#gravity bath fittings

[piss-pumpkin]

🌲 see you next summer <3 🍂

(Older)dipper pines x reader, douce amere chapter 25 ~3.5k words Masterlist prev

Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. The last day. You half didn’t want to wake up. The bed in your aunts house left you with the same feeling of a hotel mattress, despite the fact that it was decorated with all items yours. You probably should have slept at the twins place. 

Summers been good. You should think about that Instead of the fact that you’d be leaving today. You did all you set out to, really. You’d had an adventure, you’d gotten your romance, there were world shattering stakes at play. And the ending was sweet. You’d said your happy birthdays your goodbyes were next. Shit, you still had to pack up. How could you have forgotten that? 

You sat up, and scanned the room. There was a lot of you in it. Your laptop was sitting with its bunched up cords on the side table, and your clothes hung out of the dresser and a few lied on the floor. Sighing, you kicked your feet off the bed. One last morning. Your fingers were locked clenched around the bedsheets. You had to let go to brush your teeth. 

Toothbrush was the first to get packed up. You slipped it into a plastic bag with the bristles still wet. Ugh. The bag felt heavier in your hand than it should have as you threw it in your suitcase, tucked under your shirts. 

Sighing, you knelt knees on hardwood floor beside the pile of laundry you hadn’t yet washed, and began to fold. Each article past you by as you fit it into the case. Your hands wanted to linger on each shirt or or shorts you’d worn on the good days. Like the pyjama shirt you had on when Dipper confessed, or the ones that knew the sheets of his bed better then they might your home blankets. Or the bathing suit you’d worn plenty to swim together. And despite yourself, you had to linger on the shirt you’d worn for days without realize, stuck on the kitchen floor while Dipper was left to figure out how to save you all. You weren’t sure you’d worn it since.

The bandage on your head from that week was almost ready to come off. And the side effects were better. You could have a clear head before school started if you were lucky. As much as the idea was nice, it was weird. Going back to school. People there don’t know your story. And they wouldn’t understand unless they saw it for themselves. Everyone else you knew missed whole chapters of your mythology, and there was no easy way to change that. Maybe that’s why you and your Gravity falls friends were like family sometimes. Because it they could understand. 

You scanned the room for what was left to pack. Your backpack in the corner was for easy access stuff: snacks, charger, laptop, anything you might want for the ride home. Heaving a sigh, you started to pile it in.

As your fingers brushed the inside fabric, you caught on papers. Oh. When you saw the names across their folded fronts, you knew. Your death notes, your letters. You blinked. What were you gonna do with those? They felt too raw to throw or give away. Maybe you’d keep them as a memento. 

The room was lacking character by the time you were done, and the person you became in the summer was locked up in your bags. God, it sucked. 

                                        …

The bus stop. The bus stop sucked. Being at the cusp of a drivers license meant you’d nearly escaped them. The ground was crisp as you walked with Susan, the grass already drying and yellowing with the heat and creeping autumn. You sighed. A few months ago, the bus stop was the first place you saw your best friends. Back then it was one of the first busses in, now you were going to wait for one of the last out. 

Every time you’d managed to say goodbye, it felt like it could be the last. Like you’d go home, and suddenly Gravity Falls and all its mysteries could be a fever dream, and you’d never find your way back. So far, you always had. But how could you be sure this time wouldn’t be the one where the illusion shattered?

You could do this. If you could survive this summer, you could survive its end. 

Between everything, it almost seemed like it never would end. In the best ways and the worst, kisses that could last a lifetime, and weeks that stretched into purgatory as you waited for death that wasn’t coming.  

The bus stop came into view, and the Pines family and friends were already there. No busses, though, so you had time. Your hand was shaking on the suitcase handle as you rolled it along. They were saying goodbye.

Aunt Susan, affectionately known as lazy Susan, put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Should we say goodbye now before you go off with your friends?” She asked with her halfway southern drawl. 

You pursed your lips, and nodded. She smiled, and wrapped you in a hug. “You’re a joy to live with, and a pain in the ass to try and take care of,” she said, brushing a few hairs out of the way of your head bandaid. “Thanks for helping out at the diner, and for keeping things… lively.”

You smiled as her big arms held you close. “Yeah… thanks for letting me stay with you,” you said. 

She laughed, letting you go after a few moments. “Please,” she snickered. “You’ll hafta thank that boy of yours for living there, too.”

You smiled at the grass, “yeah, I will.”

She nodded, and the two of you started to walk again. Until the Pines saw you and you started to speed walk, leaving your Aunt behind, and eventually when you got close, devolving into a jog and you ran for your friends. You rushed up, practically jumping at Dipper and Mabel, your suitcase falling behind you.

You launched into Dippers arms, and when you landed, almost knocking the air out from your lungs. Shit man, you had to say goodbye today. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his sweater. “Dude,” you said, muffled by his chest. “Dude, oh my god.”

He squeezed you back almost enough to suffocate you, too. “I know, man,” he said, resting his head in your hair. The unspoken agreement was that no amount of time could ever be enough, probably. And even though the summer was great, a part of you regretted every moment you hadn’t spent clinging to him like a life raft. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, maneuvering your face sideways to better speak.

He sighed, leaning his head on yours, “yeah.” 

Then you remembered there was also a bunch of other people around. Pulling only slightly away from Dipper, you pulled Mabel in, too, the trio you were. Her hand slapped your back as she wrapped an arm around you, and one around her brother. “I’ll keep you updated on literally everything embarrassing he does,” she said.

Dipper didn’t even complain. You snickered, “okay, well he better keep me up on all your shit, too, just so you know.”

”As usual,” he nodded. 

Mabel groaned, “Ugh, snitch. Hey, who’s gonna tattle on you, then Y/n, this street has to go three ways.”

”I’ll self snitch, I’ll eat that bullet.”

The three of you pulled back, and you looked at them both. You’d see pictures, but the next time you saw them in person, they’d probably look different. A year can change a lot, as short as it was in the long run. Nobody was ever quite the same coming back to Gravity falls after school ended. The best hope was that the people you changed into were just as close as the people you were before. 

You sighed. There were other goodbyes too. You looked at the Grunkles. You weren’t sure who taught Stan what dapping up was, but whatever. He wanted too. You dapped him up as he smiled sadly. And Ford tried and failed to do the same. 

“Thanks for, like, basically letting me live at your house,” you said, only somewhat awkwardly. 

Ford patted you on the shoulder, “it’s really nothing, Y/n, your basically family.”

”Yeah, what’s another mouth to feed, and a dent in my car,” Stan tried to complain, but he was still smiling, and occasionally glancing between you and the twins. 

Wendy and Dipper swapped hats, she plucked his off his head and wore it backwards with a little smirk. 

You saw Pacifica next. She was a little late, just approaching now. She seemed… fine. Better than the other day. You couldn’t help but to grin at her, and wrap her in a hug. And shake her side to side. 

“My number one bitch,” you laughed. 

She snickered, “I better be.” When you let go, she was still smiling at you, with a slight purse of the lips to hide the fact that she’ll miss you. “I’ll send you like, cool stuff… you know how it is.”

Daddys money was how it was. Even after supposedly becoming poor. But poor to a rich girl was still enough to shop a lot, and send you gifts when she saw something you’d like. “Thanks man,” you laughed. She really was nothing like her parents. 

“And tell you like, all the gossip I hear,” she added. “So when you come back, your caught up.”

You smiled, “you better.” Snickering, you shook your head, “I’ll dutifully do the same.” 

Mabel said her goodbyes to Candy and Grenda. Dipper said goodbye to Soos. Man, this sucked. A bus was starting to creep over the horizon, and you weren’t sure if it was yours or the twins. You weren’t sure which would be worse, actually, you leaving first or them. 

It seemed like most of it was all said. Sighing, you went back beside Dipper, and leaned heavy on his side. Without a moments hesitation he wrapped an arm around you and tried to pull you in closer. 

He sighed as the bus moved in. It was still too far to see the number, though. “Man, this sucks,” he complained. “I’ll see you next summer, I guess,” he said wistfully.

Well, that was like a stab in the chest. But that gave you an idea. See you next summer. The papers you wrote on your deathbed weighed heavy in your bag, and you had a good idea of what to do with… at least one of them.

“I have something for you, actually,” you said, slinging your bag off your shoulder and rifling through. Your hands landed on the golden letters, until you saw the one with his name on it.

You pulled it out, and passed it around your hands a moment. Too late to back out now, even if its contents were embarrassing. “Here,” you said, holding it out to him. 

His fingers brushed your as he grabbed it, and started to unfold it.

You cut him off, swatting your hand over his. “No, do that when I’m out of sight it’s too cringe,” you laughed, shaking your head. “And like, maybe don’t message me about it. But…” you pursed your lips, looking at the grass, leaning your cheek onto your shoulder. “I wrote it the day before my exorcism. Read it or don’t, but don’t tell me about it,” you laughed 

His eyes widened a moment, and he nodded, slipping it into his bag. “Uh, thank you,” he said quietly, with emotions unreadable. 

The bus was pulling up, and you sucked a breath in through your teeth. It was yours. You’d be the first to arrive, and the first to leave. 

You met Dippers eyes, and he sighed. The bus door was opening. And somebody must have gestured at the bus driver to give you a moment, because it didn’t pull away. 

Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, glancing at the bus. “Guess I’ll see you later,” he smiled, “I love you,” and gently kissed your forehead where you bandage was, light enough as not to hurt you, hard enough to leave an impression. 

A crooked grin here on your lips, and you fought the urge to cover your face, which was probably blushing. “Cringe. Love you too, Dip,” you said, fighting to maintain eye contact. You gave him one last kiss, and grabbed your suitcase. 

You sighed at the busses stairs, and looked back. “Bye guys,” you waved, looking over your friends once more. 

They smiled. Pacifica waved, “Let me know when you get home.”

”Oh, us too,” Mabel said, elbowing her brother.

Dipper nodded, slightly blush on his cheeks, “bye Y/n.”

And then you were on a bus, going the opposite direction of Gravity falls, and on the first stretch of a journey far away from your friends. Into the… somewhat known, you supposed. 

                                           …

Dipper sat with his legs crossed on the bus. Mabel was already asleep beside him. He wanted to chide her, but it was already dark outside, the only light was the dim and blueish bus LEDs. He checked his phone. Almost midnight. They’d probably get home around one. 

He tried to look out the window, but it was hard not to see his own reflection.

He pursed his lips. Your words were echoing around in his brain. Read it or don’t. But don’t tell me about it. He snickered to himself. But the paper felt heavy in his bag. 

Sighing, he pulled it out. Just his name was written across the front, and the thought that you wrote it thinking it would be the last he read of you… he pursed his lips, and unfolded the paper.

Dear Dipshit

He smiled. 

I’m sorry. We just got done talking about what we’re gonna do with me and Bill and whatever as I’m writing this. You didn’t seem too happy about the idea. This all sucks, I know. I guess I’m a little glad that you care enough to argue for me though, that you weren’t so mad at me for… this whole thing that you’d be fine with the risk. Sorry I worry you so much. 

Dipper winced reading over the words. Of course he cares, he wanted to say. A part of him did begin to understand why you wouldn’t want him to message you about this though. The thought of you writing this, alone and thinking you were going to die…

Honestly, sorry about all of this. It was my mistake that landed us here, there’s a thousand things I could’ve done differently. Like, I could have told you about the statue, that would have been so easy. I could have told you about what he was saying in my head, I guess I thought it was my own thoughts. That seems so silly now, he was saying some weird shit. I could have told you “hey I shook hands with a rock” and even that would have been something. I guess that’s all over with now though, no use dwelling on it. Even if it’s hard to help myself. 

So sorry. Yeah. I should write about better stuff. 

Dipper fought the urge to text you and tell you it wasn’t your fault, reminding himself that he promised not too. But his chest tightening thinking of your guilt. Deep breaths. He told you. He told you after that it was a burden they all had to bare. 

This summer has been one of the best regardless of all this, I won’t lie. Like, deadass. We did a lot of cool stuff. Hanging out, monster hunting, scheming. I really liked the Fourth of July. Bet you can remember why lol. I feel sorta cringe writing that. Whatever, I’ll live. Or… heh. Jokes. 

Ugh, that was bad. He shook his head as he smiled. You were totally right though, that was a good night. He chose to think about that rather than your horrible dark jokes. 

Honestly, you’ve been great. Like, as long as I’ve known you. It’s weird, we’ve been friends since we were thirteen. I’m surprised our friendship survived the school years. I’m glad it did. 

He nodded along reading it, as if you were there next to him. 

I forget what made me like you. Well, no, bad phrasing. I know why I like you, but I forget what exactly did it, you know? Like, I wonder what the moment was for little fourteen year old me that made me go “yeah, this guy… this is the guy.” Honestly, I wish I did. 

I wonder what the moment was for you, too. Like what the fuck game did I have when we were thirteen that got you down bad for like, the next several years. Well I shouldn’t flatter myself too much, I guess, I don’t know if it was just a summer thing. I know we both dated other people during school. But still though, several summers. 

Dipper covered his mouth with his hand. Who he was hiding from, he wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, the memory was clear in his head. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, not even close, but he definitely had a crush on you after maybe five hangouts, however quick that was. It was after the two of you worked with Soos to catch Bigfoot. 

Oh god that totally reminds me: dating other people. When I dated that bitch I refuse to name, like, several times I basically just wished it was you. Like, he sucked so much, you know I’m not gonna get into it, and so much towards the end I thought about you. Like, how much nicer you are to me. Wow that felt super weird to admit. True though. 

Oh my god. Dipper wanted to hide in his hand. He could relate too much. Dating somebody else to try and get over you, he definitely screwed up, and so much just wished he could be done with his feelings, or just be with you instead. He tried to avoid thinking about that year, it was embarrassment and shame enough for his whole life. 

Dipper, I hate that as i write this, we haven’t even been dating that long. Like I know it feels like forever, to me at least, just cuz we’ve been friends so long, but we only got together like, this month. Isn’t that crazy? It feels crazy to me. 

There’s a lot I imagined we’d do together. Like, we’ve never spent a Valentine’s Day together, that feels like a thing most couples do, right? I don’t even like that holiday much, and I’m still lamenting that. Have I even seen you in winter? The only time we hung out not in the summer was that one spring break. Winter would be fun, I think. 

I love you, man. Like, for realsies. Sorry about everything. I’m glad you still like me, but I guess that means you’d be sadder if this doesn’t work out. Pros and cons to everything.

It’s been good. You’re one of my best friends in the world, and I wish there was more time. You’re sweet. Don’t forget me. 

Yours,

Y/n

Dipper smiled. His vision was a little blurry, and he stared at the ceiling with his pupils to try and stop himself from crying. You really thought that was going to be your goodbye, didn’t you. Well, it was a good one. 

Fuck. He glanced at Mabel, then back out the window. His face was a little red. His eyes drifted over the paper again as he skimmed through it once more. You wished that you’d had more time. And didn’t want him to forget.

As the lights of Piedmont drew closer, he thought; You’d have plenty time together. It had been a good summer, believe it or not. Just like the first one had been, despite the apocalypse. The world nearly ending seemed rather normal for an eventful summer. And how could he ever forget you? The idea seemed laughable. 

He tapped Mabel on the arm to rouse her, and she started to wipe her eyes as they got closer to home. Plenty of time. Whether it be next summer, or maybe spring break if he was lucky, you’d have plenty of time. He looked over your letter. Wendy’s hat was heavy on his head. Next year, he’d go back and trade again. He’d see his grunkles for the holidays. He would watch Soos’ terrible YouTube channel. He had the number for everyone else he cared about. 

Next summer, he’d have plenty more time. They got off the bus, hauling their bags behind them. His home always felt foreign after summer. There was a light on in the kitchen he could see. One of their parents must have been waiting for them to get home safe. 

He sighed, and they started for the door, Mabel following groggily behind. Next summer, plenty of time. Maybe sooner. Hopefully sooner. How would he survive this school year? Dipper shook his head on the doorstep. He was already counting the days until classes ended, and he could go back. Because right now, Gravity falls felt more like home than the suburbs. 

Next summer, he’d have plenty of time. 

★彡๑ end ๑★彡

Epilogue

Chat. Im free. Finally. HUGE THANKS TO ANYONE WHO EVER COMMENTED!!! You guys were sometimes the only reason I actually started to write. Huge motivator. I’m done with this summer, main story over now. It was a long summer. But I’m a sucker I’ll probs write an epilogue or two.

Anyway, I started this fic with like 1/4 of a plan and a dream and somehow it ended at a cohesive story an even 25 chapters.

Also I’m goofy im arospec, I Bounce back and forth between loving the idea of romance, and being completely repulsed by it, which makes it hard to write a y/n romance sometimes. I tried to power thru it, but I feel like it shows in how little they actually kiss or say “I love you” 😭 I just can’t stand that stuff sometimes. Hope it wasn’t too obvious.

Thanks so much for reading!

Taglist: @cipheress-to-k-pop @dead-esque @phobo-ss

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

part one two three four five

Obi watches over him like a shadow the first few weeks he’s in the Temple.

Anakin will wake from a memory-nightmare and his protector will sit on the windowsill, bathed in the ever changing lights.

His warm hand will stroke over Anakin’s hair, soothing and more comforting than words could ever be.

He will offer Anakin to sit with him, watching Coruscant through the transparisteel. And Anakin will inevitably end up cuddled up to Obi’s front, falling asleep with Obi’s heartbeat under his ear, the breath in his lungs.

.

The identities of the Shadows are almost considered inviolable. Due to the nature of their chosen path, secrecy is a tenet they adhere to strictly.

The Council knows who they are, and maybe there are one or two Council members who are uncomfortable with how close to the Dark Shadows operate. But as a whole the necessity is understood.

The Jedi stand and fight for the Light, the balance, for bringing peace and help to those who need it. A calling like that inevitably brings enemies and the need to even the playing field.

“Beacon of Light,” Obi-Wan repeats, hands moving in disbelief.

And code names. It was only a matter of time before he got his codename.

“Fitting, we think it is,” Grandmaster Yoda says, amusement twinkling in his eyes and frog tea.

“Of course, Grandgrandmaster Yoda,” Obi-Wan signs, slipping in the extra grand flawlessly, which results in the sign turning grand to ancient. If Yoda gets cheeky with him, he can very well retribute.

Master Tholme coughs a laugh into the sleeve of his robe.

“Congratulations, Master Kenobi,” Master Windu says warmly and Obi-Wan ducks his head, loses the fight against the blush spreading across his nose. “Master Tholme has prepared a briefing package for you where you can access all relevant information. Like the code name for the Temple here on Coruscant.”

Master Tholme inclines his head in agreement, solemn twist to his lips Obi-Wan knows not to trust. “Old Folks’ Home.”

Obi-Wan wishes he wore the mask so he can wheeze in peace.

.

Jedi move different from the people Anakin has seen so far in his life. They flow, they’re carried by a breeze. Gravity doesn’t have a hold on them unless it suits them. They move like they’re one with nature, detached from sentient-made life and creations.

And then there are a few, like Obi, who move with the undercurrent, with the wind just above the ground. Who vanish with the shadows just to reappear around a corner.

They’re not stalking the enormous hallways or sneaking around like bandits.

Anakin doesn’t think they’re doing it consciously, reflecting attention away from themselves as if they aren’t even there.

Obi’s friend Quin moves like that, too, when he forgets himself, somehow managing to disappear while walking in the middle of the floor.

Quin is a strange one.

But Obi-Wan…

Anakin bites his lips to keep from giggling, hands gripping the banister tightly where he’s peeking. He doesn’t think they’ve noticed him yet.

The training salle they’re practicing in is huge, obstacles dotting the ground for them to leap over or off, hide and take the other off-guard.

It seems impossible, the way they fight and lure each other into traps. Obi is especially good at that. He’s directing Quin into exhaustion he can’t defend himself in anymore, and it’s amazing to watch.

Nothing and no one can beat Obi-Wan. He’s too clever for that.

“I will never stop calling you that, Beacon of Light,” Quin laughs when he jumps out of a roll and onto his feet.

Obi-Wan signs something, his back to Anakin which is aggravating.

He’d change position but both Jedi move around too much.

Quin shakes his head. “Shut up, you know it suits you.” He takes the lightsaber off his belt. “I bet you blushed like a meloroon in season.”

Obi changes into a blue glowing blur in answer.

.

Obi-Wan wants to know where he went wrong. What he did to— He thought the connection between him and Cody—

His vision is swimming, oxygen mask placed over his nose and mouth pumping more than air into his system.

His fingers weakly tap the message on the receiver of the comm device he broke off Cody’s suit during the fight. “Beacon. Light. Force.” Hope and the Force sing to him, even as his doing is detected.

Cody roughly rolls him onto his side, takes the device out of his hand where he had hidden it behind his back.

“The Emperor wants you alive, traitor.”

He’s removed his helmet. The one Obi-Wan had destroyed while it was still on Cody’s head. Just… Cody’s whole demeanor flipped to strange and other. He hadn’t made for his blaster during the fight. Shooting inside a rescue shuttle in the void of space at least still seemed like a bad idea even with Cody’s suit keeping him alive in a scenario like that.

But Obi-Wan couldn’t take that chance. So he’d smashed Cody’s face against a doorframe, breaking the visor and any choice Cody could make in killing Obi-Wan by sudden oxygen depletion.

Of course the fight took care to still break his lungs open, making him gasp for air even before Cody held him down and ripped the mask off.

Lying on his side is easier but the room has decided it is done with him and goes dark.

[neciebee]

Alright, @erisweekofficial , this is my very first foray into participating in a character week. Eris deserves everything, and here's my humble offering.

Day 1: Bonds

Title: Suffering His Scent

Pairing: Eris/Azriel

2k words

Eris desperately tries to rid himself of his mate's scent. Last night was a mistake.

He fell into the water and scrubbed every inch of his skin. No one could know. No one could know! It was a mistake to give in to his incessant desires. They wouldn't understand. Hel, he didn't even understand. The scent penetrated his entire soul, his entire being. No amount of scouring or fragrant oils could rid his skin of the essence of his mate. Briefly, he wondered if he really wanted it; to rid himself of this scent.

Resigned to his fate, he flopped into the soapy water, embers sizzling listlessly atop the eddies of his bath. Nothing could cleanse his mate from his skin. They were one, tied together by more than just their scent. It was, at the very least, a fact of their physical being. His beloved's scent now leaked from his own pores. His entire soul cried out for him. There was no masking that essence. He was ruined, in the eyes of the Autumn Court, by the will of the Mother. Nothing could return him to the Heir that he once was. His entire existence would always be tied to his Night Court destiny.

The pull of his mate was something his extensive training had not prepared him for. Weeks of torture were nothing. He could fight battles and lead troops with his eyes closed. His courtly prowess was second nature - perhaps it was his inherent nature itself. He only knew how to live his life as Eris: Autumn Court Heir, General, the Vanserra Big Brother. He was sly. He was cruel. He was a viper. This, he could understand.

All that he had learned throughout his entire life was to be the sharp tool that the Autumn Court had needed him to be. All other desires were alien to him. He did not know how to handle the delicacy that he'd received from the Night Court spymaster. He did not know how to address these feelings. The pleasure and the want it brought him meant nothing to his life as Autumn's capstone.

Throughout nearly his entire lifetime, he had convinced himself that he would not fall to the desirous pull of his mating bond. He knew better than to relinquish that power to one who was not of his Court. His self preservation and courtly loyalty had been hammered into him over all other desires of the heart. Despite the incessant gravity of his mating bond, he fell upon his training to present the stoic mask that he had always fought to display. He was to be terrifying. He was to be feared. He was to be the end of all ends. He was Beron's teeth.

He'd had many, many lovers, who'd held him close and told him he wasn't that monster. He'd reciprocated their affections, wringing out their pleasures, until he believed their lies as well.

That was Eris's life, until just hours ago.

The softness and the pleasure he had just succumbed to was not something within his wheelhouse to endure. Azriel had brought out something within him that should never see the light of day. Enemies might discover his propensity for gentle care. Beron would find the gap in his armour and beat and burn him until those gaps were welded over. It would uncover the only weakness of his that could be exploited. Eris was weak.

Skin scrubbed pink and raw, he finally fell into his sheets and was dead to the world, falling into a fitful, anxious slumber. If his only way to escape this turmoil was unconsciousness, then he would embrace it wholeheartedly. Real life was too much to deal with. Real life was supposed to be antisemtimintal. Real life was his position, his duty. To be a vapid, trusting being was suicide. To be independent of these feelings was a survival skill. The spymaster he yearned for was at the mercy of his overbearing brother. As much as he feared his own ruin, he was near panicking for the effect this might have on his mate's safety.

To be Azriel's mate was sure to be a target that others would use to manipulate the shadowsinger. Whether the Night Court spymaster acknowledged their bond or not, he was a weakness for the shadowsinger. He would never, ever, in his life, expose his darling as the lover of an Achilles heel that could be exploited. He would not be his weak point. He would not be the bait.

Fitfully, he tossed and turned throughout the morning hours until daybreak finally permitted him to leave his bed. He found himself in the training ring as sun broke over the horizon, beating his fists raw and bloody against endless training targets. The morning light glistened against his bare chest, chafing against skin that would have crawled even under the touch of cloth. After the touch it had welcomed just hours before in his dreams and in his memory, any contact felt repulsive.

His brother was approaching as if he was afraid to face his Court's Heir. As he steeled himself for an uncomfortable conversation, Eris made some poor excuse and disappeared into his private chambers, relieving Callum of his brotherly duty. Strewing his fighting finery across the floor, Eris found himself back by the tub, already brimming with bubbles and scented oils.

He slid his naked body under the suds. He slipped his hand under the frothy water. Nothing felt enough but he tried. He fisted his cock, mimicking the sweet feeling of his mate's hand as he pumped it up and down. His head fell back against the lip of the tub, eyes closing as he focused on the sensations taking over his fatigued body. Nothing compared. No-one compared. He released his mind into the sweet pull of his mate's image. His soft mouth and scarred hands and his sweet, sweet ring of flesh were nothing like his own elegant, ringed fingers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

A letter sealed with the Night Court stamp landed upon the suds, snapping him from his ennui.

River House war room. One hour.

Then the letter disintegrated to ash.

Presumptuous brute.

Eris willed away his arousal with difficulty, as he had done many times before. This state was unacceptable for a soldier of his rank, and he fought to retain the respect of his title. He redressed mechanically, mind far from the present and attempting to unravel last night's infernal foray into temptation. The persistent vigilance of his cock was a sign that he had lost his tether. No matter how much his mind reigned it in, he could not control the threat of his erection at the thought of that fucking shadowy spymaster.

He was lead into the study by one of the half-wraith twins. Settling into the most comfortable of the mismatched chairs, he slid on his mask of cool indifference and awaited the arrival of the Night Court inner circle.

Keen eyes assessed the next arrival, his mate's brother, his High Lord, his ruler. Azriel was beholden to this vicious Fae. It left little room for Eris, not that he wanted to fit himself into those little gaps. He was better than that. He was a prince, godsdammit.

As the morning lightened, the Court of Dreams filed into the room. After Rhys, whose eyes were glazed as he mind-spoke with someone, probably Feyre, came Lucien. Silkily offering the High Lord a curt bow, he settled into an uncompromising, hard-backed chair with a smirk. He offered his brother a shallow nod of acknowledgement, which he returned. Amren stalked in, her tiny frame at odds with her overbearing presence. Cassian and Nesta broke through the stiffness in the room as Nesta shot a scathing quip at the godsdamned exiled son of Autumn and he volleyed one back. Cassian burst into laughter.

Eris Vanserra couldn't remember the words that were said, for at that moment, Feyre arrived. On the arms of Azriel.

His heart stopped. His breath stilled. He mentally grasped at his flames, but for some reason, they melted off him. He had never felt more exposed in his life. Every raw end of his heartstrings were dipped in fire as the meeting began. He wanted to sing out his desire. He needed to say that he wanted his Angel of Death. The Dreamers needed to realise where his loyalties had now shifted.

"Now that we're all here..."

His consciousness couldn't take any more.

Eris's focus faded to black.

~

The air was cool. The room was dark. As Eris stirred, Azriel immediately set down his report for Rhysand, that he had abruptly abandoned as his mate crumpled to the floor of Rhysand's study. He loped over to the modest four-poster, and sank onto the edge of the mattress. His mate had not moved at all. However, the hazy, golden feeling that Azriel had nurtured in his chest for centuries seemed to sparkle, and he could not help but rest his hand upon Eris's clammy, naked skin, in search of the distant end of their glittering tether.

Eris turned his nose into the crook of Azriel's elbow. Heaving an indulgent breath, he opened his eyes and captured his mate's gentle gaze with his accusatory one.

"You smell like me."

"Of course I do, after everything we did last night," scoffed Azriel, worry dissipating.

Eris hauled himself onto an elbow, and brought his nose to his mate's skin. Azriel did not miss Eris's searching breaths as the point of his regal nose roamed his skin. "I thought... I thought you would have washed it off."

"I see you have," snapped Azriel. He wasn't hurt. His voice did not sound betrayed. Eris had been smart to have done what he'd done.

"Aren't you... do you want people to find out?"

Azriel slid under the covers and pressed his mate into the linens. He brought his face close to Eris's and inhaled a deep, hungry breath. Essences of Eris's life floated around them both, teasing the shadowsinger with tidbits of the future High Lord's life.

He sleeps in cotton pants.

He drinks his tea with sugar.

He hunts with his hounds when he doesn't want to be found.

He searches for you in every darkness.

Azriel could not stand another secret seeping from those infernal shadows without divulging some of his own. It was now or nothing, and he would die if it were nothing.

"I'm tired of hiding. This is a thing. It's always been a thing. You are my thing. I won't hide it any more and damn the consequences. The world has been boring since we upended Koschei and I'm keen to be the new drama. Kill Beron with me and we can finally be together, out in the open. No more secrets. The Mother has chosen you as my fate. Give me my reward."

Eris struggled against the arms imprisoning his own. His heart was not in it. He wanted to know what could happen if he failed to resist, if he were to succumb to the enemies of the guards to his heart. Would he find his happiness? Would his mate finally be his?

Azriel surged his soul forward through his mind to secure his mate. Spearing his lover's eyes with his own, he captured every floating thought at if they were the dragonflies that were dancing their courtship over the garden pond.

Everything he felt he tried to communicate through his gaze, voice unable to enunciate the importance of this moment to the one person in his existence who mattered most. Caressing the golden twine flowing from his heart, he opened the bond wide and pushed his burgeoning reality into his mate's own.

Eris's eyes widened and then rolled back as love, devotion, desire, need, and possession filled his chest, spreading to the very tips of his extremities. They vibrated down the golden thread and he was overcome with feeling protected and cherished.

He dragged himself back into the present, to be with Azriel, to be with his mate. Laying a hand over the shadowsinger's heart, he threw away all his misgivings and came to a decision.

"It's time we killed Beron Vanserra."

[gurokiitty]

Three words here me out:

Strade

Wedding

Angst

a/n: i'm listening, anon !! 👂 👂 👂 ren is here too becoz why not

JUST THE THREE OF US

{ strade x ren hana x f! reader }

word count: 1.4k

warnings/tags: angst, forced "marriage", physical and psychological abuse, tongue mutilation, blood, forced intimacy (kissing), may be kinda ooc for strade?

As the morning dawned, a single ray of light sneaked through the boarded-up window, casting a thin strip of illumination across the dusty floor. It travelled slowly, like a silent, ethereal intruder in the otherwise shadowed space. You watched it crawl up to your legs, highlighting the bruises and scars marking your skin, as well as the bandages wrapped around your foot— a mocking beacon of faint hope in the dim room.

Beside you, Ren sat stiffly. His usual poise was marred by anxiety, evident by the way his ears flattened against his head each time his gaze darted to the heavy door.

Soon, the sound of footsteps approached and the door creaked open. Strade entered with a twisted smile, holding two garments. For you, a faded white dress— obviously a thrift store find— yet it held a semblance of what could have been a bride’s traditional attire. For Ren, one of Strade's old suits, dusty and unworn.

"Time to get ready," he announced, his voice echoing slightly in the cramped space. "Don’t take too long. We wouldn’t want to keep the big day waiting." His smile widened as he tossed the garments onto the bed, pausing briefly at the doorway to give one last look before turning to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you exchanged a brief, fraught glance with Ren, his eyes mirroring your turmoil. The preparations were mechanical; the simple acts of bathing and dressing became an attempt to maintain a shred of normalcy.

In the small bathroom, you sat in the tub and cleaned yourself carefully below the neck. Each stroke on your skin felt like an attempt to erase the gruelling memories of the past days. The water ran pink, mingling dust and sweat with blood— a stark reminder of the reality you couldn't completely wash away.

The ordeal felt more surreal as you dried yourself and slipped the dress over your head. It hung loose on your frame, the soft material grazing your skin in unfamiliar, almost comforting touches. You looked into the fogged mirror, wiping away the condensation to see yourself. Your reflection was simple yet transformative, and for a fleeting moment, you recognized a shadow of the person you once were.

Stepping back into the room, you noticed Ren standing before a full-length mirror, smoothing his hair. He turned his head slightly as you approached, his suit hanging loosely on his frame. The mismatched fit would have been almost comical if not for the gravity of the situation. You caught his eye through the mirror and his ears perked up slightly.

His gaze lingered before he forced a smile and turned to adjust the collar of his ill-fitting suit. "It doesn't quite feel like a celebration, does it?"

You approached him slowly, the fabric of the white dress whispering against the floor. "No, but we'll get through this. Just like we've gotten through everything else." You replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

"I know we will. It's just..." His voice trailed off as he met your eyes in the mirror again, searching for an assurance neither of you could truly provide.

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the coarse fabric under your fingertips. "We'll find a way out. Together." It was a promise, a thin thread of hope you both clung to, even as doubt whispered in the back of your minds.

The ceremony that awaited you was nothing short of a macabre performance, orchestrated by Strade for his twisted enjoyment. As you descended the stairs, the ceremonial charade Strade had set up in the living room revealed itself. A crude altar stood at the end, draped in an old tablecloth and surrounded by a few flickering candles.

Strade's presence, polished yet sinister in a crisp, red suit, only heightened the surrealism of the moment. His hair was neatly styled, transforming him into a figure vastly different from the one you knew. Yet, as the candlelight danced across his face, it illuminated his familiar smile while he puffed on a cigar; the smoke curling around him like a visible sneer.

"You two clean up nice," he mused, a sinister melody in his voice. "My beautiful bride and my handsome groom, all dolled up for our big day." His smirk widened as he exhaled, the cigar's scent mingling with the stale air.

Then, Strade stepped forward, positioning himself by the makeshift altar. "Let’s begin, shall we?" He said, taking the cigar between his fingers and clearing his throat.

“Während manche sagen, dass es zwei braucht, um eine Ehe zu schließen, / While some say it takes two to make a marriage,” he began, "Wir drei sind ein Leben lang verbunden. / The three of us are bound together for a lifetime."

His smile twisted further as he concluded in a chilling tone, "In life and death, our fates are forever intertwined."

As you stood there, facing Strade in his unnervingly handsome guise, a mixture of dread and despair settled heavily in your stomach. His eyes, sharp and calculating, skimmed over you and Ren, taking in every detail of your forced readiness.

“Now let's get to the good part, huh?” his voice dropped to a husky whisper as he closed the distance between you; his movements poised yet predatory. He reached out suddenly, gripping your chin with a firmness that made your heart skip.

“A little token to commemorate our day,” he murmured before his lips pressed briefly against yours. His touch was cold, his fingers clamping your jaw as he pulled away.

Before you could react, Strade's hand moved to your mouth, prying it open, his fingers pressing against your lips. Dread washed over you as he withdrew a small knife from his suit pocket. The sheen of the blade caught the flickering candlelight as he unsheathed it, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel Ren's gaze burning into you, a silent plea for mercy mirrored in his expression.

Strade's grip on your chin tightened as he brought the blade closer to your trembling lips, positioning it at the center of your tongue. Without hesitation, he made a long, deliberate cut down the median sulcus, the cold steel slicing through the soft flesh. Pain seared through you as blood began to pool in your mouth, spilling down your chin in thick rivulets, and staining the white of your dress.

You could hear Ren's sharp intake of breath, his own fate mirrored in the cruel twist of Strade's lips. The room seemed to spin, the weight of your shared agony pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

Strade then turned to Ren, who had watched the ordeal with horror etched deeply into his features. Ren’s attempts to protest were muffled by Strade’s swift and brutal actions, repeating the gruesome act. The immediate flow of blood now tied your pains together in the most visceral way possible.

With a monstrous grin, he forced you and Ren to face each other, pushing you two into a proximity that felt both intrusive and intimate. "Now, kiss," he commanded, his voice low.

You reached up, your hands trembling as they framed Ren's face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks. You could feel his muscles tense under your touch.

Reluctantly, painfully, you leaned towards him, the coppery taste of blood mingling as your lips met. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but you pressed closer and your wounded tongues touched. The pain sparked again, more intensely, as you both stifled a groan. Blood mixed with saliva, creating a bond that was as real as it was enforced, painting your lips and trickling down in a slow, warm drip that met the front of your dress.

You could feel Ren's breath hitch, his hands coming up to rest hesitantly on your hips, his touch light, as if afraid to cause more pain— or perhaps more connection. The kiss deepened slightly, not out of desire but out of a desperate need to find solace in your shared suffering.

“This is what binds us together,” Strade remarked, “Not just some vows or rings, but blood, pain, and fear. You two are mine, in every way that counts.”

Finally, you pulled away, and the string of blood that had connected you broke, leaving only a sticky residue on your lips.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Still Carry You With Me

A/N: Y'all thought I was just going to do one post today? Think again! You all know that if there's one thing I'm going to do, it's write a fic to prove a point! And proving a point, I am! You all can catch me outside with that Cassian doesn't have a haircare routine 😤 Especially @dustjacketmusings and @separatist-apologist! I told y'all I was going to do it, so here I am for @cassianappreciationweek. Hope you're ready to get ✨sad✨

Read on AO3

Cassian carefully runs his fingers through his hair, working the oil along his scalp. When he’s satisfied, he grabs a silk scarf and bends over, letting gravity help as he pulls his curls into a pile atop his head to secure for sleep. A gentle hand glides along the base of his spine as he tightens the knot, leaving him grinning at the warmth that blooms across his skin at such a soft touch.

“Almost finished?”

Cassian stands back to his full height, turning away from the array of products and vials placed neatly on the vanity. Nesta has her own hair braided simply down her back, her frame practically swallowed by the soft gray fabric of one of his shirts. She looks adorable, and Cassian can’t help but step closer into her space, hands sliding around her waist.

“All finished, sweetheart.”

Nesta hums quietly, pressing up onto her toes and stealing a sweet kiss. “You know, sometimes I think you primp more than even Rhysand.”

“It’s important to tend to your hair,” Cassian tells her, carefully walking her back toward their bed. “The best way to rise above those who think you’re beneath them is to always look your best.”

“Who said that?”

Cassian’s teasing smirk slips, the smile that remains tinged with sadness. That familiar ache, that familiar grief he’s carried with him for centuries now, twists and squeezes between his ribs. If he closes his eyes, he can still see a pair of warm brown eyes, can still hear a soft raspy voice sharing those exact words of wisdom with him.

“Rhys’s mother, Velaria. She told me that when she took me in,” Cassian explains, settling on their bed. “She never fully felt like she fit in here in Velaris as an Illyrian. Being Lady of Night and the High Lord’s mate didn’t matter, didn’t stop the high fae from sneering or whispering remarks about her heritage. But you’d never know it with the way she dressed, the way she held herself.”

“Like armor, in her own way.”

Nesta takes the spot beside him on the bed. She curls her knees up to her chest, shoving her cold toes right underneath Cassian’s thigh to leech his warmth. Cassian leans over enough that he can circle his arms around her legs, that he can tuck his cheek right against her knee, leeching his own comfort from his mate.

“Yeah… When I was young, I never quite understood, but when I got older…” Cassian chuckles softly to himself, the memory still so clear even after all this time, still taking him right back to the Hewn City. “She’d stroll into a room in a beautiful gown, jewels on her throat and head, not a single hair out of place, and those high fae’s faces?” Cassian whistles lowly. “And they couldn’t say a damn thing then.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“When she first took me in, I was certainly a mess from my time living in the bastards’ camp, barely even touched a hairbrush at that age. But she was quick to put me in my place and through my paces. She told me I could show off in the ring and win the Blood Rite all I want, but they’d never stop calling me a bastard if I didn’t stop acting like one.”

He still remembers that first bath after being welcomed into the cabin in Windhaven. The way his head had been dunked beneath the warm water, the way that water had run brown by the time he was finished. He still remembers being sat against Velaria’s knees and the wool skirts of her dress. Her quiet tsks from above him as a brush was yanked through his hair.

“She taught me everything I know about taking care of my hair. All the soaps and oils, how to protect it when I fly and when I sleep.”

If he closes his eyes, it takes him right back and he can picture it perfectly. Back before he hit his growth spurt, his feet dangling off the ground where he was pressed beside Velaria on the bench for her vanity table. He can see her delicate hands reaching for each vial and bottle neatly arranged in a row, can hear her explain what each one was and why it was important. She took the time to work each into her own hair, Cassian watching with wide, awe-struck eyes, his own smaller hands trying to mimic the exact movements, to copy the routine as she did.

“I think in a way I reminded her of home. Rhys and Rhia–Rhiannon, his sister–they both got their hair from their father. Velaria always said I had true Illyrian hair.”

“Unruly?”

Cassian laughs at the gentle teasing, but he can feel himself getting choked up, can feel that familiar pressure in his throat. “She taught me the Illyrian ways too, how to style and braid it. I even used to do Rhia’s hair for her.”

All those mornings and evenings spent here in the House of Wind, they forever hold a special place in his heart.

Even when he became too large for the vanity bench beside her, he would still visit Velaria’s rooms. He’d stand beside her in front of the mirror, working through their routines side by side. It didn’t matter that he towered over her now, she’d still tsk, still tug at the strands of his hair, still chastise and put him in his place even as she’d pat his cheek with all that motherly love. She’d laugh softly and look at him with that smile, with her brown eyes sparking with fondness.

He cherished those moments.

And then Rhia would come clambering into his own room, jumping on his bed until he finally got her to calm enough to sit down. He’d run the brush carefully through her hair, taking the time to braid it back in a way that the dark strands wouldn’t get tangled or in the way of her wings when she flew. She’d chatter the whole time, unable to stop even when she was sitting still. Always a bundle of never ending energy.

The feel of Nesta’s thumb sliding across his cheek pulls Cassian back to the present, and he realizes belatedly that he’s started to cry. He leans into her touch, into the comfort of it, of her, allowing it to ground him against the crushing grief he still carries like ice around his heart no matter how much time passes.

“I miss them both so much,” Cassian rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “When I do the hair routine Velaria taught me, it’s like she’s still here with me, like I’m keeping her memory alive.”

“You are,” Nesta assures him. “And soon, you’ll be able to pass on that memory, to continue passing on Velaria’s legacy.”

Nesta uses her free hand to curl her fingers around one of Cassian’s wrists, to guide his hand to press against her stomach. It’s still early, still too soon for her to even be showing, but Cassian smiles through the tears still clinging to his eyelashes at the life growing just beneath his palm. At the idea of having his own child squeezed beside him and mirroring his haircare routine just as he did all those centuries ago.

And he just knows that wherever Velaria may be, she’ll be smiling down on him when he does.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[lookinghalfacorpse]

Itwall c!doomsday trio prompt ideas: 1)Techno plays dress-up with steve and Dream and Phil are the judges or 2) Techno convinces Dream to play dress-up and they go show Technos masterpiece off to Phil

"Philza Minecraft."

"Yeah, mate?" Philza was lounged on the couch, his slippered feet propped on an ottoman close to the fireplace. Despite Technoblade's gameshow-host-esque tone, Phil's eyes stayed locked on the book in his lap. A hound's furry white head also occupied his lap, unbothered by the book cover on his forehead, and a crow was nestled carefully at his thighs. This old man wasn't going anywhere.

But Techno still had to try.

"Philza Minecraft!" He tried again, "If I may have the honor of your eyes upon my great creation."

"Oh!" Phil tore himself from the page, keeping a finger on his spot. "Great creation. Yes. Show me."

"You see, Phil," He extended an arm dramatically, summoning his best showmanship, "I am a man of many talents--"

"Mm-hmm--"

"I am a man of many talents, Philza, and while I'm most often concerned with the art of war, I am, of late, involved in the war of art. The battles of self-expression. The eternal struggle to create something beautiful. Philza Minecraft," he said, "I am entering the world of fashion."

"You always do dress very well, mate."

"I-- Well-- Thank you, Phil, thank you. I appreciate your immediate recognition of my genius. But fashion also means knowing how to dress more than just my peak-performance body. My perfect musculature. My piglin-ousity"

Philza nodded sagely.

"And you denied me an opportunity to play dress up earlier, so I am now taking back my right to express myself. My artistry. Through fashion. I present to you: Dream!"

Dream walked out through the shadow of the doorway, the dim light of the fireplace slowly illuminating the absolute mess that he was dressed in. He was dressed, exclusively, in Techno's clothing. Techno's crown hung limply at his gaunt shoulders, while the lacy white shirt was slowly sliding down his torso and revealing the skin all the way down at his ribcage. The pants, too, appeared to be sliding, ready to cascade into the oversized boots.

Dream had a massive grin on his face.

The crow fluttered away and the hound whined as Philza hopped to his feet.

"Nope! Nope!" Philza said, though he was fighting laughter, "No, no, no," He rushed over to Dream and gathered fistfuls of fabric in his hands, trying to pull it all up and keep the young man covered. "I told you it wouldn't fit! Lad, this is all gonna fall off you in three seconds."

Dream's face was red, but his smile remained. Despite Phil's efforts, the clothes had no chance of staying on. He felt the pants drop completely, though the length of the shirt kept him partially covered. A few weeks ago, he was embarrassed of his scarred skin, but there was nothing left to hide from either Techno or Phil anymore. "You bathed me earlier today, Phil--"

"We are in the living room! The windows are open! We don't get naked in the living room with the windows open! Mr. war-of-art doesn't know how to measure his models, eh?"

Techno stood with his arms across his chest, looking awfully proud of himself. "I think it's his best look yet."

Phil sighed, his shoulders falling as he realized how badly he was failing to preserve Dream's decency. Yet, there Dream was, smiling, looking absolutely dwarfed in Techno's clothes and almost half-naked as gravity took its toll. He had some color to his face, and his eyes were shining. He looked, for the first time in a long time, like he was having fun.

"Credit where it's due, mate."

[saturnsocoolioyep]

I have a panel I'm trying to plan for an upcoming con and I figured there's no better place than tumblr to ask for help with it

The premise is basically just a kahoot game that asks questions about older fandoms, be it insane plot beats in the story (a la ICP becoming the first dual presidents of the United States and Guy Fieri being the antichrist in Homestuck) or insane fandom drama (such as the time a klance shipper tried to blackmail the voltron writers into making it canon, the rainbow dash cum jar, the sharpie bath, etc)

The problem is, I was never super involved in older fandoms (because I was a child who didn't know fandoms existed yet lol) and am therefore somewhat uninformed and my list of potential questions is very much incomplete for a 50 minute kahoot game

If anyone could send me asks or DMs with ideas for questions or even just ramble about topics I could include, I'd be really grateful for the help!

Fandoms I would love info on are such as:

(Putting under read more so as to not totally clog people's dashes, reblogs are appreciated btw!)

-Superwholock

-Hetalia

-danganronpa

-MLP

-Homestuck

-Voltron

-Ouran Highschool Host Club

-Warrior Cats

-Harry Potter (I know, I know, but my immortal fits into this category so I've gotta include it)

-Yugioh

-Beyblade

-TF2

-Kingdom Hearts

-Invader Zim

-Creepypasta fandom

-Rick & Morty

-Gravity Falls

-Steven Universe

-Twilight

-2017 musical fandoms (Hamilton, BMC, DEH, Heathers, etc)

-Bandom

-1D fandom

-yandere simulator

-sonic

-onceler fandom

-eddsworld

-phandom

And any sort of adjacent fandoms/medias that I haven't mentioned! Feel free to tag/add on if you have suggestions!

[lemony-snickers]

hi lemony! I’m so happy to see you on my dash.

it’s my birthday today and I was wondering how Kakashi would celebrate his partner’s birthday?

(I worked shifts at both of my jobs and had quite the lackluster day—however I am daydreaming about how he would stop at nothing to make sure they had a special day.)

you are so exhausted coming home that at first you don’t notice the smell. it’s not until after you’ve toed off your shoes and shucked your jacket, hung your keys up. then, the welcoming scent of your favorite meal finally hits you and you smile for the first time all day.

“welcome home.”

kakashi wears an apron, and he welcomes you without looking up from his task, plating your dinner with special care. your stomach rumbles when the food comes into view, your eyes sending an immediate signal to your stomach that you’ll be actually enjoying your birthday dinner rather than suffering through whatever haphazard meal you would otherwise have thrown together.

you come up behind kakashi, wrap your arms around his waist and press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “it smells wonderful.”

he hums, “I’m glad.”

“you didn’t have to do all this,” you say.

kakashi abandons the plate, turning to face you, incredulity written in the furrow of his brow. “of course I did,” he says, “it’s your birthday.”

he says it like it’s obvious. expected. and that recognition that of course you deserve this special treatment, makes you feel like your heart might collapse in a fit of dark matter, change the pull of gravity all around you.

kakashi maneuvers you toward the table and retrieves your plate once you’re seated. you notice a card and a small gift on the table but you don’t reach for it, yet.

kakashi joins you, untying the apron at his waist and resting it in the table. “after dinner, I thought I’d draw you a bath,” he says, “I figured you could probably use a little relaxation after your long day.”

he takes the first bite of his food and the corner of his mouth curves up just a bit - a sure sign he has once again outdone himself.

“you’re too good to me,” you say, taking your own first bite. you were right - it’s incredible.

kakashi chuckles, “i am exactly as good to you as you deserve.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is Trellick Tower built in 1972 on the Cheltenham Estate in North Kensington, London, UK and designed by Hungarian-born architect and designer Ernő Goldfinger. A 3bd, 1.5ba unit on the 19th floors is for sale for £1,000,000 / $1,248,735.

The building is split into the main block of flats and the imposing service tower. To maximize living space, Goldfinger put the lifts, stairs and even communal laundrettes into the tower. The heating system and water tanks are housed there, too, in the plant room at the top, which allows water to run down to apartments using gravity, minimizing piping. 

The tower stairs look so clean. Probably nobody uses them.

Yellow lift hallway.

The connecting hall from the lifts to the apts. looks dated.

Since the connecting halls from the tower are on every other floor, this unit's entrance is on the 18th fl. below.

Hall at the top of the stairs.

For the price, this is a small living room.

Opens to a narrow balcony.

The kitchen isn't oversized, but it's nice.

The primary bedroom is small.

This bedroom is being used as a den.

And, this one is a nursery. The window seat is nice, but I don't think that you could fit a bed in here.

The 1.5 baths are right next to each other.

The view.

I think that I would rather live in a longboat on the canal. I just don't think that this unit is worth the price.

[feyreslover]

Ours? Ours. A Feysand oneshot ೃ⁀➷

Summary:

Feyre and Rhys take a step in their relationship.

Rating; G

Read on Ao3

As the keys jangled in her hand, a wave of surrealism washed over Feyre, grounding her in the weight of the reality before her.

The wooden door stood before her, a work of art with its intricate floral carvings etched deep into the panels, each petal and vine painstakingly detailed. It was framed by smooth, white columns that seemed almost regal, their surfaces interrupted by the elegant spread of wisteria vines. The tendrils clung tightly to the stone, spiralling upward like nature's delicate lace. The leaves, a mix of vibrant emerald and soft jade, sprawled in unpredictable patterns, while cascades of lavender blooms hung in thick bunches, their fragrance lightly perfuming the air.

Standing on the top step of the townhouse, Feyre felt the once-bustling city behind her recede into a distant hum, the noise melting into an almost reverent hush. The sight of the house—their house—left her breathless.

This house was hers. Truly hers.

She could still feel the weight of the pen pressing against the page, her hand steady as she signed the ownership documents. Her signature, its graceful curves spilling slightly beyond the borders of the box, was the physical mark of her ownership—a symbol no one could take from her. In that moment, the reality of it all settled deep in her bones.

A familiar warmth brushed against her side as an arm slid around her back, his hand gently resting at her waist. Feyre turned to find herself gazing into her husband's almost-violet eyes, those eyes she had once described as a galaxy of constellations, endless and captivating. They held her steady, pulling her into their quiet gravity.

Smiling slightly, feyre leaned into his firm, yet inviting, frame. Placing her head on his shoulder, she turned back to look at the house, bathing herself in their comfortable silence. There were no words, Feyre realised, that could fully capture the magnitude of what she felt. Or what she imagined he was feeling too.

In the stillness, they simply stood there, basking in the quiet knowledge that this moment was theirs.

***

Opening the apartment door, Feyre was met with resistance, the familiar creak and scrape of clutter pressing against the frame. With a frustrated sigh, she braced herself, pushing harder until there was just enough room to squeeze through, her work bag catching slightly on the edge as she slipped inside.

As she cleared the doorway, her eyes immediately landed on the culprit: a haphazard pile of boxes and discarded shoes, remnants of their last frantic attempt to tidy up. It had barely been a week since they'd promised to get more organised, but here it was again—the mess, creeping back into their space like an unwanted guest.

The apartment, small and cramped, felt suffocating. The once-cosy atmosphere of mismatched furniture and overstuffed bookshelves now felt claustrophobic. Every corner was crammed with something: old textbooks, half-packed boxes, laundry that never seemed to make it into the hamper. She weaved through the clutter, narrowly avoiding tripping over a stack of magazines that had toppled onto the floor.

Feyre’s chest tightened as she dropped her bag onto the worn couch, her gaze sweeping over the disarray. This place, once a symbol of their early days together, now felt like a weight pressing down on her. It wasn’t just the mess, though that was part of it—it was the feeling of being stuck, trapped in a space that no longer fit them.

She longed for more than this, for a place where they could breathe without stepping over piles of belongings. She envisioned that escape—a sanctuary where light would pour in through wide windows, where she could walk through open rooms without constantly dodging clutter. Where she could finally feel settled, rather than like they were always on the verge of chaos.

There was a time when she didn’t mind it, when the small apartment had felt like a temporary haven, something charming about its imperfections. But now, after everything they’d been through, after seeing what was possible, the desire to move out, to leave this place behind, had grown into something she could no longer ignore.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see her husband entering, his eyes tired but warm as they met hers.

“You alright?” he asked, noticing the frustration still etched in her expression.

Feyre gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I just… I think I’m ready. For a house. A home.” Her voice was soft but certain.

Rhys stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “We’ll make it happen,” he murmured into her hair. “Soon.”

And as Feyre leaned into his familiar warmth, the cramped apartment around them only solidified her determination. Soon wasn’t soon enough.

Previously, they’d discussed the option of moving, mostly in passing—an idea that hovered between them whenever the clutter became too much or when they both found themselves frustrated by the lack of space. The thought had always been tied to vague notions of the future, of what they wanted their lives to look like in the years to come. A bigger place, they’d say. More room to breathe. More room to grow.

But lately, the idea of moving had taken on a new weight, becoming less of a someday possibility and more of an immediate necessity. Especially as they began to talk more seriously about the future. About their future. 

Feyre had often caught herself imagining it during quiet moments, daydreaming about the future they would build together. They could finally have a proper dining table, not the tiny one currently crammed into the corner of their kitchen, barely big enough for two plates. Maybe they’d even have a room they could turn into a nursery—just in case.

The apartment had been good to them, a symbol of their early days, full of spontaneity and love. But as the days went on, Feyre had started to see it less as a home and more as a cage, the walls feeling like they were inching closer.

 She and Rhys had talked about children, too. 

It was always a soft, hopeful conversation, never rushed, but with each passing month, the idea became more tangible, more real. The thought of raising a child in this cluttered, cramped apartment, where they could barely move without tripping over something, made the idea of a home fit for a family more urgent.

Her husband, Rhys,  had always been more patient, content to take things step by step, but Feyre’s yearning for something more had grown stronger each day. She could feel it in her bones, a pull toward the future they both knew they wanted. They needed more space, more freedom. A place where they could lay down roots, not just for themselves, but for the family they hoped to create.

The thought warmed her, even as she stood in the mess of their apartment. Soon, she reminded herself. Soon, this would all be behind them. The cramped rooms, the clutter, the frustration—they would leave it all behind for something bigger, something better.

A place where they could build the life they’d been dreaming of.

***

“So” Rhys said finally, breaking their silence. “Do you want to open it, or shall I?”

Unable to help the corner of her mouth from upturning, Feyre moved away from her husband, clutching the keys as she pushed the main one into the keyhole, turning it until she heard the lock of the key.

Hesitating for a moment, Feyre felt Rhys’ hand on the small of her back, a reassuring action.

Taking a deep breath, Feyre pushed forwards, opening the door forward to reveal the empty hallway, the afternoon sun leaking from a window above the door, basking the house in its amber glow.

For a moment, Feyre stood there, letting the quiet grandeur of it sink in. The air smelled faintly of wood and fresh paint, untouched and new. It was theirs—this space, this home. Everything they had talked about, dreamed about, was waiting for them here.

Beside her, Rhys slipped his arm around her waist again, drawing her close. “What do you think?” he asked softly, his voice warm with affection.

Feyre's eyes swept over the hallway, the light dancing along the smooth wooden floor, and she felt a swell of emotions rise within her. “I think…” she started, her voice catching for a moment, “this is where we’re supposed to be.”

Before he could stop her, Feyre stumbled forward, laughter spilling from her lips as she darted into the next room. Her footsteps echoed lightly off the empty walls, and her laughter carried through the space, filling it with a sense of life that had been missing just moments ago. Her eyes lit up as she noticed a staircase in the far corner, winding gracefully around two of the walls like a ribbon of polished wood.

It was grand but not imposing, the bannister dark and smooth, beckoning her hands to explore. Without a second thought, Feyre sprinted toward it, her fingers grazing the railing as she ascended, her laughter bubbling up again. Each step echoed with her excitement as she twirled halfway up, her head tilted back to admire the spiral above.

“Come on, slowpoke!” she called back, her voice teasing, eyes sparkling as she glanced over her shoulder at Rhys, who was watching her with an amused grin.

Rhys, with his easy stride, followed her to the base of the staircase, shaking his head. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself, Feyre,” he warned, but his smile gave away his lack of concern. He loved seeing her like this—carefree, full of joy, her eyes wide with wonder at every new discovery.

Feyre reached the top of the stairs, breathless but exhilarated, and stopped for a moment to take it all in. The upper floor unfolded before her, the hallway stretching toward rooms yet unexplored. From here, she could see more windows, spilling sunlight into the space, and her heart skipped a beat as she imagined all the possibilities. Bedrooms, perhaps an office.

Maybe even a nursery someday.

She leaned against the bannister, catching her breath, and waited for Rhys to catch up. When he reached the top, his hands found her waist, pulling her gently toward him. “You’re like a little kid in a candy shop,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Feyre grinned into his mouth, her chest still rising and falling with excitement as she matched his passion. After a moment, she broke away, taking a second to catch her breath.

“I just… can’t believe it’s all ours.” she finally said. “I feel like I need to see every corner, every inch. Make sure it’s real.”

“It’s real,” Rhys assured her, his eyes soft as he gazed down at her. “And it’s only going to get better from here.”

For a moment, they stood there at the top of the stairs, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the quiet house around them filled with the promise of everything they had yet to build.

“Ours?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

Rhys nodded, his voice steady. “Yeah, ours.”

[changingplumbob]

Knightstone Household: Chapter 9, Part 13

Suzanna was out gathering minerals when she heard someone approach. Finishing off she stood up and dusted herself down. The voice behind her surprised her though.

Faye: Hey boss... can I talk to you

Suzanna: Umm, you want to talk to me?

Faye: Not really. I mean... this job is really important to me. I’ve dreamed of being a scientist since I could walk basically

Suzanna: I know what you mean, it was the same for me

Faye: I got defensive but... I thought about what you said. I did overstep with Shelley. It was unprofessional. I apologised to her

Suzanna: You apologised? That’s great

Faye: I mean, if she had tried to give me commands I would have snapped. She had every right to be mad at me. I let my personal need for success win over the need to be part of the team, it won’t happen again

Suzanna: Does this mean we’re going to be besties now

Faye: Oh heck no. I still think you got your position because you're an alien rather than you have some great talent. But I’m going to try be more of a team player. I can’t promise to like you, ever, but I can promise to do my job and follow your instructions. I hope we can move past the simray testing now

Suzanna: *laughs* Definitely

Back home Suzanna took some time to read while Silas relaxed. Eventually they got talking though and caught up on each others day.

Silas: The substitute said we were a good class. Normally she has to work out of town and teaches disguised but she was able to be in her alien form for our class. She said it felt natural

Suzanna: That’s good

Silas: I’m glad we moved here Mummy, it’s nice

Suzanna: Yeah I like it to

Before bed Silas sat down with Suzanna to learn all he could about his new alien for show and tell.

Silas: If it’s a Red Coral why does it look pink

Suzanna: Things don’t always have fitting names, but in this case it’s genetic

Silas: What does that mean

Suzanna: So female Red Coral are red, and much smaller than this one. The pink ones are boys

Silas: They are? But how can you tell

Suzanna: MRI’s of them show their insides and let us know

Silas: And why does it have the eye stalks

Suzanna: To see. Their home planet has lower gravity and their buoyancy allows them to sort of bounce around. They spend more time in the air than on the ground so they need to see more angles, so more eyes

Silas: They’re not hurt by the gravity here are they

Suzanna: No. Remember how we can read minds? I can tell that he’s not in any pain or discomfort

Silas: I know you found him on Sixam so how’d he get there

Suzanna: With the amount of time they spend in the air it’s easy for them to knock against each other and be propelled upwards. Their planet as far as we can tell is along a well traveled route. When they get too high they’re drawn to the ships and stick to the outsides as they approach other planets such as Earth or Sixam

Silas: And they just fall to the ground

Suzanna: As far as we can tell, they’ve never been found in vessels. They are remarkably sturdy. Think that’s enough for show and tell

Silas: I suppose. I just need to think of a good name

Fitting in a quick workout before bed Suzanna admired her art collection. Today at work she’d collected the last My Sims trophy she needed for a complete collection, and she wondered if she would get a plaque in the mail. She had recieved one for the aliens collection but not the geode collection so she was unsure what the humans counted for rewards. She hadn’t had much time to stargaze with the winter weather but hopefully next rotation.

The next day Suzanna called work to have another vacation day. This time Faye was more civil and promised to share the command duties with Shelley rather than bossing her coworker around. Satisfied with that Suzanna decided to give Pollock a bath, he needed it with his food flying everywhere. Adam spent the morning at the computer working on his next sci fi novel and after cleaning up her son Suzanna headed out to the garden.

While Suzanna tended her plants Pollock played in the snow, enjoying throwing it in the air and declaring he was making it snow.

While Adam headed off to work Suzanna and Pollock had a chill afternoon inside by the thermostat. Seeing Suzanna reading Pollock decided to copy her and set about studying the pages of one of his books. Pollock was excited for Silas to get home but since the older boy had homework to work on Pollock spent his time playing with the ring stack toy.

Once Adam got home the family had dinner.

Suzanna: How was show and tell Starshine?

Silas: Really good, everyone was impressed with the Red Coral. It’s funny, my class is half alien right

Adam: Yeah, and your normal teacher

Silas: But some of them hadn’t realised that other types of aliens existed. Small ones that is, they thought it was just us

Pollock: We many Silas

Silas: Yeah we are. But they were interested in your other aliens Mummy, can I take another one next time

Adam: Depends if you look after the Red Coral

Silas: I will. If it can survive a fall from space to the ground I’m sure I can

Suzanna: Technically it didn’t survive the fall as I revived it but close enough

Suzanna got the children to bed and cleaned the dishes while Adam made a final push on his book. The editor agreed that the manuscript was excellent and promised to forward it to the publisher as soon as the physical copy arrived. Heading upstairs Adam found Suzanna reading the book he’d gotten her for Winterfest.

Adam: Are you enjoying it

Suzanna: I am. There’s a gem seed in here that sounds fascinating. Of course it’s been too cold to plant anything

Adam: Not for much longer, the rain out there is melting the snow, we’re past the middle of winter

Suzanna: *sighs* We’ve had a good holiday season though

Adam: We have. Care for one last gift under the covers?

Suzanna: *laughing* I’m not sure if I’m on the naughty or nice list

Adam pulled her close for a deep kiss.

Adam: Why not both? I love you Starlight

Suzanna: You’re my guiding star, always

After woohoo the pair snuggled close and fell asleep to the sound of gentle rain on the roof.

Previous ... Next (Foster)

[flock-talk]

For each of your birds which photo of them best captures their personality? Which image best conveys Mia's queendom, or Toto's...Toto?

Let’s be real their personalities cannot be encapsulated by a single image so I limited myself to two instead

We’ll start with señor Flippy, the boisterous boy who was so aptly named for his nightly routine of doing backflips off the roof of his cage to prep his bedtime perch for sleepy time. He sang the loudest songs to anyone who would listen and man could this man POOF. He made sunbathing in to a competitive sport. He would also routinely try to fight anything he deemed necessary, including threatening the parrotlets which is a fight he definitely could not win but, we’ll let him talk big, don’t want to deflate his poofy ego.

Zeeby occasionally located a brain cell and when she did she didn’t use it in the most functional ways. She would chew perches like an old bugs bunny cartoon, chewing the base of the perch while she’s standing on the very tip of it then forgetting she has wings when it plunged to the ground- surprised that gravity afflicts her. The fact that she passed trying to produce an egg twice as large as a standard egg for her lesbian wife is honestly probably the only way that makes sense for her.

Her majesty the bean, miss Mia moo berry, connoisseur of local hot spots (literally) and a palate for only the finest of foods for her royal tum tum. She was the pickiest bean, would not have a bath unless it was the exact right tub, in direct sunlight at high noon, the room must be warm but the water ice cold if any of these variables are off it is unacceptable. Veggies she refused for a year before sampling one, yet again they must be presented in a manner fit for the Queen, fresh and crispy in direct sunlight, if the veggie so much as looks at her wrong it becomes indigestible. How dare you. Running a Queendom is hard work, as a result any time not spent eating was spent napping where she would locate the best sunny spot in the house and hunker down. Doesn’t matter if that spot is in the middle of the floor, you will protect the Queen at all costs and imply proper security tactics (image below)

Newt has a heart of gold, he dedicated two years earning the Queen bean’s trust and she didn’t make that easy. He took his time, respected her boundaries and eventually earned the privilege of preening and cuddling Miss Mia. With this heart of gold there is also the mind for Crime, he plots thefts and incriminating acts on the daily but between his sweet demeanour and immense intelligence he’s yet to be incarcerated. This isn’t to say that he is conniving all the time, he of course likes his down time in his preferred state of being- absolutely sopping wet.

Toto! Oh toto…. I don’t know how a creature can exist with a grand total of zero brain cells at any given point in time but man he does it! A very simple man who just wants to love his husbirb, preen his husbird, gather stick for husbirb, husbirb is life. But also if human is willing to offer a scritch then human is also very good option. Will get stick for human, humans like stick. A big fluffy man filled only with love and affection.

[nomsfaultau]

SCP Sleepy Bois Inc as animals

(specifically animals they aren’t usually coded as) (because otherwise what’s the point)

Philza—African Jacana

He’s just a dad carrying around his chicks. What more do you want from him? Male African Jacana are known for raising hatchlings on their own. Gives people nightmares when they’re just trying to protect their chicks. They also use their long toes to walk on water (really on floating vegetation but shh) and are referred to as Jesus birds. Other than the fact Philza is a god, he occasionally forgets to be affected by gravity since pretending to be a person is pretty hard. (I’m ignoring the few decades Philza accidentally spent as a crow so hard rn.)

Tommy—Clownfish

This is 100% serious actually. Specifically a red bullet hole clownfish, to mimic Red’s splatters. Tommy’s very much a small fish in a big pond. Clownfish purposefully coat themselves in sea anemone toxin that is harmless to them but really bad for anyone else, much like Red. If we make The Blood God an anemone in this analogy, Tommy is always running to him for safety, luring in doomed predators that that are slaughtered in a symbiotic relationship between the two. Tommy is also the dominant male of the group, and should the female die he’ll become trans— wait. Maybe not that last fun fact, since Tommy is the most reliably cishet in Fault. Also yes fine he’s a silly goofy guy who acts flashy for attention.

Tubbo—Honey Guide

What animal could better represent the hive save for a bird that lures people to bee hives? Since, again, this challenge is about avoiding the obvious answer. Much like Tubbo, these little guys have a pretty positive mutualistic relationship with humans. Anyway, this friendly and helpful passerine is also a brood parasite! They lay eggs in the nests of others and then murder the other chicks so that the honey guide is raised by unsuspecting parent birds. This fits well with Tubbos’ design as a changeling that’s meant to mimic humans in order to replace individuals (by adding them to the hive mind). Worked decently since Tubbo was raised by humans (ignoring how badly it went with the first nest they infiltrated).

Wilbur—Polyphemus Moth

Named of course after the famous cyclops, I thought the name and appearance were a fantastic reference to the void embedded in half of Wilbur’s face. Beyond that, moths are very night coded, much like Wilbur, though are uncontrollably attracted to the light (Philza). Notably, a Polyphemus moth eats 86,000 times their body weight in the 56 days that it lives, which plays well to Wilbur being a Devourer of All and a man who’s extremely aware he isn’t going to have a long life span. Plus their spooky design fits in with how much of a flashy edgelord Wilbur is. Only problem is they spend almost half their existence in their silk cocoon and Wilbur is a chronic insomniac who could NEVER.

The Blade—Hippopotamus

Both are insanely aggressive and deadly, and are the top of the food chain (once adults). Plus the semi aquatic nature of the hippopotamus plays well into the (arguably literal) sea of voices from which The Blade has to fight his way out of or else succumb to the fathoms. Just like how hippos can’t actually swim? Both faster than anyone would prefer them to be able to move. uh. About the same size. uhhh. They both can’t sweat and so enjoy a good mud bath..? could be unethically hunted for ivory…….? Bro he’s so pig idk

[anon-e-miss]

Bearing the Broad - 4

Prowl’s peds hardly ever touched the ground. When he walked, it was only on the softest carpet as he made his way to the bath. The paint did not wash away, not from his peds, not from his face, arms, thighs and belly. It would remain until it wore off and if Jazz’s behaviour was any signal, the paint would still be there when Prowl entered emergence. The oils the Prince massaged into his plating every mega-cycle only helped it last. They also helped his sentio-metallico stretch as his forge extended. It was growing so quickly. By the time he gave emergence, Prowl would be far rounder than he was tall. No one seemed to be concerned for his fitness, it was strange that Polyhexian culture had developed in such a way that the far smaller partner carried. Prowl knew that it was Seekerkin and not Seekers that carried in Vos.

Though the coronation would not take place until a stellar-cycle of mourning took place for the old king, Jazz had become king immediately upon Straxus’ death and he had immediately gone to work.  Polyhex, Prowl realized had been poorly managed by the old king who had squanders its resources and emptied its coffers. This was why Jazz had gone through the effort of employing Prowl’s services. Only a member of the royal family with an heir in the cradle or in the forge could be crowned. None had fit that bill until Jazz had paid Prowl to kindle and carry for him. His cousins had tried very hard with a number of lovers but none had ensparked. Jazz did not care of his wastrel cousins and feared what ruin they could bring Polyhex. Prowl did not know how true his fears were but he could at least confirm for himself that Jazz was pouring his all into rebuilding the nation’s resources and pride.

Prowl sat as fount every mega-cycle. These poor mechanisms were so starved new originators could not produce the energon their bitlets needed to survive. Whether it was the fuel he consumed or the environment, Prowl’s wells never trained so long as he sat with Jazz, the pump the temple to Primaprovided forever sucked energon from his nozzles, no matter how long he sat in service for. The priests said his was foster origin to the entire district as every bitlet and sparkling fuelled from his wells. How one mech, even one with his supply could do that made no sense to Prowl? It was Punch who explained it.

“Prima works through ya when ya sit on her throne,” Punch explained.

All Cybertronian life had begun in Prima’s forge, according to the beliefs of Polyhex. Prowl moaned as he saw himself in her image. She sat in the lap of Primus, King of the Gods, and progenitor of all nations. His spike filled her as she, so much smaller than her king, sat in his lap, her legs held up behind her knees. Jazz mirrored this pose as he was painted by the court painter. Went through the expected motions, speaking with his court. His cousins had their supporters and they were not so agreeable. Prowl found himself lifted of Jazz’s spike and held there on display, his gaping valve drooling lubricants. His optics bugged out as Jazz perched his tight aft on his hard spike. He brought no force to bear but allowed gravity to open Prowl’s aft on his spike.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Prowl cried as gravity slowly pulled his aft down on the giant’s massive spike.  His little hole was cleaved apart. Chained to his belt, Prowl’s plugged spike twitched and his ruined valve oozed a torrent of lubricants.

Jazz held one of his legs up under the kneed as he fragged Prowl’s aching, empty valve with his digits. Prowl mewled as those digits stimulated his gamma cluster and made his valve gush as his afthole was destroyed by the giant’s spike. His wells grew firm as they engorged and Jazz pulled the clamps off his nozzles which immediately started to leak. Before the entire court, Prowl was debauched. It cowed them, somehow, though it would surely only be temporary. Runamuck and Runabout were Straxus’ natural creations and even though the throne did not pass in such a manner, they felt entitled to it by being his first emerged. Jazz would have to prove himself a worthy king at every step to ensure he had support should they wage a rebellion.

Prowl drank pressed energon as he sat impaled on Jazz’s hard spike. His aft throbbed around the plug that prevented the transfluids Jazz had spilled in him did not leak out. It was a huge plug, carved from a rare gem. It only made him feel fuller as his valve twitched around the giant’s monster spike. His belly bulged out well passed his knees. It was not only Prima working through him when he sat as fount but Primus working through Jazz. The newsparks in his forge were growing quickly, far more quickly than the normally would have. Jazz had booked him for two contracts. How loose would his belly, wells and holes be when the Prince was done?

“What about there?” Prowl pointed at the map. Jazz was searching for the site of an ancient aquifer that could hopefully be renewed and resolve all of Polyhex’s fuel shortage problems. The topography he had noticed looked to be close to an ancient underground river.

“Check there first,” Jazz ordered.

“But…” the engineers looked down at Prowl, so small and debauched in their king’s lap.

“My future queen is brilliant,” Jazz declared and Prowl flushed as the lie continued. “’N singularly blessed by Prima and Primus together. Check there first.”

The aquifer was found where Prowl had suspected it might be, blocked only by an old rock fall, restoring it took an orn, rather than vorns. Jazz stood by an ancient waterfall, just above what had once been a lush garden. He was posed as Primus with Prowl as Prima skewered on his spike and his huge, firm belly on display. The sounds of the river restored roared in Prowl’s audios and he overloaded with a cry as the waterfall was reborn. One by one the hanging pools filled, promising the rebirth of the long dry gardens. All those who gathered bowed and sang blessings.

“Long Live the King. Long Live the Queen. Long Live the Queen!”

“But I am not queen,” Prowl argued later as Jazz massaged oil into his belly. Prowl could not even wrap his arms around it anymore. There was no question he had kindled giant newsparks.

“No reason ya can’t be,” Jazz replied.

“There are many,” Prowl countered. “Namely, you contracted me to carry. You did not court and conjunx me.”

“I can court ya now,” Jazz offered and Prowl flushed. “To their thinkin’ I put bitties in yer forge so I conjunxed ya. Things are different in Polyhex , Prowl.”

“Were you ever planning to return me to Praxus?” Prowl asked. “Or was it easier to pay for my forge rather than find a consort you actually wanted?”

“What makes ya think I don’t want ya, Prowl?” Jazz asked. “I had every intention o’ returnin’ ya home ‘n I have every intention o’ doin’ just that if it’s what ya’d rather.”

“Clients are not meant to fall for surrogates,” Prowl argued, a little distressed by all the new developments falling onto him at once. They had found five newsparks when they had scanned his forge, giants and little bitlets growing together and all growing in line with their spark’s code.

“I don’t know how any o’ yers didn’t,” Jazz said. “Y’re perfect.”

“Oh…” Prowl murmured.

“Don’t ya like doin’ more than forgin’?” Jazz asked. “Don’t ya like usin’ yer processor advisin’ me?”

“I do,” Prowl replied. “They do not like you listening to me.”

“They don’t matter,” Jazz argued. “The citizens think ya embody Prima. They’d despair to see ya go.”

“They do not need me the same way as they did,” Prowl countered. “Now that the pools have refilled and the gardens are coming back to life.”

“The line at the temple ain’t any shorter now than it was,” Jazz replied. “Yer energon is more pure than anythin’ from a river. Prima blesses ya ‘n ‘em as ya sit as faunt. There’ll always be mecha that need ya for this.”

“I can try being your queen,” Prowl said. “For however long this whim lasts.”

[saltnpepperprentiss]

Always and Forever

Hope x fem reader

Au that idk where exactly it fits in but I'll leave that up to you. It kind of follows Canon except reader is somehow a tribrid too. Anyway Hope is not having the best day and reader appears and cheers her up, in the softest way 🥺

Hope yall enjoy, especially you @huskyhunny 🤗

Its fall time. Hopes favorite season , when the earth adorned its vibrant shades of reds , oranges , yellows and browns. The brunette stands before her easel , starch white and a contrast to the view from her bedroom windows. Mystic falls was washed in all the warm colourful tones an artist could dream of. The sky a murky grey foretelling the downpour it would soon bring and the whistling of a ghastly cold wind that made the branches in the woods even shiver. She knew many would be adorning the fall uniforms essentials by now. A yellow orche scarf with burgundy stripes running horizontally across it ,their schools emblem adorned on one end , the blazers now with long sleeved shirts or maybe their red or yellow (really preferences to each student) cardigan or vest with the sigil of the school found above the right breast. The plaid pants was opted for over the skirts this time of year or if a part of a club would sport the tracksuits instead.

Not everyone saw the wonders in such weather , how the grey of a once bright blue sky wasn't mundane but rather serenity. A promise of natural calming bliss that only a grey sky could give as it almost always accompanied rain. There was another contradiction. Little droplets of water plummeting the earth and soaking everything in its wake. Though the wolves describe it to be a run like no other , they often complain of the cold that follows and the heavyness of wet fur complying to gravities rules. Other students find the wet dog smell way too pungent and rue the poor teardrops of nature for ever falling to begin with. Hope thinks otherwise. She sees them as nature's way of cleansing the earth (must be her witchy side), of days spent in a firelit room bathed in orange light and listening to the persistent pitter patters that aided as a melody to stories told from a time longer ago,, from a man whose lived through them all. Its a promise of large puddles the next day when the sky stops its cleaning and allows for rainboots to thrash and kick at its remains, of happy cries when the murky water touches bare cheeks , rosy from all the joy shared between mother and daughter.

Hope looks away from the window , tries to quell the nostalgia , quiet the thoughts that she could never share those memories again. Never have someone to share that joy or paint beside her as the rain continues its job time and again. Her aunts weren't  too fond of the winter chill or its watery promises and although sitting before a fire with popcorn and hot chocolate watching classic movies was fun in its own way , it never made her feel as happy as enjoying the natural moments nature had provided them. That's why when Freya had told her over a phone call she'd rather not reminisce in those days, opting for the rather brighter more warmer moments from the sun and its special season , did Hope truly feel alone.

Her sad thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt thuds against her dorms door. The bronze handle swiftly turning on its own , the locks clicked open and the door swung in to reveal a sheepish looking y/n with two mugs of what looked to be hot chocolate with one too many marshmallows.

"Mind if I join you?" The  girl asked although she had already stepped inside and let the door shut probably with the same spell used to open it. A visible chill passed through her.

"Hope its like Antarctica in here!" y/n exclaimed. She made her way to the Mikaelson and set the mugs down on the desk. Its then that Hope notices the girl is clad in a sweater , her school scarf and beanie and the ever present black leather jacket. She's wearing the timberwolves football sweatpants and the whole look seems ridiculous but just shows how not big of a fan the other tribrid is of the cold.-wait y/n doesn't even do any sports, nor has she ever been at mystic falls-

"That's my sweatpants!" Hope finally says. Not even giving it a thought before saying it. She watches y/n freeze for the slightest minute , cheeks rosey and lips quivering as if on the verge of defending herself when her y/e/c eyes lands on the scene behind her.

"Your windows are open! That's why its below freezing point in here!" y/n stomps towards the windows as if it were the greatest enemies shes ever faced. She shuts them with a force that might have shattered them and turns to scowl at the rooms inhabitant.

"Are you trying to catch a cold?!" YN reprimands.

"It wasn't open that long" Hope says , "Besides the cold does not bother me and shouldn't you either , you're a werewolf"

"What ever you say Elsa" the y/h/c girl falls onto the neatly made  bed and ignores the eye roll from the Mikaelson. "I might be a wolf but that does not mean I enjoy the temp drop and for you to assume that is stereotypical to your own kind"

"Well its not my kind "Hope says and twirls the dry paintbrush in her hand. She hasn't even set out her colour palette yet , all her paint is still stored in its tubes.

" Oh yes it is fellow tribud" YN remarks and smirks at the groan erupting from Hope's lips.

"Seriously YN ? That nickname is so lame" the brunette practically whines out. Her arms crossed as she stares at the girl casually lazing on her bed. YN knows  Hope isn't a fan of the nickname her ex boyfriend coined the two with years ago when he'd finally acclimated to the school. She also knows Hope isn't a big fan of the boy at all at this point but as always YN enjoys teasing the shorter girl to her hearts content.

"Auw cmon its actually a good nickname" YN continues "we're the only two of our kind and we're close" the other tribrid shrugs, "I happen to think tribuds is fitting to our little duo"

"Keep this up and I'll kick you out" Hope warns.

"Auw cmon Hopey I brought you hot chocolate" YN sits up and bends forward for the mugs , wisps of steam still floating up. Hope finds it surprising how any steam could find its way through the horde of marshmallows smothered atop the drink. Hope's gaze jumps from the co-ordinating blue and red mugs to the puppy pout YN is shamelessly sporting and releases an audible sigh.

"It better be good" the brunette mumbles , giving in and taking a seat beside the taller girl.

"Ouch, you wound me Mikaelson" YN says with faux sad expression , handing the blue mug over.

"Well what can I say" Hope starts before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. Its good , as expected. YN never seems to disappoint, not even with a cup of hot chocolate. "Its in my blood"

YN let's out a laugh , one that's filled with endearment and warmth. She scoots closer , mindful of the hot liquid and nudges the brunette's shoulder with her own.

"So are you going to tell me what's got you so worked up , more than usual that is"

"Ha ha" Hope rolls her eyes again at YN 's jab. "Why would you think something's bothering me?" The Mikaelson tribrid asks and when turning to face the y/h/c haired girl , is met with a raised brow.

"You zoned out in front of a blank canvas is never a good sign tribuddy"

Already annoyed by the nickname Hope looks over to the canvas as if it had betrayed her. "What if its just artist block?" she retorts.

"Its not because when you have a block you're glued to Pinterest looking for reference photo's until inspiration hits" YN raises her cup to take a sip then points accusingly , "also art block Hopey doesnt put walls up and accuse her favorite person of not knowing her and her little niches"

"Bold of you to assume you're my favorite person" Hope grumbles poking a marshmallow before looking up to see YN give her that knowing brow raise , driving her point home.

"Okay so I'm a little bit guarded today!" Hope let's out and drops the paintbrush she'd forgotten even having in her hand. She let's out a sigh, taking another sip and letting the warm liquid make its way through her insides hoping the heat could bring comfort to a never-ending ache in her heart. She's brought out of her slight reverie by the soft hand of YN, who squeezes her knee gently as if to remind her that she is here. She is here and will always be.

"I won't force you to talk Hope but know that when you do feel ready, my shoulder is here for you and so are my ears"

Hope rolls her eyes at the way the girl worded her supportiveness. Yet that was one of the many reasons why she was so fond of the you. Your outlook on life was so different hell everything about you was just.. Different and enticing and oh so endearing the tribrid had difficulty picturing a life without you. It was impossible.

"I can't really put what it is im exactly feeling into words but" Hope chews at her lip then gives YN a sad smile. "something about today makes me miss them even more"

You watch her fiddle with the ear of her mug, she darts her gaze away from yours, deciding to keep focusing on the little white treats in her cup.

"it's crazy I know, it's been years and I'm still hung up on it"

She's got tears in her eyes, you know because her lashes seem moist like she'd just tried to bat those salty drops away unnoticed. But you did, you always do. So you take her cup, despite her slight protest she allows it and watches you place it on her desk. You come back to your place on the bed and pull her into your body, arms wrapped around her so tightly you can feel her body tremble as she let's out her cries into the crook of your neck.

"you're not crazy for missing them Hope. Grief doesn't have a time limit you know." you stroke her back with your thumb, making small circles as you continue, "Just know I'll always be here for you Hopey"

"it's not up to you" you hear being mumbled against you and you pull the smaller girl closer. No one deserves the trauma the young Mikaelson had been through and to think she had to face most of it alone still breaks your heart.

"says who" you say with bravado, "I'm not ever leaving your side Mikaelson not even death could keep me away"

You both know Hope has a point, especially the life you both live any day could mean your last. Yet you were sure of your own words, you were holding your world in your arms and there was nothing you wouldn't do to keep the girl who had already suffered so much from being happy. So if death were to ever come knocking you'd meet it with fangs bared and claws out.

"promise?" blue eyes meets yours, staring from below long lashes it makes her suddenly seem younger, as if she somehow de-aged to the little girl who had shouldered too much and held powers she never asked for.

You pull her even closer not wanting any space between you especially since you were trying to warm the shorter girl with your body heat after leaving her window open on such a cold day. One hand coming to cup her cheek, stroking it as if you were holding the most prized possession this world had and smiled at her "I promise"

Kissing her forehead you whisper the words against her skin,

"always and forever"

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble through both time and space—

Part 2

Together, Draco and Hermione started their trek down the damp, sloping hills of the valley in the middle of Colorado. Draco watched her hair bounce about as she hurried down the hill and couldn’t stop the conflicting emotions he felt. Amusement and fondness for the way her hair moved and the little legs that seemed to battle the path down the hill. It was a steep hill and gravity seemed to pull them quickly downward. There was, of course, resentment. Because while their partnership had started out quite rough — plagued by constant bickering — there had been some moments the last couple of nights that created something new and bizarre to blossom inside of his cold dead chest.

It started with Granger asking him a question. It had actually started with her suggestion of taking a bath inside of the frigid cold waters of a river they came across.

He had balked at the idea and not just because of the cold water. Hermione Granger was an incredibly attractive woman. She had curves that often plagued him throughout the day as they worked alongside each other, as well as the wee hours of the night, both in and out of his dreams. He could not be certain that, upon seeing Granger anything less than the blouse and slim fitting slacks that she wore to work, that he would be able to hide his attraction. He’s not certain any man would be able to hide their attraction if faced with Granger in anything less.

Not to mention the fact that, in life, she had been engaged to Ron Weasley. Something about it felt a little bit wrong.

So, he had refused. Vehemently, he had said no and told her that she was crazy.

Granger had called him a chicken, before scooping up a handful of water and splashing him with it.

Draco had been apoplectic. Speechless!

Draco had not been able to stop himself from charging at her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and forcing both of their bodies to free fall over the waters edge.

When they both broke the surface, they found themselves in a competitive water fight. And for just a moment, Draco found himself enthralled with the way her lips curved, revealing the slightest bit of gum. The way her eyes sparkled with mischief, and had she always had those flecks of amber around her pupils, blooming out like the rays of the sun?

But it was when they shrugged out of their clothes, to cast a warming spell on them, that things between them seemed to have shifted.

Draco had failed to pull his eyes away as she shimmied out of her soaked blouse. The white fabric of her cotton bra turned transparent, and he had eyed the pink nipple raised into a peak. He had tried to be good,honestly. But he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he undressed.

Ever since they both crossed over, they seemed more acutely aware of each other’s presence. And not just the proximity of their bodies, but the vast array of emotions that either of them might be emitting at any given point.

He had been keeping his eyes downcast as he slid out of his own shirt and as he shimmied out of his pants, he felt the burn of her eyes on his skin

Looking up, he found her eyes had darkened. They were traveling over the expanse of his broad chest, and were slowly, heading south.

Blood — if that was even a thing in death — quickly rushed to his groin, and really it must be a thing. Because his eyes dropped down to her breasts, the curve of her waist as her knickers bunched up at her hips, wet and clumping together here and there and his cock began to harden. Their eyes lifted, and together, they found themselves pinned in place by the other. Something charged and heady passed between them before Granger cleared her throat and turned away to dry the clothes she had hung over a branch.

Draco took a moment to appreciate the way her knickers remained bunched up enough to expose the under curve of her ass, the little dimples just above it, before turning to dry his own.

That night, as the chill from the river seemed to settle into their bones, they built a fire before sitting beside each other.

“Do you feel the same things you felt when we were alive?” She peered at him from across the fire they built together.

“What do you mean?”

“Hunger, fatigue...arousal?”

His eyebrows had pushed up into his forehead and Draco might have chuckled nervously at that. “Well, to be honest, death is not at all as I had imagined. For starters, we’re here talking with each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kind of just always assumed that when I’d die, everyone would just fade to black.”

“Really?” Her bright brown eyes widened briefly, before her brows settled low, pinching them into little slits. “Seems rather bleak for a wizard. What about the ghosts that haunt Hogwarts?”

“I figured they were an exception, some sort of curse.” He shrugged and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to gather enough warmth from his own body. “But, to answer your question, I do not feel hunger but I do often daydream about a good burger or a pint of ice cream.”

At that, she smiled. “Fatigue?”

He shrugged. “It feels like it might come but somehow…”

“It never does.” She finishes and he nods.

“As for the last thing,” their eyes locked and again, that thing between them filled the air. It lingered, just like their gaze.

The issue of arousal died on the tip of his tongue and Granger bit her lip before finally shaking her head, as if to dispel the thought of anything adulterous. For a few quiet moments, they watched each other and the fire as their arms tried and failed to warm their bodies up.

With a resounding sigh, Draco jerked his chin at her. “Come here, Granger. The only way we’re going to find any warmth, is if we exchange body heat.”

Draco watched, in awe, as her cheeks turned crimson. As she glanced down at her hands that cupped her knees, before she finally nodded and stood.

She settled in between his legs, which he had opened for her. She allowed him to wrap his arms around her and rest his cheek against hers.

And together, they watched the flames of the fire that seemed to dance dangerously close to their faces.

Though, Draco was certain that it was not their proximity to the fire that caused so much heat to spread through out his body.

And, this began the idea that life, in death, was considerably more interesting than when he was alive. Which might have caused Draco to completely fuck up the task given to them when they met with the strange man in Limbo. The task that would have bought them both a one way ticket back to the mortal lives they had left behind.