#and the answer's going to continue to be the same for the foreseeable future

[dvmbification]

" this one's for you !? " ft. isagi yoichi

ever since middle school, you had a best friend who stayed by your side up until now—and that boy was isagi yoichi, a diamond in the rough, who was so close from becoming the top striker of all time, who just needed a little push and polishing—so you gave him that first little push he needed.

"hurry up, yoichi! let me see!"

"are you serious? you know what this means, right!?" blue lock? it sounded genuine, so you cheered him on to participate in this somewhat legit project. "come on, you should go!" "alright, alright. but.." his sheepish grin slowly turned into pursed lips of doubt. "will I ever see you again?" what kind of question was that? "obviously! i'll see you on the other side." you wink at your best friend, smiling as wide as you could.

the loud booming voice from the speakers announces the next player of the blue lock eleven.

"and #11!" his name is called, and your attention was caught, interest piqued. it's him—your best friend—the boy you've been waiting to see again since early highschool. he enters the stadium, taking the view of over thousands of people in the crowd surrounding him, hoping you were in it, watching him closely—and watching him closely you were.

the game felt long, like, really long. on the edge of your seat, you were kept on your toes, fully invested in the last few minutes of the game.

this is it—the clock was ticking, one more goal from the team you were rooting for with all your heart—the blue lock eleven—and they would break the tie with U20. but who would score the winning goal? the itoshi brothers battling to the death to take the ball for themselves was all you were focused on.. one last goal..

and in the blink of an eye, your childhood best friend, isagi yoichi, the same boy you pushed forward since middle school to become the greatest striker in the world—had somehow been keeping his eyes on the ball this entire time, foreseeing the future before him and where it would land—in this case, right where he wants it to be—taking his only chance to score a goal. and with a stroke of luck..

he scores.

3-4. holy shit.

"and with a devastating direct shot, #11, isagi yoichi—has brought the blue lock eleven to victory!" you scream louder than anyone near you, and while you received a few looks of worry or second hand embarrassment, you couldn't care less. he just scored! the crowd applauses, chanting his name—similarly to his teammates, who quickly gathered around him, celebrating their victory as a team. after a while, isagi was dragged into an interview—being broadcasted on television, and the huge jumbotron in the stadium.

"here he is, everyone! the blue lock eleven's isagi yoichi, who scored that dramatic winning goal! we would love to hear your impressions, now that the game is over." isagi's eyes wander around, just realizing the pressure being put on him at the moment. he rubs his thumbs together, palms growing clammier than ever. "i—uh." you giggle a bit at him choking on his words, bringing your hand to cover up your snickering.

"i.. i'm.. happy. super happy." he feels a pang of embarrassment strike through him, but that's what you get for giving such a pathetic answer—it was cute, though. "we've observed that you have the chance to become the U20 representative today," he gulps, awaiting the interviewer to continue his sentence. "what are you looking forward to next?"

you could notice the way he straightened his back, strengthening his stance. "..win." you almost burst out laughing, but anticipate his full answer. "the blue lock eleven.. will win the world cup. all of us—no, that's not right." the world feels quiet at this very moment.

"i.. will bring japan a U20 world cup victory."

and the crowd roars.

"what a bold statement from blue lock's hero!" "now, isagi yoichi, who would you like to thank especially for the person you are today?" his eyes light up at the thought of you. you, the girl he hadn’t seen with his bare eyes since long ago.. he could envision you in his mind, smiling as wide as you could.

"i'd like to give my thanks to my parents, who have supported my dream of becoming the greatest striker in the world.." isagi's hand finds itself rubbing the back of his neck. "my teammates and opponents, who have shaped me into the player i am right now.." he looks around him to search for the girl he's missed oh so dearly in the crowd who was carefully watching him and his words. "and the love of my life. my best friend, who gave me that final push into joining blue lock—if it weren't for her.." and at that moment, you swore your eyes met each other. you stared deeply into his eyes, full of yearning for you, to see you once again. i might cry, you think, as thin lines of your tears cascade down your cheeks.

"i wouldn't be here in the first place." it feels like time had come to a stop. he finally finds who he was looking for, you, in the crowd. directly looking at you, he smiles as wide as he could.

© dvmbification ( formerly dumbification ) . do not repost or recycle my work.

[emphasisonthehomo]

Threshold teaser snippet! Vague spoilers.

•

“Were you serious about wanting to look for a new mattress?” Evan asks a week later.

It’s mid-morning. Tommy still has a little over 10 hours left of his shift, and is squirreled away in a corner of Harbor Station where he can have a conversation and be about 80% sure his coworkers won’t overhear. They’re talking just to talk. It’s nice. Evan must have slept in, because there’s still an obvious line on his cheek from the crease of a pillowcase.

“Yeah.” Tommy says, leaning against the wall and holding his phone close, “You were right, I do need a new one.”

“Good,” Evan says, all business, before picking up a pile of paper and tapping them on the counter a few times, “Because I did a little research, and I was thinking, you know. Since the squeaking of springs is kinda an issue, I’d look into some foam mattresses for you. And there’s some really good ones on the market right now–”

Tommy adjusts the volume to make sure he can hear everything Evan’s saying over the bustle of the station around him. Evan’s in his kitchen, his phone propped up on something. The top of his hair is out of frame. As Tommy squints, he can see that Evan’s holding several printed pages of consumer reports.

“–and obviously you’re gonna want to avoid something with fiberglass,” Evan continues seriously, “How that’s legal, I have no idea. Probably lobbyists. So anyway those are already out. IKEA apparently has some, but those seem really cheap. I didn’t want to make assumptions about your budget, but I did take those off the list, because you can do better than that–”

Tommy blinks. He’d made what was honestly a joke comment, and in the interim Evan apparently decided to study up and become a mattress expert on the possibility that Tommy was serious.

I’m going to fall in love with this man.

It’s a ludicrous time to come to that conclusion. Tommy’s at work, this call could end at any moment because of any number of emergencies, and Evan is rambling on about mattress companies. The thought still bubbles to the front of Tommy’s mind perfectly formed. There’s no agonizing over it, no hesitation. It’s the natural answer to a question Tommy hadn’t consciously been thinking about.

Of course.

Of course it’s Evan.

“You should come mattress shopping with me,” Tommy says, when Evan stops to catch his breath in the middle of an in-depth account of the pros and cons of memory foam versus non memory foam.

“It’s your mattress Tommy,” Evan sounds caught off guard, and looks mildly irritated that Tommy stopped him in the middle of his explanation.

“It is,” Tommy admits, and then because he doesn’t want make assumptions and repeat the same mistake he made a few months ago, he continues, “But I’m serious about you. About us. Maybe it’s a little soon, but I hope that I’ll be waking up with you a lot for the foreseeable future. You should have some input too.”

Evan goes comically still, his mouth half open. He puts the papers down onto the counter. A few flop out of his hands and slide off of the counter and onto the floor.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, equal parts concerned and nervous.

Shit.

Tommy should have waited to bring this up in person. Evan blinks several times, before turning on his heel and walking out of frame.  

“Evan?” Tommy repeats sharply, brain scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say. How to fix this, “You don’t have to.”

Evan pops back into the frame, hunched over as he picks up the paper that fell. Tommy’s breath gets caught in his throat. Evan straightens, fidgets with the papers in his hands, and then looks back at the camera. His cheeks are pink, he’s biting at his lower lip, and his dimples are out in full force.

Tommy relaxes.

“Just to be clear,” Evan starts slowly, and he looks almost giddy as he continues, “You want to go furniture shopping with me?”

“Yes,” Tommy says, grinning himself because Evan’s delight is always infectious, “You’ve done a lot research, it’d be a shame to waste it. I was just going to order one online.”

“Well, thank god I’m here to stop that from happening,” Evan says, his smile widening before he gets serious again and goes right back to business, “What’s your preference for firmness levels?”

I’m going to fall in love with this man.

“Firm?” Tommy offers, because he does know he’s not a fan of super soft mattresses, “But not too firm.”

Evan’s shirt rides up as he stretches across his counter to grab something off screen, before he returns with a pen and starts scribbling something on another piece of paper.

“Mine is medium firm,” Evan says. Of course he knows that.

“Yours is nice,” Tommy says, even though he honestly hasn’t thought much about it before. The best thing about sleeping in Evan’s bed is that it comes with Evan.

“So I’ll narrow down firm and medium firm models,” Evan says, “We can bounce on some mattresses and take it from there.”

“Your next shift starts tonight, right?” Tommy asks, visualizing his calendar to figure out when they can bounce.

“Yes,” Evan nods seriously, “You can pick me up after if you want? I’ll find a place I think will be good.”

“That’d be perfe–”

In the distance Lucy yells Tommy’s name.

“Gotta go,” Tommy says, “Bye Evan.”

“Bye Tommy,” Evan says, “I l–I’ll text you!” 

[tokiro07]

Something I alluded to in this week's Ichi review was that while I've been invested up to this point, I haven't been as completely immersed as I had been with Undead Unluck or Cipher Academy, which both captured and held me from ch.1 all the way to the end

I decided to chase that and analyze why Ichi wasn't connecting with me the same way

Looking back at chapter 1, the thing that hooked me was the setting; a world where only women can wield magic, and do so by passing tests posed to them by monsters who embody the individual spells. Even ignoring the premise that a man manages to break the status quo, that core concept alone was enough to spark my curiosity

From there, each chapter continued to expand on that setting - giving examples of the types of monsters we'd see, teasing the process of finding and facing them, showing glimpses of the society built by the women who use magic, their tools and their fashion, but something was still missing

Every week I found myself asking "what are we doing this for?" What was the grander goal, and who was going to stand in the way?

It wasn't until the most recent arc with the introduction of the World Hater that I really got the answer to that question - one of the monsters, moreso than any other, wants to destroy everything. In turn, our protagonist, more than anything, wants to kill it - regardless of whether or not it would save lives, he just knows it would be fun. It's a fairly simple goal, but a compelling one nonetheless, allowing me to not only be invested in the setting, but now also in the plot

But something was still missing

And it was only during this chapter that I realized what it was. Desscaras, The Strongest Witch, faced with a situation that her strength won't help her overcome, chooses to be open and vulnerable, and suddenly that something wasn't missing anymore

I was finally invested in the characters

I thought Ichi was interesting enough, for sure, with how unhinged he was and the themes that his philosophy suggested for the series, but I didn't know what the intentions were for his arc. Desscaras was silly and fun to watch, but I didn't have a good read on how she would contribute to the narrative. Kumugi was the only one I particularly saw thematic potential in from the get, which is why I latched onto her pretty quickly, but it was clear she was meant to be a slow burn and wasn't going to be getting a ton of focus for the foreseeable future

In other words, everyone in the cast had an interesting hook, but no one had shown any real depth yet, at least not to the extent that I wanted

But now I can see it

The flaw in Ichi's philosophy that makes him reckless with the life that he supposedly cherishes so much, the weakness in Desscaras' heart that necessitated she become the Strongest in the first place, and the connection forged between the two of them

Granted, I also said from the beginning that I expected that sort of connection to come up between Ichi and Uroro, so it's not like I couldn't envision how this story would deepen its cast, but just imagining how it would do it and actually seeing it happen are two different things. Now that we're seeing the bonds deepening between two characters, we're likely to start seeing it happen with others more and more often, though likely still fairly slowly

Now that I have a clear picture of how the cast will grow, I can definitively get excited for it rather than just projecting a hypothetical that I hope to see

I think this is also why there are so many manga in Jump that I don't get excited about

I didn't care for Kagurabachi from the beginning because I didn't care about the setting, plot or characters. It was only during the Rakuzaichi Arc, which really started focusing on the characters, that I started feeling invested, but I still don't care about the setting and only slightly care about the plot. In the Samura Arc, though, I'm starting to care a bit more about the plot, and I can see a bit more of interest in the setting, but I'm still not there yet. If it can clinch that, I'll be all in

There are other factors that matter, of course - art style, pacing, themes, etc. all contribute to my enjoyment, but I can look past the art and pacing if everything else works, and I can only care about the themes if I like at least one of the previous factors

By analyzing my experiences like this, I'm getting a clearer picture of my tastes and how I define the quality of a work. Hopefully this framework will help me better articulate my opinions going forward and give me a better approach to appreciating what I read

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dan Pfeiffer at The Message Box:

Poring through the aftermath of a brutal defeat, Democrats are now in their worst position in at least 20 years. Republicans have the White House and the Senate and an excellent chance to capture the House. Trump is only the second Republican since 1988 to win the popular vote, and he made huge gains across the country, building a multi-racial working-class coalition.

For many of you, I imagine this is painful to read. Trust me. It is even more painful to write. Most of my career has been spent within the machinery of the Democratic Party. I worked in the White House and Senate leadership. I worked for Democratic governors and other party organizations. It pains me to see the party in this state of disfavor only eight years after Barack Obama left the White House. The coalition that Obama built has crumbled. There are millions of reasons why we are in this position — COVID, inflation, an unpopular President, several political miscalculations, and a failure to adapt to a changed media environment. Ultimately, I am less interested in how we got into this mess than in how we get out of it.

The press continues to second-guess and Monday-morning quarterback various tactical decisions of the Harris campaign. I am also not particularly interested in that debate. Two things can be true at the same time. Kamala Harris ran a great campaign in a brutal political environment under an impossible timeline, and Democrats just got their ass kicked by a failed President and convicted criminal who could have been sentenced to jail if he lost the election. Where Democrats go from here is a conversation that will be an ongoing part of this newsletter in the months to come. There is no singular or simple answer, and many strawman arguments are being offered up on Twitter and cable. The solution is more complex than being more left or centrist or less woke. I don’t have the answers. Like the rest of you, I am still processing what happened on Tuesday. As part of my personal therapy, I wanted to do a bit of brain dump on the road ahead for Democrats as we confront another four years of Trump.

1. Recognize the Scale of the Problem

On one level, Trump’s win isn’t that big. His popular vote margin will end up being lower than Hillary Clinton’s when she lost the Presidency. This was far from a landslide. It looks nothing like Reagan’s victories in 1980 and 1984 or Obama’s win in 2008. But we shouldn’t sugarcoat the size and scope of Trump’s victory. Trump improved on his 2020 performance nearly everywhere in the country and with every type of voter. There was a six-point shift to the right in the country from 2020. Trump did 10 points better in Democratic strongholds like New York, New Jersey, and Rhode Island. He gained ground with men, women, Latinos, Black voters, and voters under 30. If the GOP can maintain that coalition post-Trump, Democrats will have no shot at the White House or the Senate for the foreseeable future. We are in a deep hole, and because of that, it is essential that we contemplate radical solutions about how we communicate, campaign, and govern. Every option should be on the table and every prior should be questioned. Yes, it was a brutal political environment, but this failure was a long time in the making.

2. Understand Why We Keep Losing on the Economy

Post-COVID inflation is the biggest factor in this election. It’s why incumbent parties all over the world have been getting slaughtered in election after election. It’s almost impossible to win an election when, according to the exit polls, 68% of voters rate the economy negatively, 75% say inflation caused them harm, and only 24% of voters say their financial situation is better off than four years ago. But if Democrats just blame inflation for voter distrust on the economy, we will be whistling past the graveyard. Democrats have lost economically-focused voters in every election since 2012. Even in the 2018 and 2022 midterms, which saw huge Democratic gains, we lost the voters who said the economy was their top issue by an average of 36 points!

President Biden passed a bunch of very consequential and popular policies. Yet, his ratings on the economy worsened over time. While I think we should revisit our policy agenda to look for new, bolder ideas that better speak to people’s concerns, this is largely not a policy problem. It’s a brand problem. When you do a blind taste test, our policies are more popular. This is why ballot initiatives like raising the minimum wage and allowing collective bargaining often pass in very Red states where Democrats have no chance of winning elected office. On economic issues, Democrats have a cultural problem; regardless of our policies, voters in the toughest economic situations simply don’t think Democrats care about them, and they haven’t since Barack Obama left office. Republicans have done an excellent job — with some inadvertent help from Democrats — branding our party as the party of elites even though the GOP standard bearer is a wannabe billionaire who offers tax cuts to other billionaires in exchange for campaign contributions. There is little question that we would benefit from more full-throated populism.

3. Close the Communications Chasm

Democrats are losing the information war. Trump and the Republicans are relentlessly communicating their narrative to a wide swath of the electorate, while Democrats are mostly still playing by an old set of rules. The Right is dominating the information space. In the battleground states where Democrats could spend more than a billion dollars communicating to voters on TV and digital platforms, Trump gained three points over his 2020 performance. In the rest of the country, which saw no paid Democratic messaging, Trump gained six points. This means that Democrats got absolutely battered in earned and social media. An average American who just turned on their TV or unlocked their phone or tablet was getting much more pro-Trump and anti-Democratic messaging. This situation is not unique to the Harris campaign. It’s been a problem for Democrats for more than a decade. Democrats cannot reach the wide swath of voters who don’t actively consume political news. According to polling from Data for Progress, here’s the statistics showing how people voted based on the amount they paid attention to political news:

a great deal: Harris +8

a lot: Harris +5

a moderate amount: Trump +1

a little: Trump +8 -

none at all: Trump +15

If you read the New York Times or watch CNN, Democrats know how to reach you. The problem is that we already have those voters. It's very clear that most of Democratic communications is a circular conversation with the people who already agree with us on everything. The rest of the electorate can’t hear us. They are getting no countervailing information to counter the Right Wing caricature of Democrats. Because of Fox News and other Right Wing outlets, Republicans have long had an asymmetric media advantage. However, in recent years, Right Wing messaging has come to dominate non-political online spaces centered on topics like comedy, gaming, gambling, and wellness.

Most Democrats continued running the same communications playbook for the entire Trump era despite massive changes in the media ecosystem. We haven’t incubated our progressive political media enough nor have we been willing to go into the non-political spaces where the most critical segment of voters are getting their info.

Dan Pfeiffer has yet another home run column on how the Democrats can roar back from their shock 2024 losses.

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 16)

Hi there, and welcome back to Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics! I'm sorry it's been so long between installments this time. I started a new job last Wednesday which I absolutely love and am so grateful for, but it's got me working more and longer days (but with much higher pay), so I have been exhausted. Just a heads up, I'm probably only going to manage these on a weekly basis for the foreseeable future unless my workload suddenly lessens for some reason (which I have been assured that it will not).

Thank you all so much for your continued support of this series. It means the world to me. As always, I hope you're all having a good a day as you can, if not a great one.

Smoochies and squeezies, my darlings!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

************************************************************************

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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Que Dis-Tu? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 2,594)

“What, are you gonna tell me you know Russian next?!” Stiles demanded, flailing one arm, other hand still closed around the spine of his book.

“I do know Russian,” Derek confirmed, still looking confused.

Stiles dropped the book so he could flail both arms in the air. “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you know Russian?!”

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Your Royal Assholeness by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 3,327)

The second he walked in, Derek growled loudly and was beside him in an instant, reaching out to lightly touch his neck.

“Who did this?”

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles hissed in response.

“Your majesty.”

Stiles turned when the woman spoke, positive he’d misheard, but she was on one knee with her head bowed, and the wolves who’d all followed had done the same.

“Your what?” Stiles demanded, shocked, turning back to Derek.

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You Have Reached... by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 5,074)

“Why did you listen to the voicemails?”

“I like hearing you talk,” Derek said.

There were many things Stiles had been expecting after asking that question. That answer hadn’t been one of them.

“Any time we ever spoke before, it was always about what next problem we were facing and needed to solve. The voicemails are just you... talking.”

“Oh.” Stiles had never considered that.

(SNYE - January 10th - Long Distance)

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In meeting his is born, In absence he has grown by lookingforatardis (T | 1/1 | 6,191)

The witch’s voice turned dark, powerful. Her head fell back as she chanted:

So it is written, so it becomes A debt for a debt A life for life, In the darkest of times With a mate by thy side In meeting he is born, in absence he has grown A son for a son, for the Highest Power, Her goddess the Moon draws balance once more With a love that endures. And so has been, and so it is, and so it will be.

- Or, A witch gives Derek a toddler after Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, and Derek definitely does not freak out about it and beg the Sheriff to call Stiles for help because he's his anchor (he definitely does)

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Choice by Omni (T | 1/1 | 8,613)

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings.

Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't.

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

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Wake Up Call by SylvieW (M | 3/3 | 10,084)

Derek has nightmares and now that Laura is gone there's no one to wake him up and comfort him.

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Yes is a World by jezziejay (M | 1/1 | 10,207)

When the nemeton casts a protection spell over Beacon Hills, Stiles can finally go to college. Derek thinks this might be a good thing.

In which Stiles falls in love and Derek learns a lot.

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Five Times Derek Heard Something He Wished He Hadn't, and the One Time He Did by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 14,841)

“This place is hell,” Derek decided. “This place is absolutely hell.”

How was it possible he’d gone so many years of his life without hearing anything nearly as over the top as he had just visiting Stiles at school? This had to be some kind of record for the most disgusting things he’d ever overheard.

--

(I mean really, the title says it all lol)

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Sigh No More series by elementalv (3 works | T-M | 16,472)

1. Sigh No More (M | 1/1 | 5,532) Scott respects Stiles’ decision not to take the bite right up until the day he doesn’t. That night, with the help of his father, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills for good. Warnings: See the Notes section at the end for warnings and possible triggers. The AO3 options don't quite cover what I need. 2. The Cave (T | 1/1 | 6,415) Chris has no idea how to salvage what was intended to be a diplomatic mission with an unknown alpha. 3. Winter Winds (T | 1/1 | 4,525) He hadn’t taken any particular pleasure in killing Peter for once and for all, though he was glad he’d thought to ask Deaton about what to do to make sure Peter couldn’t come back. Lydia wasn’t exactly thrilled with the countermeasures, but since it meant she wouldn’t have to raise him from the dead ever again, she dealt with it by making Scott pay in small ways and large. He accepts her treatment of him without comment, knowing that a lot of the mess the town is in could have been avoided if he hadn’t been such a dickhead all those years ago. And really, he thinks, as he’s patrolling near the Nemeton, dickhead doesn’t even cover what he did to Stiles.

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The Sound of Silence by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) (E | 6/6 | 17,279)

Everyone is so sure Derek is dead, but Stiles can't accept it. Not when there are so many loose ends.

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doesn't weigh me down at all by kellifer_fic (T | 2/2 | 17,657)

"Your brother is cool. What happened to you?"

"Har, har, hilarious," Stiles says as Scott grabs him in a head lock and rubs the top of his head. "He's going to hold this one over me for ages," Stiles sighs after a few minutes of the sounds of just their feet shuffling through the undergrowth.

"Could've been worse," Scott says.

"I guess so."

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Children of the Wild Ones by bellefire (M | 2/2 | 18,081)

One turned corner was all it took—a single split second decision. A death. Stiles could never decide if that turn had been a wrong one or a right one.

In which Stiles is turned, gets a pack and takes a roadtrip to Mexico with people he used to not even like but are now somehow family, but first: murder.

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discretion's not what i need to sell series by marinbel (3 works | T | 18,492)

Told in three parts, in three perspectives.

1. discretion's not what i need to sell (T | 1/1 | 2,024) Stiles raises an eyebrow. “So am I not correct then that I saw you leaving Allison’s place this morning? From her bedroom window?” His eyes give Scott a once-over. “I’m sure the healthy flush is just from the run, and no other activities. And- oh, hey, is that hickey on your throat also from the run? I didn’t know that could happen.” Scott’s jaw locks. Fuck. Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Sorry, just curious. Since I thought you and Kira were still a thing, and all.” 2. one more confession (T | 1/1 | 7,395) He’s talking to someone on the phone. She hears him. “We’ll think of something. Don’t- hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out. Okay? Okay. See you tomorrow, Babe.” The crack of light expands, Scott opening the door. He stops in his tracks when he catches Kira’s eyes blinking back at him. “Hey,” he says. “Hey,” Kira says back. “Who’s Babe?” “Hmm?” Scott goes, flipping the light off and coming back to bed, crawling under the covers and looping an arm around her waist. “You were on the phone with someone,” Kira says, like maybe saying it out loud will remind him of what he was just doing. “You said Babe. Who’s Babe?” . Alternatively, Kira finds out. 3. keep those tired eyes closed (T | 1/1 | 9,073) “You gotta let him go.” Derek watches him from the peripheral, dejected. He sees it just beyond his eyes, the ruminating and mind whirring and Derek says, “Hey. With me, breathe in.” He breathes in and Stiles follows along. “Breathe out,” they do so together, Derek saying on the exhale, “now let him go.” Stiles’ exhale is shakier but he gets through it. “I’m letting him go.” . Alternatively, Derek's trying his very best at being a supportive boyfriend.

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Falling Up by PalenDrome (nerherderette) (E | 1/1 | 18,522)

Of all the things Stiles imagined could happen, he never thought he’d end up packless.

*****

Derek picks up his coffee and drains it slowly. "My place is a twenty-minute drive from here. I could show you, if you'd like," he says once he finishes. His tone is studiedly casual, but Stiles knows what a big deal it is. It's an offer to re-establish a connection with a former pack member. To invite Stiles into the new sanctuary Derek created for himself.

Stiles looks at his empty cup. He thinks of the miles he's driven. Of the motels and hotels and cheap campsites he's crashed at, and tries to keep his desperation to have something familiar, of not feeling so goddamn lonely, from his voice.

"Yeah. I'd really like that," he says, and if his heartbeat does a little swoop, Derek's too polite to mention it.

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To Find You Again by nightlight9 (E | 1/1 | 23,788)

The man standing on his porch waiting for him is unmistakable even after six years. Though his hair has grown out longer and there’s a scraggly beard covering his once bare chin, the unexpected guest is undoubtably Stiles.

Derek swallows and tries to subtly catch a whiff of his scent. Then he swallows again when he smells nothing but the Colorado trees.

“Stiles?” His mouth is dry. "What are you doing here?”

Despite the bags under his eyes, Stiles’ smile is bright. “Hey, Derek. I-. It’s been a long time. Can I come in?”

That's all it takes. Derek opens the door.

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If These Ears Could Talk series by HappyJuicyfruit (11 works | G-M | 39,686)

Stiles is hard of hearing, that doesn’t stop him from running with wolves. Doesn’t stop him from dating one either.

1. Clueless (G | 1/1 | 4,748) After everything they’ve been through together, all Derek wants is for his pack to be connected with strong, thriving, pack bonds. And for the most part, its working. The pack is growing, healing, happy. He just needs to figure out why Stiles hates him so much. 2. Pack is Pack, No Matter How Far (T | 1/1 | 9,927) Derek tries to deal with his pack moving away for college. Stiles helps (a lot). 3. Come Light A Candle With Me (G | 1/1 | 1,804) Derek celebrates Hanukkah with Stiles. 4. Worrywolf (M | 1/1 | 5,470) After a few worrying text messages, Derek decides to go check on his boyfriend during midterm week. 5. Memories From You and From Me (G | 1/1 | 3,070) On the anniversary of his family's death, Derek tries to distance himself from the pack. Stiles doesn't let him. 6. It's My Party, I Can Yell If I Want To (G | 1/1 | 5,496) Derek has made a lot of mistakes in his life, and he has a lot of regrets. Currently, his biggest regret is forgetting his boyfriends birthday. 7. I Can Help With That (M | 1/1 | 3,277) “You can’t be the only hard of hearing person on the campus.” Stiles shrugged, “so?” “So, why don’t you make a club or something? You don’t really know anyone else hard of hearing, it could be really good.” “Did Derek Hale seriously just tell me to make a club?” 8. I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do (G | 1/1 | 2,340) 8 years. Degrees, Master degrees, vet school, law school... It took 8 years, but finally, the Hale pack was together again in Beacon Hills. 9. As The Years Go By (I Just Love You More) (G | 1/1 | 1,811) It started with Becca, but it did not end with her. Or, how Derek and Stiles end up with a house full of kids. 10. Baby, I Was Born This Way (G | 1/1 | 1,051) He knew Stiles like the back of his hand. He knew that this silence wasn’t him. This stillness was unnatural. He’d been married to the man for twenty years. He had 8 kids with him. Stiles was a force of pure energy, he was a fighter to his core. It couldn’t end like this. 11. Oh, To Grow Old With You (G | 1/1 | 692) Derek yawned, looking out at his bird feeder as he waited for the kettle to boil. He would go out and refill it after breakfast. Do a morning walk around their territory. It would be a while before Stiles woke up, insomnia kept him up late most nights. And Derek’s bad back woke him up early. Werewolf healing didn’t fix everything, when you were old. Or, a very fluffy retirement.

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No Time Like the Future by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (T | 1/1 | 40,590)

It wasn’t until he was ten that the full explanation came to him, because every year when a group of kids turned ten, schools had a one-day course specifically about soulmates, what they meant, and why everyone had weird writing on their arms.

Derek remembered sitting in that all-day class, completely horrified, and absolutely devastated. The course leader made it sound like a good thing. Soulmates were the other half of your own being, they were the person you were supposed to love and cherish, who would understand every part of you, and all that other garbage nonsense. He was not here for this.

It wasn’t that Derek had any understanding of love—not romantic love, and certainly not at ten years old—but he read a lot of books and watched some shows and movies with his family, and love looked like something different in those environments. Love looked like a choice, like the meeting of people, and the getting to know them, and actively falling in love with a person because they were amazing and nice and just fit.

Soulmates didn’t sound like that.

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Nature Red In Tooth and Claw series by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) (4 works | T-E | 47,930)

1. Mockingbird Smile (E | 1/1 | 3,554) Kate has come to Beacon Hills to seduce Derek Hale and kill the Hale pack. Maybe she should have done some more research first. 2. Dirty Paws (T | 3/3 | 6,309) Every fairytale starts with a beginning. 3. In Our Town Of Halloween (E | 6/6 | 28,168) It's Halloween, the one night of the year the Hale wolves and their pack get to let it all hang out. Unfortunately for them, someone is on their trail and looking for revenge. What happens next will change everything. 4. Silver Bullet, Silver Arrow (E | 3/3 | 9,899) The Argents have come for vengeance. They're about to get what's coming for them.

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It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (M | 2/2 | 80,129)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

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Pretty Little Wolf series by ItsMe_Basil (3 works | T-E | 88,628)

1. Pretty Little Wolf (E | 35/35 | 82,164 ) Derek has heard stories about the Spark -the kind of stories that would have his younger self cowering under the blankets. The kind of stories that had Derek stick close to the pack. But when Derek is in trouble, and the pack isnt around, Derek finds himself in the care of said Spark, and he finds out fairly quickly that he's not all he seems to be. Stiles, he finds out, isn't a villain at all. Derek's only heard one side of the story for four years, and now it's time for him to hear the other side from his mate. *-* "Pretty little wolf," he hummed, stepping closer and kneeling beside Derek. Even in his death fogged brain, he recognized the words spoken. The words that were tattooed along his hip bone. The man reached a hand out, long bony fingers brushing against Derek's jaw. That's when recognition dawned on him. He knew this boy -not personally, but he'd seen pictures. This was the Spark. The one Scott had warned him about since Derek had returned to Beacon Hills four years ago. His mate. "Fuck me," Derek gasped out, dropping his head on the step. "Let's get you better, first, shall we, Puppy?" The Spark hummed. 2. Pretty Little Wedding (M | 1/1| | 3,650) Its been two years since the Hale pack moved to Hood River, and Derek couldn't be happier with his life now. He has Stiles, his family, and a town that treats them like family. Its everything he could ever hope to have. Almost everything at least. 3. Pretty Little Niece (T | 1/1 | 2,814) Cora and Lydia have a baby, Stiles and Derek fight about having children of their own, and Stiles slowly warms up to being an uncle! Part 3 of the Pretty Little Wolf series! If you haven't read thd first I recommend you do so!! These are just little snippets into the Hale packs life after they leave Beacon Hills!

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************************************************************************

[deakyjoe]

Love To Hate

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader (fem, afab, she/her)

Category: enemies to lovers, smut, coworkers to lovers

Summary: You hate Dieter Bravo more than anything. So why are you asking him to sleep with you?

Warnings: 18+, smut (!!), protected p in v sex, f receiving oral, brief vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, thigh riding/grinding, groping, kissing, body worship (he loves tits and ass), dirty talk, praise, size kink (??), Dieter has a horse cock, crying, Dieter’s a teasing dick, enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, insecurities, sex/masturbation problems (for reader), mentions of unsatisfactory sex, mentions of drug use, reader is shorter than Dieter, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 8.8k (woah!)

A/N: I have a series in mind for this so the story between these two could continue. But for now it works as a standalone. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

There was no one in the world you disliked more than Dieter Bravo. It was a shame that he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

The two of you had had the unfortunate experience of always ending up in the same place. It had started during a chemistry read for a movie a few years back. Neither of you had ended up getting the job but it was undeniable that there was chemistry between you. Just not the kind of chemistry needed to play lovers on screen. Let's just say that you'd gotten off on the wrong foot and had never really recovered from it.

Next you'd both attended a charity event together, the both of you somehow being the star beneficiaries of the evening. The night included a lot of strained smiles, forced conversation and fake laughter.

Then there'd been the year long shoot you'd both winded up on for some up and coming director who'd begged for the both of you to appear in his movie, the promises of awards from every inch of the world for the both of you afterwards. And when award season came around, it turned out he was right. Awards did come flooding in. But for Dieter. Not you. It didn't help that you had to see the smug actor give the same speech at every ceremony as he graciously accepted the accolades.

And with that came the press junkets and the rounds of interviews, panels, and question and answer sessions. You pretty much saw Dieter Bravo every single day for almost two years. And the distaste for him never really went away. Sadly, this meant that he came to know the ins and outs of your life. Dieter could recite your schedule, list every single detail of your close friends and family's lives and could read your emotions like an open book. He knew you well. Too well. And he used this to his advantage.

And here you were again. On another movie with him. Somehow. You didn't know how it'd come to be as you'd made your agent swear never to put you in a project with him again. But shit happens.

After weeks of endless negotiations about budget, you'd finally arrived on set for rehearsals and table reads and the director had already warned that you were behind schedule. Shooting hadn't even started yet and you were already regretting it.

It didn't help when you'd been told that the hotel room that had been provided for you by the production company was right next to Dieter's. When you'd gotten there, you'd just stared at your shared wall for ten minutes and wondered how sound proof it was. You knew his reputation, had witnessed it even, and didn't fancy the sleepless nights if he was bringing someone new back to his room every night for the foreseeable future.

When you arrived for day one of table reads, you rushed around introducing yourself to everyone. You weren't the most sociable person ever, funny considering your career choice, and avoided one particular person whose gaze followed you around the room the whole time.

It was impossible not to feel his eyes on you. When Dieter's dark brown eyes latched onto a target, he wouldn't let go until he had his claws sunk in. In your case, it was different. He didn't view you as someone to sleep with but someone to torment with his presence instead.

You managed to successfully ignore him until your over enthusiastic director, Rodney, felt the need to introduce the two of you despite him knowing that the two of you already knew each other.

You looked up at Dieter, preparing yourself for the worst. His eyes looked clearer than usual, not as glazed over. You figured he'd been to rehab recently and was temporarily sober. That happened often. But never lasted long.

"Hi." You nodded up at him, brushing off the director's superficial nonsense that he'd spouted in attempt to make the two of you sudden best friends.

Dieter didn't return the greeting. "How're your parents?"

Small talk was meaningless between the two of you. Dieter knew everything about you. Everything. He'd met your parents on more than one occasion at different after parties, wrap parties, even on set once or twice. You hated to say that your mother loved him and your father liked him more than anyone else you'd ever introduced him to in this industry.

"Fine. Grandparents now." You replied, watching Rodney ease himself out of the conversation and wander off.

"Sister and her husband finally managed to conceive, huh?" He asked and you nodded in response despite the weird way he'd worded it. "You're an aunt. Cute."

"Yeah. How're you?" You sighed and looked over his shoulder, wondering how long it would take before the snappy responses started between the two of you.

He smirked. "Good."

"Good." You cleared your throat. "I hear that we're neighbours."

"Hm, lucky me."

Your eyes snapped back to his, not quite getting the tone in his voice. "Try to keep the noise down."

The smirk on his face was punchable. "I'll try my best."

You scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

Suddenly, you were swept away by other cast and crew members who were just dying to meet you. That was strange. You were used to people wanting to meet Dieter. But, as you found out from someone on the makeup team, you were the hot commodity on this set. A sense of pride filled your bones at the sound of that.

The days flew by. Table reads were completed, along with a few spontaneous rehearsals. You avoided Dieter at all costs, trying not to interact with him if you weren't reciting words from a script. And it was going pretty well. Except for the nights.

The walls were apparently extremely thin in the hotel you were staying in, just as you’d feared. You knew this how exactly? By the very clear sex sounds that would practically shake the wall you shared with Dieter. Moans, groans, a squeaking bed, a rattling headboard, the occasional scream even. It was torture. And you could do nothing apart from bury your head under a pillow. Unless you developed the confidence to go knocking on his door to tell him to cut it out. Which you didn't.

It didn't escape your notice that he was clearly accompanied by a new person every night, the tones of their noises changing each time. It also didn't escape you that Dieter was clearly very good in bed. If the sounds of his partners were any indication at least. They all seemed very enthusiastic to be in his company.

You grew used to it after a few days. Mainly because you had to. There was no point losing sleep over something you already knew about Dieter. He liked sex. A lot. And he had a reputation for a reason. It just pissed you off that you had to hear it. And that it seemed to come so easily to him...

It was devastating news to you when the director told you that the first day of shooting was going to be one of the sex scenes of the movie. You'd initially attempted to persuade him to move it later into the production but he had insisted that there was no need for that. The years of you and Dieter knowing, and hating, each other had been enough to build the chemistry needed for the movie. All the sexual tension was apparently already there. You’d disagreed with that last point.

When the day finally came, you were tense. More tense than usual anyway. The only thing reassuring you was the meeting you'd had with the intimacy coordinator who had told you that every detail you'd told her, everything that you didn't want to happen, would be implimented to make you as comfortable as possible.

You'd been placed in a bed, naked from the waist up and you had been there alone for longer than you should've been. After so many years you shouldn't be surprised that Dieter was late. It was sort of his specialty. The fact that this was the first day of shooting was mildly annoying however.

When he finally appeared in nothing but his underwear and a robe, the latter of which he shed as soon as he saw you waiting for him in the bed, he sent half hearted apologies to everyone in the room. When he got to you the apology was a lot more sarcastic. "And I am eternally sorry for keeping you waiting, sweetheart."

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillow, teeth clenching at the sound of the pet name he’d gifted you all those years ago when you’d first met.

Dieter grinned at the reaction and crawled on top of you after both the director and the intimacy coordinator had instructed him of the positioning they wanted. His legs were between yours, an elbow on either side of your head to keep him slightly elevated so he wasn't leaning all of his body weight on you.

You avoided his eyes, having him hovering over you like this with your tits out was embarrassing. Especially when his own bare chest was so close to rubbing against yours.

Dieter lowered his head so his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "Don't look so tense. It's okay. You're gorgeous and I won't look if you don't want me to."

That surprised you. What surprised you even more is that he looked genuine when he pulled back to meet your eyes again.

You shook your head. "It's fine."

The director suddenly cursed loudly. "Dieter, relax! We're having some issues with the mics so just do whatever for a minute."

"Sure thing, boss!" Dieter called back, sitting up and pulling the blankets up to cover you in the process. "So you don't get cold."

You sat up and clutched the blanket over your chest. "Thanks."

It was freaking you out with how nice he was being. Dieter Bravo was anything but a gentleman. Yet here he was... being almost chivalrous.

And then he winked at you. "Nice rack by the way."

Yeah, okay, you expected him to ruin it.

"Charming, Bravo. Really." You snapped.

"Just stating facts." He shrugged.

You frowned at him and looked away.

"Hey." His voice was soft.

You looked back at him.

"Sorry, it was a joke." His brown eyes were wide and apologetic.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, aggravation rippling through you. "It's fine."

He shook his head, curls bouncing against his forehead. "No, it's not. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Your frown deepened. "Isn't it your life's mission to irritate me?"

He grinned. "Irritate you? Yes. Make you uncomfortable at work? No."

Before you had the chance to reply, the microphones were fixed and the two of you were instructed to get back into places. You both settled back into position, a sigh escaping you. It was difficult to believe that this was the first thing you were filming. Not even the conversation leading up to this particular section of the scene. You questioned the director's choices.

"Right, so we know what we're doing, yeah?" Rodney called to you both.

You nodded but Dieter raised his hand like he had a question.

"I can't remember. Are we touching tits or not?"

The intimacy coordinator looked towards you for a moment for confirmation before nodding. "Yes. Touching breasts is fine, Dieter."

He hummed in acknowledgment before looking back at you as he flexed his fingers and rolled his wrists. "Gotta get the circulation going so my hands aren't too cold. Don't want your nipples freezing off."

You stared back up at him in slight shock. "That would be unfortunate, yes."

He smiled and pressed the backs of his fingers to your cheek. "That temperature okay?"

"Not nipple freezing cold."

Just maybe nipple hardening cold.

You pushed the thought from your head and gave him a nod to assure him that it was fine. "Let's just get this started."

He laughed at your clear disdain of the situation and looked towards the small group of crew members to give them the go ahead.

It went pretty smoothly. All the technology continued to work for the rest of the scene luckily and neither you nor Dieter messed up too much to call for reshoots. You simply just gave each other a lot of open mouthed, but tongueless, kisses with no emotion behind them whatsoever and made noises of satsifaction in all the right places as he groped at you gently but confidently. It was a surprisingly simple day of shooting. The director had decided that this would be all you did for the first day, wanting a few good angles that would take up a lot of time, and didn't want to push you into doing more than necessary.

When lunch rolled around, you grabbed a salad from the catering tent outside and took a seat on a table by yourself. You wanted a few moments of peace to relax before you got back into the swing of shooting. The peace was short lived as your least favourite person took a seat directly opposite you, a sandwich on his plate.

You stared at him with scorn. "I wasn't aware we did lunch together."

Dieter looked back at you amused. "Well, considering that I've felt you up now, I thought it was only fitting to grace you with my presence over a lovely meal." His eyes lowered to your salad. "Why the fuck did you get that?"

You poked at the sad plate in front of you with your fork. "It was the only thing that looked remotely fresh."

He looked at his own food. "I do have to say that my sandwich looks a few days old."

"Days?" You gasped. "Try decades!"

Dieter scoffed. "Well, some of us can't afford to eat a salad. Some of us are trying to maintain our physiques."

He was referencing the so-called dad bod he'd developed over the last few years. People loved it. His cheeks were fuller than they used to be, somehow making his dimples more pronounced when he smiled, and his stomach was now softer. It was hot. That was for sure. You held your own quiet appreciation for the way he looked. But that wasn't something you would ever voice to him. Not in a million years.

"Maybe some carbs would make you loosen up." He added on, frowning down at his sandwich now that you'd both acknowledged how it most definitely hadn't been made that day. "Get that stick out your ass."

Something in you snapped at that. You did not have a stick up your ass. You did not need to loosen up. So you did the thing you'd told yourself you wouldn't. You decided to confront him.

You played it cool at first. "How long have we known each other?"

He looked back up at you, eyes squinted in confusion. "A long time. Too long even. Why?"

"Would it be acceptable for me to ask you for a small favour?" You stirred your salad with the fork, not easily done, in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

That caught his attention, giving you his full focus as his head tilted to the side slightly. "That depends on what this small favour is."

"When you have... fun time with your... friends could you play some music? Or better yet, go back to their place? Walls are thin." You hated the words that came out of your mouth. Why didn't you just say sex? Too late now.

His eyebrows quirked at your strange terminology. "When I what?"

"You know." You waved your hand, determined to stick with it now.

"Have sex? Fuck? Bang? Screw?" He asked and you nodded. "Come on, we're both adults. You can say sex to my face. Especially since you've heard it apparently."

Your brows pushed together unhappily. "Fine. When you have sex."

"Only if you promise to play music when you fail to get yourself off when you masturbate." He finally took a bite of his sandwich and immediately grimaced.

Your heart dropped down to your stomach. "What?"

He smirked, knowing he had you. "Walls are thin. You're loud. And frustrated."

"You hear me?" You knew the walls were thin. You didn't know that they were that thin. You always tried to stay as quiet as possible.

Dieter prodded at his sandwich with his finger a final time before pushing it away. "It'd be pretty hard not to. Maybe I should introduce you to one of my friends. To help you, I mean."

"Wouldn't work." You mumbled, not really for him to hear.

His interest was piqued further. "Oh, so a full orgasm mental block then?"

You clenched your teeth together. "I hate you."

"Unfortunate considering I'm the only person capable of reading you like an open book." He grinned at you, fully sarcastic. "Hmm, maybe that's what you need actually."

"What?"

"Someone capable of reading you like a book. To see what's really working, or not working, for you." He looked you up and down quickly.

You scoffed. "You better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

His voice dipped down in both volume and tone. "You know I'd be better than anyone else you've ever had. You've heard my work. I'm exceptional and come highly recommended."

You looked away from him. "That's not funny, Dieter."

"You're sexually frustrated?"

You huffed. "Yes. Very."

"And I'm good at sex and know you better than anyone. Is it not a reasonable conclusion?" He threw his hands in the air as if to emphasise how obvious the solution should be.

"You're ridiculous." You hissed, pushing up from the table and storming away. You hated him. Despised him.

"The orgasms would make you feel better." He called after you.

You didn't fail to notice the use of the plural - orgasms.

Luckily for you the rest of the day consisted of close ups of just you sprawled on the bed. No Dieter needed. But you didn't fail to notice how he hovered around the set anyway and observed. His brown eyes burned into your skin for the remainder of filming.

When you were done, you retreated to your dressing room and got dressed as quickly as you could. A car was called at your request and you were back in your hotel room ordering room service before anyone even had the opportunity to invite you out for drinks to celebrate the first day of filming.

You needed to be alone. For many reasons, including the fact that you just liked your solitude. But the biggest one, the reason that had been plaguing your mind since it had been suggested to you, was the idea of sleeping with Dieter. Not being able to believe yourself at how utterly ridiculous it was, but you were seriously considering it.

You knew he was good in bed. The sex noises you'd heard through the wall didn't lie. But he was the one person in the world that you disliked more than anyone else you had ever met. So why was the idea of it playing around in your head so much?

When you heard Dieter's own hotel room door close, you were surprised that he seemed to be alone. Abnormal. For him at least. But you ignored it.

And you ignored the ache between your legs that was bothering you as you showered and changed into your pyjamas. You ignored the way your heart hammered in your chest as you crawled under the bedsheets. You ignored the fact that you were still wide awake after two hours of attemtping to fall asleep.

Well... you ignored it for another thirty minutes before you sighed to yourself and got out of bed, grabbed your room key and tiptoed to your co-star's room. You knocked once quietly and received no answer. So you knocked again, louder and more impatient this time. After a few seconds his door swung open with the quietest of creaks but loud enough to still make you wince. You weren't doing anything wrong technically but the idea of anyone finding out about this made your stomach churn.

Dieter stood there, rumpled from bed, and looked down at you confused. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he mumbled a gravelly question. "Why're you here?"

You hesitated which caught his attention, suddenly sobering up from fatigue and looking more concerned.

"You okay?”

Your jaw ticked with nerves. Fuck it, what did you have to lose? "Your offer."

"My offer?" He looked more confused than before, obviously not recalling your previous conversation.

You sighed, frustratedly. "Yes. About sleeping with you."

He blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I was only teasing. I'm sorry if I offended you-"

You interrupted him before he could go any further and ruin what confidence you'd managed to build up. "No, I'm here to take you up on it."

Dieter said nothing which was not a good sign. He loved to talk, especially to annoy you. Silence meant something bad.

"You were right. I'm sexually frustrated and can't get off. By myself or with anyone." You whispered harshly. "I think you're attractive and you're my best hope at finding out whether I'm just broken or something else is going on."

He looked down at you with softened eyes. Pity. You didn't want his pity. "I don't-"

You cut him off again. "Please."

He paused and then nodded, opening the door wider. "Okay."

You pushed past him. "No one ever finds out about this and we never talk about it again. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." He closed and locked the door behind the two of you. "For the record, I was going to say that I don't think you're broken."

"We'll determine that after you, hopefully, manage to make me come." You planted your hands on your hips.

His eyes raked over you. "You're too stressed. You're not used to casual, are you?"

"No, I can do casual with people I don't know and who definitely don't know me. And you know me too well, Dieter. So, yeah, I'm stressed. Because this-" You gestured between the two of you. "-isn't casual."

"Relax. I'm sure I'll be able to figure out what makes you tick." He smirked, sauntering closer. "I already know what you don't like."

You flinched at that statement. "How?"

"Had a very long conversation with the intimacy coordinator about what was off-limits. Apparently you had a list." A real smile broke across his face as he reached up to pull your hands from your hips, plucking your room key from your fingers and tossing it onto the vanity, before tracing his own fingers across your arms.

Heat prickled the surface of your skin. "Oh."

"Don't look so embarrassed." His hands got to your shoulders and rested there, forcing them down to relax. "Although, you could've told me yourself."

"And have you tease me? No thanks." You scoffed, looking away from him.

He hummed lowly in the back of his throat. "I like to tease you, yes. But I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Not like that anyway and especially not at work. I told you this."

Your gaze darted back to him, to see if he was being genuine. He was.

Your eyebrows pulled up in uncertainty. "You confuse me."

"I know." His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. "You confuse me too."

"How?"

His hands slid up to your neck, warm palms engulfing you. "Coming to me begging to have sex despite claiming to loathe me."

You briefly snapped out of the atmosphere he'd created with his touch and pulled back from him. "I'm not begging."

"I was joking, sweetheart. I'm sorry. You don't have to beg me for this anyway." He tugged you closer to him again.

"What do you mean?" You moved more into his hold.

He chuckled, one hand lowering to circle around your waist and dipping his head to trace the lines of your neck with the tip of his nose. "Nothing. I'm just talking to calm you and make you more pliant."

Your eyelids fluttered shut. "Touch my tits with your icicle hands again and I'm sure we'll get there eventually."

He laughed louder at that, one hand cupping your cheek as he pulled back to look at you. "Are they really that cold?"

"They were earlier. Now they're warmer." You pressed your cheek into his palm, eyes closing at the feeling.

"Leaning on them for too long fucks up my blood flow." He explained, swiping his thumb across your skin. "You're so pretty."

Your eyes shot open to meet his at that. You'd never seen him look so sincere. You'd also never felt the desire to kiss him before. Until now. "Please kiss me." You curled your fists into the front of his shirt and pulled him down to meet your eyeline.

His forehead pushed against yours. "You sure you want this?"

"Positive."

He took that and pressed his lips against yours, soft and tender, barely there. And pulled back again to gauge your reaction.

"More." You whispered, hands sliding up to thread into the hair on the back of his head.

He hummed lowly, a flicker of a smile on his face before he kissed you again. This time it was firmer and held more purpose. You'd never noticed before but Dieter smelt nice. It was comforting as he drew you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. The kisses grew more heated, moving from a few pecks to being open mouthed and longer. He was a good kisser, you begrudgingly noted. Good for now but the part of you that hated him disliked that he was also gifted at this. When his tongue slid into your mouth and pressed up against yours, you tensed up. It wasn't unpleasant. Just a bit of a shock to the system.

Dieter pulled back to look down at you. "Relax. I'll look after you, I promise. Believe me?"

"Yes." You whispered and pulled him back towards you. No one had ever kissed you like this. Dieter understood you. He felt the way your muscles would shift when he did something you didn't like and would immediately pull back, quickly assess the situation and find something else you preferred. His hands lingered in places that made you feel good, kissed you enough so you felt wanted but not too much to overwhelm you. You'd never felt so safe with someone before.

And you never could have imagined the feeling that was swirling around inside you at the notion that he was touching you, kissing you. This was Dieter Bravo. The man you'd hated for years. And yet here he was, making you feel things you'd never felt before this moment. Sure, you'd acknowledged the fact that he was an attractive man when you'd first met him. But the idea of being attracted to him had never crossed your mind until recently. Very recently. It just didn't seem possible.

His hands slid down to your ass, palming the flesh there as he groaned into your mouth at the feeling. It was nice to know that he was enjoying this as well. He crowded you against him, seeming to take an impossible step closer to you.

He broke away from you momentarily. "Trust me?"

"Yes." You nodded slowly, dazed by the fact that it was true. You did trust him. With this at least anyway.

He smiled against your lips at that. "Do you want control or do you want me to take care of you?"

You pondered it for a moment. You didn't even know where you'd start with this. With him. It was an overwhelming thought. Which is why your answer was so natural.

"Take care of me please."

His responding smile was easy, soothing, as he directed you backwards towards the bed until your legs hit the frame.

"We're going to take this slow, okay? So try to have some patience." He cupped your face in his large hands, looking at you seriously.

You huffed. "I can be patient. As long as it's worth my time."

He laughed and kissed you quickly. "I'll make this worth your time."

You giggled against his mouth. "You're very confident in your abilities."

"As are you considering you're here asking me to make you come." He moved to place an open mouthed kiss on your jaw, teeth scraping against your skin. "Get on the bed."

It took a lot of self restraint for Dieter to stop himself from just picking you up and throwing you on the bed. But he promised himself he'd be gentle with you, giving you some power over the situation. After all, you'd asked him to take care of you. So that's exactly what he was going to do.

He didn't need to ask you twice by the seems of it anyway since you dropped onto the bed at his request, bouncing a couple of times before pulling your legs up and sliding yourself backwards towards the pillows. Dieter smothered a gleeful grin at how suddenly eager you seemed to be. Your enthusiam should only help your orgasm problem, as long as he got you to ease up a lot more. You were such a tense person. He tasked himself with rectifying that.

Climbing onto the bed and sitting up on his knees, Dieter looked at you breathing heavily, chest heaving as you waited for him to get closer. He couldn't quite tell if you were anxious or just turned on. He fell forward onto his hands and crawled to you, pushing you onto your back as he moved over you.

Gaze moving towards the way your breasts were straining against your sleep shirt with every inhale, he let a question roll around in his head for a couple of seconds before just deciding to ask it. "On a scale of one to ten, how horny would you say you are right now?"

Your mouth dropped open, that was the last thing you expected him to say with the way his pupils had blown wide as he stared at your chest. "A six. Maybe a seven."

He only grunted in response.

"It might be higher. I can't tell. I'm pretty nervous."

Ah, so anxiety was playing a factor in your breathing rate. Good to know, Dieter thought.

"Let's fix that." He rasped before kissing you again, not hesitating this time to let his tongue roam your mouth. He found he liked the way your legs seemed to automatically wrap around him and pull him closer over you so you were chest to chest.

Your arms wound around his neck, one hand carding through his hair. The two of you barely broke away for breath, the only sound in the room being those of your lips colliding and separating. You were surprised to find how long he kissed you without doing anything else. Most guys would be insisting on getting into your pants right about now. But Dieter hadn't done anything more than grope at your ass, and that had been when you were still standing up.

You liked kissing. Liked it a lot. Especially when the person you were kissing was good at it and seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. So this was nice. Just kissing. You hadn't kissed someone for this long since you were a teenager and still a virgin when making out seemed like the most exciting thing in the world.

You let your hands roam Dieter a little more, allowing them to drift down his back and smooth back up across his shoulders. He was so broad, you realised. How had you never realised how big he was before? He was taller than you, sure. But you had never noticed the sheer size of him before. He was broad shouldered and had large hands. It sent a pulse to your core.

He made you squeal in surprise when he managed to wrap his arms around and underneath you and flipped the two of you so you were on your sides, legs tangled together and not an inch of space between you. Despite the lack of room, you still found yourself pushing into him even more. He encouraged this by gliding a hand to the small of your back and pressing you against him. He groaned into your mouth when your pelvis moved against his, rubbing against his hard on.

Instead of pursuing that like you assumed he would, he grabbed your thigh and hooked your leg over his waist so your clothed pussy pushed against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel the heat of you through two layers of clothing, both your sleep shorts and his own pants. Then his hand slipped over to your ass where he squeezed, causing a gasp to rattle out of you into his mouth, and rocked your hips against his thigh. You felt your clit grinding against him and whined at the feeling it made ripple through you.

"Mm, good girl." He whispered against your lips and rocked you against him again.

It felt good. Better than you expected it to. So you picked up the pace yourself, letting his hand guide you as you ground yourself against his thigh desperately. The sensation was slowly building, very slowly, but it was definitely there. You didn't have the brain capacity to think about the potential orgasm sneaking up on you though as Dieter kept kissing you, despite it becoming messier as you couldn't hold back the noises he was drawing out of you. It became a simple clash of lips and tongues, teeth clacking together every few seconds, as you sought out the feeling you craved.

But it became obvious after a little while longer that it was hopeless.

You pulled back from him frustrated and let out a sound of disappointment as you pressed your forehead into his chest. "It's no use- I can't-"

"Hey, hey, hey." He cut you off, placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him. "Don't give up now. It was close, I know it. We'll just rework and go with a different angle, okay?"

A part of you wanted to run away and forget this whole thing, hoping he wouldn't hold this against you in the future. You couldn't imagine the teasing material Dieter would come up with if he knew the fact that you couldn't come and had run away after failing to get off with him.

But the way he was looking at you, so warm and kind, had you rethinking that. This was so unlike him. So you just nodded at him.

He returned the nod, a smile on his face. "Okay. So, that felt good, didn't it?" He didn't need you to agree. The sounds you were making told him enough. "So we'll slow down and keep going from there."

You didn't exactly know what he meant by that but decided to just carry on following his lead anyway. Delighted when he kissed you again, you whimpered against his mouth as his hand returned to your ass and rocked your hips over his thigh again. But this time more gently. He kept doing that for a while, never letting the speed of it increase. And the sensation from before built steadily. You stayed calm and didn't let it overtake you, allowing Dieter to have control over the situation.

He let the sounds coming from your throat tell him when to move on to the next step. Slowly he rolled the two of you over so you were on your back again, breaking away from your mouth to start kissing down the length of your body.

You raised your head to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going down on you." He said casually, finger tracing along the buttons of your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded, watching as he unfastened each button unhurriedly and sat up to help him slide it from your shoulders. "You don't have to do that. I know a lot of guys don't like that."

His head snapped up to meet your eyes, looking as if you'd just shot him. "Who the fuck have you been sleeping with?" He asked with disgust, hands landing on your chest and immediately kneading the flesh of your tits.

Your mouth dropped open at the feeling, head dropping back onto the pillows. "Guys not worth my time apparently."

"You're right about that." Dieter mumbled, flicking his tongue over one of your nipples. "I happen to love eating pussy."

"Noted." You sighed, toes curling as he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

After spending a considerable amount of time worshipping your chest, including lots of babbling about how fucking soft you were, Dieter finally decided to carry on with his journey downwards. He tugged at the string of your sleep shorts, ribbon unravelling and leaving the waistband loose.

He glanced up at you with the silent question of asking permission to take the shorts off which you nodded at. He smirked and slid them down your legs with the aid of you arching yourself up to help him, pleased when he saw you weren’t wearing panties. The smirk grew into a smile that could only compared to that of the Cheshire Cat when he saw how wet you were.

"All this from just rubbing yourself against my thigh. Lucky me."

"Don't make fun of me." You grumbled, glaring at him.

He tutted, pushing your thighs apart to get a better look. "I'm not, sweetheart, I promise. I can't wait to taste you."

You had no time to reply as he rubbed a thumb across you, spreading your arousal across your slit and up to your clit where he circled a couple of times. Flattening himself onto his stomach so his face was level with your pussy, Dieter placed a tentative lick on your clit. When a broken cry escaped you, he took it as a sign to keep going. Licking a long stripe up, gathering your wetness on his tongue, Dieter let out a moan of his own. You tasted better than he anticipated. It was going to take a lot for him to not bury his face against you and suffocate himself.

Instead he chose to lick against your clit a couple more times, liking the way your back arched up off the bed at the feeling. Slowly, he sucked the bundle of nerves into his mouth and revelled at the strangled whimper that left you, a hand flying into his hair to pull him closer. Dieter groaned as you tugged on the brown strands. Focusing on your clit for a while, he chose to test something else. He slid a finger into you, feeling your thighs tense on either side of his head. And not in a good way. So he removed the finger and chose to continue just suckling on your clit instead.

You weren't quite there yet and that was okay. He was fine with using just his mouth and tongue for the moment. You started writhing under him anyway, which was a good sign in his mind, so he flattened a hand over your stomach to keep you still.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You gasped, pulling on his hair even harder. You were close, moving to the brink with every move Dieter made, and you both knew it.

Dieter just wondered what would get you there. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the hand that wasn't in his hair was grasping at the sheets beneath you. So he reached out to take it in his. And so with one of his hands on your stomach to keep you still and one of yours looped through his hair, the free hands that each of you had finding each other and linking, fingers lacing together, that was all it took to have you crashing over the edge.

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head as you practically screamed his name, hand pushing his face into you as your hips moved against him of their own accord. The orgasm pulsed through you, seeming almost never ending, as Dieter crawled back up the length of your body and placed kisses all over your face.

When you finally returned back down to Earth, you opened your eyes and blinked up at him. You couldn’t believe he’d managed it. "You are fucking good at this."

He shook his head and chuckled. "That was the easy part. What's next is the real test."

"Easy- next- what?" You were beyond confused. He'd made you come. His task was complete. What was he talking about?

"The majority of women get off easier with oral. Penetrative sex isn't as likely to make a woman come." He explained, sitting up and reaching off the side of the bed to open a drawer in his nightstand and retrieve a condom. "These are cherry flavoured, is that okay? Or do you have an allergy to flavoured lube? Shit, or a latex allergy?"

You swallowed thickly. "You're going to fuck me? Like actually fuck me?"

"Look at you managing to say fuck. Big turn around from fun time or whatever shit you said to me this afternoon." He shook his head as he chuckled. "But yes, sweetheart. I am going to fuck you. Unless you don't want me to. And in that case I'll have to politely ask you to excuse me so I can go jerk off in the bathroom. But I think it'll be nice. Another orgasm never hurts."

The two of you held eye contact for a moment as he waited for you to respond. The idea of another orgasm had you wanting more.

"No allergies to flavoured lube or latex here." You said, reaching out to grab at his t-shirt to pull him over you again.

"I'm so glad to hear that because this is all I've got." He breathed against your mouth before kissing you.

Your hands slid to the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up slowly and over his head when he broke away from you momentarily to take it off. Your hands immediately landed on his chest, nails raking down his torso onto his stomach and then your fingers hooked into his waistband. Dieter gave you the go ahead to tug the pants down with a low hum and kicked them off his feet without pulling away from your mouth for a second.

You didn't need to look to know that Dieter was big considering all of him was suddenly pressed up against you. You found it fascinating to know that the rumours of him being hung like a horse were, in fact, very true.

You broke away from the kiss when you felt the full length of him hot and heavy against your stomach. "Fuck me, you're huge."

Dieter looked down between your bodies. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. "Thanks."

You met his eyes again. "I somehow hate you even more now."

He just burst out into laughter. Now that was new.

"It's not fair that you're good at eating pussy and also have a horse cock. A guy should only have one of those assets. Having both is like having too much power." You groaned, reaching down to take him in your hand.

His laughter abruptly cut off at the feeling of your fingers wrapping around him, head dropping down to meet your shoulder. "Fuck, think it's time to be inside you now."

"That'd be good." You mumbled, watching him as he pushed up onto his knees and ripped the condom open, rolled it down onto his himself with ease and pumped his dick a couple times. The last part was unnecessary considering he was rock hard and not softening anytime soon without coming.

Dieter grabbed the tops of your thighs and used them as leverage to pull you towards him so the two of you aligned. Taking his length in his fist, he slapped the tip against your clit a few times before sliding it up and down your slit, combining the cherry lube with the wetness left behind by your previous orgasm. Notching himself at your entrance, he made eye contact with you for one last bit of confirmation. When he found it, he pushed into you.

He slid in easier than expected, the two of you sighing deeply at the feeling as he leaned over you again. He pulled out slowly after a moment, the clench of your walls making him shudder, and then thrust back in again.

"Does that feel good?" He asked you, needing to check in.

Your legs wrapped around him, forcing him in even deeper somehow. "Fuck yes."

"I'm glad. Because this is heavenly for me." He told you, taking your pleasured expression as an invitation to set up a steady pace. Nothing too fast otherwise he'd be finishing this earlier than he wanted to, but enough to make the both of you feel good.

But you were impatient. "Dieter, faster."

"Sweetheart, if I go any faster then I'm going to blow my load prematurely and I really don't want that. And I’m sure you don’t either."

"I thought you were a veteran at this. Should be able to last longer than two minutes." You quipped back.

He huffed out a laugh. "I was close to jizzing in my pants when we were making out so trust me when I say this is overwhelmingly good for me right now. Besides, gotta make you orgasm again first."

With that statement, he slid a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight circles onto your clit, completely out of pace with the way he was moving in and out of you. The discrepancy between the two sensations had your brain going haywire and you clutched at his face to get him to kiss you again. He groaned into your mouth when you clenched around him again, finally moving a little faster.

As much as Dieter wanted to go slow with you, he could feel how much you craved more. So he picked up the pace and went a little harder, pausing momentarily when the headboard hit the wall and you let out a delighted noise at the sound.

"Oh, you like that?" He asked, mouth dropping open when you nodded rapidly. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Dieter. Oh, my god, yes." You gasped, nails clawing at his shoulders with the need to hold onto something.

"Dirty fucking girl, liking the headboard slamming against the wall." He realised something. "You could hear it when I was in here with other people, couldn't you?"

You could do nothing but confess. "Yes, oh my- fuck!" You were cut off by your own expletive as he rammed back into you, hitting a spot that no one else had even come close to reaching before.

"Wanted to get it as good, huh?" He asked, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as the pace of his thumb increased on your clit. "Promised I'd make it good for you, didn't I?"

You nodded, words escaping you as tears streamed from your eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart. I can feel it. You're going to come for me again, aren't you?" He watched as you attempted to answer him, only managing a few babbled words of agreement. "What do you need? What's going to make you come all over my cock?"

You still couldn't form a coherent sentence as his harsh thrusts had you moving up and down the bed, your tits bouncing in rhythm. So you placed a hand on either of his cheeks and pulled him into a messy kiss, your tongue curling against his. That was what it took to make you orgasm again, a wail leaving your throat and tumbling into Dieter's mouth as your thighs trembled and your walls fluttered around him. The feeling of that sent him over the edge too, a couple more pumps before he was spilling himself into the condom.

Neither of you broke away from the kiss for a moment as you calmed down, sweat pooling between you as he slowly pulled out and the kisses turned sweeter and more innocent. Dieter eventually climbed off of the bed and threw the condom in the trash before crawling back to you.

"What are you doing?" You asked as he settled over you again.

"More making out for a minute." He replied simply, placing his lips over yours.

It lasted longer than a minute, that was for sure. But neither of you were complaining. By the time he decided to pull away again, your legs had stopped shaking with the aftershocks of the orgasm and your breathing had slowed to a normal rate.

Dieter looked down at you pleased with what he'd managed to achieve as a question crossed his mind. "I'm curious... when was the last time you orgasmed?"

You shrugged as the two of you sat up in the bed. "I can't remember."

"Okay, when was the last time you made yourself come? Give me an estimate." He waved his hand around in the air.

You thought about it. "A few months maybe."

He frowned, that was too long in his opinion. "And when was the last time a guy made you come?"

You hesitated before shaking your head.

The frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

You took a deep breath before answering. "Never."

His eyes darkened, lids becoming hooded. "Never?"

"No."

"I'm the first?" He didn't seem to believe you.

But you were insistent. "Yeah."

"Okay, lie back down." He said, poking at your chest to get you to rest against the pillows.

You let out a confused laugh. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm getting another fucking orgasm out of you."

You shook your head, attempting to stay sitting up. "You don't need to. You've done enough."

"Two. You've been given two orgasms by men. Both of which are from me. I need at least a third before I let you leave this room." He stretched his arms out and started moving down the bed. "Besides, you taste good and I already want to go down on you again."

"Dieter, you don't have to do that for me- oh."

He looked smug as he brushed your clit with his thumb, effectively cutting you off.

"Okay, maybe one more won't hurt." You relented, collapsing onto the pillows.

"Excellent." He chirped in response, literally diving in head first into your cunt again with a long lick up your slit. He groaned lowly, looking up at you as he pulled away. "We're gonna have to do this again sometime."

You froze. "What? Why?"

"Because I said I wanted to taste you again but all I'm getting right now is the cherry lube from the condom." He sounded disappointed.

"Sounds delicious, actually." You hummed, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you could see him better.

"Not as delicious as you, fuck." Despite the obvious discontentment, Dieter still went back to licking at you like there was no tomorrow. And it didn't take long for another orgasm to hit you, his skilled tongue combined with the leftover influence of the previous two.

When he made his way up the bed and landed next to you with his eyes closed, you took it as your cue to leave. So you slid out of the bed and started searching for your pyjamas.

"Where are you going?"

You stilled and stiffly turned to look at Dieter. Wasn't it obvious? "Back to my room."

His brow wrinkled "You don't have to go."

You straightened up, suddenly very aware of your nakedness. "I'm not spending the night."

He rolled his eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that, I figured as much. I do, however, strongly believe in this little thing called aftercare.”

"Oh." You hadn't considered that.

"Interested?"

Yes. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes again, smile still firmly planted on his face, and opened his arms for you. "Get back over here."

You did as he said, easily finding yourself in his embrace as he stroked patterns up and down your back. Some time later he went to get a washcloth from the bathroom to clean away the mess that the cherry lube had made between your thighs, before slipping back into bed next to you.

Despite both of you insisting that you'd go back to your room any minute, you didn't move out of his arms. And eventually the two of you fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: I chose to write this rather than one of my final essays of the uni year… you’re welcome.

[drabbles-mc]

At Least

Greg House x James Wilson

Written for the 2024 Hurt/Comfort Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, drug use

Words: 2.4k

A/N: wrote this for an exchange and i finally get to post it here! if there are any house md fanfic readers on tumblr, i hope you enjoy! 🫡

“So no one has heard from House?” Wilson asked as he stood in the doorway of the lab.

Everyone was shaking their heads, giving their version of, “No,” as an answer. None of them were looking at him at first, though, too wrapped up in the tests that they were doing. It wasn’t until Foreman realized that Wilson was still lingering in the doorway that he looked away from what he was actually doing. He still didn’t say anything, instead just giving Wilson a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

Wilson took the cue. “And that wasn’t concerning to…anyone?”

Foreman laughed, one that was more cruel than it was humorous. “Why would it be concerning? When is House not avoiding doing work at all costs? Why do you think we’re all here and he’s not?”

Wilson was trying not to take the bait, trying to keep his voice even. “But you haven’t heard anything? Not even a phone call just to distract you?”

“Nothing,” Foreman confirmed with a shake of his head.

Wilson sighed. “Right.”

He wanted to have more to say, but he came up empty. Instead, he finally turned and headed back out the door to leave the rest of them to their work. Work that House had assigned to them and not bothered to follow up on. That was as strange as any of it. Even if he didn’t really care how the patient was doing, even if he knew in the back of his head that his team wouldn’t have an answer yet, he’d still follow-up. Most times he did it just to chastise them, but it was still a follow-up. The silence was making Wilson uneasy.

The rest of House’s team was going to be trapped in the lab for the foreseeable future, no matter how late it was. Wilson wasn’t resigned to the same fate, though. He promptly headed back to his office to grab his jacket and the rest of his things, and then started for the parking lot to leave. There was a split second when he got into his car when he lied to himself, told himself that he was going home. But once he got to the first stoplight, he knew that he had to give up the act. Throwing his directional on, he turned and started to make his way towards House’s place.

He saw the motorcycle parked out front and that gave him a tiny shred of comfort. At least he was probably home. Once he found a spot to park his car, Wilson quickly made his way towards House’s front door. He was digging his keys out as he walked, but he still stopped at the door and knocked out of courtesy. Something House wouldn’t know anything about.

After a second round of knocking Wilson used his key. He announced himself as he pushed the door open. “Let the record show that I did try knocking.”

He walked deeper inside, looking at the living room as he did. Nothing really seemed out of place. There were a couple takeout boxes on the table, but that was about as normal as it got with him. The television was on, the volume low but still audible. The frown on Wilson’s face grew deeper as he continued to wind his way from one room to the next. When he didn’t see House in the kitchen he knew that there was only one place that he would likely be, and Wilson was afraid of what he might be walking into.

The bathroom door was ajar, and he could see the light creeping out through the gap. He found himself taking deep breaths as he got closer. He was trying to steady himself, prepare himself for whatever might be on the other side of the door. He reached forward, resting his fingertips against the door, ready to push it open. Instead, he pulled his hand back, closing it into a fist, raising it getting ready to knock.

“Don’t you dare knock on that door,” House called out from the other side, voice raspy with pain and exhaustion.

The breath that Wilson let out turned into something that almost resembled a laugh. Nothing about the situation was funny, per se, but there was humor to be found in the relief. The lack of House’s incessant childlike behavior and sarcasm were what alerted Wilson’s concern in the first place. To hear it, even if he was on the receiving end of it, was a relief. Nothing could ever be simple with House.

Wilson pushed the door open to find House sitting on the floor. He was contorted in a way that didn’t look like it could be comfortable at all.  But then again, House lived in discomfort, so he wondered if the bizarre position on the floor really made anything that much worse.

There was a sheen of sweat across House’s forehead, the collar of his t-shirt slightly darker than the rest of the fabric from the sweat on his neck. He was leaning back against the side of the tub, one arm braced against the toilet bowl’s edge.

“So you at least heard me knocking at the front door, then,” Wilson said as he stepped into the bathroom.

“Yeah,” House winced as he tried to shift positions, “and I didn’t answer. Most people would take that as a hint to go away.”

“Most people,” Wilson walked and crouched down in front of him, “wouldn’t be wondering if you were dead or just on a bender in here.”

House lifted his hands lamely in lieu of not wanting to expend the energy to hold his arms out. “Not dead.”

“I see that.” Wilson looped his arm underneath House’s, getting himself ready to bring House back up to his feet. “Doesn’t even look like a fun bender, either.”

House managed a chuckle as Wilson practically dragged him up to his feet. He tried to use his good leg to assist, but the drugs had him strung out in a way that even when he was trying to help it wasn’t doing either of them much good.

“It was fun at first,” House said when the two of them were finally, somewhat safely, upright. “I don’t know how we ended up here.”

“Imagine that,” Wilson said, sarcasm coating each word, “having a hard time remembering things while you’re on drugs.”

“I’m on drugs all the time and my memory is fantastic.”

Wilson knew better than to give House the debate that he was looking for but he still did. That was always the crux of their relationship—Wilson knowing better but giving in to House anyway. “You’re not on these drugs all the time.”

“You don’t even know—”

“Oh come on,” Wilson said, exasperated as they crossed the threshold into House’s bedroom. “Don’t give me that. Like I don’t know.”

“That why you came over. You just knew?”

Wilson plopped House down on the edge of his bed rather unceremoniously. Wilson wanted to be childish, to turn this back on House. He wanted to flip the script, tell House that now he was the one who knew exactly why things were happening, why they were in the situation that they were. It was worry, of course. There was always going to be worry. But there was something else too. That was the part that House knew but never talked about.

“Your team said it had been a suspiciously long time since you last harassed them,” Wilson said instead. “Figured I should stop by. Not often you give up the opportunity to be a giant pain in their ass.”

House chuckled because he knew that Wilson was right. The two of them sat on the edge of House’s bed for a moment, close enough for the outsides of their legs to be pressed against each other. Wilson had his hands clasped in his lap, head hung low as he studied the way his fingers were interlocked. It wasn’t anything interesting but it kept him from staring intensely at the man sitting on the bed beside him.

He wasn’t looking at Wilson either, not at first. His gaze was completely focused on the floor beneath their feet. He felt him starting to lean too far forward, and while he knew that Wilson would catch him if he went too far, he managed to catch himself first. His hands landed just above his knees, fingers gripping and arms locking out just in time. It kept him from falling, and the feeling of his fingers slipping between the outside of his thigh and the outside of Wilson’s got Wilson to turn and look at him.

Wilson almost pulled away out of reflex but then he remembered where they were. What would the point of it have been? He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between House’s face and his hand. “Did it help, at least?”

House scoffed, giving a small shake of his head. “Yeah, I’m cured. That’s why you had to pick me up off the bathroom floor and drag me across my apartment.”

Wilson rolled his eyes before letting his gaze drop back down to his hands in his lap again. “No, I had to pick you up off the bathroom floor because you’re strung out on drugs. I meant did it at least help with the pain? At all?”

“Why? If I say yes are you going to give me a pass to do—”

“I’m asking because, surprisingly, for some reason unknown to me or anyone on the face of this planet, I care about what happens to you. I care even if you don’t.”

House’s expression sobered up for a moment even if the rest of him didn’t. Sighing, he said, “It’s already coming back.” He saw the wounded puppy-dog look in Wilson’s eyes and he knew that he was in no place for whatever platitudes he was about to get hit with. Stopping them before they started, he switched up his tone and said, “The high was fun for a while, though.”

It worked. Wilson’s shoulders dropped and so did the topic. Placing his hands on the edge of the mattress, Wilson stood up off the bed and started walking towards the bedroom door without another word.

House wouldn’t really be able to blame him for leaving. He wasn’t giving Wilson any reason to think that he wanted him to stay. Still, despite all of that, he called after him, “Just going to go, then?”

Wilson shook his head but didn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t make it that easy for you.”

House watched until he’d disappeared out of sight. With a deep sigh and more effort than it maybe should’ve taken, he shimmied himself farther back onto the bed. He didn’t put the effort in to get under the covers, but just being able to sink back down against the pillows was a relief. His leg being welcomed by the soft mattress instead of the hard tile floor of his bathroom was another bonus, too.

When Wilson walked back into the bedroom, he had a glass of water in one hand while he was loosening his tie with the other. He handed the glass of water to House, pulling his tie off over his head once he had both hands free. He tossed it off to the side before undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Water with no pills to wash down?” House goaded.

Wilson raised his eyebrows as he undid the buckle of his belt. “I don’t think you need to be taking anything else at this point. No more washing down. Just worry about,” he gestured vaguely, “washing out.”

House had to chuckle quietly at that. He took a sip from the glass in his hands as he watched Wilson set his belt out of the way too once he’d removed it. He sat down on House’s side of the bed before leaning down to untie his shoes—small comforts but nothing large like having clothes there to change into or borrowing anything of House’s. Once they were off he sighed and got up to walk around to the other side of the bed. It was his side but neither of them ever really called it that. He sank down on the mattress and mirrored House’s position—not under the covers but still slouched back against the headboard.

After taking another sip of water from the glass that Wilson had given him, House set it on the nightstand beside his bed. Sinking down a little farther on the bed, he looked over at Wilson and waited for him to do the same.

Wilson didn’t hesitate long enough for it to really prove whatever point he wanted it to. Sinking down he let himself face House. The light was on but neither of them seemed bothered enough by it to get up to turn it off.

House resituated himself, looking up at the ceiling instead of over at Wilson. He could still feel the way that the other man was looking at him though. Letting his eyes close, he asked, “Just going to lay there and stare at me all night?”

Wilson’s lips twitched into a tired smile for a moment. “That is the level of attention you usually want from me.”

House smiled too. “Doesn’t mean you need to be so obvious about it.”

He could’ve gone home. Or he could’ve slept on the couch instead. House was at least going to make it through the night without any further issues as long as he didn’t get out of bed and get into something else. And, judging by how much Wilson had to help him get to the room, he had the inclination that House wasn’t going to be getting up and going much of anywhere until late the following morning. The aftermath of this wasn’t going to be worth whatever momentary relief he got from it—it never did. But it never stopped him, and it never stopped Wilson from showing up.

Instead of coming up with another line of banter, Wilson reached over with one arm, draping it across House’s pillow above his hand. His fingers just barely brushed through the other man’s hair, but Wilson could tell that he felt it. By morning his slacks would be wrinkled and his other arm would be wrapped around House’s middle keeping them wrapped tightly together. But for now, Wilson just waited, and watched, and pretended that he wasn’t fighting off the same sleep that House slipped into so easily now that he was there.

[generichoneydew]

will you ever return to ant mountain

I wasn't originally going to make a post about this, but I've actually been getting this question a lot so I figured I would make something for people to be pointed to if someone asks again ദ്ദി(˵•̀ ᗜ •  )

Short answer: No, I can't see myself ever returning to the ant stuff in any form ^^;

(Longer explanations under cut)

Sort answer with nuance: No, I will likely never return to the ant communities. Of course, I may make another video about ant/bug stuff out of genuine interest--I can't predict the future of my ADHD--but at the moment I can't foresee that happening. I might? rejoin sometime in the far future to ask questions about sticker designs if I ever decide to make those? But I can't see that happening any time soon, and I wouldn't be participating in any in character stuff.

Long answer/explanation: I don't know how obvious this is by my lack of a social media presence and infrequent uploads/posts, but I'm very shy when it comes to posting online (´∀` ;)ゞ... Group settings like discord servers, busy group chats, or tumblr communities are really stressful and time consuming for me to keep up and interact with, so I often avoid them as to not wear myself down. I'm someone who really needs a lot space and alone time from pretty much everything and everyone to keep functioning and being happy. Unfortunately, that kind of personality lends itself very poorly to social media, and especially those individual group settings. So, in general, I like to keep my distance from big online spaces (   ´_ゝ` )...

The ant farm was the only exception to that since maybe 2022? I thought the concept was so cosmically funny and it tickled my ADHD in just the right way where I really wanted to make a video sharing it since I didn't know if anyone else would. I started scripting in December and was first going to stop at the antlection, but then just kept pushing off the ending to later and later when new events happened because I was still really passionate abut the project. The ant mountain was gaining more notoriety at the same time I was making the video, and I never had any intentions of joining for the same aforementioned social stress reasons. The ant farm was confirmed to be discontinued by the time it was announced to be the official evacuation community, and I decided to go down with the original farm since I felt I had run my personal course with the community.

The only reason I did join ant mountain initially was because I was asked to post the video and the updates there too. The plan was always to leave once the video was done since, for a lack of a better way to say this, I didn't really want to be there in the first place ^^;. You're probably sick of hearing me say it, but I'm a pretty busy guy when it comes to my personal life, and I really don't have the mental bandwidth to be keeping up with something like tumblr communities past my initial interest/focus.

If you're interested in me coming back because you want a part 2 video about ant mountain lore, I'm so sorry, but not the guy for that (   ; •ω•,,). Again, it's very overwhelming for me, and the reason why I was even able to make the initial video was because ant farm was a fifth of the size ant mountain is currently, and was significantly less active. It was MUCH easier for me to go through everything and document all the events because it was so, SO much smaller. However, if anyone does want to take on the monumental task of making an ant mountain video, please, be my guest! You have my full support and I would be happy to assist, especially if you want someone to proof read your script!

Sorry if this post came off as mean or disrespectful, I have no bad feelings for ant mountain and still respect everyone who continues to work on/in it! Just given how I am it's not really feasible for me to continue interacting with the community. Don't worry, I think in my original time in the ant farm I only ever made one or two in character posts, so you're not really missing out on much LMAO.

Sorry for the disappointment  (´∀` ;)ゞ

[altschmerzes]

omg im absolutely obsessed with the way river is so unsure if lamb is serious or not in the last drive the wedge ask. would you be willing to share another snippet with lamb or maybe frank?

THANK YOU it's one of the things that makes me the most bonkers about this lmao is the like. the association that happens in river's mind post-rescue with frank and lamb and how it casts so much... doubt on lamb sometimes, even beyond lamb already being a cantankerous asshole. it's like he thinks in that clip - lamb has never been violent to him before but things just feel so much less certain now. how can be trust that he won't be? it's so fun to me.

as thanks for asking and also an apology for taking a couple days to answer, have TWO clips, one with lamb and one with frank :)

this is um. well. snippet. clip. this is a.......... rather long piece from river's time in captivity sldfjs and then down under that ive got a clip from after his return, from the same conversation the last clip with lamb is from. this is. well it's frank, so content warning for. frank. and generally just. violence/trauma.

drive the wedge, frank:

Frank is looking at him. His eyes are hard and cold and they don’t waver for a moment. They bore into River’s with enough intensity that it nearly makes River flinch backwards just to see them. He just barely manages to stifle the instinct — it’s a close enough call that his hand, the one gripping the arm of the chair, flexes and the chain of the cuff around his wrist rattles.

“I asked if you were allergic to anything,” Frank says, slow and clipped. “If I’m going to be feeding you for the foreseeable future, then I need to know if I’m going to kill you with what I’m putting in front of you, River. Are you. Allergic. To anything?”

There’s a dangerous tone to the question and River knows that he isn’t going to be allowed to get away with not answering it. Still, the words stick in his constricted throat and his mind practically makes an audible sound as it whirs, trying to figure out how to parse what Frank said. I need to know if I’m going to kill you with what I’m putting in front of you. That wasn’t I need to make sure I won’t kill you. Everything about River’s life, including its very continued existence, has grown very precarious these days, and it makes the need to consider whether that was meant as a threat a very pressing one.

Maybe it was a threat, maybe it wasn’t. Does he tell the truth? The debate wars on in his head, seconds ticking away at a glacial pace, all the while River is acutely aware of the strict, violent man staring at him and waiting for an answer. His body aches in steady pulses, injuries layered over one another reminding him of the consequences if he crosses wherever Frank has drawn the arbitrary line of disobedience and disrespect today.

Instinct tells him that Frank is about to speak again before the words actually leave his mouth — maybe it’s something about the pattern of his breathing or how his face shifts, but River knows that it’s coming just in time to force out an answer before he’s asked a third time and made to pay for it.

“Yes,” he says, too loud. A wince makes the bruises creeping up his jaw and splashed across his cheekbone, blacking one of his eyes, throb. It was a mistake, the way he said it. River knows that it sounded afraid, and it is always a mistake to let these fucking people see his fear.

“Yes what?”

The second question is even worse than the first had been. River hadn’t wanted to tell them whether or not he was allergic to anything, and he wants even less to give the answer that he knows is expected to this one. It’s not even so much a question as it is a demand, a reminder that he knows what he is expected to do and that it is in his best interests to comply.

River doesn’t want to fucking comply. He stares down at the surface of the table, at the partially-cleared plate he doesn’t think he can bring himself to touch again, and remains silent. His teeth grind together and his bruised jaw aches.

Out of the corner of his eye, River catches the movement a second before fingers seize hold of his hair. Pain lights up in his scalp, sharp and loud, and he barely bites back a yelp as Frank wrenches his head over, forcing eye contact. River’s eyes water and his face hurts and he just— He can’t do this. He just can’t. More than anything, more than keeping his dignity intact, more than preserving his pride, more than standing up to this monster, River just does not want to be fucking hit again. It’s happened so many times and his entire body is begging for relief, crying out for just a little bit more time without another bruise beat into his skin.

“Father,” River yelps, quick and obedient, when the grip on his hair flexes and Frank's other hand begins to lift. He’s exhausted and he hates himself more than he could possibly describe but he does what he is expected to do, repeats, “Yes, father.”

Calmly, almost casually, Frank’s fingers release their iron grip on his hair. His hand doesn’t retreat right away, though. Instead it lingers, coming down to settle lightly, gently on River’s bruised cheek and then give it a tiny pat. It doesn’t hurt at all and River flinches.

“That’s my boy,” Frank says, satisfaction so thick in his voice that River wishes he would choke on it. His hand leaves then, finally pulling away and returning to pick up a fork as if nothing has changed. As if he’s still just discussing errands at a Wednesday night dinner with his sons.

---

and now lamb:

“I said sit,” Lamb repeats, once he’s settled. His voice is firm and commanding but not angry, and River— River almost flinches.

The factors ping around the inside of River’s head, the hamster running frantically on some shitty squeaky wheel in there trying to do the desperate math and figure out what’s going to happen. He feels like he knows, but he can’t… There’s something keeping that hamster on that fucking wheel, counting things up and trying to piece them together.

Voice not angry. Expression not glaring, still just that terrible oh, I see look. Lamb is sitting down and River is still standing and there’s a desk between them and there’s no extension cord or belt in sight. And still — What do you suggest? All morning, all day, River has been a fucking terror. Something else, too, something that superimposes Frank over Lamb sometimes when River can’t quite pry them apart.

There’s an audible sigh and River just barely manages for a second time to suppress a flinch. “Look, alright, what you’re feeling right now? It is not about what’s happening here,” Lamb says, and his voice keeps that steady tone that brooks no argument but also seems to levy no threat. “Some part of you has gone back there. I need you to hear and understand that I am not Frank Harkness, and so you and me are going to sit down and you’re going to come back to here before we talk any more about your assignment today.”

[moonspirit]

i can't stop thinking about the way Annie compliments Armin. But it's more gentle than usual. And her face actually shows emotion (even for people other than armin)! And her eyebrows are slightly arched upwards and her lips are pursed and her eyes are wide and she's hugging him so tenderly, on her tiptoes.

Because she's had a bad day, but Armin is there for her. Because he's always been there for her. Because he helped her so often, and she never once told him directly how much she loves him. And all of these feelings are too much for her??

So they're standing on the threshold of their house and she's smearing the clean floor with her dirty boots. Her arms are wrapped around his neck and she's holding Armin tightly, while her eyes are watering.

…yeah, that’s what I thinking about

This ask is AGES old, I'm so sorry anon! T_T But thank you so much for this, it's so freaking cute omg T//////T

With all my heart - Y E S. In all the time I spend thinking about post-canon stuff, it never fails to cross my mind how Aruani are both going to have very different struggles in living. A mutual struggle, sure, they even comfort each other, but the heart of the struggle is not the same for both.

But let's talk about Annie here. Life after the Rumbling is brand new. Her existence itself has changed - (at risk of sounding like a broken record, lol, but I'll repeat it again) she's no longer what she used to be, atleast physically, and to a very large degree, emotionally. When a girl has spent much of her life counting down to her expiry date and what it has meant to be alive until that point, it's not an easy reconciliation to be had when death is turned on its head and life stretches out instead. Far, far, long ahead. It means that now, there are possibilities. So very many possibilities she would never have allowed herself before. Coupled with a sizable identity crisis, this makes for quite the fear and anxiety over coming to terms with her new life. Because who is Annie? What does she have to be now? Who does she have to be? Can she just be Annie? Can she be more than just Annie? Can she open up, ask for more, demand things, have expectations, have hope, dream for bigger things?

At such a junction, the only constant in her life that has always, always been kind, is Armin. Her feelings for him come from a place she's always found very hard to describe and it might well continue to be that way for the foreseeable future - so she expresses it in kind more than in any words. It is that Armin can see through every tough wall she's put up, and he never expects her to be a certain way. Over time, I can see these walls crumbling away for good, so much so that Annie even becomes "less-cold", shall we say, in front of other people, willingly.

There is a very deep sense of longing and love that Annie feels for Armin, and no matter how she tries not to let it show too much, it inevitably does. In her eyes, in her face, in her fingers when they curl against his shirt. She likes to bury her face in his neck and just forget about everything. Sometimes he's right there but she can't bear to let him go because - what does life mean now? What is she supposed to do? Who is Annie Leonhart supposed to be?

The thing is, maybe the answer is a thousand confusing things, but with Armin, she can just be. And slowly, as she lets herself be loved and cared for, so freely, so indulgently, maybe, she learns, it doesn't really matter: maybe, Annie can be anything at all.

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 8)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…


Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: 18+, banter, cursing, blood, angsty ending, MDNI (there will be smut in the foreseeable future)

Word count: 1.8K



A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, but at least it’s two chapters this time. As always it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/rebblogs are much appreciated…Thank you and enjoy❤️✨



!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!


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(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 7)

CHAPTER 8

Jaskier’s first guess was, ”A bobcat?”

 

That was followed by more and more ridiculous guesses. Ranking from butterfly to wild boar and everything in between. It made you giggle uncontrollably and even Geralt had to hold back his laughter at the more outrageous guesses.

 

 

Though only when Geralt made Roach stop for the night, did you notice how late it had gotten. Once you three had settled, sitting in front of the warming fire, the witcher broke the comfortable silence, apparently still curious, “So you never actually answered. What animal can you turn into?”

 

 

Jaskier looked just as intrigued, then you finally replied, “A wolf.”

 

 

“No fucking way?! You’re pulling my leg, right?” The bard’s reaction had you laughing instantly.

 

 

The witcher had tried detecting the lie on your face, but there was none, you were telling the truth. And as much as he hated talk about destiny, even he couldn’t deny that coincidentally meeting a beautiful nymph, as feisty and at the same time as lovely as you had already been unlikely.

But adding in, that you could also turn into a wolf, when he was often literally called ‘wolf’ or even ‘white wolf’, was quite a serendipity.

In his opinion meeting you was meant to be. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, especially not in front of Jaskier, but he knew he would not let the chance to be with you slip.

 

Your laugh made his heart sore, comfortable warmth spreading through his chest as he easily joined your giggling with his own deep chuckling.

 

 

“Jaskier you have to stop… seriously…at this rate my stomach is going to ache tomorrow because of all the laughing.” You still had trouble catching your breath, as you grinned at his beaming face.

 

 

“Well sorry, my dear, but now you have to prove your claim.”

 

 

Geralt was surprised by your unexpected sheepish demeanour, but understood a moment later, why you were now staring at the ground as if it were the most interesting thing all of a sudden.

 

 

More quietly then you had meant to, you awkwardly replied, “Um…I can’t.”

 

 

“What does that mean?”

 

One deathly glare from Geralt, made Jaskier hastily add, “I um… I’m just curious, but you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

 

 

You met his blue eyes again and smiled thankfully,” Honestly it’s not a sad story or anything…it’s just…embarrassing.”

 

 

Sitting across from you, Jaskier leaned in a little closer, as if he was about to divulge a dark secret, he whispered, “Honestly those make for the best stories. So do tell, my dear.” Wiggling his eyebrows for good measure at the end.

 

 

You sighed, though amused, “If you insist. But no making fun of me, understood?”

 

 

Geralt saw his chance and took it, “I won’t bite, promise…well…unless, you want me to.”

 

 

Gaping at him, sitting next to you with the smuggest smirk, you’ve yet to witness, you punched his biceps, though more in jest than anything. He dared to simply grin even wider.

 

 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you briefly glared at Geralt to shut him up, before you continued, “It’s a little embarrassing. I sort of never properly learned to control the transfiguration. When I was little, I successfully turned into a wolf. Which was back then, rather early to be able to do that. Though the problem was, I had accidentally transformed and didn’t have the foggiest idea how to turn back.”

 

 

Both the witcher and the bard attentively listened to your every word, nodding here and there, when you explained how the process of turning was quite complicated and not to be taken lightly, “Because you can get hurt during the transformation or get stuck forever in the animal form, if you aren’t careful. And it so happened that I couldn’t turn back for two weeks, I might add the longest two weeks of my life.”

 

“And then what happened?”

 

“Well… I finally turned back, though not into my original form…”

 

 

Geralt’s eyebrows were pulled together, confused, he asked, “Your original form? What does that mean?”

 

 

“Um…while I was technically me, but I had an added bonus of sorts…I had a tail and wolf ears for another, entirely too long week.” You quickly covered your face with your hands, the desire to disappear growing, as both your companion’s roaring laughter echoed through the forest.

 

 

“Haha…I-,” the bard tried to say something but burst out laughing again, when the witcher added, “Might have to call… hahah…call you… pup from now on then?”

 

 

“Or how about puppy,” Jaskier cackled.

 

 

“Don’t you dare!” Your exclamation, at the potential and horrifying new nickname, only intensified their laughter more.

 

 

When they hadn’t calmed down even after minutes of uncontrollable guffawing, you had enough and stood up. Needing to get away a bit, you grumbled something about going for a walk, and left the two to their own devices.

 

 

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As you marched further into the forest, their sounds seemed to be finally swallowed by the threes surrounding you. Huffing you sat down on a nearby tree trunk. 

Shaking your head, of course they’d laugh at you, the two dunderheads. You weren’t really insulted that much, but you hadn’t been too keen either when you had been stuck as a wolf. Truthfully, back then you had been terrified. So much so, that you hadn’t tried to turn again ever since. You weren’t even sure if you still could.

 

 

Though they were right, you had looked downright adorable and frankly still like a wolf pup with only the ears and tail. Which made you smile at their ridiculousness, because in your opinion, the story really wasn’t that hilarious.

 

 

You tilted your head up, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars, when a loud growl not too far away, made you freeze. Immediately your eyes frantically searched for its source, without so much as blinking. The loud crack, of a branch snapping, under what much be a considerable weight, finally let you see what had growled.

 

 

Horrified at the sheer size of the creature in front of you, made your heart gallop right out of your chest. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to move, to run, to get out of there as quickly as you could. But you were completely overwhelmed by fright, not being able to lift a finger as the giant monster growled again.

 

 

Only when it started moving, did you finally realize that it wasn’t headed in your direction. It seemed that it hadn’t even noticed you, as it’s back slowly retreated into the darkness. Then it was gone.

 

 

After another ten seconds, you finally released a very shallow breath, muscles still stiff but once more under your control.

When you inhaled, complete, utter panic overtook your system. It felt like your heart was beating outside your chest again at the sudden realisation, that the monster may not have noticed you, but was headed into the direction you had come from. Into the direction of Geralt and Jaskier to be precise.

 

 

Your limbs set out to move before your mind even gave them the command to do so. Running faster than you ever had before, you raced after the monster without a second thought for your own safety. You had to get to them first, you had to warn them.

 

 

While you pushed yourself to the prink of exertion, running faster and faster, your body felt like it had been doused in ice; cold and utterly panic-stricken.

 

Then you spotted the beast’s black, furry back, too far to reach and too close to the warm glimmering fire ahead. You wouldn’t get there in time, so without thinking, you roared as loud as you could, “WEREWOLF!!! GERALT!!!WEREWOLF HEADED FOR YOU!!!!”

 

 

The monstrosity of a wolf didn’t even bother turning around, ignoring you completely. It seemed to purposefully start running even faster as if to mock your own normally, considerable speed.

 

 

Your pulse was drumming so loudly in your ears, at first you didn’t even hear the commotion as the werewolf had apparently now reached your little ‘camp’.

 

 

Trying to speed up more, when you made out its deafening howl, which echoed hauntingly through the otherwise silent forest. You were finally close enough, only to find Geralt lying on the floor, sword out of reach. A nasty gash across his torso, blood spilling out of the wound, while Jaskier tried his best to distract the monster.

 

 

Its yellow eyes were fixed on the improvised torch the bard was waving in front of its bloodied maw.

Geralt was so badly wounded, near unconscious, he couldn’t do much, not even think about saving the brave bard, who wouldn’t stand a chance against the werewolf.

 

 

In a fraction of a second, you had jumped, aiming to lung at the deadly creature, easily three times your size. Readying yourself for the painful impact, you were surprised when instead of a scream, a loud snarl ripped from your own maw.

 

Jaskier’s scream of, “NOOO!”, was nearly drowned by the angry, retaliating snarl from the werewolf.

 

 

Unknowingly, you had transformed while you had tried to attack the giant wolf-man. Catching both of you off guard, though it recovered quickly. Now focused on you.

 

 

Even in your wolf form, you were comparably tiny to the monster in front of you. It tried to lung at you, though with your smaller body you were more agile and dodged its every attempt to sink its teeth into you. Unfortunately this made the werewolf even more furious, as its patience had run out, now turning to the ‘easier prey’ lying on the floor.

 

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Even though your scream had reached Geralt just in time, before the attack, he hadn’t been able to strike the beast sufficiently. Resulting in a very excruciating and deep gash across his chest, while his sword lay somewhere out of reach. Even half unconscious and breathing shallowly, he still had seen you transform into a wolf and then quickly dodging its attacks.

 

Now that the werewolf’s attention was back on him, he tried to move. But the only thing that happened, was pain shooting across his torso and dark spots starting to dance before his eyes.

Fuck. So this was how he was going to die, mauled by a giant, fucking wolf?! Great…

 

 

The last thing he heard, before everything went black, was a loud, distressed yowl.

 CHAPTER 9

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Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

[blacktofade]

ok i combed through your blog for long enough that i think this is a safe space to do a little discussion of ccs personal lives. if not, you don't have to answer this. but: i know we are all very happy for skizz to be able to go full time with youtube and twitch but i am 99% sure i know what company he worked for — i don't think it's ever been too hard to find the info so maybe most people do? but i've never seen anyone say it directly. if it wasn't common knowledge before, this is going to make it extremely easy to find out — anyway, that company is going through fucking massive layoffs and cutbacks right now, which was announced in private to employees the same day that skizz made his announcement. i don't know how well it lined up other than the day, but the major shit he would have been in either pushed him to jump into professional youtubing and streaming even though it isn't as secure for him as people on the outside might think, or at the very least made the decision feel much better in retrospect.

the graph of the company's stock crash is painful even if you are entirely disconnected from the industry, it is historically awful. like the situation for the company as a whole is not, at this point, bankruptcy bad, but it's not-entirely-unwarranted-comparisons-to-late-90s-early-00s-era-nortel bad. which is… Very Bad. they're cutting approximately 1 out of every 7 employees (15,000 people) over the next couple of months, and in just one day wiped out $30 billion-with-a-b worth of value from the market. it's an absolute nightmare for the people working there, because nobody knows if they're going to be one of the ones getting laid off yet. the company's giving early retirement packages to push out some of higher earning workers, and even if skizz made his decision to leave after knowing the layoffs were coming, the chance he was included in that is very small. but i do hope he got a good deal, if he could.

in conclusion: it's very likely this choice was even scarier than anyone in the fandom previously thought, so… idk everyone please subscribe to skizz on twitch if possible!!!!!

This is absolutely a safe space for CC real life discussions, mostly because I know I'm way more deranged than any anon could be. I know things that would make CCs sweat.

I'm also going to name and shame the company, Intel, because Skizz has mentioned it before, so I'm not considering it a secret -- plus he's no longer there. It's also real shitty what they're doing and my heart goes out to their employees. I dealt with something similar recently and can confirm that these guys will have to wait weeks/months to find out if their job is safe and it will be the most degrading, dehumanizing experience ever.

I keep hemming and hawing about my 1000 IQ assumptions (lmfao), but he 100% knew about the layoff. Whether he heard about it and bounced or whether he took a volunteer deal is up for debate, but there's no way he didn't know it was coming. These companies are not subtle and Skizz is a smart man.

I am quietly praying he was able to take a volunteer deal though, because severance packages at those kinds of companies are WILD. Like, for some actual example numbers, a coworker of mine got 23 weeks of pay (8 weeks base + 15 weeks for years of service), which they received as a lump sum. Skizz says he's been with Intel for 20+ years so he'd be looking at base + 40 weeks. Dude would most likely get a year's salary lump sum (minus taxes), which would definitely help him going the full-time route.

Intel won't be going anywhere anytime soon, but their employees are going to be overworked and underpaid for the foreseeable future and we should be glad that Skizz is free! He's his own boss and, yes, we should all go support him to show he definitely made the right choice! He's such a delight and I will continue to be unwell and horny about him!!

[manyworldsofdarkness]

What is CURSEBORNE?

This might be of interest to any World of Darkness or Chronicles of Darkness fans or any fans of Onyx Path Publishing and White Wolf in general. We could be getting a new urban fantasy horror game series soon.

On April 10th, 2023 Onyx Path publishing’s blog brought up a hypothetical of making their own urban fantasy game series. Of course this was in response to their lack of any new WoD or CofD products as they do not own the rights to those IPs and must have approval by Paradox before working on anything. Currently Paradox is more focused on supporting their v5 products with their in house studio, Renegade Games and are no longer contracting other studios to right supplements for them for the foreseeable future. Because of this, the 20th Anniversary World of Darkness games and Chronicles of Darkness lines aren’t getting any new releases and what has already been announced and put into production are the only things to release in the near future. The only way for Onyx Path to make more urban fantasy horror games is to make their own and while they only mentioned this as a possibility, the comments section of this blog post exploded into discussions over this new potential game.

The next few blog posts afterwards continued the discussions asking people what they would like to see in a new potential horror game, such as a Masquerade system or signature characters as the comments sections only further spawned more discussion over this new world. Around this time too, Onyx Path announced their new unified version of their in-house system called Storypath Ultra, which should go without saying but will definitely be the system this potential game will be using. Then about a month later, on May 19th, on the official Onyx Path YouTube channel, this video was released https://youtu.be/fL1VPUzoB_Y?si=cR4ZPeb0wf9Kt6mM

A short seven second long animation of a murder of crows flying against a snowy tree line and the word “CURSEBORNE” forming as they all fly away. A short, mysterious teaser? Well for the next eight months Onyx Path would release a total of 30 videos of similar nature as of writing this post. Strange and short vignettes of classic horror tropes such as fog, spiders and recordings of monsters. Some would even be rereleased with minor differences and even text. I recommend watching some for yourself, there is a really eerie vibe to some. These capture more “modern” horror vibes when compared to WoD or CofD, some even feel inspired by analog horror or urban legends, the “Train” short particular reminds me of Japanese urban legends. Blog posts more or less stopped mentioning this potential game as time went on and mentions were then replaced with a strange picture of a moth, the same one at the top of this post.

On January 31st, 2024, 7:00 EST this website appeared https://www.curseborne.com/

CURSEBORNE, the title in all of those videos. The website has no text, just images of the same moth from the blog just posted all over a black background. Some will slowly fade in. Clicking on them will lead to a new page featuring one of the many teaser videos playing in your browser. Going back to the homepage, you’ll see a moth that appears to be glowing when compared to the others. Clicking it sends you to a Typeform quiz asking “Who are you?”. Answering it gives you a strange title such as “Raptor”, “Gaki”, “Archivist” etc. with a description of how you act. If I’d have to guess, these titles could be the names to new monsters or factions in CURSEBORNE. I’d like everyone who’s interested to please take this quiz and post your results on this post to see how many titles, or “paths” are found.

In short, it looks like Onyx Path is gearing up to make a new urban fantasy game using their own system. It’s not going to be World of Darkness with different names, but its own unique take on the concept.

[seramilla]

Ohhhhh I need Rosie to talk some sense into Carmilla after Sera and Emily go back to heaven after the whole search debacle.

It doesn't take long for Emily's short visit to Hell to start causing problems for Carmilla Carmine.

Carmilla doesn't blame the girl. Not at all. How was Emily to know that by manifesting in this realm, and searching for her, asking for Carmilla directly by name, that all of Carmilla's worst enemies would quickly latch onto this story, and spin it six different ways from Sunday on 666 News, all day, every day, for the foreseeable future?

Vox is having an absolute field day at her expense. At her misery. Seeing Emily's face plastered all over every screen across the Pentagram is a constant reminder of Carmilla's abject failure at protecting her child.

Emily and Sera are safely back in Heaven now. They don't have to deal with the aftermath. Which is all Carmilla cares about, at this point. Carmilla would not trade those 2 days she spent with Emily for the world. This is the price she must pay. Forty-eight hours spent with her long-lost child, for another eternity longer in Hell apart from her. Except now, the other overlords know she's fallen, too.

Was it worth it? Carmilla cannot say. Odette and Clara are also having to deal with her mistakes. But they are strong, and used to it. If they are angry or resentful of her, for letting this get dragged out into the open, they have not mentioned it. Life seems to have continued as normal, for them. At least Vox takes enough pity on her to keep her other daughters out of the limelight and focus his attention solely on her.

Zestial won't talk to her. At least he's not answering his phone. Is he avoiding her? Disgusted with her? She cannot say. It's been days since he's been to the estate. He knew of her status as a fallen angel. She never kept that fact hidden from him. But this extra baggage she unknowingly carried...having a child she never knew about, and then abandoning that girl again, very vocally, in front of her entire family...did something to their relationship. Even though it was specifically to save Emily and Sera from the same fate of spending an eternity in Hell...the entire situation obviously hadn't sat right with him.

Zestial is an old soul. He had fathered several children in life, none of whom ended up in Hell with him. She can understand why he might be angry with her, for giving Emily back to Sera, even if it was for her child's own good.

Rosie, however, seems to have none of those qualms. Maybe it's because Carmilla's status as a fallen angel is news to her, or because, due to her reputation as a matchmaker, Rosie can't stand to see unrequited love play out in front of her without speaking her mind.

Rosie rarely comes to the Carmine estate. But she does this day. She doesn't lay into Carmilla, necessarily, but she doesn't let her off easy, either. Carmilla is moping about, getting absolutely nothing done, letting Odette and Clara take care of business for the day. Rosie makes both of them tea, and sits with Carmilla in the dining room, while the matriarch puts her forehead to the table in defeat, sighing heavily.

"What do I do?" Carmilla asks, voice muffled where her face is buried into her arms. "I wanted to protect them, but somehow, everything is just worse."

Rosie sips her tea delicately, stirring the mixture in her cup with a spoon, seemingly unfazed by Carmilla's misery.

"Your heart was in the right place, doll. No can blame you for that. But you didn't even ask what your lover and child wanted. You took away their agency. That's why it hurts."

Carmilla huffs, but doesn't respond right away. Yes, she did do that. But what if Emily and Sera had stayed? If not forever, but long enough for Hell to wind its nasty coils around their souls, corrupting them forever? She had to be the voice of reason, the logical one, in this situation. The temporary pain of her "rejection" is far better than the pain of an eternity in Hell.

Right?

"They would be corrupted," Carmilla states, point black. "Hell would trap them. Ruin them forever. They might never be able to go back, and that would also be my fault. Mierda...no, Rosie, I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

"Would that be so bad?" Rosie asks. "You're here, sweetie, and you're still you. There's hardly a more noble soul in all of Hell, if you ask me."

"That's hardly the same!"

"How is it not? Hell changes us, but I would hardly consider you ruined. But now it doesn't matter, because they have to live with your choice." Rosie pauses to take another sip of her tea. "Regardless of what they wanted. They didn't get to decide. Isn't that worse?"

"Of course it's not worse! This is Hell! This is the worst outcome!"

Rosie's voice is more stern now. She rarely takes this tone with anyone, other than Carmilla, or maybe Alastor. Because she knows they take her seriously. She allows that less-than-congenial side of herself to come out.

"Knowing what you know about Heaven, dearie, would you ever choose to go back? What is keeping them there...forcing them apart from you...going to do for them? Was it really for their safety, or do you just refuse to face your past?"

Carmilla stands up rapidly. She forcibly grabs the chair she'd been sitting on, breaks the back of it with her bare claws, and throws the remaining splinters of wood across the room, knocking a painting off the wall where it lands.

"Mierda! Fuck you! Get out!"

Carmilla regrets those words almost as soon as they are out of her mouth. She wants to immediately take them back, suck them back down her throat like a vacuum, but Rosie is already standing.

Rosie looks at her. Irritated. Obviously angry. But not disconcerted or nonplussed in the slightest.

"Rosie, wait...!"

"Whatever you want, darling. I'll leave. But maybe think more about how your actions affect others in the future. You're allowed to be miserable. But you're not allowed to deny others' happiness to keep yourself that way."

Rosie opens a portal, and is gone. Takes her teapot and kettle with her, with very little flare or fanfare. The portal closes quitely behind her, like a whisper. Carmilla is left alone in her big house, in her fancy dining room, with none of her family around her, as her other daughters take care of her business, while she's too depressed to do anything else.

Carmilla might have flipped the table, too, out of frustration, but she's too emotional, too wracked with sobs, to do anything but sit on the floor, and weep.

[dirtybg3confessions]

Blog Moderation FAQs

Hi everyone!

Every time we answer an ask about the queue/inbox situation we get several of the same suggestions in our inbox. While we truly appreciate those of you trying to be helpful, I wanted to take some time to address some of the suggestions and the reasons behind our position on said suggestions.

Have you considered closing the ask box for a while until you work through what you have?

No. With as many asks as there are in the box, it would result in the ask box being closed for quite some time, which we don't think is really what anyone wants!

Closing the box would allow for us to "catch up", but it also would mean potential dry periods of content.

Keeping the ask box open means we need to scroll forever to reach the old asks, but it also means that we are set to deliver consistent content for a while, and are never at risk for an empty queue when the inevitable drop in fandom interest hits.

Why don't you post more frequently?

Actually, we do! We've exploded recently, so many of you may not remember ye olden days of our blog's founder doing their best as a one person show and we got one post a day... ish. Then, when the ask box exploded to 100 asks (haha) they brought in the first round of new mods (including me!). During this time, we were able to build a solid queue. We were then able to post 5-6 times a day.

With a healthy queue and a healthy ask box, we were able to bump the post frequency to 12 times a day. Most of the first wave of mods worked through some asks and then largely went inactive. This is fine, it happens. After struggling to keep up a frequency of 12/day as a one person show once again, we recruited new mods with some activity guidelines.

To maintain a posting frequency of 12 times a day, each mod needs to add 3 posts to the queue a day, or 21 posts to the queue a week. We ask that every mod contributes 30 times a week, that way we have a healthy buffer of content for holidays, emergencies, and just general time away from the internet.

While the confessions are sent in by y'all and editing them in photoshop is a generally simple process, it still does take time. Time in the game to find and take the screenshots, time in the editing software to create the image, then posting and tagging appropriately. Those cursed edits y'all love so much take even more time.

We're all adults here. And your mods are too. They have lives off of tumblr, often complete with bills and day jobs. Honestly, less fun than the little horny blog, but *vague gestures towards capitalist hellscape*

For these reasons, posting 12 times a day is going to be a hard cap for the foreseeable future. In the most loving way possible: If you are submitting an ask now and expecting to see it a week or even a month from now, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Submit your ask and know that it will be appreciated by the community when its time comes.

"A confession is never late, nor is it early. A confession arrives precisely when it means to." - Elminster (probably)

Why don't you just get more mods?

Have you heard the phrase "too many cooks in the kitchen"? Every person added to a process adds another variable, and the more variables, the harder it is to deliver a consistent experience. Additionally, the goal is to find people who can stay pretty consistently active, which can be a hard ask for a lot of people. We're very grateful for the team that we have now, and we aren't seeking new mods at this time.

Why don't you post more confessions about (character/female/etc)?

We are a submissions blog. We work with the content we are given. You need to be the horny you wish to see in the world. I know in general there's a lack of confessions for female characters, and there's an analysis to be made about how different gender/sexual identities interact with fandom and how that affects the content available in communities for consumption, but I'm not the person to make it.

Thank you all for continuing to be amazing, it is truly an honor to serve 🫡

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 4 - Prompt: Future @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 698 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Remus had never been so enthralled with a man while he shared every insignificant detail of his life. Then again, Remus had never met anyone like Sirius before. This brilliantly clever, fascinating bloke who was filled with endless surprises. With every deep inhale before he launched into the next facet of his life, Remus waited intently to hear what he’d say next.

He was fairly certain that he could listen to Sirius explain the minutiae of why a wet paper bag sticks to itself with breathless wonder. This was important though. Remus was hanging on every word, storing every tidbit of information that Sirius revealed like it was a life-changing revelation, each one was a present just for him. While he’d actually enjoy mindlessly staring at this beautiful bloke for the foreseeable future, this was vital intelligence and he couldn’t spare a solitary brain cell at the moment. All of them were attuned to Sirius’s every word.

“So then, James and I moved into our flat in Edinburgh. Padfoot came a little later. I found him at a shelter I was volunteering with and just had to bring him home,” Sirius continued, grinning as he reached out to scratch Padfoot’s back. “He was so cute, I couldn’t resist. I tell James all the time that the two of them are pieces of the same puzzle.”

“That’s lucky, isn’t it?” Sirius asked, turning that blinding grin on Remus. “Finding a dog with the same personality as your best mate?”

Remus nodded solemnly. “That’s fate.”

“Exactly! That’s what I told James too.” Sirius tilted his head to the side and sighed. “Even though I’ve always imagined James as a Golden Retriever rather than a Newfoundland, somehow it fits.”

The note-taking side of his brain was furiously recording everything: Sirius lives in Edinburgh. James is his flatmate and best friend. Padfoot is James’s dog equivalent. Sirius volunteered at an animal shelter. Of course he did, he’s so fucking perfect.

“I can see that.”

Remus’s comments were intentionally brief and encouraging. He wanted every scrap of Sirius that he could get his grubby hands on. If he could breathe him instead of air, he would. He’d let the molecules of Sirius’s essence settle in his bones and cling to that little piece of him reverently.

Obsessive barely scratched the surface, but every time he tried to rein it in, Sirius would magically appear and flash that god-tier grin. At the ice rink, his favourite pub, and now the winding walking path that trailed the rocky Welsh shoreline, there was Sirius. When he opened his mouth, Remus didn’t know whether to expect a dead-panned retort, a random “fun fact,” or a quote from Shakespeare himself. The fucking range with this man.

He was so gone. Pathetically, pitifully gone for this bloke who barely knew he existed.

“I’d enjoy being a dog, I think. To just laze about and bask in adoring attention. What animal would you be? If you could pick?” Sirius asked, searching his face intently.

Remus hummed thoughtfully as he tried to find just the right animal. He wasn’t about to shrug this off when Sirius looked so invested in his answer. Lily had equated him to a lone wolf before, but that didn’t feel quite like the right answer for Sirius.

“An alley cat,” he decided, nodding at Sirius’s startled laugh. “Free to roam and explore, but happy to curl up for a lip in the sun.”

“Oh, I love that,” Sirius breathed. His eyes widened and he bit down on his bottom lip.

Remus stared at that perfect row of white teeth carving into an equally perfect plump pink lip. He couldn’t help himself. Before he’d even thought about it, he’d smoothed his thumb over the raw spot to free it. Somehow, he managed to drop his hand casually, as if it meant nothing. As if his thumb didn’t tingle from the contact.

Ffyc. Oh, I’m so screwed.

This one was going to fucking hurt. He could already feel the razor’s edge of this loss cutting into him. When Sirius went home, Remus would feel compelled to follow him. Which he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, do.