#it got so much easier once I realized

[nemosquirrel]

I DID IT

EVERY SINGLE LEVEL AAAAAA

(Except p-1 I haven’t even beat it yet)

[miitopiaenjoyer]

i need to chew on your art like a chew toy its So scrumptious and awesome and peak even. aka every day i wake up and hope you've posted. keep it up 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Aww, thank you so much!! I'm really happy to hear that you like my art, being chewable is a great honor!! And it means a lot that you look forward to seeing my posts!! I always look forward to seeing you in the notes too, it never fails to be an absolute delight to hear from you!! :D

Anyway, I saw you posting about old man yaoi the other day, so I figured this'd be a fun inclusion with this ask. :)

Thanks as always for the support, and I hope you're having a great day/night!!

[numbuh424]

Let's talk composition in the jdrama. L is always on the brighter side of the frame while Light is on the darker side.

[famewolf]

speaking of ocd, I think I'm realizing that I truly don't have anxiety and it's literally just my ocd. im not anxious about anything until it involves me and suddenly I'm spiraling

[adore-gregor]

study smart not hard (altough both is best actually) this saying is so true

[offbranddragon]

Cont. from here

As they walked Taash kept a good foot, more if they could, between them and the graves at all times. They weren't like their Tama, they weren't scared of the dead like her. Taash was just healthily creeped out by corpses. Looking at the rocks, the memorials, was nothing. Yeah they didn't feel like they were meant to be here but the monuments to celebrate the dead didn't turn their stomach or give rise to goosebumps. The wandering spirits did, and the skeletons doing work. The looming presence of the Grand Necropolis and the knowledge that death was everywhere kept them antsy and uneasy. Not even the peacefulness of the garden helped. Taash couldn't relax and they could have sworn they kept hearing whispering some where. They really really needed to work on saying no to things and saying no to pretty people.

Taash had been largely silent when they entered the garden. Graves didn't need nor want words and, despite their ick, Taash knew to be respectful. Even if this ground hadn't been alive they'd still had walked with every care. It was ground dedicated to people who were once loved, once cared for, and was marked as such. Trampling on someones monument to their loved ones was more than disrespectful, it was horrible, and even if Taash didn't like that said person was probably still lurking somewhere they weren't going to be cruel.

Passing through the gate Taash was still on edge, half expecting to see a ghost or something. When a tight pathway gave to a much more normal looking garden instead of ease Taash couldn't help a sense of foreboding starting to drape over them. It felt like it was waiting in a sense. Their friend really wouldn't take them on this whole outing just to show them her future resting spot would they? Or where she may be intended to bury one of them should they die. Neat but also felt like a threat. Taash flinched at the wisps, hands clenching momentarily. Their snarl fell as Gwen spoke. This wasn't a grave waiting, it was a womb. She may not had been born here but it had birthed her into the world in a way. Being found in a bed of flowers suited her, or so Taash thought, especially compared to the more dank corners of the necropolis. They didn't even notice the lingering wisps, little bits of green light flickers and clustering, as they looked attentively at her. Loyalty was a thing. A spirit plucking her up like one of the flowers she held now, keeping you from becoming dirt to nourish them, was...something. It sat in Taash's head weird. If it'd been a watcher they'd been able to get it easier. Spirits did things in their nature. Compassion would save a kid, that's what it did or was inclined to do. But they still felt weird, jumbled, they didn't want to dwell on it.

"I'm not scared of you-it I mean." Their face scrunched. The magic wasn't scary, the dead weren't either. It was just...gross. Being so cozy with things that should be sleeping. Should be taking the big nap and left the fuck alone. Touching the dead bodies and decomposing them. Having them do things and wiggle about when they should just be sleeping. It was gross! Spirit work wasn't gross! You talked, let them be guests if they wanted, and then they were off. You walked with them you didn't touch their giblets and have them dust stuff once the giblets were gone.

Taash looked away from Gwen. Crossing their arms their gaze fixed on a flower on the ground. "Spirits are fine, you feel like you owe them so i get it. But just- the dead aren't fine. They should be in the ground, left to be, not waving around brooms and organizing books or what ever." Their voice wasn't full of hate but there was a trickle of sour in there. Disgust maybe, unease certainly. "The dead used to be people and all the used to be people freak me out! They should still be people not corpses doing things!"

That was only scratching the surface but they couldn't word it deeper. It wasn't that Taash couldn't see them as different, they could. They could see the skeletons, the wisps, the spirits. It was that that caused them such unease, such discomfort. They could see what had become of a people, a person, that was now gone. They could still see that a person should be there. The person should be walking around and talking and laughing and loving, but instead it was just their skeleton or their ghost. Seeing the necropolis, hearing the spirits, everything just felt wrong. It reminded them that people were gone. One day their friends would be gone, their Tama, their everything would be gone even them. Seeing all the death just pressed that little splinter deeper into them. They didn't want to see the corpses and skeleton, they wanted to see the person. They wanted the person to rest as a memory and be allowed to rest. Return to the earth and flow a new into something else. Do all their breaking down unseen, still be the person they were not the corpse they became. What unsettled Taash about all the undeath was the fact it was a reminder that something was gone, someone was gone. Yeah they did actually find decaying flesh and dead stuff generally gross and touching said stuff was too gross, but the main issue wasn't that.

Just like Emmrich Taash feared death, just differently, and they handled it just as poorly if not worse than him. Instead of sadness it filled them with unease and anger. A denial that was confronted by each skeleton walking around and the souls that whispered as they passed. A denial that only made them more angry and upset. A denial they wanted to avoid that they simply could not when surrounded by death like they were now.

[kingdomoftyto]

Now that I'm thinking about crossovers, my mind somehow jumped to "what if instead of classpects/Avatar bending styles/pony species/etc I assigned my blorbos WoF dragon tribes"

And so:

Phoenix is a SeaWing, not because he's blue (though that's a lovely coincidence) but because I like the idea of him not having any breath weapons or other special abilities. All he has to defend others with are his courage, determination, and bare claws. He'd be kind of a scrawny thing, too, not built for fighting, but that doesn't stop him from throwing himself bodily into harm's way to save someone in need. A fun extra detail could be that the bioluminescence on his wings is especially bright, evoking a phoenix's fiery feathers. Oh, and he still only knows like 2 kinds of flowers, but now it's because he's from the bottom of the ocean.

(...I should say right off the bat that I don't know what exactly Phoenix and co. actually do in this AU, other than "defend the innocent". There's nothing really stopping them from still being lawyers, I suppose, though it seems like there's room for something more, uh, unique to the fact that they're all dragons now, lmAO... Either way, it's largely unimportant as long as the major story beats for each character are able to remain somewhat intact.)

Maya and the rest of the Feys are MudWings with a NightWing ancestor. This gives them a faint purple tint to their brown scales, and is assumed to be the reason behind their strange magic powers. They're not quite animus dragons (though maybe their magatama are animus-touched in some way); instead, they can speak with the spirits of the dead. I like to think their power is connected to family/bloodlines specifically, to relate it to MudWings more; perhaps they can only talk to a spirit if a member of the spirit's family is present. Anyway, Maya's personality would be hilariously stereotypical for a young MudWing--eager and impulsive and always hungry--but her sarcastic wit would set her apart.

Mia left home just like in canon, which was especially devastating for Maya because of course Mia was her bigwings. The mixed heritage of the Fey family means smaller clutches than is typical for MudWings, so Mia and Maya only had each other. Since they're the same age in this AU, Maya was at least old enough to fend for herself, but the psychological damage of being left behind by her only sibling would still have been significant. This plays into how quickly and how strongly Maya latches onto Phoenix as a brother figure later on.

Relatedly, Pearl was raised utterly alone, with no siblings at all, by her scheming mother. Maybe she had some prophetic sign associated with her egg, like it having a certain pattern of speckles, that alerted Morgan to how powerful Pearl's spirit abilities would be. So although Pearl DID have two sisters, she was kept apart from them and never told they existed. This is why Pearl is so odd and poorly socialized in this AU. Luckily, Maya basically "adopts" her as a little sister later on and they grow to be just as close as if they were clutchmates.

Miles is a SkyWing (which again provides the wonderful coincidence of him having red scales) and he has the temper to match. He was of course Phoenix's childhood friend (somehow--don't worry too much about the timeline), and then was whisked away and raised by Manfred after his father died. After reuniting with Phoenix and being set back on the right path, he travels between kingdoms to study their ways just like he does in canon with his European research tour. His big powerful wings are great for all that travel--just like they're great for zipping like an arrow from the opposite end of the continent the minute he hears Phoenix might be dying of burn wounds. ;)

(There's definitely something to be done with Miles' phobias in this AU, but I haven't given that enough thought yet. It would depend on the circumstances of Gregory's death--maybe earthquakes still tie in, but instead of elevators as a trigger, it's windowless caves? Like, there was a cave-in before Gregory's death and now he hates being underground and always needs to be within a few wingspans of an egress or he gets panicky...)

Manfred and Franziska could work equally well as IceWings or NightWings, I think, in terms of sheer vibes, and IceWings certainly work best for their aesthetic. However, I think it might be more fun to have them as NightWings for a few reasons. (Plus it would be kind of impossible for Miles to have been adopted by them if they were IceWings, for a number of obvious reasons. :P)

Firstly, I know I haven't gotten into AU names for the others, but Perfection would be an awesome NightWing name, just saying, lmao. At first I thought the name would apply to Manfred, but I think it makes more sense for Manfred to name his daughter Perfection and for her to later reject that and rename herself, like Hope did. Maybe to something like Whiptail (which is a bit less NightWing-sounding, sure, but if WoF canon can name a dragon Bigtail then I'm allowed to stretch, dammit... plus New Mexico whiptail lizards are obligate lesbians, and idk maybe she fell for a SandWing with glasses and dependence issues, who can say)

ANYWAY, as NightWings, the von Karmas get to keep their superiority complexes, and while Manfred would largely just be an even more scheming, more self-serving version of Morrowseer, Franziska could have some fun extra quirks. She of course has an especially long and tapered tail that she enjoys whipping other dragons with, and in reference to her beauty mark, she has the white "teardrop" mark by just one eye. Manfred and the others have no idea this mark has any significance, of course, but, like Fatespeaker, Franziska actually has very limited NightWing-moon powers that even she isn't consciously aware of--in this case only the weakest of mindreading, but just enough to give her an edge in an argument, or to intimidate an opponent.

Let's see, who else... Godot is a SandWing, on vibes alone if nothing else. Wouldn't he fit right in at the Scorpion's Den, playing slow jazz and sipping a hot, bitter drink? Also, maybe Dahlia's murder attempt involved dragonbite viper venom, which is why it's so shocking that he survived. His visual impairment could be made to fit the desert theme somehow, too, maybe being affected by the sun's glare or creating mirage-like distortions.

Thalassa is a SeaWing because she HAS to be with a name like that, which means both Apollo and Trucy would be at least half-SeaWing. Could be fun to make them both hybrids of different tribes--I'd say RainWing for Trucy, because the Gramaryes dazzling others with their color-changing/pulling disappearing acts with their camouflage seems appropriate, and combining that with the glowing spots she inherited from her mom, Trucy would REALLY be a visual spectacle. (Plus maybe being raised by a troupe of capricious, nomadic RainWings would mean she never learned Aquatic growing up, so Phoenix would be the one to teach her. 🥺)

As for Apollo, I haven't played AA6, so I don't know enough about his dad to speculate on that front. Could be funny if he was half-SkyWing though, to keep his color scheme red. What if he looked mostly like a full SkyWing but had smaller, more compact wings from his SeaWing side... the equivalent of him being such a short king in canon dgasjfhjksdf

The Gavins are SandWings because Kristoph having a venomous tail is just too good to pass up. Sorry, Klavier. Though, it does also match their blond hair, and Klavier does strike me as having a similar aura of (secretly insecure) suavity as Qibli, so really it's not a bad match after all.

Athena is undoubtedly a RainWing who unconsciously reflects other dragons' emotions in her scale colors. It takes her a long time to learn to control this, and even longer to learn how to use it to help others, but her dogged quest to save her uncle Simon (and a dash of classic RainWing optimism) is enough to help her push through.

And finally Blackquill himself is... hmm... he almost strikes me as IceWing-like, in both personality and aesthetic, but without the narcissistic self-aggrandizing. I dunno, which tribe I put him in would depend heavily on his backstory and how he met Metis and all that. Or maybe I could go FULL tragedy and make him a RainWing that's so broken by what happened and so determined to keep others out that he keeps his scales monochrome black-and-white at all times.

... wow, this post got long. Sorry not sorry lmao this was a shockingly fun exercise

[secondbeatsongs]

Food Crime: Frosty the Slawman

so a while ago, I saw this photo going around on tumblr:

at first, I thought this was photoshopped. I mean, "welcome new man in your life"? that feels like a translation error, or someone being silly on purpose.

but guess what! turns out, Frosty Slaw Man is real!

and soon...he will be mine. let's get cooking

(full disclosure: I crafted this snowman and took notes about it over a year ago. and then, like with many things in my life, I forgot about him, and let him drift into the ADHD void of Things I'm Not Currently Staring At, where object permanence is tentative and largely unrealized.

but here we are! and here he is: the slaw man. it's time to share him with you, so that you can suffer as I have suffered, and/or rejoice in my gelatin creation!)

so this recipe photo originally came from Mid-Century Menu (archive link), a blog that seems like one after my own heart, and which once tried to make the Slaw Man (with not much success; but we'll get back to that)! but it's not just that blog that has copies of this ad. I also found it on reddit, and in a few different places on ebay!

lookit that guy! he's a real guy!

both the reddit post and some of the ebay listings say that this is from 1963 (though I haven't been able to figure out which magazines it was printed in, to confirm this for myself). but in looking this up, I discovered something else fun! there's another version of this ad!

Best Foods is what Hellmann's stuff is called on the west coast, and the "this is no place for second best" thing makes a lot more sense when you consider that the ad was probably made for Best Foods first, and then just reused and rebranded for the east coast

the more you know!

anyway the benefit of finding this alternate ad is that the scan on this image is a lot clearer, and so the recipe is more readable! and in looking at it, I've realized something important:

when Mid-Century Menu tried this recipe, they got an ingredient amount wrong.

when they made their beloved Slaw Man, they had the water amount written down as 1/4 cup, but looking at this scan up close, it is actually 3/4 cup of water! something that might make a significant difference, considering we're working with gelatin!

(there's also another change I want to make compared to what they did, when I do this recipe. but we'll get into that in a sec.)

for now: we begin

so. there's no way I'm making a Slaw Man this large. I am just one person, and considering the ingredients of this, I don't think I'm going to be able to consume that much Slaw.

two entire heads of cabbage? three pounds of cottage cheese, a thing that I don't even like to eat? no. that's a bad idea.

so I'm starting small here and making this 1/3 the size of the original:

2 packets of unflavored gelatin 1/4 cup cold water 1 cup mayo 1 tsp salt 1lb cottage cheese 4 cups shredded cabbage

surely this will result in a reasonable amount of Man

...okay, I started chopping the cabbage thinking it would be easier, but I've given up and pulled out a grater. this is much better! and somehow more violent (affectionate)

the recipe says to soften the gelatin in cold water, and then stir over hot water until it's dissolved. I'm going to assume "stir over hot water" means a double boiler, so let's do that

hmmm, the gelatin is very foamy? it’s melted, but the bottom of the pot feels really....sticky

okay. after a couple minutes more and no change, I’m calling this good enough.

so one thing that others who have attempted this recipe have not taken into consideration is the cottage cheese. you see, the others used normal cottage cheese, but the recipe says to use "cottage cheese, cream style"

I’ll be real, I’m not 100% what that means, since we don’t have that here. but I can take an educated guess! so let’s blend the cottage cheese!

(with an immersion blender. I am not willing to wash an actual blender because of this)

mmm, yes. very smooth

...actually. why isn't all cottage cheese like this? the thing I hate about cottage cheese is the texture, so why isn't it all smooth and creamy like this?? I could eat this!!

a new discovery is made every day in this house.

okay, time to start mixing things together.

ah, frosty. I opened a whole new thing of mayo for you! do you feel special?

(I'd make a "pre-dinner snack?" joke, but sometimes I think I'm the only one that remembers Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time)

okay, the mayo, cottage cheese, and salt have been added to the gelatin. but as this cools, the texture is getting...hmm. less than appealing.

lastly: the cabbage

oh. oh this is not very nice

next it says to pack the "salad" into a one pound container, and two six-cup bowls, but since I made this recipe so much smaller, I'm going to uhhhh. uh. find some bowls that seem like they'd be correct...snowman? proportions?

ah. this bowl is too big.

hey, these'll work!

now I just have to let them chill for a while, and continue another day.

(edit from current!me: ahhh oh my god I forgot this was pretty soon after we adopted Jackie! look at these cat pics that I took while I was food crime-ing!

look at them having their little interactions! Knuckles was trying so hard to be friends with her! I love them)

hello! two days later and we are ready to assemble the slawman. and my sibling has started referring to him as "frosty: attorney at slaw", so that's fun.

I've done a thing where, as these set, I flipped them around in the bowl so that hopefully they'd be more round. we'll see if they actually stay like this.

I have also made some decorations for him out of peppers, olives, and carrots!

let's build our boy

oh he's so heavy. and wobbly

no no no he almost fell over!!

okay. he's fine. but more skewers were needed.

and...okay. he is complete.

behold!

gaze upon my beautiful man!

(he is not structurally sound! he wobbles unsteadily as I rotate him! there are already cracks forming in the gelatin around where his arms are! don't worry about it!)

 now it's time to stab him

and...to devour him

this tastes like...a bland coleslaw? and not even that. it's just sort of a salty, cottage cheese-y cabbage. the ingredients don't combine to become something greater, they simply...sit there. like this.

and the texture is...mmm. it's not a jello kind of texture, but it is a bit squashy in a way that's mildly strange.

it's very creamy once it softens in your mouth.

...I don't like this!

and look! taking just that one chunk from him was enough to destabilize him entirely :(

RIP frosty. now I just have to see if I can eat all of you before you go bad.

(note from current!me: I could not.

 I ate maybe half of him over the course of many days, often adding other stuff to him to try to add some flavor: bacon, frozen peas, cheese, etc. but even with that, I just couldn't stomach him.

after a while I stuck what was left of him in the freezer, hoping that maybe I'd find the will to consume the rest of him some other day.

do you know what a frozen-and-then-thawed mixture of cabbage, cottage cheese, mayo, and gelatin looks and tastes like?

bad. the answer is: bad.

I threw him out pretty quickly after thawing him.

do not try this recipe at home)

[doggyspeakart]

The clip studio mobile app has been so clutch this month. I've done all my digital art fight attacks in it so far and I still have 15 hours left free for July.

[cinnammonfairy]

⌗ hybrids – f! cat x doberman ghost! + heat + virginity loss + squirting + implied pregnancy/breeding ⋆˙⟡

where you go into heat, and your not-so-new friend simon helps you.

when price finally brought simon home, you did not take it all too kindly. only familiar with the presence of price and few other hybrids (being a house cat and all, always preferring to stay home), you grew uptight at the new imposing presence at your home. you knew price was only trying to look out for you by gifting you a companion, someone you could cling to when he was away, yet he also knew how shy you were too which could translate to unwelcoming behaviour towards those who are unacquainted with you.

simon having been briefed by price of your shy tendencies played along, preferring to wait until you grew accustomed to his presence around the house. which admittedly took... quite a while. price having been home for the start of simon's stay to get you on friendly terms did little to help, only making you ever so clingier.

when it came to just the both of you within the confines of your home, you avoided him with an admirable amount of effort. he knew it wasn't that you disliked him, you just haven't gotten to know him and how could you when you'd scramble if he walked into a room you were currently in? or if he'd be leaning on the doorframe of your shared bathroom waiting for you to finish your lengthy baths, the scent of your bathbomb wafting through the crack of the doorway your humming gleefully at the warmth of the water clear to his impeccable hearing, doberman hybrid and all does little to quell his ever growing fascination in you.

the week leading up to your heat (not that he knew), was filled with uncommon behaviour from you, once an early riser now you woke later into the day, your sweet scent heightened keeping him alert of your whereabouts throughout the house. your usually energetic self, that always found a way to keep busy around the house also grew tired easier, which was how he found you sprawled out on the couch late at night, a show you were keen on running on the tv. gathering your weak form in his arms, he lifted you up bridal style making sure to cradle your head in his arm.

your eyes opened briefly, jolting awake as you realized who was currently holding you and walking you towards your bedroom, before you gave in to the lethargy that seemed to engulf your body. letting him carry you up the stairs, his scent overwhelming your senses leaving your body the slightest bit feverish.

"i don't feel so good." your words coming out barely more than a whisper into the chilly night air, lights dimmed out due to the hour.

"i can see that, let me take care of you yeah? " his arms wrapping tighter around your form as he rounds the corner to your bedroom, tucking you in, and closing the door softly behind him before placing a call to price.

"...the date of her heats are usually irregular, but she's probably going into one soon." price's voice crackles through the phone speaker, as simon's brow furrows.

"what can i do to help her?" simon's reply earns a small huff from price, who's answer has simon's cock growing hard in his trousers imagining you begging for him.

"you can help her but only if she asks, she probably will though. god knows you feel much better than her dildo does."

the next morning he was greeted with the overwhelming scent of your slick, your warm body atop him, bare tits pressed against his chest, his blanket pushed aside so your wet little pussy could rub on his still covered hard on. every pass of his cock spreading open your pretty pussy, his tip catching onto your clit creating pleasurable friction.

"what's all this about angel? where did my shy girl go hm?"

"m' sorry si, need you..." his hands go to guiding your hips, as they grew sloppier. your wetness creating a patch on his boxers outlining his hard cock.

"s' alright pretty, i've got you." tipping your chin up to meet his gaze as he connects your lips to his, softly pecking them as a form of reassurance. price said to take things slow and he promised to try, you had no qualms kissing him back so sweetly as he cradled your cheek in his palm. with your pussy still rubbing on his cock, he moved you to lay below him lifting his body enough to peel his boxers off.

spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, little hole twitching and leaking slick. your little clit glistening in the early morning sunrise, as he circles it softly with the head of his cock, dragging it down to your pool of slick and up to nudge against your clit, swiping it back and forth as you writhed on the bed moaning for him to,

"put it in now please si."

"so wet angel, i could just slip right in yeah?"

"'mhm! s' wet for you."

"such a good girl, so pretty for like this for me."

he positions the head of his cock on your hole, the both of you gasping as it enters. all the while rubbing your clit softly with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. your pussy halfway enveloping his fat cock as your legs tremble softly, your hole clenching rhythmically at his intrusion. your hands go to his biceps as you feel the knot in your stomach growing ever so tighter, just from him putting his cock in. you've had a dildo and a couple pleasurable vibrators before to help you through your heat but never an actual cock, the feeling of his big cock entering your practically virgin hole was too much to bear, even more so as he rubbed at your clit so sweetly to build enough pleasure and wetness to take his cock. before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his cock a soft gasp left you as he worked you through your strong orgasm, clenching hard on his fat cock.

"so pretty... that was a nice one hm lovie, that feel good for your little pussy sweetheart yeah? y' love my fat cock stretching out your hole so much you can't help it huh."

"s' too big si..." you sobbed out as his fingers kept strumming your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

"you're taking it so well though sweetheart, i'm almost there baby. you can cum as much as you want angel."

your orgasm which left you wetter than before made it easier for him to ease his cock inside, groaning at your warmth as he bottomed out. he zoned in on where your eyes were currently resting, the filthy sight of your pussy plugged full of his cock as he took a testing shallow thrust, a mewl leaving your lips.

"your pussy's so pretty full of my cock sweetheart, you're taking it so well, 'm so proud baby."

"what do you say sweetheart?" he says, pulling his cock out halfway, watching as his cock slips out coated in your slick and cum.

"thank you si-i!" he slammed his hips once, again filling your pussy up full and catching you off guard.

his thrusts left you breathless as you looked into his eyes, pleading for anything and everything at all once. your current state of heat left your cheeks perpetually flushed which he found charming, your eyes fluttering, for someone who was practically begging to be fucked just this morning, he loved your sweet, shy and soft little mewls. slotting your lips together to meet for a kiss, one that you so kindly and eagerly return, he knows he's found your spot as a sweet little gasp leaves your lips. he rests his forehead to yours as you lock your feet on his back, your pussy clenching erratically as a telltale sign that you were approaching your orgasm.

"wanna cum si!"

"go ahead baby."

pulling out most of the way, he thrusts in to be met by a spurt of clear liquid splashing and splattering onto your stomach, his pelvis and abs. every time he pulls out the slightest bit to slam his cock back in to your tight squirting heat, he earns another splash of clear liquid that's prompted by his thrusts. the hot sight of you squirting uncontrollably whilst crying softly on his cock prompts his own orgasm, and pumping his load into you.

"made such a cute mess on my cock baby hm? my shy angel's a squirter huh?" he says as he pulls his cock out fully, rubbing his cock fast over your clit to be met by more messy squirts, his thick load now seeping out of your little hole.

"m s-sorry si, it's embarrasing." you choke out amidst sobs where he gathers you in his arms, sitting up and places you on top of him. opening your legs to scoop up his leaking cum and shoving back into your hole, which makes you squeal.

"no need to be sorry sweetheart, 'm so glad i made you feel so good."

you hid your face in his neck as you sunk back down on his hard cock, seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy was an extremely erotic sight to him. your heat making you insatiable for the need of another orgasm.

"go ahead sweet girl, ride me baby, use me all you want."

and you do, if it wasn't evident enough with the protruding bump on your belly with a possessive hand resting over it upon price's return wasn't clear enough, you were having simon's pups.

☆ hi omg um this was just like something i spewed out from my brain deliriously over the course of a couple midnights i acc kinda wanna continue it or make a couple parts of it ... haven't rlly made an intro post but i'm planning to soon .ᐟ ♡ also reqs are open but i'm having midterms rn so if you do plan to leave anything on there might not get around to it for a while :(

ᡣ𐭩 header by cafekitsune .

[calebpups]

May I request dragon Sylus having sex with his mate (reader) for the first time and reader is super nervous cause they need did this before?

PAIRINGS. . . dragon!sylus x dragon!reader

CW. . . smut, mutual virginity loss, praise, softdom!sylus, gentle/slow penetrative sex

you’re already beneath him, breath caught in your throat, wings curled tight to your back like you can make yourself smaller—like maybe the heat rolling off him won’t reach you if you just hide enough.

but he’s not letting you hide.

sylus leans in, one palm braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your thigh, slow and patient. his voice is a low purr, threaded with warmth. “you’re shaking.”

“i’m not,” you lie.

he chuckles, lips brushing against your neck. “you are.”

you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. you’ve wanted him—ached for him—for so long. but now that you’re here, bare beneath him, his chest pressed to yours, his maroon eyes dark with hunger, you’re suddenly nothing but nerves.

“it’s just…” you start, voice barely a whisper. “i’ve never—”

“i know.” He cuts you off gently, lifting your chin so you have no choice but to look at him. “me either.”

“what?”

a smirk curves his lips, lazy and teasing. “what, that hard to believe?”

“kind of,” you admit, flushed.

his smile softens into something deeper. “there’s only one mate i’ve waited centuries for.”

his words strike something low and molten in your stomach.

then his hand slides between your thighs, gentle and reverent, but it still makes you gasp. he watches your face as he touches you, as you twitch and gasp under his fingers, and you swear he looks more in awe of you than he ever has before.

“you’re so soft here,” he murmurs, brushing slow strokes along your slick folds, circling where you’re throbbing. “so warm.”

you let out a trembling sigh, thighs trying to close—but his hips slot between them easily, spreading you open again. “don’t hide from me, little flame,” he says, voice low.

he takes his time. he kisses your neck, your collarbone, your chest. he touches every part of you like you’re sacred. like you’re his. and it eases the nerves, melts the fear into something that hums low and needy.

by the time he lines himself up, your body is aching for him, but your mind’s still fluttering with doubt.

“sylus…”

“it might hurt. a little.” he brushes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “tell me to stop if it gets too much.”

he pushes in carefully, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. the stretch stings, but he soothes you through it—soft praises, kisses at your temple, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hip. “that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good for me.”

when he’s finally fully inside, both of you stilled, your breath comes out in a shaky moan. he’s big, and it feels like too much and just right all at once.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod, eyes glassy. “yeah. don’t stop.”

he starts to move—slow at first, gentle, dragging every inch of him along your sensitive walls. his pace is tender, controlled, but there’s a fire building behind his eyes like it’s taking everything in him not to let his instincts loose.

you wrap your arms around him, clinging to the heat of his body, your claws just barely digging into his back. “sylus…”

“i got you.” his voice is rough now, cracking with restraint. “you feel so fuckin’ good. like you were made for me.”

every thrust sinks deeper, coaxing your body to open for him, to take him easier, and when you finally moan his name with no fear, only pleasure, sylus growls deep in his chest.

“that’s it, my sweet girl. let go.”

you do—your first time unraveling around him, feeling so full and so claimed you don’t know where you end and he begins. and when he follows, spilling into you with a deep, possessive growl, you realize he’s been holding back for your sake the entire time.

now he’s trembling too. kissing you like you’re the air in his lungs. whispering things in a tongue older than time, sweet and guttural and yours.

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[redlinespeedster]

A FAMILIAR TOUCH !! ☆

lando norris 𝒙 best friend fem!reader

[summary] You like taking risks, you crave danger, yet he is your everyday routine… and somehow, that excites you too. You’d been friends for so long that his touch on your skin feels like a familiar whisper: his hands steady on your shoulders, his fingers slowly tracing your hips. You can recognize the warmth of his body from a distance. But when he finally slips between your legs for the first time, all that familiarity shatters into a rush of new sensations — an intense, addictive pleasure you never expected to feel with him.

[warnings] Smut !! car sex, oral sex & fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes. (2.5k)

[notes] Just writing this ‘cause I know deep down Lando would be the kind of friend like “you’re my best friend… but I’d totally wreck you if I got the chance” 🙃

He wasn’t in love with you, or anything like that.

Or maybe he was? He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he’d wanted you pretty much since the day you met in school. Even back when his preteen brain couldn’t fully grasp what desire or attraction even meant.

He didn’t know if it was your personality, how kind you were to everyone, the sun-kissed blush on your cheeks, or just how pretty you were—but he wanted to be close to you. And maybe that alone was enough to make you inseparable. Best friends. Almost like siblings? No, that was something your mom said once, and it made Lando’s stomach turn with disgust.

What truly mattered was that it wasn’t until his desire began to awaken that he realized what he actually felt for you. Intense fantasies and lust-filled dreams ambushed him at all hours, and you were in every single one of them—whether you were riding him in desperation or lying beneath his body, utterly surrendered. The position or place didn’t matter; what drove him mad was having you there, so vivid in his mind, pushing him to the edge even in the moments he tried hardest to stay composed… especially when you walked around in that summer pajama that barely covered the essentials.

You didn’t even try to make it easier for him. You’d sit on his lap, brushing up against him without realizing it, as if he weren’t a man, as if he couldn’t feel every one of your movements or sense what they were stirring inside him. For years, you never understood why he had to distance himself from you—you thought maybe you were crossing a line, taking advantage of his trust. But as you got older, you remembered it clearly and finally understood.

Still, you never spoke of it again.

It had never crossed your mind that he might be attracted to you—not even after everything that had happened. Sure, you’d noticed that constant need he had to hug you, to cuddle you, to run his fingers through your hair. You also remembered the times he’d move you off his lap because he was getting hard and his pants were too tight—but you figured it was just a natural physical reaction. Maybe his body just responded to the slightest touch, because in adolescence it’s common to get aroused from something as simple as a bit of contact. You were a complete idiot for not realizing what was really going on.

Because as you grow older, things become clearer—and the sexual tension between you becomes unbearable. To the point where neither of you really knows what you’re feeling… or how to define it.

Lando can’t stop imagining himself inside you, losing himself between your legs. And you’ve started to crave his touch—the one that used to be just warm and friendly—hoping he lingers longer, hoping his hands start to explore you with more intent and desire.

But despite it all, the two of you keep pretending in front of the world that you’re just best friends, both convinced that you’ll never be anything more than that.

That discomfort resurfaces every time you’re alone with him again. Even now—coming back from a party you didn’t want to go to and he didn’t want to leave, but did anyway, just because you asked him to. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly you can tell even without looking at him, because your eyes are lost in the car window.

He looks at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes, shamelessly, staring especially at the part of your thighs you left exposed. You feel that gaze—heavy, filthy—and a chill runs down your spine. Because you know he thinks you don’t notice. Like you’re naive. And that’s what pisses you off the most: that he’s such a coward. That he doesn’t have the guts to look you in the eye and admit he’s dying to fuck you.

You squeeze your thighs together just because you know he notices. You do it slowly, deliberately, like a silent challenge. What used to be an awkward tension between teenagers is now a game you play to perfection. You can almost hear him clench his jaw, feel his whole body tighten. And the best—or the worst—part is, he knows you’re doing it on purpose. To provoke him. To drive him insane.

His eyes don’t leave the road, determined not to get distracted—though the temptation you represent is nearly unbearable. He tries to convince himself that the sexual thoughts consuming him now are just a consequence of the alcohol he had earlier at the party. But he knows that’s not true. Those burning, forbidden desires have always been there, every time he’s with you. And not even alcohol can justify all these years of obsessive fantasies, of the deep urge to hold you in his arms.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

But Lando pretends not to understand. He thinks you’re talking about the party you just left, or about the fact that he’s driving at a snail’s pace after a few too many drinks.

But it’s clear that’s not what you mean.

“What d’you want me to say?” he asks. The car stops across the street, and he lets go of the wheel to focus all his attention on you.

The tension between you is almost unbearable.

You stare at him intently, and he notices a different sparkle in your eyes, something he had never seen before, almost as if it were new. He doesn’t know how to describe it because he was never used to you looking at him that way. It’s a gaze full of desire, intense and almost tangible, as if you longed to have him so close that you wanted to move until you were sitting on his lap, in the driver’s seat, invading his space and his skin.

His pupils dilate. Only he can decide when to kiss you, how to do it, and how much he’s going to leave you trembling afterward. Maybe that’s why his hand grips the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to lean in until his lips crash against yours with fierce need. The kiss is anything but gentle: it’s intense, clumsy, desperate. He bites you, licks you, invades your mouth as if it were his own. As if he had been holding back for years, when in reality it was only half a lifetime.

No one had kissed you like that before. No one had made you feel that a kiss could leave you breathless, without pride, without control. He kisses you as if he wanted to mark you, break you, tear your soul out with his tongue. As if with that kiss he could devour you alive and still be hungry.

You want to move toward his seat, but he’s the one who lunges at you, pinning you against the closed car window. His body presses against yours urgently, and your hands clutch his jacket, squeezing it hard to pull him even closer. He kisses you hungrily, as if what’s making him drunk isn’t the drinks he had but the taste of your mouth, your tongue, your hot saliva mixing with his.

His hands roam over your clothes with a slow touch that gives you goosebumps, as if he wants to memorize every curve through the feeling. He kisses you with desire while his fingers explore the sequins on your dress, stopping intentionally at your neckline. There, he strokes firmly and precisely, and for a moment, you feel your breath catch, as if his touch could ignite you from within.

Your heart pounds hard, almost painfully fast. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly becomes an urgent need. You’re so wet you can feel it clearly, soaking through the fabric between your thighs. Lando notices—he drinks in the sight with his eyes. Without hesitation, he pushes your dress up to your waist, leaving you exposed to him. A desire-filled smile spreads across his face as his fingers trace the edge of your underwear slowly, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before taking it off.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice rough. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then he lowers his head, dead set on tasting you.

His lips press against your pussy, still covered by your clothes, licking and kissing with an intensity that seeps through the fabric. His hands grip your thighs firmly, forcing you to open up for him, exposing you, wanting you vulnerable beneath his mouth. You feel him move right where you need him the most, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles, but everything is still filtered by the fabric, and it’s driving you insane. You want him with nothing in between—raw, skin to skin—but he just smiles against you, savoring the power of making you beg without a single word.

“Why are you so fucking desperate, baby?” he whispers. “You want my tongue to ruin you? Drive you insane?” He lifts his head slightly, and his eyes burn with a lust that mirrors your own, igniting the fire between you.

You nod desperately, and Lando leans back down until his warm breath grazes your underwear again. The fabric slides to the side with a single movement of his fingers—not taking it off, just shifting it enough. Your legs tremble on either side of his head, open, exposed. Then his tongue begins to slowly glide over your pussy, tracing soft, deliberate lines—so slow it feels like sweet torture. Each stroke pulls a muffled moan from your lips, while he clings to your thighs like he has no intention of letting you go.

And then, when he hears you moan with a broken voice, writhing beneath his tongue and begging for more, he sinks between your legs with an almost feral devotion. He sucks you, licks you, devours you like the world ends there—like your body is the only drug capable of making him lose control. His tongue moves with precise rhythm, soaking in you, savoring every part of your sex, stopping to suck your clit until you’re trembling. He doesn’t let up: he spreads you open with his fingers, explores you, takes you to the edge again and again. Your back arches uncontrollably, your moans fill the car, your legs shake and your fingers tangle in his hair while your hips move on their own—seeking more, demanding more. You’re completely his, undone with pleasure, lost between his mouth and your gasps.

“Lando… fuck,” you whimper through sobs, voice trembling and your body utterly given to him. You’re so on edge that every touch, every thrust of his fingers, pulls you closer to the brink. You feel them pushing in and out of you with a steady, deep rhythm, then curling inside, rubbing that spot with a precision that makes your back arch and his name fall from your lips like a prayer. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every move he makes leaves you wetter, more desperate, more his.

He hadn’t realized just how long he’d craved having you like this—completely surrendered. It didn’t matter if it was in the car, his place, or your bedroom. He had only dreamed of seeing you like this: breathless with every lick, moaning with pleasure while his eyes glazed over with desire—never stopping, tracing every inch of you with his tongue until you were trembling, soaked, and drained of all strength.

He could spend hours between your legs, but he knows you won’t last much longer. Not like this—not with his tongue plunging deep inside you, exploring every spot with shameless hunger. There’s no resisting it. He feels the way you shudder and twist beneath him, right on the edge, seconds away from coming all over his face. His grip tightens around your thighs, ready to take the heat of your complete surrender.

“Bet you fuckin’ love my tongue inside you, huh? Didn’t even stop to think this shit might be wrong—that maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

You feel his eyes locked on you, unblinking, as his fingers drive into you without mercy, going deep until you can’t take anymore—until the pleasure overwhelms you and you have no choice but to give in.

His smile is wicked, not a trace of guilt in sight, fully enjoying the mess you’ve become under him. He loves how you let go, how you lose your mind with every touch, whether it’s his fingers or his tongue in control.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess—all wrecked and humiliated, you know that? Yeah, you fuckin’ know it. And you love every second of it.”

His fingers thrust into you with a steady, deep rhythm, until pleasure overwhelms you and your vision goes blurry. You gasp, breath ragged, back arched against the seat, heart pounding. It’s too much. More than you thought you could take. More than anyone had ever made you feel.

You can’t understand how something so spontaneous —fifteen minutes in a car, half-drunk, on an empty road— could make you lose control like that. It’s beyond any previous experience, beyond anything you ever expected sex to be.

And it’s with Lando. Your best friend.

Even thinking about it feels unreal… but the heat between your thighs and the trembling in your body are far too real to ignore.

“Hey, you good?” It’s the first thing he asks.

But you can’t even speak clearly; your body is still trembling from the orgasm, from the shiver that ran through you and hasn’t completely faded. It felt fucking amazing… and at the same time, something inside you twists, because you both know exactly what just happened, even if you didn’t technically have sex. It was just foreplay, sure—but it felt like something more.

His fingers—the same ones that were buried deep inside you just minutes ago—still glisten with the wet trace of your pleasure. His mouth, the one that devoured you like he was addicted to your taste, is still marked with your desire. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, like your body has completely surrendered, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to stand up anytime soon.

You’re satisfied. Not completely full… but deliciously sated. Though you know you’d need much more from him—more of his body, more of his strength—to feel truly complete.

You nod with a faint smile, and barely manage to whisper, “Yeah.”

Lando tries to put his clothes back in place with slow, almost distracted movements, because his eyes never stop watching you. His hands keep roaming over you, but no longer with the urgency from before. Now he caresses you calmly, with a softness that feels almost reverent. And in that touch, you recognize something familiar, something your body hasn’t forgotten. Because he has touched you like this before, and the way he does it still lingers on your skin like a living memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he lets his fingers gently sink into your sweat-damp hair. “I want you to keep touching me like you did today…”

He doesn’t answer with words, only nods with a slight smile, heavy with desire.

And you know he will. That he will touch you again with that same devotion every time you let him, until your body belongs to him by memory.

[meowdei]

exes to lovers ; resolved (and poorly written) angst ; breaking up and getting back together ; emotionally stunted modern boyfriend sukuna and his self discovery or something like that idk

“Hey.”

You pause. Mid step, actually. You pause for long enough with your foot halfway over the concrete that you stumble for just a moment and then catch yourself.

“What are you doing here?” You squint.

Sukuna doesn’t like that look on your face. Not the look of anger or even mild distaste—that’s normal. A given, in fact. He has that effect on people and he’s well aware of it, too. It’s the look of shock that really weighs him down, pressing on his lungs enough that he has to cough slightly just to work out that hitch in his throat.

(He thinks, in a moment of stark, cold clarity, that you’re only shocked that he’s trying because he never tries. What does it feel like, he wonders, to feel love that doesn’t even try?

He’s always been privileged enough in this relationship to never have to know.)

He forces himself to grunt out, “Uh…just wanted to talk. ‘N stuff.”

“You wanted to talk,” you repeat. You mouth the words to yourself quietly once more, tasting them on your tongue again to be sure you got them right.

“…Yes….yeah,” he nods. It’s firmer the second time, like he really, really means it. You have to wonder to yourself why he never means it when you need him too.

The break up happens like clockwork, something like two weeks and four days ago (who’s counting, though? Not him). You storm out through salty tears and flailing arms and he walks you out through tired, rolling eyes and an impatiently tapping foot.

Maybe I should just leave, you say.

Then leave, he says back. (He remembers it so clearly, too. His mind is cruel like that—it plays his mistakes so vividly he wonders if some part of him is a masochistic freak).

I’m not coming back this time, Sukuna. I’ve had enough.

Well, that makes two of us! Don’t fuckin’ come crawling back then.

It ends like that. His slammed door. Your muffled sob. His irritated grunt. Your pounding footsteps as you run. His shrug of indifference as he convinces himself he doesn’t care. Your radio silence. His slow, bleeding heart that he staples shut and ignores.

That was two weeks and four days ago. (He’s counting, he realizes. He’s never counted before).

“I’m busy.”

You cut him off from his thoughts with the words plainly. They’re so bland yet blunt, he almost does a double take. It’s just so unlike you, so different and unnatural and weird. Faintly, he’s aware he deserves it. Acutely, he hates that things are changing.

“Yeah?” He huffs, staring at his feet as he shuffles on them. (He feels so weak. So seen. So scrutinized under your gaze. Why is it so hard to just get the words out like he rehearsed in his head?) “It’s just gonna take a moment.”

“And I suppose I owe a moment?” You raise a brow.

“I didn’t say that,” he clicks his teeth.

Agitation is second nature for him. It always has been. It’s easier that way, simpler to just be angry and done with it. People leave him alone more. Things are easier to process. He makes his way through life with downturned lips and an easy glare—things work out well enough that he’s never had to question it.

(Some time ago, you made some passing comment about his childhood developing his coping mechanisms or some bullshit like that. He rolled his eyes and insisted he didn’t need to be psychoanalyzed. Now, he thinks maybe he does need it—some logical explanation as to why he self destructs and destructs and destructs until it’s not self destruction anymore. Somehow, you get caught in the crossfire, too.)

You’re tired. Wary. He slumps his hands into his pocket as he clears his throat and mumbles out, “I miss you.”

It’s progress. That much, even you’re aware of because there’s a moment where you pause and blink. Almost instantly, your eyes soften. Almost as instantly again, you mask it with indifference as best as you can.

He sees through your resolve like it’s made of glass.

“You miss me?” You scoff incredulously. “And what, it took you two weeks to realize that?”

“Two weeks and four days,” he corrects with a scowl.

“Well, that really helps,” you say dryly, giving him a sarcastic smile. “What brought this on?”

“Look,” he pinches his nose, trying to get the words right. He just needs to get something right. For once. When it really matters this time, he’d really just like to get things right. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how being in love and shit works so I’m trying my best here.”

“The first step would be to actually love someone,” you say blandly. “That might help.”

“Just because I’m not good at loving you, doesn’t mean I don’t,” he says back, frustratedly running a hand through his hair.

You shake your head, scoffing as you retort, “No, Sukuna. You can’t be bad at things you don’t even try to do. You can’t mess up and be bad at something you never even did.”

“I never loved you?” He asks incredulously, lips curling in a snarl.

(He’s hurt, you know that. Sukuna is so good at masking hurt with anger and indifference, some part of you always aches for him. For that part of him that learned to do that. That part of him that never knew anything outside of shoving aside his feelings.

It takes you a long time to start aching for yourself. To realize that every time he shoves down his feelings, you shove down yours, too.)

“I didn’t say that,” you shake your head, sighing tiredly.

“You don’t make any fuckin’ sense.”

“You can still love someone without loving them,” you shake your head, and none of it makes any sense. Not to him. Not to that part of him that’s stubborn and hardened and so disturbingly weak.

If he wasn’t so weak, he’d have no problem putting aside his stupid pride and be what you need.

“Now you’re just saying words,” he grumbles.

“I love you right now,” you spit out, “But I’m not loving you. I’m not picking up your socks or texting you good morning or asking about your day or holding your hand or god forbid hugging you once or twice, am I? There’s a difference.”

There is a difference. He knows it, too. Because it’s the difference between you and him.

You pick up his socks when he leaves them lying around. He doesn’t wash the mug you leave in the sink when you’re in a rush. You text him good morning as soon as your alarm goes off. He doesn’t text you when he’s awake so you know he thinks of you as soon as his day starts. You pester him about his nephew and his life. He doesn’t ask how work was or if that friend of yours was still being annoying. You latch onto his hand every chance you get. He doesn’t wrap an arm around your waist and pull you close. You scatter soft pecks along his jaw when it’s clenched from a long day. He doesn’t press a kiss to your cheek when life gets hard.

Yeah, he loves you. But you spend your time loving him.

It’s different. He knows it now. Maybe, if he’d cared enough to learn, he’d know it before. When you needed it. When you needed him.

Some fragile part of him, despite it all, still has hope that you still need him. Want him. Choose him.

Slowly, carefully, he walks up to where you stand. One hand cups your cheek and one hand finds your waist to pull you close. Your breath hitches and you stiffen. You don’t pull away, though—there’s a good sign in that.

“I love you too,” he says quietly. There’s a kiss to your forehead. He looks so unsure of what he’s doing, so unbelievably confused and lost. But not uncomfortable. It’s a start. “I’ll act like it more, okay? So just take back the break up and come back.”

“That’s not how it works, idiot” You ask through watery eyes, rolling them exasperatedly.

He rests his chin over your head, tightening his hold on you. “It’s how it works now. Take it back.”

“Why, so I can be sad over the same things again?”

“No,” he clicks his teeth. His hand cups the back of your head, tilting it to look at him as he grunts out, “I’m gonna fix this. So just take it back.”

He trying. You know it better than he does—and it’s not exactly good, but it’s at least better. Something about it is raw enough that your heart finally feels like it has a place next to his. That it’s not just there, alone and out of place.

You think your friends might call you stupid. Your coworkers might roll their eyes. Everyone might sigh in disbelief.

But you love Sukuna. Can’t help but keep loving him. Can’t help but look into his eyes and see the way he battles with himself not to hide the hope so you know he’s trying.

So, even if you maybe shouldn’t, even if it makes you stupid and weak and helplessly foolish, you whisper, “Fine. I take it back. But next time, I won’t.”

“Oi,” he huffs, “There’s no next time anymore.”

I won’t let there be—you hear it underneath his words. It’s the fine print, you think.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, propping his chin on your head as he holds you close. Closer than he ever has. Closer than he thinks he deserves, but takes anyway. “Cause I’m gonna love the fuck out of you so you quit cryin’ about it. Be ready.”

“Oh, I’m very ready,” you snort. It’s watery, a touch breathless and maybe even naive.

But you love him, and you just want him to love you too.

[apollabarnes]

transfers are(n't) for kids

it was hard to stop a train once it got started. buck still wasn't sure he wanted to. 8x18 coda. canon compliant? pardon the terrible trix joke, it amused me.

"Han!" The bellow shook the station. "Get your scrawny ass down here right now."

Chimney put his coffee cup down slowly, dusting off his pants. "'Scuse me, everybody," he said calmly. "I heard my name."

Hen snorted into her drink. "Bakersfield heard your name," she said, abandoning the table and heading for the railing. "This should be good."

Buck hesitated for a beat longer than everyone else, only moving when Ravi knocked his hand against Buck's shoulder. He hovered a step behind Ravi, worried that if he got too close to the front the two of them would notice him and the argument would escalate.

"So," the enormous man on the apparatus floor said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to explain why, on the day my new transfer's supposed to be starting, I get a call from the Chief saying whoopsie?"

"I was short a guy, turns out. Buck agreed to cancel the transfer," Chim said easily, tipping his chin up and meeting the other man's stare.

Ravi turned to Buck, his eyebrows jumping up. "That's you," he mouthed, pointing at the showdown. Buck elbowed Ravi cautiously, grinning when he shoved back at him.

"Bullshit, Howie. We both know you're not good at keeping yourself on the sidelines. And I'm down two guys — or gals, Wilson — so you can get yourself to the back of the line."

"Today was supposed to be your last day?" Ravi whispered, not looking away from the floor.

Buck shrugged. When Chim had asked for, and gotten, the captaincy it just seemed easier to give him time to grow into the role without having to train someone new at the same time. Besides, if the station was just a number now, it wasn't like going somewhere else was going to mean he'd be somewhere more like Bobby's station. At least here he had Ravi to partner up with.

"Who's that?" Buck asked Ravi, leaning in close. He hadn't paid much attention, or asked too many questions, when he'd handed in his transfer paperwork. The Chief had told him he'd send the assignment along when it was figured out, but then Buck had pulled his name from consideration and… well, it hadn't mattered then.

"Deluca, 122. You really don't do the whole firehouse gossip thing, do you?" Ravi asked him, amused.

"I mean the fun stuff, sure. Rodriguez over at the 126 ended up going to a furry convention by 'accident'," Buck told Ravi, waggling his eyebrows.

"He used to work with Chimney and Hen back in the day," Ravi continued, making a face at him.

"Huh." Buck inched closer to the railing, peering over it. Deluca wasn't menacing Chim, exactly, but he did have enough height on him that there was some looming going on. He might even have a little height on Buck. "He looks… tall."

"Chim's compact," Hen said easily, knocking her arm against Buck's gently. "But he's scrappy. He's got this."

Deluca lowered his voice and kept going, gesticulating wildly at Chim's equally quiet response. Buck found himself wishing they were still bellowing. He couldn't help but feel a little invested in what appeared to be a fight over himself. He wasn't sure who he wanted to win.

"Do not make me arm wrestle—" Deluca's voice rose, amused, before dipping low again.

"Don't do it, Chim!" Hen hollered.

Sal and Chimney both glanced up at that, seemingly realizing that everyone on shift was paying rapt attention to what was going on. Buck was pretty sure the only thing that would break their concentration was the bell or a knock down drag out argument in the loft. He found himself glancing over at Eddie, sighing when he kept his eyes focused forwards.

"That doesn't seem very ride or die," Ravi said smugly, shuffling closer to Buck. He knocked their shoulders together and Buck grinned tiredly at him.

"Sal held the station record for almost a decade," Hen shot back. "It's very ride or die to make sure Chim doesn't embarrass himself."

Chimney stepped towards Sal, making him take a step back. Buck held his breath, looking between them as they kept talking, volleying back and forth. "Does this feel like a tennis game to anyone else?" Buck wondered quietly.

"Fine," Chim snapped his gum, irritated. "But only until your chicken pox epidemic clears up."

"Pleasure doing business," Sal drawled, draping an arm over Howie's shoulders. "Buckley, grab your gear. We're headed out." He looked up to the loft, finding Buck immediately. Buck blinked, taking half a step back before he stopped. Obviously he would have gotten Buck's file from the chief, it wasn't weird that he could pick Buck out of a crowd.

Hen squeezed Buck's hand, her mouth pursed in a frown. "Hang in there, Buck. He's not as cranky as he sounds. Promise."

"The rest of you, what are you, new? No one taught you how to eavesdrop stealthily? Come on, that's embarrassing."

The bell went off.

Sal gestured to Buck, loping up the loft stairs after everyone had cleared out. The silence hung between them, muffling the sound of the disappearing sirens. Sal caved first, taking a deep breath. Buck smirked, just a little.

"Who really cancelled the transfer?" Sal asked, eyeing him up and down.

Buck shrugged. It wasn't as if it mattered. He was here at the 118 with everyone else.

"Your brother-in-law got captain and asked you to stay, so you did. Noble, but," Sal headed into the kitchen, picking through one of the boxes of doughnuts that Ravi had brought in, grabbing one for himself. "Howie can handle himself. I, however, need someone to hold my hand," Sal continued, taking an enormous bite out of it. Buck stared at the smear of powdered sugar on his cheek.

"Uh, you have a little something just… yeah." Buck nodded, watching Sal grab a napkin. "This the kind of hand holding you're looking for?"

"Okay, not into metaphors. I didn't mean literally, but I had a guy leave and then three of my squad go down with the pox in rapid succession. So. Arm Wrestle Mania 25 commenced."

"You didn't arm wrestle Chim," Buck said, feeling off-kilter. He wasn't sure what Captain Sal Deluca, 122, wanted from him, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to make it happen.

"Hell no, I'd probably break his wrist and he's got a baby to hold. Nah, Wrestle Mania was with the other stations that needed staffing."

"Multiple stations arm wrestled. Over avoiding having to take me," Buck said flatly. "I'm honoured."

"Oh, you misunderstand. Everyone wanted you." Sal finished off his doughnut, looking back in the box. "What the hell." He took another. "You got a car here?"

Buck shook his head. "Yearly service. I got a ride."

"Perfect. Grab your shit, let's blow this pop stand."

Buck trailed him back down the stairs, emptying his locker out on autopilot. "Wait — multiple stations wanted me?"

"Yeah, but I'm bigger and scarier so I won." Sal looked over his shoulder, frowning at the expression on Buck's face. "You're surprised."

"The, uh, the lawsuit, I thought…" Buck shrugged. "Kind of a liability."

"Once in nine years? Hell, Buckley, if you were gonna be a pest about it, there'd be more than one. Personally, I would have sued a few times — the hell was that heist accusation about? Or the lightning? Or hey, leaving your captain to rot at the bottom of the ocean because there wasn't enough proof they were out there." That last one came with air quotes and startled a laugh out of Buck.

"It wasn't a nuisance lawsuit, and honestly, a bunch of us tore a strip off the union for not taking care of it before it got that far," Sal continued, opening the trunk of the captain's truck. "In here. You've got one of the best records from both trips through the academy, you've pulled off some crazy ass rescues, and you're basically fearless. Seeing your name on the transfer list had me racing Mehta to the Chief's office."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks, I guess?" Buck said, trailing behind him. He dumped his bags, sliding into the passenger seat when Sal went for the driver's.

"Yeah, no problem. Like I said, not a hardship." Sal waited until Buck was settled before flipping his phone into Buck's lap. "Can you type a reply to that? We public servants should be safe drivers, and all," he added, winking at Buck.

"Sure, uh — the contact name is a donkey emoji?" Buck squinted at the phone. "Are you sure you want to give me your lock code five minutes after we met?"

"There isn't one; I do this a lot. Just open and start typing what I say. The donkey is because he's being a jackass. He can get his contact information back when he gets his head screwed on straight — I do want you typing that, Buckley."

"Oh, right, got it." Buck quirked an eyebrow, typing quickly.

"Had to steal my new transfer back, on the road, Gina says you need to come for dinner soon, uh," Sal tapped his fingers against the wheel, coming to a stop at the red light. "What was his question, again?"

"If you wanted to go to the game tomorrow? What game?"

Sal looked sideways at him. "Angels. Jackass and I split a couple seats with a group, but since we organized it we get to dibs the good games. Not that there are many, because they're the fucking Angels. But it's that or the National League and fuck that," He paused. "What do you prefer, by the way? Buckley? Buck? It's Evan, yeah?"

Buck shrugged. Maybe it was time to try out a new one. New house, new name, new… attitude? Maybe. Bobby had thought his attitude was good, it was just everyone else that seemed to have a problem with it these days. "Really not picky. I'll answer to anything."

"Okay, we'll let Ferb at ya when we get there. Not his actual name, he just likes the cartoon. —Can't make the game, covering for B shift, fucking pox, Stella is in her sports phase again — that's my kid, jackass is her godfather, or would be if either of us were into that kind of crap — if he wants to take her for some quality bonding time."

"He's asking who the transfer is."

Sal snorted. "You can probably answer that one without my help."

Buck cracked a grin at that, typing out his name and station. The response came back immediately and Buck frowned down at the phone. "He says sure and he's gotta go."

"Yeah, he hates when I dictate to someone else." Sal shrugged. "Dickhead. It's not like I'm sharing private information out loud."

"Well, so far I know that he's a jackass and he's your daughter's uncle, so. How private does he think that information is?"

"Sometimes I think he hates it when folks know his last name," Sal cackled. He pulled into the station parking lit, popping the trunk. "We can get you set up at Jonesy's locker for now — he's the one that left." He paused. "They're gonna be loud."

Sal hopped out of the truck and hoisted both of Buck's bags over his shoulder before Buck could get out of his seat. He waved Buck off when he tried to take one. "I got this, relax kid. Buckle up."

They walked into whoops and cheers from the loft, the entire shift hanging over the railing. One of the younger firefighters climbed onto the bottom rung of the railing and leaned forward, warbling "All hail the conquering hero!" as they passed the back of the engine. He got yanked back before he could fall by a guy Buck's age, laughing.

"All right, all right, shut up," Sal called, pointing up at the loft. "This is Buckley, nickname to be determined. I had to arm wrestle my way to the front of the line for him, unlike you jokers, so if anyone scares him off…" Sal trailed off threateningly.

"You like hash brown casserole?"

"I've got a fifty-point nickname survey!"

"Ferb, Sal just said don't scare him away!"

"Nerds," Sal said to Buck, his voice fond. "Give him a minute to get settled! Then you can all start asking him about himself. We've got a month, so pace yourselves."

[plethorawrites]

Imagining Jason Todd who got turned into a cat Klarion the witch boy...(This is so random but I can't stop thinking about it???)

Cat Jason Todd: Who naturally got turned into a giant Maine Coon, weighing twenty pounds with a giant tail, bright yellow eyes, and massive paws.

Cat Jason Todd: Who scratched up half his family while they tried to run tests on him before they gave up and nearly broke your door down, throwing Jason on your couch barely muttering. "It's Jason, we're working on it," before leaving.

Cat Jason Todd: Who refuses to eat the cat food you try to give him and instead steals one of your French fries before hiding behind the drapes, giving a grumbling meow when you try to take it from him.

Cat Jason Todd: Who watches you do the dishes while you talk to him, promising him that his family will be able to figure it out and turn him back.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you realize will meow once for yes and twice for no when you ask a question which makes communication easier.

Cat Jason Todd: Who instinctively tries you make biscuits on your legs while laying next to you on the couch and immediately feels bad when he remembers he has claws and realizes he's hurting you.

Cat Jason Todd: Whose tail flicks in annoyance when you threaten to put a collar on him or give him a bath for scratching the carpet or stealing your favorite hair tie.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you struggle to pick up because of how massive he is in cat form, wrapping your arms around his fluff.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you pull close to you, petting him at night and laughing each time he purrs which he hates but can't help.

Cat Jason Todd: Who is humiliated by how much he enjoys having you hold him, scratching under his chin.

Cat Jason Todd: Who falls asleep purring, your hand still resting on him.

Jason Todd: Who wakes up as himself and feels relieved to be able to wrap his arms around you in the morning.

Jason Todd: Who presses a kiss to your forehead, thanking you for taking care of him, even if you did try to feed him tuna.

[comicaurora]

As someone from a more average family, I’ve always been fascinated by your anecdotes about your upbringing. What’s it like to have parents so deeply immersed in fandom, and when did you realize that most kids’ parents have zero familiarity with fandom stuff?

as soon as I brought up renfaires and D&D and filk songs and cthulhu carols at school and got bullied about it :/ made it pretty obvious nobody knew or cared what I was talking about

But it was nice! Being raised in fandom, a thing built entirely from open enthusiasm for things you love, taught me to pursue things not because they were popular or What Was Expected Of Me, but because I loved them. I think it laid some major foundations in my worldview that helped me avoid a lot of normative expectations that wouldn't have worked for me, just by teaching me from minute one that things that are weird and unpopular can be perfect for you, and things that seem to work for everyone else can not work for you, and that's okay.

Once you've internalized "this seems to be something everyone does/likes/wants, but the thing I want seems to be almost unheard of - and yet I still want it" it may be easier to apply this to things like recognizing one's orientation (in my case "this all seems boring and weird and extremely limiting, but everyone acts like it's normal and great, so I think I'm just gonna… not do it"), pursuing unorthodox careers, and just… trying the weird things and seeing what works.

Identifying the things you love doing is already a difficult exercise, and it's made much more difficult by artificial filters like "these things are Cool And Sexy while these other things are Cringe And Weird and Should Not Be Liked." Being able to decouple your brain from the high school popularity contest makes the search for your passions that much easier, and I think I started with a serious leg up thanks to the guidance and unconditional support of two absolute nerds.