#perhaps if you wore something more flexible

[sleepyangelkami]

COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[glossykissies]

yoga!reader guiding clark through some moves and his pants get too tight bcos of the way you look in your workout clothes with your ass practically in his face

“so you really think this is gonna help me? you know, with all the… stress?”

it was honestly adorable the way you nodded with a smile, so sure that something as simple as yoga could ease clark of the constant earth-shattering nature of his life — but in your defence, you were none the wiser to the fact he was super human. he’d brushed it off as ‘parent-troubles’ and you’d been too polite to prod further.

“mhm! yoga has helped me through some really hard times, clark. trust me, a little bit every day goes a long way.” you grin, all bubbly and sweet as you lead him to the mat in the empty home gym of your garage. your parents were never home, and he was starting to think you were just happy to have someone over.

he looks around, strolling casually behind you as you set up his little station— hands casually in his sweatpant pockets as he tries to avoid staring right at your ass when you bend over to smooth out his yoga mat. baby pink, so he knew it belonged to you.

“plus, yoga is good for lots of things.” you continue on, intent on filling the silence. “practicing every day has made my body super flexible.” you brag cutely, dusting off your yoga pants as you stand once more.

“oh yeah?” his head whips over to you, which was meant to be innocent but he later realised how eager he might’ve sounded to hear about what positions you can get into.

“yeah! but those kind of things are more advanced. comes with practice. i’d probably start you with some breathing exercises, sitting cross legged. something as simple as that can be yoga too, you know?” you chat, glancing over your shoulder as the two of you take a seat, you slightly infront of him so he could watch and copy you. “or perhaps downward dog? that’s a classic.”

“downward dog?” clark chuckles in amusement at the silly name and you share his confused giggle.

“i know, sounds weird. but it’s easy!” you chirp, spinning on your knees and assuming the position - which happened to quite literally be presenting yourself to clark. you hold the pose, impressively at that — and he finds himself entranced for a moment, eyebrows slowly raising as he boyishly stares at your painted on leggings, snapping himself out of it just as he began to swear he could see the outline of your puffy pussy through the fabric. he clears his throat, physically shaking away the thoughts. he was raised better than that — besides, the loose sweatpants he wore would be anything but forgiving if he let himself get carried away.

“eheuhm— yeah! that’s uh, that’s pretty impressive.” he smiles in his usual friendly way and you spin back to him like a puppy who’d just performed a trick for its owner, looking totally happy with yourself beneath his praise.

“yeah? it was one of the first things i perfected.” you shrug, trying to feign humble now. when you turn to grab your water bottle, clark subtly pulls at his sweatpants to adjust himself as well as he could in such short time. you’re none the wiser. “is there anything specific you wanna learn? i’m not sure how familiar you are with yoga…”

“oh! well, uh— hey. you’re the teacher here. i’ll be grateful for any kind of tips.” he presses his lips together humbly, eyes earnest as he places a hand over his white-tshirt clad chest. that strong chest you kept glancing at.

“hm.” you push your mouth into the corner and tap your chin like a cartoon character. his lips twitch up some more because he finds it adorable. “well i’ve always wanted to try two person yoga… never had a partner to do it with though.” you look down, shy at the suggestion and he sits up a little bit — jumping to reassure you. he couldn’t stand seeing a pretty girl doubt herself. maybe he was also slightly jumping at the notion of touching you. not in a creepy way of course — well, he’s not sure now.

“that sounds like a great idea.” he speaks intentionally, as if trying to convey the reassurance he felt you needed, eyes locked on you until you reciprocate the eye contact. there’s that smile again.

[petermorwood]

I was wondering if you could answer a question about armor, especially the solid/articulated types - how much did it need to be personalized or fitted? I ask because I often see people criticizing fantasy/gaming armor for being too heavy or cumbersome, but rarely for perfectly fitting everyone between five and seven feet tall regardless of whether they're built like Legolas or Gimli.

So I'm curious about whether and what kinds of armor might have been mass produced vs what needed to be customized. Was it easier to produce broadly applicable armor or to recruit your army by height and weight?

Non-custom-fitted mass-produced armour ("munition grade" as some modern repro makers call it) started becoming more common when workshops where everything ran on muscle-power became ones whose hammers, grinders and polishers were powered by a water-wheel.

Making armour to fit a range of average sizes now took less time, effort and wages, so could be sold for less and be afforded by more people.

It would have been made in the period equivalent of S, M, L and maybe XL, with buyers either paying extra for custom adjustments, or DIY-ing for better fit with padded liners to make it snug or extra holes punched into straps for more space.

*****

Top grade plate armour on the other hand was almost like a second skin - a common term is "exoskeleton".

This post from a few years back has a lot more information, including what was done to ensure a good fit when the wearer couldn't be measured in person: for instance sending close-fitting garments or even wax model limbs to the armourer.

It definitely wouldn't have fitted anyone but the original owner anything like as well. In particular, if a non-original wearer was longer or shorter in arm or leg, the armour's knee and elbow joints might pinch at distracting moments or simply not flex through their full range.

"Is increased protection better than reduced mobility?" was a question where the wrong answer could prove fatal.

*****

Perhaps that's why medieval art shows a lot of partial armour being worn:

arm-harness - sometimes just vambraces on the forearms, often all the parts from gauntlets to pauldrons (hands to shoulders);

brigandine - a cloth or leather jacket with small metal plates riveted inside; this wasn't concealed armour, the rivets arranged in rows or patterns were an obvious decorative feature;

haubergeon (or byrnie, though that's more a Saxon / Viking term IMO) - a short-sleeved, short-bodied mail shirt, usually worn under something else;

plackart - front or sometimes front-and-rear lower-abdomen torso plates;

poleyns - knee-guards, worn on otherwise unarmoured legs.

The one thing everyone wore is the first thing Hollywood armour leaves off - a helmet - while the archer below has not just a helmet, haubergeon, brigandine and poleyns, but also something equally important, a brayette or breech...

...which is a pair - or at least the front half where It Matters Most - of well-padded mail and indeed male underpants.

Full plate armours had full plate ones which were even more emphatic. Boob-plates may be (mostly) fantasy, but obvious gendered armour was A Real Thing.

*****

Flexible armour like mail, scale and lamellar wasn't tailored for fit; being flexible it didn't need to be. That said, if the size was really wrong one way or the other, it could be reduced or enlarged by removing or adding sections, similar to a modern tailor taking in or letting out a garment.

I have a vague recollection of a photo showing a late medieval haubergeon with tailoring darts inserted under the arms, but I can't remember where or when, so "vague" has more weight than "recollection". ;-P

Genuine mail is rarer in museums than plate armour, because at the end of its working life mail armour was often chopped into pot-scrubbers for the kitchen. You can buy the same sort of thing today.

Finally, while some looted high-grade armour, or at least parts of it, might fit the looter straight away, it's more likely that after any battle there was probably a brisk trade in swapping what didn't fit for what did.

Hope This Helps! :->

[lord-squiggletits]

I’d love to hear any comments/headcanons you have for pre-Tarn/pre-war Damus!

Those tags about him being touch starved due in part to his Outlier powers had me in my feels 😭😭 I loved that wonderful (and angsty) analysis on him.

Hmm I'm not sure I have that many but let's see if the ones I do have end up blossoming into a more robust list or not

Like most people, I headcanon Damus having an affinity for music long before becoming Tarn; I mean, his outlier power had literally nothing to do with sound at all to begin with (even once he started being able to do it at a distance), so it seems like for Tarn to have 'music lover' as one of his big traits, he would've picked it for a reason, no? Not all parts of Tarn (TM) have to be a complete pretense

Following that, because Damus' outlier broke all electrical devices/machines he touched, he became a singer because his own voice is something he can't break and that no one can take away from him. Maybe he would've tried non-electronic instruments, but he would've gravitated towards singing more than instrumental performance regardless

Also, depending on how you headcanon Cybertronian singing to work (do any of them "breathe"/push air like humans do or are their voices entirely synthesized? Is "breathing" a special mod or does it work as a function of ventilation/cooling), being empurata'd probably could've affected Damus' singing ability since he would no longer have a face/mouth to shape his sounds. Could still sing since he does have a voice box, but I imagine that, considering Damus wasn't able to touch anyone/anything anyways, losing his hands was way less hurtful to him than losing his face.

However, since his outlier ability would make him pretty much functionally disabled on Cybertron (literally everything and everyone is machines), Damus would've had a greater appreciation for physical mediums of art/function more than the average person, I think. In a society where pretty much everything is stored on datapads, computers, etc, Damus would've been a huge pen-and-paper, art canvas, stonecarving, etc kind of guy; a big appreciator of things that can survive without an electrical connection or any machine functioning. He's basically one of those people who, in human terms, would own a lot of antiquated stuff like record players, cassette decks, CDs, etc because his outlier forced him to adapt to (and then eventually enjoy the benefits/unique traits of) physical rather than digital mediums. I imagine this trait would make Damus odd among other hobbyists, since for both anatomical reasons (they're a mechanical species) and cultural reasons (history of mechanical superiority/anti-organic tendencies), most people would probably degrade physical media as less fast, efficient, flexible, etc compared to digital. Which does kind of make it ironic that Damus later became a Decepticon, but I suppose non-electrical/mechanical doesn't necessarily equate to being organic.

On account of not gaining control of his outlier until his outlaw days with Orion and co., I imagine Damus' job opportunities would've been very limited and he would've mostly had a very poor/limiting lifestyle (which also inclined him to be more interested in Megatron's writings and eventually becoming a Decepticon). Creativity isn't running well at the moment, but probably something like waste management (like being a garbage man) or some sort of manual hauling job, although Damus appears to have just been a normal 4-wheeled car alt-mode so I'm not sure he could've/would've gotten hired for heavy manual labor stuff. Perhaps he could've been a courier like Bumblebee was pre-war?

That also begs the question of how Damus compensated for his disability. Maybe to handle electronics, he could do so as long as he wore really thick gloves or something? Probably he'd also take advantage of stuff like voice commands/text to speech on electronic devices, so I imagine Damus' life wasn't completely devoid of any technology whatsoever. Do you think he'd be able to cook food on a stove top as long as he used a pair of tongs to grab it? I bet Damus had to get really good at improvising disability aids and getting basic life functions done without touching things directly with his hands, so maybe he was a bit of a tinkerer back then as well. And now I'm imagining Damus' home being full of elaborate Rube Goldberg machines that do very basic things like turn the stove to a specific temperature and turn it off after a set interval of time klsdalfjkdls

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Published: Oct 24, 2023

I was around 10 the first time my mother asked if I thought I was a boy.

There was a period from the 1970s-1990s where the concept “tomboys”, although perhaps originally intended as a derogatory term, provided a space for pre-pubescent girls to act, play and dress in ways that were not stereotypically coded feminine; in other words, some of the freedoms boys were granted. My mother clearly felt that raising a daughter and a son should be drastically different experiences. This was not largely the case, as I wanted to be just like my older brother.

Growing up, my parents had strict ideas around the roles of men and women in society. Men were “head of the household” and had the final say on decisions, as well as being the primary disciplinarian; women’s primary roles were as caregivers. My parents were religious, raising me in a religion where homosexuality was taught to be immoral and unnatural.

In some ways, I fulfilled many stereotypes of feminine attributes: being gentle, soft-spoken, and nurturing towards others. I enjoyed playing with dolls and soft toys; however I also had a keen interest in cars and transformers. As a painfully shy child, I preferred the company of fictional characters in books more than people; this level of social awkwardness alone cast me as “odd”.

However, what had been convenient and financially fiscal - hand-me-down clothing from my brother - had become my clothing of choice. I only wanted to wear “boys’ clothing”, much of which came in my favourite colour (blue) versus the bright warm colours of “girls’ clothing”. Having worn both, I had realised that boys’ clothing was looser fitting, had more flexibility of motion, and was more comfortable. I disliked glitter, sequins, lace and frills, none of which was found on boys’ clothing. As a very shy child who refused to wear the clothing supposedly designated for my sex, this often invoked commentary and disapproval from adults around my appearance and my body. Boys’ clothing, with its longer sleeves and longer torso, covered up more of my body; a body I was painfully aware that others were observing and judging, sometimes openly.

My mother had told me how excited she was when she learned she was going to have a daughter to “do girly things with”, fantasising of frilly dresses and ballet rehearsals. Instead, she had me. Although my parents allowed me to play with the same toys as my brother, pursue the same sport as my brother, and (eventually) choose my own clothing, my mother’s question showed that she still didn’t understand: “Do you think you’re a boy?” My mother, likely feeling that she had been short-changed around the perks promised with raising a girl, could not understand how her daughter, who declined most things coded feminine, could indeed be a girl who was comfortable with this fact. 10 year old me didn’t understand just how loaded the question was, but did find it strange and hurtful, replying, “No, I’m a girl” in a confused tone.

Thankfully, as the concept of “tomboy” was popular while I was growing up, this meant there was a known word that described the type of girl I was; one that allowed me to know that, no matter what I liked or did, I was still a girl.

There was another word that described the type of girl I was. I was around 8 the first time I heard the word “gay”.  A boy slightly older than me had spit the word out, yelling at another child “I’m not gay!” This caught my interest. Although the word itself was unknown, the meaning had been clear with the derision and emphasis the boy had placed on the word, his face consorting in disgust as the word left his mouth. It must be something really bad was the clear impression.

I had the opportunity to quench my curiosity that same week. In line with other tasks that could be deemed naughty, looking up bad words in the dictionary required careful timing to when family members were distracted elsewhere. I timed my moment carefully and looked up “gay”, which naturally led to my learning the term “homosexual” - oh. Reading the definition, it was almost like a warm recognition spread across my chest, embracing me. I hadn’t known that homosexuals existed, but I was pretty sure I was one. After this, I would sometimes sneak out the dictionary just to read these words again; although just ink on paper, it was proof that other people like me existed.

I would later use this word - gay - against myself, turning it from something comforting and wonderful, to the same kind of contempt that shrouded the word whenever I heard others use it in real life. Laying in bed at age 11, I had prayed to not be gay, promising myself that I would never tell anyone about these feelings and grow up to marry a man. Although it had been fine when my feelings towards certain girls had just been an intense desire to be their friend and be near them, these feelings had become much harder to ignore now they had turned into more concrete thoughts, such as how beautiful a certain girl was, how shiny and luscious was her hair, and daydreaming around our hands accidentally touching. It was much harder to deny the very clear signs of a crush, particularly when all my female friends had crushes on boys. In order to fit in, I focused my energies on talking about how “cute” one of the boys in the class was - I had never interacted with him, however he had soft features and long eyelashes, and seemed gentle in nature. I would then go home and dream about my female friend and her lovely, long dark hair.

Coming into puberty, I had also started learning more about my religion’s views on homosexuality, specifically that it was immoral and unacceptable. This led to a lot of emotional hurt and confusion for me. At this point, homosexuals may as well have been mythical creatures, discussed by others, but never appearing as an identifiable person in real life.

* * *

Several years older, 15 year old me was struggling. Since puberty, I had been trying to push away any inkling of desire I had towards other girls.; it hadn’t worked. Now with slightly more understanding around the world and how I fitted into it, I had started the process of accepting that these feelings weren’t going anywhere and were, perhaps, just a normal part of me. I had also started considering that if I had been created with intent, as my religion taught, then no mistakes were possible, and my attraction towards girls, which had always been there in some form, was as natural and as similar as anyone else’s. Although it had improved, my social awkwardness still made me frequently feel like an outsider, with my secret and furtive crushes on other girls further making me feel different in a way I couldn’t discuss with anyone. This feeling would decrease when I eventually met other lesbians, however this wouldn’t happen for several years.

I had started to shop in the women’s department, and outgrown my obsession with cars, instead falling into an obsession with music; something familiar to many teenagers. Still, I preferred comfortable clothing that would be classed as “gender neutral”: jeans, baggy t-shirts, converse shoes. I wore my mid-length hair messy, fantasising about the short hairstyles lesbian duo Tegan and Sara sported. I spent a lot of time listening to music with female musicians who played guitar, preferring artists who openly sung about and desired other women, or those who sang with ambiguity in their love songs, allowing me to place my own meaning on them. My penchant for female musicians had not escaped the notice of my friends, who gently teased me about it, although they didn’t seem to understand the cause for this fixation.

Again, now a teenager, the same question from my mother, phrased slightly differently this time: “do you feel like you’re a man?” I remember telling my friend about this at a sleepover the same night - her response was silence. She didn’t know what to say.

* * *

Several years passed. I was now an out lesbian with a rainbow flag proudly adorning the wall of my share-house bedroom. This included being out to my parents, who had taken the news reasonably well and had been supportive. Having a friendly gay male couple move into their neighbourhood in my late teenage years had significantly increased their understanding and acceptance of homosexual relationships - and had allowed me to finally meet others “like me”. I had fulfilled my fantasy of cutting off the majority of my hair, with the longest section being a fringe that flopped into my eyes. I had also gone back to shopping in the men’s wear section, though my wide hips and narrow shoulders made finding men’s clothing that fit me well difficult. I had finally had my first kiss, although not yet a girlfriend, though most of my time was spent dreaming about this.

My parents had reassured me that they loved and accepted me when I told them I was a lesbian. They had continued to reaffirm this in the following months, however despite this acceptance, my mother showed that she still doesn’t understand, asking me the same question again, some months after I came out: “do you want to be a man?” It was as if every five years, the thought occurred to her again that I must have gender identity disorder because of the way I looked and acted.

I’m in my late 20s now. I have been an out lesbian for a decade, and have had several girlfriends, although my current relationship is by far the longest. My parents adore my girlfriend, buying her birthday presents, and always letting me know how much they approve. My mother comments on how nice my girlfriend’s dresses are and how much she likes her long hair, telling me, “you would look so nice in that”. I feel fatigued with a lifetime of trying to convince her I am genuinely comfortable like this, and tired of defending my short hair, which is my favourite part of my appearance. My girlfriend gets angry on my behalf whenever my mother makes these comments, defending me and saying she thinks I look beautiful as I am.

I am thankful that I never came across the often repeated and homophobic rhetoric that only boys like girls, and therefore lesbians are actually just straight males on the inside. My conviction of my own self, that I am a girl who likes girls, has protected me in this way, but may not have had I had been born a decade later, where it seems many young girls similar to myself are being taken to gender clinics. Or that my mother’s conviction that I am secretly a transman - which has been a reoccurring theme across my life so far - could have caused consultation with a medical professional to convince me of this very fact; something that, as a child who felt different and never seemed to fit, I am sure I would have trusted the adult expert’s views on.

Somehow - bewilderingly - now almost 30, my mother again asks me if I feel like I’m a man and if I’m actually trans. I explain as patiently as I can that no, I’m a lesbian woman and it’s hurtful to me that she seems to refuse to truly accept this, questioning whether I can be a woman because I don’t match her view of what a woman looks like.

She listens to my words and apologises, saying she thinks she understands now. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll be having this same conversation in another five years.

==

It's weird that they would prefer that their god made a "mistake" and put her in "the wrong body," than that their god doesn't make mistakes, and that she's who he wants her to be.

It's a bad sign when a far-left ideology and a conservative religious view coincide.

[nonhumanresources]

First Day On The Job

Another commission story incoming! This one was commissioned by @actualhorseprincess. This one was quite fun, since I got to bring in one of my own characters, Rum. Luna's a very chill horse-wolf hybrid, everyone go tell her she's the best princess.

Also, in case you're wondering about the seeming incongruity of the setting, it's on purpose I swear. Picture a modern day city with an alchemist slotted in there and you're on the right track. Also, happy TF Tuesday.

Summary: Luna lands a hotly-contested job with the town's alchemist, Rum, and arrives on her first day for a tour of the lab, entirely unaware of the far more exciting plans Rum has in store for her. Turns out the alchemist has a reputation for a reason, and Luna should have read her NDA more carefully.

What to expect: Dragon TF, some oversized assets (Luna likes it big!), an irresponsible amount of teasing, lots of clothes dismantling, post-TF sensitivity, accent TF to such a cartoonish degree it is frankly unreasonable, and idle mentions of eggs.

Length: 4.2k words.

If you'd rather read this with somewhat easier formatting, here's a link to the same story on Google Drive!

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“...and here is where you’ll work.” Rum tapped the clipboard she was holding against a hard backed chair, sitting in the corner of a cramped room. It was stuffed to the brim with tables and shelves, dusty instruments lining the walls and bins of glassware sitting unattended. There was barely enough room for the golden dragon’s tail to sway without knocking into something. “I apologize for the mess; I’ve yet to find time to properly clean in here, but everything you need to perform your duties should be present.” 

Luna nodded frantically, trying to take the whole room in. She wanted to make a good first impression, so, wisely, during the majority of the tour, she’d left her mouth shut to avoid asking any silly questions. She was dressed to the nines: a leather bodice, laced tight on top of a blue top, sturdy pants, leather boots over her hooves and matching gloves, gleaming hair pulled back into a ponytail. Atop all this she wore a dark blue coat. It was a striking look, she’d thought to herself that morning—something befitting of an alchemist’s apprentice.  The look emphasized her unique body, purple fur and wolfish up top with large, pointed ears, a horse’s tail and charcoal-colored hooves down below. Of course, when she’d shown up, Rum was wearing simple pants, a plain shirt, and a lab coat, which made Luna think that perhaps dressing like a 19th century countess was not her brightest idea, so she was doing her best to make up for it. The woman wasn’t even wearing shoes, for crying out loud.

As always the rest of the story is under the read more. I love comments and questions so don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

Luna really, really wanted this job. Rum, local scientist, alchemist, literal golden dragon and one-woman powerhouse, had recently posted a listing for an apprentice. Luna didn’t know much about alchemy, but she’d thrown her hat into the ring anyway and figured that her 11th grade chemistry could probably carry her through the first week until she got some proper training. After that, it would be smooth sailing—a stable job, fascinating work, and solid pay. With flexible hours, too! The fact that Rum was widely considered one of the most attractive dragons in town and one of the most generous were just two more benefits to add to the pile. Now, after three nail-biting weeks of interviews and waiting, she was finally here, in what was apparently her own office. Sure, the outfit was ridiculous in hindsight, but the sheer amount of anxiety lifted from her shoulders and the excitement of her first day kept her from caring too much. 

“Any questions?” Rum nudged her glasses upwards, then rested her paw on her hip. She positively exuded a casual air; thus far, Luna had never seen her not look at ease. 

“Nope!” Luna responded, shaking her head again. A strand of her dark-blue hair escaped the ponytail, and she tucked it behind her ear, smiling sheepishly. 

Rum raised a brow, looking skeptically over her glasses. “None at all? I can’t have explained it all that thoroughly.” 

Luna’s mind raced. “Oh! U-uh, I mean, there was the, the…” she stammered, thinking back through the hour-long explanation of Rum’s lab and trying to pull anything she could to ask about. 

Fortunately, she was spared as Rum laughed, brushing past her, the edge of her scaly wing brushing against Luna’s feathery ones. “I’m kidding, darling. I could tell you were listening quite intently. I’m sure you’ll have many questions over the next few weeks, and I expect to have an answer for all of them. If not, we’ll have to discover that answer together! For now, though, I have a question for you: would you like something to drink?” 

“Yes, please,” Luna sighed, rubbing the back of her wrist with her other hand. Rum picked up a tray that Luna had barely noticed in the clutter, offering her a small glass filled with a transparent purple liquid. She took it and gulped it down gracelessly as Rum picked up the other, sipping at it. How does she manage to sound so professional even when she’s joking? Luna wondered, quietly clicking her tongue. The drink was delicious; probably some kind of sweetened grape juice, she surmised. 

“I’ve got work elsewhere,” Rum pronounced, setting her glass down with a clink against the tray. “You should get right to it! Familiarize yourself with the new workspace, and all that. If you find yourself looking for something to do, I suggest sorting through some of that glassware and pulling out any that are cracked so I can replace them.” Rum’s wing gestured towards one of the cardboard boxes brimming with various beakers and flasks. 

“Got it. And if I finish that?” Luna asked, careful not to sound like she was begging for instruction. The last thing she wanted to do was make Rum think she was some kind of lapdog. 

“Oh, I don’t expect to be too long,” Rum reassured, pushing open the door on the opposite side from where they’d entered, leading out into a balcony that led down to ground level. “Feel free to relax if I take too long!” With that, she turned, lab coat drifting in the breeze as the door clicked shut just behind her tail. 

Luna let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Impress the boss: check. Mostly, she thought, glancing down at her overzealous attempt at a uniform. Still, she’d survived the tour and was more than ready to dig her paws into the work. 

Taking Rum’s advice, Luna spent a few minutes wandering the room. It really was small, only about five paces across in either direction. Tables against three walls held scientific instruments that ranged from weight scales to burners to frightening looking things with pincers and knobs; one cabinet held labelled chemicals, and shelves were covered in random bits and bobs. The fourth wall had a fume hood, which as Rum explained it was basically a bench to work on where any gaseous chemicals would be drawn outside instead of breathed in. Useful. The rest of the room contained more tables covered in what was obviously Rum’s assorted storage. The overall aesthetic was not unlike an unkempt garage. 

Still, it was exciting. Luna pictured how it might look in a few weeks: clean tables, bubbling beakers and test tubes, her with lab goggles weighing out pharmaceutical grade chemicals and learning the secrets of alchemy. Sure, the cleaning would suck, but Rum would probably help. Maybe. 

She seemed nice enough to, at least… Luna mused, dragging the box of glassware Rum had indicated over to the one clean desk with her chair. She swept the dust off with a quick swipe of her tail, leaving a small trail of glitter in the air behind, and plunked it down. There was a suspicious crunch from the bottom of the box that made Luna wince. Best to be careful in there, then. She opted not to sit so she’d be able to reach the whole desk and got started. 

The sorting turned out to be quite relaxing. There were two main types of glass in the box—beakers, large cylinders that came in a variety of sizes all marked in milliliters, and flasks, which had more of a triangular shape with a skinny neck. She sorted these by volume; the rest, assorted pieces with odd forms whose purpose she didn’t fully glean, were instead placed at one end of the table and sorted by shape. Anything cracked or chipped went beside those. 

All in all, it was easy, light work. Yet, Luna still felt a crick in her neck that only grew worse as she sorted. Nearly at the bottom of the box, she stepped back, rubbing at it. She must have been leaning too far over the table or something. That was something she’d have to be careful of, if she was gonna be working on these short desks for many hours. Perhaps she should have sat down for this. She idly rolled her neck, trying to work out the kinks she’d inadvertently created. 

With a strange pop-pop-pop like someone drawing a fingernail up a washboard, Luna’s neck suddenly stretched outwards. She yelped, stumbling backwards and grabbing onto a table, eyes rolling as she felt at herself with her other paw. While she rolled it, her neck had somehow loosened up and stretched. Her paw traced its way up the side to where she thought her chin should have been—then up, up, up until it finally connected. There was at least another… ten, twelve inches of neck there, and what’s more, it had an odd, smooth texture. 

Luna tried to keep herself calm. Thirty minutes on the job and she was… doing whatever this was. She couldn’t afford to lose it because her neck decided it wasn’t content with its length, but she also couldn’t afford to panic. She stared down at the ground, and it felt disorienting, the height change making her feel like she was on stilts. It made her already roiling stomach toss even more. 

Help. She should get help, right? Right. That seemed… logical. Maybe she could even fix this before Rum came back and no one would be the wiser. It’s not like whatever was happening was her own fault; maybe she’d picked up stray fumes from one of Rum’s alchemical projects, but it’s not like she’d done it on purpose. The only thing Luna had touched was old glassware! She tried taking a deep breath, but her leather bodice felt extra tight, and so she settled on a shallower one, slowly unlocking her vice grip on the table. She’d grab a piece of glassware and head to the doctor just in case, then return. Easy. 

She didn’t even make it one step from the table. As soon as Luna’s foot connected with the ground, her rounded hoof-boot’s sole was launched off to the side as it was entirely torn from the body of the shoe. Instead of hoof, an enormous purple paw greeted her, white claws bright against the dark surface. Watching this happen proved ill advised; with her new neck at that angle and the paw’s appearance, Luna lost her balance and tumbled forwards. One thought blazed through her panicked mind: protect the glass.

She hit the table with a thunk as her other leg explosively removed its boot, leaving her with two enormous claws. Fortunately, she was able to fall just so; despite a frightening rattle of glass on wood, she had landed directly in between the flasks and beakers, twisted sideways and wings held in tight. One flask fell over and rolled into another with a quiet tink, but that was all. Crisis averted. Luna sighed with relief. 

Of course, she was immediately punished once again for her premature relief as the tightness in her bodice doubled. She gasped, and the sharp intake of air popped the lacing. Her shirt let out a loud, long shrrrriiiiip! as her chest quadrupled in size, bursting forwards in an incredibly uncouth display and utterly ruining her top, barely covering the drastically swollen surface and keeping her semi-decent. It let out an audible glrsh as it bounded forth, shoving her entire carefully-sorted collection of beakers to the floor. It gleamed in the light, and she could see it was covered in scales the same lavender as the rest of her underbelly. Luna winced as every single beaker shattered against the stone. The movement drew her attention to her face. Her normally fluffy, canid snout was shifting, nose hardening into a beak-like structure, light flashing off of it as she twisted. Her unicorn horn seemed to bend backwards, a feeling like mechanical thrumming in her head as it split in two and pulled back over each ear like a more traditional pair of curved horns. The whole experience left her face tingling and sensitive, just like her chest and new paws. 

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to enjoy it. The table beneath her cracked, crunched, and gave out, sending her to the floor with the rest of the glassware. Amid the smashing, shattering, clattering din, Luna let out a quiet oof as her chest hit the floor. On the bright side, it turned out to be immensely soft, and the scales it was now covered in were quite durable, any stray shards on the ground that were caught underneath simply pressing into her rack. However, as she slammed down onto her oversized chest, she felt an intense heat shock down her spine like someone had pressed a hand into a deeply pleasurable point (or two, in this case) during a massage. With her paws still planted, that shock slammed into the base of her spine and blossomed there, her pants going the way of her boots and shredding themselves along the seams. She flushed a deep maroon as she felt a breeze flow across her rear end—and that deepend to a plum shade as she realized just how much rear end she suddenly had. It was easily twice the size of her cartoonishly plump chest, and it was up in the air and exposed for all the world to see, the moon mark on her hips stretched across far more real estate than it was supposed to. 

The heat didn’t end there. It pushed into her tail, and the hairs twisted together, nerves growing out from her rump in a line, forming a thick, scaled tail. The glowing blue and silver-studded mane became small, rounded spikes that trailed down her tail and crawled up her spine, between her wings, which had also consolidated into membranes instead of feathers. She did her best to try and do a self assessment, but feeling at her chest and rear only made the scales flash up her arms, turning them sleek and reptilian like the rest of her. 

In only moments, Luna had become a dragon. Not only that, she’d become a dragon of such awesome proportions that she rivalled the biggest women she’d ever seen. Plus she’d just ruined the project her new boss had just asked her to do and an entire piece of furniture in the process. She let out a quiet whine, covering her face with her paws. Her day had been going so well, too. 

Just to top it all off, she felt her stomach groan, going the way of her chest and rear end and swelling outwards. She grunted, cupping a paw against it, and was shocked at what felt like a few large rocks knocking against each other somewhere deep inside. Was that… oh god, she was filling up with eggs, wasn’t she? Would she have to lay them? What if she turned back? How many was she gonna get? Were they—

A voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’d ask how long you plan on moping for, but frankly, I’m enjoying the view. So, take your time!” 

Luna froze. No. There’s no way. She couldn’t have… “Rum?!” 

“That would be me.” The voice came from somewhere behind Luna, where the outside door was. She instinctively tucked her tail downwards, trying to hide at least something of the wide rear end, and that move elicited a laugh. Rum’s voice had the same calm, clear tone, but it was mixed with obvious amusement. Luna’s face burned. 

“I, ah, didn’t realize you’d returned…” she mumbled. Her voice felt strange in her muzzle. It came out like she was speaking through porcelain, each vowel bouncing out sharply rather than smoothed together like usual. She wrinkled her nose at the sound. 

“Frankly, if you had, I’d be more worried at your current posture,” Rum remarked. 

Luna scrambled to her feet. This took quite a bit more effort than usual; she had to plant her paws much farther apart than usual to accomodate for the wide bust, and her legs were entirely different sizes. Not to mention the balance issues caused by having a huge rear end combined with a large dragon tail. Though it was embarrassing, she was glad for the rack and the swollen gut, since it actually balanced her out somewhat. Taking a deep breath, face still colored something like a deep bruise, she turned around to face what she assumed was her soon to be ex-boss. 

Rum sat atop a table, smiling slyly. She spun a glass bottle in one paw, legs crossed. Even now, she seemed so natural. It made Luna’s fumbling about feel all the more obvious. She crossed her arms over her chest, shamefully avoiding Rum’s gaze. 

“Rum, I—”

“Ah.” Rum held up a finger, tapping the bottle she was toying with against the table. Luna snapped her jaw shut. “I don’t want to hear any apologies.” 

Luna nodded, stomach sinking. “I’ll… gather my things, then?” Her voice had some kind of lilt to it, her a’s sounding longer, drawn out. This had to be the record for worst job performance in the history of ever. 

Rum, strangely, shook her head. “Now now. I didn’t say leave, did I?” 

“No,” Luna gulped, a small spark of hope daring to rekindle itself deep in her chest. 

“Exactly. Now, what is the first rule of alchemy, Luna?” Rum slid herself off the table gracefully, picking her way across the floor towards the other dragon. Luna had grown up to match Rum’s height. 

“Uh.” That wasn’t the question she’d expected. “Every… action has an equal and opposite reaction?” Yeah, something was definitely wrong with her voice. It was like she’d spontaneously developed an entirely different vocal pattern. 

“Not quite. Actually, the first rule of alchemy is this. Don’t,” Rum smirked, reaching out and pulling Luna’s jaw open slightly, pressing her clawed thumb against Luna’s tongue, “put anything in your mouth if you don’t know exactly where it came from.” She drew her claw out, leaving Luna’s forked tongue poking out dumbly, waltzing past her into the wreckage. She moved Luna to the side with a light touch to her hip, and Luna instantly understood why people referred to particularly wide hips as shelves. 

Rum settled into Luna’s chair, Luna spinning to face her. She surveyed the mess around her, grinning. “Quite the show, you know.” 

“You’re not… disappointed?” Luna probed, wary. Rum waved a paw. 

“Please. Dear, this is my junk room. Nearly everything in here was going to get thrown away anyway. Frankly, I’m sad you didn’t destroy more things; I’d pay to watch you use those hips on a few more of my tables.” Rum’s eye glinted, and her nearly predatory grin brought to mind the other thing Luna had heard of the dragon: she was an absolute flirt. 

“W-well! I shan’t say I will!” Luna cleared her throat. “I mean, I shan’t… bah. I’ll not be resting on any others.” Why in the world did she sound like that? It was like listening to a fancy butler talk. What part of turning into a dragon made you British? 

Rum only snorted. “Shame. I think we both know you’ve been taught your lesson quite thoroughly, though. Why don’t you pick up your mess and we can call it a day?”

“You don’t plan on punishing me?” Luna asked, still confused. 

“Of course not, dear. You’re far too cute for that.” Rum leaned the chair back, propping her paws up on the edge of the broken table. Those paws, Luna found, were nearly the exact size and shape of her own new pair. That ignited an emotion deep in her gut that she was afraid to explore. It made her stomach grumble, and she let out a small burp of multicolored flames, much to Rum’s amusement. 

“Ah. O-okay.” Luna cringed at her lame response, but it was all she could manage through the haze of emotions. 

Rum waved a paw at the ground. “Your first real job is cleaning up all this. Soon as you’re done, you can head out for the day. Deal?” 

“Um. Deal.” 

“Great. Broom’s over there, dear.” Rum gestured once more, then placed her arms behind her head, staring. Luna did the only thing she could do: she got to work. 

As it turned out, the job really wasn’t too bad, if she ignored her boss’s piercing gaze. Luna swept the glass into piles, using a dustpan on a long handle to pick it up and dump it into a designated waste container she hadn’t noticed before but was obviously placed there intentionally, looking back. She’d knocked over a few other instruments with her tail; those she righted and rearranged slightly. As she swept, she tried a few times to mumble to herself; each and every time, she found that she unconsciously stretched her vowels, ended her words in clipped tones, and it took real effort to say a bit instead of a tad. It was like her whole demeanor had shifted and she was talking like the London elite. At least she’d have time to explore further later. 

Even as she cleaned, Luna grew more used to the excessive sizes. Encumbering at first, she found that she could work around the large chest, albeit with low visibility. She didn’t even mind bumping her hips into tables, though it happened nearly every time she turned. She got better as she moved, though each brush against her enlarged assets still brought significant heat to her scales. In just a few minutes, the only thing left was the table. 

As she leaned over to grab one side of the splintered mess, Rum stood. “I think that’s enough cleaning for now, Luna, dear.” 

Luna looked up, bemused. “You asked me to clean, then tell me not to?” It was a far bolder statement then she should have made, but she was just about at her wit’s end at this point. Oddly, though, Rum seemed to approve of the push-back, wrapping an arm over Luna’s shoulders and walking her towards the doorway. 

“As much as I’d enjoy watching you bend over, I wouldn’t ask a mother with an expecting brood to do such heavy labor!” Rum scoffed, sounding incredulous. Her tail snaked around Luna’s hips, the tip resting atop her belly that had burst straight through her poor ruined bodice. 

“Th-that’s not my fault!” Luna squawked, pointedly shoving the tail away. 

“Mine either!” Rum laughed. “I slipped you a simple draconic alteration potion, darling. The particulars are up to your own biology.” 

“My own…” Luna looked at Rum, confused. 

“Yes, dear, your genes are telling you that had you been born a dragon, you would have made an exceptionally potent broodmother. An oddly English one, at that.” 

“That… that’s preposterous! I mean, I’m simply… simply not built like such a thing!” Luna argued. 

Rum pointedly looked directly down into her exposed cleavage. “I think your body begs to differ.” 

“Then change me back! I can’t work looking like some manner of… of dragon floozy!” Luna shrieked. 

“Actually, if you’ll check the contract you signed, it stipulates quite clearly that I’d be hiring a dragon!” Rum shot back. “Whether or not that dragon is a floozy is optional, though goodness knows it would make her quite entertaining to watch. Yes, I fear you’ll be scaled for the duration of your employment with me.” 

Luna’s mouth dropped open. There’s no way, that can’t be legal. Her mind raced, trying to think of an argument. Arriving at the door, Rum popped it open, then turned Luna towards herself. 

“Listen, Luna. You made the cut here. Don’t blow your chance now; I’d hate to be down such a pretty assistant.” Before Luna could say anything, she reached under her lab coat, pulling out a slip of paper and a coin purse. She reached around Luna’s side and tucked the paper into her waistband, making her shudder from the tips of her membranous wings all the way down her tail. “That’s a to-do list for tonight. I expect it to be completed by morning. And this,” Rum said, hefting the coin bag, “is for you to go buy yourself a few new outfits. Consider it a signing bonus. You’re gonna need it if you want to get anything big enough to cover that dragon ass of yours.” Instead of handing it to Luna, she pulled the drawstring open and dumped the coins straight into her cleavage. The cold metal made her yelp, back arching and causing her shirt to tear even further, boobs threatening total devastation. 

With that, Rum pushed Luna out the door and closed it behind her, calling out “Happy laying!” as she did. The door bumped against her butt as it snapped shut. The cool air made her heated chest steam. Luna stood there, wings flared, tail tip twitching. Never in a million years would she have expected her first day on the job to go like that. And yet, she actually found herself excited to go back. She was even mentally planning out a new outfit she could wear to work tomorrow. I must have given myself brain damage, she thought, astounded. 

Luna was determined to make this job succeed. If that meant living as a cartoonishly busty British dragoness, well… maybe she could live with that. She’d decide after she laid her first clutch, maybe. God, I really am insane, she sighed, surreptitiously bouncing her chest with her paws. Yeah… yeah, she could get used to that. Riding that decision, Luna turned her attention to the nearby market, heading off to buy a new outfit. This was going to be a fun one to relate to her tailor. 

[ceapa-mica]

Thrawn with a Foundling | Chapter 1

And at long last here is the first chapter of the fic I promised months ago! I wanted to get to know Thrawn's character well enough before actually writing fanfic. My headcanons were mere exercises. I hope my dialogue for Thrawn is on point with his "lawyer english" as my friend calls it haha

This fanfic will only have 5 chapters at max, I'm NOT planning on turning this into a big project or something so I remain ✨flexible✨

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!

Warnings: death, so much death, death of child, blood, trauma, lots of angst

I will leave you a box of tissues here for good measure.

Word count: 2109

Taglist: @bingbongooo @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @ele-millennial-weirdo @enaelyork @jesslove23 @thrawnalani @thrawnsboots @twincesskorisoka @davesrightshoe @shoe-bag @tearyeve @blackddarling @obbicrystaleo

Oodu 6 was a hot mountainous desert planet in the Outer Rim. It looked dull on the surface, but it was the minerals beneath that caught the interests of more than one party. One of them being the terrifying Sharun pirates out to raid the mine which belonged to the local population. These pirates were the type who preferred negotiating with their fleet, dropping bombs on the towns to destroy and intimidate, and using their blasters and vibroblades instead of words. The other party interested in those resources was the Galactic Empire, with the Seventh Fleet receiving orders to eliminate the pirates and secure the resources.

One of those resources was a metal called doonium, which was highly valuable to the Empire as it was used to build military vessels and weapons.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Chiss warrior who was in charge of the entire Seventh fleet had studied the Sharun pirates’ tactics extensively and was capable of predicting their next moves. To Thrawn this battle was like many others. The enemies’ fire power was no use against the Grand Admiral’s strategies. At the end, the remains of the pirate fleet disbanded, most of their ships had turned into wrecks around the planet. Thrawn ordered a small team of specialists to search for any valuable resources on board of those wrecks while he took a shuttle to Oodu 6's surface to secure the doonium mine.

As the shuttle’s ramp lowered, the hot desert air hit him. He did not show any hints of the discomfort he felt. Coming from an icy planet he didn't like scorching hot temperatures, but he did what his job required him to. At least he wore a white safety helmet that protected his head from the intense sun as well. The next thing he noticed was the dust filling the air – dust mixed with smoke. The pirates had turned the entire mining village into a sea of rubble. No one uttered a word at the sight. It was dead calm. No shouts for help, no crying.

“One team searches for survivors, the other secures the mine. Look out for remaining pirates and traps. Report back to me in one hour.” Thrawn ordered in his ever calm voice. He watched the troopers disperse at his command. This was not the first destroyed village he saw, nor would it be the last. The smell of burnt flesh in the air indicated the kind of massacre that had taken place here earlier.

As Thrawn was overseeing the mission, talking to a few officers, he didn't notice he was being watched. All of a sudden, a trooper who approached him was hit by a rock. A dozen blasters aimed at the place where the rock had come from. Thrawn was capable of seeing infrared with his scarlet alien eyes, noticing a heat signature behind a pile of rubble which looked way too small to be a grown ass pirate. Perhaps it was an Ugnaught? Another rock flew in the direction of a few troopers. This time they fired exactly at the spot the rock had been thrown from. A high pitched scream filled the air that definitely did not come from an Ugnaught but a child. Thrawn raised his hand as a sign for the troopers to hold their fire.

“Sir?” one of his death troopers asked, but received no reply as Thrawn approached the pile of rubble. As he came closer he heard quiet sniffles, then, all of a sudden, a little girl ran straight toward him, hugging his leg tightly. Thrawn looked down, surprise showing on his face for a second.

“And who might you be?” he asked in a gentle yet commanding tone. The girl was crying. At closer inspection he saw that she was Pantoran. Her skin a similar shade of blue as his, with golden eyes and messy wine red hair, the color almost concealing the bleeding wound on the girl's temple which left bloodstains on his white pants.

“Why have you thrown rocks at my men?”

The girl looked up at him, sniffling and still not letting go of his leg.

“Do you understand Basic?” To that question she nodded and Thrawn was relieved. She then looked at the troopers and pointed at one of them. “They're evil.” she spoke in a voice hoarse from crying and the smoke in the air.

“My men are here to help, among other things. No harm will come to you through them.” Thrawn clarified. She let go of his leg and stood before him. By the looks of it she was malnourished and couldn't be older than five years.

“I thwew the rocks because I thought the white armored guys are evil and try to hurt you.” she explained.

“That was very brave of you, but unnecessary. See?” He patted the blaster in the holster he carried with his hand. “I can defend myself should the need arise.”

“My dad has a blaster too… Can you help me? There's something wrong with mom, dad and Rima.” She grabbed his hand to show him the way to her family, but Thrawn stopped. “I have to oversee this mission. I can send a few troopers to your aid though.”

“No no!” She was back to having a tight grip around his leg.

“Sir, shall we remove her?” an officer asked in a rough tone.

“That won't be necessary.” he declined. For a moment he thought and it made sense. The helmets the Sharun pirates wore resembled stormtrooper helmets a little bit. Of course she wouldn't trust any of his soldiers to see her family. And there was of course the similarity. Even if it was just the resemblance of the skin color, to the child it obviously was something familiar. The girl probably thought they were of the same species, as many unknowing people do. Thrawn was used to being mistaken for a Pantoran by new people he met, he never bothered to correct them. However, Thrawn understood this girl was just literally clinging to the only familiar thing to her in this wasteland and made a decision.

“How far is your family's location?”

“Not far! This way!” She grabbed his hand again, and he followed her, along with two of his death troopers. She didn't seem to mind their presence as long as Thrawn was by her side.

Thrawn assumed the place where they stopped used to be someone's home not long ago. Now all that was left of it was rubble with a few flames licking the debris here and there. The bomb that must have caused the destruction had left an actual crater where the house had stood. The girl climbed down and Thrawn carefully followed her down into the mess. She came to a halt at a hole, waving him over.

“They're down there. They don't wanna wake up!” She started crying again. Thrawn looked down into the hole, seeing a woman whose arm covered a girl a bit older than the one he found, and as he looked closer, saw half the body of a Pantoran man crushed under a thick duracrete wall. They were all covered in a thick layer of dust, the blue color of their skin was barely visible anymore.

“Mommy! Rima wake up!” the girl cried. “It's me, Yumi!” She shook her mothers lifeless body, then her sister's. As they didn't move she crawled over to her dad. “Wake up, Dad! Please wake up!”

“Yumi, come out of there. The debris is unstable, you could get buried alive under there.” Thrawn warned. “But my parents.. my sister!”

“They're gone. There's nothing you can do for them.” The scene in front of him pained Thrawn, but he didn't show it. He knew those were the harsh realities in war.

“No! I won't leave them!” She sat down next to her mother and tried to wake her up again. It dawned on Thrawn that Yumi didn't understand that death was final.

“Sir, shall we get her out of there?” one of his death troopers offered.

Thrawn regarded the scene of Yumi hugging her dead mother's body once more before he nodded. “Do it.”

As the elite troopers grabbed Yumi she screamed and squirmed in their grip, trying to get back to her family.

“Mom! Dad! No! Let me go! Help!” she screamed. As soon as they were back on the surface, Thrawn took the girl off their hands. She trembled in fear, hammering her little fists against his chest. “My family needs me! Let me down! No! You must help wem!”

“I will.” Thrawn turned to his death troopers. “Cremate them, this is the least we can do.”

“Are they helping them?” Yumi asked. The tears and snot from crying mixed with the blood from her wound. The way she trembled from the trauma she just endured didn't escape Thrawn. She needed a medic immediately.

“They are doing as much as they can.” Thrawn assured her, not knowing what else to say to a five year old who went through enough trauma in one day. Comforting children was not part of his job and yet there he was, gently patting Yumi’s back on their way to the shuttle.

He noticed the officers’ looks as he returned to the shuttle with the little girl in his arms. There were no other survivors, nor captured pirates by the looks of it.

“Grand Admiral, the mine has been secured. No remaining pirates or survivors found.” the unit's Captain reported and confirmed Thrawn's assumptions.

“Well done. I will ask Moff Tarkin to send reinforcements to secure the mine and to put it back in service. Until then, one batch of troopers will remain stationed there. The ISD-Harbinger shall remain in orbit in case the remaining pirates return with… unforeseen reinforcements.”

Yumi clung tighter to Thrawn as they entered the shuttle. She watched the many new faces and helmed individuals with fear.

“What's your name?” she eventually asked as Thrawn stepped into the cockpit. The shuttle had lifted off, leaving Oodu 6 behind, returning to the ISD-Chimera that was waiting in the planet's orbit.

“My name is Thrawn. Grand Admiral of the Seventh Fleet, at your service.”

“Thwawn.” she tried to pronounce his name. “Where are we going? Are we getting doctors to help Mommy, Daddy and Rima wake up?” she asked with large pleading eyes.

“We will make sure you get medical treatment. That wound on your temple looks like it's getting infected. Your parents would want you to see a doctor when you're hurt, am I correct?”

Yumi thought for a moment. “Hm probably…”

The corners of Thrawn's lips twitched. “I’m sure they would. You are safe now, Yumi.”

The girl was trembling a little bit less at his comforting words and nuzzled into the soft fabric of his uniform’s collar.

As soon as they landed in the Chimera’s hangar, Yumi was put on a gurney, but she refused to let go of Thrawn's arm.

“Don't leave me with them!” Tears welled in her eyes again. “Everything is so big here, I’m scared, Thwawn!”

“The medics will take care of your wound and any other physical ailments you may have. I will leave them to their work and come to see you later.”

“Pinky promise?” She offered her pinky finger to him, a gesture he was not familiar with, but figured out anyway. “I promise.” A bit hesitant he hooked his pinky finger with hers and then watched her being brought away on the hovering gurney. He didn't like how much this little girl's fate got under his skin. He had a job to attend to, orders to give.

After changing into a fresh uniform, Thrawn was back on the bridge where he tasked one of his smartest men to find out more about Yumi’s family and if there were any relatives out there she could live with.

“Sir, I heard about the little survivor you've found. In fact the entire Seventh Fleet knows by now. Stories like that spread rapidly.” Commodore Karyn Faro, his second-in-command, told him.

“I did what any honorable warrior would have done. There is nothing else to say about it.” Thrawn said in a voice void of emotion as usual. Faro tried to hide a smile at the Grand Admiral’s attempt to downplay it.

“Your actions today certainly improved your likability among the crew if I may say so.”

Thrawn raised his brow. He didn't think much of the gossip among those under his command. He ignored Faro’s comment and gave orders to return to Lothal where his remaining fleet was stationed. He would look after the young guest once his work day was over.

Let me know what you think in comments. I hope Thrawn's dialogue fits his character? I'm not fluent in "lawyer english" so I'm worried it's not written well enough 😬 💙

Thank you for reading!

[a-suspicious-lack-of-bagel]

I've been thinking about old railway uniforms, and come to the conclusion that the textiles could be INTERESTING in a steampunk world.

If steam power is widespread and commonplace, that means that there's going to be plenty of steam piping and/or boilers around. A lot of it would probably be insulated for safety and efficiency, but that still probably means that a significant part of the population has to work around HOT steam-powered equipment fairly often. I don't think that EVERYONE would necessarily be going around in protective double denim, but I think there'd just be less demand for fabrics with worse heat resistance.

That probably means that textile innovation wouldn't focus so hard on inventing New materials; but rather on improving natural fabrics. With a focus on mechanical innovation, I think your steampunk inventor would have an ENORMOUS array of linkages available to them - for converting a continuous mechanical input to various complicated and adjustable movement patterns. I think that having a lot more workers in hot environments would also lead to wide-spread use of mechanical refrigeration.

I've seen a few videos of industrial fabric-handling machines - they seem to have a Lot spiky metal fingers making repetitive movements. I think a steampunk world would be GREAT at making those little fingers do different, interesting patterns of movement! I recently saw a Matt Parker video about a continuous lattice of 7 different directions of pencil, and there was a cool animation of its cross-section. Imagine the funky patterns you could weave with thread going in more than 2 directions - either coplanar with eachother or in 3d space. All the cool decorative patterns woodworkers can do with plywood and veneer - imagine that with thread!

One of the reasons that a lot of tradespeople wore denim was because the pattern of the fabric obscured oil and grease stains. Could you achieve the same effect with the above funky patterns if they were dense enough? SO many workwear fashion options. And if you've got hot steam on tap as well as decent refrigeration - heat treatment would be easy to incorporate. What sort of interesting features would they be heat-setting into their clothes?

And if you want to build any sort of articulated machine/robot with steam as the power source; you need something to carry that steam - a flexible, high-pressure, heat resistant pipe. That sounds like a braided hose to me - and if you're using more colourful metals than stainless steel, your steam plumbing could get COLOURFUL! You know how we have braided hoses with a red or blue strand for hot or cold water? JUST IMAGINE the industry standard colour coding schemes for different temperatures, pressures, and phases of various fluids they could have!

Colour coded flexible pressure hose reminds me of an electrical system - I wonder how a steampunk world would do mechanical calculation? Did someone say Convoluted Fluid Based Computers?? With advances in textiles, hoses, and ropes - surely at some point they'd invent wire or fibre-wrapped pressure vessels! (Just think what they'd do with carbon fibre!) A society with (admittedly probably building-sized) computers that's used to dealing with high-pressure fluids - SURELY they'd invent jet propulsion? Perhaps not for rockets or aircraft - imagine pressure-jet steampunk ships, submarines even.

Actually where I can see modern-ish chemical rocketry in a steampunk world is in miniature steam generators - either HO bipropellant (your choice of liquid or gaseous) or peroxide monopropellant. A vigorous chemical reaction with hot, fast H2O as the product - sounds like a (rather explosive) portable power source.

Anyways, TLDR i'd LOVE to see what technological innovations a steampunk world would have. What paths they'd go down for research.

[misstress-electra]

This involves my roleplay character and my ex's. I was Lilith from CAoS and hers was an OC. During one thread, they went into an alternate universe where they had rapidly aging triplets. This idea came from chats of ours and songs (there's a playlist). It would've been longer with more sex had it not been for our breakup. I finished it quickly for her birthday.

I should really rewrite it if I want it to be something. It sounds very "roleplay" to me. I replaced her character's real name, going with her nickname throughout.

Pas de Deux

(under a cut due to length and smut)

She was feeling the music more than hearing it, using the beat to practice her pirouettes on the spot. This was her first time back in the studio since they welcomed their children and got the now young women settled, and it had been even longer since Lilith had last danced barefoot. It worked her muscles the same way, but she was really only used to ballet, not doing any other style of dance since she was younger. They wouldn't be hard for her though, just different, and getting away from the rigidity of ballet was a refreshing change. She even wore a sleeveless white bodysuit, a nice change from the long sleeved black leotard that was mandatory for class.

As the music sped up, she spun fast enough to feel air cooling her sweaty body. She continued to pirouette until the song slowed down, then danced across the floor, moving with the rhythm instead of worrying about her form or lines, which were nearly impeccable despite her lack of practice.

The ballerina jumped through the air and landed on one foot, throwing her other leg up and grabbing it while turning in place. Thanks to her frisky fiancee, Lilith hadn't lost much flexibility in her downtime. Once she stopped spinning, she glanced out the large window facing the garden and spotted a flash of gold through the pink azalea bushes. Maybe Peri was sneaking a peek.

The siren was spending time in their backyard while Lilith worked out but said she'd check in on her after an hour. "I wouldn't mind watching you dance, so maybe I'll come back early." Perhaps she was getting glimpses from outside while Lilith focused on how the music flowed through her, influencing her movements. She wanted to keep it up for the whole hour; her body was cooperating for the time being.

The song changed to a dance track with a Latin flair from her regular workout playlist. She began swaying her hips, arms flowing gracefully as she did a sexy cha-cha, even winding her body lower to the music.

She continued dancing out of her comfort zone, the unfamiliarity causing her body to work harder as well as sweat a little more than usual. All forms of dance amazed her, and she had nothing but time and space to explore them as she pleased.

Soon, the lively song faded out, and in the seconds of silence before the next random selection, a door clicked shut, the one leading from the hall. It really could've been any of their friends or the girls, but Lilith knew it was her fiancee before actually seeing her.

Reflected in the mirrored wall, she saw her gorgeous goddess watching her, back against the door. The sun's rays coming through the large windows hit Peri's blonde tresses, giving her an ethereal look that made her look just like an...

"Hi there, angel."

Lilith continued dancing, giving her fiancee a little show of shaking her hips and ass as the new song pulsed through the dance studio. They'd made love to this song before, and Peri would be excited to see the ballerina attempt some moves they'd seen their daughter's exotic dancer girlfriend do minus the pole.

Keeping her back to her, she trained her eyes on Peri's in their reflection once she was finished looking her up and down. The cute green skater dress she'd selected today showed off her toned arms and legs as well as cleavage. The colour complemented her hair and made her eyes look even greener. Her gaze fell on the siren's chest for a moment before dropping below her waist. Something was trying to poke through the skirt fabric.

She looked over her shoulder, giving Peri another glance up and down, focusing on the down before turning her attention back to her dance. Lilith knew what Peri's plan was, what she was packing for her, just like she knew how to get a rise out of her, not that she needed help in that department.

She sensed Peri's approach as she bent over, moving her hips. She didn't need to look in the mirror to know she was coming for that ass.

Lilith shivered, feeling Peri's gentle breath on her neck, then her ear when she spoke. "I have been thinking about this all day." Her sultry voice had Lilith weak in the knees, as did the stiffness pressing into her.

Before the ballerina could comment on its size, Peri pushed her to the mirrored wall, and Lilith's hands went to grip the barre, bracing herself against it. The sudden use of force made her throb.

Her fiance caressed Lilith's sides, both hands dropping down between her hip bones but only one going farther to cup her cloth-covered heat. When her fingertips disappeared under the fabric and were immediately met with wetness, Peri groaned in her ear. Next came a sexy chuckle along with little finger wiggles.

"You're ready for me.... I love that." Her words rustled Lilith's hair, tickling her neck. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Peri."

The brunette turned in hopes of getting a kiss, which she did receive except it was on her neck. She locked eyes with the now smirking Peri.

There was a rustle before the fake cock rubbed between her thighs, increasing the pressure as she moved her fingers nearly out of Lilith's leotard.

Since being rubbed through the thin material felt as good as she imagined, she worked her hips to push herself against the toy, watching Peri the entire time. Even with a fabric barrier, her wetness helped her slide along its length. Her calves would definitely get more of a work-out; their height difference required her to be on her tiptoes for optimal contact.

A low growl started in the blonde's throat as she started moving her own hips faster than Lilith's. Peri put her hand on her abdomen and pulled her ass against her, then nudged the ballerina's legs farther apart with her knee. Her hand went back to Lilith's leotard, this time to yank it aside, freeing her pussy. She glanced back as the cock made contact with her folds and continued to stroke her.

Her gasp was stifled by her fiancee's kiss, tongue flicking over her lower lip. Peri tugged her dress higher so it stayed up on its own. She wanted both hands free. She kept rubbing over Lilith's sensitive flesh while trailing her lips from her mouth to her neck.

The brunette whined, "Stop teasing me."

Peri gave her a small nip, soothing it after with her tongue. "But you love it." She knew her fiancee well.

Her lips found Lilith's again as she shifted backward and guided the thick toy to her entrance, and without breaking their kiss, she jerked her hips, sinking deep inside Lilith.

The ballerina's eyes widened, a loud cry escaping into Peri's mouth. She wanted to keep kissing her, but this position would likely cause a kink in her neck.

Peri drew back until she was almost pulled out, then pushed back in. "How's that, baby?"

Lilith's mouth hanging open in a silent moan answered Peri's question for her, but she couldn't stay quiet once her fiance began thrusting, starting slowly. Her body responded by moving with her, helping to reach all her sweet spots. Peri gripped her hip, eyes dropping to where they were joined before meeting Lilith's again in the mirror.

"Fuck, you look amazing like this," Peri purred.

Lilith tightened her hold on the barre while supporting herself with extended arms so she didn't fall forward. She cried out instead of responding with words. She forgot what those were once Peri picked up the pace until she was pounding into her.

She pulled the white strap down until Lilith's breast was exposed and went right for her nipple, tweaking and rolling it in time with her thrusts, all while smirking at Lilith's reflection. Watching themselves, and each other in the mirror, fucking where they could be caught by their children or friends.... The ballerina wouldn't last much longer.

"I like your hair up because it lets me do this...." Peri kissed the back of her neck, reaching to take hold of Lilith's messy twist. She undid her thick hair and wrapped it around her hand, fingers tightening on it. "But I love your hair down because I can do this." She gave her hair a gentle yet firm tug.

Lilith couldn't help but cum from that. Her eyes went wide as she held her fiance's gaze, crying out her name. Peri was fucking her hard enough to cause interruption to her moans, which was comical to hear, but the ballerina was too caught up in passion to laugh. Her tight pussy spasmed yet was unable to grip Peri's pistoning plastic penis. She fucked her through her orgasm, only to bring her close to another. She moved Lilith's hair out of the way, let it go and pressed her lips to where her shoulder joined her neck. She gave a light kiss before gently sucking her skin. Peri loved leaving her mark.

Shocked she could think straight, Lilith had a naughty idea. Peri was loving the view from behind, but she was going to make it even better.

Without interrupting their rhythm too much, she moved her right leg out and up, lifting it and putting her foot up on the barre. Peri's mouth fell open as she got an amazing view of the ballerina spread for her.

Her gaze met Lilith's in the mirror as her pounding now had her juices splattering on the hardwood floor. Her green eyes gleamed, glassy like she was high on both lust and love.

"Babe... fuuuck."

Peri went as fast as her body would allow, letting out grunts and moans almost matching Lilith's in volume, and when the brunette countered her thrusts to push her cock deep, bringing her right to the edge, her fiance's noises increased in frequency. Peri was close too, but she was too busy concentrating on bringing her woman to orgasm to relax and let herself cum.

Lilith held the barre tight with her left hand and laid the right over Peri's gripping her hip. "Angel, it's okay. Just let go."

Peri's lips found her shoulder, moaning louder against her, and Lilith bit her lip when she felt teeth scrape her skin. She might really get marked.

Her thrusts slowed right down, her moan interrupted when she did indeed bite her shoulder as she came. Lilith cried out at the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure, then she was cumming again.

Peri wrapped her arms around Lilith, rocking her hips as they both rode out their orgasms. The brunette relaxed her hold and would be leaning forward if she wasn't being held tightly by her love.

"I'm sorry, darling," Peri murmured as she soothed the bite mark with soft kisses.

Lilith chuckled. "No, you're not."

She wasn't ready for Peri to not be one with her but she had to kiss her comfortably. She shifted forward until the cock pulled out of her, then moved Peri's arms slightly so she could turn around while still encircled by them. She only had to step a little to either side to not get poked by the toy.

Lilith pressed her lips to hers, her own arms going around her fiancee's waist. "That was amazing."

Peri gave her the sweetest smile before booping her lightly on the nose. "Just like you."

[ye-local-simp]

Could I have a twst match-up?

I'm a 17 y/o afab non binary with short black hair that's really fluffy, it gets ratty and oily super easily so I have to wash it a lot, I don't really style my hair or anything. Small hazel eyes and freckles, lips are always chapped and I always am picking at them. My skin is tanned, and my arms and hands have scars from animals, mainly cats because I own two of them. I have really lanky arms and legs, I'm 6'7 and not that muscular, more of built like a twig, instead of being strong I'm quite agile and flexible

I usually like to wear coats, turtlenecks and sometimes sweatpants, my main style of fashion is dark academia or grunge style. Sometimes if I'm going to see a musical or some kind of show live, I'll dress up really fancy like to match the kind of theme that it has, for example, for watching phantom of the opera live I wore a mask like the phantom's and a suit.

For my personality, I'm a pretty laid back and calm person, quite hard to anger, usually in friend groups I take the role as the parental figure and keep an eye on everyone, although I'm not always good at keeping peace. If energetic enough, I'll be causing whatever chaos I can with my friends, but also being cautious and safe at the same time. I enjoy listening to people ramble on about their interests, sometimes I even get interested in the same things as them, and it's just nice seeing people be happy on a certain subject. I really enjoy reading books a lot, and spend most of my time reading or writing, and if I'm not doing either, I'm most likely drawing/painting, or even taking a hike or something. I don't exactly do much outside of those things, but at night I like to play songs on my guitar to try and make myself tired so I can sleep. At any chance I get, I try to get my friends to laugh, if the mood is bad or not, I can easily tell what my friends like and dislike, so I use that to try and cheer them up, perhaps by cracking some jokes or making them food.

I have a very VERY large interest in history and gemology! I have a super large collection of rocks that isn't completed yet, and probably never will be, but I just find rocks to be really interesting and cool. I absolutely love world history as well, taking a major interest in egyptian history and mayan history. I also love bugs, those are really cool, I favor the devil flower mantis the most, they're really pretty. On the other hand, I don't like loud noises at all, nor being that social, repeating and loud sounds and noises really get to me and annoy me, sometimes making me lash out with anger, and I just dislike being social or going out into large spaces, mainly because I don't want to have conversation with others, I'm really awkward and rude around strangers so I'd rather avoid large crowds to the best of my abilities. I also really hate showing off my talents and such against my will, it takes a lot for me to get that fond of someone that I'll play my guitar for them or show them my drawings.

Now for partners, I really just want someone that will be loyal to me as much as I would to them. I don't mind PDA at all, in fact I like it a lot, but I'd be chill if my partner didn't like it. I'm not that picky when it comes to a s/o, so I don't really have any preferences, but I do usually find the hot-heads and flirts to be a bit attractive, but like I said, no major preferences! And my love language is gift giving, mainly to show others how much I care for them. I love giving others gifts and it makes me feel really happy when I see someone be joyful from smth that I gave them. I honestly don't mind that much, as long as I'm in the same room with my partner and I know that they love me, I'm as happy as can be.

You are matched with...

Rook!!!

-He does do PDA but obviously not too much PDA before Vil kills him.

-He is definitely loyal and appreciates everything you do.

-he takes appreciation to the next level.

-Such as writing poems about your relationship and giving you amazing gifts for little things you do.

[relationshipreboot]

Have you ever felt irked at the thought of leaving your house without checking the locks? Or perhaps the need to ensure that your hands are impeccably clean before touching anything becomes an overpowering urge? These small scenarios are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to living with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). For many individuals, navigating day-to-day life means battling intrusive thoughts and compulsions that can be exhausting and isolating. As we delve into the world of OCD, we’ll explore personal stories, practical strategies, and empowering solutions for those who are not just surviving but thriving despite these challenges. Understanding the Core Issue OCD is often misconstrued as mere quirks or habits that people exhibit when they seek perfection. However, the reality is far more complex. Living with OCD means grappling with relentless obsessions—unwanted, intrusive thoughts—and compulsions—repetitive behaviors that individuals feel compelled to perform in response to those thoughts. The stigma surrounding mental health issues can lead to misunderstandings, leaving those afflicted feeling more isolated. For someone living with OCD, the symptoms are not just annoyances; they are a debilitating reality. Sarah, a 29-year-old graphic designer from Denver, shares her experience: "I would spend hours arranging my workspace, convinced that if I didn’t, something terrible would happen. The thoughts haunted me, and what started as a setup for a productive day turned into a frustrating battle that left me exhausted." In understanding OCD, it’s essential to recognize that it can manifest in various forms, often intertwining with anxiety disorders, depression, or other mental health issues. This complexity demands empathy and awareness from those who don’t experience these challenges firsthand. The Misconceptions of OCD Misunderstandings about OCD abound, often leading to an oversimplification of a deeply complex disorder. Many people label themselves “OCD” when they simply prefer things to be neat or organized. Yet, for individuals like David, a 35-year-old teacher, it becomes a daily struggle: "I wore the same shoes every day for over two years because I feared that changing them would alter my fate." The Emotional Toll Living with OCD can also take a serious emotional toll. People often experience guilt and shame regarding their compulsions and obsessions. The everyday trials of managing these symptoms can leave individuals feeling defeated and disconnected from friends and family. This emotional landscape is crucial to navigate to create a supportive environment for those struggling. Practical Tips and Strategies While understanding OCD is foundational, developing strategies to cope with and manage the condition can significantly improve one’s quality of life. Below are a few practical tips that can aid individuals in navigating their journey with OCD. Establish a Routine Creating a structured routine can offer individuals a sense of control and predictability—two elements that can help mitigate anxiety associated with OCD. A routine doesn't have to be rigid; flexibility is key. For example, Lucy, a 24-year-old college student, developed a morning routine that helped her minimize compulsion-related anxiety. “I started with small changes; instead of checking my locks ten times, I made it a goal to check them five times, then gradually reduced it,” she shares. Mindfulness and Relaxation Techniques Practicing mindfulness and relaxation techniques can ground individuals in the present moment, alleviating the grip of OCD. Meditation, yoga, and deep-breathing exercises can create a helpful sanctuary in one’s mind. "Meditation was a game changer for me," says Jason, a 42-year-old software engineer. "It helped me to step back from my thoughts and observe them rather than battling against them." Seek Professional Help Reaching out to a therapist or mental health professional specializing in OCD can provide invaluable support.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is often recommended as an effective treatment. In Anna’s case, a therapist introduced her to Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP), a CBT approach that encouraged her to confront her fears gradually. "At first, I was terrified, but with every step, I reclaimed a part of my life," she recalls. Journaling Keeping a journal is a powerful tool for self-reflection and tracking progress. By writing down thoughts, individuals can identify patterns in their obsessions and compulsions, which can enhance their understanding of triggers and their responses to them. As Mark, a 30-year-old artist reflects, "Writing allowed me to get all my anxious thoughts out of my head and onto paper, making them less overwhelming." Real-Life Examples Personal stories carry immense weight when navigating the sometimes lonely road of living with OCD. Here, we highlight the journeys of three individuals, showcasing their unique experiences and insights. Sarah's Story For Sarah, the battle with OCD felt like a never-ending loop. Each day began with rituals that consumed her. "It felt like I was on a treadmill, running and running but never getting anywhere," she explains. Ultimately, Sarah decided to seek therapy. “It wasn’t easy at first, but with support, I learned to face my triggers instead of giving in. I can even leave my house now without double-checking everything!” David's Triumph Over Rituals David's lengthy encounter with disorders highlighted how easy it is to slip into unhealthy routines. Through a combination of professional therapy and medication, he broke free from his compulsions. “It took time, but I began to see myself as more than my OCD," he asserts. "I now have hobbies and interests outside of my rituals." Anna's Empowering Path Living with OCD, Anna struggled with the fear of contamination. It once controlled her life, inhibiting social interactions and limiting outings. Yet, after engaging in therapy that prioritized exposure techniques, her world slowly opened up. “I began going out with friends again. It wasn’t easy, but the rewards were worth it,” she emphasizes. Overcoming Challenges Living with OCD often includes numerous challenges that can lead to moments of frustration and setbacks. Rather than viewing these challenges as defeats, reframing them as opportunities for learning and growth can significantly impact one’s journey. The Stigma Surrounding Mental Health Unfortunately, the stigma surrounding mental health issues can deter individuals from seeking help or sharing their stories. It's essential to foster a supportive environment where individuals can feel safe discussing their experiences. This can include speaking openly about mental health at home, at work, or even on social media. By normalizing these conversations, we can contribute to a more informed and compassionate society. Managing Triggers Identifying and managing triggers is crucial for those living with OCD. Triggers might include certain places, situations, or even people. Keeping a list of known triggers can help individuals prepare to face them. "When I know something will trigger my anxiety, I plan ahead," advises Jason. “By anticipating those situations, I feel more equipped to handle them.” The Importance of a Support Network Establishing a robust support network is invaluable. Friends and family should be educated on OCD to help dispel misunderstandings. "Having friends who understand and support my journey made a significant difference," Anna says. “It means the world to not have to explain myself constantly.” Conclusion While living with OCD can be an uphill battle fraught with challenges, it is essential to remember that there is hope, support, and a pathway to manage the condition. Emphasizing community, understanding, and mindfulness offers a beacon of light for those traversing their personal journeys. The stories shared illustrate that while the complexities of OCD can be daunting, individuals can reclaim their lives through open communication, professional guidance, and practical strategies.

Real-life examples remind us that growth is possible, regardless of how difficult the journey may seem. As we continue to advocate for mental health awareness, let us remain compassionate and open-hearted, listening to those navigating the trenches of living with OCD. Everyone’s story is valid, and every step taken toward healing is a testament to resilience and strength. Together, we can build a community where no one has to face their struggles alone.

[tinydreamlatex]

Unleash Your Inner Confidence with Sleek Latex Outfits

Latex Fashion: A Statement of Modernity

In the constantly evolving world of fashion, latex garments have become exceptionally popular, as they embrace both style and trend. Known for its glossy aesthetics and close-fitting form, latex fashion has become incredibly popular because it helps to emphasize the natural curves of the body, inspiring wearers to explore their charisma confidently. Our analysis of latex fashion signifies why latex garments have become more than just a trend, as they are seen as a declaration of confidence and influence.

The Perfect Blend of Style and Comfort

There seems to be a common misconception that latex garments can't be stylish and comfortable at the same time. However, many modern latex garments are designed carefully to make the most of style and wearability. Latex fashion using high-quality latex is often highly pleated and can even feel like a second layer of skin due to its flexibility. Whether one is attending a casual event or a formal one, latex fashion is the perfect fit for a mixture of style and elegance. As latex garments are comfy, they are quite significant in the sense that one can still manage to look on-trend.

Latex Fashion in a Variety of Products

Latex is one of the best materials to work with, because of its versatility. A person can get classic latex dresses, shirts, body suits, pants, skirts, and much else. Designers keep their lines fresh, always inventing an array of styles, so whether someone prefers chic, sophisticated style or an edgier look, latex fashion can be one way to help them feel more fashionable and explore their true label. Not every person has the same label, and not everyone will want to establish internal confidence with an on-trend latex fashion; perhaps people who choose latex fashion can see themselves on a different level and dress it to remind themselves of this daily.

Being Sustainable and Fashionable

People today are increasingly conscious of what they buy and wear and just how it may be impacting the environment. Concerning latex garments, many designers are increasingly choosing to make garments using environmentally friendly latex, which is incredibly sustainable and biodegradable because latex is a natural result of the world. People who prefer to wear clothes that are better for the environment can enjoy wearing something in fashion and can appreciate that what they are wearing has links to sustainability.

Maintenance of Latex Clothing

Maintaining latex clothing is quite simple. With good care, latex can keep its shine and wonderful stretch for many years to come. Keeping latex clean with gentle soap and water, avoiding direct sunlight, and storing it correctly are excellent ways to help keep latex clothes as special as the first day you wore them. This simplicity is why your favorite latex pieces can be ready at any time, looking as stunning as the day you first wore them.

Final Summary: The Brave Choice for the Bold

Latex clothing is not just clothing—it's a lifestyle opinion for the bold and daring. By choosing a stylish latex ensemble to wear, you not only make a fashion statement but you project confidence and strength. A newcomer or a veteran of the latex world can't deny the renovations that these outfits inspire. Feel the luxury, feel the comfort, and most importantly, feel and show off your confidence with stylish latex clothing.

[snowhashiraamiya]

The First of Many

I've decided to make a masterlist for my oc Amiya Chiminosa. I won't give away names until I post each section.

Today's post:

Backstory

Basis: Get to know the backstory of my lovable, red haired, sweetheart.

I think you'll recognize some of the people in this 👀

Word Count: 676

AGE 13

Amiya's life was decent, she had good parents, a few siblings and friends. She was a well behaved child, rather shy but kind hearted. Never to be mean unless pushed to that point. She knew demons existed, and she also knew of the demon slayer corps. But her life was beautiful, she didn't need to worry, right? 

That was until her 13th birthday. The day life, reality, everything she trusted, proved her wrong. 

It was horrible. Gruesome. Terrifying. He had black hair and blood red eyes, like a spider lily. Fangs as sharp as blades as he took big bites out of her beloved family members. All she could do was watch in horror. She was silent, hoping and praying that he wouldn't notice her. She didn't scream, she didn't run. 

He looked at her with a crazed smile. "You pretty young thing~" he spoke to her and within a second he was in her face. She held her breath. He just watched her as the blood of her family members dripped down her cheek, some that had splattered upon his arrival. He lifted his hand and scratched her left eye, surely to leave a scar.

She was sure he was going to kill her. But the pain faded as soon as it came. He was gone. She was surrounded with her family, dead and gone. She spent hours trying to bring them back. Anything she could do. She was 13. She couldn't live by herself. 

"M-Mother… please… don't leave."

She wailed, but felt hopeless. No one came to save her, no one knew. She was a child in the harsh mountains, surrounded by her dead family, there was nothing she could do about it. But she did what she could. She moved forward. But she wanted to be different. 

So she picked up one of her father's old katanas that he had planned to help her learn to use one day. She didn't have a trainer, hell, no one knew her family was dead. So she would train herself. 

So she did just that. She endured the hellish training, but how? She didn't know where to start. She had searched her father's chest for something, anything. 

There. 

She saw a book, and reached for it. The writing was faint, but she somehow was able to read it. "Total Concentration Breathing?" She blinked twice and then studied it. She spent countless hours learning that book front to back. Then she put that training all from verbal to physical hell. 

Near bound unbearable hours outside in the freezing cold, she trained. She learned how to wield her sword. She learned how to make her body more flexible, and keep her physical strength intact. She did it. 

She learned the forgotten ways of her family's breathing technique. Snow breathing. Opposite from the breath of flame. On par with the breath of sun. Finally, she had learned seven techniques in the art of snow. She believed she was ready to attend the final selection. 

Determined on saving humans, and putting an end to those monsters, monsters who had no right to live. She stood and saw several other young slayers. One had long, braided, pink to green hair. Very unusual, the girl was always trying to talk to everyone. 

The next one had a butterfly pin in her hair, her hair was purple and black, and her haori resembled a butterfly. She was smaller than everyone else, perhaps the smallest there. 

The next had a spikey raven colored ponytail with ocean blue eyes, he was quiet, definitely kept to himself.

The last one, a young boy who had hair that resembled fire, her exact opposite. A flame breathing user, he wore a haori that even resembled a flame. He was smiling and talking with the pink and green haired girl.

Amiya shook her head and focused on the task at hand, she would have to survive seven days to become a slayer. Seven days in a forest infested with man eating demons. She could do this. 

She will survive. 

Thank you for all the lovely people in a discord server who encouraged me to post more of her, I love all of you.

🧡🩷❤️

[pocketramblr]

I Lied here's the first thing you get to see.

vote for whats next ig because this is but a small scene

"Solus 7, land in Bay 3, clear." The station admin said over the com, and Nana turned her mic back on.

"Clear." She repeated, moving to activate her landing gear. "Sorahiko, you'll-"

"I heard." He said, and she heard him stand from the table, ignoring Toshi's muffled complaints at turning the game off.

"Com me if you need a pickup." Nana pulled into the bay and dropped the feet before spinning her chair around.

"Of course." With a wave of his hand, Sorahiko's bag flew to him. "Probably be four, five cycles. Payment is in Toshinori's pocket."

"What?" Toshi sat up from his sprawl at the table, frowning. "But he didn't give-" he pulled a parcel from his pocket, opening it with a look between childish wonder and teenage annoyance. His nose wrinkled like an eopie.

Nana laughed, looking back at Sorahiko. His eyes were shining even if his lips barely curled in a smile. "Never gets old. You need to work on your awareness, youngling."

Nana wondered how the Jetiise could bear the bright presence leaving the temple, how they didn't appreciate what they had in Knight Torino. Disagreements about attachments aside, the fact that they let the man shove creche duty off on others to run other errands meant they didn't know that they had. If he were mando’ad, Sorahiko would never be able to escape ke'bajur.

If.

She shook her head while Toshi complained about not being a youngling- he was almost an adult in some systems, he wore armor after his verd’gotem, he was not an adiik anymore- and gave Sorahiko a final wave.

He dipped his head, and she felt a press against her own, the air moving against her forehead. An almost Keldabe kiss, that no Mandalorian would have been able to do. She dipped her own head against it, and missed the flicker of something on his face, thinking instead that the Jetiise overly valued their sabers and visions, when Sorahiko's strength was in neither of those, but manipulating even the air around him, flexibility over strength or stratagem.

"See you." He nodded to Toshi once more, then turned and left for the ramp.

"I don't get it." Toshi said once the man was gone, tossing the packet of credits in the air. "Torino's a great pilot too, why'd he hire us?"

"Can't use any of the Jedi Temple ships without getting approval, and this is a personal errand." Nana spun her chair back around.

"And why did you charge him for it? We don't need fuel money that badly."

They didn't. But Toshi was showing no signs of stopping his growth spurt anytime soon, and Nana had the feeling that he'd be taller than Yoichi and broader than Sorahiko when he was done. They'd need a lot of beskar to cover him.

She glanced over at the two helmets set on the wall. Her own, gleaming, and Toshi's, which was clean and in as great condition as it could be, considering it's age. Perhaps they'd have his adult one made soon, they had enough beskar for that at least. And En'ika could get Toshi's old one...

"Solus 7, clear for takeoff."

When she returned to pick up Sorahiko, he wouldn't be in robes anymore.

*ke'bajur- to rear/teach children, as an imperative. verd’gotem- coming of age

ok so i have an au floating around and it is not going to be one comprehensive storyline... so hypothetically which one would yall want to see first?

no promises but i wanna see what you think

translated options, because there will be a lot of mando'a in the au but ill translate it there too

Yoichi's rescue from his ex-brother by a couple of commandos

Eri is reunited by a couple mandalorians

How Clan Kara* earned money for En's beskar armor

How Clan Kara's youngest child ended up with the darksaber

*Kara meaning 'star', but the clan is also named for the Ka'ra, the stars as a ruling counsel of fallen kings

"Stop it! Do not choose [this option], fools!"

[sanjuno]

Noctmari being depressed and coming to terms with dying (being killed and stolen away?) is a perfect smokescreen for Noctis's personality shift. It even accounts well for him 'picking up' new skills like sewing and baking bc active hobbies are good for mental health!Maybe Noctmari can allude to his fathers waning health as a reason he decided to step up too? And his moving back to the citadel? (Not sure what his excuse for bringing Promdrien will be tho, lols. He's my emotional support bf?)

Ooh, that would be perfect! Not only does Noctmari do best when he’s taking care of other people, but it puts Noctmari and Promdrien right at the centre of power, which will give them a lot more opportunity to help fix things. Especially since Noctmari is going to give the Ring the filthiest look imaginable. The incomprehensible mutterings about “… Lucky Charm the stupid gaudy trinket right into…” is getting a bit concerning.

Promdrien just pats Noctmari on the back and does his best to make a good impression on Regis. Because Regis is great. He cares so much and he tries so hard but he’s so tired all the time. Promdrien probably starts handing Regis cookies whenever they run into each other. It doesn’t matter where they are or what Regis is supposed to be doing. Promdrien sees the King? Promdrien is going to hand the King baked goods.

And yes, at some point Noctmari has to look Titus dead in the eye and go “But Captain, that’s my emotional support boyfriend.” and as Titus’ face goes blank in confusion Promdrien lifts his camera and snaps a picture.

The Glaives who witness this are appalled.

[oumaheroes]

Light At the End of the Tunnel

Day 31 of Whumptober

Comfort/ Bedside vigil/ ‘You can rest now’

Characters: England, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Ireland, Wales

Day 30

---------

‘Oh God, what a day.’ Alisdair sat down heavily on the sofa- Arthur’s sofa. His nice one in London, not that antique son of a bitch they’ve both repaired entirely at least ten times- and melted into it, kicking his feet onto the coffee table, ‘I’m knackered.’

‘It feels as though the day gets longer every year.’ Rhys gingerly lowered himself into the armchair, rubbing at his calves, ‘I swear I'm not physically that old.’

‘It’s because you don’t walk enough,’ Sean told him. He sat down on the floor, back to the sofa, and Alisdair glared witheringly at him and his flexible, youthful bones.

‘Like you can talk.’

‘I can. I walk.’

‘Oh aye, sure you do. To McDonalds and back.’

Sean hooked an arm over the sofa cushion and turned to him with a raised eyebrow, ‘They have Deliveroo for that now.’

‘What?’

‘And okay I don’t hike, but I do other exercise.’

Alisdair snorted, ‘Like what.’

‘Skateboard.’

‘Skateboard! Hark at him,’ Alisdair nudged Sean with his knee, ‘a right Mr Sportsman.’

Sean flushed and looked away, ‘Shut up.’

‘He’s right though Rhys, you don’t go out enough.’

Rhys closed his eyes and flapped a hand at them, ‘I do this once a year, that’s enough.’

‘Have you always done this?’ Sean looked from one to the other, ‘Every Hallowe’en- Samhain?’

Alisdair and Rhys looked at each other. Their yearly walk to one of the veil’s thinnest places in their isles, the place where the world’s edges wore away to let slip through whatever waited on the other side, was something that had begun with Mama. Mama and all of her secrets, fingertips nudging them by the shoulder to step into the emptiness between cool, dark circles of stone, the whispering of a past already long forgotten brushing over their hair and catching in their clothes.

The ancient places were rarer now, built over and hidden by time and mankind’s mark on the earth. But there were some places left, pockets of raw energy lingering in all of their lands where, once a year, the earth and the sky, or the near and the far, met for just a day to breath life back into what remained. It was to there that they walked, feeling the new world give way to the old ways once again.

To feel what was left of Mama and all who had came before her, and after- the air heavy with something watchful and lost, more ancient than they knew anything else to be.

‘Not every year,’ Rhys began carefully, his eyes lingering on Alisdair’s for too long, ‘There have been bumps along the way.’

Sean huffed.

‘We’ve always done it though, even if not together. We all have some places left that we’ve kept safe and that need watching.’

‘Nothing will happen if we don’t though, right?’

‘We don’t go there for that.’ Rhys smiled, ‘We go there to experience it again.’

A childhood nostalgia as much as an innate draw, perhaps. Was it the old power that called Alisdair back to those stones, or the chance to reconnect with the oldest parts of himself. Tradition and respect both.

Sean didn’t answer. A few minutes of peace and then footsteps approached down the hall, Patrick coming in first, two mugs of tea in hand, followed by Arthur- both still as mud splattered and dishevelled as the rest of them.

‘Look at you old ladies,’ Patrick handed Sean a mug and sat himself next to Alisdair, ‘collapsed as soon as you got in here.’

‘Like you can talk, you sat at the kitchen table gassing and watched me make everything.’ Arthur passed a mug to Rhys first and then purposely placed Alisdair's tea out of reach on the table, eyeing his damp socks with distain. As soon as he was gone Alisdair dropped his feet and took hold of his mug with relief- a worthy trade for doing as Arthur told him.

‘God, I need a bath.’ Patrick, disregarding his tongue and self preservation, chugged half of his still scalding tea in the first sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

‘Not a shower?’

‘I thought I smelt wet dog.’

Patrick flicked Sean, ‘No, a bath. A long hot one.’

‘Oh don’t do that.’ Rhys looked at him in alarm, finally sitting up properly, ‘You’ll use all of the hot water.’

‘But my feet.’

‘It’s not fair on the rest of us...’

‘My feet don’t hurt at all.’

‘North, I swear I’ll kick you back out into the rain in a minute.’

Arthur returned with his own tea and a round bellied biscuit barrel, which he placed upon the table only for a second before it was commandeered by Sean.

‘Oi, come sit down,’ Alisdair pushed Patrick over to make room on the sofa, patting the space for Arthur to sit, ‘You’re making me tired stood there like that.’

Arthur wrinkled his nose, ‘I’m muddy.’

‘We’re all muddy; your sofas are fucked, you might as well relax on them and enjoy it before they need cleaning.’

‘I hate you all,’ Arthur said, but he sat anyway, grabbing a blanket to throw over their laps and leaning his head back.

There was a rare, peaceful, five minutes.

Patrick settled his head on Alisdair’s shoulder, ‘Bagsie not me sharing a room with Rhys.’

‘Bagsie not.’ Sean added quickly.

Alisdair groaned and Arthur patted his knee, ‘You could have had the sofa but you’ve muddied it.’

‘I could always kip with you.’

‘You can piss off.’

-----

Rhys gave a wounded pout and tucked the biscuit barrel out of reach by the bookcase, ‘My snoring isn’t that bad.’

Day 30

Full Masterlist

AN:

And that’s a wrap! Thank you for joining me on my Whumptober adventures, I’ll write up a masterlist of all of the prompts and then I’m going to put this month from my mind for a long while hahaha