#hope this is at least decent

[st4rd0lly]

𝐂’𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘!

cw: dog!reader (as in ears and tail) , ruts / heat , SMUT , written with AFAB reader in mind but no established genitalia or gendered pronouns/words regarding reader, slightttt corruption kink? if u squint, dom dazai, sub reader, obvi MDNI 

just imagining being dazai’s puppydog coworker and oh is he so mean. 

dazai, who teases you relentlessly at work, playing with your ears and messing with your tail till you turn around and start scolding him only for him to say he only hears barking right now

dazai, who riles you up on purpose just to hear you slightly growl at him but not miss a chance to poke fun at you for your tail giving you away by wagging it ! he takes it just as a sign of excitement and endearment 

dazai, who leans down really close to your ears and whispers the most suggestive sentences ever to watch you freeze and squirm slightly but then pull back like he said nothing 

dazai, who learns about your rut / heat cycles through “accidentally” eavesdropping on yosano speaking to you about them and how she might not have the meds to suppress them in time

dazai, who jumpstarts your rut / heat cycle early just because of this ! He amps up the teasing and flirty words and he watches how you squirm under any of his touches, how you breathe a little more heavy when he’s near, how you keep having your eyes wander to him. how they keep trailing from his eyes, to his neck, to his hands and sometimes his crotch

dazai, who watches you excuse yourself from work in a hurry much to the office’s surprise ! he offers to go check in on you like the good coworker and friend he is

dazai, who stands in front of your door with his ear pressed up against it. hearing you whine out desperately, and judging by the sounds of moving fabric, he assumes you’re humping a pillow. his hand wraps around the door knob and twists it, knowing that you were distracted and knowing that you forgot to lock the door

dazai, who knocks on the door and asks you if you’re alright which makes your hips stutter slightly. you try to tell him that you’re alright and that you just need some time to rest

dazai, who enters your apartment and sees you on the couch with your knees sinking into the cushions as you rut against the pillow. your tail was wagging and your ears were twitching

dazai, who helps you through your rut / heat like a good coworker and friend <3

“Oh f-fuck ! i-i’m sorry dazai—” You tried to apologize, your head was too dazed to even think properly but you were too focused on catching your pleasure. You figured you’d catch embarrassment pretty soon regardless, you couldn’t even continue to look him in the eye after turning your head around to see him.

“Now isn’t that a sight to see… My, it must be my birthday because this feels like a gift more than anything.” He cooed out loud, shutting the door behind him and locking it. Though, the idea of leaving it unlocked and having the possibility of a person walking in did leave him tempted. 

He walked over behind you, his hands firmly stopping your hips abruptly. The feeling of his touch felt cold compared to the heat you were feeling. You had stripped yourself bare, only leaving your underwear on, soaked with slick. You let out a whimper at this action, lowering your head in defeat and embarrassment with your hands in front of the cushion to support you. Your tail kept thumping against the couch. 

“Poor little puppy…” He chuckled, one of his hands traveled up your body before brushing your shoulder and then lifting your chin up to look at him with a gentle force. He couldn’t rough you up just yet. “Look at you, your skin feels so warm. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve assumed you were sick-“

“Dazai…” You whined, blinking slowly. God how you wanted him to fuck you right now. Treating you like a little toy, pressing your face down into the mattress while pounding into you. The ache between your legs was fucking unbearable, everything felt too hot and he was the only source of coldness. 

“You want me to help you?”

Those words felt like cold water splashed to your face. Your eyes widen in eagerness and your body heats up more with shame and arousal. A smirk tugs at his lips, seeing even your ears perking up at this offer. You were too cute for him to handle. 

“I-I’ve never…done it before.” You admitted, and he swore his heart was about to cave in. You really were too cute for him to handle. Regardless of whether or not you’ve slept with someone, it didn’t matter to him. But the thought of him being the first and only one to make you mess?

His hardened cock strained against his pants uncomfortably even more now.

“And yet you’re humping a pillow like you’ve fucked yourself on a dick before.” The brunette teased, looking closely as you get shy.

“Why don’t you tell me everything you’ve been thinking about when you looked at me today? Trust me, I could tell.” Dazai grinned, his hand trailing down to your neck and rubbing the skin beneath his thumb. He leaned down closer. 

“I guess I have to take responsibility for putting you in this predicament in the first place… so just tell me everything you’ve thought of me doing to you ‘kay? And I promise I’ll be better than what you imagined, oh-

—and keep your pretty eyes on me pup.”

[akira-pink]

Have some zelink brainrot from me to you please enjoy

[emblazons]

"I'll be fine. You've seen how much ass I can kick."

(The Many Eras of) Tifa Lockhart in Bonzi Palace Color Palette Meme Request for @fireplceashes

[themisterhip]

Happy genos (/:''>)/

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

WWX gets up to no good

[First] Prev <--> Next

[sorunort]

you know what fuck you [un-greyscales your rpg world]

WAHOO THIS IS FINALLY DONE AAAAAAAGH my color hcs!!!!! some of these were harder than others (isabeau), some of them were easier than others (bonnie), but i'm pretty happy with them all!! especially mirabelle, i did her first but she ended up being my favorite of the bunch...

i'd like to do one for loop sometime (starry spacey galaxy body WHEEE) but i need to rest for like 3 days ough my RSI

[otaku553]

[420-what-you-smokin]

YEAH 100%

YOUAERE My FUCKIGN GI>RLFREIONGD

[smolbonbon]

Whether you like it or not you're stuck with me

Solar/Moon fanfiction (but can be read as platonic)

⚠️TW: past abuse, panic attacks, fever dream (But a lot of comfort and bonding)

I hope you enjoy it <3

It's already been a week after Solar and Moon rescued the smaller jester and as always, Solar was glued to the computer.

He and Moon made a lot of progress on their project, but it's not finished yet. It's one of Solar's top priorities, to make sure Lunar is safe at all times, he has to make sure nothing happens, and that Eclipse won't get their bloody hands on them again.

But for some reason, he couldn't just focus.

He felt a heavy feeling in his body like everything was just pulling him down. Also, he keeps sneezing even though he cleaned his fans a few days ago. Then there was the sore feeling in his joints.

His hands also seemed not to be able to stop shaking. It wasn't unusual that the dark Sun animatronic had problems with his body, but it was worse than usual.

Was it stress? It couldn't be. He dealt with worse, and unlike the past, this was nothing. He even has way less on his plate than before.

Actually, when was the last time he slept? Perhaps it's the need for rest that is causing this.

Solar would normally drink coffee right now, but drinks or food just don't sound appealing at the moment.

The grumpy bot shook his head and tried to focus on the monitor. It needed to be done but when he blinked at the monitor he couldn't make anything out of the numbers, and before he knew, his head was already on the desk.

Oh whatever, a little nap wouldn't hurt. Maybe sleeping for an hour will do, then he will finish it. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

When Moon was entering the daycare, he had a feeling that Solar was on the security desk.

Moon squinted his eyes and saw Solar was sleeping, but the grumpy solar bot wasn't alone.

The smaller jester was just standing in front of the security desk.

What was Ruin doing? As Ruin could feel the stare bore into him, he suddenly turned in Moon's direction and waved with a smile.

Moon would be lying if that didn't make him feel unsettled. He might look innocent, but Moon knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

Before he knew, his legs moved faster and when he opened the door, Ruin was walking towards Moon.

"Erh hello Moon! I was just about to look for you." Moon raised an eyebrow and instinctively moved to Solar.

"Yes, I'm here. What's up?" Ruin gave Moon a worried glance.

"Y-You see I was looking for Solar first and when I did, I couldn't help but notice that Solar.. uh fans are very loud. And normally, when an animatronic is in standby modus it's not usually that loud."

Moon put his hand on Solar's arm, and he noted how warm the Solar animatronic felt. Moon crouched down and softly nudged him.

"Solar wake up."

Solars fans blasted as he woke up. He groaned as he pulled himself up, and he held his head, everything was spinning.

Moon rubbed his arm gently. "You're doing alright there buddy?" 

Solar blinked at him and then looked at Ruin. "I guess."

Moon moved his hand to Solar's cheek before he knew Solar leaned in. Then Moon moved closer to him and scanned him.

"You're hot." To Solar's response, he only let out a strangled noise and blinked at him confused. 

"What?"

"You're overheating! Did you overwork yourself again?!" Moon hissed, Ruin fidgeted with his hands and just watched the interaction between them.

Solar leaned back into his chair. "No, I'm sure that I didn't. Also, I was just taking a nap." Solar rasped out.

Moon didn't ignore the fact that Solar's voice sounded strained. Moon let out a sigh as he realized what was happening.

"I think you caught the virus Ruin and I had." Solar raised a brow.

"But I didn't touch the barrier like you two did." Moon opened his mouth but didn't say anything. He was right. Solar didn't, so how did he catch it? 

Ruin cleared his throat to get their attention, with success. "Gentlemen, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have a theory about how Solar did catch it,"

Ruin looked at them with a nervous smile, as if he was embarrassed to mention it.

"perhaps the cause is through the sleepover you two had when Moon was sick."

Solar let out an embarrassed sound and Moon pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh.

"That explains it. Viruses can spread through electricity." Moon spoke softly, ignoring the heat growing on his faceplate.

"C'mon let's get you to bed." Moon said pushy while grabbing his hands.

Solar let out a huff as the Lunar bot pulled him up.

"Alright, alright give me a second." Solar mumbled grumpy, he knew he wouldn't be able to work, he couldn't even stand without holding on to something. 

"Ruin, Earth will be here any second. Can you tell her that I'm with Solar in his room?" Ruin stood straight and saluted. "Will do!" He replied enthusiastically.

Moon and Solar made their way to the room. Solar bumped into Moon every now and again. He tried to focus on walking in a straight line, but it didn't help that his sight was blurry.

"Want me to carry you?" Moon teased, and Solar chuckled.

"What, don't you want me to return the favor from last time?" Moon nudged Solar and rolled his eyes.

"What favor? I only carried you to your room when you passed out. It's the last thing I could've done." Moon shrugged.

"I would rather carry you before you pass out."

"I'll let you know if I want to be carried." Solar said playfully, and when they reached the theater he placed his hand on Moon's shoulder.

"But if you don't mind, I will put my hand on your shoulder, so I can walk straight."

"Sure things will go ahead." 

Solar sat down on his bed and leaned against the wall. The cold feeling of the wall made the Solar bot sigh, he closed his eyes and stretched.

There was a silence for a moment.

"You want to sleep?"

Solar thought about it. Yes, he was tired, but he didn't really want to be alone either, so he shook his head.

Asking him to stay while he sleeps sounds stupid. Moon is a busy guy, and the last thing he needs is to nurse him back to health. Even if he did that for him. Moon is not obligated to do the same thing for him.

The feeling of the mattress sinking under a new weight pulled him out of his thoughts. Solar opened his eyes a bit and saw how Moon crisscrossed next to him.

"You know you don't have to stay here if you're busy." Solar rasped out, but he felt tense at the thought of being alone.

"Nah, I'm good it can wait. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Moon simply replied, Solar softly smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Terrifying." He said sarcastically as he felt more heat creeping into his faceplate. Moon chuckled quietly as he leaned back.

Solar felt an annoying ache in his body and his joints were stiff. He pointed to the hip flask next to Moon and Moon handed it to Solar.

"Not drinking alcohol, where are we?"

Solar barks out a laugh.

"Moon, you know there is no alcohol in this thing. But it wouldn't be such a bad idea for the pain." Moon grinned and shrugged.

"To be fair, this thing is not meant for oil."

Solar popped open the flask and dumped oil on his stiff joints. "I don't care for what it's made, as long it's handy." Moon nodded to his response.

Moon started to fidget with his hat. "Honestly, my first thought when I saw Ruin was that he did something to you. He stood in front of you and stared at you menacingly until he realized I was at the entrance of the daycare."

Moon continued to explain.

"He told me he was looking for me, but it didn't look like it." Solar frowned.

"I don't know what to think of that guy. Maybe he is just socially awkward, you know?"

Moon shrugged and glanced over to Solar. "Let's just be careful around him." Moon vocalized.

Solar nodded, and the conservation changed to a lighter topic. Solar doesn't need more to worry about at the moment.

Moon scanned him every now and again. He had to make sure Solar didn't overheat. Despite that Solar didn't tell him anything about how he felt, he could tell that he kept feeling worse. His faceplate was glowing, it almost looked like his old body and his voicebox kept glitching out.

"So that's when I told Lunar 'Soon.' " Solar chuckled at the memory, he explained to Moon what happened that made Lunar so jumpy around him.

"Take off your clothes." Moon bluntly spoke. Solar's eyes widened again, and his orange faceplate turned red.

"Huh??"

"Solar, you have to take off your shirt and pullover, so your processor doesn't overheat."

"How about you form full sentences and don't blurt out random things?"

Moon then realized his poor choice of words and let out a little 'sorry'.

Solar shook his head as he took off his shirt and pullover.

Solar grimaced at how vulnerable he felt, even though the most glamrock barely wore any clothes. Glamrock Freddy doesn't even wear pants.

Solar saw that Moon was scanning him again and let out a relieved sigh. He supposed his fans weren't going to blow out any time soon when Moon is around.

"So you're just going to do nothing to get back to Lunar?" Moon asked, remembering the last thing Solar told him about.

He shook his head and smiled, there was a twinkle in his eyes.

"Now I didn't say that, someday I will."

"Oh that's cruel. I love it, what do you have in mind?" Moon's curiosity showed as he got closer to him in the hope he'd tell him.

"To bad I won't tell you." Solar rasped out with a mischievous smile.

"Aw c'mon, I will keep my mouth shut." 

Moon frowned when Solar shrugged and stayed silent. Moon frowned.

"Believe me, when I prank him you will hear him." Solar smiled.

"That's boring." Moon pouted and Solar chuckled. "You're just impatient."

Solar doesn't recall that he fell asleep until he opened his eyes, but he doesn't recall being in another room.

When he looked around, Sun sat next to him and then the busk animatronic realized he was wearing his old clothes.

"Did you hear what I said, Eclipse?" The bright animatronic asked with a soft smile.

"What?"

"I think you spaced out there." He snickered. Solar blinked at him and cleared his throat.

"Sorry what did you say?" Sun smiled and leaned back into the orange couch.

Solar realized Sun made their mindscape look like the living room.

"Well, I said Moon and I played this weird game about babysitting a baby that is actually a demon." Sun told him excitedly and Solar smiled softly.

Why is this so familiar?

"So your plan to spend more time with Moon is working?" Sun nodded enthusiastically. "He doesn't seem to mind." 

When was the last time he saw Sun so.. happy?

"He still doesn't know about me, does he?"

Sun smile faded, and he fidgeted with his hands while he looked up to the darker Sun. 

"Erh no not yet. But I promise-, pinky promise I will! I just um don't think it's the right time yet."

Solar nodded and looked to the side.

Was he forgetting something?

Sun jumped up and held his hand out to Solar.

"I know you're worried, but I'm 100% sure everything will be okay." Solar took his hand and got up. He could tell Sun was nervous about telling Moon about him simply by his body language. But who was he to tell him that?

"Okay."

He is forgetting something.

"Come on, I want to play this game with you as well!"

"More like you play and I watch?" Solar spoke amused.

"Like you mind!" Sun blew raspberries to him and he chuckled.

"Very mature of you Sun." Solar said, amused.

Sun skipped to the door but when Solar followed him through the never, ending hallway. Sun was already going out through the door. He started to run, but the room was moving with him.

"Sun wait! Wait for me." He rasped out, the panic rising in his chest. When he finally reached the door, everything went dark.

"Sun?" Solar looked around and couldn't see anybody. 

It looked like he was inside an old laboratory. But why was he in there, and where is Moon? Did his processor give out, which is why Moon moved them to fix it?

Solar noted that he was lying on the cold table in an abandoned lab. Wasn't he just in Sun's room?

While he was looking around he noted that the lab had tubes that seemed to be very dirty and dusty. There was a singular bulb hanging right above him, but despite that, the room was dark.

The roof was leaking, spin webs in every corner and the tools which were laying on the table were way too rusty to use.

The room he was in looked way too familiar than he would have wanted.

What was he forgetting?

He started to feel his panic rise and when he sat up, his head was buzzing and there was a icky feeling in his body, like something was missing.

"Moon?"

The bask animatronic could see something moving in the back of his eye corner. Solar turned around quickly.

He felt something touching his shoulder and he gasped as he stood up from the table.

"Who's there?!" Solar yelled out, regardless of the feeling of dizziness catching up, he was ready to fight whatever was in there.

Trying to make any sense out of this, he silently waited for some response.

"Are you happy now?" A scratchy voice asked. Solar flinched, he knew exactly whose voice it was.

"What?"

"Are you happy with the life you have now? After everything you have done to us, Eclipse?" he asked in a sickening voice.

Moon.. his moon but how? He killed him, he couldn't be alive!

Solar backed to the corner as he saw a shadow walking towards him.

"You sick parasite, first off you took my brother from me, and then you shot me! And now you're just living your best life, huh?!"

"Moon.. I'm not-"

Solar's vision blurred when his Moon pulled him down to look directly at him.

Solar wanted to push him away, but he couldn't move his hands. He wanted to scream, move or anything else! Why couldn't he move?

"I should rip you apart, tear every single wire out and make sure you won't come back." Moon's voice was filled with hatred and rage. His eyes were glowing red and his pupils were turning to pinpoints.

Moon pushed him to the corner as he towered him. Solar could only see his glowing red eyes.

"I'll make sure you suffer until your last breath." Moon spoke low and with rage as he forcefully packed Solar's arm and tore him into the working tube.

"Moon- please I'll help you-"

"Shut up!" Moon interrupted him as he closed the tube.

"I'll make sure that you get what you deserve."

Solar panicked as he watched Moon walking towards the computer.

"Please, Moon, don't do it. Please!" Solar yelled with a hint of desperation.

Moon turned to him while he was pressing the button.

Solar screamed as he woke up. His hands were shaking and everything felt cramped.

Solar clutched his chest while he was hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey Solar, look at me." Moon spoke concerned as he got closer to him. Solar turned his head to him.

"Look at me, everything is okay. You are safe."

Solar's breath got slower as he slowly calmed down. Moon is stunned by how fast the sunset animatronic calmed down.

"I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge." Moon explained, concerned while reaching out for him. Solar flinched and Moon pulled his hand away.

"You're doing okay?" Moon asked carefully and kept his space.

Solar told him some things that had happened in his old location.

It was more his Moon that caused all the problems. Sure, that British Monty wasn't good either, but his Moon is another story. He also met that guy, when Moon stayed there to build the satellite with Solar.

"I'm.. not good." Solar sat up straight and wrapped his arms around his legs.

"I figured.. Um, you want to talk about it?" 

Solar shook his head and there was a silence. The whole cheering up wasn't Moon's thing. He didn't know how he could cheer up his friend.

Thinking about it, Earth would ask for a hug or something like that, but that involves touching and Solar doesn't seem to like that a lot.

Lunar cheered Solar up with a little puppet show last time, but there was no way he was going to do that. Solar would never let that go and tease him for the rest of his life.

Perhaps showing memes? But that wasn't really suitable at the moment.

Moon thought about it and then an idea came to his mind. Solar's drawing tablet. Maybe he would like to draw or something? The blue celestial animatronic remembered that Solar left it in the drawer by the security desk.

When he got up and walked towards the little tunnel, Solar grabbed his hand.

"Don't leave!" He yelped out and that startled the blue animatronic.

Moon focused on him and noted how panicked he looked. Moon never saw him that scared, he held his hand.

"Do you mind if I sit right next to you?"

"I don't mind."

Moon sat down next to him and watched the darker Sun animatronic.

"I actually just wanted to get your tablet." Moon spoke softly.

"Sorry. I don't know what's with me. I have been sick before, but I have never acted like that."

Moon shook his head. "You're fine. Remember when I had the virus? I couldn't be alone either and you know, normally, I even prefer being alone."

Solar nodded and when he remembered, he let out a soft laugh. "You held onto me like your life depended on it." Moon frowned and felt his faceplate heaten up.

"Shut it."

"You didn't even let me go when I took you to your bed." Solar softly teased and Moon jabbed his shoulder.

"I honestly never guessed you were a cuddle bug." Solar continued.

"I could say the same about you. When I woke up you were the one holding me."

Solar shrugged and smirked. "Well, at least I was the big spoon of us both."

Moon let out a strangled sound and covered his faceplate.

Solar laughed softly and leaned back.

"You are so easily to tease." Solar said amused, and Moon just rolled his eyes.

"If it wasn't for you being sick I would already have shoved the pillow into your face." 

"Oh, horrifying." Solar sarcastically vocalized.

Moon gave him a wry smile and hesitated to move closer to him. Solar huffed and moved his elbow to his.

"I'm not afraid of you." Solar blurted out and Moon tilted his head.

"I was just so caught up in my dream that I didn't realize it was you." The bask animatronic tried to explain.

"Do you often dream about your Sun and Moon?"

"No, just sometimes, but not all of them are nightmares. Believe it or not, I actually have a few nice memories of that place."

Moon nodded and glanced at him. Then the blue celestial animatronic drew circles in Solar's hand and closed his eyes. 

Solar smiled softly at him and then slowly leaned his head towards Moon's.

"I had many dreams about that damn Gator." Solar admitted, and Moon raised his brow.

"I'm pretty sure that Gator had a way to get in dreams because they kept trying to sell their things."

Moon barked a laugh. "How? That British Gator can't even tie a knot. Remember when.."

"Moon that Gator was smarter than they let on."

The blue crescent animatronic chuckled. "Actually you're right, our Monty is similar when it comes to that."

There was a comforting silence and slowly Solar's hand intertwined with Moon's.

They stayed like this for a while and eventually Solar felt sleepy again.

Moon noticed that Solar was about to fall asleep, so he slowly moved him to lay down. When he tucked Solar in, he was about to just sit down on the floor and wait for him to wake up.

Solar grabbed Moon's hand and looked up at him with a slight panic.

"Are you going to leave?" Moon shook his head.

"No, you are stuck with me, remember? I just didn't know if I should lay with you."

"If you don't mind?" Solar mumbled.

Moon smiled softly at him and laid down next to him.

The blue celestial turned around, his back facing Solar and Moon felt Solar's hand move to his chest. He pulled Moon towards him and held him close.

"Calling me a cuddle bug, huh?" Moon mumbled silently and laid his hands over Solar's.

He was happy to have someone like Solar.

It didn't take Moon long to fall asleep, but then again, he could sleep anywhere if the crescent animatronic wanted to.

Hours went by, it was closing time and the celestial siblings, Lunar, Sun and Earth were carrying cookies and drinks.

Moon texted Sun and the other two that Solar was sick and should come if they had time.

Sun and Moon developed a habit of watching movies if one of them is sick. Since Earth, Lunar and even Monty came along, the habit of stuck to them as well. And they had to make sure that solar is also involved in this.

Lunar was the first to zoom through the tunnel and jumped on Solar's bed.

"Solar wake up!" Lunar yelled, that startled Moon and Solar.

Lunar let out a little gasp when they realized that Moon was also there.

"Jesus Christ Lunar. Do you always have to scream when you wake us?" Moon mumbled while sitting up.

Lunar muffled his laugh while jumping off the bed.

"Hey Sun I found Moon! He was with Solar the whole time." He yelled through the tunnel.

Solar groaned and covered his faceplate in his hands.

"Can you not scream? My head is killing me." Solar mumbled grumpy.

Lunar let out a little sorry, then Sun and Earth was climbing through the tunnel.

"Moon, have you been here for the past couple of hours?" 

The bright animatronic asked while holding chips and popcorn.

"Yep here the last few hours, why?"

"Well, we actually needed your help since we had another problem with code.. blue." Sun explained and Moon groaned as he let himself fall in bed again.

"Not dealing with this now, tomorrow." He mumbled while closing his eyes again. Solar rolled his eyes, trying not to be amused by this situation.

"How are you feeling, Solar? Any better?" Earth questioned him.

And Moon seemed to be interested in the question as well, since he sat up straight and waited for his answer.

Solar thought about it and he actually felt better. His body didn't ache, and his fans were also way quieter than in the morning.

"I'm actually feeling better."

"Did Moon nurse you back to health?" Lunar asked with a teasing tone.

Moon threw a pillow at him and when it hit Lunar he let out a little 'oof'.

"I mean if it wasn't for him, I would probably still be passed out on the security desk." Solar joked, but the other celestial animatronics didn't seem to find that funny.

Solar let out a nervous laugh before a pillow hit right in his face.

"What the heck, Lunar?"

"You deserved it." Lunar simply mumbled.

"Well, I'm glad Moon found you before that happened." Earth spoke while placing the cookies down on Solar's desk.

"Actually, Ruin found him first." Moon explained and Earth tilted her head.

"I see, I mean he did tell me you both went upstairs to get some rest."

"Do you guys know where he is?" Moon asked genuinely.

Earth shook her head. "No I wanted to, but he was kinda just gone when I was looking for him."

Moon hummed.

"You look awful by the way, Solar." Lunar shot right out and Solar sighed. "Thanks, Lunar."

Lunar was about to jump on his bed again but stopped himself.

"Wait, are you contagious?"

Solar grinned at him. "Oh, very." Then he started to pretend to cough into his elbow. Lunar seemed to be unimpressed and they jumped on the bed.

"He is kinda contagious," Moon said to Lunar, and he stopped jumping and gave Moon the death stare.

Solar chuckled, as he watched Lunar stepping away from him.

"Wait, is he actually contagious?" Earth asked genuinely and Moon nodded.

"Yeah, if you touch him while he sneezes or is glitching out, the virus can spread to you," Moon explained and turned his gaze to the amused animatronic.

"Is that how you got it from Moon, Solar?" Sun asked while Lunar was stealing a cookie from Earth.

"Yep, I'm very contagious. You better watch out." Solar said sarcastically.

"So why are you sitting right next to him, brother?" Sun asked while keeping his distance. 

"Well, actually me and Ruin are now immune to it since our bodies have already experienced it and know how to kill the virus the second it gets in our body. Similar to the human immune system.. more or less." Moon interpreted.

"Soo what are we watching today?" Earth tilted her head as she glanced at Solar.

"It's my turn to pick the movie?" He questioned and Moon nodded.

"If you're sick you can choose."

Solar felt his faceplate heat up, it was just picking a damn movie. Why did that make him feel so embarrassed? Perhaps because it made him feel like he was currently the spotlight of this room.

"I don't know. I don't care what we watch." Solar mumbled.

"I mean if you don't know, we could give you some recommendations," Earth added while smiling softly.

Solar shook his head. "I know what we could watch. But, um are we going to watch it here?"

"Well, we wanted to see if you feel well enough to watch it in the theater?" Sun explained.

"Why did you bring the food in here then?" Moon questioned while watching Lunar eat the cookies.

"Every time we leave the food alone in the theater, Vegeta just steals it." Earth told him.

"You mean that creation of Monty?" Moon cringed while asking.

Earth nodded and Solar got up slowly.

"We can go to the theater." Solar rasped out while holding on Moon's shoulder.

"But I'm not going to deal with Vegeta if they come around." Solar clarified.

They brought blankets and cushions to the theater. The snacks and drinks were lying on the table and Solar watched how everyone got comfortable watching the movie.

Solar glanced over to Moon when he was sitting down next to him.

"What? I told you were stuck with me." Moon nudged him playfully and Solar smiled softly at him.

He wouldn't want it any other way.

________________________________

Homies just cuddling

..and they were roommates

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

a little fluffy snippet for @medecineformelancholy in which trent has a bad day and gets cuddles and a warm shower for it

admittedly not my bestest work as it was all done in the like the past hour and i'm literally on the verge of falling asleep but i wanted to write you something fluffy and sweet <3 i hope everything gets better soon 💗

Ted knew Trent had had a bad day when he came home soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his skull and dripping cold, expression tight and closed-off, and generally giving off the impression of a miserable kitten that had been dunked in a cold bath and was adorably, furiously grumpy about it.

Well, actually, he’d known Trent probably wasn’t having a great day when he’d not kept up his usual jitterhop stream of texts, chattering and clustered in places, telling Ted about his day or whatever he thought might make Ted laugh. Ted did the same in return, and with little to none today, Trent must have been busy, for better or worse.

Going by his miserable expression, worse.

The door closes behind him and his eyes catch Ted’s—who’d come to meet him when he heard the shuffling of the key in the lock—and his tense shoulders relax, slumping along with his expression.

“Bad day?” says Ted sympathetically, and he opens his arms, and without even pausing Trent takes a few steps forward, posture already loosening.

But then he falters, stopping in his tracks, and says, “Wait, I’m dripping wet. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinki—”

Ted easily closed the distance between them and pulled Trent into his arms, snug into his chest. Cold water be damned.

Trent freezes for a moment, then melts, slowly and hesitantly bringing his arms up to hug Ted back. He leans in, shivering a little. His nose is cold against Ted’s throat, his wet hair chilly on Ted’s shoulder, his whole body cold and shivery against Ted’s chest and in his arms.

But already, Ted can feel the warm leeching through his wet clothes, feel the blood pumping under his damp skin. He brings a hand up to rub fingertips gently against the nape of Trent’s neck, gently dragging his nails up and down there, making Trent shiver for a new reason.

He turns his head to press a kiss into Trent’s hair, hand coming up to cup the back of his head warmly.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “How about we take a warm shower?”

Trent shivers again, and Ted thinks it’s just the cold, but still, Trent burrows closer, clinging a little tighter.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly, and Ted squeezes him gently, strokes his hair—the thick curls plastered together in cold, wet cords, smooth with still-dripping water.  

“You know I want to,” Ted says, and Trent gives a pleased little sigh—not exasperated, but affectionate. Resigned, but not in a way that spoke of tolerance—Trent never simply tolerated Ted, but actually enjoyed is company in a way that made Ted feel warm and fuzzy—but of a sort of amusedly reluctant acceptance, acceptance of love he thought he didn’t deserve.

 “I know,” Trent says, almost a whisper, and Ted rocks them back and forth for a moment before finally pulling away, if only barely, hands still lingering on Trent’s body.

“Let’s peel you outta these clothes,” he says, Trent smiles, a weaker smile than his dorkiest, most radiant grin, but a real smile all the same.

Admittedly, undressing Trent is a little bit of a guilty pleasure of Ted’s.

It’s not even a sexual sort of thrill; the intimacy just gets to him in a way not much else can.

Ted’s hands on his body, tender and careful, undoing each button and tugging away cloth, slowly revealing more and more of Trent’s skin, his bare body. Often kissing along the newly exposed flesh as he did, to make Trent shiver happily or giggle or smile, depending on how, exactly, he was kissing. And where, for that matter.

And Trent, trusting and plaint under his touch, tipping into it and smiling at him and letting Ted peel him open, baring his throat for buttons.

Now, especially, feels intimate. Trent’s clothes are cold and sticking to him uncomfortably; his shirt thin and almost transparent under his blazer. He’s clearly cold, even feels cold to the touch, but trying to stay still. Ted wonders if his hands feel hot on Trent’s skin.

(However they feel,  though, Trent leans into them.)

Ted makes quick work of his own clothes and then Trent lets Ted guide him to the shower and under the stream of water he’s had running since before he undid Trent’s first button, and lets out a full body sigh of relief when the warm water crashes over his bare back.

Ted follows him in, and Trent reaches forward to tug Ted a little closer. He leans into his chest, head resting on his shoulder, sandwiched between Ted and the water, warmth flooding him on both sides.

Trent’s breathing is deep and even as he just stands there a moment in Ted’s arms.

“This oughtta warm you up a bit, huh?” Ted says, and Trent gives a laughing little hum, not pulling away. He nods, still no words, just savoring the heat.

“…Tell me about your day,” says Ted gently, and Trent groans a little into his shoulder.

“Just—” Trent mumbles something into his shoulder, more grumble than words, about his publisher and idiots and irksome before he takes a breath and says, quietly, “…tell me about yours instead? Please?”

“…nothing much happened,” Ted warns him. “Won’t be that interestin’.”

“I’m always interested in you,” says Trent, with the kind of honesty that hit you over the head, the sort of truth he’d used as a baseball bat in the early days that was now relegated to a sweetly oblivious and warmly casual wallop. “I wanna know everything.”

Ted pauses, a little taken aback, and then after a moment begins, “Well, the team’s doin’ pretty well, not that it’s a surprise…”

....

Ted mercifully takes a while to actually start doing anything other than just letting Trent stand there uselessly in the water, trying to get warm.

He’s cold, and he’d been miserable and annoyed and busy and lonely all day, so stepping into the shower with Ted—just this intimate little bubble, just them, Ted undressing him and warming him up, basically spoiling him, and Trent shouldn’t love being spoiled so damn much.

But here’s Ted, telling him about his day, his voice warm and soothing, going off on tangents and making Trent giggle despite himself, even as he pulls back enough to get the showerhead and shampoo and begin gently soaking Trent’s hair properly.

Ted’s broad, warm hands and careful fingers pushing through his hair. Working shampoo in, massaging his scalp, being so gentle and firm and perfect. It’s utterly relaxing, Ted talking to him and insisting on washing his hair just because he knew it felt nice. Ted taking care of him, just because.

Ted waves off attempts to return the favor—another time, he insists, and he can take his own shower later, this was about Trent—and for once, Trent’s too weak to do anything but accept without protest.

He had truly had such an awful day. And here was Ted, gently pulling him into a kiss, helping him dry his hair, leaving little kisses under his ear and down his throat and along his jaw.

He would do the same for Ted—has done the same for Ted—but it still feels revolutionary every time. How on earth can he possibly deserve this?

Deserving or not, soon, Trent’s in soft, clean pajamas, crawling into bed alongside Ted. Relaxed, hair dry and fluffy, no longer cold and wet but dry and warm.

Ted pulls Trent into his arms, lets Trent snuggle into his broad chest, arm curled over his soft stomach. He’s not cold at all anymore; the warmth has leeched into his bones, cozy and safe and curled around his heart like a dragon around gold.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Ted’s skin. “I know—this couldn’t have been your plan for tonight.”

“Hey, I had fun,” says Ted, and Trent feels a hand in his hair, stroking gently through it. “I don’t mind a lazy night in. We can order some takeout if you like.”

“Maybe later,” says Trent, or tries to. He thinks he may have slurred the words, as sleepy as he feels, content and dozing on Ted’s chest. Ted’s arms are warm and heavy around him, and he feels safe and loved. The cold can’t touch him; everything upsetting from his day melted into mist. None of it can touch him now. Ted has him, and nothing else. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” whispers Ted into his hair, and Trent just drifts away, smile still on his lips.

[wasjustred]

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you. 

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings. 

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen. 

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you. 

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew. 

She’s never been more beautiful to you. 

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore. 

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down. 

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck. 

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

[tswwwit]

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to. 

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.” 

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask. 

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples." 

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?” 

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time. 

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent. 

 Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

 In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out - 

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time. 

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out.  "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it - 

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha  ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.” 

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best. 

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder. 

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted. 

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details. 

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain. 

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -  

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach. 

Alright. So. He got most of the traps. 

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention. 

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground. 

Then -  because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing. 

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes. 

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience. 

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder. 

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow. 

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner. 

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument. 

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird. 

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face. 

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency. 

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.” 

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much. 

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention. 

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off. 

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder. 

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation. 

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper  elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it. 

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily. 

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise. 

Until his mind catches up with what he just said. 

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness. 

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.” 

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!” 

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say,  “I’ve done it before.” 

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.” 

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges -  Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels. 

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer - 

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes -  Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.” 

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick. 

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out. 

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it. 

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.” 

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face.  “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts. 

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him. 

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds, 

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.” 

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.” 

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents  - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close -  "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll - 

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal. 

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking -  “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. 

Crap, even his threat before was kind of - 

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

[lost-in-fandoms]

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys❤️

hello friend, I want you to know that this prompt stumped me for quite a while, I just didn't know how to spin it? I started thinking about keys -> doors -> many doors, and I had a zookeeper AU in my brain, but also a college student x security guard AU kind of thing, but in the end I went for this. I did take some liberties on the carabiner part.

Max is being guided towards the last row of cells when they bring him in.

He's being held up by two guards, one more behind them carrying an extra torch, head hanging low like he's not fully aware, curls drooping in front of his face in a disheveled mess.

"Ah, yes," the warden says with a smirk, stepping over to open one of the closed doors, "our little thief!"

The cell is dark and damp, with a hole in the middle of the floor and a wooden slab against the wall as a bed, and even from where he's standing in the corridor, Max can feel how oppressive the small space is, air heavy and stale.

The guards throw the man in without much care, ignoring the way he slumps on the floor, unmoving, but the warden chuckles, coming closer to poke him with the tip of his boot.

"Not so smug now, are you?" he taunts.

Max forces himself not to react as he pokes the thief again, trying to keep his face as impassible as the other guards, watching as the guy tries to twist away, moaning pathetically.

"Who is he?" he asks, voice flat and uninterested. His fingers are tightly closed around the ring of keys the warden had passed him earlier, a copy of the one hanging from his belt.

"Just a rat, sneaking around the castle's treasury for far too long." The warden crouches down, grabbing the man's hair and pulling it back, revealing his bruised face. "The guys had a bit of fun, it seems."

The thief opens one swollen eye to look up at him, and for a second Max thinks his face is twisting in pain, but then realises he's smiling, all blood-stained teeth.

"Touching is 5 gold pieces, sweetheart," he rasps out, before spitting at the warden.

Max can't help but flinch when the guy's head hits the floor, but he steels himself for the kick he sees coming, forcing himself to not look away, even as the poor man coughs and gasps on the floor.

"Vermin," the warden grunts, hitting him again for good measure, before finally stepping away. "Hope you've had your taste of fresh air, because this is the last you're going to get."

The thief doesn't answer, curling up more tightly on the floor, his gasps the last thing Max hears before the door closes with a heavy thud.

--

Max walks down the corridor, trying to remind himself that he has every right to be here, and it would be more suspicious if he sneaked around, The keys jingle at his waist, and the sound itself is enough to make him feel vaguely nauseous, especially as he hears the sounds from inside the cells die down as he walks by, replaced by terrified silence.

Despite his intentions, his steps grow quieter as he walks deeper into the prison, approaching the last rows, and by the time he's in front of the thief's cell his breathing is almost inaudible too, the clinking of his keys the only sound announcing his presence.

He takes a breath before opening the door, checking the end of the corridor just in case someone decided to take a stroll down this way before the actual guards change. It's not illegal what he's doing, not yet at least, but technically he's not supposed to open this door, the meager food they've been throwing being passed through the hatch at the bottom.

The first click of the lock sounds too loud in the quiet corridor, but Max ignores the nerves twisting his stomach and keeps turning the key, pulling the door open as quietly as possible.

The first thing that hits him is the smell. The stale, damp air, now smells even worse, after days of a human being living in it, and he almost has to take a step back, feeling it like a punch in his chest. After that, he sees the thief, a shadow tucked away in one corner.

The sight is enough to make him forget about the smell as he rushes forward, tucking his keys in his pocket to make them less noisy, crouching down in front of him, relieved by the movement of his shoulders.

"Daniel," he whispers, reaching out to touch but worried he'll accidentally scare him, or worse, hurt him. "Daniel, come on, look at me."

"You're late."

Max feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest hearing Daniel's voice, even if dry and raspy, and he almost laughs with it, finally leaning all the way in to touch his shoulders, helping him sit up.

"I'm sorry," he says, even if he had no real way of getting their work done more quickly. "I have water for you, and a piggyback ride out."

Max is glad he prepared himself before walking in, because it takes all his self-control to not gasp when Daniel finally looks up. The bruises he had seen a few days earlier are now purple and green, the dried blood still caking his cheekbone now a flaky brown, his cheeks sunken and pale.

"Don't look at me like that, I haven't had my beauty sleep," Daniel jokes, voice cracking into a cough by the end of the sentence.

"I hate you," Max says, because saying I love you so much it felt like I was dying when I was watching them throw you in here feels a bit too much at the moment. What he does instead is take out the small flask of water from his pocket, helping Daniel drink, fingers almost tingling where he's touching his skin.

"You got them right?" Daniel asks as soon as he's done, looking slightly better than before.

Max nods, patting the pocket on his chest, under his cloak, where he had hidden the documents he had retrieved from where Daniel had stashed them away. Daniel getting beat up hadn't been in the plans though, and Max is eager to get him out of there as soon as possible.

"Come on, it's not long until the watch changes."

He helps Daniel stand up, then climb on his back, leaving his hands free, just in case.

"I'm going to give you so much food," he tells him, feeling how much lighter Daniel has become in just a few days.

"You better."

Max closes the door of the cell behind them, taking a moment to wrap the keys up in an handkerchief before putting them back in his pocket. He knows that there's no way to make it seem like he's not smuggling Daniel out, so he's not taking any chances of the damned keys betraying them when he's trying to be quiet. Then he takes a deep breath, makes sure Daniel is secure on his back, and starts making his way to safety.

[autisticwizardwritings]

HI HI HI HI HI :D

Can i get a total drama request about the contestants meeting Chris’ niece/nephew(gender neutral tho) preferably for world tour but any are good :)

Thamk you!!! :3

(Wasn't sure if you wanted younger, same age, or older, so I'm doing all three. If you want ALL of them, tell me! I just did these 3 for now since they're the only new appearances in World Tour, but I'd be happy to write more of the cast! I say it at the end too, but if you want this written in a proper paragraph style too I'd be more than happy to try to do so, just let me know!!)

Probably OOC 💔

Alejandro, Sierra, and Blaineley meeting Chris’s niece/nephew (no pronouns mentioned) (gn)

Younger (8-12)

Alejandro:

Extremely confused

Also fairly concerned

Why would Chris bring his own niece/nephew on this show at such a young age?

Even if they aren't competing. Should they really be seeing this sort of thing?

After finding out you're not part of the competition, he relaxes a little bit.

Apparently you're here because your mom/dad had to go on some big work trip, and since you were so young, you couldn't be left alone for that long.

Convinced that your parents don't watch the show, because no responsible parent would allow their child in that

Probably tries to talk to you, to get to know you.

Maybe even ends up seeing you as some sort of sibling after a while.

Will defend you if anyone else (*cough* Duncan *cough*) decides to be an asshole

Genuinely cares about you.

How can someone so sweet be related to *that?*

If you're a trouble child however

Makes sense how you're related to Chris

Still makes an effort to be nice to you considering you're only a child

Little minds are influenced by family, they can't help it.

Does tend to keep his distance more though

Probably pulled his hair at some point and that was it for him

Always ponytails it if you're there now.

Either way, if you get hurt somehow, he'd help.

Again, you're only little.

Even if you're 12. 

A little less worried in that case, since you're old enough to kinda look out for yourself

But still makes sure you're alright.

Sierra:

She already knew of your existence. 

Found your mom's Facebook page for info on Chris

Found you there too

Doesn't question the fact that you're here

Immediately wants to become friends with you

Probably smothers you with hugs

Suuuuper friendly

Constantly saying stuff like "Chris your niece/nephew is so sweet" even if you're basically the devil himself

"They could do no wrong ♡"

She's doing it because she genuinely thinks this, but also partially because she wants some "brownie points" or whatever the fuck they're called

Also trying to prove to Cody that she can "be a good mom."

He apologizes for her

If she wins a reward challenge, she'll 100% share whatever it is with you if it's child friendly

Even if you're getting the same good food as your uncle

Will make you dolls out of anything she can

And will want to play with them with you

Blaineley:

A child? Really?

What was Chris thinking?

No one wants to see a child on a show like this

Not to mention the grubby little hands

Doesn't want anything to do with you

Or she makes it seem like that, anyways.

If you get time where it's just the two of you, she's actually surprisingly nice.

Genuinely good with kids

Treats you like her own child

As soon as someone walks in she's back on the other side of the room glaring at you

Will deny this until she dies

If she finds out the fans like you 

Then she starts acting all nice and buddy-buddy on camera too

Not very genuine though

It's just like that when she knows she won't get poked fun of for it

Same age as (still younger than Blaineley)

Alejandro:

Couldn't really care less tbh

Another contestant

Another obstacle

For now

Still makes the effort to talk to you, to make you like him

Like he does with everyone there

The more allies the better right?

May possible try to woo you

With the idea in mind to get you eliminated

There's a possibility he does come to genuinely like you over time

But he'd never admit that

(Platonically or romantically depends on how you wanna read this)

Keeps you around for a little while after

Really not a fan of you at first though

Mainly because you're related to Chris

Who wouldn't?

With the reputation that man has, he's got every right to assume you're like he is

Hopefully that's wrong

If it is? Like I said, definitely starts to genuinely care for you

Actually tries to befriend you

Not just an alliance 

Not just for a scheme

Maybe a little schemey 

But not only for that.

If you ARE like Chris?

Not a fan of you then.

The whole robot thing hasn't happened yet since this is World Tour

But even then

He knows what an ass Chris is

That's an understatement

Really doesn't like you that much

But he still makes the effort to "befriend" you

Just to get rid of you, of course.

(Cannot write for this man to save my life, sorry if this is absolute dogshit)

Sierra:

Again, already knew about you.

Very excited to meet you, too!

She's the self proclaimed Total Drama Superfan, she HAS to know everything about you!!

Talks your ears off

All with good intention of course

She is absolutely ECSTATIC

You know in those cartoons where they shake someone's hand extremely excited and they just. It's almost violent

Yeah

Like that

That's how she shakes your hand when you're first brought on the show

I'd imagine you weren't brought immediately

Because like

Idk

I have no proper reason

Just for funsies

Before any proper eliminations 

(But after Zeeke's)

But yeah!!

Her Cody obsession is… off-putting to say the least

You stay away from her, or at least keep your distance at first

She keeps talking to you, being all friendly

And if you're not too scared of her

Then you guys could become friends!

If you keep talking to her on your own without keeping any distance?

Makes every day so much better for her

Probably used to people being weirded out by her

So you actually talking to her because you GENUINELY LIKE her? 

Bouncing off the WALLS

A friend! Yay!

Obviously Cody is still her #1 priority

But if you prove yourself, she miiiight let you in on a couple group hugs

Maybe

Blaineley:

Doesn't give a shit

Just like the younger version

But without the sweet bonding time

Doesn't like you very much

Might put on her fake little buddy-buddy act to stay on the good side of the media

Since you're probably "great for the ratings" 

Being related to Chris and all

Idk what else to put for her sorry

Older than them (17-19) (STILL younger than Blaineley)

Alejandro:

..why are you here?

Probably assumes you're an intern at first

Or here to help run challenges/watch them

If you're in the challenges, he finds it to be unfair

You're older, probably taller and smarter, and he's CONVINCED Chris is giving you some sort of advantage

Still does his whole thing

But like. Not romantically.

If you're not in the competition?

VERY confused as to why you're here

You're not competing, but you're still back in the plane with them?

It just doesn't make sense to him

You're probably there to help out with challenges

If you're 17, and I'd assume still in high school, you might be there for volunteer hours or something

Since you're probably not getting paid either way /hj

Might attempt a flirting thing once or twice (if you're not older than 17)

Probably doesn't do shit though

Sierra:

Genuinely have no idea what to put here I'm just repeating myself

Again, already knows who you are

Basically just like the second one but more "respectful" (not really) 

Blaineley would've probably been suuuuper boring (even worse than her "same age" (technically still younger) one) so I didn't include it.

I'm sorry this is so shit lmao I'll probably try redoing it as a proper paragraph written fic/one-shot instead of this. That'll probably make it better. If you want that, please tell me so I can start it soon!! xx

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

One final cooking poll.

[liquidstar]

sleepovers save money on hotel rooms while on missions 👍