#god moves in a mysterious way indeed

[defmaybe]

Pineapples

12 Days of Christmas: Day 5, December 29th, 2024

BABYMONSTER’s Kawai Ruka x Male Reader

4.3k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: First Ruka fic?

—

“Bitch.”

The answer to how she got into your dorm room remains a puzzling mystery. There’s a security guard outside that won’t allow women to access the men's dorm. Still, any question here is thrown out of the window, with her jerking you off from behind like this, sliding her dexterous hand up and down in a languid motion. You’re shifting and shifting in her embrace on your own bed.

You were sure that the door was locked before you went out of your room this morning—tightly shut. She must’ve lock-picked her way into here. She always has a hairpin with her. You aren’t denying that it looks gorgeous on her, hot even. You could spend the whole day just staring at her with her hair tied up into a bun, topped off with the hairpin piercing through the center of the bunch.

Sure, it’s a little degrading for you to submit to her like this every time you meet. She’ll call you a bitch, a slut, a whore, anything that she could think of that day. You’ll call her by her name, on the condition that you avert her gaze. Still, there’s something to be enjoyed in this power dynamic. 

It’s the thrill of submission.

She makes sure to swipe her thumb when her hand reaches the top of your cock. It’s for fun, she says. Of course, it’d be fun for her. You moan like a bitch every time she does that.

“You love having me jerking you off like this, don’t you?” she asks, her voice venomous, yet so magnetic. God, why is she so attractive?

You can only nod with a whimper, so clouded in the pleasure her hand is giving you. Indeed, it didn’t start slow. She ordered you to sit on the bed, pants off, shirt on (she said that it’d be a bit too cold for you). Your top is going to get all creased, with her pressing up against your back like this, but you couldn’t care less. You love the way she’s reducing you into her toy like this. You feel pliant. You feel obedient. You feel–comfortable.

“And don’t you dare fucking other women with this cock. It’s mine, only mine, understand?”

You nod again. Your hands are all limp from the pleasure coursing through your body. You are unable to move your body by a single inch, with her limbs placed meticulously to lock you in your place like this. Though, it’s like you’d resist, anyway.

Now, back to the beginning. You’d argue that it’s nothing short of rote. You two went over a year from being just a familiar face in your class, always walking past each other without much notice, until a fateful night at the bar.

—

“Ah!” you two exclaimed simultaneously. It seemed that you just crashed into each other. Your drink spilled from your glasses. They weren’t shattered yet, thankfully. Although, it left wet spots on your clothes.

“Sorry!” you apologized, shouting to fight the music.

“It’s fine! I’m sorry too!” she shouted back. God, the music was so loud there.

“Ruka! Right?”

“Yeah!” Ruka responded with a smile, taking a sip of whatever was left in the glass. “And you are?”

You told her your name, also taking a sip of whatever is left in the glass. She seemed to be happy about it. You two finally knew each other after a year of silence.

“So, uh, I should go back to my table now. My friends are waiting,” said Ruka, tilting her head slightly away from you.

“Oh, yeah, I should go back too. See you around, I guess?”

“See you around!”

—

The night rolled on until the bar closed. You and your friends left the bar, preparing to go back to your dorms, but not without your eyes meeting Ruka just on the outside.

“Hey!” Ruka shouted. Her walking was funny, judging from how she carried herself towards you that night. She was definitely drunk, but so did you. You could barely walk straight.

“Hi,” you said. Her friends were looking at you two, murmuring something to one another.

“Sooo~ we’re having an after-party at my placeee. Wanna joinnn?” she asked, intoxicated. Her breath was full of alcohol.

“Uhhh–” you glanced around at your friends, who seemed to have no opinion on it.

“Up to you, man,” Soobin said, shrugging. “I can go with you. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

—

“Seven minutes in heaven doesn’t seem like a bad idea,” Pharita said, tilting the empty beer bottle in her hand.

The eight of you were inside Ruka’s room, on the floor, preparing to watch the bottle spin. It was somewhat large for a dorm room. Her parents were probably rich. It was clean and tidy, no stray strands of hair could be seen.

“You’ve cleaned the bathroom, right?” Asa asked.

“Just this morning.”

—

“I don’t think I’ve ever got to properly know you,” Ruka said. Her voice was low. The guys are probably eavesdropping from the outside. “We just kinda–”

“I get it, yeah,” you cut her words off with a smile. Your posture was reserved. You remembered you were leaning against the door that day.

Ruka smiled, before asking, “You like women, right? I mean–I don’t wanna assume.” Her expression was full of anxiety—eyes on the floor, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was probably afraid to offend you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, chuckling.

The tension was thick, too thick. Your smile faded. You two kept averting each other’s eyes. There was apprehension within the situation. You gulped and gulped, playing with the hem of your shirt.

Boldly, she grabbed onto your collar, pulling your face closer to her, before she latched her lips onto yours. Her tongue invaded your mouth without any caution, and that made you melt into her embrace. Her lips tasted like alcohol, with a hint of rose on her. You were faltering.

And she pulled back.

“Never knew your lips taste this good,” Ruka said, wiping the saliva off her lips. She looked hot doing so.

You said nothing, only swallowing hard. You could feel blood rushing to the lower part of your body. It was aching. Your hands were trembling, letting out endless whimpers. You didn’t pay attention to her eyes enough to notice that they were gleaming with desire.

“Ooh~” she uttered, voice below a whisper, pressing your body against the door even harder. Her hands started to be where it shouldn’t. Her alcohol-filled breath invaded your personal space. It was uncomfortable, yet–there was something else in it. “You’re one of those guys, don’t you?”

Another whimper escaped you. You were trying to look away from her, too shy to look her in the sharp eyes. You could see her biting her lip in the corner of your eyes, so ready to take over your body. Fuck, she was so attractive doing that.

“What if I.” She grabbed your chin with her left hand softly, heightening the tension in this bathroom. Her breath remained steady, so unfazed by the whole situation. She was good at that.

Her right hand found its way onto the tent on your pants, squeezing your crotch gently. You let out a whimper under her touch. She seemed satisfied with that. She seemed satisfied with your unwavering submission.

“What a good boy for me,” she uttered, grabbing onto your collar tightly. Her voice was nothing short of dangerous. “You fucking love this, don’t you? You love being a bitch boy.”

You weren’t too sure how to answer the question, but there was probably some truth in it. You were revelling in the way she used you. You loved the way she takes control. You loved how she kisses you like that—invading your mouth like it is her property (it’s her property).

“Answer me, bitch,” she hissed, pushing you up against the door. You were tiptoeing on the ground. Fuck, she was strong. “Or I’m going to fucking edge you until you moan like one.”

You’d be dead if the door wasn’t thick, either would that be heard by the guys or breaking the door with her force.

“I–I love b–being a bitch boy, R–Ruka,” you answered, shaken. Her cat-like eyes were so alluring. They pierced through your heart like a bullet. You were in awe of her beauty, and a bit scared of it.

She laughed mischievously, enjoying the power she had over you. Her adept fingers were still giving your bulge squeezes after squeezes. You whimpered with each touch.

“Should’ve known that you’re a submissive little slut,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes upwards. “Now, if you’d kindly follow my instructions~”

You let out a whimper, too clouded within the expectation of her pleasuring you. You were exploring the ways that she could give you the feeling of utter divinity. Hand? Mouth? Thighs? Pene–

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Ruka started, hands playing with the hem of your pants. You sucked a sudden. Her soft fingers felt so good on your slutty waist. A soft, airy moan left your lips.

“We have–” she looked at her watch, trying to estimate how many minutes you got. You wish you could just press her mouth down on your cock and get this over with, but that wasn’t how it worked, not when she was in control like that “���four minutes left.”

You nodded in response. Full-on penetration was probably out of the window. There were still a few choices for you to ponder on.

“I’ll suck you off. I’ll make it clean. Don’t moan too loud.” Three orders—direct, quick—and as you were processing the information, Ruka pulled your pants down quickly. Your lower body was left just in boxers. Your erection became more prominent than before. A loud moan left your lips. Good thing she managed to close your mouth in time. The guys didn’t hear that.

“I said, ‘Don’t moan too loud’, bitch,” Ruka sneered. “Do you want me to fucking edge you, huh?”

You shook your head with a whimper. She seemed to be satisfied with the answer. She had to be; there’s barely four minutes left. She couldn’t afford any more time wasted berating you.

In a quick motion, she pulled your boxers down, kneeling before you. Your erection was freed from the fabric cage that held you. She didn’t waste any more time judging the size of it. Instead, she dove right into enveloping her mouth around your cock, eyes closed. You could barely contain your moans.

She let out a satisfied hum around your cock. She was happy with your taste. You had to use your hands to cage the whimpers coming out.

Her mouth felt so warm, so wet, so tight. She bobbed her head back and forth adeptly, using her hands to help ramp up the intense pleasure you were feeling. She even went a mile further and started to hollow her cheeks, creating a suction on your cock. You couldn’t help but use all of your inhibition to not let out the loudest moan of your life. Thankfully, it came out as a quiet mewling.

She definitely loved your cock. Hell, she probably got addicted to it. You could feel that she was using all of herself on your cock, sucking on it in such an enthusiastic nature. She finally opened her eyes, looking up to see her bitch boy writhing in the pleasure she was giving to him. She let out a giggle at you.

Three minutes left.

She upped her ante, trying to milk your cock before time ran out. Her movements quickened, yet still deliberate. Her hands rubbed on your cock faster and faster, coaxing suppressed moans out of your mouth. That felt great.

You fell in love with her cat-like eyes. They were so magnetic that night. They pulled you into another realm that was beyond your comprehension. It was a place full of her, and only her.

She then ran her fingers along your lips, feeling the chapped texture of you. As if you knew, you opened your mouth, letting her plunge her fingers into your wet cavern. Her hand reeked of the earlier alcohol—mostly beer. There was a hint of sweat on it. She was addictive. She was like a fucking drug.

“Nngnn.”

You were sure that you were going to remember that forever—getting sucked off by your classmate in her bathroom while drooling on her fingers at the same time. Her one hand was caressing your cock adeptly. Her friends were trying to eavesdrop on the other side, and you were doing your best not to moan like a slut she wanted you to be.

Two minutes left.

Satisfied, drunken hums left your lips. You were revelling in the way she used you like her little fucktoy like this—her mouth on your cock, her fingers in your mouth. The taste of alcohol lingering on her digits filled your mouth. You fucking loved it.

She definitely had talent in sucking a cock. It was as if she had practiced a lot (it was a few guys and her wide variety of toys, she later told you). She created this suction around your cock that made you whimper like a common whore. The guys would’ve heard that if it weren’t her fingers inside your mouth (she argued later that a strap would’ve also worked).

Her fingers invaded your mouth with an unmatched dexterity, sweeping the insides of your mouth ever so masterfully. Your teeth grazed against her fingers. Her head bobbed back and forth, creating an absolutely vulgar image in front of you.

“Fuck, your cock taste good,” she uttered, muffled by your length. Her features were utterly wrecked by your hard cock. You can see tears running down her face, painting streaks of black marks on her cheeks.

It was peculiar, from strangers to something close to a fuck buddy in the span of a few hours. Those conversations in class weren’t going to be the same. The image of her mouth around your cock is going to be imprinted inside your mind forever.

One minute left.

You were doing your absolute best to contain the whimper out of your lips. The feeling was just too heavenly. You clenched your hand into a fist. The all-too-familiar feeling built up in your loins. Your breathing grows frantic. You were going to cum inside of Kawai Ruka’s mouth, with her friends on the other side of the door!

“Hhgnn.”

“Cum, bitch,” she ordered, her words muffled by your hardness.

“I–I’m trying,” you reply, trying to keep your voice below a whisper.

She upped the act into another ante, blowing your cock at a pace quicker than ever. She really wanted you do cum, didn’t she? Her fingers snake onto the rim of your asshole, sending a special kind of shock through your body.

“Fuck!”

Her fingers circle around your tightness. It feels great, being caressed in the ass like this. It feels like you’re her object, and that’s the feeling you absolutely love. Your hips jerk forward into her mouth. She gags a little, but it doesn’t stop her from neither sucking your cock in full force, nor your peak. You’re going to cum inside of Kawai Ruka’s mouth!

And all you could see was white. Your entire body jerked with pure pleasure. Your cock shot ropes of cum into her filthy mouth. Bliss coursed through your bloodstream to your entire frame. You couldn’t even stand straight. You painted the insides of her mouth, not leaving any corner untouched.

You twitched inside her violently, enveloped in her warm, wet cavern. The spurts grew softer and softer, from frantic shots to drizzles. You tried to suppress your moans with her finger, sucking on them harshly.

And just as you thought she’d spit it out in her sink, she swallowed, expressionless. It was splendidly obscene—the way she just drank your cum so damn easily. You remember that you could only gulp at the vulgar sight.

She pulled off of your spent cock. “Need more pineapples,” she said, licking her lips and making a pop sound with her dirty mouth. She’s clean—no trace of your nectar inside her mouth. Fuck.

She stood up, as her eyes were still bored into yours. She was examining your after-blowjob expressions like a predator watching its prey.

“Twenty seconds left. Put your fucking pants on,” she hissed. “Wouldn’t want the guys to know, would you?”

Hastily, you put on your pants. It was sloppy. It was even stuck on your knees at one point. Fuck, why is this so hard? Thankfully, it finally followed your hands up to your slim waist. You frantically buckled your belt for the final touch-up.

She wipes off the black marks on her cheeks. She has probably done it a few times before, because her face looks so damn clean after that.

Time’s up.

Ruka opened the door to the outside, wiping her mouth with her cuffs. You turned around, frozen under the gaze of the people in front of the doorway, still unable to make sense of what had just happened in the bathroom.

You saw Soobin giving you a knowing smirk. The others also probably know what’s up, but at that point, you just couldn’t care less. You just opened a whole new door with the help of Kawai Ruka.

—

She plants her teeth on the back of your neck, making you jolt in response. It’s a playful bite, you can feel it. There’s a lot to be processed right now, still—her hand on your cock, her body pressing up on you, her hot breath brushing against your neck. It feels too good.

“Nasty little slut,” she whispers into your ear. You moan again at the degrading word. You love it. You love the way she takes control over you like this. “Too bad I didn’t bring my strap here, or I’d be fucking your mouth with it.”

You say nothing, only moan. The air thickens with lust and the smell of sex. Ruka quickens her motion from behind you. Your moans are getting louder and louder. She loves this; she told you once. She loves her men moaning like a whore.

“Yeah, moan like that, you pathetic little bitch,” she growls. The demeaning words only serve to push you further into bliss. She then takes a soft bite on your earlobe, making you jolt in response.

“What a sensitive slut,” she continues. She won’t stop calling you these names, will she? Not that you don’t want that, though.

The tension starts to coil inside your muscles. Your eyes flutter. Your breathing becomes rapid. Your toes curl. You’re going to cum in the hands of Kawai Ruka!

“Aww~ gonna cum already?” she coos, her tone mocking. Her hand jerks you off even faster. The swipes on top of your cock aren’t there anymore, but the sensation of her hand rubbing you rapidly is more than enough.

You can’t answer anything but grunting and groaning at her mastery. The warmth of her body on you is comforting, yet so wicked in its own way. It completely engulfs you, making you completely hers.

“Cum in my hand then, bitch. Make a goddamn mess like the slut you are,” she keeps the insults coming in waves. You’re more than happy to welcome that, being reduced to her nasty little slut like this.

“Nghnn.”

Your dam breaks, your cock shoots out spurts and spurts of cum in her hand. Some land on your shirt, some land on her legs. Hell, some even land on your pretty face. She keeps jerking you off through your high, coaxing as much cum as possible out of your cock.

Successive spurts grow softer, from shots to small dribbles. Your cock is still twitching violently in the grip of her hand. 

Eventually, your orgasm dies down. Droplets of cum rest on your cock idly. Trails of it can be seen running down, leaving viscous marks all over. 

Ruka then scoops the remnants of your cum on your cock before sucking her fingers lewdly. You swallow hard. You can’t quite get used to the image of her drinking your nectar yet. She closes her eyes while doing so. God, what a sight.

“That’s enough pineapples,” she says, sucking on her fingers enthusiastically. The obscene sounds of it ring in your ear. She’s enjoying your taste. 

“Want a taste?” She then offers her fingers to you, and you happily accept them. You suck on her fingers like a whore. You find out that you are really sweet today. That’s probably enough pineapples, as she said.

“I can buy you some more pineapples from my dorm if you want,” she says.

You nod, still sucking her fingers like a bitch, tasting the remnants of your own sweet flavor. You absolutely adore the way she’s using you like this, and you just wish you can stay like this forever. 

Suddenly, she pulls her finger out of your needy mouth, leaving the taste of yourself lingering—sweet, intense.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says with a giggle, before unlocking you from your restraint. You can finally move freely again, at the expense of her warm embrace. You let out a whimper in disappointment.

Ruka gets off of the bed. She gives you a hand, the messy one, with a smile. Your cum stains can still be seen on it. They haven’t dried off yet. You accept her hand before getting up from your bed.

“Thanks,” you say, before heading to your bathroom to clean yourself up.

—

The damage to you wasn’t that much, but you figure that maybe a shower is needed. It’s 10 p.m. already. You soak yourself in the warm water from the shower head above, cleaning the filth on you.

Suddenly, the door opens. It’s Ruka, all naked in the glory, hands on her waist. Her toned, muscular body is on full display. Her small breasts are sitting on her chest beautifully, so tantalizing to your touch. And her abs, god, her abs, it looks so attractive on her body.

“Can I join?” she asks, chuckling. You’re accepting her request, either way.

“Come on in.”

She then walks towards you. There’s seduction in the way she does it—the swaying of her hips, the finger bite, the languid pace, the sensuality. She’s looking straight into your eyes doing so. Your cock hardens again at the image of her.

Ruka lets out a laugh as she reaches you, catching you in her embrace. She feels warm, contradicting the insults (which you happily accepted) thrown at you. Her smile feels sincere under the warm water. She looks–gorgeous.

“So,” Ruka says, caressing your face. “I want to talk to you about something.”

You raise your eyebrow, intrigued by her words. “Uh huh?”

“I want to talk–” she lets the last words flow along with the running water. She goes silent for a while, trying to think of her next words. You nervously wait in anticipation “–about us.”

You do a double take, perplexed by the way this topic comes up like this. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she continues, averting your eye contact. Both of you swallow hard, as she’s too apprehensive to say the next words.

“Wh–What about us?”

“I–” and she pauses. You wait, and you wait, and you wait. She keeps avoiding your eyes, hands still on your burning face. “–I want–more.”

“Oh.”

You guess it immediately. The concept of you two dating hasn’t been very far-fetched since that fateful night, but you’ve never thought she’d be the one to–

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and–I feel like–” she pauses again, looking elsewhere, trying to find comfort in the shampoo and body wash bottles around you, but she can’t let this go on forever. She has to say it “–I’ve fallen for you.”

Your eyes widen, unable to comprehend the words that were just coming out of her lips. You’ve never seen Ruka like this, so–raw, so–vulnerable. It’s so strange.

Still, you may have been feeling the same way about her. You know the way she smiles (she always closes her mouth when she does, as if she’s trying to suppress it). You know how she eats (she usually eats the vegetables in the dishes first). You know her favorite show (it’s Ally McBeal). You know, you know, you know.

“A–Are you okay with that, with–us?”

You open your mouth, but no words are coming out. It’s a difficult decision to make. You’re tying yourself to her if you say yes, but also–

You want to see that smile every day. You want to hear that laugh. You want to hear her call you a bitch. You want to go out and eat Neapolitan spaghetti with her. You want, you want, you want, you want.

You swallow hard, carefully choosing your next words. 

“I–”

She looks into your eyes expectantly. Her grip on your face grows tighter, but that can’t compare to the feeling building up inside your heart.

“I think I like you too, Ruka.”

And with that, she pulls you into a kiss, a fervent one. It’s one filled with unspoken desires. Tongues battling for dominance. Hands roaming over each other’s body frantically, afraid of losing each other. You grind your body on hers, trying to feel her as much as you can. The bathroom is filled with your moans and the sound of water, and you couldn't be happier.

“Mmmph, just like that,” she says, her hands traveling down to your ass, giving your cheeks firm squeezes. You jolt in response to her touch, as she giggles softly into the kiss.

She then pulls back from the sensual, fiery kiss to catch her breath. Both of you are panting under the flowing water, fulfilled. You see her smiling with joy, before she laughs, and you can’t help but to do that along with her.

“Bitch.”

—

[amateurenjoyer]

I know the infertility stuff with Gemma has rubbed some folks the wrong way, and that's fair. These types of stories are not always handled with care and can feel as hollow as using a dead wife in order to give a man depth as a character. That said, I fear that criticism of the infertility story in Severance, or indeed criticism of the breadth of themes of fertility and parenthood in the series, has suffered as a result of gendering these ideas as being primarily explored through the women in the show. There was plenty of eye rolling when we met Gemma for real and her great trauma turned out to be the loss of her unborn child—"oh great, another woman defined by her inability to produce children!"—but this didn't come out of left field in a show that has put expectant parents, midwives, fraudulent lactation specialists, couples struggling to make ends meet for their kids, dads garage jamming with their daughters, and child laborers all on screen, not to mention the cult of Kier the Grandfather/Founder that props up the central mysteries of the show.

Parenthood, birth, and the power dynamics of progenitors and progeny all exist at the heart of Severance (right alongside love, agency, personhood, and capitalist critique), but I don't know that enough people look through this lens when thinking about the men in this show. Even when their stories explicitly touch on these themes, severed men like Petey and Irving and Mark—who, by the way, has every right to claim the same grief over the loss of their child as Gemma, though his experience is radically different as the parent who didn't carry the child—get kind of left out of the conversation.

They should not get left out of the conversation and the mpreg Kier statue in the birthing cabin was there to remind you of that.

Check under the cut for Mark Scout world's worst dad thoughts with lots more spoilers for the finale.

I don't know how many folks on Tumblr have Boomer parents, and I don't know how many of these ideas have filtered through to each generation of parents following, but I know that my Boomer mother and many (many) of my friend's parents had a whole litany of witticisms that they'd use to disempower and belittle the personhood of their kids, and they used these phrases with extreme regularity. "Because I said so," "My house, my rules," "If I were you (and thank God I'm not)," "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it," etc. Depending on tone and context, these could vary from pretty benign to legitimately threatening, but they all betrayed the same basic attitude: right now, you are not a person, and I make your decisions for you, until I say otherwise.

Boomers may have excelled at expressing this sentiment through phrasing that is worthy of shitty gas station hats and little else, but it feels as though it has been a dominant mode of parenting thought for a long time. The idea that it is the position of being a parent that confers power to someone, no matter how unearned that power truly is, is also extremely present in the outie-innie dynamic.

Mark S was straight up born from his outie's inability to actually grieve the death of his wife, his unwillingness to move forward through despair, and his complacency with his self-destructive coping mechanisms. Having lost his ability to work due to his alcoholism, Mark Scout created a whole new person who could do the work for him. He "hoped that [Mark S] would be spared the pain," but for much of the show thus far, he hasn't taken a single step to move away from that pain, be it in an effort to spare himself or his innie. This a couple in a dysfunctional marriage having a child to try and save it, only to absolutely fuck that kid up by refusing to acknowledge the reality of the situation or do anything to change it for the better. Only in this scenario the marriage is between Mark and the ghost of his wife.

Like the kid brought into such a marriage, Mark S doesn't need to know the details of his outie's life to carry his burdens. Their shared body is the exposure that ensures every hangover, every sleepless night, every pre-work weeping session, every fight with a rebound (sorry Alexa you deserve more than this title) or a family member worms its way into the innie's life. A life that is already deeply infantilized by Lumon's workplace culture more broadly, and doubly so because MDR is being babysat by step-dad Milchick while the literal Mother of the Severance Procedure goes rogue.

When he does learn the reason for his outie's severance, Mark S is compassionate, curious, and instantly willing to search for Miss Casey—not out of some deeply rooted love of Gemma that has somehow transcended the severance barrier, but out of recognition of his progenitor's personhood and pain and his desire to help a fellow innie with an unexpected connection to his own outie. How often do children make an effort to help and humanize their parents, even when they've been given very little reason to? Be it out of a sense of obligation or a misunderstanding that a parent naturally looks out for their child's best interests and so a child should do the same, many of us will go out of our way to try and understand our parents as people, at least once. Mark S does that readily, even when Helena-as-Helly pushes against the idea.

When we finally get a conversation between Mark Scout and Mark S, it begins on a disarmingly hopeful note. Mark Scout apologizes, willing to admit the world he brought Mark S into is not a sane or safe one. Things go off the rails quick when Mark Scout fails to recognize his innie has a separate person with his own motivations, and from there the conversation is steeped in patriarchal condescension and a fundamental sense of ownership. Mark Scout dismisses his innie's relationship with Helly R as an inferior, juvenile "experience," that naturally pales in comparison to the more.real, more adult life he had with Gemma, simply because the outies came first. He cannot fathom any resistance to the idea of saving Gemma, because he does not think Mark S is deserving of his own identity, desires, or agency. What claim can an innie have to such things when he doesn't even have his own body? "My house, my rules."

Mark Scout then drops the bomb that he's already started the process of reintegrating. Though he himself is not fully aware of how reintegration will actually impact their separate consciousnesses (or has seemingly forgotten what little he learned about it from Petey), Mark Scout positions it as a solution that benefits them both. Mark S challenges that assumption, and the outie is aghast that the innie fails to extend any trust his way. The trust was assumed to be there, because Mark Scout assumes authority over Mark S. "Because I said so." In the absence of more information about what reintegration really means, it sounds like Mark S will sit as a passenger in Mark Scout's life. Reintegration for the innie is not a solution, but a threat. "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it."

This whole conversation happens inside a cabin at a birthing retreat, where a statue of a pregnant man (presumably an Eagan and presumably Kier himself) watches with it's mate, wearing a sort of cartoon grimace. The camera lingers on this icon as a moment of scene setting, signalling that the audience should be seeing this as a conversation between parent and child, the elder lording their power over the younger, and the progeny rebelling against the progenitor by asserting their own humanity.

[doumadono]

Warnings: fwb, finger fucking, period s*x, mentions of blood

Synopsis: navigating your period is never a walk in the park, especially with Dabi, your usual source of comfort, off base. Fortunately, your other friend with benefits is available. The question lingers - will your boss be willing to help ease your anxiety?

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The dull ache had been gnawing at you for hours, twisting deep in your stomach and making it impossible to get comfortable, no matter how many times you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders or curled up smaller on the couch. You’d tried everything, maybe a little bit of everything at once, hoping that something - anything - might finally distract you from the constant cramping that made you restless, edgy, and worse, needy. That feeling always came with the ache, twisting at you with a constant want to feel something warm, something grounding against your skin.

Dabi, your usual go-to for comfort during times like these, had vanished again - off on one of his mysterious escapades. Bastard. He was off God knows where, doing who knows what, and while you wanted to curse him for vanishing at the worst possible time without even letting you know, your mind was already drifting to the only other person you trusted for this sort of comfort.

Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of the League of Villains, and your second friend with benefits.

His door was slightly ajar, a faint blue glow casting just enough light to outline his silhouette. Shigaraki sat splayed out on the bed, his room dim, save for the flickering screen that illuminated his focused expression. His hands moved expertly over the controller, his gaze locked onto the game with an intensity that made him seem unreachable - detached, in that familiar way.

You lingered in the doorway, feeling the dull ache low in your stomach pulse, the discomfort pulling at you. “Boss…” you murmured, stepping in quietly, letting the door click softly shut behind you. You padded over, slipping under his arm, tucking yourself against him as you nuzzled into his chest. His familiar scent washed over you, grounding you somehow, and for a moment, you just stayed there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as you sank into his warmth.

Shigaraki shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the controller, and gave a low, exasperated sigh. “What is it?” His voice was low, his eyes still fixed on the screen, and though he hadn’t yet acknowledged you fully, the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed a piece of his attention that was aimed at you.

“Hurts,” you mumbled, pressing closer, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper. You buried your face against his shoulder, letting out a small whine. “Feels tight, uncomfortable. And Dabi isn’t around, so…”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, and he finally tore his gaze from the screen to look at you, his eyes gleaming with pity. “So you came to me because he’s not around, huh? What am I, second best?” he teased, though his fingers were already tracing along your waist, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “You’re interrupting my game.”

You pouted, curling against him tighter, your hand resting on his chest. “Can’t you help me just a little, boss?” Your voice was a soft plea, needy, and you could feel his chest rumble with a low chuckle as he set the controller aside, finally giving you his full attention.

“Help you, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, his fingers reaching up to trace along your hip, teasingly slow, his gaze wandering over your face, studying the faint flush in your cheeks, the way your eyes lingered on his mouth. “And how exactly am I supposed to help with that, Y/N? Indeed though, you look like you’re suffering,” he added quickly, his voice rough and low, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. His fingers brushed along your exposed thigh as your skirt rode up, careful, as always, to keep one finger lifted. “Funny though. Dabi is busy, so you come crawling to me. Look how pathetic you are, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, giving him a look that was both pleading and lustful as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Pretty please?” you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw, feeling the tension there as you let your lips linger. “It’s just cramping. I’m on my period,” you managed, feeling a wave of embarrassment rush through you, but he only narrowed his gaze, studying you as if you were some puzzle he wanted to solve.

“I guess I can help with that,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips, his hand trailing higher, his fingers ghosting along the waistband of your plain skirt. 

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, the heat pooling low in your stomach twisting into something that made your whole body tighten with anticipation. “Tomura, but… I’m bleeding,” you reminded, your voice barely a whisper, half-expecting him to recoil, but instead, he only smirked, eyes darkening as he leaned in closer.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he replied, his tone laced with a dark, playful edge. “Blood never has.” A soft hum escaped him, his tone mocking, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes. His fingers pressed into the small of your back, guiding you forward with a firm, steady pressure, until you found yourself sitting on his lap, your back against his chest, his hands settling on your thighs. His grip was steady, demanding, and he leaned forward, his voice barely above a murmur as his breath brushed your ear. “Need attention that badly?”

Your heart pounded, cheeks flushed, but you felt yourself nodding, letting your arm drift up around his neck. “Maybe…” you managed, leaning back against him, feeling the press of his chest against your back, solid and steady.

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh of your thigh, slow and purposeful, sending a wave of heat through you that made your muscles tighten. His gaze flickered down as he watched your clothed pussy after he yanked the hem of your skirt up once more, his tone dropping to a murmur. “Then spread your legs wide f’me, like a good whore you are.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you obeyed, shifting so your thighs opened slightly on either side of his, giving him access. 

“Good girl.” His voice was a low murmur, edged with satisfaction, and his hand trailed higher, his breath warm against your neck. His fingers trailed along your inner thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles that made your breath catch, each touch sending sparks through your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he let his fingers drift higher. “Already desperate, aren’t you?” His calloused hand slipped between your thighs after he yanked the hems of your skirt up with the other hand, his touch rough yet cautious, the warmth of his fingers spreading as he traced gentle circles against the sensitive skin of your pantie-covered mound. 

Your breath hitched when his fingers slipped beneath the silky fabric of your panties, warm and rough against the softness of your folds, already covered in a slick arousal mixed with blood, and it was impossible not to tense under his touch. 

Shigaraki worked slowly, drawing it out, the pads of his fingers pressing in against your pussy lips just enough to make your body react - an involuntary clench of your tight hole around nothingness that sent a rush of heat to your face. You glanced away, but he seemed to notice every single shift in you, the way your breaths were coming quicker, shallower, under his attention. 

His smirk was faint but unmistakable, an almost lazy satisfaction that he let settle between the two of you. “Warm,” he claimed matter-of-factly, and there was something about the way he said it that made the room feel even smaller, his voice scraping low and rough. His fingers brushed your panties aside, exposing your glistening pussy to the chill of the air for just a moment before his hand covered your slit again. He took his time, tracing a line up and down the slick slit with an infuriating slowness, his eyes never leaving your face as his fingers explored with an intensity that made your whole body start to tremble. He used his index and middle finger to spread your labia, smirking wryly as he spotted your hole clenching rhythmically. “Fucking whore. I bet you’re tight too, aren’t you, sweet rose?”

You swallowed hard, feeling your face heat up, a pout already forming as he kept that steady, infuriating pace. “It… it’s uncomfortable,” you mumbled, voice catching as his fingers pressed harder against your lips.

He leaned closer, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm against the skin of your neck as he watched a pink-tinted, lucid mucus effused out of your tight hole. “Cheap whore. You’re dripping wet. Spread your legs wider f’me.”

Before you knew it, you had one foot on his bed, and the other lazily hooked over his left knee, showing off your glistening pussy so openly and lewdly that you felt like you were doing a porn shoot. Your entire attention was focused on the way he stroked and caressed your slick labia.

Tomura’s finger probed your opening which was already wet with anticipation, then traced back to the top, caressing your swollen clitoris again. He repeated this motion, tracing down, probing you, picking up your slick, thick wetness, and trailing back up to caress your clit. 

“Now, tell me where it hurts.” 

You whimpered, feeling your legs start to tremble as his finger slipped inside your wet, tight pussy that easily opened to welcome the much wanted intrusion. The long digit was stretching you, filling you with a deliberate fullness that made your head spin. “Right… right there, boss,” you whispered, clutching at his knee with the free hand, feeling your body tighten, a warmth blossoming in your core that sent jolts of pleasure through every nerve, so the only thing you could do was to buck your hips more into his rough palm.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled softly, placing a faint kiss to the column of your neck as you rolled your head back, his fingers moving faster, rougher now, his control slipping as he watched you come undone beneath him. “So desperate, and all that just for me.”

You were moaning like a whore as Shigaraki’s fingers fought the slippery friction of your cunny grip as he slowly finger fucked your hole.

Carefully, the white haired man curled his fingers downward and rubbed the tender underside of your pubis with soft, circular strokes. “That’s it, bitch,” he praised.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the pleasure building, overwhelming, and he seemed to sense it, too. You whimpered as the muscles in your back, shoulders, arms, and ass tensed. “Oi, Tomura!”

He chuckled, his free hand gripping your titties through your tank top, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, his pace steady but relentless. “There you go, bitch,” the leader of the League of Villains praised, his lips grazing the column of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as his fingers curled, pressing against that perfect spot that made your body tense, and your breath hitch.

“Faster, faster,” you pleaded, grinding your hips so you rubbed your slick pussy lips against the heel of his rough palm.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” he continued, his voice a low growl as his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing against your clit, tapping it a few times, sending jolts of pleasure through every nerve in your body. “Maybe next time, you’ll think about coming to me first.”

White haired man slipped another finger inside your bloody cunt, stretching you painfully as your core was super tight due to the period and cramps, filling you with a pure lust that made you gasp, your body arching as he pressed deeper, his thumb rubbing against your swollen clitoris. He grinned at your reaction, his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spongy spot that made your muscles clench, made your entire body tremble. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, adding yet another finger, pumping them in and out with a steady, deliberate rhythm that left you panting, your hips moving in time with his touch. He watched you, his gaze dark and hungry, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his face as you were falling apart beneath him. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact his protective glove was getting wet with your juices and blood.

His pace grew relentless, a rhythm that made you call out his name, on and on. The only sounds echoing around you were your soft mewls, a breathless symphony of pleasure,  mingling with his low, breathy grunts. Each time the heel of his hand met your slick labia, it created a wet, lewd sound that punctuated the air of his bedroom. 

You tried to close your legs when a massive orgasm crashed over you, leaving you trembling, but Tomura kept your legs open. He held you close, his fingers still moving slowly in and out of your abused hole, drawing out every last tremor, until you were left mumbling incoherently, breathless, completely undone in your boss’ lap.

You turned your upper body part in his arms, placing kitten kisses to his cheek and jaw, silently thanking him for relieving you.

When Tomura finally pulled his hand away, he looked down at the faint traces of blood mixed with cum smeared on his fingers. His nasty smirk widened.

Your body was still trembling, your mind hazy with pleasure as you watched Shigaraki, your breaths shallow as you tried to regain your composure. 

But then, his eyes met yours, dark and steady, as he raised his hand to his mouth. 

Heat flooded your cheeks, your heart racing as he brought his long fingers - slick with your arousal and faintly stained with traces of blood - toward his mouth. He paused, inhaling deeply as if savoring the scent of his quarry, embodying the essence of a predator assessing its prey. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he wrapped his cracked lips around his fingers, licking and sucking them clean, every movement intentional and tantalizing, his gaze never leaving your eyes. He hummed at the taste, palming himself through his pants without giving it a second thought.

You expected a grimace, maybe even a disgusted comment, but instead, his expression was one of dark satisfaction, his tongue tracing his fingers with an intensity that made your stomach flutter, that set your already sensitive nerves tingling all over again. The way he looked at you, like he was savoring every last taste, made a soft, shy whimper slip from your lips. You tried to avert your gaze, but it was impossible to look away from him, from that wicked, knowing smirk on his face.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, though you could see the amusement in his eyes. “What, did you think I’d be grossed out?” His smirk widened as he leaned in close, his voice a low murmur that made you shiver as he kissed your nose.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you met his gaze, feeling a mix of embarrassment and undeniable excitement twist in your stomach. 

He didn’t mind. He didn’t care about the blood, didn’t care that you’d practically begged him to touch you. He’d taken it all in stride, and the realization left you feeling both vulnerable and completely captivated by him. 

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush as you tried to hide the shy smile threatening to show. The room felt smaller somehow, quiet, and his gaze on you felt heavy, like it held you in place. You could feel him watching you, studying every flicker in your expression, every nervous breath. Finally, you managed, “I… I just thought…”

Tomura cut you off, his voice soft but with that firm, unmistakable edge that left no room for protest. “You thought wrong,” he murmured, his hand resting just above your knee, his fingers brushing over your thigh in a way that sent an unmistakable spark through you. The warmth of his skin, the way his touch lingered, sent your heart racing, pulse pounding loud in the silence. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, the warmth of his breath so close that it made you shiver. “If you’re coming to me for this,” he whispered, each word low, deliberate, “then you’d better be prepared. I don’t do it halfway.”

A thrill settled in your stomach at his words, twisting into something deep, something that left you breathless as his hand drifted higher, thumb tracing lazy circles over your thigh. You bit your lip, trying to calm the heat spreading through you, but it was no use. There was an anticipation in the air, a tension that had you leaning in, your voice soft, playful, but with an edge of your own. “Guess I owe you… for helping me out like this.”

You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his eyes on you, the slight quirk of his brow that told you he was watching, waiting. 

Without breaking eye contact, you slid off his lap, sinking to your knees on the floor in front of him, one hand finding the bulge that was already building beneath the fabric of his pants. You ran the tip of your tongue along your upper lip.

His eyes flickered, interest gleaming there, the corner of his mouth curving into a look that was more than a smirk but not quite a smile. It was something darker, something that lingered, his fingers reaching out to brush over your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jaw in a touch that was gentle, but expectant before he pressed the digit against your lips, watching you part them for him, sucking the finger in your mouth like a good, obedient whore you were. “Then I’ll be expecting that repayment soon,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, “Very soon.”

tagging: @baby--vera @unhinged-bratty-boy @shonen-brainrot @shionancientsblog @irkedpomeranian @within-eyesight @misafiryanki @cyberrthegreat @grossograsso @krabkornel @roast-toast @arthurbristow @alexandhisstuff @proherodabisballsack

[ha1taniwh0re]

Who is she

Sum:After his mystery girl disappeared with no track he luckily finds her in his club, but little did they know how he will end it

Warning:sex, age gap(reader 19, Rindou 39), p in v, petnames(baby, babygirl, princess,darling), potential young pregnancy, sex in bathroom, mention of pills

A/N:it’s short im sorry and probably not so good but I tried my best😭

Part 1

*a few weeks later*

As if Rindou could get that girl out of his head. Hell no, he even asked Kakucho about her but as if Kakucho would tell anything to Rindou. Rindou was frustrated as he didn’t know how to contact her after that day.. sure he could find her in second using Bonten’s people but for some reason he wanted it to be in “normal way”. One evening Rindou decided to go to one of bonten’s clubs to drink and get his mind down from her, but just as he walked in who he saw in VIP haha yeah… HER. That beautiful eyes he missed so much, that beautiful hair and god don’t let him start on that body Jesus. He wanted her, no… he needed her, to be his and no one’s else. He walked to her putting hand on her waist, due big size difference she looked up and saw him. Her eyes light up as she saw familiar face

“Oh heyyy”

“Well hello princess, didn’t expect you here”

“Hahah why?~ can’t a girl have fun in club?~”

“my of course she can~ but out of all clubs you came to mine huh?~”

“Yours?”

“indeed princes~ mine~”

They both didn’t have a clue how but here they are, in club’s bathroom. [name] in his hand her beautiful legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded in her. Her skirt rolled up, his pants down to his ankles. [name]’s moans were so loud and innocent Rindou just couldn’t hold back.

“Careful princess, continue to sing like that and I might not let you walk after this”

Her eyes rolled back, hand in his hair, her chest bouncing from his movements

“Mmm~ Rindou~ what would my brother say if he knew?~”

“Who says he needs to know babygirl~”

“Agghh~ hh~”

He went faster watching her face getting more and more broken by each sweet thrust. As she was close he pulled out

“NOO!!”

He laughed and put me down.

“Aww you want more? Don’t you baby”

She nodded eagerly, pleading

“Turn to door and bend a bit let me see that pretty ass”

She bent a bit and opened her legs giving him good access. He smirked jiggling her ass and smacking it.

“That’s what I needed jucy ass and young tight pussy”

Before she could say anything back he slipped in and went rough, his balls slapping against her puffy clit.

“You like it baby?! You like it?”

She nodded eagerly as her ability to talk was no where to be found. He smirked and whispered in her ear

“Are you on pill? Or am I gonna be real daddy?~”

“Aghh~ i-I… oh god~ im not on.. mmm~ pills”

He chuckled and moved faster

“I guess that will make us parents darling~. I hope Kakucho is ready to be uncle”

Taglist: @an4-k7tty @rindoukisser @swanofjade @weepingsongstudent @depraved-ending @rybunnie

Hope i didn’t forget someone T^T

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you please do some headcanons of Stanley being fake married to Fords’ assistant. They had to put up this charade for 30 years to convince people he was Stanford and “Mr. And Mrs. Mystery would bring in way more business!” Dipper and Mabel see her as a mother figure and Mabel likes to plan out their dates because she firmly believes they don’t go on ENOUGH of them. While they’re both on one of these said dates they realize “wait…do I actually like you??” (Slow burn is indeed 30 years slowwwww)

This is so fucking long oh my fucking god-I’m actually going to have to make a part two or something. This is just too long.

Part two here

When you and Ford first arrived at Gravity Falls a lot of people were under the impression that you were a married couple, where they got that preposterous idea form neither of you had single clue but as hard as you and Ford tried to disprove their claims, insisting they you were just platonic partners and nothing more.

It only seemed to give them more reason to assume that there was something more going on between you both. So in the end you both elected to ignore it as Gravity Falls was a small unknown, sleepy town that wasn’t on any recorded map that you chalked it down to them needing something to gossip about to spare them of how boring their lives were. But you and Ford knew others wise and saw Gravity Falls as a treasure trove of information regarding the mysterious and the unknown, it was the main reasons you started this partnership to begin with after all.

But things were quick to fall apart just as it seemed you were getting closer to what you knew was the truth as Ford made a deal with a triangular demon known as Bill, easily swayed by his tricks and even more so by his constant repetition that Ford should ‘trust no one’ not even you, his assistant. Naturally it caused a rift between the two of you as you were sick and tired of having to try and reassure Ford- who was slowly succumbing to paranoia- that you weren’t in any way shape or threat to his research. Even bringing up how you both spend hours on end documenting mushrooms, fungi and others of a similar vein when you both first moved to Gravity Falls.

However this tactic didn’t work in your favour unfortunately as one thing lead to another and you were left helpless as you watched Ford get pulled into the portal that his brother -Stanley- had accidentally pushed him into during their squabble, watching as it seemingly closed forever.

You wanted to be mad at Stanley, you really did but the man had just lost his brother, his twin brother seemingly forever due to his own actions. So instead you eased off of him and offered to help him with reopening the portal in order to get Ford back, while also giving a triangle demon a piece of your mind for taking advantage of your overachiever of a friend. Ford being lost seeing forever hurt you just as badly as it hurt Stanley and you would do anything and everything if it meant seeing your friend again.

That and probably scold him for ever thinking that a deal with demon would ever go down well without some sort of hidden agenda, for if a deal sounds too good to be true then it might as well be. Something you’ve learned from Stan, whom you leaned was an expert conman who conned people for a living in order to get by. You didn’t necessarily saw it as a good thing to do, living off of the nativity of people and their gullible natures, but you didn’t have much of a choice when Stan assumed the identity of his twin and even has the audacity to lean into the town’s assumptions of you and Ford being married.

‘But we’re not married!’ You spat, letting go of Stan’s hand when you got home after a trip into town, all that effort you and Ford tried in order for people to stop assuming your relationship was ruined in one fell swoop, was this town really that desperate that they’d deeply get involved in someone’s life like?

(Yes the answer was yes)

‘I know that and you know that, but they don’t have to know that. Think about all the money we could make off of this! They’d be eating out of the palm of our hands!’ Stan replied with a smile while you could only scoff, not understanding how this was Ford’s twin brother when the two were only alike in the physical sense rather then anything else.

‘Is that all you see this as? An opportunity to capitalise on their naivety? Their gullibility and for what? A quick buck?’ You argued back as you sat yourself down at the table in the kitchen and rested your head in your hands. ‘They’ll catch on eventually.’ You added sombrely as Stan could only watch you and feel a slight pan in his chest at seeing you upset and at a loss, completely the opposite of the person you were when standing next to Ford.

‘Listen toots, I know this isn’t how you expected things to go-‘

‘You think?’ You shot back, glaring at him as he held up his hands.

‘-but there’s no other option for us other then to keep the charade up until we can reopen that stupid portal and get my brother back.’ Stan then tested the waters by planing his hand atop of your own, felling you flinch slightly at the contact before relaxing when you felt his thumb rub your knuckles comfortingly. ‘But until then we’ve got to see this through until the end and hey maybe you’ll come to like me one day!’ He then adds with a smile but you couldn’t help but scoff.

‘Yeah right, the day I come to enjoy your company Stanley Pines is the day I enter an early grave.’ You replied but there was no malice in your voice like there was before and in that moment it felt like things were okay, even if it was brief but it was enough for you to want to take Stanley up on his word and see it through to the end.

Flash forward 30 years and you and Stanley were still going strong with the whole ‘fake marriage’ thing and to Stan’s credit a business ran by a married couple did work wonders on the paying public, most of whom would find more intrigue about how you two met more so then about the fake attractions that Stan tried to have them believe as things that once existed.

‘A unicorn made out of corn? Really Stan?’ You’d whisper to him as you forced a smile while clinging onto his arm while the dumb tourists took their pictures of the supposed unicorn made out of corn. ‘That has to be your worst one yet.’

‘Trust the process sweetheart, trust the process and watch as these idiots throw their money at the first ‘weird’ thing they see. They never stop to question its credibility and that’s what we bank on most.’ Stan replied before pressing a kiss to your forehead, something he always did to keep the facade alive and fresh, along with pulling you into his side by your waist and gloating about you and all your academic achievements to anyone with ears.

You hated how much he seemingly remembered about you that almost had you rethinking everything you know about this man. But then you stop to constantly reminded yourself that Stan only remembered these parts about you because he needed material to keep your story consistent and without any falling potholes, the man knew how to cover his bases that was for sure, and yet that didn’t stop you from feeling seen whenever Stan bragged about how smart his spouse was.

That’s the one thing that you mentally thanked him for. He didn’t make you play into stereotypes or change anything remotely about yourself to fit his narrative, he let you be the smart and intelligent spouse while he played the man who was happy to snag you before anyone else could and had been riding the high ever since. It was…sweet in a way that you couldn’t describe.

When Mabel and Dipper came to Gravity Falls they were naturally skeptical on whether they should stay with you and Stan, but soon enough did they warm up to you when you could match Dipper in terms of intelligence and treated Mabel with nothing but kindness and encouragement of her creativity. That and the fact that you could sway Stan into letting them do whatever by placing your hand on his bicep and bating your eyes at him.

‘Let the kids have fun, you were quite the troublemaker when you were their age.’ You told him as you played devils advocate for the kids going to the movies and Stan sighed before reluctantly agreeing to your terms.

‘Fine, fine.’ He says before pointing at you. ‘You owe me for this though honey.’

You smiled as you kissed his cheek. ‘And how can I do that?’ You asked.

‘How about you both go on a date!’ Mabel exclaimed from across the table as she pulls out a blindingly glittery and sparkly binder that had written across the front: Mabel’s date plans for Grunkle Stan and great aunt/Grunkle/ y/n.

‘How long have you had that sweetheart?’ You asked her, a little frightened to know the answer as you knew Mabel was emotionally intelligent when it came to these sorts of things.

‘Since I’ve noticed that you and Grunkle Stan don’t go on dates.’ She replies as her brows furrowed while she flicked through the pages of her binder for the perfect date for the pair of you.

‘We’re married honey, we don’t need to go on dates. Being together 24/7 is like a date all in itself.’ Stanley replied as he could feel your hand gripping his bicep tighten, wanting nothing more than to soothe that overworked mind of yours as he placed his hand over the top of yours and squeezed, shooing you a reassuring smile.

‘Not good enough!’ Mabel cried as she pointed at the pair of you. ‘I can see the love in your eyes, that love is so hard to come by nowadays and just because you’re married doesn’t mean you stop going on dates!’

‘When was the last time you did go on a date?’ Dipper asked this time as his eyes darted from you to his Grunkle as you both mentally swore to yourselves. You and Stan have never been on a date, sure you’ve both been through town together but you never actually went anywhere that would be considered a date. After all your marriage was just for show and tell and not the real thing, despite how much you’ve grown to like how he held you at night or looked at you as though you hung the stars in the sky.

‘A long time kiddo.’ Stan told him. ‘And it was the date where I realised that I wanted to be with them for the rest of my life.’ He adds, his eyes softening when the looked at you, making you smile in response as you moved your hand to squeezed his.

‘Awwww!’ Mabel cooed as she watched you and her Grunkle look at each other so tenderly. it was obvious to her that you meant a lot to her Grunkle Stan and he meant a lot to you too that she couldn’t help but hope to find a love like yours one day herself. ‘Which is why I think you should both go on a date tonight! Right Dipper?’

Mabel punches dipper in the shoulder. ‘Yeah you both defiantly should go on a date.’ He agrees as he rubs his shoulder.

You and Stan looked at one another and knew that there was no getting out of this one, but you were both kind of excited for it at the same time, after all what was going to happen? You both actually realise you like each other after all this time? Preposterous.

[writingwithcolor]

How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work. 

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework. 

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom. 

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth. 

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well. 

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation. 

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact. 

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim. 

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular. 

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them. 

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters: 

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context. 

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence. 

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text. 

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.  

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

~S

[venxomi]

The dark truth of the Clock Keepers - Theory

I will be talking about how there's much more to the Clock Keepers and how they are an active danger to everyone else, and and an even more terrible threat than even the pit god, at that.

For an introduction, Akane agrees: The biggest threat to the students are the Clock Keepers. But it's a much bigger threat that anyone would expect.

This arc is about the Clock Keepers changing the timeline that we know of into a new one, everything has gone wrong and Nene is the only one left.

But it would seem it goes much deeper than that. After all, the timeline we know of isn't even the original one.

For starters, Akane explains that while there are some who are able to regain their memories of the 'Old World', they would be rewritten with memories of the 'New World'. It's specific for 3 days due to the Festival being 3 days long, an event where the timeflow becomes unstable.

During the Festival Season of 1968, Yugi Amane attempts to get the clock moving so he can manipulate time, and Hanako states that he HAD to get it moving until the end of the School Festival, but he can't remember anything about the clock.

Sounds familiar?

To get to the point, Yugi Amane of 1968 had the memories of a 'previous world', and tried to fix the clock so he can go back. But he failed to do so, and, as a result, forgot everything about the clock.

Until Chapter 124, this is also seemingly supported by Teru and Akane.

Even if they may not be aware, their impressions are right. It's extremely unlikely that this is the first time the Clock Keepers altered time, like playing 'God'.

But now, it's even further confirmed by Chapter 124.

The past has indeed been changed several times. But why do so many people have to suffer in this way, have their souls cut and forever bound to the Boundary, some even going crazy as a result. In a way, it sounds like something the pit god would do, isn't it?

But *why* would the Clock Keepers do that? There's an easy answer. They need to bend the rules. At first glance, the Clock Keepers seem overpowered, unbeatable. They can seemingly turn back time on a whim with no repercussions- But we know for a fact that's not true.

After all, Shijima herself states it. Each Boundary of the School Mystery is bound by rules. Mysteries can't just do whatever they like- There are rules they have to respect. Especially when it comes to such an overpowered ability like messing with time, there has to be a major weakness or price to pay for it, a drawback that Kako discovered how to circumvent. Such an overpowered ability, unregulated? No way.

After all, it's not only the Clock Keepers' servants that are clockwork dolls, they themselves are also clockwork dolls.

Kako cutting up souls everytime the past is changed is not a coincidence. It's so he can have someone else pay for the price of altering time.

Wouldn't that be why Kako decided to travel to 1968, to the time he would find a 12 year old who is so desperate to turn back time?

After all, it's so much easier to find a human willing to pay the price in your stead. Especially if it's a child motivated by desperation. For every timeline change, someone has to sacrifice something. But Kako had found an easier way: Just sacrifice someone else.

Some are able to accept reality as it is and just dutifully abide by the Clock Keepers' rules as their masters, like the cat, and some don't and end up crazy, like the broken doll. Whether from the past, future or another world, they're all the same- They all used to be humans.

This cruel practice is so Kako is freely able to play 'God' without worrying about the rules every mystery has to abide to, and it's even solidified by the victims who can't recall the circumstances themselves. It's a practice that, if revealed, exposes the Clock Keepers' limits.

Why do you think Kako had asked Akane to stay alive until they wake up? Because if all else failed, the Clock Keepers would be able to exchange Akane's soul to turn back time once more. It's literally Akane that's a safety net, not just the Yorishiro.

Wouldn't that also explain why the position of the Clock Keeper of the Present is vacant and only filled by humans?

Why was that position vacant until they found Akane, a boy who similarly wanted the power to control time? The "Clock Keeper of the Present" is simply a disposable asset.

But now, Kako messed up big time. He used time as his playground to attempt to get rid of an actual God, one who now is aware of the danger the Clock poses.

The consequences for this will be lethal for the Clock Keepers, ones who treat time and lives so lightly, and karmic retribution will come swiftly.

As final words, it would seem that Nene finding the truth behind the dolls behind finding Kako is done on purpose so she cannot fall in the Clock Keepers' trap and play her cards right.

Kako will not be able to get away with treating this world as his personal playground.

[kenmaswoman]

confessing to atsumu - fluff , 1.1k words

almost everybody assumed you were friends with osamu because of your massive crush on atsumu. To be fair, you were never really good at hiding your feelings, whether it be the way you blushed when he simply greeted you in the corridors or the way you begged osamu to let you join one of their practices one day. Everybody knew you had a crush on atsumu. You didn’t really care though, you were friends with his brother, not him so what’s the worst that could happen? him rejecting you? you’ll simply move on.

It worried you at times because you did not want osamu to think that the only reason why you befriended him in the first place was to get closer to atsumu. But as time passed you realized he knew your bond went beyond your silly (disgusting) crush on his twin.

“how come you’ve never told tsumu you liked him?” osamu asked you sitting on his bed “it never really mattered, he knows i like him, everybody does. and he’s never mentioned it to me” you reply “for what it’s worth i genuinely do not think he knows” osamu says “knows what?” atsumu asks barging in “none ‘yer business get out” osamu yells at his brother “what? I can’t be third wheel for today” he says as osamu laughed. if only he knew… “no yer can’t. plus i’ve gotta go for a short while. wait for me here?” osamu asks turning to you “fuck no. why would i wait hours in your room bored as fuck when i can go home?” you replied back “i’ll make dinner when i come back” says your friend “‘kay i’m sold” you say sprawling on his bed “entertain her for me please” samu says to his brother before leaving

you’ve seldom hung out with atsumu alone, which is part of the reason why your palms are a little sweatier than you’d like to admit. you reminded yourself you should not worry tho, he was just a silly boy after all.

“so what were you talking about earlier?” atsumu asks. man he really was not going to leave you alone “the massive crush i have on someone” you reply nonchalantly. he knew of this crush already so why should you be ashamed “you have a crush on someone????” he asks, it makes you get up in an instant. no way he was being serious “atsumu be for real right now” you say in disbelief. was this man THIS much oblivious? “you like samu right? i thought you guys were dating so calling it a crush is super weird to me” he replies looking at you dead in the eye. he was indeed this much oblivious.

“you’re laughing a little too hard at me right now, it’s hurting my feelings” atsumu says, you could hear the pout in his voice. “i’m sorry it’s just unbelievable to me. me dating osamu???? never in a million years oh my god” you say wiping a tear from your eye. “then who’s this mysterious crush? i want to be in on it too” he asks. you could tell him, you thought he knew already so telling him now wouldn’t make much of a difference. plus if he were to reject you right now, you’d have osamu’s cooking to look forward to. “you. i like you. it’s so obvious too, everybody knows about it” you say not looking at him. bravery was not an adequate adjective to describe you “samu knew?” he asked “yea, told him the first time i talked to him, wanted to get it out of the way so he knew i wasn’t using him to get to you” you reply laying back down on osamu’s bed, grabbing one of his pillows to place on your stomach “this fucking bitch” was all astumu muttered, making you look up to him confused. he was taking a real long time to answer your confession

“before you even befriended to osamu i kept talking to him about how i had this massive crush on you. when he started befriending you i was sooo mad and jealous and at one point i assumed you guys started dating because you got closer and you’d constantly be here and hang in his room with the door closed, also you guys would eat together and shit… he’d even cook for you! he never cooks for me when i ask him to only when he’s in the mood… so eventually i stopped mentioning my crush on you because you know it’d be disrespectful to like my brother’s girlfriend. but now that i know that he knew you liked me this whole time and never said anything to me???? i’m gonna kill him.” he rambles

“you like me too?” you asked surprised, fully seated up once again. “yea but that’s not my concern right now. just wait until the bitch gets hom-“ he says before getting cut off to the front door opening. you were half amazed at the timing and half baffled at how you guys liking each other was ‘not his concern right now’.

“you. come here” atsumu says yelling at osamu “why’s he mad?” your friend asks you. you didn’t answer though, still busy trying to come up with the best way to shake some sense into atsumu. “you knew this whole time. THIS WHOLE TIME. that she liked me and never said anything even though you knew i liked her back??? i even stopped mentioning her because i thought you were dating why would you not correct me on that??” atsumu says his hands gripping his hair out of frustration. “you thought her and i were dating?… i guess a lot more things make sense now” osamu replies a hand on his chin. and before atsumu could even reply he received a kick right in his rib

“ouch. why would you do that” atsumu says rubbing his side pouting at you “ i’m sorry ‘not your concern right now’??!!! i’m gonna make this your concern boy” you say threateningly “why do you cook for her if you’re not dating?” atsumu asks “she bribes me. a real gaslighter this one” he says moving to the kitchen to prep dinner. and as he sees you pounding on his brother to get him to pay attention to the milestone you guys seemed to have reached, he sighs knowing that his days will inevitably get worse as time progresses. maybe he should’ve let atsumu think you guys were dating for a little longer. perhaps until he no longer shared the same house as his twin

[prettybean]

KEEGAN (+18)

“I’ll shoot you”

gun play! (consensually), rough Keegan!

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Your favorite thing to do was tease Keegan; every day you came up with something new to make him uncomfortable. There was the time you spilled coffee on his uniform and the time you completely destroyed his workplace. He thinks you're a brat, but you were unable to stop yourself.

However, a few days ago you decided to push his limits. He was cleaning his rifle and other equipment, you were with him, staring at the man intensely. You'd always had a soft spot for his hands, and indeed his whole body was stunning: mysterious, mysterious enough to turn you on.

"Wow, sergeant”. You said jokingly, walking over to his freshly cleaned weapon. "Don't you dare”. He warned you with a stern look as you grabbed one. "What? I think you did a great job," You winked at him with a evil smile, before licking the whole gun.

Keegan held his breath as if you had just pulled a trigger inside his head. He endured your teasing for so long that his body moved involuntarily: he disarmed you and put a gun to your head. "I did a good job, huh? Kneel down." You weren't afraid, you knew Keegan would never shoot you, so you followed the order and knelt at his feet with a defiant expression. "Yes, sir”. It was extremely exciting the idea of playing with him like that.

"How obedient...open your mouth, pretty girl".

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out in front of him. He started rubbing the barrel of the gun in your oral cavity, you tried to stay still and follow his movements. "Fuck, you're such a good little whore." You immediately wrapped your lips around the weapon, sucking on it like you were on his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip until it reached the back of your throat.

You noticed his huge bulge, looking up at him as you choked on his gun, wetting it with spit. “God, who taught you to do that, kid?” He pushed the gun all the way into your mouth, pulling your hair to make it go deeper.

“You're so desperate, do you like it? Do you know what will happen if I pull that trigger?." You felt your pussy tighten, you had to put a hand in between to ease the pain. "Shoot me".

He took the gun out and points it at your head before lowering it gradually, pushing it against your neck, chest, and stomach. “You’re shaking. Where do you want it? here?". You moaned loudly as he slid the gun's barrel between your legs. “Sir”. You begin to say, after taking a breath. "Don’t you think your cock would fit here better?" You added, biting your lip in laughter at your own provocation. He gave you a cold glance, taking off his belt, leaving the Glock on his desk. "Come here" . Keegan ordered and made you put your hands on his legs so you can see his throbbing cock.

“You're such a brat, look at you.” He rubs his huge cock dripping with precum, slapping your face with it. “Should I fuck you? You’ve messing with me all day. You really don't deserve it." He grabbed the gun again, pointing it at you.

“Suck my dick, if you stop even for a moment, I'll fucking shoot you.”

—

* pt. 2 here

[starleska]

Popping in for a Doctor Who-related ramble from the perspective of someone who knows only a few things BUT am incredibly tempted to start watching it thanks to some friends of mine and the Mr Ring-A-Ding Tumblr craze... wait, who said that:

I don't know how many folks noticed this, but - as I'm a bit of an animation nerd - I noticed something in this video of Lux/Mr Ring-A-Ding clips: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=St6HSXeaB1E

In the timestamps 1:22-1:23, 1:33-1:38 and 2:37-2:39, I could be overthinking things but I swear he pulled a "Milt Kahl head shake/swaggle" (or at least some version of it).

If you're not familiar with what I'm talking about, Milt Kahl was a very renowned animator who worked on a lot of Disney movies and was known for animating characters doing this pretty expressive gesture (yes, there is also an entire compilation of those specific scenes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDyaZvQQaNo

2. Although I have a very surface-level understanding of the Pantheon of Discord (I have to quickly thank you for your posts explaining that bit of DW lore), I do adore the concept of it.

So much so (also thanks for my ongoing obsession over Lux/Mr Ring-A-Ding) that I've pondered over the idea of two extra gods (fan OCs?):

Arcoíris, the God of Art

Seimei, the God of (biological) Life 

Details are still nebulous, but I'm liking how they look in my head - as well as their potential dynamics with the other Pantheon members.

first of all: a huge welcome to the Doctor Who fandom!!! 🥳 we always love getting new fans, and entering because a handsome villain caught your eye is very common indeed 😉 second: oh you absolute genius, you're so right!!! i'm familiar with the Milt Kahl head swaggle but the only one i caught was the bit where Mr. Ring-A-Ding is adjusting his bow-tie: subtle yet absolutely there!! that little satisfied smile is key, and it's giving me flashbacks to both The Jungle Book and Robin Hood 👀 amazing catch!! with your fab animation knowledge, perhaps you can help solve another mystery:

do you have any idea what that animation reference is at 2:03, on the word 'sounds', where Mr. Ring-A-Ding's eyes move back and forth in a very sinister way? it looks so familiar and i know it's referencing something, just can't place what 🙈💖 third: i am absolutely adoring both of these OC concepts, oh my goodness!!! excellent names too—Arcoíris would be a marvellous complement to the God of Light 😉💖 i'm sure lots of people (myself included) would love to see your OC concepts if you chose to sketch them! very curious as to what forms they'd have...👀 and oh my goodness, don't worry at all about not knowing some of the Doctor Who lore, that's part and parcel of being a fan 😂 the great news is that there will always be someone who knows more lore than you, so you can just kick back and relax, vibing with whatever stories/concepts/characters you like the most!! :3c

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! 😊 I was wondering if I could request something fluffy? How about a story where reader moves in with Donna, bringing along her cat? At first, Donna might be scared of the cat or worried it will scratch and ruin her dolls. But over time, she starts to really like R's furry friend.

And btw, you’re my favorite author on this app! Love you!

Yesss!!!!! Thank you for your request and for you words of support :)))!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!!

A furry member of the family

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff,

Word count: 6,701

Summary: You think Donna doesn't like your friend...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“That's all, I guess,” you sighed after your last trip to the estate, one from which you would never return.

Those cracked walls, that humid and floral essence that made up the old mansion were not simply a place to visit. It was finally your home.

Of course, a mansion was much better than the humble cabin you had in the village.

You were always a happy, cheerful girl, one who saw the good side of things, the light in the middle of so much darkness. It might seem very daring to smile at the life that had been offered to you, but still, you did it.

The Cult, the Black Gods, Mother Miranda, the Lords... Everything that surrounded you seemed enough reason to bow your head and pray for, every night that you closed your eyes, you would still be able to open them again.

Fear, submission and faith were things you lived with, that you ignored as much as possible so your smile would never disappear. Neither the lycans, nor all the sermons, nor the rumors surrounding those divine authorities scared you.

In that village there was no bogeyman, no deceiving witch, no terrible wolf with an insatiable appetite. No, the fear with which mothers cradled their children didn’t come from legends, the danger was real. But… did you care? Not at all.

Living alone in that dark world seemed terrible, but actually, it wasn't.

But your days of solitude, your humble and quiet life in that old cabin would not last forever.

As if you were the pagan mockery of the Gods, you made your way through that dark corridor, into that blind spot that people refused to look at. The Lords seemed like monsters, but deep down, they were people.

That almost utopian thought with which your eyes turned to those dangerous figures could have cost your life, but it didn't.

Among all those mysterious beings, there was one in particular that had caught your attention: A woman who was said to be deformed, sick, dangerous, disturbed, the youngest of the Four Lords, the woman in mourning, covered with a black veil, Donna Beneviento.

It didn't matter how many times you had heard absurd things about that woman, about what she was capable of. Curiosity overcame the irrational fear of the unknown.

Convinced that things weren't so dire, that those rumors were an exaggeration, you decided to put your own optimism to the test, to put the joy of living you had to deal with every day to the test.

Meeting that lonely woman was a risky step, knowing that, indeed, the rumors were true but bordered on legend, was the best decision of your life. Selling your handmade clay works, you got a glimpse of the mystery surrounding that woman in black.

You weren't particularly good at making and painting vases, but to her, it seemed like art. Maybe it was just because the clay resembled the porcelain she worked with.

What seemed like an innocent first visit, led to many more, led to continuous commissions from the lady in black. It could be a boost to your humble business but... You never saw it that way, especially when, after a rainy afternoon, you stopped being a saleswoman to become a guest.

A quiet dinner, an unknown kindness… Donna was strange, yes, a few words woman, with a hoarse voice, a stoic pose. As time went by, the rain and the inclement weather stopped being excuses for you to spend time with her.

Like a story marinated over time, cooked slowly with patience and curiosity, you came to understand that the joy that characterized you only came to light when Lady Beneviento was near.

Sad in her solitude, happy in your company.

 It seemed like a difficult phrase to decipher until, after seeing the horror that the veil claimed to contain, you gave a name to your feelings. Yes, you loved her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Nothing, not her scar, not her problems were reasons to come back home that night, the night in which your lips finally met.

It was an unexpected love, a welcome one, a love you would never regret, one you would enjoy day after day until, after her constant insistence, you decided to take that last step and move in with her.

Her little pleas, her fear of losing you, her crises… Everything would be much better with you always by her side. You couldn't say why it took you so long to accept that house, with that woman, even with that sinister and rude doll, was the place you wanted to be.

“Is that all?” the lady asked, nervously playing with her hands while you looked around at that pile of stuff you brought from your old cabin.

You looked at her and nodded with a smile, walking slowly to calm her nerves with a small kiss.

“Well, I was missing, but here I’m,” you whispered affectionately, losing yourself in the brightness of that beautiful eye, of those features that only you had the privilege of admiring.

“So... I won't have to wait to see you through the window anymore?” Donna asked, gently grabbing your waist while you shook your head.

“No,” you said amused, panting when, with a grip typical of romantic novels, the lady bent you over, held by her grip while she kissed you again, in a way that you could only see in her movies. “Hey... Donna...”

She laughed after kissing and again, and again. That woman with a hidden smile, who never laughed, who didn't feel, who had no heart according to her legend, seemed happier than ever.

“I'm so happy, tesoro...” she murmured, helping you to get up, playing with your hands affectionately. “I can't believe you're here…”

“Well, well,” you laughed, fighting those quick kisses with which your face was adored. “Anyway, it was like I lived here.”

“But you always left… You always left me…” she lamented, caressing your cheek.

The sparkle in her eye was erratic. She could transmit happiness, but also madness, sadness and fear at the same. Luckily, you had already gotten used to it.

You shook your head, sighing as you heard her verbalize her greatest fears again; the fear of you abandoning her, of being alone again.

Only your smile was enough to calm her nerves, just one look, one to which the two of you had become hopelessly addicted.

“Ahhhhhhh!” an irritating squeal took you out of that romantic moment.

It shouldn't have surprised you. Donna and you weren't the only inhabitants of that place. Always by Donna's side, always ready to remind you of your simple village status, there was Angie.

“Angie, per favore… Don't squeal…” the lady whispered, annoyed by the interruption.

You shook your head, downplaying it, pulling her chin so your lips would collide again.

“Donna, Donna!” the doll shouted, ignoring her owner, running towards you and pulling her dress hard. “Donna, you fool, stop mixing fluids with (Y/N) and listen to me!”

“Oh, Angie, che vuoi?” Donna said, with a look of disgust, causing the puppet to let her dress go.

“Mo-Mo-Mo-Mo monster…” the doll stammered, pointing towards your stuff. “Monster!”

“Monster?” you asked amused, looking where the puppet had pointed. Oh, yes, surely for Angie it would be a monster. “Oh, that's right…”

You separated painfully from your lover, walking slowly towards your luggage and taking the box the doll indicated.

“Don't bring it near here!” Angie protested, taking refuge behind her owner, who looked at you with curiosity. “Donna, a monster…”

“It's not a monster,” you said, with a firm voice, opening the small gate of the box and taking out its contents.

“Don't take it out of there, silly!” the puppet shrieked again, causing a sigh of annoyance from the doll maker, who seemed to look at you perplexed.

“Why?” you asked amused, cradling your pet in your arms. “It's such a cutie…”

Oh, that's right. You forgot to mention to the lady in black that you didn't live completely alone. On one of your days out, you found what would become your faithful companion, a cat, one with black fur and bright eyes.

“(Y/N)? What is that?” Donna asked with a frown, looking at the feline suspiciously.

You, with the animal still in your arms, smiled, moving his paw in greeting.

“A cat,” you said amused. Donna was confused, gently shaking her head. “My cat.”

“Your cat? Since when do you have a cat?” the lady asked, stepping back, with Angie cowardly taking refuge behind her dress.

“Oh, for a couple of years now,” you explained, extending the animal's paw towards her again. “Meet Bubbles.”

“Bubbles,” she repeated, with a confused sigh.

You nodded, proud of your cat, of its black fur, of the company it offered to your strange life.

“Yeah, I found him in the river. The poor thing was frozen to death. I rescued him and well...” you said, petting the animal, who purred peacefully in your arms.

“Get that furry thing out of my sight, silly!” Angie shouted, comically poking her head out.

You put on a haughty look, hugging the animal closer while shaking your head.

“Oh, come on, are you scared of a kitten?” you joked, putting it down on the floor.

“I'm not scared!” Angie shouted, following the curious animal with her gaze.

“Um, (Y/N)...” Donna said, in a low tone, approaching again but trying to surround the cat instead of interrupting its exploration. “You didn't tell me you had a cat.”

“Didn’t I? I think I really did,” you said, blinking in confusion. “Don't you listen to me when I talk to you, darling?” you joked.

Donna smiled shyly, not finding the right words.

“Yes, I... You're just so beautiful...” she sighed, biting her lip and running a soft hand over your neck. “Sometimes I get lost in your gaze.”

“Donna...” you murmured, laughing amused by the compliment, by her eternal flattery. “Hey, there's no problem, right?”

Donna moved away a little, glancing sideways at the cat, which also seemed attentive to the conversation.

“No, but...” she whispered, scratching the back of her neck. “(Y/N), I... I wasn't expecting a cat.”

“Relax, it's a good boy,” you said, with an innocent look.

The lady laughed nervously, shaking her head.

“Good? He’s a scratching and biting machine! He can’t stay here!” Angie protested, running away from the animal, which seemed to have caught a curious interest in the doll, who fled cowardly.

“You’re a biting and scratching machine too, and here you are,” you said in a cocky tone, crossing your arms.

“I’m the Great Angie, silly,” said the doll, comically running away from Bubbles. “I live here, not like that furry thing.”

“The Great Angie…” you muttered, rolling your eyes, seeing how Donna seemed to think the same as her doll, looking at your cat distrustfully. “Come on, it’s just a cat.”

“A cat…” Donna sighed, blinking erratically. “(Y/N) I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? He keeps a lot of company,” you said, a little worried about the lady’s reaction.

“Yes, but…” Donna said, tilting her head towards the animal, which comically, like in a comedy movie, did the same. “What if he scratches the furniture?”

“He won't,” you answered immediately, starting to get nervous.

“Oh, okay but…” she murmured, stopping looking at the animal and getting closer to you. “My, my dolls, (Y/N), he might, might ruin them.”

“Yes, and that includes me!” Angie added, without taking her eyes off your furry companion.

“If you don't want him to live with us, say it clearly, Donna,” you said, with a cold look.

“It's not that, it's just…” she said, breathing heavily, walking towards you, putting her legs over the cat and grabbing your shoulders. “He could, he could stay on the grounds and then he'd have… Freedom to… Well, to do cat stuff.”

“No, I'm not leaving him,” you denied, with a more intense look. “He's my friend.”

“Your friend…” Donna snorted, turning her head back to the cat, which was walking elegantly around you. “Tesoro, I…”

“He was so alone…” you said, pouting. “You can't ask me to leave him…”

“I didn't say that,” the lady said, frowning.

Okay, plan B.

“Please, Donna…” you said in a sweet voice, bringing your hands together and making puppy dog ​​eyes as you leaned towards her. “Let him stay… Please…”

“Don't get fooled, Donna! She's a manipulator!” Angie squealed, eliciting a subtle growl from you, who never lost that innocent look.

“Please, please…” you insisted, gracefully moving your lower lip, your eyes shining.

“Oh, Io…” she stammered, looking at you and then at the cat repeatedly. “But, but…”

You tilted your head, emphasizing your pout.

“Va bene…” she finally sighed, causing you to throw yourself into her arms with a dazzling smile, covering her cheek with kisses.

“Mmm, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you said as you jumped for joy, picking up your pet from the floor. “Did you hear that, Bubbles? You can stay.”

“But, but…” Donna interrupted, putting a hand on your chest to get you to move away. “You’ll be the one to take care of him.”

“Sure,” you said, nodding, kissing the cat’s head, which purred pleased. “Say hello, Bubbles… Say hello, Donna… Come on, pet him.”

“Um, I…” the lady stammered, slowly bringing her hand closer to the animal, a trembling hand that passed through the cat's black fur. He meowed surprisingly, causing the lady to back away in fear.

“Oh, don't be scared,” you said amused. “He’s an adorable ball of fur, you'll see.”

“If, if you say so…” she murmured, playing with her hands, with a confused look.

“Donna, you silly…” Angie hissed, tugging at her dress again. “He's an evil beast. He's going to bring us a lot of trouble.”

“You are an evil beast,” you said, amused, placing some of your stuff away while owner and doll watched the movements of the cat, which sniffed around curiously. “Honey, help me with this.”

Donna approached cautiously, helping you move your delicate clay bowls. “Do you think there will be room for everything?”

“Yes,” she answered dryly, without losing sight of the animal, which climbed onto the small table where Donna sewed from time to time, looking with interest at one of the wool balls.

“Stop worrying...” you sighed, cupping her face in your hands. “He won't give you any trouble.”

“Hey, you furry burglar!” Angie shrieked, causing a loud scandal when Bubbles grabbed one of the balls in his jaws, fleeing in terror, leaving a trail of yellow thread around the house.

Donna looked at you with a frown while you blushed.

“Um, I'll buy you another one…” you said shyly, scratching your head.

“You mean I'll buy another one,” she said in a low voice, sighing annoyed.

You shrugged your shoulders with the best weapon you had, your innocent smile.

The lady in black reluctantly agreed to live with Bubbles, although she wasn’t able to hide her dissatisfaction. You were not going to get rid of your companion, that was clear. You would have to work very hard for Donna to adapt to this new member of the family.

The days passed calmly, well, relatively calmly. The doll maker was tense, she wasn’t comfortable with the intruder. She always watched him from afar. She didn’t approach him despite the fact that, since you rescued him, he didn’t stop following you everywhere, day and night.

“Donna, please…” you begged one night already tucked into bed, while the brunette was quietly reading, or rather, pretending to read.

“No,” she replied with a sigh, with a cold look.

“He misses me,” you repeated, using your best acting skills.

The days were simple. The house was big and it wasn't hard for the lady in black to avoid contact with the cat, but… The nights, oh, the nights were very different.

The agonizing meows of poor Bubbles echoed off the walls of the mansion despite being in the basement. You, like every night, begged your girlfriend to let you take him down with you.

“I said no,” Donna hissed, frowning every time the cat meowed desperately. “Oh, taci… Taci!”

“He meows because he wants to be here with us,” you explained, pointing at the ceiling. “He was used to sleeping with me.”

“Well, he'll have to get used to not doing that,” Donna murmured, turning a page of that book she wasn't reading.

“But Donna…” you said with a sad look. “I promise he won't bother us, just…”

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “He can meow all night long if he wants.”

“You're… Ugh,” you protested, waving your arms exaggeratedly. The lady in black didn't flinch at your gestures, blinking disinterestedly. “You're a grumpy witch.”

“What did you call me?” she hissed, with a dangerous look.

“Grumpy witch,” you repeated cockily, looking at your nails with disinterest. “Aren't you a powerful Lord? I can't believe you're scared of a cat…”

“I'm not scared of the cat,” Donna protested, putting the book on her lap, gritting her teeth.

“Please…” you said amused. “You haven't been near him in two weeks. He scares you, admit it.”

“Okay, yes, he scares me,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm scared because he'll destroy my dolls, and my house.”

“Our house,” you joked, with a raised finger. “And he doesn't do that, you've already know.”

“Mm, yes, I've seen how, mysteriously, all my wool balls have disappeared, and how curious, that thing always seems to be present at the crime scene,” the lady in black commented, with a proud look.

“Oh, you're such a great detective,” you mocked, running a hand over her shoulders and kissing her cheek. “It must be very stressful for him to be in a new place, you have to understand.”

“No, it's not stressful for him, it's stressful for me,” she said, gently pushing you away. “Shut up once and for all!”

“Shhh, don't yell,” you protested. “He would shut up if you let him down.”

“No,” she said again, with a dark look.

You shrugged and lay down on the bed.

“Fine, enjoy the concert then,” you said angrily, covering yourself with the sheets.

Donna sighed, getting a little closer to you and resting her head on your shoulder.

“I think we could do something to distract ourselves,” she purred in your ear, kissing your neck. You tried not to smile at that seductive display of affection, but you couldn't help it.

“Mm, what are you thinking?” you said, with a mischievous smile, letting the lady lay you down on your back while kissing you.

“I don't know...” she whispered with a mischievous smile.

“Meow”

“Ah!” Donna squealed, when a too close meow interrupted what seemed like a night of passion.

Bubbles appeared on the floor of the room, sitting, looking at you with curiosity.

“Bubbles!” you shouted, a bit scared too. “But what are you doing here?”

“I let him go down!” Angie said, entering the room too, with her hands on her hips. “He wouldn't stop meowing!”

“Angie…” Donna protested, moving away from you and looking at the cat with distrust.

“I can’t sleep with that evil beast next to me!” the doll protested.

“Were you sleeping?” you asked, stroking the cat, who had climbed onto the bed, satisfied, rubbing himself on your body. “Are you even aware of being sleepy?”

“You don't have a brain and you’re alive, so don't ask stupid questions,” Angie mocked, with a cocky pose.

“No, no, get down,” Donna said, pushing the animal, who, apparently, wanted to greet her too. “Down, down.”

“See? He just wants some company,” you said, watching how, despite Donna's rejection, the animal insisted, climbing onto the bed again and again.

“Angie…” she sighed when the puppet also climbed onto the bed, settling into her favorite spot, between you two. “Go away, and take that furry thing with you.”

“No! If he stays, so do I,” the doll said, pushing you. “Get away, silly.”

You laughed in amusement, shaking your head.

“Well, it looks like we have company tonight,” you commented, letting your pet lay down net to you.

Donna groaned and turned around.

“Just tonight, you hear me?” she hissed, turning off the light.

“Yes, yes…” you said amused, closing your eyes.

Of course, that warning didn’t come to pass.

The days passed and the nights stopped being little, solitary moments just for Donna and you, well, almost all of them.

It seemed that the lady in black was slowly adapting to the animal, but a show of affection on her part was still just a fantasy.

One afternoon, you and Donna were reading quietly. Your body on hers lovingly, her breathing calm, everything was perfect. The lady in black turned the pages while caressing your hair, giving you soft kisses from time to time, kisses followed by tender giggles, sincere smiles.

But, also from time to time, the lady looked up, observing Bubbles, who sat in front of you, looking at you with curiosity, almost without moving. Donna looked at him briefly and went back to her reading, moving uncomfortably.

That gesture was repeated several times, which made you have to hold back your laughter.

“Your cat won't stop looking at me,” Donna whispered, frowning, watching the animal over her book.

“He probably finds you curious,” you said, leaning a little closer to her. “Don't pay attention to him.”

“Curious?” she asked, turning the page while you shook your head.

“Hey, I wasn't finished yet,” you protested, returning the book to its previous page. “Are you actually reading?”

“It's hard for me to read with those eyes piercing through my soul,” she commented, with a serious voice, looking at the animal whenever she could.

“Donna...” you sighed, kissing her cheek, a gesture that finally managed to get a tender smile from the lady in black. “You know I love you, right?”

“Not as much as I do,” she whispered with a sweet voice, emphasized by her subtle accent, one that you adored. “Ti amo così tanto…”

“Mm,” you purred amused, rubbing your head on her shoulder with a tender smile, closing your eyes. “You have to teach me to speak Italian…”

“Mm?” she murmured, curious, running her free hand over your body, bringing you a little closer to her. “Do you want to learn?”

“Yes, I would really like to be able to say those beautiful words you say,” you whispered, sighing relaxedly. Donna looked at you and nodded, kissing you briefly on the lips.

“A language is neither pretty nor ugly, (Y/N). The important thing about words is the feelings with which you say them,” she commented, sighing too, without looking at you, with her eye fixed on the book.

“Oh, is that the first lesson?” you asked amused, biting your lip.

Donna nodded slowly, looking up, and startled.

“Hey, where did he go?” she asked in a different tone, sitting up.

“Who?” you asked, annoyed due to the lack of contact.

“Your, your cat, where is he? He was here just a moment ago,” the lady said, looking around.

“Leave him alone, he must have gotten bored of watching us read,” you said in a calm voice, burying yourself in her chest again.

“Mm,” she murmured, changing the calmness of her face to a tense one, with her one eye half-closed.

“Hey, get down from there!” Angie's screams interrupted that peaceful calm, that romantic moment.

The two of you looked at the source of them.

Apparently, Bubbles felt like doing some climbing, and had gone up onto one of the cupboards in the living room, walking dangerously among some of Donna's dolls.

“Cazzo…” the lady growled, closing the book and approaching the cupboard. “Come down from there!”

You stood up a bit worried. Bubbles was certainly not the most agile cat in the world.

“Bubbles,” you said, approaching slowly. “Come down, come on,” you ordered the animal, pointing to the floor.

The cat, as if he wanted to make fun of you, meowed, licking one of his paws and continuing on his way.

“Oh, no…” Donna said, running towards the furniture when that furry body dangerously passed by one of the dolls, causing it to fall.

The brunette picked it up before it crashed to the floor and, after that, many others fell.

With almost impossible juggling, the lady in black picked up each of those four dolls, having to throw herself to the floor to pick up the last one.

You and Angie looked at each other briefly at Donna's funny moves and nodded, starting to clap.

“Bravo, Donna,” you said amused, under the intense gaze of the brunette, who played with the dolls in her arms.

“That was spectacular, Don,” Angie joked, clapping at the same time as you, in a comical way.

The lady growled, but before she could protest and get up from the floor, a furry ball landed on her stomach, making her protest.

“Ow!”

Bubbles, proud of his actions, rubbed his body against the brunette's face before leaving her body.

“Gatto…” she hissed, rubbing the spot where your pet landed while you, holding back your laughter, extended a hand to help her up.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” you asked amused, helping her put her dolls away from the cat claws that surrounded them.

“I'll be fine when that… Thing…” she mumbled, alternating unpleasant murmurs with what were surely insults in Italian.

“Well, there are no victims,” you commented amused, placing a hat on one of the dolls while the lady shook her dress.

“Teach that creature some manners!” Angie protested, pointing at the cat, which was once again looking at you with curiosity. “He almost killed my friends.”

“How dramatic,” you mocked, helping the brunette regain her composure. “I'm sorry, Donna.”

“You're sorry…” she growled. “Angie is right. You should train your pet better.”

“It's a cat, I can't stop him from wanting to climb on things,” you said, glancing sideways at the animal that seemed to starting to harass Angie.

“Donna!” the doll squealed, fleeing from his timid claws. “I'm not a toy!”

“Bubbles…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes as the cat chased the doll. “Come on, be a good cat.”

Your words, which normally had no effect, seemed to stop the animal, who meowed playfully, moving away from you when the doll, tired of being chased, distracted it with one of the wool balls, his favorite toy.

“Donna, are you okay?” you asked, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder, who seemed to be putting the clothes on those dolls. She nodded reluctantly as you pulled her towards you.

“That cat... He's going to give me a lot of trouble,” she whispered, letting herself be comforted by your caresses.

“He still has to adapt,” you defended him. “It's not easy for him.”

“You've spoiled him, that creature needs rules,” the lady snapped, moving away from you a little so your charms wouldn't dazzle her again.

“Oh, come on…” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“My sister's cat had better manners,” she explained, crossing her arms.

“Did your sister have a cat?” you asked curiously.

Donna nodded with a frown.

“Yes,” the lady answered dryly.

You knew you couldn't insist, that her family was a dangerous subject, but you couldn't help it.

“I'm sure she spoiled it too, am I wrong?” you said with a haughty tone.

“It was on the grounds, we never let it to enter the house, my father didn't allow it,” Donna said, shaking her head. “It's where cats have to be.”

“What nonsense,” you said a bit annoyed.”-I'm sure your sister wanted it to be with her, didn't she?”

“That doesn't matter, the rules are the rules,” she said, with a tone that was darkening little by little.

“Yes, of course,” you sighed angrily, crossing your arms.

The lady didn't answer, as if she had suddenly remembered something, as if she had realized who she was talking about without meaning to. Her hand began to tremble and her eye opened as she blinked nervously.

“Oh, Donna... Donna...” you said in a different tone, observing the brunette's reaction, the trembling of her body and the erratic movements of her head. A condition that, unfortunately, you already knew. “Hey, Donna, my love...”

“Claudia!” she shrieked, furious, squeezing her head between her hands, shaking it effusively. “Claudia! È colpa mia!”

“No, no, no, no, darling, calm down...” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulders to reassure her, something that didn't work, as she pushed them away abruptly, kicking furiously.

“Claudia, perdonami, sorella!” Donna shrieked again, completely losing control, pulling at her hair as she growled angrily. “Claudia, tesoro!”

“Donna, no, no, hey, don't do that, stop, my love…” you said hastily, fighting against her grip. “It's okay, my love, I'm with you, it wasn't your fault.”

“Chiudi il becco!” she shouted, pushing you away furiously, with one eye shining with the madness of her soul. “È colpa mia! Mia!”

“No, darling, it's not true, it was an accident, remember?” you said in a soft voice, unable to handle that crisis.

“Look what you've done, stupid! Donna's nervous again!” Angie protested, helping you calm her owner's madness, something impossible.

“No, no, lasciami! Lasciami stare!” the lady shrieked, slowly lowering herself to the floor, crawling along it as if she was running away from something, from her own demons.

“Donna,” you said, also lowering to the floor and putting a hand on the wall so Donna wouldn't hit her head against it. “Shhh, darling, please come to your senses. Donna, my love… I'm here with you.”

“Sono una stupida… Stupida!” The mad lady kicked while the cat, apparently unaffected by the screams, approached her.

“Shit… Bubbles, not now…” you said fearfully watching how the animal approached the lady, looking at her curiously. “Go, please…”

The animal didn’t listen. He simply walked elegantly towards Donna, climbing up her body, purring strangely.

“Bubbles…”you said with a nervous look, watching as he settled on her chest with a soft meow, rubbing against her face.

Donna stood still, breathing heavily, but making no effort to push the animal away, in fact, her hand moved to the black fur, caressing it with a trembling hand.

Her breathing miraculously calmed as her hand ran along the animal’s back, which seemed not to want to leave her, rubbing affectionately against her, soothing her tormented soul.

“Wow…”you sighed, watching as Donna’s gaze stopped being erratic, as her eye returned to its usual shine.

The cat purred triumphantly, briefly licking the brunette’s face before climbing down from her body with a discreet meow.

“(Y/N)… What?” the doll maker stammered, blinking in confusion. “Gods…”

“Oh, Donna, my love… How are you feeling?” you asked, ignoring Bubbles and grabbing your girlfriend's face, looking for possible wounds or scratches.

“F-Fine, I think,” she murmured, blinking nervously and turning her head towards the cat who, with a graceful movement, climbed onto the couch to take a well-deserved nap.

“Okay, up,” you said, helping her up and running a hand over her forehead. “You're soaked, honey… I'll prepare a hot bath for you, would you like it?”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the cat, who was licking himself disinterestedly.

Well, crisis over. You didn't expect Bubbles' help, of course, but apparently, it was one of the reasons that made the lady regain her sanity, something admirable, of course.

After the hot bath, it was time to make dinner. Donna hummed quietly in the kitchen while you, having nothing better to do, kept her company.

“You look fine,” you commented, leaning on the wooden counter. She smiled tenderly, stirring something in a small pot.

“Yes, I'm much better, thank you, (Y/N),” she whispered gratefully, focused on the kitchen, as always.

“What are you cooking?” you asked, hugging her around the waist.

Donna, after kissing you quickly, pointed with her head to a bowl with a salad.

“Do you fancy some?” she asked in a low voice. You nodded curiously, looking again at that small pot.

“Yes, of course,” you said, pointing to its contents. “Boiled chicken?”

“Yes,” Donna replied, turning off the gas.

“Well, I prefer grilled chicken for salads,” you commented, scratching the back of your neck.

Donna laughed, shaking her head.

“It's not for us, tesoro,” the lady said, picking up a clay bowl, one you already knew, one with a name engraved on it. “It's for Bubbles.”

“For Bubbles?” you asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” Donna said, nodding slightly.

“Oh...” you murmured. “Wow, it's the first time you call him by his name and not a furry thing, or a vermin, or a scratch-everything monster or...”

“I admit that I have to thank him, he's helped me a lot,” she said, sighing. “You know, before, when... I lost, I lost my temper.”

You nodded with a smile as she prepared that delicious reward lunch.

“Honestly, I didn't know he was good at it,” you commented, tilting your head.

“Me neither,” she whispered, winking at you. “But hey, I think he deserves a reward. Will you help me?”

You nodded a bit confused, but you obeyed.

“Kitty?” Donna asked with a radiant smile, looking for the feline around the house and showing the bowl with his food. “Look what I have for you.”

“Bubbles?” you called him, something that wasn't necessary, because, as soon as he heard Donna's voice, he walked quickly towards her.

“That's it... Good cat...” the lady said, bending down to run a hand over his head, something the animal thanked with a meow while purring, looking at the bowl curiously. “Do you like chicken, little one?”

“Oh, sure,” you said amused, putting your plates on the table. “He likes anything.”

The cat rubbed itself on your lover's legs while she, laughing shyly, approached you, closely followed by the hungry Bubbles, who licked his lips with pleasure.

“That's it... Good kitty, I hope you eat it all, huh?” Donna said affectionately.

You frowned and looked at Angie, who shrugged with a gesture of disgust.

“Damn manipulative beast...” the doll whispered. “Look at that…”

You obeyed, watching the affection your pet gave to the lady in black as she served him his reward, one that he gladly accepted, of course.

“Donna,” you said, drawing the attention of the brunette, who looked at the black cat with curiosity. “Are you coming to dinner or should I serve you another bowl?” you joked.

She stood up nodding, smiling at the cat and sitting in her chair.

“Is that chicken?” Angie asked, pointing at the feeder. Donna and you looked at each other and nodded. “How lucky, Your Majesty! Hey, Donna, Donna, you've never done anything like that to me!” the puppet protested, tugging at her owner's black dress.

“You don't have a stomach,” Donna murmured, elegantly serving you a glass of wine.

“No, well… But, but I've helped you more times than that furball,” the doll defended herself, looking up and down at the feline, who was licking his delicious food, looking at Angie with curiosity.

“Don't be jealous,” you joked, of course, causing an annoyed gasp from the puppet, who protested by kicking the floor.

“Jealous? Donna, I think we need to talk,” Angie said, crossing her arms while Bubbles sniffed her. “Hey, get away! Get away!”

The cat meowed curiously, licking Angie briefly, something that calmed her protests.

“Did you see that?” the doll asked. Donna smiled and looked at her, nodding. “It's adorable!”

“Wow, your mind changes quickly,” you teased, continuing with your dinner as the puppet cautiously ran a wooden hand over the cat, who rubbed himself against her, causing Angie to fall comically.

“Oh…” Angie moaned, getting up and wrapping her arms around the cat, something the animal didn't protest about, but instead meowed happily. “He loves me too.”

That was a turning point.

Miraculously, everything changed after that horrible crisis. You couldn't say why, whether it was because of Bubbles' loving altruism, or because Donna had already gotten used to his presence, but... Everything seemed different.

The lady in black seemed much less bothered by the black cat, in fact, she no longer protested every time he got on the couch, or every time he approached her to play.

You even started to get a little jealous. Yes, he was your cat, but mysteriously, he increasingly preferred the company of the lady in black, even Angie’s. It didn't bother you at all, although many times those hands that caressed you stopped doing so, moving on to your pet's black fur.

Well, of course your love continued to burn as always, only that, in addition to an irreverent doll, in your routine, there was always Bubbles, eager to receive Donna's displays of affection, as well as her delicious special meals.

You couldn't compete with a boiled chicken or desalted tuna, you just couldn't.

“Bubbles...” you said, one morning, spending your time with clay while Donna was working on her dolls in the basement.

Everything seemed normal but... There was something strange in the house, or rather, there wasn't something.

Bubbles, although dazzled by Donna, was still your faithful companion, one who stayed by your side while you worked. That day you couldn't find him and you started to worry.

“Where are you?” you asked, getting up from the lathe and looking under the chairs. Nothing, no sign of the cat. Your gaze went to the doll, which seemed distracted, wandering around the house like she always do. “Angie...”

You growled nervously.

Yes, the puppet had also gotten used to the cat, but it was a terribly jealous doll, she cared day after day to prove it to you, to remind you that you had "stolen her Donna."

She had no reason to hurt the animal, in fact you thought she had already gotten used to its presence but, deep down, you feared she had carelessly (or on purpose) let it out of the mansion.

“What do you want, silly?” the doll asked, annoyed by your interruption.

“Where is Bubbles?” you asked, crossing your arms and stamping your feet impatiently.

“Do I look like a zoo keeper? I don't know where he is,” Angie said, with the same cocky gesture as you.

“Ugh…” you protested, walking through the house. Nothing, no sign of the cat, again.

Scared that it had escaped, you started to get nervous, walking quickly towards the elevator.

“Donna, Donna,” you said hurriedly, opening the doors of the workshop.

The lady turned around a bit surprised, bringing a finger to her lips.

“Shh,” she hissed at you, making you roll your eyes.

“Hey, I know you don't like me disturbing you but…” you said in a calmer voice, walking towards her. “I can't find Bubbles. I don't know if that evil doll has something to do with it but…”

Your words faded away when the lady in black turned more, showing you a black lump that camouflaged itself with her dress. Bubbles, that traitor cat, slept peacefully on her lap, something he didn't do even with you.

“Oh, I don't believe it…” you sighed in disbelief, being reprimanded again by a brusque gesture from the lady.

“Hey, lower your voice, tesoro, you're going to wake him up…” she whispered, running her hand over the cat's head, who purred at the contact.

You blinked several times and shook your head.

“I can't believe it,” you murmured with a surprised expression. “I thought Bubbles was totally forbidden to come down here.”

“Well…” she whispered, smiling at the animal with a tender look. “He's insistent…”

“Yes, and a treacherous manipulator too,” you joked, petting him.

Donna laughed, shaking her head and showing you what she was working on.

“Look, tesoro, I'm making a little bed for him,” the lady said, proudly. “We can put it in the bedroom, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you asked amused, bending down to kiss her cheek. “I think I love you, Donna.”

Well, at least Bubbles was now a member of the family, an important one for all of you.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!

Do you have any bookbinder Aziraphale/ gardener Crowley human au's??

Thank you!

The only fic I know of and can find that is specifically book restorer Aziraphale and gardener Crowley is the very popular and well-known...

Petrichor & Parchment by MrsNoggin (E)

“Mr. Crowley, I presume?” Aziraphale asked in lieu of an introduction, which was not forthcoming. The guy hadn’t even removed his sunglasses. Oh God, he had a tattoo on his face. Aziraphale wasn’t one to judge, but… what kind of gardener had a snake tattoo on his face?

But here are some gardener Crowley fics in which Aziraphale works with books in one way or another...

The Easter Petting Zoo by MM2022 (G)

“Didn’t you hold a duckling?” “Er,” said Aziraphale, looking up from where he was kneeling on the ground, trying to entice to most energetic of the kids frolicking around to get into his lap (he watched it attempt to climb a resting sheep earlier, and then the hay feeder, certainly his knees wouldn’t be much of a stretch?), and promptly losing his gift of speech. Addressing him was one of the animal handlers, the gorgeous red-haired man Aziraphale noticed as soon as he walked up to the mobile pen. Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association brings in a petting zoo for Easter, and bookseller Aziraphale stops by. A human AU meet-cute.

Turn To Face The Sun by his_infinitevariety (G)

Five times Crowley watches Aziraphale picking flowers, and one time Aziraphale is given flowers by Crowley.

Please Stay by curiouswriterkr (E)

Did the angel just insinuate-? Crowley grinned at him. Might as well take the invitation. “Well, I’d love to hear it one day over a glass of wine, then,” the gamble worked because Aziraphale beamed and wiggled. His lips parted and his eyes focused on Crowley’s sunglasses. “That would be delightful, Crowley,” his name rolled off Aziraphale’s tongue like it was a delicious chocolate raspberry truffle. In short, Crowley moves in next door to Aziraphale and sparks fly. And then so much miscommunication begins to happen and assumptions are made and things get very rocky indeed. (Because sometimes these two share a brain cell.)

Almost Heaven by pilatesandpinot (E)

English literature professor Azra Fell finally decides to go on sabbatical for a semester. If he were smart, he’d probably spend his time in the Mediterranean, go hiking across Europe or America, or perhaps learn the power of prayer and meditation. Instead, he settles into a seaside town called Abel’s Point, also known as “Almost Heaven”, hoping some time away from London will help him rejuvenate and write his memoir. Little does he know that the town will prove more than he bargained for. Not to mention his next door neighbor, Anthony Crowley, who happens to be the most flirtatious yet neurotic man in town.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

- Mod D

[zahri-melitor]

I know you've all been waiting for this one: Sum of Our Parts (yes I finally got to Meghan Fitzmartin).

The very first thing I'll say: yeah, I see why DC commissioned more stuff from her after getting this and seeing the response. It's a solid opening showing her ability to write Tim.

There were a lot of moving parts that needed to be re-established and tidied up in this story, and I can see the list being worked through:-

Name: being very clear Tim is currently Robin, because since Tynion's 'Tec run ended, his name and costume have been varying by who is writing him with very little consistency.

Tim not going to university: this probably did need a push back on, because Tynion just waved the door open on that again during Joker War.

The fact that Tim and Steph are broken up (sort of essential for the plot being told)

Playing with the themes of moving on from Robin (but in this case using it as a frame to actually be the bait and switch that it's coming out instead)

Bernard is clearly an OC from the ground up who shares a name and hair colour with his previous existence. Which, look, Bernard was a pretty thin character with basically two personality traits (conspiracy theorist/trying really hard to project cool), and it is of course fairly arguable that Bernard was projecting a front at 16 that he no longer needs now he's accepted his identity. But it would be nice to have that conveyed in the text, rather than something you infer to try and connect two characters who are otherwise unalike. Especially given how much of the story is Tim reflecting on himself.

Even a line or two more about how he doesn't feel the need for a front anymore to line up with Tim having revelations. "Tell Tim Drake...he helped me realise my true self. Who I am" is nice enough but it could still use some more acknowledgement of how that changed his personality. It's just this nice parallel that could have helped develop the themes more securely. There's a bunch of possible implications you can read into the story (particularly in terms of how the Dowd parents really ARE characterised lightly as Fanon Drakes, between the polite fronts and implications that Bernard was previously abused at home in this) and this is one of the things that while I don't mind how much of this story Fitzmartin was telling via implication, a few more concrete things confirmed would have helped.

If I were going to make a solid stab of a guess at what sections of Robin Fitzmartin liked/reread in the lead into writing this, I honestly think it was Fabian Nicieza's Robin run (and probably parts of Red Robin). It's just...a lot of the characterisation has some very similar notes to it. Tim's got the same sort of smug confident edge to his internal commentary, the ways his skills are portrayed, and Detective Williams even reminds me quite a bit of Officer Jamie Harper. (I don't think she actually looked back over Willingham).

It's also very much a coming out story, and I do appreciate in that Fitzmartin does try to be delicate about it and doesn't whack you over the head with the bluntest lines possible (I just suffered through that in Infinite Frontier #0 with Alan Scott and good god did I cringe the entire way through the 'yes while you are my biological children and I have indeed been married. to women. I am gay. Listen to me come out.'), the amount of implied themes she levels through it is still substantial. It could have used slightly more focus on the actual underlying mystery.

I can also see the start of the situation where the story needs to decide whether Bernard Knows or Doesn't Know. Because both states would allow for situations with a lot of drama (and potentially identity shenanigans which are the best shenanigans), but just having it as sort of vacillating in the middle as something that doesn't need to be investigated? It's leaving a lot of potential storytelling on the floor that could instead be used to send Tim through the wringer. (Also Tim wow half of that cult probably could have figured out your identity, you weren't subtle)

Look, I don't think this story contained the greatest Barbara Gordon characterisation ever written, but it was within the bounds of overly-interfering, self-righteous and pushy Babs, which is something that does pop up at times. It felt in conversation with her characterisation in Batgirl 2009, and while I don't LIKE the way Babs is written in it, especially in regards to Steph, it makes sense in terms of the direction DC was pivoting at this point in terms of leading into the whole Batgirls title.

Fitzmartin was also clearly using Steph characterisation from very late Robin/BFTC/start of Red Robin, when they were fighting, in terms of how she's trying to have Steph needle at Tim's sore points, and set up a dichotomy of 'Steph has it together/Tim does not'.

And yes, Belén Ortega's art is very, VERY pretty.

[iloveoutlinesiswear]

Last Night Before Commoragh

(Sorry if I'm jumping around time too much, I'm just in a head space where that's what I'm doing.)

Henrix van Calox x Von Valancius

(TW: Voyeurism, masturbation)

Heinrix smiled, beaming as Karroleen knocked over his commander with a flourish. The piece toppled with unseemly drama.

"Finally," she said, laughing airily in that way that made his heart thud. "I thought I'd never be able to beat you."

"Of course you would, why wouldn't you?" he said, reaching forward to start reseting the board.

She did the same and their fingers met clumsily over his fallen commander. For a moment, they both froze, blushing and gasping in charged surprise. Yet, she did not move her hand away.

Her fingers were slim and delicate, her nails short and painted a soft rose. Even though she had a callous on her trigger finger, and his master's white seal was heavy on another, nonetheless, they were hers. He had spent hours now at the regicide table, watching those pale hands as they had moved pieces around the board. He knew every curve and joint, the pattern of her veins, the soft pads of her fingertips.

He sucked in a breath. "You're a remarkable woman," he blurted, his voice husky.

Glancing at him from under her lashes, her cheeks flushed, she smiled at him. It was not her usual smile, full of delight and mirth. This was something altogether different. She had not looked at him that way before, coy and yet direct, her brown eyes heavy.

Thrumming warmth opened in the pit of his stomach and he flushed.

Without thinking, he gently pulled her fingers to his lips, gazing at her over her knuckles. The intoxicating scent of her perfume wafted from her wrist, floral and sweet, yet underscored by a woody musk. Her breath deepened a little, her lips parting.

The soft voice of his master wriggled in his mind even as his lips lingered on her skin.

Beware of that one, Heinrix. She has designs for you and the means to carry them out. This will be your greatest test.

He had scoffed at the time.

Now, he knew exactly what Xavier had meant. And he found he did not care.

"Heinrix," she murmured. "I-"

The watch bell struck midnight, startling them both like a pair of birds. Propriety crashed in and they withdrew from each other, all awkward glances and flushed faces.

"Time seems to flow faster during our games," he said, rising from his chair.

"Indeed," she said, doing the same. "But the morning shift will be on us if we play another game."

"Quite right," he said.

As was their habit now, she escorted him to the elevator, talking about the game eagerly. And, as was typical, he heard none of it. Instead, he was hyperaware of how she slid her arm around his, of her hip brushing his under her skirts, of the heady scent of her hair and perfurm. She befuddled him, making his entire body ache with need.

Yet, he would not make that her problem. Did she desire him? Maybe? He desperately hoped. He hoped for her touch against all good sense. All the same, she was reluctant, bound by some insurmountable force, obfuscated by that mask of engrained propriety like all women of good breeding. It was a thing he knew well, having worn similar his whole long life.

How deep her desire for him went was a total mystery to him, shielded by a mist of etiquette and entertaining conversation.

He hated it, that mask she wore. It was a lie enforced on her. It kept her from him more profoundly than his duty did. It kept her from... everything. Joy, comfort, sadness. All emotions tempered to polite noises and soft breaths. God-Emperor, he hated it.

"Until next time," he said, as she released him.

She smiled at him, her brown eyes warm and he smiled back.

"Of course," she said. "I look forward to it."

He stepped onto the elevator and they watched each other until the machine lifted him out of sight.

Without much thought to the bridge crew, he strode through to the passenger decks where his own far more modest quarters lay.

He stepped in and yawned, suddenly weary. He only ever came here to sleep and despite the relative opulence, linen sheets on a firm mattress with a soft pillow, wood closet doors, carpeting, he did not like spending time here.

Yet, desire gnawed at him. He didn't dare indulge himself though, even as thoughts of her body ran through his mind.

Without thinking, he snatched the vox from his bed side table and tuned it to the pick up in her room. He had put it there months and months ago before realizing that she would cooperate with him over just about anything. That she liked cooperating with him. That he was not an ally of convenience but a friend.

And I want more, he admitted.

A hiss of static greeted his ears and he heard the rustle of sheets and the soft sound of a yawn.

Listening in, he undressed, first cape, then pauldrons, then belt and so on, hanging up each article in his closet. Then he cast himself into bed, naked as the day he was born, the mattress cradling him in scandalous conformity.

And he listened to the soft sounds of her getting ready for bed herself.

He shouldn't do this but after a disastrous warp jump had lead to an attack in her quarters that she had barely survived, he was paranoid. He'd nearly lost her than, nearly killed by a daemonette in her own room.

Yes, that was the reason. Maybe one day, it would be different.

A soft moan from the vox made him freeze.

His face flushed and his cock hardened to an almost painful intensity.

He shouldn't.

Another moan, more urgent and desperate. A soft slick sound.

In his minds eye, he could see her in her sheets, her delicate fingers slipping between her legs, her pale thighs opening, the soft dark hair there wet with herself. Was she biting her lip? Were her eyes closed?

Habitually, he steeled his will to suppress himself. Again. Frost gathered a touch, like the breath of a cooling unit. Easy enough done, base urges like his had no place. Yet, and yet, she gasped, sheets rustling as she moved.

Desire veritably boiled in his veins and his concentration wavered.

"Heinrix," she gasped, her breathing deepening into a pant.

Karroleen.

The wet sounds became rhythmic, the whisper of sheets matching her urgent breathing.

Desire hit him like a cannon shot, crushing his will. His hands flew to his cock. Rough, desperate, he stroked himself feverishly, his calloused hands hard on his skin. Heinrix did not care, knowing she desired him. Knowing there was something under that mask. Knowing what would be revealed to him.

His name came frantically from the vox, rising in volume and intensity.

Desire. She desired him. He was not so crude as to call it lust. Never that, not her. But desire, passion. Oh, he wanted it. More than anything in his life.

"Please Heinrix, please," she said, "yes. YES!"

Her orgasm tore a cry from her, pushing him over the edge as she chanted his name with every ripple of pleasure. He clenched as he pumped against his palm, his release bucking hard, dragging a hoarse cry from his lips. As he cried out her name, he spilled across his belly in heavy spurts, milky and thick.

Guilt immediately sank in. As he listened to her breath ease, her pleasure releasing her, shame rose to choke him. Embarrassed at himself, he snatched a towel from the small ablutions chamber and cleaned himself off.

What had he done? What was he doing? He shouldn't have. Yet, desire should be shared. Shouldn't it? He wanted to. He wanted to make her cry out, to say his name, to show herself to him. That she was safe to do so with him. That did not need to wear that mask.

Karroleen's breathing soon took on the peaceful pace of deep slumber. Yet, somehow, the sound was lonely.

As lonely and desperate as he was. He slipped back into bed and closed his eyes. As always, visions of her ran through his mind, of her naked writhing underneath him, of her laughing in sunshine, until finally sleep claimed him too.

[freaksnvans]

A 30-year-old Christian Fujoshi With a PhD's Thoughts on Team Fortress 2 Shipping.

Here I will be providing my thoughts and opinions on my personal favorite Team Fortress 2 ships. I do not know who will be interested in my speakings, but I am branching out into this beautiful fandom like a great oak tree. Haters can "suck an egg," and I do hope that saying is not an euphemism for anything of the less appropriate variety! Please be ready for a very long and verbose post.

How Did I, freaksnvans, Become Interested in Such a Thing?

An Introduction to Me.

I am indeed a Christian woman, and I self-identify as a Fujoshi. That may seem contradicting, but it is not. I ship the mercenaries from Team Fortress 2 in a good and god-honoring way, and I will not tolerate any negative speak of the Lord in my comments and/or reblogs. As for myself, you may only know me as freaksnvans. I chose that name because My favorite ship, as you may be able to discern from such a screen name, is Trucks n' Vans. The "Freak" part comes from a childhood nickname I was given in elementary school... the Freak. That is very traumatic to me, so I mustn't delve into the details. Moving on.

Where It All Started.

In 2007, I was vaguely interested in the game, having heard whispers of it from sites like YouTube as well as my male classmates. I was Thirteen years old, therefore in middle school. Team Fortress was, without a doubt, popular with middle school aged boys at the time of its release. Being curious as to what the "hype" (am I using this Gen Z slang correctly?) was, I googled Team Fortress 2. I had no, and will still never have any, interest in first-person shooter games. I do not like to kill things. I am a god-honoring woman. However, seeing the image of seven strong and mysterious men, (I am indeed disregarding the Scout, as he is not strong nor is he a man, he is a weak and pathetic boy.) I was indeed intrigued.

I, before then, had minor experiences with fandom spaces, having been interested in Harry Potter at the time. I read fan-fiction occasionally. However, I felt no interest toward fan-fiction and pairings of the homosexual variety. My favorite ship to read fan-fiction of was Dramione. I imagined myself as Hermione. My readings of fan-fiction were in fact very self-serving. I became gradually interested in Team Fortress 2 when the fandom was in its infancy. (If you are wondering as to how I never interacted with the fandom before now, or used "social media," that is because I was not allowed to at such an age, and had a fear of doing so up until adulthood. Please do not shame me.)

Back to the topic of Team Fortress! I began searching for fan art of my favorite characters - which, then, were Medic and Soldier. I longed for the Soldier to hold me in his strong arms. I secretly desired for Medic to perform cruel and unusual acts of surgery upon my body. That is a common sentiment shared upon fans of Medic now, I have found. I thought I was alone!

Anyways... At some point, I began to discover Team Fortress fan-fiction. I was extremely intrigued by my discoveries. I, being a pre-fangirl with no real interest in shipping between the mercenaries yet, read "x reader" fan-fiction. However, the extreme abundance of slash fiction made stories of the homosexual variety completely and utterly unavoidable. I naively decided to read just one story of such a kind. I do believe it was a HeavyMedic fic. It was like a fujosplosion inside my mind. I quickly became hooked on reading M/M Team Fortress fan-fiction, scouring sites such as FFN to find more.

That does seem to be how I became interested in gay pairings in Team Fortress 2.

Ok, then what are your favorites? Stop rambling, woman.

Why would you say that to me? Anyways, over the years, I have been particularly drawn to three different pairings.

the first would of course be Trucks n' Vans.

It may be obvious that is my favorite. Actually, I think I already mentioned that it is, ha ha! Anyways. Trucks n' Vans has captivated me ever since I was a young girl. First of all, Sniper is skinny and mildly pathetic, while Engineer is a beautiful fit man. He is also Southern, which I am too. I became interested in this pairing because I imagined Engineer teaching Sniper the ways of God and life in the South. He would show Sniper the beauty and joy of a good old peach cobbler. Which he clearly needs, because I do have a burning hatred for Australians. Sniper is an exception. Anyways.

I have also found great interest in HeavyMedic.

Of course I have. I was interested in this fandom from the day it was created, you silly goose, of course I love HeavyMedic. They were meant to be. Please don't tell God that I said this but I wish I was between them as they kissed. I am short enough for that, being a meager five-foot-one, and generally petite. Well, um, sorry to cut that short, but I am having an extremely bad nosebleed at the moment. Because I thought too hard about HeavyMedic with me sandwiched int he middle. I may as well complete typing this post up, because it's not that bad, but I may make typos here and there. There is blood on my keyboard. Oh Dear. LOL!

My Other Thoughts.

I do believe that Team Fortress shipping is what made me more tolerant of people leading a homosexual lifestyle. When I see gay people in the streets I no longer recoil in disgust as my parents taught me, but I remember that they are people too. Just like Team Fortress 2 in real life. I did meet lots of gay people in college, when I was learning and working toward my PhD in philosophy. Most of the men there did not interest me, because they looked too much like Scout and not enough like a handsome Soldier.

As detailed in my previous post, there are many people who hold disdain for fangirls, or generally people who ship and read fan-fiction. I did experience some of this in college and high school. In middle school, I was very secretive about my fan-fiction and fandom activities. I didn't even have any online friends. The only people I knew who had any interest in Team Fortress 2 were boys at school, who thought I was a freak of nature for being interested in gay scenarios between the mercenaries. I once had lemonade thrown on my brand-new white pants because I was caught reading a HeavyMedic fan-fiction in class. I wanted to die. Please, Lord, excuse my language...FUCK you, Jared. I have violent fantasies regarding him sometimes. As a result of that, I was called gay pee-girl for the rest of the year. I had to move schools because nobody called me by my name, and I was only known as the gay pee-girl. It was definitely worse than "freak."

That may be it from me today. There's so much blood. I think it is not just a normal nosebleed. Oh goodness

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

He wakes up thirsty.

Minato groans and drapes an arm over his eyes. He’s thirsty, but his bed is supremely warm and comfortable. Is he thirsty enough to truly make it worth abandoning this earthly paradise?

He peers over his forearm at his alarm clock and frowns. It’s about five minutes until midnight, so if he wants something from the vending machines– although definitely not Mad Bull, now that he thinks about it– he’d better mount the expedition soon.

He spends the next two minutes debating with himself, weighing the pros and cons like a miser. Eventually thirst wins out, so Minato claws his way up from his bed and shambles his way, zombie-style, to the door.

Only half a step into the hall he freezes. He isn’t the only one up and about: Aragaki eases his door closed behind him, holding the knob so the latch doesn’t make any noise. His steps are carefully controlled and quiet as he moves down the hall and towards the stairs. It doesn’t seem like he notices Minato.

Normally, Minato wouldn’t bother him– Aragaki has mentioned his occasional bouts of insomnia before, and now and then the dorm has woken up to find that plastic containers of home cooked something-or-other had mysteriously appeared in the fridge overnight. Minato could just grab his drink and go, except…

Aragaki is in his battle gear, evoker and armband included. Rooted in place, Minato frowns as he watches Aragaki disappear into the stairwell. A moment later, the familiar green glow of the Dark Hour seeps throughout the dorm.

So much for getting something to drink.

Suddenly Minato is wide awake. He dives back into his room to gear up– he’s never put his armor on faster. His mind races: why is Aragaki going out during the Dark Hour? He’s supposed to be resting!

His injuries, his health– everything is still so touch-and-go with Aragaki right now. Just going to school and being subjected to social interaction has been leaving him exhausted, and now he’s heading out into an active combat zone dressed like he’s expecting a fight?

He’s only just finished tugging on his pants when he catches the sound of the front doors opening and closing, easy to hear in the catacomb silence of the Dark Hour. Only now does it occur to Minato that he could have just called out to Aragaki to stop him from– doing whatever he thinks he’s doing.

He feels silly. He feels stupid. He curses his sleepy, sluggish brain and thinks, not for the first time, that being The Fool really does suit him.

Well, it’s too late now. He’s got a senpai to catch, and he’s already given him enough of a lead. It might even be better this way, since confronting Aragaki in the hall or even the lounge would run the risk of waking someone else and causing a scene.

Aragaki will probably be mad about being followed, but that’s fine. Maybe by the time he catches up, Minato will be able to manage getting mad in return. Right now though, all he feels is adrenaline-spiked worry. He could never forgive himself if something happened to his friend when he could have stopped it.

Minato quickly yanks his jacket on and finally he’s ready to give chase. He grabs his sword belt with the intention of buckling it on the go. As he does, something else strikes him, a detail that he’d missed before– Aragaki hadn’t been carrying his axe.

Should Minato go get it and bring it with him? Of course, that would be assuming he can even get into Aragaki’s room…

Which, as he discovers, he can’t. Aragaki had locked the door behind him. Minato supposes he can take some solace from that, since it almost certainly means that Aragaki does indeed have every intention of coming back. It’s probably just as well, anyway. Aragaki makes it look easy, carrying that thing around, but Minato doubts he could manage to get it downstairs without falling and breaking his neck and waking up everyone else in the dorm while he was at it.

…God, what on earth could Aragaki possibly be thinking, going out into the Dark Hour alone and only half armed? This is the sort of thing he’d tear into Sanada for if he tried it. The hypocrisy would be almost comical if it wasn’t so concerning at the moment.

Minato scurries down the stairs and out into the street with the lightest tread he can manage. Aragaki is nowhere in sight, and as far as Minato can tell he hadn’t done anything like conveniently stepping in one of the puddles that the Dark Hour spontaneously generates and leaving behind a trail of lurid red, easily trackable bootprints.

There are a few places Minato can think of where Aragaki might be headed, and one that he’s guaranteed to avoid, but Minato has no clue how to narrow the list down further to where Aragaki is most likely to go. He’ll have to guess and get lucky.

Now he’s really kicking himself for deciding to save his money instead of fusing Norn when he had the chance this afternoon. Maybe having a Fortune Persona on him wouldn’t make a difference when it came to actual luck, but it would have been good for his nerves.

Minato takes a deep breath, makes his decision, and prays he chose right.