#please use that tag to block if you get tired of seeing these from me

[dragonsorceress22]

Nova needs a forever home!

Nova is a 9 month old classic tabby – male, neutered, and microchipped.

Nova has Feline Coronavirus which is contagious to other cats. Most cats can kick the virus, but Nova cannot. He needs a safe home where he no longer has to be isolated. Other pets and people totally okay! Only cats are at risk.

Nova has all of his claws but he has never tried to claw the couch or curtains – he likes his scratching post. He is playful and active, clumsy, doesn’t mind being picked up, and will happily sit in laps when he’s tired of playing. He’s social and friendly and loves open windows.

Nova will come with a nice carrier, all of his toys, a couple cat beds, his scratching post, a few blankets and towels, and all of his medical history.

Nova has dietary restrictions. As a symptom of his virus Nova has digestive difficulties, so his dietary needs are sort of high maintenance but his current regimen is working well for managing his symptoms and letting him live a normal kitty life.

Please share this as much as possible so we can find Nova a safe and loving home!

Nova's Adopt A Pet profile

[deus-ex-mona]

such is the tale of a ✨chronically online hypocrite✨

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[wonderlandwalker]

Nurse Nightingale | James Potter x Reader

Marauders Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Someone wakes you up in the middle of the night, when you realize it's James looking for help you don't have the heart to refuse him

Content Warnings/Tags: fluff, blood, bruising, cuts, mentions of violence, insinuations of smut

Word Count: 1k

A/n: I'm currently using the uni holiday as an excuse not to study so now I'm writing non-stop instead. Not quite smut but sorta if you're willing to squint

*Knock knock*

You turn around, looking at the clock on the bedside table. Who the hell is knocking on the door at 3 AM?

*Knock knock*

You turn onto your stomach, pushing your pillow over your head in an attempt to block out the noise.

*Knock knock*

It’s louder this time, more determined, and you hear someone speak: “Y/N, it’s me. Please let me in.” He’s rambling a bit, he sounds tired as well. A shiver goes through your body at hearing his voice, his voice always seems to mess with your head in a way nothing else can.

“What are you doing here James? It’s 3 AM.” You ask, through the still closed door, your voice dripping with sleep. “Just, please, open the door..” He sounds desperate this time, so you decide to do what he asks. You stand up, maybe a little too fast, making your head spin, and walk towards the door. You open it, meaning to step aside to let him in, but when you see him illuminated by the hallway, you freeze. He’s bleeding, a cut starting at his nose and going diagonally underneath his eye, he’s straightened his glasses but there's a crack in them, another bruise at his temple, one on his lips, those soft lips you always think about, even a bruise below his ear on his cheek masking his jawline. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” You hear yourself whisper, more at yourself than him. “It’s nothing..” he slures out “.. just wanted to see you.” You move aside to let him into the empty room and he takes the opportunity, walking towards the bed, but not before grabbing you by your waist and giving you a quick, but passionate kiss. He takes you by surprise with it, your mind still trying to wrap around what happened, and your body falls into him, making him hiss from the cut on his upper lip, but he doesn't seem to want to stop regardless.

He sits down on your bed when he breaks the kiss, and you turn on the bedside lamp to get a better look at him. Small bruises are forming on his arms, and his muscles seem strained, his exhausted body melting into the bedding.

“Lay down, I’ll be right back.” you mumble at him before moving to the other side of your room where you left your wand. After a little searching, you find it, but with how tired you are, you’re not sure how much you trust yourself with it. You remember the small first aid kit in your bathroom, and move to get it before making your way back to James.

You see him struggling to take his jumper off, and move over to help him with it. Once it’s off he moves to lie down, and you put some extra pillows under his head, making him sit up a little more before pouring the sterilizer on a towel. You look over at him again, and wonder about how you’re going to do this, when you see him stretch his arm out to you. You take his hand and he pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him and giving me the perfect position to patch him up.

You look at his chest, covered in blooming bruises, and when the towel hits the few open wounds, he groans a little, instinctively moving his hands to your hips to ground himself. His eyes are closed, and even though he looks like he should be in pain, he seems relaxed.

He stays quiet the whole time, only the occasional hiss or groan leaving him. And when you’re done, having put everything back in its proper place, he asks you silently: “Can I please stay over” “Of course you can, I’m not letting you wander back in this state.” you tell him while moving to lie down beside him. He doesn’t seem satisfied though, and pulls you in even closer.

After a few more minutes of silence, you ask him: “Jamie, what the hell happened to you..?” “It’s, it’s nothing, really, just-" He seems a little hesitant, so you wait for him to continue. “There, there were these guys…” He sounds a little angry, but you still don’t know what he’s talking about. “Do you remember the party that was going on, earlier tonight?” “Of course I do.” you tell him. You had gotten tired early, and decided to head to bed while the others stayed a while longer. “Well, turns out some of the Slytherins had noticed you, and they were talking about you.” He seems even angrier now, you remember this look, it’s similar to the look he got when he lost the Quidditch house cup, except this seems more personal somehow. “They were talking about you, telling their stuck-up friends all the things he would do to you- calling you names and saying how he-” you see him clench his fists, his knuckles turning white. “He was telling them how he would-, bloody hell, I can’t even get it out of my mouth. But I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I, well, I may have punched him.” “You did what?” you ask him, not fully wanting to believe what he’s telling you. Sure, he get detention often enough, but never for fist fights, he doesn't get in fist fights. “I punched him, and I got into a fight with him and his friends.” The hesitance is back now, replacing his anger. “I’m sorry y/n, but I couldn’t stand him saying those kinds of things about you.” You smile a little, and he looks confused. “You got into a fight to defend my honour, Potter?” Your smile only growing. He only nods and you don’t hesitate to lean in, kissing him softly. You can still taste the blood on his tongue, but you don’t care, and he doesn’t seem to either.

You shift over, and he pulls you in to straddle his lap once again. You give him a quiet “I love you” in between kisses. He doesn’t need to say it back this time, his actions having spoken louder than words.

[eddieandbird]

i just saw a quiet place day one ....................... i need eric x reader fics so bad 😭😭😭😭

not me taking this as an invitation to write one. -bird

Everest—

You take a study break with Eric

tags/warnings: fluff | 1k words | genderless reader

———

“Your eye is twitching, do you know that?” Eric's lips wiggled as he fought a smirk.

“Stop looking at it,” You quipped with your eyes glued to the overly blown out white screen in front of you.

Eric picked up the brightly colored energy drink can that sat beside your laptop and shook it, swishing the small amount of liquid inside.

“How many of these have you had today?” A low chuckle came from him as he tossed it into the waste bin beside him.

“I don’t know, a couple I guess,” You rubbed a fist into your eye, your voice was gravelly and tired.

Eric got up from his seat and walked up behind you. He placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over your shoulder to take a closer look at your document.

“I see you’re on the same paragraph you were on twenty minutes ago,”

You swatted lightly at his arm to get him away from your space. “Cut it out, I’m just stuck. I’ve been writing and rewriting this paper for like three days straight,”

You threw your head in your hands, massaging your temples. Not one thought you had about this project manifested into a single sentence in your paper. Your level of aggravation in yourself was steadily climbing.

“Eric, I gotta finish this. It’s like forty percent of my grade,” You groaned, pulling down at your cheeks in exasperation.

“It’s like forty percent of my grade,” Eric mimicked your accent, taking a seat beside you. “You are so American, it’s ridiculous,”

“Did you come over to study with me, or mock me?” You shot him a glare.

“To study. Not to watch you fall into a catatonic state over this essay,” His calloused, warm hands engulfed yours, making your breath catch in your throat for a moment. “You need a break,”

“Eric, I really need to finish,”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and pulling you to your feet.

“You’re not going to finish if you’re falling asleep at the keyboard. Come on, let’s go do something for a while,”

“Fine, fine, fine. I guess I’ve already wasted a couple hours, what’s a few more,”

As you got on your feet, you rolled your neck around your shoulders, then shook off your limbs to wake yourself up a bit.

“Where are we going, London boy?” You asked.

“First of all, I’m from Kent. Second of all, it is a surprise,” Eric chuckled.

“Kent, London. Same thing,”

You stuck out your tongue at him before grabbing your phone and wallet and stuffing them into your back pocket. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and slung it over one shoulder, gesturing for you to follow him.

“You’ll just have to wait and see then,” Eric said as he walked out of the library, holding the door open for you to walk through first.

You threw your laptop into your bag and followed him out. You flinched as a strong gust of cold air hit your face.

“Shit, do we have to be outside right now? It’s freezing,” You grumbled.

“Oh, stop. You’re being a child,” Eric retorted, tickling your side briefly. “You could use some fresh air,”

You pulled in the hood of your jacket to block some of the wind. “Please tell me we’re not going to be outside for much longer,”

Eric chuckled, his mouth agape as if he were offended. “You’ve lived in New York longer than I have. You should be used to it by now,”

“That means nothing. Me being here longer doesn’t make it suddenly feel warmer,” You retorted.

Eric took a turn around a corner you usually never went down before. You quickened your steps to catch up to him.

“Um, what’s down here?”

“A new café. It just opened up last week and they have this great drink I’ve been ordering,” Eric said with a sly grin.

A skeptical look came across your face, but it was too late to argue. Eric soon was holding a door open for you. You were soon seated in a booth.

“Two Everests, please,” He told the waitress with a nod.

“Everest?” You tilted your head. “What the hell is that?”

“You’ll see,” He responded.

The café was quite charming. It had dimly lit Edison bulbs hung around the walls. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries lingered in the air. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but give Eric a suspicious look.

"Eric, you better not be trying to poison me or something. What the hell is an 'Everest'?"

He chuckled, crossing his arms on the table in front of him.

"Just trust me. You'll like it,"

The server soon arrived with two mugs the size of cereal bowls, filled with hot cocoa and topped with tall swirls of whip cream.

Your mouth hung open in shock as they set it down on your table, a silent laugh caused you to bounce in your seat.

“Eric, what the hell is this?”

“What? You said you were cold. Warm yourself up,” He snickered, sticking his spoon into the drink.

“You seriously drink this whenever you come here? And I’m the child?” You teased.

“Hey, there is no age limit for hot chocolate,” Eric pointed his finger at you.

Before you could take your napkin to wipe your face, Eric’s hand swooped in and did it for you. You scrunched your nose with a grin.

“Thanks,”

“See, I told you, you’d like it,” He smirked, looking pleased with himself as he pointed to your drink. “I bet you’re ready to hit that essay again when we get back,”

“Wow. Do you really believe this hot cocoa can grant miracles?” You giggled before taking another sip.

“No, but I believe in you,” Eric folded his arms, looking at you for a bit before leaning forward. “You’re brilliant and you will get that paper done. Today’s the day. I’m manifesting it, or whatever,”

Your heart fluttered a bit at his words, but you tried to play it cool.

“Is that so?” You feigned skepticism, arching an eyebrow at him.

Eric leaned back in his seat, a smug smirk on his face, “You’ll see. You’ll finish that paper and you’ll absolutely ace it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah right. Like your ‘manifesting’ will do anything,”

“I have so much faith in you, that I’ll make you a promise. If you get anything higher than a C on this paper, I’ll finally go out with you to that stupid karaoke bar you’ve been pestering me to take you to,” He said, scratching the back of his neck, trying not to look too nervous or unwilling.

“We’re doing three duets,” You glared at him, testing how far you could take it.

“Let’s start with one. I don’t want the other patrons ears to bleed,” he spoke behind his hand as if it were a secret.

“Deal,” You gave a satisfied grin and held your hand out.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re not ready but you have to be. The taxi ride doesn’t give you much time to get yourself together. You tip the driver and thank them before you get out to face the music.

The red brick building lures you back to reality. You barely get a step into the apartment before your name rings out. Barrett appears at the end of the hall and you shut the door.

You sigh and hang up your keys and purse. You keep your phone in your hand and face him. 

“Hey, I called work. Let them know I’d be starting late.” He sways at the threshold to the front room. He’s nervous, maybe even guilty. You ignore that tickle in the back of your head. 

You’re silent as you veer into the kitchen. He follows and looms behind you. He teeters in the doorway as you put your phone on the counter. You focus on making another coffee. 

“Are you feeling okay? You look tired.” He’s pandering just like he always does after a fight. He won’t apologise, he’ll just act like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

“Yeah, I’m tired. Exhausted. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to wash my mug out.” 

You open the cupboard and take out a cup. He sniffs. “Honey, please, I swear, it wasn’t about the mug. I’m stressed and I miss you--” 

“So, you call me lazy? You yell at me?” You slam down the lid of the machine. The surge of anger quickly swells and erases the night already washed away with the vodka. “I told you, if you ever yell at me--” 

“I know, I know. It won’t happen again. I was emotional. I was stupid. I don’t know why I started it all. Really. I think...” he shakes his head and drops his chin. He looks up at you shyly and gives a sad smile. “I miss you. I guess having you mad at me is better than you ignoring me so--” 

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I asked for five minutes to change and you wouldn’t get off my back.” 

“Yeah.” He rubs his cheek and mopes. He stares at you and you stare back. You wait. The air roils between you as he thinks. You see the frantic glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, uh... I’m sorry?” 

“Are you apologising or are you just saying what I want to hear?” You challenge. 

“No, I’m sorry,” he says more firmly. 

“For?”  

His brows furrow and his lips part. “For... uh... babe... you know... what I did.” 

The machine quits grinding and you throw your hands up. You turn around and pour yourself a cup. You inhale the scent and it eases the hangover thumping in your skull. 

“Just go to work.” 

“Babe--” 

“Take some coffee, I don’t care,” you swipe up your phone and shuffle toward the other door. “But go. We need space.” 

He doesn’t speak until you reach the doorway, “I’m trying.” 

You don’t respond. You go to the bedroom and shut the door. You need a shower and sleep. You want to wash off yesterday and forget it all.  

You can hear Barrett in the kitchen. Your phone vibrates and you check the screen. You expect a call-in but find a text instead. It’s from a strange number. The message makes your heart skip. 

‘Last night was amazing. Would love to see you again. Let me know when’s good for you.’ 

Your hand shakes and you gape at the text. You tap your thumb to expand the options and hit the center; ‘block’. Last night did not happen. You put your coffee on the nightstand and chew your lip. 

As soon as the message swooshes away, another flies in. It’s Wendy; ‘hey, you good? You left before I woke up.’ 

Your blood slows and your head pulses. You have to sit down. You grimace at your phone. She doesn’t remember either. She has no idea you didn’t go back to her place. Good. That means it can all stay forgotten. 

You press reply and steady the phone with both hands. ‘Sorry, had to get back. Barrett called. Thanks for the night out.’ 

You hit send. As soon as your fingertips touches the screen, your stomach flips. You throw your phone on the bed and race to the door. You swing it open and scurry into the bathroom.

You hurl into the toilet as your husband calls from the kitchen, “babe? Everything okay? Want to me to stay home and take care of you?” 

You groan and lean your head on your arm. You heave and swallow back another wave of nausea.

“Just go!” You snarl back. 

Maybe it’s what he did. Maybe it’s what you can’t remember you did but you need him gone. You just need a chance to get your head straight and figure it all out.  Not just what happened or didn’t happen, but what’s going to happen next.

You can’t keep doing this with Barrett. This is the last fight you’re having about a goddamn dish. 

[cxrsed-angel]

Girls Night Out | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

word count 1k

summary: joel takes care of you after your first girls night out

warnings: mentions of sex but isn’t actually, drinking, age gap, (joel is in his late 50s, reader is in her 20s), mentions of puking

gif credits: @/ pedrohub

“Joel I think your girl had a few drinks too many,” Tommy laughs taking a sip of his drink before walking away. joel says silent prayer hoping you werent making too much of a fool of yourself. 

He knew you had a hard time adjusting to jackson, used to surviving not living, when you told him about a group of girls your age inviting you out to go drinking with them be encouraged it, and tagged along since you were nervous, he expected you to makes some new friends but he didn’t expect those friends to get you drunk of your ass. 

He sighs and sets his drink down, and turns around to see you on top of one of the tipsy bison’s tables, dancing with one of the girls, grinding your hips against hers, the short dress one of the girls gave you, riding up your thigh as you moved your hips, his jaw clenching when hears a few of the younger guys that were watching whistle at you.

“For fucks sake.” he mutters as he approaches the table. 

“Hi ladies, hey sweetheart I think its time to go.” he holds his hands out to you, but you stay on the table, refusing.

“Noo Im having fun, I haven't had fun in forever and Im making friends look.” you gesture to the girls, and they wave as your words slurred. continuing dancing on the top. Joel lets outs a tired sigh, hoping you don't fall off and hurt yourself.

“Can you refill it please.” you beg,  pouting and giving him your best puppy dog eyes handing him your empty glass. he’s about to refuse when Tommy comes over, he pats Joel’s shoulder.  

“That’s what happens when you’re dating a younger girl huh she has to much energy for you.” he jokes as he watches you still dancing and taking a sip of your friend's drink. 

“ Fuck off, Tommy.  C’mon you've had enough darling can you please get down.” he asks again but you refuse again moving away from him as he tried to gently pull you down you lose your balance in the hells you had spent all week learning how to walk in, a foot slips off the table, luckily Joel catches you before you could hit the hardwood. 

 “You okay?” he asks but you're not paying attention. You're focusing on Joel's brown eyes and how they shine in fairy lights strung long the wall. You silently admire him for a few minutes. Not realizing he was speaking to you. “You with me sweetheart?” 

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are” you sloppily run your hand up his chest clumsily, trying to be sexy. 

Joel lets out a small chuckle at the state you were in. “Yes baby you have, come on let’s get you home ” he lightly grabs your arm helping you with your footing, one of the girls, just as drunk as you if not more comes up to you. 

“This is joel? you’re right he is hot, you’re so lucky.” you smile and slip out of Joel’s hand taking the opportunity to gush about him more. 

“I know he’s so hot,  you should hear him when he’s pissed. His southern accent gets stronger it’s so sexy, it makes me so we—“Joel cuts you off before you could finish your sentence, blushing a bit. 

“Okay! baby it’s time to go.” you wave to your new friends as joel leads you to the front. He finally thinks he managed to get you out of there one of the younger guys watching you dance blocks the door

“Hey you looked good dancing up there what’s your name.” Joel’s grip on you tightens, he’s about to tell him to fuck off, but you beat him to it 

“Ew, no i have a boyfriend” he looks at Joel hand on your waist and scoffs. 

“Who? not this old fuck, come on I bet the old man can’t even get it up anymore don’t you wanna someone who could go all night doll .” before you could come up with a response Joel fist collides into his nose, you could tell its bad when it starts bleeding, probably breaking his nose.

You hear gasps from everyone in the bar; but before anyone can do anything, Joel is already leading you out the door walking you home. 

After many stumbles and you puke up all the alcohol in your system. Joel finally makes it home into your shared room. He sits on the bed next to you and rubs your back, as you lay down on the bed staring at him. 

“Joel youre so hot” 

He lets out a laugh “you’ve said before baby” he tries to get up from the bed, but you hold onto his hand, making him stay next to you

“No don’t leave please” you start tearing up at the thought of him not being next to you. 

Joel frowns not understanding why you were crying “I’m not going anywhere just gonna get you a change of clothes and some food, maybe a bucket or something.” he tries to explain, but you cling onto him, crying a bit harder. 

“No Joel please don’t leave me.” Joel’s caught off guard by your bawling and sits back on the bed. 

“Okay Im not going anywhere Im right here just go to sleep baby.” he lays next to you but sees you still sniffing and crying. 

“Sweetheart why are you crying,” he asks, full of concern, worried someone did something or hurt you. his worries only grow when you shake your head and refuse to tell him. “C’mon baby it’s okay you can tell me.” 

You take a deep breath wiping your tears and face him “They’re gonna kick me out.” You cry out, Joel’s face frowning confused 

“Who baby?” 

“They! Everyone. Jackson, Maria. I fucking don’t know who does it specifically! ” Joel looks at you, trying to piece together what you’re saying. 

“Why would they kick you out?.” 

You stop cry a little and sit up, “This morning at breakfast I put my dirty plate in the wrong place I put it with the bowls Joel, the bowls! I was gonna fix it but then the girls started talking to me and lead me out talking about girls night out and what time to meet and I didn’t get chance to go back.” Joel stared at you with wide eyes at your babbled confession, he tried to hold in his laughter not wanting to upset you more. 

“Baby they ain’t gonna kick you out because of that okay I promise.” you look at him sniffling, 

“Really?” Joel nodded reassuring you

“Yea it was just an accident, sweet girl it didn’t hurt anybody, I doubt they even noticed.” 

You stop crying and lay down cuddling against him, “ok, but if they kick me you out I’m telling you I told you so.” Joel smiles laughing a little as you closed your eyes slowly falling asleep. 

Joel relaxes as you calm down. He thinks about it and realizes he’s never seen you drunk, he’s seen you drink here and there but never enough to let your guard know, not like this. It makes me happy that he had found a place for you and Ellie, that was safe, and you could relax, He knew that the both of you had been through so much and were forced to grow up fast. It was times like this when he remembers just how young you were, still in your twenties. 

He rubs your head on his shoulder, lying down; he thinks about how he would take care of you every day if it gave you a chance to have a somewhat normal young adulthood. He closes his eyes to sleep, and it’s quiet for a few minutes until he heard your voice again. 

“Joel. I think I need to throw up.” Joel laughs a little before sitting up to help you. 

₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Bonus: Joel woke up early to go to the dining hall hoping to grab some of your favorite breakfast foods, he was placing the food in a to go container when he hears a group of whispering behind him. 

“god he’s so hot,” he turns around and sees the group of girls you were with last night; he sees them looking fresh and awake and wonders how they weren’t hungover. he turns back and continues getting your food but they continue whispering.

 “aww he’s getting her hangover food, I wish I had a sexy older man taking care of me.” 

Joel shakes his head but continued ignoring them, moving over to get some coffee. 

“I know I bet he fucks her so good.” Joel eyes widen at the comment and spills the hot coffee on the table and a little on his hand, cursing under his breath. he starts cleaning up when Tommy walks over, making joel jump slightly as he playfully slaps his shoulder. 

“Jesus Joel why are you so jumpy just came to check on your girl.” Joel relaxes and continues filling up the coffee cups. 

“It's - Im fine, she’s fine I actually need to go check on her now.” he answers quickly, trying to leave the dining hall before he hears anymore of their conversations but not fast enough. 

“No, he’s definitely the #1 DILF here. Do you see him?” 

“We don’t even know if he has kids. ”

“He doesn’t have to have kids to be a daddy.” 

Tommy and Joel overhear their conversation as the girls walk by, Joel feels his face starts getting red, wondering how much you told them last night. 

“Were-are they talking about you?” Tommy asks but Joel just shakes his head and heads towards the door. 

“I gotta check on her, know she’s gonna a bad hangover. I'll see you later Tommy” he says as he leaves out the door, hoping to forget that whole situation ever happened. 

[dragonsorceress22]

Nova needs a forever home!

Nova is a 9 month old classic tabby – male, neutered, and microchipped.

Nova has Feline Coronavirus which is contagious to other cats. Some cats can kick the virus, but Nova cannot. He needs a safe home where he no longer has to be isolated. Other pets and people totally okay! Only cats are at risk.

Nova has all of his claws but has never tried to claw the couch or curtains – he likes his scratching post. He is playful and active, clumsy, doesn’t mind being picked up, and will happily sit in laps when he’s tired of playing. He’s social and friendly and loves open windows.

Nova will come with a nice carrier, all of his toys, a couple cat beds, his scratching post, and a few blankets and towels, and all his medical history.

As a symptom of his virus Nova has digestive difficulties, so his dietary needs are sort of high maintenance but his current regimen is working well for managing his symptoms and letting him live a normal kitty life.

Please share this as much as possible so we can find Nova a safe and loving home!

Nova's Adopt A Pet profile

[creative-crybaby]

Make Love to the Camera

PAIRING: sub!Takami Keigo (Hawks) x femdom!reader

GENRE: smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: pegging, mommy kink, nipple play, anal fingering, praise kink, use of sex toys (strap-on), oral (on a sex toy), very brief feminization, light cock slapping (like, once), size kink, dacryphilia, consensual filming + photos

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SUMMARY: Take a photo, it'll last longer. And with how beautiful your boyfriend is, you can't help but follow that saying.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: wrote this for @dabihawksluva's PegHawks2023 collab! Thank you for the opportunity to ruin him ❤️

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

He’s ethereal. 

This isn’t unheard of, much less to him. Fans, interviewers—no one can deny his beauty. His charisma, which comes with his easygoing attitude, adds to his popularity, and it all manages to shine through even when he doesn’t need to speak.

If Takami Keigo isn’t fighting villains or saving civilians, he’s improving his image in other ways. Interacting with fans during his paroles, bumping up the charm during interviews—he even models on the side. The camera loves him. 

Then again, so do you. 

“Thanks for showing up,” he smiles, approaching you immediately at the start of his short break. “It means a lot.”

Your heart flutters as you see him physically relax, and you copy his expression. “Of course.” You hand him a water bottle, which Takami gladly accepts. “You look amazing out there.”

He stops drinking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as a soft pink dusts his cheeks. “You think so?”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Like you don’t already know.”

“Still,” he sips a bit more before twisting the cap back on, “it’s different coming from you.”

The corners of your lips rise, and you lean in teasingly. “I call you handsome and pretty all the time.”

“And I fall for you every time.”

It’s your turn to feel the warmth radiating off your face, that grin forcing itself onto your lips. 

You don’t get a chance to come up with a comeback as several people butt in to touch up his hair and makeup. Takami pays them no mind, used to the attention, though his soft gaze remains on you. It’s enough to ease your frustration; they’re just doing their jobs, you know this, but having them all so close to your hero when he finally gets a break is affecting your brain the way nails on a chalkboard affect one’s ears. 

He notices because, of course, he does, and everyone stops what they’re doing with the raise of his hand and a charming smile. The Pro Hero steps toward you, leaning forward until only a few inches separate you. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but with golden pools softly gazing into yours, you find yourself nodding. Takami smiles reassuringly. “Until this is over, keep your eyes on me, okay?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just pecks your temple before heading back to the set. Your focus follows his frame, finding him throwing you a glance over his shoulder with a wink. 

You don’t, can’t, look away for the rest of the shoot.

“I’m home.”

The words come out somewhat sluggish as you hear the window close seconds later. You save your page in the book before placing it on the nightstand, dismounting the bed to follow that familiar voice. Its owner meets you halfway, blocking the bedroom entrance with its lean frame and tired eyes. 

“Hey, pretty bird,” you smile sympathetically. Like magic, your words make some of his exhaustion disappear. Takami fixes his posture as he greets you back just as quietly and lovingly. You pull him into an embrace, and he slumps once more. “Long day?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he chuckles against your skin.

You pull back to face him. “You were great during the shoot.”

Your hand cradles his cheek, making him croon as your thumb gently rubs his tanned skin. He shifts his head to kiss your palm. “Of course, you’d say that.”

“I mean it,” you pout. The Pro Hero chuckles again at your reaction, pulling you back into the hug and peppering kisses on whatever exposed skin his lips can find. You sigh at his gentle touch. “Want me to prepare a bath for you?”

“You saying I smell bad?” muses your lover. You groan, and he laughs, the rumbling from his chest vibrating against your body. The joyful sound eventually disappears, but you can feel his smile against your skin. “I’d rather just stick with you for now, thanks.”

You hum, your hands soothingly rubbing his back and making his wings puff ever so slightly. The subtle movement has the corners of your lips twitching upwards, though you remain silent for a few extra seconds. 

“Anything in particular you wanna do?” you ask, pulling back a bit. The battle between you and the ever-growing smile ends with you losing, and your teasing expression is impossible to misread. “You’ve been working really hard lately. I think you deserve to be spoiled, even just a little bit.”

Your implications have a bright red spreading across the Pro Hero’s face, his wings twitching as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. You have to refrain from cooing at his bashful expression, feeling lucky and prideful that you’re the only one that can gain a reaction like that from him.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle,” Takami mumbles, brows creasing. You snicker when you notice the tips of his ears matching his face in colour, and he pouts. Your smile only grows while he remains silent for a few more seconds. “C’mon, you know what I want…”

You pull back, eyelids hooded. “I don’t think I do.”

“Don’t make me say it…”

“Say what?” More silence on his end, smugness on yours. You know what he wants–you want it just as much–and you’ll gladly give it to him. The fact that you can get him to squirm for a bit is a little treat for yourself. You cup his face with both hands. “Use your words, handsome.”

You’re cradling him in your hold, your boyfriend whining at your dragging. You can feel the heat radiating from his face, warming your hands as he forces his gaze onto yours. 

The next couple of seconds happens in a flash. Takami grabs your wrists, pulling them away from his cheeks and towards him, slamming his lips against yours. You yelp into the kiss, his strong arms wrapping around your torso to keep you in place. Still, you comply with his sudden affection, tangling your fingers into his hair and gaining a soft moan from him. 

Your lover breaks the kiss, breathless and even redder than before. “Touch me.”

It’s good enough for you, and you tug him back for more as you lead him to your bed, helping him remove his clothes while his feathers fly out of the way.

Takami’s unbuckling his belt by the time the back of your knees hit the foot of the bed. You pull away from the kiss, hastily throwing the remainder of his clothes away, as well as some of yours, before leading him onto the mattress. With him on his back and you hovering over him in your undergarments, both panting and warm and needy, you resume your makeout session, allowing each other’s hands to touch whatever parts of the other they can grab onto. 

You remove your lips from his own to suck on his neck when you feel his cock poking your inner thigh. A quivering whine graces your ears, and the Pro Hero places his hands on your hips. 

“Can’t wait any longer,” he says desperately. You stop your actions to look at him, and his eyes plead with you just as, if not more, than his words. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? For all I know, the Commission might want me back out there. Another second of this and I’ll lose it.”

You’re surprised more by his ability to remain coherent than his words. If his touch and gaze are anything to go by, he’s not lying. 

Then again, you share those sentiments, and you offer him a sincere expression with a matching apology.

With a final peck to his forehead, you then trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest until you reach one of his nipples, plopping it into your mouth and letting your tongue dance around it. Takami gasps, and it’s more than enough encouragement to tweak at the other bud, matching your mouth’s pace.

“I can’t help myself,” you apologize again after momentarily detaching from your lover. “I promise I’ll start soon. I just want to get a few more noises out of you.”

Because yes, you share those sentiments, but along with them, you carry selfish ones. 

You’re back to your ministrations, making him bite his lip and squirm under your touch.

“Please, just get the strap,” he begs, his voice wavering. “I said it, okay? I promise I’ll be good if you just touch me already. Just… please…”

The slight crack at the end convinces you, though you’d have loved to toy with him a bit more. 

Pulling back, you wipe a stray tear from his cheekbone. Based on his rapid blinking, he didn’t seem to notice he was crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, slowly getting off him. “I’ll get to it. But in the meantime, I’d like you to keep up what I was doing.” you take his wrists, leading his hands to his chest before fully dismounting the bed. You look back at him with a soft expression almost unfitting for the current situation. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

The Pro Hero nods, and you reach for a box under the bed before placing it on your vanity (courtesy of your loving boyfriend). It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for in it: a crimson, nine-inch dildo with an equally bold harness, as well as some lube. 

Taking what you need, you strip yourself of your underwear before strapping the toy on. You approach your lover, who complies with your command and rubs his nipples as he watches you with want. He stops touching himself as his gaze wanders south, the sheer length and girth making him gulp as if he hasn’t had it inside him before. 

You chuckle at his reaction, sitting on the mattress. “Come lay your head on my lap, sweetheart.”

Takami perks up at the command, quick to crawl toward your frame and snuggle into the fat of your thighs. He sighs against your skin, practically disregarding the fake cock mere centimetres away from his face. You smile lovingly at him, raking your fingers through his golden locks. From the corner of your eye, you catch him shifting into a curled-up position, bringing his body closer to yours.

“This should work for prep,” he tells you from his spot, turning his head to peer up at you with almost childishly proud eyes. The hand in his hair glides down his neck to his shoulder blades to play with his wings, making him shudder. 

“It should,” you agree, dragging your fingertips lightly against the sensitive base. Your boyfriend moans, his cock twitching against your hip. You hand him the bottle of lube, and even in his descent to wonderland, his brows furrow at the object. “And you’ll be taking care of it.”

His face drops as he pouts, an almost silent whimper escaping his throat as he looks at you with pleading eyes. “I thought you said you wanted to treat me?”

“Of course, I do,” you coo, refraining from giving in. “But you know I can’t help how pretty you are when you get needy.” The look he gives you tells you he isn’t convinced, so take your hand from his back to cup his chin. “I promise I won’t hold back once you’re all prepped up for me, okay?”

He stares at you for a bit. “Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

The sincerity in your tone and gaze seems to be enough for Takami as he takes the lube from your grip, removing the cap and oozing a generous amount of liquid onto his fingers. You keep your eyes on his hand, watching intently as it falls past his thighs and cock, a whine slipping through his lips. You can’t see him stretch himself open, though his reactions are more than enough to keep you satisfied. You almost feel selfish; even with this moment being all about him, you’re dragging things on for your own pleasure, not wanting to miss a second of your lover falling apart. 

Your greed doesn’t stop there as you catch a glimpse of your phone on the nightstand.

“Mind if I record you?” you ask softly, caressing his cheekbone for good measure. “I just wanna look at you forever.”

The Pro Hero doesn’t stop his ministrations as he gives you the go-ahead, and you gently lift his head to reach for your phone. Giving your thanks, you help him shift positions to kneel before you, his fingers continuing to work their magic on his hole.

With the dildo’s base in one of your hands and the device in the other, you give him a look that tells him everything he needs to know. 

Takami opens his mouth wide, allowing you to tap the fake dick’s head on his awaiting tongue before slowly sliding the silicone shaft down his throat. As soon as his lips wrap around the toy, you press record, aiming the camera at your boyfriend’s lewd display. 

“Good boy,” you sigh, eyelids drooping as he sets a languid pace bobbing his head. His tongue dances along the underside of the red cock, you notice, and you’re more than sure you’d be a goner had it been your real dick. 

Your boyfriend moans around the shaft, making direct eye contact with the lens on your phone as he takes more into his mouth, his gaze sultry yet pathetic. He knows what he’s doing—of course, he does. Though with his photoshoots being at most somewhat sensual, seeing him like this with no one else around makes pride swell in your chest and lust swirl in your lower belly. 

Despite your shallow breaths, you’re surprised that your hold on your phone remains stable. Even when Takami’s lips reach the base and his gags to your ears, you don’t miss any of it while recording. 

It isn’t until you notice his thighs tense that you end the video.

“I think you’re ready now,” you say, slowly slipping the dildo out of his mouth. The Pro Hero heaves, nodding at your words as tears cascade down his flushed face. You wipe them away, giving him a break as your gaze softens at his beautifully dishevelled appearance. “Just lay on your back, and I’ll take care of the rest. Okay, pretty?”

He quietly moans as he changes his position, opening his legs to allow you to nestle between them. The bottle of lube is back in your hold as you lather the liquid onto your already-wet strap-on. You barely put on a show, but it doesn’t stop your lover from exhaling shakily at the display. 

Tossing the bottle elsewhere on the bed, you hit the record button once more before aiming your tip at his rimmed entrance. You shift the camera’s focus to Takami’s face, watching it contort from the invasion while a gasp slips past his swollen lips. With only an inch or two inside him, you wait for him to relax, shushing him while rubbing his thigh soothingly. 

It’s only when his heaving subsides that you shift your focus to between the Pro Hero’s legs, his hole stretched open and his cock hard against his abdomen and leaking precum. A grin spreads across your face, and you sink the toy deeper inside him. His whimpers make you bite your lip, holding back your own sounds of pleasure. 

Once you bottom out, you zoom in on where your fake dick disappears with your phone, glancing up at your boyfriend only to find him covering his face with his arm. It’s enough to ease the ache of your cheeks from smiling so widely, but you don’t frown, either. Instead, you gently slap his cock—not too hard to cause harm, though it certainly earns you a mix of a moan and a sob. 

“Don’t hide from me, baby,” you chastise, lightly rubbing his shaft as an apology. Takami whimpers, hesitantly removing his arm from his face, still red and moist from sweat and tears. Your smile returns, and your hold on his dick leaves as his on his thighs appear. “I wanna see and hear all of you, okay?”

Your boyfriend nods with a gulp. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” you parrot all too sweetly, raising your brows knowingly at him. 

A pause.

Takami mewls. “Yes, Mommy.”

You coo at his pathetic tone, reeling your hips before slamming back in. Your pace is rapid and immediately set; you’ve made him wait long enough.

Taken aback by your force, the Pro Hero tightens his hold on his thighs, digging his nails into his skin as he allows the wanton cries to escape his throat. Even with more tears glossing his vision, he manages to keep his eyes open. The blush on his face spreads to his neck as his body shines with a sheer layer of sweat. The sight alone is dizzying for you, but you’ll be damned if you stop now.

“You take me so well,” you huff with a smile, brows knitted together in concentration. You wonder if he can hear you over the wet pap pap pap of your hips colliding, the lube creating a thin ring at the base of your strap-on. “Practically a–ngh!–natural. If being a hero doesn’t work out, you could… you could make a living off of taking my cock.” Takami whines at the idea as you push at his inner thigh to further spread his legs. You focus on the mess you’ve made and how easily the toy disappears inside him, moaning at the lewd sight. “Would you like that, baby? Be Mommy’s little porn star?” More whimpers from the Number 2 Hero. “Your fans would sell their souls to see you shirtless. Imagine–hah–what they’d do to see you like this.”

He keens with a hiccup, and you grin widely, your body on autopilot as you zoom in on his face. Just as flushed as when you started, Takami’s cheeks shine with the remnants of his tears as they continue to fall, his eyes layered with a mist as they cross ever so slightly. If you look closely, you’re sure to find hearts in his pupils, his glossy and rosy lips twitching upwards as drool seeps down his chin. 

You’re right: his fans would do anything just to catch a glimpse of him in this state. 

And you get to experience it all for free.

The passing thought gives you more than enough adrenaline to go faster and harder, angling your hips slightly differently to hit the spot that makes him shriek almost girlishly. He’s so perfect; you want to cry. You want to keep fucking him silly, and you want to ride him until your legs lose all feeling. You want to destroy him, mind, body and soul, and you want to press your lips against his while cradling his face. 

You want all of him. 

“Mommy,” Takami gasps, his hips twitching. “‘M close, so fucking close…” He cuts himself off with a wanton mewl, taking a moment to collect himself despite your brutal attack on his prostate. “Can I—can I cum?”

Hearing someone of such high status, someone every citizen looks at with such high regard, ask for permission with a trembling voice, you feel more powerful than any villain. And with how your cunt clenches at the mere sight of him in his miserable glory, you’re sure you ought to be classified as one, too. 

But for now, you’ll show mercy, albeit recorded for his humiliation. “Make a mess for me, baby bird.”

The next few seconds happen in slow motion as you watch Takami’s eyes roll to the back of his head while his jaw falls open. Splatters of creamy white decorate his abdomen and chest, with a couple of drops reaching his chin as he squeezes around the toy. You help him ride his orgasm while making sure to catch every moment on your phone, only ending the video once his body relaxes. Your gaze softens, and you snap a few extra photos. You could make one of them your home screen later.

You shush him as he regulates his breathing, leaning forward to place your phone on the nightstand before brushing some of his hair out of his sweaty face. Once he appears somewhat calmer, you move back to rest your hands on his hips to slide the strap out of him, your lover hissing as you do so. Every step of the way, you whisper sweet nothings to him.

“Such a good boy for me,” you coo after removing the harness. You then lay next to him, and Takami whines, making you smile, tilting his head to face you. Tear stains ghost his cheeks while wet lashes clump together, his plump lips glossy with the spit as his blush fades to a subtle pink hue. He’s beautiful; it’s not fair. “Wait here. I’ll get you cleaned up.”

You make quick work of doing so. Wet cloth, water bottle, whatever you can get your hands on in a short amount of time. And after wiping away the evidence of your activities from the Pro Hero’s handsome face and sculpted build and getting him to drink up, you help him sit to pull him into your embrace. 

Takami pouts, tugging at your bra strap. “Still got this on?”

With a roll of your eyes, you remove the last article of clothing from your warm body, and a wolfy grin spreads across his face. He’s back to hugging you, this time burying himself in your chest.

You sigh. “Was I too rough on you?”

Still pressed against you, the Pro Hero shakes his head no. He only slightly pulls back to peer up at you, his expression somewhat more serious. 

“Was I a good model for you?” he asks. You can hear the teasing tone in his voice, though there’s an antsiness to his gaze that awaits for your approval. With a soft laugh and a smile to match, you then kiss his head. 

“The best.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[ilyasorokinn]

omgggg happy 3rd anniversary to you!!!! here's to many more to come 🥂 for this celebration can i please request, from the general fluffy dialogue prompt list number 8 + 9 with mat barzal pls? thank you!

WINNIE MARTIN’S FAVORITE PERSON

this is the first of my tumblr-versary blurbs, so if that annoys you, block the tag 'taylor's tumblr-versary' love ya <3

8. "who let you be this cute today?" 9. "can we wait a second? i wanna take a picture of you right now." (from this prompt list)

you tried to go to as many games as you could, but you had a job so making it to every game was impossible. but, when you could make it to games, mat made sure to plan ahead and make sure you were gonna have a good time.

"you have a ride, right?" mat asked from the bathroom where he was still getting read.

"yes, i have a ride." you sighed. a moment of silence enveloped you and you knew something was wrong, "you okay? you need help with anything?" you asked.

"...yes." he hesitated.

"you can't tie your tie, can you?" you smiled.

"no." you could see the pout on his face as you made your way into the bathroom.

"ooh." you teased, "mathew barzal, who let you be this cute today?" you teased, enjoying the shy smile on his face.

"stop please. just help." he handed you the tie he wanted to wear, but you shook your head, "what?"

"mat, i love you, but your sense of style is awful." you winced, recalling every bad fashion choice you had seen him make. you set the tie on the counter and grabbed a different one, one that better matched the suit he was wearing, and began tying it.

"i should.be offended." the smile on his face told you he wasn't.

"i'm saving you from ending up on people's worst dressed." you shrugged.

he rolled his eyes, "so, before i go, can i see what you're gonna wear tonight?" it was no secret that you loved dressing up for games. it was fun and you liked doing it. you usually had little pieces with his name, number, or team colors. something to show your support, and mat loved it.

"nope." you shook your head.

"what? why not?"

"that ruins the surprise," you told him.

"you're gonna make me wait till after the game to see." he pouted.

"i don't know. maybe i'll be there at warmups." you shrugged, smiling when he perked up, "i think syd's bringing win, so maybe i'll go down with them." she was your ride, so going down to the ice for warmups made sense.

"okay, well, i guess i might see you during warmups." he kissed your forehead.

"maybe." you shrugged, wrapping your arms around his waist, "try not to fall, okay?" he rolled his eyes.

"i don't do it on purpose." he insisted.

you smiled, "score goals." you told him, leaning up and giving him a quick peck.

"for you, always." he hummed.

after he left, you got ready as quickly as you could and before you knew it, sydney martin was pulling up outside your building, "y/n yl/n, you always put the rest of us to shame."

"oh, stop it." you smiled bashfully.

"i'm serious. how you do it astounds me." she ran her finger over the sleeve of your jacket, "doesn't y/n look pretty, win?" you looked to the backseat where winnie was sitting, clutching a stuffed animal.

"pretty." she smiled.

"thank you, miss win." you winked before getting into the passenger side.

true to your word, you followed sydney down to the ice for warmups and helped keep winnie entertained. you could tell sydney was a little tired, so you did your best to keep her attention.

when the boys came out, you couldn't help but smile when mat tossed a couple of pucks over the ice to a few kids. winnie's eyes were glued to the ice as she watched all the guys skate around.

matt skated over, making his daughter laugh, blowing her kisses and even tossing her a puck, which she clutched to her chest along with her stuffed animal.

when your mat finally skated over, sydney took her daughter back so you and mat could have a moment. he smiled, taking notice of your jacket. he spun his finger, and you gave him a little twirl so he could see your jacket.

he gave a thumbs up and a nod, which made you laugh. he tossed a puck over and nodded to a kid behind you, whose eyes were glued. on mat, watching him mesmerized.

you nodded and waved. as he skated backward, he waved and winked. you rolled your eyes before looking at the puck. you smiled when you noticed that mat had signed it.

you turned around to the kid, who looked at you, probably after having seen mat point at him. you laughed before you handed it to him, "this is from barzy." you told him, "have fun tonight."

you turned back to sydney, who had her phone out and was probably recording and taking pictures of the whole thing, "you guys are so cute." she hugged you, "now come on, let's get some drinks." you smiled when winnie raised her arms in your direction, a signal that she wanted to be picked up.

after the game, and an ot goal scored by mat, you waited with sydney and the other girls in the tunnel. you were sitting with sydney, and the entire game, winnie was in your lap. somehow she had gravitated from her seat into your lap, but you didn't mind.

"look, win, there's your dad." you pointed when you saw matt walk out. she gave him a wave, but yawned and laid her head on your shoulder, "i'm tired, too." you patted her back, making the martin's smile.

you waved when you saw mat walk out. he made his way over to you and hugged you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "i'm proud of you. overtime goal!" you cheered quietly, not wanting to disturb winnie too much.

"i know. all for you." he smiled into your hair before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "you ready to go?" you hummed.

"wait, wait, before you guys go." sydney stopped you, pulling out hr phone, "can we wait a second? i wanna take a picture of you right now." she begged.

"fine." mat rolled his eyes playfully, but posed for the picture nonetheless. after the picture was taken, you were going to hand winnie off to her parents, but she clung to you.

"come on, we gotta go home, winnie." sydney sighed, flashing. youan apologetic smile.

"how about this? i'll carry you in the car, but after that, i gotta go." you offered, and she nodded, "all right, let's go." you switched arms and started heading int he direction of sydney's car.

mat walked by your side, holding your hand and talking to you about whatever. unbeknownst to you, sydney, who was trailing behind you and mat, was snapping pictures.

you set winnie in her car seat and waved, "bye, winnie girl." you blew her a kiss and she blew you one back, which you accepted and held close to your chest, which made her laugh.

you walked back to mat's car, "that felt very domestic." he told you.

"keep dreaming, barzal. let's stick to babysitting."

"i know, i know." he raised his hands in surrender.

as you got waited for mat to get into bed later that night, you saw sydney's tag and checked out the instagram story. it was a photo she had taken, without your knowledge, of you and mat walking towards the parking garage, hand-in-hand, winnie in your arms, her head on your shoulder with the caption 'her favorite person ever ❤️ @/yourusername'

mat hopped into bed next to you and saw the post, "you're right. we do look domestic." you smiled.

"let's stick to babysitting." he joked.

taylor's tumblr-versary!

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Seven

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 5010 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

CW: Sexual content (dry humping, whoo!), self-harming behaviour (to feed Astarion), knives, heavy descriptions of dissociation, references to abuse, gore.

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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

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A/N: Remember when I was uploading these chapters regularly? HAHAHAAAA... As a gift to say sorry for my absence, here is an extra long one, plus my first ever shot at writing smut. Feedback is always appreciated, my lovelies. Hope you enjoy xxx

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Chapter Seven - Yes

The sweetest of dreams are always in reach, but never obtained, blocked by unwelcome intrusions that if you were conscious, you’d have no trouble swatting away. But here, with nowhere to run? Nothing to look at? They hold you. They caress you in the only way you know how: Brutally.

I’m so… Tired…

__________________________________________

Eyelids snap open, her hand is no longer gripping your wrist and you don’t see it, but it’s there: the mark she burned into you. And like so many others, it’s now healed and concealed from view. Just the way she liked it.

Forget… Please…

You slip out of your bedroll and throw on your green robe, fixing it to your body in the way that everyone seemed to enjoy. After all, you could do with the pick-me-up after those dreams. Sweet, fresh air fills your lungs as you step out, into the open. The first one awake, as always.

Stepping in front of your station, you take in the ingredients before you. The colours of vegetables, fruit and meat begin to blend together until you can’t recognise them anymore. But you’re calm, you’re stable, you’re just… Not here… “Tav? Are you alright?”

You nod, barely, not breaking your gaze on the fuzzy, watercolour mess before you.

“Are you sure?” You flinch as a hand touches your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

“Hm? Oh, Shadowheart, y-yeah, I’m fine. Breakfast will be ready soon.” You don’t know how long you were standing there, only that now you have to get on with your duties before someone starts asking questions that you aren’t ready to answer. You begin selecting ingredients and taking them to the counter.

“You’re not sick, are you?” She asks, following you.

“No, no. Just need to wake up a little.”

She inspects you for a moment before shrugging and choosing not to press you. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Eggs, bacon, sausages. You prepare each but don’t feel your arms move. In any case, food is presented on plates, ready for consumption. You turn away, hearing the plates scrape against the surface as they’re eagerly taken away, coupled with echoed murmurs of gratitude.

Wrist. Cup. Knife. Skin. Breath.

You wonder if you’ll feel it, sitting all the way back there in your mind.

You wonder if you want to.

Blade moves. Flesh opens. Red spills.

A sharp inhale, but it’s not yours. “Is that mine, darling?” Your first smile of the day. You take the cup and keep it under your wound as you turn to face him.

“If you ask nicely.” You smirk. His gaze is fixed on your wrist as it leaks with the most delectable substance he’s ever tasted. His half-lidded eyes watch the liquid rising in the cup, his breath growing heavy. For a moment, you think he might actually beg, and why not indulge? You could use the distraction. A moment of feeling desirable to numb everything else.

“What?” He asks, smiling eagerly, mind clearly elsewhere.

You take it a step further. “Say please.” Feeling the warmth of your blood growing closer to the rim of the cup, you remove your wrist. Precious drops drip to the floor as you reach for a cloth, and Astarion mourns each one.

As you’re distracted, he reaches for the foot of the cup and slowly drags it closer, but you catch him and place your hand over it, stopping it in it’s tracks. His fingers absorb the heat from your palm, but you don’t mind, you just hold on tighter. “Ah, ah, ah! What’s the magic word?”

He scoffs. “Please.”

“Good boy.” You slide your hand away from his.

“Cheeky little pup.” He grins as he takes his gift. “Are you going to humiliate me every time we do this?”

You laugh. “Until I get bored, yes.”

He laughs too. “Ha! Something tells me that won’t happen for a while. At least you’re honest.” You shrug, knowing he’s right. Watching this beautiful man squirm is quickly becoming one of your favourite pastimes. He smiles and resists the urge to tip the entire contents of the cup into his mouth immediately. “Thank you, my dear.”

You sigh and nod with the knowledge that soon he’ll leave and you’ll be forced to take a seat in the back of your mind, once again. Your smile fades and you turn away to properly dress your wound. He does begin to leave, but something tugs at him, convincing him to stay. “You don’t seem like your usual self today, darling.”

You chuckle nervously, trying to cover up the emotions that he’s clearly spotted. “Don’t I?” You slow down, taking extra time to dress your wound so you don’t have to face him just yet.

“No, you don’t.” Silence. You expect him to say something else: A question, words of comfort, maybe even a joke. But no, it’s silence. It’s unlike him. You raise an eyebrow and turn around to see him looking down at his fingers, tracing circles around the rim of his cup. You shrug and take a deep breath, ready to move on, but he speaks first. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

Yes. Gods, anything to take my mind off this…

“I suppose so.” He lights up and takes your plate, you follow him, expecting another forest clearing or the lakeside. But no, he takes you to the outside of his tent, where everyone can see. He shuffles a cushion to the side with his foot.

“Here, take a seat.” You do so, eyebrow raised. He hands you your plate and sits beside you with a sigh. A moment passes, you avoid looking at him, he confidently gazes at you. You eat, keeping your mouth occupied so you don’t have to speak.

“Do you…” He fights with the words, trying to get them out despite the resistance. “Ugh… Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh at his reluctance. “Well, with such an enthusiastic offer, how could I refuse?” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him, he chuckles back and shrugs. It looks like this is the best you’re going to get.

“Well?” He asks again, softly.

Your smile relaxes. “It’s hard to explain… I’m just having a rough morning, that’s all.”

He nods, understandingly. “Bad dream?”

You’re taken aback by his accuracy, can he really read you that well? “Y-yes. How did you…?”

He smiles, looks ahead and takes a moment. “I just… I just know how it feels, that’s all. Plus, those little bags under your eyes don’t give the impression of a person who gets a lot of sleep.”

You feign shock and rub your fingers under your eyes. “Okay, first of all: Rude…”

He laughs. “I meant no offence, dear. I actually quite like them.”

Smirking, you dismiss the compliment. “Secondly, you’re right. Gods… What I’d give for a full night’s sleep…” You lean back on your hands and close your eyes, imagining how it would feel to drift away without fear, to wake up without urgency.

Astarion brings his cup to his lips. He inhales your scent and takes his first sip of the day, eyes darkening as he watches the body it came from relax in his presence. He tastes you, and you’re perfect. He lets it sit on his tongue, savouring every note of flavour before swallowing with a groan. A groan that he quickly follows up with a concealing cough, but you catch it anyway. Peering through one eye, you watch him as he shifts his position, using a pillow to cover himself. He tries to drink the rest slowly, but as usual, his hunger takes over, causing him to devour every drop in seconds. Then, the inevitable, insatiable sigh once it’s gone.

Facing him, you can’t help but feel sympathy. “Is it enough?”

“Hm?” He returns his eyes to you.

“The amount I give you each day, is it enough?”

“No, it is absolutely not enough. Nowhere fucking near.” He thinks to himself. “Y-yes…” He says, much to his hunger’s dismay.

“Are you sure? You never seem satisfied.”

“Darling, if I was satisfied, you’d be dead. Trust me, it’s enough.” He sets the cup aside.

“Come on, soldiers! We gotta’ go!” Karlach yells from the other side of camp. Astarion sighs and stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and lift yourself up. Without a word, he retrieves his armour from the inside of his tent and begins to put it on over his clothes. You look over at the rest of the group and see them gathering, fully equipped with their usual gear. He’s late.

You turn back to him. “Hey, let me help, it’ll be faster.” You lift his chestplate, inspecting it to see how it should be attached. He hesitates but nods, tying his boot as you fix the straps around his shoulders. He feels your body heat move around his torso as you continue to help, never touching. He’s hyper-aware of your proximity, enjoying the closeness and only wishing to be closer. As you finish up, you step back, checking it all, one last time. He watches you, admiring the way your brows furrow when you’re concentrating. “All done. I’ll see you later.” You smile and walk behind him. With a subtle, deep breath, he walks away from you, forcing himself not to watch as you bend over to pick up the dishes.

__________________________________________

As they leave, you collect the other dishes around the camp and wash them. It’s a typical day of cleaning, organising, laundry and food preparation. Tonight, it’s vegetable risotto.

Carrot shaved into neat curls, butter gliding through solids as it melts, thinly sliced onion softening until reduced to translucent shards, a liquid gold stock caressing rice and a flux of flowing cheese to bond the components.

Without distraction, your mind is free to wander to difficult places. It pushes you back, forcing you to watch your sight from afar. Body present, self absent. It’s a hazed, strange view that doesn’t feel quite real, and your arms aren’t quite your own as they work diligently. You can’t hear her words anymore, but your body feels them. It feels the way your muscles tensed, the way your breathing quickened, the way your heart stopped. You’d think you’d be able to see it, but being so removed, your face hasn’t caught up yet.

Time passes, the risotto is covered and kept warm by the fire. You don’t remember making it. Footsteps approach. The midday drop off must have arrived. You continue cleaning the surfaces and don’t look to see who it is before saying. “Hey, you can just leave it over there, I’ll get to it in a minute.” You gesture towards an empty space near the fire and continue cleaning. You hear a thump as the backpack is set down, then the footsteps get closer. Closer. Closer. There’s breath on your neck. “How are you feeling?” You pause and turn to face them.

Astarion towers over you, yet again covered in blood, personal space reduced to inches. “I’ve been worse…” He nods, but doesn’t move away. “So, you ‘pulled the short straw’ this time, huh?” You ask, attempting to break the tension. He doesn’t allow it, he holds you there, thickens it.

“No, dear. I offered.” You release a breath, stepping backwards and pressing the small of your back against the food station. Feeling the string of distance between you tug at his chest, he follows it, closing the distance once again. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

You begin shaking your head before you can form the words. “Not at all…”

“Good.” He moves forward, placing his hand on the surface behind you and resting his weight on it.

He breathes in, scented air travelling through his nose, eyes drifting to the covered risotto. “Gods… I wish I could taste the food you make…”

You chuckle softly. “I wish you could too. Does it smell good?”

“Divine, as always.”

“Why, thank you. You’ve never commented on it before.” You smile, his eyes return to you, somehow darker.

“I try to ignore it, mostly. My ‘condition’ comes with a lot of disadvantages. This one, I found to be somewhat manageable, until you came along and made it positively torturous.”

Laughing, you relax your posture. “You know, I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“Oh? And what was that, darling?”

“About feeding you… I’d… I’d like to try something, if that’s alright with you?”

He raises his eyebrow, his eyes betraying his calm demeanour with undeniable excitement. “What is it?”

You understand why he must be cautious, but you want this to be a surprise gift for him. So, you won’t reveal the details just yet. “I think you’ll like it. Do you trust me?” He almost scoffs at the question but then he finds your eyes again, takes note of your sincerity, then matches it with his own, nodding. “Then come with me.”

You take his hand and lead him to your tent, lifting the flap for him. Smirking, he ducks under, sitting on your bedroll. Before you even make it inside, you hear the clinking of buckles and the thumps of discarded armour. Now clad in his simple, ruffled shirt and leather pants, he leans back on his arms, watching your every move as you sit opposite to him. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Is it? I’m just making myself comfortable, darling.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Uhuh…”

He sighs and looks around the tent, taking in all the knick knacks and decorations you’ve hung. ”Now, you have me, all to yourself, in your own little piece of nowhere. What do you intend to do with me?” He may as well have purred the words as the deep rumbling sound vibrates in your ears, so perfectly.

You laugh, cross your legs, and secure the flap back down. The sun pushes the bottle-green shade of the tent onto your faces, bathing you in it. With nothing left for your hands to do, nothing left for your eyes to focus on, his curious gaze becomes your entire view. You don’t say anything, just smirk at him, and he returns it. The longer you watch him, the sharper you feel his eyes pierce your skin. Your smirk fades and eyes widen, eyebrows twitch, threatening to knit. He isn’t phased by the look on your face, the way your chest seems to rise and fall deeper than before. He just tilts his head, watching you intently, presumably to gauge your desires. You think if someone were to look at you this way, you’d feel naked, you’d ask questions. But he doesn’t, he’s used to this. He’s used to eyes, like this.

Before you turn to stone, you hold out your arm, offering your bandaged wrist. “Here.” He looks down. The dry, maroon spot pokes through linen, inviting him closer. He takes a deep, shaky breath and obliges. “Just, don’t kill me.” You laugh and expect the same from him, but there’s a deadly solemnity when he nods in agreement. Sitting to full attention, he gently wraps his fingers around your forearm and with his free hand, removes the bandage. He reveals a sticky, sweet mess of a cut, barely knitting itself together. Dried, crusted crimson adorns the masterpiece before him: A physical testament to your generosity. He traces around it, gathering flakes on his fingertips and gazes up at you: A silent ‘Are you sure?’. Biting your lip in anticipation, you give him a subtle nod.

He brings his fingers to his parted lips, closes his eyes and savours the taste of your red on his tongue. Unable to wait any longer, he leans down, baring his teeth in preparation, but he stops. He felt the shift as you winced and flicked your face away. Inspecting his meal once again, he takes in the redness of your skin, the way it’s swollen and irritated from repeated cuts. It hurts, and it’s only going to hurt more. It takes all of his willpower, but he manages it, covering it once again with the bandage. The pressure and softness of the fabric isn’t the sensation you anticipated, you open your eyes in confusion.

“Tav… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I-it’s fine. I want this.” You reach for the bandage, attempting to discard it but his hand stops yours.

He sighs. “Alright… But not here, darling.” He slides his fingers up your other arm and turns it to face him. Fresh, clean skin. He can’t resist pressing his thumb into your wrist, searching for that delicious pulsing of your veins. Once he finds it, he bites back a groan.

“Is this okay?” He whispers.

“Yes…” You whisper back.

You feel his lips first, cold and soft. They suck on your skin in a way that you could almost mistake for a kiss. Then it’s sharp, it’s deep, it’s ice. Sucking air between your teeth, you lean your head back, trying to control your breathing, repeating his words back to you in your mind.

“It hurts a fair bit, but only for a few seconds.”

Taking drag after drag of your essence, he grips your arm tighter, unable to hold back from groaning into your wrist. The sensation is desperate, it’s insatiable, but no longer painful. Now it’s a tingling, coursing fire, igniting goosebumps and warming your reddened cheeks. Somehow, although the pain has gone, your breathing is harder to control now than it was before. It’s shaky and intimate. He matches his swallows to the rhythm.

“Then… Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the rest…”

A familiar feeling: The pooling of desire between your legs. You know this well, and there is comfort in that. But, somehow, it’s tinted in a different shade than usual. It’s primal. Reducing all other wants and needs to secondary. You find your fingers carding through his hair, gently guiding his fangs further into your flesh. Feeling the eager pressure, he obeys and whimpers into your arm. The sound shoots through your veins and you find yourself scooting closer to him. He’s entirely lost in your taste, eyes squeezed shut, brows raised in pure pleasure. Your eyes drift lower and you gasp at the sight of the seams in his leather pants, strained over his aching erection. You need more.

You tug on his hair, but he latches on harder. You try prying away his grip on your forearm with your fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Astarion…” You whisper. He flicks his eyes open, pleading with you to let him stay. Smiling warmly, you lightly take his chin between your fingertips, guiding him away from your arm. You watch as your flesh clings to his fangs, as though it wishes to stay connected to him. Once he’s removed, the wounds spill over and drip down your arm in a steady stream. He takes it, collects the mess on his tongue and suckles on the source, adding enough pressure to stop the bleeding. His eyes close and he stops, lingering his lips on your damaged skin.

“Was it too much?” He whispers against your wrist.

“No...” Although there’s nobody around to hear you, you whisper back. It feels right, intimate. He sighs and pulls away, meeting you with a lidded gaze. You can only imagine how you must look, as flustered as you are. Leaning in, you feel his bated breath mingling with yours in what little space there is between your lips. You look down at a neglected drop of your essence, running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Catching it with your thumb, you bring it back up and smear it across his lower lip. He opens his mouth for you with a hitched breath. You continue to paint him with it, admiring the rich colour against his pastel skin. Though, you do notice a new, rosy tint to his cheeks that you’ve never seen so strongly before. It earns another warm smile from your face.

“Darling.”

You watch the word form in his mouth before languidly dragging your gaze up to his. “Yes?”

“You want me to kiss you, don’t you?”

Yes.

You release a short, breathless laugh. “Would you like that?”

He grins. “My dear, let’s not play coy. We’ve been waiting long enough...”

Yes.

You cup his face in your palms and stare deep into his eyes. He hears something: The pulsing echoes of a voice. Your voice. In his mind.

Yes.

It’s all you can manage, but it’s more than enough. He releases restrained breath and slides his hand under your hair to cup your jaw and pull you closer. He waits for you to close your eyes. You do. He leans in and meets his lips with yours. It’s perfect, rhythmic… Rehearsed. To his lips, you are anyone, you are no one. It feels and tastes good, but it isn’t right. You feel yourself drifting away again.

No. You can’t. You refuse to witness this from afar. You need to save it.

You lean in further, taking control of the pace. His motion falters in the sudden shift and you take advantage of it: Tilting his head into a better angle and massaging the tension out of his kiss with your own. Once he accepts it, it works. And in sliding your hands down, towards his shoulders, you encourage them to soften. Sensing his free hand inching closer, itching to touch you, you find it and bring it to your waist.

The moment you let go, something within him snaps and he snakes his arm over your curves, grabbing and grounding himself on the fabric of your robe. Your body is pulled, flush against him with a fervid groan. You reward him with a soft noise of your own longing into his mouth. He parts his lips wider to taste it. Taking the invitation, you slip your gentle tongue over his bottom lip, seeking his. He eagerly presses you further into him and before you lose your balance, you slide yourself into a straddling position on his lap, pressing your breasts against his chest. He gasps as your weight sinks into him, grounding him in reality and locking him down as your infectious taste coats his tongue. With what little movement he can muster beneath you, he tilts his hips, craving your touch against his desperate length.

Smirking against his lips, you pull away and take hold of his chin, forcing his lidded eyes to meet yours. Together, you pant. There are no words, because there are none needed. His hands are stretched to their widest span, eagerly groping as much of your flesh as he can. They slide down your waist, slip over the dips and curves of your hips to find your thighs. He travels further until he finds the hem of your robe with a flash of challenge in his eyes. That’s when you roll your hips.

“Gods…” He breathes.

He liked that.

You couple each heavy breath you release with the same motion. You study his face, adjusting your weight slightly to tailor your body for him. His hands push the robe further up your thighs as he grabs your hips, guiding them. It’s not the stimulation that does it, (with all the clothes in the way, it’s hard for this to feel as good for you as it does for him) but the way he’s looking at you causes your underwear to soak.

You’re only just far enough apart to see his full face. His tousled hair, the new, intense rouge tinge to his cheeks, his eyelids fighting the urge to close, his eyebrows canting, groans and gasps that match yours so perfectly.

“Th-that’s good, d-darling… But…” He grunts the words before attempting to slide a hand down your front, towards your centre. You stop it. As phenomenal as it would be to feel his dexterous fingers stroke your folds and make you keen to the heavens, it’s too much. You’re not ready for him to see you like that yet. To have you like that yet. It’s too… Vulnerable.

“Please, just let me do this… Just for a little while…”

He gazes up at you in a mix of pleasure and confusion. You roll your hips in a particularly long motion, dragging your aching, wet heat over his full length, causing him to throw his head back.

“Ah! Fuck…” He takes a moment to compose himself as you continue your ministrations. He catches his breath and brings his focus back to you. He nods, earning a passionate kiss from your lips.You capture his eager whimpers as you increase the pace, and savour each one.

“Do you like that?” You breathe the question into his ear. He nods. You kiss his neck and gently suck on the skin before bringing your lips up to his earlobe. You scoop it into your mouth with your tongue and nibble on it. His breath hitches. “And that?”

“Fuck, darling… Yes…” You begin to guide his hands under your robe but the moment he senses your invitation, he takes over. He immediately starts groping at the supple flesh of your ass. He brushes against the hem of your underclothes and whimpers with longing, itching to rip them off. But he resists, he won’t push you, no matter how tempting you are.

He digs his fingers into your skin, pushing, pulling. Back and forth, back and forth. You oblige, increasing the pressure, increasing the pace. You notice his breathing and moans reaching a desperate level, he’s close. He must be. You swipe your hair away from your neck and lean into his ear once again, reducing your voice to a whisper.

“Bite me…”

He looks up at you in shock and arousal. Once he’s sure that you do, indeed, want this, he wastes no time baring his fangs and sinking them into your neck. You yelp at the initial pain and grab onto him, gritting your teeth and waiting for it to pass as it did before. And sure enough, it does. You match your hips to the rhythm of his ravaging tongue against your skin as it devours any trace of your nectar it can find. You feel your veins pulsing for him, your essence gushing for him. He brings one hand to the nape of your neck, holding it still. His touch isn’t cold, it isn’t warm, it’s hot. It’s a familiar heat, because it isn’t his. It’s yours. And it’s coursing from your body to his.

“Tav… I… I’m…” He clamps his hands down on your body, gripping you tightly. Whimpering urgent, sweet vibrations into your flesh as he shudders beneath you. “Ohhh ff-fuck…” He thrusts his hips up a few more times, his wetness mingling with yours through his pants. You move in languid strokes, gently kneading the final few drops out of him until he has to stop your hips, himself.

He unlatches his teeth from your flesh and gasps for air. His face: Painted with crimson and temporary bliss. He leans back, stumbling into a relaxed position. You breathe heavily and look down to see the mess you’ve both created. You lift up your, now barely tied together, robe and observe the large dark spot on his pants. Your underwear is completely soaked through; rendering the white fabric translucent. Scooting backwards, you can see just how large that stain on his pants is, you bashfully clear your throat. You notice Astarion’s eyes are open again. His hungry, vermillion gaze locked onto your underwear, but most notably: the glimpses of colour that he can see through it.

You drop your robe, covering yourself again and slide off his lap, to his side. “So… That happened…” Scratching your head, you try to overcome the awkwardness between you. Though, it seems like you’re the only one who feels it.

Astarion admires the glossy sheen that covers his pants and grins at the knowledge that it’s mostly your doing. “Yes, it most certainly did…” As he sits back up, his grin falters into a more defeated expression. “But you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t.” You take a deep breath and avoid looking at him.

“Don’t you want to?” He reaches out his hand to touch your leg.

You let him, but don’t take your eyes off it, noting it’s every movement. “N-no, thank you. I’ll sort myself out later…”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Sort yourself-...” He laughs at the thought. “My dear, I’m hurt! I assure you, I’m more than capable of-”

“I’m sure you are… But it’s still a no. Thanks anyway.” You take his moment of silent disbelief to adjust your robe and primp your hair, attempting nonchalance.

He blinks away his shock and scoffs. “Well… This is a first for me…”

You don’t look at him as you finish up your ponytail. “Hm?”

He slouches, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, I’ve… I’ve just never had someone leave before being… satisfied before…”

“That you know of…” You smirk, you can’t resist teasing him, even now. He’s too fun to mess with. He takes it lightly and laughs.

You exchange glances and share his laugh together. It feels good.

“You should probably change your pants before you head out again.” Grinning, you lean over him to undo the flap of the tent, pulling it to the side and tying it.

He gazes at your soft form draped over him as he pieces together what you’ve said. He’d completely forgotten about the rest of the group and has no idea how long he’s been here for. “Shit.” He remarks to himself.

You climb over him and crawl out of the tent, turning back to help him up. “Come on, they’re probably worried sick about you.”

He sighs, gathers his things and takes your hand. Once stood together, he tilts your face towards him by your chin and leans in. “Thank you.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours once more in a final, slow, tender kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

My newest pet peeve

Can we PLEASE stop tagging every single Cillian Murphy picture as Jonathan Crane? If it's from the movies, sure. If it's an article explaining how he got his role, yeah okay.

But every single picture does not need to be tagged as all the characters he plays as. It literally clogs up the tags and I've started blocking people for it.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate Cillian as much as I used too but god and I tired of seeing pictures were it's clearly Peaky Blinders or some random photo shoot tagged as Jonathan Crane

When I go into the tag, I wanna see fanart of scrunkly old man crane, not post after post of Cillian Muprhy from fangirls who probably know nothing about Scarecrow outside his movie portrayal

-steps off soap box-

Thank you for coming to my ted talk rant

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 16

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I didn't sleep very well but I'm here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you move North, the sunlight fades sooner and rises later, the nights cooling with each mile. Nearly a fortnight on the road, and you return to the service of the queen. Bryce escorts you between the carts, gesturing in passing to his comrades, other times letting past another body on their own mission. You reach the front of the train where men with swords pace and keep watch over the surrounding lands. 

“Evenin’,” Bryce greets the guards outside the queen’s tent and they grumble back. The weariness of travel has overcome many of the travelers. 

You dip your head down and approach the tent flap. Before the card can pull it back for your entrance, it sweeps open from the other side. You step back as another figure falters before you. The king keeps hold of the silk and his eyes skim over you. He tilts his head and moves to hold the fabric open, beckoning you through with his large hand. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

His jaw squares but he says nothing. As you enter, the fabric falls heavily behind you. The king’s expression lingers in your mind, his silence even more. The tick in his cheek was hard to miss and you can hear his heavy footfalls as he stalks off. 

Within, the queen sits on a bench, playing with the tassel of her belt. Her father, Lord Dustan, stands to the side, arms crossed as he makes small steps back and forth. He tuts and chews his thumb. 

“Your husband does not behave as son-in-law,” the duke gripes lowly, “he would have let Debray fall to those vandals. He cares only for his frost lands.” 

“Father, he is only eager to be home. As much as I dread the cold, I cannot help but feel as such. I tire of this endless road,” Queen Jazlene yawns into a cupped hand. 

“Ah, but you must be a loyal wife. What of mine? What of your mother? She was alone in the castle.” 

“And you rode out to save her, didn’t you?” Jazlene prompts. 

“I am a lord of the summer lands, I am past my warring days,” Dustan snarls, “he would risk my flesh on an uprising he could crush with his left hand. He tests me!” The duke circles around as he jabs his finger in the air, “I deserve more dignity, more respect. I delivered him his kingdom.” 

“Yes, father, he is a frigid man,” Jazlene bemoans, “as icy a husband. He does neglect us both.” 

“Neglect?” Dustan faces his daughter, “does he not see to his contract?” 

She frowns and bats her doey eyes as she looks away, “it isn’t that he doesn’t fulfill his duty, it is only... how might I get an heir if I lie with my husband only once in a moon?” 

“Does he mean to deceive us? A son will bind us. A son is what we need. Does he think the summer lands will follow a king who does not sow his seed?” 

“I do not know, father. I... I have tried all I can think of.” 

“Mm,” the duke hums darkly, “that won’t do at all. Not at all. When I married your mother, she was swollen with you almost as soon as the vows were said. No, no, it won’t do. I will have word with the king, make certain he does not treat my daughter, his queen, so coolly.” 

Dustan stop and twiddles his fingers. You try to imagine him confronting King Geralt. Surely it is bluster for the sake of his daughter. 

“...we are ruined without an heir...” he mutters. 

Jazlene sits forward on the bench, “ruined, father? I am queen--” 

“Yes, yes, you are queen, but a queen has her duty too,” Dustan insists, “and it cannot be done with a negligent king. Leave it to me, daughter. The next I see the king, I shall handle our business. As I have ever done. Do you believe in me? For I did deliver you a fine marriage, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, father.” 

The duke goes to his daughter and rubs her shoulder. He leans in and you shrink against the tent wall, making yourself small. 

“Should it prove poor judgment,” his whisper scratches from his lips, “I will figure a way out.” 

He kisses her hair and turns to march out. He takes not notice of you though that is expected. Jazlene sighs as the flap falls and she leans back on her hands, swaying her leg. 

“Ah, the maid,” she cheeps, “you will fetch hot water for my feet. They ache.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

She grins, a catlike expression and sits up straight, “yes, that is right. I am a queen and soon, the king will be certain to treat me as such.” 

You flit off to your duty. As you emerge, your chest stirs with unease. Something about their conversation has you unnerved. Though they said nothing outright, it feels as if there is more laced between the words. The queen and her father hardly sound as allies to the king. 

You try to wipe the apprehension from your mind. You are but a maid and not so well-versed on noble matters. It isn’t your place to unpiece their declarations or untangle their riddles. You are to get the water to sooth the daughter of Debray’s feet, it may yet save you a box to the ears. 

⚔️

You shiver as the cart bounces over the hard ground. You count a month or so since your departure from the capital though the days blend in a fog. The gradual creep of the chill has advanced upon the part, slowing the wheels, and sending the riders to pause and cover their horses. You keep the fur cloak over your lap as you lean into the corner of the cart though Bryce seems enlivened by the atmosphere. 

The dim sky harkens the crossing of the intangible barrier between the summer and winter lands. Sprawling plains and rounded feels give way to rocky passes and jutting mountains, interspersed with lumpy tundras speckled with patches of mud. Several times, your soldierly escort has had to help yank free the wheels from some rut or another. 

“Are we there?” You ask through as chatter, blowing into your hands. “The Hinterlands?” 

“Mm, by my guess, we are at the Fox’s Tail. You see, it is the little strip of land where no man lives, summer or winter,” he explains, reaching to scratch his beard. You envy the warmth it must give to his cheeks. “Isn’t so cold yet, mouse, better brace yerself.” 

You nod and look ahead at the grey, brown expanse. There are dustings of frost but not snow, only on the distant caps of rugged mountains that shadow the horizon. You hug yourself as Daisy’s breath plumes in misty clouds around her head. 

“Why does no one live here?” You ask. 

“There are no trees, no grass to feed the livestock or game,” he shrugs, “it is barren...” he sucks his teeth and thinks, “there was a war. Hundreds of years ago, maybe more. The summer folk spilled upon the winter lands, some squabble over a slain lord... they put salt to the earth. They did not only want vengeance on the living, they wanted their descendants to suffer for their misdeeds. Starve out an entire people.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “what the summer people didn’t understand is that the winter skinned do not stay still. They move with the winds. You’ll see, mouse. You haven’t done the last of yer scurrying.” 

You huddle down as another cold breath sweeps through the air. You’re not used to it but you will be. That’s how it always is. You just have to take what you get and make it work. You can’t complain for what you have; a warm cloak, a cart, and a kind companion. 

⚔️

Your teeth chatter as you hold closed the front of the fur cloak, the hood over your head as you walk the frozen earth. More often than not, you’ve left the prized cape in your cart for your return. It is too heavy to wear while serving the queen but the weather permits you no mercy. It is far too bitter to forgo the extra layer. 

Bryce is unbothered in his mail and the simple fur trim the collar of his wool cloak. He only seems to thrive in the dipping temperatures, stoking a fire for your nocturnal return so that you may sleep in its warmth. His constancy keeps you from mourning the lost summer sunshine. 

He stands behind you as you cross to the queen’s tent, now raised with several layers to insulate the walls. You enter as you do every night, unnoticed as Queen Jazlene mindlessly stares into the pages of a book. She’s grown quiet these last weeks as the travel wears on her, even her wardrobe showing the effects. 

You feel a gust from beneath the tent wall and step away from it. You watch the queen, huddled beneath a blanket on a stool, shaking as she tries to warm her hands in each other. She wears several satin cloaks layered over each other but the fabric is too sleek to garner much heat. 

She puffs into her palms and groan.  

“Damn this cold,” she mutters, then sits up, “maid, tea!” She demands, “Something warm! Anything!” 

You utter a small “your highness” and spin away to your task. You step out into the cold and go off to find a fire and a pot. The queen has some berry tea in her chests.  

You acquire a cup of steaming water from a cluster of servants around a flame. You linger for a moment to absorb some of the fire’s haze then set back toward the royal tent. As you near, a shadow nearly collides with you. You keep the cup balanced as you scramble around the figure. The torch light catches the king’s golden eyes as they meet yours. 

“Your highness,” you murmur. 

He grunts as he stops fully. He stares down at you wordlessly. You cannot read his expression as shadows dance around his features, flickering various emotions across his face. He bows his head and presses on. You turn to watch him go as concern rolls up your throat. 

In those last weeks, months you believe, you’ve not seen much of the king. You’ve wondered after his elusivity. At first, you thought it might be due to the combat at Debray, perhaps he was disheartened by the last act of resistance. Then you surmised it might be evasion of his own wife. Alas, you could not guess and fathomed it was not your place to do so. 

This brief encounter further perplexes you. You can’t help but question if it is you. You recall the last day in the capital, the grit of his voice casting you out. Go. The memory ripples through you. 

You think much of yourself. It wouldn’t be anything to do with a paltry maid. You focus on the hot water in your hand and continue on to the queen’s tent. 

You enter and wrap the dried berries and leaves, steeping them in the steaming water. You hover over the cup, waiting for the water to deepen in hue and cool enough to drink. When you bring it to the queen, you feel her gaze upon you. 

“Your highness,” you hand her the cup. 

She hesitates to take it, only doing so after deep consideration. She holds the tea in one hand as her other tugs on your cloak. She makes an ugly noise. 

“And where did you find this, maid?” She sneers. “Hmm, I sit her in my summer garb and you wear a bear’s skin?” 

Your lips part and you raise your shoulders. You look at the tent wall and frown. You poke your hand outside the cloak and touch the soft fur.  

“Your highness,” you look down at the cloak then at her trembling grasp on the cup. “Would you like it? You look awfully cold.” 

“Yes, I want the damn cloak!” She yanks it hard, “I am the queen and you did not think to offer me a proper cloak? How stupid are you.” 

You bow your head and reach to unbuckle the cloak. When it is loose, you shrug it off and hand it over. You will find a spare blanket. There must be some left among the luggage. 

She shoves the cup at you and stands. She swings the cloak around her and hums as she pulls its snug around her figure. She sits again and rubs her chin against the fur. 

“Much better,” she says, “I’ve been suffering this damnable place for far too long.” 

She takes the tea back, spilling a drop on your hand. You back away, the liquid cooling and sending a new chill through you. You cover one hand with the other and clutch tightly, locking your jaw against the tremor that crawls up your spine. 

The queen slurps from the tea and makes a face. She sneers, “I want wine,” she pouts, “how long must I be deprived? Wine!” She snarls down at the cup, “but I must drink this bile. Oh, but the king bids it,” she raises her voice mockingly, “you must obey your husband.” She shakes her head and takes another gulp, “at least it is warm. At least--”  

She holds the cup away from her suddenly as her face twists. She drops it and recoils, panic washing over her. She keels forward, holding her skirts out of the way as she spews onto the rug spread over the hard ground. She wretches loudly, spasming with the horrid sounds snagging in her throat. 

The smell of her vomit permeates the tent. She stays bent over her lap as she pants. You come forward and offer her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She sits up and gulps tightly, her features drawn. She pats her lips. 

“Well, clean it up,” she turns her feet away from the puddle between them. “Stupid maid.” 

She pokes a sharp nail into your arm and you wince.  

“Your highness, are you unwell?” You ask, “shall I fetch a physician? Or some ginger?” 

“No, you stupid cow, I am not unwell,” she flicks her fingers at you before waving away the stench of her bile. She stands and walks away from it, her hand settling on her middle. She faces you and smiles broadly, “I am carrying the king’s son.” Her face darkens as she wrinkles her nose, “I told you, you twit, to clean that up. You best do so before I make you eat it.” 

You nod and bend your neck, “yes, your highness, I will fetch water.” 

“I don’t care, just do it,” she snaps and rubs her stomach. She lets out a shuddery groan and turns her back to you. You watch as she draws tight the cloak and sways with a trill, “I will be a true queen now. He cannot deny me any longer.” 

[puzzled-pegasus]

Heroes of Olympus---fitness/body related hcs

***Idk if anyone would even plan on it but Please do not comment or tag this as anything sexual as it is not meant like that in any way whatsoever***

Percy

Everyone lost some weight on the big Argo II voyage due to stress and all the fighting and everything, Percy is no exception. 

In general, though, he is still leaner than Jason and has slightly less upper body/ pectoral strength than he does.

However, he has THE fucking core strength ever

Unless he's been really, really exerting himself he normally has a cushion of belly fat over his abs but if you feel his abs they're wow so strong

Also bunch of shoulder strength, he does lots of climbing

He honestly needs some squish especially in scenes set After Gaea’s defeat. One of the reasons im writing these hcs is that I hate the fanarts that give the demigods six or eight pack abs and 0 body fat like?? Have u ever seen a 16-17 year old boy with chiseled abs. Especially one that eats like mr Jackson. His mother is feeding him good on seven layer dip and cheeseburgers and cookies and blue candy and he drinks blue cherry Coke and eats his fill of barbecue every day at camp you Cannot tell me he has no body fat arrgggh

He probably looked like that while he was in Tartarus though bc he was probably really dehydrated and exhausted lmaoo

V good sense of balance and coordination

Jason

Jason’s got more strength in his arms/shoulders/upper body than anything else

Big arm and chest muscles

Also naturally has belly--when he's not worried abt food--but he tends to stand taller so you can't see it as much

Probably lost the most weight on the voyage. Too busy making sure everyone else was okay and also healing from his various injuries. He also had to be absolutely sure there was enough food for everyone else so he was worried abt taking too much

Generally spends more time exercising and has hardly ever seen a junk food in his life and eats a lot of protein bc hes always lived at camp jupiter so he's very muscle

Piper

Piper didn't really start exercising until she came to camp so she's probably the least physically strong in comparison

More squish than Annabeth. Carries fat in hips and thighs and belly

Thinks/feels like she's fat and low key worries abt it

Was only mildly disappointed when she started demigod training and her belly didn't instantly disappear lol

Kind of jealous of how Annabeth is so thin and athletic but Annabeth wishes she had Pipers thighs/boob/curves loll the curse of being a woman

Piper also feels like she has baby face compared to Annabeth bc she has chubbier cheeks and it annoys her

She's got a pretty good sense of balance tho

Pretty good at running fast but she doesn't have as much stamina as Annabeth

Shes quite flexible also

Pretty good swimmer

Annabeth

Naturally quite thin

been training her whole life so she's got strong arms and legs and core

Really good at running and sprinting

Very agile too

Core strength and upper body strength 

Great at dodging attacks, less good at blocking

Tallest of the girlies

Climber shoulders/back muscles

Wishes she had Piper’s curves kinda. She doesn't care all that much but occasionally is like damn wouldn't that be nice

Frank

Arrgh I hate how in the middle of the series Rick took away all of his fat. Screw you sir. Put it back. Put it bacK

So Frank Immediately gets his tum back in the span of a few weeks

He's also really tired for the next however long after the Mars boy magic adrenaline wears off bc where's his fuel??? Gone!!

Very good at Lifting stuff. He had to carry stuffs for his grandma all the time bc she was old

Mostly strong in the arms and chest/pectorals

His growth spurt happened real quick so he's still not used to how big he is which is why he's all clumsy

Needs to work on balance and coordination lol

Although he got most of his chub back, his Babyface™ didn't come back quite so strong

Hazel

Hazel is the shortest girlie

Was really thin back in the 40s and then gained quite a bit soon after she came back to life. She was very confused and probably horrified

This was bc of a combination of having a growth spurt, pressure on little girls to be thin back then and the times having changed now, having enough to eat now, and changes in the amounts of additives and high fructose corn syrup and shit in foods

She was really distraught for a while bc much like Nico’s internal conflict with The Gay, decades ago being chubby was an unforgivable sin for a little girl

Obv not to Nico’s extent bc I don't think people were killed for being fat but still

It takes her a while to see it as not a bad thing but just a thing

She has pretty evenly distributed muscle strength because when she started exercise at camp jupiter they worked All The Groups

Leo

We love our tiny little shrimp man

He didn't get enough to eat during his growth spurt so he's kind of stunted

Even though he's a hephaestus boy he could not for the life of him build a lot of muscle

He's not that strong

He's probably pretty flexible though

Nico

Also stunted because he didn't eat enough in his growth spurt

Pretty strong though

Smol but he is still growing

Is getting taller and will almost definitely surpass Leo

Also is slowly gaining a healthy amount of weight as he stays at camp and Will makes him eat and sleep more regularly and now he's less tired all the time

Pretty good core strength and balance and agility

Looks more his child age now that his cheeks are more filled in

Reyna

Buff Girl

Girlie works out when shes stressed and now she's got muscles like steel cables

Im talking arms, shoulders, core, legs, glutes

Can arm wrestle Jason and win even if he does try his darnedest

Incredible sprinter

Does so many squats that she got the whole bakery lol

Really likes her muscles

Flexes in the mirror

Jason expressed to her how impressive it was a few times and it was partially why she fell in love with him lol

Will

Will has pretty good arm muscles actually and can lift heavy stuffs

Can lift his bf easily

He has a soft tum tho and padding on his arms

Does yoga and stretching and that works his core

Soft

Eats good proteins and veggies and gets good sleeps

Healthy boi 10/10

[justanothersyscourse]

I think this blog is blocked by fewer people that have heard the rumors and lies going around. I hope you'll read this. There are three sides to every story-- yours, theirs, and the truth.

I deserve to get my side out there so people can make informed decisions about who to follow or block, or whatever it is you need to do. It's okay not to support me, but do it for the right reasons.

I also run sysmedsaresexist, and I'm currently being accused of harassing a minor and sending random ass asks left, right and center.

Listen, if you got an ask where the person didn't say, "this is SAS," it's not from me. I HATE asks. On the rare occasion that I send them, I always tell people who I am. I am well aware that I'm a controversial figure. I want people to know who they're interacting with when I talk to them. I am old. It's important that I'm honest with the people I interact with. A lot of people really stepped up to support me, but I would like people to stop. Unfortunately, it's doing more harm than good.

With every one of these messages people send in support of me, the rumors get worse.

I want to defend myself, but I don't know how.

Send a vent to a vent blog that just actively lied about me? They won't post it. (They didn't, I just checked)

So I'll post it myself. You can make your own decision. All posts I've made on the topic are linked here (it's 5, compared to the DOZENS AEV has posted)

This will be my last post on the topic, and I hope that the people spreading these rumors will leave me alone. You've done more damage and harm to me than you know, and without any remorse or apology.

Ask sent to @anti-endo-haven :

I'm SAS and I'm so hurt.

I have not sent ANY anons to AEV, at all, at any point. I have not ASKED anyone to help me in this,

I made 5 posts. They have made about 50 at this point, all cruel.

The first was to AEV on their first post, which was NOT as rude as people say. I said, look webmd and mayo clinic isn't going to hold up to some of the articles that endos are throwing at us. Try some of these. I said, look, you're going to get really tired of hearing the same endo arguments. Here's some points you can throw back at them.

NOT TO MENTION THE MISINFORMATION IN THE POST. Dissociation is only trauma based? Incorrect. Maybe you should reconsider whether you're ready to be in these conversations.

That response was hidden.

The second post, I was correcting an endo that DID wasn't a trauma disorder. I tagged AEV and said, "see, you can be nice about corrections, and these are the kind of sources you should use."

I was blocked.

THIS IS WHEN I CHANGED LABELS. I was so disappointed in the community that I said fuck that, that's not what I want to be, I don't support this behavior. That's another person that AEV turned pro endo. Good job.

Then I saw the anon saying I was an endo. I used my other blog to POLITELY say, "This isn't true, please stop posting about me like this." This post is still on JAS, I didn't delete it like people are claiming

The fourth post was me making my own public post saying, "this child is throwing a tantrum over corrections. Now l'm pissed and I have to make my own public post so people don't believe those lies." This was the first rude post. I called AEV a blemish, and here's why.

I just made a MASSIVE post about dissociation that is actively being spread within the endo community now. All because I changed my label. I don't care if you all want to block me, but don't pretend that you're all doing anything to help by making bad resources for an audience that already believes the same stuff (all these new antis). Now all the new ones are spreading the same bad sources that don't hold up, and we all (yes, you, me, them, the next CDD system in line) look bad for it.

AEV couldn't provide a single source that said DID WAS trauma based, only "usually" trauma based. AEV actually made antis TURN PRO ENDO, because they used so many sources that said "usually". I offered him sources that said it WAS trauma based.

I'm not kidding, you can find the people that changed sides on sophieinwonderland's blog. This is what happened. I don't need to be polite as pie to people inadvertently harming the CDD community, but I certainly wasn't rude about it

My final post, the fifth post, on the subject was the sad one. "My main was leaked." There are people that stalk my blogs. They send me threats and long asks about the things they'd do to me if they found me. When sophie first came to tumblr, I'd get asks about what people wanted ghost to do to me. In the past, every time a new doxxer comes out of their gross hole, I start getting doxxing threats. l've had people get close to my area.

My main being released means those people are one step closer to actually finding me. It means I'm now getting these kinds of messages in my only safe space.

And the anon who sent my main admitted it was done maliciously. We had a falling out like two years ago, because their asks were getting creepy. When I APOLOGIZED TO THEM for ever hurting them because of my own avoidance issues, and told them that on this post, their response was, "well I enjoyed sending them so fuck you." If I ever find that post deleted, I've got a screenshot. You were NOT a minor at the time, you're an adult.

... Nice, really mature. You're definitely safe for minors.

Hey, also, minors, if an adult you just met online calls you "my kiddo", don't respond with an ovo face. Run.

Adults, if you call a minor your kiddo and they're like, owo really, I'm your kiddo? Fucking run.

Anyways.

I haven't said anything since. What can say. My main is out and I'm getting threats on it. Currently. Not "in the future," like the person said. It's happening NOW.

What do all you people want from me? I AM trying to leave you all alone. Stop saying such terrible things about me, godDAMN. I am not harassing minors. I don't want to harass anyone.

WHAT DID I ACTUALLY DO WRONG? I don't understand.

You're not the good guys you think you all are.

Not anymore.

I don't know that you ever were.

[dragonsorceress22]

Could be an owl. Could be a cat. (Could be a muppet.)

Could be yours!

Nova needs a forever home!

Nova is a 9 month old classic tabby – male, neutered, and microchipped.

Nova has Feline Coronavirus which is contagious to other cats. Some cats can kick the virus, but Nova cannot. He needs a safe home where he no longer has to be isolated. Other pets and people totally okay! Only cats are at risk.

Nova has all of his claws but he has never tried to claw the couch or curtains – he likes his scratching post. He is playful and active, clumsy, doesn’t mind being picked up, and will happily sit in laps when he’s tired of playing. He’s social and friendly and loves open windows.

Nova will come with a nice carrier, all of his toys, a couple cat beds, his scratching post, and a few blankets and towels, and all his medical history.

Nova has dietary restrictions. As a symptom of his virus Nova has digestive difficulties, so his dietary needs are sort of high maintenance but his current regimen is working well for managing his symptoms and letting him live a normal kitty life.

Please share this as much as possible so we can find Nova a safe and loving home!

Nova's Adopt A Pet profile