#putting him through the horrors™

[wannabe-minion-of-chaos]

Watches video on cosmic horror

Alright now how can I relate this to Kenny

[spiralling-voids]

I really love headcanons about Gerry being transmasc just because of the implications.

Like

Mary Keay, horrible person, horrible mother.

Gerry had to come out to her

she fully supports her trans child

doesn't misgender or deadname him

puts a him through the Horrors™ instead of a daughter, that's fine

Like it's so funny to me. Yes, she's horrible and abusive but don't even think she could be transphobic. Imagine someone misgenders her son on purpose. Can you imagine how terrifying that would be. She's controlling and trying to make "her Gerard" exactly the kind of heir she wants, but gender is not one of the things to be controlled, that's fine, as long as he carries on with their family legacy.

Plus even aside from transmasc Gerry headcanons she's also really supportive of his hobby and paintings like any mother and that's actually super funny now that I think about it. Just. Yeah she's messed up in so many interesting ways

[sminny-wew]

This is all just my own speculation, but I think Howdy might be next on the Witnessing The Horrors train. And I don't have an explanation for it rn but based on the recurring presence of the Buggle, I strongly feel like Barnaby's going to be involved somehow since he's Howdy's best customer (something something watchdog)

(Putting this under a Read More b/c I wound up having a lot to say)

Eddie's moment in the Homewarming update was based around him not knowing what to do with himself when he's not being the mailman, the role he was made for. Poppy's moment in the first Looky-Loo mini-update strikes me as being about her not knowing how not to be a big chicken (the role she was made for), as well as the other neighbors not knowing how to include her and thinking it's better to just trap her in her own house than to compromise with her, making her nerves worse as a result. Julie's moment in the Springtime Salutations update was about her insecurities in her relationships with her family and Frank, her insecurity in her roles (make the flowers bloom, invent new games, and overall be the most joyful neighbor), and not knowing what to do when spring comes early or a flower just won't bloom no matter what she does.

Howdy's role is to be a businessman, to supply his neighbors with what they need and sell them what they don't. My guess is that Howdy's moment will have something to do with supply and demand, his job and his personal life becoming indistinguishable from each other, and the pressure that family, customers, and superiors can put on a person to meet certain expectations. I also highly suspect, based on other people's observations about the flower from Julie's hidden videos resembling the logo, that Marlo will be relevant again.

There's an old saying about employment that goes, "If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life." But in-universe, Welcome Home is a product of its time (1969-1974), when America was kinda-sorta still riding the high of its post-World War 2 economic prosperity but was beginning to see a rise in income inequality. (What a funny coincidence that Welcome Home presumably aired while Nixon was president...) I don't think I need to tell you that, in 2025, it's harder than ever to find successful, long-term employment that will earn you a livable wage without working yourself to death or requiring a college degree that will plunge you into lifelong debt. Things have changed a lot since the neighborhood left the airwaves (assuming WH was ever even a real show in-universe).

But I digress. Howdy Pillar's Going Through The Horrors™ moment.

What happens to Howdy when his best customer (Barnaby) is preoccupied, either by sickness or a prior engagement? Do his nerves about financial success ever stress him out, as implied in that image of him and Anthony Rancho? What happens when Howdy cannot meet the demands of his neighbors to supply them with what they need? How would Howdy react if the neighbors suddenly decided to make their own resources, instead of buying from him?

If Howdy's not a breadwinner, appeasing his family and the businessmen at Marlo by selling enough goods to be considered a profitable business investment well off, then who is he?

He doesn't know.

[guiltyfemcel]

Truth or dare?

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Roomate! Hamzah x fem! reader

6.7k words

✶ You and your roommate Hamzah throw a house party in celebration of his channels milestones. But how long does it take for you to really learn why they call it “liquid courage”?

✶ Tags: MDNI,Rpf smut, Alcohol consumption, dry humping, cunnilingus (both ways lol), facials, panty stealing!

✶ A/n: guys this is the longest fic ive written so far!idk what happened i just kept going but i hope you enjoy. Also this is my first time writing smut so please lmk how it is <3

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Hamzah’s voice cut through the colorful cacophony of sound in your shared living room. The room was dressed up with streamers and balloons, almost every surface was covered with half empty solo cups and paper plates smeared with cake icing. The coffee table was the most cluttered, featuring a mangled cake that used to say “happy 900k”.

This party really was an excuse for you to get Hamzah to interact with other people in a casual setting again. You were close with him and loved his company of course but everyone needs a break after pouring so much into one project. The sun had long set at this point, the constant flow of drinks keeping the atmosphere warm and loose. There was an array of different liqueurs that was brought by your friends and goddamn was it being put to use.

Six people sat around the room, the merriment was palpable as they played a drinking game. You were honestly nervous when Martin suggested a drinking game, more nervous when he said “truth or dare”, but it was difficult to be uncomfortable in their friend group and you quickly relaxed as the game progressed. You played many rounds, torturing each other with dares and forced confessions.

You watched as it unfolded, Chase dared Martin to streak around the block in his boxers, which he did suspiciously eagerly. Martin dared Chase to do the same but he only laughed as he drank, saying his “sleeper build is gonna stay asleep”. Chase asked you to talk about the most embarrassing date you’ve had, you told them about when your date got so drunk he spoke about john wick for 40 minutes, berated the waitress for not bringing a drink he didn’t ask for and then proceeded to throw up on both of you. They couldn’t help but to laugh as you hung your head “Its not funny guys they kicked us out and i had to drive him home…”

You dared Claire to call her mom on speaker and watched as she grimaced when her mom said hi to only Hamzah and then yapped for 10 more minutes. Mandy took a huge swig when Claire asked her if she used her horny sims mod to “digitally cuck” herself. Mandy dared Hamzah to dm his crush in Instagram, but forced him to take a drink when he turned his phone to everyone. The screen brandished a “wyd” text to Duke Dennis.

“He’s gonna start thinking you’re being serious if you keep this shit up” you said through the laughter of everyone.

It went downhill fast as everybody watched Hamzah prepare his dare for Martin. He sauntered around the room, pouring each warm half drunk drink into one red cup. Everyone watched in horror as he stood above the mangled cake and plopped a hefty amount into the discolored mixture.

“For my noob in crime, i’ve created The Slush ™.” He announced as he swung the cup low enough for everyone to see the devious concoction. He handed it to Martin, who paled as he looked down at a cake iceberg in a poison sea.

“That looks like dishwater…” Mandy spoke bluntly from beside him.

“Can you not say that right before i have to drink it? Please?” Martin pleaded, it was evident he was fighting with himself. The room stilled as you watched him take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Everyone shared his grimace as he forced the cup to his lips, tipping it back before yanking it from his lips.

He gulped, then he chewed.

Time stilled as you all watched his expression fall to one of complete remorse, he pried his mouth open to barely squeak out.

“…s-so chunky…..”

You couldn’t stop yourself from gagging comically loud in response to his soggy voice, but then he really gagged, then wretched so hard his body shook. He was gone from the room soon after, racing out the room with Mandy close behind.

“ Don’t feel bad, he was probably gonna throw up anyway” Claire patted you on the shoulder tenderly

“That was fuckin’ hilarious though”

Mandy eventually came back in the room, explaining it was Martin’s ‘bedtime’ now and they had to leave. You said your Goodbyes and it wasn’t long until Chase and Claire did the same. This left you and Hamzah in the after math alone.

You both sat at opposite sides of the couch, he scrolled on his phone, presumably changing the music as the speaker played a more mellow, bass-y song. You briefly rode the waves of the alcohol rushing through your veins, but forced yourself to a standing position anyway. Hamzah didn’t look up from his phone as you left or when you came back with a black trash bag. Only saying something when your back was turned, tossing empty cups and plates into the plastic bag.

“Ugh, how are you already cleaning? party’s not even over yet”

“Seems pretty done to me” You gestured to the empty room, swaying closer to the coffee table to pick up scattered paper plates.

“Nah, we can still have plenty of fun.” His voice barely dropped, drawing out each word.

Even sober you couldn’t help but to think about how attractive Hamzah really was, many times you had to ignore how his morning voice made you feel when he sleepily offered you a coffee in the earliest mornings. It wasn’t any easier now that the warmth of the booze kept you chatty. His words sent a particular chill you couldn’t help but chase

“Well, what do you have in mind?” You stood closer to the couch now, one hand on your hip as you looked down at him, garbage bag briefly forgotten. You watched as he pulled himself to the center of the couch, tossing his phone somewhere nearby.

“Let’s keep playing truth or dare.” He pat the couch beside him, welcoming you to sit again. You plopped down next to him, not ignoring how the space between you had shrunk to almost nothing

“Ok, i didn’t want to clean anyway” you slouched into the couch, watching his expression as he asked you

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth”

“What were you thinking when i shaved my head” He said plainly

“Honestly I thought you were having a Britney spears moment” You said, laughing for a second before turning to look at the grown out blonde he sported now.

“But the blonde looks really good on you, even now” You brought your hand up to his hair before you thought to stop yourself, finger twirling the golden hair, just long enough to barely curl now. You only pulled away when you met his tipsy gaze, parted lips barely turned up, like he was secretly enjoying the contact.

“Truth or dare?” You stuttered, bringing your hand back to yourself.

“Truth”

You thought to yourself for a moment, not fully sure of what to ask him before copying Mandy’s turn.

“Why didn’t you dm your ‘crush’ when everyone was here”

Hamzah’s face fell as you finished your sentence, but he chuckled as he spoke.

“Why you wanna know? Worried i’m gonna start bringing some girl around?” He picked up the remnants of his drink, swirling the melted ice as he took a sip.

“Nah, just wanted to see if you would drink again…” There was a heavy pause as you watched Hamzah almost hide behind the red cup, eyes skirting up and down you as you sat upright, head barely tilted to smirk at him.

“Truth or dare” His voice vibrated lowly now.

“Dare” You leaned in as you said it, an obvious challenge, there was a certain lack of anxiety in your body as you taunted him.

“Dare you to sit a little closer to me…”

He leaned back into the couch, elbows resting on the backside as he glanced to the barely empty space beside him. You looked at the tiny gap between you too before sliding across the couch, pulling your warm thighs flush against his. There was no stopping the bashful smile that blessed your lips when you looked up at his brown eyes.

“Why don’t you get a little closer”

“Well, how much closer you want me to get?” You sighed through a coy smile, shaking your head as you tossed your knees over his lap. He only took that as a challenge, Hoisting your hips onto his lap and having you sit on him fully. If you hadn’t been drinking all night the reality of the situation would have you shaken like a puppy, but the heat kept a confident version of yourself at the forefront. You crossed your legs over his, folded hands in your lap as you looked at him.

“so..” You chided,

“…Truth or dare”

“Dare” His hand stroked your back as he looked at you with lidded eyes, hands dancing against the warm ruffles of the zip sweater you wore.

“Dare you to take your shirt off”

He couldn’t stifle the smile unfolding across his face, he pulled away from you just long enough to tug his long sleeve shirt off. You stole a long glance at him as he pulled his shirt off, the smooth expanse of his toned torso exposed as he pulled the cloth over his head. You felt your body heat up at the view of his bare arms, still toned from the boxing match he trained for, hoped he didn’t notice the way your legs clenched together when he tossed his shirt on the other side of the couch. He looked up at you, cockier now, leaning back on the couch, you let your eyes wander up and down his skin.

“Truth or dare”

This time you really thought about your answer, you knew he was getting worked up, a heated glint shone through his eyes as his hand skirted across your shoulder. If you chose dare, you know he’s gonna push you further, and you might get carried away with yourself. You wanted to tease him as much as you could while this moment lasted.

“Truth”

His eyebrows barely shot up, clearly surprised with your response. You watched as he paused, seemingly thinking of a response.

“What’d you think of the boxing match, huh?”

“hmmm…” You turned your back to him, lost in a faux thought, pretending like you haven’t thought plenty about how his shirts got tighter and tighter around his arms as he trained for the fight. The silence settled thick in the air for a moment, he fiddled with the strings hanging off the front of your hoodie, waiting patiently to hear your voice.

“Well, it definitely didn’t surprise me when you won, i saw all the training you put in…”

How could you forget how he would routinely come home from the gym or a jog, buzzed hair slicked with sweat and biceps glistening in the sun. Or when you would knock on his door and he would answer mid workout, emerging from his dim room to look down at you, chest heaving impossibly hard from the pushups he forced himself through.

“Thats all? You think i should keep up with the work or nah?” he asked from behind you, you shied away from him as he trapped you in his arms, chin resting on your shoulder now.

“mmm, i mean… i can’t say you don’t look good” you turned your head towards his now. Your faces impossibly close to each other, sharing breath as you studied his face.

“But i personally loved when you had some more weight on you…” You turned back away from him, unable to hold your tongue.

“Really??” You could hear the shock in his voice as he laughed incredulously, shaking his head as he sat back against the couch.

“Yeah but i mean.. you look good either way” you could tell you were speaking a little too much but couldn’t stop the thoughts from spilling out. When you didn’t hear another response from him you spoke.

“Go again, i cant think of anything” He didn’t see the smile that crossed your face as you waved a hand over your shoulder at him.

“hmmmm” Hamzah hummed, rumbling your body as he leaned into you again, bare body flush with the cotton fabric covering you.

“Can i…” His voice wandered off but his hands slid under your sweater, his fingers played with the fabric of your cropped tee.

“Can you what? Thought we were playing a game.” You goaded him into speaking, never pulling his wandering hands away from your clothed torso.

“Dare you to let me.. you know…” His voice trailed off as his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt. fingertips kissing the skin of your soft belly, drifting closer to the fabric of your bra.

“I’m not sure what you mean-” You’re sure he can hear the smile in your voice, relishing in the feeling of having him tongue tied, following his fingers with yours as he felt up any skin he could get his hands on.

“I wanna feel you up baby, can I?” His voice was unwavering, sent shock waves through you straight to your warm core. Hamzah sounded tenacious but you could tell he was growing impatient, that didn’t stop you from pushing him farther.

“ I don’t know, think id rather drink…” leaning forward against his knees, you moved like you were reaching for your drink but stopped when you heard him sputtering.

“Huh- bu… just for like… twenty seconds…”

“twenty seconds, huh?” giggle slipping through the air as you peeked over your shoulder, caught the breathless look on Hamzahs face as he stared at where your clothed bodies met. He didn’t get shy when you caught him staring, only smirking up at you crookedly like he was drunk on your company only.

“You gotta, Its a dare” He pulled his hands away from you, tilting them up and shrugging like the situation was out of his hands.

“Fine, but only twenty seconds, and keep it over the bra.”

“Whatever you say” He didnt waste a second, his hands slithering through the layers of your outfit till he felt the warmth of you again. Slow drawings over the waist band of your bra tickled your skin as he inched closer to your heart. You sucked in a breath when his palms finally dragged over the lacy cups of your bra, leaned into his hands when he groped you fully, feeling the weight of you in his hold. It grew harder to hold back whimpers as he fondled your breasts, You tipped you head back and shuddered when his thumbs roughly dragged over your covered nipples. He stole the chance to graze his soft lips at your exposed neck, hands picking up in intensity as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

Twenty seconds pass.

Then twenty more…

And twenty more……

Yet you didn’t dare tell Hamzah to stop his ministrations as he pinched at your covered nipples, applying as much pleasure as he could through the fabric. You lost yourself in the consuming feeling, letting soft moans slip past your lips as he nuzzled into your shoulder. You didn’t realize the way your hips rocked and twitched against him with every squeeze until one hand slipped off your tit to grip your hip, grounding you. He flattened the other hand against your pounding heart, pulling you deeper into his embrace.

“That was definitely longer than twenty seconds ” He purred into your ear, you could hear the smile in his voice as he reveled in the way you struggled to keep your composure. You prayed he didn’t comment on how long you let him toy with you, even now, the stillness of his hands had you aching for much more. But Hamzah would never let an opportunity to tease you go.

“You dare me to stop?” He whispered, low voice in your ear as he slowly played with the bottom band of your bra, barely brushing the sensitive skin hidden from him. No matter how hard you wanted to control the moment, you felt your will melting under his fingers.

“Please don’t….”

Something changed after those words, you slipped off the hoodie you were wearing, leaving you in a tee shirt and sweats. Hamzas hands groped at the soft skin through the shirt, any timidness thrown out the window as his hands wandered your body. You leaned into his hot touch, head tipping back into him, he pressed silky kisses from your shoulder to your ear. Each kiss was blissful, every touch sent waves of pleasure rippling through your skin, you couldn’t help the breathless pleas falling from your lips.

“Turn around for me baby, need to see that pretty face.”

His hands were already on your hips, turning you in his lap so you faced each other. If you were more sober you would’ve felt more exposed now that you could watch as he undressed you with his eyes, But the sight was so invigorating that you only wanted more and more. He gawked as your hand trailed to the hem of your shirt, your thumb hooked the bottom and you watched his eyes fixated as you peeled your shirt higher and higher. Large hands squeezed your sides as you revealed more skin, bunching the shirt around your chin and exposing the lacy bra concealed under cotton.

“Damn sitting pretty all for me, huh?” Hamzah couldn’t resist bringing his hands back to your chest, watching your face contort as he bunched the lacy fabric under his palm. You couldn’t help but to push your hips deeper into him, in pursuit of any friction he could give you. Whimpers slipping out as you felt the effects of your little game on him. You could tell his resolve was slipping when his heavy breaths turned to deep grunts, hands smoothing over your back as he pulled you impossibly closer.

Normally you’d be feeling crazy right now, the heat in his words, the way he chased any contact with you, his heavy breath on your skin would’ve had you flustered and running in embarrassment. Normally you would’ve thought about how you would have to live with him still after this, see his face in the tired early morning and late nights. You would’ve questioned how the hell you were going to look him in the eye and not think of the electric feeling of his hands on you, or see the way his eyes devoured your body. But now, with empty cups littering every surface around you couldn’t think of anything past the way his hips chased yours with every stuttering movement.

“Dare you to take this off for me.” Hamzah’s hands played with the hooks of your bra and for the first time tonight you hesitated. Insecurity rushed through you now, the idea of him really seeing you seemed a little too real now. He felt a little out of your league, it was hard not to compare yourself to the girls you had seen thrown themselves at him. There wasn’t much time for you to sink into the thought as Hamzah’s voice cut through the silence.

“You’re not getting shy on me now, are you?”

He pulled back to meet your gaze, when you couldn’t take the fire of his eyes on you, your eyes fell to the smooth skin of his chest. Toned pecs rising and falling as his hands dragged down your sides, sending goosebumps down your skin as he gripped your hips. He pushed his hips into you, tugging you into him at the same time. Huffing out a moan, you braced yourself on his shoulders, nails gripping the muscled skin for stability as he rolled your clothed bodies together. Even through multiple layers of clothes you could feel his hardness under you, pressing into your hot core repeatedly.

“cmon, cant you feel what you’re doing to me, hmm?” His words went straight to your pussy, clenching around nothing every time his bulge would rub against your covered clit.

“s’not fair to work me up like this, then hide your pretty body from me…” His words were making you feel dizzy, the feeling of you bodies molding together driving you mad. Any attempt to think of anything but him was squashed with every syllable and movement from him. His hooded eyes never left your face, drinking up the way your plush lips parted to let shuddery breaths slip by. His eyes were trained on yours as you lifted your bunched shirt off your head, his eyes took in your body as you pulled it over your head. You snuck a hand behind your back to unhook your bra, he watched as the straps loosened and you slipped them off your shoulders. You moved slow like syrup, relishing in every little reaction from him as you snaked your bra off your shoulders.

“Fuck… look so perfect for me….” His hands smoothed up your stomach to your bare tits, kneading them in his hands. His thumbs found your pebbled nipples, you tipped your head back in ecstasy as he rolled them in his fingers. He brought his mouth to your exposed neck, placing tender kisses under your chin,on your racing pulse, on your collarbone, trailing lower until he felt the rapid beating of your heart under your skin.

“haah… hamzahh…” He hummed against your chest, brown eyes rising to look up at you, he smiled when he saw how you looked, how you sighed anytime his fingers flicked against your nipple. The feeling of him harshly rubbing against your core left you breathless, you could only dumbly watch as he pulled back from kissing your chest to lick a chaste stripe across your nipple. You flinched at the quick sensation , he watched as your nipple reacted to the cool wetness, growing firmer before he licked again, swirling his tongue around the nub before taking it between his lips.

His brow furrowed as your hips bucked into him, moaning into the air as you rocked roughly into his bulge. You reached in between yourselves to reach your hand past the band of his boxers, felt him groan against your chest when your fingers brushed against him. Growing impatient, you pushed him against the couch, standing in front of him to peel your own sweat pants off, climbing back on him before he can get his pants past his knees. You pouted, bringing your face close to his, wondering why he hadnt dared you to kiss him yet! He must’ve read your expression well enough because before long he gripped your jaw and closed the distance between you two.

The kiss completely threw you off, he was slow and intentional, taking his time like he wanted to savor each touch. He held you close as you moved against him, your underwear wasn’t doing much to stifle the way he throbbed every time you softly mewled under him. As you grew more desperate he began to loose whatever bits of composure he had left, he pinched at your nipples harder as you humped his clothed dick. Moaning into his mouth, he took the chance to trace your lip with his tongue before the kiss turned deliciously sloppy.

One hand slowly drifted off your breast, trailing down your torso with a feather light touch and giving you goose bumps. Hamzah brought his fingers to brush up against your clothed pussy, wet lace sticking to your puffy core. You broke away from him to whimper when he pushed against your neglected clit, pushing back and forth between the warm fabric. He hooked one finger in the lace, tugging it to the side to finally slide his finger through your slick folds.

“Damn baby, what’s got you so worked up, huh?” He pet your silky core, satisfied with the pathetic twitches and moans every time he brushed against your sensitive bud.

“Barely touched you and you’re already so wet”

“Please, Hamzahh… i cant take it anymore….” You whispered, grabbing at the wrist working between you, not to move it away, but inch it closer to you. He was purposely light with his fingertips, tapping your clit before dipping between your slick folds leisurely. He coos at your pleas, mocking your pouted expression, before resting his hand on your back and leading you to lay flat on the couch.

Hamzah lied above you, the weight of him pressing you into the plush couch grounded you. He never broke eye contact as he hooked his finger into the band of your panties. He started sliding them off before pausing, asking silent permission with his eyes. You lifted your hips, a silent admission, and he pulled them off your legs, tossing them somewhere nearby.

He sat back on his knees, eating up how you were displayed under him. Shaky legs wrapped around his hips, the way you pushed your face into the cushions, shying away from his gaze. He dragged a hand up your leg from your knee to your core, using his thumb to pull open your wet pussy. Hamzah watched your hips buck in the empty air, pussy clenching against nothing, just begging to be touched.

His thumb finally moved to pet your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head with every circle he drew. You pushed your hips in rhythm with his hands, whimpering as your hips rocked into the patterns he drew on your pussy. His free hand went back to grope at your nipple, reaching for any part of your supple flesh he could reach. Then he switched the tempo, speeding up his rough pace until you were on the edge, then switched back to slow languid strokes. Your legs shook with every change, breathing knocked out of your chest everytime he pushed you impossibly closer to the edge.

“hufff… ffuck hamzahh, please….”

Hamzah leaned his weight into you, lips kissing at your collar bone and moving up. You could feel his smirk against the hammering pulse in your neck. He sucked and nipped at the flesh of your neck as he dragged his middle finger through your wetness, barely dipping into you. He licked a stripe from your neck to the lobe of your ear, biting down in time with the plunge of his long finger. You couldn’t tell if the gasp you let rip through you was more from the shock of the bite or the stretch of his deft fingers.

It wasn’t long before he was pumping his finger into you, kissing you roughly like a man starved. He swallowed your moan as he slipped another finger into you, petting your walls in search of the spot that made you squirm the most. His pace was relentless, the dirty sound of his palm against your wet pussy filled the room. You clawed at his back, breaking from the kiss to fill your starved lungs with air. The way he looked down at you, hooded eyes and roused hair, it had you shying into the pillow under you. You heard a soft chuckle above you, his hands slowing as he leaned back against your ear and lowly whispered.

“Wanna eat you out baby”

His fingers drew circles around your clit.

“bet you taste so fuckin good…”

They dipped inside chastely, reaching deeper than you ever could. He dragged them out, reaching towards your parted lips. you didn’t hesitate to open up, lapping up the juices coating his fingers. His eyes darkened as your lips wrapped around his fingers, working well to not miss a spot, eyes closed as you moaned around his knuckles. He retreated his fingers to move down your body, never breaking eye contact as he kissed down to where you needed him most.

He pressed a kiss to your pelvis, looking up at you with those brown eyes like he wasn’t teasing you to the edge of your life. Your hips twitched when he pressed a firm kiss right over your throbbing clit and shuddered as he licked a stripe up your sopping pussy. He latched onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the slick pearl. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of soft blond curls, you couldn’t help the string of curses and whines as he lapped at your core.

He watched as your eyebrows knit together when he fingered you open, bucking into his mouth as he fucked you on his hand. His free hand hooked under your knee, bringing your other leg over his shoulder and spreading your legs wide to stop you from wildly kicking as you were. The burning knot in your stomach grew as he flicked his tongue over your clit, panting heavy as you tugged on his short hair. He moaned around your pussy at the feeling of your shaky hands. The vibration only made you pull harder, his eyes clamped shut, a pathetic whimper slipping through him, you felt the couch shift under you.

You pried your heavy head off the couch to look down at him. Ombre curls stuck to his forehead, his eyes were glued shut as his mouth worked against your pussy. Then you saw the way his hips shifted under him, the sight of him humping the couch under him like a damn dog in heat. The thought that bringing you pleasure had him so worked up, you pulsed against his fingers. You practically rode his face, his fingers pumped out of you faster and faster, the lewd squelch noises filled the room. His fingers curved inside you, hitting the spot that had your toes curling.

“hooh fuck! wait- unff i’m gonna cum…”

Hamzah finally looked up at your figure again, shaking legs tensing as you pushed your palm flat against his head, trying to push his mouth away from where he was latched onto you. He never slowed down though, only spurred on by the way you fought your own orgasm.

“cum im my mouth, baby”

He spoke against your pussy, fingers abusing that spot inside you.

“cmon, wanna taste you”

You felt the familiar buildup, Hamzah’s praises only pushing you over the edge. You called out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, waves of pleasure knocking the air out of you as he made out with your pussy. Stars filled your vision as you chanted his name like a mantra, hips bucking against his face. He groaned around your pussy as he fucked you through each burst of pleasure, only slowing when you started running from the over stimulation.

He slid off you with a loud pop, smoothing his hands across your thighs as he moved up your body, leaning down to kiss you tenderly. The taste of you coated your tongue as he held your chin in his fingers, this kiss was much slower, dizzying in the way it had you feeling. Even in your hazy afterglow you reach for his boxers, palming his hard dick through the thin fabric. You broke the kiss to look in his eyes, could tell he was pent up by the way the simple touch had his eyes fluttering back.

The sound of his muffled groans spurred you on, giving you the energy to push him down to sit on the couch. you kissed his swollen lips, palming him through black boxers, then brought your lips to his ear.

“can i repay you?”

Your sultry voice sent goosebumps to his arms, fingers barely slipping past the fabric of his boxers. It amazed you to see how he went from talking you through your orgasm so confidently to how he looked now, only nodding dumbly as you palmed him in his boxers. You pulled him into a sloppy kiss as you finally tugged him out of his constrained briefs, the weight of him heavy as you slowly stroked in time with the kiss. If you weren’t feeling so impatient you would’ve relished in the whines slipping out of him every time your fingers rolled over his tip, but you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling away from him to kneel in front of him.

Hamzah’s chest heaved as he looked down at you, mouth agape as you smoothed your hands over his thighs. Feeling the way they tensed as your hands tugged his boxers down his legs, hard cock slapping against his stomach before you grabbed the base. His eyes were glued to your face as you slowly stroked him, he couldn’t help but to push his hips into the slow motion you had set up. You traced his veins with your thumb, his head tipped back against the couch when you gathered the slick pooling at his tip.

You licked your lips as you stroked him from tip to base, it didn’t take much before he was melting in your hands. You witnessed how he squirmed under you as you twisted your wrist around his sensitive tip, speeding up until he was gripping the couch under him.

“haah…. aaah fuck soo… so good…”

Your mouth watered at the sight of him losing control under your touch, the feeling of him throbbing in your hand had you biting your lip. You looked up at him through your lashes, smiling like you weren’t absolutely ruining him. He was babbling praises so quietly it seemed almost more for himself than for you. Hamzah’s thighs contracted under your hand when you pressed a long wet kiss to where his head met his shaft, he could only shutter as you look at him with wide eyes.

“Truth or dare, hamzah”

“whu- huh? i- aah-“

A moan cut off his response as you licked a stripe up his shaft, tracing his veins with your tongue until you reached the smooth tip. It was impossible for him to think straight when you wrapped your glossy lips around the head, pressing a soft kiss around his slit. He only mustered a response when you slowed, waiting for your answer.

“T-Truth…”

“Have you thought about me like this before?”

You stroked him faster now, watching as he fought to breathe long enough to give you a response.

“ F-fuck I…”

Any attempt to think about anything but you was futile, he would say anything right now if it meant you would put your mouth on him again.

“ uff… i- i do….”

“Oh yeah, tell me what you think about.”

You dragged your tongue across his twitching tip, eyes locked on his scrunched face as he groaned over you.

“ I- ughh… think about this…”

He huffed out as you alternated kisses and kitten licks against his throbbing dick.

“Think about your pretty face all the time baby- shit, s’all i need…”

You swirled your tongue around the tip, inching it farther in as his mouth continued to run.

“… hufffuckk… if you knew, unff- what i was thinking half the time…”

A moan slipped out of you, he nearly shouted at the feeling of your lips vibrating around him. His hands shot to rest in your soft hair.

“im sorry… but its not fair when you walk around looking like that…”

His hand fell to your wet chin, spit dripping out the corners of your mouth as you stroked any part of him that wasn’t in your mouth. He pulled you off his dick slowly, you hollowed your cheeks as you dragged out your contact. Hamzahs thumb dragged across your bottom lip as you rested your cheek in his hand, catching your breath as he looked down at you.

“how could i not think of fucking these pretty lips, huh?”

You stuck out your tongue, letting him slap his cock against the wet muscle, his hands gripped your hair more firmly now, rubbing his dick messily against his favorite part of you. He guided his tip to your open mouth, he didn’t bother to stifle the loud groan as you slid down his length, inch by inch until a tear rolled down your cheek.

“ So much better than i imagined too, fuck you’re driving me crazy…”

You could feel yourself getting worked up again as he went on. You slipped a hand between your legs, hoping Hamzah wouldn’t see how desperate his words were making you feel. He guided your head to a steady rhythm, fucking as deep into your throat as you could take. The sloppy noises from the way you worked him filled the room as you swirled your own fingers around your sensitive clit. He hissed when you moaned with him deep in your mouth, fistfuls of hair as he tried not to thrust too roughly into your throat. The salty taste of him had your pussy dripping, your second orgasm barreling towards you.

“Its true baby, i’m obsessed with you”

His pace got faster, unable to stop himself from using you for his pleasure. He looked absolutely destroyed, mouth hanging open as he pushed you deeper on his cock.

“obsessed with those pretty lips of yours, sweetheart.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as a second orgasm ripped through you, his constant praises pushing you over the edge. Hamzahs pace didn’t stutter, too busy chasing his own peak to fully realize anything. You could tell he was on the brink by the way he throbbed against your tongue, balls pulsing when you fondled them.

“Shiiitt… so fuckin close… can i-“

You popped off of him, stroking his wet dick as you looked up at him, panting.

“cum for me, Hamzah.”

The sound of your hand sliding against him was almost too much, nearly louder than the sound of Hamzah whimpering over you.

“Wanna cum on your pretty face, sweetheart…”

He’s lost any shame as he quivered under your rough touch, moaning like a virgin as his hips chased your hand.

“pleasee”

How could you deny such a pretty face? you took him down your throat, nose ticking his pelvis as you gagged around his length. It wasn’t long before he tugged you off his throbbing cock, borderline wailing as he pumped his dick against your open mouth. One hand held you steady under the jaw, the other set a brutal pace on his dick. He shook as he painted your cheeks, warm cum spurting against your tongue and flushed face. You kissed his tip as he worked through his high. He shuddered when you slipped it back in your mouth, making sure to suck every drop from him before he was pulling you off by the hair.

There was a moment where you both stared at each other, chests heaving as you paused to catch your breath. Hamzah was the first to speak after a long moment, he looked at you fixated before breaking the silence first.

“Truth or dare?”

Hamzah felt the pounding in his head long before he opened his eyes. He groaned as he slapped at the sheets, each movement sent a painful throb through his head as he searched for his phone. Judging by the way the light was flooding into his bedroom he could tell he had slept in. Finally he felt the rectangular edge in the pocket of his sweat pants, he reached into his pocket to fish out hs phone but stopped in his tracks when he saw what slipped out with it.

A pair of lacy panties were caught on the corner of his phone. His brows furrowed as he tried to remember how his night ended last night, the more he thought about it the more came back to him. He unlocked his phone and his face immediately paled, eyebrows shooting to his hairline when he saw the last thing he was looking at last night.

A picture of you taken from above, his hand cradling your face as you looked at the camera with the most fucked out face. Cum was dripping down your cheek and coated your swollen lips. It was the hottest picture he’s ever seen, the angle getting a perfect view of your bare tits and your big eyes looking straight into the camera. His dick was twitching just looking at it.

He went back to your lacy underwear , holding them in front of his face like he couldn’t believe they were actually there. He knew it wasn’t right but he shoved them deep back into his pocket. He thanked whatever god allowed him to get a picture of you like this, but in the same breath he cursed them, because

How in the hell was he going to look you in the eye now?

𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹

A/n: First hamzah fic + first smut fic how we feeling yall (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 4

chapter 3

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH, reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you’ll miss it), SADIST MARK, violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, so . . gore, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he’s a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; [the fuckin' thought of you with somebody else, i don't like that.] . . actually, if you even consider leaving i'll lose a couple screws in due time, i'll stop breathing and you'll see the meaning of stalker when i pop out the dark to find you and that new dude that you're seeing with a attitude - IFHY (tyler the creator)

4.

there was blood on mark's hands.

syrupy and wet.

the distinct stench of iron rot fogged up his senses.

blood clots stuck like soft gelatin between his fingers. stretching, snapping webs of gore whenever he opened and closed his hands.

still warm as he switched on the water from your sink.

the suds from your hand soap came up a copper brown, adorned by tiny rivulets of red as he dug beneath his fingernails to scrape away any remnants of viscera.

dna washed away by tap water.

his skin purified once again.

mark looked up and met the eyes in the reflection, making sure to pick off specks of skull fragment and the fatty tissue of brain matter from strands of his hair.

what a fantasy.

a blink and it's all gone.

just like you.

you and your attention.

your undying devotion. a huff and the flame gets snuffed.

better yet. . you light and pass the torch to someone fucking else.

it's no good.

there's no use being mad at you and your uninspiring devotion. how special is your love, really, if it is so easily obtained?

and why does the fact that it no longer belongs to mark so upsetting?

why'd the realization that anyone who called you pretty would have you fantasizing about baby's breath bouquets - something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe - make his blood run that much hotter?

why'd it make him stare down into the sink, faucet running, as he tried to slow down his breathing? gripping the edges of your porcelain sink until he heard it creak. counting forwards to a hundred, then back again.

he did all the things the therapist his mother took him to recommended he do when those feelings came up. things to see, smell, and touch, and taste. but the only thing that came through the ringing in his ears was the vivid fantasy of tearing your boy apart.

he could see the light leaving his eyes. he could smell the acrid stench of piss running down the coward's leg. and god knows he'd only ever touch him to dispose of his body.

and at the end, he'd taste the tears collecting at your cupid's bow when you sought comfort in his presence. just like the old days. it'd all be worth it in the end.

. . he shouldn't have read your dairy.

not because debbie raised him to 'respect privacy' - because who doesn't keep shit in their notes app in this day and age? - but because it put him in a shitty mood.

but he was also glad he did it.

it revealed what your problem was.

and mark's always been your problem solver.

mark was imaginative.

mark was smart.

mark was also patient.

surely, you'll get bored.

you'll preoccupy your mind with mundane things: how the world spins, for example. what you'll make of yourself. what people will think of you.

ouroboros: swallowing yourself whole trying to find the beginning to the end.

will you be loved? how will you be loved?

you're a glutton obsessing over not being enough in the first place. more, more, more.

you'll dizzy yourself.

come full circle, nausea and vertigo, habitually crawling back to him.

you're a distracted little thing.

you always have been.

it's in your nature.

mark tries not to be too hard on you about your romantic pursuits.

after all, you'll go after what you think you deserve.

and if that's dysfunction, then so be it.

however. . . your standards could be a little higher. had it been any other person occupying your mind. . mark wouldn't have cared.

oh, not at all.

he cares fuck all about your meaningless schoolyard crushes but the one thing that boils mark's blood is all of the abuse.

the hoops you have to jump through for the smallest shred of applause.

and really, how pathetic do you have to be? why can't you see that he's using you? as entertainment. as a pet. as a clown.

and what you don't understand is that deep down. . mark and your boy aren't all that different.

which explains why you like him so much.

mark and your boy were sharks.

your boy could smell your blood from a mile away; see the desperation in the way you sauntered past him, salivating at the thought of being the apple of his eye.

he saw you for what you were: prey.

and they saw right through your flimsy little costume of new clothing and perfumed wrists.

your boy and his group of cronies didn't laugh at your jokes because they thought you were funny. they laughed at the idea of you believing they found you entertaining.

your mediocre attempts at relevancy were funny - hilarious, even - because of how eager you were to impress them.

and the only reason why they hadn't used and discarded you like a plastic bag with warm dog shit inside of it was because they were more than happy tossing a coin into traffic, making you fetch just so they could entertain themselves watching you get hit by a bus.

but everything for your boy, right?

you and that fucking boy.

whatever it is, mark's more than willing to find a way to make all of that stop. he's devised some plans to make everything go back to the way they used to be.

it'd always been you and mark.

mark and you.

he planned to keep it that way.

and so, he was on his best behavior.

he'd let you have your boy.

he'd push down the bile that crawled up his throat whenever he imagined his hands on you. whenever he saw your face light up whenever your phone pings with a notification.

mark can be a very good actor.

he'd act as if his stares weren't deadly when you looked up and caught him looking at you. he could melt those icey eyes, the ones that glaze over in anger, and turn them into their usual warm brown.

he's on his best behavior.

attentive, even.

he's so, so interested in what you've got going on.

who are you talking to? yes you can tell me. no i won't get mad. yes. i promise. him? yeah, I remember. why didn't you tell me?

no, i'm not mad.

good for you!

no, i won't threaten him.

who do you think i am~?

mark knows better than to be outright poisonous towards you. not when there was another boy willing to stuff your pretty little head with cotton.

you are far too sensitive to hear anything that isn't a candied lie. if he plays nice, it gives him the upper-hand.

there is no need to vent to a diary when your best friend is sitting in front of you, doe eyed and innocent, the way he pretended to be when you two were twelve and his mom would check up on you in his room. or when teachers would walk past and he had to pretend he wasn't pressing the sharp point of his pencil into your thigh.

mark loves your parent(s).

they aren't that much different than you.

in fact, mark has come to find that there aren't many people that match him in terms of intelligence.

he can see why you came out the way you did. un-special, if he's feeling kind. the other word he'd like to use is not nice to call someone.

pining after approval, your parent(s) were very easy to like.

very easy to control.

"i just don't know if they've told you, yet. . it seems kinda unfair that i'll be the one to say." mark mutters under his breath, tracing shapes into the dining room table as your parent(s) sit across from him.

"mark," your parent reaches across the table, hoping to grab his hand, only for mark to pull it out of their reach. "if something's happening. . we want to know. we need to know."

"it's just that. ." mark pauses, gives a few seconds to really build the tension. "it's a bit embarrassing."

super.

he's worried about you, you see? there's a group of guys you've been chasing around in school. . and mark doesn't think they have your best interest in mind.

mark has heard. . things.

but you've gone cold on him.

he's worried you might be. .

well, he's worried you might be having sex.

with a few. .

. . all of them?

oh, who gives a shit? the more the better. and the more mark spills, plucks things out of thin air, the more petrified your parents look.

he makes sure to say it.

sex.

hisses, purrs it, whispers it like it's such a bad word.

he even wills himself to look embarrassed, averting his eyes like it's a shameful thing.

it brings him back to the day debbie caught him with some girl after a baseball game.

she had just been some random. a shiny object that called mark's attention. something he could put his dick into while he tucked his face into her neck and imagined the sounds you'd make.

his mom should've known he was already having sex. however, having been caught with his pants down and balls deep in someone wasn't necessarily the way he planned to break it to her.

he heard his mom and his dad arguing in the next room that night and, coincidentally, nolan came in and gave him 'the talk' to the best of his ability.

humans are fragile, mark.

yes, they are.

but the bruises on her were not his fault.

she was soft.

and she'd liked it.

nevertheless, your parents are not as forgiving as mark's.

they promise him it's not a big deal. that he did good. that he's good.

a good kid, a good student, a good friend.

but as soon as he's gone, he knows they are searching your room top to bottom.

he flies up to your room and peeks in through the curtains to watch them toss open closet doors, rummaging through clothing, bookbags, notebooks, whatever they can find.

and finally, your bed.

your diary with all the juicy, dirty - downright violent, jesus - fantasies mark wrote by forging your handwriting.

and your nightstand.

wherein tucked underneath your cute underwear lays a shiny pack of condoms.

at least you're being safe.

you'll never hear the end of it.

it's too good to miss and mark doesn't care if he has to wait all day for you to get home. he wants to watch your everything crash and burn.

not that he'll have to wait much, anyway.

your parent's on the phone, trying to contain red hot anger from spewing out like a backed up volcano, hissing at you to get home, now.

you poor thing.

you poor, poor, thing.

you don't know what to tell them when they toss the pack of condoms at your feet.

when they shove the journal in your face, showing you all the depraved things you wrote in that cute little scrawl.

the boys, the nights out in which you claimed to be at mark's: helping him out with a project.

yeah, right, stop lying, already!

"give me your phone. now."

fingers feverishly tapping and swiping, going through texts as tears stream down your flushed face.

you've got a date tonight.

and you hadn't told your parent(s).

what a coincidence, oh my!

your boy must've planned to seal the deal that night. and mark would be damned if he didn't have you first.

mark doesn't need to worry.

that's definitely not happening now, is it?

in fact, you won't be able to go anywhere that isn't class for the rest of the school year. not unless you're monitored by mark. and isn't it embarrassing, mark having to be some sort of guardian?

"I thought you were smarter than this."

and you're too good to yell back.

you're too good to argue and try to explain that it wasn't you.

you didn't buy condoms. you didn't write that. you didn't do anything.

but if it wasn't you, who was it?

who did?

you look every bit of a cornered animal. it's very you: to freeze in situations like that. back to the door, facing the window just enough for mark to be able to peek at every emotion going past your face through the crack of your curtains.

he watches it flicker past your eyes, the way the muscles in your neck tense up when you squeak out those ugly, strangled, sniffed out cries. the ones you try to hold back when you're crying alone in your room and you want no one else to hear them.

the ones you'd let out at your desk when you were itty bitty and your parent had dropped you off at kindergarten, promising you they'd be right back, but they never were.

you are so much like the way you used to be.

mark wishes things hadn't changed.

he wishes you were just as innocent, as good. he wishes no one would've turned you into what you are now.

he wishes you wouldn't have been stupid enough to let them.

you don't say anything.

you don't even push past your parent when they're done berating you, just stare down at the floor until their mouth has dried, and they shoulder check past you.

you only slowly turn to push the door closed, grab your computer and send a message to the only person you think you can confide in.

he arrives in ten minutes.

enough to make it believable, climb up a tree and sneak into your room.

you fall into his arms immediately, sobbing.

mark hopes you don't feel him smiling against your shoulder as he comforts you.

your boy has been different since the last time you talked to him. distant, distracted. different. you catch him zoning out whenever the two of you are studying in the library, not reciprocating when you try to play footsies with him.

you're not sure if it has to do with the night you had to cancel your date. sure, it was last minute but he'd told you that it was okay. but with everything going on at home, you don't have the patience to hear him lie.

"seriously, what's up?" you ask, kicking his shoe softly.

your boy looks up at you.

his eyes used to gleam with confidence. the type of cockiness that'd make your cheeks burn and butterflies flutter like mad in your stomach. but they looked empty then. he looked like he hadn't slept well. that night or the one before.

he looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. you leaned forward in response, your curiosity peaked.

"this is going to sound weird but. . do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"

you blinked.

"uh. . hm. ."

come to think of it. . sometimes you did. you've been sensitive to eyes on you since you can remember. the hyper vigilance is something you've grown accustomed to, making peace with the fact that it might not be a curse after all, and instead some sort of safety feature.

but it felt different.

not like the irrational tickle in your stomach whenever you think of a possibility. but the speckling feeling across your skin, crawling with a million legs, the kind that makes you hallucinate a breath against your neck. the type that has your head rolling, looking for an intruder.

nothing.

but you didn't tell your boy.

because your boy was talking about himself and you've learned to insert yourself into it could be rude.

you settle with saying, "what do you mean?"

he shrugged a shoulder. "i dunno. watched. I get that sometimes. see something from the corner of my eye. and when I turn to look it's gone."

you felt your heart pick up speed. strange. the same thing had been happening to you.

you let out a nervous laugh. "if you're saying this to scare me I'm gonna get really mad, y'know?"

"i'm serious." he said, almost urgently. "and here's this: i was walking to my car after baseball practice and found some weird red shit smeared across my windshield."

he's fucking with you.

surely, he is.

this must have something to do with the rumour circulating around school. the one in which they've seen a figure whizzing past. the one in which that figure is the reason in which some animal carcasses have been found in the baseball field, mutilated like some sort of fucked up science experiment. a villain that's found a hobby in terrorizing the town, perhaps.

"it's probably nothing." you whisper, unsure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"probably." he responds.

he doesn't look convinced.

and he doesn't reciprocate when you try, again, to get his attention.

your boy was gone.

gone, gone, gone.

word around the school was that he'd transfered.

but that started to feel suspicious when the students noticed the smell.

something easy to dismiss at first.

the kind of funk attributed to warm weather and not enough deodorant. growing boys and their scattered hormones.

and then it grew.

bold, loud.

ugly enough that it couldn't be ignored.

sour.

downright rancid.

and it was all coming from your boy's locker.

it got so bad a janitor had to pry his locker open.

and that's where they found a decomposed animal, tire marks through the middle of the delicate body. maggots swarming in the orifice where the eyes used to be.

you don't remember when the last time you saw him was.

you don't know if you ever will.

with his past time of mutilating animals and collecting roadkill, you're not sure you even want to.

and if you did, the only thing you'd ask is why?

mark seemed the least surprised about it.

he hadn't so much as grimaced as he told you the story of his locker being pried open.

the stench was the worst thing, apparently.

although, it wasn't enough to deter his appetite as he popped grapes between his fingers, making sure to squirt the juice onto you as he described fat, wriggling maggots falling off in swarming little balls off of the carcass.

you shiver, skin crawling, staring at the pile of homework before mark.

now that your boy had vanished into thin air, his entourage wanted nothing to do with you. you figured it was only normal. you were all preparing for finals, applying for college, planning ahead.

still, it hurt.

it hurt to think you almost had it, almost had him, but it was all taken away. you're not sure why you feel that way, but you do.

and the only thing keeping you afloat is the fact that you've found your way back to mark.

it reminds you, he'll always be there for you.

no matter what.

it's nice, you think.

spending time with your best friend.

even if it means doing mark's work again.

CHAPTER 5

[playstation-dreamcast]

hiii!! if u take requests, can i ask for hcs about re characters going to a theme park? I've just had that idea in mind for a while and I'd love to read it :)

Okay I'm going to be super honest with you- at some point this started to really start to dance into crack territory, but it was Genuinely fun! So!

Featuring: Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Leon Kennedy, and Piers Nivans

Albert Wesker~

He drove the van here

He’s going to act like he’s just soooo above it all. Like this silly little outing is nothing more than a waste of time and “Don’t we have better things to do?” At the same time, he’s going to be genuinely offended if you suggest leaving without getting a funnel cake

He gets a big kick out of going onto the rides that take your pictures at the end and looking the camera dead in the lens- straight stoned face. He never buys them though- You want him to spend 30 dollars on what essentially amounts to fancy paper with a bunch of strangers on it? Genuinely, with nothing but malice in his heart, you can eat his ass. He just takes a picture of it with his phone and moves on

He is NOT a fan of the mascots. At all. You’d think a guy who's been through The Horrors™ as many times as Wesker has wouldn’t think twice about a guy in a rat costume. You’d be wrong. Something about their dead eyes, permanent smiles, and the fact that sometimes you can see the human eyes peeking out of their mouths just Does Not Sit Right With Him. He’s not scared, no, that would be childish. But he is on guard

At some point- you’re going to have to find a semi dark place while he waits for the migraine meds to kick in. The sounds of screaming children, the bright sun, the heat- sensory nightmare. Let him sit with his earbuds in for a second, he’ll be ready to go again in thirty minutes

He is almost shockingly good at skeeball. He insists to you that he’s never played before- this is in fact his first time at an amusement park after all. You don’t believe him, but you’ll take the giant plushie he won you as a prize anyway

He’s actually a big fan of the Ferris Wheel. It’s one of the last things you guys do, so it’s later at night when you do it. He’s genuinely captivated by the rainbow lights of the fair and the crisp summer air. He even puts his arm around you, which is like third base for him! (/j but also kinda /srs)

Any sort of water ride and he’s out. Sorry, walking around in soaked socks and shoes when you don’t have to genuinely sounds like a nightmare.

At first, he’s reluctant to stay for the firework show. Are you not tired? Have we not done enough? Where do you get this energy from- peepaw needs a nap. But, then they start up and he gets it. The pretty lights, the energy of the crowd. Okay, he sees the appeal

You’re going to have to put up with him blasting Bowie on the way home btw. You’re both tired, but his need for control won’t let him allow anyone else to take the wheel. But, this does come with the rare sight of seeing Wesker actually loosen up a bit and sing along with a song- so really you’re the winner here

Chris Redfield~

Chris brings a very Dad energy to the table. He’s the guy that’s reminding you to put on sunscreen, and take breaks, and drink water- generally just trying to keep you alive. Ironically, he keeps forgetting to do these things himself

Chris is mostly here for the food I'm ngl to you. Where else is he going to get deep fried turkey leg wrapped in a soft pretzel drenched in nacho cheese? No where, it’s not ethical to combine that many flavors anywhere else- let him have this

He’s not actually a huge fan of rollercoasters. He’s happy to hold your bag and wait while you ride them, but he gets enough excitement from his job on a day to day basis. The pacemaker can’t handle much more stress than he already puts in under. (Ignore the previously mentioned turkey leg monstrosity when he says this)

He is a big fan of dark rides though. He likes the story that they tend to tell and that they tend to be. Key word tend. Chris isn’t a coward, he’ll get on the Tower of Terror (may she rest in peace) it just isn’t his favorite thing in the world

So, I feel like we all have that one friend who has The Curse™. You know the one, the one that makes it to where wherever you go to any sort of amusement park, carnival, or outdoor outing it rains? Like, it could be clear blue skies across the board on the forecast, but a downspout has manifested out of nowhere? Yeah, that’s Chris. He’s developed an appreciation for the stage shows because of this, and it’s where his fondness for dark rides was born from. And you thought he was crazy for bringing a raincoat

You know the couples shirts that are horrendously heteronormative? His Minnie, her Mickey; His Beauty, Her Beast, ect ect. You know the ones? He forces you guys to wear those shirts. Only, He’s the one wearing the “Girl shirt” (please hear my eyeroll when I say that) And you wear the “Boy Shirt” (Eye roll, can you hear it? Can you hear me rolling my eyes so aggressively I saw the back of my skull?) Purely because he finds it funny and does not know shame.

Okay, so High Striker: It’s the strong man carnival game. You know the one, hit a target with a mallet, and a ball goes up to ring a bell. You know that one? Okay cool- So that game is rigged by having a mechanism the game master can control to change what amount of pressure is needed to make the ball go up. They can make the game impossible to win, or so easy a child could do it. This is all set up to say that Chris barely got the ball halfway up the bar and you straight up rang the bell. You would think this would hurt his pride- but quite the contrary! He spends the rest of the day bragging about you to anyone who will listen instead

I think Chris carries you around the park when you get tired. That’s it, that’s the point. Doesn’t matter what size you are, he didn’t spend that much time in the gym not to be able to pick up and carry his partner when they’re tired

Chris is actually a really big fan of the firework show. I have a headcanon that Chris is a little bit of a firebug (This is due to my own liberal use of incendiary grenades) so if you’re down to stay and watch the pretty fire fill up the sky- he’s more than happy to join you. That being said, he’s also not going to protest if ya just wanna go home

The ride back is a calm, windows down with classic rock playing kinda ride. He’s already starting to turn red on his nose and cheeks, but that's a problem for tomorrow Chris

Leon Kennedy~

Generally speaking, Leon isn’t really an amusement park type of guy. They’re really overwhelming. But, he’s also just happy to be anywhere you are, and he doesn't dislike them. So here we are!

That being said, he definitely takes pictures with all the mascots cause he thinks it’s funny. Like when the goth kids go and see Santa at Christmas. It’s also definitely to heal his inner child, but you won't catch him admitting to that

If you guys do go to the Rat Park, he spends the entire time being a little bit put off by the mouse’s cult. Grown ass adults competing with literal children will never not be pathetic to him, and he will in fact voice it. What are they gonna do? Pick on someone their own size? doubtful.

He likes a decent mix of rides, but he refuses to go on any roller coasters that have a loop. Yes, he understands they are perfectly safe. Yes, he knows how they work with centripetal force. He’s aware of all of these facts. But you’re straight up not going to logic him out of this one babes

Leon, much like Chris, will eat just about anything put in front of him- he is not picky. He has a side quest to find the weirdest food that the park offers and try it. So far it’s been the turkey leg monstrosity. He did not finish it.

As far as games go he sees them as a bunch of giant, rigged scams that are akin to gambling- without the randomized aspect. Ya just gotta home the game master likes you. That’s why he sticks to the tried and true and never ever rigged claw machine. And he’s shockingly good at it too, he’s serious about getting that off brand Scooby Doo in a fireman costume plushie

I think he would genuinely kill over from dehydration if you weren’t there constantly reminding him to hydrate. I’m sorry, Leon gives me the vibes of a guy who straight up doesn’t drink enough water, ya gotta force it (in a loving way ofc)

I think he’s another victim of the “this is overwhelming and I have a headache” curse. Expect to find yourself at one of the indoor stage shows while he slumped down, sunglasses on and earbuds in, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. Would water help this condition? Yes. Will that convince him to drink it more regularly? Probably not

Leon is not down for the fireworks. Like, if you really insist, watching from the car is an option. But he really doesn't want to stick around for the loud booming noises followed by the crowd crush of people leaving. Sorry Dear

He does seem more lively on the way home than he did on the way there, and with a little bit of prodding, you may even be able to get him to admit he had fun!

Piers Nivans~

Piers planned the trip. His family used to take a trip to the Rat Park every year, to say he has this down to a science is an understatement. It’s an art and he is a master. Just tell him what rides you wanna ride, where/what you wanna eat, and if you wanna hit up any of the shops and then leave it to him. 

He’s efficient and keeps a tight schedule, knowing when to get on what rides to avoid long lines and when to do other things. That being said, he’s not inflexible. If plans change or something comes up, he’s generally pretty good at restructuring and planning on the fly. Even though he’s really rather not

Piers is an adrenaline junkie. Unlike Chris, he craves the thrill without the imminent threat of death looming over him. As such, he wants to ride every roller coaster at the park. The more Gs, the better. It gets him out of his head.

He’s also not a fan of the mascots, but in the same way Wesker isn’t. Apparently one time when he caught Cinderella smoking on her break once before they really cracked down on that and the magic was just ruined. Now he just sees some underpaid and overworked employee cooking themselves alive in those costumes and just feels sad

He’s like, lowkey a snob about the food im ngl. Like, all the really popular things everyone wants are great, and if you really want it sure, but there's like, a hundred other places with better food and shorter lines, you gotta trust him on this. And the worst part is: He’s right, the public hypes up the most mediocre things while ignoring the extraordinary

He’s also a big advocate for checking out the stage shows. You don't have to stay for the whole thing, but they’re in air conditioned buildings where you can sit and recuperate, and they actually tend to be pretty good! Well, decent, but it’s a good way to take a break

As far as the games go- he sucks at them and doesn't even try to hide it man. ON a battlefield he’s sharp, with surgeon steady hands and laser focus. You want him to throw a bean bag into a clown's mouth? Completely incapable. You’re not sure if he’s actually just that bad, or if he’s playing it up cause he thinks it’s funny. 

Self appointed Keeper Of The Things. Cards, hotel keys (If ya traveled), IDs, anything deemed important he’s the one keeping track of them. It’s not that he doesn't trust you- it’s more of a “If something goes wrong I only have myself to blame and I’d rather be mad at myself than at you.” Does that make sense? Does anyone else do that? Just me? Okay, well now Piers does too

Piers is neutral to the firework display. Seen one light show, you’ve seen 'em all. But, if you really want to watch them, who is he to tell you know? They are really pretty

If he’s not in the driver's seat, he’s passing out immediately on the car ride back. In his defense, he’s been up since like 4 am planning and getting everything ready, it's almost a miracle he didn’t pass out on one of the dark rides

[n0odlz]

How they got their acne

*This is so random but I thought this would be fun to write. MORE PRACTICE!!

Joshua Levi™

He's got acne, but how'd it get there? I mean.. Almost every day as a kid, his mom would force him to get in the tub, even if it meant missing a new episode of whatever sci-fi show was on. Most people would say, "Oh, he's just going through puberty. " which is true.. But there's still other factors.

He doesn't wash his face.. Like AT ALL. All that sweat accumulates and gets trapped under his skin. And it's not like he's sweating from being outside (like he'd go out there on purpose for any unnecessary amount of time), he sweats. BADLY. In the summer, spring, winter, fall. No matter the weather, you best believe he's sweating.

At some point, his acne got worse because he tried using some old Star Wars lotion he found at the back of Joe's from.. 199..something. Somehow the idea of expired lotion didn't make him think, "hey, I shouldn't use this, it's probably older than me". Yeahhh... No.

Billiam Dickle

It's not really on his face, more on his body. On his shoulders, chest, and ESPECIALLY his back, all because he keeps wearing that same nasty ass flannel! He just doesn't wanna change it. It only gets out in the washer when Jane gets forced to sneak in his room to steal it so at least *something* of his can get clean.

Another reason he has acne on his body so bad is because he's always under the covers no matter if it's hot or cold, he STAYS under that blanket. Mostly to read comics after his set bedtime with a little flashlight on but any other time it's because Pete scared him so bad with yet another underground horror film he probably bought from a dealer, and now he thinks the killer is under his bed, ready to grab his ankles and snatch him up.

Jerome Strokes

Out of everyone in the group, he has the least acne. Just like Josh, he was forced to bathe everyday as a child, only...He still gets forced to clean himself. If that doesn't work out, one of his parents has to check if his hair is wet and actually smells decent for once.

He only gets away with not showering if he isn't forced to hug his mom on the way to a club meeting or something, that usually works.

At some point, he didn't shower for 3 months because he was up day and night scripting a roleplay for D&D

_______________________________

"I'm not even gonna try hard at the shower because it doesn't have things like slurp juice, floppers, or medi-bedi's"

That's literally Jerry

Peteroni Ditalini

Probably has the most acne out of everyone COMBINED

All the times he's been forced in the kitchen to cook.. All that heat and oil popping on him accumulates and just makes everything worse.

Sometimes he even has breakouts because his sister wants to test a new skin cleanser on him like he's an animal in a testing lab. This is bad because it makes him avoid any cleanser, soap, or lotion because he thinks he's gonna break out from it. Now he's just musty 💔

He mostly has it on his face and upper back because his brothers and dad force him to go outside and play a sport or two. It's bad when they play football cuz he's got sensitive skin (and of course he's gonna be targeted for tackling since he's the smallest guy) so when he hits the grass, it gets really bad with the breakouts.

Playing outside and getting a rash from the grass on top of not washing your face or hands when you get inside because you think you might get a week long rash is NOT a good combination.

And a little special edition with my oc😛

(Someone has GYATT to read this 🙏🏾)

Mya Hydraulics

Definitely has the least acne out of all of them (ofc) since she washes her face. But sometimes.. That just doesn't help.

She mainly has acne on her forehead because of all the oil and gel she puts in her hair. It's even worse when it's hot outside because allllll that hair product just leaks onto her forehead.

Sometimes she gets a pimple or two on her chin or near her nose and right up under her eye and those hurt like a BITCH 💔. Now she has to go to work with pimple patches on her face because even with her long ass nails, she does NOT wanna pop those

"Welcome to Joe's. Please don't steal shit because I don't get paid enough to stop you"

"What the hell is on your face? You look like an upset orc who became a victim of the dirty bubble"

"... "

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - The Box™

The idea of the TV comes from @ancha-aus and it was too funny to be left in a reblog, so I had to write it :D

First

Prev

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ALSO because I forgot to say it in the first drabble- Nightmare doesn't have his tentacles summoned because it's a waste of space and it makes his back hurt so he only summons them in very rare occasions

Dust woke up with the sound of metal kitchenware falling on the ground. He sighed.

- Please be a cat...

He pushed the covers aside, grabbed his jacket, put on his sweatpants, and walked to his bedroom door, stopping right before grabbing the handle. What if he went back to bed ? He heard metal clanking.

- Oh for God's sake.

He opened his door and was met with Cross holding Killer by his arm, the roman was sitting on the ground and holding a fork in his hand, the other kitchenware laying on the ground with the drawer they were previously in being opened. Dust stared at the two, and they both stared at him. It was nine am. Dust didn't want to deal with that at nine am. He turned to Nightmare to ask him if he could tell Killer to stop looking through his stuff but he stopped himself when he saw that the noble was still sleeping. Strange, he thought that nobles woke up early ? He was almost ready to see him judging him for sleeping in to be honest, but it seemed that instead he was the last one still asleep as Dust could see Horror looking at them from outside. Right, he should probably go open the door for him, not sure the viking knew how to open a sliding door.

He let Horror in and closed behind him, he saw Cross letting go of Killer who quickly assembled all the kitchenware to put them back in the drawer, because looking was a thing but making a mess was another, and Dust was his host, it wouldn't please the gods if he made a mess in his host's house. Dust was really wondering how Nightmare managed to sleep with all that noise.

- So, uh... ya'll slept well ?

As expected, none of them understood. Dust went to grab his phone that had finished charging overnight and went back on Google Translate, using the vocal command for French and Latin and letting Horror read the Old Norse as there wasn't any vocal sample for that. They all nodded.

- Good. Well.. I'll just make myself some coffee, and uh.. and we'll see from there, I need coffee first.

He declared as he went to the kitchen.

- Move.

He said to Killer, pointing at the livingroom. The roman looked at him for a minute before understanding and going back to his corner in which he apparently installed the lava lamp to make it more cozy. Dust sighed and turned the coffee machine on while he opened the cabinet above the sink, but before he could climb on the counter Horror grabbed a cup, by simply lifting his arm, and handed it to him. He didn't notice him following him.

- Oh, uh.. thanks ?

He said, quite confused, but took the cup to pour the coffee in it. Did Horror do that because he felt bad about last night ? He had made thumbs ups, he thought he would have understood it meant no hard feelings... well, at least he didn't have to climb his counter this time.

He looked through his cabinets as he sipped on his coffee, he was low on food, it was enough for him but he had five mouths to feed now, and what he had clearly wouldn't suffice. He'll need to go grocery shopping, which meant either take them with him or leave them alone in his apartment, and he didn't like neither options. He couldn't take them with him though, because monitoring them here was a thing, they couldn't go too far, didn't have much to do, didn't have to worry about people, but monitoring them outside ? In the middle of a crowded store ? When no-one spoke their language and they surely didn't even know what a store was ? Dust would die from stress before he could grab a cart. Plus he didn't have any clothes to lend them, the only ones being roughly his size being Killer and Nightmare, but he doubted Nightmare would agree to take off his fancy clothes and Killer didn't seem to know what pants were and Dust really didn't want to dress him up. He also didn't have the money to buy them all a new set of clothes, so he'll have to leave them here. Maybe he could put on a movie for them to watch ? That would keep them untertained.

He put his empty cup in the sink and went back to the living room to look through the drawers under the TV, searching for long movie so he would have time to shop in peace. He had a five hour long movie about the French Revolution but he doubted it would have been a good thing to show Nightmare, he didn't want to give him, well, nightmares, so he eventually settled on The Lord Of The Rings, which was three hours long, with the shop being fifteen minutes away, that left Dust with two hours and a half to shop, which was more than enough.

He got up to put the DVD box on the table and noticed that Nightmare had woken up and sat up straight. Saying that he looked disoriented would have been an understatement, his mind was clearly foggy. Dust checked the time, it was almost ten, Nightmare must have been exhausted to sleep that late. He went on Google again, just in time for Nightmare to speak, still sounding quite sleepy.

- Pourquoi ne pas m'avoir réveillé... ?

He asked. "Why didn't you wake me up ?" The translation said.

- Why would we ? You were tired, so you slept, 's as simple as that.

He answered, using the vocal command so Nightmare could hear it in French. He looked up at him confused, like he didn't understand that sleeping was made to rest when tired and not just to pass the night. That made Dust wonder at what time he usually woke up ? Surely around seven am, when the sun rises. Did they have alarm clocks at that time ? Or did his servants, because he surely had some, wake him up every morning ? Did he ever sleep enough by the way ? Maybe that would explain why he slept in and why he got so confused on why they didn't wake him up. Well, good for him, Dust thought, at least he got to rest.

Dust looked at the time again. If he went to the store now he would come back near one pm, so he would have time to cook and they could eat between one and two pm, which wouldn't be too late, and he would have the afternoon to make more researches.

- Okay everyone here !

He called, gesturing for the four to come closer or simply listen to him.

- I'm going to grab some food, so you will stay here and watch a movie on the TV while I'm gone, do not make a mess and do not fight.

He first translated in into French, then into Old Norse, which had some words missing because they didn't exist in that language, such as TV and movie, but Horror still understood that Dust would be out, probably hunting, and they had to stay here and be calm. Dust looked at Nightmare, waiting for him to translate for Killer, Cross having understood the general idea already. Nightmare rubbed his eye and focused for a bit before coming up with a translation, not knowing either what a movie was, but he figured the "TV" was this big flat black mirror behind Dust.

- Emit cibum et rogat nos ut hanc nigram cistam videamus dum abest.

Dust wanted to steal his knowledge, just open his head and take it, how was he so fluent in a language that had been dead for centuries ?!

He decided to leave it for now, having more important things to do, and just put the cd in the player before turning the movie on and going to put on his shoes to go outside. Cross looked at him for a few seconds before letting him get out of the apartment.

Dust sighed when outside, finally being alone. He grabbed his headphones and put on some music on his was to the store. French songs. To try and learn some words. Maybe choosing L'Assasymphonie as a starter song wasn't his best idea as it had quite a lot of complicated words, but the song slapped, so he kept it anyway.

It was the first time in his life that Dust had been happy to go grocery shopping, and also the first time it took more than two hours, he really wanted to appreciate some time away from everything, but he had to come back now, the movie was almost done and he didn't want them to make a mess the second they would be left without a distraction.

He opened the door with one hand, the bags in the other, and was surprised to see that Cross wasn't standing guard anymore. Well, surely he had joined the others to watch the TV. Dust came in, and just had the time to close the door before Killer litteraly jumped at his feet to hold onto his waist.

- Wh- ?!

- Quaeso ne nos in arca pone ! Bene erimus ! Promitto !

He begged as if his life depended on it. Okay what happened ? Dust looked up, inspecting his appartment, but everything was in order, the credits were rolling on the TV, Nightmare was on the couch, Cross was standing next to it, Horror was standing near the bay window, and, oh... they all looked at him frightened. Did he put a horror movie by accident ? He was pretty sure he grabbed the right box but the cds could have been mixed up. He recognized the names of the characters on the credits though, so he did put the right movie. But why did they look so scared then ?

- Killer, let go.

He pushed him, but Killer tightened his grip around him. He sighed, picking up his phone again to ask Nightmare what happened.

Nightmare flinched when Dust "talked" to him. Weird. He looked at him for a while before answering, seeming unsure.

- Allez-vous nous emprisonner dans cette boîte également... ?

Dust looked at the translation with incomprehension: was he going to lock them in the box too ? What box ? Why would he lock them in a box ? He looked up at them again, then at the TV.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Of course they didn't know what a film was, of course they would think it was real people, hell even he thought that when he was a kid, before he learnt about special effects and cgi, he thought it was all real, that people were really dying, so of course these four would think that real people were trapped in there, the only thing they knew was theater ! What Dust just did was basically show them his collection of enslaved people in boxes who he forced to perform elaborated scenarios where they would get hurt and possibly die. That couldn't be more terrifying and if he had been in their place he would have felt very threatened.

He quickly typed an explanation and translated it in all three languages, praying that the translation would be correct, to tell them it wasn't real, that these people were actors and these were simply the images of what they played, that they weren't trapped here and they weren't really getting hurt. He saw them relax a little, but they still seemed quite chocked, which was understandable.

- I'm, uh... going to make food then.. ?

Dust said awkwardly as he managed to make Killer let go of him, but the roman still followed him in the kitchen to sit by his feet. He didn't chase him, thinking that chasing him now would just make him think that Dust would lock him in the TV, or the box as they seemed to call it, so he just prepared dinner with the skeleton waiting on the floor. He heard Cross go back to the door.

- You can take a break you know.

Cross looked at him.

- You know, break, how do you say... pause ? Arrêter ? You can stop ?

He tried to translate from memory. Cross frown.

- Eo ne poez mie. Eo doi monter la warde.

- Yeah you already said that, but that's okay, you did a very good job, uhhh.. un bon travail.. ? So you can.. you can pause ? You can stop, bon travail, take une pause.

He managed to blurt out in a broken French with a smile, so hopefully Cross would understand. The knight looked at him before quickly turning away. Dust could have sworn he saw a faint purple blush on his cheeks. He wanted to ask him but the timer went off at that moment. Food was ready.

Horror helped him set the table, putting spoons for himself, Killer and Cross, and forks for Nightmare and Dust.

Cross avoided Dust's gaze during all of dinner while Nightmare kept eying Horror who was sitting next to him, surely to make sure he wouldn't touch him, Dust thought, as the noble seemed quite cautious of the viking, even though for now Horror was clearly not the dangerous type. Whatever, as long as they didn't fight, Dust wasn't going to force them to become friends.

He had a good feeling about Horror though, he was helpful and didn't look at him weird when he came up with broken translations. He kinda liked him. If they ended up being stuck here for a while he wouldn't mind him as a roommate.

He still hoped they would be gone soon though. He really didn't have enough money for all of them.

His bank account was almost empty already, and it wasn't even past the first half of the month.

He'll need to save money. Like, really save money.

[willicemisc]

pov : willice rants about The Broken Code Jayfeather (SPOILERS FOR THE BROKEN CODE)

It's been a full year now that I decided to re-read every single Warrior Cats books, as a teenager I stopped at OotS, so I re-read all of TPB, TNP, PoT and OotS. I am done with DotC (I have many opinions) and just finished AvoS, so I am starting TBC (currently at book 2).

Clearly the Writing Team™ has big, big issues with how to handle Jayfeather and his personality. Jayfeather was meant te be blunt and to freely voice his anger and concerns with little respects for other feelings sometimes, but he was never meant to be outright mean and antagonistic, was he ?

He went from a personal favorite of mine in PoT and OotS to a very unlikable character in TBC. He actively bullies and isolates Twigkit in AvoS (when he was previously known to be patient with kits??), but I can tolerate this mischaracterization i guess

But TBC Jayfeather ??? I don't know if it's just the Writing Team™ being extremely bad at understanding his character, or if it's the first symptoms of the Onestar disease, but I am kind of scared of how he will evolve in the 4 following books :(((

In the first two books of TBC, Jayfeather can hardly go through a single conversation with / about Shadowsight without straight up insulting him, his intelligence and competences. He had opinions about Willowshine and Kestrelflight, but he would rarely, if ever, straight up disrespect them to their face like that. Now, he actively participates in all the gossip around Shadowsight and characters will say "Jayfeather said Shadowsight is just a featherhead !" because Jay's opinion is that valued and important. (idk the actual English insults, all my books are in French, so you will have to suffer the French horrors sorry guys 😔)

At some point, during a Gathering, Jayfeather just tells everyone that Mothwing doesn't believe in StarClan. In front of the five Clans, the leaders, the deputies, the other warriors, like, everyone. Just because he was personally pissed at her opinion.

Just as a reminder, the Clans are all extremely faithful and the lack of faith has been a plot point several times, showing emphasis on how important it is for all cats to show devotion to StarClan. Medicine cats are literally meant to talk to StarClan. And in general, the Clans are known to be agressive to anyone who doesn't respect StarClan, thinking that if you don't follow StarClan's commands then you don't have any moral values at all.

Another reminder, Mothwing is not only the daughter of Tigerclawstar, she is also an ex rogue. She got her medicine cat title only because her brother created a fake omen, because her status as an ex-rogue made her an outcast in her own Clan. Mothwing has been known to be more vulnerable to isolation than other medicine cats.

So huh, yeah, Jayfeather just put Mothwing, an already vulnerable she-cat, in extreme danger, throwing her under the bus in front of absolutely everyone, including her own leader, her own deputy, most of her clanmates, and most of the other Clans members. Mothwing is shocked, obviously, and quickly says that she does believe StarClan is real, just isn't devoted to them.

The response of the Clans to this revelation is so out of character and disconnected from their agressive violent culture that I had to re-read the whole thing a few times.

The Clans just go "weird flex mothwing, but ok" and go back to their business (business being : questioning why StarClan isn't communicating with them anymore). From what I know, the revelation Jayfeather just made is never going to impact the story ever again because Mothwing gets banished for the crime of being a ShadowClan cat's child. So this whole scene is just there to show that Jayfeather will use precious informations against others if he gets annoyed at them ??? I don't know if this is bad writing or character assassination at this point man😔my po3 jayfeather would never.

None the less, Jayfeather KNEW how dangerous such a revelation could have been. Every single medicine cat, including her own apprentice Willowshine, kept the secret, because they all KNEW it would endanger Mothwing if the Clans discovered the state of her faith. This was literally a plot point in TNP with Leafpool like COME ON WRITING TEAM™ YOU HAVE TO LOCK IN !!!!!

I know this scene is canon (sadly), but this depiction of Jayfeather is just so alien to me. Jayfeather knows what it's like to be different and to be special, why would he insult Shadowsight over and over again when the kid is obviously struggling ? Also Jayfeather has been accused of murder and was on thin ice at some point, he knows what it's like to be accused in front of a whole Gathering, why would he do that to Mothwing out of all cats ???

Do you have any opinions on this ? Do you think this is just normal Jayfeather behavior, or do you think it is the Writing Team struggling to grasp Jay's personality ? I would like to know what you feel about that because from all the fandom discourse I did read, no one ever talked about how flabbergasting Jayfeather's behavior would be

In conclusion the real impostor is jayfeather

[kaygee-doodles]

(So sorry if you're getting multiple copies of this ask, my tumblr keeps saying it's not going through so I've been resending it!)

What would be the skeleton's Most Appreciated Gift™? What would they all most like to receive? Could be a very specific item or wildly broad :-)

No worries, I only got it a few times.

Gifts eh? Well, it's the thought that counts, and with your Intent, so long as you really honestly tried, they'll be happy. But for an actual theme or specific gift?

Get Horror a large text cookbook. Most of his are normal-person sized, so a bit teeny for him. Extra points if you leave little notes next to a few recipes. Things like "this is my favorite!" Or "remember Killer doesn't like Italian blend cheese, use parm!"

You'll have to put in some real leg work for this one, and make use of your slowly growing network of interuniversal friends, but get Nightmare a new book. One he hasn't read or doesn't have. Maybe a medical text about humans, or a historical fiction. Barring that, a fancy type of sugar for his coffee and tea will do just fine.

Killer is the hardest to buy for. So don't buy anything. Knit it, paint it, sew it, bake it, bop it, and let your Intent cut through his disassociation.

Dust likes to tinker, so give him something he can take apart and put together. A model, a radio, maybe something broken he can fix.

Error...well. doll making supplies and chocolate are all he will accept. What matters is how he gets it. Don't hand it to him in front of others. Don't hand it to him at all, actually. Leave it where he'll find it with a note indicating its for him and never speak of it again.

[piracytheorist]

Twilight Eyes Project: "Will They Pass or Fail?" (part 2)

Part 1 here

Previous episodes analyses

More anime additions, as we see Twilight make his preparations for the castle visit. Twilight eyes as he listens to his agency's response to his request, though they relax a bit as he notes how fast they were to respond.

I think, in a way, this might communicate how he has little idea of how his fellow spies see him. In both manga and anime, WISE spies run themselves thin in order to assist him, and they're all thankful they even get to see him in the flesh, some even wanting his autograph! Yet he felt embarrassed playing a game with them watching.

He manages to get a plane, and drunk Yor excitedly asks him where he got it, and he seems to struggle putting on his Loid eyes, as he still looks like he can't believe he was dragged into this.

Evidenced by the reluctance on his face, now with Twilight eyes.

Reaching the castle, Anya complains that there are no people around to play as servants and bad guys, and Twilight resorts to asking for help again, and once again his agency pulls through. Despite the help that was so eagerly given, he looks annoyed he has to go through this.

Play is on! In a totally useless charade - since Anya knows everything anyway and Yor is so drunk she's ready to pass out anytime - he pretends to be so very happy for his audience, using Loid eyes.

And while he tries to appear humble, his embarrassment and reluctance shows through.

If only he knew how many people down there were begging for a chance to participate.

Unsurprisingly, Twilight eyes are back on while Franky explains the game,

though they widen in disbelief once Franky instructs the others to give Loid as harder a time as possible - and seems to be really into it.

The game starts, and Twilight at first drags himself on, until he realizes he has to take it seriously if it's to pass quickly and effectively.

And he takes it very seriously.

But, he shouldn't underestimate the resourcefulness of a child when that child wants him to follow her whim. Thus, he fails two out of three questions, and he has no choice but to fall deeper into embarrassment.

He's back to business, however, when it's time to fight through entire groups of fellow agents.

His expressions seem "done" only when it's Anya involved.

Cause when he can pick up even a toy gun and focus on doing the thing, boy he focuses.

Especially if he gets to land a hit on Franky for dragging him into this XD

And as it is known, cool guys don't look at explosions.

However, once he's fought through other spies and avoided rubber balls and… well, explosions, he's ready for this charade to end… but it doesn't, and his tiredness is palpable.

But then, more spies appear around them, and he now has to play the role of Princess Anya's saviour, not just fight his way through traps and "enemies".

And he's not dealing really well with it.

But, it's For The Mission™!

With his entire face blushing, he does a spectacularly bad job at acting like the story's hero, although his coworkers are utterly excited to see him at work.

And then, a wild Yorticia attacks and nearly kicks his head off. He looks at her in utter shock and horror, unable to believe what just happened.

Yor continues her attacks, and all he can manage to do is defend himself as much as he can, though it barely seems enough compared to her strength and fighting skill. He's very much concentrated on it, and he doesn't even have the time to wonder where all that strength and tenacity came from. He's literally fighting for his life here.

Then, Yor breaks though his defense and the shock and fear are back. What is she gonna do next?

She's gonna break her shoe's heel and collapse. Despite the utter shock of the situation, his first action is to ask her if she's okay, realize she just fell asleep, and he then looks relieved. Probably both that she's okay and that she passed out before she could kill him.

Then it's back to dealing with Franky, and he is So Done.

Franky is quickly dealt with, and now he's facing the source of his embarrassment: a child.

Going though this episode, he seems to be perfectly able to concentrate on all the tasks without an issue. It's when he's facing Anya directly that he seems to lose his cool. He was slightly embarrassed asking his agency to come and play the servants and the bad guys, but while facing Anya we get a full-face blush that reaches back to his ears.

It's known to us from the first chapter that children are a sensitive spot for him. Being a spy requires enough detachment from one's feelings that one shouldn't be embarrassed to do anything while a fellow spy watches.

So here, based on the variety of his expressions, I don't think it was the specific context of the "play" that made him mortified - I think it was that it had to do with a child being involved. He's already compromising a ton for the sake of Anya's happiness, and I think what makes him nervous here is that he's showing to everyone how far he's going to make a child happy.

In his mind, he's not supposed to be a real father, only act as one. He's not supposed to really care about Anya's feelings, and he's not supposed to allow others to see he does.

But we know he cares for the happiness of children; it's just that, to ensure that, he's not used to playing with them, but to risking his life and doing shady work. And so, even though he's not invested in the game, it unintentionally brings to the forefront the fact that he cares for a child's happiness.

And maybe that's what Anya sees that makes her run to hug him.

However, spies are still watching, and cheering, to boot, and he's just left there speechless wondering what all that is about.

He'll understand, eventually, we hope.

The anime adds a moment of the other spies leaving between that and the next panel/shot, so here it looks like it's just him and Anya, so when Anya says she's had a lot of fun since leaving the orphanage, he finally relaxes a bit into a more neutral face.

And when she says she'll do her best at school, he smiles at her with what I can easily assume are real eyes.

There isn't really much he needs to do there; Anya is happy, satisfied, motivated to do her best at Eden. For tonight he can consider it a job well done, though I do find it important that Anya's excitement was so big that it even impacted him a little. It isn't just that Anya is motivated to do her part of the mission, it's also that a child had fun overall and felt taken care of. Even though he may not acknowledge it, this has a big value for him.

(no manga spoilers please)

[butchmasky]

Hai how do you think masky shows affection. Also do you think their physical presentation differs from Tim’s at all? (Besides the mask of course)

ouugghh anon Let me tell you Let me tellmyou something okay . im also going to be mostly looking at this through the lens of jasky because i feel like jay is one of the only people close enough to masky that she lets touch her at all fjkskdjd

i am #1 physical touch masky truther. i think its a super tactile creature and being able to physically touch and interact with its friends helps it ground itself and confirm Yes, my friend is safe and they are well. it also really enjoys hugs n cuddling n deep pressure type shit ... like i like to think about jay and masky making a nest of pillows and blankets and hanging out together all the timmmeeeeeee AUURRHHGGH. he tends to want to have at least a few points of contact, like knees or legs touching, lying his head on a shoulder or just putting his hand onto your arm or back or hand. he likes petting people also. jay learns he likes being petted because of her >:3c

i do think she wishes tim would interact with her in headspace more too ...

another thing i think she does is watch. she adores observing people go about their day (especially jay and tim) and yeah its a little creepy for the person being observed but over time youll learn its just his way of showing he cares about what youre doing and the things you like.

i think it also really wants to be able to protect those around it. he originally formed to be a guardian for tim when he was a kid and i think that purpose bleeds over to how she feels about jay . it deeply cares for him and finds him fascinating (and cute!!) and she would wrestle a fucking bear if it meant keeping those close to her safe.

this aspect of her does bring up a big flaw she has. she tends to tunnel vision on I have to keep my friend safe. I have to do whatever it takes. which ends up getting him hurt quite often, and , since she is in fact a headmate of tims this ends up causing a lot of turmoil between them (see entry 35)

as for the other part of ur ask yes i do think their presentation differs!!!!!! if you know tim youll immediately be able to tell its Not Tim™ just based on their body language. masky tends to hold itself lower and with sloppier posture (compared to tims VERY upright and tense stance) and when it walks it tends to move its body in strange (for human standards) ways , like weaving around simple obstacles. it also tends to move only its head when looking at people like an owl HEHEHEHEE

i also think masky tends to dress differently. obviously shes got her favorite jacket and mask she wears MOST of the time but ! i think shes a graphic tee typa guy ...... i was talking about this with som of my friends the other day and i think hed wear horror movie shirts and adidas sweatpant shorts that are WAY too big for him. i think hed also be a tanktop enjoyer.

and side note ,, i think if given the opportunity hed love to wear makeup ... #tbh ....

oakey thank you for listening to my rant ... i hope this satisfies your masky needs and FEEL FREE TO SEND ME MOAR ASKS ABOUT HER ... 🙏

[rwbyrg]

Another thing I had noticed was the way Ruby interreacts with everyone vs. how she interacts with Oscar. Like her mannerisms seem to change a bit when she speaks or is near him or she treats him differently from the others. Because personally I've never seen her act very nervous around the others when she met them versus how she met Oscar, and she still does it to this day. What do you think?

I am soooooo late to answering these asks and this got sooooo long aha. Thank you for your patience. 🙇‍♀️

I have noticed that Ruby acts markedly different around Oscar than the others! And in my opinion, it is done with a great deal of intention. The thing with RG is that a lot of what makes the ship so strong is how subtle its writing is. So much of it is paralleled themes and a lot of it relies on an absence of something that is usually present. Often treating the absence itself as a presence of something to be paid attention to.

When we first meet Ruby in V1, she says she gets along better with weapons than she does with people. (Lol isn't it funny that Oscar's name means "God's Spear" haha. surely that has no correlation whatsoever... anyway).

When Ruby meets Weiss, she gets screamed at and makes a dust bomb explode in the courtyard, but by V2 so many of their conflicts are resolved and they've become rivals/besties/team partners.

When Ruby meets Blake, she's got her foot in her mouth and is super awkward... until there's an opportunity to connect with her about stories and fairytales. Then we see Ruby's earnest side come out and the anxiety in her pretty much disappears.

When Ruby meets Jaune, it's remarkably not awkward. Their shared social awkwardness and feelings of not belonging at Beacon cancel each other out and they're able to have a fairly normal conversation.

Very quickly through the early volumes, Ruby gets comfortable. As a leader, as part of her team, as a welcome part of their social circle. She's young, still optimistic and full of hope. She hasn't been given too much trauma or cause to question herself by that point. She has her moments, sure, but like a lot of kids that don't fit in much and aren't super social, she's actually really good at it once she's given the chance.

But when Ruby meets Oscar - while she has experienced some of the Horrors™ that have chipped away at her self confidence - she's not too different than usual. Not at first, anyway.

He comments on her eyes and she responds naturally by asking him who he is, she's able to be candid with her response when she's told he's carrying Oz around, and yeah she giggles a bit when they're all playing the 'getting to know you game', but she also smiles at him. Earnest, trying to make him feel at ease cause this situation is kind of weird for all of them. When they spar later, she's being a goofy kid. Sticking her tongue out at him, laughing while they throw and dodge punches, running to help him when he collapses, grabbing his wrist with very little hesitation to tug him towards the rest of the group. It's all fairly normal...

...and then the Dojo Scene happens.

With the Dojo Scene, the narrative tone of their relationship is both established and changed. Ruby comes down the stairs and she's open, at first. But as they talk a bit more, her body language becomes more and more closed off the closer she gets to him. Clasping her hands in front of her when she asks a question about his past, then hugging herself as she dares to step a little closer to him, as if putting up some kind of protective barrier.

She tries complimenting his efforts, laughing a bit to hide her nervousness, is fairly candid, and makes a bit of a joke. But the joke reveals a wound of hers that hasn't healed yet and opens the conversation up to vulnerability. A vulnerability that Oscar points out immediately. One she has not spoken to anyone else about up until that point.

"How do you handle all of this?"

Ruby pauses. She's not used to talking to people about her problems. At first, I don't think she's even thinking about herself when he asks. She nudges him to clarify what he means and he opens up about his own fears, which prompts her routine song and dance that she gives to everyone. Uplifting words, holding onto hope, keep moving forward, just don't let the things that haunt you catch up and you'll be fine.

And Oscar doesn't accept it. He isn't moved by it. He's not comforted. He rejects it, questions it, and completely lashes out. Is actually angry that she's telling him to "just press on" in spite of those fears. Is angry on her behalf that she's not being honest about her own feelings.

And Ruby cracks. She actually opens up and talks to Oscar about all the grief she keeps buried down and doesn't burden anyone with. She might have argued to herself that it was the only way to make Oscar feel better, but it's uncharacteristic for her. She doesn't usually have to go that deep to cheer other people up. When she tells him about her losses and motivations, Oscar joins her in that open doorway, in shared vulnerability... and the moment she sees an opportunity to retreat, she takes it. Not used to this closeness in the slightest.

From then on out they're still friends, clearly. Their bond strengthened, if anything... but Ruby does not know how to handle him when he has such a skill for seeing through her in ways no one else ever seems to catch onto. She's able to push it away a bit when he's pre-occupied with something else. When he's worried about the merge or his mistakes in Atlas, or they're in a group conversation, she's able to act with some sense of normalcy... but when they're alone that awkwardness comes creeping back.

When WBY confront Ruby about her decision to keep the truth from Ironwood, Yang specifically asks how Oscar feels about it, and we see Ruby falter. This is a direct parallel to Bumbleby circa V8 when Yang is the one worrying about Blake thinking less of her for her own decision. We've seen Ruby disagree with people before and remain confident in her choice... but she questions herself here because of how much she values Oscar's opinion. And their disagreement colours more of her interactions with him throughout V7.

When they're all practicing in the academy training rooms, Oscar comments on her semblance. Asking if she's always been able to do that, which is something he wouldn't ask if he didn't pay close enough attention to be able to notice such differences. She's laughing awkwardly, scratching the back of her head.

And the fumble, when they finally come back together with renewed trust - that I already dove into a bit over in this post - she's still doing it!!

She is so excited to talk to him again, to not be at odds, that she almost runs directly into his back and is all flailing arms, and awkward giggles as she tries to tell him she agrees with him. When they finally establish that they're on the same page, she's hugging herself tight, rubbing her arm, looking away from him in her nervousness. Even when she walks away she's hugging herself again. Meanwhile, Oscar is all open body language, hand on hip, hand extended to her, active listening and receptive to what she has to say.

Interesting that this conversation's themes around choosing truth over fear calls back to the Dojo Scene so well, innit? 🤔

The last example I want to give isn't about Ruby. It's about Oscar. Throughout the show, he's always been a bit skittish, jumpy, and expressive with things like loud noises and - quite noticeably - touch. Oscar's been tackled to the ground by Nora in multiple hugs, tackled by the whole team in V6 after he went missing, scooped up by Jaune after he was kidnapped, and in all of those instances there has been a noticeable physical discomfort from him. Often a flinch or a wince beforehand, only relaxing into it after the surprise of the impact is over with.

But Ruby has put her hand on Oscar's shoulder multiple times (outside the Dojo Scene) without eliciting that response from him. One of those touches made him blush, if anything. And when Oscar returns from Salem's prison, beaten and covered in bruises. Ruby is running to hug him and not only does he not flinch, he smiles with open arms, completely ready for and accepting of it. And then the narrative robbed him of the chance 😭

Ruby, despite her usual confidence, resolve, and unwillingness to talk about her issues, becomes nervous, awkward, and self conscious around Oscar. The absence of her usual demeanor becomes the presence of how much she values what Oscar thinks of her and how vulnerable he's able to make her feel. (Which, for a character as emotionally guarded as Ruby, is a good thing).

Similarly, Oscar's established pattern of resisting physical touch - even when he's injured and probably sporting a few broken ribs - is absent with Ruby. It becomes a presence instead of his comfort, trust, and (desire for) closeness to her.

While these examples aren't exhaustive, generally speaking, the absences of their usual behaviours around one another become the presence of something unique to their relationship and often serve to highlight their attachments to each other. Be it how they interact with each other directly... or how they act when they're apart. But that, my friends, is an entirely different post and I have rambled long enough for today.

[kassandrasdisciple]

~~~spoilers for all of the magnus archives~~~

How popular is the take that Melanie and Georgie were actually in a Fearscape?

I feel like this must be a common take, but it's hard to find just meta-theories for TMA, but just incase, here's how I came to this conclusion.

Melanie's Blindness

The are alot of blind people in the world. I know Melanie blinded herself under spooky™ circumstances, but nothing actively spooky was occurring other than being inside the magnus institute. Also as seen with Gertrude/Agnes, the flesh book and The Dark ritual, when you want to avoid an Entity, or several, you usually have to do some explicity spooky things.

Because of this I think Melanie is just normally blind, she herself seems to think her immunity is just because of her blindness too. Now I know Jonny hasn't always been great on numbers and scales but there are ALOT of blind people, maybe the Eye only ignores people who are completely blind and not visually imperared but still, Jon should've been seeing dozens of blindspots just within the UK in the beginning of S5. So I think it's safe to say Melanie's blindness isn't why she's "immune".

Observation Isn't Overt

We know the Fearscapes aren't constant hell, the camera is the most explicit, giving prolonged relief, but it was still a Fearscape, waiting for all that paranoia to ripen until it breaks and the fears decend. We see it in other Fearscapes like the falling titan or the medical centre where there might be hours or days of relative peace, but the fear is still there and the victims still exist to suffer. I think the camera can also explain how Melanie and Georgie weren't visible to Jon even outside the tunnels, their fearscape relies on feeling "free" to some extent.

Furthermore, Jon still knew they where alive, so The Eye knew that aswell, it didn't hunt them down to put them in a fearscape however, and that was because they already were, they were just "freeranged" and The Eye just wanted to monitor their vitals.

Lastly, Helen knew where they where. I know she was better at navigating the tunnels than Jon in S4, but we know in S5, all power comes and goes through The Eye, it's how the smitings work, if she could find them so could The Eye.

Specificity

Basira inherited Daisy's Fearscape, allowing her to travel freely, but she was still in a Fearscape, having to endure all the horrors Daisy commited and then having to carry on, viewing the Fearscapes without Jons protection. Knowing this helps plug another hole in our original theory, which is that this is quite a specific Fearscape. We know some are small, Martin's only has a few dozen, but Basira's is just hers. This I think sets the president that although Melanie's and Georgie's Fearscape is highly unique it's still possible. (Maybe The Eye chooses unique ones for its Ex kids)

Georgie's Fear

I know people will bring up Georgie and I'll have to make a much longer post eventually but I think we've only ever been told how her power works from her POV, which I think is inaccurate. If we actually look at how she acts she does feel Fear, she just displays it as worry or anxietyusally for others. I think what Georgie actually is, is what everyone else is, an Avatar, specifically of the End. We only have one other End avatar, Oliver, but we see a numbing of emotions in him too. I think she's unable to feel fear like others because she's an End Avatar and that brings a dampening affect, for further proof see the book of the damned with Gerry and Eric, both who know it feels "bad" but still have their emotions dampened. Basically, Georgie is a misidentifyed Avatar and she can still feel Fear just not like she used to be able to.

What the Fear / FearScapeUK

Now what is their Fearscape? Firstly it doesn't fit nicely into the 14 but that's okay, we know in the apocalypse Smirks 14 is largely redundant. But their fear is simply their followers, both having this crushing fear of failing them, having to be the perfect leaders, and of losing them, which they always will. Just before S5 ends we see the Cycle about to restart.

Just Melanie and Georgie -> save a few -> save even more ("get greedy") -> lose a big chunk -> lose them all -> alone again, Repeat.

They'd go through this anguish over and over until the End consumes all, it allows them freedom like Basira and Daisy but they still only exist to suffer like those in every other Fearscape.

TL;DR Georgie and Melanie weren't lucky, they're Fearscape is them watching those they're supposed to protect being dragged of to torture whilst shouldering the guilt of being "spared".

[ijustwannabeavampire]

Recently felt compelled to make a knight oc for the sole purpose of putting him through The Horrors™

He doesn't have a name yet but I love him very much

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith comes over for Lance’s fifteenth birthday. Hunk is still in Hawaii, but he Skypes, and the three of them talk for two hours. It’s nice.

After Hunk hangs up, Lance decides he wants to make his own birthday cake. Keith decides he wants to help. Neither of them have ever baked by themselves before, but they figure it can’t be too bad.

And it isn’t – they make their way to Wal-Mart, buying six boxes of Betty Crocker’s yellow cake mix, because they don’t know if the box is telling the truth and it really does make a whole cake, so they figure a few extra boxes won’t hurt. They also buy eleven cans of icing, along with a bunch of blue food dye and sprinkles.

The next thing they do is try to put everything together. (They do, at this point, realise they have way too much shit. They only end up using two boxes for the cake, and one to eat the batter. And Lance will take no criticism on that – cake batter is fucking delicious.) That goes pretty well, too – they measure the ingredients and mix ‘em together. Easy. They even remember to grease the pan.

The… troubles, so to speak, come when they pop the cake in the oven and set a timer. Lance hoists himself up to sit on the counter while Keith does the dishes, because Lance is the Birthday Boy™ and is thus exempt from chores.

“In what world does being alive on a certain day mean you don’t have to do dishes,” Keith grumbles. Lance sticks out his tongue.

“In this world, where I am currently Queen of the Day, and you are subservient to me. Scrub the dishes in silence, mullet.”

Lance watches as the challenge visibly sparks up Keith’s spine. He straightens immediately, hands stilling. The sounds of scrubbing cease. Keith turns slightly to him, eyes dark and narrowed.

Lance gulps. He’ll deny it until his dying breath, but something stirs in his gut.

“What was that?” Keith asks carefully.

Lance has never been one to back down, even when he’s knee-deep in a pile of trouble. Especially not to Keith’s bitch ass, as objectively attractive as it may be.

“I said chop chop, get to work.”

Keith moves so fast he’s practically a blur. Water splashes everywhere, but Lance hardly notices. He’s too busy shrieking at the top of his lungs and vaulting over the counter. He sprints up the stairs, on all fours like an animal.

“Someone’s never seen a horror movie,” Keith growls, voice closer than Lance thought he was, and Lance chants in his head that it is not hot, it’s not, it’s lame and stupid and horrible and Keith is the worst. He is.

Lance finally makes it up the stairs and tears down the hallway, swinging into Veronica and Rachel’s bathroom and slamming the door shut milliseconds before Keith can follow him in. He turns the lock, panting heavily as the adrenaline hammers through his veins. The doorknob jiggles for a few seconds, as Keith turns the handle, but then stops abruptly. Footsteps fade as Keith walks away. Lance narrows his eyes. Since when does Keith give up so easily? (Once, Lance lied and said that he’s never once posted an embarrassing picture online and he has been carefully curating his online image his whole life. Keith pulled an all-nighter tracking down his old Tumblr account from when he was 11, and he didn’t even have his name on that thing. To this day Lance has no fucking clue how Keith found it, and lives with the constant shame that Keith has seen a picture of him posing in his room at like 3 in the morning, in front of his old Naruto poster, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue with the caption ‘im SO random XO RAWR XP’. If he thinks about the situation too much he feels like crawling into the nearest ditch and letting nature take him, so he shoves it quickly out of his mind, because it is his Birthday and he refuses to feel shame on his birthday.)

Suddenly the footsteps return, rapidly this time, and the handle jiggles again. A mounting horror washes through Lance as he remembers, abruptly, that the locks in his house are weird and every single one of them can be opened from the outside with a coin. Lance barely has time to even squeak before the door slams open and Keith comes barrelling through, colliding with him and sending them both tumbling to the floor. By the time Lance orients himself again, Keith is straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the ground and smirking at him.

“Who’s queen now, huh?” he taunts.

Lance swallows.

He swallows again.

He desperately prays his cheeks aren't as red as they feel, but he doubts God loves him that much.

“What’s the matter?” Keith asks, leaning closer. “Cat got your tongue?”

Lance isn’t even sure his brain is still working, let alone his fucking tongue. All he can feel is the length of Keith’s body pressed against his, the tensing of his muscles as he pins him down, the borderline fucking smoulder in Keith’s expression, two inches from his face –

A shrill beeping noise makes them both jump. They look around, then look at each other. What the hell is –

“Is that the smoke detectors?” Keith asks, and then they look at each other in horror.

“The cake!” they yell at the same time, and quickly untangle from each other and sprint back downstairs to the kitchen. The stove is billowing grey smoke, and a lot of it. Lance grabs a dishtowel and starts waving it back and forth, hoping to dispel some of it.

“Open the windows!” he shouts, and Keith rushes to comply. While he does that, Lance holds the towel in front of his face, slipping on an oven mitt with his other hand, and carefully opens the oven door. More smoke blows in his face, and he coughs, eyes burning. He blinks to clear them, and sighs in relief when he doesn’t see any flames. He carefully grabs the glass baking dish.

“Can you open the back door?” he asks. “I’m gonna set this outside, see if that clears the smoke a bit.”

Keith nods, and Lance rushes over to set the pan down on the concrete stairs. Luckily, the glass doesn’t crack. They go back inside, closing the screen door behind them, and take a moment to stare in hopeless silence at the hazy kitchen in front of them.

“So much for that cake,” Keith says.

“Mamá is going to kill me,” Lance breathes. “I am going to die at fifteen.”

Keith grimaces. “Maybe we can scrape off the burnt parts?”

Lance thinks back to the block of char currently sitting in the backyard, and imagines him and Keith with a butterknife each, desperately scraping off the black in a vain attempt to find even a sliver of edible cake before Mamá gets back from work, and the image is so ridiculous he bursts out laughing. Keith was already cracking up a little at his own damn suggestion, and loses it when Lance doubles over. That’s how Mamá finds them, in a smoke-filled kitchen, leaning on each other, struggling to breathe from both their laughter and all the fucking smoke.

“Lance, must you make a mess every time you have a friend over,” she sighs, and Keith and Lance just laugh harder.

“You and Keith are cleaning this kitchen from top to bottom. No exceptions. I don’t care if it’s your birthday, or that Keith’s a guest. He’s here enough that that’s hardly true, anyway. Dios.”

She walks away muttering, and Lance doesn’t even correct her about his and Keith’s friendship status. He finds that he truly doesn’t want to.

To be fair, Keith is about to spend the next couple hours helping him scrub the kitchen after they basically set it on fire. That’s something friends do, he’s sure.