#i wrote this instead of working

[basu-shokikita]

skwistok for 35 (to gain something 😏)

Good number for Skwistok it seems >:)

From this ask meme

35. (Kiss) to gain something

"Yous drivingks me insane, Tokes!"

"Whys? Whys?" Toki took strides from one side of the room to the other, like an enraged bull. The rest of the band watched from the comfort of the couch, but knew better than to intervene.

This was almost like a mating ritual between the guitarists.

Almost.

"Just plays whats I wrotes!"

"Why cants Toki makes a suggestions?!" Toki countered, placing his hands on his hips petulantly.

"Because it su-" Skwisgaar cut himself just in time. He was supposed to be nicer. He was supposed to be nicer. Wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Because dis amsnt de plans, okej?"

"Yous plans ams dildos, then."

"Yous dild-" Skwisgaar cut himself off again, this time to greater effort. Why was Toki one of the most insufferable people in the entirety of the universe? "Eugh, I can't do this."

As soon as he turned his back to Toki, he heard him again.

"Whats?" The rhythm guitarist sounded confused. "Yous leavin?"

"Ja."

"Whys?"

"I don't wants to fights." Skwisgaar said between gritted teeth. This whole 'be nice to Toki' phase had been going for way too long and Toki was becoming more and more spoiled. Then again, he couldn't really bring himself to break it either.

Not after they barely survived the end of the world, anyway.

"Cowards."

There was some muffled noises coming from the direction of the couch, but Skwisgaar chose to ignore them.

Slowly, he turned around to find a smug Toki looking down at him. "What did you says?" He asked in a low voice.

Toki cracked a grin. "Whats the matters, Skwisgaar?" He stuck his thumbs in his armpit and waved his arms in the manner of wings. "Yous chickens?"

"Play nice, Toki." Pickles reminded him in a condescending tone. Skwisgaar ignored that too.

Menacingly, he gave long steps in Toki's direction, until his shadow was marginally covering the idiot's face. "Takes it back."

Far away from being intimidated, Toki seemed even more entertained than before. "Noes."

"Takes it backs."

"Or whats?" Toki lifted his chin defiantly.

"Or..." Skwisgaar tried to come up with something. Kicked from the band? Too harsh. Will never get lines again? Blatant lie. The guitar God will take away your powers? Toki was too old to believe in fables anymore.

Sensing his uncertainty, Toki drew himself closer to Skwisgaar. "You can'ts punish Toki." He whispered with a smile.

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow. "And why ams dats?"

Hidden in a curtain of golden hair, Toki's eyes seemed to glow in the dark. He mouthed something that Skwisgaar couldn't hear.

"Whats?"

It was like a flash. Toki moved forward, stood on his tiptoes to reach Skwisgaar and gave him a peck. Before Skwisgaar could process anything, though, Toki had already pulled away.

Eyes widening, Skwisgaar covered his mouth. "T-Toki!"

"Hah! I wins!" Toki skipped in delight.

"No, you don'ts!" Skwisgaar wiped his mouth furiously. "I tolds you not to does that in publicks!"

"You blush, you lose!" Toki played dissonant notes on his guitar. "Blushins loser!"

"Ams not- I didn'ts blush!" Skwisgaar said, ignoring his heated cheeks.

"Nuh, you tahtally did, Skwisgaar." Pickles chimed in.

"Yeah, Skwisgaar, you're red." Nathan agreed.

"Like a total homo." Murderface finished.

"Everyone shuts up!" Skwisgaar glared at his bandmates. "And why ams I de homos when Toki dids it?"

There were incomprehensible murmurs in response and Skwisgaar felt his patience almost reach zero. Toki was back in his spot, playing that horrible melody Skwisgaar had been trying to shut down.

"Toki!"

"Whats?" Toki batted his eyelashes at him, his fingers still focused on the strings.

If he refused Toki again, who knows what he would do next. Skwisgaar sighed. "Fines."

"Yay!"

While his bandmates mumbled about him like he wasn't there, Skwisgaar sat on the amp and watched Toki play, eventually correcting him here or there.

He really did shoot himself in the foot by letting Toki hold some leverage over him. Toki was a dirty player and a total cheater, always had been.

Skwisgaar rubbed his nose, and suddenly understood what Toki had meant to say earlier.

Because you likes Toki.

He furrowed his brows in annoyance, arms draping over his chest, attempting to order his brain not to make his skin flush again.

Fucking idiot.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The thing is, something like a 100 million people have watched the show between official streams and piracy, right? And out of all those people, something like 2,000 ended up shippers across the various platforms, and that's maybe a generous estimate. They're a loud but extremely small minority. It's maybe 100-200 here. All of us saw the same WT and didn't see these supposed soulmates, we saw costars who get along really well, that's it, and that's lovely in its own right. The shipping is clearly fulfilling a need for specific individuals who have had certain experiences, it's not a universal thing by any means. I don't know why these people continue to come into our inboxes assuming we're in the same boat as them or trying to convince us of something we don't see (*whispers* because it isn't there).

No idea. Seriously. And they are so very loud at that. It’s like you can’t go into Luke’s tag (probably Nic’s too) or even Polin without encountering some weird shit.

And what annoys me so much is that the tone is often like: We all saw- No, we didn’t. We didn’t all see the same thing. Because as you mentioned what I saw was two coworkers who clearly like each other (platonically), are possibly close friends and are having fun throughout this strange experience. That’s it. We didn’t see soulmates, lovers or whatever tf you all imply sometimes.

So it would all be more bearable if the shippers didn’t get up in our faces like that on the daily. And if those that had been disappointed with the fact that Nic and Luke aren’t who they expected them to be (prefect and in love), would just shut up and leave those two alone. Instead of spewing hate, coming up with stupid theories and denying what is rather obvious.

[feral4fiktion]

Being Friendly

Micah Bell x Fem!Reader

No TW

self-indulgent feelings

Wrote this instead of working because as much as I hate this man, he's been in my head recently and he's been the only one I've had the inspiration to write so now I guess I'm a Micah freaking Bell fanfic writer.

The camp was quiet, even more so than usual. It had you on edge, but it was also a chance for you to calm down after all the insanity that had been going on since the ferry job.

Most of the fella’s were gone on jobs, or to the local bar, but there was one you noticed was only wandering around the outskirts of the camp. Not quite keeping watch, but not letting anything escape his notice either. Sometimes you saw flashes of his icy blue eyes peeking from below his white wide-brim hat, but he would move just enough to hide his face the second he saw you watching him back.

You’d been playing this game for weeks, ever since you joined the gang before the Blackwater incident. Micah had grown on you, despite the warnings from everyone else that he was a loose gun. His sarcasm matched your own, and you couldn’t deny that the way he drew out random parts of his words was funnier than it should have been.

But since he’d been rescued from the Strawberry prison you felt like he’d been avoiding you. You would feel his eyes on you constantly as you moved around camp. A quick glance up and you’d see a flash of icy blue before it was gone and he would move to a different spot. At night, when he would usually join a small group by the fire, he’d turn on his heel the moment he saw you in the group.

It was getting ridiculous…and if you were honest a little hurtful. Sure he was harsh with everyone else (though Mary-Beth mentioned he’d gotten a lot more tolerable since you joined), but he didn’t avoid them like he was doing with you. And you missed your friend…not that you could really admit to anyone else that he was, in fact, a friend to you.

Enough was enough, though. You’d been down for the last two days because of this, and with an almost empty camp tonight, it was time to do something about it.

Just after the point of twilight you were ready to make your move. Some people had come back so Micah had moved to the edges of camp. He had moved close to the cliff, just past the horses. For once he was looking out at the skyline instead of people watching, giving you a rare chance of getting close before he could wander off.

You smirked and stepped lightly beside him, ready to start the match.

He must know you were up to something, based on the scowl that sharpened the lines of his face, but you didn’t let that damper your determination.

“What’chu want, friend?” He’d taken to calling you that when you drunkenly told him one night that you were friends.

“Checkin’ on you. That’s what friends do, after all.” If you hesitated for just a moment before your nerves came back you’d never admit it.

His scowl softened just a bit at your light tone, which made your own grin bigger. This was a good start. At least he wasn’t stomping off.

“I s’pose they do.” He pulled out a cigarette pack and matches. You stand in silence while he lights it and puffs a couple times.

“So…what’s got you so riled lately?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye. “I heard you really laid into Bill earlier today when he bumped into you. Not like you to go off for something so little.”

Micah scoffs before flicking some ash from his smoke. He toes the ash into the dirt, not looking up and completely blocking your view of his face.

“Just…a lot on my mind lately…with the hangin’ in Strawberry an’ all.” You nod. You’d been worried to death when you’d heard the news, but thankfully you’d convinced Arthur to get Micah immediately instead of holding off like he’d wanted to do.

“Mmm, that would put a lot on a mind…but I know something that might distract you.” You can’t hide the devilish grin from spreading over your face that you were able to steer this conversation exactly how you’d wanted to.

Micah finally turns his head toward you. His lips turn up at the obvious mischievousness on your face. If only he knew. He leans in slightly when you do, making a point of whispering as though this were a huge secret.

“Oh, ya got some gossip, huh? Spill it, then,”

You look around, like anyone would possibly approach you, but really you were building the last of your bravery for what you were about to reveal.

“Someone in camp…one of the girls…is sweet on you!” You cover your mouth to hide your smile, and maybe the growing blush on your cheeks.

Micah’s eyes go wide as he straightened back in shock. Those blue eyes are holding yours as though they can see every thought running through you. For a moment you wonder if he’s hoping it’s someone else, like Mary-Beth, but then he moved back in, closer this time. He must have seen something in your gaze that gave him his next answer, but you were happy that he still asked.

“Really? And who would that be?” You were toe-to-toe now. He was looking down directly into your eyes, but you felt like he had already wrapped you in his warm, leathery embrace with the way your heart was pounding, making your whole body shake with nerves.

Somehow, you were able to keep yourself from falling apart. By some miracle your brain made your body move even as you yourself were long gone. You leaned up just enough that your lips pressed against Micah’s chapped ones. His mustache tickled your nose and skin, even though he didn’t move. Your eyes were closed, so you couldn’t see his expression, but you felt it when he immediately answered your kiss. His thin lips were moving against yours slowly, like he was mapping out every part and testing how firm you were.

After a few heavenly moments of those soft movements he pulled back, panting slightly. At some point he’d pulled your body flush to his. You were now pressed firmly against his solid form, your own hands wrapped under his jacket and around his back. His were on your waist and back, until he moved one to cup your face, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

“You?” You nod, knowing that your smile is so big it’s probably more terrifying than anything, but not able to care with how happy you are that you’re in his arms and not being pushed away.

Micah released a huff of air as a smile almost matching yours takes over his face. He lowers till his forehead is pressed against yours. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but his eyes were even more beautiful up close and wide. It was fascinating that they were glassing over with some emotion that Micah seemed to have trouble suppressing.

“The whole time…in that jail cell…you were the only thing I could think about.” He confessed in a strangled whisper. “I didn’t care they would hang me, I’ve always known that’s probably how I’ll go…I just didn’t…I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you, especially without you knowing…,” His breathing was picking up and unshed tears were gathering, threatening to break past.

You heart hurt when he mentioned the jail. You’d been worried too, especially when Arthur mentioned the hanging was scheduled for the day after the rescue. You didn’t want to think about how close you’d been to losing him forever.

“I don’t have the words, though, even now…and I s’pose…I was scared you might not…and I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me, everyone does,” He was still rambling, clutching you to him so tightly like he thought you still might leave. You could feel his body trembling against yours…or maybe that was still you just shaking from how happy you were.

“Micah, it’s ok. I’m here, I want you.” One of your hands came up to lightly stroke his whiskers, loving how soft they were. You wanted to watch your own fingers disappear into them, but Micah needed to see your sincerity, and you were happy to keep looking at your favorite color blue.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked into camp. Yer the only one I ever wanted so bad, and I ain’t ever letting you go, now.” His tone was possessive, but you could tell he was also putting some warning into it, probably trying to get back to his tough-guy manner.

You didn’t mind though. Not when his warmth and scent are washing over you, and he still has a vice grip on you, keeping you safe in his arms. You grip him back just as hard before tucking your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“Good.”

[shortstack-21]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Halloween, Whumptober, Evan "Buck" Buckley Whump, Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley Has Bad Luck, I'm Bad At Tagging, Comedy, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley Loves Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley Has ADHD, One Shot Summary:

Inspired by @captnsunshine's 911 fanart where Buck gets his head stuck in a pumpkin. Buck let's his intrusive thoughts win. Happy early Halloween! 🎃

 "Eddie," Buck began, trying to sound casual, but the nerves crept into his voice. "I need... uh, I need a little help."

There was a pause on the other end. "With what?"

Buck hesitated, cringing a little. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Buck tried to explain, his voice muffled by the pumpkin. “I just… got my head stuck, but I’m fine. Totally fine.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Eddie’s incredulous voice came through. “Wait—you got your head stuck in what?”

“A pumpkin,” Buck mumbled, hoping Eddie didn’t catch that.

“A what?” Eddie sounded like he was holding back a laugh.

“Pumpkin, okay? I got my head stuck in a pumpkin! But I’m fine. It’s fine. Just—could you come over?”

[yagrandmapeach]

A Poem Regarding Communication

Communication's easy There isn't just one way To send the world a message Of what you want to say Post a letter to Lord Setter Ring the phone of Mrs. Bone Send a fax to Mr. Wax Mail a package via drone

An email blast to Mr. Last A hurried page to Sandra Sage A telegram to Mrs. Pam A pigeon sent out from its cage

Write a swear up in the air Carve a promise in a tree Inscribe a contract with your blood Whisper good news to a bee Sign a secret with your hands Spell a word with letter soup Dance your heart out at the club Or read a story with a group

Pass a note while you're in class Paint a collage with a friend Cut out letters for a ransom Communication has no end! Let them know that you mean business You'll never know if you don't try! Speak the words you need to speak Do it now before you die!

Scream your pain into a can Divine a fortune from some tea Get a tattoo on your face If a dog, say it with pee

Pen a poem to your true love Leave a trail of breaded crumbs Smoke a signal to the sky Tap a code out with your thumbs Radio your fellow spies Have a chat with an old man Confess your war crimes to a priest Start a group and make a plan

If you have something to say The truth that I've observed Is that you needn't move a mountain All you need is to be heard

[whalesandstars]

Wanderer: I'm tired of doing these useless homework and thesis. I'm going to burn the world instead

Nahida: Sit back down

Wanderer: No--

Nahida: SIT DOWN.

Wanderer: ...fine

[pendragonsclotpole]

Merlin Season 5 AU! See end for inspo!

They arrive in Camelot to the news of Mordred’s death. For the first three days of their return, Merlin fixates on the demise of Arthur’s bane more than he does on the significance of Mordred’s death. Mordred’s absence lifts the heavy burden of destiny off of Merlin’s shoulders for the first time in years. He can rest easy, breathe better, live contentedly in the realization that while Morgana remains, Arthur is now free from the curse of his bane.

It takes him weeks to wonder what this might mean for the decision made by Arthur. He is rightfully taken by surprise when one morning, Arthur awakes long before him and presents him with an even longer scroll over breakfast. It is an act to repeal the ban on magic. It legalizes certain forms of magic automatically, presents a drafted proposal for a hierarchical system to police wayward sorcerers, and provides a place on the Council for a Court Sorcerer. The details are so meticulously outlined that Merlin knows deep in his heart Gaius helped Arthur write them. Merlin’s hardly realized he’s crying when Arthur’s arms wrap around and he’s blowing snot into the King’s doublet. He mouths his apologies even as Arthur rubs a comforting hand on his back and whispers back reassuring I knows, and it’s alrights.

In the end, they fulfill the prophecy. Camelot’s golden age lasts for decades. Arthur’s territories grow, and his people thrive, and Merlin stands by his side throughout it all. Magic flourishes. Camelot thrives. Arthur lives and ages. Merlin lives and ages. Arthur dies.

It takes decades. Their bodies grow weak their knees get knobby, (Merlin grows a beard of respectable length much to Arthur’s dismay and annoyance) but eventually Merlin finds Arthur’s body the morning after Arthur’s 96th birthday. It is early enough that none of the servants have arrived to tend to their fire. Merlin, with hands now nearly as wrinkled and gnarled as Arthur’s face, uncorks the vial he’s carried around his waist since the day of Arthur’s first collapse, and swallows whole the concoction within it. The poison takes a few minutes to activate, but by the time he hears footsteps down the hall, Merlin can feel the poison painlessly traveling up his veins and clouding his vision. He smiles, content and sure in the thought that when he awoke next it would be to Arthur’s smiling visage.

He wakes up hours later to Arthur’s cold, sightless blue eyes in the crypts of Camelot. They are alone, about to be placed in stone. For a moment, Merlin thinks he’s merely in the in-between or perhaps brought back as a ghost. He closes his eyes and wills his soul to venture elsewhere. He wills it so much he says nothing as he’s lifted into the walls and entombed beside Arthur. There is something insidiously macabre in seeing your soulmate rot beside you as you desperately attempt to force death to take you. Throughout the process, Merlin absentmindedly thinks if Arthur’s eyes were not cursed to be sightless forevermore the former King would be staring at him with disappointment. I’m sorry, Merlin tells Arthur repeatedly. The apologies peter out when Merlin attempts to die by gouging out his own eyes. He hypothesizes for a few days that the more pain he can elicit, the closer he gets to Arthur. He stops increasing the pain after escalating his to disembowelment and then ceases his attempts to bring about his own death completely after blowing up his body only succeeds in speeding up the decomposition of Arthur’s body. The explosion is both a blessing and a curse. The instant incineration is painless and removes the horrible byproducts and odors of a rotting corpse, but it also leads to Merlin’s eventual resignation. Try as he might, he cannot join Arthur—not even in the presence of their shared crypt.

When he finally pulls himself away from the skeletal remains of Arthur’s frozen and once gnarled hands and musters the force to blast out from the crypt, two months have passed. The body he leaves behind sealed in the crypts is no longer Arthur Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon has left this world. Merlin should have left it with him and now he must find out why he remains, perniciously. There is only one person he can turn that will have this knowledge. Merlin runs to the nearest field and screams out for Kilgharrah. The dragon’s arrival shakes the entire earth around them, but even Merlin can see the weakness in the creature’s movements as he lands.

“So even you are not immune to old age, old friend.” Merlin says. Kilgharrah’s golden eyes look muted in the daylight, and pieces of his scales flake off into the ground.

“You will find only one of us is immune to death by old age, Emrys. And it is not I.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin’s anger gets the best of him. He is confused and hurt and humiliated and alone and deprived of his last wish. He has no room for ambiguities or cruelties. “Have I not fulfilled my destiny? Have I not earned my place of rest?”

“You cannot rest. You are Magic itself. For as long as there is magic in this realm, you will exist in this realm.”

Merlin lets the words rest on the wind for a few seconds before letting them stew and fuel his anger.

“So that’s it then? Years of toiling under the weight of prophecy, decades of laboring to maintain the Golden Age I sacrificed my very being for, and this is how it ends?” Merlin takes a shuddering breath. “You said we were meant to be two sides of the same coin, that are destinies are intertwined. Why is he gone and why am I still here?”

“Arthur is the Once and Future King, Merlin. When the need of Albion is at its greatest, he will return. You are the very essence of Magic. For as long as this realm needs magic, you must remain as magic’s stalwart defender and guardian.” Perhaps realizing the cruelty of his words, Kilgharrah issues one last prophecy. “Do not despair, Merlin. In truth, you achieved the best of all possible outcomes. In another life, Mordred might have lived for longer and Arthur’s death fulfilled decades earlier in place of your true destiny. You received a temporary peace instead. When Arthur returns, he will bring about the end of magic and your death with it.” Then, with a weariness Merlin recognized only in himself, Kilgharrah pulled back his wings and departed.

Merlin never sees him again. It is for the better. It takes Merlin three centuries to forgive the dragon for never pointing out what Merlin himself should have seen. It takes another five before he stops trying to die.

They had achieved everything. Two sides of the same coin, and yet when the story ended, it amounted to nothing.

Arthur died because Arthur was mortal.

Merlin is Magic. Merlin is immortal. Merlin cannot die.

@sneakyboymerlin I blame you for this. Inspired by this amazing post:

[kuintito]

Excerpt

Masterlist

This was Kirby’s third trip to the city in the last month, something he’d never done so consistently before. That fateful day in Dotty’s shop had turned into regular visits for the remainder of the month Josephine was in town. Kirby exchanged letters with the girl every few weeks before she asked if he’d visit her in the city. All that led to now.

He was sure he’s breaking some sort of rule or violating some code by being here. He had seen pictures of the girl's automobile in their letters, something he’s still surprised a woman out here would own but it was Josephine. When he saw that same automobile just outside of the city he hitched his horse to a fence post and silently watched the girl work.

She was a force. In the quiet outside the city away from prying eyes of old men afraid of women doing better than them, Josephine commanded respect - and man did she get it. Men twice her size smiled and joked with her while she gave orders. And Kirby..he smiled softly as he leaned against the fence with his head in his hand. Too far to hear, but close enough to see that shine on her face. Whether that’s from the heat of the afternoon or from the glow of living her dream, Kirby couldn’t tell - but he wanted to keep that image in his mind forever.

[rhapsody-in-crimson]

Leaving Home

doing laundry all alone, just

the soft whirr as you measure the detergent and

when you spill no one helps you clean it

up—

quiet nights and bed always half

unmade

because you can never tuck the sheets

quite like your mother, or

fluff the pillows

up—

on your father's birthday

you're studying for a test and

when you finally call him you're

so tired,

you can barely look

up—

they told you college would be the

next step up

so why do i always feel like i'm falling down?

[runecatwrites]

Let’s talk about Warriors and Wild

This was another “weird” pairing that came out of the latest update.

You’d think that the two with no dungeon experience should each be paired with someone more experienced, right? Well, Warriors isn’t really thinking about that. He has a different motive for choosing Wild to team up with, and no, it’s not because he’s “mad” at him. The reason actually reveals a lot about both of their characters, and displays a great deal of character growth on Warriors' part specifically.

Deep dive under the cut!

Okay first off, let’s get something out of the way. Just because Warriors and Wild have no traditional dungeon experience, that doesn’t make them ill-equipped. Warriors has tons of combat experience and is demonstrably very intelligent. And Wild? Sure he didn’t have traditional dungeons in BotW, but you know what he did have? Puzzles. A TON of puzzles. That guy can do puzzles in his sleep. I highly doubt that he’s gonna have trouble with dungeon puzzles once he figures out how to approach them (which won’t take long).

All right, now that we have that cleared up, moving on!

From the very beginning, Wars holds great respect for Wild:

Because at the start of the adventure, Warriors doesn't realize just how different he is from the others. He gets put with a bunch of guys who share his name and his spirit, so of course he thinks his experience isn’t unique. They’re all just like him, right?

Okay, uh, maybe not? But they still can’t be that different, Warriors thinks. Sky is also a knight, and he acts exactly the way Warriors expects a knight to act.

He catches onto plans immediately:

And follows through flawlessly:

It’s not about authority and Sky’s ability to follow orders. It’s about the fact that Sky is on the same page. He went to military school. He has extensive training. He knows what to do and when, with barely any prompting, because he’s been taught to think the same way Warriors thinks. Warriors and Sky work together perfectly because of this:

But with Wild? Warriors is expecting the exact same thing with Wild, a fellow knight, but what he gets from the Champion is far from what he gets with Sky. This is very unexpected for Warriors. He gives what he thinks is a clear directive:

“Clear out the rest” to Warriors and Sky means “get rid of all the little guys so we can focus on the big guy.�� Solid strategy. But Wild does not interpret this the same way, because he does not remember his military training and therefore any of the strategy he was taught. “Clear out the rest” just means get rid of everyone to him. And he decides to eliminate the biggest threat first. It’s important to note here that he’s not “defying orders” because his emotions are getting the better of him, or even because he thinks he shouldn't have been given orders. The way he sees it, he is following orders. Warriors said “clear out the rest.” And that’s what Wild’s helping to do. But then afterwards? Warriors is angry!

The plan? What plan? There was no plan! The goal was just to get rid of everyone! Why does it matter if Wild took out the big guy before the little guys?

It’s at this point that Wild realizes he’s done something wrong, but he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. (Any other neurodivergent folks here? If so, yeah, you know how this feels. I know I do.)

It’s clear through subsequent interactions that Wild genuinely does not understand what the problem is:

He thought he made the right move, but others don’t seem to think so. He’s already emotional, and this is just adding more fuel to the fire. He snaps, starts a fight with Four, and runs off still feeling confused.

Meanwhile, Warriors is also confused. Why didn’t Wild act the way Warriors thought he would? He’s a knight, right? Why did he do what he did, and how did he not understand that his choice of strategy was incorrect after?

And it’s not just Wild that Warriors failed to read correctly; the others are clashing with him too. Case in point, Twilight’s refusal to hang back after being injured:

In the aftermath of the battle, it’s at this point that Warriors makes a realization: he’s the one who made a mistake. He had preconceived expectations of people, and that ended up majorly backfiring on him.

Warriors knows that he can't be a good teammate - and a good leader - if he doesn't understand where his companions are coming from. Again, it's not about authority, it's about being on the same page. Ever since, he has been trying to seek better understanding. Maybe Wild doesn't feel comfortable taking orders from Warriors, and only listens to those he knows well?

But Twilight said, "No he doesn't." Huh. Okay. Well, maybe Warriors can try to get inside Wild's head? Let's try some bantering! These guys love to banter!

Oops. Fumble. That didn't go well. But hey, at least Wild seems to have figured out what he did wrong!

That's a step in the right direction! Okay, they're getting somewhere, Warriors thinks.

But Wild is really down on himself. He now realizes that he misinterpreted a directive that he should have understood. And thinks that Warriors thinks he's stupid, and hates him. (Again, where my neurodivergent peeps at? Yeah. That feeling.)

Meanwhile, things are becoming clearer to Warriors. Not only does he realize that he shouldn't have viewed his teammates through his own preconceived notions, but for the first time, he also realizes just how different his experience was from everyone else's:

He realizes he's got a LOT of learning to do. His discordance with Wild is proof of that. But Wild has never been in a dungeon either. Maybe this is their chance to connect? Warriors tries once again to get inside Wild's head. Maybe he can try to understand why Wild isn't approaching this dungeon the way Warriors would:

Aaaaand Wild froze up. Dang it. Warriors isn't getting anything. He really needs to figure out what's going wrong here so they can work together. It's for both of their benefit, and the group's benefit as a whole. They need to get on the same page so that they can not only fight together, but be good friends to each other. And when the opportunity arises to team up one-on-one, Warriors jumps at it! This is the perfect opportunity, he thinks!

But right now? Wild doesn't realize that. He thinks that Warriors is mad at him. Warriors is NOT mad at him. Warriors is trying to learn, to better himself, and to forge a connection.

And I believe that even though it's been a bumpy road, we're going to see some amazing growth between Warriors and Wild in the future.

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[pearynice]

Eddie doesn’t like spending time away from Steve. 

He’s fine during the day. He can do his job and chat with his coworkers and do what he needs to do without thinking too much on it, but there is nothing in the world that he looks forward to more than being able to come home every evening to the love of his life. Nothing more gratifying than being the person that makes Steve smile when he walks through their front door. No better feeling than Steve welcoming him home.

So call it unhealthy, call him whipped or codependent or whatever else, but Eddie doesn’t like spending extended time away from his boyfriend. Maybe it was the more-than-one near death experience, the nights they spent in hospital waiting rooms, not allowed to be at each other’s bedside, but being away from Steve, especially at night, makes him anxious. Makes his heart rate pick up and his palms sweat, makes him ruminate on whether or not Steve is okay.

So Eddie hasn’t exactly been sleeping. Or eating all that well. Not for the past three days, at least. Because Steve is at a teacher’s conference in Chicago for the week, only leaving under Eddie’s profuse and continued promises that he’d be fine. That Eddie can survive a week without him. 

Which he can. It just doesn’t mean it’s exactly pleasant. Especially today. Because Eddie has the day off, and there’s not much to distract him from the gaping, Steve-sized hole in it. 

He starts by doing the laundry. Washes their sheets. Washes every throw blankets and every towel, moves onto the kitchen while the washer rumbles and does all the dishes. He goes on the truly spiritual experience of cleaning their dishwasher. Which, why must things that do the cleaning need to be cleaned? He scrubs the grime from the shower and wipes the spit from the sink, vacuums the rugs and wipes down the windows, organizes their pantry and cleans out the fridge. 

By the time he’s done his fingers ache. His back smarts from where he spent too long hunched over their tub, and still he misses Steve. 

Who is coming back tomorrow. Late in the evening, sure, but realistically Eddie only needs to survive another 30 hours. 

Which is far too long. 

He considers baking something. Like those those blueberry muffins Steve likes so much, but Eddie just knows by the end he’d have shitty muffins and a dirty kitchen.

So he tries to read. Tries to play guitar and write some songs, tries watching TV and listening to music, even tries going on a walk to pick up some dinner he knows he won’t eat, finally taking Steve’s advice on fresh air to heart. But as the clock ticks on, the itch under his skin only gets worse.

Not even their nightly phone call helps. 

He can tell Steve knows something’s up, keeps reminding him he’ll be back tomorrow, that it’s just one more night, because despite Eddie’s best attempt at deflection Steve knows him far too well.

“Tomorrow.” Steve reminds him, again, at the end of their call.

“Tomorrow.” Eddie repeats. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Eddie misses his boyfriend. 

He tries to sleep. Can’t, of course. He tosses and turns in his bed and then tosses and turns on the couch with the TV humming staticky with whatever late-night garbage he has it on. 

And he just—has to do something. Keep occupied until the sun comes up and he can go to work and lose himself in whatever car some idiot brought in because he didn’t change the oil. Keep his hands busy enough to keep his mind busy, too.

He sits bolt upright. Remembers, suddenly, the bleach and hair dye he’s almost positive Robin left here. 

It doesn’t take him long to find. He’d organized them, without even realizing, nestled them between all of Steve’s bottles and jars and potions. 

Never one for instructions, Eddie remembers Steve mixing the bleach with something else before he smeared it over Robin’s hair. 

It was white. He remembers that much. Thick and gloopy. Like… conditioner?

He mixes the two together in an old Tupperware with a toothbrush, the smell sort of making his eyes water. 

He can’t see much of the back of his head, but he’s just getting the ends, anyways. 

Eventually the toothbrush becomes cumbersome, and he massages the last of it in with his fingers. 

He’s pretty glad that part goes quick because after a minute he can feel his cuticles begin to burn. 

He remembers Steve wrapping Robin’s hair in a plastic bag, and he finds one, eventually, has to fish out a crumpled receipt but sticks that over his head. And waits.

He forgot about the waiting part. That he’d have to sit here while the bleach did its thing and then again when he puts on the red. 

He sits on the toilet with the lid down, picking at his firey cuticles. The clock in the hallway reads nearly 5 a.m., which means Eddie has at least four more hours to kill. 

He goes through their drawers again, wondering if Steve maybe has a different color hiding around. He thinks green would be cool. Maybe pink.

But Eddie doesn’t find another color. He finds, instead, his sewing kit. And he thinks of all the goofy tattoos his has. The goofy tattoos he gave himself. His dice. His Tree of Gondor. His triceratops. And, really, how it’s a shame he hasn’t gotten one for Steve. 

He knows what he’s doing and where before he even has all the supplies, snapping a ballpoint into a small dish and sterilizing the needle with his lighter. He shaves his inner thigh and washes out the bleach from his hair, which is a little underwhelming, honestly, having done little to lighten his dark locks. 

He puts the red in regardless, puts his plastic bag hat back on and gets to work on his thigh. 

And that’s how Jeff finds him. Appearing, in Eddie’s bathroom doorway, two coffee cups in hand. He takes in the plastic bag, smeared with red, on his head, Eddie’s bald and inky leg.

Eddie has no idea what time it is.

He looks down at himself. “I think Steve is… 86% of my impulse control.” 

Jeff doesn’t say anything. Just rests the coffees on the sink and crouches to look at Eddie’s fresh ink. 

“Is that… hairspray?”

“Three puffs!” Eddie answers, a little deliriously, and dips the needle back into the ink to start the third said puff. “How’d you get in here?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the needle. 

“How do you always forget you gave me a key?” Jeff snorts, and then, a little softer, adds, “Steve asked me to swing by before your shift today, you know. Bring you some food.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks to the coffee as he dips his needle in again. “I only see caffeine, here, Williams.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before, “how about you finish that up, wash that dye from your hair, and then I’ll give you the food?” Jeff’s voice is still all gentle and obnoxious, and Eddie resists the urge of poking him with the needle.

But Eddie’s almost done with the last puff, anyways, and… breakfast does sound nice. 

“‘M almost done.” He mumbles. 

Jeff sits on the bathroom floor, sipping his coffee and watching Eddie finishes. Then he helps him untangle the plastic bag from his hair. Then makes sure whatever soap they have is unscented, makes sure whatever Eddie’s about to slather all over his thigh won’t turn it septic. 

Damn paramedics. 

In the shower, though, Eddie’s exhaustion starts to creep up on him. Four days with little sleep makes his eyelids droop in the warmth. Makes his shoulders sag as he washes the dye out of his hair. Makes his limbs heavy as he cleans his new tattoo, which, looks pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.

A can of hairspray. Three puffs. 

Eddie towels off, only a little disappointed that the dye didn’t do much. He can see it, a little, but only if the light hits it just right.

Jeff’s waiting for him with a greasy breakfast sandwich and coffee, and Eddie bites into it before he’s even seated, moaning at the taste. 

“Jesus.” Jeff mutters, “let’s wait until Steve gets back for that, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t have the energy to bite back, just takes another bite before he swallows the first. “Fank ‘oo,” Eddie grunts, word garbled around egg and sausage and cheese. He swallows. Looks down at his hands. “For.” The skin of his inner thigh is pink. “Everything.” He takes another bite. 

Jeff smiles. “And miss whatever disaster just happened in your bathroom? Not a chance, Munson.” He puts down his coffee cup. “I did call you in sick from work today, though. Just so you know.”

Eddie drops his sandwich. “Jeff!” Egg flies across the table. “What the fuck!”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and dusts Eddie’s food from his shirt. “You can barely keep your eyes open. I’m protecting you from dropping a car on yourself during a tire rotation.”

Eddie swallows, hands already twitching, “dude. I’m gonna go insane here by myself.”

Jeff raises his other eyebrow.

“More insane.” Eddie corrects. His leg starts to bounce.

“Good thing I’m gonna be keeping you company, then.” Jeff leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and tilting the styrofoam at Eddie. “Movie marathon?”

Between he and Steve they only have about three decent movies, but Eddie finishes his sandwich on the couch as Jeff fiddles with the VCR. 

The movie begins, and that wave of exhaustion returns. Floods him. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He leans into Jeff’s side. Who isn’t Steve, but who smells nice. Like linen.

Jeff rests his cheek on Eddie’s head. “Sleep, man.” He mumbles.

So Eddie does.

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep. But he wakes to a hand in his hair. To fingers massaging his scalp, and he knows before he even asks. “‘Teve?”

“Hi, baby.” Steve whispers, his hand stills, and he pulls Eddie closer. 

Steve feels so good. Warm and strong and here and here. 

Eddie opens his eyes only to bury himself in Steve’s chest, his boyfriend falling back onto the couch to accommodate, his arms winding around Eddie’s middle. 

“I missed you.” Eddie murmurs, and breathes Steve in, presses his nose into his sweatshirt and curls closer, fists his hands into Steve’s clothes and holds on tight.

“I missed you, too.” Steve sighs. He sounds tired. “Let’s… not do that again.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never again.” He agrees. 

Steve shifts, opens his legs so Eddie falls between them. “I played hooky on the all-hands luncheon today.” Steve admits, quiet. “Didn’t feel like sitting around with them all day when I could be here with you.” Steve’s hand returns to his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. “Did you… dye your hair?”

“N’ got a tattoo.” Eddie hums.

Steve giggles, and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “I like it.” Steve’s fingers dance across his scalp, and Eddie never wants to go another night without this. 

“I like you.” Eddie volleys back, and he feels Steve laugh, feels it rumble through his chest because Steve is here and he’s laughing and then there’s another kiss placed on Eddie’s head before Steve murmurs, “I like you too, baby.”

My permanent tag list 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

(Sorry taglist that you’re getting tagged late I’m still getting used to tumblrs new STUPID TAGGING SYSTEM)

[cubbihue]

Peri was very upset about a lot of things that happened. Within a span of a week, he felt like his entire life has changed for the worst!! He had a dumb bulb on his wand, Timmy was still moving away, and he had to go to a school far from everyone he knew!!!

Of course, the cause and trigger of those emotions was Timmy. But Peri can’t blame his older brother for any of that. So the next logical conclusion for a small child to reach was to blame his parents instead!!! And boy did he blame a lot on his parents.

Many of Peri’s actions in his childhood stems from misplaced grief and anger. By the time he was old enough to know better, Peri got a mixture of stubbornness and a bruised ego to admit he was wrong for how he reacted.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

Instability: [Start] > [Previous] > [END]

[fictionadventurer]

It is so much more fun to listen to people talk about things they like instead of tearing down things they hate.

It's helping people to see beauty, encouraging them to think about good things instead of focusing on flaws. It can help people to appreciate something in a way they couldn't see from their own perspective, adding more joy to their life. It builds community, inviting people to enjoy something you like, instead of pushing away people who appreciate something you hate.

It's more useful from a criticism perspective, too. Endless "thou shalt nots" tell you what to avoid, but they don't tell you what to do. As a creative, negativity can paralyze you--if you're constantly backing away from the edge in fear, afraid to do something wrong, you find you have less and less room to maneuver, until you're stuck on a narrow ledge. Showing people what works gives them something to strive for, expands the tools that they can use, gives them freedom to explore and mix and create to build something new and beautiful that that has good things to give us instead of simply lacking bad things.

Creativity is about building things up, not tearing them down, so it's fitting when your criticism is in the same spirit.

[alons-ycreeper]

I had fun with the last idea so have this as well:

Post-mountain, Jaskier goes back to Oxenfurt where he notices something strange. All the mail at his apartment is under the name "Julian of Rivia". When he tells the postal there must be a misunderstanding because no one under that name lives there it's always just been him and he hasn't been kicked out or moved. They ask if he's Jaskier to which he says yes and they reply that no it is indeed the right address.

Confused the bard goes to the bureau asking to see his identification papers because he wants to clear up a misunderstanding of identity. Well the bookkeeper brings out the forms and sure enough Jaskier's name changed because he married...he married Geralt. He wonders how this could've happened then thinks back to one night between contracts the two men got roaring drunk, Geralt was being his usual 'woe is me' self saying that witchers could never have certain things like retirement or marriage, Jaskier as usual wanted to prove him wrong so he dragged the two to the nearest town and married him just to prove witchers can be have whatever they pleased. Guess that didn't age well.

But that's not all, no. The town they went to was big enough and populated enough to have an actual courthouse so the marriage license is an official document and Jaskier hasn't got it annulled so he's still married.

Post-reunion and at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier has been talking to Yenn about it. Jaskier's family has found out about the eloping and has demanded to meet the princess. The bard wouldn't put it pass them to send Ferrant their way making false claims of insanity or child endangerment to take legal custody of Ciri only to either get head of the game and marry her off or give the girl over to Nilffgaard. So in order to keep both Ciri and Geralt far away from them he's already got his half of the divorce papers signed they just need Geralt's signature or mark and it'll be done. They'll be safe.

But when Jaskier hands Geralt the paperwork and quill the bastard says no then chucks it into the fire before walking away. Yenn has to physically hold Jaskier back from attacking Geralt.

[butchsucker]

THREE'S A CROWD (dina is pretty certain her girlfriend's best friend is jealous. she has an idea on how to fix that.)

pairing: ellie/dina/abby

contents: dom!dina, sub!abby, switch!ellie, threesome, childhood friends!ellabs, established relationship!dellie, unrequited feelings that are not unrequited, getting together, pussy eating, strap-on use, finger fucking, face sitting, scissoring, they all have two hands for a reason!

word count: 8,370

Dina can't prove it, but she's reasonably sure Abby wants to fuck her girlfriend.

Not just in a fleeting, passing-thought kind of way either. No, Dina suspects it's deeper than that. Something closer to devotion. Maybe even the slow, aching kind of love people write songs about. But all she has to go on is vibes and gut instinct. Circumstantial evidence. Nothing she'd take to court, but enough to keep her attention trained.

It's in the way Abby always finds reasons to need Ellie—stuff she could obviously handle herself. Picking up furniture. Running errands. Driving out to grab mulch or soil or god-knows-what for her garden. She always phrases it like she’s doing Ellie a favor, like Ellie is the one who'd be lost without her, but Dina sees through it. Sees how easily the two of them slide back into their rhythm—private jokes passed over Dina’s head, stories with gaps filled by shared memory, the kind of shorthand that only exists between people who’ve known each other long enough to see every version of the other.

At first, Dina thought it was sweet. Cute, even. She knows they’ve been close since forever, thick as thieves since middle school or whatever. Survived heartbreaks, bad haircuts, car crashes, college parties, all of it. That kind of bond doesn’t just go away. She gets that.

But the real giveaway is how Abby looks at Ellie. Soft, unguarded, like her whole chest cracks open when Ellie laughs too hard or sings along to the radio off-key. And Dina doesn't even think Abby realizes it. Doesn’t know she wears her heart on her damn face every time Ellie walks into the room.

Still, Dina doesn’t get mad. Not really. Not when she doesn't need to be.

She and Ellie are more than solid. Solid enough to have dabbled in the occasional three-way and remained exactly the same. Abby would be a different story entirely, though. Messy and unpredictable and entirely impossible to extricate from their lives.

So Dina lets it be. Doesn't poke the sleeping dog.

Not until Ellie asks her to come along on the summer trip.

It’s a tradition, she's learned—two weeks every July up at Abby’s family farmhouse. Just the two of them. Fresh air, hiking trails, river swims. A little cabin in the woods where they go to "connect with nature"—Ellie’s words, not hers. Dina’s seen the pictures, though. Golden light. Dusty porches. Ellie with a tan that makes her freckles pop and this relaxed grin she doesn’t wear in the city. She always comes back looking kissed by sunlight and hungry in a way that only Dina gets to satisfy.

It’s Dina’s favorite time of year for entirely selfish reasons.

So when Ellie says, out of nowhere, “You wanna come along this year?” while curled up with her head on Dina’s stomach, it throws her a little.

Dina pauses, her fingers stilled in Ellie’s hair. “You sure?”

Ellie nods without hesitation. “Yeah. I think you’d like it. There’s horses.”

“Hm.” Dina arches a brow, still half-scanning her phone. “Tempting. But I don’t think Abby’s gonna be thrilled.”

Ellie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dina drawls, dragging her fingers lightly through Ellie’s hair, “I’ll be cutting into her precious Ellie time. She already doesn’t like me.”

“What?” Ellie props herself up enough to kiss her. “Abby loves you, babe.”

Dina raises a skeptical brow.

“No, seriously,” Ellie insists. “She thinks you’re cool as hell. You’re, like, scientifically impossible to dislike. Mathematically and shit.”

"Shut the fuck up," Dina says, laughing. "I mean, fine. If it's cool with you guys, I could do with some fresh air."

A few weeks pass in the slow, steady creep of real life. Work, errands, dinner dates, laundry. But the trip starts bleeding into everything. Ellie keeps texting Abby in bursts, group chat blowing up with hiking trail suggestions and “Should we bring board games or is that lame?” polls, like she isn’t absolutely bringing board games no matter what anyone says.

Dina finds that Abby is a lot friendlier via text than she is in person. Distantly, she considers if she's just shy.

They spend a whole Sunday packing, or trying to. Ellie gets distracted every fifteen minutes, trying to wrestle Dina onto the bed or suggestively leaning against the door way in invitation. Dina eventually has to bribe her with placating kisses and the promise of road trip playlists to get any actual work done.

Their cat—Joel Jr., a fuzzy little tyrant Ellie found in a box behind a diner two years ago—watches from the windowsill with the usual amount of disdain. They find a sitter on Rover who seems nice enough, and Dina leaves an overly detailed note just in case. She’s not worried about the cat. She’s worried about Ellie worrying about the cat.

The week before they leave, Dina catches herself double-checking her own packing list way more than she usually would. Extra socks, tampons, charging cables, extra film for her camera. Sunscreen. Strap.

It’s probably overkill.

It’s definitely overkill.

Before she knows it, they’re piling everything into Abby’s Jeep. Ever the chivalrous type, Abby hoists their bags into the trunk without a word of complaint. Ellie offers to help exactly once before getting distracted by the snack bag and putting dibs on all her favorite additions.

Somehow Dina ends up in the front seat. She half-expects Ellie to argue for it, but she's content to sprawl in the back and play DJ.

The drive’s a long one, just under five hours, and for the first half Dina’s animated, chatting, laughing, stealing sips of Ellie’s gas station soda. But eventually the sun and motion lull her into quiet. She dozes off somewhere past the halfway mark, boots tucked up on the dash. When she wakes, the Jeep is bumping up a gravel driveway, and Ellie’s flannel is folded under her head like a makeshift pillow. She doesn’t remember asking for it.

They pull up to the farmhouse just as the sun starts its lazy descent behind the trees, drenching everything in soft gold. The house is bigger than Dina expected—two stories with white paneling and navy shutters, a wide wrap-around porch, and a side garage. Stables sit a short walk away, nestled at the base of a low, grassy hill. A horse neighs in the distance like it’s welcoming them. It's very hallmark postcard.

Abby parks with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times, then hops out and opens the trunk like a damn valet. “Rooms are the same as always,” she calls out as she grabs her own duffel. Dina nods like she knows what that means and lets Ellie lead the way.

The inside of the house smells like wood polish and linen. Cool despite the heat. Dina drags her suitcase upstairs while Ellie pokes around, flipping on lights, shouting commentary over her shoulder about what Jerry's changed around since last year.

Their room is cozy, all sun-washed walls and an old ceiling fan that creaks a little when Dina gives the chain a tug. There’s a double bed pushed up against the window and a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks and dusty board games.

Ellie kicks off her sneakers and immediately sprawls out, arms flung wide like she owns the place. Dina sits beside her, peeling off her jacket and letting her eyes fall shut for a minute. They lie like that for a while, trading lazy kisses, bodies barely touching, soaking in the silence.

It’s peaceful. Disarmingly so.

Until Abby calls up the stairs, “Lake in thirty, pack whatever you need!”

Dina blinks her eyes open and groans dramatically. “We just got here.”

Ellie nudges her thigh with a socked foot. “Abby's big on doing stuff. You'll get used to it.”

“Fiiine,” Dina grumbles, but she’s already unzipping her bag.

She changes into her swimsuit and throws a sheer cover-up on over it. Ellie’s not subtle about watching her. Not even a little. By the time they’re downstairs, Ellie’s hand is hovering at the small of her back, fingertips brushing bare skin under the hem of the cover.

“You look ridiculous right now,” Ellie murmurs, eyes tracing her legs.

“Ridiculously hot?”

“Obviously.”

By the front door, Dina presses Ellie up against the wall, grinning as she steals a kiss. Ellie kisses back eagerly, hands skimming her hips like she’s got nowhere else to be.

Then someone clears their throat. Loudly.

They break apart to find Abby standing near the doorway with a folded towel under one arm and a cooler in the other. There’s a very specific kind of pink blooming across her cheekbones and the tips of her ears.

Dina smirks. “We’re coming, don’t get your swimsuit in a twist.”

Abby rolls her eyes and turns away, muttering something that sounds like unbelievable under her breath.

Dina catches Ellie’s gaze and raises a brow. “Looks like someone's jealous.”

Ellie snorts, grabs the sunscreen, and says, “You’re a menace.”

“Not denying it.”

The lake’s maybe a ten-minute walk downhill, tucked into a little clearing with a rickety wooden dock stretching out over still water. There’s a few plastic Adirondack chairs pulled up near the edge, clearly weathered from years of use, and rope tied securely to a tree for swinging.

The sun’s low now, casting everything in that buttery, pre-sunset glow. Dina feels a little like she’s wandered into a stock photo for "summer getaway."

Abby kicks open the cooler and tosses them beers, except for Ellie—who gets a tall can of something aggressively pink with cartoon fruit on it.

“What in the Lisa Frank hell is that?” Dina asks, eyebrow raised as she cracks her beer.

“Passionfruit lime vodka spritz,” Abby says, straight-faced. “Your girlfriend likes to cosplay being a beer drinker. That's actually her fave.”

Ellie snorts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you taste it.”

Dina gives her a look. “Abby, that is dangerously girlfriend material behavior.”

Abby shrugs and settles into a chair, stretching her long legs out. “It’s just being a good friend.”

“Mm-hm. Sure.”

Abby tips her beer up to hide a smirk, which only encourages Dina more.

Ellie, clearly bored of being the center of attention, starts digging through her bag for rolling papers. “They taste even better after one of these,” she says, laying everything out in her lap like she’s setting up camp.

Her fingers move with practiced ease, fast and a little showy, and Dina watches her for a minute, openly admiring the casual hotness of it all.

Once the joint’s rolled and lit, Ellie takes the first hit and leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Here,” she says, handing it off to Abby.

Dina watches with interest. “I thought you didn't smoke, Abby.” She recalls the few times Abby has turned down the offer.

Abby takes it without hesitation, puffing like it's nothing new. “Special occasion,” she replies after exhaling, voice a little rougher.

Ellie snickers. “Yeah, this is her two-week sabbatical from being a functional adult.”

Dina grins, already turning that over in her mind. “Oh? You get bad?”

Abby shrugs again, but her ears are starting to go red. “Not that bad.”

Ellie’s already halfway to giggling. “Last year, she got so drunk I found her passed out in the stables.”

“That was one time,” Abby says, flustered now, and Dina could absolutely bottle this feeling. She lives for how easy it is to get under her skin. Easier than Ellie, which is saying something.

"Don't let Ellie make fun of you," Dina says, shaking her head. "This is the same girl who got drunk and cried because I was asleep. In the same house as her."

Ellie shoves her lightly. "Don't go spilling all my embarrassing secrets like that. I have a reputation to uphold."

"You get weepy," Abby says with a shrug. "That's a well-known secret."

And for while that's the energy, a comfortable back and forth and swapping of playful jabs and reminiscing. Dina can already see why Ellie loves taking this trip.

Eventually, Dina pushes up out of her chair and stretches with a lazy groan. “I’m swimming,” she announces. “Before I drink more and forget how to use my legs.”

“I’ll come,” Abby says, already standing.

Ellie barely cracks an eye open. “Have fun.”

They don’t even look at each other before both Abby and Dina say, in perfect unison, “Put your sunscreen on.”

"That was so fucking freaky," Ellie says, shuddering dramatically. “The sun’s barely out.”

Dina pads over, pops the cap on the bottle, and smears a dollop on her fingertips. “But it is out. Yes?” She straddles Ellie’s thighs and starts rubbing it into her face, despite the way she twists and turns to get away.

Dina only backs off when she's satisfied with her job.

Ellie mutters something rude and takes another sip of her drink.

By the time they make it to the dock, Dina’s peeled off her cover-up.

She dives in, cool water rushing over her skin like a jolt. When she surfaces, Abby’s already in behind her, slicking her hair back with both hands. The two of them float for a while in peaceful silence, accompanied only by the faint chirp of insects and the occasional flow of water.

“This is really beautiful,” Dina says, softer now, just for Abby.

Abby glances over at her and offers a lazy smile. “Yeah. I like it here," she says. "I'm glad you could make it."

“Thanks for inviting me,” Dina adds, and it’s honest. “I know it was probably a little weird.”

Abby pauses, then: “Ellie said…you thought I didn’t like you.”

Dina blinks, surprised by the directness. “Fuckin' Ellie," she says with an exasperated laugh.

“I do like you. For the record,” Abby says, and it’s quiet, but not hesitant. “You’re really cool. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn't think so.”

Dina floats for a second, just letting that settle in. Letting herself absorb how sincere it is.

She’s going to ask Ellie if she wants to fuck Abby. Together. Like, tonight. Okay. Maybe tonight is a bit much.

“Thanks,” Dina says, her tone light and unreadable. “You’re alright, too. Definitely not as cool as me, but that's a high bar.”

-

Dina wakes to the gentle hush of morning, the kind that feels like the house itself is still half-asleep. Pale sunlight filters in through gauzy curtains, warm across the blanket tangled around her legs. Ellie’s still out cold beside her, sprawled face-down and mouth-open, one arm slung across the empty side of the bed like she was reaching for her in her sleep.

It makes Dina smile, fond and stupid, and she kisses the back of Ellie’s shoulder before slipping out from under the covers.

She pads quietly through the upstairs hall, trying not to step on the one floorboard that creaks, and makes her way down to the kitchen, stretching as she goes. Her body feels good—well-rested, loose from yesterday’s swim.

She’s expecting to find the kitchen dark and empty, but there’s already a faint clink of ceramic and the rich smell of coffee wafting through the space.

Abby’s perched at the kitchen island, fully dressed like she’s been up for hours. Her braid is neat and tight, not a single hair out of place, and she’s hunched slightly over her phone, scrolling with the kind of practiced thumb-swipe that says she’s not even really reading.

“Wow,” Dina says, voice low but smug as she rounds the corner. “Up, dressed, caffeinated? What time do you usually wake up, soldier?”

Abby jumps and nearly knocks her coffee over.

Dina grins. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to spook you.”

Abby sets her mug down with a soft thunk and gives her a withering look that fails to land. “You're up early."

“Always am,” Dina says, moving toward the counter. “Ooh is that coffee?”

Abby leans back against the counter, arms crossed, and nods toward the machine. “Want me to make you some?”

“Sweet and creamy,” Dina says, cheeky. “Like me.”

Abby actually snorts. It's a full-on, nose-wrinkling thing and Dina feels a small burst of pride about it.

“Sweet and creamy,” Abby echoes under her breath, already grabbing a second mug and pouring carefully. She slides it over once it’s been sufficiently doctored, with sugar and that hazelnut creamer Dina spotted in the fridge yesterday.

Dina sips, makes a satisfied little hum, and hops up to sit on one of the stools at the island. “Mm. You're the best, Abby.”

“I do what I can,” Abby mutters, sipping her own and finally setting her phone down. “Ellie still out?”

“Dead to the world,” Dina confirms, swinging her legs slightly. “It's almost impressive how long she can sleep.”

Abby's mouth lifts in the corners a bit. "Yeah."

There’s a comfortable quiet that settles between them, filled with nothing but birdsong and the tick of the old clock on the wall. It’s easy, surprisingly so, and Dina lets it be for a moment before asking, “You got any plans for today?”

Abby shrugs, running her thumb around the rim of her mug. “I usually hike in the mornings. There’s a trail behind the stables—nothing intense. Just gets the blood flowing.”

Dina arches a brow. “A sunrise hike and black coffee? I see why Joel like you so much."

“Oh god, not you, too.” Abby says flatly.

"Fine, I'll leave you alone, grandpa." Dina grins. “You ever get Ellie on these little hikes?”

“She’s allergic to uphill,” Abby replies dryly. “She’ll do it if I bribe her, but mostly she just sleeps in.”

Dina nods thoughtfully. “Well, I wouldn’t mind tagging along. If you don’t mind having me.”

Abby blinks once, like she wasn’t expecting that.

“I mean, unless this is a sacred alone time sort of thing,” Dina adds, tone light but probing.

“No. No, it’s not. I’d like the company,” Abby says, too quickly. She clears her throat. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive,” Dina says, finishing her coffee. “But I’m not doing cardio on an empty stomach. Feed me first, and I’ll consider it.”

Abby, ever the provider, throws together a quick breakfast for them. Dina offers to help and is immediately shooed away, so she perches on the counter and steals berries while Abby cooks.

They eat at the island again, easy and quiet, Abby already having pulled out a plate and slid it into the microwave for Ellie, like she’s done it a hundred times. Dina pretends not to clock the domesticity of it.

Afterward, she hops into the shower upstairs, savoring the water pressure and the citrusy shampoo Abby must use (which she definitely, absolutely does not steal a handful of). She gets dressed—bike shorts, tank top, zip-up hoodie tied around her waist—and throws the essentials into a small backpack. Sunscreen. Water. Bug spray.

They set out through the stables, the trailhead just past a crumbling old fence. The path is mostly shaded, winding gently uphill with patches of sunlight peeking through the trees. The air is crisp and clean, smelling like pine and fresh dirt. Birds chirp, bugs buzz.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Dina’s not much for morning conversation, but Abby talks just enough to fill the quiet—commenting on the plants, pointing out deer tracks, telling her about the one time a raccoon tried to follow her home.

They talk about movies, music, stupid high school shit. Ellie comes up more than once, always with this unspoken fondness hovering in the background. But it’s not just Ellie. It’s them. Dina and Abby, side by side, feet kicking up dust and shoulders occasionally bumping. It feels natural. Surprisingly so.

At the peak, the trees fall away to a wide overlook, revealing miles of rolling green hills and the glitter of the lake far below. They stand there for a moment, catching their breath.

“Okay,” Dina says, pulling out her phone. “Picture time.”

Abby blinks at her. “Want me to take it for you?”

Dina rolls her eyes. "No, idiot. Get in here."

Abby hesitates—adorably, of course—before leaning in. Dina snaps a few, flicking through until she finds the one she likes.

She sends it to Ellie with the caption: proof of life. also, ur gf is a surprisingly tolerable hiking buddy.

Ellie replies in seconds: dina pls. if she's anybody's gf rn, it's urs.

also i cannot believe u let her drag u on the torture trail.

Dina: joke’s on you. i volunteered.

Ellie: psycho behavior. come back. i’m bored.

Dina laughs under her breath and tucks her phone away. “Ellie says we’re psychos.”

“She’s not wrong,” Abby says, stretching her arms overhead, shirt rising just enough to reveal toned muscle and a trail of skin that Dina absolutely does not ogle. For too long.

They start the descent, chatting about what they’ll do for lunch and how Ellie is probably still in bed. And then Dina steps weird on a loose bit of rock—her ankle rolls and pain shoots up her leg, sharp and sudden.

“Shit—fuck—” she gasps, catching herself on a nearby tree.

Abby’s on her in a heartbeat, crouched in front of her like some disaster-response. “Hey, hey—what happened?”

“My ankle has betrayed me,” Dina says through clenched teeth, trying to breathe through it. “God, I am so pissed. I was doing great.”

“Can I see?”

Dina nods, and Abby reaches out—huge hands gentle as she cups her foot and peels off her sneaker. Her palm wraps around Dina’s ankle entirely, warm and firm and careful, and Dina almost blacks out for an entirely different reason.

“Not swelling,” Abby mutters. “Not hot to the touch. Probably just strained.”

Dina makes a sound that is absolutely not a whimper. “You’re very competent.”

Abby blinks up at her. “Uh. Thanks?”

“I’m just saying,” Dina continues, trying for casual and failing. “You're like the first person I've ever met who I could describe with the word dreamy.”

Abby’s ears go pink again.

After helping her back up, Abby wordlessly takes Dina’s bag from her and slings it over one shoulder. She slows her pace on the way back, always staying just half a step beside her, offering a hand when the path gets uneven.

By the time they make it back to the house, Dina’s ankle is just sore enough to be annoying. Not bad enough to limp dramatically, but noticeable if you know what to look for—and of course, Ellie does.

She’s padding down the stairs in a sleep-rumpled t-shirt and boyshorts, hair a mess, a half-eaten protein bar in her hand. The second her eyes land on Dina’s gait, she frowns.

“Why are you walking like someone’s dad who just mowed the lawn?”

Dina smirks, easing herself onto the couch. “Wow. Thanks, babe. I twisted my ankle a little on the trail.”

Ellie’s brows shoot up. “What the fuck? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dina assures her. “Just sore.”

Ellie points a dramatic finger. “Sit. Don’t move.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dina says, dropping back against the cushions with a sigh. “I feel so cared for.”

Ellie disappears into the kitchen and calls out, “Honestly surprised Abby didn’t insist on carrying you down in her arms. She loves showing off."

Dina’s halfway through a laugh when Abby’s voice floats down the hallway, dry and just loud enough. “Bold of you to say that when you literally whined and begged until I carried you down last time. Nothing was even wrong with you.”

Ellie freezes mid-step with two water bottles and a bag of chips in hand. “That’s slander.”

“Uh-huh,” Abby replies from the stairs.

Dina bursts out laughing, especially at the scandalized look on Ellie’s face.

“I was tired,” Ellie insists, handing Dina the water. “And my feet hurt. And I was on my period.”

“You were being a big baby,” Abby says, already disappearing into the bathroom.

Ellie glares in her direction. “I hope you slip in the shower, traitor.”

Abby flips her off before the door swings shut, and Dina is thoroughly entertained.

“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, cracking open the water bottle.

“You knew what this was when you signed up,” Ellie grins, then crouches at the end of the couch and takes Dina’s ankle into her hands. “Seriously though, does it hurt a lot?”

“Nah. It’s already better,” Dina says, watching Ellie’s fingers rub gently at the skin just above her sock. “You’re such a good nurse. This is why I keep you around.”

“Yeah, I’m very versatile,” Ellie deadpans. “Like a Swiss Army girlfriend.”

Dina laughs again, her smile lingering—until the moment stretches just long enough to shift from soft to weighted. She eyes Ellie, thumb lazily running over her knuckles, and decides not to waste time dancing around it.

“So,” she starts casually, “how would you feel about fucking Abby?”

Ellie blinks. “Jesus, Dina.”

“What?” She asks, giggling.

Ellie sits back a little, mouth twitching like she’s fighting a grin. “What the hell happened on that hike?”

Dina shrugs, smirking. “Nothing, really. The thought came to me, and it would be a mutually beneficial series of orgasms.”

“You're so benevolent.”

“I know right?” Dina agrees. “It's like, at first I thought she just wanted you but my eyes have been opened."

Ellie raises her brows. “I mean, she isn't exactly subtle. The acts of service really give her away every time.”

“Exactly,” Dina says, pointing at her.

Ellie chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I mean...yeah, I’d be down. She’s hot. I’ve always said that.”

“You're so easy, El,” Dina teases.

“For you? Hell yeah." Ellie says, jerking her chin in the direction of the bathroom. "Abby on the other hand, not so much. There’s no way she goes for it.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Dina says, resting her head back against the couch. “Watch and learn.”

Ellie laughs. “You're so hot when you're hatching plans.”

“Thank you,” Dina says with a grin. “I try.”

-

Their two weeks at the farmhouse pass in a haze of sunlight and slow mornings. Lake days bleed into barefoot evenings, skin sun-warmed and speckled with freckles. They ride horses out through tall grass trails, pack picnic lunches with too much bread and not enough utensils, and get used to the constant soundtrack of cicadas and distant birdsong. Nights are for shared meals and low conversation, the occasional competitive game of cards or dominoes, and one particularly tipsy bonfire where Ellie regales them with (badly) improvised songs on her guitar.

Dina’s favorite is “Dina’s Nice Rack.”

By all accounts, it’s kind of perfect.

And now it’s their last night.

Dina knows, almost from the beginning, that she’s going to wait for this exact moment. One final evening, when the comfort is thick and earned, and whatever happens doesn’t have to be carried awkwardly into another breakfast or trail ride. If it goes bad, they’ll pack up and pretend it never happened. If it goes well…well. They’ll figure that out later.

She finds Abby in the den, curled into the worn leather couch, watching something she clearly isn’t invested in. Her chin’s propped on one fist, the other hand slowly demolishing a bowl of kettle corn.

“Hey,” Dina says, casually leaning in the doorway. She’s dressed for bed—or something like it—in just a black bralette and underwear, a thin robe tied over it all. A treat for later, maybe. For now, she plays it casual.

Abby looks up. “Hey.”

“You wanna come play a game?” Dina asks, tilting her head. “Ellie and I are doing truth or drink, but it’s not as fun with just two people.”

Abby arches a brow, skeptical. “Truth or drink?”

“It’s like truth or dare for people who are too lazy to do dares. A little baring of the soul, if you will.” Dina grins, all teeth and trouble.

Abby hesitates for a beat, then shrugs. She sets the popcorn aside and stands. “Sure. Why not?”

The farmhouse creaks underfoot as they climb the stairs. The bedroom Ellie and Dina have claimed is warm with lamplight and smells faintly of eucalyptus and sandalwood. Ellie’s already sprawled across the bed in boxers and a ribbed tank top, hair piled messily on her head, one knee hitched as she scrolls lazily through her phone. She looks up when they enter and grins like she’s been expecting this all night.

“Look who I found,” Dina announces, voice sing-song.

Ellie’s grin widens. “Knew you’d cave.”

Abby gives her a dry look as she toes off her shoes. “Didn’t realize I was being hunted.”

“Oh, Abby,” Ellie says, tossing her phone aside, “always assume you’re being hunted.”

Dina snorts and pats the mattress. “Come on, sit. You’re in the middle. Ellie gets wandering hands.”

Abby hesitates again, visibly debating whether she’s about to make a poor life choice. Then she climbs up, careful but casual, and settles between them—clearly trying not to think too hard about the fact that Dina is basically in lingerie and Ellie’s arm rests on Abby's thigh like an armrest.

Dina smiles to herself and reaches for the little tray on the nightstand, where three short glasses sit already filled with mixed drinks. Sweet with a kick, just enough to blur the edges if things get sharp.

“It’s peach tea and whiskey,” Dina says, settling cross-legged on the bed with a satisfied little wriggle. “Don’t look so scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Abby replies, taking a sip.

Ellie raises a brow. “That sounds like something a scared person would say.”

“Alright,” Dina interrupts, clapping once. “Ground rules: answer honestly or take a drink. No skipping, no whining, no pleading the fifth.”

“And no deflecting with a question,” Ellie adds, still lounging like a smug little cat.

“Got it.” Abby leans back against the headboard and crosses her arms.

“Okay,” Dina says, leaning forward. “Ellie, you start. Make it a good one.”

Ellie grins, toothy and mischievous, and turns to Abby. “Alright, Abs. When’s the last time you got off?”

Abby chokes slightly on her drink. “Wow.”

Dina throws her head back laughing. “Straight to the filth. No foreplay.”

“I don’t waste time,” Ellie says with a shrug. “So?”

Abby’s ears are definitely pink. She glances at her drink like she might use it as a shield, but then shrugs. “Couple nights ago. Shower.”

“Ohhh,” Dina coos. “Quick clean up. Efficient.”

“Don’t ask what I was thinking about,” Abby mutters, mostly to her glass.

“Oh, we’re definitely circling back to that,” Ellie says. “But go ahead. Your turn.”

Abby exhales, clearly trying to seem unaffected. “Fine. Dina. Have you ever had a threesome?”

Dina doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

Ellie grins, looking very happy with herself. “I was there!”

“Last time was a while ago,” Dina adds with a shrug. “Roommate. Bad idea. Don’t recommend.”

Abby’s face is unreadable, but her hand tightens just a little on her glass.

Ellie nudges her. “Are you really surprised? Don’t be surprised.”

Dina points her glass at Ellie. “Got one for you, babe. How many people in this room would you kiss?”

“Myself excluded, but I would if I could,” Ellie says, sipping slowly. “Two.”

Abby's brows furrow and Dina sees that she only relaxes once she sees Dina smiling. "Interesting," she says. "Your turn."

“Alright,” Ellie says. “Abby. Be honest, have you ever thought about me while touching yourself?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Abby blinks.

Dina watches her like a cat watches a mouse, not out of malice, just hunger. Abby’s mouth opens, then closes. Her gaze flicks between the two of them. She hesitates.

And then, slowly, she lifts her glass and takes a drink.

“Damn,” Ellie says, delighted. “A non-answer is so an answer.”

“You’re awful,” Abby mutters, but her mouth quirks.

“I’m a delight,” Ellie counters, leaning back on one elbow. “Dina, your turn.”

Dina looks at Abby, letting the moment sit heavy between them.

“Abby,” she says sweetly. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Ellie lets out a tiny, surprised breath.

Abby goes still.

The fizzing energy in the room spikes into something bright and sharp. For a second, no one moves. Then Abby licks her lips. Her eyes flick to Ellie, who doesn’t look surprised. A little interested, very amused.

Dina watches the way her throat bobs when she swallows.

And then Abby says, softly, “Yeah.”

Dina’s smile curves slow and warm. “Good.”

Dina shifts forward before Abby can overthink it. Her glass clinks softly on the nightstand as she sets it down, then she reaches out, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing Abby’s jaw.

“C’mere,” she murmurs.

Abby doesn’t move at first, like she’s waiting for the joke to land. But Dina’s thumb is already sliding along her cheekbone, steady and coaxing, and Ellie doesn’t say a word—just watches with parted lips and something bright in her eyes.

So Abby leans in.

The kiss starts careful. Dina’s mouth is warm, soft, tasting faintly like peach and whiskey. Abby kisses like she lifts weights: all control, focus, the barest tremble of tension in the hands that rest on her thighs, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing. Dina lets it simmer a second before she deepens it, tilting her head and letting her teeth graze Abby’s lower lip.

Abby makes a sound, low and involuntary, and Dina feels the shiver of it down her spine.

She pulls back just enough to whisper, “Still good?”

Abby nods, a little breathless. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

Ellie’s voice slides in behind them, low and teasing. “Jesus. That was hot.”

Abby looks over, flushed and still catching her breath—and that’s all the invitation Ellie needs.

She leans in and kisses Abby too.

Abby stutters a little in surprise, but Ellie’s hand is already on her knee, her mouth soft and coaxing. This kiss is different—less testing, more knowing. Like they’ve imagined it enough times that the rhythm comes naturally. Abby’s hand rises, hesitant, and settles lightly on Ellie’s hip.

When Ellie pulls back, her smile is wicked. “You're pretty good at that.”

Dina laughs, genuinely delighted, and pulls Ellie into a kiss over Abby's lap. Her hand rests on the column of Ellie's throat, squeezing the barest amount as she keeps her just where she wants her. When Ellie moans into it, Abby makes another noise under her breath, and Dina grins without breaking the kiss.

She pulls away, half-leaning over one of Abby's thighs now, robe slipping open just enough to tease.

“So,” Dina says. “Still think you’re not the one being hunted?”

Abby laughs once, breathy and amazed. “I might’ve been wrong.”

“Yeah,” Ellie adds, crawling in closer to bracket Abby’s other side. “You totally are.”

Abby opens her mouth to reply—but Dina grips her jaw and pulls her into a kiss that's all hunger and pent up want. No more hesitation. She tangles her fingers into Abby's hair and tugs as she takes exactly what she's been wanting for the past two weeks. And Abby lets her, one of those strong hands coming to rest on her waist, curling into the silky fabric of her robe.

Ellie kisses along Abby’s jaw, then down her throat, slow and reverent. Dina squeezes her thigh together in a bid to relieve some of the burning arousal; she kisses her until Abby is warm all over, breathing like she’s run a sprint.

And when Dina finally whispers against her lips, “Take your hoodie off,” Abby obeys like it’s gospel.

Dina finds that she likes how easily Abby listens, how she looks to her so blatantly seeking approval. Ellie usually requires more effort, a push and pull for that well-earned control. Abby, it seems, is just eager to please.

Ellie wastes no time shoving her hand under Abby's shirt and pawing wherever she can reach. Abby gasps and arches into the touch and Dina quickly undoes her robe and tosses it over the side of the bed.

Ellie grins, all teeth and delight, and hooks her fingers under the hem of Abby’s shirt. “Arms up, big girl.”

Abby rolls her eyes but does it, lifting her arms obediently, and Ellie peels the shirt up and over in one smooth motion until Abby is bare from the waist up, flushed and breathing harder than before.

“Fuck,” Ellie murmurs, immediately leaning in to mouth at Abby’s chest, tongue wet and lazy. “Look what she's been keeping from us,” she says to Dina.

"How selfish."

Abby starts to answer, probably something sarcastic but the words die the second Ellie’s teeth scrape gently over one nipple, then soothe the bite with a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Dina’s hand strokes slowly down Abby’s torso, fingers brushing over the newly exposed skin, tracing lines from sternum to stomach. She presses a few soft kisses under Abby’s ribs as she goes, watching the way Abby’s abdomen flinches beneath the attention. It makes her grin.

“I've never seen you so shaken, Abby,” Dina says softly. “It’s a good look on you.”

Abby makes another sound—part whimper, part laugh—and her hands flex against the sheets.

Ellie’s lips are shiny when she looks up. “I don’t think she knows what to do with both of us at once.”

“Not yet,” Dina agrees, and hooks her fingers into the waistband of Abby’s shorts. “But she’s gonna learn.”

She leans in to kiss lower, just above the hem, while slowly sliding the shorts and underwear down together. She does it deliberately, the backs of her knuckles brushing against the tender inside of Abby’s thighs as she peels the last layers off. Ellie helps by lifting Abby’s hips just enough so Dina can tug them down fully and toss them away.

And then Abby’s naked. Laid out in front of them. Gorgeous and already wrecked from nothing but teasing touches and two hungry mouths.

Dina sits back for a second just to take her in. “Look at you,” she murmurs. “Beautiful.”

Ellie hums her agreement, dragging her teeth along Abby’s shoulder. “All laid out for us. So fucking hot.”

Abby groans, slaps a hand over her face and then gasps when Dina kisses the inside of her knee and works her way up with slow, open-mouthed heat.

“I swear to God,” Abby breathes.

“You like the praise, don’t you?” Dina grins against her skin. “Get all squirmy when we talk about how hot you are.”

Abby tries to glare at her but it doesn’t stick, not with Ellie’s hand teasing slow circles near her hip and Dina’s mouth inching ever closer between her thighs.

Abby’s already trembling when Dina finally licks into her hot and slow. She moans, a sharp broken sound, and Ellie actually laughs, low and delighted, as she lays beside Abby. Her fingers still idly massaging her tits.

“Jesus, Dina,” Abby gasps, hips twitching. “Fuck—”

“Mm,” Ellie hums, grinning down at her. “You don’t even know. That’s her being nice.”

Dina doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look up. She’s too busy burying her face between Abby’s thighs, hands gripping firm hips to hold her in place as she licks again—this time slower, deeper, like she’s savoring the taste. Her fingers dig in as Abby writhes, and the pleased noise Dina makes in response sends another full-body shiver through her.

Ellie raises a hand, brushes hair back from Abby’s sweaty temple. “You’re so fucking lucky,” she murmurs, eyes shining. “She usually makes me beg for it. Beg and then explain myself. Like, ‘why do you deserve to come, Ellie?’ And if the answer’s not good enough, she’ll stop.”

Abby whimpers. Her hands fly to Dina’s shoulders, not to push her away, just to hold on.

Dina pulls back just barely—mouth slick, smile positively sinful. “I'm being nice. Just this once,” she says against Abby’s thigh, then kisses her clit with a wet smack. “You should be grateful.”

“I am,” Abby pants. “I fucking am.”

Dina hums in satisfaction and dives back in, tonguing her open with the kind of practiced confidence that makes Abby keen. Her tongue moves slow at first, then faster, learning what Abby likes and giving her more. One of Dina’s hands sneaks between her own legs without thinking, fingertips working as she grinds against her palm, helplessly turned on by the sounds Abby makes—those desperate, involuntary cries as she bucks under the attention.

Ellie’s voice floats above them, almost dreamy. “She gets so into it. Look at her—Dina’s gonna come just from eating you out.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, head tipped back, every muscle straining.

“Look at her,” Ellie whispers again, hand stroking slow and possessive down Abby’s torso. “Look at what you’re doing to her.”

Abby forces her eyes open—just for a second—and the sight almost ends her.

Dina’s eyes are closed, her face completely buried between Abby’s thighs. She’s moaning into it like it’s the best meal of her life, grinding herself down hard against her hand. Her hair's all messy, cheeks flushed, and Abby realizes she’s not holding back at all. She’s gone on it. Obsessed. Her fingers dig bruises into Abby’s hips as she fucks her with her mouth, relentless and wild.

And Abby can’t take it. The image burns behind her eyes as her thighs clamp tighter around Dina’s head and she finally, finally breaks apart with a sob.

She comes hard, gasping through it, one hand fisting in Dina’s hair and the other gripping Ellie’s forearm like she might float off the bed otherwise.

And Dina doesn’t stop—not right away. She licks her through it, working her down slow, like she’s reluctant to give it up. Like she could stay there forever.

When she finally pulls away, face slick and eyes still dark with hunger, she looks up and grins.

“Well,” she says hoarsely, catching her breath. “That was fun.”

Ellie barks a laugh and strokes a hand down Abby’s side. “She’s such a show-off.”

“I’m just efficient,” Dina says, crawling back up to slot herself against Abby’s side. She presses a kiss to her shoulder. “And maybe a little obsessed.”

Abby is still catching her breath, totally wrecked. “Fuck.”

“Eloquent,” Ellie teases, kissing her flushed cheek. “And you haven’t even gotten to the really fun part yet.”

After discarding her underwear over the side of the bed, Dina leans in close and murmurs something in Ellie's ear. Whatever it is makes Ellie’s breath stutter, her eyes flick down to Abby, still dazed, still pliant, skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

“Oh,” Ellie says, voice a little hoarse. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

She shifts off the bed long enough to peel her boxers down and toss them to the floor, leaving her in just the ribbed tank. Her thighs are already slick, muscles tensing with anticipation as she climbs back up and swings one leg over Abby’s chest, then slowly inches backwards until she's straddling her face.

She can't see Abby's face like this, but she can imagine it well enough. “This good?” Ellie asks, already lowering her hips.

Abby doesn’t answer with words, she grabs Ellie’s thighs and pulls her down like it’s the only thing she’s ever wanted. Ellie moans, loud and unfiltered, grinding down gently against Abby’s mouth. “Oh fuck—fuck, okay.”

Dina just watches, greedy and delighted, before crawling between Abby's legs.

“Look at you,” Dina says, dragging her fingers lightly up Ellie's sides, making her twitch. “You're taking her so good, baby.”

Ellie whines, hips rocking forward. "God, she’s—fuck, she’s really good at this.”

“Oh, I know,” Dina purrs. “Our girl's a pleaser.”

Ellie laughs breathlessly as Abby redoubles her efforts. She braces one hand on Abby's toned stomach, the other coming up to cup Dina’s cheek as they meet in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Dina licks into her, slow and deep, and throws one of her legs over Abby's. It gives her the perfect angle to grind their pussies together; she whines into Ellie's mouth as the sensation overtakes her.

Abby groans into Ellie, and the vibration makes Ellie shiver.

“Shit,” she pants. “Shit, Dina.”

“I’ve got you,” Dina murmurs, breath hot against her lips. “Just ride her. Let her make you come.”

Ellie does, grinding slow and firm, lost in it. Her fingers tangle in Dina’s hair again as they kiss, filthy and heated and desperate. Her thighs tremble around Abby’s head.

And all the while, Dina keeps her hips working, keeps Abby’s and her own slick centers sliding together, over and over. Abby’s body is caught between them, mouth busy, hips jerking with every slow drag of friction. Her whimpers are muffled but constant—needy, overwhelmed, into it.

“You’re doing so good,” Ellie whispers, breath shaking. “Fuck—so good, Abs.”

“She loves it,” Dina says, teeth grazing Ellie’s lower lip. “You can hear how wet she is, right?”

Ellie moans in agreement, burying her face against Dina’s neck as her hips stutter. “I’m—fuck! M'gonna come.”

“Good,” Dina whispers, one hand cradling Ellie’s jaw. “Come for me, baby. Come on her mouth.”

That does it.

Ellie cries out, thighs clenching around Abby’s face as she bucks through it. Her whole body trembles with it—every muscle pulled taut, fingers gripping Dina like a lifeline. And Abby holds her there, doesn’t stop licking even when Ellie starts to squirm and gasp.

Dina kisses the side of Ellie’s face, murmuring sweet filth against her skin, and focuses on chasing her own pleasure. She grinds down fast and hard, and Abby does her best to answer each of her movements with her own. It doesn't take long before Dina is throwing her head back and digging her nails into tanned, freckled skin.

Beneath them, Abby is panting, chest heaving, eyes wild and so ready for more.

Dina sits up a little and glances across the room, fingers trailing teasingly between Ellie’s thighs, just to make her whimper.

“Hey, Abs,” Dina calls, already shifting to reach for the bedside drawer. She comes up with the harness and dildo in hand, dangling it by the strap like a promise. “Put this on?"

Abby, flushed and wide-eyed, hesitates for just a second—then swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dina Abby’s strong hands make quick work of the buckles, and soon the strap is snug low on her hips, thick cock jutting out heavy and ready. She runs a hand along it like she’s testing the weight.

Dina bites her lip, gaze raking over her. “God, look at you.”

Then she lays back again, guiding Ellie to reposition—twisting around so she’s nearly upside-down on top of Dina, her mouth hovering just above Dina’s slick center. Dina spreads her thighs wide, one arm wrapping around Ellie’s middle, the other hand reaching down to slip two fingers into her with practiced ease. Ellie keens, arching into her.

“All good?” Dina checks, glancing down at Ellie’s flushed face between her legs.

Ellie groans. “So good. Fuck, Dina.”

“Good.” Then she lifts her chin, locks eyes with Abby, and adds, “Come here, babe.”

Abby climbs up onto the bed, kneeling between Dina’s spread thighs. Her hands settle at Dina’s hips, waiting for the final go-ahead.

Dina lets her fingers curl just right inside Ellie, making her twitch. “Slow at first. Let me feel it stretch.”

Abby nods, positioning the strap. “Yeah. Got it.”

The first push makes Dina suck in a breath and she keeps her fingers moving inside Ellie as Abby fills her, slow and steady.

“Yes,” Dina groans. “That’s it, Abs. Just like that.”

Ellie moans against her, and then—ever the overachiever—dips her head and starts licking, her tongue and nose brushing Dina’s clit. Her hips twitch at the sensation, caught in the middle of perfect stimulation, stretched full and wrecked in the best way.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, flexing her fingers inside Ellie as she rocks her hips up. “That feels so fucking good. My good girls."

Abby starts thrusting a little harder, finding her rhythm, hands firm on Dina’s waist. Her eyes are locked on where they’re joined, like she’s mesmerized.

“You’re so tight,” Abby groans. “Fuck, Dina.”

“Yeah?” Dina pants. “You like fucking me like this? Like doing a good job for me?”

"I do. I really do." Abby tightens her grip on Dina's waist and fucks into her harder, bordering on desperate.

Ellie moans helplessly against her, hips rolling. Dina curls her fingers just right again and grins when Ellie chokes out a noise.

“She’s so close already,” Dina says, breathless. “You feel that, Abs? How I squeeze around you when she moans like that?”

Abby groans, pace faltering for a moment, overwhelmed.

“Keep going,” Dina says sharply, nails digging into Abby’s hip. “You’re doing so good. Make me come.”

Abby thrusts harder, deeper now, the sound of skin on skin obscene. Ellie’s licking faster too, breath ragged and desperate. Dina is caught in the middle of it, taking and giving and thriving.

Her back arches, every nerve alive. “Just like that, don’t you dare stop—”

And then it all crashes over her. Pleasure sparking up her spine, thighs clamping around Ellie’s head, a groan ripped from her throat as she comes hard around Abby’s cock.

Ellie cries out too, stuttering on her tongue, grinding against Dina’s mouth as she comes seconds later, shaking apart.

And Abby, gasping, still fucking her through it, can’t tear her eyes away. Dina lies back, spent and smug, one hand lazily stroking Ellie’s thigh.

-

Eventually, the three of them manage to collect themselves.

There’s soft laughter as Ellie trips over her own shorts trying to get them on, and a sharp yelp when Abby yanks them up for her. Dina barely bothers tying her robe back up, content to wander half-naked between the bathroom and the bedroom, passing out water and kisses like party favors.

They wash off the sweat and slick with quick, sleepy showers. They’re all bare-faced and quiet by the time they crawl into Abby’s bed, limbs tangled, hearts loud in their chests.

Abby’s room is bigger, the mattress softer, the blankets kicked halfway off by the time they settle. Dina ends up in the middle this time, Ellie pinned half under her, Abby curled protectively along her other side. Someone’s hand finds her waist. Someone else’s fingers are laced with hers.

For a long, peaceful moment, nobody says anything.

Then Ellie sighs, muffled into Dina’s shoulder. “Guys. Don't be mad but I gotta piss again.”