#2024: free write

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 30: D/J, Warming Up

Daria/Jane, ~750 words, 32 minutes

"Warming up" from the Fluffcember 2024 prompt list

From the Complex College Mating Rituals 'verse

*

The fastest way to warm up after being very cold is to take off all of your clothes and take a nice, hot, steam-producing shower.

Daria stomps the snow off of her boots, claps her gloved hands together a few times. Outside, what she can only hope is the last horrid winter storm of the season is just starting to really pick up. Inside her dorm, the air is slightly warmer but the cold draft is still seeping in under the door.

She raises her eyebrows.

"This is a ploy to get me naked," she says.

Jane nods once and doesn't argue.

"Yes. This is a ploy to get you naked."

Because of course she isn't suggesting that they shower separately, even if that would make considerably more sense and be considerably easier, too. When Jane notes that she's blushing, Daria shakes the melting snowflakes out of her hair and says it's just the cold. Terribly cold out there. She can't even feel her extremities anymore.

The annex hallway off of the main hallway where she lives has a small bathroom with one large shower stall, two toilet stalls, and two sinks. It's the grungiest of the bathrooms and even the people who live closest to it never use it, and it's empty in the middle of a cold, quiet, Saturday afternoon. Daria does reconnaissance first, and when she returns to her room, Jane is already pulling off her shirt.

"Woah!"

"What? You said your roommate was gone all weekend."

"She is, I just—"

"Come on, Daria." Jane smiles, a little teasing, a certain encouragement underneath. "You've felt my boobs before. No harm in seeing them."

She's felt a lot of Jane before, and felt Jane's touch, but they've never undressed in front of each other before, not like this. She's never let herself be seen fully, casually, and outside of the hot, desperate, worked up context of actually making out with her. Making out with her girlfriend, Jane.

Halfway to the closet to grab them both towels, she's distracted, unmoored in the middle of the room, by the sight of Jane shimmying out of her pants.

"Hurry up there, ice girl," Jane grins, as she balances awkwardly on one foot to pull off her sock. "I'm freezing all my delicate parts off."

"Uh. Right." Right. Daria throws her one of the towels from the top shelf, then half-hides herself behind the closet door as she takes off two layers of shirts and then her socks and her pants and her underwear. She pretends that Jane isn't watching her, though she knows she is. And she knows she's not really hidden, that from Jane's angle she can pretty much see everything.

"I guess that wasn't much of a strip tease," she tries to joke, as she wraps her towel around herself.

She expects Jane to laugh, at least in a deadpan way, but she's watching Daria like she's completely serious. "Yeah, it was."

They slip down the hall, around the corner, into the bathroom and then into the shower stall without running into anyone, and Daria would say the adrenaline of it was enough to warm her up, except that her toes and her fingers are still white and numb. Finally, she hangs her towel up on the hook at the edge of the stall, and turns the shower on.

"Oh yeah, that's the stuff," Jane says, low and murmuring, as she steps carefully in under the spray.

"Yes," Daria agrees. Yes. The stuff. She's watching the water slide in drops along Jane's smooth, naked skin. Watches the steam already wafting around them, feels the edges of the shower spray teasing along her shoulder and her side. Watches as Jane's hair get wet and she slicks it away from her face and then turns so that the water falls along her back.

It takes her a while to remember that she was supposed to be warming up under the water, too.

It takes Jane opening her eyes, then reaching out and tugging on Daria's wrist. "Well, come on, Daria. I don't want to hog all the water here."

She almost trips over her own feet, stumbling in under the hardest, most direct part of the spray. And it feels so good. So damned good. She lets out a deep, satisfied breath, vaguely hears Jane's satisfied laughter, and then feels a pair of slick, wet palms slide down along her sides, and two arms envelope her in a hug.

[iniziare]

Download: Adobe Photoshop 2025 (v26.5) / Windows

I come bearing the gift of piracy as an early Easter present! Welcome to the most recent (at the time of writing) version of Adobe Photoshop, which was released on March 27th of 2025. As per usual, have a peek at the note below, as it's there to help avoid the most common issue.

Authenticity popup? In case you get a message that says Photoshop needs to be licensed, or it will uninstall itself otherwise, please have a look at this fix! (Always uninstall previous Photoshop installations prior to installing a new one)

Step 1: Download the file from my Google Drive, or Mega.nz Step 2: When done downloading, unzip it (Windows can do it for you, but I personally use a program called 7ZIP) anywhere on your PC, even your desktop works fine, and yes, you can delete it when you're done with all of these steps. Step 3: Go into the unzipped folder, click 'Setup', and Photoshop's usual installation window will pop up. Install it as per your preferences (if you aren’t too tech-savvy, don’t worry, you can leave the default installation options as they are and all will be fine). Step 4: Hit 'Launch', and well— enjoy your copy of Photoshop! (Step 5: I would absolutely love you if you could spare a reblog of this post, which is not even for my own sake, but for anyone else who might be looking to obtain a copy of Photoshop!)

If in the unlikely event that you do run into any sort of issue of any kind, my DMs and askbox are always here for you, so don’t be shy, I promise I’ll welcome you with chocolate and fruit.

While I don’t request for anything in return outside of a like if this helped you (or ideally, a reblog so that others can find this), I was asked in the past whether I had a Ko-fi, so I set one up back in the day. It’s not required at all, but it’s always appreciated. ����

[femslash-february]

Welcome to Raptor’s Femslash February Bingo 2025! Round 2: Electric Boogaloo

This year with four different prompt bingo cards—light prompts, dark prompts, spicy prompts, a combined one with all prompts—to celebrate Femslash February 2025. All fandoms, content and warnings welcome! Enjoy! ❤️

Rules and prompts in text form under the Read More!

Rules:

When: all of February

What: focus of your work should be a wlw / femslash / f/f ship, i.e. a ship with two or more female presenting characters, gender bending welcome

How: it’s totally chill, just do a single prompt or aim for bingo(s), whatever you want! You can get your bingos with one fic, with multiple fics, whatever you like. Choose one of the bingo cards and mark what prompts you're using. Interpret the prompts however you'd like.

Any fandoms, any characters, any ships, any content though please tag appropriately, any type of fanwork—fics (no minimum or maximum wordcount!), art, poetry, moodboards... go wild!

Tag #femslash feb bingo when posting it here on Tumblr and mention this blog so we see your posts and can reblog

AI-generated works are NOT allowed

Crossposting with other events allowed

Most of all: have fun!

Prompts in text form

Light prompts: Wilderness Accidental baby acquisition “Tell me again.” Meet ugly Body swap First kiss Mirror History Once in a lifetime “Who else but you?” Wrong number Opposites Token Curse Festival “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

Dark prompts:

“You could have died.” Last kiss Chains Before the fall Attic wife By a thousand cuts “Do you regret it?” Demon Fatal flaw Spite Poisoned Bad neighbors Hunting “And you thought I loved you.” Forbidden Mind control

Spicy prompts:

Begging Rope bondage Shower sex “Does that feel good?” Sex pollen Marking Blindfold Size Difference Breathplay “Stop distracting me.” Power Exchange Dirty Talk “Behave.” Orgasm Denial Praise kink Suspension

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[skele-bunny]

Communal Dog. (CW) Rain/Mountain, Everyone/Everyone

CW - Pet Play, Free Use

Tags: Total Power Exchange, Free Use, Pet Play, Polyghouls, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Casual Nudity, Casual Sex, Exhibition

Characters: Mountain, Rain, Misc Ghouls

(Ghostober day #20 Total Power Exchange by @kroas-adtam ! Divider by @/wrathofrats , no beta, we die like men. My ghostober will be short fics!)

"Sit."

Mountain immediately sat down, looking up and tail wagging as Aether crouched down, eyeing over at Rain who's sat on the couch. "Is it alright to touch?"

Rain simply nodded, smiling wider as he watched Aether tilt Mountain's head up and press his cock head at his lips. Almost instantly, Mountain opened his mouth, taking Aether down to his base and bobbing himself along the quintessence's thick length.

His tongue laid flat, eyes closed and huffing as Aether held onto his horns to start rocking inside more. "Such a good dog... You trained him good, didn't ya, Rainy?"

The water ghoul simply purred, watching closely before turning as Phantom came into his view, tail wagging just as much.

"When Aether is done, can I use him?"

"But of course. Remember to be nice."

"I will!" Their tail wagged harder. "Promise I will!"

The younger quintessence skipped over, leaning against Aether's arm and watching Mountain suck his cock with no complaint. Aether intertwined his and Phantom's tails together, hand massaging the smaller quint's ass.

"Good boy, I'm almost there." Aether hummed, thumb wiping drool that went down his cheek. "So damn good. Gonna have to show your master how much I appreciate him sharing you."

A few heavy thrusts went forwards into Mountain before cum followed, the earth ghoul humming and swallowing what he was given. He nuzzled closer into Aether's pubes before being pulled back, panting and looking up. His eyes followed as Aether went to Rain, the two laughing softly as he went between Rain's legs and lifted his skirt.

Mountain's attention got redirected as his horn was lightly tugged, now looking at Phantom who carefully dragged him to the other couch, sitting and opening his legs. The earth sat still, panting and tilting his head, earning a confused whine from the newly summon.

His confusion was solved as a hand reached around and snapped, pointing at Phantom's wet cunt. "Mountain, eat."

The younger ghoul looked up quickly to smile at Sunshine, shivering as his attention went back to Mountain who nestled between his legs and sucking on their clit.

"T-thank you..." Phantom sighed, holding Mountain's horns and keeping him down.

The light ghoulette leaned down to kiss Phantom's cheek, flicking his tit with a chuckle. "You're welcome, baby bat. Gonna make him breed you after?"

Phantom was breathless, thighs shaking. "I... I can do that?"

"Mmhm," She reached over, now slowly massaging his chest. "Can ask him to do whatever you like. Rain is so sweet like that."

The ghoul in question let out a loud trill, drawing attention as Aether bottomed out in their hole, Cirrus and Swiss waiting patiently for their own turn—stroking their cocks at the sight. Phantom squealed again as Mountain's tongue went into his hole, lapping at his slick and nuzzling as close as he could.

Sunshine leaned over, kissing at Phantom's neck before snapping again. "Mountain, up."

The earth responded on command, pushing himself up and showing his hard length, twitching. Phantom brought his fingers down to spread himself, holding Mountain's tip and lining him up. Taking the hint, the pup sank in, shivering at the tightness and moaning as he continued pushing in.

Before he could start thrusting, however, his attention was drawn back as fingers touched his ass. Swiss only smiled, hooking his jaw over Mountain's shoulder, pushing him forwards some.

"Don't stop, Appal'," Swiss hummed, smiling as Phantom squealed at more of the bigger ghoul sliding in. "Just waiting my turn for ya.'"

With a few heavy humps, Mountain quickly found his pace, rumbling coming from his chest as he fucked into the tight heat below him. The common room quickly became loud with moans and grunts, wet slaps as others joined around, Mountain purring as Cumulus snuck up behind to scratch through his back fur. Across the other side, Rain sighed as Dew began to suck at his gills, Aether finally knotting in.

"So good to us, Rainbow." Aether sighed, tongue dragging over Rain's cheek. "So kind to share your dog."

[lenreli]

The Red Line

[AO3]

E, 6.3k. Hob gets a new life - and a new job. Dream begins to appreciate it, in his own way.

-

Dream steps into the Waking, more following Hob’s presence on the Earth, steadfast for centuries ― and looks around, Canadian wilderness reaching his senses. Hob did say, last time they met, that he’s overdue faking his death. 

Blinking, he knocks on the door in front of him, once. He knows Hob’s not asleep, and still Dream worries if he’s intruding, even with the way Hob had said― 

“My friend!” Hob beams, the door opened while Dream was pondering, “come in, come in!” Hob says brightly, gesturing him in with an arm. “This’ll be the first time I’ve seen you outside of jolly ol’ Landon, actually,” Hob says, excitement all but palpable as Dream looks around at the small house, Hob talking more about other places he’s lived in. Hob’s swearing a knitted sweater and jeans, matching the rustic insides of his new home. 

And Hob talks about ― friends he misses, moving to Canada, and so on. With no mention of his job, which Hob is usually happy to tell him about. “And what of your job?” At that, Hob pauses, “or have you decided to not get one this time?”

“No, still many things I want to do,” Hob says, voice suddenly quieter, and Dream frowns, unused to the other’s almost―evasiveness. 

Dream gives Hob a narrow look, suspicious. “Do you have an abhorrent trade, like in 178―”

“No! Never again! Definitely not!” Hob shouts, arms in the air as he shakes his head, eventually sinking into his blue sofa with a sigh. “No, not. It’s just. I don’t know. We’re not the friends to talk about this, and I don’t know how you’d react, so I haven’t,” Hob mumbles. 

Dream keeps silent as Hob pulls at the edge of his sweater, and eventually Hob heaves a sigh. 

“Fine. I’ll bite the bullet. I’m a sexline operator,” Hob says and Dream blinks, unsure what the problem with speaking about is, as he searches the subconscious for Hob’s new job. “I dunno, we’ve never talked about that before, and the prudishness of this century probably got to me a bit. I talk people into giving themselves orgasms, and it’s fun,” Hob mutters, shrugging as he explains. 

“I fail to see the problem.”

Hob laughs and rubs his face, “of course. Just ― weird human customs. My new job is usually more of a raunchy punchline or scandalous, terrible thing for some people.” 

“It’s not the worst job you’ve had,” he points out, and Hob laughs again, a bit more manic. 

“That bar’s in the Earth’s core, Dream,” Hob says, face hidden by a hand. “The literal fucking burning lava core,” Hob grouses, and Dream follows Hob into a small kitchen, windows letting light in as Hob puts on an electric kettle, leaning against the kitchen counters. “It’s been a thing, getting used to living here, and my new job, which is a more night-shift job than I was used to with teaching. At least seeing you again is helping with all that.” 

Dream swallows, emotions sticking in his body at the way Hob’s smiling at him, that he’s helped Hob. “I am here to help.” 

Hob laughs again, shaking his head as he gets a mug and a teabag. “Not just as your entire thing, but you, as my friend,” Hob clarifies. “Didn’t even realise how weird I was getting in my head until you popped in.” 

“You are the most normal man alive,” he replies dryly as the kettle whistles, and Dream smothers the smile he can feel as Hob laughs once more. 

=

Dream ― hasn’t been curious, knows what it requires, on a sexline. A discreet orgasm, or a filthy one, operators being given prompts, or not, until the one who pays is satisfied. 

However, he’d like to know, Hob on a sexline is a different thing, one he can’t help thinking about idly. And so, slipping into the Waking, into Hob’s new house, which is ― quiet. Soundlessly, he walks around until he reaches a closed door. The study, Hob showed him, and Hob behind the doors, imagining waking up early to go to the market. 

And Hob is speaking, words muffled by the door, so he leans closer, ear to the door ― and Hob may be thinking about market produce, meeting vendors, but the words are filthy, talking to someone. 

A woman, matching that voice to―strong hands, pressing inside herself, all the right spots as he moans, Hob’s speech rolling over her in waves of pleasure as she imagines. 

The door is cold against his body, but Dream’s only half-there as he makes the man’s hands coarser, marks and scars of Hob’s hands, hairier as she gasps. Closing his eyes, Dream smoothes out the man in her imagination ― green eyes changed to brown, grey at his temples, stubble and body hair, as the man ― Hob ― speaks to her to come, coaxing her along softly. 

Suddenly, the lack of imagination, daydream having served its purpose leaving him against the cold door, body hot as he listens to Hob laughing, him and the woman talking. And Dream wants to―phase through the door, has a hand on it, melt through the flimsy wood to reach Hob, body aching in arousal. 

Pressing his cheek to the refreshingly cold wood, he stops as the call ends and there’s a sigh. There’s shuffling around, and soon footsteps, a shadow moving to the door and Dream moves away with a soundless step as Hob starts to open it.

Hands twitching, he steps back again before going back to the Dreaming.

-

It happens again. Dream in front of the study, door shut as Hob speaks into the phone on the other side. He can’t even muster up any internal protests, that he was sure that Hob would be free, and not like some part of Dreaming wasn’t dedicated to keeping an eye on the time, on when Hob wouldn’t be working or sleeping. 

The door is cool as he touches it, pressing his ear against the door as Hob’s voice washes over him ― and in another province, a man is hearing the same voice. 

This time, Hob is vaguely thinking of pale skin and dark hair― 

Dream moves his focus to the other man, insides hot as the man fingers himself, Hob’s voice making him whine as he has vague images in his mind, nothing concrete and more focused on Hob’s voice. 

And he can’t help it, tweaks the vague image into Hob’s visage and the man whimpers as he imagines Hob going inside, and Dream shivers, can feel it in the imaginings of it. The man comes with a cry and Dream stares at the wood of the door, can feel it under his nails with how hard he’s grabbing it, body pulsing in arousal but unable to end it, just out of reach. 

Dream takes an unneeded breath as he thinks of melting through the door, where Hob is now laughing with the man, wanting to, wanting to feel more than illusory touch, can go insane with wanting the reality of it― 

No. he forces himself back, can only see the trail of ruin that’d leave Hob hating him, as he steps back into the Dreaming.

-

“Uh, boss,” Matthew says and Dream looks up from his census, then pauses, taking a moment before he stands up from the steps. Hovering in front of him, a large bubble, the transparency of it showing a red phone box, glass-panelled windows and a phone ringing.

Reaching out, he relaxes, can feel Hob’s ― daydream, behind it. “It is my friend,” he says softly, smiling as he walks into the bubble, and he pauses as he’s encased in warmth. Matthew and the throne room melt away as he opens the box, phone ringing still as he closes it. Reaching out, the phone stops as he picks it up, putting it to his ear. “Hob?”

“Woah,” on the other side of the line, Hob breathes, voice crackling as Dream presses the phone more against his ear. “Wasn’t sure that’d work. That’s really you?” Hob asks, voice getting slowly more excited. 

“It is. Matthew alerted me to ― you,” he frowns, the daydream brightening in vibrancy with Hob’s excitement, a joyful sound coming from the other side of the phone. 

“I dunno, I’ve been using phones so much lately with work, and so I thought what if. Well. This,” Hob says, voice crackling over the line and Dream smiles, happy to hear from him ― and reminding him guiltily, of why he hasn’t visited lately, “and like, I’m getting new friends here of course, and getting used to it all, and I just hope you’re not too busy with, uh. All that you do.” 

Dream sighs, resting against the glass behind him, “I am sorry, I―”

“No, it's fine! I get it, you’re a busy, hard-working entity and before we only met every century! Even with us being friends and everything―”

“Hob,” he cuts in, smiling as Hob stops, “I am glad you called,” he says, and Hob lets out a sigh, can feel the warmth of Hob’s home, his presence of the daydream around him, a balm for his tired self. 

“Didn’t even call for anything important. Just that I found a place that sells the best poutine I’ve ever tasted. Have you had poutine?” Hob asks and Dream can’t stop his smile, bright emotions fizzling inside him at the inane question. 

“I have not,” he answers. 

“It’s really good,” Hob says, words trailing into a groan, making Dream feel slight heat at the sound caused by the memory of good food,  “one time when you’re here we’re going to get poutine. Also, the moose here are insane. Recently I saw one as big as a car and it was so beautiful. And terrifying. Was just walking down the road! This is why I love moving all the time!” 

Dream looks down, fingers curling around the red curled line of the phone as he listens to Hob talk.

-

Somehow, Hob’s house always feels so welcoming, the immortal somehow infusing his home in the short time he’s lived there, compared to The New Inn, as well as the flat he had nearby in London. As Dream sits on the sofa, he can feel himself unwinding as Hob gets a cup of tea, the book he was reading left flat on the coffee table, revealing the summary and Dream hums at the sci-fi. “Aren’t you usually doing something at this time?” 

Hob lets out a sound, partly indecisive and partly thoughtful, “I do plan on going to a music festival tomorrow, so I’m getting things ready since I’ll be out all day,” Hob offers as the kettle whistles, and Dream blinks as Hob comes back over, sitting next to him and getting a coaster on the table to put his cup on. “Planning to go with some friend’s, so it’s just like. Water, and money, especially for merch and food,” he shrugs. 

“What type of music?” 

“Metal festival! Speaking of, I need to figure out my―wait, you can help me decide!” Hob says, getting up and rushing to his room, and Dream smiles, staring at the cooling mug on the table. 

“Your tea is cooling,” he points out as Hob moves around in his room, eventually coming out with a pile of clothes in an arm, as he pointedly stares at him before drinking half the mug. Hob’s throat working is ― mesmerizing, and Dream can’t make himself look away as he has half-thoughts of touching the other’s beard. 

“Okay!” Hob says and Dream doesn’t twitch, mind still stuck on the edge of the other’s stubble on his throat to notice that he’s moved back, holding up a mesh shirt and ripped jeans in one hand, “so, this?” Hob tugs out his other clothes, revealing a dark blue shirt and a different pair of trousers, black with studs and chains, “or this?” 

Dream tilts his head, thinking about the choices, “the first one.” 

Hob beams, nodding as he puts the clothes back into his room. “See, that’s what I was thinking too. Plus one of my leather jackets, since it’ll be cold, but also I will be in the moshpit, but eh,” Hob mumbles, voice lowering in frequency as he comes back out, sitting near him as he drinks the rest of his tea. “I’m so excited!”

“I can tell,” he replies dryly, and Hob’s brightness doesn’t even dim as he picks up his book, practically vibrating next to him. 

-

He does try to come after the festival. 

He doesn’t try hard enough as he stares at the closed door, can hear Hob’s low voice, muffled but getting clearer as he presses against the door. “And I would,” Hob pauses, and Dream tenses in anticipation ― and on the other end of the line, a man lets out a small whine, close to the edge from Hob’s voice. “Eventually, I’d let you come.” 

The man whines and Dream shivers, can almost feel the firmness of Hob’s voice in his body as he takes an unneeded breath. 

“The anticipation of it, it’d be worth it, don’t you think?” Hob asks, and the man agrees blindly. Dream swallows, body flooded with arousal. “I’d take you to the edge, again and again, until your mind is nothing but me, the way you’d beg for it,” Hob continues, voice dropping even lower as the man cries out ― and Hob thinks of pale skin, daydreams of― 

Dream forces himself out of it, would be sure that his face would be a fierce red if ― the wood doing nothing to cool him down as he presses into it, a hand lightly gripping the wood. There’s the taste of it on his tongue, like he can replace it with Hob’s confident words, the ease he can feel from the other side of the door. 

“Please,” the man begs, sobbing in a way that Dream can feel, wants to be the one crying it out. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want. You’re touching yourself for me, aren’t you?” Hob breathes and the man lets out a cry and blurbled yes. “Just relax into it, into my voice,” Hob soothes and Dream shudders, a hand reaching into his robe as he soundlessly pants against the door. “Follow the flow, you don’t want to resist.” 

The man keens, mindless and full of Hob’s voice ― like Dream. Who wants to reach through the door and hang Hob up, wants those low tones focused on him, as he strokes himself, can feel how close to the edge he is― 

―Of making a mess of Hob’s door, and the thought is cold water as he pulls himself away, taking his hand off himself as he forces himself back to the Dreaming.

-

Dream doesn’t keep a solid track of time, but even he knows that this is a bad day. Pinched annoyance at himself for not visiting Hob, basking in the comforts of his home ― and not when he’s working, and so just sticks to the Dreaming. 

And today, an envoy of planets and galaxies, relatively small, which is the only good thing over all the fake politeness and the exhausting politicking. 

The bubble appearing to life in the room is the icing on the cake, Hob’s daydream-call as the celestial bodies look over at the phone box with worry. “It is nothing,” he grounds out, and feels even more exhausted as he pops the bubble, crunching it into nothing.

After, he promises himself as he forces the conversation back on track, and Dream feels vaguely like screaming.

-

It’s days before he shows up at Hob’s ― reasonably sure that Hob’s not working as he knocks on the front door. Dream feels tense, every non-existent bone in his body clenched as he waits, and as he thinks that Hob’s gone out, the door opens. “Dream!” Hob smiles and ushers him in, and it feels like his teeth grind less as he enters the other’s home. 

“I apologise. For not taking your call,” he recites stiffly as he sits, and Hob freezes, then smiles, sitting next to him, warmth radiating off of him in a way that makes Dream want to curl into him. 

“Felt a bit weird when that happened, but you are a busy entity. Nothing to apologise for, of course,” Hob beams, and Dream swallows the sound as the smile dims, expression becoming concerned. “Your hair,” Dream blinks―and wonders when his hair became long, it feels like ― stress, the weight of the envoy, of his actions last time he was here. “You seem a bit,” Hob bites his lip, “tense.” 

“I am fine,” he replies, and Hob gives him a skeptical glance. 

“Dream,” Hob says softly, a hand coming up to hover over the ends of his hair, “may I?” Blinking, he looks at Hob’s earnest expression, “I want to help. I’ve heard I give a pretty good head rub.” Dream blinks once more, then nods stiffly, and he watches as Hob moves around ― lighting candles that smell of lavender and getting some food before sitting back next to him, turning on the TV as he does. “Any preferences?” Hob nods to the TV, and Dream shakes his head. 

Dream tenses as Hob’s hands move slowly, making their way to his head―and Dream lets out a sound as a fingers stroke and dig into his scalp. The other hand joins in and Dream can’t help but cry out in relief, the touches unlocking some tight part of him as he can only manage to plant his face on Hob’s thigh, who doesn’t object, hands stroking and petting, massaging his scalp and hair. 

“You’re perfectly fine, just relax,” Hob whispers and he shivers, can feel the stress and tension melting away from him as he goes boneless on the sofa, breathing in the musk of Hob underneath him. Every pass and press of Hob’s fingers, nails into him releases even more tension, and he― 

Unfurls, the black mass of his body, tentacles flopping onto the floor, the machine creak of a black metal tail, as well as various other appendages, can feel them stretching out onto the carpet. Hob makes a sound but doesn’t comment, only taking a hand away and Dream looks up, seeing Hob eat some of his biscuits before Dream shuts his eye. 

“I’d rather not get another record player,” Hob says, and Dream doesn’t get why he says it until he opens his eyes, a feathered limb knocking said record player, and Dream makes a sound, softly moving his limbs around the coffee table, tentacles and a limb of black teeth curling around it until they circle to Hob’s feet. “Much appreciated.” 

And even with the stress lifting, his hair seems to grow, can feel it falling over the sofa as Hob doesn’t stop, seemingly happy to massage his scalp, other hand stroking his hair. 

-

Dream opens his eyes with a jolt, confused as he looks around, mind lagging from― 

The sleep. He had. He can’t remember the last time he slept. It was probably while the Earth was still a mass of dust and rocks, still to be pulled together. 

And now, one of Hob’s hands is still in his hair, touching it softly, the other arm touching his chest as he blinks. Can feel Hob in the Dreaming, can feel the night sky above him, the TV still playing softly as he huffs, relaxing back into the hold, putting his face into Hob’s hip. 

The hand in his hair pets him, fingers stroking through the long strands in some automatic motion, Hob still dreaming even as the fingers continue their movement. 

Dream allows himself more of it, hoarding the feeling of having Hob’s body so close, hands in his hair, then he sits up, Hob’s body heat still sticking to him as he turns the TV off. Hob only groans as Dream picks him up, carrying him bridal style to the other’s room, and Dream smiles, patting Hob’s hair as he puts the immortal under the covers. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, stroking the grey of Hob’s temple, making sure Hob’s dreams will be full of the feelings he gave Dream, the warmth and calm. “I feel much better now, my friend.” 

-

“I’m not boring you, am I?” Hob asks, voice cutting out over the phone line, and Dream hums, relishing in the familiar comfort of Hob’s presence inside the daydream, phone to his ear. 

“Of course not,” he says, making Hob do a skeptical noise. 

“Feel like I’m boring myself with this line of thought. Instead ― I always imagine you with a smartphone when we’re like this,” Hob says, and Dream blinks. 

“It is not a smartphone for me,” he replies, “it’s a phone box.”

“Like in Doctor Who?” Hob asks, voice curious, daydream brightening with the emotion. 

“No, a red one,” he clarifies, and huffs as he reaches out to the connection between them, “I will show you.”

Dream knows when Hob can see it ― can see him, can feel the invisible eyes on him as Hob lets out a breath. “Oh. Hello,” Hob speaks softly, and Dream gives him a small smile. “Cosy. I like it.” 

“It―“ feels like you, the bone-deep comfort, Dream doesn’t say, lulled into the sense of it, “it is beyond adequate for when we converse.” 

He gets the feeling that Hob blinks as he takes a moment, “I’m glad for that, then. Beyond adequate is one of my favourite descriptors about me,” Hob says teasingly. “Don’t think I would’ve done the black glass though.”

Dream looks at the sides, surprised to see the clear glass replaced with black glass, opaque and matte. “I didn’t realise,” he frowns, not touching on why he’d want to change the glass, what feels like the part of him still in that cursed basement. 

“How about stained glass, then? That’d be nice,” Hob offers, “just an idea.” Dream stares at the glass, the squares changing to varying hues, mixed in with the black glass. “Beautiful.”

-

Dream stares at the door, at the quiet behind it ― which soon changes as Hob gets a call, and Dream comes closer, pressing an ear to the door. Hob talks to the person ― his higher-up, most likely. The conversation is loud, Hob joking and laughing as he says that sure, I can do another.

The person greets Hob nervously once they’re connected, but Hob easily makes them feel at ease, and Dream feels a pang of envy for those who interact with Hob throughout the days, wanting to keep it all to himself, but knowing he can’t. 

And it’s not like he thought of Hob doing his job in detail, but as Hob gently coaxes out a fantasy, light-hearted and soft, Dream can feel the words prickle under his skin. A part of him thought that Hob would ― list out fantasies, easy to pick and choose from a menu.

His hands ball on the door, unwilling to move as Hob talks, as the person’s imagination sparks, and Dream holds himself back from changing the figment of imagination meant to represent Hob, keeping still. 

Hob’s words, practised and filthy, wash over him as he considers what Hob would coax out of him, can’t even fathom it as the person whines, getting louder in their cries, and Dream presses his forehead to the door, can’t even fathom the thought of Hob doing that to him. 

But still, he wants it, can taste it as the person comes, Hob gently coaxing them on, and Dream vanishes back to the Dreaming before he’s aware, mind sticky with thoughts.

-

Hob isn’t saying something, Dream can feel it in the way the daydream of the phone box twists and pulses. “Feeling an urge to go back to England ― not permanently at this point. More of a holiday, but I’ve been over there too long, so,” Hob grumbles, then sighs. There’s a pause, and Dream waits for Hob to speak.

“Hob?” He asks, straightening up on the glass panel, can feel Hob’s gaze on him. 

“Do you know,” Hob says quietly, the words careful and measured, “you have a presence?” 

“A presence?” He echoes, brows furrowing, and there’s another pause, can feel Hob putting the words together carefully. 

Hob hums, and Dream gets the impression of nervousness, “when you come here. To the Waking. Never noticed it much when we were at the White Horse, probably because of all the people and alcohol, but since we’ve met up outside that, I’ve noticed it. There’s a certain ― change to the gravity, to the air around you, when you’re here,” another pause, another drawn out sigh. More silence. “You’ve been listening to me. While I work,” Hob states, and Dream freezes. “Can feel you, on the other side of that door.” 

Dream swallows, thoughts screeching to a halt, too thrown off to even comprehend saying anything. 

“Why? Eldritch curiosity?” Hob asks, and Dream shuts his eyes, grabbing the out offered with both hands. 

“Yes,” he says, voice scratchy, “I am sorry for. Overstepping.” 

There’s a tiny laugh on the other end of the line, “I don’t care. How am I? Any critiques?” Hob asks, voice lightly teasing, and Dream takes an unneeded breath as he relaxes against the glass.

“You are adequate,” Dream says gravely, and Hob laughs gleefully. Dream intimately understands the meaning of dodging a bullet as Hob begins to talk about something else ― dinner, Dream catches, and he takes another useless breath. 

-

Dream does truly forget this time, as he looks around at Hob’s house, then pauses at the closed door, can faintly hear Hob speaking and Dream pauses. Can feel you, on the other side of that door rings in his head, and Dream ― reaches out, can feel how he changes things, presses onto the fabric of reality as he pulls it inside of himself, like a flower folding back up. 

Can feel the particles and dark matter buzzing inside his form as he walks closer and presses his ear against the door, closing his eyes as Hob’s soft voice washes over him, the laughter warm. 

And the other side of the phone ― Dream blinks, brows furrowing, because she’s a regular. A regular not there for sex, more for companionship, the familiar English accent of Hob’s voice, easing her homesickness. 

Sometimes she does get her self off after, but it’s more ― casual, Hob talking about recipes and both of them missing home. Serendipity of one day her wanting someone to masturbate to, and being struck by hearing the familiar sound. Crying and feeling embarrassed as Hob soothed her and made her laugh. 

Dream frowns, feeling put off, hackles rising as they talk and―Dream swallows, can feel the presence of him straining, not used to it, now that he’s aware of it, crawling under his skin― 

And on the other side of the door, Hob laughing and talking, and Dream can feel anger building, expecting ― filth, not this, which he can’t articulate why he hates it. 

Taking a deep breath, he steps back into the Dreaming, his presence blooming into nothing as dark clouds rumble in the sky. 

=

Dream slowly blinks, aware of a sound in his ear as he looks around ― the red phone box, black and rainbow-coloured glass, the phone’s curled line leading to the phone next to his ear, a dial-tone as it.

Tries to connect to Hob, Dream’s aware of, unable to feel Hob’s warmth, or his unseeing gaze as he sits on the floor of box, holding his knees with his free hand. He’s so tired. The bone-deep weariness, the work on keeping the Dreamling stable even when he doesn’t feel it. 

The way he ― didn’t contact or go to Hob, anger soon fading away, but by then there was political talks and treaties, a flurry of people counting on him, when he just wants to tend to his Dreamers, wants to make new dreams and nightmares, but can only manage nothing. 

Sighing, he presses the phone to his ear, dial-tone still ringing, and Dream considers that―”Dream?” A voice connects, confused as the daydream lights up, warmth infusing it and Dream relaxes at the sound of Hob’s voice. “So that was―you were calling me,” Hob says, voice confused and giving way to awe, and Dream smiles. What feels like his first smile in a while. 

“I was not sure it would work,” he says quietly, feet pressing against the corner of the box as he holds the phone closer to him. “I am sorry if I interrupted.”

Hob laughs, and Dream lets the sound wash over him, “nah. Just had some groceries to get ― then had this peculiar pushing feeling, like a knocking, which I ignored until I got everything home and put away. And it was my precious friend calling me,” Hob says, and Dream can easily see the smile with how Hob speaks. “You seem,” Hob pauses, and Dream looks up at the ceiling, can feel the other’s gaze, the concern and worry palpable. “Out of sorts,” Hob settles on. 

“I didn’t even realise I was calling you at one point,” Dream offers, and Hob makes a distressed sound. “It is nice to hear your voice,” he says with a sigh, curling around the phone. 

“And it’s nice to hear yours,” Hob says softly. “Anything I can do to help?”

“You already are,” smiling, he rests his chin on his arm, can feel Hob’s affection pouring through the daydream wrapping him up in heat. It intensifies and he shivers, can feel it press into all the empty and dark places, the bits of him still in cold and glass and pain―”I want to escape,” he blinks, only aware of the sentence after he said it, “but I cannot leave.”

Hob hums, and Dream can feel the phonebox flickering as Hob thinks, “a story, then? If you want,” Hob says softly, and Dream nods, the phonebox flickering, the red phone and it’s red wire only staying, “you said that to a friend, and this friend ― cares for you, can see how you need to get away,” Dream hums, falling into the highs and lows of the other’s voice easily. “And so, they kidnap ― nicely, taking you to some far-away cabin.” 

The phonebox changes, expands, becoming a wooden cabin ― a fireplace on the wall, fire crackling, a huge bed and Dream smiles, any kneejerk reactions fading into nothing at the constant warmth, Hob’s invisible gaze on him. And a shadow person, standing in front of him, hand outstretched, and Dream takes it to stand up from the carpeted floor, can feel Hob’s touch in the shadow. 

“Always working too hard, can see how it burns you out, putting too much on yourself, just wants to let you forget about it for a bit. It’ll all be there after, of course,” Hob says as they sit down on the bed, and Dream soaks up Hob’s voice, putting his head on the shadow’s shoulder, an arm moving around his own shoulders. “But you’re allowed time away ― especially with your friend, who took you so nicely, implored you to leave with them.”

Dream hums, can feel the Hob’s hair brushing against the back of his neck, the beard on his jaw as he presses his nose into the shadow’s neck, pleasantly scratchy. “Hob,” he breathes, insides twisting and hot, can’t help but to ― kiss him, and the daydream―Hob, hitches a breath. 

“Oh,” Hob’s voice is lightly strangled, but the shadow still kisses him back, hands on his jaw as the daydream heats up even more, can feel prickles of Hob’s growing arousal. “And―well―that is,” Hob stumbles, voice more breathless than before as Dream’s hands go into dark hair, thumbs stroking the grey of where Hob’s beard would be, and Hob lets out another sound. “Of course, your friend―that is,” a cough, “has wanted you, but wasn’t expecting this, was happy for just―” 

Hob swears as Dream licks into the shadow’s mouth, can feel hands going down to grip his hips as they kiss, can feel Hob’s gaze on him, hooking under his skin as he presses into the void-of-his-friend, can feel the other’s hard cock in jeans as he bites the shadow’s lips. 

There’s a gasp, a keen as the shadow’s hands go under his shirt, nails scratching up his torso. Hob lets out another sound, a tinge frustrated and the shadow moves, tugging him down onto the bed, pressing him against as Dream whines, shivering at the lips and stubble as the shadow bites marks into his neck. “This friend thinks you shouldn’t be working even in this,” Hob says, voice octaves lower as the shadow touches his robe, his shirt vanishing under it, “should focus on feeling good, on how maybe,” Hob’s voice cracks. 

“Maybe?” He purrs, can feel the other’s intense stare as his pants vanish, hands reverently going down his hips to his thighs. Can feel the daydream shaking with arousal ― Hob’s arousal, can feel the Dreaming beyond the little black bubble this is all placed in before he focuses back on the shadow, the room and Hob. 

And the shadow, fingers slick as they trail up his inner thighs, can feel Hob’s gaze zeroing in on him, focused to a point as he shudders, grasping at the shadow’s soft hair, “as a courtesy,” Hob rasps, voice deep as the shadow licks at a nipple, hardening under it quickly, and Dream gasps as a finger slowly enters him, pressing against walls with heat, “you should be fucked, taken care of, until you can’t think anymore.”

“By you?” He asks, keening as another finger enters him, stretching him slowly ― even though he doesn’t need it, body loosening around them easily and Hob whines, more fingers entering him. 

The shadow kisses him, beard rough against his face as they kiss, and Dream gasps, staring at ceiling as fingers graze his prostate, and Dream can only dig into the shadow’s shoulders, arching up into the feeling as thoughts vanish, the shadow moving down to nibble marks into his collarbone. “Yes,” Hob says, voice rough as the beard that scratches against his skin. “Would be happy to do that, for you, until you’re only just pleasure.” 

Dream groans, squirming under the shadow, wanting it so desperately as fingers continue to press that spot, and Dream grinds down on the feeling, chasing the orgasm in front of him, hearing Hob pant and moan. “With only your fingers?” He asks, voice tripping over itself, and he shivers as they crook inside him.

“To start with,” Hob answers, voice low and gutter-filthy, “a start, to get you out of your head, out of your work,” Hob says, fingers twisting and stretching even more, and Dream lets out a wail, arching into them mindlessly, body shuddering with pleasure. “With me.”

He comes with a cry, white coating the shadow’s front as Dream holds on, the press of warm nails verging into over-stimulation, into a shuddering, maddening amount of bliss. The fingers leave and he groans as he’s turned around, face pressing into pillows as the shadow forces him up by the hips, arse in the air. “Hob?” He slurs, can feel a nose ghost against his spine, thumbs digging into his waist. 

Hob lets out a breath, and he shivers as a tongue comes out, hot against his spine as it makes it’s way down. “There’s still so much to do, and there’s time for it all,” Hob promises.

-

Dream comes back to himself pleasantly, form faintly twinging as he stares at the wall of his bedroom, a stained glass window showing golden light that keeps him warm. His mind is clear, only one thing ― one person ― occupying it as he stands up, loose black robe forming around him. 

It’s only once he’s stepped into the Waking, and knocked at Hob’s front door, that maybe― 

Just a fantasy, Hob’s job, a one-off, his mind spirals as he crosses his arms, feeling the cool air with only his thin robe― 

“Dream!” He blinks and the door has opened, revealing Hob’s smiling face, and Dream relaxes at the sight. Hob doesn’t show any signs of what happened, which―of course, since it was a daydream. 

As Dream sits on the sofa, a part of him settles that if this doesn’t―become anything, he might be content with that. Since Hob didn’t throw him out at first sight, he can be happy with Hob’s friendship. 

“You, uh,” Hob says, tone faltering and Dream stares down at himself, at the small black robe. At the marks and beard burn he can feel on the inside of his thighs, the bruises on his neck. Hob’s face gets redder as he stares, brown eyes wide. 

Wide, and interested, can feel echoes of their daydream ripple through the air, Hob licking his lips and Dream’s form tingles, wanting. Not just a shadow, not just a daydream, wants to see Hob’s eyes get darker, like they are right now―and Dream surges up, grabbing Hob’s threadbare shirt to kiss him roughly. Dream’s hands clench as they go up, and he moans at the feel of the other’s beard, of the way Hob leans into the kiss, automatic― 

Hob breaks the kiss with a gasp, eyes wide with wonder, a hand in his dark hair, fingers curling around Dream’s dark strands. “Curiousity?” Hob asks, breathless. 

“No,” is all he says before going back in for a kiss, Hob’s other hand quickly grabbing his waist as Dream spins him around, pushing him onto the sofa. Hob gasps, hands tugging him down onto Hob’s lap, and Dream shivers at the affection and want he can feel coming from the other’s daydreams, Hob just as hungry as him as he grinds into Hob’s lap. 

[Fin]

[rjalker]

Flatland: An Adventure in Many Dimensions, a 2024 translation into casual English, is done!

You can read and download it completely 100% for free on the Internet Archive!

When it's done loading, you will be able to read it directly online, and the Internet Archive will automatically generate audiobook versions with text to speech.

You can also download and torrent various versions as PDFs, epubs, and editable documents so you can change the font, paragraph styles, and do anything else you want with it, like give everyone neopronouns or turn them into unicorns!

I will also be making my own audiobook version at some point. but that's gonna take a while since this is around 38,000 words long. You can make your own too! And you can translate this into other languages!

Edit: The "lazy" (unedited) audiobook is now available on youtube! It is in two videos, since my computer wouldn't let me combine them lol.

“https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpFcEwm88RUsMYmhY6DBYZcIvvKv6_ZS3”

Did I mention this is public domain? Because I hate capitalism and I'm poor and I want other people to also be able to enjoy books for free.

Buy the cheapest possible print version for $7.45 (I get $2).

This version is a paperback with no illustrations, no prefaces, a greyscale cover to make it as cheap to print as possible, so that more people can afford to buy it.

Buy the regular print version for $22.17 (I get $5).

This version is a hardpack with illustrations, the preface from the original author, and one from me.

You can also download all the HD illustrations included in this story here on the Internet Archive.

If you enjoy reading it, you can also donate directly to "TinyelFlatland" on paypal!

And if I haven't made it clear yet, this is Public Domain. You are 1million% encouraged to download it, print it, share it, do literally anything you want with it. I am 100% serious.

Now you can all join me in laughing at the narrator :)

Edit: oh wait lol. I realize I wrote this post assuming only people who already know what Flatland is will see it.

Uh so people who have no clue what Flatland is, here's a quick summary:

The narrator, who hides his identity using the alias "A. Square", is a resident of a world called Flatland, a world that only exists in two dimensions, where every person is a flat geometric shape. A. Square tells us the history and culture of his world, which is rife with bigotry that he buys into without question. Until New Year's Eve, before the first day of the year 2000, when a mysterious stranger claiming to come from the third dimension appears in his living room, and starts saying things that sound absurd, and performing what seem like magic tricks.

The original Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, was published in 1884 by Edwin Abbot Abbot. It is both a scathing political satire criticizing the systems of bigotry in Victorian England, and an entertaining introduction to the concept of more than three dimensions.

Edit: Now there's an itch.io page too!

Edit again: And you can read it here on tumblr now! @flatland-a-2024-translation and on Pillowfort!

[arielchelby]

Stardust

An overdue birthday gift for @moondancer71 and my submission for free choice for day 3 of Falling for You 2024 hosted by @iceandfirejonerysdiscord

A star has fallen in Westeros and the would-be kings and witches of the Seven Kingdoms have taken notice. So has a young man in the North with a sick brother; he’s been told a fallen star can cure any ailment - even at the brink of death. Some want it for love, and others for power, but it’s a race to see who will reach her first.  Or… A fallen star has landed in Westeros, and all she wants to do is find her way back home.

The lovely MB was made by @moondancer71 who also beta read for me (thank you!). She asked me to give credit for the lovely edits to @justwandering-neverlost and @waking-dreams-of-harmony 💖

Ice & Fire Jonerys Discord

[fandom-free-bingo]

Fandom Free Bingo - Gingerbread Edition

Note: From the end of December, we will no longer be reblogging fills from Flight Edition Cards. The AO3 collection will remain open indefinitely, however, and any Tumblr post that fills Flight prompts and any prompt from a later edition will still be reblogged on those grounds. This means that posts covering exclusively Frosty and/or Flight Edition prompts will no longer be reblogged <3 Now, on to December!

- Turnaround time is hopefully no longer than a week. If you've been waiting longer than this, please feel free to reach out! - Feel free to interpret the prompts however you wish - the world is your oyster! <3 Note: Terms with a stereotypically applied gender (e.g 'Princess', 'king') are not gender-restricted! Some things are just hard to make gender-neutral, especially in limited space. Gimmie those boy princesses and nb kings to your hearts content. <3  - No restriction to one prompt per fic/chapter.  - You can merge this event with others, so long as the other event permits this.  - Please mark rating clearly, and use CW where applicable. Posts not adequately marked will not be reblogged. We love you folks, and all the work you produce, but we get a lot of reblogs and have lives outside the event - we don't always have the time to be chasing down ratings or fandoms ;-; - Use the tags #FandomFreeBingo and #Fandom Free Bingo: Gingerbread Edition, and tag @fandom-free-bingo on tumblr for a reblog - don't forget to also add in the pairing/characters, rating, the fandom and the warnings in the tags please <3  - The eleventh event (Gingerbread Edition) sign ups will run until December 31st, 2024. Feel free to post after this date, however - works will be reblogged until November 30th, 2025, and the Ao3 collection will be open indefinitely.  - A maximum of FOUR cards per participant. - This season we are offering BOTH 5x5 and 3x3 cards - please let us know which you would like!    - All media forms, fandoms and original works are welcome!  - You can request square changes twice (of any number), for up to a week after the card is issued.  - Be respectful to other participants.  - Be kind to us!  - Ao3 collection can be found here!

Sign up here!

@thebigbangblogproject

[summertimemusician]

Linktober 2024, Day 1, Mirror (Self)

Alright here we go again.

Technically a sneak peak of a bigger thing to come in the future that I'm repurposing, and the result of my final playthrough and readthrough before EoW dropped being Four Swords Adventures and that made me sad about Shadow Link again.

Note that this is for the Four Swords Adventures iteration of Shadow Link that might evolve into an LU Shadow, not Dark Link in either LOZ or LU, I have other plans for him.

This one shot was brought to you by Scars by The Crane Wives, Ribs by The Crane Wives, Ruin by The Amazing Devil and Two Minutes by The Amazing Devil because the author's playlist decided to be incredibly cheeky when they blacked out to write this like an ancient seers being cursed with visions and then called mad and hearing they've been put up for execution.

As always the nature of the relationship can be romantic or platonic, mostly due to the author's time constraints and further plans.

Anyway enjoy the reading!

It was cold.

The sort of cold after a wildfire, when everything's turned back to ash, the sort that left burned your vision white after the flames licked through your veins and left an ache in your bones. He shuddered, coughed black onto the stone floor, shaking with a muffled whimper.

It never got any easier, being dragged from the Dark World and into the Realm of Light, the goddesses' world itself revolting against an intruder, wanting the wound torn asunder into their oh so precious realm cauterized. To purge the intrusion and smite it where it stands.

Too bad for them (and for him), his master didn't particularly care about what the world wanted. Didn't particularly care that he hadn't grow accustomed to the pain or the cold, he had to stand up. There was work to be done.

(Shadow gritted his teeth, willed himself not to think about the prophecy of a golden haired princess- because whether he liked it or not, it was prophecy. As those with divinity running through their veins are wont to spill from their throats so carelessly- of violet eyes and a smile a third moonlight and hands holding a hammer.

It always hurt more, after one of the heroes liberated one of the maidens, or the jewels, the pain lingering for days afterwards and carving a home in his metaphorical bones. But just this once he'd take the cold bite of the Four Swords over the pain in the hole in his chest that Vio's betrayal had left, something that felt so much worse than every other time before.

Just this once he wished that maybe, just maybe, the hurt would be too much to bear, that he wouldn't wake up again-

Why? Why does it hurt so much but he's still here? He already knew the Light was uncompromising and unforgiving, but he thought them at least above curses.)

His ears twitched as soft, almost silent footsteps came up to his side. Someone crouching by his fallen form, setting a cautious hand over his own that Shadow couldn't help but draw away from with a hiss, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the world again, to your face, carefully blank as you guided him to lean against your side, a silver choker with a crimson gem winked mockingly at him, the shade closing his eyes and going boneless against your side.

Shadow was so, so tired.

He heard you quietly sigh, plucking his cap from his head and running your fingers through dark amethyst, smoke and mist made hair. "I told you so."

"Shut up." He grumbled, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. One clawed hand curling against your free wrist, digging into the skin. Absentmindedly noting there were new scratches just above the metal.

It was routine by now, the warmth of your existence against his own a welcome balm, not quite of the Realm of Light where it's unpleasant, not too close to the Dark World where he felt like melting back into the embrace of the darkness, only to howl in agony at being dragged out.

Memories not quite his own bled into his mind all the time. How you'd shape ice into flowers for the princess in winter with nary a though, of blinking and from one second to the next you'd have whatever sword he had hostage if you though it was time for a break with a smile brighter than the sun.

His master had changed that though. It took months for you to stop trying to claw the collar out and to stop trying to fight Vaati.

(Funny how holding a mage's dragon as a bargaining chip is just as effective as kidnapping a ruler.)

Your gaze flicked to the polished obsidian of the Dark Mirror, to the gold, ornate frame. "The offer is still open, you know. Let me take the suffering from you."

"No." He scowled, leaning back to glare into your eyes, a hint of fangs poking out from a maw struggling to keep the shape of a human jaw, "You helped him. Helped them." Shadow spat, there is that hurt again.

You shrugged, a movement that's just slightly awkward as you flinch, "That I did." You confirmed simply, it almost made Shadow see red as he leaned away, knocking your hand from his head in the process, but if there's anything him and the heroes shared, was a lack of a desire to hurt you. It was a little grating to be honest, "Vio even offered to take me with him, to be honest."

"Then why didn't you leave?" He demanded.

Why did you stick around?

Your eyes shuttered, a hint of conflict in your pursed lips. Before you found your words, they come out softly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. You'll just have to find out yourself."

You tug your wrist from his grasp, and Shadow lets you go.

(Stubbornly pushing down on memories and emotions that arearen'tarenotanymore quite his.)

You stand and turn away, pushing the curtains away from your sight, you turn your tired eyes to Shadow with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Just keep it in mind that there's more than one way to end this. Nothing is truly inevitable."

Shadow watches you go. 'There's nothing that can be done. He tells himself, hand hesitating above the Dark Mirror, briefly, it curls into a fist. The hero's original self stares back at him.

'… Does he really believe that?'

He shakes his head, and focuses on willing the Dark Mirror to show him his counterpart.

His chest still hurts.

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 16: Daria/Jane, Kiss

Daria/Jane, ~900 words, ~35 minutes

In the same 'verse as this fic, but it also takes place before so like, post-canon, basically. This was inspired by a comment from/conversation with @riotsquirrrl on that fic about how D and J might have gotten together. I really liked it, so I decided to play around with it.

How can it be that Daria thinks it's cold enough for snow and yet Jane's not wearing anything as heavy as a real jacket? It's because Daria is from the South and doesn't understand what cold is or what almost-snow feels like either. So.

*

The forecast says snow flurries but the air feels like incipient heavy snow, as bitter-cold as it is when Daria opens the door and steps outside. These are the last flickering days of the year, the in-between time, the neighborhood dark by 5pm and illuminated only by streetlights. She stands in the cone of light from the Morgendorffer's front-door light and shrugs her shoulders up toward her ears, crosses her arms against her chest, and Jane pulls the sleeves of her red BFAC sweatshirt all the way over her hands.

She'd volunteered to walk Jane out but not all the way home, so there's no reason now to linger out here in the cold, breathing out faint misting gray breaths, thinking about how it won't really snow, not in Lawndale in December. It never has.

But Jane just shifts her weight from one foot to the other, glances out in the direction of the sidewalk and then back. "Hey--so." She mimics Daria's posture, crossed arms to hold in body heat. "Thanks for letting me hang out all night and avoid my house."

"Thank you for distracting me from having to spend time alone with my family." A half-joke, and Jane half-smiles at it. They're not so bad, really. She's just not so used to being home, as if she'd traveled back from Boston in a time machine and now she's in high school again, Quinn telling stories about the same teachers, the same gossip, the same football team. As if Daria's four months at Raft never happened. As if time had shifted in some jarring, abrupt way, but only for her. Only somewhere in her body, in her consciousness.

"Could be worse," Jane answers. Could be her place. Wind's moved back in, half-taken over. Trent won't last the year with him, though he hasn't admitted it yet. And Jane's mom has been away for six months now, the sort of absence that must make even Jane wonder if she'll ever come back, and as far as Daria has ever been tell, Mr. Lane has never really lived there at all.

Maybe familiarity is better. At least she has somewhere to come home to.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asks. She means it as a lifeline but selfishly, too.

Jane shrugs. "Sleeping. Painting."

"Busy schedule. Do you think you can find time for pizza?"

"I might be able to pencil that in." The corner of one side of her mouth lifts up again, a smirk but, because it's just them alone, there's softness to it. "I should go."

"Yeah."

For a while now, maybe a couple of months, Jane's been in the habit of kissing Daria on the cheek when they part ways. The reason why has never been obvious, and Daria has stopped trying to remember quite when it started, or what she thought of it then. Maybe Jane does it because separating always feels so much more weighty now, when they won't see each other for days or possibly weeks, instead of hours. Maybe the gesture comes from how much more often they touch, now: jostled together on the subway; falling asleep in each other's dorms; leaning on each other sometimes, when they study side by side in the same bed. Or maybe it's an art school thing, or just part of Jane changing and growing, in some more abrupt or sudden or meaningful way than she did in high school--some change in her that somehow Daria can't see in its entirety or fully understand.

She likes it, though, this new sort of ritual. Never knows how to respond, never initiates, but likes it. When Jane doesn't do it, she always thinks, well that's over now, and then is pleasantly surprised when the habit picks itself up again. Last time, she reached out after and squeezed Jane's arm, just before they parted at the train station in Boston, which was her attempt at speaking the same language back.

But this is Lawndale and it's different here. They're nineteen; they're fifteen; the world is very small, the neighborhood familiar even in the darkness. Flakes of snow too light to even count as flurries are getting caught in Jane's hair.

Somewhere in the direction of the neighbor's lawn, some sound like the movements of an aggressive squirrel rattles through the stillness. "I'll see you tomorrow," Jane says, and Daria turns away from the noise just as Jane leans in to kiss her cheek, and the kiss lands on the side of Daria's mouth instead.

She turns very slightly to her left, like a correction, but doesn't otherwise move. Doesn't pull back, doesn't press forward.

Interesting.

Jane steps back again, blinks a few times; her eyes are unusually wide. "Sorry about that," she says.

Daria shakes her head. "Don't be."

And then Jane's shoulders fall back down, and she laughs like she's letting out some coiled-up nerves. "All right. Tomorrow, then."

"I'll stop by."

Maybe she should be doing something else now, saying something else. Jane leans in one more time and this time kisses her cheek, like she'd meant to, and then she sticks her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie and starts off down the front walk. Daria stays outside and watches her, moving in and out of the brightest lights, until she disappears at last down the street.

[iniziare]

Download: Adobe Photoshop 2024 (v25.12) / Windows

Download of a more recent Photoshop can be found here!

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you already have another version of Adobe's Photoshop CC/2024 installed, it will require you to uninstall that first. Just like in the old days with my previous versions, simply follow the instructions and all should immediately work as intended. And don't worry, I pinky-promise you that this works and won't give you any problems, no matter whether you're a techie or a bit clueless as to how to navigate computers. And in case you're struggling, I'm here at your beck and call until it's working! IMPORTANT NOTE #2: In case you get a popup that says Photoshop needs to be licensed, or it will uninstall itself otherwise, please have a look at this fix!

Step 1: Please navigate here, and download Photoshop (alternative link here). Step 2: When done downloading, unzip it (Windows can do it for you, but otherwise, I personally use a program called 7ZIP) anywhere on your PC, even your desktop works fine, as you can delete it when the installation is done if you'd like. Step 3: When done, have a look inside the folder you just unzipped, and you'll see a file called 'Set-up (just click this and install!)', you simply need to run it, and install it as per your preferences (if you aren't too tech-savvy, don't worry, you can leave the default installation options as they are and all will be fine), and it is already pre-cracked, so there's no extra work from your end that needs to be done, we're just left with the last little step... Step 4: Everything is done! You can now start it up and use it as you want!

If in the unlikely event that you do run into any sort of issue of any kind, my DMs and askbox are always here for you, so don't be shy, I promise I'll welcome you with chocolate and fruit.

While I don't request for anything in return outside of a like if this helped you (or ideally, a reblog so that others can find this), I was asked in the past whether I had a Ko-fi, so I set one up back in the day. It's not required at all, but it's always appreciated. 🤍

[risulover]

How do i use this app uhh cringetiber day 1

[novella-november]

Oh, and for those not participating in Ominous October (see my pinned post for details), does anyone have any suggestions for ways people can begin planning/outlining their Novella November projects?

Does anyone have some Outline templates they would like to share ?

I always just.... winged it in the past lol, but I *am* doing some more in-depth planning this time.

An outline at its most basic should at least consist of :

Who are the characters?

Where and when is it set?

What is the Big Problem/Plot of the story?

Some additional details you can fill in from there:

Who is your main character? What kind of personality, abilities, and flaws do they have? What do they look like? Sound like?

If there are two or more main characters, how are they connected to the Plot?

If there are two or more main character POVs, do the additional perspectives bring something new and interesting to the story?

What are your characters motivations? Do these motivations change over time?

What kind of Conflicts do your character(s) face?

What kind of setting is your story set in, and how does that influence your characters and the story?

If you have thought of one, what do you *want* the main Theme of your story to be?

How do you plan on including this theme in your work?

What will start your Character(s) on their journey in the plot?

How will they have changed by the time you reach the middle of the book?

What is the climax of the work going to be?

How are the events of the book resolved?

Are all of the strings tied up for a standalone, or are there still pieces left unraveled, for a sequel to explore, or simply for an open-ending, intended to invite speculation from the audience?

[6kate1bishop6]

au where instead of exy neil gets roped into doing a play by kevin and it steadily gets more attention on campus bc the play starts getting more reviews by critics who absolutely love it and neil is uniquely talented at acting and he gets forced into the lead role so theyre beefing with riko who wants the award and same as canon like neils going to night rehersals where kevin is like teaching him how to authentically cry on demand and then neil opens his phone to ominous text messages but he cant leave because hes got the lead role and the entire play will be lost without him, andrew is like incredibly talented at acting and could have the audience in the palm of his hand within three words but only if he can be bothered the rest of the time he'll just deliver all his lines completely monotone, bonus points if the play has a romance plot between neil and andrew and they dont realise that the sexual tension is less of an act and more genuine until its too late

[muzzlemouths]

alright gamers let's mer some mays 🐟🐠

written list under rm 👇

1. morning

2. basking

3. beachcombing

4. hunger

5. glow

6. shipwreck

7. hook

8. bait

9. capture

10. leviathan

11. taboo

12. lost at sea

13. drowning

14. storm

15. message in a bottle

16. song

17. home

18. disability

19. mine

20. metamorphoses

21. camouflage

22. stranded

23. curiosity

24. purr/growl

25. hunt

26. secret

27. promise

28. magic

29. thingamabobs

30. aquarium

31. night