#and I never have any ideas where I feel I can actually do anything with them

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I know I've written about Daryl x reader in a relationship, but I'm rewatching The Walking Dead and UGH I love him...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The perfect example of your marriage is that scene from Yellowstone at the bar. Here's the link. Warnings: Violence :)

・Yes, so you and Daryl have a very close relationship - it has taken you a long time to get to this point.

・But marriage meant you two would be staying together for life. And Daryl knew that. No one was taking you away from him.

・You two met at the very beginning; in the camp with Lori, Carl, Carol, Dale, Andrea, Shane, Glenn etc.

・You abhorred Merle and gave him as much as you could - cussing him out, calling out his actions etc. You were always right but Merle was Merle.

・And you grouped Daryl with his brother; although he didn't say much.

・When Merle wasn't around, you actually got the time to see Daryl differently.

・He was really growing on you.

・You had no idea that he was wrestling with certain feelings as well.

・Your relationship was ... a slowburn to say the least. But you always looked out for each other. Made sure one another had enough food and water.

・There developed a constant between the two of you. Where one went, the other wasn't far behind. Especially when the group would split up

・You always found your way back to each other

・And yet, neither of you could see how much the other cared. Even though the whole group - even the new members - could see it.

・Though he comes off as rough and gruff to most, Daryl would have a soft spot for you. You’d be the only one who gets to see his gentler, more vulnerable side.

・

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Daryl was anxious all day, you even saw his hands shake before he saw it and shoved them in his pockets.

・You were worried; he never kept anything from you. Not even when you were just best friends.

・So you went to Carol, she shrugged her shoulders and gave you that knowing look. It calmed your own nerves down, because when Daryl is anxious; you are tenfhold.

・That night you were getting ready for watch, but a knock came at the door.

・It was Michonne.

"Hey, you wanna come in? I'm gonna start my shift soon but I can make us something tea?"

"It's okay, and don't worry about your shift; I have something for you to do."

"Oh okay, sure."

・You followed Michonne past the gardens, the crops and up to the doors of Alexandria and out into the nearby forest.

"We ugh, made sure the area was clear. You don't need to worry about a thing."

・She gave you one of her knowing smiles and you knew something was up...it made you nervous.

・Once Michonne disappeared, you heard the crunching of leaves.

・Quickly you whipped out your knife and swiped as you turned, only to be met by a large hand grabbing your arm.

"Thought I taught ya better than tha'" Daryl said, letting go of your arm and giving you a smile

"You did. I knew it was you. Heavy boots were giving me a heads up."

・It was then that you noticed his appearance; washed, with a clean black button up shirt, and a fresh pair of jeans.

・You quirked an eyebrow.

"What is this Dixon?"

Hesitating, Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his calloused hand, eyes darting briefly to the ground before meeting yours.

“Been thinkin’,” he started, shifting his weight between one leg to the other. “’Bout us… and all the shit we've gone through...”

You stepped closer to him. Closing the gap. And your heart started pumping a whole lot faster.

"-You know I ain’t good with words,” he muttered in a low voice. “Specially ain’t good at all this… romantic stuff. But you—you’re the best thing...that has ever happened to me. Hell, you're the only thing that makes sense in this goddamn world.”

・Your cheeks started to redden but you let him talk

From his pocket, Daryl pulled out something small and clenched in his hand, his fingers trembling just slightly.

You let out a soft, "oh." Thinking this day would never come.

When he opened his hand, there it was—a simple, gold ring.

“I know it ain’t much,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's perfect," the tears had started to fall now. You didn't even notice you had begun to cry.

Daryl sniffed, not realising he had shed a few tears as well. "...I just want you to know… you’re my family now. Always have been.”

He held the ring out to you.

"I don't know how long we have in this world. But I know I wanna spend it with you."

There was a moment of silence. One you let hang in the air, not truly believing this was happening.

"So… what d’ya say?”

・The look on his face was pure and full of love.

"God I love you Daryl Dixon."

・Slipping the ring on your finger, you realised how comfortably it fit. You gave Daryl a knowing look and he gave you a sheepish one.

"...measured your finger when you were sleepin'...also had help from Carol..."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"You know I'm getting you one, right? I want everyone to know you're taken. That Daryl Dixon is mine."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

・Then he kissed like it was your very first and last kiss.

The kiss was unlike anything you’d ever felt—raw, deep, and so full of emotion that it left you breathless. His lips claimed yours with an intense passion.

His hands trembled slightly, and cradled your face. Holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world; well, to him you were.

Pulling apart, he rested his forget against your own and whispered:

“Ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

In that moment, the world outside could have crumbled, and it wouldn’t have mattered. All that existed was you and him.

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Being married to Daryl Dixon meant having someone completely and utterly loyal to you.

・He calls you his family; and when he does so, you know it comes from a place of deep sincerity and respect.

・Instead of grand romantic displays, Daryl shows his love in quiet ways, like fixing something for you, preparing food, or just staying by your side during tough times.

・Daryl would be the ultimate protector, keeping you safe at all costs.

・You have your own place together. Not too far from everyone but secluded enough that you feel independent

・A common part of your nightly routine is cuddling up together on the couch and eventually falling asleep. (Daryl already having locked all the doors and has weapons around the house - just in case. He's not leaving anything to chance.)

・You've both shared everything you know about survival with one another.

・One of your ideas was to make a book about it. How to survive in this mess of a world; Daryl has fully encouraged it. He said it would come in handy for the next generations...

・Daryl thrives in the quiet moments of your marriage—sitting together by a fire, riding his motorcycle with you behind him, working on something side by side in comfortable silence.

・He also has a way of surprising you with such tenderness. E.g., brushing hair from your face or resting his forehead against yours in silent appreciation.  

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"Look at that stupid dumbass man, ha! Oh shit that's my dumbass-" (Daryl)

Short & bossy x Tall & follows them around

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

"Why Are You Babying Me?" (Daryl) x "'Cause I Know You Like It" (You)  

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Forced Proximity

Strong Feelings (Thinking It's Hate - WRONG It's Love)

Enemies to Lovers  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon

Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

One More Hour by Tame Impala

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 6.2k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! baby fever!gojo, breeding kink, unprotected sex, established relationship, pet names (mama, baby), oral (f!receiving), talks of having kids and starting a family, ooc!gojo

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The sequel is here! I felt like I couldn’t continue the storyline without at least mentioning the complications of someone like Gojo having a kid. It’s inevitable that they’re going to have a high level of cursed energy, so I wanted to explore the idea of sorcerers trying to live outside of jujutsu society constraints while also still having to adhere to them.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

The heat is on because it’s mid-winter and it’s finally gotten cold enough to snow, but somewhere in Gojo’s sprawling apartment a window is open. Not wide enough to cause a terrible draft–not that Gojo cares because he can afford to open all the windows while the heat is blasting at full tilt–but just enough to let in the smell of the crisp air outside. Gojo admittedly isn’t overly in tune with his sense of smell, all things considered. His strength is in his eyes so he’s never bothered to mull over the things that aren’t associated with his sight. He can’t exactly see the scent of frost and he can only smell it as well as any other person, but the window is open because he knows you like the smell of light snowfall. 

His staring problem comes with the territory, but, in the comfort of his own home, Gojo can’t really be faulted for looking too hard at any one thing. Especially not when his eyes are locked on his pretty girlfriend laid up on his couch. You’re curled up like a kitten in a nest, tucked into another one of his shirts and bundled beneath the giant fleece he bought because you’re always catching a random chill. It probably has something to do with low iron levels and leaving the window open in the winter. He briefly considers buying supplements but the thought is lost as soon as it forms when his eyes catch on the distracting length of your leg peeking out of the fuzzy blanket. It’s a wide expanse of bare skin that belies a lack of pants or at least anything beyond another pair of those damningly short shorts you love to wear around the house. There’s the fleeting thought that your aversion to longer pants might also be a contributing factor to your constant chill but he isn’t about to mention it. You’ve never had any qualms about going against things he says, but it’ll be just his luck that you actually decide to start wearing pants around the house and then where would he be? 

Infinity makes his footsteps imperceptible, especially with the adage of the downy carpet. There isn’t even a twitch of your lashes as he crouches in front of you, staring at your face half buried in the blanket before he reaches out to touch your leg. There’s no need for him to have his Infinity up in the house, but it’s habitual at this point, as easy as breathing. It’s the dropping it that always gives him pause. After going so many hours, day after day, never truly touching anything, it always feels like he’s relaxing a tense muscle when his barrier comes down. Not necessarily painful but palpable. The same way you can always smell when a storm is coming, Gojo can feel when his Infinity dissipates even though it’s intangible by nature. And once it’s gone he can feel everything. Hot or cold, the temperature never really matters because he’s always in his little bubble of body heat, but now he can feel the artificial rush of the vents pumping out waves of warm air and the slightest chill from the open window. 

Goosebumps rise over your skin as he traces his finger up the length of your leg. The jut of your ankle, the slope of your calf and the curve of your knee to settle over the softness of your thigh. You’re warm in a way that’s different from the blasting heat. Soft and comforting and Gojo tries not to dwell on what that might mean for his constant lack of physical contact. He drops his Infinity on occasion. Especially to interact with you or his students that are doing nothing but feeding into his desire for fatherhood, but it’s still few and far between. More often than not, Gojo is locked inside the untouchable barrier of his cursed technique. It’s not exactly loneliness that he’s feeling but some type of longing that makes him settle next to the couch so he can lay his cheek against your leg and just feel. His Six Eyes still tries to tell him things, outlining the shape of your body buried elusively beneath the blankets in a silhouette of cursed energy, but he closes his mind to it as best he can.  

It’s always been something unspoken between you; your level of cursed energy. You ended up a bit like Nanami, a bit like Suguru, turning your back on jujutsu for your own reasons. He’s never forced you to come back, never really even asked why you left because he doesn’t exactly care. All Gojo needs to know is that you’re happier with your life as it is, living as a non-sorcerer. He can’t really wrap his head around your love of working retail when it’s such a mixed bag of benign and volatile customers, annoying bosses, and ridiculous hours from what you tell him. But it’s leagues safer than fieldwork and Gojo isn’t about to be the one to coax you back into active duty. He barely tolerates when the higher ups call you in to do menial managerial tasks when the school is shorthanded. 

Their excuse for still keeping you on the payroll even after all these years always boils down to something about death being the only way a sorcerer ever really leaves the business. As if jujutsu society is some kind of yakuza holding members hostage. The people in charge act like sorcery is an inescapable cult and Gojo will be glad when he’s done tearing them down from the inside out. And as if you can sense him working himself up even in your sleep, Gojo watches your lashes pinch and flutter before a hand comes slinking out of your fuzzy cocoon to settle on his head. Your eyes are still closed but the momentary tension leaves your brow as soon as your fingers skim over his hair. No Infinity, only comfort. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” It’s always so instinctual the way you reach out to him. You always have an innate ability to tell when he’s falling and needs catching. Even just the sound of your voice, low and thickened with sleep, is enough to banish any worries from his mind. At least for the moment. 

“Nothing,” he says just to hear you mumble back “it’s something,” like you always do when he lies about what’s on his mind. It isn’t a matter of trust because Gojo trusts you with his life. He just doesn’t want to plague you with all the things he’s mulling over. It’s really only important to him. You’ve already declared your disinterest in sorcery, he’s not about to force you to listen to him formulating a plan to reform jujutsu society. And besides, he can’t have you worrying because it isn’t good to worry when you’re pregnant. Something about stress not being good for the baby. Sure, you aren’t pregnant yet, but he can see it coming in the near future. 

It’s not like he’s worn you down, you’ve always been way too steadfast to be bending to anyone’s whims. It’s more so just that it’s time. That ever constant “soon” looming closer and closer on the horizon. 

“Quit your job,” Gojo says, sounding every bit like a petulant child. Finally, your eyes open. Just barely, only enough to give him a hazily unimpressed look. 

“I know that’s not what you were thinking about.” He knows you know, but he also knows you won’t press him on it. Even when you were an active sorcerer, there were just some things you didn’t want to know about for plausible deniability’s sake. No need to get your hands dirty, especially now that you’re not even active anymore. Gojo’s strong enough to take on the consequences of his actions, strong enough to keep you safe from the fallout of his decisions. And anyway, he’s far more concerned with his personal life at the moment. What he does at work becomes virtually irrelevant the second he’s alone with you. 

“It’s what I’m thinking about now!” He’s whining because it’s really all he has on his mind now. The idea of coming home from a long day of work and being greeted by the pattering of little feet as your babies rush to meet him at the door. He imagines them all chubby cheeked and starry eyed, pushing to be the first one he hugs when he gets home. He’s annoyingly fixated on the thought and thumps his forehead against your thigh, knocking against you over and over until you’re fisting your fingers in his hair to keep him still. 

“You’re annoying.” You mean it but he can hear the endearment in your voice. And just to really get on your nerves, Gojo starts pouting. 

“I’m lonely.” It’s true in a way he doesn’t want to admit. Never mind the fact that he has his cheek pressed against your leg, arms wrapped tight around your thigh. There’s always been that nagging sense of loneliness. The looming feeling that something is missing. Children or something else, Gojo doesn’t know. But he does know that he wants babies. Your babies. Preferably sometime in the very near future if you’ll let him. 

“Lonely? Then what am I?” He feels you flex your leg as if to remind him that there’s no space for loneliness between his skin and yours. But there’s a hint of something in your voice, that heaviness of unspoken acknowledgment. You’ve known him for so long, been together for so many years. Some things don’t need to be said for you to know. It’s innate, intrinsic. And he loves you for it. You’re everything to him, but what he decides to say is,

“The mother of my children.” There’s desperation in his voice but Gojo doesn’t care to be embarrassed. He’s been stuck on this for most of your relationship and he isn’t about to get flustered asking for what he wants for the umpteenth time. You haven’t shamed him the first thousand times he’s asked so he isn’t expecting to get teased on attempted one thousand and one. 

“I’m not pregnant yet.” Gojo perks up. That’s new. The two of you have had this conversation in some variation at least once a week for months now and Gojo has grown used to all the answers you usually give him. It’s always something like “not yet,” or “let’s wait a little while longer.” And he does wait, but he’s also woefully impatient. Gojo knows you’re not pregnant and that’s the torture of it all. You’ve already said you’ll have his children. Kissed his forehead and reminded him that not now doesn’t mean not even whenever he gets particularly sulky after being told to be patient. It’s always just a matter of when but he’s eager for when to be now. And something about your answer makes him look at you with wide eyes. 

I’m not pregnant yet. It’s teasingly open-ended, like you’re taunting him with the knowledge that you’re not pregnant but you could be. But Gojo knows you wouldn’t tease him like that. Not about this. He’s always been a tad bit overzealous in his pursuit of babies but that’s because he wants it so bad, and he knows you wouldn’t be cruel enough to taunt him with it. He trails a hand up your thigh, dipping beneath the blanket as he maps out the curve of your hip. A shiver runs through your body as his fingers dip under the hem of your shorts. 

“Not pregnant… yet?” It’s hopeful. A question lingering in his tone. Is it time? Will today be the day? You smile, going back to petting his head, and that’s all the answer he needs. “You looking to change that, mama?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask again,” you tease. “Thought you kept track of my ovulation window.” You’ve been waiting? Gojo’s heart stutters in his chest. All he had to do was ask. It’s always been that way really. He’s been begging you for so long because he knew it was just a matter of asking when, but after so long of being told to wait a while it seems almost too good to be true hearing you say you’re ready now. 

“You better be serious.” He knows you are because you know how desperate he’s been for it, but he can’t help but want to hear you say it again. Hear you ask in so many words. He’s always begging and pleading and Gojo wants to hear you want it just as plainly as he does. 

“Don’t make me beg, Satoru.” It isn’t what he wants to hear but he scoops you and your blanket into his arms even still. He’s got all the time in the world to hear you ask for it and he’s not about to delay it any longer just because you want to play coy. He can see it in the way you’re biting at your lips trying to hide a smile, feel it in the way your arms wind around his neck. There’s a slight tremor to your hand as you run your fingertips up the column of his neck. He can almost hear the way your heartbeat has spiked, blood swelling with desire as he lays you down in his bed. It’ll be your bed soon because there’s no way he’s about to spend even a second more than necessary away from you. He’s been begging to get rid of your apartment for almost as long as he’s been wanting a baby, and Gojo is looking to have it all in one fell swoop. 

“Gonna have to move in with me, mama,” he reminds you. Marriage is a more amorphous thought. Really it’s just a piece of paper that will serve to complicate your lives. He’s the head of a clan and his wife will have certain expectations imposed upon her that he doesn’t want to wrestle with right now. Maybe later, when he’s made things better. But for now he’s happy just having you. You don’t have to be a Gojo just yet because you’re his regardless. You’re in his bed, wearing his clothes, wanting to have his baby. Gojo can’t put a bigger mark on you than that but he’ll sure as hell try as his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of your neck. You make that same gasping sound you always do, a little shiver running through your body as your hands find his hair again. Your grip is tighter than before, pulling at the roots as he digs his teeth into your delicate skin. Usually he’d be more careful about where he’s putting his little love bites but he can’t bring himself to care right now, and you don’t seem to mind. 

“You gonna ask for it, mama? I’m not gonna give it to you if you don’t ask for it properly.” As much as he’s been begging for it, Gojo won’t settle for anything less than hearing you tell him exactly what you want from him. All he’s been hearing is you telling him to wait, so he’s not giving you anything without explicit permission. Of course you take your time with that, too, and Gojo is more than happy to indulge you. It’s like running a marathon and finally seeing the finish line so close within reach. He can count the steps, the breaths, the heartbeats it will take until he crosses the line and finally, finally gets what he wants. It’s what you want too, or else you wouldn’t have said anything. It’s easy to provoke him when it comes to this and he hasn’t heard exactly what he wants yet, but he’s still keen to get you out of your clothes. And for all your smirking silence, you let him. Lifting your hips and arching your back as he strips you out of your clothes. 

For a moment, all he can do is savor the sight. His girl laid out on his bed, so close to asking for his child. You squeak when his nose presses into the space between your breasts, skin cold without his Infinity to regulate his temperature but he’ll be warm soon enough. Already he’s soaking in the heat pouring off your skin. You’re that fuzzy sort of warm that comes with the first waves of wakefulness, eyes still half-lidded and skin nearly feverish as he rubs his cheek against your bare chest. You smell nice. A perfect balance between his scent and your own, mingled together in a heady fragrance that has his tongue drawing wet streaks across your skin. He shivers as you thumb at the nape of his neck, brushing over the cropped hair at the back of his head because you can’t get enough of the feeling. Gojo is almost certain he’ll be just as insistent with touching your stomach when you start to show. 

He can already imagine how you’ll look. Only a few months pregnant, belly just starting to show. In his shirts you’d look the same as you always do. They hang so big off your frame that no one would be able to tell what was growing beneath it. But he’d know. And when you got bigger the whole world would know. Belly round and breasts heavy, whole body changing to accommodate the little life you made together. Gojo already can’t stay off you and he imagines your first pregnancy will shatter what little is left of his restraint. 

“You’ll tell me what I wanna hear, right, mama?” He murmurs against your stomach. He kisses around your naval, moving lower to dig his fingers into the thickness of your hips. You return the favor, running a hand through his hair until your grip tightens, pulling his eyes towards you. It sends a stinging twinge of pleasure down his spine, scalp prickling beneath your rough treatment as he stares up at you. He realizes you’re holding so tight because you need something to ground you. He can feel the way you’re squirming beneath his weight, hips shifting awkwardly as he pins you down with his bright blue gaze. Gojo has always been so open about wanting to start a family yet you can hardly articulate the words to ask him. It’s what you both want, but after so long saying no he can imagine how hard it is to fix your lips to say yes. It’ll be hard to collar him again once you let him off the leash. 

“Satoru,” he nearly melts at the sound of his name on your tongue. The way you say it with such sweet reverence. He can hear the affection in every syllable. “I want it.” It isn’t some heartfelt confession but it’s just as sincere, and Gojo hasn’t exactly been asking for it in the most romantic terms. You aren’t begging yet but it’s a start. A slow one compared to how feverish he’s been in his desire to get you pregnant but it’s enough for the moment. He can hear threads popping with how quickly he works to get your clothes off. It’s his shirt anyway and he has the money to buy you as many new sets of underwear that you want for nearly ripping your panties in half as he yanks them down your thighs. The poor lace is mangled as you kick it off your ankle but he doesn’t hear you complaining. In fact, you’re giggling. Laughing and smiling so pretty as he kisses your knee. 

“What’s so funny, baby?” He asks. You poke him square in the forehead as he looks up at you. 

“You are.” You’re still laughing. “You’re like a damn puppy.” It’s not the first time you’ve called him that but it makes him smile every time. He presses his grinning lips against your skin and smiles wider when you call him a weirdo as he licks the inside of your thigh. 

“Don’t complain now. In a few minutes you’re gonna want my tongue all over you.” His tone is joking but he watches the word land. The way you go quiet, nipping at your lip to hide your smile behind a shy pout. He can feel your thigh flexing as he rests his head against your leg, squirming at just the thought of him touching you. Gojo has regained some of his control, reigning in his eagerness so he doesn’t get overzealous. The last thing he’d want is to hurt you. He wants the conception of his first baby–all his babies–to be perfect. Even if it’s him that’s asking for it, it’s not really about him. It’s about you. Your body. You’re the one that’s going to be going through the woes of pregnancy, so the least Gojo can do is make the prelude feel good. He kisses your leg again, sinking his face into the soft skin, absolutely melting as he frames himself between your thighs.

There’s an ease to the way his arms hook behind your knees, pulling you down the bed until you’re flush against his face. The sound you make when his nose nudges at your clit has his head going hazy, empty to anything that isn’t you. Sleep still clings around the edges as you moan his name, a low hum that’s steeped in fading fatigue. He can feel your body rising to full consciousness, finally catching up with your mind as your legs shift along the curve of his shoulders. 

You’re still so warm, that sleepy heat lingering as your thighs close around his head the moment he wraps his lips around your clit. He’s only got his lips on you for a second and you’re already squirming, half trying to run away from his mouth. Gojo laughs, the sound rolling off his tongue to tease at your clit. You whine, pushing at his head even as your thighs pull him closer. He whines when you scramble far enough to get away from his mouth, glassy eyes staring up at you like you just slapped him across the face. There’s tears sparkling in your eyes as you look down at him, brows furrowed and lips caught between your teeth. Gojo leans in again, real slow like you won’t notice if he moves at a steady pace. You whimper and start squirming again the second his lips brush against your skin. He tries to be gentle, kissing over the swollen hood of your clit as his tongue parts your sticky lips. A faint, whimpered “wait!” falls from your lips and Gojo pulls away, forcing back a groan, trying not to look at the way your pussy is drooling on his sheets. 

He presses a kiss over the curve of your mound, doing anything to distract himself from thinking about where he really wants his mouth to be. The mess of your arousal is drying sticky on his lips, leaving glossy little prints as he kisses across your stomach. 

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” His voice is breathless, muffled against your chest as he crawls up your body. You’re still trying to pull him closer and push him away, thighs locked around his waist even as you knot a fist in his hair to pull him away from your pert little nipples. 

“Fucking tease,” he mumbles against your collarbone, void of any true malice. It would almost be amusing if he wasn’t nearly vibrating out of his skin with the strength it’s taking to restrain himself. 

He can’t help but grind against you when you pull him into a kiss. It’s a heated mess of tongue and teeth, barely passing for affection. It’s desperation on the cusp of frenzied aggression as he grinds against you, cursing at the barrier of fabric between you. You’re already clawing at his shirt and there’s no mistaking the sound as Gojo shreds the fabric to be closer to you. His pants are a bit harder to contend with, made infinitely more difficult with the way you’re all but fucking him through the fabric, legs locked so tight that he can barely inch his hand between you to shove the last piece of distance between you out of the way. He knows the moment you register his skin against yours. You’re babbling, close to tears as you whimper his name. It’s a broken mantra that sounds so sweet on your lips. He only gets his pants down to his knees before you’re shoving his hand out of the way. He nearly misses the determined mumble of “make it fit,” too focused on the way your hand feels wrapped around his dick. 

It snaps him back to focus for a second. Long enough to worry about you hurting yourself without his fingers to stretch you open first. But all thoughts melt from his mind the moment you guide his dick between your thighs. He can feel the last threads of his self control unwinding bit by bit as you clumsily guide him where you want him. It’s a messy drag up and down your slit before he catches against your entrance. He can feel how eager you are, clenching at his head as he grips at your hips to keep you still. 

“Just the tip,” he stutters even as you groan out your despair. “Be patient, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He still has the taste of you on the back of his tongue, that orgasm that you ruined for yourself. He can feel the way you’re still trying to pull him in closer, heels digging into the small of his back to no avail. Gojo is stronger than you. The strongest ever. And even when he’s on the cusp of coming–pitiful when he’s barely inside you–he can keep himself from giving into temptation if it means keeping you from harm. Even if you want it now, you’ll be cursing and whining about how sore you are later and he wants this to be a good memory. It’s messy and fast but he can still practically see the hearts in your eyes when he looks down at you. Then you smile and he knows he’s a goner. 

“I’m gonna come,” Gojo says without a shred of embarrassment. He’s long past that as he feels your pussy suck at the tip of his cock. He doesn’t go any deeper, still feeding you shallow thrusts as he goes over the edge. It’s a disappointment to watch the steaks of white spilling out of you when he pulls back, sticky threads still clinging between you. 

“Gotta keep it inside, mama,” he murmurs, already cleaning up the mess with his fingers. Your hand is on his shoulder the second he curls his fingers inside you. Pushing and pulling as your nails scratch across his skin. Only you can ever leave marks on him, only you can ever touch him like this. He gets drunk off the thought, balancing himself on his forearm as he presses his forehead against yours. Your face is wet, smeared with tears and spit and sweat. You look dewy in the lowlight, eyes glittering up at him. It’s muscle memory getting you to the edge. He knows just where to press, just how deep you need it. It’s so second nature that Gojo nearly forgets he’s got his fingers inside you until you shove your hand between your bodies, rubbing desperately at your neglected clit until your back is arching, pressing your chest against his. He can feel your heart fluttering behind your breasts as your nipples skim over his bare skin. 

When you finally sag against the sheets, coming down from the high, your hand slinks over his shoulder until you’re cupping his cheek. Gojo leans into the touch like it’s the last thing he’ll ever feel. 

“It’s time, Satoru,” you say, voice soft and breathless. “Let’s have a baby.” 

The sound he makes sounds pitifully desperate even to his own ears but Gojo can’t bring himself to stifle his voice. He only gets louder when he’s inside you again. An orgasm has you loosened enough to take him now, pulling him in with three deep strokes.

“Just like that, mama,” he murmurs. You’re less erratic now, far calmer after coming once already. “Not running now, are you?” You have the nerve to look bashful, looking away as he rubs his hands down your sides. It’s easy to guide you now, to get you to follow his rhythm as he bottoms out inside you with each thrust. There’s something so enamored about your eyes as you stare up at him. Dazed and half-lidded, full of adoration as you catch his arm where he’s holding your hips. The adoration that floods through him the moment he feels your thumb brushing against his wrist is enough to nearly choke him. Fuck, he wants to marry you. Wants you to be his in every way possible. But there’s still a thousand things he needs to do first. Things to make the world better for you and your baby. His eyes fall to your stomach, vision almost doubling from how hard he’s staring at your tummy. There’ll be a baby in there soon. His baby. Gojo feels himself getting close at the thought. 

“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s a sound like music as you call his attention back to your face. Something you only say when his eyes are closed. He was lost in his dreams of the future. Of babies with his name and your face. 

“I’m here,” he assures you, panting the words against your parted lips in a messy imitation of a kiss. Words are spilled in a slurred litany between soaked mouths with no clear distinction between either whining voice. The sentiment is the same no matter which one of you is saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“What do you want?” Gojo feels himself murmuring. It’s a hushed mumbling that comes as the end of a long drawl of your name, so low that the syllables come out as graveled sounds against the edge of your ear. Still, you answer to the barest hint of his voice, back bowing off the bed like you’re drawn towards him like a flower to the sun. His arm fills the space, wrapping around your waist. He can feel the way you shiver on the cusp of falling over the edge, can hear it in your voice as you babble your answer of, “you, you, you, just you!” 

“My babies?” He can’t help but goad and tease even though he’s so deep inside you that there’s no question of what you want from him. Still, you answer. Clawing at his shoulders as you do. 

“Yes, Satoru! Your babies, only yours!” It lights something deep and possessive in his chest as he reaches a hand down to rub the shape of his name on your clit. It’s the best he can offer with no ring, no wedding. Writing his name on your skin, pressing his mark into every corner of your body until he can do it the right way. 

“My babies. My girl.” He sets his teeth against the skin of your throat, tasting the sweat as the sound of your voice vibrates across his tongue. There’s no mistake of what you want when you come. Your legs lock tight around him like he’d try to run from the way you’re milking his cock. Squeeze tight like you never want him to leave. He squeezes you tighter in turn, fingers pressed tight against the shivering column of your spine. He spells his name there too, tracing each muscle as they move under his fingertips. He feels your hands in his hair again, scratching at the back of his head. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with comfort–with you–and it’s enough to throw him headlong over the edge. 

When he tosses his head back, cursing towards the ceiling, your hand is still there to catch him. Brushing against the nape of his neck as your nose tucks up under his chin. He feels your lips wet and hot against the place his pulse is racing in his throat, and knows you can feel each whining pant of your name as it falls from his lips. It’s the only word he knows as his stomach flexes, ropes of come spilling inside you. So much that it starts to leak out in a dribbling mess. Gojo is quick to pull you up, struggling to his knees so he can keep his come where it needs to be. He’s still pulsing inside you, achy from the sensitivity as your walls squeeze around him. You start squirming as the high fades, wiggling in his hold and mumbling about “put me down.” 

Gojo hikes one of your legs higher, pressing a kiss to your ankle. “Can’t, mama. Gotta keep it in or it won’t stick.” 

He placates you with another orgasm, thumbing at your clit until you’re whining and shivering. He can feel the dull pulses as it washes over you, clenching his dick as he softens inside you. You’re so warm that it feels like he’s melting but Gojo can’t suffer the thought of pulling out just yet. But he does finally let you down. He follows you as you sprawl across the rumpled bedding, resting his head against your chest. He nuzzles against your breast until you snap at him to quit it when he sneaks a nipple into his mouth. He pulls away with a pout, kissing across your chest because he can still feel the way your heart is hammering behind your ribs. Your skin is hot beneath his lips and tacky with sweat but he can feel the goosebumps starting to rise with each kiss. 

A car honks outside. The sound carries from down the hall where, somewhere in the apartment, a window is still open. A draft blows in through the half-open bedroom door. He’s not cold yet, but he can feel the shivers starting as you cling to him, soaking up the warmth of his body. He lets you pull him in, reveling in the closeness. 

“Puppy,” you mumble affectionately as he nuzzles closer. You press kisses to his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Places only you can touch. Even without his Infinity, people act like Gojo’s face–his eyes–are something beyond human. Sometimes he feels like something divine and untouchable but then your lips press softly against his eyelids and he’s suddenly just a man. A desperate, possessive man. He catches your mouth against his, licking at the seam of your lips until they part to let him taste your tongue against his. When he’s done he takes the liberty of licking a bead of sweat from your temple and you push him away, whining about him being gross. 

“S’not gross,” he pouts. “I love you.” He says it like an explanation. Like everything he does can trace back to the fact that he can’t breathe if he goes without touching you for too long. Tasting your sweat is one of the tamer things he’s done to prove his love. Sometimes Gojo wonders if you forget that he’d burn the world down for you. Then he remembers that he’s already doing it. For you, for your baby. For himself. His hand squeezes between your bodies to press against your stomach. Soon, he smiles at the thought. Now. 

“You should eat something, baby.” He hears you talking, hears the concern in that soft, satisfied tone, but you’re stroking his hair like you’d rather he fall asleep against your chest. 

“C’mon,” you say when he doesn’t move, patting where your nails left scratches across his shoulders. “I’ll make you food and then we can go again later.” Gojo chokes on his breath with how fast he’s trying to get his words out. “Calm down, baby, I know it takes more than once to make a baby.” 

Gojo watches you grab his shirt off the floor–the one he just took off, not the one you’d been wearing all day–tucking your nose into the collar as you waddle to the bathroom with your knees hugged tight to keep the mess he made from dripping on the carpet. Fuck, he wants to marry you. The look you give him when you come out of the en-suite, eyeing the way he’s tenting the sheets just thinking about his come spilling out of you does little to make him feel ashamed. He waits long enough for his body to calm down before he’s pulling on a pair of shorts and joining you in the kitchen. You’re bouncing around in front of the stove, making eggs even though it’s late in the evening. Gojo crosses his legs and tries not to imagine that you’re making breakfast before school, waiting for your oldest to finish getting dressed as you bounce your youngest on your hip. 

“You want pancakes?” He must nod because you start making batter. 

“You gotta move in with me,” Gojo reminds you, eyes watching the way your–his!–shirt hikes up every time you lift your arms too high, conspicuously checking for a peek of what’s hidden just beneath the black fabric. 

“My lease is up in like two weeks.” And just like with your teasing not pregnant yet, Gojo knows he has you. For good. Happiness suddenly smells like freshly fallen snow and maple syrup. 

[meraki-sunset]

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

[writingwisterias]

Hey hey!!

You can ignore this if you aren't comfortable but I was wondering if you have any ideas for how different eras Leon would react or handle drunk gf? Smth like been out with the girlies or asking him for a ride home? Go crazy!

Low key started thinking about it after a minor drunken injury weeks ago (all good!)

Hi Anon!

I'm sorry this late, I hope you are okay lmao! We have all been there at some point 👀...I've never fallen down some stairs or whatever

Hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: Fluff, Drunk!Reader,

Fem!Reader

RE2:

You went to a house party, Leon didn't feel like going though so he stayed behind

He trusted you not to do anything stupid and find your own way back.

That was until he got a call from you that you had been left by your friends and needed him to come and pick you up

He left immediately, pulling up to the location in his jeep with a smile at your state

Had to catch you as he helped you into the car as you tripped on the pavement

The entire ride you are chatting to him about all the gossip. He doesn't care who kissed who that night. Your smile and adorable giggles made his night

Caved when you asked for fast food - with the idea it will sober you up a little bit at least.

RE4R:

I feel like he would like a quieter life but when he meets you and you drag him around everywhere.

He doesn't complain he just goes with the flow, he'll have a few drinks etc to make the time more bearable but never as much as you.

It's cute though, how you'll go out onto the dance floor with a bunch of your friends all stumbling about together

Then you will stumble back over to him, placing a kiss that tasted like whatever you were drinking. A hug that was more you leaning on him than an actual hug

He never prompted you to come back, he was content observing you from the bar, his ass going numb from the bar stool.

When it is time to go home, he's dragging you to a cab. Your leaning on him chattering about whatever was on your mind

Thoughts going by so fast he can barely keep up with you. Changing topics like every 5 seconds

Infinite Darkness:

Encourages you to drink more, he's the type that's willing to be the sober one if he needs to be or at least only limiting himself to a few drinks to make sure you get back safely

He has to drag you out the bar towards the end of the night, your goodbye with the girls is dragging on far too long

The walk back is painful, your stumbling everywhere and so slow to the point he just beds his back and braces his knees

You're hard to carry on his back only because you find it so funny but eventually you pass out

When you do you are like dead weight but don't worry he can take it, he's fought things that are heavier than you

Damnation:

He's drunk with you lets be honest, you are both as bad as each other

Prefers to stay at home and drink so you will too

If you host a girls night he'll happily leave the room and sit in your bedroom so you have the space

The girls don't mind him being there they understand you barely see each other so they are fine with him joining in

When he does, he'll suggest things like board games or card games

For Christmas he'll get you loads of drinking games to play either together or with your friends

Finds it funny when you get the couple drinking games

RE6:

You woke him up from sleeping on the sofa when you called him to pick you up

He's fighting you for an answer as to where you are.

Eventually he just drives to the usual bars not hanging up of course

Finds you just aimlessly wandering down the streets. Pulls over and has to gently guide you into the car

Your moaning about how you have your boyfriend on the phone and he's coming to get you until you realize it's him

He'll give you his jacket in the car so you stay warm, after all the outfit your wearing wouldn't have kept you warm

Loves the gossip you collect and will let you ramble about. There's just something distracting about who kissed who compared to his usual thoughts or conversations with his friends

Vendetta:

The guy would be drunk with you, out and about with your friends whatever. He's with you

And considering he's drank a lot in the film before he starts doing anything I would say he's the type of drunk that you can't actually tell he is until you see the drink

So he's more helpful than you in going home

He's dragging you down the street, pulling you into his side so you stay close

If you fall over he's just sighing and laughing at you

It's almost like two toddlers walking down a street together, they don't know where they are going or how to get there but they do eventually

If you ask for his jacket he'll give it to you but he won't just do it on his own will. He's not really thinking straight

Death Island:

He's smart enough to turn on your phone location before you go out so when you do call him, he's there like instantly

He will sit you down on the bathroom counter and force you to tell him what your skin care routine is as he knows you'll be upset you didn't do it

Will eventually get you to write a step by step process and pin it to his bathroom mirror so he knows in advance

Probably just throws on one of his t shirts instead of finding your own clothes

Listens to your drunken talks until eventually you fall asleep cuddles into him

[speed-world]

Hello!! If it's not too much to ask, can you write a cookie run kingdom au where y/n is a traveler? I just think that's the most logical way to somehow get them involved into stories and meet different cookies altogether. Maybe a few scenarios in which involve their encounters with the ancients before the main plot of crk?

A cookie stood with his sheep, observing the lands before him in silence as the winds howled and blew beside him. He was making his last few preparations before his journey, but as he turned around, he saw an unfamiliar face that appeared to be in awe of the lands much like he was…

“Oh, pardon me, but I’ve never seen a cookie like you before. You look so incredibly well and unbothered, may I ask if you have a secret to keeping your dough so healthy?”

“Oh, me? Hehe, I don’t think I have any ‘secret’ to my healthy or anything like that. I’m simply a traveler wandering Earthbread.”

“Really? So am I! I’ll be taking a pilgrimage to the Sugar-Free Road, and complete its 12 trials. What about you, where are you headed?”

“Wherever the earth and winds take me, I suppose. I don’t have a destination in mind, per se, but I’m so interested in exploring the marvelous depths across every corner of Earthbread! But, if you don’t mind me asking, what makes you want to venture to the Sugar-Free Road alone? Surely those trials can’t be the only reason.”

“You sound like you’ve been there before, is there something I should be aware of before I go?”

“Yeah, maybe don’t go by yourself. It’s a treacherous path that’ll leave you wishing you never went. I myself turned back when I was there because of how worn out I was. I would want to go back sometime, especially since I feel more accustomed to traveling to do so, but doing so alone is not something I’m doing again.”

“I see…well to answer your question, I strive to find the truth as to why cookies - those crumbling, incomplete, and not-so-sweet - all must suffer so. I wish for all beings of dough to be happy, and that is I will accept those trials. Hopefully I’ll find the answers I’m looking for at the end of the path.”

“That’s…that’s actually really nice! I respect that a lot, and I kinda feel the same way; wanting everyone to not suffer. But you won’t do well by yourself, would you mind if I tag along?”

“Really? Are you sure my goals won’t get in the way of yours?”

“Nah, of course not! You get to complete the trials and, hopefully, find your answers, while I get to see everything of the Sugar-Free Road and document it! Plus, I get to make a new friend too!”

“New friend..? Ahaha, I’m honored to call you friend too! My name is Pure Vanilla Cookie, and you are?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure to meet ya Pure Vanilla Cookie!”

“Likewise, Y/N Cookie. I’m glad we’ll take this journey together!”

————————————————————————

The screeching roar of a dragon fills the air as it gradually got more distant. The dragon’s pursuer was aggravated, but still determined…

“Huff…huff…darn that dragon getting away, again!! I think I’m starting to loose count, is this the 80th time? No, it can’t have been that much…..argghh—! No matter, I’ll keep hunting it down and—!”

The bushes ahead of Hollyberry Cookie rustle as an astonished cookie stepped out, and looked to the sky where the dragon flew off. They were completely in awe and wanted to get a better look at the majestic creature.

“Woah!! Was that a dragon just now? I’ve seen glimpses of them on my travels, but that one was so close!! This could be a chance to really meet a dragon, maybe even feel its scales!! Hahaha, I gotta go now and—“

“Hey, hold it right there!”

“Huh? Oh, hey there! Are you after the dragon too?”

“That’s one way to put it; I’m hunting that dragon. I need to defeat it for the trouble its caused the Hollyberry Kingdom!”

“Oh my, I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s quite alright, that dragon won’t escape me so easily! But, what brings you out here? And why do you want to see that dragon?”

“Ah, well I’m a traveler, you see? I want to explore every neat corner of Earthbread and all the specialties in between!”

“Really now? Interesting, it’s been awhile since I’ve met such an adventurous cookie like myself! I’m Hollyberry Cookie, pleased to meet you friend!”

“Y/N Cookie, the pleasure is all mine Hollyberry Cookie!”

“Well Y/N Cookie, what do you say we go hunting this dragon together? It’s always more fun to travel with a partner, and I’ll promise you to see every bit of the dragon up close!”

“For real?! Awesome!! Ohohoho, this is gonna be fun, I can’t wait to go!”

“Why don’t you tell me about your travels on the way? I’ll, of course, share you many of my own! I’ll even treat you to the finest berry juice my kingdom has to offer when it’s over!”

“Why thank you! I’ve never had berry juice from the Hollyberry Kingdom before, I can’t wait!!”

“It will be the finest you’ve ever had, you wouldn’t want any other! This is already becoming a fine adventure, hahaha!!”

————————————————————————

Black lightning and dark clouds...What's next, a blizzard that freezes your very breath? The scale of the anomalies is growing. The Cookies in the Frozen Snowfield are perishing one by one. While it seems logical for any cookie to avoid venturing out to such an extreme treacherous environment, two cookies were individually hiking up anyways. Although for their own reasons, their ambitions may align with one another’s….

“Hmm? Oh hey there, I wasn’t expecting any company here!”

“Neither was I…are you a cookie from one of villages affected by the blizzards?”

“Me? Oh no, I’m just a traveler passing by to witness something spectacular!! Here, listen closely—“

��Grrrrrr…..”

“Hhrrrrrraaaaaahh…..”

“The growls of not one, but two dragons-in one place!! I wonder what it is here that could’ve brought them here; ooohh I’ve got to see them up close!”

“You’re here for…sightseeing dragons? How strange.”

“You sound disappointed, is everything alright bud?”

“No. I am here to know more of the weather anomalies occurring through this continent. This harsh weather has caused cookies to suffer and crumble, and I refuse to let it endure another minute.”

“Oh my, I had no idea that was happening. I’m so sorry…”

“Pick your head up, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ah, r-right. *ahem*…let me help you.”

“What? No, I’m afraid I can’t. These cookies have suffered for too long, and I can’t risk another getting in the way and—“

“I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll help aid those cookies with you; I have plenty of supplies to offer some kind of help, be it food or water or anything in between.”

“Hmm…very well then. I believe our interests might be more in common than I realize. Let’s not waste any more time and be on our way.”

“Of course! I’m Y/N Cookie, by the way, pleasure to meet you sir.”

“Dark Cacao Cookie, don’t mention it. Let us do our absolute best for the cookies!”

————————————————————————

Under the intense, near-intolerable heat of the desert sun, two cookies traverse the sands bearing wide smiles of determination. Both hold their own greedy ambitions, yet aren’t driven apart by each other’s desires.

“Hah, you know, I’m still amazed as to why you’re traveling with me to the old ruins. I was wandering the desert to find this marvelous treasure, but you just want to look at them, document them, and that’s it! Why go through such risks if all you want to do is go sight seeing?”

“Hehe, well I guess you could say that’s the treasure I’m hunting for. To see all the wonders of Earthbread, its beauties in its dangers, the uniqueness of every continent, I want to capture all of it and learn everything about it! Plus, it’s super fun to meet all kinds of desserts along the way, especially one as dynamic as you!”

“So interesting, you almost make me want to share the treasure I find with you; almost, of course.”

“I don’t blame you, heh. You wandered all this way for it, it’s only fair that it all belongs to you.”

“Right? I would’ve heard if someone on Earthbread had laid their hands on it first. But then again…I want to show my gratitude for your help. This journey would’ve been boring and perhaps fruitless if not for you; what is your name?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure!”

“Y/N Cookie, I am Golden Cheese Cookie. I shall never forget all you’ve done for me! Your greed for the world is something to admire for eons; nearly as great as my greed for my treasure. You and I together shall be legendary!”

————————————————————————

Somewhere, in a secluded area relatively distant from the nearest cookie civilization, a lone cookie was weeping as she was suffering from a nightmare. A passerby cookie heard her cries, and wanted to know what troubled her so…

“E-Excuse me, hello? Are you okay ma’am?”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I… Oh…it was that same dream again. I’m sorry, I didn’t know another cookie was here…”

“No no, it’s alright, you didn’t bother me. I was just traveling by, venturing out to find some incredible things about Earthbread!”

“You were…traveling? Just freely and…eagerly going about across Earthbread alone? …..why?”

“Ehehe, I suppose why not? There’s so many incredible marvels about this world that I wanna see and experience for myself! There’s just so many things and secrets that I want to know about, how could I not be eager to see it all, ahaha!”

“….s-so carefree and curious…they’re just—“

“Hmm, you say something?”

“N-no, I was just muttering to myself…”

“….Hey, you hungry?”

“What? How’d you…—“

“You have crumbs falling from your hands, how long have you been without something to eat?”

“I…I do not know. I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve eaten something. Maybe I’m getting too lost in my thoughts…”

You pulled out a lot of food from your bags and laid it out in front of the cookie.

“T-that’s so much food! Shouldn’t you keep some for yourself if you’re traveling?”

“I got plenty more, don’t you worry. But if you were here resting from traveling, then it looks like you weren’t fully prepared. Is there any reason why you’re traveling out here?”

“Yes…I want to know the truth.”

“….the truth about, what?”

“Why were we, the cookies, created? Why were we brought into this world? Why were we created so small and fragile? If only all cookies were born strong, unbreakable. If only then…I…”

“Shhh, calm down, alright? Take a break for now, eat up. You can tell me more when we’re back out on the road.”

“I-we?! What do you mean, ‘we?’ I’d get in your way with whatever it is you’re after.”

“I’m not after anything in particular, remember? I wanna traverse and see all of Earthbread, and from the sounds of what answers you’re after, it seems like we may be going down similar paths.”

“….Perhaps you’re right. Okay then, I’ll go with you, to find the answers I’m seeking. …Who are you, exactly…?”

“I’m Y/N Cookie!”

“I’m White Lily Cookie. I’m…thankful for you, Y/N Cookie. I never thought I’d have anyone to help me with this, I figured I’d just burden someone else with my struggles…”

“Don’t mention it, I’m perfectly fine with it! No one should really be alone for a long journey; especially for the one you want to take. I’m more than happy to go with you, White Lily Cookie.”

“Thank you, Y/N Cookie…I will never forget your kindness.”

[nightlyrequiem]

Would it be possible to get Valeria with a homebody writer (specifically romance writer maybe) partner?

This is totalllly not self indulgent at all, but I feel like the scenario you write where she broke into the readers house (which I loved btw) and becomes her stowaway would probably be the only way they meet lol, it's also possible that she could see the writer in a coffeeshop somewhere and have a meet cute but that doesn't really seem like her style to me :(

Feel free to change this up in any way you want I'm just throwing my ideas out from my mind palace

Yeah, I feel like meeting Valeria would be a little difficult unless it was some kind of home invasion type of scenario. Meet Cutes aren't her style sadly

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping, WLW, Reader Gets Knocked Around, Fangirl Valeria

Meet Cute

Human error is unavoidable, like misspelling a word or grammatical errors. Even with a proof-reader, things are bound to slip past notice. Mistakes will be made eventually, no matter how careful a person is. You're tossed to the cement floor harshly, pain blossoming in your ribs from the impact. The sac over your head prevents you from seeing anything. Your ears ring, making it impossible to make out the low muttering of male voices.

No one is truly aware of how quickly things can change. Having four walls and a door often provides one with a false sense of security. Of safety. You thought you were safe. You were a bit reclusive. Preferring to be inside where the variables of life are easier to control. Even in a city like Las Almas. The environment that night was perfect for writing. Dark and slightly stormy. You were curled up on your couch, laptop in your lap with inspiration flowing from your pores. The first draft for your latest sapphic romance novel was almost completed.

Without any warning your front door was kicked open. The locks proving to be completely useless. You screamed and fought as masked men stormed inside. However, it was a short-lived battle. One punch to the temple was all it took to take the fight from you.

You're not given any time to catch your breath or get your bearings. Your grabbed by rough hands and dragged somewhere else. You're lifted and placed into a chair, hands tied behind you. Footsteps fade as the men leave you bound and blind. The only sound now being your own breathing and the frantic beating of your heart.

Waiting is the worst part. The dread of what's to come will never compare to what will actually happen. You're never going to finish your book. The second in your series. Your readers will never get to know what happens to the two main leads. Maybe it's your writing that got you here. You had gotten death threats before. As well as other types. As was the risks of writing the things you do. The situation almost reminds you of the story you posted to the internet when you were too young to be on it. A flawlessly witty girl is kidnapped by a stereotypically masculine guy. They fall in love.

You doubt there will be any love here though. Love doesn't flourish where death and decay feast. Finally, you hear footsteps approaching. Firm and confident. The door slides open and people enter, the room becoming heavy with tension.

"You thought you'd get away with stealing, hm?" A woman asks. You frown. You don't recall stealing anything. "Thought you were smarter than me?"

The bag is ripped from your head, and you recoil at how bright the lights are. You blink at the sight of the visibly angry woman in front of you. Reeking of violence and danger. Maybe it's because of all the questionable romantic leads you've written but there's something alluring about her. Though her being attractive doesn't make you less frightened.

She almost looks as confused as you feel. Brows furrowed into a frown. She says your name, which doesn't bode well for you.

"... I didn't steal from you." You say softly. Hoping to pacify the situation. "At least not knowingly, if I did I can replace it or give it back." You promise. The woman doesn't respond, just continues to gawk at you.

The silent staring is beginning to get uncomfortable. The two men she brought with her exchange confused glances. Clearly something isn't going the way it should.

"You wrote Stardust." She says finally. Your face warms with embarrassment. You're proud of what you write but it still feels... weird to have people talk about it. You furrow your brows. You didn't think a woman that looks like her would be in your audience.

"... Yeah, I uh, did." You nod awkwardly.

She puts her gun back into its holster. "I have all your books." She says. Surprising you.

The woman turns to the men beside her. 

"This isn't the right woman you fucking idiots! I even gave you a picture how did you mess up?" She hisses at them. You almost deflate with relief at those words. A mistake. A simple case of human error. "Get out." She snaps. The men nod and leave quickly. Ashamed or afraid that they messed up. She turns back to you with an appraising eye.

"... Do you like them?" You ask.

Her brows furrow. "What?"

"My books." You clarify nervously. 

She walks behind you.

"One of my guilty pleasures is romance," She starts. "it's a nice escape from the grueling, bloody reality of my life."

"That's... nice." You reply. She didn't really answer your question.

"I'm picky though, I'll drop a book easily if the characters do something I think is stupid."

Oh. She's probably going to chastise you for writing idiots - which admittedly, you have. In some of your earlier books. The ropes loosen, freeing your hands.

"But I like the way you write people." She praises. "They're realistically stupid."

You bring your hands to your lap and inspect your wrists. The soft skin is a little red.

"Oh, thank you." You say, blinking gratefully. She walks back in front of you.

"This was a misunderstanding." She says, voice soft and placating. You look at her and wonder if this is a trick. You rise to your feet.

"All good." You smile. Though it's actually not all good. You're shaken. Your home was broken into and you were kidnapped. However, saying that might not bode over well.

"... So is Stardust getting a sequel?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

She has a very intense stare. You have to look away because staring into her dark brown eyes is starting to make you uncomfortable.

"I'm in the process of writing it, actually." You tell her. "Well, the draft."

She continues to stare at you. "Do you think you could add me into the book?"

You frown. "Yeah, sure I could do that." You nod reluctantly. This woman scares you and you'd hate to disappoint her.

"I shouldn't tell you my name, but I just love you and your writing so much," She admits. "I'm Valeria."

You nod.

"Valeria." You repeat. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

Valeria nods and cracks a small smile. "Great. Why don't I take you home now then?" She says, herding you towards the door. You try to protest against that, not really wanting her to know where you live. Though considering her people had taken you from your home in the first place, she probably already knows. Your words fall on deaf ears. Valeria is determined to escort you home safely. Wanting to spend a little one on one time with her favourite author.

[shazzbaa]

Asking the FLoc crayon [neon carrot] bc someone has to.

neon carrot: if you could give them any npc as a spouse, who would it be and why?

THIS IS SUCH A HARD QUESTION.

To address the obvious answer given recent activities: no i dont think he should marry Feducci, but he… might, if given the chance. The man CANONICALLY sent Sam 12 cellars of wine with a note reading "TO PASSIONS UNMATCHED" i dont think anyone can blame him for feeling like they had something special!!!! Feducci seems like he could make him very satisfied intimacy-wise but would also almost certainly Make Him Worse.

Samuel's constant difficulty with Marriage is that he isn't really… romantic in the traditional sense. HE HAS A LOT OF PHYSICAL DESIRE but romance rarely does anything for him outside of stories, and he gets antsy whenever he's locked in to a particular life plan. HOWEVER: he is usually too Catholic(TM) to really embrace a no-strings-attached lifestyle, and his tastes are well outside the typical Veilgarden hookup anyway (one of his most sensual experiences was getting murdered by an actual literal lance through the gut, so…). The real reason he bought multiple viric dreams of the Bishop of Southwark was that he was trying SO hard to Want Marriage, but even with someone so physically intense and driven, that dream of settling down for life isn't what he really wants; he just wants the part where they're wrestling by the fire.

The other complication is that he has finally found partners he can be happily intimate with: Peter and Jack (@little-red-notebook and @reliably-derogaffectionate's characters, respectively), to whom he is essentially a friend with benefits. He was best man at their wedding somewhat wistfully, but since they've both assured him that they still want him involved in their relationship, it feels very easy to be with them; a closeness he wants without the expectations that come with being a Spouse. It's still, you know, making love outside of marriage, but Samuel has never been good at avoiding that, and at least here he knows he's not leading anyone on or cheating on anyone.

An Ideal Marriage for Sam would involve some amount of polyamory to give him room for these inevitable, ah, extracurricular activities, someone that doesn't tie him down, ideally someone he can do physically dangerous things with and, importantly, have sex (these two activities can be combined). But I also think in an ideal world he would have someone who respects his own principles and doesn't try to smother his hope for compassion with duty, which feels like the big sticking point for a lot of the aggressive characters (like Southwark and Feducci) that Sam's attracted to.

I don't remember well enough to say how many of these points she hits, but I keep thinking of the Zubmariner from the Sunken River ES, as someone no-nonsense in a way Sam really respected and found attractive, but who also has people she cares about. She might be too cool to fall for this soggy loser, though, and the chances of her turning out to be a lesbian seem high. (Also Sam left her behind…. that's a choice he regrets, and I kinda wanna replay that story at some point, with the idea of him actually trying to go back for her). But in general, the idea of Samuel marrying a principled pirate where they both know their first love will always be the zee feels like something that could turn out to be a genuinely happy partnership for him. BUT WHO KNOWS maybe in a year I'll come back with a totally different answer I never saw coming.

[yoyomomiko]

[THREE] — The music box

☆ `` SPECTRAL SCAMMERS ``

☆ — summary: when cartman comes up with yet another 'get rich quick' scheme, he forces his friends, and you, into starting a ghost hunting service. armed with a mix of makeshift equipment, a questionable van and no actual skills, you begin taking jobs to "exorcise" haunted houses.

warnings: strong language, violence, horror elements, cartman being cartman.

(a/n): this chapter is sooo long and it took me DAYS to write it!! >_< (I genuinely didn't sleep at all and just wrote this without stopping, hours without breaks xx) -- this is by far the longest fic/chapter that I've ever wrote... I can't believe it's over 11k words!! I apologize for any grammar mistakes, you can point them out nicely and I'll fix them!! I also apologize for how this chapter seems kinda bland ^.^ -- for some reason, i feel like there wasn't enough romantic tension and stuff... and Tweek's interactions with the reader were so awkward I just don't know how to write for him (╥⁠﹏⁠╥)

wc: 11.1k+

★m.list

★series m.list

<- [PREVIOUS] — [NEXT] -> (uncompleted)

Lunch was rarely quiet, but today's chaos reached a new level as Cartman slammed his backpack onto the cafeteria table with a grin.

"You guys aren't going to believe this." He started, practically shaking in excitement.

"Is it another terrible idea?" Kyle asked, barely looking up from his lunch.

"It's not a terrible idea." Cartman snapped, puffing out his chest. "It's a brilliant idea. A $200 idea, to be exact."

"Here we go..." Stan muttered, leaning back in his seat.

Cartman ignored the groans and unsure looks as he whipped out his phone like a trophy. "I just landed us a gig at the old DeLacroix mansion. They're paying us $200 to 'investigate paranormal activity'."

You all froze for a moment, processing his words.

"Two hundred bucks?" Kenny asked, his eyes lighting up. "That's like... A month's worth of pop tats!"

"Wait, wait, wait..." You interrupted them, raising an eyebrow. "Who in their right mind would pay us twenty hundred dollars to investigate anything? We're not exactly professionals."

"That's where my genius comes in. I told them we're licensed professionals." Cartman smirked.

"Licensed by who? The South Park Department of Bullshit?" Craig asked jokingly.

"Licensed by me, obviously." Cartman shot back.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. "So let me get this straight... You lied to some poor people and convinced them to pay $200 to mess and play around their houses pretending to hunt ghosts?"

"Exactly!" Cartman answered proudly. "And you're welcome."

"Dude, this is going to blow up in our faces." Stan said as he shook his head. "We don't know the first thing about ghost hunting."

"We don't need to." Cartman replied, waving him off. "Ghosts aren't even real. We just have to scare the homeowners enough for them to think that we actually did something."

"That's... Moraly questionable." You mumbled, eyeing him up and down.

"Oh, please, [Y/N], like you've never fucked with the truth to make a quick buck." Cartman rolled his eyes.

"I-I don't know about this..." Tweek, seated beside you, shifted uncomfortably. "What if the house is actually haunted?"

"Ghosts aren't real, Tweek." Craig replied flatly as he rested his arms on the lunch table.

"They're not real until they are..." Tweek mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers.

"Okay can we focus on the important part?" Clyde interrupted. "Two hundred dollars is a lot of money. I say we go for it."

"Yeah." Kenny agreed, nodding excitedly. "We could use the cash to upgrade our equipment or something." He muttered hesitantly, a bit heart broken that, most probably, that's what Cartman would want to do with the money.

"What equipment?" Stan asked, raising and eyebrow.

"We'll figure that out later!" Cartman said as he slammed his hands on the table. "All we have to do is show up, act professional and maybe sprinkle some flour to make it look like ghost footprints. Easy money!"

"This is such a bad idea." Kyle groaned.

"Bad idea or not, you're in." Cartman shot back smugly. "Everyone's in."

"I didn't agree to anything." Craig cut in.

"I don't care what you think, Craig." Cartman snapped. "You're coming. And you're driving the van."

Craig flipped him off with the same bored expression on his face.

"What van?" You asked, narrowing your eyes.

"Oh, I've got that covered. Just wait." Cartman's grin widened.

...

As the rest of the group continued to bicker, you couldn't help but notice Tweek fidgeting beside you. His hands toyed with the hem of his shirt, his leg bouncing under the table.

"You okay?" You asked softly, leaning closer to him.

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice but nodded quickly. "Y-Yeah, just... You know, Cartman's plans never end well."

"That's fair." You mumbled, sighing before quickly giving him a small smile. "But hey, at least this one doesn't involve creating an alien beacon that sends signals out, which ends up getting us abducted by aliens and then arrested by the police." You recalled, reminding Tweek of the horrific incident that happened... Not long ago.

The corners of Tweek's lips tugged upwards, forming a shy smile, his eyes briefly meeting yours. "Yeah, I guess. Still, it's a haunted mansion... That's horror movie territory..."

"You're not scared, are you?" You teased lightly.

"N-No! Of course not!" His face turned a faint shade of pink.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you if anything jumps out." You assured him, smirking as you noticed his cheeks growing redder.

‘ He was so cute when he blushed! You could barely contain yourself from kissing him! ’

He laughed nervously, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "T-Thanks..."

Across the table, Clyde wiggled his eyebrows at the two of you. "Aw, look at that! Lovebirds bonding over ghost hunting!"

"Shut up, Clyde." Your smirk faded as you threw your empty carton of milk at him.

"You're just jealous." Cartman cut in smugly. "Not everyone gets to bask in my genius and charm like [Y/N] does."

"Yeah, that's exactly it." You muttered dryly, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

...

After much debate and several insults exchanged between Cartman and Kyle, you all hesitantly agreed to the plan.

"Fine!" Stan snapped, throwing his hands up in the air. "We'll do it, but if this goes wrong, I'm blaming you, Cartman."

"Blame me all you want!" Cartman shot back as he smirked. "I'll be too busy counting my $200 to care."

"What do you mean 'my' $200?" Craig asked, his monotone voice cutting through the noise. "Pretty sure we're splitting it evenly."

"Yeah!" You agreed, nodding. "We're all risking our dignity here, so we all get a fair share."

Cartman huffed but didn't argue further. "Whatever. The point is, we've got a job. We're gonna kick some ghost ass!"

.

.

.

.

You all gathered in the school parking lot after the last bell, backpacks thrown over shoulders and various pieces of 'ghost equipment' in a row. Cartman stood in front of a suspiciously beat up white van, grinning ear to ear as if he was about to ask you if you wanted some candy.

"What the hell is that?" Kyle asked, staring at the van with wide eyes as if it would come to life and swallow him whole.

"Our ride." Cartman answered proudly, slapping the side of the van. "Rented it with my mom's credit card!"

"Your mom let you use her credit card?" Stan raised a brow.

"She doesn't know yet." Cartman admitted with a shrug. "But she will when I 'accidentally' leave the receipt on the counter. By then, it'll be too late."

"Classic." Craig muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Dude, we're not getting in that thing." You said, eyeing the van doubtfully. "It looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the 90s. What's with the stain on the side?"

"Ghost residue." Cartman answered without missing a beat.

"Pretty sure that's bird crap." Clyde pointed out as he leaned closer.

"Shut up!" Cartman snapped. "Do you losers want to walk all the way to the DeLacroix mansion? No? Then get in."

"This is so stupid..." Stan sighed.

"Not as stupid as your haircut." Cartman shot back.

"Let's just get this over with." Kenny interrupted as he threw his backpack in the back. "I wanna see if we can actually pull this off."

The rest of you hesitated but eventually climbed into the van one by one. The inside was even worse, barely breathable air, carrying the smell of sweat, and seats covered in mysterious stains that no one wanted to identify.

"It smells like ass." Clyde stuck out his tongue, pinching his nose.

"This is disgusting." You mumbled as you took a seat near the back.

"Disgusting but functional." Cartman replied as he dropped into the driver's seat.

"You're not seriously the one driving, are you?" Kyle asked, eyeing Cartman up and down.

"Uh, yeah, who else is going to drive?"

"Literally anyone else." Craig cut in, raising his hand.

Cartman ignored him as he turned the key, starting the engine, which, by the way, sounded like it would break down any moment.

"Didn't you say Craig was gonna drive?" Clyde, who was seated in the passenger's seat, asked hesitantly.

"Nope. Don't remember ever saying that." Cartman replied, barely moving the van an inch.

.

.

You ended up next to Tweek, who was already fidgeting with the strap of his bag. His eyes scanned the van like he expected a ghost to pop up from the shadows.

"You good?" You asked, leaning slightly toward him.

"Y-Yeah." He nodded quickly, though his jumpy movements suggested otherwise.

"Well at least the van hasn't exploded yet. That's a good sign, right?" You gave him a small smile.

"I guess. But this thing smells like a gym locker." He chuckled, his shoulder relaxing a bit.

"You're not wrong..." You nodded, trying to hold your breath. "Let's just hope the drive isn't too long."

From the front, Cartman banged his fist on the steering wheel. "Can you idiots shut up for five seconds?! I'm trying to focus!"

"You're trying to focus on driving two miles an hour?" Kyle shot back.

"It's called being cautious you fucking bitch!" Cartman defended himself.

"It's called being a terrible driver." Craig muttered, earning a snicker from Kenny.

"Why don't you go flip off a tree or something?" Cartman snapped, glaring at him through the rearview mirror.

Craig responded by slowly raising his middle finger.

.

.

As the van crept out of town and onto the road leading to the DeLacroix mansion, the air began to shift. The sun was slowly lowering on the sky, causing long shadows across the pavement. Trees lined both sides of the road, their branches twisting up in the orange sky as they gently swayed in the wind.

"This road is creepy as hell." Kenny pointed out, gazing out the window.

"Perfect setting for a haunted mansion." Clyde added, his voice touched with nervous excitement.

"Or for us to get murdered." You muttered, making Tweek's grip on his thighs tighten.

"Relax! Nothing's going to happen. Ghosts aren't real, remember?" Cartman replied, though his hold on the steering wheel tightened.

"That's not what you said when you were charging $200." Stan pointed out.

"That's called marketing." Cartman shot back smugly. "You wouldn't understand."

The road hit a bump, making everyone jump out of their places.

"Careful, fatass!" Kyle shouted, grabbing onto Kenny who was beside him, holding onto his shoulder to secure himself in his seat.

"Don't like my walking? Get out and walk you fucking asshole!" Cartman snapped, turning around to glare at you all.

‘ Of course that idiot wasn't wearing a seatbelt... ’

"No one's walking." You spoke up, cutting off the argument before it could escalate. "Let's just focus on getting there in one piece."

Tweek shifted uncomfortably beside you, his knee bouncing nervously. You reached out and gave his arm a light tap, grabbing his attention.

"Hey, we'll be fine." You assured, keeping your tone casual. "Worst case scenario, we get there, find out it's just some creaky floorboards and call it a day."

He nodded slowly, the corners of his lips tugging upwards and forming a shy smile. "Yeah... Yeah, you're probably right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right." You smirked, and Tweek was sure you could hear his heartbeat.

"Aw, look at that!" Clyde teased from the front of the van, smirking as he was turned to fully look at you.

‘ Another idiot who didn't wear seatbelts... ’

"Tweek's got a little bodyguard!"

"Keep talking like that and I won't hesitate throwing you out the van." You warned him, your smirk fading away.

"Try it. I'll land on my feet."

"Can we stop fucking flirting and focus?" Cartman snapped, glaring at everyone in the rearview mirror. "We've got a job to do, assholes!"

"You're the only asshole here..." You muttered quietly.

"Maybe that's why it smells like ass." Craig added, earning a snicker from Stan.

.

.

.

.

The van shook along the lonely and bumpy road, the engine groaning with every turn of the wheels. The sun was slowly setting in, the once orange and pink sky darkening.

"Hey, uh... This thing is making weird noise." Stan pointed out.

"That's just the sound of your whining." Cartman shot back, his tone sarcastic.

"No, seriously." You spoke up, trying to glance at Cartman in the rearview mirror. "It's been getting louder for the last mile. Do you even know how to drive this thing?"

"Of course I know how to drive!" Cartman shouted, puffing out his chest. "I'm a naturally born leader. Driving's part of the package, asshole!"

"Leader of what? The loser unit?" Craig snorted.

Before Cartman could fire back and insult him, the van gave a violent shake. Everyone lunged forward as it came to an abrupt stop. The engine faltering as it made loud, roaring sounds before going completely silent.

"You've got to be kidding me." Kyle groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What happened?" Kenny asked as he looked around.

Cartman angrily twisted the key, but the engine only made clicking noises in response. "What the hell?!"

"I think your piece of crap van just died." Clyde pointed the obvious, earning a glare from Cartman.

"Shut up, you don't know anything about cars dumbass!" He yelled, practically shaking aggressively in his seat.

"And you do?" Stan raised an eyebrow, only making Cartman's face grow a darker shade of red from frustration.

"I know more than you!" Cartman shouted, slapping the steering wheel.

...

As you all piled out of the van, the reality of your situation started to sink in. The road stretched endlessly in both directions, and to add to the creepiness, the crickets started chirping as the sun lowered.

"This is bad..." Tweek muttered, clutching his bag tightly. "This is really bad..."

"It's fine." You assured him quickly, although your voice was a bit too loud to be entirely convincing. "We'll just figure it out, no big deal."

"No big deal?! We're stranded in the middle of nowhere! What if something's out there?!" Tweek glanced at you, eyes wide as his whole body trembled.

"There's nothing out there." You placed your hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch. Your gaze flickered nervously toward the dark trees. "Probably just squirrels or something..."

"Squirrels don't make weird noises at night..." He muttered, his voice shaky as he struggled to keep still.

Craig, standing a few feet away, sighed as he interrupted. "Relax. The only dangerous thing out here is Cartman's driving."

"Hey, screw you asshole!" Cartman barked loudly.

Ignoring him, your hand that was on Tweek's shoulder slowly trailed down to his arm, holding it, trying to steady him. "Look, we'll figure it out, okay? We're not gonna be stuck here forever."

"A-Alright... If you say so." Tweek nodded hesitantly, his breathing slowing a little.

For a moment, you felt pride knowing you managed to calm him down a bit. But then the stillness of the road, the sinister silence, the darkening sky... It was starting to creep you out. Before you knew it, the panic you've kept holding in all this time came rushing in.

"What if we are stuck here?" You blurted out quietly, the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. "What if no one finds us? What if-"

You felt a hand on your shoulder, the gentle gesture catching you off guard. You almost screamed, but you turned around before you did. You found Craig standing beside you, his usual bored expression replaced with a softer one.

"It's alright." He said simply, his voice low and steady.

You blinked at him, caught off guard.

"You're freaking yourself out." He added, his monotone voice oddly comforting. "It's not helping."

"I know that." You muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Then calm down. We'll figure it out." He shrugged.

Despite his bluntness, his words seemed to make your heart race. You took a deep breath.

.

.

Cartman was pacing back and forth beside the van, muttering under his breath. "This is a disaster! A complete disaster! My mom's gonna get upset!"

"You mean because you stole her credit card?" Kyle asked dryly.

"Shut up you Jew!" Cartman snapped.

Stan kneeled down to check under the van, using one of Cartman's almost out of battery flashlights to light up the underside. "Looks like something's leaking." He pointed out, frowning.

"Oil?" Kenny asked, crouching beside him.

"Maybe. I'm not a mechanic."

"Well does anyone know how to fix it?" Clyde questioned, looking around hopefully.

You all glanced at each other, standing in complete silence other than the chirping crickets.

"Nope." Craig answered bluntly.

"Great." Kyle muttered, running a hand down his face. "Just great."

...

With no immediate solution, you all settled into an uneasy silence. Cartman sulked by the driver's door, muttering about how unfair the universe was. Stan and Kyle debated whether they should try to call for help, although they doubted anyone would come this far out. Tweek leaned on a rock near the edge of the road, his knee bouncing nervously.

You sat down beside him, staring at the van and the rest of the group, who were arguing like crazy. You still felt a little nervous, despite Craig's attempt at calming you down earlier. "How you holding up?" You asked.

"Better." Tweek admitted, though his voice was still shaky. "But this sucks."

"Yeah... It really does." You agreed.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, watching the sky change from orange and pink to a depressing gray. Despite your situation, there was something oddly peaceful about the quiet.

"Thanks for earlier." Tweek mumbled suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

"For what?" You glanced at him, surprised.

"For, you know... Helping me calm down." He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "That was pretty nice of you..."

You felt your cheeks warm up, but you quickly brushed it off. "Well, you've got my back too, right?"

Tweek smiled, the corners of his mouth twisting up in a way that made your heart skip a beat. "Yeah. Always."

.

.

You all gathered around the front of the van, flashlights in hand. The hood was popped open, revealing the engine that looked like it hasn't been properly maintained in decades.

Stan squinted at the mess, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, so... What exactly are we looking at here?"

"An engine." Craig replied, arms crossed.

"Yeah, thanks, genius." Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. He leaned closer, frowning at the faint puddle forming beneath the van. "Something's definitely leaking."

"Maybe it's ghost juice." Cartman suggested, snickering at his own joke.

"No one asked you." Kyle snapped, shining his flashlight on the engine.

You sighed, leaning against the side of the van. "So... Does anyone actually know what they're doing?"

Everyone exchanged awkward glances, shrugging at each other.

"Not a clue." Clyde admitted.

"Fantastic." You muttered, your palm coming in contact with your forehead.

"I've seen my dad fix stuff like this before." Stan spoke up, though his tone wasn't exactly confident. "But we need tools."

"Tools?!" Cartman exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "What do you think this is, a Home Depot?! Where are we supposed to get tools in the middle of nowhere?!"

...

"So, what's the plan?" Clyde asked, leaning against the van.

"Plan?" Cartman scoffed. "The plan is you idiots fix the van while I supervise."

"Yeah, that's not happening." Kyle dismissed flatly.

"Wait..." Tweek spoke up, his voice slightly hesitant. "Does anyone have duct tape?"

You turned to him, furrowing your brows together. "What for?"

"Well..." He started, shifting nervously under everyone's gaze. "If it's just a leak, maybe we can patch it up enough to get moving again?"

"That... Actually might work." Stan nodded slowly.

"Great idea!" You praised, smiling at him.

Tweek blinked, his face turning a faint shade of pink. "Uh, thanks..."

"Fine. Who's got tape?" Cartman groaned.

...

After a bit of rummaging, you all managed to find duct tape in Kenny's backpack. You wouldn't dare ask why he had that on him, and it would be better if you didn't.

"This is ridiculous." Craig muttered, watching as Stan and Kyle debated the best way to 'fix' the leak.

"Do you have a better idea?" You asked, raising a brow.

"No. But this still feels stupid." He shrugged.

"Stupid or not, it's all we've got." Stan interrupted, crouching beside the van. "Alright, someone hand me the tape."

Kenny passed the roll as the rest of you watched Stan carefully tape over the leaking spot. "This should hold for a little while. Hopefully."

"Hopefully?!" Cartman exclaimed. "That's the best you've got?!"

"Unless you want to get under there and fix it yourself, yes." Stan shot back.

As Stan finished his makeshift repair, you leaned back against the van, glancing at Tweek. "I didn't expect you to figure out a solution."

"What do you mean?" Tweek tilted his head to the side, confused.

"I mean, that was a pretty great idea. You're full of surprises, huh?" You smiled, nodding towards the engine.

"I just... Didn't want to be stuck here all night." He replied nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as a smile tugged at his lips.

"Well, great job." You muttered.

Tweek chuckled, his usual nervousness temporarily forgotten. "Thanks."

"Alright!" Cartman shouted, clapping his hands. "Is this thing fixed or what?"

"Fixed enough." Stan replied, standing up and dusting off his hands. "But we should probably get moving before it gives out again."

"Great." Cartman said, already climbing into the driver's seat. "Get in, assholes!"

...

You all piled back in the van, the air still tense but slightly more hopeful. The engine came to life as the van moved forward, resuming its journey down the dark, lonely road.

"See? I told you we'd fix it." Cartman bragged, a smug grin on his face.

"You didn't do anything." Kyle pointed out.

"I supervised." Cartman shot back. "That's the most important part of any operation." His words earned a middle finger from Craig, which he of course, didn't ignore.

.

.

.

.

The van came to a stop just outside the towering DeLacroix mansion, and the sight alone was enough to make everyone fall silent. The place looked like it had been ripped straight out of a gothic horror movie. The iron gates creaked as they swung inward, revealing a front lawn with trimmed edges and a path of cobblestone leading to the massive double doors of the mansion. It looked and sounded like hell. No, seriously. The hinges of the gates screeched like tortured souls.

"Wow. They weren't kidding when they said they were loaded." Stan let out a low whistle.

Craig crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Looks like something out of a vampire movie. I'm expecting Dracula to pop up any second."

"This house is awesome!" Kenny beamed, his face lighting up. "It's like something out of those haunted mansion tours!"

"Yeah, well, it's probably just a glorified dust trap." Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets. "Rich people are weird..."

Cartman turned to glare at Kyle, pointing his thumb toward the mansion. "Rich people are our clients you fucking asshole! Now shut the fuck up and try not to embarrass me."

"Embarrass you?" Kyle snorted. "That's rich coming from the guy who got us abducted by aliens yet they still sent us back to Earth because of you."

"Okay now you're pushing it!" Cartman interrupted. "Face it, you're embarrassing all of us."

"Fuck you, fatass!"

Cartman ignored him, puffing out his chest and leading the group up the cobblestone path as if he was the CEO of some multimillion dollar ghost hunting operation.

Before anyone could knock, the heavy front doors creaked open as an elderly woman stepped out onto the grand porch. She was dressed elegantly in a deep emerald gown, her pearl necklace glinting in the fading sunlight. Her husband followed close behind. His tailored suit looked expensive, and his sharp features carried the kind of sterness that could make anyone feel like a misbehaving child.

The woman's eyes scanned you all, her expression both relieved and suspicious. "Oh, thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed, her voice trembling as she hurried down the steps. "You have no idea how much time we have been waiting for a certain individual to assist us!"

The old man, however, was less excited. He frowned, scanning the group. "You're the ghost hunters?" He asked, his tone doubtful as he eyed you all. "You all look... Very young."

"Thanks, I moisturize." Craig spoke up.

Cartman stepped forward, giving Craig a glare before plastering a fake smile onto his face. "Youthfulness is what makes us the best in business." He replied, his tone was supposed to sound professional, but came off more like a used car salesman.

The old man remained unconvinced, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a hidden adult supervisor. "Are you even qualified for this?"

"Qualified?" Cartman repeated, placing a hand on his chest as if he was personally offended. "Sir, we're professionals. We've been in the business for years! Licensed, insured, you name it!"

"Insured against what? Getting caught in your lies?" Kyle muttered under his breath.

Cartman shot him a warning glare before turning back to the couple. "Now, why don't you tell us exactly what's going on, and we're gonna take care of it faster than you can say 'check, please'!"

The woman squeezed her own hands, glancing nervously at her husband before speaking. "It's been terrible. Absolutely terrible. Every night, we hear whispers in the halls. Sometimes it's a woman singing... So soft and yet so haunting... It feels like it's coming from nowhere and everywhere at once."

"And the doors." The old man added, adjusting his tie. "They slam shut on their own. Sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes when we're standing right there. It's like we're not welcome in our own home."

"Maybe it's just bad hinges or the wind?" Keny tilted his head to the side.

The woman shot him a sharp look. "Does the wind whisper your name?"

"Depends on how much I've had to drink." Kenny muttered, earning a snicker from Craig.

The man's frown deepened. "This isn't a joke. Whatever is in that house... It isn't natural. And it's just getting worse."

"Don't worry, sir, ma'am." Cartman stepped forward with false confidence. "You called the right team. We've handled cases way scarier than this."

"Name one." Kyle challenged, crossing his arms.

Cartman ignored him, turning his attention back to the couple. "Now, let's talk about payment. We'll need half upfront for, uh, operational costs."

The woman's brows furrowed together. "Operational costs?"

"Yeah." Cartman replied smoothly. "You know, equipment, transportation, ghost insurance..."

"Ghost insurance?" The old man repeated, raising one of his bushy eyebrows.

"It's standard practice." Cartman said, waving off their confusion. "Ghost hunting is dangerous work. There's always a risk of possession, attacks, or ectoplasmic goo. We can't exactly do this for free, can we?"

"Oh my God Cartman, stop scamming people." Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Scamming people?" Cartman repeated, acting offended. Technically, he was. "This is a legitimate business transaction. Now, if you're done interrupting, let the professionals handle this."

The woman sighed, clearly too exhausted to argue. She reached into her purse, pulling out a checkbook. "Fine. You'll get $100 now and the rest when the job is done."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Cartman smirked, snatching the check before anyone else could.

The man gestured toward the house, his expression grumpy. "Do whatever you need to. Just get rid of it."

Cartman turned to the rest of you, clapping his hands together. "Alright assholes, you heard the man! Gear up and get to work!"

Craig rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to flip Cartman off. "I'm only doing this because I need the money."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Cartman waved him off. "Now let's get moving! Time is money!"

As you all started gathering your 'equipment', you exchanged a glance with Tweek, who was fidgeting nervously.

"Come on, I'm sure it's fine." You cut through the silence, making Tweek flinch.

"Y-Yeah, I'm sure it's alright... But this place gives me goosebumps..." He replied, his voice shaky as his eyes darted everywhere.

"We can use Cartman as a shield." You shrugged, looking over your shoulder to see Cartman shouting at everyone.

Tweek chuckled, his shoulder relaxing a bit. "I-If it's an actual ghost, I'm running back to the van and leaving without the rest of you."

"You're leaving me behind?" You raised your brows, gasping dramatically.

"I'll take you with me." Tweek shrugged, the corners of his lips tugging upwards and forming a shy smile.

You could feel your pulse quickening, but you chose to ignore the feeling and hurry up, since Cartman was already fuming.

...

The old woman held the door open as you all stumbled inside, the creak of the heavy wooden door echoing around the mansion. The interior of the DeLacroix mansion was just as massive as the exterior, if not more so. A huge chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its crystals catching the light from the several candles on numerous shelves. The walls were lined with dark wood, and a thick red rug stretched across the polished floor. Everything about the place screamed wealth, but there was something... Off about it.

You couldn't put your finger on it. Maybe it was the faint mouldy smell, or the way the shadows seemed to stretch a little too far.

"Well..." The old woman started, folding her hands in front of her. "We'll let you get to it. My husband and I will be in the kitchen if you need anything."

"Tea." The old man added, narrowing his eyes as they scanned over the group once more. "We'll be making tea. And don't think for a second we won't notice if something goes missing."

"Sir." Cartman started, putting a hand to his chest. "I'll have you know that we run a very professional operation. Stealing? That's beneath us."

"Uh-huh." The old man replied, his tone still doubtful as he ran his eyes across you all with a suspicious look. He turned to his wife. "Come on, let's leave them to it before I change my mind."

As the couple disappeared down the hall, Cartman turned back to you all, his fake professional demeanor dropping in an instant. "Alright, listen up fuckers. Rule number one, nobody wanders off alone. Got it?"

"What are we, five?" Craig raised an eyebrow.

"No!" Cartman snapped. "But you all have the attention span of toddlers, and I'm not gonna lose my $200 payday because one of you morons gets lost or spooked and runs screaming out the door."

"Oh, please. Nobody here actually believes in ghosts. Right?" Kyle crossed his arms.

"I don't know, dude. Places like these always have weird vibes." Kenny shrugged.

Tweek shivered, glancing around nervously. "I mean... It's just a house, right? A really big, creepy, probably haunted house, but still... Just a house."

"Exactly." You cut in, offering him a reassuring look. "There's nothing to be scared of."

Before anyone could respond, a loud SLAM echoed through the mansion. The sound came from the second floor, sharp and intentional, like someone had thrown a door shut with all their strength.

Everyone froze, exchanging uneasy glances.

"Uh... What was that?" Stan asked, his voice low.

Cartman let out a nervous laugh. "Probably the wind. Or, you know, old houses make weird noises all the time!"

"Yeah, sure." Kyle muttered. "Because the wind totally sounds like a fucking door being slammed shut."

"Great plan, genius." Craig interrupted, looking at Cartman. "Let's all just split up already and investigate the creepy murder mansion."

"We're not splitting up!" Cartman snapped. "Were you not listening five seconds ago? We stick together and do this room by room. Now shut up and follow my lead."

"Your lead?" Kyle scoffed. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

"Would you just shut your damn Jew mouth and grab your flashlight?" Cartman shot back, ready stomping toward the huge staircase.

As the rest of you followed, the harsh silence of the mansion seemed to press in from all sides. The only sounds were the creak of the floorboard beneath your feet and the occasional drip of water from God knows where.

You glanced at Tweek, who was clutching his flashlight as if his life depended on it. "You look scared. Are you okay?"

"Yeah!" He replied, his voice toi high pitched to be convincing. "Totally fine. Just, uh... Keeping an eye out for... Y-You know, ghost stuff..."

"You sound just like Cartman." You pointed out, which made Tweek shoot you a glare.

"Don't compare me to that fatass." He mumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't." You shrugged, continuing to step beside him.

Tweek's eyes darted around, examining the place. "That slam... It was definitely the wind..." His hands trembled as his grip tightened on his flashlight.

You couldn't help but smile at his attempt to convince himself. "Right. The wind. Because the wind definitely has the power to slam a door with enough force to rattle the whole house."

Tweek groaned, running a hand through his hair and fighting the urge to pull on it. "Okay, fine, i-it was weird. But it's probably nothing. Probably..."

"Exactly." You agreed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No need to panic. Not yet, anyway."

As you reached the top of the stairs, Cartman stopped abruptly, causing everyone to nearly collide into each other.

"Alright." Cartman started, pointing toward the hallway ahead. "Here's the plan, we check each room, starting from the left, and work our way down. Got it?"

"Who died and made you boss?" Stan muttered.

"My superior intellect did!" Cartman shot back. "Now shut up and start looking."

The first few rooms were uneventful. A guest bedroom with dusty furniture, a study filled with old books and strange ornaments and a bathroom with a cracked mirror. Everything looked like it hadn't been touched in years, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"See?" Kyle said as he gestured to the very normal surroundings. "Nothing spooky. Just a big, creepy old house."

"Yeah, because ghosts totally introduce themselves on the first time." Kenny teased.

As you passed what appeared to be another bedroom, something on the nightstand caught your eye. It was a small, golden music box. You almost entered the room, sitting right by the door. You wanted to reach out and touch it, but before you could even fully step inside, Cartman's voice cut through.

"Don't touch anything!" He barked, making you jump.

"What? Why not?" You questioned, turning to glare at him, stepping away from the door.

"Because." He started, puffing out his chest. "This is a delicate operation. We can't have you breaking stuff and getting us kicked out before we get paid."

"Or..." Craig interrupted. "Maybe he's just scared you'll unleash a ghost or something."

"Shut up, crooked teeth!" Cartman shot him a dirty look.

"I had braces you fucking fatass." Craig shouted, yet somehow his voice was still monotone.

"Well maybe you should consider getting them again!"

Before anyone could argue further, another door slammed somewhere in the house, but this time it was much closer.

"Okay, that's it!" Tweek spoke up, his voice shaking. "I don't care i-if it's the wind or a fucking ghost, I-I don't like this!"

"Relax." You replied, trying to sound calm even if your pulse quickened. "It's probably just... I don't know, the house settling or something."

"Sure." Kyle interrupted sarcastically. "Because houses totally 'settle' by slamming door randomly."

Cartman turned to the group, his face slightly pale but his voice firm. "Alright, new rule, nobody touches anything unless I say so. Got it?"

"Just lead us to the next boring room so we can get this over with." Craig rolled his eyes.

As Cartman reluctantly led the group out of the bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching you.

.

.

You all stood in the barely lit hallway of the second floor, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and dust. The mansion's silence was brutal, broken only by the faint creaks and groans of the house settling. Several doors lined the hall, their chipped paint adding to the unsettling vibe.

Cartman pointed to the nearest door, puffing out his chest like he was a drill sergeant. "Alright pussies, we're hitting this room next. Be ready for anything."

"Yeah, like the world's most haunted dust collection. Can we just get this over with?" Kyle sighed, crossing his arms.

"Don't be such a fucking buzz kill!" Cartman snapped. "This is serious business."

Before anyone could respond, a faint whispering sound drifted through the hallway.

"D-Do you guys h-hear that...?" Tweek asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes darted around, his grip tightened on his flashlight.

"Stop messing around." Kyle glared at Cartman, his tome stern. "It's obviously you trying to scare everyone."

"Me?!" Cartman yelled out, clearly offended. "I'm not wasting my energy on scaring you losers. I've got $200 on the line here!"

The whispering grew louder, clearer nos, although the words were impossible to make out. It was like a dozen voices overlapping, murmuring in a language none of them recognized.

"Okay, who's doing that?" Stan asked, his voice shaky. He glanced over his shoulder, his flashlight beam darting across the empty hallway.

"It's not me." Kenny said as he stepped closer to the rest of you. "That's creepy as hell..."

"Very funny, Cartman." Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice sounding irritated. "You can cut it out now."

"For the last time, it's not me!" Cartman practically hissed.

The whispering came to a sudden stop, leaving a sinister silence in its place.

"See?" Craig broke the silence flatly, flipping Cartman off. "This is why I don't do this stupid ghost hunting crap. It's always the handsome guy who gets killed first in horror movies."

"Oh, please." Clyde interrupted, his voice slightly trembling. "If anyone's dying first, it's probably me. I'm the perfect victim for a true crime documentary."

"Shut up, Clyde!" Cartman shouted, but his voice sounded nervous.

Before anyone could laugh or argue, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

"Holy shit!" Tweek yelped, grabbing onto your arm.

"What the hell just happened?" Kyle asked, his voice tense.

The hallway was swallowed by darkness, the only source of light coming from the faint beam of your flashlights. Then came the sound of floorboards creaking, slow and careful, as if someone or something was walking toward you.

"Who's there?" Stan called out, his voice cracking.

No one answered, but the sound grew louder and closer. Then, soft singing began to echo through the hallway.

It was a woman's voice, melodic and haunting, the kind of sound that made your stomach drop and skin crawl. The song was low, the words incoherent but the tone sorrowful.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..." Tweek muttered under his breath, his nails digging into your arm.

You tried to say something reassuring, but the words stuck in your throat. Your flashlight beam darted around the hallway, revealing nothing but empty space.

"This... Isn't funny." Kenny spoke up, his usual tone replaced by genuine fear.

"Okay, everyone stay calm." Cartman said, trying to sound reassuring and professional but failing miserably. "It's just... It's probably just... Uh..."

"Yeah, fatass." Kyle snapped. "What's your brilliant explanation for this one?"

Before Cartman could answer, the singing stopped as suddenly as if had started, and the lights flickered back on.

You all stood frozen, your breaths coming out in short, shaky gasps.

"What the actual hell was that?" Stan asked, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know." You admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll tell you what it was." Cartman straightened up, trying to regain his composure. "It was nothing. You guys are just freaking yourselves out for no reason."

"Nothing?" Kyle repeated, his eyes wide. "The lights went out, we heard footsteps and singing, and you're calling that nothing?"

"Yeah." Cartman nodded, crossing his arms. "Because ghosts aren't real. And even if they were, they're not screwing up my $200 payday. So, suck it up and get back to work!"

"Screw this." Craig cut in sharply, turning toward the stairs. "I'm out. I've seen enough movies to know where this is going, and I'm not sticking around to be ghost bait."

"Oh, great idea, Craig." Cartman scowled. "Run off and leave the rest of us to deal with it."

"You're acting like I care." Craig replied, flipping Cartman off again. "Have fun getting haunted."

"Wait for me!" Clyde rushed by Craig's side. "I am not dying in some cursed mansion. Do you know how many unsolved mystery podcasts start like this?"

"Come on, we can't just bail. We don't even know what's going on yet." You tried to convince them, voice shaky. If you were honest, you were only doing that so you could push them into whatever's chasing you, just to buy you time.

"Exactly!" Cartman pointed at you. "Finally, someone with some common sense!"

Tweek glanced at you, his voice barely above a whisper. "You really think we should stay?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding, even if you weren't entirely sure yourself.

‘ They can probably run faster than you... At least there's Cartman. ’

"We've come this far. We might as well see it through." You shrugged, hoping they'd listen.

Stan sighed, his eyes narrowing. "Fine. But if another light goes out, I'm seriously done."

Kyle gave you a long look, his expression unreadable. "You sure about this?"

No, you weren't sure. Not at all. But you forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Let's keep going."

Cartman clapped his hands together, a fake grin plastered on his face. "See? Teamwork makes the dream work! Now let's move it assholes!"

As you all reluctantly followed Cartman further down the hallway, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching you.

And whatever it was, it didn't feel friendly.

.

.

You all lazily stood in the hallway for a moment longer, still shook after the sinister singing and flickering lights. The harsh silence of the house pressed down on you, and even Cartman's usual ramble seemed muted.

Stan broke the silence with a half hearted chuckle. "Okay, seriously, what kind of ghost sings? Is this like... Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yeah, maybe she's just auditioning for Broadway." Kenny snorted.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Yeah, laugh it up, you pussies. Meanwhile, I'm trying to stay professional so we can get paid."

"Professional?" Craig repeated, his monotone voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've been sweating like shit and yelling at everyone since we got here."

"Shut the fuck up!" Cartman snapped. "Not everyone can be a soulless robot like you!"

Craig gave him the middle finger without even looking, his gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. "Whatever."

Tweek tugged at the collar of his shirt, his shoulders tense. "Can we just move on? Standing in the hallway is making my skin crawl."

"Yeah." You agreed, glancing toward one of the nearby bedroom doors. "Let's check that one out. Maybe we'll find something useful."

"Or maybe we'll find more dust and spiders." Kyle muttered, though he followed you toward the door.

You all walked into the room cautiously, you flashlights darting across the space. It was a large bedroom, clearly once belonging to someone with expensive taste. The bed was massive, covered in faded sheets, the walls lined with mirrors. A heavy wardrobe stood in one corner, its doors slightly opened, a layer of dust coating every surface.

"This is... Creepy." Kenny whispered, shining his light on one of the dusty mirrors.

"Yeah, no thanks." Stan added. "This place screams tetanus."

Clyde, who has been quiet all this time, suddenly let out a blood curdling scream.

"What?!" Cartman shouted, spinning around.

"There's something on me! There's something on me!" Clyde screeched, flailing his arms wildly.

A large spider crawled up his sleeve, its legs moving across the fabric. Clyde's face went pale as he bolted across the room, swatting at himself like he was actually possessed.

"Get it off! Get it off!" He cried out.

"Dude, stop moving!" Stan yelled, trying to grab his arm.

"Hold still, idiot!" You added, but Clyde wasn't listening.

He stumbled into the wardrobe, rattling it loudly and sending a cloud of dust into the air. The spider, unfazed by the commotion, crawled onto Clyde's shoulder.

"Oh my God, it's still there!" Clyde whined, spinning in circles.

Kenny stepped forward, holding his flashlight like a weapon. "Calm down, I'll get it!"

Before anyone could do anything else, Clyde smacked his own shoulder with enough force to knock the spider to the ground. It ran away quickly, disappearing under the bed.

"There!" Clyde gasped, attempting to calm himself down as he clutched his chest. "It's gone! It's gone!"

"You're such a baby." Cartman smirked. "It was just a spider."

"Yeah, well I didn't see you rushing to help." Clyde shot back, his face still pale.

"Wait." You interrupted, pointing toward the door. "Did anyone else hear that?"

The room fell silent, everyone going quiet to listen. The it came, a faint creak, followed by the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut.

"Holy shit!" Tweek yelped, his eyes wide.

Kenny ran to the door, twisting the knob. "It's not locked." He let out a breath of relief. "But what the hell shut it?"

"Maybe the wind?" Stan sugested, though he didn't sound convinced.

"Yeah, definitely." Craig rolled his eyes, leaning on the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets. "The wind. In a house with no open windows. Makes total sense."

"Okay Mr. Unfazed, then what's your brilliant explanation?" Cartman snapped.

"Ghosts." Craig answered flatly. "Obviously."

"Ghosts aren't real." Kyle sighed, knowing damn well that he was just trying to calm himself down. "We've been over this."

"Then why are you sweating?" Craig shot back, a rare smirk on his face.

Kyle glared at him, but didn't respond.

"Can we please just investigate and get out of here?" You spoke up, breaking the tension.

The group hesitantly agreed, spreading around to search the room. Cartman stayed near the door, muttering to himself about 'stupid amateurs ruining his paycheck', while the rest of you examined the furniture and walls.

As you ran your flashlight along the far wall, you heard a faint knocking sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

"Did you guys hear that?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Hear what?" Stan asked, looking up from the dresser he was investigating.

The knocking came again, this time louder.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"It's coming from the next room." Tweek noted, his voice trembling.

"Great." Clyde muttered. "More creepy noises. Just what we needed..."

Then, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of singing.

It was the same voice from before, soft and melodic, the kind of sound that made you shiver.

"Okay, nope." Clyde shook his head, backing toward the door. "I'm officially done. Screw this!"

"You're not leaving!" Cartman snapped, blocking the exit. "I don't care how scared you are. We're staying until we figure this out."

"Easy for you to say." Stan muttered. "You get to stay far away from the sound. You're not the one who has to listen to this creepy ass singing!"

You all fell silent again, the singing growing louder. It seemed to echo through the walls, wrapping around you like a cold but invisible hand.

"Alright..." Kyle broke the silence, his shoulders tense. "Let's just finish checking this room and move on. The faster we're done, the faster we can leave."

You nodded, though your hands were shaking slightly. You continued your search, but the tension in the room was evident and uneasy, every creak and whisper sending chills down your spine.

The hallway leading to the next room seemed suspiciously quiet, almost as of the house itself was holding its breath. You all hesitated in front of the door, your flashlights waving around.

"This is the last door on this side." You broke the silence. "Let's get this over with."

Cartman groaned, stepping forward with exaggerated confidence. "Step aside, amateurs. Watch the professional work."

He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, but the door didn't budge. "What the hell?" He grunted, twisting it harder. "It's stuck!"

"Maybe it's locked." Stan suggested, leaning closer.

"It's not locked!" Cartman snapped. "It's just being a piece of shit!"

"Let me try." Kenny offered, stepping forward. Together, the two of them pushed and pulled on the door, but it refused to give.

"Move." Craig warned, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He gave the door a single hard kick, and with a loud creak, it swung open, revealing a barely lit room.

"Damn." You whispered, biting your bottom lip for a quick second as Craig just raised an eyebrow at you.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side." Clyde muttered.

Craig shrugged, his flashlight scanning the room. "You'd have to actually interest me for that to happen."

The rest of you stepped inside cautiously, your flashlights lighting up the room, revealing dust covered furniture and faded wallpaper. The room was large but cluttered, with a table, a tall wardrobe, and a canopy bed draped in pretty curtains. What caught everyone's attention, however, were the framed photos scattered across the room.

"Whoa..." You whispered, picking one of the many pictures up from a shelf. The photo was black and white, the edges yellowed with age.

The woman in the picture looked elegant, her hazel eyes shining even through the faded photograph. A small mole under her left eye added a touch of uniqueness to her already stunning features, and her smile was warm and inviting.

"Is that her?" Tweek asked, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look. "The ghost?"

"Probably." Kyle shrugged, picking up another photo from another shelf. "She looks... Different than what I expected."

"Yeah." Stan agreed. "Not your typical creely ghost lady."

"Don't let the pictures fool you." Kenny informed, smirking. "The nice ones are always the scariest."

Cartman snorted, shoving past everyone to examine the photos himself. "You bitches are so easily impressed. It's just a bunch of old pictures. Big deal."

As if on cue, a soft melody began playing from the corner of the room. Everyone froze in their spot.

"What the hell is that?" Clyde whispered, his voice trembling.

You turned toward the source of the sound, your flashlight landing on a small, golden box sitting on the nightstand. The same one you so badly wanted to touch earlier. Its lid was open, revealing a delicate ballerina figure spinning slowly to the tune.

"Nope." You sighed immediately, shaking your head. "I am not doing this."

Before anyone could stop you, you marched over to the music box and snapped the lid shut. The melody stopped abruptly, leaving the room silent.

"[Y/N]..." Kyle started, his tone cautious and soft. "Maybe you shouldn't-"

The lights went out.

A harmonized gasp filled the room, followed by the sound of stumbling feet and hurried whispers.

"Who turned off the lights?" Cartman demanded, his voice high pitched with panic.

"No one!" Stan hissed. "Just stay calm-"

A blood curdling scream tore through the darkness, so loud and piercing that it felt like it was coming from inside your own head.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Clyde screamed, practically climbing onto Kenny for protection.

The floorboard beneath you groaned, the heavy and slow footsteps closer. Then came the banging, loud, frantic and relentless, echoing through and off the walls as if the entire house was alive.

"Get me out of here!" Tweek shouted, his voice cracking as he clung to the nearest person, which happened to be you.

"I can't see anything!" Kyle yelled, his flashlight flickering wildly in his hands.

"Move bitches, move your fucking asses!" Cartman screamed, his usual confidence and braveness completely gone.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the chaos stopped. The lights flickered back on as everyone stood frozen, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"Is everyone okay?" Stan asked, his voice shaking.

"I think so..." You mumbled, your hands trembling. "But what the hell was that?"

"Uh... Guys..." Kenny trailed off, his voice unusually serious. "Look at the mirrors."

You turned slowly, your heart thumping in your chest as you took in the sight. Every mirror in the room was cracked, crazy and uneven lines scattered across their surface.

And then you saw her.

She stood near the music box, her once beautiful face twisted into an expression of pure rage. Her white dress was stained with dirt, her hair a tangled mess that hung over her milky white eyes. The pearl necklace from the photos was now dangling loosely around her neck, cracked in several places.

No one spoke. No one even dared to move.

The ghost's gaze scanned over each one of you, her presence suffocating and cold.

"Oh shit..." Clyde whispered, his voice barely audible.

Cartman, of all people, was the fist to completely break the silence. He pointed an accusing finger at you.

"[Y/N], you dumb bitch!" He shouted. "I told you not to touch anything!"

...

Cartman took a cautious step forward, his flashlight flickering as he raised it toward her ghostly figure. His confidence was shaky at best, but he puffed out his chest in a pitiful attempt to seem in control.

"Alright, listen up, you decrepit old hag!" He barked, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't know who you are, but you're messing with licensed professionals here!"

She didn't react, her sinsiter and unblinking gaze fixed on them.

"Cartman, shut up!" Kyle hissed, gripping his flashlight tightly.

"No, no, I've got this!" Cartman insisted, waving a hand dismissively. He turned back to the ghost, narrowing his eyes. "You think you're scary? I've seen scarier things come out of Kenny's microwave! You look like you crawled out of a sewer and then got hit by a truck! What are you, part of the teenage mutant turtles?!"

The lights flickered violently, the room growing colder and more suffocating with each passing second. The ghost's head tilted slightly, her form trembling as if she was barely holding back her anger.

"Dude, stop!" Stan warned, his voice tense.

But Cartman was on a roll. "Oh, what's the matter? Did your ugly little music box break? Is that why you're so pissed off? Newsflash lady, nobody even uses music boxes anymore. Get with the times!"

As he spat out insult after insult, you noticed something. The ghost wasn't moving closer to Cartman despite her obvious anger. Instead, her transparent form seemed to stand close to the music box sitting on the nightstand.

"Wait..." Stan muttered under his breath, his brows furrowed together. "It's the music box, she's guarding it!"

You blinked, glancing between Stan and the ghost. "You think that's what's keeping her there?"

"She's not moving away from the music box, no matter how much Cartman screams at her." Stan whispered. "It has to mean something..."

"Cartman, keep her distracted!" Stan suddenly called out, his mind racing as he pieced together a plan.

Cartman turned, looking both insulted and confused. "Distracted? I'm trying to banish her, dipshit! Do you know how much skill that takes?!"

"Just do it!" Stan snapped.

Cartman huffed but turned back to the ghost. "Oh, so now you're just gonna stare at me like some creepy doll? You think that's intimidating? I've seen scarier things in the mirror every morning! Wait, that doesn't sound right..."

While Cartman continued judging her, Stan crept toward the music box, moving as quietly as he could. The rest of you held your breath, your eyes darting between Stan and the ghost. Her gaze remained locked on Cartman, though her form flickered as if sensing Stand presence near the box.

"Just grab it already!" Clyde whispered harshly.

Stan's hands shook as he reached for the music box. His fingers barely grazed the lid when all of the sudden the ghost's head snapped toward him, her milky white eyes narrowing.

"Shit." Stan gasped, making eye contact with the ghost as he froze completely. "Run!" He shouted, yanking the music box off the nightstand.

The ghost let out another blood curdling scream, the sound so loud and piercing it felt like it was drilling into your skull. The lights flickered wildly, sending the room into bursts of darkness and light.

"Move, bitch!" You yelled, grabbing Clyde's arm and shoving him toward the door.

You all bolted out of the room in a frantic scramble, tripping over each other as you sprinted down the hallway. The walls seemed to shake with the ghost's rage, her screams echoing behind you.

"She's following us!" Tweek cried out, his voice trembling as he clung to you arm.

"Don't look back!" Stan yelled, clutching the music box tightly as he led the rest of you down the stairs.

You all rushed into the hall, nearly knocking over a decorative vase. The kitchen door creaked open slightly, and for a split second, you caught a glimpse of the old couple sipping tea at the table, unaware of the chaos unfolding just a few feet away.

"We're gonna die, and they're drinking fucking tea!" Clyde whined, almost tripping over the rug.

"Shut up and keep running!" Kyle snapped, shoving him toward the front doors.

You all burst into the garden, the cool night air hitting your face like a splash of water. Your eyes darted around wildly, taking in the small graveyard sat at the edge of the property.

"Her grave!" Stan panted, doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. "We need to find her grave!"

The rest of you stared at the rows of headstones, the glow of the moon softly shining on them.

"There's too many of them!" Clyde cried. "We don't even know her name! How are we supposed to-"

"There!" Stan pointed to a headstone near the center, the name 'Mary DeLacroix' carved into the stone. "I saw her name on an open notebook, on the table [Y/N] found the first photo! At least I think that's her!" He panted, barely breathing.

He took a step forward but hesitated, his hands shaking as he held out the music box.

"I can't do it..." He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-I'll mess it up!"

Stan didn't think, he just threw the music box into your arms. There wasn't much you could say, especially because of the state you were in. You quickly bolted toward Mary's grave.

"Wait, you can't just-" Tweek shouted after you, panicking as he saw you complying instead of throwing the music box into someone else's hands.

The tiny metal gate surrounding the graveyard clattered as you jumped over it, the music box clutched tightly in your hands. Behind you, Mary's screams grew louder, her ghostly form tearing through the garden.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached her grave, nearly tripping over your own feet. Dropping to your knees, you placed the music box gently on top of the headstone, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Please work..." You whispered, your voice trembling. "If it doesn't, I swear I'll posses Stan and jump off a bridge..."

You turned around, seeing Mary's form exactly in front of you, inches away from you, her once beautiful face twisted with rage. Her hands were raised as if she was about to strike, but the miment her eyes landed on the music box, she froze. You swore you've seen this sight in a FNAF game before.

The air around you grew still, the harsh weight of her presence lifting slightly. Mary's angry expression softened, her ghostly form flickering as she reached out toward the music box.

Her fingers grazed it lightly. "Thank you..." She whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before you could respond, her form began to disintegrate, her body breaking apart into specks of light that drifted upward like fireflies. The garden grew silent once more, the only sound being the rustling leaves in the night breeze.

Your shoulders relaxed a bit, still sitting down on the grass, your hands trembling as you tried to catch your breath.

The rest of the group rushed over, their faces a mix of relief and awe.

"Holy shit!" Kyle panted, helping you to your feet. "You actually did it!"

"Damn right she did." Kenny teased, smacking you on the back playfully.

"Nice work..." Tweek added, giving you a shy smile.

Cartman, of course, had to ruin the moment. "Yeah, yeah, great job [Y/N]. But let's not forget who kept that bitch distracted in the first place. If it weren't for me, you'd all be dead!"

Craig flipped him off. "You're welcome, fatass."

Clyde let out a shaky laugh, his hands still trembling. "We're never doing this again, right? Right?"

"Don't bet on it." Kyle muttered, glancing back at the house as he kept his hand on your shoulder.

For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to relax, a small smile tugging at your lips. Mary was gone, and for now, you were safe.

...

You all walked back to the mansion, adrenaline slowly giving away to exhaustion. Tweek clung to you, his eyes darting around nervousness as if expecting Mary to reappear at any moment.

"Holy shit..." Clyde muttered, breaking the silence. "We just... Banished a ghost. Like, an actual, real ghost."

Kyle let out a shaky breath, running a hand down his face. "Yeah, and I'm still trying to process how any of this is real. Ghosts aren't supposed to exist."

"Guess what, Kyle?" Cartman started, his voice smug as he spun around to face the rest of you. "We're officially professional ghost hunters now. You all doubted me, but I just led us through a successful exorcism. So, you're welcome!"

"You didn't do shit." Stan shot back. "All you did was piss her off."

"And distract her!" Cartman added, puffing his chest out. "You think she'd have stood there like an idiot if I wasn't verbally destroying her? Face it, Stan, you're just mad because I'm the brains if this operation."

"Brains?" Craig repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I'd argue you're the ass of this operation." Kenny snickered and nudged Craig's shoulder.

Cartman ignored them, waving a dismissive hand as he marched ahead. "You losers can make all the jokes you want, but when people hear about our success, we're gonna be rolling in cash. And you'll all owe it to me!"

Tweek let out a nervous chuckle. "I still can't believe any of t-this. Like... Ghosts? R-Real ghosts?" He glanced at you, his eyes wide. "Did you hear her say 'thank you' at the end? Or was I just hallucinating?"

"I heard it too. She seemed... Less scary in the end. Almost peaceful." You shrugged, offering him a small smile.

"Nah, I think you're both just schizophrenic." Cartman interrupted.

"Peaceful?" Clyde repeated, his voice still shaky. "She was about to kill us five minutes ago!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because Cartman kept calling her Master Splinter or something." You shot back with a grin.

"It was the teenage mutant ninja turtles you fucking bitch! Get it right next time!" Cartman snapped.

He spun on his heel, pointing an accusing finger at you. "And don't act like you didn't touch the music box! If anything, this is all your fault!"

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes. "And who was it that ran straight to her grave and banished her? Oh, right, me."

The tension eased slightly as the mansion came into view. The warm glow of the windows was oddly comforting after the chilling events that had just happened moments ago.

As you stepped inside, the old couple was waiting in the hall, their expressions curious but calm.

"Ah, you're back!" The old woman clasped her hands together. "We were wondering if you left already."

"Left?" Kyle repeated, his eyes wide and voice surprised. "How did you not hear what was happening out there? The screaming? The running? The lights flickering?"

The old man raised an eyebrow, his face wrinkling into a suspicious frown. "Screaming? Flickering lights? What are you talking about?"

Cartman groaned, slapping his forehead. "Of course you didn't hear it. You were too busy sipping tea while we were out there risking our lives!"

The old woman's expression softened, her gaze darting between you all. "Well, whatever happened, it seems you even managed to get rid of her. The house feels... Lighter now. Thank you."

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small envelope. "Here's the other $100 we agreed on. And..." She hesitated, glancing at her husband, who nodded reluctantly. "Here's an extra $50 for your trouble. You've truly done us service."

Cartman snatched the envelope before anyone else could, grinning ear to ear. "See? I told you we'd get paid! This is what happens when you follow my lead."

"Dude, you did nothing." Stan crossed his arms.

"Nothing? Nothing?!" Cartman barked, waving the envelope in Stan's face. "Who do you think convinced them to pay us extra? My charisma! My leadership! My-"

"Your massive ego?" Craig interrupted.

"That too." Kenny added with a snicker.

The old couple exchanged a glance, clearly unsure of what to make of your group. "Well..." The old man cleared his throat. "We'll leave you to it. Thank you again for your help."

As they disappeared into the kitchen, Cartman turned to the rest of you, his grin widening. "You guys realize what this means, right? We're gonna be rich. This ghost hunting gig is our ticket to the big league!"

"I don't know if I'd call almost dying a gig." You sighed, shaking your head.

You pushed the heavy wooden doors open, walking outside as the cold night air hit your skin once more. The rest of the group followed along, walking back to your van.

"But it was kinda fun." Clyde admitted, a small smile forming onto his face. "I mean, terrifying, but... Fun?"

"Exactly!" Cartman exclaimed. "This is just the beginning. We're gonna take this town by storm! Ghosts, demons, you name it, we'll hunt it!"

"Please don't tell me you're serious." Kyle groaned.

"Dead serious." Cartman replied bluntly, his expression even more stern now.

Kenny leaned against the side of the van, his hands shoved into his pockets. "So, uh... Raisins?"

★yoyomiko ★miko

[olderthannetfic]

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/772134036909047808/tumblrcomolderthannetfic772021907545554944elsa#notes

That's fair. But this is mainly about someone who's completely shitting on any concept of ethnicity, culture, heritage, history and lived reality, and tries to make everything "a human-racial classification" to begin with. Same shit applies to latino and Asian. Do they mean East Asian? South East Asian? South Asian? West Asian? Literally none of them are the same. Even with "white" and "black" you're setting your ass on fire, you mean East, West, South, North White/Black? Do we even wanna start with Latino? Latino is probably even more so straddling a line between all that bullshit.

Hell, RACE doesn't make a lick of fucking sense because it's not actually "race" it's clearly 100% about ethnicity and even then it's more shallow than a puddle during a drought. Because even if we went with ethnicity it lacks any kind of intersectionality between identities. But we're just arguing within whatever the fuck the maker of those lists is doing every year.

Just as a sidenote, I know several Saami. That's why I spoke about them specifically. The one dude I know who used to be in my class, who's Saami has never considered himself anything but Norwegian and never really used Saami about himself, but does that make him any less Saami? He just IS a Saami, but he seems to think more of the location he's living. The other guy, he's like 40 year my senior, thinks of himself as a Saami, but his children are both Saami and ALSO half-Saami because of their mother. His children, slightly older than me, share that view about themselves, if you asked they'd probably just say whatever's more relevant to the question at hand. BUT!!! That's also just the people I know, and I also know that there are more Saami who consider themselves only Saami, regardless of their other parentage. 100% Saami, because it's none of anyone's business what their genetics are, they are Saami so deal with it.

Clearly this is 100% more complicated than whatever the fuck that list is making it, or any arbitrary race thinking, and it's complete bullshit to even include "race" when it's this poorly done and this surface level this crosses borderline offensive into straight up offensive racism.

The list is completely ridiculous because it actually tells us nothing. It's a completely arbitrary label slapped onto random characters, without any care what it'd actually mean in real life. Does a black person stop being black because they're also Latino? Or does a Latino stop being Latino because they're black? According to this list? This isn't a math equation where one cancels the other out, but according to the list it does. That's the problem, because it also perpetuates the idea that you can divide people into neat little boxes, and just ignore any kind of "complicated" intersections of a person's identity.

So for Elsa and Anna. Does their indigenous heritage from the second movie erase that they were/are also Disney Norwegian? Do they have the same view of themselves now? Or does one have stronger feelings towards one heritage than the other? Especially since they were raised completely without the knowledge of said heritage. How complicated is it to find out there's an entire half of your heritage you never knew, and now you're supposed to try and figure out how to handle that? Well who knows, because this is a question about identity that has never been answered, because only the people "living"* that reality can actually answer their own view on who they are and with what they identify as. *living in quotations because obviously they're just fictional. So the real answer would have to come from a creator of them. (Hell, just calling from the side, I'm mixed ethnicities, and I identify with both, but my sibling only identifies as one half, and really doesn't care about the other half/is ambivalent towards it. Does anyone have the right to override my siblings view about their own identity and what they want to be perceived as? Or what I want to be perceived as? That's why that list, and any comparable list or understanding of "race" or ethnicity are complete bullshit that should have been flushed long ago because it never includes the nuance of individual perception and identity.)

--

[icewindandboringhorror]

Everytime I face a new character limit on a website that didn't have them before/used to have really long ones... AUGHHhhh the modern social media world was not made for people like me (lovers of details, rambling, elaboration, thorough explanation, and nuance)

[autixel]

honestly i don't think i'm satisfied with tdp s7

[pipperoo]

how the fuck is it already november 25th?!!?!!?

(time is so fucked up)

anyway, happy one year anniversary to my fic “if only there was more time” and posting on ao3 for the first time!

sincerely can’t believe that i’ve been writing for a year, how did that happen???

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Arcane s2 spoilers

Powder in episode 7 is so unsettling to me. They neurotypicalized my girl. She’s in regular girl clothes and has a boyfriend and a stable job and is able to think rationally and also work towards her goals and reach her potential…she’s no longer #hashtag relatable. That whole arc had me like “put it back!!!!! I need that girl to be fucking insane!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

[jackass-jones]

Actually cry so goddamn hard when I think about Shinjiro Aragaki healing and being loved and having to learn to be okay with himself and being taken care of

[eriophorumcallitrix]

ignore this post I’m venting my disappointment in the tags abt twitter LMFAOOO

[weirdlizard26]

so bizarre to me that my love language is apparently recording music for people. how did this even happen