#tentative title is

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from Part 1)

Steve’s first thought is that he’s died and this is the afterlife, which makes no sense. But it makes a hell of a lot more sense than Eddie Munson, frozen in the doorway of the bar, staring at him.

Another patron pushes past Eddie, because he’s kind of blocking the entrance, and Eddie stumbles a little. It seems to shake him out of whatever stasis he’d been in, and he turns back towards the door.

Steve fucking vaults over the bar. Even lunging full speed, he barely manages to grab Eddie’s jacket in his fist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, dragging Eddie back inside. “I swear to god, Munson, I will track you down like it’s 1986 all over again.”

Eddie lets out a choked little laugh. “Okay, okay, Harrington. Cool your jets. I’m here, you got me.” 

His voice is a little different. Rougher, maybe. He still sounds like himself; he still looks like himself. 

Steve clamps a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck like he’s scruffing a cat, and hauls him stumbling along to the back room. “Taking my break, Laurie,” he calls on the way. It’s a slow night, and Laurie likes him. He’ll have as long as he needs to deal with the Eddie Munson Situation.

He lets go of Eddie once they’re in the back. He doesn’t want to. He can’t stop staring. The idea of Eddie has followed Steve around since he was 19. Having the flesh-and-blood guy in front of him is tripping him out. It’s like double vision, the way he sees Eddie and also all the Eddie-related thoughts he’s had over the years all at once, all crammed into one space. 

Eddie’s visibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight. His eyes are darting around like he’s scoping out exits. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. 

“I don’t forgive you,” Steve says. It feels like the words are being scraped out of him with a butter knife.

“I…” Eddie hesitates. “Yeah, I get it. Okay, I’ll just. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Steve’s reaching out before he even realizes he’s moving, grasping tight at Eddie’s shirt like a child and crowding close. “No, no, I don’t want—you can’t do that again. You can’t leave again. You don’t get to fucking leave like that.” 

“Oh, Harrington,” says Eddie. He folds Steve into his arms, so carefully, and then Steve’s clinging to him, head tucked into his shoulder, shaking like a tornado. 

It’s fucked up, but this might actually be the first time they’ve ever touched in a deliberate kind of way, aside from the kind of shoulder-slaps and awkward jostling that teenage boys do when they don’t know how to be in each others’ space without it being some kind of fight. Steve doesn’t live like that anymore; he thinks nobody should have to live like that. Now, it’s so easy to curl into Eddie and soak up every little thing, the way his skin and hair smell a little bit like sweat and smoke, how all of him is here under Steve’s hands. 

Steve wants to crack open his own ribcage and stuff Eddie inside. 

The thought is so sudden and solid that it snaps him out of his little breakdown. He needs to stop thinking about Eddie as a defining moment of his youth and start thinking about him as someone who probably has plans for his life that don’t involve being clung to by Steve Harrington for all eternity. 

It’s just that he’s had his whole adult life to let the what-ifs and possibilities ferment in him, shaping who he is, and there’s just no way he can ever be even a little bit normal about Eddie.

He’s got to try, though. Steve pulls back and clears his throat. Eddie’s eyes flick down to where Steve can’t quite make himself let go of the grip he has on that stupid leather jacket, but Eddie doesn’t say a word. It might be a kindness, or Eddie might’ve just learned some tact in the last decade.

“So,” says Steve. “Explain.”

Eddie starts talking right away, no hesitation, like he’s been waiting to be asked.

“Okay, so, after everything went down, the feds took my body back and kept it for a couple years to run their creepy little tests on. Normal fucked-up government stuff. Got the shock of their lives when I started thrashing around all monster-y, very Night of the Living Dead. And then by the time they figured out I was, y’know, coming back, we figured it’d be kinder to just let you all get on with your lives. I wasn’t even talking like I was human for a few years, and by that time, the kids were practically done with high school, so. That was pretty much that.”

“How long,” says Steve. An awful image is starting to take shape behind his eyes.

“How long what?” Eddie tilts his head, looking confused.

“How long were you alone. How long were you locked up.”

“Oh. I dunno. Are we counting from, like, when my body first regained consciousness? Or when I first remembered who I was?”

“Either. Both.”

“A while, I guess. It really sucked, I’m not gonna lie. But…they didn’t even know I was me, so I can’t really blame them.” Eddie huffs out a croaky little laugh. “Harrington, you gotta understand. I didn’t know I was me. They basically had a wild animal of unknown demonic origin for their little menagerie, so they weren’t too psyched about me starting to be, like, a person who might possibly have rights again. I think I really messed up some of their research.” 

“I wish—they should’ve told us. They should’ve told—we would’ve helped. We would’ve done something.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Four walls and a roof, got my Fancy Feast twice a day.”

“Fucking hell, Eddie. How long have you been out? Wait, how long have you been in Chicago?”

“Not that long. They ran out of funding a few months ago, so now I’m kind of a tag-and-release deal. Wound up here a couple weeks ago, just trying to figure out what comes next.” 

So at least it's not like Eddie's been running around just existing in the world for years, and Steve missed it. He feels relieved, and then he fucking hates that he's relieved, because at least Eddie wouldn't have been a damn lab rat. 

He wants Eddie to be happy. he really does. He's just greedy, is all. He had all these scraps of Eddie that he hoarded jealously through the years, thinking there'd never be any more, and now it's overwhelming to be able to look and touch and breathe the same air. 

Steve just needs to keep remembering that Eddie's his own person. But maybe it's okay that he's going to be weird about Eddie, because Eddie is looking back, taking in whatever there is of Steve to take in. The glasses, maybe, or the earring. 

“What happened to you, Steve Harrington?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, like he’s talking to himself. Maybe he is.

“You did,” says Steve. 

Eddie looks up, almost cartoonishly surprised. His mouth actually drops open. 

“We weren’t friends or anything. You didn’t know me.” Even as he says it, Eddie’s wincing like he knows he’s wrong, or maybe just like he knows he's being cruel. He doesn’t take it back, though.

“Fuck you, Eddie. Christ. If you think it didn’t fucking kill me that you died, fuck you.” 

“You’re still kicking, ain’tcha?” But Eddie’s already jostling close. He’s like a cat, trying to comfort Steve by climbing all over him. 

It’s fucked up that Eddie is having to comfort Steve about his own death, when Steve’s had a whole life in the years when Eddie was lying alone on a government slab somewhere. He’s said yes and yes and yes to Robin, to chances, to the Eddie he’d carried around in his head like a song that won’t let you go. Steve went to London with Robin, and walked through Camden Market in the sunshine thinking Eddie would’ve loved this, all while Eddie was getting hooked up to monitors underground. Steve went dancing in Paris and kissed a beautiful man with dark, curly hair who spoke almost no English by the Seine, while Eddie was clawing his way back to humanity.

Steve’s had every good thing because of Eddie, because he wanted to live the kind of brave and colorful life that Eddie'd had stolen from him, and now Eddie’s rubbing his back gently and going, “Hey, it’s okay, it all worked out fine. You’re okay.”

“I grew my hair out for a while,” says Steve. 

Eddie audibly gasps, clutching at his heart and reeling dramatically. “Tell me there are photos, Harrington. You can’t just say that and not show me photos.”

“Yeah.” Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s jacket. “I can do that. Give me a second to talk to my boss and we’ll go see the photos.” 

He pauses before he opens the door. Eyes fixed firmly ahead, he says quietly: “Eddie. Um. You should know. If you pull another runner on me, I’m—I’m not gonna survive it, man. So just…promise you won’t leave without telling me first.”

“I won’t,” says Eddie. “Promise.”

(series tag)

[sparrowlucero]

Parzigrand the alien "dragon". She's a politician on a large space station colloquially referred to as "The Can" where her entire species resides. Despite being a 600 pound gator-horse, she's more just a self preserving asshole concerned with her public image than physically dangerous like a proper wyrm that grew up planetside sadly even though she has big seagull wings and hollow bones she can't fly; even a really big space station isn't an environment conducive to practicing and keeping in optimal shape if you have a 40 foot wingspan

[rosedom]

HELLO AGAINNN Tis i, Lyne- No im not Lyney but ✨anon lol here to give you more ideas ✨

Fucking Cyno in the desert, in an eremite tent at a eremite camp you both had just cleared out a few minutes ago, just, literally fucking him and covering his mouth to muffle his sounds so it wont attract any other monsters. Him begging for you to go faster because he's so close to cumming <3 Sadly, that is all i have for today, have a good day and i love ya! -✨anon (Yes i have now claimed the title of ✨anon and theres nothing you could do abt it sorry <3)

"in an open match, 【 ✨ 】 has invited CYNO to play . . . it's fucking in-tents

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!cyno, PIV sex, covering his mouth, semi-public (no getting caught), praise, dirty talk, creaming & creampie, post-coitus puns .

A/N : this fic is an apology for the spam of my new masterlists ,, i am so so sorry ><

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

He's so hard.

Cyno's so fucking hard, and it's all for you.

He can't help but whine, loud and stark in the stilling desert. It's still now, cleared from eremites; but in the distance, you both know another camp awaits. Even closer, there's hilichurls.

You're tempted, too, to fuck him in a hilichurl's outpost—maybe even a watchtower, his body bared to the sky and the sands of the desert.

(You wouldn't, of course. You're far too possessive of that which is yours.

But it doesn't hurt to tease at the idea, is all.)

"Quiet, baby," you murmur, slowing down your thrusts 'til they drag at a tent tortoise's pace. His cunt squeezes around you in reply.

"We don't want some hilichurls to hear us, do you, Cy? " He shakes his head vehemently, leaning down to press his forehead into the soft—albeit rather sandy—blanket that the eremites had left behind.

This is their home, after all; the home—the camp—that strangers slept in only hours ago, now used to fuck the General Mahamatra in.

How ironic. You think, though, that the eremites wouldn't really mind. (Hopefully.)

"'m—" he cries, cut off by the nudge of your cockhead right against the overly sensitive bump of his g-spot, soft and spongy n' deep inside his pretty lil' cunt.

You coo in reply, pressed right into his blushing ear "What, sweet thing? You're doing so good for me." You wrap your hands around his middle, palms against his rippling abdomen and teasing at the happy trail that dips to his cock.

"I—I think 'm close," he mumbles, moans; grumbles, groans. Cyno arches so prettily beneath you, and you're quick to follow the curve of his back, pressing front to back to him as you are. Small lil' mewls spill out of him, each sound beautiful to your ears—yet so, too, could they be to a monster's.

So, with a gentle grind and a rather sudden halt in your thrusts, you slide the hand you had kept wrapped around his stomach—the one not resting above his mons, keeping him perfectly in place for you—up to his throat, past his jaw, right to his lips.

Cyno positively whines when your hand clasps—snug but not tight, not rough at all—across his mouth. He huffs hotly into your palm, but he's muffled, then, when he cries out again at the next thrust of your hips.

"Keep quiet for me," you groan—muted, of course, because you are not a hypocrite. The sound of your heavy breaths, of Cyno's quiet moans: they won't carry out into the desert, beyond the hanging fabric of the eremite's tent.

This time, he nods, all shaky n' weak. His cunt clenches tight around you, wet and slick and delicious on your cock. It is divine, even with sand itching at both of your legs.

You tell him such. "God, Cyno," you say, groaning low into his sensitive ear. "You feel perfect, all f'r me.

"I almost—" you pause, a satisfied moan of your own crawling from your chest. "I almost wish they stayed to watch. It'd give me a chance to show 'em how pretty you are, yeah? The fearsome General Mahamatra, whimpering and cumming all over my cock."

True to your word, he whimpers. You grin. "That's right, baby. They'd wanna join in, too—I wouldn't let them, of course. You're all mine, aren't'cha?"

"Mhm! Mhm!" His frantic nods almost dislodge your hand, forces you to hold his face a bit tighter. He moans, tonguing at the minute gap of your fingers.

"Easy, sweetheart, easy," you murmur, pulling him closer to you, pulling him closer to your cock. "Still close?" He keeps nodding. "Good, good. Cum whenever you wanna, Cy; cum whenever you want."

He holds you true to that promise, moaning and licking sloppy-like across your fingers in a desperate bid to ground himself, to keep him quiet in the orgasm running through his veins. His cunt creams around you, a milky-white at the base of your cock drip-dripping to the blankets below—just the way you wanted.

"God—" you groan, splaying your hand across his navel, away from his cock, "Just—just a lil' while longer, baby. Look at you, creaming all over yourself. Gonna be leavin' them eremites a pretty surprise, hm? Comin' back h-home, proof of us here, our claim here, my claim on you—" And just like that, you tumble over your own edge.

Cyno makes a weak sound—halfway between a mewl and a whine and a whimper all the same—, cunt milking you in gentle undulations. You fill him right on up, right to the brim, sticky cum spilling out between his hole and your cock.

It's so, so beautiful; the contrast of his dark skin against the opaque white of his and your cum both is absolutely tantalizing.

With a huff, you drop your hand covering his mouth to the mess on the blanket. He coughs, once, licking at his lips when you capture the cum on your fingertips.

"We made a mess," you mumble, the stuff sticky between your fingers; you then take hold of his hips with both hands, dragging yourself out of his cunt. He flops to the blanket and immediately leaks, just slightly but enough—enough to dribble to the blanket. "Not so hot, now."

Breathless, Cyno laughs. "Nah," he mumbles, rolling to his back and smiling up at you—God, he's so pretty. He's all bright scarlet eyes and ruddy cheeks, and you simply can't resist finger-brushing though his tangled hair. Then, rather suddenly, he sits up, alarm in his eyes. "Hey."

You raise a brow. "What's—" he reaches up to cover your mouth.

"Did you have a license?"

"What?"

At your confusion, he only grins. "A license to cum in me. A spermit."

High off your orgasm—floating in post-coitus bliss—, you laugh. You fucking laugh, and you know you're encouraging him; but you find you don't really mind—not when you so adore this little dork of yours.

And when he giggles beneath you, too, you're taken by him even more, his antics and all. This Cyno is your Cyno, even if you're not at your home.

(He'll insist you bring the blanket; he will claim, as you're hauling it back with the satchel full of contraband, of those knowledge capsules you've come to detest, that this is your first walk as a family.

You, no longer post-coitus, will wallop him for it.)

i went through several websites for cum-related puns . . . i cannot do him any justice. he's so funny, unironically (not in this fic but. in the game !) i hope hope hope this fulfills ur imagination, anon !!

20 FEB. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[bakedbananners]

did I just make up the fact that Murderbot mentions it had clients that treated it like a ComfortUnit because I swear I read that at some point

[laurzzz-left]

Rising Stars and Celestial Bodies - At My Worst

Captions/Lyrics yoinked from the song @ my worst by blackbear

I may or may not be... writing a fic...

Basically the general premise of the AU that I spontaneously thought of thanks to the song linked above is a Celebrity AU, both Y/N and the DCA are celebrities in this AU (hence the not so consistent set of clothes in almost each panel lol. Just some fashion things that celebs do). It features a Y/N x DCA romantic relationship except it's a toxic one

[zarinthelwrites]

Script preview of something im working on!

A recursive function is a function that solves a problem by solving smaller instances of the same problem. A recursive fiction, then, is a story that reaches its solution by solving smaller replications of its original problem--

A skilled recursive fiction, however, conceals the original problem until the very end. You’ll never quite see that all you were doing was solving the same problem over and over until you reach the “original” function and see that everything was just an echo of the original, re-imagined and replayed so that you could understand that overarching, so big it’s almost invisible, problem.

There are many ways of doing this. Gintama asks that the student behead the teacher and that the villain who yearns for emptiness learn that there is no escape from sorrow. Gintoki must do this in every arc that is serious and in some arcs that are comedic, but there’s no escaping it-- just as time does not truly pass in Gintama until the death of the Shogun, neither can he leave the cycle that demands he kill the mentor. 

It’s because he failed to do it right. This is a classic time loop maneuver, refusing to move forward until the main character can correct his fundamental failure. 

It’s not about killing, it’s about who you are when you kill someone: it’s not about dying, it’s about who you are at the moment of your death. 

It’s not about the cycle, it’s about who you are when you break it.

This is one way of thinking about it.

It is not the way that isekai stories typically treat it.

[lisenberry]

WIP Wednesday!

Bush pilot Price and tourist Reader's plane crashes in the jungle. He promises to get you home safe.

CW/TW: snakes, peril

[britcision]

Happy WIP Wednesday friends! Not a huge deal for you today, but I figured I’d drop the Flashback and give you the last piece in the “Bruce Puts His Head In His Butt” for the night!

(Bruce is tranq’ed by Alfred minutes after the call ends and is put to bed. In my heart. He might actually walk himself up but we all know it’s Alfred’s glare that makes it happen)

Just a taste of chapter 14 of Dead and Loving It, you can find the fic on AO3 or from my pinned post which is the latest chapter, but links to the first and all subsequent chapters are in each post!

———————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep.

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore.

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window.

The pit growled.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones.

It sent shivers creeping up and down, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him.

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice.

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation.

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation.

Jason gritted his teeth.

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve.

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him.

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it.

Good.

Jason was in a mood to bite.

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical.

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter.

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked.

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning.

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course Bruce had to ruin it.

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction.

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old.

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments.

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt.

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument.

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.”

Was.

Was that Bruce begging?

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up.

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s.

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged.

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened.

There was a long silence.

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything.

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back.

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy.

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again.

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis.

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty.

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.)

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms.

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up.

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern.

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since.

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together. Might as well hammer it home for him.

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing.

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet.

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped.

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip.

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion.

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass.

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around?

Fuck that.

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed.

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning.

——————-

Jason will be using “legally non-sentient” as an excuse long after the laws themselves are repealed, and just you fucking wait until Damian hears he can try it too 😏

Sorry Bruce, Damian can’t socialize today, he’s legally non-sentient and can’t be blamed if he bites someone

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778

[strangersteddierthings]

You Left Me Scars Through Memories (Tangled in my DNA) - Prologue

"I love you so much," Stephanie Harrington says, reaching out a hand to tuck some hair behind his ear. It's more an excuse to touch than to clear his face of hair. It's at a length now that will result in the tucked hair falling back into his face with barely a shake of his head.

Steve blinks up at her from where he's sat in her lap, his face far too serious for a toddler just a few hours shy of three years old.

"Your life is going to be so difficult and it's my fault. I'm so sorry," she whispers, sweeping him into a hug. He snuggles into her embrace instantly and it brings tears to her eyes. He should hate her for what she's done. Perhaps he will, once he's older and can understand what she's apologizing for.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she settles back into the chair, a big plush thing that she sits in every night to read a bedtime story to Steve, or tries too anyway. He's at the age where he's wiggly and full of energy until he drops.

"Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman. Husband and wife. And they loved each other very much," she starts, running one hand up and down on her baby's back, soothing, "and they wanted nothing more than to have a child.

"But try as they might, no child would come to them. And soon resentment began to grow. The wife, convinced that having a child would remove the resentment, set off to make a bargain with a witch, said to live deep in the woods.

"She told her husband she was going to visit her family so as not to arouse suspicion. Consorting with witches wasn't something that was done, you see."

This is the longest Steve has sat still in her lap in months. She thinks he might be asleep but continues the story anyway.

"It took her almost three weeks to find the witch, deep in the woods. Upon arrival, the witch had tried to turn away the wife. But the wife was persistent. 'Please,' she begged the witch, 'if we can have a child then my husband will love me again.'

"The witch was not moved by this plea. 'You would bring a child into a loveless marriage?' and the wife argued that once they had a child, their marriage would no longer be loveless. The witch disagreed but the wife would not be deterred.

"'What would you give up to have this child?' the witch asked after being pestered by the wife for almost a week. And the wife had said anything.

"'Anything is dangerous,' the witch said. 'I can give you the means to have a child, but the universe will decide the price.' And so, the wife agreed, and the witch pressed a folded piece of parchment into the wife's hand.

"When she finally returned home, she had been gone for eight long weeks. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say, and husband and wife reunited. Still, the wife waited three more months before preforming the ritual the witch had pressed into her palm.

"Soon, they had a child, a daughter. But with her arrival came the universe's price. A life blessing is not an easy thing to give, and the price for life is the highest to pay. Free Will was that price. And when the daughter turned three, she learned her daughter also paid the price. Her daughter, and her daughter's daughter, and her daughter's daughter's son. Forever more. The wife, now mother, was angry to learn this. Why should her child have to suffer for her own sins?

"She told her husband what she had done. She had to, you see, because how else could he be expected to raise a child that would do everything you told her to? Words would need to be picked carefully.

"It was years later before the mother could track the witch down again, to demand the witch undo the curse. 'I made the bargain, why must my child also suffer the consequences?'

"'You said anything,' the witch responded, 'and I told you that was dangerous. It was foolish of you to think your actions would not affect others. All actions do.'

"The mother said, 'can it not be undone?' and the witch said, 'All curses can be broken.' When the mother asked how, the witch just looked at her and said, 'go away, and do not seek me again.' And the mother had no choice but to obey."

Steve still has not stirred on her lap and when she looks down, she can see he is asleep. Even if Steve had stayed awake for the whole story, she knows she'll have to retell it to him when he's older. When he'll remember all of it. Perhaps she should write it down, too, just in case.

"You see, Steve, what was supposed to be a blessing became a curse. One of obedience. People will tell you to do things and you will be compelled to obey. You will become someone you will never truly know, because anyone can make you anything," she says as she stands and places Steve in his bed. "But don't worry. Mommy will teach you how to trick and cheat the curse as much as you can."

[callmehere-iwillappear]

coming soon(...ish) to an ao3 account near you: the idiot's guide to blindfold chess

in the meantime, the full piece of this ^^ is on patreon!

[creatorofuniverses]

Day 23 – Monster

Today's prompt is "share or short: a story with a nonhuman/monstrous character". And I know the challenge said "short", but this prompt took hold of my imagination earlier in the month and I may or may not have ended up with a new story's inciting action, which is (checks notes) over 4k words long. Enjoy?

________________________

Casper knew that working the night shift wasn’t going to be much fun. He knew that working the night shift as a janitor was going to be even less fun. He had expected some long nights and some dull work from the start.

What he hadn’t expected was to be cleaning fucking Area 51.

Not that he was allowed to call it that. They’d been very specific on that point, actually, amongst others. This was an alien-free facility, and also a joke-free facility. It practically said so on his contract- the long, complicated, very intimidating contract he’d read through and eventually signed; and that was only after signing the NDA. He should have known that there was a catch when he saw how much they were willing to pay him for what would otherwise be a minimum-wage job. By the time he could work out whether he was getting cold feet or not, he was in too deep. The pay was very good. He tried to repeat that to himself as he clocked in for his first real day (night) on the job, his shoulders a little tense as he swiped the key card and wheeled the cart with all his cleaning supplies out into the hallway.

The dark, empty, extremely foreboding hallway. He’d been trained by the daytime staff earlier in the week, but he hadn’t gotten to see much of the place then, and it certainly hadn’t looked like it did now. Something about the building being empty, like a dead husk-

“Okay, wow,” he muttered aloud to himself. “No. You gotta cut that shit right out, man.” Casper shook his head, admonishing himself as he set off at a clipped pace towards his first room to clean. The last thing he needed was to let his brain go off on wild imaginings when it didn’t have to. Just because he was the only one on the nighttime cleaning staff until the early morning didn’t mean that he was alone in the building. There was a security office… somewhere… and he was certain that they were keeping an eye on things.

They had to, because this place was full of monsters.

Which was a fact that Casper’s brain kept trying to remind him of, and one that he kept pushing away, lest it encourage the aforementioned wild imaginings. He hadn’t believed it, not even after all the paperwork and the almost dramatically serious briefings, not until he’d seen it for himself. Monsters were real, and they were housed here, studied and contained lest they be a danger to the world outside. Creatures of myth and legend from around the world, all under one massive roof in a facility buried deep in the hills of Bumfuck, Nowhere.

Where one new and extremely nervous janitor was tasked with cleaning up the place. Not the enclosures themselves, thankfully, or Casper would have run screaming, NDA or not. No, he was just here for the normal, human areas, or so Casper kept telling himself. No need to freak out. This was practically like any other job.

Telling himself that about once a minute, Casper put in some headphones, started a playlist, and did his best to ignore his anxiety. He did a fairly good job for a while cleaning up the offices- wiping down desks, vacuuming and mopping, restocking the cheap coffee supplies and such. Same with the break rooms, the meeting rooms, the lobby. He did the basics in the labs, careful not to touch anything but his mop and the garbage cans. He then worked on the hallways for a bit. He even cleaned all the bathrooms, on every floor, before he had no choice but to face the areas he’d been dreading the most: the observation decks and prep rooms.

He approached the entrance to the nearest enclosure with his cleaning cart, his hands clenched, white-knuckled, along the handlebar. Even the soothing music playing in his ears couldn’t distract him from his nerves at the thought of going in there. “Nothing’s gonna get you,” he promised himself under his breath, willing himself to stop being such a scaredy-cat. Sure, the rooms on the other side of that door looked out into one of the many monster enclosures in the building, and sure, the prep room beneath the observation deck could lead out into the enclosure… but he wouldn’t have to go out there. And the rooms were secure, they had to be, because all those important scientists and guards and whatever were in them all the time without being in danger of whatever beast they were studying. So Casper would be perfectly safe.

He would have to deal with maybe seeing one of the monsters though. Out in its huge enclosure. In the dark. There was no getting around that.

Casper let out a long, shaky breath, mumbled, “Fuck it,” and opened the door.

The sight inside was, thankfully, underwhelming. He flicked one of the light switches and a single row of fluorescents kicked on, revealing a truly mundane setting. A handful of chairs lay scattered about, and a row of countertop stretched across a long wall made up mostly of windows. That led out into the enclosure, of course, but it was dark out there, and with the light on inside, Casper couldn’t see anything but his own reflection.

Heart pounding, but knowing it would haunt him if he didn’t, Casper inched up to the windows and peered out into the enclosure, cupping his hands around his eyes to block the light and see a little better. He was half expecting a jump scare, but nothing leapt up. Nothing even really moved. In the dim light from the observation deck, he could just barely see a large lump out in the far corner of the enclosure, still and likely (hopefully) asleep.

It took him a little while to peg which monster this was; the label on the door read “M-9” but that didn’t mean much to somebody who had only recently been hired. He wracked his brain for the creatures he had recognized in the briefings in an attempt to discern the true shape of the far-off lump. Eventually, he realized it looked like a lion out there, curled up asleep- a lion the size of a small building, of course, with an uncannily human set to its slumped shoulders. Probably the sphinx, then. Not the most terrifying thing in here, but that bar was set pretty high. He still wouldn’t want to see it up and about.

Casper inched away from the windows again and let out a long breath. Okay. He was going to do his best to clean quietly, and maybe if he was lucky, it would stay asleep and he could get through this task without any trouble.

Of course, that was easier said than done. He did still have to clean, and there was a set amount of noise that was bound to go with that. The tables and floor of the observation deck were cleaned fairly quickly and quietly, but that wasn’t the only area he needed to attend to. Getting his cart down the wide stairs leading to the prep room below made enough of a cacophony to wake the dead, and his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest by the time he got down there. He cast a quick look towards the enclosure, but there were no windows down here to see out of- just shelves full of containers and tools, a large chest freezer that hummed out a low drone, and the sickly-sweet smell of raw meat. This must be where they kept the sphinx’s food; because a butcher’s shop was exactly what he wanted to smell when he was already crawling out of his skin with nerves.

Shaky hands hastily grabbed the mop out of the cleaning cart, followed by a number of swears as an assortment of similarly pole-shaped cleaning apparatuses came free along with it and fell to the side. Whatever- he would grab them later, he needed to smell the overwhelming scent of cleaning solution now or he was going to lose his nerve entirely.

Casper dunked the mop into the bucket of soapy water attached to the end of the cleaning cart, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as the sinus-clearing smell of bleach beat back the raw meat stink. The wet mop slapped onto the laminate floor and he pushed it back and forth vigorously, as if he could thereby push away his own fear.

He tried to focus on the music coming through his headphones, the feel of the mop pushing against the floor, the embarrassment he would feel if he let himself be scared away from a solid job after only one night of work. This was fine, he was overreacting. He was safe in here, he literally just had to clean the floor and then he could drag his cart back up the stairs and move on. Maybe he would figure out a better way to do that in the next enclosure. Maybe he’d ease into this whole thing. Maybe…

Maybe he could hear something behind him.

Casper whirled around, heart in his throat. He whipped off his headphones and slung them around his neck, straining his ears to listen. At first all he could hear was the quiet, tinny sound of the music still playing, the thumping of his heart against his ribs, his shallow, almost-silent breathing. But then he heard it again, a scraping sound, coming from the big metal door that would lead out into the enclosure.

Calm down, he told himself, feeling just this side of a panic. It’s probably just that… that thing, moving around outside. I’m sure it can’t open the door. He looked, just to make sure, and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and his pulse pounding in his ears.

Sure, the door was too small for something the size of that sphinx to get through, and he doubted they’d made a doorknob that a monster could use on the other side. But inside, in here, instead of a doorknob there was a long push-bar… and right now a bunch of brooms had fallen against that push-bar… and the door was cracked.

Casper barely managed to think Oh shit, I fucked up before a couple of long, sinister claws the length of kitchen knives scraped through that crack and dug into the door.

What happened next happened in seconds. The door was ripped off its hinges with a horrible, metallic shriek. Casper dropped the mop and bolted, scrambling to get around his cleaning cart and back up the stairs. He’d barely made it to the bottom step when an enormous paw – no, hand, clawed and padded but long, strangely human despite being the size of a bed – thrust itself through the door and into the room.

The paw-like hand whipped back and forth rapid-fire, like a cat batting at a toy, and one of the sweeps caught Casper full on. He was thrown from the stairs and into the shelving, crumpling to a heap on the floor with a wet gasp as heavy containers rained down around him, banging into him mercilessly where he lay.

Get up get up GET UP his mind screamed, but his body wouldn’t respond. His shoulders and back were throbbing angrily from where they’d smacked into the shelving, and his legs and arms stung in multiple places from getting hit with the contents of the shelves. He shifted, trying to get one arm under himself so he could push himself upright, and bit back a whimper. If he could just stay quiet, maybe it wouldn’t be able to find him, to get to him…

He pushed himself up onto one elbow and had to pause, sucking in as silent of breaths as he could. He froze as the giant, clawed hand that filled most of the room retreated as quickly as it had come.

A sudden, reckless hope flooded through him. It couldn’t fit in here, of course it couldn’t, maybe this was the end of it.

Then a golden, gleaming eye came out of the darkness beyond and filled the doorway. A cat-like pupil stared straight at Casper as a low, rumbling growl, something more out of Jurassic Park than anything else, filled the air from the ground up. Casper’s mind went blank with fear even as the eye retreated and the hand returned, reaching for him.

Casper rolled over onto his side, twisting away from that giant grasp with an exhalation that would have been a noise of fear had he been any less breathless. His movement tucked him closer to the shelves but couldn’t get him far enough- a claw snagged against the back of his shirt, scratching a line down his back that did pull a high noise of pain from him. Then that claw pulled, dragging him across the floor, the laminate still slick with cleaning solution and offering him no purchase even as his hands desperately scrabbled for something, anything to hold onto.

It was no use. The enormous hand behind him pushed everything out of its way by dint of its sheer size, before dragging him out of the prep room entirely.

Smooth laminate gave way to gritty sand, and Casper’s skin grated against it painfully for a few agonizing moments before all the movement stopped. Heaving for breath, he scrambled to his hands and knees, eyes locked on the ragged square of tepid light defining the open doorway a few yards ahead of him. He only managed to crawl a foot or two in that direction before that huge, paw-like hand batted at him again.

It felt like being hit by a truck. Casper’s body rolled across the uneven ground, flipping him over to his back. His lungs burned, heaving to suck breath into his battered chest, and he couldn’t move for what felt like an agonizing length of time, but what was probably only a few seconds. Eventually his eyes opened, though he immediately wished they hadn’t.

The sphinx loomed over him. He could just barely see it, its contours faintly limned in the weak light coming from the observation deck above, the prep room he had been dragged out of. Powerful, furred haunches, eerily human shoulders, glinting golden eyes amongst the outline of a large mane, all bigger than he could ever have imagined. The clawed fingers digging into the ground next to him were nearly as long as he was tall.

Even though he knew it wouldn’t work, sheer fear and panic made Casper scramble to his feet the minute he had his breath again, frantically backpedaling only to be knocked over within seconds by those huge, sharp fingers. He landed on his side, curling up and throwing his hands over his neck as an enormous index finger nudged harshly at him with the back of one knuckle, pushing him around with ease. Casper’s mouth tasted like blood and grit; he was pretty sure he’d split his lip at some point, god knows when, and the sand was getting everywhere.

At this point he was fairly certain, in the cold, detached way of somebody immersed in shock and terror, that he wasn’t going to live long enough for the sand to be a problem. The sphinx’s motions reminded him of nothing more than a cat toying with a mouse, before…

Oh god, he didn’t want to be the mouse.

The air above Casper was displaced, and he could all but feel the monster looming overhead. As much as he didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but looks up at his approaching death, his eyes wide and wet behind an arm still thrown across his neck. Closer now, mere feet above him, the features of the sphinx’s face were suddenly thrown into clarity. An enormous but distressingly human face looked down at him, almond-shaped eyes with those cat-like pupils staring dispassionately, a human mouth flat and uncaring. Hair grew out from every side of the face, forming a mane. The nose looked caught between human and feline, curved but stubby at the end, the texture and curve of a cat’s nose growing seamlessly out of what otherwise might be considered skin.

That strange nose, wide as one of the crates in the prep room, got so close to Casper that it eclipsed most of his view. He froze, heart rabbiting in his chest, as it sniffed him, great gusts of air sucked into unfathomably large lungs.

 Then the enormous face above Casper tilted, and his vision was filled with huge lips, which drew back to reveal long, sharp teeth, that parted and-

“No!” he screamed, curling up into a quivering ball again, as if that could protect him from certain doom. “No, no, god please, no!” His voice was ragged, higher pitched than he’d ever heard himself sound before, tight with pain and fear. “Please, don’t… oh god, please…”

The begging devolved into breathy sounds of terror as he waited for teeth to stab through him, waited for the monster in the dark to gobble him up.

It didn’t happen.

Shaking and tense, Casper uncurled a minute amount, making himself look up again and fully expecting to see those teeth closing in. Instead, the face of the sphinx had retreated somewhat. It was looking down at him, head cocked to one side, as if… confused? Well, that would make two of them.

But a moment of confusion was better than a moment of painful death, and Casper’s terrorized brain frantically tried to figure out what had changed. Was it his begging? He supposed he hadn’t talked to it, why would he have talked to it… were the words what had caught its attention?

“Do… do you…” he stammered, still curled up. Even so, he flinched tighter as it leaned down closer. Wetting his lips (oh, gross, definitely blood and sand) he made himself talk more. “Do you understand m-me?”

It didn’t seem to, at least not as far as he could tell. Its brow was furrowed slightly, but no trace of understanding passed across that oversized face. It opened its mouth – it took all his willpower not to close his eyes again – and emitted a series of horrific sounds. Growling, low enough to shiver through Casper’s chest at this proximity, was modulated into a variety of tones- a warped kind of speech, or music maybe, if music made you feel like you were about to be the first person killed in a sci-fi horror movie.

Regardless, it explained nothing at all to Casper.

“I,” he squeaked out, shaking his head frantically. “I-I don’t-”

He didn’t get to finish. Letting out a huff, the sphinx leaned down, closing the space between them in a fraction of a second.

Then it opened its mouth and clamped its teeth around Casper, lifting him off of the ground entirely.

Casper screamed, any thoughts of communication disappearing in the wake of this new, life-threatening development. His hands scrabbled at the teeth pinning him, sliding off of slick enamel before hitting gums. He was too far gone to even be disgusted, he was only afraid, afraid of those teeth closing in and piercing straight through him, of being swallowed up by the monster that already had him halfway in its mouth. “No, please,” he sobbed, tears flowing from eyes wide and unseeing. It didn’t even matter- the monster had turned away from the light, plunging him into darkness. He could only tell they were moving by the rush of air. “Oh, god, please…”

Another shriek was pulled from him as he suddenly plummeted, still caught between sharp teeth, only to be unceremoniously dropped onto the ground. He lay there limp, limbs numb and buzzy with adrenaline, tears still leaking out of his eyes. He pinched his eyes shut and sobbed, curling up and weakly shielding his head. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. If it was going to eat him, he almost wished it would just get it over with.

He felt rather than saw it lean in close, felt its warm, humid breath wash over him. A yelp of surprise blurted out as, instead of teeth, he felt a tongue licking over him; it was rough, and dry, more like a cat’s tongue than a human one, though big enough to cover his entire side with one swipe. He shuddered beneath it, uncomfortable and terrified, so unsure of what was happening.

A low rumble started up behind him as the sphinx licked away the sand covering him, a sound deep within a cavernous chest somewhere in the dark; but this wasn’t the growl from earlier, nor was it the attempt at speech.

It… it sounded like… purring?

While Casper’s heart still did its damndest to put him in cardiac arrest, the terror ebbed away from his mind a minute amount, making space for confusion once again. Purring was a good sign, probably, right? It would mean the feline monster was content with this in some way, even though he wasn’t being eaten. Actually, maybe the licking didn’t have anything to do with eating him, or at least he hoped not. It seemed less about tasting and more about… grooming? Was that what was happening here? Was the enormous monster with the razor-sharp claws and huge teeth now just grooming him?

It was so ridiculous that Casper actually blurted out, “Ha!”, a bark of a laugh that bordered on the hysterical more than the amused. He flinched as that huge tongue sought out his face, licking along his cheek and up into his hair, accompanied by a feline vocalization that almost seemed to be in response to his little outburst. Hell, maybe it was.

 He couldn’t do anything except lie there and hope for the best, not with the monster’s mouth so close to him. He weathered the tongue bath, only breaking the silence with quiet sounds of pain when that rough tongue scraped over new cuts. Tears from his brief but fervent bout of sobbing dried on his face, and the longer things went without him dying horribly, the more space his mind had to consider the possibility of escape.

There had to be a way out of this. Maybe the monster would let him go after this, or he could sneak away once it fell asleep. His heart lurched in his chest, hope flaring so suddenly and so keenly that it almost made him nauseous, as he suddenly remembered the fact that there were security guards in the building. All the enclosures had cameras, surely by now somebody had seen what had happened to him. They could come help him, or even call somebody who could figure out a way to rescue him before things went south again. They had to.

He strained his ears, trying to hear if anybody was coming. All he heard was a low, rumbling purr, so close and so pressing that it almost felt like a physical blanket of sound around him. Hard to hear anything through that, he told himself, and tried to stave off the sharp disappointment that a rescue wasn’t happening yet. Soon, surely, somebody would come.

Right?

A noise of surprise squawked out of him as something wrapped around him – fingers this time, not teeth, thank god – and lifted him up. He winced and leaned away as best he could as that catlike tongue swiped over the side of him that had been on the ground and therefore inaccessible moments ago; he couldn’t actually go anywhere though, not with giant, padded fingers locked around him like a vice grip. He didn’t want to tear himself to shreds on its claws trying to wiggle away, either, especially since he couldn’t see a damn thing. It made his heartbeat pick back up just thinking about it.

He expected to be put down after it was done licking him, but he still gasped as he was swept backwards and deposited on the ground. The sand felt gritty and blessedly solid beneath his shaky arms.

Casper tried to get to his feet, entertaining a fool’s hope that he might be able to make another run for it, only for his surroundings to suddenly constrict around him. He was uncomfortably pressed into the thick fur of… its arm, maybe. When he flinched back he nearly got tangled up in its mane, which seemed to surround him, rough hair full of animal stink and suggesting a very close proximity indeed. It was with no shortage of panic that Casper realized he was trapped, tucked close against it where it lay. There was the sound of it settling all around him, and then a long sigh as the purring faded somewhat. It snuffled out one last huff and then seemed to quiet completely.

His mind whirled. It was probably going back to sleep. It was going back to sleep with him surrounded by it.

He shakily felt his way back towards its arm, wondering if he dared trying to climb up and out over it; but after only a short, panicked scramble, his head hit something solid above him, and it scared him badly enough that he lost his grip and all but fell back to the ground with a pained exhale. It was on top of him too, oh god it was just too big. He wasn’t going to get out of this on his own, not without it moving.

After a few moments letting this fear run its course, he sucked in a shaky breath and risked piping up. “Um?” he said out into the quiet dark. “Could you, um, not?”

The sphinx did not reply. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be totally asleep; that, or it was content to ignore him now that it had him where it apparently wanted him.

Casper curled up on the hard, packed sand beneath him and did his best not to panic. He stared out with wide eyes towards a monstrous limb he couldn’t see, in the darkness of an enclosure he was never supposed to be in. Somebody would have to come eventually. Even if the security guards somehow hadn’t noticed his near-death experience, by early morning the rest of the cleaning staff would show up, and somebody would wonder where the hell he was.

He just had to wait.

[albatris]

1️⃣ A Rental Car Takes a Left Down Rake Street and Disappears

2️⃣ There is Nothing to See in Lot 17, Foxtrail Lane

3️⃣ Hell Yeah Bitch We're Gonna Go Eat God in the Outer Brayfield Underpass

[nullapophenia]

{You want to make him happy.}

{You have to say it.}

[porunareff]

rohans self insert in PDB is named hirohiko araki and hirohiko araki is a mangaka who has a self insert named rohan and rohan is a-

Someone get Christopher Nolan out here to adapt this premise into a movie!

[sparrowposting]

Biggest difference at the new job (besides The Everything) is being treated like an adult and a professional (despite being contract), rather than a kid who just happens to be computer literate unlike the rest of the staff, so I'm kept around for that. It's really nice? To be treated as an equal and intelligent and a professional worthy of my title, even tho yes I'm still young and new and learning, I have responsibility and autonomy and am in many ways my own manager, and I get to make decisions. It's scary and new and things are expected of me way more, but that's also exciting? Even as it's real stressful? Idk I'm still settling in, but after my first full week I'm??? I think this is going to be really good for me, personally and professionally

[larkral]

Oh, hello. Wednesday, huh? Thanks for the tag @artsyunderstudy !!

SO this week I have been doing MANY THINGS including many fannish things. Including things in several fandoms. Me earlier this year: I truly cannot handle having more than one thing on the go. Me now: Yes, maybe I do have six active writing projects in three different fandoms as well as four podfics on the go. WHAT OF IT!?

I've finished recording all of my podfics, and I'm editing them now and... well, it's hard. One is edited, one is 1/8th edited, and the other two are freefloating audio. But, uh, yeah, here's some audio. Because. I... well, you'll get it.

Yes, I titled this file TENDER because I just, it's... yeah. I'm not totally sure whether I'm allowed to say who/what I'm podficcing... (@caught-on-tape-fest can you advise?) But, anyway, probably someone will get it based on that snippet.

Below the cut: snippets of writing and tags!

Here, also, is a little, silly segment of my OMGCP fic, the Holsom Timeloop, featuring an OC who, let me just say, I gave excellent breasts, and zero flaws. I will accept no critiques:

He bumps into someone as he turns, attempts to keep anyone from falling with one hand in the steadying region of what should be a shoulder but turns out to be a truly exceptional handful of cleavage.  "Shit, I'm so sorry," he says, taking a half-step back and looking at the woman he just groped.  There's a lovely flush on her olive cheeks, and her hair is a cloud of beautiful, wild curls.  Marjorie. She's in his o-chem class and she's cute. She's been cute all semester. And smart. And funny. Though her typical cozy-sweater-and-jeans look in class does not betray how truly magnificent her tits are. They're propped up by some kind of bra magic in defiance of gravity, and barely contained by the blue-green fabric of her shirt.  She laughs. "You're forgiven. Though by the transitive property, you definitely owe me a drink."

I also wrote another couple hundred words on my @carryon-reverse-bang beach fic, of which these are some:

The moon is rising and the tide is coming in. "D'you know," he says. "Even if there were no moon, we'd still have tides?" I hum. I look over at him. His silhouette is blurred by the rays of the setting sun, lighting him up from behind like an unearthly being.

Tagging @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost  @chen-chen-chen-again-chen  @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @shrekgogurt @forabeatofadrum   @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple