When you go to leave a kudos and you see your name already listed there and you cannot remember ever reading the story before.
raise your hand if you’ve got the sweetest followers and you appreciate each and every one
Anonymous asked: I'm the anon from the Steve/Bucky prompt, and I just wanted to say thank you for filling it.
You are most welcome, my dear! It’s a pleasure to write those boys.
My Gabriel Big Bang turned out sort of…gen? Yeah, I’m surprised to, you guys. Anyone interested in betaing?
ludditeheart asked: Some of those forgotten words I am just aching to use in casual conversation. (The slimikin Ephydriad famigerated concerning the kexy gardeviance.) Well... never mind. I like your writing better! How about medioxumate with Castiel/Gabriel.
( I know right?! I love kexy particularly. )
medioxumate adj 1723 -1723 of gods of intermediate rank between those of heaven and of hell
The Feast of Tricksters had been cancelled three years in a row do to low attendance and high damage costs, but Gabriel wasn’t letting his return to the immortal coil go by without a celebration. That Castiel was coming with him, a mix of bodyguard and plus one. Not that Gabriel had a need of either, but he had a desire for both.
"I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this," Castiel said mildly as they surveyed the full meadhall. Raven and Monkey were making enough noise for a dozen mortals while Anansi smoothed talked around the room. It wasn’t just Tricksters, other middling gods had come to rub elbows and exchange gossip.
"You might be surprised," he sat Castiel down next to Hephaestus. "You never know who you might meet."
Hours later, Gabriel collected Castiel from a smiling Rati. They were apparently exchanging souffle recipes.
"Did you really pants Anubis at a toga party?" Castiel asked, pupils blown wide and an unusually wide smile painted on his face.
"He drew a dick on my face when I passed out. We were even."
"I had imagined gods differently," Castiel swayed against him and Gabriel laughed, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s flushed cheek.
"Well, they certainly never could have dreamed up you, so I guess you’re even too."
nobodytoldthehorse asked: tenellous, Spot & Racetrack
tenellous adj 1651 -1651 somewhat tender
There’s nothing soft about Spot. Sleeping next to him is an effort of elbows and the handle of hidden blades, even now. Especially now. But Racetrack didn’t sign up for pillowtalk and fluff comforters. They bed down somewhere with walls these days, rent paid and bellies full. Racetrack cooks them bachelors’ meals while Spot counts the take at the table. They drink black coffee after they eat while Racetrack reads the newspaper outloud. They don’t miss selling the damn things, but maybe they miss knowing.
When the fire dies down, they head to bed, sloughing off clothes. It’s warm enough with two bodies, they don’t fuss with nightshirts. They usually fuck which warms the sheets too, sweatslick and exhausted by it. Every night Racetrack swears that they won’t tonight, so he can get a few extra minutes of sleep, but then Spot sloughs off his undershirt, revealing work hardened stomach and the battle is over before it’s waged.
"Worth it," he mumbles into his pillow.
Spot puts a hand, tentative and light right at the small of Racetrack’s back. Racetrack doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to breath. The hand stays, thumb making small circles.
They fall asleep like that and it isn’t sharp at all.
heading to bed, feel free to pop more in my box. answers will continue until my moral improves.
amayakumiko asked: Brian/Bender Kexy (i'm considering my love affair with this pair all your fault. so i'm 'punishing' you by repeatedly prompting you for it)
( oh no! I tremble. ;) Also, I love that kexy is like the opposite of sexy. Let’s bring the KEXY back. )
kexy adj 1608 -1884 dry, brittle, withered
"You don’t want it," Bender assured him. "It’s just…dust."
"You’re still walking around, so I don’t think your pulmonary systems has given into decay just yet."
Brian was getting better about not using SAT words around Bender. It only took a few repeated dramatic pauses to get the dictionary to make that shit stop. Once and a while he slips though and Bender has just…adjusted. He gave up pretending that he didn’t understand some of the time and when he actually didn’t get, he just let it slide.
"Whatever, nerd," he said, falling back onto Brian’s too slender dorm bed.
"That’s like your mantra," Brian rolled his eyes, the days of Bender’s cool intimidation dead and gone. Instead of going tentative and meek, Brian straddled Bender’s hips until the scratch of their jeans rolled Bender’s eyes up into this head.
They fucked, half-dressed and frantic, Brian’s hands fisting into Bender’s t-shirt as he let out moans so deep they constantly took Bender off guard. When they collapsed, Brian didn’t roll away like a self-respecting dude. Instead he pillowed his head on Bender’s chest and rested his hand on Bender’s heaving stomach.
"I’ve got it, actually. Asking you was sort of beside the point."
"It’s not something you can just take."
"True," Brian shrugged. "But you gave me your heart the first time you showed up here. I’m just watching it for you."
"Nothing to watch, dust."
"Whatever, John," Brian looked up, his eyes sly behind light lashes. "It might be brittle, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t break."
"I hate every part of this conversation."
Though weirdly enough, Bender trusted Brian to keep the promise.
amayakumiko asked: Meg/Cas obacerate
obacerate v 1656 -1658 to stop one’s mouth
There are things Castiel never says, never mentions. It’s not that she’s drawn lines in the sand or told him what was taboo. For the first time, he’s learned instinct in an interaction. He senses boundaries as he reaches them and learns how to back away, before he triggers alarms.
"You can tell me anything," she says with a laugh that’s strained.
"I can," he agreed. "But may I?"
"Good question." She never answers it.
He learns to ask without words. A kiss or a trail of fingertips over the back of her wrist or a bite or a scratch. She likes that language better.
Perhaps its because English, that shaky new language, is their only common tongue. Perhaps its because they’ve lived too long and seen too much to think that they can jam meaning into grunts and syllables.
Or perhaps, at last, they’ve learned something like tenderness.