#needed to draw em before the year ended

[viveela]

They served so much cunt

[bluebeads-art]

As the flash hits your eye, you feel something crashing into you from all directions. Below you is obvious, Bonbon situated themself to bump into you while the picture was taken. You look to your right, and Mirabelle’s cheek is pressed up to yours. On your left, Isabeau’s sheepishly hugged you to his side. There’s a hand in your hair, too, and it feels like Madame Odile. [...] “We need a souvenir of this trip,” Mirabelle adds. She rushes to the ground to pick up the picture and snort-laughs as she looks at it. “Oh no, Siffrin looks like we’re holding him hostage!” — Curtain Call, Chapter 9, by @openphrase123 (Link in the replies)

2024 October 22nd

Fanfic fanart fanfic fanart!! When I read the "hostage" line, it invoked such a clear image in my head of Siffrin tensed up like a startled prey animal that it got added to my list of things to maybe draw immediately.

Dooon't think about the words 'left' and 'right' in that quote too hard. I know how to read I prommy. :) (I did Not process those words and lost the coin flip in the composition phase...)

Close-up and ramblings about the cans of worms I unleashed upon myself under the cut

Time taken on this was [head in hands] 48 hours and 37 minutes.... That bloated number has two culprits:

1) I got a new tablet! My old one was 10 years old. Its plastic was melting and the electronics had ghosts in 'em, so it needed the sweet release of retirement. However, I had just gotten to the line art phase when the switch happened. Clumsily getting used to the new one during the most precise phase of the process did devastating things to my perfectionism.

2) I made a GRAVE mistake with how I chose to color this. I wanted to keep the grayscale layers for accuracy instead of just slapping a B&W filter over the colored version, so all the colors come from gradient maps, color balance layers, overlay layers, and raster layers clipped to other layers. Listen. I'm used to working with lots of layers. I like keeping things separate so I can edit them more easily. But this is the worst layer system I have ever created. Going from color to B&W requires toggling exactly 20 layers & folders on or off. There are 87 visible layers total. This file lags when you edit it. I've never wanted CSP v1.13 to have layer comps more in my life.

Not helping matters was Isabeau. I said he was the easiest to draw in my last post, but he took that as a challenge, apparently. It's a simple fist-on-hip pose, why was that so hard!?! His face gave me grief too.

Odile's lil' wave got added at the end of the line art phase. I've never added to a sketch that late in the game before, but I felt bad about how little screen area she got, haha. Girl, I tried, but this composition was not kind to you.

Giving Isa, Odile, and Siffrin skin colors felt cursed. Well... "color" is maybe a stretch for Sif. The pallor from being affection-jumpscared isn't helping. In the dev's nose reveal post, they said that Siffrin isn't white but is white-passing, so BOOM albinism headcanon. Like c'mon, they wear a big hat and have most of their skin covered because the sun is a deadly laser when you have little to no melanin and idk if sunblock exists in-universe. Heck, maybe most Islanders have it, their whole religion is about the night sky so maybe they're nocturnal. This makes perfect sense. :)

[7s3ven]

SHORT STRAW. human! miles quaritch

IN WHICH… miles quaritch needs a scientist on his team, and you just had to draw the short straw.

Notes: scientist/doctor! reader, petnames, inappropriate jokes, age gap (not explicitly stated, but it is there),

—

As a kid, you were always quiet and introverted. As a teenager, you rarely spoke. Now, as an adult, you were on the most dangerous planet, working as a scientist despite having a medical degree. You weren’t even sure how you got on Pandora. All you did was get outstanding grades, win some awards, and then the RDA shipped you off. It’s not like you were complaining, you had nothing left on Earth.

Pandora was your home now and little by little, you grew comfortable with the new environment. You were working along Grace Augustine, a renowned scientist. And you were finally happy with where you were in life.

“Those idiots!” You heard Grace yell as she slammed her cup of coffee onto the table, accidentally spilling the hot liquid onto her latest report. She screamed out a string of curse words, causing every head to turn in her direction. "I need a damn cigarette!"

You hurried over with a pack, handing it over to Grace. "What's wrong?" You asked, furrowing your brows together lightly. You didn't have to question it too much to know what was running through Grace's head. You knew, based on the frown and sneer pulling at her lips, that it had something to do with Parker Selfridge or Quaritch. Maybe even both, with the way her eye was twitching in annoyance.

"Quaritch, that bastard!" She exclaimed, throwing a rage fit. "He wants a scientist on his team for today, even though I offered before, and he said no!" Grace clicked her tongue, banging a hand down onto her desk.

No scientist would willingly work for Quarditch, and Grace knew that. That's how you ended up in the conference room with about ten other scientists who doubled as doctors, Miles Quaritch, and Lyle Wainfleet.

You stood close to Grace, almost hiding behind her. The Colonel had always intimidated you; he towered over you, and you were rather scared of his strength. You had seen him punch another marine, sending the soldier flying back. So, it was safe to say you wanted to stay on his good side.

"Alright, everybody, grab a straw," Grace muttered. Some of the other scientists groaned, tilting their heads back in frustration. Drawing straws was the usual method the scientists used to decide who would write the next report or who would have to chug the year-old alcohol sitting in the cupboard.

"That's how you're gonna decide my team's scientist?" Quaritch grumbled, clearly unimpressed by the childish method. Grace merely rolled her eyes. "Just assign me your best one. Or better yet, assign me the prettiest one." He pointed right at you, lips curling into a snarky smirk.

Grace held out an arm, "She is my best scientist."

Quaritch shrugged, "That's a bonus."

Grace ignored him, holding out a handful of straws. Quaritch watched as each person picked a straw, their gazes darting around nervously and hoping they weren't the unlucky person. "Okay. Hold 'em up." Grace muttered. There was a moment of silence before her eyes flickered to you in pity. "Y/N got the shortest."

"Well, lookie here, I won." Quaritch didn't even try to hide the grin on his face, mocking Grace.

She scowled, pointing the middle finger at the marine. "You better keep her in one piece, you dog. I need her to finish writing her thesis."

"Yeah, I'll keep your pretty little scientist safe." He uttered as he walked around the table, stopping in front of you. "In the meantime, get that damn report on my desk before Selfridge has a fit again." Quaritch hooked a finger around your belt, pulling you forward. "Let's go, Wainfleet."

You barely had time to process the situation before Quaritch’s firm grip on your belt yanked you forward again, pulling you into unified steps with him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, feeling the stares of your coworkers burning into your back.

As you walked, more like jogged, you could feel the intimidating presence of Lyle trailing behind you. He didn’t say a word, but you knew he was watching your every move. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the cold, metallic walls making you feel claustrophobic.

Quaritch finally broke the silence, his voice gruff but not as harsh as you expected. "Listen up, Doc. I don't need a nervous wreck on my team. You’re here to get the job done, not to cower in the corner. You got that?" He poked your shoulder, and you quickly nodded.

“Good,” He continued, his pace not slowing as he spoke. “My team and I need someone who can act as a scientist and a doctor. We're lucky we got stuck with you." You heard a loud click beside you, and you turned your head to see Lyle grinning at you. He was replacing the bullets in his gun as a means to scare you even more. "We’re going into the forest, and I, more like Selfridge, need you to analyze some samples. Think you can do that, pretty?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady as you responded. "Yes, sir. I can do that." You kept your gaze lowered.

Quaritch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “Good. Keep up that attitude, and you might just survive this.”

You didn’t know whether to be reassured or terrified by his words. You knew that Pandora was dangerous—more dangerous than you ever imagined when you first arrived. The creatures, the environment, and even the air could kill you if you weren’t cautious. You had never actually left the science base before, and now you were being dragged out against your will by a team that seemed to care more about their mission than your life.

As you reached the armoury, Quaritch stopped and turned to face you, his gaze piercing. “Suit up. We leave in ten.”

You nodded again, quickly moving to gather the gear you needed. Your hands trembled slightly as you secured your equipment, the heavy weight pressing you down. You had always been comfortable in the lab, surrounded by data and experiments. This was entirely different—this was survival.

Lyle handed you a weapon, and you hesitated for a moment before grasping it. You weren’t used to holding one, and the cold metal felt foreign in your hands. “Better learn to use that fast,” He said, patting your shoulder. “You’ll need it out there.”

You barely had time to attach the last handgun to your hip before Quaritch approached you again. "You ready, pretty?" He grinned down, hands resting on his hips. Without another word, he turned and led the way towards the rest of the marine team.

They lifted their heads, raising their eyebrows. "Who's that?" One of the only female members questioned, pointing at you.

"Our little scientist." The Colonel uttered, slinging an arm around your shoulder, "Play nice with her. She’s never been outside before.”

The team gazed at you, looking you up and down with a mix of curiosity and amusement at your height compared to Quaritch. Their eyes soon flickered to Quaritch's arm that was draped around you.

"New meat? The forest will eat her alive." The same female marine, Z-dog, smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

You heard Quaritch chuckle and felt his grip tighten around you as an act of reassurance. Or perhaps it was to keep you from running. "She’ll be fine. I’ll ensure she knows how to use more than just her brains out here."

Lyle, leaning casually against a nearby chair, grinned as he chimed in. "Oh, I bet you will, Colonel." There was a grin spreading across his face. "You always did have a soft spot for the smart ones. Just don’t get too distracted."

The team laughed, their voices rough and playful. Quaritch rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to deny it. "Don’t worry, Wainfleet. I can multitask. Besides, if you’re so concerned, why don’t you take her under your wing? Show her how the big boys play."

Lyle gave you an exaggerated once-over, his grin widening. "I dunno, boss. She might be too delicate for me. I wouldn’t want to break her."

Z-dog snorted. "Please. You’d be lucky if she didn’t break you first, Wainfleet. Don’t underestimate the quiet ones—they’ve got a lot of pent-up energy."

Quaritch raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. "You heard the lady, Wainfleet. Better watch yourself. Might just find out what this one’s capable of." He slapped you on the back.

You couldn’t help but blush at the teasing, not accustomed to it. Your science and medical coworkers never mocked each other; they were far too lost in their own worlds.

Another marine piped up with a grin. "Hey, just make sure you keep her out of trouble, Colonel. The last thing we need is her getting lost out here and us having to play rescue squad. Unless, of course, you’d enjoy being her knight in shining armour."

Quaritch huffed, giving his teammate a mocking glare. "I’m nobody’s damn knight. And she won’t need rescuing. Right, Doc?" He nudged you.

You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "Right."

"Atta girl," Quaritch said with a grin. He gave your shoulder a light pat before stepping away, his authoritative tone taking over again. "Alright, enough with the jokes. We’ve got work to do."

The thick vegetation continuously slapped your oxygen mask, causing you to stumble every second. The suffocating air clung to you as you slowly trudged after the marine team. You noticed how Quaritch, who was at the front of the pack, would glance over his shoulder at you. You could tell in his gaze that he saw you as a liability.

After what felt like an hour of jogging through the forest, Quaritch abruptly stopped, raising a hand to signal to the others. The soldiers halted with practised ease. You, on the other hand, clumsily crashed into Lyle.

"Alright, Doc," Quaritch grunted, turning to face you. "Before we go any deeper, we need to ensure you know how to handle yourself. No point in lugging around dead weight."

You felt a lump form in your throat as he stepped closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over you. He gestured to the weapon slung over your back. "First lesson: how to use that thing. Have you ever fired a gun before? Or, are you more of a delicate touch type?"

Despite being covered from head to toe in weapons you had never held before, you knew you still looked out of place amongst the hardened soldiers surrounding you.

You shook your head quickly, trying not to let Quaritch's words fluster you. "No, sir. Never."

Quaritch smirked, clearly expecting your answer. "Figures. Well, you’re gonna learn fast." He grabbed your belt loop again, leading you a few steps away from the group. "See that tree? That’s your target."

"Hey, Colonel," Lyle called out, “Didn’t know you were into giving private lessons. Thought you left the hand-holding to Grace."

The other marines chuckled, their laughter low and suggestive. "Careful, boss," Another of them exclaimed. "You might have to be gentle with this one. Don’t want to scare her off."

Quaritch rolled his eyes, but the smirk never left his face. "Don’t worry, boys. I’ll go nice and slow for her. Gotta make sure she enjoys her first time, right?"

You blushed, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the suggestive jokes being tossed around. Quaritch stepped closer, grabbing your gun and handing it to you. Quaritch moved to stand behind you, his hands settling over yours on the rifle to line up the weapon with the tree.

"Feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t lean too far forward, unless you want to kiss the dirt.” Quaritch grabbed your hips, pulling you back. What must have been an insignificant touch to him felt huge for you. You had never let anyone touch you in that way, too busy with your academics. “Keep your grip tight; You’re aiming a gun, not giving it a massage."

Behind you, Lyle couldn’t resist another remark. "Hey, Colonel, careful where you’re putting those hands. Might give her the wrong idea."

Quaritch shot him a sideways glance, his smirk turning into a full grin. "Jealous, Wainfleet? Don’t worry, I’ll let you hold her hand next."

Behind you, the marines barely held back their laughter as they leaned against the nearby trees. "Colonel, you gonna take her to prom next?" Z-dog teased, earning another round of chuckles.

Quaritch laughed lowly before returning to you to whisper the instructions in your ear. You took a shaky breath, nodding your head to his words. You shifted from side to side, steadying yourself before you squeezed the trigger.

The rifle's recoil almost knocked you off your feet. Lucky for you, Quarditch was there to catch you.

"Oh, Colonel's getting handsy," Lyle exclaimed. The bullet you had shot grazed the side of the tree trunk, missing the target.

Z-dog laughed. “Maybe you should teach her to aim at something a little closer, Colonel. Like you."

Quaritch didn’t miss a beat. "She doesn’t need to aim at me—she’s already got me in her sights." He loudly clapped his hands together, gaining your attention again. "This time, don’t overthink it. Just line it up and shoot."

You nodded, focusing on the tree once more. This time, you steadied yourself better, and your muscles started to faintly remember the movements.

Quaritch gave a grunt of approval at your second attempt. "Better. Keep at it. You’ll get there."

You practised under Quaritch’s watchful eye for the next hour, gradually getting more comfortable with holding the rifle. The marines kept up their teasing, mainly aimed at their boss and how he was eying you like a hawk.

"Not bad, pretty," Quaritch finally muttered, his usual hardened gaze softening just a bit. "Maybe you won’t get us killed after all." He turned to the Marines, clearing his throat. "Let's move out."

The next time the group stopped was in a secluded part of the forest deep inside the jungle. Your gaze studied the trees and plants around you.

“This is it, Doc. Get to work.” Quaritch handed you the rest of your tools. Lyle sat down on a rock, fidgeting with his gun.

At first, you were so focused on collecting samples that you didn’t notice the eyes following your every movement. You could hear the quiet shuffling of Quaritch, Lyle, and the other marines as they spread out to keep guard. They continued with their teasing banter to pass the time.

As you crouched down to get a better look at some glowing moss, you could feel Quaritch’s gaze on you—intense, and not exactly subtle. The other marines noticed too. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on your body.

You tried to avoid talking to the soldiers as best as you could, desperate to return to the lab so you could study your samples. That was your definition of fun.

Your silence was interrupted by Lyle crouching down beside you. “Careful with those flowers, Doc. They look like they bite.” You glanced at the cluster of spiky flowers, shrugging.

“They don’t.” You quietly murmured.

“Well, if they do, I bet I could beat them.”

Quaritch, overhearing Lyle’s nonsense, shook his head. “That’s ironic, Wainfleet, considering you’ve lost every fight against me.”

“Yeah but you ain’t a flower, Colonel.”

Quaritch sly grinned before looking at you. “You sure you don’t need any help, pretty?” You quickly shook your head in response. The last thing you needed was a soldier ruining your research.

“Watch out for the Colonel’s ‘help.’ He’s got a way of making it sound real nice, but before you know it, you’re running laps around the base at 0500." Lyle pitched in.

Quaritch rolled his eyes, standing up and slapping Lyle on the back of the head. “Thats only if you keep running your mouth, Wainfleet. Which reminds me, you still owe me ten laps from yesterday. You can start now.” With a groan, Lyle stood up, leaving your side to run his dreaded laps.

You were pleasantly surprised that you had not tripped yet. You were naturally clumsy, always managing to make a mess out of the simplest of tasks. You walked forward to look at another flower but a vine that was hidden within the foliage caught you off guard.

You tripped and fell with a large thud, catching the attention of everyone nearby. Quaritch walked over to help you but not before laughing. “Careful.” He teasingly warned. The Colonel made no attempts in hiding how he eyed your body up and down. “You gotta watch where you step. Though, I gotta say, I don’t mind the view.”

You quickly scrambled to your feet, cheeks heating up. Lyle, who had been watching intently, snickered. “You sure you’re just out here for the plants, sir? No other reason?”

You were ready to head back for the day before a plant in the distance caught your attention. “I’ll be quick.” You muttered to Quaritch, hoping he’d let you look at it. He nodded after a long pause.

“I’ll go with her. The rest of you, stay here.” He ordered his soldiers before following after you. You had a skip in your step as you carefully manoeuvred through the maze of tree roots but you were soon too distracted to keep up the pace. Quaritch easily overtook you as you scribbled messy notes into a small notebook.

You were almost at the plant before you slipped again. You mentally cursed at your clumsiness and inability to stay focused of your surroundings. You couldn’t catch yourself in time before stumbling into Quaritch. The impact was enough to send him forward but he quickly turned so his back would take the brunt of the fall. You landed on top of him with a soft grunt, hitting your head on his shoulder.

You took a few moments to regain your breath before you felt Quaritch’s hands rest on your hips. “If you wanted to lie on top of me, pretty, you could have just said so.” He teased. “I always knew you scientists had a habit of being direct but this is a little much, don’t you think?”

You quickly pushed yourself up. “I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to!” This was the loudest Quaritch had ever heard you talk. He could barely hear your whispers sometimes, having to lean down to understand your words.

“I ain’t complaining but unless you’re into dangerous places, you might wanna save this stuff for when we’re not in the middle of an alien jungle.” He drawled, causing your body to heat up with embarrassment. He didn’t let you stand up, wanting to see how much of a reaction he could draw out.

Lyle peaked his head around a bush, having heard the sound of you falling. “Are you guys gonna keep us waiting for long while you deal with all that tension? Because I have some coffee I’d really like to drink back at the base.”

“Calm your horses, Wainfleet. We’ll be there in a second.” Quaritch responded, letting you go like he hadn’t purposefully held you down.

In the end, you got the plant and you returned to the base safe and sound. You had expected the Colonel’s attention to be a one time thing but he followed you into the lab.

Grace arched an eyebrow at his appearance. “Here she is, Augustine, safe and sound like I promised.” Quaritch grinned, patting you on the shoulder. “The next time I need a scientist, I want her.” You were already scrambling towards your workspace, laying out your samples.

Quaritch turned to leave but he flashed you another grin. “See you later, pretty.” He called out.

[creative-crybaby]

Knots

PAIRING: masseur!Geto Suguru x fem!reader

GENRE: no curses!au | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: fingering, nipple play, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), brief masturbation (m), size kink, praise kink, cum eating, light mentions of/brief marking

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

SUMMARY: With so much stress piling up on you, Geto was kind enough to offer you a massage. Unfortunately, no amount of relaxation can distract you from the sexual tension between you and your friend.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: MAPPA can't draw jjk characters like that and expect me not to write smut about em 🙄also: HAPPY NEW YEARS, LOVELIES <3333

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

“Are you sure this is okay?” It’s too late to ask him that, but you couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”

Your face burns as silence follows; you can only thank whatever gods above for him not being able to see your expression.

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” he chuckles, and you copy the sound nervously, unsure if he is serious. After a pregnant pause, he adds, “I’m kidding. You have nothing to worry about.” Your peripheral vision catches him moving around you to get to the cabinet. “Consider it a favour from a friend.”

You hear the cabinet door open and shut, and you shift from your spot face down on the table.

“At least let me pay you back somehow,” you press, pouting. 

“That defeats the point of a favour, doesn’t it?” Geto’s footsteps get louder until you catch sight of his shoes from the corner of your eye. There’s another pause, this one longer than the previous one. “Are you comfortable with me unclapsing your bra?” Before you can answer, he quickly continues, “It can stay on like you wanted, I just need the straps out of the way.”

If you aren’t hyping yourself up to take every opportunity to get closer to the masseur, you’re second-guessing your decision to take his offer. Should he follow through with the action, it would only be the beginning of something far more intimate. And you know this. You knew this. Even when Geto first suggested the idea after you opened up about your piling stress and even when you foolishly thought asking Gojo for advice on the offer was a good idea. 

But you’re here now, aren’t you?

“Go for it,” you try to mask whatever uneasiness you can. Gentle fingers tug at the clips at the end of your bra, disconnecting them and allowing the straps to drop. Even with your chest still covered, you feel bare, the cool air tickling the newly exposed area. You have to force yourself from shivering.

“You still like the scent of lavender?” Geto's question catches you off-guard, raising your head from the cushion, not realizing that he recalled such a minor detail. Your silence makes the ravenette turn to you again, offering his easy-going smile. “Or have your tastes changed?”

You nod mindlessly, blinking up at him. “Lavender’s good.”

Geto hums before searching through his cabinet, taking several seconds to find the bottle he was looking for. You rest your head back on the cushion before he can catch you staring.

“I’ll be starting now.” The sound of a bottle cap opening follows your friend’s words. “If you’re ever uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to let me know. Otherwise, just lay back and relax.”

Despite his gentle voice, following his order becomes easier said than done once his large hands come in contact with your back, the oil adding to his skin’s warmth. You bit your lip, the serene scent of lavender reaching your olfactory as the masseur works his magic on your stress. 

You don’t realize how exhausted your body has felt until Geto applies pressure for the first time, and you cringe. 

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, pausing his ministrations once you try to relax your body. “Wow, you are stressed.”

You allow your body to sink further into the table’s mattress when his soft laughter reaches your ears, and you give him the go-ahead to continue. Fingerpads return to your skin, rubbing heavy yet sturdy circles onto your back, untying any and every knot trapping your muscles. You can feel your body fall limp, drowning heavily while at the same time floating into the heavens as every evidence of exhaustion disappears from you. 

Still, even as you try to keep your mind blank and enjoy the moment, you can’t help but notice how much space Geto’s hand takes up on your back. It doesn’t help that they creep up to your neck, more than ready to push the problems away from that area. 

“So,” you trail off, feeling the need to fill the silence rather than embrace it, “You give these massages to Ieiri or Satoru?” 

The ravenette chuckles. “If you’d call the occasional shoulder rub a proper massage, then sure.”

A memory of the four of you at a local diner pops into your head, Shoko telling Geto a shoulder massage was the least she deserved after all the all-nighters she’s suffered through. You giggled, watching the medical student melt under the masseur’s magic touch, ignoring the twinge of jealousy that prodded your mind. 

You quip. “Not even a full-body one? Ieiri’s the one who deserves it the most out of us.”

“Guess she just never has the time for one,” he hums. 

“And Satoru?”

Geto snickers, pausing his actions. You join in on the laughter, a small swell of pride blooming in your chest. 

Your joy is cut short when he resumes the massage, adding pressure to a specific area below the nape of your neck that forces a whimper out of you. You freeze, hoping the masseur didn’t hear it. But with how his hold on you paused, even for just a moment, you couldn’t deceive yourself into believing you were in the clear. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, the warmth from your face expanding to the rest of your body. Could he feel it?

You can hear the smile in his voice. “So tense, aren’t you?”

You don’t miss the octave drop in his voice, biting your tongue. Geto returns to work, his fingers digging into your skin and untying whatever knots your muscles carried for who knows how long. You allow yourself to sigh at the sensation, your brows knitting together from the pressure without the discomfort. 

His hands travel lower, returning to previous areas with added strength until he reaches the small of your back. You try not to tense upon feeling his fingers graze the towel covering your bottom, but you can’t prevent the shaky moan from escaping your lips once his hold shifts to your hips. 

Another pause from him: another apology from you. 

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” Your friend assures you, though you barely miss the light strain in his tone. “I’ll be working on your legs next, okay?”

You hum lightly, shifting from your spot as he passes what the towel covers. Your thoughts wander before you can put them on a leash, the pang of disappointment from the neglect of that area allowing your imagination to drift. 

Would a massage there even feel good? Geto would undoubtedly find a way, his large hands practically blanketing each cheek. And his fingers—God, they were the stars of the show, finding the spots that needed the most attention and pushing every bit of tension out of your worn-out body. You’re confident his digits would be just as adventurous in other places.

You feel yourself clench around nothing and fear the handsome man above you possibly noticing. Shaking your head, you hope those thoughts fly out like fleas. 

Geto stops. “Too much?”

“Hm?” You snap out of your daze. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

The masseur’s hands glide up to your upper thighs, and you freeze, his hold remaining in place as he leans closer to your head.

“You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t like it,” he says, his voice calm. “I can return the favour some other way.”

Your body moves before your brain can command it to. Or rather, stop it from doing so. Hastily, you raise your head from the cushion, your upper torso following suit as it twists to face your friend.

“I can take it.” 

Silence. Too much of it for your liking. It has your stomach churning and your heart ramming against your ribs. Maybe it’s the heaviness in your body that follows you getting up too quickly, or your word choice. It could also be how Geto stares at you with parted lips, his eyes on you but not meeting your gaze.

Instead of further embarrassing yourself by speaking, you follow his focus, only to wish you hadn’t. 

Your bra, long forgotten by you, barely hangs onto your body by its straps by your elbows, exposing your back as well as most of your chest. The lavender scent is no longer soothing, the heat on your face is dizzying, and you’d want nothing more than to run out the door if only your legs weren’t practically limp from your friend’s treatment. It doesn’t help that his hold on the back of your upper thighs hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s tightened, his grip making your clit jump.

You suppose you spoke too soon once the warmth of Geto’s touch disappeared from your legs, the masseur having moved to reach for your bra straps to pull them back up to your shoulders before you could process his actions. You blink, eyes trailing up to his face now adorning a rosy hue and soft lips pressed into a thin line. He’s so much closer, his breath barely fanning the top of your head. And if you aren’t forcing your gaze to meet his, you’re impulsively glancing back at his mouth. 

With so much focus on the beautiful man, you don’t catch him slowly but surely leaning in.

The last discernable thing you catch is Geto’s lidded eyes darkening before he presses his lips against yours.

You don’t breathe. You forget to, just like how you leave your mouth slightly agape and your eyes wide open. 

The ravenette pulls away quicker than he’d leaned in, and the corners of your lips twitch downwards. His brows furrow as he looks at you with a brighter flush on his handsome face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

No. You won’t let him regret his actions, not for your sake. 

The sudden shift in perspective is alarming when, only moments ago, you feared ruining your relationship with your friend. Now, you’re shifting to sit on the massage table, grabbing Geto by his shirt collar, tugging him forward and slamming his lips onto yours. You groan at the impact, relaxing only a second later once he returns the kiss with just as much hunger. 

But he’s still not close enough. His hold remains on your bra straps, making it harder for you to wrap your arms around his neck. It’s the only reason you pull back, locking eyes with him as you place your hands on his. 

“Suguru,” you pant, chest heaving for air as your lids droop. Your following words stay trapped in your throat, the masseur having slid his hold higher up your shoulders to bring you back to the kiss. You squeak, the fervour behind his actions far more evident as his tongue teases your lower lip. He groans into your mouth, his thumbs caressing your skin as you invite him in, eager to have him even closer. 

Your hands are still on top of Geto’s, you remember, and you slide his down your arms while he’s distracted by the kiss. (With how he’s swirling his tongue around yours, you aren’t sure you can call it a “kiss” anymore.)

You pull back hastily, not missing the string of saliva connecting your bottom lips before motioning for him to look down. His sharp eyes do so, blinking out of his haze as he sees how the cups of your bra no longer cover your breasts. You don’t recall when you stopped caring about your face burning like it was on fire, the pride in your chest and lust in your lower belly now the dominant sensations as he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful creature on the planet. 

“Please,” he gulps, an unmissable strain in his voice. “Let me taste you.”

Even after the lewd makeout session, his words left your mouth cotton-dry. You can only kiss him again, guiding his hands to cup your breasts, your bra sliding off your arms. 

When Geto pulls back, his lips reattach to your skin, trailing down your neck to the valley of your mounds. He lightly pushes you to lie down on the table, making yourself comfortable before plopping one of your nipples into his mouth, the other one between his fingers. Your own hands loosen his hair from its bun, the strands falling gracefully onto his broad back. They’re as soft as they look, your fingers streaming through the midnight locks like water past the pebbles in the river. 

The masseur switches his treatment, the other nipple now teased by the grazing of his teeth while his large hand keeps the second breast from neglect. Your body feels hot, and the warmth of his mouth does little to soothe the issue. But with how much you’ve been rubbing your thighs together, you’d hardly consider this a problem now. 

Your hands remain in his hair as Geto continues kissing down your body, stopping just at the apex of your thigh to peer at you with those dark pools for irises. One of his hands removes the towel from your lap, revealing your thin shorts underneath. He tugs at the waistband, silently asking for your permission. Your response consists of your hips rising from the table, and he’s quick to shimmy your remaining clothes off your body, stealing another passionate kiss from you in the process. 

“I want nothing more than to hear every sound I get out of you,” your friend (can you still call him that?) pants, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards and his face flushed as he watches your reaction through hooded lids. You lean in, chasing his lips for another kiss. He stops you with a finger, and you hold back the whine squeaking from your throat. He chuckles. “But I’m going to need you to keep your voice down. Can you do that for me?”

You almost forgot that you’re in a public setting, even with the privacy of a closed door. Geto warmly smiles when you nod, and he lowers himself to face your crotch, helping you shift to let your legs dangle off the table. You find his eyes widening upon catching sight of your bare cunt already drooling your essence. The ravenette exhales shakily before planting a kiss on your clit, making you twitch. Your reaction makes him chuckle, and he licks long strips against your slit, moaning through his languid movements. 

“What was that about being quiet?” You giggle breathily, leaning your weight on your hands. Geto pauses. 

“Sorry, beautiful,” he whispers with a smile, tightening his hold on your thighs. “You taste like a dream.”

You throw your head back as your eyes flutter shut, his words and continued ministrations between your legs setting your body ablaze and your mind blank. It doesn’t help that he’s practically encouraging you to cage him tightly between your thighs, squeezing his head in place as he makes out with your cunt. Your hips grind into his touch, moving in tandem with his soft lips and warm tongue. 

Even with his sensual movements, you can tell he’s holding back, if his tight hold on the fat of your thighs is any indication. Your hips grind into his touch, allowing him permission to feast on you how he’d like, gripping a fistful of his locks for further encouragement. And the masseur seems to have gotten the message, his tongue digging inside you while his nose nudges at your pearl. 

Holding back your sounds of pleasure is already a challenge—warning the handsome male beneath you of your oncoming release doesn’t even seem possible, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as the sensation in your lower belly grows stronger. 

And maybe Geto doesn’t need you to tell him. Or maybe, he’s just so lost in the taste of your essence that he’s decided to wrap his soft lips around your puffy clit and suck, the tip of his tongue flicking at the nub at the same time. Whatever the case, his actions do the trick, your hold on his head tightening as your legs shake while your jaw falls slack. The ravenette doesn’t falter, pushing himself closer to your cunt, his mouth working its magic and creating sounds that would embarrass you if it weren’t for the ringing in your ears.

Coming down from the high, plus the massage, has you losing your hold on yourself. Luckily for you, Geto quickly rises from his spot, catching you by the waist and pulling you into another kiss with a soft groan. Your taste on your tongue and the need for air make you dizzy, but you bring him closer regardless. 

“‘M sorry,” he pants after ending the kiss, his chin shining with your slick. “Just had to show you how good you taste.”

You can only whimper in response, feathering kisses on his lips as you play with his hair. Geto happily lets you, his large hands mapping your torso and thighs as if burning every curve into his memory. 

“Didn’t know this came with the free massage,” you mumble against his mouth, holding back a smile. 

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he purrs, moving you back down on your stomach like you weigh nothing. You hear the rustling of clothing, and before you can ask him what he’s doing, you feel a weight hovering over your figure. Familiar, large hands splay open on either side of your head while muscular thighs cage your legs in place. “Do you trust me?”

Something pokes your lower back, and you almost forget to answer with the masseur’s hot breath against your ear. You lift your hips to grind against his crotch with a whimper, hoping that’ll be more than enough for him. 

Your actions make Geto laugh, and he teasingly nibbles at your earlobe. “Use your words, darling.”

It doesn’t help that he’s taken his tip to glide across your slit, collecting your juices as a lubricant. You twist your head to face him, one of your hands gripping on the cushion above you as a distraction.

“I’ve been waiting a lot longer for this moment than you know,” you confess meekly, watching as the ravenette’s eyes widen and lips part from your words. “And I don’t think I can keep it up any longer.”

You worry you’ve revealed too much too soon when you’re met with silence. But when that familiar smile and soft gaze grace Geto’s features, the nerves fluttering in your stomach evaporate. 

The handsome male presses a kiss against your temple. “That makes two of us, then.”

With only a few seconds to register his confession, your heart does a doubletake before you feel Geto lead his cock into your heat, his hand gripping yours as reassurance. The subtly painful stretch that follows suit makes you grateful for the gesture, your insides splitting in half as he just keeps going in. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling every vein graze against you. 

The masseur notices, it seems, and he whispers encouraging words in your ear, giving you the occasional kiss on your shoulder.

“There you go,” he drawls quietly, his crotch meeting your ass. “Nice and full, aren’t you?”

You exhale shakily, feeling his strong chest pressed against your back. On rare occasions, when Geto wears tight-fitting shirts, you’re blessed with the sight of his chiselled physique, especially his back, since he can���t catch you ogling. The chance to leave your mark there, like an artist’s signature on a painted canvas, is one you’ve longed for. However, with the knot in your belly ready to snap without having him even move makes you grateful for the current position. Maybe next time you’ll get to see all of him. 

Next time. 

“Can I move, darling?” Geto's breath tickles your skin. “I’m afraid I won’t last too long with how you’re squeezing me.”

The almost boyish giggle he breathes out has your heart rocketing in your ribs. Your affirmation comes out weak, but the masseur hears it loud and clear. He reels his hips back, but it’s when he buries his shaft back into you that you feel your eyes roll back once more. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping out as he sets a languid yet deep pace. 

“We need to keep quiet, remember?” Geto shushes, his face buried in your neck. “My massages are good, but even outsiders might grow suspicious if you’re too loud.”

His soft laughter mixes with your pleading whine. “You’re not making it easy for me.”

The ravenette halts his movements, much to your dismay. Even with you wiggling your hips, he doesn't budge, and you’re about to ask him about the holdup before he beats you to it. 

“You think it’s easy for me?” The soothing lilt of his voice is long gone, replaced with a low timbre that has you clenching around his girth. “I’ve got you milking me for all I’m worth, and we barely started. What do you think that does to me?”

You feel his teeth graze your skin, making you shiver as you try to regain friction between your legs. Geto's stronger than you, much stronger, and your movements don’t make him budge. 

With a quivering sigh, you prop yourself on your forearms, and he retracts from his hiding spot in your neck. You face him, lids hanging low on your eyes and face warmer than it should be. 

“Show me.”

With a smirk, Geto pulls himself out until only his tip remains before slamming back into you. You choke on a gasp, his pace and strength relentless as his hips slap against your ass, the sounds bouncing off the walls. You can’t even call him out on his hypocrisy as you bury your face into the table, hoping it’ll help mask your cries. 

It doesn’t, of course. But Geto Suguru, ever the gentleman, carefully lifts your head by your neck and, while hovering over you, slams his lips against yours. The position isn’t the most comfortable, but you don’t find yourself complaining as he rams into you, filling you up and moulding your insides into the shape of his cock.

Your eyes don’t know what to do, from squeezing shut to crossing. At one point, you catch the door in your peripheral vision, and the thought of potentially getting caught has you clenching, your hand reaching for the masseur’s bicep and digging your nails into his pale skin. 

Geto grunts. “You trying to make me cum, beautiful?”

His playful tone makes you whine, his pace never faltering as he sneaks one of his hands under you to grope one of your breasts. The toying of your nipple, along with the male’s relentless thrusts, fuels the coil in your belly, and what does the trick is him leaving his mark on your neck. 

With a drawn-out gasp, your body stills, toes curling and tongue lolling out as your pussy convulses. You hardly notice Geto’s strokes growing sloppy, his whispered cursing going in one ear and out the other. Having him lead you to heaven is plenty for you. 

Once you calm down, though, you feel like he’s pulled out too soon. You groan, your ears catching the light sounds of him shuffling from his spot above you, followed by a rapid squelching noise that has you peeking over your shoulder. 

There, in all his naked glory, is Geto stroking his cock, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and eyes zeroed in on your figure. 

“Shit, shit—” he cuts himself off with a gasp, ropes of cum shooting from his slit and landing on the back of your thighs. The sight alone has you clenching, the need for him inside you arising once more. “Oh, fuck—”

Anyone would grow angry at a mess thrown at them. You’re no different, just worse (the one time Gojo accidentally made you ruin your eyeliner is more than enough proof—the poor fool).

 And yet, having painted your thighs white by Geto, his seed clinging to your oily (and now sweaty) skin, you somehow find yourself falling for him more. 

“Suguru,” you slur, your eyelids fluttering as you allow your body to slump back onto the table. You feel his weight disappear before hearing footsteps grow louder. Through tired eyes, you’re face-to-face with his crotch, causing you to squeak as your upper body jolts up again. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the masseur chuckles, crouching to meet you at eye level. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The atmosphere returns to the comforting one his work ought to bring, though a part of you finds yourself fidgety. The ravenette wipes away the evidence with a wet towel, and it’s enough to keep you in place and relaxed as he continues to take care of you. 

Once done, he helps you sit up, keeping you steady as your legs dangle off the table.

“I think you fucked the bones out of me,” you croak, and Geto pauses midway from sliding your underwear back up your legs. He laughs a soft, boyish laugh, the melody bringing a smile to your lips and a warmth of embarrassment to your cheeks. “Is this what you had in mind by doing me a favour?”

He pecks your nose before resuming dressing you. “No, but I’m not complaining with the results.”

You hum, and the silence returns as he aids you with the rest of your clothes. 

It isn’t until he’s slipping his boxers back on that you speak again. “You don’t give this kind of special treatment to the others?”

A witless, little joke on your part, though your tone didn’t match. Maybe it was the exhaustion that took charge or a sliver of self-consciousness that needed assurance that you had him all to yourself. Still, you press your lips into a thin line, awaiting his answer. 

“To our friends or my clients?” he inquires, putting on the remainder of his clothes. “Either way, the answer’s no.” When you don’t say anything else, he approaches you, nudging his nose against yours. “Did you want me to?”

Your head snaps up to meet his amused gaze. “No!”

Geto's joking smile eases into a sincere one, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and embracing you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes, pressing his lips to your temple. “Guess that means you’re the only one who gets my special treatment.” A pause, followed by a sheepish giggle. “As long as we do it outside of my job. I’d like to keep it, you know.”

From your position, you peer over his shoulder to where the door stands a few meters away, shut and locked but keeping you in suspense. With heat bubbling in your face, you hide in the crook of his neck. 

“You technically never finished my massage,” you mumble against his skin, your hands tracing any muscle it can reach on his back. Geto pulls back from the hug, jutting his bottom lip as if pondering.

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums before another smile breaks onto his features. “Shall we continue back at my place, then?”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[starreyblueberry]

Hiii star! I love ur Headcanons/ideas for Timmy! He’s so adorable and my whole childhood <3

I need more of em :>

WAIT HOLY SHIT UR THE ONE OMORI FAIRLY ODD PARENTS ARTIST?? BROO I LOVE UR AU SO MUCH!! I have a BUNCH of silly head canons and ideas in my heard for Timmy :D

- Timmy is actually a smart kid, he’s able to figure out stuff rather quickly and is very quick on his feet, he just deals with mildly severe ADHD ^_^ (he just like me FR)

- Timmy couldn’t decide on a major and kept switching between them during his first 2 years of college

- Timmy’s room becomes more and more decorated with memorials from his adventures that could pass as stuff he got from the store

- Timmy’s closest also had to be expanded with how much stuff Timmy had from his adventures

- Timmys Time skooter used to be one of the only ways to time travel outside of Father Time (basically it was a secret item Timmy had that he only used for emergency’s)

- Timmy LOVES skateboarding and Rollerskating when he’s a teenager, he feels like he’s flying with his fairies.

- Timmy didn’t get his license until he was 18, as he crashed the car a few times at first.

- His most common wish is usually summoning toys or gadgets for Peri/poof to play with

- Timmy always lists Peri as his little brother in assignments that tell you to make a family tree

- Timmy was the only godkid allowed to dimension-hop

- Jimmy neutron and Timmy turner stay in touch as the years go by, staying close as they valued each others friendship greatly. (until one day Timmy stops messaging Jimmy when he turns 18? What’s that all about.)

- Timmy’s considered a peace maker across the galaxy, and also has a bounty on his head for millions of dollars in whatever space currency there is

- He starts his own video game club, trixie uses her disguise to play sometimes and Timmy doesn’t mind her

- Timmy learns how to deal with fairy hair so that he can help Peri and Wanda with different hairstyles (and sometimes Cosmo but he usually just keeps it down)

- As Timmy gets older he and Jorgen actually meet outside of when he’s in trouble and offer each other advise sometimes or just hang out. And also to tell the other when the universe is ending but who gaf

- Timmy starts becoming really fond of sitcoms since most of them feature found family

- Timmy starts learning how to draw and has a dedicated sketchbook just for his adventures with his fairy fam, so that he had some way to see everything it after his memories were erased

- Timmy gave his Pink hat to peri on his 18th birthday, it’s collecting dust on Peris Bookshelf right now

- Timmy tried to play match maker with his friends as he got older which resulted in a stern talking to from Cupid

- Timmy is a horrible cook until he turns 18, and actually tries for once cause he dosent have much to do anymore

- Timmy is a bit obnoxious with his music taste sometimes (Name 5 My chemical romance songs rn 🙄) (he means well and gets over it)

- Timmy listens to a lot of Midwest emo, and hyperpop. No one likes listening to his playlists cause of the drastic whiplast the change in songs is sometimes

- Timmy wishes less and less as he gets older but he always needs Cosmo and Wanda, just for their bond. He always goes to them for advice

- Timmy sucks ass at sports, he still tries though but sometimes he will fake being sick so he can sit out of gym

- the day before Timmy turned 18 was the time he used the most wishes (aka trying to find loopholes)

- Timmy started to have an appreciation for sea creatures that never faded away as he grew up

- I MISS TIMMY TURNERRRRR 😭😭😭😭

[lurkingshan]

Dead Friend Forever is a Marvel of Mystery Writing

I haven’t been watching Dead Friend Forever live, because I am not always that into the slasher genre and I figured I would wait to hear whether it holds up before jumping in. I admit, I was a bit dubious about a drama sustaining a slasher narrative for 12 entire weeks and didn’t want to spend time on something that might be too shallow to sustain and would end up falling apart. I basically told bestie @wen-kexing-apologist to vet it for me and holler if I needed to start paying attention. And a few weeks ago, they started poking me with increasing intensity, along with a few other friends, because the writing was holding up better than they could believe. I started asking questions, and once @ginnymoonbeam mentioned that Sammon was the writer, it all started to click and I dove into a binge to catch up.

And they were right! This show is excellent, and its strength is sourced in an incredibly strong script from a writer who knows how to construct a longform mystery. Because it turns out, that’s what this show actually is. How do you sustain a slasher for 12 weeks? By embedding a deeper mystery within the slasher framework and pacing your story so that the entire middle delivers a backstory narrative that is even more compelling than the current events. This show is expertly structured to grab your attention and then get you deeply emotionally invested in the coming bloodbath, which is crucial for a slasher to feel like it has any stakes. Let me also note that the excellent writing here is supported by extremely smart direction and editing and some standout performances from young actors. I am going to focus on the writing here because that’s what I do, but it should be said that this whole production is all around excellent. 

So let’s talk about why the writing in Dead Friend Forever works so well! Great drama mysteries should support two kinds of engagement from the viewer: 

no thoughts head empty engagement from the people who just want to be pulled along for the ride and be constantly surprised

red string board theory engagement for the people who enjoy finding clues and trying to solve the mystery in advance. 

It’s actually really fucking hard to thread this needle as a writer, because it requires seeding strong enough clues that attentive viewers could reasonably guess some of the big reveals, but not giving away so much that you are unable to surprise them. A reveal in a good mystery should have you saying “oh my god WHAT” and “of course, that makes perfect sense” at the same time. And the best mysteries support the viewer being able to go back and rewatch, find new meaning they missed the first time, and realize every single thing that happened adds up. A tight mystery has no loose ends and no false steps; it never lies to the viewer, it only works to draw your attention where it wants it at any given point in the story.

Dead Friend Forever does this masterfully with several of its reveals, but I will highlight the biggest example: the reveal of Phee and Non’s relationship in episode 7. In the first four episodes of the show, the story lets us in on a few crucial facts: Phee is newer to this friend group (along with Tan and White), he was not present for whatever went down with Non three years ago, he has some kind of fucked up not!friends with benefits relationship with Jin that involves lots of sexual tension and dick biting, and he seems interested in figuring out what the hell happened once all these dudes start acting crazy about the videos. The string board theorists had enough to go on there to reasonably guess that he was intentionally trying to uncover the truth—but not why—and the no thoughts head empty crowd could just vibe, enjoying his scenes with Jin and wondering how exactly he ended up hooking up with him and getting involved with this group of people he doesn’t even seem to like.

Once we get to the backstory and see Non’s narrative, additional clues emerge, like the existence of both an older brother and a mysterious sweetheart that is only saved as [heart emoji] in Non’s phone. No thoughts head empty is over here going huh I wonder who they’re gonna be and hey when are the rest of the characters going to show up; string board theorists now have two clear options for how Phee could tie in to Non’s story and why he might care enough to investigate, but no one knows for sure. So when the show ended episode 6 with Phee running into Non’s room and began episode 7 with The Most Effective Five Minute BL Of All Time, everything clicked into place. No thoughts head empty got to experience a very pleasant shock moment, the string board theorists got to feel satisfied that they figured out at least part of the reveal, everyone got to enjoy an unexpected shot of romance in the middle of this stressful narrative, and there were still parts of Phee’s motives and involvement with this group that we didn’t understand and would require additional reveals. That is great mystery writing in a nutshell.

And it’s not only the mystery construction that makes the writing here so smart. It’s also the way Sammon is weaving in tons of social commentary, embedding Thai cultural and religious values, incorporating complicated crimes with lots of players in the mix that somehow don’t get confusing, and drawing complex and nuanced characters whose choices and behavior you understand even if you find them abhorrent. It’s not easy to make a viewer both despise a character and still care what happens to them; when you write a story about despicable people you run the risk of inspiring apathy in the audience, which is a death knell for a mystery. We have to be invested for this story to work. We have to feel deep empathy for Non to the point that we fully support axe murdering his bullies, but we also have to be interested enough in the bullies and why they behave the way they do to watch 12 weeks of them running around being awful to each other and harming everyone in their paths. And Non, too, gets to have real complexity. He is not a perfect little Mary Sue who never does anything wrong. He makes big impulsive mistakes, and seeks attention and affection from the wrong people, and lies to the ones he loves, and doesn’t always ask for help when he needs it. He is a flawed human being and that’s so important, because he is the center of this story and we need him to feel real.

In conclusion: holy shit. I tip my hat to you, Dr. Sammon, and I am very excited to be on this ride for the final four episodes. 

[zvdvdlvr]

three strikes ✩ marauders

🥃 — synopsis. Don’t fuck with a Hufflepuff.

🥃 — warnings. Foul language. Ooc. Peter is a cutey.

🥃 — author’s note. Yet again: I nessed around with the timeline and wrote this on a whim. Enjoy!

“Someone was up late!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your friend James’s shoulders.

The curly-haired menace shrugged you off of him and shoveled food onto his plate. Remus sat down beside you. “The wanker was up copying essays because he always waits to do ‘em until the day before they’re due,” he explained humorously. “And you wonder why the professors give us weeks to write these things.”

You chuckled and elbowed James in the side. “Spoiled baby boy just isn’t used to work,” you joked.

“Cutesy little Hufflepuff needs to shut up,” James muttered before picking up his juice-filled goblet and downing the whole thing.

As the only Hufflepuff accepted by the infamous Marauders, you definitely got your fair share of teasing from your fellow classmates. You were known as the ‘funny friend’ that had thick skin and an opinion on everything. There were times being known as the joker of the group was the best! You were the happily-dispositioned Puff that people came to for advice, jokes, or just someone to review notes with. And then there were the days where your opinion and feelings were completely overlooked- seen as just the clown.

You had gotten used to the days were you regretted being so extroverted and joking. Your skin was thick and you don’t remember the last time you let someone see you without your easygoing smile. 

But now that seventh year was drawing to a close and that everyone was ‘growing up’, it seemed like no one had any more patience. And since you always tried to help- though you sometimes went about it in the wrong way- you were often the person that got snapped at. To be honest, being the person at the short end of the stick when you had been nothing but a shoulder to cry on (not exactly literally) was tiring you out. You didn’t know how much you could put up with: especially if you had to deal with your friends’ anger.

“Funny,” you chuckled. You smoothly picked at the food on your plate and finished up what you were eating.

Sirius slid down across the lot of you, brushing his hair out of his face. “What’s funny?”

Remus answered with a “your mum’s face” that made James lighten up a little bit.

You snorted a laugh, knowing how strikingly attractive Sirius’s mother was. James’s comment was forgotten and you went about your day.

🥃.

The second strike was when Sirius got upset at your for making a lighthearted joke about his living arrangement at James’s house.

Now, to be fair, the infamous and noble house of Black was a bloody fucking mess. Incest ran in the family, the Unforgivables were a common occurrence, and the drama that surrounded that damn family was a laughingstock of it’s own.

The scene is set like this:

Sirius and James were discussing plans for the ‘escape’ that Sirius was planning. James’s Godsends of parents were quite common with all of you and were familiar with Sirius’s home-life. They had opened their home to Sirius and the rest of the Marauders should any of you need it.

On your left, Peter was absently fiddling with his wand. To your right Remus was munching on a chocolate bar. The full moon was coming up and Remus was already feeling the effects of his condition. Sirius and James were talking animatedly in front of you, discussing details.

“-I’m really glad your mum said yes,” Sirius rambled. “Fuck, I’d marry her if I could. She’s the best. Her cooking’s better the house elf’s and she’s a whole lot prettier than my mother.”

James gagged. “Don’t talk about my mum like that, Merlin. Disgusting,” he shuddered.

Sirius guffawed.

“It’ll be a big ass sleepover,” you jumped in, picking a hangnail. “Shit, we’ll all be over every weekend, Jamie. We’ll just be one big old happy family.”

Peter and Remus found your mindless babbling amusing, but for some reason Sirius did not.

“It’s not just a ‘big ass sleepover’,” Sirius told you. “It’s gonna be my life. Because, you know, I’m an outcast in my own home. Oh, and the constant torture whenever Mummy and Daddy think I have an attitude.”

You looked up, confused. “Fuckin’ hell, Sirius, I just said it would be fun-“

“It would be fun if you shut your fucking mouth for once.”

Sirius’s words made you stop in your tracks. “Rich coming from you, Mr. ‘Listen-To-My-Stories-Of-All-These-Girls-I-Fucked-Last-Night’,” you shot back. You tried to hide the hurt in your voice.

“Shut up, y/n! For once! Merlin’s balls,” Sirius yelled, throwing his hands up and striding away.

You watched him walk away, James jogging to catch up. Peter and Remus’s eyes jumped from you to Sirius’s retreating form. With a barely withheld sigh, you lifted the corners of your lips and shrugged. “He’ll cool off. He normally does… I’m gonna head to your common room. I’ll see you two later.”

“See you, y/n,” Peter replied. As you turned and headed to your friends’ common room, you blinked as fast as you walked.

🥃.

The third and final strike was that very same day. A few hours later, Peter and Remus returned to their common room to retrieve you for dinner. Your yellow robes were bright: illuminated by the fire as you curled into yourself and slept.

Remus gently woke you up. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greeted coyly. “Dinner time.”

You needed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “Oh, shoot. I left my books in your room-“

“I’ll go get it,” Remus nodded. “I’m going to go get some more chocolate.”

Peter plopped down beside you. “Sirius is sorry,” he began. “I know he doesn’t look like it, but he is.”

You just leaned closer to your blond friend. “I’d like to hear it from him… But thank you, Pete.”

In response Peter hummed and rested his head on yours. His eyes watch the flickering orange flames dance in the fireplace as the both of you waited for Remus.

“Y/n.”

You turned towards the staircase and saw Remus standing with your reading materials in his hands. “Thanks, Moons. I apprecia-“

“So.”

You stiffened at Remus’s tone. You’d heart it before: cold, cruel, infuriated. “What’s wrong, Moony?”

Remus laughed darkly. “You eat the only food that keeps me sane before the full moon, send me up to get your books like a mutt, and then play innocent?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Remus turned to Peter. “The wanker ate all my fuckin’ chocolate! The whole fucking bucket I bought last week!”

You gape at Remus. “Yeah, Remus. I ate the whole fucking thing- I didn’t do it! I didn’t even know where your precious chocolate was! Besides, you know I prefer vanilla.” You scoffed at your last sentence. 

“Well who else would have eaten it!? Huh?”

Remus threw your books to the table. “How does it feel to have your stuff destroyed, huh?”

You wantes to scoff. It’s just bloody chocolate, for Merlin’s sakes! But you knew Remus got volatile before the full moon. You took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Leave my shit alone, Remus.”

“Fuck you, y/n! You and your pathetic Hufflepuff house! You lie just as good as a snake,” Remus sneered in your face. 

“Listen hear, Remus John Lupin,” you said lowly, grasping Remus’s tie and bringing his face to your level. “I’d rather sell a fuck than give one. Especially about your fucking chocolate. I didn’t touch your damn stash. If I did, I’d admit it. Secondly, toss around my books like that and I’ll kick your furry little ass so hard you’re gonna wear my fucking shoes as a hat. Thirdly, don’t you ever- and I mean ever- compare me to one of those two-faced, green wearing, white-haired snakes! I’m tired of being yelled at, Remus, and I think you can understand that feeling. But by God, if I have to deal with another one of your stupid fucking comments, I will rock your shit. I have brothers and uncles. Don’t fucking make me have this conversation again. And you can tell the rest of the boys exactly what I said because I’ll beat their egotistical asses too.”

You released Remus’s tie and stood up a little taller, ignoring his wide eyes and open mouth. You collected your books and smiled warmly at Peter who hadn’t said a word. “Bye Pete!”

“B-Bye, y/n,” he stuttered, waving.

[chronically-ghosted]

Hey I love you and I’m having thots about vampire!Dieter and his hedonistic lifestyle and his lavish parties at his estate and how he invites you up to show you his private rooms and he-

Oh, you mean like when he asks you about your--

Pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

Warnings: flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

A/N: look at what you've done @sp00kymulderr you've gone and given a perfectly good fic LORE

“Theories.”

“What?” 

Dieter’s smirk pulls his mouth and his head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. He rubs his fingers together, his wrist dangling over the edge of the deep-backed leather chair. The clean lines of his Armani pants and wing-tipped shoes give him the impression of leaning forward, as if he intended to tumble right through those windows and out into the party below. The music is muted, smothered, but the lights illuminate the sky like the sun beneath the waves. 

“Your theories. About all of this. About my dad, granddad. Everyone who’s ever walked in here – press or not –,” he lazily drags his gaze up from your ass to your tits for the third time that night, “– has had some wild theories that I just love to listen to. Little bedtime stories to put me to sleep. So let’s hear ‘em.”

You had doubts about this dress when you left your apartment but you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep from tugging it back down over your thighs because you know you have something every time Dieter looks at you. Maybe not for long, but you might be the first person in fifty years to walk out of here with something to say.

Your heart suddenly fluttering higher in your throat, you turn away towards the movie memorabilia lining the walls in glass shelves to give him the angle he’s been inching towards all night. Over your shoulder, you see his eyes drop – predictably. You let the line out a bit more and bend at the waist to examine the original glove from The Natural. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard them all, Mr. Bravo. The mystery around your family is nearly as old as Hollywood itself so I’m sure there’s nothing I can say that you haven’t heard before. Which reminds me . . .” You straighten up and, by some miracle, he meets your eyes, gaze no longer wandering. “Why me?” 

His mouth curls, but it’s the glint in his eyes that shows razor-sharp teeth. 

“I’ve always admired the brevity of wit, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Your jacket creaks when you cross your arms, eyebrow arched. “I’ve been with The Mezzanine for five years with half-a-dozen bylines under my belt. There’s a list of more experienced reporters a mile long. Why, after ignoring every press inquiry for the past twenty years, did you ask me to interview you? Oh, and consider this my first official question.” 

With an expansive inhale, Dieter draws himself to his feet. He takes a few steps towards the windows, just before the light catches the shine of his shoes. 

“Give me a theory and I’ll answer your question.”

You frown at his broad shoulders. Streaks of fuschia and green and gold tangle in his curls, setting the ends on fire. You think of those electric lamps under your grandfather’s porch that drew in moths with dust brown wings. Moths that ended up dead on the wooden floor. 

You find yourself inches from his left shoulder. 

“That’s not how these things usually go, Mr. Bravo.” 

“Humor the old hermit.” He grins and the smell of spice and smoke and lineage blooms in your nose. You school your face, swallowing down your beating heart. 

“The mob. So why me?”

Dieter chuckles. “The mob?”

“Happened to Frank Sinatra, didn’t it?”

“I don’t appreciate the comparison,” Dieter sneers. “Blue Eyes was an asshole and an idiot.”

You turn towards him, your turn to grin. “Speaking from personal experience?”

“Yes, actually.” 

“Unbelievable.” You roll your eyes and wander back towards the cabinet. It’s now you notice the odd placement of the couch and chairs in front of the memorabilia. As if hours were spent staring at them. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Dieter blinks at you. “Uh. No. Do you want me to call up for one?��

“No, Mr. Bravo, I want you to answer my question: why me?”

“Because you care.”

Dieter turns away from the lights, the music, the night and stares at you. The teasing sparkle, the sardonic grin – they’re gone. A different man stands before you – one with the same beautiful set of curls, with the same soft eyes. But you see something on his face you didn’t think was possible: yearning. 

“Everyone who ever came here only wanted a piece of me. Of this. Of my legacy. In fifty years, no one has ever wanted to know the magic in the movies. The magic of . . .” Dieter laughs quietly, joylessly. He looks around and runs his tongue against his upper teeth. “The mob? C’mon, you can do better than the mob.”

You take a step forward. Electric lamps be damned.

“I’m doing a terrible job of interviewing you.”

“Hardly.” His lips pout before pulling back into a grin. “We’re getting to know each other.”

Another step. 

“One for one?”

“Of course.”

“Then in debt to the US government for World War II propaganda. Why did your grandfather step out of the spotlight at the peak of his career?”

“Ford was as much a nazi as any of them and no Bravo would ever stoop so low, so no. And Grandpappy Bravo had health issues.”

“He was forty-five.”

“Forty-two, actually. The same age I am now.” He grins down at you and you find yourself staring up at him. Had his eyes always had that golden circle in the center?

“Give me another theory.”

“Drugs – boring but reliable. Why was your father so secretive about his role as a financial backer during the 60s movie revival?”

“He hated the attention, as much as a Bravo can. You’re getting closer.”

“It was drugs?” You tear your gaze that had somehow slipped to his lips back up to his eyes, but Dieter shakes his head.

“A drug of some kind, but not the kind you’re thinking of. A powerful drug. The most powerful.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“Life itself.” Again, you see his teeth and without your control, your heart leaps into your throat. You narrow your eyes against the brilliant light of his mouth.

“Why do you care so much about my theories?”

“Because you’re not asking the right questions. You’re close, but not quite.” 

His hand floats against your jaw, fingertips crackling in the millimeter above your skin, and that spicy scent floods your brain in a sudden avalanche that makes your knees wobble. You huff, dizzy, a fog settling across your mind, and you put a hand against his chest to keep you from stumbling. His thumb drags against your bottom lip and that bright sensation becomes a focus point by which the entire universe revolves around. 

His eyes are entirely golden now.

“Ask the question you’ve been begging to, darling.”

You swallow through the haze, through the pounding of your heart, through the heaviness of your knees, and the wetness in your underwear. 

“No,” you mumble, “I . . . Dieter, you’ll laugh.”

“Try me, sweetheart.” His other hand joins his first, cradling your jaw, dragging you closer. “I want to hear it.”

“I think you’re a vampire.” The words dribble off your numb lips but even through the lag, you know you’ve screwed up. Something has gummed up the crevices of your brain, but that’s not the thing to say to the highly-eccentric social recluse you’ve put your career at risk to interview. 

“Dieter, I’m sorry – I-I-I didn’t mean–,”

But he laughs. Laughs and your moth wings get caught in the light of the white gleam of his fangs. His hand slips to your waist as his thumb brushes your cheek, golden eyes anything but angry.

“I knew you were clever.” 

Your nails dig into his jacket where you don’t feel a heartbeat. Your knees want you to fall forward into him, but your elbows struggle as the last shreds of a survival instinct. 

“Dieter–,”

“Shh, darling, you are smart. Too smart for your own good. You knew the truth the second you walked in here and you did it anyway. But that big brain won’t let you believe it until you see it, so breathe, darling. Breath and it will be over in a minute.”

He lowers his face, his cold breath against your neck cracking through the haze, icing your heart. You whimper, afraid –

Afraid he’s going to kill you.

Afraid that you’ll let him.

A warm tongue saturates the skin of your neck and you realize there are devil faces in the wood carving of the ceiling, your head tipped back and arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“No crying. I will make this very good for you.” 

You blink and the ice in your heart melts out the corner of your eyes, tears running off your cheeks.

“Will I die?”

Dieter lets out a noise that’s a whine and a groan all at once. “No. We’re not nearly done having fun.”

And he bites you.

Euphoria erupts across your skin, an electric pulse waking up every sense still left in your control. You shudder, then draw him closer. He groans, not a single drop of blood escaping to the carpet or your shirt or his jacket. He eats well and clean and there’s a part of you that entertains the idea of him losing control. 

But as quickly as it comes on, everything fades. Blackness comes on, thick and fast, and you hear him pull off your neck more than you feel it and his tongue is the last sensation you feel. 

“No, darling, by the end of this, you’ll be begging me for more.”

His promise is the last thing you hear before the darkness closes in on you completely. 

+

[biancadjarin]

Being home ec partners with perv!Eddie

18+

pairing: Perv!Em x Cheerleader!Fem!Reader

warnings: nothing too explicit here, use of mommy/daddy nicknames, mention of boner.

a/n: ok so after reading @mamibaddie ‘s perv!bestfriend!eddie hc’s I can’t get playing “mommy and daddy” with Eddie out of my head😔. I’m thinking this will be 2 maybe 3 parts.

Eddie’s leg bounces as Mötley Crüe flows through his headphones. He’s in the last desk in the back of the class. Home Economics. He figured it’d be an easy A and if he wants to graduate this year, he needs all the A’s he can get. Or at least a C.

He hasn’t been paying attention all class period, getting lost in his thick Hellfire notebook, planning the next campaign. He glances up occasionally to steal a look at you, sitting pretty in the second row, long hair thrown over your shoulder, short cheerleader skirt fanned around your waist and hanging off the edge of your seat.

You peek back at him when the teacher gives you free time toward the end of class. He looks so cute, usual scowl on his face as his tongue pokes out of his lips, hand moving quickly as he writes and doodles. You smile as you walk over to him.

You drop into his spread thighs, making yourself comfortable in his lap. His eyebrows furrow until his eyes shoot up and realize it’s you. Your glossy lips mouth something to him and he stares at you in a daze, free hand that isn’t holding his pen settled on your knee.

You push his headphones off his head, Vince Neil’s voice filling the space between you two until he clicks the tape player off. “What?” He croaks out, throat dry all of a sudden. “I said ‘hi daddy!’” you repeat in a sweet sing-song. His jaw drops, not sure he heard you right. You stare at him with wide eyes, expecting him to answer you.

“What?” He repeats, a little laugh escaping his lips this time. His eyes scan down your body, the little keyhole of skin peeking out of the middle of your cheer uniform catching his eye. The space right under your boobs, above your abdomen looks so smooth and soft. He just wants to lick it. And don’t even get him started on the thighs that are draped over his lap right now. He wants to lick every inch of them before splitting them open. “Were you not listening?” you ask him, hands softly cradling his cheeks to draw his attention back upward.

He shakes his head, gooey, warm brownie eyes hooded and soft as he stares at you from this close. You giggle, swatting at his chest. “We got paired up to do the class project together! I’m mommy.” You lean close to his face, poking the end of his nose with your finger, “And you’re daddy. Mrs. Quill is getting everyone’s fake babies right now.” He peers around your body, scanning the classroom and realizing the teacher isn’t there. So that’s why you’re sitting in his lap.

“Oh… ok. So that means you’re going to call me daddy all week?” You nod eagerly. “And I get to-I mean have to call you mommy?” “If you want to.” You say with a smile. The smile that makes Eddie’s head spin. Makes his brain turn to mush. The smile he wants to be the reason for.

“I was thinking maybe you come over tomorrow and we can get started?” You offer, sliding off his lap. Eddie holds your hips at first, hoping you’ll stay but then let’s you go when he sees the teacher walk back in. “I know you have Hellfire tonight and I have a game. So what do ya say?” You ask with a little excited bounce, fingers twisting together like a little kid asking for a present.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Mommy.” Eddie says, smirk on his lips. You clap your hands happily before bending down to give him a hug. “This is going to be so much fun.” You say as you give Eddie a kiss on the cheek. Your lips linger close to his ear, your warm breath making him shudder. “My parents are out of town so we can play house all weekend.” You lean back and smile politely like what you said didn’t just make Eddie’s already hardening cock get painfully erect. You bounce back to your desk, only the lingering smell of your vanilla cookie scented body lotion left in your wake.

You sit at your desk, fake baby already waiting for you. “Eddie look!” You say as you make the baby’s hand waive to him. “He has your eyes!”

PART 2 HERE🍼🩷

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masterlist is currently under construction but you can find it here

🦋

[randooffthestreet]

(Inofficial) Ghoaptober

Day 24: Wish

Summary: Ghost buys flowers for Soap

Going to a pub or a bar was a regular enough occurrence that the 141 had a little bit of a system. Price was the designated driver, so he’d nurse one drink for an hour or so before cutting himself off. Gaz and Soap drank enough to cause Ghost to get a sympathy headache, and Ghost himself would have a drink or two. Of course, he was never allowed to drive since Soap wouldn’t let him hear the end of what had happened in Las Almas.

If one or both of the sergeants got clingy, they wouldn’t bring it up in the morning.

“Ghost….Lt.” Soap whined, leaning against the brick wall of a man fearlessly. “Y’know I've never gotten flowers before? Have nae seen many flowers since I was a bairn.” Ghost sighed heavily. “That so?

The Scot nodded, taking a sip of his final drink. (Price had cut him off) “Dunnae why… Maybe cuz ah’m a big lad? Maybe…cuz they think ah would nae like em. But ah do! Love flowers.” He set his drink down. “It’s mah birthday end o’ this month. Prob’ly will nae get any flowers this year either, ye ken.”

Ghost just hummed. He’d known about his upcoming birthday, Gaz having already planned an outing to a pub that evening. He’d bought him a new sketchbook and nice pencils after learning about his affinity for drawing.

Soap groaned, his stomach lurching slightly. Ghost hissed, scooting away from him. “Don’t you dare throw up on me.” Soap laughed, wincing. “Ah won’t. Ye- ye ken, my ma had a flower garden. Before we grew apart, I used to help her tend to em. Loved the roses. They were mah favorite. Cliche, I ken.” He sniffled. “Miss em. Hell, miss me ma.”

Ghost sighed, hooking his arm over his shoulder. “You’re drunk, Soap. We should get you home.” The man groaned, but didn’t protest.

The day before Soap’s birthday, Ghost found himself thinking about that conversation. Sure, Soap had been drunk, but he also tended to be a bit more honest when he was drunk. Ghost found himself looking for stores near the pub that sold flowers.

When he found one, he just stared at the bouquets for a solid ten minutes before an employee came over. “Need help, sir?” She asked him, smiling a little wearily. He hummed. “...don’t know flowers.” He said in lieu of an answer. She looked through them. “Well, who are you looking for?”

He thought for a moment. “Friend’s birthday. He likes roses.” She nodded, before pointing out a pretty looking bouquet. “This one has roses and sunflowers. Does he like those?”

Ghost didn’t know, but from what little he did know about flowers, he knew that sunflowers would turn towards the sun, yearning for any bit of light from its rays.

They reminded him of how he acted around Johnny, always looking for his next fix of his sunshine’s attention.

He nodded. “That’ll do.” He picked it up and bought it, praying to whatever being that may exist that Soap would like them. They smelled pleasant enough, at least.

When he walked into the pub, the others hadn’t arrived yet. He’d already texted Gaz that he’d be coming separately, and would save them a table.

He tucked the bouquet in the booth seat next to him nervously when he saw them enter. Gaz ordered them a round and a cake, crowing at the uninterested waiter that it was his friend’s birthday just to piss Soap off.

Price got Soap a nice bottle of Scotch, and Gaz had laughed when he saw it because he’d gotten him the same thing. Soap didn’t mind, just grinned. “I get two bottles of the good stuff, why would I be mad?

Ghost gave him the sketchbook and pencils a bit nervously, but his nerves were soothed when his face lit up. “Oh wow! These are good supplies.” He grinned. Ghost touched the bouquet next to him lightly, having second thoughts, before sucking it up and handing them to him.

The table fell quiet, and Soap looked at him with wide eyes

“For me?” He asked softly, holding them so gently they could be made of glass. Ghost nodded, feeling really dumb all of a sudden. He felt a weight lift from his chest when Soap beamed at him.

“You remembered! Christ, this is too muchI was so sloshed when I said I wanted flowers, but… thanks. They’re beautiful. And- and they’re roses… like I said…” Soap was smiling so widely it made Ghost’s heart hurt.

“I love them, Lt.” Ghost had to fight back the disappointment that came with the title. It was his sergeant’s birthday, not his boyfriend’s.

Gaz and Price settled down a little upon hearing Soap had asked for flowers specifically, though Price did shoot Ghost a knowing look.

The rest of the time was business as usual, drinking and laughing with friends until they inevitably got drunk and had to go home when the bartenders cut them off.

Ghost walked Soap back to his room. The other man was so drunk he was just mumbling under his breath.

As Ghost eased him into his bed, the Scot spoke up. “Thanks for the flowers, Lt, Really like em. Specially from ye.” He smiled before knocking out. Ghost stood there for a few minutes before sighing quietly to himself and placing the bouquet on the nightstand next to Soap.

For the rest of the week, Soap was in a significantly good mood. Watching him interact with the recruits, Ghost found himself smiling softly. If a simple bouquet of flowers made him so happy that he was beaming every day, then Ghost would give him all the flowers his heart desired.

And the gestures would never lose their meaning; no, Ghost would put just as much thought and heart into every one, just like he did the first time.

In any universe, he would give him flowers just to see him smile.

From a church altar to a gravestone.

The sunflower and his rose.

[melanieph321]

Gabriel Medina x Reader - Untamable Part 1/8

Part 2

Reader spends the summer with her first love, Gabriel Medina, for him to get a chance to know their three year old son. However, both Reader and Gabriel struggle to keep their feelings at bay.

Enjoy!

"Just hang tight baby, we're almost there."

You were coming home. After three years away, you were finally coming home. The delay was mainly due to your son, whose birth surprised many. First and foremost, his father's side of the family, as they made it very clear that they wanted nothing to do with you or your son. But then came the letters. The many letters that went against everything you had come to believe about your life.

"If you would give me a chance to be a good father, I would be." One of the letters read. The one that currently burned in your pocket convinced you to make this trip. It made you agree to stay for the summer. To let your son finally get to know his father.

"Look, Nemo, that's Vovó!" You pointed towards the docks ahead, where a red Toyota was spotted in the distance. Standing next to it was an old woman, grey haired and tanned skin. Just like you remembered her.

Your heart was beating heavily once the ferry approached the docks. Your son clung to your neck, a look of terror in his eyes as they fixiated upon the water below.

"It's okay, baby. We're almost there." You got off the boat carrying your son in your arms. The old woman standing by the red Toyota stood clenching her heart, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Meus anjos. Vocês estão em casa." (My angels. You're home.)

"Vovó!" You rushed towards your grandmother, wrapping your arms around her with your son still pinned to your hips.

"When did you get so big? Both of you?" She pinched your son's cheeks, having only gotten to know his face through the photos you've sent. "A damn shame." She muttered, stepping back to get a better look at him.

"What?"

"He looks just like his father. Jet black hair and a pair of gorgeous eyes. All that's missing are the tattoos."

"Vovó."

"Oh give me a break." She waved and carried your son towards her run down car. "Come on now, everyone's waiting for us."

By everyone, you thought your grandma meant your closest relatives, not the entire neighborhood in the village you grew up in.

"Welcome home!"

They greeted you with presents and banners. And the neighborhood children gifted you with drawings of the island, seen from the outskirts of São Sebastião.

"Please, please, let us hold the baby?"

Your son was passed around between relatives like a hot potato. The many new faces overstimulating him. Nevertheless, it was funny how they all said the same thing.

"Dear God, the child has his fathers eyes."

"All that's missing are the tattoos."

"That's what I said."

"Vovó, please." You sighed.

"What? The boy does have his father's eyes."

"Let's hope that he doesn't have his father's issues." Someone added, which made you put an end to passing around of your son. It had been a long journey from São Paulo, and the two of you needed to freshen up before dinner.

It was odd, being back home. You had always loved the ocean. The untamable sea. It was natural for you as an island girl to spend your time in the water almost every day. The taste of salt would linger on your lips from morning til noon and it wouldn't be until the ocean's color shifted from blue to red that you would wade back towards shore, making way for another day. However, it was a long time ago that you could call yourself an island girl. Since then, that girl has become a woman, dreaming of becoming a nurse by studying in the vibrant city of São Paulo.

Your pregnancy had been a setback for sure, but not the end of your dreams. It was your fault for getting caught up in your past by returning to a love you clearly lost a long time ago. That's why his letters were even more confusing to you. At least the timing of them, considering how things ended between you and your son's father. The letters weren't just a plead to become involved in your son's life again. They were also a declaration of love. Love for you.

"Leaving you behind is one of my biggest regrets in life. I've loved you since before I could even express what love was. And so I've carried the burden of letting you go like a burning chip on my shoulder. Missing the birth of my son only increased the heat of it. To think that you had to go through all of it alone breaks my heart. With all sincerity, please forgive me. Yours truly, Gabriel."

"Querida?"

There was a light knock on the bathroom door. Your grandmother poked her head in, smiling at the sight of your son washing his little hands in the bathroom sink.

"We'll be right there vovó."

"I'm just letting you know." She said, her smile fading a little as she shifted to look at you.

"Letting me know what vovó?"

"Gabriel is here, dear. I'm afraid he just arrived."

"Oh."

He was early. You knew that he was coming, however, hoped to give your son a bit more time to adjust to his new home for the summer. Nevertheless, tomorrow might as well be today.

"Tell him we' ll be right there." You nodded.

Part 2

[wambsgansshoelaces]

heyy love, i love your fics so muchhh!! if ur requests are open, i was wondering if you could write this fun lil oneshot i thought of<3

(didn't really think much of the details but i imagined something like the episode with the pierce family, or u could change to what feels nice to u)

reader is like super hot/crazy attractive and the siblings are instantly interested. kendall and roman, being their idiot selves, start competing for her attention and trying to get her to accept going out etc. turns out, at the end of the day, shiv gets the girl, as she was the one reader wanted all along (gagged them)

Girls Get Girls

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

not gonna lie anon I feel like I didn’t do this too well so I’m so so sorry :( I still hope you enjoy even though I don’t really deliver x

btw I literally love you anon keep requesting

im so gay

Word Count: 2.893k

Mergers, acquisitions, stock, trade, liquidation. You couldn’t give a shit about any of it.

You’re not in the financial field at all, much to your parents’ disappointment. It’d brought you out of favor with them, brought your siblings closer to each other.

You usually don’t come to these things, but tonight it talk of selling the entire company. Leaving it all behind, cashing in the lotto, and fucking off. Your family had convinced you to come- despite your clear dislike for everything finance and business, you still hold stock and stake in the company. You were also going to get a pretty penny from your inheritance, so it would be wise to judge your potential buyer alongside your family.

You’re getting ready in your childhood bedroom, pacing the carpet as you put the finishing touches on your outfit. Your father had made it very clear: your job was to root out intention, then act accordingly. Regardless of whether you thought the Roys were worthy of the company or not is irrelevant at this moment. You need to be intimidating.

Intimidating, but also hot. Just for yourself.

A soft knock sounds at your door. “It’s me,” your cousin calls from the hall.

“Come in,” you call back.

She waltzes in, her blouse billowing behind her as she deposits herself on your bed. “Dad’s going to have an aneurysm.”

Even though you already know the answer, you ask, “Why?” You lean against your desk, facing her.

She snorts, knowing you’re trying to push her buttons. “He wants the company, dipshit. I still think all if this is to get on our nerves.”

“A chimp would do better as CEO than any of you,” you say, scoffing. What had started out as what you thought was joking was turning into something else.

“So why won’t you do it, then?” she asks, bitterly. “I don’t see why it has to be either you or someone out of the family entirely.”

“I’m not doing it because I don’t want to. My siblings also just… have no interest. We’re all off to bigger, better things.”

The two of you stare at each other until your father’s yelling draws you both from your trance.

“Up and at ’em,” he’s saying, pretty much to himself, once you’re downstairs. You brush imaginary dust from your sleeves as you make the awkward walk to the helipad. You and your brother share an exasperated look. Despite the fact that you’d been wedged apart over the years, you and your siblings share a lot of the same views and opinions.

“All this peacocking is fucking insane,” he mutters to you once you’re stopped a safe distance away from the pad.

“Just wait until you see them,” you mutter back.

Even though you weren’t involved in the business side of the company, you’d still been involved. You’d gone to dinners, conferences, galas. You were a bit of an outside source, as you held no real position in the company, but you knew you were vital.

At almost every event where someone with your last name was required to attend, there was also a Roy. You’d only ever seen them, never spoken to them

You hear the helicopter before you see it. Sunglasses perched on your nose, you look up. As it descends, your hair and jacket are blown vigorously back, and your hand goes to your scalp. The generated wind is aggressive, slicing over your skin, your clothing. The sound is now deafening, and you notice your sister clamping her hands over her ears. Your father gives her a look, something along the lines of don’t look weak, and your sister rolls her eyes in response, mouthing fuck you.

You have to suppress your smile. The helicopter’s landed, and people are starting to pile out.

“Logan, old friend,” your dad bellows jovially. While the two families had never met, never been close, you know your father and Logan Roy were actually the best of friends. You don’t know how they met. Your father spoke of Logan from as far back as undergrad university.

Your father steps forward, meeting Logan halfway as he leads the rest of his family towards yours. They envelope each other in a hug, and your brother snorts. He’s the only one who’s ever interacted with the Roys.

“It’s like he has a multiple personality disorder,” he’d told you the other day, talking about the enigma that was the head of the other family. “One second he’s laughing, then the minute Dad’s out the room, the guy’s raging over his kids or the people not doing enough work or whatever the fuck else is wrong with that stupid fucking company.”

He turns from your father to your mother, murmuring a warm greeting, then to the row of you, your sister, and your brother.

“Oh, look at the three of you! All grown and radiant,” he says heartily. So far, he doesn’t seem like the demon your younger brother had described him to be. But you know well enough that looks can be deceiving. He opens his arms out to you first, since you’re the eldest of the three. You give him an awkward hug, his hand clapping over your back in a friendly manner. “If only any of my children had the sense to get with you,” he mutters conspiratorially, earning a chuckle from you. He pats your shoulder, before moving on to your brother.

Logan’s wife is next. “Marcia,” she murmurs softly to you, taking you by the shoulders and air-kissing both your cheeks. You return the gesture as she does it, making sure to stay smiling. It’s all a flurry of names you’re sure you’re going to forget the second you need them. Connor, Gerri, Willa, Frank, Rhea. It’s really all just a bunch of letters bouncing around in your head.

Who you’re sure you will remember, though, are the siblings. The younger three. The important ones, your dad liked to call them.

As all of the ‘adults’ convened to chat amongst themselves, like they did when you were children, you and your sister are having a quiet conversation about your work. She’s in the middle of asking you to come out to her office to help you with something when you feel a hand settle on your shoulder. You turn, coming eye to eye with Kendall Roy.

“Hi,” he says carefully, small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“No, we haven’t,” you say back. “Y/N.” You offer him your hand to shake, like your father expects you to do with everyone.

“Kendall.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say awkwardly. He manages a laugh, withdrawing his hand, his eyes flitting over your face.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, then, to, uh, put your name to your face.”

You’re not really sure what he means, but you don’t think you care that much.

“Move over, Kendall, you’re boring the shit out of her.” His brother comes over, bumping him with his hip. You have to stifle a laugh. “Roman.” You shake hands, offering him a polite smile. “He’s right, though. You’re a bit of a mystery to everyone.”

“Am I?” you ask, laughter seeping into your voice.

“Not to me.” Her voice is firm, clear. “I’m Shiv. I was at the conference you gave the Ethics presentation to. I know your work. My brothers are just stupid.”

You laugh for real this time. “Nice to meet you, Shiv. I’m familiar with your work, too. I’m just not so deep into the political sphere like you are.”

“I can help with that, you know,” she says, expression surprisingly soft. “I’ve been looking for someone that shares my opinions and… moral compass to work with. You need your rock, you know?”

The conglomerate of people slowly transitions inside. Roman and Kendall get roped into other conversations, your sister disappearing off to who knows where. You mill about in the dimly lit sitting room, watching everyone interact. Shiv’s still by your side.

“No offense, but I hate these things,” she says quietly, coming closer to you so you can hear.

You laugh lightly. “None taken.” You glance over at her to find that her eyes are already glued to you. You feel your face heat, her gaze flickering down your body before coming back up to your face. She has a sly smile on, but it’s quickly melting into one of real, soft emotion. You open your mouth to offer her something you’ll probably regret later, but are interrupted by your father clapping his hands together and waving everyone into the dining room. Instead, you give her an exasperated smile and follow the crowd.

Your father eyes you and your siblings as you all slip into your strategically chosen seats, making it so you’d all be surrounded by Roys. Your brother makes a face at you from the other side of the table. You ignore him, instead looking up at Shiv, who hovers by the chair at your left hand.

Almost shyly, she asks, “May I?”

“Please.”

A giddy smile spreads across her face as she sits, and you can’t help but mirror her expression. You look down into your plate, catching your sister’s gaze on you. Kendall takes the seat on your other side, Logan sitting directly across from you, right by your dad.

Roman and your brother are laughing over something as you get served the appetizer, your sister staring off into space while Connor talks at her rather than to her. Your mother speaks quietly with Marcia, and of course, your father and Logan are the loudest at the table, laughing and gesturing around.

Your cousin is on Kendall’s other side, overly-focused on her food. The conversation suddenly involves the entire table, Logan leaving forward. “What is it you do again, Y/N?”

You shrug lightly. “I work in media and risk analysis. Dabble a bit in economics.”

“So like Shiv?”

“Not really,” you and her say at the same time. You gesture with your fork, letting her continue.

“Our work certainly overlaps, and I’m glad it does,” she says, “but I’m more… political, she’s more… corporate.”

“If you dabbled in economics,” your cousin manages through gritted teeth, “we wouldn’t be here.”

“Neither would we if you did,” you retort calmly.

She scoffs. “I still don’t see why all of this is happening,” she says back, barely loud enough for everyone to hear. You look to your father, praying he’ll deal with it himself before she goes on some tirade, scaring off the buyer, but he makes no move. He simply glances at you, his gaze loaded.

Do it yourself.

You wait for a few moments, letting the tension strain the room. Maybe she’ll back off.

She doesn’t.

“The company is leaving family hands because of you, Y/N. It’s going to crash and burn because you refuse to fucking see what’s sitting in front of you.”

Logan’s lips press together into a thin line, and you know you have to recover. “I don’t want the company. Neither of my siblings want it. Don’t you think it’s a little telling you’re the only one lusting after it so loudly?”

“I don’t see what that has to say about me.”

“You want it, and you’re not getting it,” you say firmly. “You’re incompetent. The Roy name is not.”

Dinner is only silent for so much longer. Your brother, at his breaking point, asks loudly, “Why are you even here? You blew the Pierce deal. Fuck off.” Your father hisses something into your brother’s ear. He scoffs in response. “I’m sick of it, Dad. The three of us bust our asses to get this to go well for you and she gets to waltz in, do whatever the fuck she wants whenever the fuck she wants.” He quickly pushes back his chair from the table and makes his way out of the dining room.

Clearly, this is deeper than one stupid comment made at the dinner table. You throw a questioning glance at your sister. She gives a minute shake of her head. She doesn’t know.

Dramatically, your cousin follows your brother out. Roman is trying not to laugh, and all of a sudden, your father and Logan aren’t in the mood they were before.

You turn to Shiv, exasperated. She’s also stuffing a laugh down, and it’s contagious. “Is my juvenile family drama amusing to you?” you murmur to her questioningly, the soft clink of silverware and terse chatter filling the room.

“Yeah,” she says, nearly choking on a laugh. “This is so fucking stupid. How do you deal with it?”

“I never stay home.” You down the rest of the water in your glass.

“Hey, uh, Y/N,” Kendall begins, leaning towards you as you turn to face him. “I just wanted to say, I get how it feels.” He gestures vaguely around. “So if you want to, um, get some air after, I’d love to join you.”

You thank him sincerely, giving him a soft smile. Dessert finally comes out. You’re almost there. You turn back to Shiv, but she’s conversing with whoever’s on her other side, to your disappointment. You eat your cheesecake in silence, Roman catching your eye and giving you a wink. You didn’t know people actually did that, but he pulled it off nicely, you think.

When your father finally gets up, ushering everyone into the sitting room for drinks and chatter, you heave a sigh of relief. You trail behind the crowd, hoping to be able to slip away on your own.

You succeed. You sigh up at the high vaulted ceiling, padding towards the grand staircase up to your room.

“Hey, where’re you going?” comes a soft voice. You turn, Shiv, hurrying after you.

“Escaping,” you say jokingly, pausing on the stairs, letting her catch up to you.

“Can I come?”

“Yeah. You can.”

The sight of her sitting cross-legged on your bed does something to you. It sucks all the air from your body. But maybe that was just the sight of her.

"Your brother okay?" she asks, looking up at you.

"He'll be fine. Everyone's just a bit tense."

"Just so you know, your cousin's temper tantrum doesn't change anything."

"I'd hope it didn't."

"What would change things though," she tells you, "is whether you want to come on once we buy the company."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I was serious when I was talking about how I need someone in my corner."

"What do you mean?"

"It's me. The company gets handed to me."

"Congratulations, Shiv. But really, I want nothing to do with it."

"I'd be running things. You'd just be my right hand woman. The very attractive right hand woman that I see every day."

You laugh, unable to suppress the grin splitting your face.

“My cousin’ll murder me,” you manage to say.

“So? Let her try. Not like you’ll go down or anything.” She smiles up at you. “I think that’s hot. You’re hot.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both of you grinning at each other.

“You’re really pretty,” you breathe, believing she followed you for a reason.

“I’m glad you think so.” Her hands come to cup your jaw in the few instances it takes you to cross the room, slide onto your bed, and kiss her. “God, you’re so… so fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” you ask against her lips, peppering gentle kisses onto them. “Stay the night.”

“I told everyone I went home,” she says, giggling.

Your hand flits to her hip, rubbing soothingly. Your kisses are slow, tender. You’re both enjoying yourselves. It feels so real. It feels like something more.

You slide off of her, off the bed, eliciting a whine from her pretty mouth. “Just locking the door, baby.”

You wake up, head buried in her chest. She’d borrowed some pajamas of yours, the shirt a soft cotton. Her breathing is light and airy, and it’s music to your ears. Her fingers are threaded in the hair at your scalp, her arm thrown over your back.

You drift in and out of consciousness until she wakes up, pressing kisses along your forehead. Shiv sits up, letting you stay settled in her lap. You press a hot kiss to her bare thigh, shorts hiked up her legs.

“You know,” she says, after a short while of silence, “Ken and Roman were drooling over you all night.”

You snort. “Were they?”

“I know them. They were. And here I am,” she says, satisfied with herself.

You let out an airy laugh. “Here you are.”

“I was drooling, too,” she admits.

“Can we stop talking about saliva?”

She pinches your ass, to which you don’t dignify with a reaction, instead smiling into her thigh. “I wanna keep seeing you.”

“I have to fly out to Italy for some work. Maybe I want you to come with me.”

“God, I love women.” Her hand cards through your hair. “Mind if I take a picture? I want to send it to my brothers.”

“Perv,” you mutter, but nod anyway. You smile at the camera from her thigh, pressing a searing kiss to the place where her leg meets her hip the moment she hits the button.

It captures her beautiful face in an ecstatic smile, yours in soft affection as you look up at her, not the camera.

[neko-naruto]

new setting (new ideals)

Summary: Wherein John Dory accidentally sneaks into the home universe of Sans after a very small margin of victory in the latest multiversal tourney; things escalate in unprecedented ways after the local scientist sizes him up to scale.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, god i am so sorry for this

Authors Note: @ohposhers @bulliestrolls someone needs to put you two in the fucking slammer for drawing sansdory, and then they need to put me in the slammer for writing sansdory. for the sake of enjoying this fic please picture JD as a lot more creature than in canon.

John Dory was small enough to fit inside of Sans' coat pocket.

Sans discovers this the hard way when the ex leader of brozone falls out of his pocket after his return to Snowdin.

"Ain't snow fucking way." Was what Sans managed as he stared at the unmoving body in the snow, far too small to be considered the average monster for the underground. The Troll would be eaten without a second thought, mistaken for the bugs Muffet doesn't provide protection for.

He plucks the tufted tail and holds up John Dory like he's a dead rat. Of course he snaps awake as soon as Sans is holding him at eye height, and with a screech he's flung aside as the skeleton lurches back.

Sans pauses to catch his breath, "Okay, so you're not dead. That's good."

"Where am I?!" Was John Dory's instant question as he shook the snow from his hair and brushed himself down.

"Pipe down pipsqueak, I won't let you get squished," Sans said as he took a seat on the snow. He held out a hand, "We should probably get you situated with Alphys, size you up a bit."

John reluctantly stepped onto a gloved hand and took a seat on the palm, it was cold and unpleasant. His tail thwipped loudly despite his size, "Anything else in mind to get me back home?" The words are agitated.

"Want me to leave you here?"

Silence.

"Thought so, I'll give you a hand in figuring it out, but you're playing by my rules bud."

"How were you the reigning champ for years on end?"

"The girlies liked me for my dry humor, MILF hunting attitude, and undetermined backstory- and my infinite fuckability of course."

"Must suck not having a dick."

Sans just gives a hum before giving John a gently toss, only a few inches but he still yelps and clings desperately to phalanges when he lands back in Sans' hand. It garners a chuckle from the skeleton, "Pal, I got extremities you couldn't even dream of, and no, that isn't an invitation to start listing 'em off."

John Dory shuts his mouth.

"Don't be shocked if Alphys tries to fill you up with needles and probes."

"With what-"

"She's a curious gal."

-/-/-/-

Thankfully the resizing process involves a lot less probing than Sans said it would, which John is eternally grateful for. He'd like to avoid having a cold piece of metal shoved up his ass if possible. The process just required a small blood sample and some weighing before he was resized with one little ray.

And then he was the exact same height as Sans, give or take a few inches.

"Proportionately, I can see why you won," Sans said, hands stuffed in his pockets and expression same as always. It's far too hard for John Dory to read, he can't tell if it's sarcastic or genuine.

"Thanks." He shrugs off the compliment because he doesn't know how to take it.

"Is it easier to see why I was the reigning champ?" Sans asked.

"You're the furthest thing from 'sexyman' out there," John Dory said before he could actually think about the words exiting his mouth.

Sans laughed, "Tell it to The Onceler, if you can convince him to take me off the bracket then I'll stop trying my best."

"You don't try at all."

"The girlies like me for that."

"What is it with you and the girlies?"

"What makes you think that the guys were voting for me?" Sans shot back, "Think you can walk and talk? I know a shortcut."

"Good point," John Dory said, "I can walk and talk."

"Cool." Sans holds out a hand.

"What?"

"Gotta hold my hand to take the shortcut."

John places his paw atop Sans hand and the grip the motion is received with is far too intense to be considered normal. But a shortcut is a shortcut, and he'll just have to take help to get around this universe until he can get home.

-/-/-/-

"Ketchup?"

"Yeah man, ketchup." Sans tossed a bottle to John Dory as he spoke, the Troll catching it with ease.

"You expect me to drink ketchup? I've had worse, but what about alcohol?" John asked.

"Bud," Sans began, "The bartender is a living flame, you really think he wants to be handling highly flammable stuff?"

"Fair point, but can you actually get drunk offa ketchup?" John asked, and he gave this slanted smirk as he spoke, partially leaning an elbow on the bar. He's gotten more comfortable after a week in Sans' hometown, he lives in the room under the sink in the skelebros household and made it his own until later notice.

Sans gives a hum, "Wanna find out?"

John grins before popping off the cap, "Try me."

-/-/-/-

"What do they put in this shit, Sans?" The words are spoken with a giggle and despite the ache in his head John Dory goes back for more.

"Tomatoes," Sans answered with, still slowly downing his first serving of ketchup.

"It's gotta be more than that, bonedaddy," John Dory purred, leaning a little bit more on the bar and resting his chin in his hands.

A distinct azure rises to Sans' face, "I think you've had too much ketchup."

"You meant it."

"What?"

"When we were in the lab, when you said I looked hot. You meant it, you like me," John deduced rather skillfully despite his inept state.

"And if I do?" Sans asked.

John pauses, "It'd be hot, Sans and John Dory double teaming the tourney."

"Alright, we should get home," Sans said, sliding off his bar stool and holding out a gloved hand.

John Dory took it and slid off his own stool, his tail wagged about lazily. His face is burning up and he looks oddly lovesick, a realization that Sans makes the choice to ignore until he can contemplate it late at night. Alone. In bed. By himself.

The Troll slinks an arm under Sans' shoulders, face resting atop the fluff of his hoodie and nuzzled into the collar of his turtleneck, he still clutches a hand tightly. He gives a contented hum, "Your jacket's soft."

"I know."

"You're soft."

"That's an odd thing to say considering I'm all bones."

"I'll show you bones."

"We really gotta get you home."

"And then?"

"And then you're going to sleep, no goodnight kiss."

-/-/-/-

Another week passes and Papyrus suddenly has to deal with the fact that Sans and John Dory are being overtly romantic.

"Your teeth are cold." John Dory would always say whenever he tried to kiss Sans.

"The girlies like it." Sans would always answer.

And sometimes John Dory would try again to get the usually snapped shut jaw open, or he'd say, "I guess I'm one of the girlies."

They'd laugh and after a small beat of silence continue on with their day.

Maybe it's selfish that Sans is keeping John Dory from a way back to his own universe, but he's pretty sure the Troll doesn't mind. He's stopped asking when he'll get to go back home at least, and Sans is benefiting from having someone around.

It makes the resets more tolerable if nothing else, and Sans just doesn't tell John about them. About the times he's watched everyone die and everyone live, he never speaks a word of it. And unless Frisk brings it up, he won't have to know of the amnesia or the violence.

And they can keep living their happily ever after.

[mariemarieohcontrary]

Choices MCs (Filipino Edition lol)

《Next》

Finally drew four of my Choices MCs inspired by @cassiopeiacorvus and her wonderfully done OC compilations (how do you have the patience to draw all of em omg)

I'm thinking of doing the same for my Romance Club MCs too (background would be the purple of the homescreen there)

Interested in commissioning me? Click the source! 💗

Evangeline Marie G. (Guzman) Lakandula - Ah yes, my soft, anxious babie with self-worth issues. She comes from a messy background with a horrible father. She was close to her late (paternal) grandparents and had a very complicated relationship with her late mother. One of her relatives shes v close to is her older cousin, Ethan.

She's a college dropout thanks to her father's bad choices and worked the moment she had a chance to.

After her mother passed, that was it for Evangeline. She kinda needed to go away from her dad and his loud voice and other issues. So she left home and Ethan helped her out before he left for a business trip abroad.

He had her go to a house he owned in Laguna where she could live in provided she just do the cleaning in there. She found simple work that she was qualified for and that was her life for the next few years until a certain bachelor party came into her life.

Diwa Kalangitan M. (Masangga) del Rosario - My chaotic good and very protective MC who definitely rabbleroused in the school she works in.

She was raised in a household that follows some precolonial beliefs and traditions. She has a stepfather who's an albularyo and two half-siblings. One is studying in college, the other is still in high school. She has a close relationship to both her parents.

And she is rather happy with her job as a teacher in a private school. Sure she sometimes goes against curriculum to make sure the kids enjoy her lessons. She's a class advisor also so when she found out their math teacher humiliated one of her students, she confronted said teacher.

Her trip to America is really just a birthday trip until the events of the book started. In the end she ends up in a poly relationship with Nik and Cal. (She does end up pointing out to the boys that she'll have to go back to her work and family at least just to properly resign and find work near them and also to assure her family she's safe.)

Maya Chelidonia C. (Caacbay) dela Rosa - The local tired detective who had to move abroad for their own safety. Love them SM.

Maya is the child of Jaime dela Rosa, a cop in the Philippines who does not follow in corrupt practices and tries to do right by the community. He was killed after coincidentally seeing signs of corruption in the force and wanting to expose it.

After their father's death, Maya also followed in his footsteps. On their end, they wanted to try and do some good in their job but ended up experiencing some discrimination in the work force. Enter them finding the same evidence of corruption that their father found as well. This time they managed to expose the corruption but in the end, one of their few friends in the force warned them that they'll have to flee the country due to some v angry officials.

So they fled with their mother and younger sister.

Their sister became a fashion designer. Maya found work as a private detective and the two teamed up to be able to live a decent life. Their sister travels with their mom on fashion shows. They're fine living nearby their maternal uncle with their dog, Spudge. (He's a scaredy cat and a lil crybaby who doesn't like strangers and by that I mean he starts crying when the strangers notice him. It's not out of trauma, he just likes Maya and their fam more than anyone else and is v shy with others. He's also scared of the dark and loud noises.)

Inocencia Honorata G. (Galang) Valenciano - and finally, my love's embarrassing bby. My Rafael Aveiro romancer. Love her sm.

She and her mom, older brother and little sister ran away from their father when they were a kid. Her parents annulled their marriage after a few years.

Her older brother became the youngest lawyer in the country and had a firm in New York seek him out. This led to him helping Inocencia and her sister (who had skipped grades and managed to enter college the same year as Inocencia).

Inocencia is v non-competitive that she chose De La Salle University while her sister went to their grandfather’s alma mater, University of the Philippines. At college, Inocencia got dubbed as SiaSia because of the repeated -cia in her first name and surname.

The two got accepted into Edenbrook when they were gonna start. Inocencia being 27 and her sister being 25. By then, Inocencia still isn't competitive and didn't sign up for the competition for the diagnostics team but her little sister shoved her to try it out.

[glowsticcc]

bro so many scenes are swimming in my brain rn i’m gonna list em

i really like the theory that the mask was desensitizing ranboo to the Horrors going on and it glitched when he was cutting charlie open and he started screaming, that was him seeing what was actually happening. same thing happened at the end when he was “freed”

omg sneegsnag you beautiful man i have. a few thoughts. first being that sneeg was on track to be just one of the bg characters, but him putting on the slime hat must’ve woken him up in a way??? that’s when he knew he needed to Get Out Now, but showfall caught him before he could fully escape. and the mind control mask????? that was so cool????? and i noticed that they gave him a completely different hat afterwards, and i guess that was just them rebooting his "character". and after that he and ranboo were just spouting off npc lines so they were very much under showfall's control (obvs)

my mind keeps going back to ethan's death and the blood pooling under the door and austin being the only one screaming about it.

anyone remember a year or two ago when ranboo said they were scouting out old abandoned malls to do something with genloss in it? yeah that was so sick im glad they got to do that.

when ranboo looked directly into the camera i actually got chills and i need to draw something holy crap

thats all i really got for now if i have more ill reblog

(all names mentioned are to do with their gl!characters)

[flighter312]

I dunno if ya do asks or not. But, looking at your KronFau parents au with Ceci is just making me think of baby Ame just randomly coming home with an automaton

KF: whatcha got there?

Ame, half dragging a semi unwinded Ceci: mud!!

HI im late because i never really check tumblr, and i dont know how to do asks in general so i hope this works, but im taking a small break from drawing rn, HOWEVER i will give you this brainrot that turned out to be longer than i expected but i need to yap

an kronfau parents, baby ame au where maybe ame is very ""isolated"" from her peers (probably due to being constantly dirty and having a fascination with small living creatures and being a completely yapper over them(takes after fauna)), so shes used to playing by herself

you didnt specify what type of age cece would have, so im choosing to imagine she appears to be a few years older than ame (spoiler: kronii learns mechanics and always fixes cece up so she also ages with ame, but thats later on)

but maybe kfa moves to a secluded area because they are not made for the city (no matter how much kronii wishes they were), but fauna's happy because at least theres a cottage, and ame's happy because they live near a creek which means DIRT! AND BUGS! AND SNAKES- (and kronfau has a heart attack the first time ame brings one in)

but theyve gotten a little used to ame bringing in lots of creatures (which she eventually has to say bye bye to on the porch because kf is NOT hosting bugs in this home)

however, one day ame is following maybe a tiny spider and ventures off a little more than she's used to, narrating her whole journey, maybe like-

Mama said not to go too far without permission! BUT- she didn't specify who's! [in a high voice] "Ame, can i have YOUR permission to go off beyond the river? (a one foot wide stream of water)" [in a deep voice] "Why, yes Ame! But only if you bring back something fun in return!" [normal voice] "Well, if you say so!" and she skips along and splashes through the puddles

of course, the creek looks the same (but ame NEVER gets lost! right...?), and maybe ame shouldn't have lost track of the (tiny) river, but uh, its fine! eventually mama fauna will call out to her and she'll use her voice to come back home-

and then she trips on a rock.

but then its a very weird rock. like.. weeeiiiiirrd. like. a leg- OH MY GOD

oh no need to worry, its still attached to its person- OH MY GOD

ame probably hides behind a tree or something but after nothing happens, she decides to grab a stick and poke the person. still, nothing happens, so ame decides, yup! thats safe! and inspects it, and what do yknow? this person has "one of em windy- thingies" on their head, and ame knows what to do with that!

so she ends up carefully grabbing it, and then twisting it! or trying. but it doesnt budge. so ame thinks-

"Mum's super strong. What does she do before lifting heavy things...?" And she widens her stance- "ALL IN THE LEGS BABY-"

and the key finally budges and ame falls onto the person's lap. and when she looks up, the thing looks back at her and- OH MY GOD!!!

a friend!!

and ame introduces herself and the robot asks her if she could wind her more, but ame says its too heavy (she tries again, to no avail), but she knows someone SUPER strong!! (mum kronii, of course), and they can ask her for help!

"Where is she then?" "...Good question!"

but ame knows because ame NEVER gets lost and ... ames lost. but its okay! because right on time, fauna starts calling out for ame. however, it sounds like the voice is coming all around them, and.. it appears ame's plan is falling apart. but ame doesn't panic! she NEVER panics! especially when its gonna get dark soon, and ame's afraid of the dark, and shes all alone in this big forest creek whatever-

but she's not alone.

and when this strange person robot windy toy asks if ame is trying to find the voice, ame says yes, because her moms taught her to not lie (and she doesnt feel like lying right now).

so, moss peels away, cobwebs fall apart, and leaves rustle towards the ground - and ame's friend stands up.

next thing you know, kronii's getting ready to go out into the creek because fauna's getting worried that ame hasn't showed up, until ame calls out-

"MAMA! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" "Oh, thank goodness, my heart- ... Amelia. What is that." and uh oh! fauna told ame to try and not get dirty today! (she says that everyday, but whos keeping track) but still, ame can't really lie in this scenario, so- "Mud!!"

and kronii and fauna just stare at this robot girl because. what. the fuck.

"Kronii! No cursing!" "I THINK THIS ONCE I SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO."

and wouldn't you know it. kronfau adopts another daughter.

something like that :) hope this is fine! also sorry for being late, i really dont check tumblr but i should more often! this is fun haha