. Bobby was dead.

The next part of the plan was performed mechanically. Hunter and Jessie took Bobby’s car to a deeper part of the woods where it was dismantled. Gabrielle went home. And I took care of the body, throwing it in the nearby river, tied with rocks, where it’ll never be seen again.

They sent search parties. People were dragged in for questioning. Even Hunter was, but we each other’s alibi- we were at Hunter’s house all night and he didn’t go anywhere. Probably the best stroke of luck was that Bobby didn’t tell anyone he was going out with Gabrielle. He was probably going to save the bragging for later.

People completely forgot about ‘Shitstain Noelle’ now that Bobby just up and disappeared. People talked about how he was such a good kid with such a promising future. Some rumors sprouted up about how all the pressure from his parents just made him crack and he took off to live in Florida or some shit. Other people still continued to point the finger at Hunter, saying we were just covering for him. Never really thought we participated though.

But I lied.

Bobby Tanner wasn’t dead when I took him to the river.

It came as a shock to me when I went to lift his body out of the bed of Jessie’s truck and he groaned. I nearly screamed. Somehow after being pulverized, Bobby was still alive.

I had a choice. If I dumped him in the water, he’d drown. No question about it. It was up to me now to finish the job.

Or maybe I couldn’t. Maybe when faced with the choice at the end, I just couldn’t.

Bobby was stashed under my bed. Every day when I came home from school, I expected to find him dead, but somehow he’d kept clinging onto life. I took care of him best I could with what supplies I could pick up over the counter, I fed him food turned into paste, and I’d clean up after him.

He wasn’t really… Bobby anymore. Even when his face healed, it was all crooked and puffy. I think sometime during the beating Hunter knocked one of his eyes out, because it was just gone, I don’t know what happened to it. I had to teach him how to go to the bathroom, how to eat by himself. I asked him if he remembered who I was, if he remembered Noelle.

All I got was a blank stare.

Bobby went with me to my new place when I moved out of my mother’s house. I taught him how to be quiet and stay still in the trunk I’d keep him in. During the day he knew to hide under the bed, when I got home from work he’d always give me a hug before lying down on the couch. He knew not to be seen, he listened to whatever I said. It was like having a son.

I never told the others. After the murder we just… grew apart. Things weren’t the same. Hunter was more manic and morbid than ever, Jessie became quiet and threw himself into work at his father’s shop, and Gabrielle…

Gabrielle couldn’t live with what we did. She hung herself about three months after our group murder. It was too much for her. I wish I told her at least that we didn’t kill Bobby. It’s probably the only reason the guilt hasn’t consumed me either.

But maybe I shouldn’t have kept him alive, either.

Like I said, it’s been ten years. Bobby’s made leaps and strides in taking care of himself, he can even heat up leftovers in the microwave. For the longest time, he was a blank slate. I was his Noelle, the woman taking care of him. His only friend. The world outside was a bad place, was the reason he lost himself.

Last week I left out some old things while doing some spring cleaning. Most importantly, I left out a book of pictures. I came back home to see Bobby staring at a picture of my friends. I asked him what he was doing and he just shrugged and I thought that was that. He didn’t have his memories, after all.

Well that picture knocked something loose. I came home today to find Bobby was gone, with that picture torn up in little shreds. Sometime that afternoon someone broke into the home improvement store that Jessie still worked at and beat him to death with one of the hammers.

I’m trying to get in contact with Hunter now, I know he still lives in the state but we haven’t spoken in years.

I just hope I’m not too late.

[de-fright-ful]

❝   SEPTEMBER HAS ARRIVED, LOVELY IN ITS WEAKENING LIGHT. ❞

AN INDEPENDENT & NON-SELECTIVE portrayal of an original character, AMITY DE CLAIRE - JOY, based out of the POKEMON UNIVERSE with extensive ORIGINAL & CANON-COMPLIANT LORE. Extremely verse flexible with dozens of established verses available. STRICTLY 18+ FOR MUN COMFORT

Laid to rest by BUNNIGHULEH ( they/it/she & 22 ).

THEMES OF Mourning for a reality that never was, Grief and girlhood intertwined, Conflict of Identity — IS THE PERSON THAT STARES BACK IN THE MIRROR REALLY YOU? DID IT EVER MATTER? — Time as a flat circle doomed to repeat, but finding freedom in the nihilism of it. The unforgiving ruthlessness that comes from trying to protect the people you love. Can a person be damned from conception? & Hope in the face of the starkest possibilities.

& EXPLORING CLASSIC HORROR TROPES such as A DECONSTRUCTED TAKE ON THE BULLIED CHILD COMING HOME AS A SLASHER/MONSTER, EVIL CLOSER TO HOME, THE IMPORTANCE & POWER OF TRADITION, THE DANGER OF SPIRITS LEFT UNHEEDED, REVENGE and more

DRAWING INSPIRATION FROM: Trick 'R Treat, Soul Eater, early 2000s goth aesthetics, the works of Junji Ito, Early 2000s RPG-Horror games, Hollywood Horror Tropes, Fully Embracing all aspects of a magical Pokemon world, Ghost Stories & all of the Haunts, Urban Legends, and Folklore spread around behind the beat covers of library books.

ALSO SEEN ON. Dcwnthercbbithcle & Rvnawaytrain

 MOBILE MUSE ABOUT | PUBLIC VS. PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE | POKEMON TEAM + LORE | INTEREST CHECKER | MEMES/PROMPTS | PLAYLIST | MULTI-MUSE

OF NOTE, this blog contains POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING CONTENT, including depictions of violence, death, derealization, trauma, discussion of repeating cycles & traditions, and psychological themes. Reader discretion is advised. PLEASE READ AHEAD AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

RULES BENEATH THE CUT

Hello Hello ! Good morning, afternoon or night, depending on where you are! I see you've found my rules list! Thank you! I really appreciate you coming down here to read this for me! I'll try to spare you from having to read me prattling on, but I'd just like to get an introduction for myself out of the way; then we can get into the fun stuff!

Also, though it's not vital, please know I WILL NEVER BE MAD AT YOU IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY BREAK A RULE. I know it's easy to look at these rules as an ' if you cross, you die , ' sort of deal; however, trust me, I get it! I've accidentally broken rules, and I've had my rules broken; to err is to be human. If you make a mistake, we can always move past it. Just try your best, okay? It's all about respect and trying!

BASICS

Respect my muses’ boundaries.

Respect my personal boundaries.

If there’s one thing I am, it’s slow; please respect that. It's nothing personal. I am just a perfectionist, I study full-time and my interest and energy are fleeting.

Please be nice! This is non-negotiable. I don't care if your muses are rude; I mean, I play Kondraki for god's sake. However, OOC, I expect you to at least give me common courtesy. Rudeness is not tolerated.

Please, please, please don't use me as a meme/musing source! The occasional reblog is not a big deal; however, I've recently experienced problems with backlogs of reblogs clogging up my notifications, so please go directly to the source!

I am multi-ship and a bit of a shipping whore to be honest. However, I do not auto-ship based on the canon; sometimes, I will ship my muses with one another and give them interwoven stories. Sometimes, this will mean my muses are not open to being shipped with; other times, this means those characters can't be interacted with unless you accept this pre-established relationship. Of course- I will never force these relationships on you. However, please respect them and my ability to ship or not ship my characters.

I also do what I want! It sounds silly, but my blog is highly canon-divergent and headcanon-based. If you don't like that, that's okay, but don't try to get on my back over it!

I am very crossover friendly! If a verse isn't outright written about in the characters, then ask me about it! I can always whip something up for you!

I am 21+, and all of my muses are 18+ ( and often horror-centred ), so NSFW in terms of uncomfortable themes and sometimes straight-up smut WILL occur. If this isn't alright with you, please leave now!

Like I said before, I am uncomfortable with minors interacting because of the sheer nature of this blog, so please, if you are under 18, leave now.

Likewise, I do explore triggering topics regarding mental illness and trauma. If you are uncomfortable, please leave now.

Mun opinion and muse opinion are two different things!! Some of my characters are actually the fucking worst, but I'd like to think I'm not! Haha

I DO…

Encourage you to send asks, prompts, ideas, anything!

Encourage you to choose a muse, or several!

Encourage you to shoot me an ooc ask for any reason, even just to say hi! Especially just to say hi! Haha

Encourage you to not stress and take your time!

Encourage you to read up on my muses and lore!

Encourage you to remind me if you think I've forgotten!

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

“Ah, I see, my usefulness to the crew is it?” Gale chuckles softly. He props his arms up on the back of his chair as he straddles it to give her easy access to work. He leans his head forward slightly to keep his hair out of the way.

The salve almost immediately dulls the ache of the bruises hen she puts it on his skin, but it’s her dedicated attention to his over-worked and long knotted muscles that truly feels like bliss. The feel of her fingers working into his flesh is like heaven and he can’t hold back the sharp groan that escapes him.

“That is quite a bit better, yes...” Gale’s breath catches when she hits a particularly tight spot beside his shoulder blade. When she manages to gently unwind the tension he lets out another low groan, resting his forehead against his arms.

“Not that tired I can’t stand through a meeting. Least, not as bad as I look, I promise,” he answers with a soft chuckle. “Don’t apologize for last night - we’re all glad to have Astarion back on board. And especially to have him in such good spirits. If it takes a little...noise to get him there, that’s alright.”

Almost unthinking, his hand shoots out to catch her by the elbow before she can get away. His expression is one of soft concern, brown eyes glittering in the mid-morning light as he gazes up at her. He pauses for a moment, a dozen different things burning in his chest, yet none coming to the fore. After a moment he finally manages to speak.

“Thank you,” he murmurs earnestly. He pauses again, struggling to voice most of what he’s thankful for. “For helping me - and for caring. About me... and about Astarion.”

He slowly retracts his hand, letting it fall against the back of the chair, his rings clacking softly against the wood.

“I’ll...catch up with you. At the meeting.”

-G.D.

She watches his hand fall. There's a blush creeping into her cheeks, she can feel it. Damn it, she thinks. I can't believe Astarion- she shakes her head, then realises too late she's staring.

'Sorry,' she croaks, meeting his eye. 'Lost in thought. I mean, you're welcome.' She looks down at her feet. 'I've been abandoned before. I don't plan on inflicting that on anyone else. So I'm here, for whatever you need.'

He is so beautiful and so dangerous and I need to get out of here now before I land myself in even more trouble with the captain.

'And-' she says, turning back as she gets to the door. 'I wasn't planning on... on what happened. I don't...'

Why am I justifying myself to this man?

'All I mean is I know what people think. I know I don't really belong here, not yet. But I'll earn it. And-'

A thought suddenly strikes her. A dangerous, foolish, utterly tempting thought.

'Wait. Gale... you're a talented mage, aren't you? Can you teach me?'

Idiot.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

Prompt from @thesassywallflower​​​​ for @spnfanficpond​​​​ Secret Santa): Donna is horrified to learn that the boys have never had a proper Christmas, so she invites them to her house for the holiday. 

Chapter tags/warnings: this is where we get our explicit rating

Chapter WC: 3800 of sweet, sweet lovin’

Author’s notes: It’s been at least 10yrs since I’ve had anything approaching all-night sex, so this was particularly fun to write. This chapter is inspired by a post @brrose-apothecary​ shared with our Slack group re: vanilla sex. It is also dedicated to my most favorite past sex partner, who was the living, breathing embodiment of erotic cliches and without whom I would be sadly lacking in experience with multiple orgasms before ever even seeing his dick.

This is also fucking hilarious and apropos to this chapter. Dean’s about to turn 44 in this timeline, but peepaw CAN fuck. @stusbunker​

Text divider by @talesmaniac89​.

Donna enters her bedroom whisper-quiet because she’s walking on a cloud. She doesn’t bother to close her door; Dean will do it.

“Claire loves her fuzzy socks,” she says over her shoulder, setting a couple of water bottles on her nightstand and clicking her bedside table light to low.

Claire picked the socks Dean had chosen from the dollar store on her first try. She immediately pulled them and threatened bodily harm to anyone who tried to steal them. Dean looked so proud.

When Donna turns, she finds him hedging the foot of her bed, brushing his fingertips along the sapphire-blue chenille throw. His chin is dipped into his chest, and his brow is gently furrowed.

“You sure about this, Donna?” he asks quietly, to the point instead of small talking about white elephant gifts. He looks up at her, keeping his chin close to his chest.

If you asked a dozen people what they love about Dean Winchester, they might say he’s brave, charming, heroic, handsome, or loyal. Donna does love those things about him, but what she loves the most, what she’s always admired and held close to her heart, is that Dean is genuinely kind.

She loves that he’s gentle. He doesn’t take the easy way anywhere, and not just because he’s hard on himself but because he will always do what he thinks is right. And, right now, like many other times before, in a time of his own self-doubt, he gives Donna hope.

“I said earlier that I wanted to take things slow, and I meant it.” She nods and swallows. “I meant- Dean, I want you. I want this. But I want it for real, to take our time and... savor it.”

Dean’s eyes light up, and his lips twist from an uncertain pout to a brash, toe-curling smirk. He straightens to his full height before swaggering his way around the bed to meet her where she stands.

“Hmm, I think I know what you mean,” he says. Donna’s mouth goes dry because they’re toe to toe and her bed is right there. “Kinda like...”

Dean cups her jaw in his giant hand, resting his thumb over the hollow of her cheek as he descends so slowly, she might scream, before finally kissing her for the third time that day.

This one might burn her alive.

He moans as he unhurriedly slides up against her, wrapping his free arm around her waist and lifting her to her tip-toes.

Donna drapes her arms around his neck as she kisses him back. Her body aches from her lips to her core and out to the tips of her fingers and toes. It’s the kind of ache she hasn’t felt since she was 17 and writhing in the backseat of Paul Evensen’s borrowed Cutlass Supreme.

“‘M gonna be so good to you, princess,” Dean murmurs around her open mouth, and she can’t take it anymore.

Donna lifts her legs to wrap around his waist, and Dean chuckles. He draws his hand from her waist down under her butt to squeeze and smack, then hooks it under her knee to support her, kneeing up onto the bed before setting her down. She looks up at him as she reclines all the way back, and he’s stretching out over her. Her slippers fall to the floor as he wedges himself between her legs.

“We should,” Dean breathes, ducking in to brush his damp, plump lips over her jaw to her throat. “Talk about where- er, what...” Dean huffs and rears back on his haunches, keeping his hands on her, toying with the hem of his big hoodie where it’s riding up her belly.

“Tell me what you like. I want whatever you want.”

Donna exhales and smiles softly at how flustered he is and then shakes her head. “I like you — your hands and lips on me. I want you.”

She feels sort of dumb saying such a simple thing out loud, but judging by how hard he is under his jeans against her thigh and the look in his eyes, maybe it was just the right thing to say.

Dean nods. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

Donna closes her eyes and bites back a whine. If ever there was a dream come true.

“I don’t know how else to say this without sounding like some kind of super slut, but I cannot imagine one single thing you could propose right now that I’d say no to.”

Dean’s face splits with a wide and bright grin. “Lose the hoodie, D-train. And the pants. You’re in for the ride of your life.”

Dean holds her eyes with his and her wrists to the bedding as he kisses and nuzzles his way from her mouth to her hips.

She’s completely bare to him now because the hoodie and pajama pants weren’t enough to lose, and he’s almost as bare as her except for his boxer briefs. She’s all satin curves and soft slopes against him.

Her tits rise and fall with her shaky breath, and her smooth skin ripples over the flex of her core muscles underneath. Dean closes his eyes and brushes his nose and lips back and forth across the soft, lower curve of her belly.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, pressing wet kisses everywhere he can reach.

He releases her hands and drags his fingertips over the delicate skin on the insides of her wrists, grips her elbows and biceps, tickles under her arms without letting her squirm away, and wraps his hands around her ribcage before thumbing her hard nipples. He can’t resist pausing to gently pull and suck at them before continuing down until her hips are nestled in his hands, and his mouth is buried in her soft, wet pussy.

Donna sighs and lets her knees rest heavily over his bare shoulders, and Dean goes to work.

He knows he’s good at a lot of things. He’s rebuilt Baby to new nine times, can wield any weapon ever handed to him with expertise, and he’s pretty proud of his bacon and bleu cheese burger. But his number one accomplishment, in his eyes anyway, is eating pussy like the motherfucking GOAT.

He presses his lips to her half-bare slit. She’s left the top of her mound, the juicy plump that wraps her clit covered in soft closely cropped blonde hair, but below that, her lips are shaved smooth. Dean groans and grinds into the mattress as he licks along the silken, tangy skin.

“So fuckin’ hot.”

He reaches around her hip to use his thumb and forefinger to spread her open. She writhes under him when kisses her, making her jolt across the bed.

He wants her open, to suck and lick every inch of her inside and out. She’s so hot and slick, and it makes him so hard.

“Taste so good, I’m gonna come before I even get inside you.” He chuckles, but it isn’t entirely a tease. It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone like this and even longer since he’s had the time to really focus.

“Wait for me, cowboy,” she breathes, bucking into his face. Her other hand drops to his head, fingers twisting in his soft hair.

“There ya go, show me how to fuck your pretty pussy.”

Not everybody likes the way he talks during sex, but Donna sure seems to.

“Dean... god...”

He dips back in to wrap his lips around her hot, swollen clit. She hisses and her back arches off the mattress, so he eases off a bit — feather-light suckling alternating with delicate, broad swipes of his tongue. He uses his arms around her hips to keep her still; he knows what he’s doing and knows she’ll love it.

“So, so pretty,” he whispers, blowing a stream of air across her clit and then licking along its side.

“Dean. Inside.” She wraps a leg around his neck and pulls. “Please.”

He shakes his head free and murmurs, “Not yet,” then slowly swipes his wide tongue from her slick hole to her puffy, pink clit. “But we’ll get there, I promise. We got all night.”

She grips his head again, holding him in place and rubbing up against his mouth. He’s fucking thrilled that she takes what she wants. He wants to watch her do it.

Dean rolls until he’s on his back and she’s straddling his face. When she realizes she’s on top, she pulls the chenille throw in front of her. He wants her to feel comfortable, so he encourages her to use it to her advantage.

“That’s it, rub your slick pussy all over my mouth and that soft blanket over those pretty nipples.”

He helps her settle in place, her tits peeking from the sides, her nipples so taut it makes his dick even harder.

“Ride my face, princess.” He slides his hands up over her wide hips to her waist and under the blanket. She closes her eyes and starts to surge, smearing his lips and chin and nose.

Dean leaves his mouth open, periodically swiping his tongue into the mix as she rasps over his face. When she looks like she’s out of her mind, he cups her tits and pinches her nipples.

Donna shouts, dropping the throw and arching her back. She braces her hands behind her on his thighs, thrusting into his face over and over until she’s coming, gasping for air.

Dean holds her steady and works his way up to sitting. He wipes his mouth with his hand before twisting her half-tied hair in his fist and kissing her.

“You’re so hard,” Donna whispers. “Can I-”

“Mmm,” Dean takes her mouth again, refocusing his hands on her gorgeous fucking skin and curves. “In a bit.”

Donna pouts but doesn’t resist any further.

He half-crabwalks them 90 degrees to the side and up to the pillows. Donna holds on for the ride, giggling, then gasps when he rids them entirely of the throw and captures one of her nipples between his lips.

“Tsk. Pussy’s soakin’ my boxers,” he mock-chastises, pulling and pushing her until she’s side saddle across his lap.

He cradles her head in his palm, fingers twisting in her hair as he slides his other hand up between her thighs. “Drippin’ wet,” he whispers, gliding his fingertips along her seam.

They kiss, and he strokes her like that for a few minutes. He wants to give her time to calm down a little, so he can ratchet her all the way back up again. Finally, he settles upright against the pile of pillows at her headboard, situating her back flush with his chest.

“You make me fuckin’ crazy, you know that? Your mouth and your voice, these tits and your hips. I’m so hard.”

He cups one of her tits to pull and twist one nipple as his other hand slides down her belly back between her legs. He cups her there, too, and swirls his fingers in her mess.

“I could do this all night,” he murmurs before taking the shell of her ear between his teeth.

Donna’s head falls back against his shoulder, and her hands cover his. She spreads her legs wide, planting her feet on either side of his knees.

“Y’want my fingers now?”

Donna nods, rolling her face against his neck.

“Mhmm, good girl.”

He slides his hand down to press his heel over her clit as he slips his long middle finger up inside her. He goes slow because he knows it’ll make her nuts. She’s almost crying when he works his ring finger into the party.

“How’re you so tight, princess?” he asks conversationally, kissing along her throat. “Slick, fat lips hidin’ this tight fuckin’ grip. Can’t wait to get my dick inside you.”

Donna groans and tries to close her legs, but he catches her in time and holds her open with his knees and his free hand. He swipes his thumb across her clit before beginning to deliberately thrust his fingers inside.

She moans, taking the skin on the side of his throat between her teeth to keep from making too much noise, but god, his mouth and hands — his whole body — are doing things to her she’s only ever read about.

He talks the whole time, and that doesn’t surprise her, but it drives her wild. He talks about her body like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever had, he narrates what he’s doing to her, and tells her about his... cock.

Donna’s never been this wet in her life for such a long period of time, and it’s all his fault. She feels like a raw nerve, superheated and naked and open. Every word out of his mouth and every languid thrust of his fingers stokes her higher.

“Listen to how wet you are,” Dean murmurs.

She nods and shudders, squeezing her eyes shut tight. “I’m coming,” she gasps.

He kisses her, letting her pulse around his fingers. Then he’s angling his hand to give her clit a rest as he slides his fingers up to press and caress her g-spot.

Donna convulses against him anew. “Holy f-”

Dean grips her chin and captures her mouth again, arching his wrist as he slams his fingers into her, skating the wide pads of his fingertips over the spongy patch of nerves behind her clit.

“Shh,” he quiets her, then looks down where his hand is working her into another frenzy. “Wish you could see yourself, pink and shiny, takin’ my hand. Jesus Christ, you’re hot.”

Dean, the hottest man alive, thinks she’s hot, and that simple fact sends her over the edge again. She reaches up and back to hold onto the back of his head, whining into his mouth as she comes again, wet.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Dean moans into her mouth.

They both look down between her legs where he’s slowed the thrusts of his fingers into her aching cunt.

Donna’s squirted before but only when she used her most intense vibe and her womanizer at the same time. If she were with anyone else, she’d be embarrassed.

“I’d apologize for makin’ a mess, but this is my bed, and that was incredible.” She sighs, feeling like a bowl of buttery noodles.

“Gimme like,” she pauses, gasping quietly when his fingers slip from inside her, and she’s finally able to pull her legs together. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Dean huffs a laugh.

Once she rolls to the side, careful not to steamroll his very hard cock, he mutters something about her ass. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him adjust himself as he runs his other hand up the back of her leg and slides a finger along the crease between her ass and her thigh before squeezing and smacking her plump flesh.

Donna drops to her side, facing him. He grins as he pulls the throw over her. “I’ll be right back.” He dips in to kiss the tip of her nose, then stands and quickly shucks his boxer briefs to the floor.

“Could bounce a nickel off that tush, ya know,” she says, making herself chuckle and Dean blush.

He struts toward her bathroom, hair messed seven different ways, broad shoulders, sculpted back, narrow yet strong hips, that phenomenal ass, and powerful thighs. Donna’s never seen a body that defines symmetry as well as Dean’s body does.

“Rest up, princess, ‘coz when I get back, I’m gonna show you the benefits of havin’ an ass you can bounce a nickel off of.”

Donna breathes deeply and closes her eyes, waiting for him to deliver.

Dean fucking loves sex. He loves getting turned on and turning someone else on, then cranking the volume to eleven. He loves getting so hard it hurts until he can finally, blessedly, slide into slick, tight heat.

Sex is never just about coming. The payoff’s great and all, but nothing beats a warm, soft body and breathy moans.

The way she said his name when she came was the best part.

He finds a washcloth, gets it wet, then heads back to join Donna in bed.

She’s curled on her side, her golden waves a mess, splayed around her head, partially covered by the little blanket she had at the foot of her bed before they disrupted it.

She looks up with dark eyes and pink cheeks. Her full lips are further swollen from his kisses, and there are at least two obvious hickeys blooming on her collarbone and one of her perfectly shaped tits.

“You look like a little sex kitten all cozy and fuck-rumpled.”

Donna bites her lip and blushes darker, as he climbs onto the bed and knees over to her.

“Roll over on your back,” he instructs quietly, pulling the blanket away and climbing to kneel between her opening legs. He uses the cloth to gently clean her belly, hips, and between her legs. Her inner thighs are coated, so he pays extra attention there, then he snaps the cap of a sweating bottle of water and hands it to her. “Sit up and drink this,” he says, reaching for his own.

They each down their bottles in less than 30 seconds, and as Dean stretches across her to set their bottles aside, he feels her warm hands wrap around his dick.

“Whatchya doin’, princess?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches as she rises to mirror his position.

“Returning the favor,” she says with a smirk. She spits in one hand and twists that fist down and up his length. “I never knew a cock could be pretty, but if anybody’s is...”

Donna shrugs, and Dean feigns shock.

“Sheriff! Did you just say cock?”

Donna shoots him a look of playful derision. “I can talk dirty, too. Not as dirty as you, probably, but...”

“Honey, keep doin’ what you’re doin’ and lettin’ me touch you, and you can say anything you want.”

Donna shivers when Dean leans in to kiss her.

She’s seen a few cocks in her lifetime — big and small, fat and long, ungroomed and smooth. Dean’s is just what she dreamed when she’d let herself think about it. He’s thick and long, but not so big she’s afraid of it, and he feels like a heavy steel rod wrapped in fine velvet. She wants to swallow him whole, lie back and let him take what he wants.

“I want you inside me now,” she says, surprising even herself.

Dean pulls back and studies her face for a few moments before nodding and licking his lips. “Lay back,” he quietly suggests, and she doesn’t hesitate.

Her hands are open and relaxed on either side of her face as Dean drags his big hands along her open thighs and stares into her. “Condom?” he asks.

“Up to you. I’m on the pill, and haven’t had sex since before Doug was a vampire,” she replies.

Dean blanches almost imperceptibly then nods again. “OK, I’m good, too,” he says as he stretches out over her, stroking himself and spreading her legs open wide with his knees. “But let’s not talk about Dougs. I wanna show you how good my dick’s gonna feel inside you.”

Donna’s eyes roll back, and she moans. “Yes, please,” she whispers.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, guiding the head of his hard cock up and down her wet slit.

Donna opens her eyes as he notches just inside her before stilling and entwining their fingers. He’s braced on one elbow as he starts to push inside another inch, then another and another.

Donna trembles and whimpers, wishing she could open her legs wider, but the burn of the stretch is mouthwatering. She huffs a quiet sob.

Dean lowers his mouth to hers, then pulls back, muttering against her lips. “Breathe, Donna, gonna feel so good.”

She nods, bending her knees, and Dean loops his free arm under one knee. He starts pushing inside again, and she feels every ridge and bend, gliding against her walls.

He grits his teeth and swears. “Good?” he asks.

“So good.” Donna squeezes his hand in hers and wraps her other hand around his neck,

“OK,” he whispers, pulling back and thrusting all the way in. “Oh, fuck yes.”

Donna bites her bottom lip to keep from crying out loud. Dean sets a rhythm, and she holds on tight. She watches his beautiful face change with every thrust. His tongue pressing behind his teeth, jaw flexing, and inside her, his cock pulls every ounce of shiver from her bones to fill her up with heat.

“Dean, you... I can’t...”

He fits so perfectly, filling her so completely — like she was made to hold him inside her.

“Let me, princess.” His eyes bore into hers, and his hips swivel and snap. “I wanna feel you come. C’mon.”

Donna wraps her free leg around his waist, and he slowly pounds her hard. The slap of their skin and the thick drag of his cock make her shake and whine, and then she’s flying apart.

Dean swears above her, railing her through her orgasm and into his own.

He slows his thrusts, luxuriating in how perfectly her tight, velvet pussy squeezes him. He sighs, lowering his damp forehead to hers and brushing her nose with his.

As he reluctantly pulls out of her welcoming body, they kiss, soft and slow.

They stare at her ceiling as they catch their breath, then Dean reaches for her hand. “That was fuckin’ awesome,” he says, looking over at her, letting his gaze travel the length of her body. “Gotcha all messy again.”

Donna snorts a giggle, and Dean’s heart races. He bites his lip as he traces random patterns across her clavicle, then down between her breasts to her belly, finally palming the lower curve of her stomach with a hum.

“You are so gorgeous,” he says, feeling sated but really fucking thirsty. “Need anything? I’m gonna get more water.”

“Just water,” Donna answers with a drowsy smile.

“‘K, go get cleaned up, and I’ll bring ya some.” He winks, rolling off the bed to pull his jeans on.

Donna sighs before doing the same and wrapping the throw around herself. Dean shrugs into his undershirt, backwards and inside out. Donna tries to duck past him as he makes his way to the door, but he snags her wrist and pulls her in for another kiss.

“Be right back,” he says, and she grins.

“I’ll be waitin’, cowboy,” Donna replies before turning toward her bathroom door and swaying her hips because she knows just how to drive him crazy.

“Fuckin’ killin’ me,” he mutters before heading to the kitchen for water.

Chapter Six coming soon...

Please don’t leave without telling me what you think!

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Tulip has to stop herself from outwardly cringing as she refuses to make any eye contact with the people at the table. To her left, sits Archie. To her right, sits her mother.

She ignores how her brother glances at her, trying to get her attention. She ignores how he gently kicks her ankle, trying to get her to at least say something to him. She ignores the guilt in his eyes and the way his lips quiver a bit as she ignores everyone and everything.

Tulip just focuses on how betrayed she feels, how betrayed she feels that her brother would side with their parents and trick her to come here.

She glances up, seeing how her parents talk easily with the five Ministers.

They're corrupt, all of them, Tulip thinks as she cuts into her steak, eyes narrowing.

"So, Tulip." one of them speaks up, and her eyes drift to the Minister in a red dress. Alexis is her name, Tulip thinks. "It's quite good to see you back where you belong. Where have you been, hm?"

"Traveling." Tulip answers simply, stabbing her fork into a piece of steak. "Wanted to find myself."

"Ah, I see." Alexis nods. "Well, it's always good to figure out yourself before you take over your parents company."

"Mhm." The Avatar nods absent-mindedly.

She tunes out the rest of the conversation, eating her food the rest of the time.

○●○

She can hear people conversing in the second floor, but she doesn't care. She wants to be out of here, but she can't when there's dozens of security guards down stairs. She'd be caught in an instance.

Tulip paces around her room, and she glares down at the heels she's wearing. They're not too large, just about two inches or so, but they're still uncomfortable. But it wasn't like she could take them off.

A 'plink!' caught her attention, and Tulip turns her head to look at the window. She raises an eyebrow, wondering if she heard wrong.

Just as she turns her head away again, another soft 'plink!' and she turns her head again. "What the.."

"Alright, it isn't working."

Was that Shantae's voice?

"Yeah.. Pikachu, try using Swift!"

"Don't gotta tell me twice."

Tulip didn't even get to question it, as silver stars quickly appeared by her window and smashed into the outside of it, breaking its lock. The window was then pried open, and Shantae's head peaked over. "Hey!"

"Shantae?!" Tulip gasps, rushing over and pulling her friend through. She then looks down, and her jaw drops, seeing probably the rest of the other Avatars standing on a section of the second floor roof.

"Are you gonna help us up?" Ash's cheeky voice snaps Tulip out of her shock, and she rolls her eyes with a smile.

"For that stunt, you and Pikachu can get yourselves up." It wasn't too hard to tell she was joking, as soon a rope descended

With everyone soon in her (admittedly too large) room, she can all tell they're trying to formulate words.

"So.. you look.." Shantae narrows her eyes, trying to best figure out how to say this. Considering Tulip was wearing a dress, heels, her hair was in a bun, and she was wearing some makeup. It was clearly a bit jarring.

"Prissy." Tune finishes. "No offense."

"None taken." Tulip shakes her head before walking over to her bed and collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh. "But how'd you guys get here?"

"We asked." Captain Olimar is the one to answer simply, and the teen knows she won't get any further answers.

"Anyway, we're here to get you out of here." Ash smiles at Tulip, and she weakly returns it.

"Guys, I appreciate it, but.." Tulip sits up and looks down at her hands. "I'm not getting out of this one so easily. There's security- Wait, how did you guys get past security?"

All the Avatars make a point not to look at her. Tulip rushes over to the window and pokes her head out, seeing the unconscious bodies of many security guards.

"Wha.."

"They aren't dead!" Shantae quickly reassures her. "Just.. unconscious.."

"Right.." Tulip nods. "Well, how are you guys even going to get me out? It's not like it'll be easy.."

Nimbus dumps a large bag onto the ground. "Now it makes sense why I was told to go and look for clothes."

"Aaand.. what're you guys gonna do exactly?" Tulip narrows her eyes.

Shantae smiles mischievously. "Two words; improve and chaos."

Tulip blinks before smiling just as mischievously, nodding.

She was feeling a lot better now.

[mdhwrites]

I'm not really gonna ask anything, just complain.

I'm tired of seeing puppet Amity and emperor Luz everywhere, what's even so special about it? What's the appeal???

People see 2 seconds scenes without context and make it that episode's entire content 🤦

I don't know if ep 3 came out already but I'm not looking forward anyways.

…Angst. Angst and new designs which are probably the two most powerful motivators for The Owl House fandom. Why do you think S2A felt like it damn near cut the fandom down to its size?

This actually has to do with kind of fandom culture in general. The most visible part of a fandom is its artists. Their work is quick to consume, easily posted and reposted (with credit you'd hope but… sigh) and the easiest to take inspiration directly from the show for. Every week there'd be at least one screencap redraw that the fandom would do whenever a new episode came out. Honestly, the finale's big Lumity screencap redraw is really awkward looking to me out of context. It's not hard to see why these are so popular though. The reference is directly in front of you, it's a moment people are already talking about and you yourself probably liked the posing too so why not redraw it? It's a hell of a lot easier to do than come up with a bespoke story concept based off of each episode in a series.

That isn't to call art easy or the like, just that fanart is the backbone to a fandom for a reason, at least in my opinion. Twitter has a character count limit. Reading Fanfiction on Instagram blows. Tumblr is the closest to a place where longer form videos and stories can be posted and they still take MUCH longer to consume and share and without as much guaranteed return on effort spent. There's a reason the internet as a whole LOVES art from a commercial and consumer standpoint, even if they also keep trying to screw over artists because yaaaaay capitalism.

But screencap redraws aren't going to be everything. The more potential in the story, the more people will be able to come up with evocative concepts and stories and even make comics about the show. This was a BIG part of the fandom's peak between S1 and 2. Everyone had their own take on how Lumity would get together. Everyone had their own idea for how Amity might confront her parents. Amity in general was just a font of inspiration and the concepts with Luz weren't played out or felt contradictory to the more cynical character we got in S2 so angst with her about her mom, her world, etc. like that was still something everyone was tapping into, especially since it felt like the portal being destroyed was such a big deal.

I made a large Twitter thread the other day btw about how just shit the Portal Door is from a narrative perspective, first as a nitpick in S1 and then just a genuine problem in S2, because of it being gone, but that's a different blog.

But post S2A… What did you have? Camila's promise was never going to end satisfactorily, to the point where it goes from a moment of Luz being a good daughter to an almost inhuman monster towards her friends because it is handled so poorly. Amity is pretty much resolved outside of being happy to be Luz's girlfriend because she's already stood up to her parents, integrated into the rest of the cast and even already addressed the only piece of angst the show ever allows for her with her relationship and that's being an obsessive enough girlfriend. Sorry, I mean a good enough girlfriend. sigh Gus has had an episode but was overshadowed, Willow has had like a half dozen lines this half a season, King has been pretty much absent since his episode, Raeda was still mostly an Eda episode with literally every element of that episode just to shove Momma Eda down your throat…

It's not surprising that post S2A, the fandom has felt in general much quieter. Minus A: Huntlow and B: whenever they get a new design they can turn into Luz/Lumity angst. Everyone remember the teaser for the Collector's design that was done during a livestream and how that consumed the fandom for a little while because of possessed Luz ideas?

The puppet Amity and Belos Luz hype was effectively that. It brought even the casual artists back because they had a new, easily evocative design available to them that also had very obvious potential for angst. How many "I'M NOT LIKE HIM" pictures came out regardless of how weak any parallel between Luz and Belos is? Luz crying over a temporarily dead Amity is saddening, even if she's been little more than a puppet for the writers for a while now.

It's just how fandoms work. It's not even necessarily a bad thing. Dana has been VERY good at keeping the fandom alive during things like hiatuses. S1's hiatus is when the Betas were most popular because they dropped at a time when people were starting to wane from the show and now they had an entirely different angle to work from for anything Lumity they wanted to do alongside just good designs to draw. Most Lumity and Huntlow artists redo any piece that Dana does for the two ships. It's very effective for keeping a social media presence for your show honestly.

I won't even act like I'm above it. While I commissioned reference sheets for Rich Witch to make it easier to commission more artists for these characters, that wasn't the only reason. Rich Witch had a Reddit page (that I should clean up honestly) and its pinned thread includes the reference sheets and physical descriptions for the characters who don't have reference sheets. This is because I recognize that that makes fanart easier and that fanart is a lot easier to share than text blurbs. It is one of the ways to try and cultivate a following online nowadays or to help your fandom grow, at least in my opinion.

Can it be frustrating? Absolutely. I mean, Huntlow fanart has probably done way more damage to my interest in Hunter than anything else because it always emphasizes Hunter as nothing but a failure. Hell, it also emphasizes Willow's strength commonly and very little else about her character. Lumity has bored me for a long time in art because 90% of it is just cute fluff which isn't bad but it's not compelling. And I mocked both Belos Luz and Puppet Amity, despite the designs for them being good and the art being good, as shallow because narratively it means very little.

And the larger that disconnect becomes, the more frustrating a trend in the fandom is going to be. Plenty of people hate the Betas because they hate the edginess or the fact that a lot of people used them to start creating spicier material. There's not much anyone can do about that though. While a creator can try to promote a kinder fandom, fandoms are inherently too emotional and too large to really control outside of helping the show grow or find a new audience. It's just a part of that culture.

And frankly, I'm going to be bothered by the toxicity and inhumanity (guess what fandom will dox you for liking a ship between a bi girl and a straight guy?) of fandoms long before their art trends.

[piceuscelus]

t4t ciri/cerys, cerys is so determined to seduce ciri she doesn't realize how easy it's going to be (idk if you wanted, like, trans SPECIFIC prompts vs just prompts with trans characters? i do very much envision this as trans girls having slutty crushes on each other and being endearingly awkward about it bc maybe people haven't responded well to them in the past, or maybe ciri doesn't realize cerys is also trans? but also just a simple cute blushy t4t fuckfest would be great lol)

(i will send another, trashier prompt next)

hi i know this prompt was Forever Ago but i did NOT forget it

it just fuckin Refused To Go

but it went! finally! and now it's here! and it's even below my tumblr post limit! (it admittedly might not be exactly to the prompt. but)

it'll be going up on ao3 like, immediately after this ask posts in case anyone is terribly concerned about content tags but this one is Extremely Tame and soft

trans woman Ciri / nonbinary Cerys

It’s a pity, Ciri thinks, that she doesn’t make it back to the Isles very often. Of course, she knows perfectly well why she doesn’t – she rules both Nilfgaard and Cintra, and thus most of the southern half of the Continent. She’s entirely too busy to be galavanting off to Skellige without a purpose – her court will barely allow her the occasional Witchering break, and they only do that begrudgingly because if they don’t, she tends to start threatening to skewer diplomats. The likelihood of that stuffy lot agreeing to let her vacation to Skellige for no good reason is slim to none.

There is the upside, though, that she never has to bother with a week-long boat trip unless she has a hankering for being sea sick.

When she lands on solid ground, it’s bright and sunny and frigidly cold. She takes a deep breath and just revels in it for a moment, even as she starts to shiver, taking in the familiar smells and sounds. 

Of course, as soon as someone notices her standing there in the courtyard, a commotion starts up.

She sighs, but tolerates the sudden influx of guards and their squires rushing over to investigate, and then, once they’ve assured themselves that she’s a known guest, if an unexpected one, the addition of half a dozen maids that arrive to fuss. All of them are bowing so low they may as well be kneeling – it would be faster and require less stumbling, at least – and stammering as they try to address her with an amount and type of formality that’s always been a bit foreign on the Isles.

When she can finally get a word in edgewise, she cuts straight to the chase. “Yes, thank you, where is Queen Cerys?”

One of the guards answers. “Her Majesty is with the jarls, out on the cliffs.”

Ciri raises an eyebrow. “What for?”

“It’s a tradition, Your Imperial Majesty,” another guard says, the capital letters and his unfamiliarity with her title obvious in the stilted, slow way he speaks. “A…rebirth, of sorts, for the new year. All of the jarls, the druids, and the Queen jump into the sea to be cleansed.”

“And several others, for the fun of it,” one of the squires adds, sounding almost bemused, as if he doesn’t quite understand how the dive could be fun.

Ciri isn’t entirely sure fun is the right word, really – she’d probably use thrill instead. She remembers, now, years and years ago, watching Eist do something similar – but it was in the summer, when the cold waters were a fairly refreshing shock, and not the tail end of fall, when falling into the sea could easily become a death sentence if you were stupid or sickly. She’d been allowed to jump then, too, though only into the shallows and not off the cliffside with the rest (for the sake of her grandmother’s blood pressure).

Then again, the line between the concept of fun and thrill is a thin one, and, well – she’d come to the Isles for fun, hadn’t she?

“Which shore are they on?”

– – – – –

When Ciri finally makes it up the cliff where the local nobility are making like ritual-minded lemmings, Cerys is just beginning to strip down to her underthings in preparation for her own jump. It appears she’s the last of the leaders to go, most of the jarls already soaked and shivering on the beach below.

She keeps her more lurid thoughts to herself, watching Cerys shuck her dress, and makes a split second decision to distract her mind from the gutter. “Aye! Time for a late arrival?”

The spears immediately pointed in her direction aren’t a shock, so she mostly ignores them, just stopping where she’s at and waiting.

“Don’t you lot recognize the damn Empress?” Cerys asks, laughing as everyone sort of sheepishly shuffles their weapons back to where they belong. She looks at Ciri to continue, “And don’t you know better than to barge into a group of Islanders unannounced?”

Ciri laughs, too, but doesn’t bother answering – it’s a rhetorical question, and they all know that really, she’s allowed to barge in wherever she’d like. She gestures to the edge of the cliff. “Well, may I join?”

Cerys also gestures to the cliff, but with an over-exaggerated, fake curtsy. “You may!”

Immediately, there are a handful of damp squires appearing at her side, hands held out, so she strips off and hands her clothes over. She only strips down to the same as Cerys, the single layer of underthings – she doesn’t particularly understand the point of wearing anything for this, but she’s also aware that her penchant for nudity is unusual, and is willing to follow the Queen’s lead.

“Together, then?” Cerys asks, when Ciri steps up to her side. They’re both shivering lightly in the icy breeze wafting in from the waves. “Or would you like the honor alone?”

“You’re the Queen of the Skellige Isles, Cerys, it ought to be your honor,” Ciri says, half-teasing, and Cerys’ eyes sparkle.

“And you’re the Witcher Cirilla of Vengerberg, Lioness of Cintra and Empress of Nilfgaard, The Swallow Bearing the Sun in Her Wings,” Cerys retorts, “and you outrank me by a league. So?”

Ciri rolls her eyes as theatrically as possible at the full title, though she’s privately pleased that Cerys used both of Vengerberg and the informal order of it. “Together, then.”

She offers her hand as she takes a step closer to the cliff’s edge, toes already freezing in the sparse, damp grass. 

Cerys steps up alongside her and threads their fingers together. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” she says, with a little half-curtsy, still a fake one since she’s not wearing a damn dress, and a smirk that belies the formal tone. 

Ciri immediately drops Cerys’ hand just to shove her off the cliff and jump right after her.

– – – – –

By the time they’ve swum back to shore, anyone else who wanted to jump has already done it, and it turns into a race back to the castle before fingers and toes go from numb to dead. All the same, they’re laughing as they finally stumble into the marginally-warmer stone halls, the mood easy and light, chatter and laughter echoing off of the high ceilings. 

It’s only when they’ve made their way to Cerys’ rooms, already prepped and ready with a large, steaming bath, that Ciri realizes she has absolutely no idea where she’s meant to be staying. Or if she’s even welcome. 

Her rank and power do a lot to smooth the way wherever she’d like to go – and her sword and medallion often do what the crown cannot – but she prefers not to use any of them like a cudgel. 

Cerys, though, seems to have the same realization a beat after her.

“I can send someone to make up a room,” she says, “but in the meantime, we could share a bath.” There’s a hint of lechery in the quirk of her lips. “Only if you don’t think that would be too…improper, of course.”

Ciri nearly asks where in the world Cerys picked up the idea that she’s ever given a single fuck about proper, but decides that playing coy is much more fun. “It might be,” she says, slowly. “But….”

She rubs her arms and shivers. It’s a little exaggerated, but certainly not entirely an act – she is cold, clothes still wet and skin a little slimy where the seawater lingers.

“It’s cold, and it’ll take too long to make up another bath for you,” Cerys says, and this time her tone is at least half-serious. “You’ll catch your death, Your Imperial Highness – and I cannot, nor do I want to, imagine the horrors your court would bring down upon me if I allowed it to happen. I’m just a lowly Islander queen, after all.”

The snark is back, with the last part, and Ciri can’t help how she snorts.

“Alright, alright.” She prods Cerys into the room and follows along, closing the door behind them. She catches sight of a door across the room shutting with utmost gentleness, likely a servant who had realized that they were not needed and decided to at least be discreet about their eavesdropping. “I’m sure my honor will survive the blow.”

“Mine certainly won’t, but it’s not as if I had much to begin with,” Cerys retorts, and Ciri chokes on another laugh.

“You know what they say about Skelligers,” she says, trailing off with a wink, and Cerys just raises an eyebrow.

“What, that we’re one good blow away from a fight?”

Ciri giggles. “No, that you’re one good blow to anyone’s honor.”

It clearly takes a second to click, Cerys squinting at her for slightly longer than a typical beat, but Ciri sees the moment it finally dawns, the queen’s eyes going wide before she starts cackling.

“That was awful, Cirilla,” she scolds, but she’s grinning wide and there’s no heat to her voice, just poorly-concealed laughter.

Before Ciri can come up with another witty reply – either about her wonderful wordplay, or the use of her full first name – Cerys is huffing and shaking her head, starting to tug at her own layers. 

She tosses them directly onto the floor with no care as she wriggles free of them, and Ciri starts to do the same, struggling out of the top dress and progressively wetter layers beneath, until she’s reached the last of them, her underthings still soaked and getting slimier by the second. 

She hesitates. As unpleasant as the soggy cotton is, and as thrilled as she usually is to be free of clothes, it’s…. Well. If this were just a bath with a friend, or even just fellow nobility, it wouldn’t be anything to drop her clothes. She’s done it before in springs and bathhouses. 

But this isn’t just another sovereign, or even just a friend. This is…well, it’s Cerys, someone that Ciri can admit (at least in her own head, privately, to herself) she’s been carrying a torch about for…as long as they’ve known one another, probably.

(Definitely.)

Cerys is speaking again, though, as she’s peeling out of the layer just above her underthings, struggling with the fabric as its soaked so much water up from the layer below, and Ciri is distracted from her not-quite spiral about her infatuation. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” Cerys says, and Ciri’s stomach drops to the floor in the split second it takes for her to notice the wry quirk to Cerys’ mouth. Before she can relocate her own words, Cerys continues, though this time it’s quieter, more of a mutter. “...then again, s’pose I have no room to speak on that.”

Ciri doesn’t think she was meant to hear that last bit. She’s aware that she should probably pretend she didn’t.

But she’s burningly curious as to what, exactly, that means, so she quirks a brow when Cerys’ eyes next catch hers. “Oh?”

Harmless, directionless flirting is one thing – something they’ve been doing for the same amount of time Ciri’s carried the torch – but that? That sounded like an admission.

Cerys makes a small, short sound, something of a cross between a squeak and a snort, coloring a little. “If I may be crass, Your Imperial Majesty,” she winks, and Ciri feels herself flushing, because this time the title sounds more genuine, even if it’s in a crude way. “You have a truly spectacular pair of tits.”

Ciri snickers, and before she even thinks it all the way through, she’s quipping, “Thank you, Yennefer helped me pick them out when I got tired of being shaped wrong.”

What she’s said sinks in just a second too late, and she sucks in a breath, biting her cheek against trying to over explain. It’s possible Cerys will misunderstand that – think it has to do with self-esteem, and not anything to do with the confused whispers about wasn’t the heir to Cintra a boy? – but if she opens her mouth again, she could give the truth away.

But Cerys’ mouth drops open to mirror how tightly Ciri’s gritting her teeth, and she stutters, “You were – ” before she’s squeaking and putting a hand over her mouth. 

They stand frozen, just staring at one another, for a long moment. 

Ciri tries to find her voice, tries to come up with something to say – to brush it off, or to admit the truth, or maybe a secret third option she hasn’t come up with yet. She doesn’t know, but the silence is stretching out longer and longer, and she feels like there are ants crawling along the back of her neck.

Despite all her frantic thoughts, Cerys beats her to breaking it. “Something we almost have in common, then,” she says, and finishes peeling out of her underclothes, revealing her own chest – perfectly flat, nothing but solid muscle and pink-white scars cupping the shape of her pectorals. “Mousesack helped me pick mine when I got tired of the same.”

And the scars are – obvious, really, Cerys is hardly the first person Ciri has met with them, but it takes until she speaks for it to really click, and then – and then she’s laughing, caught somewhere between fierce relief and flustered sheepishness. 

“Good to know we have that in common?” she asks, voice shifting down a little, like it hasn’t since she was thirteen and Yennefer started teaching her how to pitch it higher, and she hopes that Cerys understands her meaning – that she means a bit more than just picking out surgi-magical modifications to their chests. 

She expects that Cerys will laugh, probably – that she’ll poke fun at Ciri, almost certainly. What she doesn’t expect, in any way, is for Cerys to step into her space, reaching out and cupping one roughened palm around the nape of her neck to yank her even closer.

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is ghosting over Ciri’s, the distant suggestion of a kiss.

Like hell is she going to turn that down.

They’re still shivering finely from the cold and wet, Ciri’s underthings uncomfortably slimy between them – really, it’s atrocious how seawater just never actually seems to dry, just turns to slime and then…crusts – but none of that really matters, not in the face of the kiss.

The kiss, which is going quickly from chaste and almost innocent to something decidedly more hungry, Cerys’ fingers finding  their way into Ciri’s hair, her other hand creeping around her waist and then up to cup her ribs. Ciri, for her part, gets her hands on Cerys’ waist first, and then shifts them to the lower curve of her spine and the place between her shoulderblades as they press closer. 

When they finally break apart they’re both panting, and the way Cerys’ fingers are curling around the curve of Ciri’s skull, a rough, callused thumb rasping back and forth just under her ear, has Ciri shivering for reasons entirely unrelated to the damp.

She doesn’t know if Cerys misreads the trembling, or if maybe she understands and simply makes an unrelated decision, but without a word she’s taking a step back, pulling Ciri gently toward the bath. The way she tugs at Ciri’s remaining clothes, though, is significantly less gentle. 

It’s a little hard to get naked, considering that they both refuse to step away from another with equal fervor, but between four hands they manage. They also succeed – somehow – in clambering their way into the bath without injury.

Through another kiss, they end up settled on a very convenient seat along the edge of the ridiculously large tub, Ciri on the ledge and Cerys perched in her lap. The position leaves their bottom halves in quite close contact for the first time, and before Ciri can even start to – explain? apologize? she’s not entirely sure – Cerys is humming, a distinctly pleased little sound, and settling her weight more firmly in Ciri’s lap. 

“Hello there,” she says, and rolls her hips, pinning Ciri’s half-hard cock properly between them. “I’d ask about pockets, but all things considered, I think I can just assume you’re happy to see me.”

Ciri wants to say something in response to that – even if it’s just to cry hypocrisy about Cerys’ early rebuke of Ciri’s earlier pun – but all that comes out is a thin, reedy little moan. 

It makes Cerys laugh, but it’s a breathy sound, cut off when she presses their mouths together again, so Ciri isn’t too terribly offended.

She’s usually more put together, she swears she is, but, well. This torch has been burning for a little less than most of her life, for fucks’ sake. 

While they kiss, Cerys starts to move, rocking her hips to grind them together, and both of them end up making broken, breathless little noises into each others’ mouths. The water intensifies the friction, washing away the slick either of them could produce well before it’s of any use, but it also makes the movements easier, smoothing out the jerkiness where both of them are startling to tremble.

Gods above, Ciri should not be this close because of a handful of kisses and a pretty queen in her lap. She’s not sure if it’s because she’s been pining for a ridiculous length of time, or that she’s not had much time for anyone except her own hand lately, or maybe that Cerys really is just that incredible. Whatever it is, she absolutely refuses to embarrass herself so thoroughly, at least this first time.

It takes entirely too much willpower, but she gets her hands on Cerys’ hips, stopping the rocking movement and splashing water over the edges of the tub with the sudden interruption to the water’s motion. Cerys makes a little sound, whiny and petulant, and Ciri is halfway through a choked sort of coo at how cute that was when Cerys’ eyes snap open.

“Sorry, was that – ”

Ciri feels a little bad when pressing her fingers over Cerys’ lips apparently gets some bathwater in her mouth, but she doesn’t need an apology and doesn’t want to entertain it. “I’m fine,” she assures. “I just – have a better idea.”

At that, the scrunched combination of shock and concern on Cerys’ face smooths out, replaced instead by obvious curiosity. Her eyes are bright and her lips are a little swollen from their kisses, and Ciri has to resist the urge to lean forward and nip at them, at least for now. Instead, she starts prodding Cerys off of her lap, and giggles when Cerys’ expression once again shifts in a heartbeat, turning to a small pout even as she follows the silent direction and finds her own feet.

Ciri can’t resist that, not entirely, so she leans forward to kiss the corner of the pout as she also stands from the bench. Cerys turns her head and turns it into a real kiss, because of course she does, and Ciri is weak, so she allows it for a long moment.

“C’mon,” she finally says, when they have to pull apart for air, and before Cerys can complain – or catch her in another kiss – she slips behind her and gently nudges her forward again.

She tries to turn at first, clearly trying to sit, but Ciri gets her arms around her waist and keeps her facing forward. She nuzzles against Cerys’ ear and whispers, “Like this,” before guiding her forward again, until her knees are pressed to the bench. 

From there, she drags her hands back down to Cerys’ hips, then her thighs, coaxing her to keep going forward, until she’s kneeling on the ledge. That’s when she seems to get the idea, suddenly tugging out of Ciri’s grip to scoot forward and bend at the waist, bracing her palms against the thick edge of the tub.

“Yeah, perfect,” Ciri murmurs, and leans forward to press a kiss between Cerys’ shoulderblades, fingers finding the stretched smoothness of the scars on her chest. She kisses down Cerys’ spine, hands following the same path but down her front, and when she’s reached where her back starts to curve into ass, Ciri shifts her weight and drops into a low crouch.

She uses her hands, curled around the very tops of Cerys’ thighs, to shift her hips up a little more, just enough to lift her cunt properly above the water.

Cerys shivers and whines, soft and breathless, and Ciri presses a kiss to where the waterline is lapping at the back of her thigh.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cerys is almost panting. When Ciri looks up – she has to lean a little to the side, to see more than the curve of Cerys’ ass and spine – Cerys is turned to look over her shoulder, eyes gone wide and dark.

She keeps their gazes locked as she slowly trails her fingers up and to the side, along the cut of Cerys’ hipbone, and then in and down, until she’s petting over the soft curls just above her slit. Cerys’ lashes flutter, mouth dropping open for the space of a panting breath before she’s sucking her bottom lip into her mouth to bite at it. 

She whines when Ciri doesn’t keep going, squirming a little, hips rolling forward into Ciri’s hand. Ciri chuckles and turns her head to kiss along the curve of her ass and back down to the back of her thigh.

“Can I?” she asks, dragging her fingers further down, almost to Cerys’ clit but not quite there yet. Already, she can feel the heat – the difference between the water and Cerys’ body, the apex of her thighs, much warmer where she’s all swollen.

Cerys whines and bucks her hips, stammering out a, “P-please.”

Ciri lets the movement do what it intended to do, since she asked so nicely, fingers slipping over Cerys’ clit. The friction of it is a little rough with nothing but water between them yet, but Cerys just whines and bucks again, so Ciri keeps going, until Cerys has made a proper mess of herself and the touch is slick and wet.

“Good,” Ciri murmurs, mostly thoughtless, and traces an intentional, firm circle around Cerys’ clit at the same time she mouths along the edge of her outer labia, tongue flickering barely over where she’s wet and fluttering. Those touches earn her another whine, more desperate this time, as Cerys leans harder against her braced arms just so she can raise her hips and press back into the tease of Ciri’s mouth. “Yeah, fuck, so good.”

“C-Ciri, please,” Cerys breathes. 

Ciri curses and leans further forward, flattening her tongue over the slick mess built between Cerys’ thighs. The sound Cerys makes in response could be reasonably called a shout, if it weren’t so pitchy and breathless, and Ciri grins but doesn’t bother pulling back. When she teases her tongue at Cerys’ entrance, she gets another almost-shout, and when she presses in, the sound turns into a low, warbling little mewl.

Her cock throbs where it’s bobbing in the water, and she imagines the two of them are probably going to sully it enough that a brand new bath is needed, but that’s the only real thought she spares for it.

“Fuck, fuck, please,” Cerys finally gasps, after Ciri has spent a few minutes pressing her tongue just inside the clutch of her entrance and then pulling back out to trace her folds before doing it again. 

She hasn’t even really been meaning to tease – she’s just…taken with the taste of Cerys, with feeling her twitch and flutter. Entirely too taken to be paying much attention to the passage of seconds – or to keep moving her fingers, she realizes. The pleas, though, bring her right back, and she hums into Cerys’ heat before she’s pressing closer, rubbing at Cerys’ clit again as she presses her tongue as deep as she can get it. 

Cerys squeals, hips jerking, and Ciri reconsiders her original intention to pull back and say something filthy. Instead, she stays right where she is, shifting in her crouch just to relieve some pressure on her ankles, and tongue-fucks Cerys until the she’s starting to shake and babble.

“Fuck, fuck, you – ah, ah – oh gods, Ciri – ”

Whenever Cerys makes a new noise or starts shaking harder, Ciri follows that as if it were explicit directions, until Cerys is no longer babbling, she’s just making scattered noise, entirely breathless. She’s so hard she could use her cock as a hammer, but all she can really focus on is how sweet Cerys’ cunt is, all of the pretty noises and trembling that she’s working out of her with just her hand and tongue. It’s – heady, and hotter than it has any right to be, and so much more than she’d ever even dared dream about, at least consciously. 

Cerys can make jokes-that-aren’t about how far Ciri outranks her all she wants, but in Ciri’s opinion, Cerys is so far out of her league that it balances them right back out. She’s fairly certain Cerys would take offense to that, though, and not at all for her own sake, so Ciri fully plans to keep that as a thought to herself. 

She’s almost worried, for a split second, when Cerys’ suddenly goes tripwire-taut, but then her mouth is suddenly flooded with slick and she understands. She groans, but doesn’t let up on her ministrations, working Cerys through the peak of the pleasure and out to quivering on the other side.

“Ciri, Ciri, fuck, oh my gods – ”

She doesn’t stop until Cerys fumbles a hand back and catches at her hair. The feeble tapping at her head is, by itself, ineffectual in making her stop, but she doesn’t want this to tip into the bad kind of overstimulation, so she follows the silent direction and pulls back. 

She intends to ask something cheeky about if that was good, but before she can manage more than just the breath in, Cerys is leaning up and turning, the hand still sort of limp against Ciri’s head finding its way into her hair just to tug slightly. 

“Please get up here and fuck me,” Cerys pants, tugging at her hair again, and Ciri certainly isn’t going to say no.

It’s not the first time she’s experienced the sensation of her dick overtaking her brain, but she thinks it might be the most intense instance of it.

“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, and lets go of Cerys just long enough to brace on the side of the tub and the ledge so she can lever herself back to standing. She ignores the tingling in her legs – it’s not bad enough she’ll topple, so it doesn’t matter – and instead bends to press along Cerys’ back, one arm slipping around her waist while the other hand goes to her throat. She nudges at Cerys’ jaw with her fingers until she turns properly and Ciri can kiss her again.

She has to take her hand away to reach down and guide her cock, but Cerys barely seems to notice, at least until Ciri is nudging up against her entrance.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” she gasps, head dropping back down as her knuckles go white around the edge of the tub. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” Ciri murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of Cerys’ throat in absence of her mouth.

It only takes some more minute shifting, using her other hand to steady Cerys’ hips as she guides herself with the one around her cock, and she’s slipping in. They both make high, shocky little sounds, and Ciri bites at Cerys’ shoulder as her hips jerk.

She wants to go slow, to check in, but Cerys is letting go of the edge of the tub to throw her arm back, fingernails digging into Ciri’s hip when her hand finally finds it, and she doesn’t have much choice with the way she’s yanked, unless she wants to send the both of them tumbling over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Cerys repeats, and Ciri makes a wordless sound of agreement before she’s doing just that.