#it’ll help divide the layers

[st-hedge]

I struggle with building on my sketch to get it looking good, scaling it + keeping a good perspective

(Sorry for the late response, and I hope this narrows it down more)

I’m not sure if this will help, but I tried my best to explain how I build up and scale up my thumbnails and sketches. I really struggle with building up stuff like foliage and grasses so I used that as an example

1. I make a thumbnail with whatever brushes i want. The point is to make shapes I’m happy with

2. Next I usually grab the wedge tail brush from the procreate vintage tab. This brush is really chaotic in the shapes it makes AND it smudges if you draw at light pressure while also making colour variations by mixing with other colours on the canvas. For something like grass, I like to paint over the blocked in colour, erase, and paint again until I like the mess the brush made.

For foliage I stamp with the brush and erase any stray blobs

With a lot of new random shapes, I can start seeing where I want some grass, some leaves, and how the foliage of the trees will look. The mess and the chaos makes it easier to build the image

3. I then scale up the image SLIGHTLY. I use wedge tail again to doodle in some details but then I grab something like a pencil brush to start adding little details (grass blades, individual leaves, little branches) but I keep the detail focused where I want y’all to look. With the example, the focus is in the square

Everything outside that square matters less. It’s in ur peripheral so it can be left undone, ur mind will end up filling the gaps

Every time I add finer detail I scale up the image until it fits the canvas. Usually that means if there is a person in the painting I’ll leave them until I’m almost done with the painting

[goorgeousz]

hi hi baby♥️how are you?

so...i was thinking maybe the reader likes to leave kiss marks on hotch's shirts either near the heart or on the collar of his shirt, maybe the reader is not a member of the bau or maybe works in another unit but in the same building and does not know that jokes are their love language and when they start making jokes about their relationship, calling it 'childish love,' she gets a little embarrassed and stops doing it, and when hotch asks her She tells him she wishes she had been born earlier and tells him she heard about the jokes and he says 'that's why you stopped doing it?🤨' and she tells him that she stopped doing it so that they wouldn't make fun of him, and he takes the time to explain that that's the team dynamic.

and the next morning he arrives with a kiss on the cheek or chin, very proud of it, holding her hand🥹🥹 and when they say goodbye, he takes her face in his big hands and kisses her all over and she just laughs silly and cute.🥹🥹🥹🤍🤍🤍 and hotch is kind of like 'please kiss me forever🥺'

congratulations on 400 followers, love, you deserve many more!🥹🎉♥️♥️

also, as always, only write this if you're comfortable, and if you think you need to change anything about this, pls do, i'm happy to read anything you write, i hope this has the same meaning written as i imagined it.🥲♥️

i hope you have a great week, sending you lots of love!✨✨

xoxoxo

lipstick stain | aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader summary: you stop kissing your boyfriend because his friends were making fun of him. aaron was having none of it. content/tw: reader wears lipstick, established relationship, age gap, height difference, very silly, fluff, mentions of them having sex (not descriptive), suggestive ending word count: 2.9k a/n: hey my love!!!! i’m great, currently on finals week so a little bit stressed out, but overall fine!! how ab you?? i truly hope you’re okay!! thank you so much, i’m so happy! also, thank you for this request, you already now i’m the biggest fan of whatever you suggest me! it’s so on character of him (in my opinion) and i always have the best time writing them!!! again, thank you so much for everything!!!! sending you much much love, have a great one!!! xxxxx dividers by @uzmacchiato masterlist <3

Standing next to Aaron, even on high heels, you face his chest. Which was very convenient in moments like this, in which you helped him adjust his tie, trying not to blush while he stared you down with that much attention. 

Softening the fabric of his dress shirt – already perfectly smooth – in a delicate caress, your hand stopped at his chest, right above his heart. Even with the layers of clothing, you felt the strong and steady beat of his heart, like it was claiming for your attention. Impulsively, feeling a rush of affection, you leaned forward and kissed the spot, feeling his torno vibrate under your lips.

As soon as you stepped back, your eyes widened. In the middle of the blindingly white fabric, a kiss stain stood out, its shade between pink and maroon, exactly like the lipstick you’d just applied a few minutes before.

“Oh my god, Aaron, I’m sorry. Take it off, I’ll wash it in a minute.” you urged, trying to tug his shirt out of his pants.

“There’s no need.” he said, gently stopping your hands and moving them out of his shirt.

“There’s no… Are you crazy? Are you going to use a stained shirt?”

“Customized” he corrected, smirking as he looked at himself in the mirror, his expression somehow… proud? “Besides, you can’t even see it under the suit.” to prove his explanation, he dressed up the suit, buttoning up and smiling cheekily at you, as if saying ‘Told you so’.

He was right, it wasn’t visible. You frowned, still embarrassed for staining his expensive shirt. He just grabbed your face between his palms, leaving a kiss on the wrinkles on your nose.

“It’ll be our secret. Like Clark Kent.” he joked, his face mockingly serious.

“That’s my 12 old self’s dream.”

“Superman was your childhood crush?” his tone was a mix of mockery and amusement.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve always had a thing for tall brunettes with a savior complex.”

Aaron laughed loudly at that, his head threw back. All the embarrassment you felt before simply vanished.

And just like that, a ritual started. Every day you drove to work together (almost every day), just before you parted ways, you left a hidden kiss on him. On his shoulder, on his arms, his wrist, his chest. Sometimes, when you were feeling specially bold, you kissed just below his tie. And whenever he was free (which was rarer than you liked), he sent you a picture of the stain with a message (many of those, if ever caught, would send you both to a week-long seminar on inappropriate behavior at work) about how he missed you.

It was silly. A ridiculous habit, even. But it was so good, so fun. And it was yours. You loved every second.

That’s it, until one day where you’d been particularly careless. To your defense, you’d spent days apart because of one of those complex cases. So it wasn’t your fault that you wanted to spend every free moment making out with each other. And that morning he was – for a lack of better word – irresistible, with his hair messy and still dump from the shower, the mix of his soap, after shave and cologne invading your nostrils and clouding your senses, his perfectly smoothened white shirt and tie still undone – one could argue that that was his looks every single day, but there was something in the air, you swore.

So, yes, you may have pushed him back to bed. And you might have suggested – begged , with wide glistening eyes and a whine – that he kept his suit on while he trusted in and out of you. And you definitely grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, leaving a kiss stain right on the collar of his shirt, where he couldn’t be able to hide it, and whispered how he was all yours while an earth-shattering orgasm washed over you.

Although he was the one to blame, in his opinion. And he didn’t complain in the slightest, puffing his chest proudly as he finished getting dressed, zipping his pants back on and admiring the red stain contrasting with the white of his shirt. 

On that very same day, not having yet made up for the time apart, as soon as you were out of the clock, you got into the elevator, leaving your floor and  going straight up to your boyfriend’s. Knowing the workaholic you so lovingly called yours, you knew he would stay late, drawing himself on paperwork. It was only fair to order take-out, have dinner with him and lay on his office’s comfortable couch, enjoying his presence (in silence) (it was never silent for long, but that was the condition to be there so you had to pretend). Some of the many perks of dating a unit chief.

You were seated, your shoes long forgotten somewhere on the corner of the room, your legs crossed under you as you waited for Aaron to grab napkins and cups from the shared kitchen when you heard it. His office’s door had stayed open since your relationship stopped being a secret long ago.

“Next thing we’ll see is Hotch wearing a leash” Morgan’s voice echoed through the bullpen.

“Morgan, please.” you heard Aaron’s exasperated tone, muffled by the collective laughter.

“Don’t listen to him, Hotch” Emily defended “It’s very common nowadays between the seventh graders.” another wave of laughter filled the room.

“It’s adorable, actually.” JJ added, amused.

“Didn’t Henry get home with a similar stain on his cheek last week?” Spencer asked, even him joining the teasing

“Enough. I can still fire all of you.” your boyfriend threatened, receiving more laughs and jokes in return.

And that’s the last thing you heard before he walked back into the office, rolling his eyes in annoyance and closing the door with a bit more force than usual. 

Not knowing how to react, you just pretended you didn’t hear it, offering him a smile and throwing a random comment about the food.

The rest of the dinner went pleasantly, but half of you wasn’t there. You couldn’t stop thinking about what his team said. Wasn’t it actually childish? You and Aaron had an age gap, indeed. Visually undeniable. But that’s never been a thing between you.

All the horrors you dealt with on a daily basis made you seem older than others your age, and even though you were considerably younger than him, it wasn’t noticeable in your conversations and not once you had a problem because of immaturity or anything of the sort. But it was something you thought about, sometimes. Being with someone older and, specially, as responsible and stable as Aaron, there’s no way you wouldn’t second guess yourself, at least once. Luckily, he was too good of a person to ever make you feel insecure about it, which led you with only your anxious mind to blame.

The relationship you built was so solid and healthy that you usually found yourself forgetting to worry about the outside world, about what others may think, too wrapped up on your own little happy bubble. But, obviously, his friends would question the fact that he ended up with someone that younger than him. You just didn’t know it would affect you that much.

You didn’t want to embarrass Aaron. So, although you pretend everything were fine,  that thought stayed in the back of your mind.

On the next day, you ended up getting late — for a very good reason. three good reasons, actually — and on the elevator, ready to part ways, Hotch leaned closer to you, angling his torso in a move that was more of a muscular memory than a conscious decision, and waited for the kiss.

Needless to say, you panicked. You definitely weren’t ready to have that discussion, so just turning your head and denying him his kiss was not an option. And you were still feeling too anxious to be able to ignore it all and stain his shirt again and risk his dignity.

So, since you still hadn’t had time — again, for great reasons —  to think about how to handle the situation, you simply did the best you could: yanked him by the neck and locked your lips to his.

Caught by surprise, Aaron stayed still for a second. But nothing more than that, because the very next moment he relaxed, smiling into the kiss and squeezing your hip with his free hand. Before he could ask you anything, the elevator came to a stop, reaching your floor first, and you stepped out hurriedly, mumbling a “i love you” and giving him a smile that you hoped looked mischievous but probably just seemed phony.

The next few days went just as smoothly (not at all). You realized he won’t stop doing it, reaching for your kisses, so you come up with the best solution available: stop wearing lipstick.

As expected, he noticed it and questioned you instantly. To which you replied with another question “Why? Didn’t like it?” resorting to the most basic avoiding method.

“Of course I did.” he answered without missing a beat, his eyes falling down to your lips covered with a clear gloss, and having to force his gaze away back to your eyes after in order to continue the conversation “But I don’t think I’ve ever see you leaving the house without it”

You scoffed, turning around and checking yourself in the mirror. Being, yet again, completely obvious in your try to avoid the subject. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t catch on. “That’s probably not true.”

Before he could press you any further, you turned back to face him and joined your lips together in a slow and deep kiss. Any point he could possibly have made died just then, swallowed on pleasure sounds and the dance of your tongues.

And later, when he leaned towards you waiting for the kiss, you didn’t hesitate to graze your lips on the fabric of his shirt, happy to have found a solution that didn’t involve embarrassing him in front of his friends or explaining the reason behind your change of behavior.

Everything was fine, for now.

A few days have passed, and your guard is finally already down. On that specific morning, Aaron was ready to work, impeccable in his expansive suit, leaning against the bathroom door, watching you do your makeup, with your products layed on the counter.

He was explaining a discussion he had with the director a few days before, and you were so focused on his words you barely registered your own movements, counting on your muscular memory to repeat your daily routine.

Maybe because of that, you didn’t realize your hand subconsciously reached for the lipstick right by the sink. Your fingers hovered over it for a second, grazing the small tube, until you recovered your senses and put it to the side, quickly grabbing the closest product and secretly hoped for Aaron to be so lost on his story that he misses it.

As the attentive boyfriend – and profiler – that he was, of course he noticed it. So much that he stopped mid sentence, his eyes sharp on yours.

“What was that?” he asked slowly, arching an eyebrow.

“What was what?”

He tilted his head to the side, in a silent warning that it was not going to work.

“I got distracted.”

“Why did you stop wearing lipstick?” that was it. Point blank. There was no avoiding it now.

Nonetheless, you rolled your eyes, feeling embarrassed that this was even a topic. “No reason.”

“Honey” he coached, his voice gentle and nudging. In a span of five seconds you rolled your eyes again, sighing and deciding to just get this over with.

“I didn’t want to stain your shirt.”

He frowned, his forehead wrinkling in confusion “It’s not a stain, it’s a kiss.”

“A kiss stain. Anyway, it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not… Where did this come from?” “Aaron,” you whined, blushing. “Not everything has to be a conversation.”

“I disagree.” he interrupted, but you didn’t even listen.

“I just don’t want you to have a meeting with the director board wearing a stained shirt. It’s not professional.”

“Since when do we care about that?” he tried, exasperated.

“We’re functional adults, government employees. Of course that…” but you had already lost his attention, his eyes narrowed in your direction through the mirror, like he was trying to read your mind.

“Adults?” you hated your choice of words “What is this really about?” you took a deep breath in resignation, letting your head drop down. Soon after, you felt his hands holding your waist, turning you to face him and gently touching your chin, tilting your face up towards his “Hey, you can tell me anything.”

“I just want to be more serious, you know? More mature.”

“You’re one of the most emotionally intelligent people I’ve known. Including me.”

“But I’m immature.”

“Not at  all. And you know it.” he asserted, serious. Then, his voice went softer again “What don’t you explain what’s going on, hm? Please, let me understand you.”

You completely melted at that “I wish I was born sooner. Be more like you guys.”

“‘You guys’ who?”

“Your team. I overheard them talking that night in your office, and I know they think our relationship is childish. And it’s obviously because of me.” 

He smiled, slowly and reverently, looking at you like you alone held the moon and the stars on your eyes.

“Sweetheart, you’re completely misreading the situation.” he said, his voice and his smile softening the blow “Listen, I know we haven’t really had that conversation yet, but you know my childhood was… hard. I was forced to mature much younger than I should've. I ended up missing many of the youths' average experiences. I buried myself into work as soon as I could, and even though it brought me where I am today, I know it cost me a lot.” he paused, taking a deep breath and staring deep into you, as if to make sure you were understanding everything “Ever since I’ve met you, I started to feel young again. In the best way possible. Not because of your age, but because of your heart. You’re kind, smart, funny and so incredibly sweet. You encourage me to be better every day, and everytime I see you I feel like a teenager experiencing my first love.”

With your heart nearly exploding with love, you tugged him closer, kissing him so deeply and tenderly, hoping that he would feel everything you could never manage to put into words.

“We don’t have to keep doing it if it makes you feel bad. But I thought you liked our little joke.” he whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. You felt your face blushing, the proximity and his voice so close and treating you with so much reverence.

“I love it. But I don’t want to be the reason why your friends make fun of you.”

Hotch stopped for a second, as if he didn’t hear what you’ve said. Then, he stepped back, with an exasperated smile. “Don’t worry about that, honey. We’re very close, the team. We tease each other all the time, it’s how we demonstrate affection. We already deal with too much darkness in our lives, that’s the way we found to keep things lighter and a little more bearable.

“Really?” you bit your lip, your eyes widening in hope. His smile grew even more.

“Mhm. They’re crazy about you. Some of them say, and I quote, that I ‘became bearable after you. Sometimes even pleasant to be around. Much less tyrant.’”

You giggled, lacing your arms around his neck “You are kind of a tyrant, indeed.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing, but visibly happier to have solved the problem than actually annoyed at your teasing.

“Nothing you ever feel makes you immature. I want to know all of your thoughts and anguish. Next time just talk to me, okay?”

You nodded “Okay.” he stared at you a little longer, just making sure you really were fine and every doubt about your relationship and yourself left entirely your mind, before he hugged you again, sneaking his arms around your waist and tugging you flush across his chest.

“And promise me, you’ll never punish me like that ever again. Depriving me of your kisses.” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You chuckle.

“I wasn’t punishing you.”

“It felt like it. Promise.” he insisted, his hands squeezing your hips. You leaned back just so he could see the found and honest glint in your eyes, looking at his with nothing but love, and the smirk on your lips as you extended your right hand to him, lifting your pinky in his direction.

“I promise.”

Later, when the two of you arrived at the fbi building, you had your dark and shiny lipstick tinting your lips. And in the very same color and shape of your mouth, Hotch had a mark on his jaw, showing it off like a badge.

Besides that, he also had three kiss stains distributed on his clothes: one just above the heart, another one on his lower stomach.

As for the third…

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream

[soelstress]

Ice And Easy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: Bucky is not a fan of cold things. Let’s see if we can change his mind…

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , oral sex (m receiving) , ice play , Bucky being hot stuff (menace!)

Word count: 3.1k

A/N - Hello lovelies! My offering for Tasty Tuesday… though I think today should be Toasty Tuesday 🥵 Hope you’re all keeping cool and hydrated! I wrote this early last year after inspiration struck. It’s a bit long winded so I apologise… but I hope you enjoy. Not sure if it’ll cool you down or heat you up 😅

A big big thank you to the beautiful @sunday-bug for listening to my rambling and telling me this isn’t total nonsense.

Dividers by the amazing @firefly-graphics

The pic is sourced from google.

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

Bucky hated the cold. Honestly, could you blame him? After his fall from the train in the Austrian Alps he spent an unknown amount of time in the frigid temperatures before Hydra found him. At first the main source of discomfort came from his injured left arm. But exposure to the brutal conditions soon meant every part of him was aching in pain from the biting iciness. Not to mention the countless decades of Hydra subjecting him to cryo storage between missions as the Winter Soldier. The agony caused by the cold was a memory he dreaded and would soon rather forget. Though the Super Soldier Serum running through his veins ensured his temperature ran warmer than the average person he took every precaution to reduce any chance of the slightest chill invading his body.

Bucky baulked at the thought of the winter weather but ventured out with you knowing you loved to take pictures and make memories while walking through snow. When he bundled you both in more layers than necessary you sighed but took his thickly mittened hand in your own now deformed hand through two pairs of gloves. A wink had to suffice for communication as only your eyes were visible between a hat, two scarves and a high neck padded coat. You were very understanding of your boyfriend's hatred of the cold and therefore patiently endured most of his measures. However there were some actions that you did protest.

During the summer Bucky was not a fan of air conditioning. He didn’t like going to bed warm and waking up cold so refused to have it on most of the time. This dilemma was solved by investing in a mattress and bedding with cooling properties. You also invested in a cooling gel pad for your pillow. Bucky grumbled about this but stopped when he realised it would help both of you sleep better.

The air con argument was resurrected during an intense heatwave. It came to a peak after two restless nights of tossing and turning. You loved Bucky but the man was a goddamn furnace and it was too hot to even blink near each other let alone share a bed. First you said that the air con was necessary to lower the temperature if he wanted to sleep in the same bed. Bucky argued that he could just stay to his side of the bed, an argument you refuted by saying even the highest mountain of pillows couldn’t keep him from cuddling you. Finally you threatened to sleep alone elsewhere because you weren’t going to suffer heat stroke from sultry Sergeant Snuggles. Mumbles conceding his defeat filled the air though his trademark scowl was ruined by his mouth twitching at the name you’d given him.

Despite all this there had been one time so far in your relationship where Bucky had actually seemed to enjoy the cold.

When the two of you first started dating he had confided that he loved space and had a desire to see the Northern Lights. Knowing the location and not wanting the cold to negatively impact what should be an amazing experience, the topic was discussed thoroughly. You surprised him with a trip to spend Valentine's Day in Norway. Excited to see the famous phenomenon Bucky had braved the cold with remarkable tolerance. You were nervous and desperately hoped that the Lights would override any thought of the cold. And at the top of a mountain in Norway your wish came true. The colours danced across the black sky reflected in Bucky’s awestruck eyes with any thoughts of the cold banished.

Later back at the lodge you were both settling in for bed when the beautiful lights appeared in the sky again. You quickly threw on a coat and boots over your flannel pajamas, grabbed a gadget that Tony had given you for this trip and dashed outside. Pressing record you watched the kaleidoscope of colours shimmering. When Bucky pulled you into his toasty embrace you surrendered to the beauty of the moment. After a few minutes he gently tugged you back inside. His cheeks and nose were slightly flushed from the cold, blue eyes warm and sparkling as he thanked you for an unforgettable experience.

Your lips met soft and sweet at first but his kiss turned hungry and you found yourself reciprocating eagerly. His hands clutched your hips bringing you closer so you could feel his cock between your bodies. Without thinking you reached under the waistband of his pajamas for the silky flesh which was scorching to the touch. A shudder ran through him and you suddenly realised why he felt so hot. Your hands were cold. He caught your hand as you pulled out from the material. His body trembled slightly as he started to guide your hand back to its prior position.

“Bucky, my hands are cold.”

“Do you hear me complaining?” His dark eyes never left yours, blazing with desire as he answered your gentle protest. “Well then, let me warm them up baby.”

At the deep rumble you allowed him to place your hand back on his blazing flesh. Within no time your hands were warm and Bucky was sweating with pleasure. He definitely didn’t complain though there was a lot of moaning from both of you.

A few weeks later in your shared New York apartment you were reminiscing about his reaction to your cold hands. Your mind wandered, thinking about what else he may enjoy when an idea came to mind.

That afternoon you knelt on your bed wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. Bucky sat with his shirtless back to you. Your fingers worshipped and manipulated the muscles of his torso. There were odd moans of appreciation as he relaxed under your ministrations. After a while your digits glided up his neck to his scalp. Bucky purred as you gently tugged his hair and scratched along his scalp. He loved when you played with his hair.

Leaning forward your lips brushed his ear. “I want to try something baby.” Warm blue eyes met yours as he turned his head. “Just one try and if you don’t like it we can do something else or stop entirely.” He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. “Do you want me to tell you what I have in mind?”

Shaking his head he brushed his nose along yours. “I trust you baby.”

The four words flooded you with love and longing. He trusted you so much… he trusted you…

Suddenly you were overwhelmed with the doubts and worries you’d been battling since you had this idea. What if he was uncomfortable? What if he hated it but only carried on for your sake? What if he hated it - hated you for trying to push him into something?

His hands cupped your face and caused your focus to return to him. “Breathe, toots. It’s ok.” He took a few deep breaths to lead you and relaxed when you did. “I don’t know what you have in mind and I don’t want you to tell me. But I do know you’d never hurt me on purpose. I trust you. I love you.”

Straddling his lap you pressed lingering kisses to his forehead, his nose, on the apple of each cheek. Your fingers danced through his short dark hair and pulled so his head tilted back with his throat exposed. He moaned and squirmed slightly under you. Prickly stubble tickled as you kissed along one side of his jawline before nipping his chin and working your way up the other side. When you pulled back his eyes had darkened with desire.

“I need to get something baby. Can you lay back and close your eyes for me?”

Without question he did so. Carefully climbing off his lap you made your way through to the kitchen. The tray you’d prepared and hidden earlier was ready. Quietly opening the freezer you took out the paper plate with crushed ice on before adding it to the tray. Walking back into the bedroom you took a moment to observe Bucky. Though his hands flexed restlessly by his side his eyes were still closed. As you approached his breathing rate increased. At the sight of the obvious tent in his gray sweats your mouth watered. After setting the tray down on your bedside table you reached for an eye mask and two ribbons.

“We’re gonna use the traffic light system honey. You know the colours?”

“Yes baby.”

“And what’s your safe word?”

“Brooklyn.”

Happy with his answers you decided to proceed. Neither of you had ever used any colour except green and never had to use your safe words but you were aware this could very well change. Bucky said he didn’t want to know the details of what you were going to do but just for reassurance you offered a small tidbit.

“For this first part I want to restrain your hands and blindfold you. Ok?”

He murmured his assent and lifted his head when he felt the eye mask being placed over his eyes. Cautiously you looped the ribbon around one wrist and moved his arm so it rested on the pillow above his head before tying the ribbon to the bed frame. You did the same with his other wrist. Bucky could rip them off with laughable ease but you wanted the ability to remove them quickly so a pair of scissors was placed within easy reach. Straddling his waist again you reached for a plastic cup filled with Old Fashioned and took a small sip. The alcohol warmed you instantly. Tracing his lips with your tongue you dipped inside when he granted you entry. Leaning back you took a small mouthful of the drink and kissed him while carefully pouring the liquid into his mouth. At the taste of his favourite cocktail he hummed. The alcohol didn’t affect him but he loved the taste. You fed him one more mouthful before moving.

Placing your hands on either side of his head you leant down. Breathing softly so he could feel the small puffs of cool air you gently licked the shell of his left ear before taking the lobe into your mouth and sucked before nipping it. Bucky wriggled beneath you. You kissed, licked, nipped and sucked a trail down his neck and bit gently into the crook. Moving down the centre of his chest you focused on the surrounding area of his right nipple. As your tongue swirled around it peaked before you licked it. Taking it in your mouth you suckled and used one hand to toy with the neglected nipple. Bucky squirmed under you while moaning softly. Your tongue traced over the soft lines of his abs laving a wet path down over the ridges through the smattering of hair that formed his happy trail before reaching his navel. Nipped the taut flesh in a few places you heard him curse and soothed the bites with kisses while smirking.

Reaching the waistband of his sweats you slowly peeled them down and was thrilled to find he wasn’t wearing underwear. When pushed down far enough Bucky kicked them off. His cock was released and slapped onto his navel. Your nails scratched down his thick thighs which tensed under your touch. Carefully settling between his legs you placed open mouth kisses all over his smooth velvety balls. Bucky jerked as his hips thrusted up. You smiled as your tongue ran up the length of his shaft while avoiding the tip. Hips thrusting up again he whined. You gave it the softest lick, loving the taste of his precum in your mouth.

“Baby you taste so good.”

At the praise his cock twitched almost pleadingly. Shifting you slowly climbed back up his body and took care to avoid your skin touching his. Leaning over his torso you reached for the scissors.

“I’m going to untie you for this next part and uncover your eyes. You can touch me or open your eyes if you want to.”

After carefully cutting his wrists free and checking there were no marks left behind you removed the eye mask but Bucky kept his eyes closed. At the sight you couldn’t help smiling. Bucky was never one to back down from a challenge. Once again you reached for the cup of Old Fashioned and fed Bucky another two mouthfuls which caused him to moan in delight and smile. At his sounds of pleasure once again nerves plagued your mind.

“Sweetheart?”

Shit. Of course his Super Soldier hearing would detect the seemingly deafening drumbeat of your heart.

Inhaling deeply you took a moment to try and ground yourself. “Remind me once more of your safe word baby.”

A frown marred his brow, forehead puckered in confusion. “Brooklyn.”

Still his eyes remain closed. Desperate you took one sip of the cocktail and felt the warmth of the alcohol burn your veins. Calm settled over you as Bucky’s hands ghosted down to gently squeeze your thighs once before resting them behind his head. Reaching for a small ice shard on the plate you rested it on your tongue so Bucky couldn’t hear it against your teeth as it melted.

This time you moved to his right ear and slowly licked it before moving to the lobe to suck and nibble as before pausing when he shivered slightly at the cold touch. He made no sound or other reaction so you reached for another shard continuing the teasing trail down his neck with chilled lips. He moaned softly and squirmed.

“Colour baby?”

“Green.” Bucky gripped his pillow with his eyes closed and panting heavily.

Grabbing another two pieces of ice, your lips trailed down his chest to his left nipple. Carefully you grazed the ice shards over both nipples which hardened immediately. Putting one piece in your mouth you continued to brush the other over his right nipple while you sucked the left into your chilled mouth. He inhaled with a sharp hiss as his hands fisted in the bedsheets. Apart from the reassuring squeeze he hadn’t touched you or opened his eyes yet. You took your time kissing down his chest and past his navel, your mouth and tongue warming as you go.

Delicately you used one hand to cup and massage his balls and the other to pop another piece of ice in your mouth. Leaning down you took one ball into your mouth. Bucky cried out but didn't say a colour or his safeword. Opening your mouth wide you sucked his other ball in your mouth and trapped the remaining ice piece between your tongue and his sac. As you flexed your tongue the cold was washed over the delicate flesh. Bucky’s hips shifted as he groaned loudly. Letting his sac slip from your mouth you now reached for another cup and took a small mouthful of water which you held as you took hold of his cock. Slowly you slipped the head inside your mouth and felt his cock twitch when it touched the cold liquid.

“Oh fuck!” Bucky's body jolted and his eyes flew open.

With a grin you took him further into your mouth before swallowing carefully and sliding your cold tongue along his cock.

“Baby.” Your answering hum to his pleading whine had him writhing. Slowly dragging back you pulled off with a pop.

“Colour, Sarge?”

“Green. Green. Fuckin’ green.” Glancing up you saw his eyes were melted glaciers among the flush of his cheeks. “Don’t stop.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly as you slowly took a larger mouthful of liquid before plunging your mouth over his cock and taking him to the back of your throat. Bucky swore loudly at the sensation of his cock in your cold mouth ending in the tightness of your throat. Keeping your gaze locked on him you swallowed and moaned. Lost in the pleasure he began to thrust his hips slowly before beginning to fuck your mouth.

“Goddamn babydoll… your mouth feels fuckin’ amazing… I’m gonna come so hard if you keep doing that.”

Desire pooled in your belly at his words and you shifted slightly before you could stop yourself.

“Want me to come for you angel?” When you tried to nod he chuckled. “Use your words honey. What do you want?”

Dragging your tongue along the shaft as you slowly pulled back, your hand continued the torturous pace.

“I wanna taste you, Bucky. Please… I want you to come in my mouth.”

Growling he used one elbow to prop himself up while his other hand cupped your jaw.

“Keep going then baby.” But before you could move to do so he held your face still. “Use the ice” he murmured with a small smile.

Heart swelling you nodded and grabbed another piece of ice. Slipping his length back in your mouth along with the ice you bobbed your head up and down. One hand massaged his sac while the other pumped the base of his length in time with your mouth. His thighs tensed. He was close. You doubled your efforts growing more enthusiastic at the growls and grunts spilling from his mouth.

“Jesus… so close honey… I’m gonna come” he rasped.

The hand cupping your jaw moved to your hair before grabbing it and tugging gently. A whimper escaped your lips and his eyes flashed to yours. You whined again giving a firm suck while running your ice cold tongue against his tip.

“FUCK!”

His hand held you in place as he fucked your mouth, his spend coating your tongue and spilling from your lips. With a final twitch of his cock he sprawled on the bed. Cupping his softening dick you tenderly licked him clean being mindful of the sensitive tip. You licked your lips and sat back on your heels watching Bucky try to catch his breath. When Bucky made grabby hands you went willingly into his embrace where he tugged you onto his chest. He dotted kisses all over your face before placing a tender kiss to your lips. You released a sigh of relief that Bucky seemed to have enjoyed the experience… all the while being unaware he was thinking how to repay the favour.

[astr0disiac]

ᴛɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ

☆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ:

Tiana asks for help adjusting her dress straps.

☆ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,108

☆ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: fluff, implied sexual tension (mdni)

☆ᴍʏ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀꜱ☆

“Nanami!”

He perked up at the sound of his name, sitting up more as he heard Tiana call him from her bedroom.

“Can you come here for a second?”

Nanami stood quickly, his dress shoes thudding on her glossy wooden floors as he adjusted the collar on his shirt. He pushed Tiana’s door open with his hip, the only visible light streaming from the bathroom, the setting in the room sentimental and warm. The scent of Tiana’s vanilla body wash still wafted through the room, and the bathroom mirrors seemed to have a light layer of fog covering them, Tiana’s image blurred as she struggled to adjust something around her neck. He strides to the bathroom, leaning onto the door frame of the humid room, taking in the beauty that stood before him.

“Oh, good!” Tiana’s voice is chipper, the prospect of date night at hand. “Can you tighten and tie the straps for me? I can’t seem to get it right…”

Nanami wasn’t listening at all. 

His eyes started at the neutral color of Tiana’s freshly painted toes in clear heels, scaling up to her sharp calves and thick thighs that were covered by a shimmering, silver dress that was right above the knee. The width of her hips, the curve of her waist with a slight pudge in her lower abdomen. The glow of her back and shoulder blades, and the way her cowl dress draped over her chest like ripples of water. Her chandelier-like earrings, the gloss of her lips, to the light blush dusting her cheeks. The shimmer on the tip of her fleshy nose. Her dark lashes that curled to her thick brows, to the crown of her head where her hair fell into tight springs and ringlets to her shoulders like a dark divider. She looked like she had been sculpted in bronze, trimmed in silver, and intricately polished and shined to catch the light of even the dimmest of stars.

“Earth to Nanami?” Tiana says, holding her straps in one hand and using her forearm to hold the neckline in place so the fabric didn’t expose her top half. “Are you even listening?”

“I’m just…” Nanami inhales sharply and pushes the air past his lips just as quickly. “Speechless. You are absolutely stunning.”

Tiana blinks owlishly, biting the inside of her cheek as she grows a bit bashful. Sometimes it was still hard to just receive his compliments and bask in them.

“Thank you.” She says quietly, biding her smile. “You look quite handsome yourself.” She turns to look up at him, but it only lasts a moment before her eyes flit away. She was unable to endure his intense stare, one filled with awe and amazement. It made her feel soft, as if she would melt away like butter left out on the counter.

“Come on, let’s look in the full mirror.” Tiana ducked her head, walking to her full length body mirror in a bit of a tizzy. They always stood in the mirror to see how their outfits complimented each other, and if the outfit deemed worthy enough, Tiana would allow Nanami to take a picture. Though, he has quite a few candid photos of Tiana in her pajamas, bonnet, or just out and about with the goofiest smile on her face. Those were his favorite.

Nanami followed, positioned behind her. He gently grasps the strings from her fingers, her hands smoothing her dress a bit as she looks into the mirror with a satisfied smile.

“How tight do you want it?” Nanami asks Tiana’s reflection.

“I’ll tell you when.” She responds, trying not to break eye contact.

Nanami seemed to take his time, his fingertips trailing her upper back as he crossed the strings, looping them once, slowly pulling them as the fabric drags across Tiana’s bareback.

“More?” Nanami asks, looking up momentarily, and Tiana nods.

“Tighter.”

He wraps the excess string into his fists and pulls some more, Tiana tugging at the loose neck of her dress to see if it’ll slip off her body. Nanami looks back to her reflection, and Tiana nods again.

“Just a bit tighter…” 

Nanami tugs a bit harder, the fabric accidently pinching the nape of Tiana’s neck, and she yelps, her fists clenching as she winces into the mirror.

“Sorry...” Nanami loosens his hold, and Tiana chuckles.

“A bit too tight.” She says, Nanami still fiddling with the dress until-

“Right there!” She calls out, flattening her hands in a stopping motion. “That’s perfect.”

Nanami nods, quickly tying the flimsy strings into a bow, orchestrating how they dangled down Tiana’s back so that it would still compliment her perfectly from behind. Tiana does a once-over of herself in the mirror, happy with the current results.

“Thank you, Ken-oh!”

Nanami leans down to place his chin on Tiana’s shoulders, sliding his arms around her waist. He gazes up at their reflections, but mainly Tiana’s because of how bewitching she looked. She was just-

“Gorgeous.” Nanami breathlessly spoke in the dark, like a warm wind wrapping across Tiana’s heart. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Tiana tries to subdue her wild grin, but fails miserably as she catches the bashful look in her eyes.

“Almost as beautiful as you.” Tiana remarks sarcastically, but her voice rides on a soft laugh, her hand raising to hold the side of Nanami’s face. 

“Much more.” He says.

Tiana almost squeals when Nanami places a gentle kiss on the shell of her ear, then the back of her neck, then her nape where he had accidentally nipped her skin. Not once did he let her go, never daring to release his grip.

“You know you’re precious to me, right?” Nanami mumbles against her soft skin, Tiana smiling so hard that her cheeks begin to sting. She allows her hands to fall over Nanami’s, bending at the knees with a soft sway.

“As you are to me.”

Nanami plants one more quick peck on Tiana’s temple, moving to stand next to Tiana. He lets one arm stay around her waist, opening his hand so that his palm would rest on top of her stomach and a bit of her hip.

He looked at their conjoined reflections, Tiana leaning into him carefully so as not to disrupt her hair or get her makeup on him. Nanami felt so giddy standing next to such a vision, that it radiated off of him, his sharp features dulled due to his soft smile. He looked so content standing next to her, as if he had somehow been blessed by the rarest treasure in the world.

Damn, Nanami thought. I’m a lucky man.

ᴛɪᴀɴᴀ ᴛᴜᴇꜱᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

[solitaireships]

Cultural Reconnection

Happy Lunar New Year! To celebrate, I wanted to do a little selfship fic, and I decided with this one to do a modern AU focused on Helena and Chae-Yeong, partially bcs they have the same backgrounds as me with that so I know a little more about Seollal (Korean new year) things from my irl attempts to connect more with my culture

Full disclosure here, like Helena and Chae-Yeong, a lot of what I know about Seollal celebrations are things that I have recently taught myself from doing research online. This may not be a 100% accurate with how things are celebrated, and if it's not, I would appreciate anyone who knows more giving feedback! While it won't change things with this fic, bcs they also are still learning how to celebrate this properly, it'd help me out with my future LNY celebrations

Rating: Gen

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2325 words

Divider by saradika

Helena doesn’t cook very often. It’s not that she’s a bad cook, but with her and Chae-Yeong both hating being in the kitchen with other people, Chae-Yeong tends to be the one to make dinner more often than not. Helena figures that with how much food they’ll need for tonight’s Seollal celebrations, though, she could handle the majority of the cooking. 

As she cooks, Helena’s in new hanbok that Chae-Yeong had bought for this. She’s had to be careful with it— the last thing she wants to do is stain the light green and pink fabric making up the layers of her clothes. Her hanbok’s chima is longer than any of the dresses or skirts she usually wears, but she likes the way it moves around her as she walks around the kitchen.

In some ways it feels like she’s not supposed to be wearing this— her grandmother never passed on much information about Korean culture to Helena or her mother beyond the food. But she’s worn hanbok before, and she reminds herself that this is a part of her culture, even if it’s something she grew up disconnected from. 

It helps that Chae-Yeong’s in a similar boat to Helena. Both of them are a quarter Korean, both of them didn’t get many cultural things passed down to them, and both of them look white. Helena is used to feeling out of place everywhere she goes, never really feeling like she belongs to any community fully. But with Chae-Yeong, she actually feels like she’s not alone. 

Trying to fill the many gaps in her knowledge of Korean culture is more fun with Chae-Yeong, though. That’s another thing that makes Helena feel less alone, less like she’s an imposter and doesn’t really count as Korean. And as Helena finishes up making their rice cake soup hopes that she’s able to make Chae-Yeong feel the same way. 

“The soup is done, starlight!” Helena calls. 

“Smells good,” Chae-Yeong says, coming into the kitchen with a bottle of sparkling cider in hand. She looks pretty in hanbok— she's dressed in has a bright red skirt and a black jeogori. The silver and pink norigae she’s wearing is a nice touch too with its butterfly charm, standing out from the rest of the outfit.

Helena thinks this look suits her well. Her hanbok even matches with the red and black paint along her prosthetic arm and leg. It seems to match her perfectly, and is a good reminder to Helena of just how pretty her wife is. 

“Thanks,” Helena says. “Did you get the rest of the table set up?”

“Mhm.” Chae-Yeong sets the bottle down on the counter, digging through their drawers to find a bottle opener. “We’ll just need to get the last of the hot stuff plated, then everything will be ready.”

Helena turns off the stovetop. “Great. I’m hungry after cooking all day.”

“I’m sure it’ll all taste amazing, yeobo,” Chae-Yeong says. “Do you want me to help plate stuff?”

“If it won’t make you annoyed,” Helena replies, half teasing. 

Chae-Yeong rolls her eyes but smiles. “Putting food on plates and cooking are too different things. And it’s not like you’re better.”

“I’m not. But it’s always good to be safe, you can get scary when you feel like it.”

“I don’t get scary.”

“Yeah, you do.” Helena nudges Chae-Yeong’s side as she walks past with a plate of bulgogi. “You look pretty like that, though.”

Chae-Yeong laughs, pausing the process of scooping some rice from their rice cooker to look at Helena. “You’re the only person in the world who could think I’m attractive when I’m mad.”

“Mhm, which is part of why I’m very lucky to have married you,” Helena says. 

Chae-Yeong gives her one last little affectionate look before they both go back to plating their food. It’s a lot of work to do, but between the two of them, they’re able to get the job done quickly. Helena switches to bringing plates over to the table, doing what she can to remember where everything is supposed to be placed.

This isn’t like her and Chae-Yeong’s normal dinner arrangements. They have food set up practically covering every inch of it. At one end of the table is a collection of fruits such as Asian pears and apples, with a row of vegetables set up on plates behind it. The third row at the back of the table is where they set up their bowls of rice along with plates full of japchae and bulgogi. There’s a spot near the middle of that back row for the rice cake soup which Chae-Yeong brings in in two large bowls. Behind the table is a folding paper screen, one set up there especially for today. They’ve also set up a candle on either side of the table’s middle row, which Helena lights as she waits for Chae-Yeong.

It’s a lot of food for the two of them to eat. Far more than they’d usually prepare. Helena’s never been a big eater, and just looking at everything laid out in front of them is almost intimidating. 

The food isn’t all for them, though. This year they’re trying something new. A part of Seollal is honoring ancestors with charye rites, and this year they’ll be making their first attempt at performing that. 

Preparing an offering table was Helena’s idea. She wasn’t sure how Chae-Yeong would feel about it. Chae-Yeong’s relationship with her family was never a good one, and if she didn’t want to be part of the charye rites, Helena would have understood. Only Chae-Yeong’s biological father even seemed remotely worth honoring. Maybe none of Helena’s ancestors are either— her relationship with her maternal grandparents had been tense for years, and she doesn’t know much about any of her relatives beyond her grandparents. 

But this is something that’s part of most celebrations of Seollal, and Helena wants to try this at least once. Chae-Yeong agreed to this too, and if nothing else Helena will be glad that she gets to do this with her wife. They had to make some substitutions, though— Helena read that alcohol is usually offered to ancestors, but neither of them drink so instead they opted for a sparkling cider. Incense is also used for charye rites too, but the smell makes Helena feel sick so instead they have a reed diffuser set up on the table by the vegetables. 

“Are you ready to do the honors?” Helena asks as Chae-Yeong comes to rest her head on her shoulder.

“If you are,” Chae-Yeong says. “I’m still not sure I’m the best one to be handling this, though. There wasn’t a ton of information about what I’m supposed to be doing online.”

“You’ll do great,” Helena promises, reaching back to give her wife’s hip a quick squeeze.

Chae-Yeong takes a deep breath. It’s rare that she’s ever nervous, but that she’s clearly worried about this is a sign of just how much it matters to her. This is a part of her culture too, a part that neither of them are experienced with. They both want to get this right. 

Knowing Helena’s not alone in this is nice. 

But it’s also nice seeing the way any nerves fade away as Chae-Yeong begins performing the charye rites. She pulls a piece of prayer written in Korean from one of the pockets built into her skirt, placing it on the table before calling out towards their ancestors in a greeting, welcoming them to the table. She’s always been good at coming off as confident even when she’s new to something, and she looks like she’s done this a thousand times as she pours a cup of sparkling cider as an offering. She places a pair of chopsticks on the plate of bulgogi and leaves a spoon in one of the rice bowls. 

Chae-Yeong moves to move the paper screen, unfolding it more so it hides the table from view. Her skirts rustle around her as she makes her way back to Helena. 

“Alright, we’ll have to step out for a bit now,” Chae-Yeong says.

Helena nods and lets her wife lead the way out of the dining room and into their living room.

“Are we supposed to just sit in silence while the ancestors eat?” Helena asks as she closes the door behind her.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t find anything about that when I was figuring this out,” Chae-Yeong admits. She takes a seat on the couch. “I’d say we try to be quiet just to be safe. That feels more ceremonial.”

“Okay.”

Helena sits down next to Chae-Yeong. She doesn’t usually like sitting around in silence for a long time— her mind wanders easily, and usually it wanders towards rumination and everything in her life that’s stressing her out. But with Lunar New Year on her mind, she finds her thoughts going to better things for once.

She wonders what her great-grandparents would have thought of her and Chae-Yeong. She never met them, and she never heard stories about them either. There are no puzzle pieces for her to put together, there’s no story she can create from scraps of information. Most of her family tree is a mystery to her even as she honors them. 

But Chae-Yeong’s not a mystery at all. Helena knows how to read her unlike anyone else, knows every single one of her little quirks by heart. She’s someone who makes sense, and Helena’s always grateful for their similarities. She makes life so much better for her, and she hopes that regardless of who her great-grandparents or even her great-great-grandparents were, they’d at least be proud of her for finding someone she can be herself around. Maybe they’d be proud of her for reconnecting with her roots, for trying to follow cultural traditions even if it took her a long time to do so. 

Family is weird, and it’s complicated, but Helena hopes that there’d be someone in Chae-Yeong’s family that’s happy for her too. And if no one else is, then Helena will be proud of her for them. 

The five minutes they’re away from the dining room pass quickly. Chae-Yeong’s leg brushes against Helena, getting past her skirt so that she can feel the plastic of her prosthetic foot brushing against Helena’s lower leg. 

Chae-Yeong breaks the silence with a cough. “We’re good to head back in.”

Helena gets up first, waiting a second for Chae-Yeong to get up after her. She stretches as she gets up, making a soft grunting noise.

Nothing’s different as the two of them make it back into the dining room, though Helena feels like it should be. She hopes that this is what they’re supposed to be doing, as Chae-Yeong makes her way to the table again. She moves to put the folding screen back in its original position, revealing the table again. She goes to take the chopsticks from the bulgogi, then the spoon from the rice bowl.

“We’re supposed to bow four times now,” Chae-Yeong says as she rejoins Helena. “It’ll help send the ancestors back to the spirit world.”

Helena hums in response, taking four deep bows along with Chae-Yeong. She hopes that if anyone is watching from the other side, they appreciate the food she and Chae-Yeong prepared for them. 

Chae-Yeong strides over to the table again, now taking the written prayer from it and burning it over the candle. The ashes fall down onto the table, and Helena notes that next year they should use a tablecloth. 

“Okay,” Chae-Yeong says. “Since we don’t have any ritual things outside of that prayer, I think that’s about it aside from eumbok.”

“Great,” Helena says. Now it’s her turn to step up to the table.

It’s hard to say if that’s what the ceremony was supposed to be like when she has no frame of reference for it. Now that it’s over, she can’t help but worry that they did this wrong. She heard that people usually eat dried fish for Seollal— they didn’t have any of that, maybe that means the food offerings aren’t right. And they might not have done the ceremony itself right either, it was hard trying to find resources online about how to do this. She knows that she’s probably being irrational, and she’s probably holding herself to too high standards, but worry still eats at her. 

“I think we might be doing this wrong,” Helena says, frowning down at the table. 

“Maybe,” Chae-Yeong replies. Her arms wrap around Helena’s waist as she hugs her from behind. “But I like trying this with you.”

Helena can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah. I like it too.”

It’s not perfect. Helena knows it never will be, no matter how much she wishes she could push everything into place. But she thinks she can be content with imperfection if Chae-Yeong is. 

So she leans back to give Chae-Yeong a quick kiss on the cheek.

“How about we go ahead and eat, then?” she suggests.

“Sounds good.”

As they sit down at a corner of the table, Helena looks at all of the food laid out before them. It’s impressive to think about how much they managed to make in one day, and even if things aren’t perfect, Helena thinks now that she’s happy with how things turned out. They’re definitely going to have a lot to eat, though, and she’s sure they’ll be eating leftovers for a long time after this. 

Helena takes a slice of Asian pear, offering it to Chae-Yeong. She takes it between her teeth, biting off a piece with an affectionate look at Helena. 

She’s lucky to be going into this new year with Chae-Yeong. Everyday with her is a gift. And Helena hopes that when they eat their rice cake soup, symbolizing growing a year older with the lunar new year, this will be one of many more years spent together.

[hemo-anonymous]

how would a person style a skirt used for hiding a tail... in a masc way... is there a way to make it look good... without just having a beard... because its extremely hard for me to grow facial hair...

⥬ I’ve actually done this before !!!

⥬ I’ll base this off my experiences with my own tail, but depending on how yours looks, this may be different for you

⥬ For context, mines fairly thin but EXTREMELY long, with fins

⥬ Easy to fit width-ways, but unfortunately not length ways !!!

⥬ SO

⥬ SKIRT STYLING

⥬ While skirts aren’t inherently automatically feminine or masculine

⥬ There are ways to make them read one way or another !!!

⥬ It’s largely about the silhouette and textures

⥬ First and foremost

⥬ GO LONG

⥬ Long skirts are easier both to hide longer tails under and easier to make read more masc

⥬ Though if you have a less bendable, wider, or other shaped tail, a shorter, puffy skirt with layered petticoats may be the way to go

⥬ LIKE THESE

⥬ It may not read masc, but it’ll hide just about anything!!!

⥬ Now

⥬ Long skirts

⥬ You want square patterns that are broken up !!!

⥬ Solid panels are…

⥬ ok…

⥬ But if you have a skirt divided up into many panels it’s easier to brush off any movement or slight bulging near your legs that may give your tail away !!!

⥬ This can also be pulled off with layered tulle skirts

⥬ I however find those itchy and uncomfortable !!!

⥬ Keep in mind, the thicker the material the better !!!

⥬ Heavy wool can even ignore the multi panel “rule”

⥬ So look for these !!!

⥬ You’re going to want to pair these styles with coats in a similar texture or style PREFERABLY LONG COATS

⥬ Try Something like these outfits !!!

⥬ I hope this helped !!!

[spookiekewchie]

⛓kinktober 2021- sex machine⛓

—so start me up and watch me go, go, go, go

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x woc!reader

Summary: The one where you let Natasha talk you into something new

Word Count: 602

Warnings: general language warning, use of a sex machine, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a google translation (Nat calls the reader bunny in Russian), oral (f receiving)

A/N: DAY TWENTY TWO OF KINKTOBER! All mistakes and errors are my own. I gave it a look over but knowing me I probably missed a few things. The divider is by @firefly-graphics

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. Reblogs are always welcome, and let me know that you enjoy my fics.

There’s a sheen layer of perspiration clinging to your bare form, you tremble with a mix of exhaustion and pleasure that leaves you panting. If you could think clearly you’d be cursing Natasha out for talking you into this. “Trust me, Зайчик.” She had said when you had skeptically eyed the machine earlier. “It’ll be fun.” She assured you, gently working you out of your clothes and stripping you bare. You believed her, and it had been fun at first but then things got intense and after that sixth orgasm your brain was fuzzy and your body overworked.

You don’t know what number you’re on now, all you know is that you’re cumming again and you can feel your juices dripping down your thighs as your body clenches and pulses around the fake cock that’s mounted to the pistoning machine. You try to cry out but your voice is raw and hoarse from how you’ve been screaming. It feels so good, but so overwhelming. You want it to stop, but you also don’t want it to end. The machine is relentless in how it fucks into you, and you think that it can’t get any more intense.

It does though, because Natasha is holding the controller and she ups the speed. You see stars for a moment, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as the new unrelenting pace rockets you right into another orgasm so strong that your arms give out and your upper body crumbles to the bed. It gives you the perfect view of Natasha’s delicious pussy, and you swear you’ve never seen the woman so wet before. You know it’s because of you, or rather it’s from watching you get absolutely wrecked by this damn machine that she’s got you taking. She sets the controller down, and you breathe out a shaky breath as you watch her scoot down the bed and put herself close enough for your mouth to reach her sopping core.

She doesn’t even need to tell you what she wants, your mouth is already on her with a moan at how good her tangy sweet essence tastes on your tongue. Natasha’s hips arch off the bed slightly, pressing her core harder against your mouth as you loudly and messily eat her out. It helps just slightly to bring you back down to Earth, but it doesn’t stop you from falling apart again when you feel the thick dildo mounted onto the machine hitting that spongy spot on every thrust that it makes. Your toes curl, and your hands grip the covers and you try to brace yourself for the earth shattering orgasm you know will come sooner rather than later. Your lips seal around Natasha’s clit, sucking at her bud and letting your tongue flick back and forth over it, greedily wanting to bring her over the edge with you.

Natasha’s so close, and you can tell by how she tangles a hand in your hair and tugs, her hips rolling against your mouth as she moans and cries out for you to keep going. You do for as long as you can, but it’s the feeling of you screaming when your climax hits you that finally sends her over. You gush around the toy still sawing into you, body shuddering as you sob out a broken moan and pull your hips forward to get yourself away from the persistent machine. You collapse on top of Natasha, breathless and feeling clammy but she doesn’t seem to mind as she runs a hand over your back soothingly.

“See, Зайчик. I told you it’d be fun.”

[hamliet]

The Crows Summon the Sun

Or, Hamliet’s review of Shadow & Bone, which gets a 4.5/5 for enjoyment and a 3.5/5 in terms of writing.

The true heroes of this story and the saviors of the show are the Crows. However, the problem is that the show then has an uneven feel, because the strength of the Crows plotline highlights the weaknesses of the trilogy storyline. But imo, overall, the strengths overshadow (#punintended) the weaknesses. 

I’ll divide the review into the narrative and the technical (show stuff, social commentary), starting with narrative.

Narrative: The Good 

It’s What The Crows Deserve

I went into the show watching it for the Crows; however, knowing that their storyline was intended to be a prequel, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. And while it is a prequel, the characters have complete and full arcs that perfectly set them up for the further development they will have in the books (which I think should be the next season?). Instead of retreading the arcs they’d have in the books, which is how prequels usually go, they had perfect set up for these arcs. It’s really excellent. 

Jesper, Inej, and Kaz are all allowed to be flawed, to have serious conflicts with one another, and yet to love each other. They feel like a found family in the best of ways. Kaz is the perfect selfish rogue; he’s a much more successfully executed Byronic hero than the Darkling, actually. Inej is heroic and her faith is not mocked, yet she too is flawed and her choices are not always entirely justified, but instead left to the audience to ponder (like killing the girl), which is a more mature writing choice that I appreciated. 

Jesper is charming, has a heart of gold despite being a murderer and on the surface fairly greedy, and MILO THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT GOAT WAS THE BEST THING EVER. I also liked Jesper’s fling with Dima but I felt it could be better used rather than merely establishing his sexuality, like if Jesper and Dima had seen each other one more time or something had come of their tryst for the plot/themes/development of Jesper. 

Nina and Matthias’s backstory being in the first season, instead of in flashbacks, really works because it automatically erases any discomfort of the implications of Nina having falsely accused Matthias that the books start with. We know Nina, we know Matthias, we know their motivations, backgrounds, and why they feel the way we do. It’ll be easy for the audience to root for them without a lot of unnecessary hate springing from misunderstanding Nina (since she’s my favorite). Matthias’s arc was also really strongly executed and satisfyingly tragic. Their plotline was a bit unfortunately disconnected from the rest of the story, but Danielle Gallagan and Callahan Skogman have absolutely sizzling chemistry so I found myself looking forward to their scenes instead of feeling distracted. Also? It’s nice seeing a woman with Nina’s body type as a romantic and powerful character. 

Hamliet Likes Malina Now

Insofar as the trilogy storyline goes, the best change the show made was Mal. He still is the same character from the books, but much more likable. The pining was... a lot (too much in episode 4, I felt) but Malina is a ship I actually enjoyed in the show while I NOTP’d it in the books. Mal has complexity and layers to his motivations (somewhat) and a likable if awkward charm. Archie Renaux was fantastic. 

Ben Barnes is the perfect Aleksandr Kirigan, and 15 year old me, who had the biggest of big crushes on Ben Barnes (first celebrity crush over a decade ago lol), was pretty damn happy lol. He’s magnificantly acted--sympathetic and terrifying, sincerely caring and yet villainous in moments. Story-wise, I think it was smart to reveal his name earlier on than in the books, because it helps with the humanization especially in a visual medium like film. Luda was a fitting (if heartbreaking) backstory, but it is also hard for me to stomach knowing what the endgame of his character is. Like... I get the X-men fallacy thing, but I hope the show gives more kindness to his character than the books did, yet I’m afraid to hold my breath. Just saying that if you employ save the cat, if you directly say you added this part (Luda) to make the character more likable (as the director did) please do not punish the audience for feeling what you intended. 

I also liked the change that made Alina half-Shu. It adds well to her arc and fits with her character, actually giving her motivations (she kinda just wants to be ordinary in a lot of ways) a much more interesting foundation than in the books. Also it’s nice not to have another knock-off Daenerys (looking to you Celaena and book!Alina). Jessie Mei Li does a good job playing Alina’s insecurities and emotions, but... 

Narrative: The Ehhhhhhh

Alina the Lamp

Sigh. Here we go. Alina has little consistent characterization. She’s almost always passive when we see her, yet she apparently punches an officer for calling her a name and this seems to be normal for her, but it doesn’t fit at all with what we know about her thus far. Contradictions are a part of humanity, but it’s never given any focus, so it comes across as inconsistent instead of a flaw or repression. 

I have no idea what Alina wants, beside that she wants to be with Mal, which is fine except I have no idea what the basis of their bond is. Even with like, other childhood friends to lovers like Ren/Nora in RWBY or Eren/Mikasa in SnK, there’s an inciting moment, a reason, that we learn very early on in their story to show us what draws them together. Alina and Mal just don’t have that. There’s the meadow/running away thing, but they were already so close, and why?  Why, exactly? What brought them together? The term “bullies” is thrown around but it isn’t ever explored and it needed to be this season. If I have to deal with intense pining for so many episodes at least give me a foundation for their devotion. You need to put this in the beginning, in the first season. You just do.

A “lamp” character is a common metaphor to describe a bad character: essentially, you could replace the character with a lamp and nothing changes. Considering Alina’s gift is light, it’s a funnily apt metaphor, but it really does apply. Her choices just don’t... matter. She could be a special lamp everyone is fighting over and almost nothing would change. The ironic thing is that everyone treating her like a fancy lamp is exactly the conflict, but it’s never delved into. We’re never shown that Alina is more than a lamp. She never has to struggle because her choices are made for her and information is gifted to her when she needs it. Not making choices protects Alina from consequences and the story gives her little incentive to change that; in fact, things tend to turn out better when she doesn’t make choices (magic stags will arrive). 

Like... let’s look at a few occasions when Alina almost or does make choices. For example, she chooses to (it seems) sleep with Kirigan, but then there’s a convenient knock at the door and Bhagra arrives with key information that changes Alina’s mind instantly despite the fact that Bhagra’s been pretty terrible to her. If you want to write a woman realizing she’s been duped by a cruel man, show her discovering it instead of having the man’s abusive mother tell her when she had absolutely no such suspicions beforehand. There’s no emotional weight there because Alina doesn’t struggle. 

When she is actually allowed to carry out a bad choice, the consequences are handwaved away instead of built into a challenge for her. Like... Alina got her friends killed. More than once. I’m not saying she’s entirely to blame for these but could we show her reacting to it? Feeling any sort of grief? She never mentions Raisa or Alexei after they’re gone, just Mal, and I’m... okay. They were there because of you. Aren’t you feeling anything? Aren’t you sad? The only time Alina brings up her friends’ deaths is to tell Kirigan he killed her friends when they were only there because she burned the maps. She yells at Kirigan for “never” giving her a choice, but she almost never makes any, so why would he? Alina has the gall to lecture Genya about choices, but she herself almost never has to make any. 

Which brings me to another complaint in general: Alina’s lack of care for everyone around her when they’re not Mal, even if they care for her. Marie dies because of her (absolutely not her fault of course) but as far as we know she never even learns about Marie. She certainly doesn’t ever ask about her or Nadia. Alina seems apathetic at best to people, certainly not compassionate or kind. 

The frustrating thing is that there is potential here. Like, it actually makes a lot of psychological sense for an orphan who has grown up losing to be reluctant to care for people outside of her orbit and that she would struggle to believe she can have any say in her destiny (ie make choices). It’s also interesting that a girl who feels like an outsider views others outside her. But the show never offers examines Alina’s psychology with any depth; it simply tells us she’s compassionate when she is demonstrably not, it tells us she makes decisions when it takes magical intervention to do so. It’s a missed opportunity. This does not change between episodes 1 and 8, despite the episodes’ parallel structures and scenes, which unintentionally reinforces that Alina had little real development. 

Inej and ironically Jesper and Kaz embody the concept of “mercy” far better and with far more complexity than Alina does. The Crows have reactions to the loss of people who even betray them (Arken, etc), learn, and course-correct (or don’t) when they are even loosely involved in having strangers die. They’re good characters because they change and learn and have their choices matter. When they kill we see them wrestle with it and what this means even if they are accustomed to doing so. Jesper can’t kill in front of a child. Kaz wonders what his killings do to Inej’s idea of him.

Narrative: The Mixed Bag

Tropes, Themes, Telling vs. Showing

So the show’s themes in the Alina storyline are a mess, as they are in the trilogy too. Tropes are a very valuable way to show your audience what you’re trying to say. They’re utilized worldwide because they resonate with people and we know what to expect from them. The Crows' storyline shows us what it wants us to learn.

Preaching tells, and unfortunately, the trilogy relies on telling/preaching against fornicationBad Boys. It’s your right to write any trope or trample any trope you want--your story--but you should at least understand what/why you are doing so. The author clearly knows enough about Jungian shadows and dark/light yin/yang symbolism to use it in the story, but then just handwaves it away as “I don’t like this” but never does so in a narratively effective way: addressing the appeal in the first place. If you really wanna deconstruct a trope, you gotta empathize with the core of the reason these tropes appeal to people (it allays deep fears that we are ourselves unlovable, through loving another person despite how beastly they can be), and address this instead of ignoring it. Show us a better way through the Fold of your story. Don’t just go around it and ignore the issue.

The trilogy offers highly simplistic themes at best--bad boy bad and good boy good, which is fine-ish for kid lit but less fine for adult complexity, which the show (more so than the books) seems to try to push despite not actually having much of it.

Alina and Mal are intended to be good, we’re told they are, but I’m not sure why beyond just that we’re told so. Alina claims the stag chose her, but in the show it’s never explained why at all. Unlike with Kaz, Inej, Jesper, and hell even Matthias and Nina, we don’t see Alina or Mal’s complex choices and internal wrestling. 

Like, Inej’s half-episode where she almost killed the guy they needed was far more character exploration than Alina has the entire show, to say nothing of Inej’s later killing which not only makes her leaps and bounds more interesting, but ironically cements her as a far more compelling and yes, likable, heroine than Alina. We see Inej’s emotional and moral conflict. We can relate to her. We see Kaz struggling with his selfishness and regrets, with his understanding of himself through his interactions with and observations of Inej, Alina, the Darkling, Arken, and Jesper.

We don’t explore what makes Mal or Alina good and what makes them bad. We don’t know what Alina discovers about herself, what her power means for her. We are told they are good, we are told she knows her power is hers, but never shown what this means or what this costs them/her. Their opportunities to be good are handed to them (the stag, Bhagra) instead of given to them as a challenge in which they risk things, in which doing good or making a merciful choice costs them. Alina gets to preach about choices without ever making any; Inej risks going back to the Menagerie to trust Kaz. Her choices risk. They cost. They matter and direct her storyline and her arc, and those of the people around her.

Production Stuff:

The Good: 

The production overall is quite excellent. The costumes, pacing, acting, and cinematography (for example, one of the earliest scenes between the Darkling and Alina has Alina with her back to the light, face covered in his shadow, while the Darkling’s face is light up by her light even if he stands in the shadows) are top-notch. The soundtrack as well is incredible and emphasizes the scenes playing. The actors have great chemistry together, friend chemistry and romantic when necessary (Mal and Alina, the Darkling and Alina, Kaz and Inej, Nina and Matthias, David and Genya, etc.) All are perfectly cast. 

The Uncomfortable Technicalities Hamliet Wants to Bitch About:

The only characters from fantasy!Europe having any trace of an accent reminiscent of said fantasy country's real-world equivalent are antagonists like Druskelle (Scandinavia) and Pekka (Ireland). When the heroes mostly have British accents despite being from fantasy Russia and Holland, it is certainly A Choice to have the Irish accent emphasized. The actor is British by the way, so I presume he purposely put on an Irish accent. I'm sure no one even considered the potential implications of this but it is A Look nonetheless.

The Anachronisms Hamliet Has a Pet Peeve About: 

The worldbuilding is compelling, but the only blight on the worldbuilding within the story itself (ignoring context) was that there are some anachronisms that took me out of the story, particularly in the first episode where “would you like to share with the class” and “saved by the horn” are both used. Both are modern-day idioms in English that just don’t fit, especially the latter. The last episode uses “the friends we made along the way.” There are other modern idioms as well.

IT’S STARKOVA and Other Pet Peeves Around the Russian Portrayal 

Russian names are not hard, and Russian naming systems are very, very easy to learn. I could have waved “Starkov” not being “Starkova,” “Nazyalensky” not being “Nazyalenskaya,”  and “Safin” not being “Safina” as an American interpretation (since in America, the names do not femininize). However, “Mozorova” as a man is unfathomable and suggests to me the author just doesn’t understand how names work, which is a bit... uh okay considering a simple google search gets you to understand Russian names. They aren’t hard. I cannot understand why the show did not fix this. It is so simple to fix and would be a major way to help the story’s overall... caricature of Russia. 

Speaking of that... Ravka is supposedly Russian-based, but it is more accurately based on the stereotypes of what Americans think of Russia. Amerussia? Russica? Not great. 

The royals are exactly what Americans think of the Romanovs, right down to the “greasy” “spiritual advisor” who is clearly Rasputin and which ignores the Romanov history, very real tragedy, and the reason Rasputin was present in the court. The religion with all its saints is a vapid reflection of Russian Orthodoxy. The military portrayal with its lotteries and brutality and war is how the US views the Russian military. The emphasis on orphans, constant starvation, classification, and children being ripped from their homes to serve the government is a classic US understanding of USSR communism right down to the USSR having weapons of destruction the rest of the world fears (Grisha). Not trying to defend the Soviet Union here at all, but it is simplistic and reductive and probably done unconsciously but still ehhhh. 

However, I’m not Russian. I just studied Russian literature. I’ve seen very little by way of discussion of this topic online, but what I do see from Russian people has been mixed--some mind, some don’t. The reality is that I actually don’t really mind this because it’s fantasy, though I see why some do. I'm not like CANCEL THIS. So why am I talking about this beyond just having a pet peeve?

Well, because it is a valid critique, and because it doesn’t occur in a vacuum. The Grishaverse is heralded as an almost paragon for woke Young Adult literature, which underlines itself what so frustrates me about how literary circles discuss issues of diversity and culture. Such praise, while ignoring its quasi-caricature of Russia, reflects a very ethnocentric (specifically American) understanding of culture, appropriation, and representation. All stories are products of their culture to various extents, but it bothers me on principle what the lit community reacts (and overreacts sometimes?) to and what people give a pass to. The answer to what the community reacts to and what it gives a pass always pivots on how palatable the appropriation is to American understandings and sensibilities. There’s nuance here as well, though. 

I'm not cancelling the story or thinking it should be harshly attacked for this, but it is something that can be discussed and imo should be far more often--but with the nuance it begs, instead of black/white. But that’s a tall ask. 

[treesap-blogs]

“Hunted By The Sky” by Tanaz Bhathena review! Yippee!

(Buckle up guys, this is 2 of 3 of the reviews going up today because I’ve been doing a lot of reading in order to clear my reading queue before reading a book I’m looking forward to :D! You’ll find out what it is eventually, it’ll be easy to tell.)

Hello, Tumblrians! I’ve been trying to get out as many reviews as I can this week! This was a book I read after being in a bit of a reading slump, as I’d put Zorro: A Novel by Isabel Allende on my reading queue(I was hyperfixated on the franchise for a month or so, fun times), only to be bored by the execution of its plot and sufficiently icked out by how it struggled to handle its subject matter(dated 2000’s writing for the win)! Eufgh. So I decided to come back around to this book, to have some actually good writing to cleanse my palette a bit! Got me out of my reading slump, thanks Tanaz Bhathena, and I burned through the last 110 pages or so in a matter of 2 days.

To be honest, the thing that most intrigued me in the premise was being able to have a vengeful female lead as our protagonist (or rather, one of them, does Cavas count as a protagonist too?), a liking that’s probably due in part to Iron Widow, along with it having a setting I typically haven’t read about but adds an interesting layer of culture to the narrative and characters! Similarly to When The Angels Left The Old Country, actually, this book felt very culturally rich! It takes place in Medieval India, and integrates its Indian (Hindi, particularly) aspects into the story seamlessly, from the locations the characters visit to the clothing they wear and the food they eat. (With the fantastical elements, it also takes inspiration from Persian mythology because of Bhathena’s heritage.) And, like When The Angels, it had a glossary on the last few pages for defining some of the terms, including ones with specific context inside of Ambar/Svapnalok! Some of those were more or less defined in the text, others weren’t, it helped to have an aid as someone who’s outside of that culture.

My main complaint that I have, though, is that aside from the representation it felt like a pretty generic plot? Sure, I love to read some fantasy, and I also love myself a vengeful female lead, but there were a lot of things in here I’d read in other stories. The prophecies(and how a main character is directly linked to one, resulting in being powerful magically), being endangered because of magical powers, instalove romance(which I was mostly indifferent to), etc. But, I could tell there was a lot of thought put into the world itself. Like the inclusion of different creatures, places and stuff, even if a lot of the scenes played out with them were similar to other media. We got a lot of details about its history, especially with how prominent classism issues were in the story, and, surprisingly, it didn’t feel like the author was patronizing her readers in how she fleshed the fantasy elements out. It is infodump-y for half of the first part, though. (This book’s divided into sections, I believe there’s about four, with the last one being only one chapter.)

(Also, the mammoth fight was so stupid🧍)

I also feel like this book should’ve been listed as a romance too, it’s definitely a romance fantasy because Gul and Cavas’ relationship is not a sideplot by any means! I kinda wanted to just read more about Gul’s revenge, harnessing her powers, that kind of thing, but, again, I was impartial to the romance. Although instalove isn’t my thing, and this wasn’t a relationship that had me “squee”ing(presumably because enemies to lovers has been ruined for me, peep the DNI criteria in my bio), they had some enjoyable banter. (And personally I don’t mind it giving some kind of emotional stake or our lead someone to fight for. This is just personal preference, rather than formal review writing haha.) Also, I like Dual POV! I was glad to read a story in first person where both perspectives felt unique, not just based on basic personality traits but also backgrounds! Socioeconomic classes are a crucial part of this book (as you could..probably tell lol), and the characters’ different backgrounds greatly influenced their perspectives. It was interesting to read about, and it felt like the perspective changes weren’t just for convenience but also because it was most necessary to know either Gul or Cavas’ insight at the time.

Also! Forgot the name of the group of women that trained/raised Gul, but they were pretty badass and were overall interesting! Glad they got to return for the climax and ending. 

Final verdict: Plot didn’t stand out a ton to me when I was actually reading it, but the execution was solid and the characters worked. Romance wasn’t totally my thing, although I can see how it could be that for other readers, and because a) this book got my attention, b) Bhathena has an interesting writing style? Like, I felt totally immersed, I could tell she had a good grasp on her craft even if judging by the reviews fantasy wasn’t a genre she’d written in before, c) I’m a completionist at heart, I’ll be reading the second book. It does look like a duology, though, which is something that bums me out because I don’t like the pacing done with them :(. (Peep my Dragon’s Promise review.)

Book rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️½/5 stars! 

Paz, signing off!

(Book trigger/content warnings: murder of parents, chronically ill parent, sexual slavery, animal cruelty, blood and violence, classism and discrimination.)

(Thanks Simant on Goodreads for the concise list of CWs/TWs!)

[perlukafarinn]

for the sake of this fic, let’s pretend angels can’t heal monsters.

Their luck had been bound to run out sooner or later. 

Dean had known this, had felt it with every beat of his heart since he first arrived in purgatory, and somehow it still caught him off guard when it finally happened.

 They’d been cornered by a pack of monsters he couldn’t even identify, things that looked human and moved like a nightmare, their monsterhood betrayed by a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

Already at the start of the fight, Dean found himself cornered alone, and with a quick glance around saw Cas and Benny had similarly been sectioned off. The monsters outnumbered them almost two-to-one and Dean barely had the time to raise his knife before one of the ugly fuckers was on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Whatever those things were, they’d been smart enough to ambush and divide, but Dean’s humanity was working in his favor for once. The monster on top of him was chomping eagerly for a bite of flesh, eyes glazed over and mindless with hunger. It didn’t even seem to notice that Dean’s blade was now digging into its throat, as it inched itself closer to its own demise.

Dean clenched his fingers around the handle of his knife but before he could strike the killing blow, a terrible scream pierced through the air.

“Benny!” Cas called and Dean looked up, heart pounding in terror, catching the sight of Benny sinking to the ground just in time before three monsters were on  him.

Dean jolted as he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder - the fucker on top of him had bitten him, teeth just barely piercing through Dean’s leather jacket to graze the vulnerable flesh underneath.

Fueled by fear and pain, Dean grasped his blade tightly and drove it into the neck of the monster. It froze, staring down at Dean in confusion, its blood dripping dark and viscous down Dean’s hands and staining his skin.

“That’s my favorite jacket, you asshole.” 

With another surge of strength, Dean pushed himself off the ground, rolling them around and straddling the monster, driving his knife in deeper until he’d separated the head from the body. 

No time to waste, he got up on his feet and ran towards Benny. Cas was already there, grabbing one of the monsters by the head and lighting it up from the inside out. Dean got to them just in time to deal a killing blow to the last of them, decapitating it smoothly as it raised its head towards him.

And there was Benny, lying in the pile of corpses. He was soaked with blood and what little of his skin shone through was deadly pale. His arms looked torn to shreds but his right leg seemed to have taken the worst of it, looking utterly mangled from the knee up.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He knelt, reaching for Benny with trembling hands as if he could stem the flow of his blood with them, somehow. “It’s - it’s okay. Cas can heal you, it’ll be okay.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “I can’t.”

Dean turned around, sure he’d misheard. Cas looked down at him, genuine regret in his eyes.

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t?” 

“Benny’s a vampire,” he reminded Dean gently. “I can’t heal monsters.”

“Brother.” Benny’s voice was quiet and raspy. It sounded like it took all his energy just to speak. “It’s fine. We always knew it might end like this. You gotta leave me, I won’t -” he coughed, droplets of blood landing on his lips. “- I won’t be able to heal quick enough. I’m a liability.”

“Like hell,” Dean muttered. He looked around desperately, as if the solution might present itself. He shifted on his knees, pain flaring in his shoulder as he moved.

Dean stilled. 

He knew what he had to do.

“Cas can’t heal you,” he said slowly. “But I can.”

Benny squinted up at him. “What?”

“Dean...” Cas said, clearly understanding Dean’s train of thought. “He would need to take a lot. Too much.”

“And then you heal me,” Dean said, pointing between the three of them. “That should work, right?”

Cas didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“Help me get him upright,” Dean told him.

He wrapped his arm around Benny’s shoulders, moving carefully as Benny groaned in pain at the movement. In a moment, Cas was on his other side, helping Dean haul Benny into a sitting position, propping him against a nearby tree.

“Wha-” Benny blinked, squinting at Dean as he started removing his jacket. “What’re you doing?”

“Saving your sorry ass.” 

Dean handed his jacket to Cas, then paused as he considered the best way to do this. His neck would be quickest, he knew, and they needed to get this over with as soon as possible. 

Well. What happens in purgatory...

Before he could think too hard on what he was about to do, Dean climbed onto Benny’s lap, straddling him in order to keep most of his body weight off of him. As if on autopilot, Benny raised one hand to grasp Dean’s waist, supporting him.

“Come on, buddy,” Dean said, cupping the back of Benny’s head and bringing him in close. “Drink up.”

Benny’s hand tightened its grip on his waist and there was the flicker of hot, wet tongue against Dean’s skin. That was all the warning he got before Benny sank his teeth in, ferocious and hungry, and began to draw deep sips of blood. 

The pain of it was blinding for a moment, sharp and intense, but it didn’t last long. What was left was a strange sensation, a pull and a tug, and Dean’s head swam with the realization that he was feeling the blood being sucked from his body. 

Benny’s tongue was still pressed against his skin. He shifted, growing strong enough to move as he drew more of Dean’s blood, and his arm wrapped tighter around Dean’s body, hand moving from his waist to his lower back. 

With one hungry, insistent pull, Dean felt his knees give way but Benny just tugged him even closer, wrapping his free hand around the back of Dean’s neck, holding him still as he drank. 

Dean swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from losing so much blood but it wasn’t for his body to grow hotter, for his stomach to tighten in excitement, for the sounds forcing their way past his lips, small pants that sounded almost like groans.

And it sure as hell wasn’t for his dick to get hard.

Maybe he’d been in purgatory for too long. Maybe it was just that it had been a while since he’d last had another body pressed against his like this. Maybe it was Benny’s hands on his body, so strong and assured, or the burning touch of his mouth on Dean’s skin.

Maybe it was the fact that Benny was getting hard too, erection pressing insistently against Dean’s ass through two layers of denim.

“That’s enough.”

Dean startled. He’d forgotten that Cas was there, watching them. 

Oh, shit. Cas was there and Dean was sitting in a vampire’s lap, dick hard enough to pound nails, with no way of getting out of the situation without showing his ass.

Well. Metaphorically speaking.

Benny pulled away, the release of his fangs sending another sharp stab of pain down Dean’s spine. He leaned against the tree, licking the blood from his lips and looking way too smug for his own good. 

“You okay there, cher?” 

Dean shifted uncomfortably and oh, wrong move, because now his hard dick was pressing against Benny’s stomach. There was no way Benny couldn’t feel it but he just grinned, eyeing Dean with a lazy sort of curiosity.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, voice coming out weaker than intended. He was feeling a little light-headed, come to think of it.

Then, an arm was wrapping around his waist and yanking. Dean stumbled, trying to get his feet under him as he was hauled up but it didn’t seem to matter; Cas was handling all of his body weight just fine.

Dean peaked over his shoulder. Cas was glowering at Benny, arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Dean when Benny just winked in response. 

“Cas?” Dean asked. 

At the sound of his voice, Cas finally looked his way. His eyes were almost impossibly intense so close up, threatening to swallow Dean whole.

Rather than say anything, Cas raised his hand, cupping Dean’s neck gently and for one crazy moment, Dean was sure he was gonna pull him in for a kiss. Instead, warmth started streaming from Cas’ palm.

Dean closed his eyes and couldn’t help the groan of relief as he felt his body heal, the wound on his neck knitting itself back together and fresh blood rushing through his veins.

The warmth slowly receded but Cas didn’t move his hand. Dean opened his eyes and Cas was still staring at him, that dark, inscrutable look.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Benny asked.

Cas huffed and then he was pushing Dean to his feet, letting go off him so quickly he almost stumbled right back down his knees. He caught himself at the last moment, watching Cas’ retreating back as he stalked towards the trail ahead.

Benny whistled. “Touchy.”

Dean rolled his eyes but offered Benny his hand, helping him back on his feet. Before he could let go, Benny grabbed his shoulder with his free hand.

“I just wanted-” Benny swallowed. “Thank you. I don’t think anyone else would’ve...”

Dean averted his eyes, uncomfortable at the naked display of gratitude, and gave Benny a curt nod. 

“Don’t mention it, man.”

[westmoor]

none go hungry

Jaskier isn’t sure what woke him, or why he’s awake at all.

Daylight is a late visitor this far north, and only days have passed since the turning of the sun, long hours of darkness tend to blend into each other.

The dying smoulder of the hearth suggests the morning is approaching, but still some ways away - Jaskier can not imagine anyone being awake at this time. 

Footfalls past his door prove otherwise.

Abandoning the safe warmth of his bed seems a wholly foolish endeavour. But curiosity wins out in the end - it’ll be the end of /him/ someday - and he unweaves his mind from sleep and limbs from furs and blankets, mindful to pull on the thick woollen socks Geralt had gifted him upon arrival before putting his feet on the floor.

Although he is wearing every layer within reach, by the time he gets to the end of the now-empty hallway with a sneaking suspicion whoever passed by did so in the direction of the courtyard, he regrets their scarcity.

It’s too early.

And far too cold.

He hurries to catch up, as fast as he can without snuffing the light.

It’s not Geralt, which rules out a quarter of the available suspects and makes him all the more curious.

The front hall is also empty. Unsurprising considering the noise-maker’s head start, but unexpected due to the implications and sure enough: There’s a drift of powdered snow across the floor, not given enough time to melt.

Heading out now, in the snow and the cold and the dark, improperly dressed and alone, is beyond reckless. 

All the best things in Jaskier’s life so far have been brought by recklessness.

The courtyard is cold and clear, full moon high in the sky and the snow, fresh that afternoon and now frozen to a crisp and shimmering, lights the grounds from below. There is some sort of poetry, he thinks, in how the darkest days of the year seem to make the brightest nights.

His little candle is useless at a distance, but after the closed-in dark of the keep, the open-air moonlit dark of outside renders it unnecessary. Scanning the layout of the outer buildings he soon spots his mark: The broad line of Eskel’s shoulders stand out starkly in the white.

For the first time since rolling out of bed, he faces a real dilemma.

Witchers are a guarded breed, that’s a lesson well learned. Weeks of shared meals and close quarters have whittled away at their defenses and helped him find a place among them, but next to Lambert, predictable in his unpredictability, and Vesemir, inherently venerable, Eskel has been the greatest challenge by far.

Not because he isn’t friendly. Rather the opposite. Eskel, it seems, has found a way to forge politeness into armour. 

The dilemma is this: Either to respect the distance the other man has placed between them, or seize this opportunity to sate some of his curiosity with both hands and run with it.

It’s not much of a dilemma.

He mouths a thanks to the gods for the width of Eskel’s bootprints as it allows him to step in them, but curses them for the distance he has to traverse. He’s not even halfway across the yard when the latch on the stable door is flicked open with a crack and he forces himself not to run despite the frost starting to melt through the knees of his breeches. 

But when he finally reaches the stables, he stops just short of entering.

Eskel has left the door half open and lit a couple of the hanging lamps - for the animals’ benefit, presumably, as a Witcher would hardly need them - and is unwrapping something in his hands.

Jaskier hovers in the doorway, suddenly realising he didn’t have an entrance planned.

He won’t need one.

“You should come inside,” the older wolf interrupts, “Geralt will have my head if I let you freeze to death out there.”

Not needing to be told twice, Jaskier has the door shouldered shut before he can even think of a retort, rubbing his hands together to stave off the oncoming shivers. He feels the need to make a peace offering, even if the words had held no hostility.

Belatedly, the bard realises he must’ve heard him following before they even left the keep.

“I heard you passing by on the upper floor,” he starts, “and as this strikes me as a rather ungodly hour to be tinkering about outdoors, I figured I should come and see if you were- what are you doing?”

While Jaskier has been talking, Eskel has opened what now turns out to be a prepared package, and is breaking a loaf of bread into evenly sized pieces. 

“We used to do this.” He is portioning out carrots now, the horses stretching long necks over the dividers to bump noses against his arms in expectation. “My family. Before I came here. We didn’t have much, but no creature should greet the new sun on an empty stomach.”

This sudden well of insight into a man who up until this point has been as guarded as a Cintran stronghold takes him by surprise, and that’s probably why, when given the chance to mine it, the only word that slips his lips is “Why?”

That makes Eskel pause, a winter apple in hand. He seems to ponder the answer, as though the question, however obvious, is one he himself has never thought to ask. 

In the end, he just shrugs.

“It’s important.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s lip catches between his teeth and it’s not lost on him, the early hour or the silence of the stables, the fact that Eskel comes out here to do this alone while everyone else is safe and warm in their beds.

“Well. Can I help?”

For the first time since entering the stables, Eskel turns fully to look at him and if the light had been just a little poorer he might’ve misread the shadow cast by his scar as a sneer. But it’s plenty to see the smile that brightens those ever-so-serious features, and lamplight reflects in eyes already touched by gold, and Jaskier grins back.

Later, when the sun finally climbs above the ridge of mountains enclosing their haven, he will help him hoist a sheaf of grain - the last of the autumn harvest - into one of the great pines within the walls and watch yellow tits and sparrows flock to it. 

But for now, Jaskier accepts the fodder from hands much rougher than his own, and turns to fill the bucket in Roach’s stall.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Dive Bar Ch. 11/11 - Fin

Pairing: Dean x Sam

Rating: 18+

Summary: After a one night stand with a random college chick turns into a threesome that also featured his little brother, Dean- well, frankly, he panics. What’s even worse than gay panicking? Gay incest panicking. Luckily, Sam winds up being a little more cool about the whole thing than Dean ever would have imagined.

WC: 3,001

Tags: brother/brother incest, loss of anal virginity, anal sex, blow job, incest kink, dirty talk, top!sam, bottom!dean, happy ending - sue me 

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr and @daydream3r-xo

Divider: @firefly-graphics ❤️

A/N: Okay I’m gonna do a separate post with a long sappy note so this post doesn’t become a mile long but TLDR - thank you for reading and coming with me on this wild ride 🥰

Fic Masterlist

Chapter 10

A few weeks later

Another hunt. Another drink. Another dive bar.

Sam killed his beer before Dean could even get his lips around his own, and once he saw Sam downing the drink, condensation running over his knuckles, his lips, down his throat– Dean didn’t care he had lost the game, he just wanted to lick the moisture off Sam’s neck.

“Take a picture,” Sam laughed when he noticed Dean’s staring, “it’ll last longer.” Dean dropped his gaze to his bottle and took a long swig. “Something on your mind?”

“Wh– nope, nothing,” Dean denied, seeing his beer off. “I’m buying right? You want the same?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam looked suspicious, but let Dean go off to get their second round.

Dean grabbed the bartender’s attention and held up two fingers, pointing to the bottles he was returning, then dropped his head in his hands. God, he had to get himself under control. He couldn’t just zone out every time Sam did something that made him half hard in his jeans – he’d wind up getting them both killed at some point. It didn’t help that every time Sam had tried to fuck him, he’d chicken out the second he got another look at Sam’s dick. He needed to nut up and go through with it already. The bartender pushed new drinks at Dean, breaking him out of his reverie.

When he spun back towards Sam with their drinks, he saw a table of girls a few spots over from them making eyes at Sam, and he noticed one in particular looked exactly his type. She had those ‘come hither’ bedroom eyes, long hair you could wrap your hands up in, great boobs – This is perfect.

“You’ve got an admirer little bro,” Dean teased when he dropped the fresh bottle on the table in front of Sam. Sam glanced up and noticed the girl Dean was talking about, dropping his head behind his hair quickly. Dean caught her eye and gave her a wink before taking a draught of his beer and turning back to Sam.

“Stop being a jerk,” Sam shoved at Dean, “it’s not nice to lead people on.”

“What if I’m not?” Dean held his breath as he watched Sam’s face, unsure of how he was going to react to that.

“What are you asking me, Dean?” Sam fingered the label on his beer bottle – one of his nervous tics – and Dean realised he fucked that up.

“No! That’s – shit, that’s not what I meant. I meant like, what we did before, with Dany, we… y’know.” Dean fumbled through an explanation, but he saw Sam let out a breath and knew he was okay.

“You want to have another threesome?” Sam smirked, bemused, which was better than pissed so Dean was fine with that.

“Why not?” he shrugged, glancing back to the girl, who was still checking them both out, before focusing back on Sam. “We were pretty damn good at it the first time,” Dean grinned, pulling a huff from Sam.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, still smirking at Dean, “it was good.” Sam’s smirking was starting to unnerve Dean a little.

“And, y’know, the past couple weeks have been – awesome, really – but maybe we uh, spice things up again, huh?” Dean waited for Sam to chime in with something, maybe tell him what all the goddamn smirking was about.

“Already getting bored of me, Dean?” Sam’s smirk was actually becoming irritating, now.

“You know that’s not what I meant, stop being a bitch,” Dean grunted. Sam laughed to himself and took another drink. “So, what d’ya say, Sammy?” Dean waggled his brow, trying to draw an answer out of his brother. “Show another gal the time of her life?”

Sam could tell Dean was stalling. He’d been jumpy the past few times Sam had brought up having actual sexual intercourse – his cock in Dean’s ass – saying he wanted it, but not letting Sam go past fingering him open a little. And now Dean was finding another excuse to put it off, and Sam was getting desperate. It was time to give Dean a push off his cliff.

“We can do it again,” Sam nodded, rounding the table so he was behind Dean, and looking towards the girl he’d been pointing out. “But not just yet.”

“Hm?” Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, puzzled. Sam bent over his big brother, bringing his lips close enough to his ear that he wouldn’t have to shout to be heard in the crowded bar.

“I don’t want anyone else fucking you before I get the chance to do it properly.” Sam felt Dean shiver against him. “Gonna let me fuck you, big brother?”

“Fuck,” Dean exhaled, trying to compose himself behind a swig of his drink.

“How much longer you gonna hold out on me?” Sam scraped his teeth along the back of Dean’s ear, pulling a whimper from him.

“You know what, fine,” Dean stood abruptly, knocking Sam off balance behind him. “You wanna do this? Let’s do this. Get in the car, Sam.”

Sam grinned triumphantly as he followed Dean out of the bar and out to the Impala, back to their motel room for the night.

-

Sam pushed Dean against the door the second it closed behind them. They were good at this part. He could take Dean apart with a few calculated bites along his neck and some very enthusiastic kissing, and Dean was becoming more and more comfortable letting himself be putty in Sam’s hands.

Not that Dean didn’t have the same effect on Sam. A short tug on his hair and Dean’s tongue between his lips and he would melt in his brother’s arms. Dean was a mind-blowing kisser.

Sam trailed his hands down Dean’s arms and grabbed his wrists, pulling him off the wall and towards the bed; still messy from the previous night. He sat Dean down on the mattress and stood back to strip off his shirts. He felt Dean’s hands at his belt undoing the buckle so he could pull his jeans down, and Sam kicked them off along with his boots. Dean went to unbutton his own shirt but Sam stopped him.

“Hey – I want to do that.” Dean gave him a confused sort of smile, but let Sam’s fingers cover his and take over stripping him out of his layers. He kissed Dean again, sucking on his lower lip and licking into his mouth, inhaling his every breath - consuming him. He dragged his fingers over every inch of skin that was revealed as he pulled off the flannel and then the t-shirt, kissing down his legs as he tugged him out of his jeans, before he had to kneel to unlace Dean’s boots. Dean propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Sam, still knelt at his feet.

“I know what you’re doing Sam, so you can quit it now,” Dean griped. “Stop treating me like some blushing virgin, I’m not a girl.” Sam grinned wolfishly and sprang back on the bed once he’d gotten Dean’s jeans off.

“No, you’re definitely not a girl,” he agreed, squeezing the bulge in Dean’s underwear and pulling a groan from his brother. “But I’m still gonna make you scream like one,” Sam breathed against Dean’s lips before he devoured them. “Gonna make you feel so good, Dean,” Sam groaned, pushing his hand into Dean’s briefs and grabbing hold of his length. “Love your cock so much, so hot,” Sam wasn’t sure what he was saying anymore, whatever popped into his head was going straight to his mouth without any filter, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Dean had gotten his hand inside Sam’s boxers and was jerking him off now too.

“God, wanted this for so long,” Sam moaned, sucking a bruise into the join between Dean’s shoulder and his throat. “Thought about fucking you so much,” Sam admitted, to hell with embarrassment at this point. “When I went home with that guy from the bar, I wanted it to be you. I thought about you when I was fucking him – said your name when I came inside him.”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean groaned, his mocking tone not disguising his arousal very well, “s’cute you’re so sweet on me.”

“Shut up,” Sam bit at Dean’s lip gently, “before I make you.”

“So then make me,” Dean growled, flipping them so Sam was below him and he could grind their erections together while he sucked his own mark into Sam’s skin. He dragged his lips down Sam’s chest, goal evident. Sam didn’t want to get too carried away, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want Dean’s mouth on him; blowjobs were a skill Dean had really been perfecting over the past few weeks.

Dean hummed happily when he got Sam’s cock in his mouth, and Sam relished the wet warmth that enveloped him, thrusting up into Dean involuntarily.

“Someone’s eager,” Dean chuckled before taking Sam back in his mouth.

“Someone’s being a tease,” Sam grunted, hauling himself up on his elbows so he could pull Dean off his dick and throw him onto his side on the bed. They kissed again, Dean wrapping his arms around Sam and getting his hands in his hair, like he knew Sam liked. Without breaking from the kiss, Sam grabbed for the lube that was still under the pillow from the previous night.

Dean was expecting what came next, and didn’t flinch when he felt Sam’s fingers trailing over his ass and dipping between his cheeks to find his entrance. Sam kept the touches light, teasing – soothing – until he felt Dean relax against him again.

“I want you to do it,” Sam breathed against his neck. Dean didn’t follow.

“Want me to do what?”

“Get yourself ready for me,” Sam elaborated, kissing along Dean’s neck. “Want you to finger yourself open for me.”

“Why?” Dean wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but Sam had always been the one to do this part before.

“Because you’ll be able to feel when you’re ready, won’t be as nervous.” Sam kissed further down Dean’s chest, stopping to suck one of his nipples into his mouth, and pulling a gasp from Dean. “Plus, I think it would be hot,” he grinned up at Dean. “Want to see fucking yourself so good on your fingers that you’re begging for my cock.”

Dean felt his cock twitch against Sam’s hip, and he had to admit, when he said it like that, it did sound fucking incredible. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He grabbed the lube from Sam and turned over so he was on his knees, letting his shoulders drop to the mattress, his ass in the air.

“Fuck, you look hot like that,” Sam moaned. Dean could see Sam was touching himself as he watched and found that he liked putting on a bit of a show.

“You like watching me, Sammy?” Dean shivered as he pushed one slicked-up finger into himself. “Like thinkin’ ‘bout how much you wanna fuck me while you touch yourself?” He started to move his finger inside himself, in and out, searching… “Like thinkin’ about your big brother when you get off?” Dean moaned when his fingertip skirted by the spot he was trying to find.

“Fuck, yes,” Sam breathed, eyes fixed on Dean’s finger moving in and out of his ass. “Add another one, Dean.” Dean did as he was told and added a second finger, hissing at the stretch. “There you go.” Sam reached between his legs to play with Dean’s cock, and his hand felt so fucking good against his skin. That, coupled with the fact that Dean had managed to find the spot inside his ass Sam had shown him that made everything go fuzzy, Dean was pretty blissed out. “Think you can do one more for me?” Sam squeezed his fingers in a ring around the head of Dean’s cock, drawing another whimper from him.

Dean nodded and pulled his hand away to add more lube, and went back to his hole with three fingers. He pressed at his entrance slowly, testing the give, and found that when he finally pushed his fingers inside, he loved how full he felt, and he loved the small tingle of pain that was mixing with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck.” Pumping his fingers into himself faster, Dean groaned wantonly, unreserved, relaxing into the feeling of being stretched so open.

“Think you’re ready?” Sam asked, obviously hopeful.

“Yeah,” Dean gasped, “yeah, Sam, want you. Please.” He let himself sag to the bed and rolled over onto his back. Sam kissed him shortly and pulled back, searching his eyes for one last okay, before Dean felt the tip of Sam’s cock pressing against his entrance.

When Sam pushed inside of him, Dean’s whole world whited out. He was bigger than the fingers he had been working himself with, and so fucking hard, but Dean loved every second of it. He couldn’t believe he’d made Sam wait to do this for so long.

“Oh my god, Sam, fuck -“ Dean panted.

“Told ya I’d make you feel good,” Sam groaned, pushing in a little more. “You’re doing so good, De, taking me so fucking good, so fucking tight.”

“Goddamn, you really never shut up, do ya Sammy?”

“Sorry,” Sam ducked his head into Dean’s neck, embarrassed.

“No, hey,” Dean pulled Sam back up to face him. “S’okay little brother. I, uh – I kinda like it.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s grin was unsure, but relieved.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, kissing along the column of Sam’s neck, sucking the skin between his lips to leave another mark. “Never would have thought you’d be so good at dirty talk.”

“That’s not the only thing I’m good at,” Sam smirked, and pressed the last inch of himself inside Dean, pulling a muffled ‘fuck’ from Dean. “You still good?” Sam checked.

“So good,” Dean moaned, pressing his hips back into Sam’s, like he was hoping to fuse the two of them together permanently.

“Can I move yet, or do you need a minute?” Sam asked.

“Would you just shut up and fuck me alrea –” Dean’s gripe was cut off abruptly by a moan when Sam pulled his hips back and slammed home again. Dean couldn’t get too many words out after that – the pleasure thrumming through his body had short circuited his brain. All he could think about, all he could feel, was Sam’s cock moving inside of him. The hot drag of Sam’s flesh against his was intoxicating, and he felt himself fucking his hips back up into Sam’s without necessarily deciding to do that.

“Shit, that’s it baby,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth, picking up the pace of his thrusts. “Feel so good Dean.” Dean could barely manage a whimper in acknowledgement. Sam leaned back on his heels to get better leverage, moving Dean’s ankles to his shoulders, and on the next thrust in he found Dean’s prostate, which Dean’s choked whine made very clear. “There we go,” Sam grinned down at him. “Bet you're glad I didn’t let you go home with that girl now, huh? No girl could ever make you feel like this, could they?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “Fuck no.” And it was true. Sex had never felt this intense before, this all-consuming, this nerve-frying. Sam hadn’t even touched his cock since he’d pushed inside him and he was already so fucking close to losing it. And he knew Sam could tell, too.

“You gonna cum for me, big brother?” Sam started fucking into him even harder, quicker. “Gonna cum with your little brother’s cock inside you?” Dean thought he nodded, but to be honest, he couldn’t be sure. “Good,” Sam groaned, “because I am so fucking close.”

Dean reached up to pull Sam back down to him. He wanted every inch of his body covered by Sam’s, wanted to drown under him. They kissed fiercely, tongues tangling and teeth clacking against each other as Sam fucked him faster and faster. The sweat coating their bodies made for an easy slide of Sam’s stomach against Dean’s cock and that extra bit of pressure was exactly what he needed to finally spiral out of control. He came noiselessly, any sound he might have made dying in his throat as every muscle in his body seized up. Thick white spurts caught against the hair on their chests, smearing between them.

“Holy shit,” Sam gasped as he suddenly ceased his frantic pace and froze, cock buried inside of Dean as deep as it could go. “Fuck,” Sam’s whimper was barely audible, but it was there. Dean’s hands absentmindedly combed through Sam’s hair as they both calmed down their breathing, soothing his little brother like he’d always tried to do, even though, given the circumstances, it probably should have been the other way around right now.

Eventually, Sam pulled out carefully and flopped down on the vacant side of the mattress. Dean dragged the crumpled sheet from the foot of the bed and wiped over his chest, then over Sam’s, to get the cum off before it dried too badly, before dropping back against the pillows and rolling into Sam’s side. He felt Sam startle for a moment before pulling Dean against him, arm curling around his shoulder.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Sam’s voice was soft, like he was worried he would scare Dean off.

“Yeah,” Dean considered, “yeah, I’m good, brother.”

“Not too disappointed I didn’t let that blonde come back with us?”

Dean laughed. “No, Sammy, not disappointed.”

“What if I said that … I thought that – maybe – I wanted you all to myself from now on?” Sam’s eyes caught his, hesitant.

“I’d say…” Dean let sharp exhale and a short laugh. “I’d say, it’s always been you and me. And I’ve never needed anyone else.”

Sam beamed down at him. “Good enough for me.”

Tags: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @delightfullykrispypeach @hawkerz12 @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91​ @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons @natastic @marvelfansworld @half-closeted-bi-girl @je-ai-de-la-amour-pour-dean @kiss-my-peachy-arse @tftumblin @alice101macwil @disneysloot @caitlinvd @crashlyrose @miufel @itsthedoctah10 @leftlokiofpuppy @devilsbbyy @austin-winchester67 @spnobsessed50

[sabraeal]

A Home Between Two Breaths

[He Who Fell in the Sea | Read on Ao3]

The snow starts just out of Luidas– big, thick flakes. A dusting, at first; they settle on Miss’s hair like fine lace, melting before she can brush them off. But now the horses wade through the drifts, nickering with displeasure when snow crumples beneath their hooves. His own coat sags, a thick, wet film against his skin, but Miss–

Well, Miss sits snugly beneath a bridled pelt, one hand absently brushing along the edge. His chest tingles with every sweep of her fingers, a shiver trembling down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Her heat’s been his constantly companion these past few hours, keeping him warm and wary long past when his own coat abandons him. But the colder he gets, well, the more he’s tempted to stop, to haul up to one of the inns they pass and see if they can’t generate their own heat between them.

His teeth grit down, jaw aching. If only he could bring himself to love a woman whose heart wasn’t already spoken for, given to a man who could keep her warm with far more than just the pelt off his back.

Still, taking shelter isn’t a bad idea, not when there’s no telling how long the storm will last. Lamps burns brightly in the distance, up the hill but not too far. He remembers the place; it’s not one of their usual stops– too close to the checkpoint to bother with, mostly made more for lords with carriages and delicate constitutions to care for. Pricey, and with the weather, the innkeep will be sure to wring them for more than two beds are worth, but, well–

He’s going to go crazy if she doesn’t stop petting him like this. Obi tugs at his reins, bringing himself up alongside Miss. Their knees don’t knock– he’s too careful a rider for that, even if she’s not– but he’s close enough to be heard over the howling winds. “We should stop.”

A contemplative pout settles on her cold-stung lips; she’s doing the complex calculations he’d mulled over moments ago. It’s not quite dusk– on a fairer day, they’d be on the road for another hour or two at least– but with the storm only growing stronger at their backs…

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.” The darkening sky hangs heavy overhead, only adding a more dire edge to his warning, but Miss’s jaw still sets stubbornly, the I can keep going loud in her silence. “We should think of the horses.”

“Oh!” She frowns down at her mare’s mane, snow tangling in the long, frozen ropes its settled into, and nods. “Of course. Is there some place near?”

His cowl is raised, covering his lips, but he smothers his smile, just in case. Miss might press on past wisdom if it were only herself she had to worry about, but bring the horses into it…

“Just there.” He points, voice struggling against the wind. “Up on the rise. Hopefully they’ll have two rooms ready to go.”

Miss coughs, ducking her head to cover it. Her next words are mumbled, lost in the wool of her scarf and the roar of the storm, but the winds twist and turn as they press on and he could swear–

Well, he could swear he hears, “We could do with less.”

“Two rooms,” Miss says, trying to raise her voice over the din. They’re far from the only weary travelers escaping the storm; the common room is packed wall-to-wall with boisterous custom, their coats damp but spirits as warm as the brew in their mugs. “If you please.”

“I do.” The innkeep’s round-faced, cheery, but with enough height to convey that she could, if pressed, handle rowdy customers right to the door. The kind of woman Obi would like, if her smile wasn’t already saying exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “But I’m afraid we’ve only got the one left. Busy night, you know.”

“Two beds?” he asks, already knowing the answer. If Master had been with them, three would have appeared from thin air with rooms to keep them. But with just a court herbalist and a knight, the only title between them a friendship to the wrong crown–

“One.” The innkeep’s kind enough to offer a sorrowful smile. “A nice one, though, if I do say so myself.”

A slender finger traces down his chest, as if there were not three layers of clothes and a safe distance between them, and he yelps out, “A cot?”

“‘Fraid not.” The innkeep brushes some flour off her apron, brusque yet strangely sympathetic at the same time. “All spoken for. You’re hardly the only ones who’ve had to make due with less than you came in wanting.”

Still that finger runs, collar to breast, following the length of his sternum. It should be lulling, comforting, but instead he just– “Maybe there’s space in the barn?”

Miss’s hand stills, eyes too wide, too green as she peers up at him. He can’t bear to look, not when he’s in danger of losing himself in them. The last time they’d been in the room with a bed–

Well, there’s a reminder twitching right against his thigh about that. “I’m not above a good night in the hay.”

The innkeep’s brows lift in amusement. “Full up to the manger.”

His sigh hollows him out, leaving him to slouch over the remains of his chest. “I could–”

“We’ll take it,” Miss says, stepping up in front of him. The dir glitter in her palm as she lays them on the counter. “The room, that is. And the bed.”

Obi lets out a plaintive whine, lost in the noise. “Extra blankets?”

The innkeep smiles at him, wide and wry. “Now that I can do.”

After all his years on the road, Obi considers himself a connoisseur of lodging. A adept of accommodations. A man who knows what a coin might bring him, greasing the right palm. Someone who speaks the lingo, one might say.

So when a proprietor of sleeping arrangements says one bed, he knows there’s a connotation to that. One bed, of course, but enough mattress to be shared between two. The sort of thing where one could divide between the pillows and trust that, without a very adventurous sleeper on the other side, he could expect to wake up undisturbed.

This is not that.

“Well,” Miss murmurs, taking a ponderous step into the room. “There certainly is…one.”

He’s seen bigger in the garrison. It’s only a little wider than a standard cot– meant to fit one and half maids, if only so the help might feel kingly for a night as well–

“Ah, isn’t that just our luck, Miss.” Obi lets out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a swan song. “In an inn full of lordly accommodations, we get…the servant’s quarters.”

Another room might have a sofa, a chaise, or, failing that, a hard-backed chair that he could at least make a credible attempt at sleep in. But this– this is a room meant for sleeping, not entertaining. At least, not if he wasn’t planning on doing it horizontal.

Which he isn’t. Not at all. That’s not what’s happening here. Between them. Ever. No matter what happened before. Master may not be here now, but Obi won’t forget him.

Again.

“It’s fine,” Miss blusters, as if he can’t hear her voice squeak up at the top of her range. “We’ll make do.”

She draws herself up, utilizing every scant inch, and officiously scurries over to the edge of the mattress, giving it the sort of calculating stare generals leveled on fields of battle. With a steeling breath, her shoulders lift, and in a smooth motion, toss his pelt wholesale onto the covers.

The wind knocks out of him, for more than one reason. “I was going to use that.”

“You are going to be using it,” she agrees primly, letting her own cloak fall, sopping, in to her arms. “In the bed. Tonight.”

His mouth works as she crosses to the one ladder-backed chair that the room provides, spreading the wet wool across it. “I was going to sleep on the floor.”

The gaze she turns to him may be wide-eyed, but it’s knowing too, braced. This isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s a negotiation. “Why would you do that? It’s freezing, Obi.”

Again, his mouth can only open and close, words picked up and quickly abandoned in his search for something other than, don’t you remember? Or worse, how could you forget?

He couldn’t, not when he’d spent the night staring up at a ceiling he hardly remembered the pattern of, listening to the soft lull of Master’s breath and wondering why, why he has to ruin everything he touches. It would be better if he listened to the songs of his sisters, letting them guide him back to the sea, pelt wrapped around him and life brought back to the simple sensation of the water against his fur–

But he’d miss her. And he can control himself just fine, as long as there’s some space between them. Which there won’t be if they’re in that bed together, his skin covering them as one body.

“I just–” he flounders under her inquisitive confusion; it doesn’t help that she’s taken off her dress as well, left in only in her underthings, every shapely curve bared to him– “it would be best.”

Miss’s fingers still on her stays, head cocked, considering. Her gaze sweeps from the pelt on the bed to her own state of undress, hesitating a moment before she takes in his position against the door.

With a long, thoughtful breath, she exhales a very firm, “No.”

“No?” His mouth works, at a loss, and she takes the opportunity to place a single, bare leg on the mattress, right along his spine. Hell, that is making it a little hard to breathe, let alone think. “That is my skin, you know.”

“And you’re going to be using it,” she informs him, unimpressed, as she drags another tantalizing calf beneath her, warmth radiating along his back. It’s the last thing he needs when she’s got that stubborn pout on her lips. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Obi. Even with seal skin, you’ll freeze.”

He’s lived in water colder and darker than nights like these, dove into deeper currents than the Lilias’s winds could ever drop, but it’s impossible to explain to that to Miss, who has only this one, soft skin. The kind that is begging him to touch it with his own, to press her between his pelt and his body, and–

“I have extra blankets,” he mutters dumbly, thrusting them out in front of him like they might ward off her arguments. It’s a weak volley, a desperate measure to avoid the inevitable rout, and she deflects it with barely more than a dubious glance.

His shoulders slump, wet fur sopping around his neck. By the victorious glint in Miss’s eyes, she doesn’t miss the moment of his defeat.

“Your should take off your coat, at least,” she tells him, so innocent. “It’d be no good for you to come to bed wet.”

Obi can’t, unfortunately, argue with her logic. He lays his shield down, the thick quilts the innkeep pressed on him falling in a slumped pile against the footboard. And with a sweep of his arms, the first of his armor falls as well, arranged flat on hearth’s screen.

It’s a relief to be rid of its damp weight; warm as it is, another creature’s fur sits strangely on him, as if his body wants to take its shape as well. And when it’s almost clinging to him, dripping sweat and ice down his spine– well, it’s a new layer of discomfort.

His boots follow, stockings soon after, though their removal is another battle, the wool sticking to every inch. When his feet finally press bare to stone– ah, the cold seeped through him more than he’d thought. For all his talk, his soles stretch against its ambient warmth and, oh, how they burn. Maybe Miss was right about sleeping on the floor; as a seal, his blubber would protect him, but as a man–

Well, he certainly lacked a certain sleekness over these bones. It was easier to forget now that he was allowed both.

Obi hesitates, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. They were wet too– damp at the knees and clinging to his thighs at parts– but still…

“Are you coming to bed?” Miss inquires, muffled. He glances back, and there she is, smothered in blankets, radiating warmth along his back. “It’s warm in here.”

The smart thing would be to take his blankets and suffer as best he could by the fire. Or take the invitation but keep the clothes, hoping they would dry in the warmth of the blankets. But Obi–

Well, Obi hadn’t ended up on shore by being more clever than bold. He strips down to his skivvies, laying his clothes beside Miss’s on the stone. It left him far from naked– his woolens might leave little to the imagination, but they were still as thick and warm as his pelt– but the way Miss watches him–

Maybe he should risk the floor.

He shakes himself. Too late to change his mind now.

Soft fur tickles his hands as he slips into bed beside her, Miss extending from a pleasant, abstract warmth along his back, to a present, insistent heat along his side. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

“Beneath?” he manages after a moment. “I thought you enjoyed it as a blanket.”

“We have plenty of those.” Her eyes glitter guilelessly in the dim, fingers stroking the pelt in mindless, soothing circles. “Having it under us will stop any heat from escaping through the mattress. Like a little oven!”

“Oh,” he murmurs, watching her fingers carve runnels through his fur. “Smart.”

“I thought so,” she says with no little pride. “Blow out the lamp?”

He nods, reaching over to turn the wick down, watching the flame gutter behind the glass. Even when it’s out, the fire keeps a low, merry glow, and beneath his shirt–

“Oh!” The cord lies tangled in his chain, tag and stone knotted together in a way that takes a good moment of patience and another of dexterity to sort out. Still, it’s easy work, and with a few quick loops he lifts it over his head, stone pulsing gently in the dark. “Here you go.”

He’s seen his miss in firelight, but the stone’s glow does something to the shape of her face, to the round of her eye. In her hushed awe, it’s as if he’s never seen her before. “This…?”

“Sorry I borrowed it for so long.” Her gaze darts to his, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“Ah!” Her fingers reach, plucking the cord from his grasp, an infinite amount of stones glittering in her eyes. “The stone! Did you–?” She hesitates, mouth rounding around words she doesn’t say. “Did you use it for something?”

He’d hung it on a darker night than this, moon blotted out by thick, reaching branches, but as it swings in her grip, a slow, pendulous spin– well, it’s hard not to think of the shadow that approached. How confidently the assassin had slipped through the trees, fleet and sure-footed as any night creature. And then for him to pull up short, surprise writ large in those dark, fearful eyes–

“It would be a good reference point,” Miss presses, breathless. “For the future.”

He huffs out a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. Ah, yes, he can see it now. Uses: luring assassins out of hiding. “I don’t think it’ll be much help to any of you scholars, but it worked perfectly when I used it.”

The crystal sets her face into harder angles; her cheeks sit sharp, carved from marble, and her jaw settles into a contemplative pout. It’s not answer enough, he knows, not for her, but she’s never been one to push, not even when she held a pelt in her hand.

“I’d say it was thanks to that thing that I made it to Master’s side in time.” Her eyes turn to him, wide, but it’s the least he can give her, when she’s put both his freedom and her trust into his bloodied hands. “And I was also able to pass on Mitsuhide’s message.”

“Because of this?” She cradles the stone in her hand, tender, but it’s him that she turns to, satisfaction curling her lips. “So it was helpful? I mean– it was worth having?”

“Of course.” If his grin is easy, it’s only because he’s so practiced at giving it. At least, instead of kissing her. “It would have been worth having just because it gave it to me. The rest was gravy, Miss.”

Her sigh is heavy, contented, the tension eking out of her shoulders with each second that passes until she’s settled fully into the pillow’s soft down.

“Obi?” He almost doesn’t catch her soft hum, muffled as it is. But one of her hands has dropped between them, fingers gently stroking in those small, soothing circles, and even part of him is attuned to every molecule of air in this room, if only because there doesn’t seem to be enough. “Come over here?”

He rolls up onto his elbow, so close a deep breath might make them touch if he weren’t careful. But he is. Always. “Hm?”

In a single, smooth swoop, she loops the cord right around his neck. “Eh–?”

Her smile is too much, mischief honing it sharper than any other knife he’s taken between his ribs. He hardly even feels the stab. “I bequeath this to you.”

“Eh?” he tries again, fingers plucking at the leather, since she clearly didn’t hear him the first time.

“I want you to have it.” Her gaze settles where it dangles between them, and he’s not ready for how his chest tightens with the softening of her smile. “If it was helpful to you at Sereg, I’d like you to keep it.”

He stares. But it’s precious, he nearly says, but it’s no use, not when he can’t survive her inevitable answer, the one clear in her eyes already–

So are you, Obi.

“Miss.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own, stilted and too low. “A while back, you asked about this scar.”

The neck of his woolens swoops low enough for a ragged edge to peep through, stark white against the shadow of his skin. He hooks a finger round it still, pulling it lower until he can feel the meat of that gnarled ruin against the tip of his fingers. In the pale light of the stone, he can see the way her eyes fix to it, body tense beside his.

“I never cared about getting injured.” The dark loosens his lips better than any bottle. “Or coming back. There wasn’t–” he licks his lips, only a wry smile left behind– “there wasn’t any point.”

Why worry about this strange skin when no matter how well he performed for them, his masters would never yield his reward. His pelt always laid under lock and key, a carrot and stick both: a well done job held the hope of seeing a glimpse of it, a chance to snatch it from their grasp; and a failed one–

Well, there were so many accidents that could happen to a beautiful pelt like this one. Fire. Scissors. A blade.

Obi might not have cared what happened to this body, but he could never return to his sisters with the proof of this life etched upon his skin,

His fingers clench in his fur. “Didn’t really see it as a drawback.”

The stone’s glow isn’t enough to illuminate the whole of Miss’s face, so he doesn’t so much see her jaw work as feel it, her restraint dragging her teeth down with a soft click. Her urge to speak is palpable, drawing the space between them to a taut thread but–

But Miss has always had that sense, the kind good healers always did, of when a wound needed salve or stitching, and when it just…needed to breathe. Which is what she does, muscles melting into the mattress beneath her, her fingers picking up those slow, soothing circles over his fur. If all this feeling is a festering poison, well– he needs to get it all out himself.

“I lived like that for a long time.” The words leave him on a sigh, back stretching into her touch, wrong skin as it is. “But then when I came back, and I saw your face…”

The memory burns brighter than the stone in his eyes; even now he can picture the way she stood, half turned toward him, fingers flexed in disbelief. The way steam had rose from her rounded mouth, clouding the air between them. How she had run, falling just short of being in his arms–

– and how she’d just narrowly missed the same later, her nails dragging through his pelt, jaw slack–

Ah, that’s really not what he should be thinking about now. Not when she’s pressed so tight against him.

“All I could think,” he rasps, meeting the dark evergreen of her eyes, “was how glad I was that I didn’t get seriously injured. So I could…”

Come back to you. He can’t make the words leave him; it’s too much, too far, but Miss–

She hears them anyway. Her breath catches, hand flexing flat on his pelt, a brand against his spine.

“So,” he breathes, heart pounding in his throat, “I guess I’m– haah.”

His hips jerk hard as his miss rakes runnels slowly down his spine. Every inch of his skin shivers, hair and teeth on edge, and it’s definitely…good. Too good for what he’s trying to say.

“You’re being distracting.” The warning rumbles out of him, and even to his own ears, it sounds more promising than scolding.

Miss hums, too innocent, too interested. “Should I stop?”

She does, as a demonstration.

“No!” He coughs, glad there’s no possible way she can see the heat slapped across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to–” have a serious conversation– “and you’re–” making it hard– “it’s hard enough, talking like this, when we’re on…”

Me. He can’t say that either, not when she’s looking up at him so guilelessly, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“I think,” he grits out, finally, “that maybe I haven’t properly explained the, ah, connotations of touching…that.”

Her eyelashes flutter in the dark. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It hisses out of him, not enough but also entirely too much. “A lot. More than I think you–”

“I almost made you…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and oh, how he wishes that were him. “Ah…come?”

He jerks, hands clenching in his fur to keep him still, keep him grounded. More than ‘almost,’  he nearly says, but even he isn’t so foolish. “You did.”

“Obi.” She squirms dangerously close, near enough that his cock, already hard, twitches like a mutt on a leash. “I am laying on it.”

Obi blinks, confused, but it comes to him– either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.

Now his face burns. He’d said that, control hanging by a thread. Broken so effortlessly by her fingers in his hair.

“I…” His mind is blank, every thought static, but he manages, “I just wanted…”

She really, really doesn’t need to look so invested in what he wants. Not when he’s already flirting so closely with the shore.

He clears his throat. “I just wanted to say, I’ve come back.” To you is too dangerous to say. “I’m…home.”

Her chest rises in a long, hopeful breath, gaze fixed to him.

“Obi,” she breathes, laying her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home.”

He watches as her eyes flutter, heavy-lidded to half-mast, as her lips just barely part, chin angling upward, and– and on any other woman he’d know what that means. On any other woman he’d close this space between them, show her just what this man’s body could do, if he asked it, but with her–

It’s impossible. How can he fill the place Master already occupies?

He should move; he should roll back onto his side and leave her to do the same; he should know better than to have let them get this close again. “Miss–”

Her fingers sliding from the angle of his cheek into the bristle of his hair, and static sparks over the surface of his skin, chasing through his veins, curling his toes, filling him up until there’s nothing left but to ground himself at the source. He’s never been able to resist her, anyway.

He reaches for her, palm gently cupping the back of her head, but she reaches for him too, pulling him to her, and when their lips meet it’s not gentle. It’s no princely kiss, oh no, but hungry mouths needing to devour, tearing a groan from him that belongs to neither of his bodies but a different animal entirely.

She’s not close enough, not even when she rises up on her own side, pushing their bodies flush together, only cloth keeping them from the delicious friction he craves. He wants her, the proof of it obvious and hard against her hip now, but she doesn’t shy, only bucks into it, making sparks trail up his spine, behind his eyelids–

“Miss,” he tries again, but there’s nothing more to say, not when she squirms up him, pressing her lips even more fully against his. Nothing more to think when she scrapes her nails so deliciously over his scalp, moaning into his mouth.

His palm grips her hip, hard enough for him to swallow a gasp as he rolls her under him, aligning them the way they both want– at least, Miss doesn’t seem to be complaining, not when her legs wrap around his his, dragging him to her. She doesn’t complain when his tongue tests the gap between her lips, when he slips it inside her mouth entirely, and–

It’s not close enough, not when it’s never felt so right, when her body molds to fit his to perfectly. When even now he can feel her both above and below, his own skin calling to him in a way that it never has before, like he might wrap him and her in it both–

“Miss,” he moans, twisting his head away. It’s the only thing that keeps her from following him. “We should–we should stop.”

She blinks up at him, and even in the glow of the stone between them, her eyes are dark. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No.” He can’t imagine how she could think that, with his cock twitching against the curve of her hip. “I…you’re perfect.”

He can feel her breath catch beneath his ribs, as if it were his own, and oh, they are too close to be having this conversation. Still, he can’t bear to pull himself away, not when she bites her lip so anxiously and asks, “If you tell me what to do, I could–”

“No, Miss, it’s not–” he coughs, glad she can’t see his face– “I’m very, very interested in continuing…this.”

Her head tilts, curious, as are the fingers creeping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Then why do we have to stop?”

That’s becoming a more pressing question with every stroke of her fingers. “I’m just…” He licks his lips, mouth dry as they drift closer to his spine. His actual spine, not just…by proxy. “Maybe this isn’t something we should jump into this with both feet.”

“Ah.” Her smile is soft in the stone’s light, playful. “Do selkies get cold feet?”

A laugh huffs out of him. “We get nothing but.”

Her palm presses like a brand against his spine, drawing a low groan from his lips. “But you’ve always been so warm, Obi.”

“You are making a good case, Miss,” he admits, his hips rolling without his permission. It takes a concerted effort not to try to get Miss to repeat the noise she makes. “But I– I don’t know how this works.”

She stares, incredulous.

“I mean, obviously I know how to light fires. And tend to them,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her neck. “But I mean, the rest. With my…” He lets out a huff, frustrated. “I wasn’t old enough when I was…”

When he was taken from his sisters. It seems like the wrong time to be bringing up family when Miss is rubbing her bare leg against his. “I don’t know what this means, when I feel like this.”

“Obi?” Miss blinks, still beneath him. Her fingers trace the scar across his chest. “What do you feel?”

“A lot.” The admission bothers him more than he would like. “More than with…anyone else.” His breath hisses between his teeth, and finally he manages, “It’s never felt good when someone touches my pelt before.”

“Oh.” Her mouth rounds, and oh, how he wishes that were more of an invitation than it was. “Only…?”

He nods, cheeks burning. “Only you.”

“Ah.” Her palm flexes against his back. “So maybe…slower?”

“Yes,” he sighs, relief making his body sag. “ I just don’t know–” what this means– “what I can give you.”

“Obi…” He fingers trace those smooth, soothing circles, only this time on his skin. “You’re more than enough for me.”

“But I…”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Obi.” Her steady hands guide him beside her, fingers fanning out over his expanding ribs. “We don’t need to worry about tomorrow until the dawn. As long as I have you, we’ll take the days as they come.”

Miss squirms close, head resting on his chest, arm thrown tightly over him. “Goodnight, Obi. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

A breath shudders out from him. “Goodnight, Miss.”

Her breath evens into sleep, so quickly he might laugh, it not for–

For the way his pelt tempts him, for the way the night wind calls. Even now, Miss in his arms, he hears the song of his sisters, smells the salt of the sea.  

As long as I have you.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

[chrwrites]

Worth The Wait (LBSC Sprint Fic Challenge Secret Santa)

Happy Holidays, @sapphicmarinette! For this week’s @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge I tried to merge all your prompts but I ended up needing to work on it a lot more so have this while you wait for the other one to be done! The prompt I’ve chosen for this one is “teaching Luka how to bake”, hope you like it!

read on ao3

When Luka asked Marinette to teach him how to bake, he didn’t expect her to make him do something so difficult yet frustrating for a start. He just wanted to do something simple that wouldn’t have made him feel like an idiot for burning a batch of cookies in the oven or said cookies being hard and tasting bad because he forgot some ingredient or added more of the other.

Luka knew how to cook, but when it came to baking somehow he ended up putting himself in danger or hazarding someone’s health. Juleka always picked on him for that, even though he was the one who cooked most of the meals in the house – being the oldest brother be damned – and he wanted to prove that he could do that, too.

Christmas was approaching, and he could use the occasion to do something nice for his family. Asking Marinette for help was the only reasonable choice: her parents ran the best bakery in town, who else could he have asked? It’s not like he wanted to spend more time with her, did he? Right, he definitely didn’t consider that.

Marinette was wearing a cute pink apron decorated with her signature cherry blossom flowers on a pocket when she opened the door for Luka and welcomed him in her house. She handed him a white old apron and smiled at him happily. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and the blue of her eyes was shining bright. Oh, she was so beautiful when she was relaxed.

After Luka washed his hands, Marinette put him to work, handing him an empty steel bowl where he had to pour the ingredients he was going to measure, “What are we making?”, he asked.

“Panettone”, Marinette said simply, the shift in her voice as she said the word made him feel warm inside, and he turned to look at her, entranced by the sound of her voice. “It’s a traditional Italian sweet bread usually made around Christmas, Papa makes some to sell for the bakery every year but they’re smaller because people don’t buy it that much. This is my favourite recipe and he makes it for me only”, she said proudly.

“Wow, you’re sharing family recipes with me? I’m honoured”, Luka teased, and Marinette responded pointing one finger to his face, the tone in her voice light yet menacing, “You better not share it with anyone”.

“Of course I won’t”, Luka reassured, “Where do we start?”

Marinette immediately instructed him to measure the ingredients before he poured them in the bowl. He melted sugar nto water, then added flour and egg yolks as Marinette made him place the bowl in the stand mixer and started it. They left the machine work for a few minutes and Marinette made Luka measure the other ingredients, the tone in her voice was steady and professional as she guided him, and it made Luka wonder how many times she had done this to be so confident in her directions. Or maybe it was because she was at her place and doing something she loved that made her feel like this.

All Luka knew was that this side of her he hadn't seen before made him fall for her more deeply than he already was.

After they were done adding the other ingredients to the mixer, Marinette put away what remained of them and Luka helped clean the counter that had inevitably gotten dirty with flour.

They kept each other company, talking about everything and nothing, and Marinette ended up joking about how Luka was too strong to make something as delicate as a good dough, to which Luka responded feigning outrage.

When the machine was done, Marinette sprinkled a layer of flour on the counter and took the dough out of its bowl, showing Luka how to knead it in order to give it the shape of a ball before making him have a go.

Luka nervously got his hands at work, only for his quick movements to be stopped by Marinette’s soft hands and her quiet melodic giggle, “Try and be more delicate”, she said as she put her hands on his and guided them in the movements, “Like this”.

Luka couldn’t help but stare at her and notice how graceful she looked as she guided his hands, and when he noticed the patient smile on her face, he also noticed how close she actually was to him. She could feel her body pressed next to his, and not only her hands on his. He took a deep breath, only to end up inhaling the sweet scent of almond and vanilla that made him short circuit whenever she was around.

The dough he was supposed to be kneading was completely forgotten as he turned his full attention to her, focusing on the slight frown in concentration on her face and her parted lips. It made him feel breathless, his hands were still moving guided by hers, but he couldn’t feel anything but the warmth surrounding him.

Then she smiled, satisfied, and raised her head to look at him directly in the eyes. The sweet scent of strawberries hit him as soon as Marinette raised her head and Luka, yet again, got lost in studying her beautiful features as he took in the small distance between them.

“Try now”, Marinette’s voice rang, and her hands leaving his made him come back to reality, forcing him to concentrate on the reason he was there in the first place.

He hesitantly shaped the dough following the movements Marinette taught him, and when she said it was done she helped him put it into a new bowl so it could rise.

She covered the dough with a cloth as Luka looked at her, “What’s next?”, he asked.

Marinette giggled, “Now we wait, Lu”, she said, and took off her apron to put it away, motioning him to do the same. He did, but he couldn’t help the confused expression forming on his face, “Wait, we’re done?!”.

His question made Marinette’s face twist into an amused smile, “For now, yes.”

“But… We didn’t do much. Aren’t you supposed to teach me, Marinette?”, he asked.

“I did! We made a perfect first dough, we have to wait for it to rise now”, she said calmly.

“Oh. Okay. And how long do we have to wait?”, he asked. Having to wait for their dough to rise meant that he would be spending more time with her, and he couldn’t really complain about it, could he? He wouldn’t have traded time with Marinette for anything.

“Twelve hours”, Marinette said, biting the smile forming on her lips as she anticipated Luka’s reaction.

“What?!”, was all he managed to say, his mouth dropping open and his eyes wide. He asked her something simple, not something that would take them that long. But the face Marinette made as she put her hands on her mouth to cover her loud laugh made it so worth it.

“Hey, you wanted something to impress your mom and sister, I’m giving you that!”, she protested, “I promise it will be worth the wait”.

With the look she was giving him, Luka would have trusted her into anything, and when she asked if they could hang out for a while, he gladly took the offer.

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t for baking, he loved spending time with Marinette, especially if she grabbed his hand to lead him to her bedroom. 

It was a blissful afternoon, the shy December sun shone on them before it set down, darkening the sky too early. Luka didn’t mind, Marinette was there with him, and she was happy. That was what mattered the most.

She said goodbye to him with a warm hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, and he left her house feeling all giddy and with the promise to come back the next day. 

The dough had tripled when Luka saw it, and he understood why Marinette used such a big bowl for the dough they had made.

The first ingredients he noticed on the counter were pistachios, candied raspberries and white chocolate chips. Marinette’s smile was as warm as the day before when she welcomed Luka and hugged him, and he lingered to her touch for longer than he would have liked to admit.

She made him zest a lemon and an orange before they mixed all the ingredients together, chatting quietly as the mixer worked. 

“I feel like I’m cheating”, Luka commented as he watched the dough turn yellow and become softer.

It made Marinette giggle, “Come on, we’ll have fun decorating it later! That’s the most interesting part, anyway, now let’s add these”, Marrinette said, handing him the cup full of pistachios and white chocolate chips and keeping the red fruits for her. She popped one happily into her mouth, making Luka look away from her and focus on ingredients mixing in the bowl beside them.

Right before the machine signalled the end of its work, Marinette prepared the counter spreading butter with her hands, and gestured for Luka to do the same. His mouth twisted when he looked at his slippery, hands, but Marinette stopped him from walking to the sink to wash them, “You’ll need it if you don’t want to get the dough stuck in your fingers as you work it”, she said and smiled as she placed the dough on the counter and divided it in two.

Luka looked intently at her quick movements and followed them until his dough turned into a ball, and helped her put her dough into a round case.

“Now we bake it, right?”, he asked as he dried his hands on his apron, but Marinette shook her head, “No, now we wait until it rises again”.

Luka’s brows furrowed in confusion, causing Marinette to let out a bubbly laugh, “It’s less than yesterday though, don’t worry”, she reassured, making Luka let out a sigh of relief. Her mouth twisted into a lopsided grin, “It’s only eight hours now”, she concluded, and giggled again at his reaction.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to be this long!”, he protested.

“It’ll be worth the wait”, Marinette reassured, and invited him to stay with her for the rest of the afternoon.

They sat on the couch, freshly baked cookies standing on the table between them, and Marinette sat right beside him as she put on a movie.

“You know, I would have been happy with you teaching me how to make cookies”, he said, taking one biscuit from the plate and putting it in his mouth.

Marinette responded with a grin, “I wanted to teach you something special”, she said, and snuggled close to him to place her head on his shoulder. Luka closed his eyes, making himself comfortable and wrapping an arm around her. She started playing with the fingers of his free hand, quietly enjoying the moment. It didn’t take long for Luka to forget about the movie running on the tv screen and focus only on Marinette, how her head fit perfectly under his chin and how sweet her scent of almond and jasmine was.

Oh, how he wished he could call her his, and he quite selfishly admitted to himself that he was happy she had decided to teach him a recipe that took so long to learn because he could leave with the promise of her waiting for him every day when she kissed his cheek as they parted.

Marinette welcomed him with warm hugs and happy smiles, and Luka held her in his embrace before he took his shoes off and walked to the kitchen.

This time the counter counted only a knife and a butter stick, Luka tilted his head, grinning, “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me all you had to do was ask”.

It made her blush.

“I- I’m only doing this because you asked me to!”, Marinette protested. She walked to set the temperature of the oven, and Luka shook his head fondly. She straightened up and stood behind the doughs that now were uncovered, a little dome standing proud under the rim of the case.

“Now we have to cut a little cross and put the butter in so it doesn’t burn in the oven and it stays soft”, Marinette said, and Luka followed her instructions. She checked the temperature in the oven and set the timer to 50 minutes.

She walked to the living room and Luka followed, he was getting used to spending time with her like this, and he didn’t mind when she leaned towards him and cuddled in his chest, he welcomed her, his arms wrapping around her automatically.

They laid in silence, the only sound between them was some old sit-com and Marinette giggling at some gags. It was natural, and he wished he could spend more days like this without any excuses. Only him and Marinette being confident around him, and him enjoying her warm and sweet presence that never failed to make him happy.

The scent of sugar filled the room, and Luka allowed himself to enjoy the moment, feeling at peace as he held Marinette in his arms and let his fingers dance aimlessly on her arms.

He didn’t have control on the words that tumbled quietly out of his lips, “You know, I could get used to seeing you every day”. They made Marinette’s head jerk up to look at him, blinking through her black lashes, and the surprised expression on her face quickly turned into a shy smile. 

She looked down at his chest, her fingers tapping delicately on it, “I would like that”, she said slowly, biting her bottom lip as soon as the words left her.

Luka could feel his heart pound louder in his chest, and he reached for her chin, gently lifting her head to look at her in the eyes, leaning in to her.

He felt her shiver under his touch, her big blue eyes locked into his before they fluttered close as she leaned into him, he could feel her sweet breath on his lips, the beat of his heart making it hard for him to listen to anything else. She was there, and she understood what he meant, and she wanted to kiss him, and she was about to kiss him too, like he had always dreamt.

But just like in a dream, he had to be woken up by the sound of a bell ringing.

The timer Marinette had set rang right before their lips met, and Marinette scrambled to get up and go back to the kitchen to get their cakes out.

Luka sighed, taking a moment to recompose himself before following her. She gracefully pulled out their creations from the oven and placed them on the counter, then made him help her go downstairs in the laboratory at the back of the bakery. He followed behind her, carefully watching out for her to make sure she wouldn’t trip on the stairs.

She rummaged through a drawer right after they arrived, carefully pulling out two long skewers and sticking them through the bottom of the cakes before placing them upside down in an empty rack. 

“Let me guess”, Luka said, leaning his back on the counter and crossing his arms, “Now we wait?”, he gave her a lopsided grin, and Marinette nodded, “Exactly, are you coming back tomorrow?”, she asked.

“Oh. I thought we’d have to wait for it to cool up not until tomorrow”, he said, making Marinette start rambling about flavours and how they needed to develop before actually eating it. It was a process that took time and patience but the only thing Luka could focus on as he heard her talk so passionately about the subject was the way her eyes sparked, how her lips moved and how happy her voice sounded instead of the actual words she was saying. Oh, there was a new song begging to be written in his heart.

“It’s going to be worth the wait”, Marinette concluded, and Luka pulled a stray lock of hair behind her ear before lowering his hand, “It better be”.

Marinette gave him a kiss on the cheek as usual, only to linger for a moment longer as she wrapped her arms around him.

She felt breathless when she pulled away and watched him leave, her legs feeling like jelly as she started walking up the stairs that lead to her room.

She had only one day left before all of this was over and she hadn’t managed to tell him how she felt yet. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t be hanging out again. They would, and Marinette would have enjoyed it as she always did. It’s just that… cooking with someone is so… intimate. 

Marinette had never imagined her to be cooking with someone and feeling at peace, she’d usually get nervous if someone else was trying to help her in the kitchen because they didn’t do things the way they were supposed to be done, and she preferred cooking alone for this reason. But as usual, Luka made things different, he made them better. It shouldn’t surprise her anymore.

Luka made things easy, there was harmony, there was warmth and happiness. It made Marinette feel comfortable, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

When Marinette greeted Luka when he walked back into her house the next day, she smelled like almonds and white chocolate, and it made him feel welcome as always.

The two cakes were out of their skewers and waiting for them along with pistachios, dried raspberries, white chocolate and cream.

She instructed him to boil the cream so they could make a ganache, and they spread a thick layer of the blend on the top of the cakes before Marinette sprinkled minced pistachios and the dried raspberries on it. 

“It’s all done now, we just have to wait until the frosting has dried and then we can eat it”, Marinette said.

The sigh of relief Luka let out made her giggle. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very glad you taught me this and that I got to hang out with you, I just- I was running out of patience because I want to know what it tastes like”, Luka confessed, running a hand through his hair. 

Marinette smiled, and checked for one of the cakes standing on the counter, she gave him a satisfied smile, licking the thin layer that got stuck on her finger before getting a knife to cut two slices of their creation.

She passed him a slice, and brought her piece to her lips, smiling happily as she ate the first panettone of the season, it was tradition for her, and sharing it with him made it even more special.

Luka munched slowly, allowing the sweet flavour of the fluffy cake wash over his mouth.

The sweetness of the white chocolate was balanced perfectly by the raspberry and the pistachio, and the tinge of citrus exalted each flavour.

“This is amazing”, Luka said in delight, making Marinette smile proudly. 

“See? It’s worth the wait”, she said, tilting her head.

Luka nodded in agreement, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it without you though”.

“Oh, I’m sure you can make it, it takes more patience than skill, and you’re a quick learner, too! You did great for your first try”, she said.

“Only because I have a great teacher”, Luka’s compliment made Marinette’s cheeks turn pink. She looked down, fidgeting with her apron and trying to find something to do to avoid his attention, only to notice that he left half of his slice on the counter. 

She straightened up, pulling the top coat he hadn’t eaten yet between her fingers and looking at him.

“You haven’t had the best part yet”, she said, hesitantly raising her fingers to his lips.

Luka hesitated for a second before allowing her to feed him, and just that gesture sent shivers through his spine.

The bite she so gently offered him was sweeter than the first one, probably sweeter than he would have liked, but having Marinette feeding it to him didn’t make him think whether he liked the flavour or not, he liked the girl in front of him, and when he saw her thumb get closer to the side of his mouth to clean it, Luka couldn’t help but take one step closer and wrap his hand around her wrist so it didn’t move from its place.

Marinette stood there, frozen, her pink lips slightly parted as she tilted her head up to look at him.

His free hand reached for her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, almost as she had been waiting for this, the gesture as natural as breathing. When he finally leaned in and their mouths met, it was like fireworks exploded through his chest, sending electric thrills all over his body.

It was sweet and gentle, and it tasted like it too. It tasted like Marinette, and it was love and care and passion and enthusiasm, Luka felt all of it.

She let out a content sigh as she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, letting her fingers tangle in his short hair. He pulled her close, the kiss slow and dizzying leaving them gasping for air. Luka kissed her smile ligthtly before reluctantly parting from Marinette, and pressed his forehead on hers, not ready to put some more distance between them yet. 

A giddy smile appeared on his face, his eyes still half lidded as his calloused thumb graced over Marinette’s lower lip, “Definitely worth the wait”, he whispered.

[artificialqueens]

Love is a Dog From Hell, 1/5 (Rosnali) - Mattels

is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)

aka denali’s a figure skating coach, rosé’s a ski coach; the rest is history

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322/chapters/73479360

-

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“ As of currently? I’m here, as of currently! ”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt ? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip . And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

tags: rosé, denali foxx, gottmik, rosnali, rivals to lovers, coach au, figure skating au, skiing au, lesbian au, love is a dog from hell, mattels

show my blog ! <3

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.

Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.

It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift que.

“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”

“They’re literally normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”

“–didn’t you snap one in half last year?”

“That was one time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully, splat, bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“As of currently? I’m here, as of currently!”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!”

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip. And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.

Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on the board two years running.

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.

“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.

Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.

[michyeosseo]

do you have any tips on how to make HQ gifs? i followed a bunch of tutorial but specially on twitter is just look sorry to say this word but very sh*tty you are one of the blogs i followed so maybe i can ask you but i’m too shy to come off anon

fghjkjhgfdsdfghj alright let’s try a linked-filled tutorial

when giffing for either sns, imo it comes down to a few basics:

getting the source video in the best possible resolution

your video player (highly recommend potplayer but it’s only compatible with windows)

size limits - the thing about file size is that both sites will distort them even if you follow the keep-it-down-as-much-as-possible rule of thumb *stares at tmblr’s garbage .gifv default display* anyway, my current width settings are at 900px for twtr & 250/400/540px for tmblr 

sharpening - the Difference this makes, ugh (a big fan of rubyredwisp’s glossy sharpen action over the years. you can also explore vapoursynth if you’re willing to deal with some light coding/wanna create a .gif output without going through ps... fair warning, it’s greedy on ram)

attaching a guide with screenshots but it’ll probably be long so imma keep that under the cut

(click on the in-line images to enlarge them)

first, i open the video i want. in trusty ol’ potplayer, taking screencaps is simply pressing ctrl+g (in case you prefer taking clips, it’s alt+c)

as you can see, the caps i got from that are 1080p

listen, a lot of folk would say 720p is fine but we’re not settlers in the age of 4k and up. as long as your disk space/internet can handle, use the ~best resolution available~

open photoshop. there are two ways (importing video frames to layers and loading files into stack) but in my experience, the latter yields preferable results so that’s the method we’ll follow here

the routine i’m used to is to load all the caps from that scene and trim from there but idk about your practice ymmv

don’t forget to select all your layers* before pressing “convert video timeline.” we’ll need the frames first so click that three box/timeline button on the lower left corner, make frames and reverse frames

previous frame extraction step and cropping+resizing are interchangeable. both arrive at the same result. sometimes, i’d like to see the individual frames first before cropping but doing the reverse is often lighter on your ps

[tip: make use of crop ratio. that pair of numbers would help you maintain the shape of the gif instead of eyeballing using the move tool later on. 1:1 is a square, 2:1 is a rectangle, and so on and so forth]

set the frame timing. i like consistency so i keep my gifs running at 4s unless i can’t help it. a lil’ math is involved in order to divide frame time (0.07 for 60f/0.1 for 40f/0.13 for 30f/0.2 for 20f) though keep in mind the number of frames contribute to the gif size

you’re probably wondering why i kept this twtr gif a few pixels above the 900px width i said earlier. after sharpening the smart object* - the reason why i had all the layers selected from the beginning - i slightly resize further using the canvas. this extra step would give you clean gif borders

once all that is finished, you’re free to do/not do colouring

the simplest trick i learned recently from @waegashi-tofu is using curves to balance out your gif (use the white dropper for the portion that should be the brightest, the black dropper for the darkest area; you can make separate layers to easily discern the change made by the two) play around with opacity of that curve layer/s

leave it at that or if you’re overthinking all the time like me, colour further™

remember to double check the end marker of the video timeline. we’ve arrived at the last step where you’re now ready to save (alt+ctrl+shift+s)

and we’re done! ᓚᘏᗢ