#if no ones got me i know penguins got me thanks king

[aru-art]

JMART if nobodys told you yet. and if yes then !! marz x tangent? :3

woe jmart be upon ye (ref)

#if no ones got me i know penguins got me thanks king #jmart #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #tma #the magnus archives #my art #2024 #sketches #ship ask meme #ask #i was gonna draw both but then i got nerfed with uni work RAAA #theres sm more in my ask box that i want to draw but o|< #there should be more hours in the day i think. #i did in fact finally finish tma a few weeks back also #after putting it off for months. and it was uhh its been umm i errr (EXPLODES) #<- guy that knew how it would end since they first started it

[captainwholecake]

Hello!! 🏵️ How are you? And how areyou guys dealing with the heat?? I'm from France and here it's finally a bit cold so I can say that we're good for now 👀 Could I please request a headcanon for Zoro, Law and Ace if you don't mind? (separately) About how they would react to a small sized fem!reader?? With like the cute moments AND the feisty HORNY! ones 👀?? Thank you! (If you don't feel comfortable doing fem s/o i don't mind gn 👌😊)

A/n: I got this so late its almost winter here but the heat was fine and I’m going to try going the fem route but I’ll still add some gn elements so my enby, masc, queerfluid homies, and anyone else who isn’t fem can enjoy this

enjoy the long comeback post homies! ;)

Warnings: Look me in the eyes and tell all three of these mf don’t have some type of size kink / praise kink … anyways, nsfw because of horniness

——

Roronoa Zoro

* Wano Zoro is fire btw

anyways, the praise kink size kink middle ground

Law has a gaint size kink and Ace has a praise kink no more context is needed

Okay, lets not go on about the horniness first

I think he would be fine with it

Would ABSOLUTELY love getting shit off shelves and shit for his s/o but definitely acts like he doesn’t

Like some Tsudere bs

why do I feel like hed head pat them a lot

Its his love language ????

I imagined him snickering after he makes fun of his s/o being short and they make a angry face

whatelse sfw stuff do I want to say??

Imagining he would like to pick his s/o a lot

Bridal style, like a sack of potatoes, literally anything

ITS HIS LOVE LANGUAGE x2

He’d also give his s/o piggyback rides/let them sit on his shoulders whenever the crew is exploring and shit

Anyways, enough sfw

Like said on top the middle ground

He’d be in his s/o struggling take him

He’d coo at them about how adorable they look

LOVESSSS putting his s/o legs on his shoulders

(COUGH) also the mating press (COUGH)

you know that scene in the love equation where adam somehow puts olives whole breast in his mouth ??? Why do I think Zoro would try to do that ???

Face sititing??? yessir

loves his s/o being on top time to time

Okay, so I forgot about the praise kink part. i should clarify that the praise kink goes with the cooing and a lil of the heart pats

He’d see them struggling and go like “aw look at you taking like that, good baby” “sweetheart you’re taking me so well” type of way

Trafalgar Law

Have I used this gif before? I feel like I have but oh well

HES THE KINKIEST MF ON THE PLANET IN THE WHOLE ANIME MEN TELL ME I’M WRONG

ANYWAYS, ANYWAYS

Okay, so I feel having a small s/o for him would just him melting

Also having turn on a maternal instinct whenever their not in his slight

Penguin and Saichi going “uhh I think their with bepo” and Law loses it

He knows they can’t fight for themselves and all but also knows that they think their Chihuahua whose bigger then they’re actually are

anjssjejejw i’m so soft imagining how soft he would be

I feel he’d lean down sometimes to be at eye level them

so many forehead kisses

I have feel like all the important stuff on sleeves are low lever bc you its a submarine and all

but if they weren’t oh he make sure they were just for them

Can I say he would be OBSESSE with his s/o sitting in his lap?

Like he’s doing doctor shit late at night and his s/o has their head tucked into his neck 🥺🥺

To the whore bs

He’s probably the most into it when its comes nsfw activities

He’s SOOO into the size difference

Loves having his s/o suck on his fingers bc how big they are compared to his s/os mouth

Especially his thumb. Theres something about his hand cradling their jaw that gets him

Law would be one of those headpusher types but only do it when he knows the other person is okay with it (consent king)

He also loves the sound his s/o gagging bc their struggling to take him in their mouth (which is why he’s specifically a headpusher he makes them gag on purpose)

Strong would try use his devil fruit power in the bedroom energy

idk he takes their head off to show them exactly how small they are compared to him

Portgas D. Ace

I LOVE HIM OMG HES SO PRECIOUS WHY DID ODA KILL HIM (why does it look like he lit a blunt on fire in this gif)

Okay, the loml next

This teasing bitch

Would put stuff on the higher shelves so they have to ask for help

walks into the kitchen in shock and disappointment when he sees his s/o has climbed on the counter to get thing they need

pouts literally pouts when they don’t ask for his help to get stuff

THE WAY he wants one those cliche moments of ‘person a’ needs something high up but can’t get it so ‘person b’ surprises them by with warning getting said thing for them BUT CAN NEVER GET IT

Loves to carry is s/o around like zoro only difference for him is its need not a want

Will put his hat on them for the sole purpose of it making them look smaller by it going over their eyes

He also thinks they look good with it on

He loves when his s/o basically sleeps on top of him

You know sharing body heat (mf is made of fire)

Really likes to dip his head down when kissing his s/o and goes feral when it leads to him picking his s/o up and being at the same height

I’m getting to the whore shit now

Another thing with the hat, he absolutely LOVES it be on his s/o when their riding him

Praises galore

Always talking about how pretty his s/o and how well they take him

5 bucks says half of those praises are whimpers and whines

Can’t take his hands off their thighs (his hands are so oh big compared their legs)

Has to have their ankles on his shoulder

can not have his head in his s/o neck telling them how good they feel (WHY AM I SO PRO LOVE DRUNK ACE???)

Really likes wall sex bc hold them to be eye to eye with him

Last thing, this probably started as aftercare but just became something Ace does to comforts his s/o but he really likes to kiss both his s/o cheeks, then their forehead, tip of the of nose, and lastly a peck on the lips

—

A/n: the author note up top is from like October when I started writing this but I’m too lazy to change it but rn it’s really hot where I live, I need a job to pay off half my car but all the places I apply too never call me, send email saying their full staffed/i’m not moving forward, or when I do interview I don’t get a job :( but i’m doing good

Hope you enjoyed this massive comeback post :)

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece scenarios #one piece scenario #one piece headcanons #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d. water law #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x you #roronoa zoro x reader #ronoroa zoro #one piece zoro #one piece portgas d ace #one piece trafalgar law #whitebeard pirates #strawhat pirates #heart pirates

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 8

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Invitation

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 10.3k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food, AA meeting mention, jealousy, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, internal conflict, suggestion of sexual assault, trauma response, verbal argument, we're gonna pretend i know what i'm talking about w the criminal justice system but lets be real i don't

Notes: HEY HI! First of all big thanks to @frannyzooey for beta reading for me, I appreciate you with all my heart. Ok so up until a few days ago, this chapter was going to be this plus the birthday party. But I made an executive decision I think it will be better. So here's this and just know I already have a pretty solid head start on the next chapter lol. ANYWAY let me know what you think, ok love u bye.

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“…Happy birthday, dear Sarah, happy birthday to you!”

Sarah’s pudgy little feet patter in place on the seat of the dining room chair. Frankie rubs her back and says, “Blow out the candles!”

“Wait sweetie, let me just,” Angie scoops Sarah’s long chestnut curls into a bundle, “Ok go ahead.”

She leans over the small, two-tiered cake and blows them out one at a time.

“One… Two… Fwee… Four!”

All three of them cheer as the ribbons of black smoke dissipate into the air. Sarah claps her hands and squeals, looking up at her parents with big, sparkling eyes. Frankie can’t wipe the smile from his face. His heart aches with adoration.

While Ang plucks the spent candles from the cake and cuts it into sixteenths, Frankie takes a seat next to his daughter and asks, “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes,” Sarah nods, watching her mom slip a chef’s knife under the biggest slice of cake and plop it onto a plate. Angie slides the plate in front of her and gives her a fork.

“What was your favorite part?” he asks.

“Ummm,” Sarah stabs the chocolate sponge cake with her fork and manages to tear off a wobbly chunk, “The penguins.”

“The penguins! I never woulda guessed,” Frankie chuckles, glancing up at Angie when she hands him a plate, “Thanks, hun.”

Sarah carves a line into the air with her nose, a smile digging out dimples in her chubby cheeks.

“Got to stay at the aquarium for a long time today, huh? What kind of penguins did we see?”

“Mmm,” she pauses her attack on the cake to scrunch her face up and think about this, then resumes as she tells him, “King penguin… rockhopper penguin… emperor penguin… little penguin…”

“So many penguins!” he grins.

She giggles, “Yes.”

“And then we got pizza, and opened presents, and now we’re having cake.”

She wriggles around in her seat and giggles some more, “Yes.”

“That’s a good birthday, huh?”

Sarah nods and plunges a finger into the pink strawberry frosting.

“Use your fork, sweetie,” Angie reminds her, taking a seat adjacent to Frankie. 

Sarah sticks her finger in her mouth to clean off the frosting, then obediently picks up the fork.

“What should we do after cake?” he asks Sarah before taking a bite. 

The little girl hums thoughtfully, tapping one confectionary-coated finger to her chin, “We can… watch Happy Feet?”

Her big, dark eyes sparkle, a mirror of his own, and Frankie grins from her to Angie, “What do you think, Mama, should we watch Happy Feet after cake?”

She checks the smartwatch on her wrist and shrugs, “Sure, we can watch it for a bit before dropping Daddy off.” 

A pleased smile spreads across Sarah’s face as she digs her fork into the cake. Frankie turns his attention to his own plate, and a content silence falls over the table as the three of them eat. 

The silence is broken when Sarah asks, “Daddy, why don’t you sleep here anymore?” 

He stops chewing and looks over at Angie, who just tilts her head at him like she, too, would like to know the answer to this question. 

“Well,” he swallows a mouthful of cake and clears his throat, “Daddy, uhh… Daddy did something bad and got in trouble with the police.” 

She frowns at her cake, seeming to consider this, then looks up at him,  “Like when you and Mommy were fighting?” 

The response zaps him. Stuns him. His lips part to respond, but he finds himself speechless. 

What the fuck is she talking about? 

He combs through his memory and hits a snag. 

They just got back from some kind of a trip. Ang was giving him the cold shoulder. He recalls drinking in the garage, fuming by himself, trying to work up the courage to confront her. Yelling. Not just him, though, Angie too. Both of them just fucking screaming at each other. Blue and red lights outside. Doorbell. Cops. 

The scraps of his memory bind together and he remembers… it wasn’t a trip they all went on together. It was just Angie and Sarah. Not a fun vacation, either. More of a spur-of-the-moment trip to her parents’ house in Texas, inspired by his recently uncovered infidelity. 

Wasn’t Sarah sleeping? How the fuck does she remember that? 

Frankie shifts in his seat, glancing at Angie, whose face is inscrutable, then back to Sarah, “No. Well, kind of, I guess. Except worse. They took me to jail.” 

Her dark eyes go wide, “But bad guys go to jail.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

Leaning forward onto the table, he presses his fingertips to his lips and watches her sponge-like brain absorb this information. He’s getting into the weeds. Keep it simple. 

“They let me go, but now I have to have a babysitter like you do. That’s why I don’t sleep here,” he reaches over and tucks a loose ringlet behind her ear, “Does that make sense?”

Her brow furrows, “Is Chacha your babysitter?” 

Jesus fucking Christ, this kid. Asking all the right questions to make him squirm. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, she’s pretty much my babysitter now—”

Angie scoffs. 

He shoots her a sharp glance, “Until we know how much trouble I’m in, at least.”

“I saw Chacha at the park,” Sarah informs him, as if he wasn’t there. 

The nickname makes him chuckle. She hasn’t used it in forever, now twice in one night? 

When he thinks about how your face will light up when he shares this news with you, warmth sparks in his guts. 

“You did see Chacha at the park,” he gives Sarah’s arm a playful pinch, “She told me she was happy to see you, and that she misses you.”

At this, Sarah giggles, dimples and all. 

And, at this, Angie shoves her chair out behind her and stomps out of the kitchen. Like a fucking child. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

The thought strikes him square between the eyes. Brief, but distinct. He sweeps it under the rug of his mind to deal with later. 

“Mommy don’t like her,” Sarah tells him in a loud whisper when the bedroom door slams closed.

He has to stifle laughter. 

“Don’t worry about that, princesa,” he waves off the petulant outburst, leaning in to ask, “Would you like it if Chacha came to your birthday party?”

Sarah studies him for a moment. When the question registers, she smiles wide and nods, “Yes.” 

“I’ll talk to Mommy about it later, ok?” 

“Ok.”

“Whaddaya think, should we finish our cake in the living room? Put on Happy Feet?” 

She giggles, hopping off the chair to spin in circles and clap her hands. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he snorts.

Once the birthday girl is sufficiently distracted, Frankie follows his wife’s warpath to their bedroom. He pauses at the closed door, hand hovering over the shiny knob, grimacing at what will follow. 

Did Sarah hear their whole argument that night? 

What else does she remember? 

Does she remember the days he’d call off work to take the two of you to the butterfly house? Or how he would sneak up behind you when you were cooking and kiss your neck? Does she remember you scrambling out of the house, half-naked, gasping for air, while Frankie held Angie back?

Probably not. 

Hopefully not. 

He takes a deep breath and twists the knob, pushing the door open. 

Inside, Angie is sitting at the foot of the bed, texting furiously. Frankie enters the room, closing the door behind him. He approaches cautiously and sits down beside her. Brings his hand to the small of her back. 

She doesn’t acknowledge his presence. 

“Amor,” he murmurs, sliding his palm up and down her rigid spine, “You can’t get pissed at me every time she comes up in conversation. It’s not—” 

He cuts himself off with a thick gulp. 

This catches her attention. She tosses her phone aside and blinks, “It’s not what? Not fair? Is that what you were gonna say?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know, Ang,” he shakes his head, leg bouncing, “It puts me in a weird spot. Whether you like it or not, she’s a part of my life—” 

“Oh, for fucks sake—”

“And—and Sarah, she picks up on that, you know? That you don’t like her—”

“I don’t give a shit if she knows I hate that bitch, Francisco,” Angie spits, “Why shouldn’t I, huh? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.” 

Answers deadlock his throat. 

Because I care about her, and Sarah cares about her, and she cares about us. Because she has helped me more than any other human has, more times than I deserve. Because she saved my life, and you should be fucking grateful. 

The thought makes him shiver as it replays. 

You should be fucking grateful.

He tries to bypass the question, clearing his throat before taking Angie’s soft hand and meeting her eyes, “I know this arrangement has been hard for you.” 

Her features sharpen. She pulls away and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Unease rings out his stomach. 

But a sense of familiarity dawns on him, too.

It reminds him of conversations he’s had with you the past two months. Those “State of the Union” discussions that loom, dark and terrifying, but end up making him feel ten pounds lighter when they’re all said and done with. 

And, fuck, he wants this to feel better. Wants to be in the same room as his wife and not feel like he’s walking on the razor’s edge. 

“Hey,” he takes back her hand, “Stick with me, ok? We can talk about this.” 

Angie glares at him, but waits. 

“We are friends. That is it. Just like Santi and Benny and Will—”

“Remind me, did you fuck any of them?” 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

He stares back into her piercing gaze, with pleading eyes, “Ang.”

Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head, but doesn’t storm off or start screaming at him, so he continues. 

“I know I fucked up by having sex with her. It was—It was a mistake.”

Angie’s features soften. Relief floods his veins, warm and buzzing and sedative. Like the first drink at the end of a stressful day. 

And, much like when he would finish his first drink, he aches for more. 

“It was impulsive. I was so fucking numb, I needed to feel something, and she was around. I’m not, you know, into her, or attracted to her—”

Angie scoffs. 

“I know it sounds like bullshit. I know,” he squeezes her hand, “But if I could go back in time and do anything over, it would be that day.”

She studies him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

“It didn’t mean anything, amor. I love you. I mean, fuck, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying.”

Her shoulders slump. She swallows hard and looks down at the floor. Her nails twitch against his palm and the rush it gives him flips his stomach upside down. 

“I’m sorry, Ang.” 

“You’re sorry you got caught.” 

“I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I was so fucked in the head I found comfort in someone else. I took you for granted, and I’m so sorry.”

Angie lets out a little sob. He should feel remorse. At the very least, he should feel something other than sick satisfaction at her finally breaking. Just a little bit more. Almost there. 

“But that day is behind us now, and what I have with her is entirely platonic. She has Rory, and I have you, and we are friends. She’s helping me out right now by giving me a place to live, and driving me places while my license is suspended, and just being… a really, really good friend to me. I know that’s hard for you, and I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but I promise that’s all it is.” 

“I hate it.” 

“I know,” he nods, pulling her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I know, baby. I just need you to trust that I’m doing this for you and Sarah. The two of you are everything to me. I love you.” 

Angie sniffles and straightens her spine, then looks over at Frankie, “Can you promise me something?” 

Her warm gaze is glossy and full of emotion. He leans into it, answering, “Anything.” 

“When the trial is over, and you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.” 

It sobers him instantly. 

He pulls back, shaking his head, “Ang, I can’t—”

A fire comes to life in her eyes.

“If you give a single fuck about our family, you can and you will. You told me your friendship with her is a means to an end. Is that still true, or no?” 

Slowly, he nods, but it feels wrong. The dull blade of guilt rips his belly open. 

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. 

“Then you cut ties with her when this is done. Do that for me and I will put my feelings about her aside.” 

That’s what Angie tells him, but what he understands is this is a reprieve. A stopgap. It buys him some time to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do because—

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

He swallows the thought down with a thick gulp and says, “Alright.” 

Angie blesses him with a peacemaking smile. 

Despite his churning stomach, he returns the smile and squeezes her hand, “Can… Can you do me a favor, though?” 

“What?”

“Let me invite her and Rory to Sarah’s party.” 

She stares at him like she doesn’t understand, then scoffs, “No.” 

“Why not?” 

Jumping to her feet, she shouts, “Because she fucked you in our bed, Frankie, do I really have to explain that?” 

He stands too, “You just said you’re putting those feelings aside, and she’ll be with her boyfriend, I don’t understand what the big deal—”

“Why does she even want to go?” Angie crosses her arms and scowls. 

“She misses Sarah. And Sarah obviously misses her, too. I mean, you heard her at the table earlier.” Frankie approaches her, placing his hands on her waist, searching her face, “I’m with you, amor. I promise. This would just mean a lot to both of them. Especially if they won’t be able to see each other again.” 

She softens a little. Her jaw ticks to the side, then she sighs, “Fine.” 

He represses the smile from his lips and murmurs, “Thank you,” before pressing a kiss into her forehead. 

She hooks her hands behind his neck and drops her eyes to his mouth. His pulse jumps as she captures his lips in hers, alive and wanting. The sugary sweetness of strawberry frosting makes his taste buds perk up and want more. 

Her long, red nails work into the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching that deep, aching itch for her favor. That’s the thing about Angie. She gives her affection sparingly, and when he earns it, it feels so fucking good. 

He can’t remember the last time she touched him like this, with enthusiasm and hunger. 

It was before he quit drinking. Before the failed attempts at marriage counseling. Before Angie came home from work early and caught her husband fucking the nanny.

It’s strange how something as trivial as early dismissal can alter the trajectory of so many lives. His own path seems to be an infinite freefall, always bracing for impact but never meeting the ground. 

Drinking more. Fighting more. Pushing you away again and again and again while trying to transplant these feelings into the right relationship. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Especially now, when Angie kisses him, and all he can think about is your lips, your tongue, soft and slick and writhing on his. The heel of your hand kneading against his stiffening cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, eyelids fluttering open to meet her gaze, not yours. 

He wishes it was you. 

But he closes his eyes and lets her guide him back to their bed, settling for the next best thing. 

Frankie hears the buzz of an incoming text message from his pants pocket. He kisses Angie’s sweaty forehead and departs from her body, snatching the discarded jeans off the floor. 

> MARIPOSA:  > Rory is over here fyi, let me know when you’re on your way 

A nagging, confusing spring of jealousy bubbles up in his chest. Something else, too. Like guilt, but deeper. An infection festering away inside him. 

“I should get going before the birthday girl falls asleep. I don’t wanna have to wake her.” 

“Can’t you stay?” Angie asks, stroking his arm, “I mean, really, Francisco. Your PO won’t ship you off to jail for spending the night with your wife, will he?” 

Her gentle touch is a branding iron on his skin. Searing. Territorial. He has to stop himself from lurching away. 

He slides his pants back on and shrugs, “I don’t really wanna find out.”

“So fucked up.”

“I know, baby,” Frankie fishes his shirt off the foot of the bed, tugging it over his head, “I have to, I’m sorry.” 

She releases a sigh and pulls her shirt back on, “Oh, don’t forget, on Thursday my parents will be here.” 

Nodding, he stretches his arms above his head. How could he forget? 

“Try to get along with my dad.” 

He rolls his eyes before turning to face her, “Tell him the same, yeah?” 

She snorts and fastens her jean shorts, raising an eyebrow, “I will, but you know how he is. Don’t take his bait.” 

Frankie grunts in response while buckling his belt. Fully dressed, they meet at the door. Angie looks him over, giving him a rare warm smile before telling him, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

She kisses him, and he places that rotten feeling: shame. 

Frankie walks up the cement path, craning his head up towards the cloudless sapphire evening sky, admiring the way it contrasts the tangerine siding of your post stamp of a house. The sun hangs just at the horizon, and its absence lends relief from the stagnant July heat. 

It’s a nice night, but he’s still a little surprised to find you and Rory are sitting out on the front porch swing, his arm draped around your shoulder with you all tucked into his side. Sure, it may be better than coming home to your closed bedroom door, with just the indistinguishable murmur of your voices to drive him crazy, but still… not ideal. 

The sight causes something deep within Frankie’s chest to clench and pulse, growling, “MINE.” 

Fuck, he couldn’t be more a hypocrite. 

“Whatta we have here, a couple of swingers?” he jokes while climbing the front steps.

It’s a bad joke, and in poor taste given the circumstances, but the sneer on Rory’s lips gives him a rush of satisfaction. 

Conversely, you light up when you see him. Your smile is fucking luminous. A goddamn heat lamp. He feels himself melting into the floorboards. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You sit up and put a little space between Rory’s body and yours, “Hey! How’d it go?” 

“Good,” he crosses his arms, leaning against the banister with a shrug, “Went to see the penguins, had pizza, presents, cake, all that.” 

“Did she like her gift?” 

“She loved it. She said she’s going to sleep with it tonight—Oh, that reminds me—Ang gave the green light for you two to come to her party on Saturday if you still want to.” 

“Holy shit, really?” you ask, eyes widening, then chuckle and shake your head, “Sorry, I’m just surprised. She really said that’s ok?”

“Yeah,” he smiles despite the guilt condensing in his stomach, and asks Rory, “Know if you can make it?” 

Rory’s head jerks back a little, and he frowns, “Well, this is the first time I’m hearing about it. But, yeah. I have nothing else going on,” he looks at you, “If that’s ok.” 

“Yeah, of course.”

Your words come out airy and unconvincing. Rory studies your face.

Frankie calls your attention back to him, “Guess what she called you earlier.” 

You avert your gaze from Rory’s, tucking your hair behind your ear before you chuckle, “Oh god, did she learn it from her mother?” 

He laughs at this, shaking his head, “No, she called you Chacha.” 

“Shut the fuck up, did she really?” you gasp.

Frankie nods, “Hand to god.”

You sit with this for a few gleeful seconds before your smile falters, and you say, “I miss her.” 

“She misses you, too,” he tells you, “She’ll be happy to see you this weekend.”

You nod, then look to Rory, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line. He stares at you a beat too long for comfort. The air around the porch swing seems tense.

Frankie glances between you and Rory, then clears his throat and says, “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.”

You mumble a brief, distracted, “Oh, ok,” before he walks into the house. 

As he closes the door and leans back against it to untie his work boots, he hears you ask, “What?”

Both the sharpness in your voice and its volume make Frankie halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the curtains rustle from a light breeze. Quietly, he pulls his boots off and sets them on the shoe tray. Morbid curiosity keeps him rooted in place, barely breathing as he listens in on your conversation. 

“You didn’t tell me we were invited to his kid’s birthday party.”

“He said he would ask, but I wasn’t going to invite you until I knew for sure whether or not we could go.”

More silence, then your voice again, “Oh my god, what is your problem?” 

“I don’t like how you are with him.” 

“How I ‘am’ with him? What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.” 

“I really don’t, could you explain it to me?”

Rory pauses for a beat, then says, “You’re flirting, both of you, right in front of me. I don’t like it. And—and I want it to stop.”

“What am I doing that you think is flirting?” 

“It’s not just you—”

“What he does is irrelevant, he is his own person—”

“It’s fucking disrespectful.”

The silence that follows writhes under his skin. 

This is private. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But he can’t bring himself to move. Some fucked up part of him wants to hear what you say to Rory about him. How do you defend yourself? Do you throw him under the bus, too? 

Are you just as bad as me?

Your voice comes through the window again, metered and firm, but shaky. 

“What am I doing that you consider flirting?” 

Rory scoffs, then says, “It’s the way you look at him and talk to him. Always smiling at him, and joking with him, and asking him how his day went—”

“Wow, how dare I ask my roommate—my friend—how his day was.” 

“That’s not what I mean. It’s—it’s—I know it when I see it, ok? There’s obviously something going on between you two.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan, “Because I smile and joke with him, and ask him how he’s doing, we are so obviously fucking. You’re totally right, Rory. You caught me.”

“He’s a fucking loser, you know that, right?”

Another long pause. 

“I want you to leave.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously, get the fuck off my porch.” 

“I don’t have my—”

“I’ll get your shit.”

Frankie hears the porch swing creak and his heart jumps. He launches himself forward and manages to collapse on the couch as you swing the door open. 

You freeze when you see him. Your eyes flick from him, to the open window, then back to him before you scoff and stomp off to your bedroom. 

Rory steps into the doorway, standing at attention with his hands shoved in his pockets. Frankie stares at him. Something protective and instinctual, almost paternal, wells up inside him and fine tunes his nerve endings.

From the back hallway, you holler, “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to get the fuck off my porch.”

Frankie can’t stop himself from laughing.  

Rory glares at him, “Fuck you.”

You steamroll into the room wielding a backpack and shove it into Rory’s chest, “LEAVE.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“I sure am. Get the fuck off my property.”

Rory holds your gaze for an intense moment before turning to go. You slam the door behind him and deadbolt it, then go to the front windows and do the same with them. 

“I’m—”

You hold up a hand to Frankie and exit the room. A few seconds later he hears your bedroom door click shut. 

After scrubbing his skin raw in the shower and changing into pajamas more comfortable than he deserves, Frankie tries to go to sleep early, but finds himself restless. 

He stares at the ceiling, at his phone, at the walls. When he hears running water in the bathroom, he wonders if you’re getting ready to go to bed. Wonders if you’re ok, and if you would accept his company. 

He thinks about his wife. Her nails digging into his shoulder blades, her hot breath on his cheek. The electric squeeze of her cunt as he came inside her. 

What would you do if you knew? 

Would it tear you apart, or could you care less?

Fuck, why does he feel so guilty? 

For the sex just as much as the tentative agreement he made. 

You know he intends to stay with her, and there’s nothing going on between the two of you. Not really. Nothing certain, at least. Right?

Sure, there was the slip up the week after he moved in. And the panties. And, yeah, some flirting. Not intentional when Rory is around, despite what he may think. And maybe you got off next to each other once. Then there’s the cuddling, and the hand holding, and this deep, aching, maddening desire to spend every ounce of his free time with you. To know all of your favorite things, and your life story, and your ticks. To make you feel happy and appreciated and safe and loved. 

And loved. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

His muscles and tendons vibrate with anxious energy. 

It brings him to his feet and compels him to wander through the dark, silent house, into the living room, confirming its vacancy. He starts off towards your bedroom. The light from your open door slices through the dark back hallway like a beacon. Floorboards creak under his step as he makes his way towards it, and when he arrives, he leans against the door frame. 

You’re stretched out horizontal across your bed, belly-side down, facing away from him, hovering over a thick book. He studies the curvature of your body, lingering on the generously exposed swathes of soft skin that lead to the hem of your shorts. 

“Are you just gonna hang out in the doorway like a weirdo?” you glance over your shoulder, then back at your book. 

“Sorry, I, um... I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting.” 

“You’re not,” you sit up and crawl to the head of your bed, tapping the empty pillow beside you, his pillow, his spot. “Come on in.”

While he walks over to the furthest side, you plump the pillows on your side of the bed and stuff them behind your back, then resume reading. 

“What’s that?” he asks as he stretches out across your bedspread.

You lift the cover to show him and sigh, “Still chipping away at Doctor Sleep.” 

“It any good?” 

“Terrible, that’s why I’m reading it.”

Frankie snorts and shakes his head while digging his phone from his pajama pants, “Are you doing ok?”

“Wow, you’re full of great questions tonight, huh?” 

“Maybe you’re just full of sass tonight, ever think of that?” 

“Doesn’t sound like me.” 

He raises his eyebrows and murmurs, “No comment.” 

“That’s, like, actually a comment though, in itself—”

“Weren’t you reading?” 

“Weren’t you—I don’t know, reading the news or whatever dads do on their phone?”

“Looking for car parts,” he corrects. 

“Same thing.”

Frankie drops his phone on his chest and looks at you, “Not even close.”

You peek around the corner of your book, “It’s like, equal levels of dad-ness, though, so basically, yeah.”

“Levels of dad-ness,” he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head, “You’d know something about that, huh?”

“About what, how daddy you are?” you laugh.

He shrugs, meeting your eyes. You hold his gaze, mouth cracked open in a mischievous smile, then shake your head and look back at your book, “No comment.” 

Grinning like idiots, you both go back to reading and browsing, respectively, although Frankie can’t concentrate for shit with you next to him. His skin aches with the heat of your body so close. 

He listens to every breath you take, every wet swallow, every microscopic wiggle bringing you closer. Minutes go by, but he doesn’t hear your page turn once. 

Eventually, you let out a powerful yawn, and it spreads to him. 

You grab the bookmark off your nightstand and tuck it between the open pages before closing it, “I should go to bed soon—” another yawn interrupts you, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” he sits up, stretching his arms over his head, then looks back at you, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your features melt and soften, lips parting as you meet his eyes. This invisible force keeps him anchored there, tugging at his chest, urging him to move closer to you. He glances at your mouth, at the pink flash of your tongue wetting your lips. 

He doesn’t want to go. 

He wants to stay and kiss you breathless, to fall asleep with the warmth of your body lining his, to wake up in your bed and never fucking leave. 

He wants to take back everything he said to his wife earlier today, to defend your honor like he should have, like you would do for him, like you did for him. 

Fuck, he doesn’t deserve you. The hole he dug for himself is a just punishment. He needs to let you go and allow you to find peace with someone else who won’t hurt you like he has. Like he will inevitably do again. 

You reach out and place your hand on his arm, thumb grazing his tingling, heated skin, “Do you want to stay?” 

The contact floods him with feel-good chemicals that his hungry synapses gobble up. 

“I, umm—”

His throat swallows around his thudding pulse. It fucking hurts how bad he wants you right now. He finds himself leaning back on his elbow, gravitating closer to you, resting his hand in the dip of your waist as you roll on your side to face him. 

“Is that a good idea?” he asks. 

“Probably not,” you search his face, your gaze catching on his mouth.

His heart skitters and he doesn’t really notice that his fingertips dig into your side until your whole body shivers in reaction. Doesn’t really notice he’s been inching closer to you until your breath grazes his lips. 

The sound of your ringtone cuts through the thick air between your bodies. 

You sit up and shake your head, trance broken, then reach for the source of the noise with shaky hands, “It’s Rachel. She’s full bridezilla mode, this might take a while.”

“Ok,” he nods, “I’ll go.” 

You look over at him, apologies written all over your face. An impulse yanks hard on his body and urges him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he slips a hand behind your head and pulls you into a kiss. 

Your lips are soft and warm, fucking perfect, just how he remembers. They barely have time to respond before he draws back and tells you, “Goodnight.” 

You watch him crawl out of your bed, stunned silent for a moment, then answer the phone, “Hey, Rach—what’s wrong?” 

Frankie glances up at you as he closes the door behind him, and sees you tracing the dumbfounded smile on your lips. 

When he turns out the lights in his room and crawls under the covers, even though he knows damn well he won’t find sleep for hours, he does the same. 

Frankie is at work, elbows deep in the engine compartment of a Bell 407, when the call from his attorney comes. 

“Your case is on the docket,” the voicemail tells him when he returns to his small, shared office space, “Trial is scheduled for Wednesday, September 6th. We might still be able to find a favorable plea deal, so I’ll get working on that, but either way, I’d like to set up a call with you early next week to discuss your options moving forward. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.” 

He takes a seat at his desk and stares at his phone for a minute, then replays the message to make sure he heard correctly. He did. 

The earth tilts. 

Everything seems to crumble as reality dawns on him. All he can see are cold steel prison cell bars and stiff orange jumpsuits. Angie’s words from the other night echo in his head:

“When the trial is over, when you leave her house—I don’t want you to talk to her ever again.” 

A vast, unshakable hollowness overtakes him.

Or… or maybe it’s the opposite. 

Maybe he’s so heavy and full he’s just sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, endless pit of his mistakes, down, down, down… 

He unlocks his phone to return his lawyer’s call, but pauses when he tastes the salt of his own tears. Confused, he wipes his eyes and stares down at his damp hand.

Frankie just sits there for a moment, watching tears splatter onto his palms, stunned. When did he start crying? Why did he start crying?

He knew it was just a matter of time before the consequences of his actions became real. Now it’s happening and he’s blubbering like a baby. 

I need to get my shit together. 

He stands and shoves his phone in his pocket, shaking out his hands.

A string tugs at his chest, leading him to Michael’s desk. He watches the closed door as he carefully pulls open a drawer. Inside, he finds a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The string pulls taut, urging him to do it. 

He thinks about Angie. How her sour attitude always poisons his mind. How this thing between them feels so distant, so vacuous, he doesn’t know how he will ever restore it. 

He thinks about Sarah. How much he’s failed her as a father. He thinks about his own father and wonders if it’s pointless for him to keep resisting fate. Was it always going to be like this for him? Does it matter if he tries to be better, or is this all futile? 

He thinks about you. His chest aches and he feels tears burn behind his eyes again. He wishes you were here. You’d know what to say or do to make him feel better. 

Frankie takes the cell phone from his pocket and dials your number. He glances up at the door again as the line rings. 

“Hey,” you answer, sounding slightly confused, “What’s up?”

Kids squeal in the background as he tries to find his voice. Words catch in his throat, the only thing that comes out is a rasp. A sob. He’s fully crying now. Staring at the whiskey. 

“Frankie, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” 

Your concern is audible. It reaches through the phone and coaxes him to speak. 

“I, um,” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m kind of freaking out right now.” 

“Why, what’s going on?” 

“I just got my court date,” he sniffles, clears his throat, then says, “I feel… hopeless.” 

“Where are you?” 

On your end of the world, Frankie hears a door click shut and the chaotic background noise becomes muted. 

“In my office.” 

“What’re you doing?” 

He pauses, so you repeat the question. 

“I’m staring at a bottle of whiskey,” he admits quietly. Just a whisper. 

“Ok,” you breathe, and he can hear your mind start to whiz into action, “Ok. Did you drink any of it?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Thank fuck,” a sigh of relief crackles in his ear, “Ok, that’s good. Good job. Can I come get you? I—I mean, do you want me to come get you now? Because I can—”

“No, sweetheart,” his eyes flick to the ceiling, trance broken, and he pushes the drawer closed, “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I will—”

He turns towards his desk, “No, really, it’s ok—“

“Oh my fucking god,” you huff, “Look, I am responsible for you. Not only that, but I—I care about you, Frankie. I need to know that you’re safe. And dry.” 

Warmth sprouts up beneath his sternum and branches out under his rib cage. 

“And—and it’s ok if the answer is no, because I can just come get you and bring you h-home,” you stumble a little on the last word, but you recover quickly, “Are you safe?” 

“Yeah. I just needed to, um,” he turns and leans back against the desk, pressing his fingertips to his mouth, then drops them and says, “Thanks for picking up.”

“You promise you’re not falling off the wagon?” 

“I promise.” 

“Good,” you say, your sweet, soft voice tinged with a smile, “If you’re lying to me, though, I’m gonna break your thumbs.” 

“Break my thumbs?” he chuckles. 

“Yeah, you know how many bottles you can lift with broken thumbs? None.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “Alright, alright. Don’t get out your vice grips just yet, buster.” 

You laugh and Frankie feels his heart swell with adoration. There’s a bit of an awkward pause when your laughter fades out, then you murmur, “Thank you for calling me. Instead of… you know.” 

“Yeah.”

“Still need me to pick you up from your meeting later?” 

“If that still works for you.”

“Of course it does,” you coo, and he can hear the smile in your voice again when you say, “So, about my movie pick for tonight...”

He grins, “Uh-huh. You got a good one?”

“Well, the thing is, I was going to pick The Shawshank Redemption, but that seems a bit too topical now—”

Laughter bubbles up Frankie’s throat, and he shakes his head, “Hey, maybe it’ll give me some pointers for tunneling my way out of a prison.” 

“That is so true. In that case, maybe I’ll keep it. We’ll see,” you chuckle, “Ok, well… I’ll see you tonight, then?” 

“I’ll be there.” 

When Frankie sees your car pull up to the strip mall coffee shop that holds his Friday night meeting, a few thoughts populate his head almost instantaneously. 

At the very forefront is the reminder that he kissed you. 

It was a peck, really, just a quick kiss goodnight. But for three days, the first thought on his mind when he sees you or thinks about you or breathes or does anything really is that he fucking kissed you. 

After being notified of his court date, Frankie should only be thinking up ways to see minimal jail time. But every time he finds a still moment, before anything else, he pictures you sitting on your bed, rubbing your lips and smiling as he leaves your room. 

The thought that follows this one, on par for the past three days, is that he fucked Angie. 

Has anyone ever felt this fucking terrible about having sex with his wife?

Then, on top of that, he said shitty things about you and let Angie do the same. He knows he didn’t just betray you, but he betrayed himself, too. It wasn’t just wrong, it was disingenuous. That knowledge fills him with a heaviness so profound, at times he thinks it might break him. 

Which brings up the last thought that shotguns through his head following the kiss, then Angie: 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

What “this” is, he hasn’t quite figured out yet. His marriage? His obsession with you? Sobriety? Life itself? 

Fuck, all of the above? 

All he knows is he means it, and that “this” is not sustainable. 

He built a timebomb with no countdown. If he concentrates hard enough he can hear it ticking in his bones, whispering in his ear: 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Frankie opens the passenger door to your car and sits down, closing it behind him, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” you throw the car into reverse, craning your neck around to check for oncoming traffic, “How was your meeting?” 

“It was… good, actually,” he stretches out in the seat and shrugs, “Yeah. I, uhh, I think I needed that today.”

“Yeah?” you glance over at him, “So your opinion that it’s, and I quote, ‘total bullshit’ has shifted a bit?” 

He chuckles, “I guess so.” 

“Wow, look at you. A changed man,” you smirk, “You’re almost two months sober, you know that?” 

“Feels like centuries,” he taps his lips, then tells you, “But also days, sometimes. I don’t know. It’s weird.” 

“Is it getting easier?” 

Not at all. 

The thought surfaces from the hungry part of his brain. The beast that just wants and wants and wants, regardless of the cost. But that’s not necessarily accurate, even though it’s the loudest part of him. 

“Sometimes,” he admits, “Sometimes I can’t imagine being that person again. And—and sometimes all I want to do is drink until I don’t care about anything anymore.”

“But the meetings help?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“What step are you on?”

“Well… I haven’t actually started the steps. So, zero.” Before you can ask, he adds, “I don’t know why. I should. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.” 

You nod in acknowledgement, then a few seconds pass before you tell him, “Last time I talked to Ralph, he suggested I check out an Al-Anon meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“I’ve been thinking about doing it,” you glance between him and the road, “Would that be weird?” 

“I don’t think it would be weird at all,” he answers, tapping his fingers against his knee. 

“Really?”

“It might be helpful, talking to other people in similar… situations, I guess.”

“Ok. Well, yeah, maybe I’ll check it out.”

“You should,” he gives your arm a playful pinch. 

A smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Your hand moves towards his, then the fingers curl back and you mutter, “Sorry,” before returning it to the steering wheel. 

Frankie studies your face, watching your jaw gnash around like you’re chewing on your goddamn tongue again. He lays out his hand, palm facing up on the center console. 

You look at it, then release your white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to place your hand in his. 

Once you do, he interlaces your fingers and pulls your clasped hands to rest on his leg. His thumb absentmindedly works against your skin as he looks out the window at storefronts and restaurants rolling past. And, for the first time all day, he feels sated and calm, like he knows everything will turn out ok.

As the end credits to Moulin Rouge! run, Frankie looks down at you sleeping peacefully with your head on his lap. He rubs your arm, murmuring, “Sweetheart.”

You wake with a start, jolting upright, and clamber to the other end of the couch. Your wide, frightened eyes glow with the ambient light of the TV. Every muscle in your body is rigid and guarded. You look like a cornered animal. 

“Hey,” he holds up a hand, “It’s just me.”

It takes a moment for you to recognize him and your surroundings, but when you do, you slacken, burying your face in your hands, and release a sob.

He stares at you, afraid to move, not wanting to rattle you further. A minute goes by like this, while you cry and he sits there frozen and uncertain. 

“Sorry,” you sit up and wipe your eyes, shaking your head, “That was fucking weird I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize. It’s ok.” 

“Ok,” you stand on shaky legs, “Well, goodnight.”

When you walk past him, he calls out, “Hey, wait,” and grabs your hand, “Are you ok?”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t pull away, either. For a moment he doesn’t even think you’re breathing. When your breath returns, it’s a sob that racks your body. You shake your head and choke out, “No.” 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” 

You nod, so he stands and follows you to your room. The lights stay off as he crawls into bed beside you, ushering you into his arms. You feel so warm there, fit so perfectly, even with your stuffed panda bear cuddled into your chest. 

When he thinks about your nightmares, your panic attacks, the times like this when you seem stuck somewhere far away, he desperately wants to know who did this to you. 

He can connect the dots. He doesn’t need you to tell him the gory details. If he could put a name and a face to the scars in your psyche, though… 

He cuts his thoughts short, not wanting to see all the methods of vengeance his volatile brain can come up with. Not with you right here, safe in his embrace, drifting to sleep. 

The long, slow breaths expanding and contracting your rib cage lull him into a hypnotic state, and sleep comes to him easily, the way it only does when he’s with you. 

Frankie wakes in your bed at dawn.

Eyes still closed, he frowns when a breeze slices through the thick, stagnant air and cools his skin.

He mutters to himself, “You stole the goddamn blanket again, didn’t you?”

One eye peaks open and confirms his suspicion. At some point overnight, you managed to twist yourself up into a cocoon on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Hmm?”

The noise is muffled and groggy. He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

The heap jiggles a little. Your hand pokes out from underneath it and grabs around for him. He scoots closer, peeling back a poofy duvet layer to reveal your serene, still mostly sleeping face. You wince at the dull light of day, but a smile ticks across your lips when you make contact with him, smoothing your palm against the heat of his chest before worming your way into his arms. He pulls the blanket with you, draping it over himself, even though the air is hot and soupy, just to feel your warmth because it’s yours. 

You mumble something into his shirt. The words all stick together when they dribble from your comatose lips and he can’t make out a single one. 

He smirks, “What’s that?”

This time, you tilt your head to the ceiling, notching the crown of your head between his collar and jaw, smacking your mouth a few times before repeating yourself. 

This time, he understands. 

“IIiii love you.” 

His heart skitters electric through his fingertips. 

He tries to keep his countenance calm when he peaks down at you. Your eyes are closed, breath passing through your slack lips in long, halting strokes. One foot in the door of consciousness, if that. 

Fuck it. 

“I love you, too.” 

Every synapse in his brain shoots off like the grand finale of a fireworks display when he says it. A sweet, sleepy hum sounds from your throat as you feel around blindly for him, patting up his arm like you’re searching for a light switch in the dark. 

When you reach his face, your wobbly fingertips twitch a little. They graze his stubbled cheek, then follow the curve of his smile. Your eyelids flutter open, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, but when they do, you don’t go to move or push him away like he was half-expecting. 

No, instead, your gaze slides to where you trace his lips, your own parting with a sharp breath. 

If he says anything, he’ll fuck this up, he’s sure of it. And he wants to squeeze every last drop from this moment. So he just watches you and tries to subdue the wildfire scorching his bones to dust.

“I had a dream about you,” you tell him in a hoarse whisper, as if someone might overhear. 

His pulse surges. He feels his limbs wiggle a little closer to you as he asks, “A good dream?”

You nod.

“What happened?” 

The answer tucks into the corners of your mouth and spreads across your face in a big party banner smile, “I dreamed that you, um…”

You lick your lips and shrug, raking your nails along his jaw, reeling him in closer. He doesn’t want to be the fool that makes the first move. Not unless you want him to be. 

“That I what?”

The question leaves his throat in a rumble. Permission, he needs your permission, baby, please—

Then you kiss him. Delicate and hesitant, like a question: “Do you want this?”

“I do,” every cell in his body cries, aching with restrained force when his lips move in response, pressing hard against yours like a declaration, “I don’t just want this, I need this. I need you.” 

A moan bows your vocal cords, vibrating onto his tongue as you yank on his shirt and roll onto your back, pulling him on top of you. It’s like second nature, how his hips arch into yours, the dull edge of your pubic bone grinding against his already stiff, throbbing length. 

He keeps expecting you to come to your senses and shove him away, but you don’t. You keep kissing him, pulling him closer, tongue rolling soft and wet against his—morning breath be damned, thank fucking god. If you tried to shoo him now, he might die, too much inertia from this pulsing, maddening energy rippling beneath his skin, it would tear him to shreds. 

Your lips part from his and you peer up at him through your lashes, studying his face as you tug at his cock over his shorts. His whole body shudders, a groan spilling from his chest, and you smirk, “Take them off.” 

“Are you sure?”

You glance at his lips, then meet his eyes, “No, but do it anyway.” 

Frankie sits up and strips off his clothes, watching you do the same. You pull him with you as you lay back on your elbows, lips meeting again and again in frantic, desperate kisses. His cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you whine, “Please—” 

He pushes forward, swallowed up by your tight, wet heat, catching the whine of “Fuck yes,” that escapes your mouth. A thick wave of pleasure rushes up his spine, and your hips work against his, taking him faster, the shared movements quickly escalating. 

“So fucking good,” he pants, nipping at the column of your throat as your head falls loosely back, “Sweet girl, you take me so well, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding up at the ceiling, mouth hanging open slack, eyes pinched shut, “Oh my god, yes, Frankie—”

“That’s it, baby, say my name,” he growls, this insane gush of hot, writhing ecstasy flooding his body, “Look at me.”

Your head snaps up and you meet his eyes. He slips a hand behind your head and cradles your skull, holding you here, fucking you in deep, long strokes, asking you, “Whose pussy is this?”

“It’s yours, Frankie,” you gasp, nodding, “It’s yours, it’s always yours, fuck—”

“Fuck yes it is,” his voice sounds far away, babbling all on its own as he grapples with the fire growing inside him, “Does your little boyfriend fuck you like this?” 

You let out a pathetic whimper and shake your head, “No.”

“Do you think about me when you fuck him?”

A nod, continuing frantically when he asks, “Think about how you wish it was me to make yourself come?” 

“Fuck, holy shit, Frankie—oh my fucking god—”

You’re so fucking close. His muscles start to clench at the overwhelming pleasure. 

“That’s it baby, come on, let it go, it’s ok, be a good girl let me feel you come on this dick—”

Your moans grow louder, matching his fervid thrusts, and he feels you suck him in, the spasming squeeze of your plush, hot walls yanking him violently over the edge. Liquid static condenses, then pulses through him, and he lets out a guttural noise as he fucks his load into you. 

The rhythm of his hips slow, then come to a stop. 

He looks down at you, panting, and brushes his thumb against your cheek, searching your face for signs of regret, and notices you’re studying him in the same manner.

You smooth your hands over his shoulders, then pull him into a sweet, lingering kiss. When your lips depart his, you release a heavy sigh, dragging your nails through his damp bed head as you ask, “What time do you have to go?” 

An old, familiar ache returns. Reality setting in. He realizes what the day holds in store for him. Sarah’s birthday party. Spending the day with family and friends, playing pretend. 

When he thinks about being around you and Angie simultaneously, how he will have to act neutral or even cold towards you, his stomach twists and a sour taste rises in his throat. He’s been here a million times and it always leaves him nauseous with shame. It doesn’t feel right. It never felt right. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Everything seems to click into place. He understands what he has to do. 

“Pablo is picking me up around 9.”

Your throat bobs and a crease forms between your brows as you avert your gaze, fingers still working through his hair, “Today’s gonna be a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?” 

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss into your forehead, right on the little worry lines, mumbling against your skin, “It’ll be ok.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “We just fucked, now we’re gonna spend the day with your wife and daughter, what could go wrong?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he chuckles, but you don’t find it funny. 

You flinch and look down, hands curling to your chest. Frankie tilts your chin up. When he meets your eyes, they’re bloodshot and watery. He opens his mouth to say something, frantically searching his brain for some kind of band-aid, but the box is empty. He’s not sure what to say to comfort you. All that comes out of his stupid fucking mouth is, “I—fuck, sorry.” 

“No, it’s ok,” you wipe your eyes and sit up, so he draws back, watching you scramble to put your shorts back on, “I, um… I’ll go make some coffee.” 

He wants to assure you it will be ok, that he’s going to fix this, make things right. Something he should have done years ago. But the words lodge in his chest. What if he can’t fix it? What if it’s another promise he can’t keep? 

So he just sits there and lets you walk away for the millionth time. 

After taking a shower and getting dressed, Frankie pours a cup of coffee and walks into the living room, where you’re scribbling in your notebook, limbs twisted up into a tight knot. Uncertainty paralyzes him in the archway between rooms. He takes a step back, pauses, then steps forward. 

You smack the notebook and blink at him, “Oh my god Frankie, just sit down, you’re making me nervous.” 

He nods and strides over to the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion beside you with a groan. Meanwhile, you return your attention to the notebook, furrowing your brow as you write.

Curiosity flips his stomach. Is it about him? About what just happened? 

Desperately, he wants you to share your feelings on the matter with him like you would your journal. The unfiltered truth. 

Do you want this like I do?

He takes a big, burning sip of coffee, then asks, “What’re you writing about?”

Your eyebrow arches and you continue to scribble as you narrate, “Dear diary, he’s gonna be super fucking weird about this now, isn’t he?”

Frankie snorts, shaking his head while you spear your pencil down the notebook’s wired spine and smirk at him. He tugs at one of your ankles, and you welcome the invitation, stretching your legs out across his lap and he scoots closer. 

“Am I being weird about it?” he asks, glancing down into his steaming mug. 

You exchange the notebook for your coffee and raise it to your lips before shrugging, “A little. But I think I am, too, so…” You take a loud sip, then lower your mug and ask, “Do you regret it yet?”

He doesn’t even think about it. The answer barrels from his heart to his mouth. 

“No.” 

A timid sort of smile curves your lips. It reminds him of the way a neglected animal would react to an outstretched hand. Cautious. Not sure if he’ll slap or pet you, but hopeful. 

“Really?”

He nods, searching your face, “What about you?”

“No. But—” your smile falters, eyes dropping to your coffee cup, “But I’m scared.” 

Guilt pools icy cold in his guts. His throat bobs on its own accord. He takes your hand, weaving his fingers with yours.

Your face twists into a pained expression and you croak, “What are we even doing here?” 

“I don’t know yet,” he shakes his head, “But give me some time—”

“I can’t be your mistress again,” you whisper, shaking your head as tears pool in your eyes, voice escalating, tinged with panic, “Please don’t ask me to do that again, it would kill me, Frankie, I fucking can’t—”

“Hey—no,” he sits up to place his mug on the table, takes yours and does the same, then scoops you up onto his lap.

You bury your face in his neck. Sobs work through your body with violent force—a horrible, tortured sound that pulverizes his heart. All he can do is squeeze you tight and do his best to restrain his own tears. It barely works. Self-loathing bubbles under his skin. 

His voice cracks as he tells you, “I won’t do that to you again, mariposa, I promise. I’ll fix it, I promise I’ll fix it, ok?” 

He clenches his eyes shut, cradling you as a few more strangled noises burst from your chest, each one driving the thought deeper: I don’t want to do this anymore. 

“Give me some time,” he rasps into your hair, “I promise I’ll fix it—”

“You’re just saying that because I’m crying,” you choke out in an accusatory fashion, then take a big, wet, gasping breath. 

“No, I’m not—hey, look at me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes, but you shake your head in protest, covering your face, “I don’t want to, I’m ugly crying.”

“Ugly crying?” Frankie snorts, “I don’t know about that, let me see.” 

Your shoulders bounce with a soggy, muffled chuckle, “Shut up.”

He smirks at the spunky response as you sniffle and drop your hands, shooting him a glare he knows you don’t mean. Feigning seriousness, he pinches your chin to inspect your damp, puffy face. 

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue and sighs, “Just as I thought. Too goddamn pretty for your own good.” 

To this, you roll your eyes and chuckle, “You’re a liar.” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs, thumb sliding across the plush of your bottom lip, “But not about this.”

Your gaze softens as you search his face, “Which part?” 

“All of it.” 

“Really?”

Frankie nods. 

You study him, brow furrowed, eyes welling up. Everything is so silent and still, he wonders if the world stopped turning. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you croak out, “You better not be fucking with me, Francisco.”

“I’m not—”

“Because, I swear to god, if you’re lying—”

He cups your cheeks and holds your gaze steady on his, “I promise, ok? I’ll tell Ang later this week. But today…” He trails off, shaking his head, “I don’t know.”

A few tears break loose, so he wipes them away. 

The column of your throat bobs and you ask, “Do you still want me to go?”

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, “Do you still want to go?”

“You first.” 

“I’d like it if you did. And it would mean a lot to Sarah,” he slips his arms around your waist and leans back onto the couch. You follow, laying your head on his shoulder, melting into him as he pets your hair and says, “But it’s up to you. It might be hard.”

“Because you’re still… with her, right? Like this?”

His chest aches. You flatten your palm against his heart and he tells you, “Yeah. Well, kind of. It’s different, but yeah.” 

“Different how?” 

I don’t love her. Not like this. 

“I, um… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just a different person. Our relationship isn’t like this. It’s kind of like it was, but, you know… worse.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “Do you still fuck her?”

“No.”

The lie slips out automatically. Immediately, his stomach drops to the ground. He wishes he could take it back, and for a second, he considers it. But, at the same time, you don’t need to know about a one-time fuck up. 

He shifts a little, looking down at you, “But we’re still… affectionate sometimes. Which could be hard to see. So, it’s up to you.” 

You smooth your hand up his chest, to his neck, and sit up to meet his eyes, “I’ll go.”

Frankie nods, searching your face. 

“We can behave, right?” your eyebrow quirks, and you glance down at his mouth. 

“Uh huh,” he leans closer, inhaling your breath, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. 

But when his lips meet yours, and sparks ignite under his skin, he knows it’s just another lie. 

#designated person #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

[tanoraqui]

the thing is... JK Rowling did write the books. She certainly did write the books, which was the pivotal first step.

However, here is an incomplete list of people who meant more to my experience of reading and enjoying the Harry Potter books than JKR ever did:

My grandmother, who read them because she loved to read and because she wanted to understand what the hell her granddaughter - whom she'd recently moved 3,000 in part to live near - spent 90% of her time talking about; who passed away this past fall.

My other grandmother, who read them for more or less the same reason except without the cross-country move; who passed away in 2014. It was in her honor that I bought the current set of books I own.

The uncle-shaped family friend who always listened to me expound on my latest theories for the next book, and told me his own like an equal in intellectual debate

That one writer on Mugglenet's fanfiction archive who wrote a crack soap opera fic in which Professor McGonagall got pregnant from Crookshanks, and the children were cat-human hybrids whom they called "kiddens." That haunts me to this day.

Honestly, collectively every single person who wrote content, be it recordkeeping, fic, or analysis, for MuggleNet circa 2005-2008. Some people spent their internet-childhoods on Neopets or Club Penguin; I read every single page on MuggleNet.com.

The summer camp counselor who'd read HBP when I hadn't yet, and who responded to my positively tsundere attitude toward spoilers by telling me straight-faced that Harry started dating Luna [not Ginny]. A) The fucking audacity! she lied right to my annoying 10yo face! B) I got to experience the giddiness of finding out what happened twice, once then and again later when I read the book! Thank you, Natalie(?) from Y-Camp!

The two friends with whom I went to the DH midnight release party at my local secondhand bookstore, in closet cosplay. We were all in the first 5 people to get our books, and we promptly started reading them while standing outside the bookstore, in the light coming through the front window. 1 of them was parentally required to go to bed but the other and I stayed up all night reading, until we finished the books sometime mid-morning.

My dad, specifically when he (still) tells the story of having to make a "walk of shame" (his words) back to the bookstore the next afternoon, to ask if they had the broom we'd accidentally left behind.

The tourists from America, England, France and China who were all waiting in line at the Platform 9 3/4 overpriced photo op in King's Cross Station the same time I was, in the summer of 2013, which unironically made me feel more spiritually connected with humanity as a whole than possibly any other experience in my life. Like, this is embarrassing. It's a pure tourist trap. Yet people from LITERALLY all around the world had all made the same journey I had to be there, just because we all loved the same books. and that's...really special.

...you know? So, JKR is doing real harm to the trans community now, and will continue to do more and maybe even worse in the future; and I am so, so sympathetic and angry about that. I have no intention of giving her money or any other support ever again, nor of encouraging anyone else to do so.

But all her present vitriol is only drops in the lake of my warm memories. I don't let them give me a falsely rosy view of her, but nor will I let her poison them. And I encourage others to let themselves find the same balance, if they can.

#hp #i am...not going to tag this beyond that #it'll travel in the right circles if it's meant to #this is me

[heaven-s-black-box]

Normal- Lyney x Neuvillette's child!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: April 27th, 2024

Description: Hello it's me, sorry if this is a bad time, but I got inspired by Arlecchino's story quest, and I wondered about combining that with my previous two requests about the reader being Neuvillette's child, this is mainly just an idea so if you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with @crystalkat6747, we thank her for her contribution. Ahh, I actually finished the story quest the day before you sent this request, lol. Can be read as a part three to Let it out and Definitely a Date but can be read alone.

Word count: 810

Back to directory

Lyney watches the moon’s light drift across the ceiling. Lynette is curled up against one side and Freminet is curled up against the other, both sound asleep after their return to the house. He watches their lashes flutter against their cheeks, eyes flicking back and forth behind their eyelids as they dream. Pleasant dreams, he hopes.

He turns back to the ceiling and chokes down a breath as Lynette’s head presses against his ribs awkwardly. His wounds from their fight with father were mostly healed, but still tender. She shifts off him again quickly, eyes opening briefly as if she could sense his distress.

The long shadows continue to dance above them as Lyney's thoughts drift back to the fight.

As for whether to take them, the choice is yours.

Carefully, Lyney slips his arms out from under and around his siblings and inches towards the foot of the bed. Almost as soon as he’s climbed out, Lynette and Freminet roll towards each other and grab on to each other's hands. It makes him smile, the way they take comfort in each other, like a family.

The streets are empty and dimly lit as he makes his way through the court. He eventually finds himself in front of a familiar house and rounds the side to climb up to Y/n’s window. Their curtains are tied back, and he just sits in the tree for a while watching them.

On their bedside table, he sees the rainbow roses he’d given them on their first date a week ago. Next to those is a little penguin, an otter, and two cat mechanisms that Freminet had gifted them for their last birthday. They looked like a little family.

A clicking noise and the swishing of the window opening startled him.

“Ly-Lyney?” Y/n yawned. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked owlishly.

“I…”

Y/n stared back at him for a moment before backing up and waving him in. They sat back against the headboard of their bed and Lyney crawled next to them, curling against their side.

“You wanna talk about it?” They whispered, arm wrapped around Lyney’s shoulder.

“We can’t have a normal life,” Lyney said, staring at the mechanisms on their bedside table. “I mean, I can’t have a normal life. Not as a member of the house of the hearth, and that means that we- OW!” 

He hissed as Y/n pinched his arm. They cupped his chin and forced him to look up at them.

“I love you. I don’t care what our normal looks like, if it doesn’t look like everyone else's then so be it.” Lyney blinked up at them, cheeks turning red. There was a small frown tugging at the corner of their lips as they continued. “What brought this up anyways?” Lyney chewed at his lip. “Is this about that proposal for former House of the Hearth members?”

The magician’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How did you-”

“My father wanted my opinion,” they shrugged, letting go of his chin.

Lyney slumped back against their shoulder and laced his fingers with theirs. In turn, they hooked one of their legs through his so they were wrapped up in eachother.

“The House of the Hearth is my family, but the other day… it gave me a lot to think about. I could leave at the cost of my current self, not that I want to but it’s never seemed like an option before.We’re preparing for a dangerous mission with other Harbingers, and father wants me to be the next king. I know this was never going to be normal but for just a moment I imagined what it would be like if we were.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Y/n offered again.

Lyney squeezed their hand.

“If I left the house, would you come find me again?”

“Always.”

“And if I die on this mission, would you miss me? Would you be there for Lynette and Freminet?”

“Dying, will not get you out of this relationship, and bold of you to assume those two will let you die without them.”

Lyney let out a snort of amusement while Y/n smirked.

“And if I became the King of the house?”

“Lyney, I’m not leaving you.” They leaned their head against his. “I may not know what exactly is going on, but I love you, and I’ll stand by you no matter what you decide. I never expected you to leave the house, and part of what I love so much about you is your dedication to your family.”

Y/n looked down, finding Lyney’s eyes and offering him a loving smile.

Lyney’s eyes caught once more on the little family diorama on their bedside table before he looked back at them and squeezed their hand again.

“Then will you marry me?”

#researcher s's recovery #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact lyney #lyney #lyney x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #oneshot #genshin impact oneshot #rating unavailable

[preet-01]

I've had this idea for a few days. Batman Max/Catwoman Daniel

When Max decided to don the cowl and cape, he’d done it to protect the city he’d grown up in. For the most part at least.

Gotham ran rampant with crime — mob bosses, crime lords, and costumed villains alike ran around causing havoc. The GCPD and district attorneys did the best they could, but corruption was more common than one would think. So Max had become the protector that the city needed.

By day, he was the elusive, playboy billionaire with more money than anyone ever needed. If Max Verstappen wasn’t off doing some rich person extreme sport, then he was believed to be in his empty manor with a new flavor of the week. And by night, much to the chagrin of Alfred, he was vengeance personified. A demon bringing fear into the eyes of Gotham’s rogues gallery.

But for all he caught the Joker, Scarecrow, Harley, Ivy, Penguin, Riddler, and all the various other rogues that weren’t actually deadly but more like nuisances that would ruin a perfectly gloomy day with their antics (particularly Condiment King or fucking Calendar Man), one rogue always seemed to evade him.

Catwoman.

He’d heard conflicting rumors about the cat burglar, but one thing remained consistent — the Cat was drawn to shiny things. And despite all the doom and gloom that Gotham was known for, there were countless shiny things for the Cat to steal.

He gets his chance to catch the Cat when there's a new museum exhibit opening. He doesn't go to the museum, no Catwoman is smarter than that. Well, Max hopes that Catwoman is smarter than that because otherwise, Max has been unable to catch an idiot.

Instead, Max heads over to the mayor's mansion. The mayor's wife had recently been in the news for buying a new diamond necklace. it was ostentatious in Max's opinion, but with the new diamond necklace resting on the mayor's wife's neck, then the rest of her jewels would be back at the mansion.

_____

Max is crouched in the shadows as a man dressed in a black skintight suit and cat-shaped cowl sneakily enters the mayor's mansion.

He doesn't make a move until Catwoman (or is it Catman? He'd only heard Catwoman from other Gothamites and talk about how Catwoman's childbearing hips. He would have to ask about that) leaves the mansion.

With his grappling hook, Max swings over to the roof that Catwoman is using for his escape.

"That isn't yours," Max growls, thankful for the voice modulator he uses these days.

"Haven't you heard, darling, finders keepers," Catwoman drawls. His lips quirk up in a smirk. "I was wondering when the Dark Knight would honor me with his presence," he continues on, raking his eyes down Max's body.

"Honor?" Max questions, no rogue was honored by his presence. Terrified? Yes. Manic? Almost always. But never honored.

"Oh, definitely an honor, Batsy," Catwoman retorts. "And as much as I want to explore this, I've got brand new pearl necklaces to try on."

"You know I can't let you leave with those," Max states. He's got a batarang in hand.

"A shame, darling," he sighs and jumps off the building, "until next time!" He yells. To Max's surprise, Catwoman lands on all fours like an actual cat would.

#batman au #maxiel #Batman max #catwoman daniel

[starflungwaddledee]

clearing my inbox of a variety of asks with text replies, or ones that will get art answers later but that i still figured i could get back to now with simpler responses in the interim.

lots of anons, but i'll ping anyone who i can!

topics include: general nice words + people's theories (thank you!!), dededesign, daroach (sorry), sentient ancient artifacts, magolor (sorry...), whispy woods (SORRY...). there's also a decent scattering of awtdy and clockwork heart tidbits but they're all over the place, and a small collection of increasingly desperate asks hoping bandee will be released from morpho dee 😂

oohh this one is actually super old, sorry that i never got back to it! i get a little overwhelmed by the Nice Words ones sometimes and i'm not sure what to say besides 'thank you!!' because it means a lot to me and 'thank you!' just sometimes feels like it doesn't cut it...?

anyway, i'm very grateful!! i'm thrilled if i could inspire you to try out any constructed-language work of your own!! i'd love to see more of that going on in the kirbyverse so if you ever give it a crack feel free to lmk!

i'm glad you like the full penguin dededesign; quite a few folks seemed to enjoy that actually and i was pleasantly surprised! i haven't drawn that much of most characters besides bandee, to be fair, but the next comic will be about dedede and should answer some of the other questions i've been getting about him too!

i should say that it's likely the totally full penguin design won't make it for the comic, because it's hard to draw the sheer length of their bills from many angles or having the expressiveness i need for dedede, and i really only did that one for funsies. but i'll hopefully find a nice compromise!

aaaa the joy of being mentally unwell about The Characters and The Story. thank you, glad i can be of service! 👍

this is quite perceptive of you to notice and it's definitely something that occurs in the timeline. due to galacta knight's influence (and kirby's altered reputation) visitors and threats- both international and intergalactic- start to think twice before risking an approach.

alas, because daroach appears in the timeline before galacta knight's switch-in occurs, he would already be in contact and friendship with kirby. that unfortunately means he'd meet the same fate as the rest of kirby's existing allies.

@i-only-created-this-to-read a little similar to the above ask, yes, the intergalactic picture of popstar is definitely changed by the presence of a violent, otherworldly warrior and a ruthless hero. i also answered your questions about necrodeus previously and am not sure what else to say about him.

i have confirmed before that dedede is not dead, and more about his scenario and overall role in the plot will be revealed in comics. but i will say that he's a smart guy, despite his silliness, and a loving king. he absolutely came to the same conclusion about the frequency of his own possessions as well, through no small amount of heartbreak.

i definitely headcanon the Lor as sentient; in the light novels, bandee also speaks to her fairly directly. i actually headcanon all the Ancient artifacts as having an amount of sentience (this seem in line with what we've seen in canon, so i don't think it's a reach) and the lor herself seems especially benevolent to me.

our headcanons for the novas are different to yours, though that plays more of a role in the clockwork heart au. i quite enjoy your theories about how the ending might go and you've definitely picked up some details!! i won't confirm or deny anything, but i will say the lor is present in the AU, and that magolor has enough knowledge of artifacts to know that a wish on a wishing star could be a viable solution.

it took a while for folks to start asking me about magolor actually, which i found kind of amusing because he's the deuteragonist (second protagonist, after bandee) of the au!

i do definitely think that canonically magolor lives on the lor starcutter; though he does say he wants to buy a holiday home on popstar! however in awtdy, unlike the dream land four three, magolor's entire timeline is trashed from the get-go by galacta knight's arrival

some of these answers will take me longer to get to as i'll provide them in comics (it should be a fun reveal at least), but i will say: he hates popstar. he hates it there. he'd give just about anything to be anywhere else.

until he meets bandee, of course.

the rest of popstar fare a little better or a little worse at various points in the au, kind of like in the mainline canon timeline. for the most part, galacta knight isn't that interested in most of popstar. he enjoys living there, it's peaceful and undeniably pleasant, and frankly he'd like to continue doing so!

he can be convinced (by kirby, and the maintenance of the lie) to perform care to some of its citizens when necessary- such as rebuilding after a crisis. but in general he minds his business in dream land, and occasionally off-world or interdimensionally with kirby and bandee on missions.

whispy, who also keeps to his own in the woods and is just a cantankerous old tree, is probably fine. at least up until star allies, when he, you know. gets possessed.

@pumpkinnkidd oh absolutely.

@torrentialchaos2 that would be a different story to chrysalis au, i think! one i could write, but haven't. chrysalis au is specifically about bandee, you can't really extract him from it? 😭 but if morpho possessed magolor it would depend on a lot of things: like what is everyone's relationship to him when it happens? i think even when he comes back from his redemption arc, magolor and the gang are friends, but it's not the same as bandee, who is a core member of their unit.

we've already seen what happens when magolor gets possessed and kirby has to Beat His Ass to get him back to normal. and we've seen that when morpho possesses others who are capable fighters, kirby doesn't hold back. so maybe that? magolor is a magical little guy; he's got a better chance of getting spat back out unscathed.

i could however probably write a version of this for magicapple if i wanted, which would be much more emotionally pulverising lmao

@trainerbob23 thank you!! this one took me a bit to respond to sorry, but i'm grateful for the warm welcome! the AUs are definitely my primary investment and i'm glad that folks are enjoying seeing them develop! some of them are connected to each other (awtdy + it's various endings/alts) but others are separate.

i also do have some backstory/lore for starstruck dee, which i'll hopefully get to soon as well. i would say that she is... very much related to stars and the cosmos, yes.

@eliastheownerof0axolotls this one was part of a longer ask (that i've answered part of, and still have another part of in my queue... sorry;; ) but i think this part- especially in terms of kirby- has probably been mostly answered by now! both kirby and dedede have significant roles!

i view dedede as having a mentor-like dynamic with bandee as well as with kirby, and they all care about each other very much! but (especially because they are all adults in my hc) he also absolutely trusts them to handle themselves.

referring to this post and the (cw angst) art at the end. i will hopefully answer some other asks about the clockwork heart au which will satisfy more of its overall premise and timeline and all, but in regards to the peculiar image...

why that picture is completely normal!! bandee is super fine and normal in it and everything is great and good and fine and fine and fine and fine!!! hhahaha!!!

(something very bad is happening, lmao. entirely doomed by the narrative.)

speaking of bandee being doomed by the narrative:

some tags here as well, but i just love the frequency of these...

bandee gets possessed one time and everybody loses it... quick!! when will he get unpossessed!!! save that little guy!!! he's sad so we're sad!! (relatable. everyone is so valid.)

the tags on the main posts about morpho dee are just full of people screaming and crying and being like "NOOO I HATE THIS SM I'M IN PAIN /pos" and it's so good hahahaha

sorry to the folks who hate to see him going through the blender, he's being spun in the microwave at like 90mph on my blog. but don't worry, chrysalis au does have a predictably good ending; though obviously bandee has some capital S Stuff to unpack afterwards!!

🌟⭐✨

aaand i think that's all for now! hopefully if you've been hanging out for an ask for a while you're answer is here, and if not (and possibly even if it is), it's most likely taking me so long because i want to do an answer with art.

i'll try not to let these build up again like this, thank you for your patience!

#won't tag all the characters mentioned but i'll tag the AUs just due to the presence of some asks being about them #or plots or storylines or clarifications. nothing too spoilery... maybe. mostly. #awtdy au #clockwork heart au #chrysalis au #asks

[riddle-me-ri]

Okay, okay, hear me OUT

Reader asking the different versions of Ozzie if they can hold something for a moment and when they agree, she shows them her empty hand (with the intention of them holding it) What are their reactions? I N E E D to know. Pre-relationship, if you feel like making it more awkward. Thank you 🤧

A/N: This is some dumb dorky shit I would do and then cringe about it for years and years afterward. But I'ma make it cute here, rip. Thanks for the request!

The Penguins - Can You Hold My Hand?

Arkhamverse Penguin:

"What is it, love? I'm very busy y'know?" 

You walked into his office, you just wanted to at least swing by and say hi. You made your way over to his desk.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were busy, I thought I could swing by and say hi and…maybe ask a quick favor?" You asked nervously, not so sure if this was a smart idea anymore. But maybe just maybe, he may get a chuckle out of it? He'll like you a little more?

"Well, guess I'm not too busy then, what do ya need?" 

You perk up a little at the open door. "O-Okay, um, could you hold something for me?" 

"Uhh." Oz looked around, you didn't bring anything in with you, what was he going to hold? 

"Sure, but love, what exactly…oh!"

He looked down to see your open palm. Your face was flaming red, you knew he was smart, you hope he’d get it. 

After a pause of silence you hear a low chuckle. Then a warm sensation fills the palm of your hand that slowly goes to your wrist. 

You look down and let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“I didn’t know you were so cheeky, love.” Oz chuckled. 

“W-What? I just thought it was cute.” You smile, holding his calloused hand back. 

“You are pretty adorable, but I got to get back to work. Don’t worry, if you need another lift, I’ll be here.” 

Reevesverse/Farrell Penguin: 

“Hey, Ozzie!” You ran up to him in the VIP area. He knew you and he did like you, and the feeling was mutual so you weren’t too shy about walking up to him no matter where he was. 

“There she is! How’s it going, sweetheart?” You both exchanged kisses on each other’s cheeks. 

“Going great now that I’m finally here! I got a favor to ask you!” You were practically beaming, you saw someone do this to their significant other online, and you were dying to try it out on Oz. 

You two weren’t dating, but god if you weren’t going to try and make it happen. You two flirted with each other like you were, just haven’t vocally said anything exclusive.

“Anything for you, doll! What can Ozzie do for ya?” 

“Could you hold something for me?” You asked with a little grin on your face. 

Oswald gave you a quirked eyebrow, but caught on to what you were doing. He can tell by the playful look in your eye and the bright grin you gave him.

“Of course, doll, but are you sure you wanna trust me with something so precious as your heart?” He hummed. 

You gasp. “Ozzie!” You couldn’t help but laugh softly, he’s the only one who could catch you off guard in your own game. 

“No sir. Not tonight, maybe some other night, but tonight I just want you to hold this…” You laid of your hand, palm out in front of the crime boss. 

Oswald was surprised, but recovered with a smile. His gold tooth glinting in the light. Oz didn’t waste any time and clasped his hand with yours. He brought the back of your hand up to his lips and kissed the individual knuckles. 

If you were made of ice or wax you would’ve instantly started melting at the gesture. Sure, he’s kissed your hand before, but never so…intimately? This was beyond just manners. 

“You don’t gotta ask me, sweetheart. It’s always a pleasure to hold your hand.”

Gotham Penguin:

Oswald had just got through with a meeting with his hench-people. (We love an inclusive king)

He seemed very frustrated and flustered. Just as soon as he acquired his empire, it didn’t take long for various factions to try and take it right back from him. 

You decided to stick around after the fact, to try and maybe lift his spirits if you could. He did always seem to appreciate your company, and you his. 

“Is there anything I can help you with, Y/N?” He asked, noticing you still sitting next to him at the long dining table. 

“Um, actually, Oswald. I was wondering if you could hold something for me,” you giggled nervously. You laid your hand out in front of him on top of the table. 

Oswald’s eyes widened as he looked down at your open palm. 

Um, what the fuck?

Oz’s eyes darted between your hand and face. You gave him a lopsided smile, and shrugged cutely. 

“Y-You want me to hold your hand?” He asked softly. 

“I would like that, yeah…if you don’t mind. Looks like you could use a hand.” You giggled.

“Um..rude..” Butch commented from the other side of the room. 

“Oh..sorry, Butch!” You cringed, but tried your hardest to suppress your laugh. 

Oswald chuckled a little under his breath too, before he finally put his hand in yours, and squeezed it softly. 

“I think I could, thank you, Y/N.” 

Telltale Penguin:

It was another night out. Oswald had just gotten back to Gotham after being away overseas. You two had always been sorta close, not as close as him and Bruce, but close enough to be considered friends. 

Albeit you wished it was more than that. 

“Right, well, we’re we heading to tonight, love?” Oz grinned at you as he came down the front steps to his apartment. 

“I thought we could check out this new club. Just opened yesterday. I’ve heard some good things!” You suggested as the two of you started walking down the sidewalk. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You looked down Oz’s side, his hands were tucked firmly in his jacket pockets.

You remember helping him patch up his hands from all his street fighting and boxing tournaments he participated in. Anything to get his agression and frustrations out. They look bony, long, but they packed a mean punch. 

They were also very warm, they maybe rough, but they were comforting and warm whenever you helped him wrap gauze around them. 

“Hey Ozzie, could you do me a favor?” You playfully bump your shoulder with his and he chuckled. 

“Sure, what is it?” 

“Could you help me hold something?” 

Before he had time to ask what something, you flew your hand out of your jacket pocket and held it out next to his pocketed one. 

Oz was taken aback at first, before he gave you a small grin. “Figures, you’d pull a cute little trick like that..”

“It’s not a trick, I just want you to hold my hand, Oz.” You rolled your eyes, hoping your annoyed facade hides your true nerves.

Oz hummed and took his hand out of his pocket and into your hand. “Suppose not, but next time, you can just ask, sweet cheeks.” He winked. “Your hand’s warmer than any pocket anyway.”

Batman the Animated Series:

Oswald had just gotten out of Stonegate and you figured the next day you could treat him to a trip through the Gotham City Zoo. He always liked to check in on the penguins in the exhibit, and you would check up on them weekly when he was gone. You knew he would be so excited to see the new baby emperor penguin.

Oswald will never fully understand your intentions. He knew they were true, but he would never understand how…why…why you want to be with him? He appreciated it, but he never quite understood your friendship. 

“I can’t wait to show you! He looks absolutely adorable!” You squealed. You were excited Oswald was here beside you and plus you too look forward to seeing the chick again.

“Oh, I have no doubt he does. They all look adorable with their fresh down feathers.” Oswald smiled. 

You two kept walking side by side until you finally reached the exhibit. You couldn’t help that your smile widened as you saw Oswald absolutely light up at the sight of his namesakes. 

The baby was still huddled up under his father, but you could tell the little chick was curious and wanted out. The chick slipped out and made eye contact with Oswald. 

He honked out to Oswald, as he tilted his head to the side like a confused dog. 

Oswald laughed at the exchange, absolutely enthralled. The baby tried to waddle closer to you two, but was stopped when he noticed the edge that lead to water. He honked out again, as if calling Oswald to come closer. You saw Oswald’s wedge fingered hands hold onto the railing outside the exhibit. 

“Hey Ozzie…” You started, not sure how to ask for such a small, but intimate request. 

“W-What is it, my dear?” He asked. 

“C-Could you hold onto something for me?”

“Whatever do you mea-oh!” He noticed your hand opened towards him. 

“U-Um, I-I don’t think you’d want me to hold your hand..” He looked down at his oddly shaped hand. All he had was a thumb and two appendages that would make four fingers if they weren’t forged together by skin, like some sort of creature. 

You nudged your hand closer to his, hovering it over top of his. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want too, Oswald.”

He gasped when he felt your hand in his. Your hands were warm, skin soft, and fingers dainty. Oswald immediately returned the gesture be enclosing his hand over yours. 

“Your hands are warmer than I expected after holding that chilly railing.” You giggled. 

“Haha, yes…it would appear so.” Oswald chuckled nervously. 

HONK!

You both were shocked out of the moment by a certain chick. 

“I’m sorry, little one, we were not giving you any attention?” Oswald asked. 

The chick honked and nodded his head. 

You laughed at the connection between Oswald and the chick, but your heart was beating fast at the connection of your hand in his. Especially as he squeezed your hand in excitement at the chick. 

#the penguin x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #arkhamverse penguin x reader #arkhamverse oswald cobblepot x reader #reevesverse penguin x reader #reevesverse oswald cobblepot x reader #farrell penguin x reader #farrell oswald cobblepot x reader #gotham penguin x reader #gotham oswald cobblepot x reader #telltale penguin x reader #telltale oswald cobblepot x reader #batman the animated series penguin x reader #batman the animated series oswald cobblepot x reader #btas penguin x reader #btas oswald cobblepot x reader #ri writes

[itsthesinbin]

Ice King n Reader’s dinner date having a steamy ending ?

LETS FUCK THAT OLD MAN!!!!!!

Ice King (Adventure Time)

You knew Ice King wouldn't really be allowed in a lot of places, so you took it upon yourself to raid his kitchen and make dinner there. The penguins helped out, carrying bowls and ingredients and utensils around as you needed. Ice King took the extra time to trim his beard and get into his good pants.

When he got to the table, he was surprised. You were in a nice outfit- the only thing off about it was the suit jacket he always gave you when you stayed over. Your usual hat- gifted to you by Finn- was hung up on the coat rack. You smiled sheepishly when he came in, giving him a weak jazz hands.

"I'll pay you back for the food I used," you said, hoping he wouldn't be too upset that you had to use his supplies. "My uh... The food I had planned to use fell out of my bag on the way here."

He looked at the small spread, then back at you. His eyes were wide- in shock and disbelief. You could see a touch of color to his blue skin as he coughed.

"No one, eh.... No one's ever made me dinner before." He sat down. You both ate, with the penguins getting pieces of safe food for them every now and then. You talked about whatever, mainly him telling you about past beat downs he had gotten from Finn and Jake. Not that they weren't deserved, but you felt bad that he got his ass kicked so often.

You were going to clean up, but he told you to let Gunther and the others deal with it. He pulled you out before you could protest, leaving the penguins to clean. You two sat on his bed, almost awkwardly as he shifted in his spot.

"Thanks for... this. Believe it or not I haven't actually had this nice of a date in a while," he laughed, but you could tell there was something on his mind. He was confused- clearly not used to this treatment. He was waiting for the gotcha. You had something in mind, though.

Maybe it was because he was just so sad. Maybe you were just as lonely as he was, being the only other human in the world. Maybe you just missed a connection. But you couldn't stop yourself from pulling him down and kissing him.

He was stunned, even pulling back almost immediately. You apologized profusely, rambling a bit. You almost stood up when he suddenly put his arms around your waist. He pulled you back into another kiss, full of desperation. You couldn't say you weren't as desperate for something.

Cold hands slipped under your shirt. Sharp teeth left marks on your neck. Metal clanked against ice as he all but pinned you to his bed, the crown rolling to the other side of the room. Your shirt was pushed up, jacket left on to keep you from getting too cold.

He stared down at you, and you could hear him swallow the lump in his throat. Your hands wandered his chest, feeling cold skin and old scars that never quite healed correctly. From swords and burns and possibly even guns, if a few small circular scars meant anything. You met his eye. There was... something in his gaze. You could almost swear it was recognition.

It was only there for a moment.

"You're beautiful," he muttered, stunned. You grew flustered, never able to take a compliment. You pulled him down by the beard, kissing him again. A leg hooked around his hip as you brought clothed your hips to his. He groaned lowly, eyes screwing shut and claws digging into your waist.

You didn't know when the rest of the clothes came off, only leaving you in that old suit jacket. You didn't know when you suddenly found yourself in another position, in his lap and riding him slowly. You just found yourself lost in the moment.

His hands were everywhere, feeling and groping whatever he could like he was scared you'd vanish if he stopped. You ground your hips against his, hissing in pleasure. You both needed this. Needed a connection. Needed someone.

Neither of you lasted long. He finished first, but you were right behind him. You both sat there, panting as you came back to the present. You stared each other down, flustered and satisfied. You smiled.

"Looks like it's a sleepover date, too," you huffed. He blinked, stunned, before letting out a bewildered laugh. You couldn't help but laugh with him. You didn't know how a relationship like this would go, but... you were willing to try, at least.

#adveture time #nsft #ice king #ice king x reader #scenario #Doe the Human

[epithet-beloved]

GIOVANNI + READER WITH A BFRB

synopsis… Giovanni helps a you cope with your bfrb

ft. Giovanni Potage, the Boys(™)

tags… epithet erased, Giovanni is the CEO of mental health, supportive Giovanni, reader is one of Giovanni’s minions, reader has a bfrb, boy and dude used as gender neutral terms, can be read as romantic or platonic

word count… 611

a/n… This is literally just for me. I am the target audience. And for those not in the know, a BFRB is what’s known as a “body focused repetitive behavior”, such as skin picking or hair pulling. As someone who has one myself, I pretty much never see them represented in fandom content, so I decided to do it meself!! Enjoy!!! ✧ 🦄

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 We all know that Giovanni is a mental health KING.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 So of course he is very considerate of any needs you may have!! Minions need proper love and care after all!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Gio is never afraid to admit when he doesn’t know something. In fact, he enjoys asking you about your wants and needs, and always listens fervently. What you want, what you don’t want….he takes it all into account when trying to help you out.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He even does research online! He has tons of pages bookmarked. Articles by psychiatrists, blog posts and videos by other people with similar experiences, he’s got it all!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you allow it, he’d hold your hands to help you avoid picking or pulling. He never directly points out the behavior in case it makes you feel embarrassed, just asks if you wanna hold hands.

“Hey, wanna hold hands real quick? Boss’s orders!”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He also carries around fidget toys in case you need them. Honestly, you have no idea where he keeps them. He just seems to have an endless supply.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you’re mindlessly picking or pulling, you are randomly handed a slow rising squishy shaped like a penguin while Giovanni is shooting you a goofy grin.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He also makes it a rule among the other minions not to treat you any differently because of your behavior, and to follow your boundaries. They all made a little list together of things to do to help you and also what not to do.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The Boys(™) are your support system, essentially. If you tend to engage in the behavior when spaced out, they’ll make sure to engage you in conversation and activities to keep you present. If it’s a nervous habit, they take notice of when you’re not doing so well and help remove you from the stressor.

“Everyone feeling okay?” Spike didn’t want to single you out, so she instead phrased it like she was checking on everyone.

Crusher, noticing your demeanor, would quickly pipe up. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed,” he said, straight faced and stiff as a board. “Can we take a break somewhere?”

“Why certainly, Crusher! Thanks for speaking up!” You breathed a sigh of relief as you and the group moved to find somewhere quiet.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Giovanni would happily do skincare with you if it helps you feel better! Spa days with the boys where you wear face masks and paint each others’ nails are a staple. Nothing better than chilling with the boys and watching bad movies while your nails dry.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Insecurities? Prepare to kiss them goodbye. Giovanni is also a self confidence king, and is always there to hype you up. Scars, marks, acne, anything you may be insecure about, he assures you that it doesn’t diminish your worth even a bit! You don’t need to cover anything up to be beautiful, because you are a gorgeous boy (gender neutral) with nothing to be ashamed of!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 If you like makeup, he’s great at doing yours in a way that flatters all your features. If you want cover up or stuff like that for marks or acne, he’ll let you put it on, but he never makes you feel like it’s necessary. He helps you do makeup in ways that enhance the beauty that already exists instead of hiding perceived imperfections.

“Dude, I just found this chart of how to do eyeliner based on your eye shape! Isn’t that so metal? I wanna try it on you!”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Tender moments where he traces any scars or marks, playing a little game of connect the dots. Even if you don’t always feel the best about yourself, he loves your skin and he loves you.

#🦄’s writings #epithet erased #epithet erased x reader #epithet erased imagines #giovanni potage #giovanni potage x reader #Giovanni Potage imagines #banzai blasters

[loaflovesdoodling]

ooh! can you tell us more about your metadad, perhaps (tumblr isn't letting me use interrogation marks wth)

If it's infodump you want, infodump you shall get! [small fic at the end too because writing is fun :)]

Ok, so, here's the thing:

In my AU Kirby isn't fully Meta Knight's biological child. That being for the simple reason that Nightmare tampered with Meta in the past, screwing his genetics; reason why Meta has wings even without being one of the heroes of Yore. Kirby, being made out of pure light matter is therefore Meta's chronological and -for the most part- biological child, but Nightmare's Influence on Meta basically cut off a lot of genetical/natural ligament with him.

That being said, Meta Knight loves him nontheless, he would literally give his own life away for him and he always tries to make him happy no matter how devastated he himself might be in that moment.

Here are some fun facts!

Meta Knight talks to Kirby about emotional stuff especially when he (the latter) is asleep.

After long and difficult fights with demon beasts, Meta Knight will refuse to go to sleep that day just to watch over Kirby the whole night, fearing that he'll be taken away.

Simply having him hold Kirby close can save Meta Knight from multiple panic attacks.

He spent months learning the perfect intonation and pronounciation of the best lullaby he could find just for Kirby.

He's apparently also very good at sewing (As seen in that one Pengi episode, where everyone sews their penguin disguise by themselves,) and he likes to take advantage of that skill to sew tiny beanies and plush friends for Kirby.

Now, onto the fic! (warning, extreme angst torwards the end)

The young knight had woken up in cold sweat. How could he had fallen asleep so easily?

Surely enough, his dreams hadn't been 'sweet' either: the familiar vision of blood on his hands was all he could remember. Meta Knight shook his head:

"Collect yourself, Meta, be cool. None of these dreams have meaning, you shouldn't take them so seriously." He scolded himself, sighing.

"Perhaps I should start today by putting a smile on; after all, I couldn't possibly give Kirby a bad example-..." He stopped immediately as he turned to the bed only to find no one there. Meta Knight frowned:

"And of course he's already out and about. I should've expected this, he is still a child after all." The knight said. He could not, however, hide the slightest glint of purple worry in his bright golden eyes:

"I'll start looking for him. you'll never know..." He anticipated, trying to justify that overwhelming feeling. Putting on his mask, cape and shoulder pads, he got off the bed and walked over to the counter to wish Sword and Blade a good morning; they, however, weren't present either: disappointed, the soldier walked out the room.

Patrolling Castle DeDeDe's corridors, Meta Knight noticed Dreamland's silence. The oh, so unusual, terrifying silence. He could feel the weight of each one of his quick steps on the cold tiled floor. Almost completely sinking in his own thoughts, he snapped back to reality upon recognizing the figure of Minister Parm's daughter; quickening his pace even more, he walked up to her:

"Fumu."

The young girl jumped: "Oh, it's just you, Sir Meta Knight."

"Have you, ah... perhaps, seen Kirby, this morning?"

"Not really, now that I think of it. Knowing Kirby he's probably out playing with Bun in the yard, though--"

"Thank you for your assistance." Meta interrupted her, before walking away, his subtle rudeness leaving the kid with her eyes widening in surprise.

In his search for the pink warrior, Meta Knight just so happened to come across the throne room. Convinced of the possibility of clues about Kirby's disappearance, he decided to eavesdrop on King DeDeDe's conversation:

"You have our gratitude, King D3."

"Aw yeah, ain't nothing like a deal as great as this one: I get rid of an annoyin' obstacle and y'all give me money fer it!" he cackled.

"I can assure you this decision will not be of any regret."

"It better not be!" he talked back.

"Very well then. I shall take my leave now." The familiar voice said before being cut off by a loud buzzing sound.

"Who knew defeating Kirby had always been as easy as just sending him over at Holy Nightmare? You sure are a genius, your majesty!" the snail added.

Meta Knight's eyes widened in shock, turning into a tint of blue-ish white as he started uncontrollably shaking. So many horrifying thoughts wouldn't leave his mind:

Kirby was gone.

He was in Nightmare's possession.

And God knows what he could've done to him already.

The knight's vision progressively blurring as he started to feel heavy, an increasingly louder heartbeat blocking out every other sound in the castle.

Immediately, Meta Knight awoke, jumping out of his bed. His heart rate completely unsteady, he started grasping for air: his breaths were dangerously short and fast, and he couldn't even feel his now shaking hands anymore. He gazed over to the other side of the bed: Kirby was there, he was safe, all that happened was just a horrible nightmare. He quickly picked up the sleeping child and wrapped him tightly in his arms: the warmth of his son's fragile little body transferring onto him as his breath started steadying. Calming down, the knight fell back asleep.

Sorry if it's a little long and incoherent, haha. This is my first fic <3

#meta knight #kirby #kirby right back at ya #metadad #kirby fanfiction #hcs #sir meta knight

[99redragons]

Part of the Madness Ch.6 - Unstable

Science gets done, whether Simon likes it or not.

Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, PSTD, panic attacks, dissociation, self-harm, medical anxiety/trauma, flashback, brief dehumanizing language

Read on AO3 Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

He needed to go to the library. Specifically, the Ice Library.

It was where he’d stored countless volumes over the years, Ice King helping hoard them, but mostly accumulated from the early years where he would still sometimes have lucid periods. His eyes travelled over the many floors of many shelves. His eyes lingered on the cauldron where he had brought Betty to him through time. He let out a deep sigh.

Things could have turned out so different.

If he hadn’t brought her forward in time, who knows what would have happened to her after the apocalypse–probably death–but still, he wondered. 

He would likely have died because of Bella Noche.

But she might not have become GOLB.

He snuggled in further into his scarf, duffel coat, and beanie (he didn’t need another headache right now, thank you). The ice castle was always surprisingly warm, even this far down, but he preferred the extra protection. The place itself didn’t make him that uncomfortable anymore—the junk and signs of his madness everywhere had long been tidied up— it was just all the ice . It was more like crystal than ice, to be frank, so it didn’t scare him that badly, but still…

It wasn’t this bad before, he realizes, looking at the walls with hesitation. He’d managed in the Winter King dimension, even if it was out of pure dissociation. 

That and spite.

Why was it so difficult now? 

The mere thought of that dimension made him even more uncomfortable amid the crystal halls and sparkling floors. 

As long as it didn’t touch him directly too much, he told himself, it was fine.

He got started on what he was looking for, finding a resting place for the new book Finn had gotten him (Dark Magic: Civilizations & Secret Societies section) then perusing the shelves for what he was after.

He murmured the sections and titles to himself as he looked, then found it, “A-ha!” He exclaimed triumphantly. “There you are. Fundamentals of Portals: Less is More.”

Gunther wandered in, “Simon! Wenk -Find it?” he spoke, mirthful.

“Yes, I sure did.” He called, turning back to his friend/son.

“ Wenk -Good! You stay? Wenk -penguins love to see you,” he tempted. 

Simon started to refuse, then he had an idea.”Actually…”

There he stood, in the penguin hall with a mob of penguins making cute eyes at him and clambering for his attention. He laughed, awkwardly, holding his hands in front of him, carefully stepping back, having to avoid tripping or stepping on any of them.

“Woah now, don’t crush me, everyone,” he pleaded.

They all calmed down a fraction. 

Here goes. Minerva wanted him to find more ways to ground himself, so… “I came to ask if any of you want to sometimes come stay with me for a while–” 

Immediately the hall erupted in wenks and quacklike sounds, feet slapping the floors excitedly to try and get to the front. He was nearly bowled over.

“Woah, woah! It’ll likely be very warm, you know, not like here, and I’ll often be doing boring things like just reading…” he said, self-consciously, scratching his head.

Still they clambered and jostled, though a few calmed down and remained at the back.

“... I can’t take all of you,” he lamented, apologetic.

A few more eased up, wenking in concern and confusion. 

“Why- wenk not?” Gunther said, and Simon blinked at him plainly.

“I don’t have room,” he croaked plainly.

“Not all, silly! Wenk ! One! Visit, you switch- wenk !” he bellowed.

That… wasn’t a bad idea. The penguins wouldn’t complain about him dropping by more often.

“...Alright,” he agreed. “We can make a schedule, so no one goes twice before a penguin who wants to does… yes, yes, that could work!” he smiled.

It took a lot of penguin wrangling and some penguin games to determine ‘winners’, but eventually they had decided amongst themselves who would go. 

He ended up with a penguin called Guunder that was absolutely ecstatic, running around Simon and wenking nonstop. He crouched down and picked it up, unable to keep the smile off his face. 

He thanked the penguins, promising to visit again soon, thanked Gunther, and grudgingly left for PB’s lab with the comfort of a penguin in his arms. 

On the way there, he texted Fionna at the new number she sent him.

SIMON: Hey, there’s something I need to tell you guys. Call me when you can?

Only a minute later, he got a text back,

FIONNA: okay!! hope ur feeling better, simon! Busy rn but ttyl! (˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) ✧

She kept sending those cute faces.

SIMON: I'm much better, thank you. What’s that face? How do you do that?

FIONNA: LOL simon its a kaomoji!! u can make ur own if u want! try it!! (\(>u<)/)

SIMON: \(o–o)/ How’s this?

FIONNA: (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ nice job! keep trying!! ill send u more u can use!

FIONNA: oop cake’s got me i g2g bye!! 

SIMON: Goodbye. 

He smiled. Fionna was such an earnest person it was hard not to feel happier talking to her. He sent her a photo of Guunder sleeping in his arms. She could look at it later.

He arrived in Candy Kingdom, shedding his coat now he was no longer in the Ice Kingdom. He was waved through by the banana guards and made his way down to the lab. Luckily he’d been there many times over the years, otherwise it would be hard to find.

“Simon! There you are! Did you bring the book?” PB called, not tearing herself away from where she was doing electrical work on some kind of large apparatus. She had her hair up and lab coat on, and looked like she hadn’t left the lab today, judging from the state of her and the place.

“Yes, and a pal,” he said, holding up the penguin. It wenked enthusiastically.

“Oh, great,” PB said, not sounding very pleased. “Keep it away from the tables,” she added worriedly. He nodded.

“So this is where you found the ritual you used?” She asked. She flipped through the book to where he’d bookmarked. A ritual to open a path. Simple, but powerful. 

“I copied it and modified it for my purposes, but yes.”

“I don’t see how the spell itself could be causing the issue,” she said, reading it. “This is one of the most base and primal kinds of spells, no funny bits. What did you add to it?”

“Just changed the target to GOLB. It took months to figure out how to make the spell work with that, requiring a special shrine. Nothing that would change the spell itself.” He’d gone through so many different spells over the years to try and find one that would save Betty. Going to her was surprisingly simple, after he’d made the choice.

She discarded it. “Alright. I’ll look into it more later, just to be sure. Over here, Simon.” she motioned further into the lab.

It had been a little while since the two of them had spent time alone like this. Things between them always carried a small rift, but usually Marcy or Finn’s presence was enough to bridge that gap, and over the years they could easily call each other family. They luckily got along the best when it came to academic studies, particularly the link between magic and science, which he genuinely found fascinating. He couldn’t say he was ever comfortable with every choice that Bubblegum made when it came to ruling ethics, but he understood, and to be honest, she’d gotten better. They were actually more similar than different in that way. The gleeful way Evil Choose Goose called him trash flashed through his mind, and he quickly tried to banish those thoughts.

This kind of scenario was still… uncomfortable, somehow.

Maybe that’s why he bristled when she said, “Okay, sit,” while gesturing to a large machine that resembled a cross between an MRI and an electric chair. He tensed.

“What does it do?” He asked cautiously, unmoving. He was curious how it worked, despite himself.

“It’s a scanner. It’ll scan your head for energy signatures, and from those readings the data will give me an idea of if the portal is stable or unstable, how much power we’re talking about here, the source, and other biometric readings.” she explained, going over to it to pat it proudly.

His mouth flattered into a line as he stared at the device. It had a round part around the top that looked like it came down around the head. His face twisted, uncomfortable. 

“Don’t you have something smaller–” he started, looking back to see PB already holding up a handheld scanner towards him. It had an attached wand that she was waving over him like a metal detector, and he stared flatly at her. 

“Sure, go ahead,” he said dryly.

“Thanks,” she said absently, and he nearly rolled his eyes. When PB was in science mode there was no stopping her. He sighed, adjusted his grip on Guunder, and walked over to the scanner.

PB followed him easily, quickly finishing her handheld scan and then started to say something when his phone started to ring.

He answered it instantly, holding it up to his ear.

“Simon! Hey man!! That penguin picture was soo adorable! We have statues just like those! What the heck!” Fionna called. 

“Hello, Fionna.” he smiled.

“You all healed up now? No more infection?” she asked, slightly less enthusiastic, which was concerned for Fionna.

“No more infection,” he answered, while PB muttered something behind him and scribbled things down. “My arm barely hurts anymore.” 

“That’s great!”

“How’s the cleanup over there?”

“Good! Jay and Destiny are having their minds blown right now by Gary’s baking, it’s great!” Fionna shouted into the phone. Cake laughed in the background.

“That sounds fun.” he answered warmly.

“It is! …So, Simon, what did you want to tell us about?”

“Well,” he said, turning around to see PB apparently puzzling over her printouts already. “You know that portal I opened to send you home?”

“Of course!”

“It seems it never completely closed. Things are coming through from Fionna World.”

“What?!” Cake and Fionna exclaimed in unison.

“You haven’t seen any portals on that side, have you?” 

“Nope! Though we haven’t exactly been looking,” Fionna answered. “Want us to try?”

Simon hummed in the negative. “I don’t think you’ll find one right now,” he said, quickly feeling the crown of his head to make sure. “It’s not open.”

“It’s only open sometimes?”

“Yes, it seems to open when exposed to cold or in my sleep,” he answered. 

“Strange. But hey, this means that we could visit you! Right?” Fionna excitedly said.

“Possibly, if it’s safe.” He said.

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

“It’s an unstable portal,” PB suddenly said from beside him. He nearly jumped out of his jacky. He quickly put it on speaker phone.

“What was that? Who was that?” Fionna asked.

“It’s Princess Bubblegum, and it’s unstable,” she repeated. “The energy fluctuations are dangerous enough to be hurting Simon. There’s no telling if going through it could cause injury or worse to someone going through it. I need more data to be sure.”

“The rat was fine,” Simon pointed out. 

“Possibly an outlier. Unless it’s an emergency, no travel,” PB stated firmly.

“You didn’t say it was hurting you, Simon! Still, no visit? Aww.” Fionna said, disappointed.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he grumbled for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“We’re going to open one here in a second, so if you could confirm it goes to your world, that would ensure it’s still going to your dimension.” PB asked Fionna.

“It does,” he said quietly, a bit disgruntled. Where else would it go? Then he realized, “Wait, what? We’re going to open it again?”

“I need measurements while the portal is open,” PB explained, gesturing to the scanner chair again. 

His mouth flattened into a line. He shifted in place, eyeing the silver and blue machinery.

“Looks like I’ve gotta go, Fionna.” Simon sighed.

“Wait but you said it hurt you! Are you going to be okay??” Fionna called.

“Don’t hurt our boy Simon!” Cake warned.

“It’s fine, I’ve already opened it, must be, four or five times? More if it’s been opening in my sleep.” He dismissed. “It hasn’t gotten worse.” 

Well, much worse.

“...Well, if you say so, Simon.” Fionna relented, though didn’t sound happy. “We’ll look for a portal on this side, and call back if we find it.”

“Bye,” Simon said, and hung up.

He sighed, and sat down carefully in the chair, setting Guunder down. He didn’t want to mess with the data, machine, or worse, the penguin, by keeping it on him. The penguin stayed close by against his legs. It helped ease his nerves, a little.

He was not looking forward to this, but he just had to endure it, he told himself, looking up with a gulp at the large bowl-like scanner poised above him. 

PB pulled out some kind of pen-looking device and pushed a button on it. It began to blink red.

“Alright, Simon, I’m recording this, okay?”

“Okay,” he croaked. He felt very still, bracing for something to happen.

“So, the way this works is I’m going to do one scan with the portal closed, and another with it open. This will give data for both states.” 

He nodded again. 

“Alright, step one is sitting down, check, step two–” she hit something on the machine, and the bowl thunked down over his head. He nearly jumped again. He couldn’t see anything now. 

It's fine, he told himself, taking a deep breath. He felt tension spreading to his whole body.

“Check. Beginning test one now.”

“Wait-I-” He suppressed a flinch as the device made thumping and whirring sounds right in his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing picked up, and he tried to force it down. 

It was a long, long minute of lights and sounds and concerning bangs. He just let his mind wander to anything else he could while it was happening.

And then it was over.

The bowl came off and he blinked back into reality, realizing he’d completely zoned out. It felt like no time at all had passed.

Memories of first being newly-uncursed popped into his head, and he didn’t understand why at first. Why was he thinking about that now?

PB was saying something about energy readings and background noise and he couldn’t hold onto the words. His ears rung. His hands felt far away. She then handed him a bowl of ice cream.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he said, and she must have realized he hadn’t been listening, because she huffed and pointed to it. 

“Eat it.” 

“What?’

“Eat it, so the portal will open. Then I can do the next test,” She said, a bit impatiently. 

Guilt whirred in his stomach. Oh, right, he guessed that made sense. Brain freeze. PB was smart.

It was better than normal ice, he reasoned. He began to eat, mechanically. It was multiple scoops; rich and creamy vanilla, peanut butter with candies, and chocolate mint chip. It kind of helped make him feel better. 

“Subject exposed to near-freezing temperatures, awaiting result,” she reported into the recorder.

I’m not a subject, he wanted to say. He frowned. He just kept eating, as told, while his brain helpfully gave him feeling-memories of being confused, of machines, of being the problem, of finding it hard to express himself. He looked down. 

Guunder was there. It was okay. The penguin was sitting on his feet, looking back at him with huge round eyes, and he latched onto those.

Eventually he felt the headache come on, and it all got worse. The room was both far away and too close, the shining lights of the lab equipment all he could focus on, and his breathing got hard to control. He wanted out.

PB came over and waved the wand over him again. 

“Reading detected. Beginning test two,” she mechanically reported, taking the bowl from him.

Then the scanner came down and everything was numbly there, but he couldn’t focus on it, he kept just thinking awake awake where am I Marcy? warm so warm where’s the cold who’s there

PB continued to report results into the recorder, and her voice blended into a drone in his mind. What was going on?

He zoned out, and his mind was filled with a dull ache and the thumping and whirling and lights of the scanner. Disorientation hit him and he focused all his attention on just staying calm, on thinking about why he was doing this. 

He was reminded vividly of the early days, when he was blindsided with a flood of memories and sensations that didn’t belong to him, when he was dissociated all the time, when his emotions were unfiltered and raw and he was just trying to stay above water. Phantom voices accosted him, whispering to him that he was useless and bad.

Ice King-not Ice King NOT ICE KING shouted, scared, pushing away the devices from him and scrambling away, he knew something was wrong, he was back, he was back- but everything was light-sound-smell-loud-warm and he struggled just to breathe, Marcy was there, but she was so big, she looked so worried, he tried desperately to anchor himself, pulling his hair till it hurt, to focus on who he was, he was Simon, Simon, Simon –

He gasped, and he remembered. Suddenly he knew why he was so upset. 

“Princess Bubblegum, stop the scan.” he said firmly, his voice quavering.

“What? It’s almost done!”

“Now,” he said, voice breaking.

“Okay, okay, one second,” she said hurriedly. He heard a button clicking, the whirring slowed to a stop, and the machine released him.

“What’s wrong? Is it your head?” She leaned in curiously.

“Flashbacks, unpleasant and vivid memories, these are all normal to have even years after a trauma. They can be unexpected, and scary. That’s why grounding techniques are so vital. ” Minerva’s words echoed to him.

Simon leaned down and scooped up Guunder. Immediately he felt more present, more real. He focused on the feel of the penguin’s feathers, its warmth and breathing. It wenked worriedly at him, and snuggled into his arms.

“I…Simon. Are you okay?” PB seemed to shake herself from her focus on the science, and really see him. 

Simon focused on slowing his breathing down and the penguin, not able to respond right away.

“Should I call Marcy?” PB said, clicking the recording device to stop it. She crouched down to his level, watching his face. 

“It’s fine,” he forced out, and his own voice sounded far away. 

PB sighed. “I got a bit carried away, didn’t I.” She said, drawing over a rolling office chair to sit near him. “Take as much time as you need, there's no rush.” 

He hoped so. He was riddled with anxiety over stopping what they needed to be doing.

Simon tried to catalog the things around him like the method he’d researched to ground himself.

Chair under him, penguin in his arms, Lab equipment, PB, He listed. Sound of bubbling beakers and clicking-beeping of the paper printout. Smell of candy, taste of ice cream. It was a scattered and imperfect try, but it worked.

He carefully, slowly relaxed his breathing and body with the help of the penguin in his lap. It was hard, the lab lights distracting, his body just wanting to curl up. He shuddered slow, measured breaths in and out, in and out.

A long minute later of Simon hugging the penguin and slowly coming back to himself later, he said. “I’ve been here before.”

PB looked confused a long second before saying “You’ve been here tons of times Simon, what do you mean?”

“No. I mean been here, as your subject ,” he said, voice biting.

An intake of breath came from PB. “Oh,” she breathed out. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

Simon glared a little.

“You’re not my subject, I’m sorry,” she said, head tipped toward him and head resting on her hands. “What you’re remembering is when you were uncursed, right?” He nodded fractionally. PB sighed. “Your memory was overwhelming you. You became confused sometimes, completely out of it, and Marcy took you to me to check that you were alright.” she continued. “I had to run tests to make sure there weren’t any lasting effects from being Ice King. You weren’t the…most cooperative.” she winced apologetically. She paused. “That or you’re remembering the time I knocked you out and we went into the crown in VR.” she added quietly, barely audible.

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed. He was so distraught at the time, over Betty, over nearly dying in GOLB…

“It turned out you just needed time.” PB said, gentler.

That all made… a surprising amount of sense. “I remember it differently. I didn’t realize… I was so scared. I was so out of it then, still trying to make sense of myself.” he rasped. “I didn’t remember until now.” 

Back then he was both very awake and very out of it. It was like being dunked in a pool of hot water-alaming, made worse by not being able to escape, until he eventually acclimated to the new temperature. 

PB frowned in sympathy. “I’m sorry I made you relive that. We can stop.” She stood up. 

“But the data you needed,” he objected, following her to standing.

“I have the data.” she said.

“Really?” He was surprised.

“Yes. It’s enough, anyway,” she said, scrolling through the printouts.

He still felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“What are you sorry for?” PB seemed confused. Then she glanced at his face and she smiled softly. “Don’t be beating yourself up over ancient history again, old man,” she teased. 

He blinked and smiled back. PB had forgiven him for Ice King long before he could ever forgive himself. 

“If you say so, Bubblegum.” he gave a small smile back.

She grinned and then turned to her printouts of data, scanning them at impressive speed.

His phone rang again. He answered it, putting it on speaker immediately. 

“Simon! We found the portal!” Fionna came through the phone. 

“You did?” he asked. That was fast.

“It opened up right in Buttler's Buttery Buns!” Huh. Had he been thinking about Fionna and Cake? 

No, let’s be honest. When was he not thinking about Fionna and Cake.

“Incoming!” Cake called.

He only had a moment to react before something came out of the portal in his head, and he quickly snatched it in its liquid light state before it had fully formed. He blinked. It was a coffee cup. He sniffed it cautiously. Mmm, chai latte. “Did it work?” Fionna asked.

“Yes, thank you,” he said.

“I guess that confirms it!” she said excitedly. 

PB looked at the latte unamused. He looked at it pointedly, and she gave it a quick scan with the wand before shrugging.

He gave it a sip. Damn, pretty good. “Compliments to the barista,” he said.

“Well, that’s good, you seem to have an isolated portal to one destination,” PB said, holding her printouts in front of her. “It’s unstable in that it's deteriorating. The energy reading rises, stays for a while, and then diminishes. It could probably be sustained longer with more cold exposure.” she explained. “These readings, it’s like nothing I've ever seen. It’s connected solely to you, Simon. The magic is coming from the link itself. I’m not sure how, but it's possible whatever you did to make Fionna World official left an extraordinary bond between you and that dimension.” 

“Fionna did that all on her own.” Simon said.

“Simon, you made it possible,” Fionna chided gently. He looked down, dismissing it in his head. 

“That explains the weird lady.” Cake said.

Simon blinked. “Weird lady?” something about the name was familiar.

“Our park fountain. It was this lady with glasses, but it became this pointy-headed big scary lady with four eyes.” Fionna explained. “We kind of expected it to change back eventually, like the clouds, but it never did.”

“I think she’s kinda hot!!” Cake exclaimed.

“Oh, that’s…” Simon started.

“GOLBetty?” PB mused. “That implies…” she turned away to scribble notes and mutter for a moment.

“That’s Betty? We’re still connected to you, Simon! Boy, your girlfriend is frea-kyy!” Cake said.

Simon stared blankly at the phone while Fionna chided her. He declined to tell her they weren’t exactly together anymore. She was gone.

“It would make sense,” Fionna said. “We were made in your head, after all.”

Simon hummed at that. “I suppose so,” he acquiesced. 

“Now, for the bad news,” PB said. Everyone else went quiet.

Simon swallowed. Fionna audibly held her breath.

“Your body is just not made to house this kind of magic.”

“It’s hurting him?” Fionna asked.

“It’s not immediately dangerous, but if this continues, it can and will seriously harm you over time.” She reported. “If it continues to degenerate, it could be fatal.” She said grimly. 

Fionna and Cake were silent over the line.

He absorbed that. It was poetic, in an ironic kind of way. Just when he’d resolved to find meaning in living. But fuck.

“It’s not just a portal to a pocket universe in your head anymore. This is a full multiversal portal now. That's a lot of bandwidth to handle.” PB said.

“...So this means he has to close it?” Fionna asked, a bit sadly.

“I could, given enough time. I could figure out how to sever the bond, but it would be complicated, the science required to try and change such an intrinsic part of a universe… that or forcibly close the portal permanently. Yes, that would be doable enough, I could isolate the energy–” PB started rambling, but Simon knew his answer.

“No,” he rasped.

“No?” The girls all said together.

“No. I want to keep it. If I figure out a way to channel it, make it safe…” He could see Fionna and Cake again.

“What? But this could kill you, Simon!” PB warned.

He just steeled himself more. “I’ll make sure it won’t,” he grumbled.

Fionna spoke up gently, “Simon, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself anymore. We’re fine as we are.”

SImon paused at her tone, looked at PB’s concerned face and sighed, relenting. “If I don’t find a way before it gets dangerous, I’ll let Bubblegum close it. But I want to try.” 

“Hell yeah, let’s visit Ooo again, Fionna!” Cake shouted.

“As long as it doesn’t hurt Simon, yeah!” Fionna called back. 

“Hold on! It’s still not safe for anyone to use right now. I’d be safest for Simon if no one went through at all. I’m not even sure if it’s possible for anyone to get through.” PB said hurriedly.

“Aww, okay,” Fionna said.

“Shoot,” Cake said.

“Besides the rat, Simon groused. 

“Besides the rat,” PB conceded, hesitantly.

“So Mission Reunion is a go, then?” Cake asked. 

Simon smiled, “I’ll find a way for us to meet again,” he pledged. 

“Yeah!!” Fionna and Cake shouted. 

He had a chance to do something again. He wouldn’t be reckless like before, he told himself. He just needed time.

#fionna and cake #fionna and cake fanfic #simon petrikov #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #99redragons art #potm

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Rhythm i am fine thank u for asking, I’d give u cuddles too. I might come off of anon soon someday !! If i feel it hehe

and if king Chris can give me cuddles that would be nice of him. :(

To distract both of us from adulting

1) princess giving birth !! How would things go after she got the two pups lix and minnie out ? How would chris react to his wife’s weak state, would he panic? And how would they react seeing their pups for the first time ;( ☹️☹️

I think chris would say sth like “the pups look like they belong in my beloved’s arm.”

2) pretty wearing baby pink coquette lingerie! Ik wereroomies chris loves black and burgundy lace but if she wore blush pink or sth in soft lace and silk!! And maybe wore a white ribbon in her hair !! Or a white sheer babydoll 🤨

(Basically channel her inner princess reader)

It could be like a Chris got promoted so she surprises him by wearing these at night, whether or not they plan in getting sexy. She makes dinner in these things, or watches him make dinner while she reads a book. Or cockwarms him. BYEEE!

- 🐧

i just got to this, and i'm telling you, penguin... i'm dizzy, this is making me dizzy 😩

Thoughts.... so many

like.... i feel like princess might've had a difficult time giving birth. having twins is difficult on its own, but having WEREWOLF twins??? must be even more so.

she was probably in labour for hours, in pain, to the point where she started crying out of frustration because "i want them out!! get them out, please!!" and Chris will be all distressed seeing her in so much pain, to the point where he starts to briefly consider not getting her pregnant ever again.

but that's not really what she wants, she's just in pain, you know?

the moment the pups do come out, she's just so relieved, heart so full feeling her children against her skin. and Chris is just.... over the moon. he knew she would make it, she is his perfect mate, she was made for him in every single way, so of course she would be able to birth his children.

seeing her, seeing his pups, there, whining and writhing a bit in her hold made him just so proud. that's the love of his life and his beautiful healthy children and he's just... enamoured. he almost cries when he had to cut the cords, but he kept the tears in because no one but his wife can see him like that and the midwives were there >:(

in any case, the recovery process was surely a long one. you bet your ass Chris made sure his precious wife didn't move a single finger. there was an army of maids and midwives helping her in every way they could, until she was strong enough for chris and her to care for their cute little pups on their own :(((

i'm sure our King just loved being present at all times. he kept his duties to a minimum for as long as he could, and you know he had regained her strength enough to resume their feedings (he, sadly, decided to stop when he saw how tired she was after giving birth. he wanted his milk but every ounce of her energy needed to be reserved for his pups so he reached a compromise with himself )))): )

NOW. ABOUT PRETTY AND CHRIS....

it's true he loves the darker lingerie, but, realistically, AS IF this man isn't going feral for his pretty girl in any and every possible colour???

the white and pink will trigger something in him, though... like, it'll probably make him want to ruin her even more than he already does. it'd probably remind his inner wolf of all those times she's dressed like an innocent, defenceless bunny, and he'll just.... salivate like the horny dog he is.

atp he doesn't even question why she'd be dressed that way, if there's a reason or no reason at all. you just know that the moment he spots his pretty baby all dolled up, anything else he was going to do is pushed aside. it's Praise and Worship time.

if there's something he can't get away from doing, then he will have her cockwarming him for as long as he's got to be focused on the task )):

occasionally kneading one of her breasts, or pinching her nipple, just overall touching her all over... and the second he can have his full focus back on her, he's Focused.

orgasm galore. an evening of just the alpha couple doing nothing else but each other <33

#🐧 anon #ask #wereroomies ask #wereroomies headcanons #tkotf ask #hard thoughts

[coffeecat1983]

“Do anything for you.” Mario Bros One-Shot

Based on an idea I got after musing over the trailers.

The Shyguys pushed Luigi, forcing him to his knees. As he fell forward, something shiny slipped out of the pocket on the front of his overalls. Before he could try to reach for it, Bowser picked it up.     "Well well, what do we have here?" he said. It was a little, round, gold case, roughly the size of a pocketwatch.     "Please give it back!" Luigi sounded near panic. Bowser looked it over and pressed the small button, popping it open. Reaching in, he carefully took out a small white pill between his claws. He held it up. "Hmm, looks like medicine. What do you think, Kamek?" he dropped the pill and the magikoopa caught it neatly.     "It certainly seems so, your monsterness."     "Please, please don't! I need those!" Bowser looked into the case, ignoring Luigi's pleading. "Not many in here, maybe six, seven with that one," he nodded to Kamek, who dropped the pill and crushed it beneath his staff. Luigi let out a strangled cry. Bowser grinned down at Luigi as he snapped the case shut.     "So you need these, huh? Wonder what happens if you don't have them? Maybe I should just dump them out."     "No, nonono please! I have to have one each day!" Bowser growled softly and tossed the case to a Paratroopa that was nearby. "Lock him up, and see to it he gets one of those..."   Luigi's shoulders sagged with relief.     "Once every three days." Bowser finished. Luigi's angushed cry echoed out over the throne room.

-

  Mario sighed and reaching into his front pocket, pulled out a small gold case, running his thumb over it in thought. The golden material glinted in the light of the campfire.     "A pocket watch?" Peach said.     "Huh? Oh!" Mario snapped out of his thoughts. "No, it's a medicine case. My little brother has to take one of these each day. He has his case, and I keep this one, just to be on the safe side."     "What happens without it?" the princess asked gently.     "He'll get really sick. Doctors never really understood what causes it, but as long as he gets one of these a day, he's okay." He carefully tucked the case back into his pocket. "I just hope he still has his since we've been here a few days now."

-

  The Penguin King was worried. He had been keeping watch on the human prisoner after the young man had insisted the others get his rations when he saw they didn't get enough to eat. He didn't seem to be doing well. At first the king wondered if it was from how very little food they were given, but his actions weren't of one who was hungry. Rather it seemed he was ill. He had started shivering despite the heat coming up from the lava below, and yet sweat was trickling down his face.   Luigi had slid down in the hanging cage, resting his head against the bars. He looked up at the sound of wings. A Paratroopa flew over to his cage and Luigi grew more alert when he saw he was holding something along with a glass of water.     "His kingliness says you need one of these every three days." The Paratroopa smirked and went to let go of the pill.     "Wait!" the Penguin King's voice rang out. The Paratroopa glared at him.     "Think about it, that human could be used as a bargaining chip. Your leader wouldn't be too happy if he dies." the King said.   Luigi watched the Paratroopa as he seemed to consider this.     "Hmm," he muttered. "You know what? No." He let go of the pill. Luigi cried out and dove forward, desperately reaching for it.     "Oops, guess it's every four days now. You won't be needing this!" He tossed the water at him, soaking Luigi before laughing cruelly as he flew off. The Penguin King snarled, gripping the cage bars as he watched Luigi curl up, sniffling softly. After a moment, Luigi raised his head, rubbing at his eyes.     "Thanks for tryin' to help me." he said, looking towards the king.     "It was the least I could do, you've been so kind to us. I'm sorry I could not do more."     "I just hope my brother gets here..." Luigi said, curling back up.

-

Mario lightly touched his pocket again. "Don't worry lil bro," he muttered. "I'll do anything for you."

- By CC.

#mario fanart #mario and luigi #fanfic #oneshot #ideas all over the place

[wilderhockey]

nhl teams as school clubs/student orgs

the result of a 15-minute conversation with lil @wymgreenteam this afternoon. based specifically on our experience in hs (also note that I’ve been out of hs for four years now so some of this might be misremembered but whatever it’s about the vibes).

this is not necessarily kind to all (or really any) teams but it is light-hearted and in good fun.

I put it under a readmore because 32 teams is a lot of teams

~

anaheim ducks: theater (actors specifically) - dramatic as fuck. loud as fuck. endearing in spite of it [see sharks/kings]

arizona coyotes: not a club. they’re the guys who show up to school in their tractors from october to march because the weather is fucking terrible and they’ve gotta get there somehow (thanks mn)

boston bruins: key club - self-important for no particular reason. also this is a club where you pay to do community service, which is just fundamentally wrong in the same way I feel when I see the bruins’ meth bear

buffalo sabres: swim team - wet. no I will not elaborate.

calgary flames: garden club - I didn’t even know we had a garden club until lil suggested this

carolina hurricanes: model UN - super well-run, they’ve got some nice kids involved, but I dislike them on principle

chicago I’m not writing out their team name: lacrosse - universally hated except by themselves and often take insults as compliments. also the worst punishment I can think of for a hockey team is telling them they remind me of lax bros

colorado avalanche: empowering women’s club - mostly performative but sometimes (when they can get the whole group together) they do fun things

columbus blue jackets: student section - they’re all college kids sorry it just fits

dallas stars: gender and sexuality alliance - listen. I don’t know what’s going on down there, but I can tell you it’s definitely gay

detroit red wings: cross-country - sometimes the rookies are good but everything else about them is forgettable

edmonton oilers: knowledge bowl - connor mcdavid reminds me of kb kids. leon draisaitl would be that guy who knows fuck-all answer-wise but can hit the buzzer super early and always knows what the question is asking. they just have neatly partitioned tasks for everyone and it sometimes works. yes I did kb for 7 years can you tell

florida panthers: FCA (fellowship of christian athletes) - the combination of donuts and christian rock at every meeting leveled out to a net zero

la kings: theater (tech crew specifically) - black and white outfits and idk sneaky vibes? they feel like a variety show in the same way tech does [see ducks/sharks]

minnesota wild: marching band - they’re dumb. they love each other. pranks are inevitable. some gay shit is happening. the director has very little control

montreal canadiens: magic the gathering club - just some kids hanging out. j chillin. one-sided feud with costco. vaguely hostile but in a blatantly self-defensive way

nashville predators: baseball - they were good for a while one time but now they’re just sad and middling

new jersey devils: speech - it’s fun when you’re not worried about winning, it’s a great group, but the moment you start paying attention to numbers you will cry

new york islanders: volleyball - bitchy vibes. and mat barzal’s tiny shorts

new york rangers: quiz bowl - to quote lil, they “aren’t smart enough for [knowledge bowl]” but also zero teamwork despite individual prowess

ottawa senators: robotics (FRC specifically) - they’re constantly falling apart but when it works it Works. also lots of freaks of many varieties (affectionate)

philadelphia flyers: that one political club a couple of my friends started junior year. pac or something? - it was going fine and then it changed management and now. hm.

pittsburgh penguins: student council - overachievers (affectionate). somewhat ineffective but they’re putting the effort in

san jose sharks: theater (pit specifically) - oft forgotten, but generally chill [see ducks/kings]

seattle kraken: chess club - to quote lil, “good vibes. don’t do anything, just here for fun.” I agree

st. louis blues: choir - rancid vibes. (I was a choir kid I’m allowed to say the vibes were rancid bc they were)

tampa bay lightning: honor society - overachievers (derogatory)

toronto maple leafs: lettuce club - for anyone unfamiliar, this is a club where every year, everyone interested sits at a table and simultaneously consumes an entire head of lettuce. whoever does it fastest is the Head of Lettuce for the next year. I have no fucking clue what they did at the rest of their meetings. leafs vibes

vancouver canucks: anime club - what the fuck is going on over there don’t look pretend you don’t see them and it’ll be fine (affectionate)

vegas golden knights: debate - this is for nolpats specifically I know he’s in LTIR hell but this is for him

washington capitals: that’s just the teacher’s union

winnipeg jets: football - they were never good but people go for the social aspect not the score

#v.txt #whole damn league #idk feel free to make counterpoints #it's probably fairly obvious who the faves are but idk we like some mediocre to terrible teams so #also genuine question did anyone else have a lettuce club or was that just us

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Silly DC Rogues + Scooby Doo incorrect quotes/concepts:

The Rogues adopting different members of the gang. It starts with Jonathan Crane meting Velma on a psychology seminar, than Riddler finds Fred in a trap convencion, Joker (or Harley pick your poison) goes buy a new lipstick and ends up bonding with Daphne, Scooby and Shaggy either became budies with Penguin after going to eat at the Iceberg or with Condiment King.

-/-

Batman: Scarecrow is too quiet lately I bet he is plotting some terrifying squeme.

*meanwhile at Jonathan Crane's hideout"

Scarecrow: Oh please, child, you can't do that to me. That's cruel.

Velma: You know the rules. No kidnnaping pleople or throwing fear toxin on places for a month or we will not let you study Shaggy and Scooby fear responses!

Scarecrow: Fine.

Velma: Now, Doctor Crane, I want the toxin canister I know you are hinding right now.

Scarecrow: You are lucky to be my favorite student, young lady. *gives her the vial*

Velma: All of them

Scarecrow: Fine. *gives her another ten hidden vials of fear toxin he had in his coat*

-/-

Velma: Er... I know this might be akward but I feel we bonded since last time we met and I wanted to ask you something.

Scarecrow: I didn't kill him, he died of fear naturaly.

Velma: Jinkies!!!!! I just wanted date advice.

Scarecrow: Oh?

Velma: You see I like this girl, a lot, abd I want to try to ask her on a date or something ... but... the problem is ... she is a villan and you are a vilan so I'm thinking maybe...

Scarecrow: Hm. Another villain. Maybe you should ask Harley. Unless she is really obnoxious, green and keeps asking annoying questions I have no idea how to help.

Velma: I think I'm the obnoxious one, asking all the questions? I mean I get really nervous when we are together so I end up talking a lot but not making much sense.

Scarecrow: Well if you are the obnoxious one, wich for what I know of you is highly doubtfull but I suppose not impossible, you can always build her a nice weapon, talk about how you are the best person ever to the point she may end kissing you so you shut up and look cute when scared.

Velma: I don't get scared. Nor talk about being the best.

Scarecrow: There is the weapon.

Velma: Wouldn't build a weapon to a villain be a bad thing?

Scarecrow: Since when do I care, Miss Dinkley?

Velma: Fair. But I do.

Scarecrow: In this case build something that can help her recover for potential injuries, crime is a very dangerous job.

Velma: That's actually really helpfull! Thanks, Doctor Crane!

Scarecrow: Only trying to help my best student, Miss Dinkley!

Velma: About that did you finish your studies on Shaggy and Scooby?

Scarecrow: Oh yes! They are fascinating!

*Velma and Jon start geeking out over chemistry and brain readings*

-/-

At Gotham's Annual Trap Convention

Announcer: This year the trap making competition will be done in duos! A special change to spice the ten years aniversary of the Traps Club of Professional Trapers and a way for us to make new trap themes.

Fred: Oh nice. Who wants to team up with me?

*no one says nothing*

Fred: Please? Gotham has the best trap convention I always wanted to win it's annual competion. Help a kid with their dreams!!

*is ignored*

Fred: : (

Riddler: *also didn't got a team mate because he is annnoying as heck* Riddle me this, ascot weirdo, the less you have the more they are worthy?

Fred: Uh... Scooby Snacks? Scooby normally recquires two or more to do really dangerous things but when it's for the last one he is super kean.

Riddler: What? *looks around* *everyone else already has a team* Fuck. Fiiine. You are stupid! Most people are but still you are impressivly dumb.

Fred: Thanks, my dad says the same thing.

Riddler: ...

Riddler: Dads! *rolls his eyes* As I was saying do wanna team up?

Fred: Sure!

Riddler: I never lost one of those so I want to make very clear to you beforehand that I expect a high perfomance.

Fred: Of course. All my traps are prefectly made! I'm a profissional, not like those two people over there using mapple to build an estructure that should totaly be made of oak.

Riddler: You are... actually right. And what the fuck are those knots? Do they want to fail? Honestly I bet they are Joker's men.

*They of course win the competition and become buddies*

-/-

*in a different universe*

Riddler: *shaking* PLEASE DON'T TAKE ME BACK BATMAN! *terrifield* I wasn't even comiting any crimes. I'm totaly clean! A new honest man. Please please Batman.

Batman: I'm sorry but you did escape from Arkham.

Riddler: Okay, okay, sure... I can go to Blackgate! Or Belle Reave. Or any other Asylum. Or solitary. I escaped. Yeah. I'm really evil Batman take me to solitary please.

Batman: I don't understand. What's going on with you? *concerned* Are you being abused? You can trust me.

Riddler: No. Not more than normal. It's fine. The problem isn't the guards or the doctors, I just can't come back to him.

Batman: *they are alredy on Arkham* Him?

Guard: Oh thank god you brought Nygma back his cellmate was really distressed.

Riddler: whimpers

Batman: Cellmate?

Riddler: *on his knees* Please please anything but him.

*they got to the cell*

Guard: *ignoring Ed* Yeah, the new guy, he is a transfer for center state, a total loony.

*Bruce looks to the cell to see a guy with a colorfull full of glitter hand puppet. He moves the puppet*

Professor Huh? (via puppet): Hi Eddie, I missed you! I can't banana drive to the mom alone.

Riddler: *hides behind Batman* This doesn't make any sense! *hyperventilating* Go away!!

Batman: Calm down, Nygma, what's the problem with your cellmate?

Professor Huh? (via puppet): Batman? My son likes you! Let's fly with a papper pane to show him a picture!

Batman: Of course! Just a second.*turns back to Riddler having a panic attack* Okay, Edward we are going to go to a different cell and you are going to tell me what is the problem.

Riddler: o-o-okay y-you pro-promisse I won't see *trembles* him?

Batman: Yes.

Riddler: He... He is weird! *Batman raises an eyebrown* You are just like the others!! You don't understand. You need to take me seriusly!!! He is... He is different from us... He scares me, Batman! He only speaks with the creepy puppet and he makes no sense! He never spoke a logical sentence in his life! His answeres to my riddles are soo abstract and it makes me question everything and he... he took my eyebrows with a croissant and put them on my shoulders once *shivers* that... that's insane? I'm not crazzy! It happened but it makes no sense! He makes no sense. He defies logic Batman. He sees order and he breaks it. I.. I need order, Batman!!!!

-/-

*back to our normal programing*

Riddler: Aha! We did it! We catched Batman.

Fred: Wait? Batman? I understood we were supposed to catch Mothman! Why would we catch Batman? He is a good guy.

Riddler: *who just stoled a museum in front of Fred hours ago and it's dressed on his full riddler costume* I'm a supervilan?

Fred: Hahaha. That was funny. Now let's catch Mothman.

Riddler: ????

Fred: *gives a lost puppie smile* You know I always wanted to catch Mothman with my dad... *blushes* Er... I meant with you! Yeah I always wanted to catch a cryptic with my good friend Mr. Nygma who I don't see as a dad at all haha.

Riddler: .... fine... *opens the trap* Sorry, Batman. We were trying to catch Mothman this time.

Batman (Dick, Bruce had a small emergency involving Alfred's niece Daphne) *confused* What?

Riddler: Don't ask me.

Batman (Dick): *sarcastically* Yeah, yeah, you are the one who asks questions. C'mmon Nygma let's go back to Arkham.

Riddler: *fake sweet smile* Okay *presents his hads to be handcuffed* Buuut you will have to be the one to the him we are not going to catch Mothman. *evil smile*

Batman (Dick): Er... Hi kid?

Fred: Batman! Me and my friends are huge fans. We also solve mysteries.

Batman: Nice? Look your monster hunter partner is actually a dangerous criminal.

Fred: Velma? I know she sometimes uses her evil scientist voice but she is a sweetheart.

Batman: No, the other one.

Fred: Daphne? She only breaks the bones of the people who deserve it! She also sometimes commits identity fraud but I wouldn't call that dangerous criminal behavior just kirky.

Batman: Uh, not her either...

Fred: SHAGGY AND SCOOBY? Are you insane Batman!! They are lovely people. The most they can do it's steal your sanduiche but they are really nice about it.

Batman: I was more by the lines of Riddler.

Fred: Who is Riddler?

*at this point even Edward is in shock. He never told Fred he was Riddler but it should be a given*

Batman: Nygma?

Fred: Oh! Uncle Eddie is not a dangerous criminal he is too weak and silly.

Riddler: Hey!

Fred: Sorry? But I saw you be bitten by an ant and cry over it.

Riddler: *blushing* I... It hurted.

Batman: *snickers*

Riddler: *whispers* you are not convincing no one Nightwing

Batman: *also whispering* fuck you, Nygma

Fred: See totaly not a dangerous criminal. Besides he isn't dressed as a monster.

Batman: I suppose.

Fred: *puppy eyes* So can you let us go back to hunting Mothman.

Batman:... Sure. Stay safe citzens *whispering* you better not doing anything bad, Nygma

Riddler: *whispering meancingly* or what?

Batman: *whispering* you gonna break the kids heart *throws him back at Fred wich results on him failing to floor*

Riddler: ouch. That was unecessary! *Batman has already disapeared*

Fred: *helping riddler up* I didn't know Batman was such a funny guy! You are dangerous criminal haha.

Riddler: *trying not to sound offended* Let's stop talking about it and go catch Mothman, alright.

-/-

In a more serious universe P.I Nygma actually meets the gang as he is hired to investigate a missing person case related to the "monster" Mystery Inc is investigating. (If in my college au he does warns them about Professor Crane before leaving saying something about nigthmares on Arkham)

-/-

Daphne: Oh dear, no! Don't buy this shade of lipstick.

Joker: Do you know who I am?

Daphne: Yes, you are the famous serial killer and supervilan Joker and you are going to look awfull with this.

[alternativally]

Daphne: Oh dear, no! Don't buy this shade of lipstick.

Harley: Wow, you're that monster hunter kid! I saw a video of you guys on youtube! Nice.

Daphne: I saw a video of you on YouTube as well! I've been crazy to ask your make up brand because I need to be able to do moves like that without messing mine up. Also can I ask how did you learn that cool half-flip head kick? I've been practicing a lot but I think is not quite right yet.

-/-

Alfred is the creator of the Scooby Snacks. He also has to hide the kitchem because Scooby and Shaggy eat all the food. That being said he does like how apreciative they are.

#not beta'd #not edited #this is silly #dc and scooby doo #i have more from where this comes from #scooby doo #batman