showmetheghoulies
I Am Open! I Am Receptive!
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For prompts what if this one with MaulObiTine: C is trying to sleep alone, but they can’t, so they drag B and A from whatever they’re doing and into bed 👀👀
KICKS YOUR DOOR DOWN, AT LONG LAST, I COME BEARING OT3!!!!!!
also holy fuck new glass animals single dropped yesterday and i sure did have that on loop as I wrote please groove as you read
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Perhaps it is the opulence that gets under Maul’s skin. The silks of the bedsheets that are too cool without another body to warm them. The sheer amount of space that echoes his restless tossing and turning. The fact that he has the luxury to lie here and stare sleeplessly up at the canopy overhead.
There is nothing that needs his attention, but it calls to the others.
Like fuck he’s going to suffer this misery alone.
Maul’s grumble as he rolls out of bed turns into a growl as he tangles in the sleeves of the robe that was left for him by an attendant trying to be helpful. He ties the sash half-heartedly around his waist and stalks out of the room in search of Obi-Wan.
It’s easy, despite the enormity of the palace. Obi-Wan is a barbed hook stabbed through his breastbone and all he has to do is tug on the string that connects them. Years have let the wound heal, but nights like this — alone and trapped in silence — knock the hook loose so that it aches, reopened and tender.
Maul finds Obi-Wan standing over a table displaying maps of a war that he swore is no longer his. He rubs absently at a spot on his chest with one hand and fusses with his beard in thought with the other.
“How did I know you would be looking for trouble,” Obi-Wan says without looking up as Maul slams a hand onto the holo table to demand his attention. He doesn’t even have the gall to look away from the readout of troop movements. His hand over his mouth isn’t enough to disguise the smirk, though, nor is the light from the map enough to wash away the bags under his eyes completely.
“I came looking for you,” Maul counters, reaching over and snatching up the remote for the holo table.
“Am I trouble?” Obi-Wan lifts an eyebrow with the question.
“You’ll be in trouble if you keep ignoring me.” With a deft press of a button, Maul turns off the map display. Then, because he can, and sure maybe he is feeling a little troublesome and more than a little frustrated, he crushes the remote.
To make a point.
Obi-Wan frowns as he watches the bits of tech rain down over the deactivated table. “Alright, my dear, you’ve made your point,” he says.
“Don’t my dear me just because you think it will get you out of trouble.” Still, Maul notes that the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders eases, and he stifles a yawn. “Where is Satine?”
At this, the other man’s eyebrow lifts in a delicate arch and amusement curls the corners of his lips into an infuriating smirk. “Oh, is that the plan?”
Maul curls his fingers into a fist around the front of Obi-Wan’s Jedi robes and yanks him down to kiss that smirk off his fucking face. “Shut up.”
Obi-Wan chuckles against the kiss and sighs as it ends. “She’s probably in her office getting more work done, knowing our duchess.”
He’s not used to hearing these words. My dear. Our duchess. Just like he’s not familiar with the amenities that are freely given so long as he is here as a guest.
Just like he’s not familiar with the affection that is freely given as Obi-Wan startles him out of his thoughts, tracing the shell of his ear and running the tips of his fingers over the new earrings there. Ones that Satine gave him as a gift, simply because she thought they would look nice.
“Bold of you to think that she will be ready to sign off for the night just yet,” Obi-Wan muses idly, following his own internal monologue.
“You just get me there,” Maul growls, shoving a hand against Obi-Wan’s chest. Not to push him away — merely making a show of force.
Obi-Wan rocks back on his heels then swings forward again into Maul’s space to steal a kiss that Maul lets linger longer than he normally would. “I look forward to seeing how this goes,” he murmurs against Maul’s lips, the smirk softening into a smile. “It will be nice to sleep at a reasonable hour, I think.”
It’s already late in the evening, somewhere after midnight. Maul has been left alone most of the evenings for this past week until the restlessness finally forced him out of bed this night. He harrumphs in response and follows after Obi-Wan.
He doesn’t have that sort of connection with Satine. Yet, he thinks, fingering the earring that dangles from his lobe. Obi-Wan’s pain is deep and old, settled and familiar in his chest. Her’s will be sharp and bright when it does strike.
Obi-Wan navigates the halls of the palace with thoughtless ease, and Maul wonders just what he feels when he searches for Satine. What the wound she has caused in his heart feels like, what teenage love feels like when it breaks — how it differs from anger turned to something sweeter.
Or is it that he just has memorized the routes around the palace? The number of steps and turns it will take to get from the map room to Satine’s study? Maul doubts it is as mundane as that, though. Obi-Wan is too much of a romantic for it to just be that.
Satine, golden hair loose from its coiffure from dinner and hanging around her shoulders in gentle curls, startles as her door opens. “Oh,” she says, a breathless laugh escaping her. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“That is because we didn’t knock!” Obi-Wan chimes, hopping up onto the edge of her desk. “Maul came and distracted me from my late night ruminations, and I believe he intends to do the same for you.”
Her eyes flit from the man across from her to where Maul lurks back by the door. To his surprise, she sets aside her stylus and holds out a hand to him. “Is there a problem with the accommodations?”
Maul’s feet obey the wordless summons until he is just shy of her touch. He hadn’t thought this far forward. He can’t pull a trick like the one he used on Obi-Wan. And saying yes, they’re too big for just one person sounds absolutely pathetic.
So he tries to channel that suave ease that Obi-Wan always seems to have. Maul reaches towards her, curling his fingers around the strands of her hair to tuck them behind her ear. “The sheets are far too cold,” he says, his voice low and gruff and he hopes it doesn’t sound as stupid as it felt to say.
Satine’s jewel deep eyes search his, her lips parted ever so slightly and he can hear the hitch of her breath.
From the other side of the desk, out of the corner of his eye, Maul can see Obi-Wan duck his head briefly to possibly hide a laugh. Maul makes a note to reprimand him later for that. “Oh, is that the problem?” And then to Maul’s surprise, he feels Obi-Wan’s warm, calloused hand grasp his chin in a light but demanding grip. He tilts Maul’s face away from Satine, forcing him to break the eye contact. “I can certainly help with that,” he murmurs and this time the kiss is deep and languid.
As much for show as it is for the pure enjoyment of it.
“You’re being absolutely awful,” Satine murmurs. “I still have work to do.”
“Great news, my love: The work will still be there.” Despite his words being for Satine, Obi-Wan’s gaze holds Maul’s steady — the small smile meant only for him. “If, of course, we can tempt you away.”
“And I bet that everyone waiting for those reports are already asleep,” Maul adds and Obi-Wan’s smile brightens even as Satine sighs in frustration. “Just saying.”
Obi-Wan releases his chin and lets him look back to Satine, slumped in her chair and resting her head against the delicate tips of her fingers. But her eyes are focused as she watches the two of them. More alert than she had seemed when they first walked in, that’s for certain.
Maul holds his hand out to her this time. “As your guest, I think I’m allowed to demand a little more of your time.”
She laughs, turning her face into her palm as if that can dampen the expression. “Alright, you fiends. Give me a moment.”
But Maul doesn’t want to run the risk of her turning a moment into an hour, so he takes her hand and pulls her to her feet.
A sound of surprise spills out of her as she stumbles into his chest, but the laughter is still there. “You win!” she gasps through her laughter. Without looking she closes the cover to her tablet with a definitive click. “I’m done.” There’s a moment of shy hesitation, and then she leans in towards Maul—
He retreats two steps. Enough to keep a firm grip on her elbows so she can keep her balance at the sudden loss of his presence.
She frowns at his withdrawal. And when she tries to close the gap again, he retreats. Step by step, her confusion turning to delight as he leads her away from her desk.
Step by step until his back hits Obi-Wan’s chest.
Satine uses this opportunity to press in against him, slender fingers tracing the edge of his robe as she lifts up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her palms smooth up his chest, curling around his neck as Obi-Wan’s arms encircle his waist from behind.
She sighs in satisfaction as the kiss breaks. “Much better.”
“The plan was to get back to the bed,” Maul grumps, sandwiched between the two of them and the easy exchange of touches.
“In a moment,” Satine says as Obi-Wan’s lips press to the curve of his throat and her hands slip beneath the robe to better map the planes of his chest.
And this time, at least, he can’t find it in him to object.
#star wars#the clone wars#fic#obimaultine#((i love not being in a fandom and then reading a mab fic and going OHHHHHHHH))#((hello this is so soft im in love))#((i am holding them in my hands))#((i am making them kiss like barbies))
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Here’s the thing:
Jaskier doesn’t have a horse. I mean yeah, technically he has Pegasus but in nw and most fanon media he doesn’t. The man walks at the same pace as a horse every day for twenty years. And I’m sure Geralt let him put SOME things on Roach, but probably not much. She’s Geralt’s horse and needs to carry his things AND Geralt, no one wants her to be over extended with bard stuff. So that means Jaskier carries all his stuff himself which is AT MINIMUM, his lute, notebooks, probably like 3 sets of relatively complex performing outfits and road clothes, all his fancy cosmetic stuff, a bedroll, and his METAL coin money. He also probably has first aid things like bandages and potions, frivolous things like baubles and jewelry, food, water, and probably other bard stuff like spare strings and such.
Yeah, Jask is depicted as traveling without bags but that’s just not possible. He probably carries his own essentials and as someone who backpacks— that alone is usually 20+ lbs. WITH modern technology aimed at making things lighter. Thats not counting all the fancy stuff he’s prone to and his career tools. Jaskier is probably hauling like 40-50lbs or more of stuff EVERY DAY while mostly roughing it off the land and keeping pace with a man on horseback. Oh, and this is WHILE SINGING AND TALKING the entire time. Can you imagine this man’s lung capacity? To sing and talk constantly while exerting himself?
This is all to say: Jaskier is strong as fuck and fit as hell. The thing is though, he probably doesn’t even recognize it. Yeah, he probably knows he’s got the muscle and such, but he still is largely perceived as a delicate person. He PROJECTS being delicate. Being fragile and pampered and in need of the finer things. He projects capable, but not strong. This. Is. Hilarious.
Jaskier, having already walked 12 miles at a moderate incline carrying 40lbs of stuff without breaking a sweat (it’s barely past midday): Geralt I am FRAGILE. I cannot POSSIBLY walk through this mud. (It’s like a 3 ft section) I’m not a rugged mountain man like you, I’m simply not BUILT for this!
Geralt, staring at Jaskier who’s as burly as most Witchers and has walked the path w/o Witcher training for over a decade: hm
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Midnight Mass studies
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“I’ve been so proud of you and I just wish that we had gotten to know each other.”
“Me too.”
Midnight Mass (2021)
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I always love the Winchester House investigations because Ryan is shooting Ghost Files but Shane is shooting an after dark Architectural Digest tour talking about beautiful hinges, hallways and Queen Anne style houses
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shauna marrying jackie's boyfriend and having his child to live out jackie's life after she killed and ate her after she took the first bite because she was the one who loved jackie the very most. i love normal girls.
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JOEY BATEY as JASKIER
THE WITCHER SEASON 03 PART I
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Headcanon: eddie loves jokingly flirting with robin because theyre both vehemently queer and obviously incompatible as a couple but that doesnt seem to stop people from falling for it EVERY TIME and thinking that theyre actually into each other. People, including steve.
Steve who doesnt pick up on it being a joke. Steve who is desperately trying to think of a way to get eddie to stop without outing robin or crushing eddies heart. Steve, who decides the best way forward is to defensively flirt back whenever eddie makes a pass at robin, feigning that he thought it was directed at him. Steve who doesnt pick up on it for months when eddie turns his attention from jokingly flirting to robin to actually unabashedly flirting with steve. Steve who finds himself reliving those conversations late at night while he lies in bed. Steve who suddenly seems to be attending dnd campeigns despite not understanding it at all. Steve who flirts with npc just so eddie will look at him with that wicked grin. Steve who stays back late to help clear up. Steve that ends up pinned against a dungy basement wall, lips locked with the boy hes been in love with for weeks.
Eddie, who fell just as hard, pissing himself because now he owes robin $5.
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“She’s my blessing. And I love her.”
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it’s okay, babygirl.
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THE LAST OF US - #It’s just deer meat
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“What do you mean he’s faking it? Geralt gets headaches, you should know! Lambert, he’s your brother!”
“Oh, believe me, I know my brother, Buttercup. Pretty boy has you wrapped around his finger. He’s just pretending so you’d be like…this. All touchy-feely and cuddly.”
The air shifts when Lambert must be gesturing wildly at Jaskier and Geralt’s general direction, where the witcher is resting his head on the bard’s thigh. The argument is muffled by the hand Jaskier presses on Geralt’s ear protectively.
It’s too comfortable to move, with Jaskier’s lap as the pillow and his doublet draped over Geralt’s shoulder. The fainting couch he’s lying on practically becomes a cocoon—one that is warm and nice and made from a bard’s love, but Geralt can only get it if he has a headache. Which he conveniently does, recently.
So Geralt duly keeps his eyes closed. He’s supposed to be resting for the pain, after all.
“His senses are heightened,” Jaskier protests, his voice low and careful. “You’ve seen him get overwhelmed by all the smells and noises. Don’t you at least have sympathy for a fellow witcher?”
“My senses are heightened too, and I can tell he’s a shit actor. He’s not even asleep!”
“Shh!” The hand that covers Geralt’s ear tightens. “You’re going to wake him!”
“Ugh, how do I tell you this, you can’t wake someone pretending!”
“Get out.”
Jaskier’s whisper remains low, but the determination seeps into those two words. Even without looking, Geralt can imagine the frown on the bard’s face easily. Oh, Jaskier is getting angry.
“You are not listening, he’s—"
“Out, Lambert.”
Properly angry. Even the younger wolf does not have a retort for the finality in Jaskier’s order. With a few muttered curses about gullible bards, Lambert’s footsteps retreat into the hallway. A door slams shut behind him, and Jaskier flinches even though it’s far away.
Geralt hums unhappily at how much Jaskier has tensed, so he hugs the thighs under his head closer. Gentle hands fuss all over him, tucking in the corners of the doublet and stroking his arm, shoulder, hair. He’s so toasty he could melt right here.
A good person would never take advantage of Jaskier’s affections like this, Geralt knows. Shame he’s not a good person.
Now he can bask in the presence of his bard without interruption. Geralt keeps his face neutral and relaxed, but the triumph makes him almost giddy at the knowledge that Jaskier will take his side every time—
“You know I know, right?”
Jaskier’s whisper comes from above, still soft and gentle and full of love. And perhaps, a hint of amusement.
Geralt freezes like a statue. His breathing stops for a long, long time. It’s a good thing witchers don’t need to breathe that much; it’s bad that his face is also heating up rather quickly in the process.
“Alright, then,” Jaskier says after a moment. His deft fingers trace Geralt’s jawline and give it a little pat. “Sleep tight, witcher mine.”
There is the sound of fabric rustling when Jaskier tries to find a good place to rest his head on the fainting couch. His snores come soon after.
Geralt blinks open his eyes after a while, not daring to move a muscle with Jaskier under him, still a vital part of the nice cocoon. Gradually, the toastiness is bordering on being too hot. He wonders if he’s able to panic while staying completely still, because it certainly fucking feels like it. There’s even sweat on his forehead now.
He does end up developing a headache, and it’s probably well-deserved.
Lambert must never find out.
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Before Steven was born Amethyst used to say ‘fuck’ all the time & so when he was a baby Greg had to sit her down and explain that she has to stop swearing around Steven because he’s young & impressionable
So Amethyst is like “but that’s my favourite word, when will be stop being young & impressionable so I can say it again??”
And Greg is like “uhh I don’t know, 15 I guess? 15 is probably old enough”
“Got it”
flash forward to Steven’s fifteenth birthday and he is woken at dawn by Amethyst yelling “wake the FUCK up Steven it’s FUCKING TIME”
& he spends the entire day losing his mind
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