#rosie needs to teach him some basics

[bananadramaaa]

Something silly & quick for Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week :D

[frostyhelltime]

I Said Don't Touch My Hair

Basically someone fucks with curly haired GN!Reader's hair and promptly finds out.

Characters Listed: Alastor, Vox, Lucifer.

Warnings: Violence, but it has Vox and Alastor being pissed off, so what did we expect?

Author's Note: I have really curly hair, 3A or 3B typically. And it frustrates me to no end when people just walk up to me and start touching my hair without even asking. Especially if I spent a lot of time making my hair look extra nice that day. So I got to thinking I wonder what the guys would do if someone approached their lover and did something like that?

If anyone wants me to do this for additional characters let me know. I just thought I would start with these three.

Also hope you like the graphics! I made them myself!

Alastor

It's a distinct possibility this person doesn't even get to lay a hand on you, actually. Ever cognizant and aware, especially when it comes to possible threats to you, he likely has this person on his radar before you do. He is the type of person that's typically five steps ahead of everyone else, and he prides himself on it.

It's during a pleasant stroll on the way to Cannibal Town to have tea and coffee with Rosie that some fool accosts you.

Rosie has been pestering him for the better part of a month to introduce his little paramour and he has finally given in because you were just as excited to meet one of his friends.

In fact you had been so excited you made sure to put extra care into your curls today, wanting to impress. He knew from you only partially jokingly berating Angel when he played with your hair that you didn't like it mussed up when you actually put serious effort into their appearance.

But he can't find it in himself to be annoyed or anything of the sort at the people he passes by when he sees your bright smile as you walk, arm in arm, together. He's also smiling as well, of course, but looking at you the smile turns more soft and genuine for a split second, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue about some joke you made when he sees some stranger's hand reaching for your curls.

Although his smile remains ever present, the scrunch of his nose and furrowing of his brow belay his true feelings.

"Ah ah ah. Don't you know it's improper to touch someone without their permission?" His voice rings out with a thicker layer of static, freezing the demon who stupidly hadn't even realized exactly whose arm you were on. He's annoyed at the way his voice takes on an extra edge of static as you turn around to face the poor soul who probably wasn't much longer for his world. He doesn't like that it could be apparent he's so annoyed. Oh well.

"How repulsive." He mocks, delighting in the clear terror they were feeling as they back up and away from you, as if that will save them.

"Don't worry though, my good fellow. It's a mistake I'll be sure you don't make twice. Someone has to teach you some manners, after all." His voice drops low, letting his form shift taller, antlers elongating and becoming more angular, neck craning forward and stretching to reach the man who was already attempting to run away, maliciously excited grin growing closer and closer.

You release his arm, knowing he'll be back once he's done. You also know he would be even more upset if your clothes got ruined by the blood of this poor uneducated sinner who he plans to teach some manners, and goodness knows the last thing this demon needs is another reason for Alastor to be mad at them.

With a twist and a rip of his claws, once, and twice, the sinner finds themselves violently robbed of their hands and begins blubbering for forgiveness. Alastor blinks at the pathetic creature and brings the hands closer to his maw. He swallows the two offending hands without even a second thought, tilting his head to look at the sinner quivering in delightful fear as if pondering what to do with him next. He takes another step forward and is about to continue when he hears your voice ring out.

"Alastor dear, we're going to be late. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. We don't want to keep Rosie waiting, do we?"

"Ah you're right. We can't be late, it's so impolite. I'm afraid I won't get to continue your lesson." He sighs and then tuts at the sinner frozen in fear, who is still unsure if he's actually going to get to live or not.

Alastor's eyes shift from yours to his prey and his claws give one final rip through flesh as if to punctuate his 'lesson', pulling open the demon's chest with practiced ease before he retreats.

"I hope you found my lesson on etiquette quite educational." Alastor chuckles to the man good naturedly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

And with that he's rapidly returning to his normal form, his arm laced through yours again and he's continuing the conversation from before, mood brightening when you thank him and kiss his cheek for protecting you.

Vox

Vox doesn't even see the person coming. No one other than you tends to exist in his peripheral when you're together.

He had been planning awhile, wanting to really wine and dine you for your anniversary. Remind you how good it is to be with him and all the wonderful perks that come with dating the CEO of VoxTek! Of course you knew, but he liked to spoil you and remind you how good he is to you all at the same time and an anniversary was the perfect excuse. Which is also why you're extra dolled up, curls perfectly coiffed and a backless outfit with a cutout in the shape of, a V, of course to entice him for the time you'll spend together...after dinner.

You're listening half mindlessly and half focused as he talks. There's something just nice and relaxing about his ecstatic chatter and it never failed to make you feel at ease.

He's currently talking about his latest idea for a new show that he thinks will be a hit as you two walk, his arm resting on the small of your back on your bare skin. A subtle but possessive claim to you.

A claim that one poor idiot either doesn't heed or doesn't see.

Either way their hand is reaching for you and snags on your curls almost immediately, causing you to jerk back and yelp in pain, frustration and annoyance evident on your face. Though it compares little to the immediate upset it causes Vox.

You think he didn't mean to snag it, only wanting to feel it, though it doesn't much matter now what his intent was.

The guy doesn't even look remorseful since he doesn't seem to even think it's a big deal until he realizes Vox seems upset as well and then he's apologizing, but apparently it doesn't seem sincere enough for Vox.

The tall man quickly steps forward, barely needing to take any steps at all before he snatches the man's hand with sheer brute force, his other hand beginning to gently untangle your hair and pulling it out of this idiot's grasp. You found it such a funny contrast between the grips of his two hands that if you weren't so pissed you would have laughed. As soon as the man is untangled from you, Vox has him picked up and slammed into a wall, electricity crackling from him as he does, errant sparks burning the man's skin without Vox even trying.

"Listen here you piece of shit, do you have any idea who you just fucked with?" His eyes narrow, electric sparks growing bigger and hotter as he speaks. The man just shakes his head no, trying to apologize to try and save his own skin.

"Now, you're going to apologize to my sweeatheart and you're going to mean it." He growls, dropping the man down in front of you as carelessly as he would a sack of trash. Even belly down the man tries to scramble to get up and run but Vox's foot is pressing down and keeping him pinned before he can succeed.

"I'm running out of patience..." He warns, narrowing his eyes, and then the man is changing gears and giving his best attempt at as remorseful of an apology as he can muster.

You are pissed but take pity on the man, not letting his torment get more drawn out. You're certain Vox won't just accept an apology so you might as well let him get on with it, and not extend the suffering.

You kindly accept his apology as you continue to fix your hair.

As soon as the acceptance leaves your mouth though, the man has such a large amount of electricity shot through him so violently that he's almost glowing, a smoldering corpse left in the dust of the smoke that had arisen from the electric burns, which Vox steps over to check on you, making sure you're okay.

You are of course fine, and assure him as much and it seems to placate him a bit that you aren't actually hurt.

He hurls one last insult of "Prick" before he leaves, his hand gently on the bare skin of your back once again, although he pulls you closer than before so you walk almost hip to hip. He would certainly pay more attention to look out for any other idiots that thought they could get handsy with you tonight.

Lucifer

Another one who sees it before it's coming. He's always aware of everyone and everything when he's out with you. Dating the king of hell certainly had some perks! But it also came with a big fat target on your back. Although you never minded. You knew he was always looking out for you and wouldn't let anything happen.

It's part of why you never noticed anything amiss, you always felt so safe around him that you did sometimes let your guard down. It was easy when Lucifer was so sweet and goofy, even when he wasn't trying.

Needless to say, his hyper vigilance that most never noticed beneath the silly facade comes in handy now, his eyes catching someone approaching you from afar as he walks towards you but still too far away to hear anything they might be saying to you.

You were waiting for him, patiently as ever, to meet up for a date. You looked so beautiful, standing there and smiling down at your watch since you knew he would be there any minute now. It made him giddy just seeing you there.

But despite how far away he is, as soon as he sees them reaching for you, he's beside you in a flash, crossing the distance and using his cane to block their hand and push it away from you before it ever makes contact.

"Hey hey hey, what are you doing? That's so rude." He laughs, smiling at the man, who seems genuinely shocked to see the king of hell in front of him suddenly. He is smiling but there is an air of annoyance in his smile, as if he's trying to keep it casual and struggling. He's not unnecessarily violent, and usually just a casual signal that you were with him was enough to have people keep their distance. He's pretty confident the sinner will just turn and run.

"Lucifer!" Your happy voice chirps at him, only barely registering someone had been reaching for you, and clearly not even registering it as a threat now that he was here.

"Sorry I'm late. I...got distracted." He says sheepishly, shifting his attention from the sinner to you, especially since the sinner jumped back as if the cane had been made of pure fire, running off as quick as he can. But not before mumbling out a shakey "S-Sorry!" Seems Lucifer was right on that bet. He wouldn't have to worry about them bothering the two of you anymore, he's sure.

But you just smile and wrap an arm around his, clearly not the least bit annoyed by the interruption.

"...What does this new rubber ducky do?" You only halfway joke, having a pretty good idea what could have distracted him, and just as quickly his face changes from apologetic to excited. You smile seeing how his face changes; you were right on the money it seems.

"Shoots spikes like little pointy bullets!" He grins like a child excited about their latest toy, and he's guiding you now, away from this person who almost caused trouble if he hadn't been there in time.

"Ooo, after dinner can you show me? That sounds so cute!" You smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"Although I know you don't need any spikes to save me, my king." You whisper to him teasingly, his face flushing just a little bit red at your playful use of his title as you headed to your date.

[pageofheartdj]

Can't help but think it would be an Event if Lucifer was capable to be pregnant and did got pregnant *cough* Alastor *cough*.

Because sinners can't have children and there is not many children sinners, definetely not babies. And there are few hellborns that stay in Pride Ring.

So there will be a nervous excitement for the baby. Because it's a baby! BABY! The one you can care for and raise and teach and be proud of!

Angel will JUMP into a big brother/fun uncle role. He will smother them with attention, although he isn't used to filter himself, so that'll be a challenge xD

Husk doesn't do kids. But kids do him! He'll be low-key nervous how to deal with a kid, but he just has this Charm to him, so he doesn't even need to try! AND he knows the basic care unlike some xD Plus he can tap into his performer persona he gave up a long time ago.

Cherri(and Nifty) will definetely put them in fun(risky/weird) situations. Angel can only pray for them when Lucifer finds out.

The thing is. Lucifer gets angrier in these situations than Alastor, who thinks it'll do them good. But Alastor is scarier when he is angry, since he doesn't mind(prefers) to add an extra Terror, while Lucifer will get Mad only if you fuck up Big Time.

So you'll think Lucifer is a better option, right? Wrong. Nothing beats the "I am not mad, I am just disappointed" look. Charlie can't relate since she was a treat as a kid.

Speaking of Charlie. The girl will go crazy over being Perfect Older Sister. Be always extra prepared, the most loving the most caring the most Everything. And if something goes wrong she just falls into 'I am the worst sister ever' waterfalls. Good thing Vaggie will be there.

She is extremely awkward with kids. Doesn't know how to approach them and is not approachable. But she'll be there to bring Charlie to her senses and with Charlie's help she'll be able to spend some quality not-army time xD

And outside of the hotel Rosie's maternal instincts will be unstoppable. She is already a huge help to Alastor with his relationships. But the second he brings the baby for introduction, this is it. Nothing will stop auntie Rosie to spoil them rotten<3

[watermelonlovershigh]

The Potty Incident /blurb/

AN: i thought this was a cute concept and wrote it out. if you think anything about this is inappropriate, grow up. this is just an example of a fatherly duty and nothing more. i really hope you enjoy. thank you for reading. xoxo

This story contains: child almost having an accident in their pants, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - any harry era - Rosie (daughter) age 3 }

word count- 764

While at the grocery store with just his daughter Rosie, she suddenly tells her daddy she has to potty and that leads to Harry running across the store with her to take her to the bathroom so no accidents occur.

Harry decided to take your three year old daughter Rosie to the grocery store with him while you took a nap. You were feeling drained from being six months pregnant with your second baby and Harry insisted you took a nap while they're out of the house.

Everything was going fine until Rosie whined from the cart Harry was pushing her around in that she had to potty. See the thing was, she was at that age where she's pretty much potty trained but on occasion will still have an accident. Usually it's when she can't make it to a toilet fast enough or sometimes when she's asleep.

You and Harry are very understanding when she does have accidents because potty training can be a tough thing to teach and learn. But you do try to avoid accidents as much as possible. So when Rosie tells her daddy she has to potty as he's picking up some bananas in the produce section of the store, his fight or flight clicks in. The one he uses for times like this or when she says she feels like she's gonna be sick, and does the only thing he can think to do in the moment.

"Shit," Harry whispers to himself, "alright, alright. Come 'ere." He drops the bananas in the basket and lifts little Rosie up from the cart seat. Once she's in his arms, Harry leaves his cart in the middle of the aisle and proceeds to jog to the back of the store where he knows the bathrooms to be. "It's gonna be alright. Hold it for a minute more, okay baby."

"But daddy," Rosie whines, clutching around Harry's neck while he basically runs through the store with her, "gotta potty really bad." Luckily not even ten seconds later they are met with a wall of bathrooms and Harry thanks god they have a family bathroom. He hates when he's out in public alone with his daughter and has to decide how he's going to take her to the bathroom when the only options are the men's room and the women's room.

Because he'll be damned if he takes his sweet baby girl into the men's room and she sees something she doesn't need to see at her innocent age. Or get cursed out by middle aged white ladies when they see him, a grown 6ft man with tattoos in the women's room. Even when he clearly has a child with him. So gender neutral / family restrooms are ideal for situations like this one.

Harry rushes into the one toilet bathroom and locks the door. Then he quickly sets Rosie down to the floor and helps her lift her dress and panties down before setting her on the toilet seat. He wishes he had time to wipe the seat off before hand but time wasn't an option for them at the moment. Just as she goes potty, he sighs in relief that they made it in time with no accidents occurring.

Still slightly out of breath from running across the store, he balls up some toilet paper and hands it to his daughter saying, "Okay, make sure you wipe really well. Just like mummy taught you." And that she does. She takes the toilet paper and wipes just like you had taught her when teaching her to use the potty on her own.

Rosie looks up at her father when she's finished and mutters, "All dones." Harry lifts her off the public toilet seat and helps pull her underwear back up and her dress back down. Then he flushes the toilet and carries the three year old to the sink to help her wash her hands. Once her small hands are all clean and dry, he lifts Rosie back up in his arms and proceeds to carry her back over to where he left his cart in hopes no one took it.

Thankfully the shopping cart was where he left it and Harry helps his daughter back in the basket seat to continue there shopping journey. As they wrap up grocery shopping and stand in the check out line, Rosie looks up from where she's sat in the cart and says, "Thank you daddy for helping me go potty so I didn't have an accident." with her tiny but round lips puckered as if asking for a kiss.

Harry leans down to except the generous kiss his daughter was giving and replies, "'Course, baby. And thank you for telling daddy that you had to go potty so you didn't have an accident. Love you so much. Now lets get home to mummy."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[maehemthemisfit]

hi. this is just some random thought I had abt freminet x reader LMMFSOAJAOANA

you love watching the ocean from afar, but never got the ability to explore it and see what's it like in there. you can't swim at all, if you did try, you'd probably drown. in 20 seconds. ( LMAO. ) watching divers go into the sea, wishing to just be like them. People who knows how to swim. you never knew how to swim— because no one ever got to teach you. though, you always held a polaroid camera with you, taking pictures or using it to see if there's anything new or strange going on.

you thought this whole fascination about the sea was just weird. people thought so too, yet you still continued it. you thought it was hopeless— just as you took a picture of the nearby sea, wanting to keep it as a memory before you leave to go back home. you noticed a person with light hair. you look forward, to see freminet. he was basically drying himself up, you thought to yourself— "Is that a diver?!" with eyes lit up. you never met a diver in your whole life before.

freminet was a distant person. not really like his siblings, not the enjoyer of limelight. but meeting you? who knew someone had that much energy. to even ask him questions ( he walked away at first fr ). yet time passed by, and freminet is still surprised both of you are actually friends.

just as you were asking more questions, freminet got up. you raised an eyebrow, "huh- where are you going?" freminet grabbed his helmet and took your hand, leading you to where the water was. "swimming." you blinked in surprise.. Wait, is he gonna teach you how to finally swim?!

that's it. VAIGSKSHSJSHS A LITTLE LONG BUT WHATEVER 🥲🥲 ENJOY..?

I NEEDED this for real. (I died at the walking away part, mans does not wanna be perceived 😭)

I have so many thoughts about Freminet teaching you how to swim. I think he'll be a decent teacher, very patient and he never lets you get hurt. BUT LIKE, Imagine him teaching a reader who's deathly scared of deep water how to swim, that'll be so entertaining!!

Freminet kind of understood your fear of the ocean, he compares it to his fear or dislike of the spotlight. It's overwhelming and all consuming. But If he wanted to teach you how to swim, you had to overcome your fear of water.

So for the first lesson, Freminet decided to let you stand knee deep in the water, and when you're relaxed enough, he'll let the water rise to just below your stomach. While doing the first part, he taught you his breathing techniques that help keep him calm.

The first part was easy to do, giving you a confidence boost as Freminet pulled you further into the water. This was easy, This was easy, This was easy! until it wasn't...

The tides seem to pick up, brushing harder against you, and the thought of drowning crept up your skin. It made you nauseous watching the water consume you, and not being able to see your legs. You wanted to throw up, you wanted to get out. Until finally...

You panicked.

Without thinking, you thrashed around, sinking further into the water as you tried to get back to the shore. You felt slower, compacted, and completely surrounded. This isn't easy, this isn't easy, this isn't-

Suddenly, you felt your legs fold under you and you cried out a scream, instinctively clinging onto something to keep you afloat. But instead of being swallowed by the waves, you were lifted from them as Freminet held you up to his chest. It took a moment for you to open your eyes, and when you did, you were met with Freminet's concerned eyes gleaming down at you.

He carried you away from the water, reaching the sandy shore so you could finally touch ground again and find your bearings.

"Are you alright?" It took a moment for you to register his words, and even longer to realize you were still holding onto him. He didn't mind, really, but it did bring a rosy tint to his cheeks as you slowly unraveled your arms from around his neck.

You're never doing this again.

"How about we try again tomorrow?"

Okay, maybe you are doing this again if it means you could spend more time with Freminet. You still can't get over how he held you so protectively, if it wasn't for the fear coursing through your veins, you probably would have passed out then and there.

I might expand on this more. The world needs more Freminet content!! If you have more thoughts about him or this scenario, tell me 🤭

.° ୭ ៳ Genshin Drabble Masterlist・✩

[stevesbipanic]

It shouldn't have been hard.

Steve has made hundreds of cookies for the kids since becoming their pseudo mother. Steve is good at baking! Every year he makes Christmas cookies for fucks sake! It shouldn't have ended like this.

"What the actual fuck."

Let's rewind.

Steve had been regularly bringing little treats to Hellfire. He didn't play but he liked spending time with the kids and if it gave him an excuse to look at Eddie then that was his little secret. The problem at first had been the other members of Hellfire not trusting why King Steve suddenly wanted to spend time with the freaks, but a tray full of fresh brownies had smoothed over any old issues. Since then it had become habit.

Eddie had been the one to ask him.

"Stevie, my strong and handsome liege and creator of tasty treats."

Steve had to fight to control his blush, "You don't need to give me hollow compliments, Eds, what do you need."

Eddie's smile had faltered a bit but he continued, "Well, sweetheart, Christmas is coming up and Wayne and I made Christmas cookies the first year I lived with him and I wanted to surprise him with some homemade ones so I was hoping you'd help me?"

Steve smiled, any excuse to spend time with Eddie, plus, wouldn't hurt that he could show off and impress him, "Of course, Eds, come by tomorrow ok."

Steve had gotten out all the ingredients ready to make and then decorate the cookies. Simple sugar cookies shouldn't be too hard to teach Eddie how to make, Steve could make them in his sleep at this point. It had been snowing so when Eddie showed up he looked like an angel with little snowflakes resting in his curls and on his rosy cheeks. Fuck, Steve had it bad.

Steve had decided the best way to teach Eddie was to read out the recipe and let Eddie pour everything in.

"Ok add two sticks of butter and a cup of sugar to the bowl and mix until fluffy." Steve watched Eddie add the ingredients and start to mix them, well, he watched Eddie. Eddie was so cute with his tongue poked out concentrating.

"This look good?"

"Hm? Oh yeah looks great, now add an egg and some vanilla extract and mix those as well." Eddie had a little pinch between his eyebrows, Steve wanted to kiss him right there.

"Ok done."

"Great job, now in another bowl add two cups of flour and half a teaspoon of baking powder and a quarter teaspoon of salt."

"Baking is easy, we should do this more often, Stevie."

"Yeah, we should," Steve said smiling dopily at Eddie, "Ok now mix all of that together."

Steve then helped Eddie roll out the dough and cut out fun shapes to decorate.

"Eddie no dick cookies this is for your uncle!"

Steve put the cookies in the oven and helped Eddie make the icing. They watched a movie while the cookies cooked and then cooled. Steve thought he was pretty subtle cuddling up to Eddie. He was not.

When the timer went off the boys went back to decorate the cookies. With all their icing and candy supplies they sat beside each other at the table. Giggling together they decorated each cookie. Steve's certainly looked better but he thought Wayne would probably prefer his nephews chaotic ones.

"Eddie how did you sneak a dick cookie in!"

Once they were all done they admired their work. "I think we did a great job, Stevie."

"I think we did too, Eds, want to try the dick cookie together since there's no way I'm letting you give that to Wayne."

"Steve Harrington giving me dick, and we're not even dating yet."

"Yet?"

"Well I figured you'd ask me eventually," Eddie said smiling shyly and leaned over giving Steve a soft kiss on his cheek, passing him half of the cookie.

"Maybe we can count this as our first date?"

"I'd like that, Stevie."

The boys smiled at each other and bit into their cookies.

"What the actual fuck."

"Stevie, I know I'm gay and all but dick cookies shouldn't taste salty in my opinion."

"Eddie did how much salt did you add?"

"Quarter of a teaspoon like you said, basically a pinch."

Steve stood up and went into the kitchen, the sugar jar barely empty. "Eddie, baby, can you read?"

"You can't call me baby for the first time and insult me, this is terrible first date behaviour and if anyone is at fault it's your shit handwriting on the labels."

Steve had to admit, his handwriting was terrible. "You're right. Guess we'll just have to have another date to make some edible ones."

Eddie smiled, pulling Steve into a kiss, "I think I can work with that."

"Just no more dick cookies!"

[quinloki]

Hello! Can we get Smoker, Crocodile, and Corazon with the kinks: smoking kink (like shotgunning and just the act of smoking during sex) corruption kink, and size kink! Thank you very much💝

ROSINANTE \lol/ OMG SOMEONE FINALLY ASKED ABOUT THE OTHER DONQUIXOTE <3 <3 <3

I have no issue writing about Doffy (he is a blorbo), but I was just thinking "I'd love for someone to ask about Rosi, and if I catch up and no one has, I'll ask for asks including him" - and then I got this -^_^-

(Also I've been compiling these, and we're at like 21k words xD )

Hmm.. let's do this by character. Oh I really like all these characters - I need to write some good Smoker and Corazon something at some point, they're just good characters. (Gods there is so much DILF vibe energy in this ask, I just need a second.)

Smoker:

Smoking Kink - FUCK Yes - Considering his devil fruit I think it's safe to say that there's just more Smoker can do when he's got a surplus of smoke to work with. Plus he knows you like the sound of his voice when he has cigars in his mouth. There's just something missing from it otherwise - until he takes the cigars out of his mouth and leans down low, speaking right into your ear in that low voice that seems impossibly smooth and commanding.

Unless you smoke on your own he won't shotgun you. But the scent of the cigars during sex aren't taking anything away from the experience, that's for sure.

Corruption Kink - I guess - I can see Smoker being willing to role-play corrupting you in someway, but I can't see him doing so legitimately. The vibe I get is that you would both be on similar pages when it came to how worldly you were (or weren't), and while there are several kinds of corruptions to choose from, I don't see Smoker being a V-card collector anymore than I can see him being the one teaching you about bdsm, or trying to get you to steal xD

I can see you both learning about kinky things together, but yeah. He's a little cinnamon-roll-y to me <3

Size Kink - Smoker isn't very-- *looks up his height*... short. He isn't very Short. Holy shit this man's 6'10" ?!?! Hells, I thought he was like 5'8"-5'9"... *ahem*. I'mma need a minute.

Haaaa - okay, Smoker is a Sure/Yes for size kink and I think he feels a little bad about it. People can't control their height, but he does enjoy being the bigger one in the relationship. Possibly because at his height it's hard for him to not be the bigger one, but if he met someone at his height or taller, he wouldn't just dismiss the idea of a relationship with them either. I mean, it would be nice to trade off who gets to be the big spoon.

That said, he does like being able to basically engulf you. From easily being over top you as you pant and squirm under him all the way to being able to cuddle you like you were little more than an over-sized teddy bear. (he's also got a weakness for tilting your chin up so he can kiss you, cause you always look flustered even if it's just for a split second).

Sir Crocodile:

Smoking Kink - FUCK Yes - Crocodile's cigars smell good. It's a scent that slips along your skin and soothes your nerves. It's a little citrus, warm spices, and almost a kind of hot sand smell. It's lazes in the room and no matter how much he smokes it's never overwhelming - if anything it's relaxing. (I'm not saying he's laced his cigars specifically to calm you, but I'm not not saying that either).

This man will shotgun you - after he's already got you used to his cigars, and probably has you enjoying one every now and then. He certainly smokes during sex, well, depending on the kind of sex. He's not risking burning you or setting something on fire, but if he's leaned back and letting you do the work, the air's certainly heavy with smoke.

Corruption Kink - Yes - He's not a good guy, and if you understand that from the beginning then you'll certainly get some level of respect for it. But he's more than happy to pull you into his world - whether you want to be a part of actively or not doesn't really matter to him. You don't have to become a functional part of whatever business venture is going on, but he's not going to keep things from you either. You'll sink into the sandy depths with him, but he'll keep you from drowning, so don't panic.

He is, to me, the one with the most experience in the relationship, so he'll guide you through any kink you didn't already have, while happily indulging almost any other kink you do have.

Size Kink - Sure - Crocodile is very middle ground for this. He does enjoy being larger than his partner, but that just might be because when you're as tall as he is, statistically people are going to be smaller than you. He's not against an equal or larger partner, size hardly matters in any capacity, but even less so in terms of power dynamics. He'll be in charge no matter who's bigger than who.

Plus, if he wants you to have to stretch a struggle to take him, there's several ways to make that happen regardless of whether you're bigger than him or not.

Rosinante -

Smoking Kink - No - Rosinante doesn't even like that he smokes - if for no other reason than the habit costs him a lot in replacement coats and clothes. But he's already half a nervous wreck about having a slip up in the midst of sex, he's not bringing in extra risks. The smell of those cigarettes do cling to him, and it's not unpleasant at least, so if you like the scent of him smoking you're at least not missing out on that.

Corruption Kink - Oh god you have no idea - Something about nurture vs nature, but he is a Donquixote. He wants to own you, pull you into every kink he loves and make you irrevocably his. The biggest difference between him and his brother, is that he does want your permission to do these things to you. In every aspect that he can be your first he wants to be it - no matter what it is, no matter what you've already done, he's not going to turn you away if you've already been with someone, but he'll struggle to hold himself back if you haven't.

He wants to mark you and mess you up, behind closed doors, in sessions, without shattering who you are. It's a fine line, but he's been tight-rope walking his whole life, so he's good at it.

Size Kink - FUCK Yes - He wants to be the little spoon so bad. Coming at an impressive 9'7.5" though, he's uh... he's maybe not going to get that chance unless he can come across someone who has a devil fruit power that can change his size. Or hey, if you're tall enough (OP-sona go, go!) then you can certainly fill that desire for him.

All that said, he's not going to cast you aside if you're shorter/smaller than he is. The kink only rates that high because he's resigned himself to it never being fulfilled quite the way he'd like, and he'd probably cry if it happened.

Kinky One Piece Head Canon

[fizziepopangel]

Daddy Alastor

Let’s be clear, Alastor is an asexual king, he would fuck no one to become a father, the man would simply acquire a child. Most likely a child from Cannibal Town.

Despite his reputation, Alastor would be surprisingly good with kids. It would shock everyone except Rosie..

Rosie would give him all parenting books she could get his hands on because the usual calm and collected radio demon would basically be shitting himself when he realized that he was a father now.

Although he would dub himself a father, I don’t think he would really feel like a dad until his child actually called him dad for the first time.

Alastor would be very, very protective of any little ones he acquired so he wouldn’t trust just anyone to watch them. In order of most to least trustworthy to watch his child would be: Rosie, Vaggie, Husk, Charlie, and as a very last resort, Lucifer, Sir Pentious or Angel Dust, under no circumstances would he leave his kids alone with Niffty since he still sees her as a child herself.

Lucifer would be a last resort solely based on the fact that he has his own personal beef with the former angel.

His kids would absolutely terrorize Sir Pentious when left alone with him on the rare occasions they were left with him, but they would get along with the egg bois.

His kids would not be allowed to watch tv….  But Charlie and Sir Pentious would be total pushovers and they would end up letting them watch cartoons when their father wasn’t around. Alastor would be pissed if he found out since he would 100% be trying to teach his kids about the magic of radio.

With his own father having been a rather abusive piece of shit, Alastor is very much a gentle parent and does not believe in putting his hands on his kids for any reason. And god help anyone who does put their hands on Alastor’s child.

Teaching his child to cook would be something Alastor really valued because cooking and being in the kitchen was a big reminder of his mother. Each time he was in the kitchen with his kiddo, he would show them a new dish from his childhood, each one accompanied by a memory and story of his mother.

If he had a son, Alastor would have him in a little suit similar to his.

Alastor would be the type of parent to have a bag of everything his kid might need from various snacks to a change of clothes to a little first aid kit, he would even do this when his kid gets into teen years.

Husk would be his go to babysitter for a small child despite not being his first choice since he’s a cat and he would think a small child would absolutely love hanging out with a giant cat…. He would be correct. Vaggie would be his go to choice for an older kid since he would trust her more to watch out for an older kid in a more attentive way, and he would nickname her his child’s guardian angel.

There would be weekly trips to cannibal town to visit aunt Rosie (who would always have a new gift for her favorite niece/nephew).

In the event that Alastor had a little girl, he would threaten Angel Dust within an inch of his life. Not because he’s afraid of his child being hurt by the spider demon in anyway, but because he wouldn’t want his child exposed to Angel’s *cough cough* adult content too early or too often and any daughter he had would absolutely want to hang out with Angel as much as they could because he would be the most extra when it came to playing dress up and giving makeovers, and playing tea party…. And Angel would be the only one who could entice a certain cat to play with them too.

Any child of the infamous radio demon would know all the other overlords well since he would bring them to overlord meetings with him. Alastor would sit them on his lap with a coloring book and some crayons and a few snacks on the table in front of him and when asked why he brought a child with him, he would refer to his kiddo as a future overlord and call it an early lesson in their “family business”. In the event he had an older child, he would have them take notes on what they learned in the meetings.

Despite having his own personal issues with the king of hell, Alastor would go to the man for advice on parenting if he had a smaller child since he is the only one Alastor knows who has really dealt with a small child.

His child would be one of the only people who he talked to without his radio filtered voice most of the time.

He would hang up every drawing his kiddo made, especially if he saw that they had a real passion and talent for it. And when he ran out of room in his room and his radio station, he would make Husk hang them at the bar and persuade Charlie to hang them around the hotel.

This man would absolutely let his child come on his radio show every now and then, and he would 100% always refer to them as the a “very special guest” just to make them feel special.

[vylad243]

I would love to know more about oblivious Vox and Alastor realizing that he may have fell hard for a brick wall. Your courting fics are probably my favorite for these two, and I am eagerly awaiting the moment someone breaks it to this deer that he needs to be a bit more straightforward 😂

Anyway, I love your writing so much! Hope things are going good for you :)

Hi!

Thank you for the kind words! I'm really happy to hear that you're enjoying them and that they're your favourite! Makes me feel all fuzzy! ^-^

Alastor courting Vox is mostly prompt specials! I might write Rosie finally telling Alastor that Vox is a tad dumb and might need to try a different strategy. I wasn't sure if it would be something people would be interested in, so here's kinda just a basic idea I might do

After Rosie talks to Alastor, Alastor might be a bit insulted by Rosie's words, but he would start to notice Vox's confusion by his action. Alastor is a big boy and would naturally not talk to Vox about it, and instead, he would just stalk him, observe him

He would take note of Vox's company and just how strongly everyone comes onto Vox- and Alastor would then realize that Vox is so used to be catcalled, flirted with, all that jazz so blatantly that he just doesn't even notice anymore

Alastor would slow with the courting and grab some advice from Rosie. He would eventually fess up and tell Vox what he's been doing and that he's interested in dating him

Vox would only be a lot shocked

Alastor has a lot of work ahead of him to teach Vox when people are flirting with him- mostly so Vox can reject them and let them know he's taken

Vox gives a lot of golden retriever energy, but he is aware of his power and knows how to manipulate others to get his way, so him being dense really checks out for me!

Thank you for the ask!

[nottapossum]

Do any littles that struggle with talking use communication boards? Pointing to a picture is so much easier than making words!

Oh my goodness I love that idea!

I found a few examples that I like.

First one is simpler

But This one I especially like because it has "something else, no picture." I could see it getting frustrating if something isn't on the board.

Also it has a lot more emotions.

Blitzø will verbally shut down when he's stressed or overwhelmed - most of the time, he can talk, but when things become too much, he just shuts down and he can't talk.

Stolas tried teaching him sign language to help, but Blitzø isn't picking it up as easily as Stolas thought he would.

In Ozzie the babysitter Stolas suggests some cards to show how Blitzø is feeling- I could definitely see Stolas making him a communication board!

I planned a one-shot where Stolas buys him a Yes/No button, but this is a much better idea.

Moxxie, being the littlest one, would also benefit from having a communication board. Stolas will basically be giving Millie all the tips and suggest making him one almost immediately.

Charlie would absolutely make special boards for each little one!

Vaggie, of course, would have one since she's very tiny.

And I could definitely see her sitting down with Angel and Husk and making a special board for little!Angel since he's often small- and often has trouble expressing his feelings and asking for something.

Rosie would try to get Alastor to use a communication board, but he wouldn't - he'd only try to eat the board while he continues getting frustrated that Rosie doesn't understand what he needs - Rosie is supposed to just know these things!

Blitzø is, of course, the first one I think of.

And since Valentino doesn't talk at all when he's small, Vox gave him a communication board app on his tablet to help him.

But Val will sometimes just press the buttons for fun-

So they're not always sure when he's serious and when he's just playing around. 🤔

@todayimfour @trophyxtissues2 @im-not-paying-my-taxes @abby5577 @ask-dusty-boy

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 2 (12th Dec)

language | culture | beauty

Word count: 4,197

Under the burning afternoon sun reflecting upon the white city, Faramir emerged from the library, instantly shielding his eyes. Had he truly kept his nose buried in scrolls for so long? When he had entered, it was merely dawn, the palace still lulled in peaceful sleep. Constantly awoken by the tiniest noises and cracks from the hallways or outside, he had stirred out of bed and had decided to do what he did best in such irritating moments.

Studying.

Recently, he had found a plethora of reasons to delve into books again — not that he truly needed any — and learn as much as he could about a realm whose history and people that he admitted to not have paid heed to often enough.

Now that he and Éowyn were married, he felt a pang of guilt for not knowing more than he already did about her kingdom and her kin. Although they were to settle in Ithilien once their new home would be born from the ruins of a previous mansion, Faramir yearned to respect the customs of her land as much as his own within their household.

He was willing to compromise and demonstrate his sense of flexibility. Where their art of guest-receiving would align with Gondor’s standards, he saw no problem with providing a mixed education to the children he hoped to have and raise with her. Often had he pictured it; a blonde little being mounted on horseback with the poise of a court member of King Elessar’s entourage. The child would master Westron and Rohirric at equal level, speak Quenya fluently, and have at least some notions in Sindarin or Dwarvish tongues. They would be both wild and tame, proud of the two united banners of their bloodline.

Sensing that he was getting ahead of himself again, Faramir departed from the archives and set out for the citadel. As he paused to contemplate the breath-taking view upon the Pelennor, one which he should have long grown weary of, he found his mind drifting back to his research.

Rohirric. A language unlike any other that he knew or at least encountered, with its peculiar grammatical structure and malleable word order. For the first time in years, he was facing a barrier between the knowledge he sought and himself, as if the more he read about it and its phonetic system, the less he understood. It was as though he was grappling with a most complex device he needed to unlock, but missed the keys to access even the most basic notions of the dialect that she grew up speaking.

He had considered asking Éowyn directly to teach him, and the thought of having her sit him down at a table whilst happily scribbling away on a piece of parchment to also participate in the recording of Rohan’s oral culture sounded like the best way to ever spend time.

Faramir pictured her hardly-concealed impatience at his mistakes and his horrid accent, typical of beginners. How she would be unable to tame her reactions to spare his feelings, wincing whenever he would say something wrong or pronounced something to the point of complete incomprehension. And he would love every bit of it. She was Éowyn, after all. The fairest maiden he had ever beheld, the one who accepted his hand in marriage and shared his bed ever since the lavish wedding at Edoras.

But he meant for the whole learning process to remain a secret for now. It was all part of the grand gesture he wanted to make for her. He had already planned most of it. At sunset, he would take her to the garden in Minas Tirith, where he had held her hand for the first time. They would watch the golden and rosy hues of the evening sky from underneath the arches, and he would slip a carefully-picked flower into her luscious hair. Then, he would recite a love poem he would have written in her language, ending it with a simple sentence reflecting his adoration for her, and making a point of how beautiful she was to him.

If he finally managed to grasp the quirks of Rohirric, that is. Aware that each language reflects the culture of those who speak it, he needed to put himself in the boots of a Rohir, but he could not wrap his head around the way that they thought, the way that they felt and experienced the world around them. Something as simple as the subtlety of terms and the connotations of certain phrases eluded him.

He had seldom ridden through the plains and valleys of Rohan. Its landscape, although now somewhat familiar, remained a great mystery to him. Having lived all his life in Gondor, he had enjoyed the privilege of encountering visitors from nearly all over Middle-earth, engaging in hours-long conversations with them, but he had never known the challenge of settling down in a foreign land and immersing himself in another way of life. Faramir had offered to stay in Edoras until their Ithilien home was ready to welcome them; he would have gladly helped Éomer in his new role as king, to provide him with wise counsel and serve as mediation with Gondor.

But Éowyn had refused. While she was elated to have wed him in the heart of the colourful Meduseld, she was eager to start this new chapter in her life, to leave her past behind and begin her assimilation to Gondorian culture. Perhaps she was braver than he had ever been in this regard, he thought. There had been no hesitation on her part, and he had assumed that she would have wished to stay in Rohan longer in hopes to make a difference in the treatment of women. Or, more realistically, she would have barked at her brother until he would yield and introduce new laws while getting rid of archaic ones.

As he entered the Hall of the Kings, Faramir faced the two empty thrones ahead of him. Aragorn must be attending another council meeting in a different part of the citadel, he thought. It did seem rather strange to him that the hall was left vacant; what if somebody entered to beg for help? Would they even be heard?

A rustle coming from his right alerted him that he was not alone after all. Under the arches, studying one of the statues with passive interest, stood the king of Rohan himself, clad in his armour, yet comfortable enough to let his guard down.

‘Éomer, my brother!’ he exclaimed, walking up to him with a beaming smile and open arms.

The king pivoted and his stern expression softened upon seeing his sister’s husband. He indulged him to a warm embrace and patted the prince’s arm rather harshly, but the latter paid it no mind.

‘I did not know you were visiting!’ Faramir said, surprised to see him in Minas Tirith at all, especially in the empty hall. ‘Has anybody been notified of your presence? Have you been assigned quarters for your stay?’

‘Yes, yes, don’t worry. I wanted to enjoy a bit of peace before being swarmed with servants and diplomats.’

Faramir laughed and shook his head. He would have felt exactly the same way, had fate been different and had he become Steward in his father’s stead.

‘Does Éowyn know that you are here?’

‘Not yet. Ah, she will find out soon enough.’

‘Are you not eager to see her?’ he inquired, his curiosity piqued. ‘If you do not send for her, you know that you will hear about it until you are on your deathbed.’

Éomer laughed and responded with a simple shrug. Faramir invited him to his office so they could both sit down and share news of their respective lives. How things had changed! After the pouring of wine and the exchange of pleasantries, the prince noticed that he had left some of the borrowed scrolls from the library wide open onto the desk. Unwilling to stain them with spilled wine or ink, he began to roll them up again, but their content did not escape Éomer’s notice, who squinted at the writings.

‘That is Rohirric!” he noted with a pleased expression. ‘Are you studying our tongue, brother?’

Faramir blushed and sheepishly nodded his head. He hoped that Éomer would not start questioning him about his knowledge, since he still considered it to be awfully vague.

‘Indeed. I wish for our household to be shaped by Rohirric and Gondorian customs alike. Éowyn is my equal, she should not forsake her culture for my own, even now that she came to live in my land.’

‘How’s the learning so far?’

‘Not great.’

He placed the secured scrolls onto a nearby shelf, away from the dangers of clumsiness, and returned to his chair, picking up his goblet.

‘I cannot seem to wrap my head around the way that your people see and write about the world. Do you see the same things that we Gondorians do? Do you see the bud of a flower and feel the promise of a fruitful spring to come?’

Éomer snorted and chugged the rest of his wine in one, large gulp.

‘You are overthinking it, Faramir,’ he said in reassurance. ‘The Rohirrim are not as complicated as you think. We do not need a hundred words to describe a tree.’

With Faramir’s permission, Éomer helped himself to another cup, stretching out his legs in front of him.

‘See us as more… practical people. Where you might look at this desk and say “Here stands the pillar of knowledge, the support of my hours of contemplation and meditation, the theatre of my duty and of my wit, where justice is served and culture preserved,” us Rohirrim would just say…’

The king waved his hand with raised eyebrows towards the piece of furniture in brief silence.

‘“It’s a desk.”’

Faramir chuckled and sipped the deep burgundy nectar.

‘Well, you sound well-learned in Gondorian phrases and imagery,’ he teased.

‘That happens when your brother-in-law keeps pestering my men about lore, poetry and song whenever he visits Edoras.’

Their shared laughter fills the room and instantly brings more warmth to it. The new prince of Ithilien stared at his working table in deep contemplation and pondered Éomer’s words. It’s just a desk. And indeed, it was, but could there not be more to it?

There it was again, his damned eternal Gondorian perspective.

Faramir tapped his fingertips against his goblet and reclined in his seat.

‘What makes your people so practical indeed?’

‘You are asking the wrong person, brother. I can’t say that I have much interest in knowing about such things. But the way I see it, it has something to do with our lack of documentation. Our stories, our tales, our history… We share them orally. We don’t value written records the way that your kin do. I suppose that we do need to keep it simple so our message and our motivations do not get lost in translation and interpretation. Besides, we see beauty in simplicity.’

‘Is it so?’

It made sense to him. Éomer might not have been raised a scholar, but his argument seemed to have opened Faramir’s eyes to something he had never even suspected. Of course, he had forgotten about the risks of oral tradition! How many names, accounts and legacies had been misshapen by the trials of time? By the innocent romanticisation of narration at the detriment of facts?

Faramir drank his wine pensively and glanced at his guest. Perhaps he could let him in on his little quest. After all, Éomer was great at keeping secrets, and he spoke the language he sought to master.

‘Éomer, I wish to learn Rohirric for Éowyn. I want her to feel at home wherever she goes, and I want her to feel understood. I have been trying to teach myself in secret for weeks, but it seems that the more I learn, the less I know.’

His brother-in-law curved his eyebrows in surprise — although he did not expect any less of Faramir. The king put down his cup and opened his hands.

‘I am a warrior, not a scholar. But I suppose that if there’s anything you wish to know, perhaps I can help.’

His host beamed at the offer and put his cup aside as well. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, propping up the sheet on his knee with a thick volume on the history of scientific innovations of the Haradrim.

‘There is one notion that seems to differ much between our mentalities,’ he started, ‘and it is this of beauty. You said that your kin find beauty in simplicity, but what else? How do you express it?’

‘Oh, well, we feel connected to the earth and fire, where Gondorians evoke air and water to us. Any aspect of our world that we find attractive, we connect to these two elements. We like what is grounded as much as we like that which is fiery. Many of our sayings and expressions comprise these themes, when they don’t revolve around horses.’

Not wasting a single second, Faramir scribbles away, his brow furrowed in concentration. Earth. Fire. Noted.

‘Do you have vocabulary with elemental connotations to describe something you find pretty?’

‘Yes, we do,’ Éomer answers before marking a pause, seeking examples. ‘When we mean to say that someone is as beautiful as the sun, we say sunne fyrna. Burning like the sun. Like they radiate light.’

Rejoiced at the idea that he might have found something to use to compliment Éowyn, he continued to take notes, guessing the spelling from the rules he had read about.

‘Is it a powerful way to compliment somebody’s beauty?’

‘Yes, and no. It can be overused.’

‘Oh.’

Éomer chuckled and drank another gulp of wine, before scratching his beard. He pictured his sister and tried to imagine how she would like to be complimented by Faramir. Not how anybody else might, but which words she would value from his mouth. Then, with a smile, he held out his hand for Faramir’s quill, and his brother-in-law did not hesitate to lend it to him, alongside the parchment.

Not quite used to writing, Éomer’s trembling hand formed a few words onto the paper and showed it to his host.

‘This is the highest compliment that Rohirric women could ever hear. If you wish for Éowyn to fall for you all over again, this is your key. But let me warn you: do not blame me if her bairn sees the light of day nine months after you say it to her,’ he winked.

A few days later, once Éomer had departed Minas Tirith to return to Rohan, Faramir approached Éowyn and tenderly wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her head. Despite the tears of sorrow from seeing her brother leave again, she allowed herself to smile and turned in his embrace to place a tender kiss upon his lips.

‘How about you and I have a walk in the garden at sunset?’ he murmured, his fingers weaving through her golden hair.

‘I would rather stay at home, if you don’t mind,’ she said with a sniffle. ‘How about we sit by the fire and you read to me again? I love hearing you tell stories.’

Faramir’s disappointment was powerless compared to the thrill that invaded him to know that she enjoyed listening to his tales. So, he gladly accepted, but still took the time left that day to pick the most beautiful flowers at the market for her, as well as her favourite Gondorian pastries.

When the fire crackled in the hearth of their home, Faramir entered the room, finding her already nestled onto a chair, her eyes admiring the dancing of the flames. Éomer was right; the Rohirrim were particularly bound to this element.

And now, he found beauty in it, too. Perhaps not like a Rohir would, but he did.

He found elegance and refinement in the way that it illuminated her delicate traits, her chiselled cheeks and the lovely dimple on her chin that he so often kissed. In its halo, the fairness of her hair glowed and radiated like the summer sun and the bright moon had come together in one. Her thin, pale hand rested onto her lap, only adorned by her wedding band. It was the perfect image; the love of his life in the firelight, making him fall head over heels all over again.

Faramir stepped inside ever so calmly, holding the flowers in his hand. Éowyn, alerted by the soft footsteps, turned to him and instantly smiled.

‘Fari, are those for me?’

He nodded, mirroring her grin and brushing his fingertips against her cheek. He came to one knee before her, admiring her with the most loving eyes that any being would be graced with.

‘Beautiful flowers for my most precious lady. My gorgeous wife.’

She chuckled and leant closer to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a tender kiss. Then, she took the flowers and admired them with her lips parted in awe.

‘They are perfect! Thank you. Let me find a vase for them.’

‘Do this, and I shall find a book for us to enjoy.’

They parted ways with another kiss and joined again after a few minutes. Faramir sat on the chair by the fireplace and patted his knee. Éowyn kicked off her slippers and sat in his lap, tying her wrists around his neck and resting her head in its crook. He opened the book and proceeded to read a tale of romance, the type that they had both come to appreciate more ever since their first encounter.

As he spoke the words in his solemn and affectionate voice, his eyes losing themselves in hers every so often, she felt her heart slowing down. Passion that causes one’s heart to race at the sole sight of one’s lover sure is pleasant; but to her, there was much greater satisfaction in finding a person with whom one feels so at ease and at peace that their heart would feel tranquil at last.

When the story came to a close, Faramir felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Now was the time to surprise her. He had written the poem with Éomer to help him translate his feelings in the Rohirric tongue, and his brother-in-law had provided with ample wordings and phrases for him to convey his affection for his wife.

But now that he had to recite it, he found himself at a loss. None of the words remained within reach. They eluded him every time that he thought he could reshape one of the verses. Oh, what to do?

Well, he would have to do what he always did in unforeseen circumstances as a Ranger. Improvise. At the very least, he could remember the loose vocabulary. He could manage to simply tell her that she is beautiful. That was easy.

Closing the book and placing it on the rug, Faramir held his beloved wife’s hand and stroked its smooth skin. Lost in her deep eyes, he let the words overcome him. He let them invade every piece of himself that was not already conquered by the sight he beheld.

‘Éowyn,’ he intoned with a lovestruck voice, ‘leofest wife min, is éosgitan prættigre thonne thé.’

Éowyn froze, her eyes round as marbles and her jaw slacked. Faramir beamed with pride at the sheer surprise upon his wife’s face. But when her bewilderment turned into a deep frown, his exaltation swiftly came to an end.

‘Did I mispronounce something?’

She blinked a few times before rolling her eyes to the ceiling with a groan. The tension in her shoulders decreased, until she met his gaze once more.

‘Did Éomer teach you this?’

‘Well, yes. I have been studying Rohirric for the past weeks, but I needed his help. I wrote you a whole poem, but as soon as I looked into your eyes, I… I could not retrieve the words and I felt rather foolish. So, I used the other words he taught me to compliment your beauty.’

Faramir ran a hand through his hair, rather embarrassed. Surely, if this was her reaction, he had done it all wrong.

‘Was my pronunciation that horrendous?’

Éowyn laughed and pecked his cheek.

‘No, my love,’ she consoled him. ‘If you need advice about learning Rohirric, here it is: never trust Éomer. What he taught you means that horseshit is prettier than me.’

‘Oh. OH. No, no, this was not my intention at all! I…’

‘Calm down, Fari. I figured as much.’

He sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around her waist.

‘Why would he do such a thing?’

‘He’s a big brother. That is what big brothers do.’

‘Boromir never…’

‘My love, from all the things I have heard about him, I can assure you that Boromir was no typical older sibling. Siblings bicker, they fight over the pettiest thing. Éomer and I often shouted death threats to one another!’

Faramir blanched and shook his head in disbelief. He could not fathom Boromir ever uttering such calamities to him. But come to think of it, his father had done that aplenty in his stead.

‘I see. Well… I apologise for my words. I never meant to insult you.’

‘I know, Fari, you do not need to reassure me. Take it easy on yourself. Éomer took advantage of your cluelessness about our tongue to trick you. In a way, I think it comforts me into thinking that he sees you as his brother now. Not only did he gratuitously insulted me through you, but he also played a trick on you to embarrass you without harm.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, yes. He would not do that to just anyone.’

The pair exchanged a loving smile and indulged into a slow kiss. When their lips parted, Éowyn instantly forgot the incident and traced his jaw and chin with the tip of her nail.

‘So, you said that you are learning Rohirric? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted to surprise you. I wrote a poem in your language for you, and I meant to recite it in the garden at sunset. But since you preferred to stay at home, I wanted to pronounce it here instead. Again, I forgot all of it. But I have it written in my office. Now, I do not know how much of it I can trust.’

‘You had Éomer translate it with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Expect the lewdest things, then. But I will read it, if you allow me. Perhaps he did grow some common sense and actually did a good job. You can never know, with him.’

She peppered his face with kisses, causing him to blush and giggle. Oh, how he loved it when she made him drop his guard and made him giddy with the simplest of gestures. None other could bring him to such heights.

‘Min se swetesta sunnan scima,’ she murmured into his ear.

‘Wait,’ he exclaimed, perking up. ‘Sunnan… It is the sun, is it not?’

‘See? You know more than you think.’

Faramir grinned from ear to ear in victory. At last! He had understood a spoken word! He felt like a child whose arrow reached the target for the first time. It did not matter whether he did not hit bullseye; he had reached it.

‘But what does it mean?’

‘It means “my sweetest sunbeam”. And seeing you now, I believe that it could not fit you more.’

He chuckled and cupped her face, gently tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs.

‘What word is there in the Rohirric tongue to describe what I feel when I see you?’

‘Your words were spot-on.’

‘Come on,’ he playfully groaned, rolling his eyes. ‘You know that I was the mere victim of a crude trick. I want, no, I need, a word to express the fact that you are my most precious treasure. A gem I shall never tire to behold. One I seldom dare to touch with my rough fingers out of fear that I might shatter you.’

Éowyn flushed red yet did not avert her gaze. She stroked his hair and sighed.

‘Sincroden.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Sincroden. It means “treasure-adorned”. Many maidens of the Rohirrim dream to have a man address them as such.’

A shy smile played on his lips as he registered the information. He shifted a little on his seat and, sensing her slipping off his lap, he held her knees firmly and pulled her back onto him, pressing her to his chest.

‘Sinchroden wife min.’

The twinkle in Éowyn’s eyes betrayed the bursting joy within her thundering heart. Once again, she bestowed him with a most tender kiss, and none of them let go for the rest of the evening. Clad in the flames’ cast orange hues, they no longer needed words to convey their devotion to each other. They spoke the universal and unspoken language of bewitched hearts, eyelashes grazing their cheeks and the caress of their mouths the only syllables they required.

[count-alucard-tepes]

I was wondering if you could write the hotties have a mute s/o?

Or an s/o that doesn’t talk a lot

If not it’s fine❤️

Kizaru ✨

He would be incredibly patient with his S/O and learn sign language just to be able to communicate with them. He would write them love letters to express how he feels and blush when they’re reading it.

Akainu🌋

He would ask his S/O to teach him how to best communicate with them. He isn’t someone who has a way with words so he is very comfortable with them.

Ryokugyu 🌱

It is difficult at first because he loves talking and talking shit too but he soon learns that he needs to be able to adapt to his S/O so he would have a note book and would write down for them to understand what he was talking about and even add a few sketches.

Fujitora 🐅

It is challenging for him at first but he is able to learn sign language with his S/O and then would have to feel their hands in order to understand what they were saying. Eventually it works out for both of them.

Sir Crocodile 🐊

He likes writing down messages for his S/O as he can’t sign with just one hand so this is an alternate method for him. He tries his best to learn what they are communicating with him and often blushes when he misunderstood.

Doflamingo Donquixote 🦩

He was pretty used to communicating with Rosi like this so he would use a note pad and let his S/O write whatever they needed to and he would respond. He’s not much of a writer so he prefers talking.

Benn Beckman 🔫

He would be patient enough to learn language and even though sometimes it’s really difficult for him, he would try his best to bridge that gap.

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡

He would communicate with his S/O with his words but at the same time he would learn sign language so that he could understand what they were saying.

Killer🔪

He has wrote boards prepared for them so they both can communicate this way to each other and even though sometimes he feels shy about what he needs to write, he attempts to draw little pictures.

Kaido🐉

He would have his S/O write out what they want to communicate with him and he would respond as best as he can. He wouldn’t go out of his way to learn to sign language as it’s way too complicated for him. I could imagine his S/O laying on his chest, writing notes for him and him talking with them while giving them kisses and cuddles.

King 👑

He is going to read every book about how to sign and make sure that he tries to impress his S/O with what he had learned. He likes to perfect his skills and would want to make sure the communication between them was open and fluid.

Queen👑

He has to take some lessons from King which he totally dreads but he knows it’s going to help him out with communicating with his S/O. He’d do anything to make them happy.

Izou🔫🔫

He definitely tries the basics with sign language but the more complex sentences he’s just not able to do it so he would use a note pad to jot down what he wanted to say.

Dragon D Monkey 🐉🐒

He is a perfectionist and is skilled in several languages including sign language so he can communicate with his S/O well.

Oven Charlotte 🍞

He isn’t that smart so he prefers his S/O to use a note pad to communicate with him and then he responds in his usual dramatic fashion.

Buggy🤡

He gets one of his followers to teach him night and day so that he could impress his S/O with his sign language skills and when he gets praised by them…he cannot stop blushing.

Marco the Phoenix 🦅

He knows how to sign and even though he’s a little rusty, he would try his best to communicate with his S/O but there would be times were he needs a visual aid to help him express his thoughts for them.

[apple-juice16]

Fanfics I found enjoyable. Like a lot. My personal favs.

Masterkey override or the one time when everyone realised that Lance was smart ClaraCivry (Kat_of_Dresden)

No Archive Warnings Apply, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance (Voltron)Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk (Voltron), Matt Holt, Coran (Voltron), Smart Lance, Surprised Team, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Awesome Pidge, Types of intelligence, Realisations, People appreciatng Lance, Fluff

Basically, Lance asks Pidge to teach him some technical stuff, and it turns out that he is more intelligent than any of them thought (including Lance himself). A smart Lance fic, for all your smart Lance needs, featuring awesome teacher Pidge and startstruck team.

Words: 1,323 - Chapters: 1/1

Monopoly was a bad idea - AuroraDownTheRabbitHole

No Archive Warnings Apply, Keith/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith & The Blade of Marmora, Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Allura (Voltron), Coran (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Kolivan (Voltron), Ulaz (Voltron), Thace (Voltron), Antok (Voltron), Swearing, Team as Family, Board Games, Monopoly (Board Game) - Freeform, Chaos, Domestic Fluff, Dads of Marmora (Voltron)

The blade of marmora members really shouldn't have let the paladins play Monopoly,you know what they say you only play board games with the people you want to break bonds with ............. this was a big mistake.

Words: 660 - Chapters: 1/1

An Eye for an Eye - DpsMercy

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Not Them (The Magnus Archives), Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Other Character Tags to Be Added, Jon is from Night Vale, Crack Treated Seriously, Friendship, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It of Sorts, Jon becomes friends with most avatars, Spooky shenanigans, Jon is too chill to be scared, No beta we die like Gertrude's assistants, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Typical Night Vale Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), typical TMA horror

In which Jonathan Sims is not from the UK but instead, if you took his origins and turned them sideways twice then flipped them over, he technically would be from the US, the town of Night Vale specifically. Elias can’t do shit about it and gets a headache and slowly creeping madness instead. ***** On indefinite hiatus

Words: 15,555 - Chapters: 9/?

Welcome to...The Magnus Institute? - princeetheo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Rosie Zampano, Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Jessica Law (Fictionalized), Jordan Kennedy, Ben Below (fictionalized), Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Cecil Palmer, Dana Cardinal, Steve Carlsberg, Janice (Welcome to Night Vale), Abby Palmer, Cecilos are Jon sims parents AAAA, Non-Human Cecil Palmer, Cecil Palmer is Described, Autistic Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Trans Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Awkward Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), jon sims and dana cardinal are childhood besties, steve carlsberg is the best uncle, Cecil Palmer's Fashion Sense, Dork Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), eye avatar cecil palmer, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, FUCK CANON !, we ball, no beta we die like danny stoker, Pining Martin Blackwood, The Mechanisms Were Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist's College | University Band, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood

Carlos 'The Scientist' Sims and Cecil Palmer are Jonathan Sims parents, that's it. that's the fic.

Words: 2,325 - Chapters: 3/?

jonathan sims: part-time archivist, part-time wanted murderer, full-time bitch

ceruleancats

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jon & Several Cats, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker, Jude Perry, Michael "Mike" Crew, Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood, Humor, Comed, ya bit cracky, Based on a Tumblr Post, everyone thinks jon killed leitner and they revere him for it, Season 3, Season 3 AU, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cats

Jon didn't kill Jurgen Leitner, but no matter how many times he tries to tell people that, they just don't seem to believe him! It's not all bad, though: while he is a wanted murderer on the run from the cops, Leitner was apparently so universally despised that Institute employees and Avatars alike are tripping over themselves to help him out. Now, he just has to figure out how to clear his name (though that's easier said than done).

Words: 17,189 - Chapters: 10/10

The White Wolf - JaskiersWolf

No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Triss Merigold, Nenneke (The Witcher), Shapeshifting, Shapeshifter Jaskier | Dandelion, Wolf Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Pack Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Blood

Following an unfortunate encounter with a mage, Geralt gets cursed into a wolf. Jaskier and Geralt must travel the Continent in search of someone that can help them. - Can be read as a stand alone

Words: 6,018 - Chapters: 3/3

Five times Jaskier hid nothing from Geralt and one time the Witcher finally noticed the obvious

cucumber_of_doom

No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier can talk to animals, Geralt is so dense he might collapse into a black hole at any moment, can be read as pre relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, curses gone right, 5+1 Things

Jaskier has a special talent he never tried to hide from Geralt: He can understand and talk to animals. He never tried to hide this from Geralt, but our witcher is a bit dense.

Words: 6,747 - Chapters: 1/1

The Viscount - pukner

No Archive Warnings Apply, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Original Characters, Eskel (The Witcher), Essi Daven, Valdo Marx, 5+1 Things, POV Multiple, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So DoneIdentity Shenanigans, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Genderfluid Jaskier | Dandelion, we're spicing things up yk, canon-typical weird euphemisms, POV Outsider, update it has feelings now, and yennskierand geraskierand geraskifer, why is it getting long

"I can't imagine just telling people I'm from Lettenhove, though," the man says, a smile caught in his voice, "How do you do it?" "Can I tell you a secret?" asks Jaskier, tone taking on a conspiratory tilt. Then, in a whisper that is no quieter than his earlier speech, "I think it's funny." "Funny!" says the man, laughing. Funny, thinks Geralt, bemused. Lettenhove isn't actually a real place. But Jaskier is certainly the Viscount of it. (Or, five times Jaskier tells someone he's the Viscount of Lettenhove, and one time he tells the truth.)

Words: 14,584 - Chapters: 4/5

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

So I remember Alastor basically tries to adopt Retro. Going along those lines, how would Vox react when during a slow work day he checks in on Retro over the cameras but sees the glitchy effect only caused by Alastor.

Alastor's just come to visit Retro at the tower and see if the kitchen Vox provided is up to standard for Retro to cook some meals he plans to teach them. (An attempt to annoy Vox of course)

“And that, my dear, is how you make jambalaya!” Alastor said with a grin. He snapped the cookbook shut and made it disappear- presumably so no one would be able to find out the specific family recipes he had. “Now, I must say, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited me and Rosie for tea- quite some time indeed! Tell me, what have you been up to, my dear?”

“Uhhh…” I thought about it for a moment, then blushed a little. “… nothing much.”

“Oh?” Alastor said, his ears perking up. “Something’s happened in your relationship, then? Well, don’t keep me waiting! I might just die from the suspense, and I don’t believe double Hell would be all that pleasant…”

“It’s nothing, Al, really,” I said quickly, looking away. “Everything’s great!”

“Great, hmm? I don’t need to have a talk with that husband of yours?” He asked, leaning forward. He tilted his head inquisitively, inspecting me carefully. “He hasn’t been up to anything, has he? He hasn’t been hurting you?”

“What? No, no, no, not at all!”

“Good!” Al said, straightening up. “Just know, I wouldn’t hesitate to step in for you if he were. I’m more than capable of keeping him on a leash, and he knows it.”

“A leash?” I repeated, giving him a questioning look. I paused for a moment and realized we were thinking of two very different things. Clearly.

“Yes, of course! Here, you could do to keep him on one too,” he said with a grin. He snapped his fingers and handed me something. “Not literally of course. Angel says these ‘choker’ things are quite fashionable these days, though…”

He had given me a collar. Not a choker, a collar. I blushed scarlet red at the sight. Unfortunately, that’s exactly when Vox barged in the room.

“You old timey-prick! Get away from my wife,” he yelled, rushing in. Alastor disappeared into the shadows, teleporting away with a laugh. Likely not realizing the implications of any of his actions. “Shit!” He said, turning to me. He instinctively summoned the chains and tugged me towards him, away from the shadows Alastor had used to teleport himself away.

I made a small squeak noise and stumbled, crashing into him. “Are you okay, my dear?” Vox asked, catching me. “Did he hurt you? Are you-” he cut himself off when he saw the state I was in. Utterly flustered, holding the collar Alastor had just given me, on Vox’s chains wrapped around me. I was wet, and a squeaking mess. “Oh.”

[cringemesstickles]

Kangaroo

(TickleTober Day 23: Incoherent)

Summary: Eileen is teaching Sam sign language and Dean makes a comment that very much interests her

Pairing: Saileen

Word Count: 1,049

A/N: I JUST HAD TO GO THROUGH WITH THIS IDEA, THEY’RE SO DAMN CUTE 😭🤚

There is simply not enough Saileen tword content

———————————————————

It was a quiet day in the bunker.

No demons to exorcise, no apocalypse to prevent; just a peaceful day off for the Winchesters.

Perfect for inviting over your smart, witty, gorgeous, badass- well… Sam could just go on about his girlfriend forever.

The girlfriend in question was none other than Eileen Leahy, the clever hunter that often made his heart wanna beat right out of his chest.

The two found themselves in the library, seated across from each other, a look of concentration on Sam’s face as he watched Eileen gracefully move her hands to sign.

The taller hunter had insisted that he learn sign language, adamant that he wanted to be able to communicate with Eileen in ways that were more convenient for her (which absolutely melted her heart); so when she offered to teach him some basic signs, he accepted the offer in a heartbeat.

“You’re doing great, Sam!” Praised Eileen, impressed with the amount of progress her boyfriend was making already.

“Hm, I’m trying to think what else is relevant to teach you…” She pondered, thinking aloud.

Dean Winchester, who just so happened to walk by at this moment (totally wasn’t just watching from the other room), casually strolled in with a mischievous grin, making sure Eileen could see him and read his lips.

“You should teach him ‘ticklish’; that’s pretty relevant to him.” He teasingly suggested, poking his little brother in the side, all too thrilled to embarrass him.

“Dean!” Sam yelped, flinching from both the jab and the elder’s sudden presence.

The girls eyes widened before sparkling with mischief, noticing the way her boyfriend started to blush.

“Oh really? Well, I think a more detailed demonstration is necessary for this one~” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers in the air, watching as the younger Winchester froze up, staring at her fingers as if they were toxic, but also with a clear glint of excitement.

With a nervous smile, he protested.

“Eileen, don’t you dare!”

To which Eileen merely smiled tenderly before digging her fingers into the soft skin of Sam’s stomach, watching him toss his head back in hysterics.

“WAHAHAIT, NOOO!”

Dean laughed with a sense of accomplishment, feeling his work was done and seeing himself out.

“Well, you kids have fun. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Dean having made his exit, Sam was left in the hands of Eileen, who he normally wouldn’t have an issue fighting off, given his size.

The problem was that he’s just too ticklish.

The girls nimble fingers began to drift dangerously close to Sam’s navel, gently pinching at the rim.

The man shrieked and bucked so hard that he managed to throw himself out of his chair and land on the floor in a momentary escape, though his lover quickly followed, perching herself on his hips and resuming the attack on his bellybutton.

“EEK- NOT THEHEHERE!! IT TICKLES!” Cackled Sam, squirming like a worm on a hook under his girlfriend’s playful touch.

The shorter hunter smirked.

She wasn’t convinced, not even for a second, that Sam didn’t absolutely adore this.

She knew better than anyone that if Sam sincerely wanted the sensation to stop, he could easily overpower her.

He was weakened by the tickles, sure… but with the height and strength he had over Eileen, he could very easily dislodge her.

The ‘weakened by tickles’ argument could work if his attacker was Dean, but her?

She didn’t think so.

Eileen’s fingers continued to dance skillfully over Sam’s midriff, tracing intricate patterns and letting her nails scritch and scratch at the delicate surface.

Each motion brought out loud entrancing laughter, and though Eileen couldn’t hear him, the charming smile on his face paired with the rosiness that dusted his cheeks showcased a display of vivacity and euphoria, and despite the lack of sound, the sight of her lover’s happiness was enough for her.

As her fingers continued to glide across his skin, Eileen began to notice that she could read Sam’s lips less and less; a testament to how much his laughter was impacting his coherency.

“EILEHEHEE- TICK- TICKLES TOO MUHU- MUHUHUCH!”

“Sam, you know I’m good at reading lips, but you’re laughing so hard I can’t read them at all… you must be super ticklish.” She teased playfully, admiring the bright red glow that enveloped her boyfriend’s face.

Sam couldn’t tell if he was in heaven or hell…

On one hand, he was spending time with the girl that he loved and getting tickles at the same time; on the other hand, his stomach was getting sore from the laughter and he was having a hard time catching his breath.

Realizing his ticklishness was getting in the way of his coherency, he pleaded the only other way he knew how.

Holding up both hands, he messily signed “Mercy”.

“MEHER- MEHEHEHERCY!!” He vocalized, eyes squeezed shut while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Getting the hint, Eileen retracted her hands and sat next to the flushed giggly mess, gently guiding his head to her lap.

She let her fingers instead get tangled in his tousled brown locks, combing them through to create a more soothing sensation and help her lover calm down.

Recalling the Winchester’s messy sign language, she giggled.

“Kangaroo…”

Sam opened his eyes to look up at his girlfriend with confusion and amusement, still recovering from the tickles.

“Whahat?”

Eileen held her hands up, palms down, and mimicked the hopping movement that Sam had made earlier.

“This is kangaroo,” She then folded her ring fingers and created a similar, but much more practiced motion.

“This is mercy.” She explained. “You signed kangaroo.”

The taller took a moment to process before he once again burst into laughter.

“Hey, I was being tickled to death! Cut me some slack!” Chuckled Sam, blushing slightly at his mistake.

The girl tittered and leaned down to give the man a kiss on the lips, amused by his clear embarrassment.

“It’s okay, I got the message.” She smiled affectionately.

Though Sam was still learning sign language, he was getting better and better everyday, striving to make communication easier for the both of them; and as for Eileen, she was more than happy to help him learn, the silly mistakes making it all the more enriching.

[belethlegwen]

18. GT Prom for the prompts!

In brutal honesty, I had had another idea entirely for this when you sent it but never got around to writing it, and then with some bad news yesterday I was in desperate need of some comfort, so please enjoy:

Henry teaching Melanie to dance.

Words: 3605 [Bare with me, I may need to fuck with the formatting so if this gets edited 1000 times I am very sorry]

It had been a night of drinking and chess; two activities that Melanie, at the very least, had believed to be a bad mix. After an even more disastrous game than she was typically used to, she was absolutely certain she had been right, but was tipsy enough to not be tremendously bothered either way.

Henry was draining his third cup of wine, his cheeks rosy as he plopped his seven-inch self haphazardly onto the edge of the kitchen island, his legs and boots dangling as he watched her sloppily spin herself around the kitchen in the efforts of putting everything away that they had had out for dinner. “Your footwork gets forgotten when you’ve been drinking,” he called to her in hopes she would hear it over her sporadic humming.

The small man let out a quiet noise of surprise, followed by drunken laughter as she stopped what she was doing near the cupboard she kept her glasses in and quickly hopped her feet back and forth, her hands up in front of her as though she were boxing. “Didn’t realize I was fighting anyone in here,” she said, her volume louder than the usual restrained-whispering she typically did around him. “I’ll try to keep in my stance in case someone takes a headshot.”

“Yes yes,” the man groaned between chuckles, waving dismissively at her. “Very impressive. I meant dancing.”

“Oh,” the woman replied, moving back to her rather disjointed organizing of the kitchen with a loud lip-flapping and abrupt chuckle. “I’m much better at fighting, sorry t’tell you. Never learned to dance other than a few of the goofy ones, and the basic try-not-to-stomp-on-eachother slow dancing.”

Henry watched her, presumably, go into some kind of mockery of a stifled ballroom dance. “Is that one of these… ‘goofy’ ones?” he asked as he tipped another gulp of wine into him to try and hide his smirk.

“Don’t make me show you the chicken dance,” she threatened after a snorting laugh caught them both by surprise, just leading to a chorus of giggles.

“For someone who seems like she enjoys dancing, you don’t seem to do it much.” His legs kicked as he leaned back to observe her more, his brow furrowed in thought. “I think this is the first time you’ve danced around me-- on purpose, at least-- since I arrived.”

The giant woman went an even deeper shade of red beneath her wine-blush. “I f’goddibout the gym,” she slurred quickly in an embarrassed mutter.

“You always do,” he replied, smirking as she waved a hand at him in such a show of annoyance it blew the loose strands of hair away from his face, which just made his smile larger.

“I mean,” Melanie drawled, finally putting the last of the clean dishes away with a bit too loud of a clatter, both of them flinching at the noise. “It’s probably because I’m too scared to do it around you. I’m big, I’m loud, I’m not ‘xactly graceful, you probably don’t-- what are you doing?”

Her hazel eyes took a second to focus as she turned back to him, noticing him holding his free hand up with a few fingers raised.

“Keeping track of the items I’d like to argue with you on,” he said bluntly, crossing his swinging legs at the ankles. The massive woman sighed and frowned as a response. “You could dance more,” he said with a tone of insistence, swirling the wine around his cup a bit. “I can get up here, or the table, or the couch, or wherever you like, and you could dance. I honestly wouldn’t mind.”

Melanie scoffed quietly, seeming to ponder the half-empty Cabernet bottle with the cork partially stuck in it before shaking her head. “I haven’t danced in any… real way since whenever I last went to a wedding. I think since high school I’ve only danced at weddings and prom.”

“High-School sounds prestigious in a way that I feel you’re about to laugh at the idea of,” Henry said, also eyeing up the bottle that stood next to the stovetop. The vague snort from nearly above him proved his point before he could continue. “I’d love to know what you feel counts as real dancing, and what a prom is. Weddings, conveniently, I know. Or at least, I feel like I know.”

Sidling along the counter across from him, she came to rest against the edge near the sinks and tipped her head from side to side in that thinking-way she was known for, the longer part of her hair waving just a little on the side of her head where it draped. “I imagine weddings probably aren’t that different overall, you’re right,” she mused. “But yeah that’s where I do most of my dancing now, and it’s still rare I have a partner for it. I went to a friend’s wedding a few years back and took another friend of mine as a plus-one, they were lovely.”

He pushed himself up and climbed off of the edge of the kitchen island, pointedly ignoring the giant arm and hand flying out to give him something to land on if he fell. “You dance without a partner? As in, a group dance?” he asked while moving to the stack of cooking books and sitting there instead, to avoid having to look up so far at her.

“Uhm,” she stalled audibly, grimacing. “Probably not the same way you think, but… that does describe it. I’ll show you videos sometime. There was slightly more partner dancing at prom, because my boyfriend at the time wasn’t one of those ‘I refuse to dance’ jackasses. Still lots of group dancing though.”

She took a deep breath through her nose and glanced to the wine again. “Prom is a big event when you graduated highschool. You’re moving from grade-school to trade school or university or just going out to work jobs. The one I went to was held at a big fancy hotel or event-space downtown in the capital city, I can’t remember, and there was a dinner and dancing. Lots of speeches-- way too many speeches-- but it was fun from what I remember.”

“So dancing isn’t necessarily the point of it, then,” Henry replied.

“Oh, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “Dressing fancy and spending the night with the rest of the graduating class and their partners was probably the real point. Dancing was just part of it for fun.”

The small man seemed to brighten significantly at this, throwing her for a loop as he grinned widely. “Ahhh, so it’s a fancy-dress occasion. I was beginning to wonder if you had any of those at all here.”

“Well, weddings,” Melanie stressed, trying to tamper down his excitement a bit. “Like… there are more. People find all kinds of events t’go to that they dress up for. I just don’t… go to any.”

It hung in the air a moment as they both looked around the room, lost in their own alcohol-enhanced thoughts. Eventually, his voice cut back in. “Well, seeing as you don’t know how to dance with a partner,” he said with a shrug, pushing himself back up to standing, “I can understand why you probably wouldn’t.”

“I know how,” she said defensively, leaning forward to try and match heights with him with a playful scowl. Instantly he flashed that cock-sure grin that told her she had fallen, once again, straight into a trap.

“Go on then,” he demanded with a wave of his hand, and she laughed at what she assumed was a poor attempt at mocking her ‘boating accent’. “Show me.”

To his utter delight she took a deep bow with a ridiculous, twisting flourish of one arm before clearing her throat. “Count the time for me,” she said in her own awful attempt at mocking his accent, launching into a twirling step with her arms held aloft like she was holding someone before he even had the chance to start.

The almost pained cries of distress that left him between his laughs as he watched her navigate the narrow paths of the kitchen only seemed to encourage her, the woman staggering her steps just a little as she grabbed and uncorked the wine bottle and took another deep swig. She wiped a trickle of the red liquid from her chin with a sleeve, continuing the dance as she ignored him.

“Awful, terrible! Shameful!” Henry shouted in jeers as he walked around the countertop to try and keep her feet in view. She finally came to a stop back at her original position, giggling ridiculously with red cheeks and messy hair. “No, no, that can not be how people dance here.”

“It’s how I dance,” she said, looking offended. “If you want to see how people dance, you can go drag it up on the TV.”

He tipped the last of his wine into himself before slapping the empty thing down on top of the cookbooks. “No, no,” he kept saying, shaking his head as he walked toward the ledge, his hands out in front of him gesturing her closer with spinning motions of wrists. “Come here, I’m remedying this.”

She took the half-step closer, practically looming over him as she furrowed her brow in amused confusion. He simply kept making the same gestures, more impatiently.

“Give me your hands,” he said, shooting her a harsh look when she laughed. “Come on, up here.”

“You’re serious?” She asked, stepping back again as her hands came up slowly in front of her. The small man nodded, his impatience growing as he stretched his arms out more to try and grab at her.

“A basic waltz deserves more respect than you’re giving it,” he said clearly, hands gripping around her fingertips as he worked to pull her into a position he could move with. “A box-waltz is easy, you should’ve learned it when-- what? What’s wrong?”

His blue-green eyes turned up to her hazel ones as he came to an abrupt halt, her expression difficult to tell from this angle beyond the bright blush and the staring. “Nothing,” she replied too quickly for either of them to believe. “Box step?”

“...The box-step waltz, yes,” he relented to the prompting, clearing his throat and turning his eyes back down to the sight ahead of him; one he was very suddenly aware of as being… patently ridiculous. He shook his head, the wine sloshing between his ears enough to drown those worries. Above him, out of his view, a giant woman was too inebriated to think of anything to say, simply trapped in a shockingly firm grip of a small man who was aggressively determined to teach her to dance.

Hands and fingers followed his movements on an awkward delay as she tried to listen to his instructions and also let him guide her along. “I step forward-- always start on left-- and then the right goes out, and then--”

She blinked as his face turned up toward her again, both of them coming to another awkward stop.

“You’re supposed to be following my steps.”

“...How?” She asked, turning to glance around her in the small kitchen space, and then back to the limited space he had on the kitchen island. It was his turn to go red in the face as the question hung there.

“Just… rock in the right direction,” he said, resetting to the initial position. “Now, again-- from the top. Left foot forward, right foot-- what are you doing?”

“Left foot forw--” she tried to repeat impatiently, the man irritably shaking her fingers with his hands before cutting her off.

“No, you do the opposite, you’re following my lead,” he said, trying to reset again. “Left foot--”

“Then why are you telling me what you’re doing when I’m the one who needs to learn?” Her voice shot back incredulously, holding her hands still and resisting his pulling.

“Because I’ve been drinking. Now, back to the top,” the tiny man demanded, yanking at her as she let out a surprised laugh. “Left fo--”

“Right foot back, left foo--”

“Don’t do that, I’ll get confused,” he admonished her, this time not bothering to fully reset and just moving back into the dance as they both started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “Were you this drunk at the prom?”

“No, god no,” she said with a smile as she took small steps around her own arms as she tried to keep them in range of him, following his steps in reverse with some brief staggering on the footing changes. “I wasn’t legally allowed to drink then, I was only 18. I think I had a breezer or two when we got back to Luke’s house after, but I don’t remember. I just remember falling asleep to Akira and waking up for 3am steaks.”

“I’ll need… significantly more context for what you just said, but you would’ve danced much better than this, I would hope,” Henry said as he stumbled slightly trying to turn before realizing he couldn’t.

“I mean, we used more of the dance floor,” the giant woman replied with a smirk as she flicked a middle finger in to tap against his side. “He even dipped me at one point, that hasn’t happened much in my life.”

His hand left her index finger to swat at the middle one scoldingly, and she took the opportunity to put the one he had been holding against his shoulder. “Well I’m afraid it won’t be happening tonight,” he said while moving back into the dance smoothly. “Much as I would love to show you how someone who actually knows how to dance would do it.”

“I’d like that.”

He went red in the face again at the strange breathiness of her voice, and noticed the whole giant form of her stammer in its stepping as she seemed to catch herself having said it out loud. “I wish there was a smaller table or something akin to one-- at this height, at least-- we could maneuver around,” he jumped into the awkward silence. “Then we could get you turning, for as long as that lasted until you fell down.”

“I am not that drunk,” she chuckled, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You’re much deeper than I am--”

“I can hold my liquor significantly better than you.”

“--you can’t hold wine nearly that well, though, I bet your balance is garbage right now.”

“Oh?” He said, trying to stop his box-step but getting gently pushed back into the motions by her hands. “We could easily put that to the test, but you seem to be enjoying the dance now.”

She slipped the finger he was still holding the tip of out of his grip, putting her hand palm-up on the counter next to him as she pressed lightly against his shoulder. A smirk pulled at the woman’s lips as he looked up at her. “We could try both, if you weren’t too drunk for it.”

“I won’t have enough room to step,” he quipped back, his feet holding firmly on the counter against her insistent nudging. He laughed under that knowing smile she gave him; he had fallen directly into one of her traps.

“Just rock in the right direction,” she said, cocking her head slightly toward the open palm, and the man hesitated before smiling and conceding, walking onto her palm as she moved her other hand to have the index and thumb both act as her arms for him.

Had it been any other circumstance, especially under more sobriety, he would’ve been insulted by the positioning as he faced her and worked his hold around her hand. It felt too much like she was trying to give him safety-rails, too much like she didn’t trust him not to fall.

As she lifted him from the countertop to a position close to her eye-level, however, he appreciated the added stability for both of their sakes. He doubted it would’ve been bad enough to cause a fall, but the adjustment of her pinning her elbows against her sides to hold him steady was a bit more exaggerated than usual in their inebriation.

“I like this more,” she said as he looked at the gigantic face in front of him, her eyes sparkling and slightly watery, and her cheeks still flushed blotchily from the drink. 

“I’m reserving my judgment until we start,” he said, matching the playful smile on her lips. “I can’t see your feet from here, so--”

A noise of surprise, like a yelp, escaped him as she started to walk to a more open space toward the dining room. “Good,” she said, her eyes not leaving him as she took up a starting position and raised her eyebrows. It was all the signal she gave him before stepping into dance.

Being where he could see her face was a blessing and a curse. Whereas before he had been mostly watching her hands and the bulk of her torso as he moved, now he had to watch her eyes flickering over him, darting around her own fingers to watch him as he tried not to stumble with small, rocking-motion steps in the soft dip of her palm. He was suddenly self-conscious. Suddenly, standing there as he did the tiny steps he had made her do, it felt ridiculous.

But her smile was one Henry had come to appreciate. It was warm, it was happy. It wasn’t judging or amused or scrutinizing in any way. This was the smile she shared with him when she was genuinely enjoying herself; when there was simply fun being had.

The back-and-forth and side-to-side rocking of her comparatively massive steps was unlike anything he had experienced before, and he was sure if he had had more wine it would be making him sick as he flexed and gripped his fingers over the faint corduroy texture of the tip of her thumb to ground himself, trying to keep time with the imagined music in her head.

Melanie was leading, now. She had been leading since she first moved her finger to his shoulder.

He couldn’t bring himself to complain as she continued to box-step in the space between the kitchen and the dining room table, instead just chuckling quietly as she started to hum something that had all the marks of being improvised. The feeling of the gravity around him shifting, moving, as she started to rotate-- technically in the wrong direction, but he was in no mood to say anything-- was enough to keep his heart in his throat as he held onto her, stepping back and forth and side to side in her hand in tiny steps.

“Is this what it was like at your prom?” He asked eventually, when her eyes had been focused on his feet instead of his face too long for him to be totally comfortable with.

Those giant eyes jumped back up to him with a bright laugh that washed over him quickly with the scent of cabernet and sharp cheese, causing him to laugh as well as she stumbled just a bit. “No, I’m not in a big ol’ dramatic dress, and I imagine the music would be something we’d both just groan at right now,” she said, shaking her head.

“We can pick different music,” he said, trying to lean to one side enough to see if he could spy her feet, only to have her hand move with him for an extra rotation, making him feel as she finished her own turn like he had spun a full 180 degrees. Watching her feet was evidently not allowed. “I’m sure you own a dress, and you haven’t even seen my fanciest clothes yet. I even took them out last week to make sure nothing had gotten to them.”

“Are you trying to throw me a prom?” She asked, her brow knitting together as she flashed a grin at him.

“I don’t see why not, we could consider it part of my ever-continuing education of your strange customs,” he drawled, staggering as she laughed so much her entire body shook. She turned him back to face her with another move of her hand and tilted her head skeptically.

“What would it be celebrating?”

He shrugged, rocking with her motions again as he continued to measure the time between each of their steps. “Your graduation.”

“That was almost fifteen years ago now,” she replied, nudging him with a finger and he flashed that cocksure grin at her again.

“Ah, that was your Highest-School graduation,” he corrected her with a dramatic flare of his own accent, both of them chuckling. “We’d be celebrating your graduation from the Henry Lemuels’ Academy of Waltz.”

Melanie’s eyes fell bashfully away, the grin spreading even more across her face as her ears went red. “Oh, I’ve done that well already?”

“Lord no,” he snapped, causing her to splutter on another laugh as he gripped her fingers with a teasing grin of his own. “But I have hope that you can manage before the event.”

She took in a breath and eased it out on a giggling sigh, shaking her head as those incredibly large eyes met his own again. “Well, I’m glad for at least that small concession.”

“Mind what you call me or I’ll fail you,” he said, both of them falling back into step again to the music of just their shared laughter.

There was no other music needed, as they spun themselves around on the hardwood floor.

They were good at making their own.