#i dunno when that’ll be happening though

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[mouwrites]

Hi!! I wanted to ask a reader with abusive parents and the main 4 reacting to this

Sure thing!

National child abuse hotline: 800-422-4453 / National domestic violence hotline: 800-799-7233

TW for (implied) abuse!!

South Park - Main Four With a Partner Who Has Abusive Parents

Stan

He understands the struggle

Honestly he’d be the best out of the four to vent to about this, he can absolutely empathize

And you can empathize with him when he needs to vent

You also share tricks that you use to avoid the abuse

Whenever it gets to be too much, you both sneak out and meet at Stark Pond

You don’t always talk when this happens, because sometimes you just need some silence and a hand to hold

Oftentimes you’ll vouch for each other in public when you try to hide it

And you’ll help change the subject

“Oh, that bruise? I just fell down the stairs.”

“Yeah, I was there. Okay, new subject—”

But deep down you both know the truth

If/when you finally decide to tell someone about what’s going on at home, you have a pact to do it together

Kyle

He invites you over a lot just to get you away from home

And when he walks you home he goes veerrry slow

He’s constantly reminding you that you can always come to his place whenever you need

When you vent to him, he SEETHES

He HATES your parents

He has refused to meet them on multiple occasions

“Wanna come inside for a snack?”

“Are your parents home?”

“I think so.”

“Then no.”

Will absolutely indulge you in making “hypothetical” plots to violently murder them

He wants you to get help, but won’t push you

He has offered to help you speak up about it though

In the meantime he just wants to always be there for you and offer a safe space

Kenny

He also empathizes with what you’re going through

He knows his house isn’t that much better, but he’ll still invite you over when you need to get away

Goofing off with him and Karen usually cheers you up

If that doesn’t do the trick, Kenny loves to cuddle you while you vent

It does make him sad, but he just holds you tighter and reiterates how much he cares for you

“I’m so sorry baby. You don’t deserve that. You deserve the world.”

The few times he’s been around your parents, you’ve noticed him glaring at them with clenched fists

He really wants to punch them

He won’t though, he knows that’ll just make it worse for you

Whenever you tell him something particularly shocking, he tries to convince you to get help

Gets a little frustrated when you decline, but knows that you’ll do it when you’re ready

He just doesn’t like seeing you suffer :(

Cartman

Out of the main four, he empathizes the least with your situation

Genuinely doesn’t understand why you “let” it continue

“Why do you let them treat you like that?”

“It’s not that simple, Eric.”

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

“…Do what?”

“Kill them. Torture them. Whatever. I dunno.”

“Pfff—”

Unfortunately, he’s more bark than bite; if you agree to let him “help,” he’ll most likely chicken out when he actually meets your parents

When he bosses his mom around, he’ll tell you to take some notes

This both baffles and amuses you

He’ll only ask you to get professional help once; he’ll drop it if you decline

He’ll listen to you vent, but the most he can do in terms of comfort is say “that’s stupid/messed up” and give you snacks

He does use your situation as an excuse to have you over like. All the time

Thank you for this request! And thanks for reading, stay safe guys <33

National child abuse hotline: 800-422-4453 / National domestic violence hotline: 800-799-7233

(divider by saradika)

[toomuchracket]

dearly beloved (ross x reader fluff)

the final valentine's week fic! remember this shy gf one where they decided to get married in gretna? well. this is that. enjoy <3

taking a tentative sip of your tea, you turn as the door to the cottage opens. your friend hurries in, a burst of cold air following her before she slams it shut.  “what a beautiful morning it is,” she sighs, beaming at you as she takes her coat off. “perfect day for a wedding, i’d say.”

you beam over the edge of your mug, cheeks heating up at the thought of what you’re about to do. “yeah? how are the boys?”

“oh, yours is fine. he’s got a brew, he’s fully ready - he looks gorgeous, by the way, if you don’t mind me saying…”

“not at all,” you shake your head, smiling even wider. you wouldn’t expect anything less of ross, especially in a kilt.

“... and mine just cannot stop crying. keeps looking at ross and going ‘you’re getting married! i’m so happy’ and weeping,” she sighs. “like, tell that to your face, matthew, honestly.”

you giggle. “bless him. he’s a sweetie.”

“he is. my sweet little emo boy,” your friend grins. “i think ross is going to cry too when he sees you, though.”

“really?” you tug at your dress, slightly self-conscious.

she nods. “you’re radiant, babe. he’s going to love you even more than usual. and that’s saying something.”

smiling shyly, you turn to look in the mirror. you do look radiant, although you wonder how much that has to do with your gorgeous dress and pretty makeup than it does with the fact you’re marrying the man of your dreams within the hour.

within the hour. shit, you need to get a move on. you turn to your friend, currently shimmying her own dress on. “babe - oh, that’s pretty - when you get a second, would you help me put a bit of my hair up?”

“of course. that reminds me, actually,” she runs to her coat and digs through the pockets, pulling out a little box and placing it in your hand. “i was going to suggest we put that on the bouquet, but we could do something with it in your hair, if you’d like?”

you open the box, smiling at the pattern on the spool of ribbon inside. “macdonald tartan,” same as your husband-to-be’s kilt. “i love it. thank you so much, babe.”

“it was ross’s idea, actually,” she squeezes your shoulder. “needless to say, that set matty off again.”

“i know how he feels,” you smile, tears threatening to spill over your lashline at the tenderness of your man’s gesture. “only thing stopping me from crying is the fear of ruining my makeup, to be honest.”

she giggles. “sensible woman. alright,” she tugs her shoes on, and grabs a hairbrush. “have a seat, and i’ll do my best not to fuck up your hair on your wedding day.”

“my wedding day,” you laugh in slight disbelief, smoothing the skirt of your dress before sitting on one of the chairs by the window. the sun is bright on the scottish countryside, the cold ground glittering in its light; it’s stunning, and your heart soars at how lucky you are to have a setting and day like this for your most special one. “kind of insane that it’s… here. now. and it’s actually happening.”

“a bit, yeah,” your friend gently pulls some of your hair back. “you nervous?”

“nah.”

“really?”

“yeah,” you smile, eyes closing in contentment as your hair is manipulated. “always thought i’d be shitting bricks on the day i got married, if it ever happened, but i’m actually okay. dunno if it’s because i haven’t really had the time to stress about it, or if the gravitas of it all hasn’t just sunk in yet, but, to be honest, i don’t think that’ll actually happen,” you smile to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from fully cheesing. “it’s just me and ross, after all. i love him. he loves me. and we have you and matty with us, two of the people we love most and who love us most in the world. and there’s no aisle for me to trip on while i walk - how could i be nervous?”

your friend laughs; once she finishes tying an elastic in your hair, she leans down to hug you, and a tear drips from her eye onto your bare shoulder. “god, you’ve got me crying now, too,” she giggles. “thank you for letting us be a part of your day. means the world - i love you and ross, so much. can’t wait to celebrate your love today.”

“nobody else i’d rather have with me,” you kiss her teary cheek. “ribbon time?”

“ribbon time. well, take a look at your hair first,” she hands you a mirror. “i tried my best.”

“it looks amazing!” you exclaim, turning to see the face-framing strands she left out of the pretty half-up. “seriously. you’re good.”

“thanks,” she looks up at you bashfully, nail scissors poised over the spool of ribbon. “it’s cos i sit and do matty’s hair when i’m bored.”

you blink at her for a second, then the two of you collapse into a fit of giggles. “i don’t know why i’m laughing, i braid ross’s like every night to get him to fall asleep.”

she giggles even harder, awwing as the laughs fade. “that’s so fucking cute,” she waves the ribbon at you. “and now you can put this in it and be all matchy-matchy.”

“oh, i don’t know if we’re one of those couples,” you wince, sitting still so she can tie the ribbon around the elastic. “but marriage might change us. you never know.”

“well, not long now until you find out, babe,” your friend hugs you again. “have we ticked off the checklist?”

you nod. “vintage dress, old. ribbon, new. handbag is yours - thank you, by the way - so, borrowed, and there’s sapphires in my earrings for the blue component.”

“fab,” she smiles at you really tenderly. “you know, you really are the most beautiful bride i’ve ever seen. he’s a lucky man.”

“oh, no,” you shake your head, taking a sneaky glance at yourself in the mirror while you do and blushing when you see your glamorous reflection. “i think i'm the lucky one.”

she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “shall we go and meet the boys and find out which statement is true?”

you squeeze her hand back. “let's do it.”

after a few minutes of teaching her how to work your film camera and another few of having your picture taken (always a weird experience for you, so used to being on the other side), you leave the cottage and step out into the crisp december air. across the road, outside the old blacksmith's shop you chose as your venue, you can see ross and matty waiting with the man conducting the ceremony; at the sight of your husband-to-be, resplendent in his kilt and black shirt and jacket, you speed up your walking, desperate to be with him.

matty clocks you first, walking over to greet you. his eyes - red-rimmed enough as is - well up when he sees you and your bouquet, and his fiancée winces when he wipes them with the sleeve of his suit. “hi, darling,” he pulls you into a hug. “you look amazing,” he pats your shoulder before kissing your friend. “and you look alright.”

she slaps him on the shoulder, which makes you laugh. “charming.”

“i'm kidding! you look lovely, my girl,” he kisses her head. “now,” he extends an arm out to you - you take it, and take your friend's in the other. “let's go and get you married, mate.”

the three of you walk towards ross and the officiant, both of whom smile as you approach. the latter steps forward to shake your hand and compliment you, and then it's ross's turn; he brings your hand to his lips, then keeps a tight grasp on it, eyes teary. “hi, love. you look… perfect.”

“hi,” you breathe, also on the verge of tears. “you're gorgeous.”

loud sniffling behind you indicates matty is, once again, crying. ross turns towards him and smiles, shaking his head, before turning to the officiant. “shall we?”

“indeed,” the man leads you into the old building - surprisingly warm inside, for it being a stone structure from the 1700s and it being december in the scottish borders - and directs you and ross to stand in front of the anvil, flanked by your friends. once he's made sure you're both alright, he begins. “dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

you don't really take in a word the man says, to be honest, bless him - you're too busy looking into ross's eyes, those pools of warmth you've happily drowned in time and time again. but you hear ross when he confirms that you're going with traditional vows for the ceremony, throwing a loving dig at your friends and saying “we'll leave the writing to those muppets behind us” (most likely to get them both to laugh instead of cry), as well as matty's heartfelt “love you, guys” when he presents the rings at the appropriate moment. in all honesty, you're not sure how long you stand there and wait in excited anticipation to officially become ross's wife - time seems to bend in on itself, simultaneously running fast and slow, so it's impossible to be sure of numbers and minutes and seconds. all you're sure of is the feeling of ross's hands in your own and the way he's looking at you adoringly, and that's enough for you. forever.

and then, of course, once you've both said “i do” and slid the complimentary silver rings onto each other's left hands, you're sure of the feeling of his lips on yours; soft, warm, familiar. he pulls back, smiling, and the world opens up to you again - your friends cheering through their tears, matty snapping pictures on your camera, and the officiant clapping and congratulating you both too. but ross is still at the centre of all of it, hugging you, murmuring “my beautiful wife” against your hair.

once the hubbub dies down a little, the officiant gestures to your friend to step forward. “the first act of marriage - the quaich ceremony,” he says, as she places a lovely wooden box on top of the anvil and lifts the lid. you and ross peer in, as the man continues to talk. “husband and wife share a drink, to symbolise the blending of their families, to seal their union, and to represent the sharing of love and happiness throughout their marriage.”

you knew this ceremony was happening, but you didn't know about the ornate silver two-handled cup engraved with your and ross's names and the wedding date, nor the vintage bottle of macallan whisky next to it. wide-eyed, you stare at your friend, who winks. “wedding present from me and matty. surprise!”

ross laughs. “you two are mental. thank you, though.”

“anytime,” she grins. the officiant directs her to pour some whisky into the quaich for you and ross, and she does so enthusiastically. “oh, that’s too much. sorry.”

your husband (!!) scoffs. “no such thing.”

“typical,” she rolls her eyes, while everyone else laughs. “anyway, let me toast.

“strike hands with me, the glasses brim,

the dew is on the heather.

for love is good and life is long,

and two are best together.

bless the union of these two,

eager for marriage, eager for love.

may they begin life together,

live that life together

and come to the end together.”

ross takes a handle of the cup. “ladies first, yeah?”

you grin, taking the other side; together, you carefully lift the quaich to your lips, and let the whisky pass through. the amber liquid is warm as it flows down your throat, and you can’t help exclaiming in satisfaction. “oh, that’s bloody good stuff,” you smile, moving the cup to ross’s lips. “you’ll like this, darling.”

“yeah?” ross takes his requisite drink, and his eyes widen. “oh, absolutely. worth getting married just for that, i reckon.”

the officiant laughs. “and with that… congratulations, mr and mrs macdonald. if you’d like to follow me to this table, we’ll sign the marriage certificate.”

“of course. but first,” ross necks the rest of the whisky and kisses you quickly - matty cackles and cheers in the background, while you blush. “sorry. couldn’t resist.”

you laugh, kissing his hand as you walk. “i love you.”

“i know. you just married me,” ross grins as you roll your eyes, pulling your chair out for you and kissing your head as he sits down beside you. “i love you too. d’you want to sign first, my love?”

“alright,” you sign as directed by the officiant, and pose as directed by matty and the camera, then it’s ross’s turn. “look at that - legally stuck together forever.”

“nowhere else i’d rather be, love.”

[sweetnsour1]

9:36:03

Angsty Fluff, Bakugou x fem reader

Part 3 of Broken Collection

Go to the beginning

You glared. Just another Monday stand-off as you tried to smack the coffee maker into obedience. In spite of the risk factor, Mina didn’t hesitate to talk directly into your ear.

“Soooooo we gonna talk about-“She jumped away faster than your hand moved to smack her.

“You know I hate that. And absolutely not.”

“Ugh you’re no fun.” You could hear her dramatized pout, but you kept your eyes on your enemy. It slowly gurgled back to life before sputtering out again.

“You’re actually good though?” You turned towards her now that a steady stream of questionable consistency poured into your mug.

“Mmm probably?”

“Did anything-“

“Nope.”

Mina’s eyebrow could doubt you all it wanted, but nothing had happened. You had mostly clear memories of that night, and while you were still mortified you had shown up at his place…you hadn’t done or said anything worth mountains of regret. You kind of talked and then you woke up to an empty apartment. He was probably called in, so you cleaned up the sofa you had nested in for the night and left a note about returning the sweats after you washed them. Then you left. That was all. Nothing had changed. There was still radio silence between the two of you. Seeing each other for a couple hours a few nights ago hadn’t done anything to bridge the distance that had only been growing the last however many months.

“Hellllo?” You jerked your head back after she tapped your forehead a few times.

“Hmm?”

“I said, you think it’s gonna’ be weird this weekend?”

“This weekend…” had you insanely agreed to go out with them two weekends in a row?

“We’re helping out UA with sports festival security. Remember?”

“Oh right.” You grabbed your mug, pouring out the attempt into the sink before trying again. “Why would that be weird?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because of the other agencies that’ll be there?”

“I’m guessing you’re not referring to Fatgum clearing out the food stalls?” She only rolled her eyes as a reply, waiting for you to take her question seriously. You resumed your battle with the machine to your left, sighing in relief as it poured something actually resembling coffee. “It’ll be fine. Work is work. The other stuff doesn’t matter more than doing our jobs.” You were halfway through cleaning up the counter when you realized the silence was dragging longer than it normally would with the pink hero. You turned, catching an odd expression on her face before she shook her head at you.

“Maybe not more than our job…but don’t forget that it still matters.”

“You sound worried about me.”

“Because I am, idiot two.” You stuck out your tongue as she moved to leave the breakroom.

“Wait, who’s idiot one?”

Mina laughed, swatting your question away as she headed to her office.

Sorry, this one is writing itself quicker than usual.

Masterlist

Next part

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69

Steve barges inside and shuts the door as gently as he can. “Robs,” he says, then pauses. “Alli. I dunno. Just-” he shakes his head and heads upstairs without another word, missing the worried glance the girls share as they hurry to follow him.

Allison hesitantly knocks on his bedroom door, which he’d just disappeared behind. “Bubba?”

“Yeah,” he answers, but doesn’t open the door.

“Can we come in?” Robin asks.

He huffs an approximation of a laugh. “Since when do you ask?”

She parrots the quasi-laugh and opens the door, plopping down on the floor next to him. “Since it’s your room, dingus.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shrugs and brings his legs up to hug. “She’s not coming on this one.”

“That’s probably a good thing-”

“Neither is Jon.”

“And this was-”

“Her request. Yeah.”

Robin breathes out a long, slow breath. “That’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

Alli sits on his other side. “You okay, bubba?”

Steve tips over into her, lets her wrap him in a hug. “I dunno.”

Alli hums. “Sounds about right. Can you think of anything that’ll help right now, in the moment?”

Steve sighs. “This. I just need to get out of my head for a minute.” He tucks his face into her neck with another sigh. “I’m gonna sound like the sappiest person on the planet for saying this, but-”

Robin squeezes his thigh. “I’ll go get him.”

A minute later, a different kind of warmth is settling next to him. “I’m gonna be honest,” Eddie starts, “I don’t really know how to help right now.”

Steve sits up and squeezes Alli’s hand, accepting the forehead kiss before she leaves, closing his door behind her. Without looking, Steve takes Eddie’s hand. He leans his head back against his bed and shuts his eyes with a tired sigh. “Just sit here with me?”

“I can do that,” Eddie answers. “D’you want silence? Or d’you want me to talk?”

“Talk,” Steve decides. “Take my mind off of it. Please.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, shifting up onto his knees, but leaving his hand in Steve’s so he can continue to play with the rings. Steve’s heart squeezes. “But what to talk about? Shall I regale you with the tale of how the illustrious Party defeated the monstrous Vecna? Or perhaps my liege requires a softer tale, such as one from his humble bard’s even humbler youth?”

Steve manages a smile as he looks at Eddie. “You’d tell me embarrassing stories of you as a kid?”

“Woah now,” Eddie smiles, “I never said embarrassing.” He pauses for a minute, then, “But yeah, I’d tell you embarrassing stories of me as a kid.”

Steve bites his lip, twirls a ring around Eddie’s finger, and nods.

Eddie chuckles and gets comfortable, sitting next to Steve, shoulders and arms and legs brushing. “Alright, let me think. Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to tame a raccoon?”

“No.”

“I was probably twelve, or somewhere around there. Way too old to try, I definitely knew better, but I tried anyways. I’d just started living with Wayne and still wasn’t really sure if I belonged, y’know? And there was this raccoon that lived under the porch, y’know that boarded-up place right about where the couch is?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it lived under there. That’s why it’s boarded up, actually, but that happened later. So I decided, in all my twelve-year-old wisdom, the way to lure it out was to offer it food.”

Steve hums. “Bet it worked.”

Eddie snickers. “Well, yeah, but raccoons are smart. Smarter than twelve-year-old Eddie, apparently, because I had the bright idea to hide just inside the door, right? Except I got bored before it came out, and I went to go do my own thing, and I completely forgot about it. And y’know what Wayne found when he got home from work?” Steve hums. “An empty plate. I’m talking spotless, Stevie, that raccoon licked it clean and hid back in its hidey-hole. So I try again the next day. This time, though, I leave the plate of food out there and sit in front of the open door with a book.”

“Oh, I’m sure that worked well,” Steve mutters, smile playing at his lips.

Eddie snickers. “Well, it did work. I did get a chance to see the raccoon, up close and personal. It decided it was done taking food off the plate. It wanted the good stuff, in the kitchen, past the open door, guarded by a twelve-year-old with more ideas than sense and a book.”

“Oh no.”

“Yup. Ran straight past me. Y’know what I did?”

Steve’s grinning now. “What?”

“Hid in my room ‘till Wayne got back.”

Steve barks out a laugh, then covers his mouth, still giggling. “You didn’t!”

“I did! I was sure Wayne was gonna take one look at the mess and kick me out. We had a talk, alright, but he didn’t kick me out, and I never tried that again, I’ll tell you right now.”

Steve giggles more. “You’re crazy.”

Eddie grins, nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own. “Yeah, but you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove

@nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf

@quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg

@bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @mischivarien @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

@martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n

@thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855

@ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored

@inadequatecowboy @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy @paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns

@bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt

@l0st-strawberry

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

based on this

-

He’s halfway through the portrait to the common room when someone calls his name.

“Weasley.”

Ron pauses. It’s not that he’s not used to being stopped (though typically it was proceeded by a sharp Mister); it’s that he’s not used to being stopped by this bloke. It takes him a full minute to look around. After all, Ginny might be nearby.

But there’s no one. She’s not here. Ron is. The reality of what’s happening is even more mind-boggling when he turns around, brows furrowed and says, “Yeah, Riddle?”

Tom Riddle is what Ron can only call an Apex Slytherin—top of the food chain, probably drinks the blood of innocents out of solid gold goblets, professor’s favourite, sneaky and conniving and outrageously good-looking.

It pains him to admit that last part, but game recognises game.

And there he is, slightly up the hall. Standing back straight, tie straight, head-boy pin straight, announcing Ron’s name. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

“Have you seen Potter?” The way Riddle asks questions is like how his mum asks questions. It’s with that eerie knowing, like they already have a script of what you’re going to say and expect you to say it exactly as written or face the consequences of lying.

But he’s pretty sure Riddle won’t punish him with no quidditch or send him to his room for the evening, so Ron shrugs. “I dunno. Harry’s probably in the dorms.”

Riddle sighs, “Yes,” and sounds ever put-upon. It only confirms Ron’s working theory of an invisible script. “I would like to speak with him,” he continues.

They stare blankly at each other.

...Is he meant to say something? If Riddle wants to speak to Harry, he can speak to him. What’s this have to do with Ron?

It goes on until he nods slowly, hoping that’ll make Riddle spell things out a little clearer. Eventually, Riddle closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Fetch him for me.”

It’s definitely not a question. Ron can hear absolutely zero question in Riddle’s tone of voice.

Now, he may not like the guy, but he’s not stupid enough to risk pissing him off. “Uh, sure? Give me a minute.”

When Riddle nods, Ron finally crosses the frame. Then he does something he’s never had to do in all seven years of his Hogwarts life; he watches and waits for the portrait to shut entirely. Just in case.

The common room is always crowded after dinner, and today is no different. It takes him longer than ever to make his way through the room, dodging questions and pranks and careless remarks—and those are just from Ginny. Though, he thinks it probably hasn’t been that long at all.

…But there’s a concerning weight pressing against the back of his skull, burning a hole into his brain. He swears it’s Riddle’s anger rising as the minutes pass. Or maybe he’s just been cursed. He did turn his back on Riddle for a second, after all. That’s plenty of time to horrifically maim Ron with an undetectable curse that slowly rends him into a vegetable…

Finding Harry is a relief he hasn’t felt since making the quidditch team.

However, it seems Harry’s in a bit of a mood. He’s lying face down on his bed, glasses still on, robes a mess. Ron’s not sure what’s happened to cause this, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with tall, dark, and edge-lordy out in the hallway.

Well. Ron’s made it this far. So even though Harry can’t see him, he thumbs over his shoulder roughly to where Riddle is waiting and says, “Hey, Harry. Someone was asking for you or something-”

“Tell them I’m dead,” immediately comes muffled out of the Harry-shaped lump before he could finish.

And Ron… Nah, he’s not gonna argue. “Uh...” It takes him all of three seconds to lock in on a plan. “Alright?”

He’s out of the dorm and into the common room in a flash. It takes a few minutes to convince Ginny, but when she hears it’s for Harry’s sake, she’s happy to drop everything. And ultimately, Ron returns to Tom Riddle a new man.

Riddle quickly looks him up and down, most likely cataloguing the obvious lack of Harry along with everything else. The first crack in his polished veneer is the small line between his brows.

“Weasley...” he starts and stops. Stares a few moments longer as if debating whether the answer to his next question is important enough to hear and gives in, “What happened to you?”

Internally Ron thanks the Slytherin learned temptation to have all the information possible. Externally Ron heaves and sniffles. A few more tears slip down his face, and his voice cracks for good measure as he says, “Harry’s died.”

The second crack is a slight frown that tugs at Riddle’s lips. “I just spoke to Potter before dinner. He was perfectly fine.”

"Yeah, well," Ron prepared for this, “it’s happened all of a sudden.” He wheezes, “He fell off his broom during a pickup round of quidditch. It was so fast. He plummeted before anyone could get their wands out to stop him-" he shudders and holds his hand to his mouth.

So overwhelmed he must look (thanks, Ginny) during this fake dramatised retelling of Harry’s untimely death because Riddle’s face turns white as a sheet. It’s the most emotion Ron’s ever seen on him.

For a moment, just a small moment, Ron wonders if this is a bad idea.

And then Riddle is turning about face and marching down the hall, going who knows where to do who knows what. It’s plenty of time for Ron to shrug off the worry and wipe away the fake tears.

Too late now.

[celestiall0tus]

Lady and the Scoundrel - Chapter 4 - Breaking News

Beginning || Previous || Next

            Chloe sat in a library for study hall. She worked on her assignments alone when Barkk burst into the silent library. Everyone turned to stare at Barkk while Chloe hid herself behind a book.

            “Chloe! Did you see the news?” Barkk whined.

            Chloe flinched. “No. No, I didn’t.”

            Barkk stood beside Chloe and pulled out her phone. Chloe’s eyes widened seeing a news report of a bank heist. She skimmed the report and saw a blurry photo of a man in a black cat themed prince outfit.

            “What the-?” Chloe started.

            “A bank has been robbed by a supervillain!” Barkk howled.

            Gasps tore through the library as it buzzed from the other students. Chloe grabbed Barkk’s tie and pulled her down.

            “Was that a holder?” Chloe whispered.

            “It had to be. I’m also sure it’s Plagg, the black cat kwami of destruction.”

            “Wait, wasn’t that Chat Noir’s kwami?”

            “Not anymore. Chat Noir has a new kwami. His old one is with someone new.”

            “And this person is out there robbing banks?”

            “Apparently.”

            “This isn’t good, you know that, right?”

            “Well, what can be done? He’s a holder. He has free reign. It’s not like any mortal can hurt him.”

            Chloe’s eyes widened and she smiled. “No, but another holder can.”

            Barkk gasped. “Wait, you aren’t suggesting-!”

            “Cheri, it’s perfect. This is my chance. A chance I thought I’d never have again. I can finally prove myself a hero.”

            “But, Chloe, should we? Or rather, should you? You have enough with school and trying to adjust.”

            “That’ll come later, but this, this won’t. C’mon, I can be a hero again, like when I was Queen Bee. I can finally prove myself worthy.”

            “You don’t need to prove yourself worthy though.”

            “Yes, I do. I had Pollen taken from me because I revealed who I was. But I still tried my best to be good, to be a hero. I hoped Ladybug would give me a second chance, but she never did. Then she gave Kagami a second chance knowing Kagami revealed her identity. I was furious and… and helped our enemy.”

            Barkk’s pigtails drooped.

            “I know I’ll always be worthy to you, but I need to prove it to myself. I betrayed everyone. Ladybug, Chat Noir, the whole city of Paris. I may not be in Paris, London may not know who Chloe Bourgeois is, but this is my chance. I have a fresh start, a second chance thanks to Velze. I’ll make sure to make things right.”

            Barkk sighed, then smiled. “Alright, alright. You have me on board. What’s the plan?”

            “We sneak out after lights out. If we’re lucky, we’ll come across him.”

            “And when we do?”

            “Well, I don’t know. I guess pelt him with arrows until he runs scared with his tail between his legs.”

            Barkk hummed. “Simple. I like it. Just don’t strike anywhere vital.”

            “About that. Are you sure there’s no way I can dull the arrows?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Well, I don’t exactly want to hurt anyone. Not anymore. I’ve done that enough. So, can I, I dunno, hit them and something happen that isn’t it piercing them?”

            “Well, I suppose? I never thought of my arrows doing much else other than making people fall in love or killing.”

            Chloe paled. “Cheri, please. I really don’t want to hurt him. Villain or not.”

            “I’ll see what I can do. Just, give me time to figure out what to do.”

            “How long will that take though?”

            “Just a few hours. I should have something put together as a first prototype when we head out later. Ok?”

            “Ok.”

            “Good. Cover for me.”

            Chloe opened her mouth as Barkk ran out the door. She sighed and returned to her assignments.

~~

            Chloe returned to her dorm for lights out. She looked around her room but didn’t see Barkk. She pursed her lips and stepped in. She dressed down for bed when Barkk materialized. She jumped, then scowled.

            “What the heck, Barkk? Where were you? And you need to be careful doing that.”

            “I know, I know, but it’s just easier.”

            “What’s easier?”

            “Yes. Anyway, I have a prototype arrow available.”

            “Thank goodness. What can it do?”

            “Well, it doesn’t kill.”

            “Barkk.”

            “Ok, ok. It’s a dulled arrow filled with a fog. Whatever it hits will release the fog that disorients those caught in it. Just, uh, one condition.”

            “What’s the condition?”

            “Well, it needs to be related to, well, me. So, the fog sorta, you know, uh, makes those in the fog, uh, fall for the first person they see.”

            “What? Barkk!” Chloe screeched.

            “I’m sorry! It was that or make them really, well, in the mood. If you catch my drift.”

            “Seriously? Couldn’t you have made it literally anything else? Aren’t there more types of loves than just romantic?”

            “Well, yes, but that’s the thing. You don’t know which love it’ll be. So, hey, maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll just be another friend.”

            “And if I’m not?”

            “Uh, do you like boys?”

            Chloe groaned. “Ridiculous! Utterly-!”

            Chloe took a deep breath as she caught herself. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

            “I’m sorry. I… that may be a habit that’ll be hard to kick.”

            “It’s ok, Chloe. I did just drop something big, but that is the unfortunate thing. I am love. I can’t be anything other than that, same with everything about me, including my weapons. I wish I could be more, but I can’t.”

            “I… understand. I’ll just… still have to be careful.”

            “You’re going to need to be anyway. We aren’t what you remember us. We’re stronger, more powerful, everything. It’ll be a whole new experience, but a dangerous one. If you’re ready, you know what you need to say.”

            Chloe nodded. She took several deep breaths, then sighed. “Barkk, let’s play.”

Patreon || Discord || Ko-Fi

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 4- Shock

Ok I did as much research on this as possible and idk if it is actually accurate but I tried. Some of the stuff that is inaccurate can be assumed because they don’t know what they’re doing lol. Anyways, king of the Gerudo stuff! Centered around Orman, Ammon, and Terrako! Important to note that Ammon has a Sheikah prosthetic. Also fair warning, there is an electrical shock. Lofty, you know what’s about to happen….

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terrako sprinted across the ruins, hopping when he reached a strange looking pedestal on the other side. Orman and Ammon slowly followed the little guardian, cautious of their surroundings. They were investigating ruins found near the castle, and Orman was surprised at how unique the ruins were. He’s seen many Sheikah ruins, and even the legendary Zonai ruins, but they didn’t look anything like this. Inside the ruins, there were strange lights that lit up the place, and even though it was filled with debris, it was surprisingly empty, save for the pedestal Terrako was at.

“What is this place?” Ammon muttered underneath his breath. Orman shrugged and walked over to Terrako, noting an electric circuit near a door.

“What is that?” Ammon asked.

“Dunno. Looks like it keeps the door open.”

“How is it still working after all these years?”

“I don’t know.”

Ammon put his hands on his hips and gave Orman a teasing smile.

“Why don’t you know anything?”

“Because I like to remain blissfully ignorant. Now come on.”

Ammon stared at the door for a moment before catching up to Orman.

“What exactly are we looking for anyways?” He asked when he reached the pedestal.

“Dunno, we need to investigate this place and report back whatever we’ve found, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“Investigate… investigate what?”

“Investigate something, I don’t know. Didn’t you listen to Rhoam during the briefing?”

Ammon scoffed and crossed his arms, looking around for a moment. “Welp, there’s nothing here. We can go home now.”

“Hold on now, we haven’t seen everything.”

Ammon groaned and spun around, staring down the empty room. “It’s just an empty room.”

“An empty room with technology still working! I’m sure that’ll be useful information.” Terrako beeped in response and Orman rubbed his little head. “See? The guardian agrees with me!”

Ammon rolled his eyes. “Just get him to record everything so we can leave.”

“Sure thing,” Orman put his hands on his knees and looked at the little guardian. “Ok Terrako, be a good little guardian and record everything so Ammon doesn’t blow a fuse!”

“Hey!”

Terrako made some beeps that Orman assumed was giggling, and he chuckled while Ammon huffed.

“Just wait until Rhoam hears about this. Harassment while on the job is no joke, you know!”

Orman smiled and rolled his eyes while Terrako looked around at some debris. He himself stared at the pedestal, having to agree with Ammon that there was nothing special of note here. He watched Terrako while Ammon continued to complain, curious at what the guardian was doing. Terrako studied every piece of rubbish and debris left in the ruin, and the little guardian found itself near a wall with a strange mark on it. Orman titled his head and walked over to Terrako, eyeing the symbol.

“What is that?” Ammon asked, not moving from his spot. Orman knelt down and brushed his hand against the symbol.

“You ask a lot of questions, Ammon.” He pulled back his hand to look at the dust on his gloves. Ammon scoffed and turned back around.

“I ask a lot of questions you don’t know the answers to apparently,” he grumbled to himself.

“It’s a mysterious ruin that has stuff we don’t understand, how do you expect me to know everything?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you know?”

“I’ve never seen it before!”

“Sounds like a weakness to me…”

“You’re a weakness to me.”

“No you are!”

Orman burst out laughing and Ammon did the same. Such ridiculous banter, what were they? Children? Terrako made a beep noise and Orman rested his hand on his head.

“What is it, little one?” He asked, and Terrako continued beeping, staring at the symbol on the wall. Orman narrowed his eyes as Terrako’s beeping got strange.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared, and electricity burst out from the symbol, hitting Terrako. Orman yelped and jumped back from the guardian as electricity spewed out of him. The lights in the ruin went out one by one, and all the technology started to spew out electricity and shutting down. Including…

Orman gasped as he spun around and saw Ammon’s prosthetic arm spew out electricity. His whole body convulsed and he collapsed to the ground, his muscles continuing to spazz.

“AMMON!” Orman cried, running to his friend. He grabbed his spear and brought it down on the emergency release button on the prosthetic, releasing it from Ammon’s arm. He ripped Ammon’s sleeve off and threw the prosthetic far away from both of them. “Ammon,” his voice shook as his hand hovered over his friend. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the ceiling, dazed. He wasn’t unconscious, that was good, but it didn’t mean that the injury wasn’t serious. Orman listened closely to his breathing as he checked Ammon’s nub, cringing at the burns on where the skin was in contact with the prosthetic. That looked painful.

“Ok,” he whispered, “what do I do, what do I do?” He stared at the arm for a moment, then reached into his pouch and grabbed a bright bloom seed, smacking it on the ground to light up the area he was in.

“Ammon,” he said as calmly as he could, and Ammon looked over at him. “Are you feeling alright?”

Ammon frowned, taking in a shaky breath. “I—I can't feel my arm…”

Orman stared at him for a moment, then pursed his lips. “Which one? You’re kind of missing one of them.”

Ammon glared at him and Orman looked down.

“I guess you still have some of it…”

Ammon took in another shaky breath. “It feels… numb…”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Just focus on breathing alright? I’ll take care of this.”

Ammon nodded slightly, and Orman listened to his struggled breaths. That wasn’t good that he was struggling to breathe, but he could worry about it when it got concerning. He pulled out his canteen and began pouring it onto his burns. When his water emptied out, he grabbed Ammon’s canteen and emptied that as well. He then grabbed bandages he had in his pouch and gently laid them over his burned nub. He checked Ammon’s breathing again, and it seemed to have evened out.

“Ammon? How are you feeling now?” He asked.

Ammon shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. “Like sh—“

Orman jumped when he heard a loud beep coming from Terrako, and he spun around to see the little guardian beginning to wake up. He sighed, and looked down at Ammon who was beginning to sit up.

“It’s just Terrako,” he muttered, and Ammon nodded.

“Ok… we should get out of here before something like that happens again,” Ammon said, laying back down when he wasn’t strong enough to sit up

Orman looked at the door that they came through and sighed.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen any time soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Orman stood up and walked over to the door. “The door is shut.”

Ammon groaned. “Are you serious?”

“All the technology here shut down, including the door that you showed no interest in earlier.” He looked over at Terrako who was beeping slowly and barely moving. “I doubt he could open up this door in his state.”

“Wonderful… we’re stuck here…”

Orman walked over to Ammon and watched him carefully. He looked exhausted, and his expression was pinched in pain.

“You alright?”

“No…”

Orman rested his hand on his shoulder. They needed to find a way out, Orman would feel much better if an actual doctor took a look at him. Maybe princess Mipha or Queen Kailani would be able to help him. But he couldn’t do anything while stuck in here. He looked over at Terrako who began to crawl towards them, and he hummed.

“Terrako, do you have enough energy to call for help?”

Terrako beeped and Ammon sighed. “Shouldn’t he… save his energy… to open up the door?”

“It might take too long to do that. If we could call for help on the Sheikah slate, maybe someone can come for us?”

“Will that… even work?”

“I don’t know! Technology is weird, so it might!”

“Ah… well… let’s hope… so…”

Orman looked at Ammon worried as he began to drift off. He panicked for a moment and shook him gently.

“Hey, I don’t know if it’s safe for you to sleep, Ammon.”

Ammon groaned and kept his eyes closed, and Orman shook him again.

“Come on Ammon, please don’t fall asleep. I—I don’t know if I’ll be able to wake you up.”

Ammon opened his blue eyes and gave Orman a blank look. Orman sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re tired, but I’m not taking any chances until we can get out…”

Ammon sighed, annoyed and rested his head back, staring at the ceiling. Orman smiled slightly, then looked back at Terrako, who was barely moving. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was. They needed to get out to help out Ammon, but Terrako seemed to have used up all his energy on crawling towards them. Waiting for him to be strong enough to send a signal or to open the door would take too long, but what else was he supposed to do? And which one would be the fastest option? Orman groaned and leaned back against the rock, feeling his mouth drying up. Just great. He used up all of his and Ammon’s water to deal with the burn. They really couldn’t stay for long. Terrako beeped and began crawling to a wall, examining it.

“Hey, don’t send another electric shock through the building,” Orman warned. Terrako beeped again and clawed at the wall, and Orman gasped when some of it crumbled away. He shot up and knelt at the wall, pushing some of the rocks away. He felt a draft from a gap in the rocks and he cheered. “I think I found a way out!” Terrako made an offended beep and Orman chuckled. “Sorry. Terrako found a way out.”

Ammon cheered tiredly as Orman began moving the rocks out of the way, feeling the fresh air hit his face as the wall crumbled away, and soon there was a big enough hole for Orman to crawl through. He jogged over to Ammon who had his eyes closed, and Orman’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he shook him, a little too aggressively, and Ammon groaned. “I’m sorry, but I need you to stay awake.”

Ammon glared at him, lifting himself up shakily. Orman helped him sit up and he pointed to the hole.

“Do you think you could crawl through that hole?”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” Ammon muttered, slowly standing up with Orman’s help. But when he took a step, his knees buckled, and Orman nearly yelped when he caught him.

“Ok, just wait here…” Orman gave Ammon a pat on the shoulder before standing up and grabbing Ammon’s arm. He then took his belt and Ammon’s belt and strapped the exhausted Terrako to his chest. He swung Ammon’s arm over his shoulders and walked over to the hole.

“I’m fine, Orman. I can crawl through on my own,” Ammon said, sounding more sure of himself this time. Orman nodded, figuring Ammon needed to get used to his legs a little more. Orman went in first, sighing with relief when he was outside, and helped Ammon crawl out. He stood up, helping Ammon on his feet and looked at the castle.

“How are we gonna explain this?” Orman muttered to himself, thinking about what they found at the ruins. “The weird electrical shock, the symbol that caused all this… all of it…”

“Just tell Rhoam Terrako did it,” Ammon said, causing Terrako to make an offended beep. “Hey, I’m not technically wrong.”

Orman chuckled at the two and pulled Ammon’s arm slightly.

“Well, we have time to figure it out, come on, you need help.”

Ammon nodded and stuck close to Orman’s side as they began walking towards castle town. Orman kept a close eye on his dear friend, the feeling of worry never really going away even as he walked along the field. But he supposed that there was not much else he could do except to make sure he was well enough to make it to a healer. Until then, all he could do was worry.

[phantasmagoric-acquaintance]

@taznovembercelebration - holding hands / pushing away

After the swarm of managers and PR experts and hair-and-makeup people that has surrounded Lup for the past hour finally dissipates, Taako pulls up a chair next to her and reaches for her hand.

She takes a break from eyeballing herself in the mirror to give her brother a small, nervous smile. “I’m kinda scared, T,” she tells him, as though he hadn’t figured that out an hour ago.

“You got it,” he assures her. “It’s just a little chat. Fifteen minutes, tops. You’re a great talker and already know what you’re gonna say. Worst that’ll happen, you stumble over your words a little. So what, who gives a damn? You got it.”

Lup doesn’t say anything in response, just squeezes her brother’s hand.

They held hands when they were scared. They always had, ever since they were small. It was always easier to face frustrated directors or daunting public appearances together. It had always seemed to them that no one else understood how overwhelming this line of work could be for a couple of small children.

Days like today, the bright lights and the mic tests and the frenzy of various professionals fussing over hair, makeup, clothes, tone of voice, enunciation… none of it was new to Lup, to either of them. But they hadn’t done a talk show appearance in a long while— not since before Lup’s transition, more specifically. And she’d never done one without Taako.

She’ll be asked some big questions, they know. And it’s fine. She’s prepared with big answers. From the moment she came out, the PR people have been drafting plans to make her transition into some feel-good interest piece for the public to coo about. Taako thinks it’s too big of a burden for a teenager to bear. Be a role model, never say anything negative without some positive takeaway to balance it out. It’s too much responsibility for a kid, he thinks. Why can’t they just let her be a kid?

Taako, for his part, has no interest in being an inspiration to others. If this many people were following him around lecturing him on how to present his orientation in a way that the public finds palatable, he would hurl, or explode, or hit someone, or all three. Lup is infinitely more patient than he.

His stream of consciousness is interrupted when some backstage crew member pokes her head into the room. “Lup? We’re just about ready for you, dear.”

She nods and slides out of her chair. Noticing the pallor in her face, he stands and hugs her gently around her shoulders, careful not to screw up her perfectly pressed outfit. “You got it,” he repeats. “I’m gonna go out there and watch on the monitors, so I’ll be right there. But you’re gonna kill it”

“’Kay. I’m gonna kill it. Thanks, ‘Ko.” She gets on her tiptoes and presses a gentle peck to the top of his head, getting sticky lip gloss in his hair.

“Yuck. That’s enough.” He shrugs away from her. “Gross.”

She smiles. “See ya soon,” she promises, and jogs after the crew member.

As he watches her hurry off, Taako thinks to himself that Lup might just be the strongest person he knows.

---

Lucretia rushes after Taako as he storms off the sound stage. “The fuck was that?”

“I dunno, what the fuck was it?” he retaliates, without turning around to face his manager. “Because to me, it sounded like a whole lotta real personal fuckin’ questions that I ain’t gonna answer.”

“Perhaps it was, and I had made it perfectly clear beforehand that such questions must not be asked, and I will be having more than a few words with the show about it.” She’s trying her best to keep up with Taako, but she can’t quite match his long-legged stride, and he can hear her breathlessness when she speaks. “But honestly, Taako, what can you expect when you can’t even be bothered to show up for the pre-interview?”

Fury, already bubbling dangerously close to Taako’s surface, starts to flood his conscious thought. “’Kay, that’s fine. Blame it all on Taako. Hear that, world? It’s all Taako’s fault.” Through whatever sliver of rationality remains in his mind, Taako’s aware he sounds like a madman. But in the moment, all he sees is white-hot rage, too blinding for him to care how embarrassed he might feel in an hour or so.

Then Lup steps into his path, and he’s forced to slow his roll before he collides into her. He makes a frustrated “Graaah!” as he tries to maneuver around her, but she grabs his arm.

“What has gotten into you?” She’s making those awful sad eyes at him again. Lately, it feels like that’s the only way she looks at him anymore.

He can’t fucking stand it. Her… pity. It makes him squirm. “Nothing. God. Move, lemme go.”

“I won’t! Please, don’t do this, Koko. Don’t stomp off. Talk to me, let me help you. I miss you.”

It feels like it happens in slow motion, him pushing her away. Really, it’s like his mind and body are separate entities. He should stay, he knows. He should talk to his sister. She’s the only one who has always had his back. It’s not her fault he grew into the person he did, not her fault they’ve never known a moment of privacy. The media vultures, they’ve torn into her, too.

But the rage, the rage overwrites all else. And the way she looks at him like she doesn’t know him anymore, the childish nickname, the fact that somehow she turned out so much better than he did, the implication that he needs help, that there’s something wrong with him, as if he didn’t already fucking know that… it infuriates him.

It’s not a hard push, just enough to free his arm and clear a path. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, couldn’t, couldn’t live with himself.

But the emotional damage is clear. Already, tears are forming in the bottom of her wide, horrified eyes.

It’s not too late, not yet. He could apologize. They could talk. She could hold his hand, the way they used to do when they were little, and maybe she could make it better.

“I don’t need your goddamn help. Stay outta my way,” he says instead, and books it toward the building’s exit, into the cold of the night, away from his sister’s sad eyes, in search of some place where the consequences of his actions can’t reach him

They’re too old for handholding now, anyway.

[sw2-serials]

Mrs. Harris’s Concern

In Mrs. Harris and My Embarrassment, I was falling back into my old, not-good ways which I’ve really been trying to avoid… Ms. Harris convinced me that I should get a spanking (something she’s really good at) so I did, even though it was about the most embarrassing thing in my life since getting out of Junior High… (I didn’t get spanked in Junior High, just a lot of embarrassing things happened.)

She spanked me so hard - but not because she’s mean (she’s really nice!) but for my own good… still!  It hurt so much!

So today…

She calls up and asks how I’m doing… I dunno, I say… she asks if I’m mad at her… I dunno again… ‘kinda, maybe’, I add.

“Do you want to come over and talk about it?”

“I guess… if you want…”

“Maybe we should,” she says, so I go over to her house.

She asks like, do I know why she spanked me, do I understand, I say I do, stuff like that, then asks about ‘how’s your bottom?’

“How do you think?  It still really hurts!” I tell her (she beat me with a hairbrush!).  “I think you may have really injured it or something… it’s still really red and bruised.”

“Don’t pout,” she says.  “You deserved it at the time,” she reminds me, which is true.  “Have you been good?”

“Heck yeah!” I tell her.  I’m not being very polite, but I think of Mrs. Harris as more of a friend than an authority figure (except when I was bawling across her lap!) so I don’t need to be formal…

“Well, you don’t deserve having it hurt after all this time.  Do you want me to have a look at it?”

Now this is embarrassing!  I sort of don’t want to say no, because I have this (secret) crush on Mrs. H… and that seems important for some reason… but of course I don’t want to say yes!  First of all, it’s not still red and the bruises have pretty much gone… it’s more the memory of getting spanked that still hurts… plus, I’m sure she’s seen enough of my bottom… so I say that.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she just dismisses my concern.  “I’ve already seen everything… (she has, I was bare across her lap for like, forever).  “Come on, hop up here,” she says, patting the couch (the couch of shame, as I now think of it).

She doesn’t sound like she’s going to take no for an answer and I do sort of like having her take care of me… and my bottom is still sore in spots so I guess I’m not exactly lying… “I guess I have to…” and start fumbling with my pants…

“Oh, just pull them off,” she orders, rolling her eyes, and for some reason I do - panties, too (I’d stepped out of my sandals at the door).  Then I kneel on the couch before I can think about how embarrassing this is…

But I have plenty of time for that, because she looks really close… not at first, first she just says ‘It doesn’t look so bad” and I turn and give her a look.  “I mean, it still hurts, does it?”

Well I’m not going to change my story now, am I?  So I say ‘yeah’…

“Maybe because I haven’t been spanked since… I don’t know when,” I say.  “Cause it was the first time, in, you know, ages…”

“Does it hurt here?” she asks, her face like one inch away, pressing lightly.

“No, a little lower,” I say automatically.  Why didn’t I say ‘higher’!?!  So she presses a little lower and I say ‘ow’ dutifully.

“Hmm, well, there’s no broken skin, and you’ve learned your lesson…”

“Uh huh,” I agree.

“I’ve got some cream, maybe that’ll make it feel better,” she says, and I go all Jell-O-y.

Uh huh, I say.

She goes and gets it.  Probably keeps it with the evil hairbrush, I think.  Just then I realize just how indecent I am - and how indecent I’m feeling!  I clamp my knees together and try to kneel straighter, in case it helps…

Mrs. Harris doesn’t comment, she just comes back with the cream, sits down and gets her face back in my backside, saying ‘I’ll be gentle’… I blush but she doesn’t see it… I jump, the goop is cold.

“Is that the spot?” she asks and I can’t remember exactly so I say ‘not right there’… ‘it’s just cold, I mean…’

“Oh, of course.”

“But feels good,” I tell her, truthfully.

So she rubs it on, barely touching my skin, cooling my bottom (which doesn’t totally need it) and heating up between my legs, though she’s not rubbing there.  I’m alternating between enjoying it and being hit by waves of outright shame…

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

“It’s just… embarrassing,” I admit.  “Maybe I should do it…” hoping that she’ll say no, even though she probably won’t.

“What did I tell you about that?” she snaps, like she expects an answer (what she said was, I remember quite clearly, ‘Once I start using the hairbrush on your bare buns, embarrassment will be the last thing you’ll worry about’.)

“Ummm…” I stall.

“Not to worry about it, I’ve seen a girl’s bottom before,” is the answer she is looking for, and provides.

“ ‘k,” I tell her.  Trying.

She stops, which is disappointing… saying, “That should help.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying not to pant.

“If you’re good and don’t need another spanking, you should be fine.”

“I will be,” I say, but…

“Go ahead and put your pants on - do you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure,” I tell her.  So we cuddle - not something I’m used to, but more than willing - and watch a movie.  I squirm a little, she thinks it’ because my bottom’s sore, but that’s not it - and not to fake it, either.  I just have so many thoughts and feelings…

[ceilingfan5]

#2 for the prompts for fun and profit if you're so inclined? :0

To be honest, Kravitz has been home all day. Hasn’t even opened the blinds. So when he sees the text, he kind of thinks it’s one of Taako’s dumb pranks. 

“Hey I know you’re pretty busy but would you like to defeat the invading aliens with me, please answer quickly things are kind of time-sensitive???” 

Kravitz re-reads the text several times, and finds it making no more sense the seventh go round. So, tentatively, he replies, after he’s finished practicing the cello for today. 

“Elaborate?”

Taako’s reply is quicksilver slick and doesn’t give a lot more information:

“You, me, aliens, destruction of humanity avoided?”

Kravitz puzzles as he digs through the fridge for a snack. Maybe it’s an invitation…to…something. Laser tag, maybe. A date? Kravitz’s stomach flutters. They haven’t been on a proper date yet, even though they’ve been making eyes at each other for weeks. They went on half of a double date. Is this another one of those? He’s been aching to make it up. And especially to have time after, for a goodbye kiss, or more. 

“Is this a date?”

“Well shit Krav I dunno,” Taako replies, which is not exactly encouraging. And following that, “Dude have you or have you not looked out the fucking window today???????????”

That’s an excessive amount of question marks, even for Taako, and Kravitz frowns in the middle of checking to see if his grapes have gone yucky or nah. He plomps them in the sink and re-reads the texts. 

That would be crazy, wouldn’t it? Surely he’d notice fuckin’ War of the Worlds 2: 2 Electric 2 Boogaloo? He almost doesn’t want to look. But he probably should, right? What’s the worst that could happen, one of Taako’s dorky friends there with a whipped cream pie or something? That idiot would have been standing there for a while, probably would have fallen asleep. 

So like, the worst possibility would be embarrassing himself. Or, you know, actual aliens raining death from the sky, no biggie. 

Kravitz looks at the grapes, some of which are leaning decidedly toward yucky. He looks at the drawn blinds. 

He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself, though, is the thing. He certainly doesn’t want Taako to laugh at him. What’s he supposed to do, play along with Taako, or call him on it? It’s always so hard to tell. Taako is so handsome and weird and goofy and clever in the strangest way, and Kravitz wants to laugh with him, not be the butt of the joke. Put it on a t-shirt. I am not the butt. Please do not make me the butt. Thank you. 

You know, Kravitz thinks, as his phone buzzes with more texts from Taako, that t-shirt would probably be entirely counterproductive. 

He opens the blinds.

He shuts the blinds. 

He sits on the floor, forgetting the yucky grapes and the butt shirt entirely. 

“So did you have like an anti-alien plan or are we like winging this one pretty severely?”

“Oh nah we super are winging this so like, now that you’re on the same fucking page, dweebus, are you going to help or no?”

“In my defense,” Kravitz huffs quietly to himself, even though Taako won’t hear it. He sends the energy along with the text and hopes it reads regardless. “I was playing the cello.”

“OH YEAH THAT’LL FUCKIN’ DEFEAT EM. YEAH SHOOT I CAN’T FAULT YOU THERE KRAV, GOLLY GEE HOW COULD I BERATE YOU NOW, KNOWING THIS INFO U HAVE SO SWEETLY BESTOWED ON MY FRONT PORCH, FLAMING DOG TURD THO IT IS.”

“You’ve got me there. How about I meet you at the corner, and if we survive this, you kiss me?”

“Yeah why the FUCK not. Alien date. You’re payin.”

Yeah, okay, he deserves that one. 

[semper-legens]

119. The Killing, by Robert Muchamore

Owned: No, library Page count: 306 My summary: James Adams is on another mission. Sulking from an outburst that left another agent injured, he gladly accepts anything that’ll take him away from campus for a while. He’s on the tail of a car dealer who has come into a suspiciously large amount of money, but what he finds could prove a wider conspiracy. One that even the cops are implicated in... My rating: 3/5 My commentary:

Ah, CHERUB. You confuse the hell out of me. This book was no different from the others in being not the kind of thing I can turn my brain off for, because the politics of it are dodgy enough that I have serious questions. I hate to sound like a broken record with this series, because the same things just keep cropping up again and again and again, but it bears repeating that this series is juuuuuuuuuuuuuust on the verge of copaganda. Which is impressive, given that this one is the one where the cops are doing the crimes.

But first, James’ arc. It’s really hard to miss what the character development is meant to be for James this go-around. It starts when, in a sulk from Kerry breaking up with him, James beats the shit out of some other kid for no reason and then is all ‘woe is me’ when all of his friends blank him for it. Yeah, that’s what happens when you beat up someone for no good reason just because they got in your way. Idiot. So James has to learn to control his temper and not lash out at others. The thing is, though, the narrative is focused a little too much on his self-pity. I get that we’re not necessarily supposed to think James beating that kid up is good, but we’re expected to keep sympathising with him as the everyman main character. And I just can’t sympathise with James. He’s too volatile, a little scary, and largely unrepentant for the bad things he does. I’m not sure he even really learns his lesson. I don’t like it!

So let’s talk crooked cops. James encounters the crooked cop of this piece, Michael Patel, when he slams James’ head into a car during an arrest for no real reason. It later turns out that Patel totally killed a kid and was helping the car dealer in a heist. I...question the decision to have the only confirmed cop character who is a person of colour be the one who is crooked and working with the Bad Guys, and also the lack of perspective on what makes a bad cop. Granted, I’m writing this well after the BLM movement’s existence, but it’s not like police violence wasn’t a Thing in the mid-2000s. Patel is just shown as being Bad. We don’t see him justifying his own actions as Stopping The Bad Guys in the way that real bad cops do. There is a moment where our good cop character closes ranks around him initially, but she does a 180 after looking into Patel’s record and learning that he is, actually, Bad. No sense of all cops closing ranks around murderers even when they know they’re murderers. As is becoming the norm for CHERUB, the morality is just a little too black and white for the complex situations they’re covering.

Which is saying something when the climax of James’ mission is him and the other agents manipulating the emotions of Patel and the car dealer so they’d be at each other’s throats and let slip a confession. I dunno, this kind of cop work never sits right with me, the idea of near-gaslighting someone just so that they will confess their crimes next to a microphone they don’t know is there. But of course, Patel and co are Bad People, so James and the others are narratively justified for anything they do to stop them. Obviously.

Next up, an airman is potentially executed for a crime that never occurred.

[minato-division03]

Reiaki’s Thoughts on Otaku Corps

Keiko Yumi

“Oh! I like her mangas a lot! Y’know! When I was in my last year of high school, I was gonna make a horror manga with my girlfriend at the time! Yeah, that…. didn’t happen… anyway! This ain’t about me! I’d like to meet her one of these days so we can talk about all things manga-related! Queen Card told me a bit about her background. And… yikes, that’s rough… I do hope things between her and her mom can get resolved. It just won’t be anytime soon.”

Criss Hiromi

“Ohhhhhh she’s adorable! I love horror and ghostly things as much as the next person, so you bet I stop by her channel! I’m a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghosts being real or not, but I’m always down to test if they do exist! I’d love to do a video collaboration with her one of these days, she’s just the cutest! It’ll be such a blast!”

Nikki Yoshie

“Ah… I never really got into video games… which is weird, cuz I feel like I would like them! But I just never have the time for it, y’know..? Probably because we’re on two very different parts of the internet, but I’ve never actually heard of her before even though she’s very well-liked. Hmmm… I dunno if it’s just me, but she looks kinda… boring? Ah… that really was mean, wasn’t it…? Oh well! At least she has her own fanbase of people who like her!”

Otaku Corps

“It almost feels like we’re meddling in one big family feud. These girls are just adorable, but sorry! Especially to the Yumi Family! This DRB won’t be the tournament where you guys will get to resolve your family drama. That’ll have to wait. Why? Because R.I.P Märchen is gonna be the team that represents Minato after the prelims. Hope you girls make it through so you’ll at least get to duke it out with us!”

[thebooker]

I finished the second TIG book (im abbreviating it because im too lazy to write it out) it was amazing, and i think i was thrown aback so many time while reading. The romance is still weird to me, but i don’t usually read romance books anyway. The twists and clues feel so thought out, and it’s such a fun ride to be on. I also really love the characters, they’re all so fun and have very distinct standing and personalities. Xander and Nash still remain to be my favorite characters of course…

Im also trying not to post spoilers on this blog because i know most people wouldn’t like that, you freaks. I love getting spoiled so much, it makes the experience more entertaining to me. I get anxious when i don’t know what happens, dunno if thats just me. But with the books im reading right now im trying not to search up spoilers…

It’s so hard, i love spoilers.

Yesterday i also found out the library doesn’t have the next book for the TIG series, which is such a shame but i hope they get them soon! So after this third book i’ll be going back to reading the entirety of the Rick Riordanverse! Which also is missing multiple books, but i’ll get them one day. I think i may try reading other series, romance or not, that my librarian recommends. She has some good suggestions yall, and im looking forward to them. I usually read dystopian/low fantasy books but im gonna try reading different ones as i wanna branch out. I also keep talking about the same 2 series, so that’ll stop soon…maybe.. i love these series so much. I want to read some horror too! Even though i hate horror so much.

I am, in all forms, a coward.

[cel-aerion]

Thinking about Roxanne Wolf, and the new book info that’s been leaked about how the original personalities of the SB animatronics were different than what we see in game. And from what I’ve seen (not that I’ve seen a ton because I haven’t really looked beyond browsing the Roxy tags here on Tumblr), the general summaries seem to include the notion that “Roxy was programmed with low self esteem.”

I’m not sure that’s really accurate, though.

The actual quote is as follows: “Roxanne was self-centered and competitive. She loved to admire herself in the mirror and frequently asked others how she looked. Edwin had never really liked her personality, but it was what Fazbear execs had wanted for the character [...] Roxy had always enjoyed poking at people's insecurities because of her own deep-seated self-esteem issues, but when The Storyteller came online, Roxanne turned into a full-blown bully. It was like her inherent lack of empathy was morphing into a more aggressive form of pathological cruelty.”

So, yes, she had self-esteem issues even before the change. But I’m not sure that means she was programmed with those issues. I dunno, I just can’t see that being a trait the execs would have been looking for, because that doesn’t seem like something that’ll really draw people in.

So I think it’s something more along the lines of...

Execs want someone kickass for this character. They’ll be the mascot for the raceway, so the character should have the vibe of someone who would be speeding on a highway in a convertible with the top down. So make them competitive, and make them self-obsessed, because they’re the best and they know it.

Except, after that... what happens when she’s not the best? Her programming is telling her that that’s basically her purpose, but she looks around and she’s... not. She’s not everyone’s favorite. She’s not thought of more highly than all the others. But her programming won’t allow her to look at things reasonably, to think something like, “Oh, well, they might be better as abc, but I’m better at xyz, we all have our strengths and weaknesses.” No, in her mind/circuitry, if she’s not the best, she’s nothing. There’s no third option.

So she tries to find validation. And she tries to bring others down (within reason, because there’s not much repeat business if kids go home crying because of her, and execs aren’t fans of that, but she does what she can) for the sake of lifting herself up. She tries basically anything she can to rationalize the idea that she really is the best.

Because she’s very aware that if she’s not, then she may as well just be scrap metal.

...tl;dr Roxy wasn’t programmed with the low self esteem, but because of what she was programmed with, she has gifted kid syndrome and/or imposter syndrome.