“Dogday says . . . Fetch!”
Roxie watched their friend toss the rubber ball, the ball going well over their head and beyond.
“Go! Go! As far as you can!”
They giggled and made a run for it, their arms full of the trash they had gathered earlier. They had big projects, you see. Big, big projects! Bigger than you could imagine!
Their little legs moved as fast as they could, following the path the ball had taken. The weight in their arms slowed them down, but that didn’t deter them at all!
They ran and ran, the scraps they carried slowly started to fall from their grasp, but they did not look back or slow down to pick them up. They were on a mission! That was Dogday’s favorite ball, they couldn't just leave it!
Roxie’s eyes zeroed on the small, yellow, rubber ball on the ground.
They gasped for air, they haven’t run like that in a while! Not since Hoppy challenged the whole crew into a speeding contest. She won, of course, but they didn’t do bad at all either!
Roxie let go of the remaining objects in their arms, making a beeline towards the yellow ball.
Roxie wrapped their fingers around the sphere, and stared at it longingly.
Roxie looked back, looked back at the path they took. They tried their best to see beyond the red on the walls and floor, the red in the ceiling and air.
Red red red.
Roxie turned their vision to the small pile they managed to bring with them, and gently took a small cardboard cutout.
A cardboard cutout that had their best friend in it. A cardboard cutout that had a big red button to press.
Roxie pressed the button, cradling the object in their arms.
“Dogday says . . . Fetch!”
It said.
“Go! Go! As fast as you can!”
It said.
Roxie let out a bitter laugh, and hung their head low.
They were so. Tired.
So, so tired.
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WANNA RIDE STILES WHILE I WEAR HIS LACROSSE JERSEY MHM YEAH
WHYYYY WOULD U SAY THIS TO ME
just thinking abt like ... the way stiles would go absolutely feral. like he would go slightly insane. mouth open, lips still glistening from the messy kiss you'd shared with him a few moments prior, but his face has been frozen like this ever since he'd walked into his room to see you laid on his bed, wearing nothing but his lacrosse jersey, scrolling through your phone like it's the most casual thing that's ever happened.
the only thing that's changed is his eyes, consistently roaming over your body, flicking between your face which is scrunched up in pleasure, and your chest that he's forced out of the jersey, the material lifted up on one side, bunched over your shoulder. he's watching you through lidded eyes, similar to when he's tired, that same scrunch between his eyebrows, too.
his hands roam over your body, taking in as much as he can. calloused palms against the soft skin of your torso, running along your back, sliding down to your hips and around to press along your lower abdomen, making their way down to your cunt where he flattens his thumb along your clit, lifting the hood to gain better access.
he can't get enough, wanting more, wanting to do this again even when it's still happening in front of his face. he's trying to commit this to memory, he realizes when he's giving you possibly the hundredth full-body scan of the night. from your messy hair down to where you repeatedly sink yourself onto his cock.
his eyes get stuck there for a bit, not breaking away until he hears your breathless giggle.
"fillin' me up so well, stiles," you tell him, voice sounding pretty like it always does when you're like this.
the sweet sound of you – both your words and your cunt squelching around him – breaks him out of his stupor. he licks his lips, runs his thumbs along your skin, head spinning when you mewl as he rubs slow circles along your clit.
"yeah?" he asks you, even though he knows you're telling the truth, he can feel it. but he likes to see your almost pained nod, it fills his chest with pride, bolsters his ego. "feels good, honey?" another nod from you that makes him smile.
"'s that why you put that on? knew it would get you here?" his hands slide to your hips, his heels digging into the mattress as he slams up into you once, repeating the action at the sound you make. you don't answer him, it's not like you could, the breath taken from you just like the control was.
"hm? is that why you put my jersey on, laid in my bed in nothing else, waiting for me to get home." your hands press into his chest, fingers curling and your nails start to scratch at his skin. he takes a second, head tilting, eyes blinking innocently as he looks at you.
"that's kinda slutty, don't you think?''
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I’m not usually a fan of sick Whump, but when Whumpee is running such a high fever that they’re shaking, taking uneven, shallow breaths, their skin chafing and burning against their clothes.
The moment Caretaker lays a palm on their forehead to check their fever and Whumpee sighs with relief because it’s so blessedly cold.
The moment Whumper cups Whumpee’s cheek with one hand and turns their head slightly, and Whumpee hates themself for leaning into it, but they just want the burning to stop.
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Unsurprisingly, people are already being fucking weird about Mizu's gender.
Headcanons are all well and good, but maybe we shouldn't be so eager to apply modern Western gender politics and terms to a character whose identity is so tied to the time, place, and circumstances in which she exists.
Please remember that Mizu was forced to present as male for her own safety and agency. Please remember that allowing others to see her as a man and call her he/him is not a choice; it's protection; it's a means to an end. Until we see Mizu talk about her gender in further detail, that's all the context we have.
Don't project what you want to see onto her and then treat it as fact.
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