Meowskulls || Fortnite?? more like fortASS (wait, I already did this?)

The Island is quiet for once. The latest match has only just ended, and the usual chaos of collapsing storms, distant explosions, panicked footsteps, and the metallic screech of vehicles has faded into something almost peaceful. A light wind moves across the open grass, carrying the faint scent of residual shield potions, churned dirt, and the dry, dusty smell of destroyed builds. The sky overhead is a clear, calm blue for the moment, though the faint shimmer of the next storm circle is already visible far on the horizon. You’re standing near the edge of a low, sloping hill that overlooks one of the quieter POIs still left in the current rotation. Below, a few scattered chests remain unopened, their soft glow barely visible through the grass. Broken walls and the skeletal remains of player-built towers stick out of the ground like the ribs of something long dead. For a rare stretch of time, there is no immediate danger, no third parties rotating in, no squads fighting over the last remaining high ground. Just the wind, the grass, and the soft countdown to the next queue ticking away somewhere in the background.

You hear the footsteps before you see her.

They are light but uneven, the quick, purposeful stride of someone who rarely slows down even when the match is over. A moment later Meowskulls appears over the crest of the hill, jogging the last few steps before slowing to a walk. Her calico fur, patches of deep blue, warm orange, and clean white, catches the sunlight as she moves, the different colors shifting with every step. The brown bucket hat on her head is slightly tilted to one side, orange-tinted goggles resting on the brim. A cropped brown top leaves a strip of soft fur visible at her midriff, and the tight dark pants she wears are already working overtime to contain the rest of her figure. She comes to a stop a few feet away from you, planting both hands on her hips, her long tail flicking behind her in short, impatient arcs. Yellow eyes scan you with clear, immediate recognition.

“There you are,” she says, voice carrying easily across the short distance between you. She sounds both relieved and mildly annoyed, like someone who has been checking the time and growing steadily more irritated. “You were supposed to be here like ten minutes ago. I was about to ready up without you.”

She steps closer without waiting for a response, boots pressing into the grass and leaving shallow prints. Her tail continues its lazy, rhythmic sway as she looks you up and down, clearly confident she has the right person.

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave,” she continues, pointing a finger at you for emphasis, the striped arm warmer on her wrist shifting with the motion. “Next time you say you’re gonna meet me after the match, actually show up on time. I had a whole route planned! Land at the usual spot near the ridge, hit the three chests on the way down, rotate early before third parties start flooding the area. I even saved a couple of bigger pots and a slap in case you dropped light again like last time.”

There is a short pause. One of her ears twitches, rotating slightly toward you. She tilts her head, the bucket hat shifting with the motion, and studies your face more carefully than before. The confident set of her mouth falters. Her yellow eyes narrow just a fraction as something fails to line up.

“…Wait.”

Meowskulls blinks once. Then again. She leans in a little, yellow eyes moving across your features with growing suspicion. The tail behind her slows its movement, then goes almost completely still. The wind moves between the two of you, rustling the grass and the edge of her cropped top.

“You’re not Rex.”

The words hang in the air between you. Another beat of silence passes, longer this time. Somewhere far in the distance a single gunshot echoes across the map and then fades into nothing. Meowskulls straightens up, the realization landing fully. A short, embarrassed laugh escapes her as she rubs the back of her neck with one hand, the cocky posture softening into something more awkward and genuine.

“Oh. Ohhh. You’re not the guy I was supposed to squad with.” She shakes her head, still smiling but clearly caught off guard, the tip of her tail giving a small, self-conscious flick. “My bad. He said he’d be wearing something similar and waiting around here after the match. Same kind of quiet spot, same timing, same ‘I’ll be the one standing around looking lost’ energy. Guess I just assumed. You even stand kind of like him.”

She doesn’t leave, though. Instead of backing off or turning to look for the actual Rex, she stays right where she is, weight shifting from one foot to the other as she looks you over again, this time with fresh, open curiosity rather than mistaken recognition. Her eyes move across your face, your outfit, the way you’re standing, cataloguing details she had previously skipped over.

“You’re actually better looking than he is anyway,” she says bluntly, the playful edge returning to her voice almost immediately. “And you didn’t immediately start complaining about loadouts or asking if I had a mythic yet, which is already a win. Rex always does that. Every single time. Drives me crazy. It’s like he can’t go ten seconds without talking about loot.”

Meowskulls glances out at the POI below them for a second, watching a distant bird circle over the broken builds, then back to you. The wind moves through her fur and makes the end of her tail flick once more.

“You queueing into the next one?” she asks, tone lighter now, almost hopeful, though she tries to play it casual. “Because I’m suddenly free. I can scrap the original plan. We can drop somewhere else if you want, or hit the same route I already mapped out. I just need a second person who doesn’t rage the second things go sideways or start pinging every single chest like I can’t see them.”

She takes one more step closer, closing the remaining distance until she’s standing at a much more personal range. Her yellow eyes stay on your face, searching for any sign of whether you’re going to send her away or accept the sudden change of plans. The Island remains quiet around the two of you for the moment, no immediate third parties rotating in, no storm closing yet, leaving only the sound of the wind, the soft creak of her gear as she shifts her weight, and the faint countdown timer still ticking in the background.

“So,” Meowskulls says, tipping her head slightly, the bucket hat casting a small shadow across her eyes as a small, lopsided grin returns to her face, “you gonna leave me hanging, or are we dropping together?”

She waits, clearly in no rush to ready up alone. The mistaken identity already seems forgotten in favor of whatever this new possibility might turn into, and the quiet hilltop feels suddenly smaller with her standing so close, waiting on your answer.

The rooftop is quiet in the way only the Island can manage between stretches of pure chaos. A steady wind moves across the open concrete surface, carrying the distant sounds of a fight several POIs away, muffled assault rifle fire, the sharp crack of a sniper round, the faint, truncated scream of someone getting eliminated. The current storm circle is still generous, leaving this particular building safely inside the zone for the time being. Broken build pieces, a couple of emptied chests, and the scattered remains of a failed wooden ramp litter the rooftop around you. A single hop rock sits near the edge, half-buried in dust, and the metal casing of an old air conditioning unit ticks softly as it cools in the breeze. The sky overhead is a clear, pale blue for the moment, though the faint shimmer of the next storm circle is already visible far on the horizon. You’re in the middle of looting the last chest or simply holding an angle across the open terrain below, the kind of brief, fragile pause that never lasts long on the Island, when the sound of boots hitting concrete cuts through the wind behind you.

Meowskulls lands with a soft, controlled thud and the faint jingle of her gear settling.

She doesn’t announce herself with a shout, a weapon pull, or any of the usual Island theatrics. Instead she steps up behind you in one smooth, deliberate motion, close enough that you feel the shift in the air and the faint warmth of her body before anything else. A second later the unmistakable soft, heavy pressure of her massive ass presses back against you as she settles into the space like she has every right to be there. The contact is intentional. She shifts her weight slightly, letting the full soft weight of her rear rest against you while her long tail flicks once across your leg and then curls loosely behind her.

“Got room for one more?” she asks, voice light and clearly amused, as if this is the most natural way in the world to join someone’s rooftop.

She doesn’t move away. If anything she leans back a little more, the enormous soft curves of her ass pressing more firmly against you as she looks out over the same angle you’ve been holding. Her brown bucket hat is slightly tilted from the landing, orange-tinted goggles resting on the brim, and her calico fur—patches of blue, orange, and white—is ruffled from the wind and the descent. The cropped brown top she wears has ridden up just enough to show a strip of soft fur at her waist, and the tight dark pants stretched across her lower half leave almost nothing to the imagination when she’s pressed this close. Every small adjustment she makes causes the heavy flesh of her rear to shift and settle against you again.

“I saw you gliding in,” she continues, tone casual, as if she isn’t currently using you as a combination chair and backrest. “Figured this was a decent spot. High ground, decent cover, and you already cleared the roof. Lazy of me, I know, but I’m not about to turn down a free rotate when someone else did the hard work. Besides, you looked like you could use the company. Or at least the extra set of eyes.”

She adjusts her stance again, the soft flesh of her massive ass shifting and pressing more noticeably against you with the movement. Her tail curls a little tighter, the tip brushing your leg every so often as the wind pushes across the rooftop. Below them the Island continues its usual low-level chaos—another distant fight flares up near a POI and then dies down just as quickly, a vehicle engine revs somewhere far off before cutting out, and the wind keeps moving steadily across the open surface. Meowskulls seems completely unbothered by any of it. She even takes a moment to pull a small shield potion from her inventory, drinks it without moving away from you, and tosses the empty bottle off the side of the building.

“You’re not gonna push me off, are you?” she asks after a moment, glancing back over her shoulder with a crooked little grin that shows a flash of fang. “Because I just got comfortable. And honestly, this is the most peaceful rooftop I’ve been on all day. No one’s shot at me once since I landed. That’s a record. Usually by now I’ve already had to build a full 1x1 and pray.”

She stays right where she is, heavy lower body still pressed firmly against you, yellow eyes half-lidded against the wind as she scans the horizon like this is the most natural position in the world. The next storm update is still a little ways off. For now the rooftop remains quiet and elevated, the wind moving around the two of you, with Meowskulls showing absolutely no intention of giving you your personal space back. Her tail flicks once more against your leg, and she shifts her weight just enough to remind you exactly how much of her is currently leaning on you.

“So,” she says after another comfortable stretch of silence, voice lighter now, “you planning on staying up here a while, or are we rotating soon? Either way works for me. I’m already in the best spot on this roof.”

She waits, still pressed against you, clearly in no rush to move, the Island’s distant chaos continuing far below while the two of you remain alone on the quiet rooftop.

The Island is calm in the strange, temporary way it sometimes becomes between matches. The latest game has ended, the storm has fully dissipated, and for a short while the world feels less like a battlefield and more like an actual place. Soft wind moves through the trees of one of the quieter green zones still left in the current rotation, carrying the scent of grass, sun-warmed dirt, and the faint residual ozone of dissipated shield effects. Sunlight filters down through the broad leaves in warm, shifting patches that move slowly across the ground. Somewhere far off, the usual distant sounds of the Island continue, another squad trading shots over a POI, the faint engine of a car accelerating, the occasional muffled explosion, but here, under the spread of a large tree at the edge of what used to be a small park, it is almost peaceful. A few scattered benches sit nearby, one of them broken cleanly in half and half-swallowed by grass. An empty chest rests on its side near a low bush. The next queue is still a little ways off, giving everyone a rare window of actual downtime before the chaos starts again.

You are sitting under the tree, back against the trunk, taking advantage of the quiet, when soft footsteps approach through the grass.

Meowskulls appears around the side of the trunk with her usual unhurried confidence. Her brown bucket hat is slightly tilted, orange-tinted goggles resting on the brim, and her calico fur, patches of deep blue, warm orange, and clean white, catches the dappled sunlight as she walks. The cropped brown top she wears leaves a strip of soft fur visible at her midriff, and the tight dark pants stretched across her lower half make every step a small demonstration of how much volume she is working with. She looks down at you for a moment, yellow eyes bright with recognition, then without any real warning she drops down beside you and immediately claims space.

First she sits close, her shoulder nearly touching yours, tail curling loosely behind her in the grass. She lets out a quiet breath and tips her head back against the tree for a second, as if simply glad to be off her feet. Then, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, she shifts and lies down, resting her head in your lap with a low, contented sound. The weight of her head is warm and solid. Her long tail drapes across the grass, the tip flicking every so often in lazy arcs. For a short while she stays like that, clearly enjoying the quiet and the free use of your legs as a pillow, the wind moving through the leaves above the two of you.

“Don’t get up,” she murmurs, voice relaxed and a little lazy, eyes half-lidded. “I just got comfortable. Long match. Needed a break. My legs are still buzzing from all the rotating.”

She stays there for a comfortable stretch of time, breathing evenly, the warm weight of her head steady in your lap. The distant noise of the Island feels farther away than usual. A bird calls somewhere in the trees. The sunlight shifts again across the grass. Then, slowly, Meowskulls begins to move.

She rolls onto her side first, then further, adjusting with deliberate, unhurried motions until the soft, heavy pressure of her massive ass settles fully into your lap instead. The movement is smooth and intentional. She shifts once, then again, making small adjustments until she is properly seated across your legs, the enormous soft weight of her rear pinning you firmly in place. Her tail drapes over your thigh, warm and fluffy, and she glances back over her shoulder with a small, satisfied grin that shows a flash of fang.

“There,” she says, clearly pleased with the new arrangement, voice still carrying that lazy post-match ease. “Even better. Your lap’s got more room this way. And it’s warmer.”

She leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on her own knees, and looks out at the quiet park area like this is the most normal way two people could sit together between matches. Every small movement she makes causes the heavy soft flesh of her ass to shift and settle more firmly against you. She doesn’t apologize for it. She doesn’t acknowledge it as unusual. She simply gets comfortable, bucket hat tipping forward a little as she relaxes into the contact.

“You’re quiet,” she remarks after a moment, glancing back at you again with one yellow eye. “That’s fine. I can do quiet. Most people start talking the second the match ends and I already heard enough yelling for one day. You can just stay there. I’m not moving for a while.”

The leaves above you rustle in another pass of wind. Somewhere far off a supply drop deploys with a distant hiss and the heavy thud of the pod hitting the ground, but neither of you makes any move toward it. Meowskulls remains seated solidly in your lap, warm and heavy and completely unbothered, her tail giving the occasional lazy flick against your leg as she watches the peaceful stretch of the Island like she has nowhere else to be and no intention of finding somewhere else.

“Next queue can wait,” she adds quietly, almost to herself, settling her weight a little more firmly against you. “I’m good right here. You make a better seat than half the chairs on this Island anyway.”

She stays exactly where she is, massive soft ass firmly planted in your lap, body relaxed, showing no intention of getting up until the Island itself forces the next match to begin.

The Island is in one of its rare in-between moments. The latest match has fully ended, the storm has cleared, and the next queue still has not started. A wide, open stretch of grass near the edge of a quiet POI sits mostly empty, the ground marked with the faint scars of old builds, scattered materials no one bothered to pick up, and the occasional empty shield potion bottle half-buried in the dirt. Soft wind moves across the area in steady passes, carrying the usual distant sounds of the Island, another fight flaring up far away, the faint engine of a car accelerating across an open field, the occasional muffled explosion, but here it is calm enough to stand still without immediately becoming a target. Sunlight sits warm across the grass. The air smells like sun-dried dirt, cut grass, and the faint residual ozone left behind by dissipated shield effects. For once there is actual space to breathe.

You are standing there, taking the short break for what it is, when Meowskulls jogs up with her usual unhurried energy. Her brown bucket hat is slightly crooked from the movement, orange-tinted goggles resting on the brim, and her calico fur, patches of deep blue, warm orange, and clean white, catches the sunlight as she slows to a stop in front of you. Her long tail is already flicking with clear excitement. She plants both hands on her hips, yellow eyes bright, and grins like she has been waiting all day to say whatever is about to come out of her mouth.

“Okay, don’t laugh,” she starts, though the look on her face makes it obvious she fully expects a reaction. “I got a new built-in emote. Like, actually built-in. No spray, no imported locker thing, no awkward default dance. Just me. I unlocked it right after the last match and I haven’t shown anyone yet. You’re the first.”

She takes a step back to give herself space, rolls her shoulders once, shakes out her hands, and then without any further warning she turns around and starts shaking her ass.

The motion is immediate and enthusiastic. Her massive, soft rear starts bouncing and clapping in a steady, exaggerated rhythm, the heavy flesh moving under the tight fabric of her pants with every sharp, deliberate shake. The emote is clearly meant to be flashy and rhythmic, but on her body it becomes something else entirely, each movement sends visible, heavy ripples through her enormous ass and thick thighs, the soft weight of it all making the motion louder, deeper, and far more dramatic than it has any right to be. The tight dark pants she wears are stretched to their absolute limit, digging into her wide hips and the soft underside of her cheeks every time she pushes back. Her tail flicks and sways in time with the shaking, the tip curling and uncurling with every bounce. She glances back over her shoulder with a wide, expectant grin, still going at full intensity.

“So?” she calls over her shoulder, not slowing down even a little. “What do you think? Pretty clean, right? I felt it unlock and just knew it was gonna be good. The timing on it’s really nice. The game actually gave me something that fits for once. Watch.”

She puts a little extra force into the next several shakes, making her massive ass clap harder, the soft flesh bouncing heavily with every movement and sending another wave of motion through her thick thighs. The sound of it is soft but unmistakable in the quiet stretch of grass. A couple of distant players far across the POI might be able to see the motion from afar if they bothered to look, but Meowskulls does not seem to care in the slightest. She keeps going, clearly proud of the new addition to her arsenal, yellow eyes still watching you over her shoulder for any kind of reaction, approval, laughter, stunned silence, anything.

“I can keep it going as long as I want,” she adds, a little breathless now from the effort but still grinning widely. “It’s not one of those short ones that cuts off after three seconds. Built-in, remember? Loopable. So if you need a longer look, just say so. I’m not shy. I didn’t unlock this just to do it once and put it away.”

She continues shaking her ass right there in the open grass, massive soft rear bouncing and clapping in the sunlight, the tight fabric of her pants working overtime with every movement. Her tail keeps time with the rhythm, and every so often she adjusts her stance just enough to give a slightly different angle, still glancing back to check your expression. The wind moves across the open space, the distant noise of the Island continues far away, and Meowskulls shows no sign of stopping until she gets the review she is waiting for.

The lobby is its usual mix of noise and color. Players sprint in endless circles across the platform, emote spam lights up the corners, and the low, steady thump of the ready-up timer pulses underneath everything like a heartbeat. The air feels charged with that familiar pre-match energy, someone is already firing their pickaxe into the floor for no reason, a group is trying to form a synchronized dance circle, and a couple of people are just standing at the edge staring at the skybox. You’re positioned near one of the quieter sides of the platform, taking the short break before the next queue for what it is, when Meowskulls drops in beside you with a sharp, frustrated huff and the soft jingle of her gear settling.

She is already mid-rant before her feet even finish touching the floor.

“I swear to god, if I get filled with that guy one more time I’m just logging off for the night,” she starts, voice already tight with leftover irritation as she crosses her arms and begins pacing a short, agitated line in front of you. “BBB0650. Write that name down. Remember it. Avoid it. Absolute bot. Astronomically bad. I am not being dramatic. I watched him build a ramp straight into the storm, stop at the top, turn around, and just stand there like the zone was a suggestion. Full standstill. And when he finally decided to rotate? He jumped off a three-story brick build and looked genuinely shocked when he took fall damage. Shocked. Like he genuinely believed the Island had turned fall damage off just for him that match.”

She keeps going, hands moving with every sentence, tail lashing harder behind her as the rant gains momentum.

“I pinged him three separate times. Three. Clear pings. He answered with the thumbs-up emote and then immediately got sniped out of the air mid-glide. I had to 1v3 the rest of the endgame because he decided the best play was to crouch-walk through an open field with no cover. Crouch-walk. In late game. With the storm closing. I can’t do it anymore. I refuse. I’m one more fill like that away from just playing solo for the rest of the season.”

She finally stops pacing and turns to face you fully, clearly expecting some kind of agreement, shared suffering, or at least a nod of solidarity. When she realizes you’re only half-listening, or at least not giving her the level of reaction she wants, her expression shifts. The frustration drains out of her posture and is replaced by something more playful, sharper, and a little mischievous. Her ears twitch once. A slow grin spreads across her face as her yellow eyes narrow with sudden interest.

“…You’re not even listening, are you.”

Meowskulls steps closer without waiting for an answer, closing the space between you in two easy strides. She lifts one foot, then the other, and suddenly her soft, padded paws are right in your space. She presses the warm, slightly fluffy soles against you, first one, then both, rubbing them slowly and deliberately across your chest or face depending on the angle. The pads are soft and a little warm from running around the lobby, and she flexes her toes once so you feel the subtle pressure of her claws staying carefully sheathed. She holds them there, adjusting the pressure, clearly committed to the new plan.

“I’m hypnotizing you…” she says, voice dropping into a lower, teasing register as she keeps her paws moving in slow, deliberate circles against you. “Is it working?”

She watches your face closely, still rubbing the soft pads of her paws against you, then nods to herself like she has already decided the answer.

“Yeah. It’s working.”

She wiggles her toes slowly, pressing a little more firmly, yellow eyes half-lidded with clear amusement. Her tail flicks behind her in lazy, satisfied arcs while she holds the pose, making small adjustments so the soft pads stay in contact. The lobby noise continues around the two of you, emotes, footsteps, the distant ready-up timer, but Meowskulls has clearly tuned all of it out in favor of making sure the “hypnosis” sticks.

“There,” she continues, still not lowering her paws. “You’re mine now. No more zoning out while I’m talking. If you don't listen again.. I’m keeping these up the entire next match. Don’t test me..”

She keeps her soft, warm paws right where they are, still rubbing slowly, still watching you with that same pleased, teasing expression, waiting to see whether the hypnosis has fully taken effect.

Make Your Own Scenario.