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thiscrying · 11 months

Text

Bad idea!

Kenny Mccormick x F!reader

𓂃𖤐 .* 𖥔៹ ࣪｡✧˚₊ ⊹

➟ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: NSFW, aged up characters!!!

➟ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: "darling, are you ready for more?"

➟ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Kenny Mccormick x F!reader

𓂃𖤐 .* 𖥔៹ ࣪｡✧˚₊ ⊹

You had an ex from three years ago, who you never really got over and was constantly on your mind, you had sex a few times after breaking up but he never really seemed to care about it.

It was almost 3 am and you miss him really bad, you even consider calling him but thinks about it and thinks this might be a bad idea.

With a joint and your phone in your hands, you take a hit and think about Kenny, his soft lips and the way his body felt on top of you.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad if I called him, right? you wanted him, you desired him. Deep down you knew it wasn't going to stop so soon.

As soon as you click the call button, you feel a slight regret rising in your brain, it was too late to come back now. You're completely pulled out of your thoughts with a husky voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey sugar tits"

Oh lord.

Maybe i was just calling him to satisfy a late night craving, like i always did. This all started when i was drunk and decided to call him.

It was a bad idea to think I could stop.

"Hey kenny, i was wondering if you could come over"

"On my way, but what makes you call me this late at night, hm?"

"You'll see." You said and then hung up.

He knew what you wanted, and you also knew that you missed him more than you should, you would have walked away if his sex wasn't so strong, in fact the best you've ever had.

After a few minutes, Kenny shows up at your door, giving you a slow kiss. Wasting no time, he carries you to the bedroom.

"You look so pretty moaning my name with my cock in your mouth. I missed you." Says Kenny looking at you and approaching, he licks his lips and looks at you from top to bottom.

You both knew that you shouldn't be doing that, but what was the use of getting so far and everything ending up in vain?

Without thinking too much, Kenny quickly threw you against the wall while you stared at his beautiful ocean eyes, pressing your bodies against each other and putting your knees between your thighs. Without hesitation, your lips collide and the blonde asks for passage with his hands to your neck. Gently, Kenny pulls you to the bed, getting on top of you. How could he attract me like that? I really don't know and honestly? That was my last concern

"Look at you... so pretty. I'm gonna make you look like a mess, absolutely ruin you, slut." He said, and took one last look at the bottom of my eyes. Before you even think, you were already kissing once again, you quickly have a vague memory that you had sworn to yourself that you would never even look to Kenny's eyes again, you wouldn't make that mistake again. But as long as you were together, nothing really mattered, you both just wanted your bodies together again. Fuck, why did he have to be so goddamn hot?

You couldn't stop, not so soon, you were addicted to each other's bodies and maybe even wondering how you got there, anyway, fuck everything, I just want him on top of me now.

Kenny puts his hand under your shirt, giving a slight lift in your bra, thus giving way to his hands that, in turn, played with your hard pierced nipples. His kisses became more intense and went down to your neck, varying between kisses and hickeys as he started undressing you.

For a brief moment, it crossed my mind and I found that there was a reason why I always made the same mistakes: He was addictive. A fucked up drug that made me want more, and honestly? I would die of a happy overdose if Kenny were the cause. I'd always went back to him, in the end of the day.

"Show me how much you want me, how much you missed me." he said, running his pale, cold hands over your body, sending shivers all over you.

"Try not to moan too loudly, babe." He declared grabbing my thighs and kissing the inside of them, pushing my legs apart and running his fingers all over my skin, causing goosebumps all over my body. "I don't want everyone to hear my girl moaning, I'm kind of selfish in that sense."

He says, as he pushed away the last piece of clothing I had left and introduced his fingers into my cunt. My mind turned into a complete white and I could only think about how much I wanted that boy to fuck me.

My moans echoed through the room as he licked my clit. "M-more Ken, I want more."

You felt a smirk as Kenny introduced another finger into you, you felt your whole body electric and it didn't take long for your orgasm to spread throughout your body, making your legs shake.

You knew it was a bad idea needing him so late.

𓂃𖤐 .* 𖥔៹ ࣪｡✧˚₊ ⊹

HEY BITCHESS!!! IM BACK 😈

This was inspired by @kenny-the-ken and @n0tangeliccc

They're both amazing writers, check on their profile

Sorry this is short! I'm trying to improve! 💞

#kenny mccormick x reader #kenny mcormick x reader #kenny mccormick smut #kenny mccormick hcs #kenny mccormick #south park #south park kenny #kenny south park #sp kenny #kenny smut #girl in red #bad idea #smut #south park smut

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suzukiblu · 8 months

Note

scream

Context: Match is suffering from clone degradation, Kon is trying to fix that, and Magic Made Them Do It.

Match pushes in.

"Ohhhhh god," Thirteen chokes, his eyes flaring wide. "Fuck, that's–calcified. Right. You're–fuck, what are you made of, you bastard, goddamn promethium?!"

Match doesn't know what he's talking about, but doesn't actually care. Thirteen's body is tight around his cock, is clutching and clenching around his cock, is so vulnerable and soft underneath him, and absolutely nothing else in the entire damn world matters more than the way it feels.

He wants to feel more of it.

"Match," Thirteen pants, fisting his hands in the sheets over his head. "Match, I–please move."

Oh, Match thinks. That's a good idea.

He moves. Thirteen chokes, and his body arches up into a different angle and Match's cock slides in deep. Almost as deep as it can go.

Thirteen lets go of the sheets and starts clawing urgently at Match's back. He's still making choking sounds. Wrapping his legs around his waist. Match . . . listens, for a moment. Looks down at him.

Thirteen's skin isn't calcified, he remembers absently. They're supposed to have the same body, but they don't anymore.

He wonders if that means Thirteen's feeling this differently than he is. If the sensations are different.

If they're more.

Match . . . wonders.

"C'mon," Thirteen manages hoarsely, knocking his head back against the bed. The frame creaks. Loudly. "Just–c'mon, okay, you gotta–you gotta come, remember? C'mon, just do it. Go for it. Hard as you want, it's okay."

Match didn't actually remember that he had to come, but he guesses it doesn't matter, since Thirteen's reminding him.

And Thirteen said it was okay, so . . .

So Match moves again.

As hard as he wants.

Thirteen yowls. Match moves again, and again, still just as hard as he wants, and Thirteen claws harder at his back and tightens his legs around him. Match's shirt is tearing to shreds under his fingers and he's shaking. Thirteen is shaking, that is–not Match.

Thirteen probably is feeling this differently than he is, he thinks.

He seems to be, anyway.

"Fuck fuck fuck and fucking hell," Thirteen swears, looking like he's been hit again. He's moving too. Lifting his hips; rocking them. Making it easier for Match to thrust into and feel more of him.

Good, Match thinks.

He wants Thirteen to make it easy. He wants Thirteen to look like this. He wants to feel more of him, and . . .

And some other things, maybe, he's vaguely aware.

But mostly right now, he just wants to hear Thirteen fucking scream.

He can, he thinks, if he does this right.

"God, I hate myself so fucking much," Thirteen moans miserably as Match thrusts harder into him. "Match, I–c'mon, c'mon, you asshole, just–"

Match puts his hands on Thirteen's hips again. Digs his fingers in. Thirteen's skin isn't calcified, so it indents easily under the pressure.

"Oh god!" Thirteen gasps.

Match wonders, actually, how often Thirteen's felt his skin indent under someone else's hands. Probably not very.

At least not easily, anyway.

"Dammit, dammit, I'm too–I can't–!" Thirteen cuts himself off and screws his eyes shut, covering his face with shaking hands and visibly struggling with–something? Something. Match isn't sure what.

But he still wants to hear him scream, so he doesn't worry about it, and just pulls Thirteen down onto his cock hard.

Thirteen, very nicely, does scream.

Good, Match thinks.

Thirteen also comes. His soft body tightens into a perfect vise around Match's cock and his own cock spills all over his stomach, dripping and pulsing all wet and messy, and Match stops moving to watch it happen. He would've expected to need to touch it to make Thirteen come, but apparently that isn't the case.

Hm.

Thirteen groans hoarsely, going limp against the bed. He almost sounds . . . defeated?

Match wonders if he can make him scream again.

He wants to.

#dc match #kon el #superboy #anonymous #rinfic #long post #not sfw #dubious consent #wip: match and kon and the time magic made them do it

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fandomfluffandfuck · 5 months

Note

Hey, so, I've been contemplating this idea for a while, and I'm aware other people thought of this. But Bucky in a USO Chorus Girl outfit.

I imagine he'd be in the middle of a card game with Steve and their other comrades. Bucky's winning, he's getting cocky, so he makes a bet.

"If I lose, I have to wear one of them pretty outfits the showgirls wear."

Lo and behold, he loses. He's pissed about it. But he goes through with the bet.

And Steve?

Steve can't take his eyes off of Bucky for the life of him. But Bucky's being so whiny and pouty about it, acting like a brat.

So, Steve takes it upon himself to "fix" Bucky's attitude.

I was wondering if you have any thoughts on this? Or have you answered an ask similar to this before?

Oh my God, I love this idea. I've heard lots of ideas bouncing around in the stucky fandom after She Hulk, but never one exactly like this thought!

The thought of it being a lost bet is *chef's kiss*

I'm not currently taking prompts, but... what the hell, I only have a few days before I go back to college, I might as well spend my last little bit of this break by thinking of Bucky in a skirt...

Immediately, when you sent this prompt in, I was imagining Bucky with his arms crossed and a stormy look on his face. His lips are set in a straight line, and his brows furrowed; he's not pissed about being made to dress up in the skimpy outfit meant for one of the dancing dames that Steve twinkled over to this side of the war front with, he's fucking pissed that he lost. He was winning! And he woulda fuckin' won if Monty hadn't--

"You gonna give us a twirl, lady spangles?" Jim howls at him, grinning like a madman.

The wolf whistles of the other Howlies quickly join his words, overpowering them. Monty even sticks his fingers into his mouth to whistle extra loud--being, as usual, extra obnoxious. Just because he can.

"No," Bucky huffs, "that's not gonna happen," shifting where he stands, crossing his arms tighter and only letting his lip curl up slightly. He can feel the gauzy tulle fluffing the skirt swishing against his skin. Vaguely itchy and ticklish. He didn't put on the stockings to complete the outfit, but he kind of wishes that he did now. The sensation would be less distracting with another layer, at least. Probably. He's never worn stockings. Maybe they’d be even more distracting. Yet... he'd also be warmer with tights. Warmer if he hadn't fuckin’ lost and weren't wearing this sleeveless, low plunging, flag-blue top, revealing his decolletage and more. He's so cold his nipples are poking through the thin fabric. And the high waist joining the top and skirt is tight, pressing into him every time he takes a (hopefully) slow, calming breath. He feels not only cold but exposed, too.

Small mercies, at least, his hands were too big for any of the white, shiny gloves to be wearable. He can't get them over his fists. The same goes for the shoes. None of the dames have the same size feet as Bucky does. Saves him some of his dignity. Just some. He won't fall flat on his face in any tiny, shiny heels tonight.

"Aw, c'mon, girlie," they laugh, a fuckin’ peanut gallery, all of ‘em.

"Fuck you," Bucky rolls his eyes hugely.

Bucky would like to go back to approximately twenty minutes ago when they were congregated around a flipped over apple box on the dirty, dusty floor of Steve's private Captain's tent with flickering lamp light and hazy cigarette smoke hanging over them, laid back as much as they could when on the front. Now, standing alone and just barely inside the shut tent entrance makes Bucky feel like he's the game. He might not be as competitive as Steve fucking is, but he doesn't like this outcome. Not at all. He grumbles to himself some more.

"Aw, don't say that." Someone teases.

“Yeah, don't beat yourself up, honey!” Another of the guys piles on.

“Mm-hm. You're so pretty. There's no need to be embarrassed."

"Shake it, baby!"

A few other sarcastic replies and catcalls meet his blunt unenjoyment of this lost bet. Bucky feels himself slowly turning red. His Ma taught him better than to ogle at ladies. Apparently, none of these animals got that message, though. That, or, they don't care about ogling about a man in a lady's things.

"How long do I have to stand here and be drooled over? You fuckers miss your gals that much?" Bucky uncrosses his arms, fisting the hem of the skirt, pulling it down. Does this really cover any of Steve's dancers? He had to roll his skivvies up so they didn't hang out from under the skirt. "Am I done?"

"Just a little longer, twinkles. You haven't paid your dues just yet."

“Yeah, and you won't ‘til you give us a twirl!”

Laughter bounces among them.

Bucky flips them off. But, he does stand there until they get bored of him. The only thing he hates more than losing is not holding to his word. He made a bet. It wasn't a smart bet--even if he's pretty sure Monty cheated just to pull his leg (probably conspiring with the others)--but whatever.

Bucky doesn't realize until the Howlies are shuffling out of the tent, slapping Bucky on the shoulder or ass as they leave, saluting him and drawling, “goodnight, ma’am,” “night, dolly,” and “you come here often, how come I’ve not seen you here before, baby,” among other things before disappearing into the darkness that's swallowed the camp whole... Steve hasn't said anything. But it hits him over the back of the head, the realization, once they're alone in his oversized tent. Steve is a little shit. He never has enough self-control to resist piling on, ragging Bucky harder than anyone else can get away with. Yet...

He hasn't done anything.

And come to think of it, as Bucky ties the canvas tent flaps shut, their men all gone, he can feel Steve's eyes on him. They're intense. Normally, Bucky gets a sense for if his gaze is hungry and burning or worried or whatever. He's not sure what this is. But he knows he's looking.

What can Bucky do but turn around?

Bucky catches his blue eyes ripping up, ashamed, from the bottom hem of his ruffled skirt.

And... they're eye to eye now, a scant few feet separating them. Silent, for the moment. Though, it never takes long for Steve to open his big mouth.

Steve licks his lips, “you--” he clears his throat, a false start, “you sure you don't wanna give it just one twirl?”

Bucky groans, rolling his eyes so hard that he just might pull something. “No,” he grinds his right heel into the gritty floor, “I wanna get outta this fuckin’ thing. I'm done.” And he is. So done. He lost, he made a bet, he got his, he doesn't need more.

He’s so done that he reaches up behind his shoulder, grasping blindly for the zip at the nap of his neck, feeling for the cold metal. He brushes over it a few times but can't quite get a solid hold on it. Wiggling, Bucky tries his best to get it. He can't.

He huffs, dramatic but feeling very deserved, “Steeve.”

“Hmm?” Steve is looking right at him, but he sounds the same way he always does when he's distracted by something else. As if he's stuck in a drawing, and Bucky is pestering him by asking him to do the dishes or launder their sheets.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, “unzip me.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve licks his lips again.

Damn, he's gonna give himself chapped lips. Actually, can he even get chapped lips now? With the serum? Shaking his head, not staying stuck on the thought, Bucky steps forward, turning around when he's in front of Steve and waiting for him to--

Suddenly, Steve's big hands are on his waist, causing him to jump--spooked 'cause he was expecting to feel him at the nape of his neck, slowly taking the zipper of his dress down, leaving him even more exposed to the chill of the night air. His hands are fucking huge. Dinner-plate-sized paws, he swears it. Feeling them around his waist catches Bucky off-guard. They're warm, too. He burns like a furnace now. That's just as unfamiliar.

“Steve--” Bucky starts to complain, the edge of an exasperated whine in his voice.

“Buck,” Steve's thumbs are drawing back and forth over the thin, silky material of his waistband. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heat from his big, huge fucking mitts and his thick, broad chest as he steps in closer bleed into Bucky. They're not even touching yet, but he's not cold anymore. The gauzy tulle squishes up against the back of his legs. Itchy.

“Get me out of this thing, I swear, Steve I'll--” Bucky is cut off, gasping, when Steve digs his fingers into his hips and tugs him back against him at the same time. His strength is literally breathtaking.

His lips, hot, are against the shell of his ear, the rasp of his stubble--already coming in even though he cleaned up this afternoon, shaving by the river out back from camp--against his hair, catching, make Bucky's blood turn thicker, “you really hate this that much, Buck?” His voice is low, barely a whisper. Bucky can still hear it. He can feel it. Breathed hot and humid against him.

“Yes,” the word is out of his mouth before he can think twice.

“Hmm, that's a shame,” Steve husks, “I think you should keep it. It suits you.”

That night from the bar flashes through Bucky, scoffing, he struggles fruitlessly against Steve's hold on his hip, “is this just payback for what I said, you can’t keep me lik--”

It turns out Steve can still hold him in place with just one hand. An arm around his waist, the thick, hard muscle pressing into his body. His other hand is busy covering his mouth.

Oh.

“Who’d’a thought all it'd take to put some fight in you is putting you in a little skirt, huh?” Steve chuckles, “coulda done that back home an’ maybe you woulda won more at Y.” He pats Bucky's face, his hand still over his mouth, unmoving like the fucker he is. Too strong for his own good.

Still, Bucky struggles more. Grumbling and debating if it’s worth it to bite his hand, he doubts licking it would make a difference. Struggling if not to get away and punch Steve in his shoulder for being a dick than just to feel him flex--his forearm, bicep, and his chest, so close. Pressed up against him.

Steve, ever an asshole, just laughs more. He doesn’t go anyway, smiling into his hair, “aw, c'mon, don’t be sore at me, the guys were tellin’ the truth, you don't look bad at all, Buck. It suits you.”

“Mmm-mnh!” Bucky complains against his hand, muffled.

“It really suits you…” Steve murmurs, repeating himself as his other hand releases his waist and smooths up his bare thigh, moving up under the skirt. His eyes, oppositely, drag down his body. His gaze boring right into him.

Bucky can't speak because of Steve's hand, but he still trips over his own tongue, choking and feeling heat rise high on his cheeks. It climbs to his ears. Steve is groping him. Squeezing his thighs. Ruffling the tulle. It swishes around his body, rubbing up on him just as much as Steve is.

“You gonna quit bitchin’ if I let you go?”

Bucky thinks about shaking his head, he still wants out of this damn thing, but the gesture turns into a nod without his permission and when Steve, true to his word, stops cupping his wide palm over his mouth, not a sound comes out of him until--

“Ohh,” the moan spills out of Bucky's buzzing lips, dripping in shock and heat all because one of Steve's big hands is on his waist again, touching the soft, silky fabric--petting him almost--and the other has flipped up his skirt and dived under his skivvies to get a whole, huge handful of his ass. Squeezing him filthily. Grabbing him like he wants to take a chunk out of him.

Also with the poofy skirt pushed up and out of the way, Bucky can feel the hot line of Steve's cock against him.

Jesus.

He likes it. He really likes it. He really likes him in this tiny, little getup. They've only just gotten alone, and he immediately had to jump him, and--

“Good boy,” Steve's voice is just a hot and just as close as his dick, pressed into his neck. Humid, dripping with arousal.

His voice is enough of a reward for Bucky, but Steve is generous. He adds to it. Letting his hand travel from his waist up his front, heavily dragging over his hip and stomach and chest until he gets to his nipple. They're still hard. Aching points on his chest. Needing to be touched.

“Nnngh,” another unintentional sound comes out of him when Steve thumbs his left nipple, sending a skittering spark down to his dick and pushing the shirt up.

Steve coos at him, the low hum rumbling through his chest and into Bucky, and Bucky… Bucky is washed away with another wave of heat, flushed heat to toe, and melting back onto Steve's chest. He doesn't budge. A fuckin’ brick wall. All muscle. God.

“That's it,” Steve encourages him, two thick fingers grazing his tight hole between his cheeks, making him shiver bonelessly, “see? That wasn't so hard. Just be good. Lemme look at you.”

Bucky’s so distracted that he doesn't even snip at Steve for doing much more than looking at him. He quivers, head to toe, without a single coherent thought in his head. "Steve," he pleads.

"Jus' lemme look," he reiterates, his voice a delicious purr and his hands dangerous paws, hitting him exactly where it counts.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky

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yanderes-galore · 1 year

Note

DBD Herman Carter (The Doctor) with your prompts: 8 + 41, please?

Hm... I'll see what I can do as one of these doesn't fit him. I'll try to twist it so it does. As a result, may be OOC but you can be the judge of that. I tried to keep him as close to canon as possible though.

AU before the fog where you are Carter's patient and it, predictably, is horrible. It's short, unfortunately, but I hope it was horrific enough :)

Yandere! Herman Carter Concept I'm pulling from

Yandere! Herman Carter Prompts 8 + 41

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

"I made this mark on myself to show you how much I love you!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Sadism, Electroshock therapy, Violence, Torture, Obsession, Self-Mutilation (Doctor), Sadomasochism, Unhealthy power dynamic, Vague kidnapping implied, Twisted and forced relationship obviously, Brief blood mention.

No more....

The thought echoes through your buzzed head like a fading message. Your mind tingles and melts, failing to make any other thought but a desperate plea. You couldn't even look at the man who put you through this.

You didn't want any more of this....

Your breathing is sharp and ragged. Your muscles still twitch from the last blast of electricity coursing through your flesh. Your restraints hurt when your skin brushes ever so slightly against them...

Is that burning flesh you smell?

Is it yours?

"What wonderful results..." The sound of praise buzzes in your ears. The supposed doctor operating on you walks into your blurry view. You grimace at his smile. "I expected such from my favorite patient."

You don't doubt your mind is fried by this point. You don't remember what compelled you to come here and for what. Did you even come here of your own volition?

All you know is what's here right now. All you know is electricity making you numb... while a doctor claims he's curing you. Of what, you want to ask, but he'd never answer.

"You look adorable when dazed." The doctor comments, chuckling in a pitch that screams supernatural. "You should know you're special to me."

You don't dare dwell on the idea of what happens to other patients of his. Are they all treated like this? Or... do others get it much worse-

The doctor's wide eyes scan over your scarred flesh. Your breathing is faint... tired. His patient looks so vulnerable... so vulnerable for him.

He likes this one...

He may even say this is what love feels like.

Love's meant to make one feel tingly, right? Or maybe that's just the electricity coursing through the both of you. He laughs to himself at the thought.

Herman Carter wasn't sure why he felt so attached to this patient. Was it those watery eyes? Was it the fact you lasted the longest?

You've even managed to cause lasting marks on him. In both his rapid beating heart and his charred flesh. He had surprised himself when he marked something into his flesh to remember you by in case you pass.

Ahh... love. If this is love, love feels wonderful. He likes this feeling... this feeling is what kept you around for so long! Maybe it's just delusions but he's never felt something so good.

He loved seeing you in restraints. He loved the power you gave him. He loved your screams and whimpers...

He loves you.

The doctor looks into your eyes for a moment. All of his attention is on your... it feels eerie. He shudders in what appears to be a sigh or quite laughter. You want to cry and scream when he shoots out an arm to hold your sensitive cheek.

"I could look into those eyes forever...." The doctor murmurs dreamily, a giggle slipping out soon after. He looks so lost in thought.... The doctor is simply admiring his work, he loves those eyes of yours.

Your tears... your cries... your flesh... your blood... the entirety of your being...

It's all his now.

He wonders if you understand the intensity of these feelings. Can you comprehend what he feels? Don't you feel it too?

Or do you doubt him?

"This is love..." You hear him giggle again. You grimace. Love... oh, he was more deranged than you thought. You'd scoff if it didn't feel like your skin was going numb with pins and needles. He then continues his ramblings.

"Oh... I know this must be what love is. The others didn't make me feel such a way. Dear... I hope you know I'm serious about what I say."

He then pulls back, turning around to unbutton his coat. You tense up, fearing the worse once he undoes the undershirt too. You clench your eyes shut when he turns back around.

"I made this..." He shudders, his tone depicting twisted excitement with every stuttered breath. "I made this mark on myself to show you how much I love you!"

You refuse to look at what he wanted to show you. That is until the doctor expresses his annoyance by grabbing your head. Your eyes shoot open to meet his.

"Look." He says bluntly, pulling away. Fearful of more treatment, you look. You immediately feel sick.

On his chest... his skin is blackened and scarred into the shape of a crude heart. It's all a sick portrayal of his 'love' for you. It wasn't even a depiction of a simple cartoon heart. It held detail... too much detail... and the smell of burning flesh makes you gag.

The doctor only giggles and laughs at your reaction, clearly enjoying the torment it brought to you. You don't know where to look. Do you keep staring at the burnt gash on his chest... or his face?

"Now you know how much I adore you..." The doctor continue, stepping closer as he buttons up his shirt and coat. "But what about you?"

Your heart stops... was it the shock from the 'therapy'? No... it most likely was the shock that the question sparked within you. Please, no...

The doctor pulls a scalpel and begins to cut your shirt open. You can't squirm, he restraints hold you taut. The doctor watches your reaction with glee.

"You must feel the same. You have to. That's why... I'll make the same mark on you."

You shake your head, the adrenaline kicking in as you try to flee. You can't. If there was a way... you would've been gone earlier. The doctor pulls the cloth of your now tattered clothes to the side and prepares the scalpel for flesh.

"This way... you'll know we're meant for each other... this will be our love..."

You cry out of panic and desperation when he angles the scalpel onto your abdomen with precision. The first cut you barely feel... but beads of blood still drip down your red skin. The doctor giggles one last time before glancing up to your eyes again.

"Now... do me a favor, dear... and hold. still."

#yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd #yandere dbd doctor #yandere herman carter #yandere the doctor

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yostresswritinggirl · 2 years

Note

Alright, all I have left for the Loud House are 3D puzzles, geocaches, and Jenga. I tried lol.

For Scara and puppet reader’s wedding, it could either be a mix of both Sumeru and Inazuma? Or they have both. They have enough money to do that. I don’t imagine it to be very big. Small and intimate. Maybe Nahida should officiate the wedding… Hm, Ei would come, I believe. And with her, something to symbolize Makoto so both would be there for the pair. The Aranara should be wedding guests. They’re too cute to not invite.

I do have tentative ideas for the rings tho. I just want to joke about how fast Scara’s untying puppet reader’s obi cause he’s like lightening, aha sorry Cyno and Tighnari, I just had to. Scara legit having a smug look on his face when he realizes he’s the only one happily married. There’s exceptions yea (CtM) but would Traveler really want to have a team composing of Scara, Vyno, and Tighnari? There’s no Nahida to mediate unless… oh and Nahida might have puppet reader with her in Sumeru city when he’s out. Which does make me think that puppet reader covers up and is never seen without layers or their entire body covered except for Scara (and Dottore but that doesn’t count). But pretty puppet reader turning heads in Sumeru City (especially because of their kintsugi) is a THOUGHT. And Tighnari now has matching scars with them lol.

Bloom anon

Omg geochaces with these three?! That would be so cool, and the games, it's those activities that they can get along in but jenga is a really reaaaally rigged game (and don't worry about hcs for them, the first fic for poly kavetham is intentionally vague)

I did some searching and there's a LOT of things for their wedding that it's absurd, especially when mixed. But the funny bit is that most pre-wedding traditions in Inazuma Scaramouche had already unintentionally done, like providing labor to his future spouse and exchanging important items with one another. So when Ei told him about these, he was so proud that he was doing it right.

There's also the sakaki tree branch offering in the Japanese traditions, so imagine Nahida plucking two branches from Irminsul for the wedding skdbdikeks did you know in Persian traditions, when doing the "I do" part, the bride is actually asked three times to signify the journey of the husband's effort to work for their love? I think it's adorable to see Scara's smile growing in every "I do" aww

And there's also the Chuppah, the canopy held over the lovers where the four corners are raised by four close female friends during the wedding procession. So I'm thinking Paimon, Lumine, Ei, and Nahida (if Zhongli is the wedding officiator, if not, then Hu Tao). And finally, the shower of flowers but it's mainly the Aranara throwing sakura blooms at them <33

And definitely no to that team, Cyno would try to backstab that man every chance he gets lol but now that you say it, the clothes in Sumeru do cover up a lot of skin it would be perfect to wear those when they're in the city so they don't attract too much attention. But yes, with the Kintsugi and being artificially made, the attention is a definite must more so with the Lesser Lord accompanying them <33 Scara doesn't know whether to be smug or infuriated about this info (while rings are not part of the culture, I think this incident is what convinced him go get one)

Also fuck I forgot Tighnari got struck too ajdbxkankb they definitely have a closer bond then, and looking at Reader's kintsugi (can't really hide the ones on their face) he wonder if he should get his scars tattooed over with gold too, although the pain kind of scares him enough to back down every time. Their friendship would be the bridge to all four (Cyno and Scara) of them getting along honestly, at least to remove the obvious hostility.

Puppet reader 🤝 Tighnari struck by lightning while also having bfs with lightning powers

#bloom anon #exile.goblet #exile.reader #scaramouche x reader #about kintsugi #that loud house

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masked-and-doomed · 6 months

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heya do you got any oc's or anything? like funger oc's n stuff? i'm obsessed with oc's

*since this post mentions her relationship with pocketcat, implied csa warning. also she's depressed so suicide warning ig*

Also. this is 2k words. waow.

Not specifically funger OCs, but I do have a self insert character that I've put in the funger universe!

(the hair is supposed to be black btw it looks more brown to go better with the colour pallette)

I welcome you to- uh. Right. *Turns to face her* You don't have a name. It's been what, fuckin' 3 years? You still haven't decided anything? Oh, now it's kinda maybe meaningful for your character to have no name? Poetic shit? Yeah sure. *Turns back to face you* So, no name. For our sakes, I'll call her Unnamed Girl(ie). UG for short.

She was a human that suddenly got snatched from Earth and put into a white void. And she was trapped there. With memories of nothing. Why she has no name. Well she has some vague memories of her previous life, like her being fatherless, she doesn't remember any names, faces. Just some interactions.

We dunno what the hell happened to Earth nor her, really, all we can assume is that there's probably some sadistic ass higher being that's putting her through that shit? Watching her suffer every moment here. But, we never got to know. They don't really matter to us really, they've never showed up. Not important.

In the white void, she also gained. Some sort of Godhood? She got powers of some sort. So that's one upside. Downside with this is that she's immortal. And as you see, a white void. Is well. A white void. Nothin in it. Sure, she's made a room for herself to get comfy but then you start to go insane with the fact that you're isolated and that there's no one to talk to and you have no purpose in life and that it feels like you were an unwanted part of the universe that wasn't meant to ever be existing but yet you still do, and then erm she can't take it anymore and tries to. Off herself. Multiple times, in fact!

Too bad for her, immortality exists. Or perhaps better called, eternal youth. She hasn't aged since she got here. Perpetually 12, what a hell to be in, huh buddy? Fucked up thing to add on, the way her immortality works is that she suffers the wounds, damage, pain, before her body starts to regrow it back. (Usually like a minute but if she pushes it, it can be instantaneous.)

After a few days in the white void she starts conjuring up friends in her head to try and combat the eternal loneliness. Barely works. She's got three guys in her head, that talk to her from time to time. They're pretty flat and 2D in personality, UG really isn't that much of a creative girl.

(Oohh tumblr compression...)

So, with these characters, let's show you how horrible she is at naming, hm? We got the furry one, Kats. Sadistic and mean one. Guy with the hat is Meowzerz. Cheerleader, also tries to advise UG to be kind. Gas masked fellow is Koolmeow. Wild card, she does whatever she finds fun. Mostly burning things up.

Really shitty names for those last two. No wonder she hasn't picked a name for herself if these are the names she gave these mfs.

...

Well, fuck. Friends aren't really friend-ing great unfortunately. What to do?

Oh, lookie that. That's a buncha.. games and anime. Huh. Well, might as well get through them. All this white is awfully boring.

So after some days of hell, she got to see stories she's vaguely familiar with. Must been stories she experienced back in her previous life. Entertainment is entertainment.

With nothing else in the void really, she gets heavily attached to these media. Filling her time with making fanart and obsessing over the characters. Three in particular she got attached to, but only one of them is of importance considering where we're headed to in this timeline.

Ahh the cat. The horrid horrid cat. I mean she's a young child, having a man tell him she loves her even when it's just a character written by someone else to be a creepy piece of shit is. Well a charming and interesting specimen such as him sharing affection? She can't help but reciprocate back.

With all the time in this non-existence, she makes a whole shrine of shit. Plushies, posters, figures. She loves recreating his likeness and having something physical to hold. Well, she is most well versed in digital art. That she does remember about herself. She was an artist. And most of him is drawn in a computer over and over again. She has no other way to show her love other than to put him in silly situations and emulate how he reacts. Yes I do mean fanfiction. She has a lotta files of just art of him she made, you don't wanna know how big it is.

Even besides him, she's pretty enamoured with this world of Funger. She'd much rather go through that hell than this hell. At least you can die there. And things actually happen.

...

Oh? We can finally go out? After all this time?

You really did get to find a way out, Kats?

It's.. Ahah. The multiverse thing does actually exist, doesn't it? This.. this is the dungeon...

...

Ah, so much explaining her backstory and I haven't gotten to her personality! Well she's. Seriously mentally ill for one. Isolation for god knows how long and all that. I can only conclude Depression or some variation of it for now, though there is definitely another mental disorder at play here. Erm. We might never know. I don't think she'll ever go to therapy or a psychiatrist.

Due to her being in that void for so long, and with barely any memories, there's some things that she's real bad at. Of course, she retains her memory of how to walk, how to speak and communicate, and most basic human things.

However, this bitch cannot social interaction. How unfortunate, my friend.

She can be very blunt and clear with her words. Oh she also has this stupid thing where she's either really crass and informal or just talks fancy and with a thesaurus. Fucking weirdo. can't talk normal ever.

Next note, she has no respect for anyone. That's not to say she doesn't appreciate anyone's company, she definitely likes a good amount of people. Thing is, since she saw this all in a game she played and saw as fiction. Little dolls for her to play with. She never really got to get out of that thinking. Also that with her being some sorta higher being? Yeah, she thinks a little high of herself. Sometimes. Sometimes. (She also think she's the worst thing ever that existed lmao)

Adding on, she also possesses no self respect. No shame. No dignity. No regrets about anything ever. She just lives on. She's a very YOLO it is what it is kinda gal.

UG has a very normal perception of love. She thinks of violence as a sort of love language to her, she just wants to rip her beloveds to shreds. She also has an intense hatred for the cat, despite him being the one she loves most. The hatred plays along with her obsession of the cat. Also. Um. Yandere. yeah. She's obsessive. Isolation and all that. Makes you intensely crave affection and attention. And also being a child. Forever. Yeah she's quite an attention whore. (self label)

Other effects from the isolation also happen to be extreme boredom. She wants to do anything. In her life. And hey, she's got a lot if it to spare.. plany of time. It is mildly boring her that she knows she's most likely gonna win any battle with enemies but still, the experience of fighting is pretty banger. The adrenaline... Thrill seeking. Ahh... She loves fighting.

So um, with those last two paragraphs, she does normal things to both the party that dared step into the dungeon, and the termina contestants. She's normal about them. She is both heavily protective and extremely violent murder maim.

Ah, next thing! She's quite the contradictory thing. Mental disorder again, she can go from one extreme scale to another. Like her love and hatred, protecting her allies to killing them. High self confidence and self praise to self loathing. Sometimes a little bit of a hypocrite. She's weird.

Her morals are. Eh. Eh. Again, she both cares about everyone's lives yet is also apathetic. She doesn't mind murder too much, as she'll dirty her soul a lot through experiencing the funger universe. This. Image.

Everything might as well just be a game to her.

With all o' this. There's multiple timelines of her doing many different things because of how much she can vary and still be in character (well to me, at least). She can do so much. Silly girl.

That's all I can think of for now about personality! Little tidbits about her powers before onto the brief timeline. She has some future telling. If the future is far, she can see more possibilities it can go in, not giving an exact determined route of what will happen. If the future is soon, as in, will this guard swing at her right arm or her left arm in 5 seconds? She can check and the future will be certain, that it will be her left arm that will get cut if she doesn't prevent it.

Most of her powers stem from the other media she watched during the isolation period; she rarely uses the Gods' powers in funger purely to fuck around with it and also confuse smart asses. (enki)

After finding an escape from the white void, she wakes up in front of the.. dun dun dun... funger dungeons...

She does what any sane person would do and explores with glee.

They aren't really all that scary to a creature like her, only serving her to activate fight mode and get a rush.

She recruits everyone possible with her knowledge of these dungeons, and decides to change some things.

She approaches Pocketcat as she is done with her journey. There are no more battles to fight. No more exploration to be done in this dungeon. She is satisfied. The girl wishes for Pocketcat to eat her, since she hasn't tried that method of killing herself. (Also because she is crushing hard on this man and she knows he loves her too)

He instead gives a different proposal...

...

Remember how she's a sort of 'god' (but not in the funger way) and has OP ass powers? Well there's actually 2 drawbacks to them.

First one, it is quite exhausting. It is also exhausting just living and breathing in fact, but that's the mental disorders. She can go on long without rest but she will be extremely fatigued if she pushes. And my, she pushes a through a lot.

Second, there's one thing that nullifies her powers. Fear. But ah, with a soul like hers, it is quite difficult for her to fear anything. With problems in her way, she either brushes it over, gets enraged, or drowns in sorrow. How on earth could anything scare her?

Ahaha... Well a few actions made by a specific person could scare her...

(he soo gets off being the only one that can get her into such a submissive state, btw)

The one thing keeping her heart from total darkness, now entirely painted black. What a sad soul.

...

So, he didn't kill her. big whump. Fine though, she thinks about the termina festival in 350 years. She wouldn't mind living for that long to see more silly people. Plus, the dungeon took a lot out of her. A lot more magic she used than usual. This period will be... A nice and long break, she thinks positively. One hell she has endured in here, she will prepare to live through and enjoy another. Plus, if it's all adrenaline rushes, how is she meant to savour Termina?

She occupies her time by living with Pocketcat, and.. His usual activities. She joins in on his child murders from time to time. Not as fun as killing monsters that are fully intending to end her life but snuffing another life is still somewhat satisfying, nevertheless. And hey, fun bonding activity, right?

She also does the same as she did in the void, making a bunch of art and stuff. But this time, she actually has someone she can show it to! Speaking of the cat, they do typical lover activities time to time. Dates, and stuff. Doing things together. Fun!

Both of them had their fair share of isolation for a long period of time and needless to say, their 'eternities' are much more lively and worth living through with a like-minded being by their side.

She also.. has a little fun with the contestants before they enter the worst period of their life..

(This part is totally not because of recent events) After spending 350 years with Pocketcat, she picked up some of his mannerisms to her misfortune. Her hand feels like it should be doing something within conversation, so her subconscious makes her jack off a ghost dick. She's gonna have a fun time with talking to people.

...

Now we're at the festival, one meant to end all festivals! And boy it'll end more than just festivals, alright! Hehe.

At the end of this festival, she has one plan.

And that is to finally rest.

She will not be returning from this trip.

...

So, some stuff were left vague because. well. yeah. I don't fully expect to write this into actual fanfiction, but no worries, I'll reveal the gist of what happens at some point. Whether I actually can find it in me to write it out or just make a post about what happens, we shall see.

Extra stuff to mention:

This is basically her. In every universe she visits.

You can check out the '#unnamed OC core' tag to see. More of her vibes.

I also got a playlist.. of her..

(Also, since this is a self insert about half of the traits mentioned are. me. so. yeah. I should try getting diagnosed for something but idk man I can't find shit)

Got any questions! Feel free to ask anything!! >:3 Hell, I'll even answer in character for fun.

#hello asker #unnamed girlie #long post

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dracotheocracy · 1 year

Note

Bond. James Bond.

Plz give me all the info you've got on hand!

i am so glad you asked. fair warning: i will have nothing good to say about james bond.

now this wouldn't be a mars ask if i didn't set up dubiously necessary context before getting into it: i have a relatively well-documented history of being hooked into medias that are like watching car crashes (e.g., the irregular at magic high school, white collar). as it tends to happen in trash fire fiction i have seen some really problematic shit- irregular's main ship, for example, is an incest ship that's pushed by the narrative to the point where i think it isn't inaccurate to call its narrative somewhat pro-incest, and white collar is a police drama produced in 2010 which i think tells you most of what you need to know about the narrative it pushes about justice. all this, especially when compounded by some legitimately terrible writing, scratches a certain itch in the part of my brain that likes to tear shit apart.

the james bond novels will quickly become my latest victim, as i have to read From Russia, with Love for a course on spy fiction i'm taking this semester. i will likely have this tumblr post pulled up during the discussion we have about it in about 9 hours as what's under the cut is essentially a close-ish reading of the first 10 chapters of the novel.

tw misogyny, queerphobia, racism, sexual violence, demonization of mental illness

i have watched my fair share of james bond movies. they do not fucking prepare you for how bad the novels are. i am 10 out of 38 chapters into this novel (one of 14 novels!) and i have developed something of a hatred for ian fleming.

in 10 chapters the plot is only just beginning to get rolling, so in terms of actual writing quality i can give no judgements beyond "well i can sort of tell that by the end i am going to think 'hm this was not that good.'" now the bond franchise was never meant to be a literary masterpiece so it doesn't actually have to be all that good, it just has to be entertaining, and because my idea of entertainment is looking on in horror as some aspect of the writing finds a way to get worse somehow, by god has it been delivering thus far

what i CAN tell you is that ian fleming is teaching a masterclass on how to write with the male gaze. three female characters have been introduced in these first 10 chapters- a nameless masseuse who's really just there to make sure the opening of the novel is suitably erotic, rosa klebb, and tatiana romanov.

he has made a point of mentioning all of their breasts within give or take 3 paragraphs of their introductions, dear lord i might even be giving him too much credit. the nameless masseuse took her shirt off and was just tits out for most of the scene she was in actually, but that didn't really matter as much relative to the other glaring issue with that scene that i will be getting to later. he's also referred to his female characters as women as opposed to calling them girls maybe, once per character, so far. maybe that's a quirk of british english in the 1950s that nobody would think anything of, but it's something that adds up to the point that it's very much worth noticing to me- all of these women are grown adults and while i find myself unable to articulate exactly why it feels wrong to me that they're repeatedly called girls. it could be because i find it infantilizing, maybe, i feel like the word usage here diminishes their agency

the nameless masseuse doesn't really get a lot dedicated to her appearance relative to the named women, and the opening scene happens mostly in her point of view. there is also a man in this scene who i will be getting to in full later, but for now i will point your attention towards two quotes:

"[S]he wondered why she loathed this splendid body, and once again she vaguely tried to analyse her revulsion. Perhaps this time she would get rid of feelings which she felt guiltily certain were much more unprofessional than the sexual desire some of her patients awoke in her." "Now was the time when many of her patients, particularly the young ones on the football team, would start joking with her. Then, if she was not very careful, the suggestions would come. Sometimes she could silence these by digging sharply down towards the sciatic nerve. At other times, and particularly if she found the man attractive, there would be giggling arguments, a brief wrestling-match and a quick, delicious surrender."

this scene is written from her perspective and it's here to introduce the male character in it. but who cares about that, what is it telling us about the masseuse? well. she thinks her patients are hot and has sex with them sometimes. that's really about it, i think her portrayal in the scene as a whole would indicate that she's plain or a little dumb but there isn't much character to discern because ian is far more concerned with talking about the man in this scene in a way that's pretty sexually charged while also establishing the first bits of information you get about him as the reader. the only purpose of a female POV in this scene is to make it more erotic, i think it's pretty clear he doesn't really care about this character's anything beyond the inherent sex appeal she gets by being female and the ability to write a somewhat erotic description of a male character without it coming off as weird and homosexual.

our next female character is rosa klebb. i will be getting back to something more important about her later, for now i'd like to focus on how fleming, from a male character's perspective, describes her.

"She was short, about five foot four, and squat, and her dumpy arms and short neck, and the calves of the thick legs in the drab khaki stockings, were very strong for a woman. The devil knows, thought Kronsteen, what her breasts were like, but the bulge of uniform that rested on the table-top looked like a badly packed sandbag, and in general her figure, with its big pear-shaped hips, could only be likened to a 'cello."

i'll be honest this is an excuse to show off one of the titty quotes and rosa klebb is a pretty big offender. a lot of the impression we get of her in the beginning is done less to give us an impression of her and more to establish the kind of character our current POV man, kronsteen, has. kronsteen is an emotionally detached, manipulative, and insightful (in the dnd insight skill way) chess master who works for the MGB. he's the criminal mastermind smart guy who makes all the plans. now i suspect the purpose of rosa's physical description doesn't have much to do with showing anything particularly notable about kronsteen's character, there's a paragraph dedicated to the rules he uses to read/judge people that tells you far more about him than this does even if you try to analyze it, mostly because this is also how ian talks about women in the absence of a POV character

which brings us to tatiana romanov! who has her physical appearance described in a scene that is set in her POV:

"One of her early boy-friends had said she looked like the young Greta Garbo. What nonsense! And yet tonight she did look rather well. ... She smiled at herself in the mirror. Yes, it was wide; but then so had Garbo's been. At least the lips were full and finely etched. There was the hint of a smile at the corners. No one could say it was a cold mouth! And the oval of her face. Was that too long? Was her chin a shade too sharp? She swung her head sideways to see it in profile. The heavy curtain of hair swung forward and across her right eye so that she had to brush it back. Well, the chin was pointed, but at least it wasn't sharp."

"In fact Corporal Tatiana Romanova was a very beautiful girl indeed. Apart from her face, the tall, firm body moved particularly well. ... Her arms and breasts were faultless. A purist would have disapproved of her behind. Its muscles were so hardened with exercise that it had lost the smooth downward feminine sweep, and now, round at the back and flat and hard at the sides, it jutted like a man's."

wild guess. shot in the dark. she's this novel's bond girl. ian gives a glowing description of her features during which he establishes that she thinks a lot about her appearance and is perhaps somewhat insecure about it, but still believes herself to be beautiful. the stuff i took out and replaced with the ellipsis is really much of the same as what follows the ellipsis. the second quote is switching briefly from romanova's POV to that of the narrator, and of course it ends on a description of her tits and ass because, well, why not. now i will give some amount of grace in that romanova does have, like, a personality, but much like the masseuse she's, bland might not be the correct way to describe it, but she has this very gentle, [in a sarcastic tone of voice] divine feminine quality to her. to quote the next chapter, "This was a beautiful, guileless, innocent girl." i admit reluctantly that ian did a decent job of showing us this before telling us- her demeanor when she gets a call from a superior officer in the MGB betrays as much with her immediate panic over what she might've done to get a call at unusual hours from her superiors and pretty meek acceptance of what she probably sees as certain death, and her concern with her appearance in the parts i quote might come across as a bit superficial but the insecurity, the way she appraises herself, paints her less as vain and more as a shy beauty (to be conquered by bond later of course)

we return back to the scene with the masseuse, this time to talk about donovan grant, or granitsky. he is a major villain.

"Donovan Grant was the result of a midnight union between a German professional weight-lifter and a Southern Irish waitress. The union lasted for a quarter of an hour on the damp grass behind a circus tent outside Belfast."

i am genuinely curious why ian thought it necessary to mention that his parents fucked for 15 minutes in the sex that conceived him. we must note the nationalities of his parents because with the prior james bond knowledge that dr. no, a major villain from earlier in the bond timeline, has a german father and a chinese mother, makes me suspect there might be a pattern in what heritages ian likes to give his antagonists. (READ: GERMAN AND [INSERT OPPRESSED NATIONALITY HERE]). it should be noted that granitsky's father immediately fucks right off and he's raised in southern ireland. dr. no, i'm fairly certain, was also raised in china as his father was a german missionary if memory serves. ian throughout the first couple chapters establishes that communist spies are pretty culturally and racially diverse, which would be cool i guess if the communists weren't evil in this setting. later in his exposition about granitsky's backstory he describes the spy school he attended in leningrad, specifically its makeup: "Germans, Czechs, Poles, Balts, Chinese and Negroes..." (about the use of the word Negro, the bond novels were written in the 50s. for clarity). there's a mention in a later chapter of a particularly accomplished black soviet agent. i will update this post if there's any racial diversity on the MI6 side of things but... somehow i doubt it...... anyway, i point this out just to make a note that the side we're rooting for here is the side of the white englishman where his villains tend to come from less privileged cultural backgrounds

i'm not done with donovan. he gets worse. his character says a lot about society and particularly how little ian fleming thinks about like, anything. donovan grant is a high ranking assassin in the MGB. he's a boxer that defected from british armed forces oh also he's a serial killer

"It was about this time that his body began to feel strange and violent compulsions around the time of the full moon. When, in October of his sixteenth year, he first got 'The Feelings' as he called them to himself, he went out and strangled a cat. This made him 'feel better' for a whole month. ... Often he had to go very far to find what he wanted and, after two months of having to satisfy himself with geese and chickens, he took a chance and cut the throat of a sleeping tramp."

grant is diagnosed 2 chapters later with manic depression that flares up once a month. he has to go out and kill people or drink his urges away once a month because he has manic depression that is explicitly stated. it's almost 1am so i'm not going to dignify this with an especially winded explanation of what's wrong with this scene. that's a wildly inaccurate portrayal of what we now understand as bipolar depressive disorder and a demonizing one at that, because, you know, evidently manic episodes make you go out and kill people right that's definitely accurate and based in verifiable fact right. he was diagnosed as a narcissist also while we're on the topic of demonizing portrayals of already very stigmatized mental illnesses

"When he killed the occasional girl he did not 'interfere' with her in any way. That side of things, which he had heard talked about, was quite incomprehensible to him. It was only the wonderful act of killing that made him 'feel better'. Nothing else."

so as an aro/ace myself i dig into this one particularly hard. there is one hell of an implication here about an asexual's capacity for love, compassion, you know, emotions, the things many people argue make us human. it's just incredible to me, really, that ian decides to introduce this character's asexuality by saying "he doesn't rape the women he kills because he does not experience sexual desire." it's very, very clearly not something that's supposed to reflect positively on donovan, which is just insane because you'd figure this would be a "well at least he doesn't rape women he only kills them :|" but instead it's "he doesn't rape the women he kills how awful and weird!"

the train of logic there is relatively easy for me to piece together i think. if someone is okay with murder, that is, on the sliding scale of evil actions, generally placed above being ok with sexual violence. at least i suspect this is reliably true in the 50s when this novel was written. the intended takeaway from this as a result is probably something along the lines of, "well, this person already has something deeply wrong with him. someone who would commit such a grave sin as killing another human being shouldn't have any qualms with crimes that are of a lesser magnitude, ergo if he's killing the woman why does he not rape her as well? it must be because he has no sexuality!" which is going to be treated as a bad thing. this is james bond. this is a series that deals heavily with sexuality, the bond girl is a known staple of the series for a reason, right, and the stance ian takes is that sexual desire is part of what makes us in some respects human, and that something is wrong with you if you don't experience it.

grant is not the only queer character in From Russia, with Love, check this out:

"It was said that Rosa Klebb would let no torturing take place without her." "For, or so they whispered, she would take the camp-stool and draw it up close below the face of the man or woman that hung down over the edge of the interrogation table. Then she would squat down on the stool and look into the face and quietly say 'No1' or 'No10' or 'No25' and the inquisitors would know what she meant and they would begin. And she would watch the eyes in the face a few inches away from hers and breathe in the screams as if they were perfume."

"Rosa Klebb undoubtedly belonged to the rarest of all sexual types. She was a neuter. ... The stories of men and, yes, of women, were too circumstantial to be doubted. She might enjoy the act physically, but the instrument was of no importance. For her, sex was nothing more than an itch. And this psychological and physiological neutrality of hers at once relieved her of so many human emotions and sentiments and desires... She was a lone operator, but never a lonely one, because the warmth of company was unnecessary to her."

there is so much wrong with this. she's rumored to be a neuter i.e having non-functional sex organs in this context, i think. i do believe ian is trying to indicate that she might be intersex here. she fucks both men and women, maybe she's bisexual, and she does not get any emotional fulfillment out of relationships and sex to her is "nothing more than an itch." sex is often described as the ultimate form of intimacy and i do think there's an argument to be made for an aro/ace reading of this if what we're being told here is, essentially, that she gets no emotional fulfillment from sex and it's merely a pleasurable act. regardless there's something to be said about the only two characters thus far with unusual sexual identities being a serial killer and a torturer. they're both portrayed as incredibly cruel and incapable of forming meaningful relationships with other people and the fact it happens twice in the same book i think is indicative of a pattern in how ian (and his time period more broadly) views queer identities.

um yeah so that's my review of the first 10 chapters of From Russia, with Love by ian fleming like and subscribe for more

#but maaarrrsss!#trashfire media containment breach

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lgcminki · 3 months

Text

minki schedules a private interview with seo youngjae.

it's been a long time.

a part of minki thinks he's making a mistake, scheduling a private interview when there are many things that he should be considering and rethinking this moment. is the stage truly meant for him, can he achieve it alone now? he doesn't know, he can't even begin to find the answers to this question so late into the game—but there's no way out. sure, he can just take a pause to figure it out, but that feels fundamentally wrong too. so many thoughts to sort out and not enough energy.

maybe that's why he's here. maybe that's why he wants to try this out. he can't end it himself, this dream of his that he had been chasing for all of his life—maybe he needs legacy to end it for him. it's dramatic; almost as if this is his last chance. it could be, depending on how this will go.

but he wants to try—to make one last attempt. he wants to see if he can make it on his own, without the haunting images of his old friend plaguing his mind.

so he braces himself for the first question.

"why are you interested in being in NEWKIDS NEWDREAMS?"

minki knows the answer to this all too well, has been pondering over it before he took his seat. "i think it's about time. like a... this is it moment," he explains. "ah, i suppose that's a little too vague, sorry about that. who wouldn't be interested in joining a group and debuting, finally?" that's the truth, or at least half of it. "it's been a while since i've been in legacy, so i'd be lying if i said it's not because i want to leave the back stage and actually be a part of the stage. it's just about whether i will shine or not." more than ever, minki feels it now. if he gets dropped here, he'll have to think of what he truly wants to do in the future. "i want to get out there, and see how the stage looks from the other side. i want to know if i can make it too." [100]

"considering the current confirmed members, what can you add to the formation ON AND OFF stage if you are picked?"

"hm, i guess my answer would be passion." that sounds kind of corny now that he has said it, but it's the first thing that came to mind. "even after everything, i can't stop this... weird yearning i have for performing. on stage, i'd give it my all—even if i'm sweating buckets and running out of breath." he knows he has gone through many late nights to improve himself. "i believe i have the capabilities to keep eyes on me—as long as i keep up the energy, of course. there's a balance to that too. to stand out, but because i'm in a group, not stand out so much that it becomes jarring." he takes a pause, thinking for a moment. "when it comes to off stage... this probably gets said often, but i am a hardworker. i think the coaches know how i was off-tune when i got to legacy. after lots of training—and asking friends to help out—i finally got a stable footing on my voice. i can sing well now, i believe. then again, it's up for you to judge." [143]

"which skill do you want to be known for and why?"

"skills... i'd like to be known for my performance skills. more than singing, more than dancing." there's a brief shift in expression when he mentions dancing, but it disappears as soon as it appears. "of course, those skills amplify my performances. but i'd like to be known for being able to capture the audience—i want to know that i'm able to make them feel through my performances. from the way i move, or from the way i sing. i want to move people, whether to tears or to laughter. back then—well, until recently, i try to do that with my dance. after i learned to cultivate my vocal skills better, i'd like to be able to use both to my advantage." [103]

"what kind of concept are you good at and what kind are you bad at?"

this question made minki wonder what legacy had in mind for this new group too. "i suppose i'd like high energy concepts compared to relaxed ones. i tend to go overboard when it comes to performing, sometimes it might come off as a little extra if i were put in a more fresh and lax concept. so to that question, a group with slower vibes wouldn't suit me. although doing ballads would be fun and challenging, i'd definitely do better with something more upbeat with high tension. i'd try everything if i could, but realistically i know that's not possible." [85]

"what kind of group would you ideally want to be part of and why?"

"like i mentioned before, i'd love to be a part of a group with high performance." that has always stayed the same. "more so than songs that are released, it's important to be able to keep up with the hype of a new album with equally hyped-up performances. i also think it'd be beneficial to be in a group that makes people go—wow, they're a lot better live! or something like that. it'd be nice if i could lend some creativity into the process too, for example creating choreographies in the future. one step at a time though." [92]

the interview ends sooner than expected, but it also feels as if it had been going on forever. either way, it's over—all minki can do now is wait for the results. and then he'll decide what to do from then on.

#lgc:castingcall016 #( solos. )#/ woooo #not as good as i hoped #but i'm throwing it out there anyway

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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 1 year

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Not to make light of how much your situation must fucking suck, because I have lung problems and be almost literally dying in your place, but that's actually a good prompt idea! So, something either to do with exhaust/exhausted/exhausting or smoke-inhalation/pollution/trouble breathing, can be any one of those words

(it's fine mostly i just have a sore throat now. this also may or may not be related to my ongoing several day headache streak come to think of it. BUT ANYWAY they're done now so it's fine)

(aaah fuck this prompt... fighting so hard not to do a rain world or dishonored thing... there are Too Many good options i'm indecisive. uh hm. ive been toying with the idea of doing a regular non crossover postapoc style au so maybe...? also maybe throw in a rei bc feel like i've been neglecting my failboy in aus, lol.)

You don't go out without a filter. This is one of the most basic facts the people of the aftermath learn. You learn it quickly, or you die. Ingo knows this.

Unfortuantely, he also knows he didn't have much of a choice. His own mask is long gone, a trophy decorating some creature's den most likely, and Rei's already injured and weak, and their last shelter had been compromised. And they were close. So close to their destination—the home Rei was fighting his way back to, a place that promised safety.

He keeps repeating all this to himself, with every forced step, every it can't be far now—but he wonders, too, if he's made a mistake. If there wasn't some other option he overlooked. If he's doomed both of them.

The air reeks of chemical fumes and smoke. The cloth he's pressing over his face is more of a joke than anything useful; his nose and throat feel like something's been raking its claws down them; his eyes are stinging and blurry and now it's getting hard to see anything at all. His thoughtless animal hindbrain begs him to take deeper breaths, to salvage whatever oxygen they can get as fuel, but he fights that because he knows it'll only make everything worse. Occasionally he's overwhelmed by hacking coughs that burn, that force more poisoned air to cycle through. Rei is dead weight against his shoulder, completely reliant on him to keep moving, which is the only reason he is moving.

And then Rei swats his shoulder, weakly trying to get his attention, and points insistently in the direction of something. It might be a door, although he's not sure he would have noticed it, if not for the label tacked up over it in letters that are too blurred to read.

He drags them both towards it, fights it open—gives up on shallow breaths in this home stretch, just focused on getting through—and somehow manages to pull both himself and Rei up the ledge and inside. He's vaguely aware that the shouts and clicking sounds are alarm and suspicion and something that should make him jump and raise his hands in surrender—but, no longer faced with a critical task to complete, his body decides now is an excellent time to shut down. So it does.

#the nemesis speaks #the nemesis answers #anonymous #pokefic pitch #swift writes #is this a silly thing to build out of some truck fumes? a little. but they said fumes/exhaustion/trouble breathing #what do you want from me the whump enjoyer. huh.#anyway uh. misc other au thoughts?#cyllene is in the safety. rei got separated from her on some kind of scouting mission. like REALLY separated and has been trying to get bac #im also not sure yet but if this is some kind of Science Apocalypse i think ingo is maybe. a (secret) posthuman experiment #that was like accidentally woken up by a failing suspended animation system #which is both an explanation of amnesia and a fun reversal of his normal trip where he gets time traveled FORWARDS (kinda)#i dont think he knows it though. he just sort of woke up and existed and that was the end of the context for him #and this is all a little bit spun off from the vibes based rw au but not like. heavily or anything lol

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 2 years

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Non-Romantic kiss in the rain with the 5 ToQgers XD

Man, whole string of really cute ones here.

It's drizzling when the other four reach the tree, humid and misty and thick in a way that makes Tokacchi's and Mio's hair puff out wildly and has Kagura's bangs sticking uncomfortably to her forehead. Hikari's damp too, but unfazed, all the dignity of being fourteen wrapped around him like a coat so that it barely matters that his hair's in his eyes.

Right is, of course, already there, lying on a sturdy branch and staring up through the leaves at the sky. He nearly falls out when he sees them. "Hey, guys! The Rainbow Line just dropped me off a few minutes ago. Did you bring any food? I brought sandwiches."

Kagura holds up a box. "I made cupcakes!"

"I brought some carrots and cucumbers." Mio pats her insulated bag.

"And I have drinks," Tokacchi says, gesturing vaguely with the carrier bag in his hand, "but you have to come down, I can't climb the tree anymore."

Right blinks, surprised expression morphing directly into a pout. "You can't climb anymore? Why not?"

"He got tall!" Kagura pokes Tokacchi in the arm. "See? See how much taller than me he is now? His mom had to let out all his pants. And he's too heavy for the ladder."

"I'm also too heavy for the ladder," Hikari adds, quietly. "I grew."

"And it's wet out."

Despite these perfectly reasonable explanations, Right is still pouting as he climbs down from the tree, and keeps it up until they've found a dry picnic table under a little shelter where they can eat. The food and drinks are shared around, and there's a pause for hysterical laughter as Right shakes himself like a dog before sitting down, flinging droplets of rain from his shaggy hair all over the other four. When they're all settled, though, he finally grins and takes an enormous bite of sandwich and says, mouth full, "Fo wha' haf you guyf been up to?"

"Eew, Right, close your mouth." Mio takes a bite that's nearly as hearty, but she at least chews and swallows before continuing with, "My mom wants me to look at the high school she went to, but it's far away, I'm not sure if I want to."

Kagura nods energetically. "I'm still trying to decide if I'm even gonna do high school, since really Mom and Dad kinda need me in the bakery, but Dad thinks I should go, so I promised to take exams--"

"You really should," Tokacchi says, "it's--"

"--and also Ueda from manga club took me to a movie last weekend and then he tried to kiss me."

Hikari freezes in the middle of lifting his drink to his mouth, wide-eyed. Right chokes on his sandwich. Mio, who's clearly heard about this already, just takes a bite of cucumber. Whatever Tokacchi was going to say, it's lost, his voice cracking sharply in the middle of, "Ueda kissed you?"

"He tried to kiss me, I didn't let him. I think if I'm going to kiss anyone for the first time it should probably be someone I like more than him."

"That's fair," Right says faintly, having coughed up his bite of sandwich into a paper napkin. "I don't think I'd want to kiss someone I didn't really really like."

"Right! Like, I'd kiss you, maybe, but I'm not going to go kissing Ueda just because he took me to see a movie."

More choking from Right. Hikari coughs mid-sip and snorts fizz out of his nose and onto Tokacchi's jacket, which at least gives Tokacchi something to focus on as he fumbles for a napkin. Mio, now looking horrified, says, "You can't kiss Right!"

Kagura remains unruffled. "I didn't say that I was going to, just that maybe I would if I had to kiss someone."

"Why would you have to kiss someone?"

"I don't know, maybe if there was a Kissing Shadow we were fighting, that kind of thing. Actually I wonder if there's a Kissing Shadow, we should call Akira and ask him. Why are you all staring at me?"

There's a long moment of silence before Tokacchi, still dabbing at a patch of soda on his lapel, says, "...kissing."

"Mm-hm?" A bite of sandwich. "A lot of the offer girlf at school talk about kissing," swallow, "all the time, and then there was Ueda, so I've sort of been thinking about it a lot, and I was thinking maybe if I kissed someone I knew I liked a normal way then when I find someone I think I like a really big way then there'll be less pressure. You know? Even if it's not lips kissing like people do when they're dating."

More staring from the other four, and then Mio says, slowly, "That actually kind of makes sense."

"Right? It's a lot to worry about, you know? Especially with exams to study for and the school festival coming up soon and everything."

Hikari says, "I think you're overthinking it," stands up, leans across the table, and kisses her on the tip of the nose as she's reaching for a carrot stick. "See? Kissing's not that big a deal."

The rain is getting heavier, drumming on the sheltering roof, wind picking up to spatter their ankles with damp. Kagura giggles, startled, dropping her carrot stick. "You're the one who got fizz all over Tokacchi because I mentioned it at all." He's still leaning across the table, so she kisses him on the nose, causing him to sit back down with a thump. "Anyway I think friends should be allowed to kiss each other, I kiss my brother on the cheek and that's not weird."

"Who said anything about weird?" says Tokacchi, looking lost, and then turns bright red when Mio turns to him, frowning, and kisses him firmly on the chin because it's what she can reach given his recent increase in height. "What was that for?"

"Kagura's right."

"O-oh."

"Yeah, I think so too." Right nods energetically. "Anyway, we're basically family, right?" He takes an enormous bite of sandwich and then leans over and kisses Mio on the cheek with his mouth still half-full, over her shriek of protest.

"I feel like this conversation got away from us a little," Hikari mutters into the top of his soda, which he fortunately manages to put down before Right gets to him with another, slightly less sandwich-y cheek kiss.

Rain dampens their shoes. Tokacchi swallows hard and then plants a tiny, awkward kiss on Kagura's forehead, to her squeak of delight. Mio, acting like this is all normal, says, "So do you like anyone enough to kiss them in, like, a date way?"

Kagura shrugs. "I don't think so? I just get bored when everyone else starts talking about boys. My mom says maybe I'm a late bloomer." She stands up on her toes, leans across the table, and kisses Mio on the cheek as lightning crackles across the sky. "Oh! Maybe we should go inside."

"I think so," Mio says. Tokacchi and Hikari are already gathering up the remains of the food. "It's getting pretty wet."

They race across the grass to Hikari's place together once everything's packed up, coats over their heads, and Right is grinning like a maniac. "Hey," he shouts over a roll of thunder, "maybe we should call Akira, this seems like the kind of rain where we might get a rainbow after!"

#suzuki right #tokashiki haru 'tokacchi'#natsume mio #nonomura hikari #izumi kagura #fanfiction #puwaasuru

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lorei-writes · 2 years

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14, 20, 31 (Trials and Tribulations) and 36 if you’re still taking the writer ask!

Of course I do! I think I'd go back and find them even a week or more later, I love ask games, haha.

14. How do you feel about your older work?

Honestly? I love it! I'm so proud of myself and all the progress I've made!

Younger me took on her first multi-chapter story 2 months after she started to write in English. I've never completed a longer work before. My native language is nothing like English. But it turned out fairly fine! And the one younger me started another 2 months later? It's actually g o o d. I'm currently editing it and I'm stunned at how rapidly I improved between the chapters. I love seeing the starting points of various elements of my workshop.

I love that girl so much -- the faith she had regarding her abilities, her drive to get better, how she experimented and moved forward. And honestly, it’s been a long journey, but I’m confident in saying I’m her biggest fan now, of both her and her work.

It’s not that it was always great, or that I’ve never done anything wrong then. It’s only that I’ve recently discovered a lot of appreciation for that past me and her creations.

Also: I frequently re-read my older pieces.

20. What feedback makes you the happiest to hear?

I don’t know. Recently I’ve been very happy about receiving even likes. And I think that’s a really good thing!

But, to explain that a little, let me walk down the memory lane.

There was a time I wrote for others. By that I mean that I was VERY preoccupied with how much reach my works got, how many comments I received, how many people were on my tag list (I used to have one), and so on, and so forth. However, I was never satisfied then. It was always too little, and honestly, I got more interactions then than I do now. I was starved for positive feedback, but I was also building up tolerance for it really fast. Of course, I was always grateful when somebody decided to comments, it just got too much control over me.

Fast forward a little, I left certain spaces and suddenly felt very lonely here. The above approach was not sustainable. Nevertheless, I tried once more, and got myself even more disheartened. It drained all the fun out of fandom.

So I started asking myself what is it that I’m really lacking, and realised it was community all along? Just those random chats about characters, and being able to hype other people up, and not caring about statistics when making something, casually chatting with other people, and... I missed not feeling like I have to earn those interactions through producing something.

Soo, fast forward to now. I found some more roles for myself to fulfil, started writing primarily for my own enjoyment, solved the community issue to some extent, and I’m honestly able to smile at any interaction I get now. A like? Man, that’s awesome. Reblog? My mind is blown. A comment? BUDDY YOU TOOK TIME OUT OF YOUR DAY TO TELL ME SOMETHING NICE, I WANT TO GIVE YOU CHOCOLATE COOKIES NOW, THANK YOU. It’s like, hm. The creative process is extremely satisfying on its own, so anything extra is very lush.

31. What was the development process of Trials and Tribulations like?

Chaos. It’s chaos. Pure chaos.

At first I tried to map out several ways in which a story could develop after each choice, but that quickly became too complex to manage. It also felt like any choice readers would have was merely an illusion then, since either of the options was something I’d already planned ahead for (so I could tip scales in one direction or the other, and it was very tempting on multiple occasions).

So... I stopped mapping the story out in my mind. I give choices that I know would be something the characters themselves would wonder about, or would have to choose from. And then I react. The idea I have in mind is rather vague.

There is no script. There is little to no plan. Things are all over the place, but still somehow kinda sorta maybe work, and I’m bending over backwards to keep it that way. But that’s part of the challenge! It’s definitely a fun writing exercise.

36. What fanfic of yours has the symbolism you’re proudest of?

I think I have three I cherish a lot? Anchor , Lighthouse & Black Ink Self-Killer .

Black Ink Self-Killer has been especially relevant to me. “What if my writing speaks of an ugly mind?” has been something I asked myself multiple times. Perhaps it was self-indulgent or even spoiled to resolve it in such a way, but the imagery I crafted there still is one of my favourite.

#cilokgoang #answered #haha i got a little chatty didnt i? it was plenty fun thanks for dropping by! ❤️#ask game

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vtoriacore · 2 years

Text

✧ just another evenin’

note: exam season is kicking my ass so i have absolutely no time to answer reqs or write BUT i had this in drafts and managed to finish it and now it’s back to english poetry again (rook cosplay because i actually enjoy it)

synopsis: in which you and jamil enjoy the evening, until it evolves into something a little more intimate.

He wasn't exactly sure for how long he must've been staring at your form, basked in the gentle, orange glow of the sunset as you swayed your hips to the rhythm of the current song. And dear God was it hard to tear his eyes away from your movements; this must be how people under his unique magic feel, entranced without fail. Almost as if under hypnosis, he wondered just how long he has been refusing to acknowledge the spark of flame igniting in his chest every time he saw you. Was he really that smitten without even realising? Jamil really didn't know anymore.

"Hm~ you've been looking at me for quite a while now, wanna join or what?" Your teasing smirk, unusually confident as the result of Jamil's lingering gaze, made his heart speed up drastically.

"D-don't be ridiculous . . . You're just in my line of sight." The brunette cursed at himself for stuttering. He has spoken to you countless times before, but he had an inkling of suspicion about what made this one so different from the rest.

"Mhm, whatever you say Viper. Now c'mon, I'm not letting you sit this one out." You outstretched your hand, indicative of an invitation as the boy sitting before you hesitantly took it in his own. You immediately noticed how warm his hands seemed, and coupled with his crimson red face, you put two and two together.

"Don't tell me you're flustered over this~" You grinned when you felt Jamil tense slightly; he barely had any time to tilt his head away from you before you grabbed his chin and forced him to look straight at you. Right in that moment, under the warmth of your gaze, the brunette swore he felt his circulation stop altogether. It was so unfair, so easy for you to fluster him this way. So easy to get lost in your mesmerising eyes and forget about the world even if for just a second. And yet he didn't complain for too long. After all, your attention was an intoxicating feeling that he didn't feel like letting go of.

"Tch, are we gonna dance or what?" Voice rough and throat suddenly dry, Jamil furrowed his brows slightly as he tried to calm his jittery nerves. You only gave half a nod in response before pulling him closer to you. Humming along to the sensual song currently playing, your hands snaking around his neck as you gazed into his slate-grey eyes.

"Is this what you planned all along?" It was difficult for Jamil to not let his eyes flicker to your lips every few seconds. At this close proximity, it was hard not to notice how perfect they looked. He briefly wondered what you tasted like, perhaps the cherry Chapstick you always wore? Or maybe the strawberry chocolate bites you just had- no. He should focus. Focus on dancing, not the way your hips felt so damn good in his hands, or how your body seems to mold against his so perfectly that he could feel every curve press against him or-

Fuck it.

Your eyes shut the moment a pair of soft lips, tasting vaguely of spice, landed on your own. Your right hand immediately landed in Jamil's hair as you tugged on it slightly, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. From this angle, you could feel the very warmth emitting from his cheeks, at which you smiled and pulled away after a few moments to catch your breath.

"Well, someone seems very eager." You grinned, completely letting your previous façade drop as you fondly looked at the object of your affection.

"S-shut up . . . It was a spur of the moment thing anyway." With bated breath, Jamil shied away from your gaze although he never quite tried moving away from you. Of course, he wouldn't admit that he loved the closeness but you could probably tell anyway. He supposed your observant nature was one of the attributes he treasured most, though.

"Ri~ght! Whatever you say darlin'. You know, if you wanted to kiss me so bad you should've just done it sooner, I wouldn't have minded." Your remark didn't entirely shock the brunette, but still left a tingling sensation over his body.

"Will you ever let me live this down? Or do I need to get back at you, hm?" Jamil quipped right back, rolling his eyes as he tilted his head slightly to look at you again. The sight only made him short circuit for what seemed like the fifteenth time tonight, as the dazzling smile on your face only prodded him to quirk his lips up slightly into one of his own.

"I wouldn't mind, really. You already have my heart anyway, but you're more than welcome to keep it beating some more."

"Good, I'm not planning to give it back anytime soon."

"I think in exchange, it's only right you hand over yours, no? Or I could steal it away while you're not looking~"

"Tch, you already have, what more could you possibly want?"

"Your everything would be nice."

With the conversation flowing smoothly, you both swayed to the gentle rhythm of the new song playing in the background. Jamil couldn't help but wonder about the next time he'll get to relax just like this again, with his newly acquired lover by his side.

#twst imagines #twst x reader #jamil viper #twst jamil #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader

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smp-live · 2 years

Text

"How was your day off, Ranboo?" Asked with the pull of a cigarette, smoke blown out from the roof of a food van to waft over the rest of Paradise. A little grey cloud of pollution and waste, dissipating into the air before it could bring much harm to any passersby.

The enderman pulled himself up onto the roof, into the danger zone of secondhand smoke. Wilbur reluctantly lowered his hand holding the cigarette - at least, for as long as he would last before subconsciously bringing it back to his lips.

"Oh, uh, good,” Ranboo stammered out. “Yeah. It was good."

"Y'know, I've been wondering.” Elaborated without even an attempt at eye contact, simply staring off into the distance. Gaze unfocused, but not a thousand-yard stare. Not haunted with memories, seeing things that weren’t truly there. Not right now, at least. Instead, simply drinking in the beauty of nature. “What do you do in your spare time?”

A vague question, met with a frown and a shrug. “A lot of things? I don’t know.”

“I’ll make it easier, then. What did you do yesterday?"

"Uh, I... rested, mostly. Hung out with Tommy and Tubbo a bit." Spent time with my son, he doesn’t say. Michael requires trust. Not hesitant, but true and solid. Something that Wilbur does not deserve, not yet.

Tense shoulders hike up unwillingly, drawing the short silence between them taut. Then, artificially softened, "I haven't spoken to Tommy in a while."

A hum of understanding. "You made it your goal to apologize to everybody, right?"

"Mm-hm."

"Did you apologize to him?"

Wilbur took a pull of his cigarette; didn’t even notice it was between his lips until Ranboo turned away on his exhale. Stared up at the stars just beginning to emerge in the fading sunlight. "No."

With a head tilt, "Why not?"

"Because," a heavy sigh, eyes shut under its weight, "I'm scared of what I’ll do if he doesn’t accept. Of what comes after."

"Don't you wanna know what he'll say, though?"

"I'd rather stay in a known in-between - a known Limbo, if you will - than take the risk and potentially fail. Even if it's unbearable." One final drag, and then it's out. "Call it cowardice, I suppose."

Fabric rustling, Ranboo shifts. Too-long legs drawn up on the rooftop, as he too gazes at the half-visible constellations. Stories with only half the words. “I don’t think I’d call you a coward.”

“Really? Why not? I took the easy way out, didn’t I? Blew it all up instead of fixing, properly fixing, the mess I created. I started that cycle of violence, and I just left it to them to clean it up. And they never even suspected a thing.” Eyes shut, a blown-out breath. “I keep all my cards close to my chest so that they don’t have to face the real me. So I don’t have to risk them getting close, then leaving in disgust."

“But... you stood up to Dream when nobody else would.” A frown, trying to comprehend the thought process. “At least at first. That’s not cowardice. You divided people, yeah, you made sides, but you... you’re not afraid to say what you think. That’s definitely not being a coward, or weak.”

A sigh. “Maybe so. But I still left them all. I hurt them all. Tommy needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

“Is that... being a coward? You wanted to die.” He glances over for confirmation, and Wilbur hesitantly, jerkily, nods. Admittance. Acceptance. Vulnerability. “I don’t think I’d call that cowardly. More... desperate. You hurt people with it,” shoulders draped in thick leather shrug up from guilt, “but... dying, I don’t think... I don’t think that’s something you should blame yourself for.”

Silence, as they stared at the newly-darkened horizon. A sniffle, wet eyes wiped away with a sleeve. A quiet, whispered, trembling,

“Thanks, Ranboo.”

“Y-yeah. No problem.”

#enderspeak #Wilbur Soot #Ranboo #Dream SMP #dsmp fic #suicide tw #I wrote this before the 28th and I just used Ranboo as a placeholder character but then *head in hands*#Also it was supposed to like. end at the cut but their conversation got away from me whoops #Anyways yeah Wilbur definitely didn't not apologize to Tommy because he doesn't feel he has to; it's because he genuinely doesn't know how #and he's terrified of the possibility of Tommy rejecting the apology

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greenygreenland · 3 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream Of Me: Norman x Reader

-MANGA SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

-NOTE: YOU’RE BOTH AGED UP SO DON’T START TELLING ME FBI’S GONNA COME TO MY DOOR 😂😂

-THE TIMELINE IS A BIT MESSED UP SO JUST IGNORE IT COMPLETELY AND DON'T ASK ME LOL

-also, is it just me or do thick eyebrows look really cute??? Norman has pretty thick brows compared everyone else and I think they're cute

WARNINGS: Kissing lol

Summary: You finally see Norman again.

Life had to be the scariest thing you'd ever faced. It threw the bad, the good, the everything your way until you could barely stand. Until you were left broken and mangled and shattered. Life was scary. It was cruel. Yet somehow, today was different.

You thought it was a dream. After all, how could it be reality when the boy in front of you died a year and some months ago? He had been shipped out, left for dead because it was a part of his stupid escape plan.

So how was it he stood before you? Breathing? Smiling? Living?

The office door closed behind you with a soft click. It bathed the room in silence, as if for a moment, the world decided to give you a second to breathe. A second to take in the wonderous sight before you.

The boy's name stuck in your throat. He had changed, not only in height, but stature and appearance. Norman was older, and he grew up to be more handsome than any runway model could ever be.

"(Y/n)," he gently said. "I'm glad you're well."

That was all it took. One sentence and you tackled him in the tightest hug your trembling arms could muster. "Norman...!" To have his arms around you, to hear the beating of his heart--it was a relief. A miracle sent by the gods. "You’re so stupid!"

No, he was more than stupid. He had to be the dumbest boy alive to think that it was okay to sacrifice himself for the sake of your family. You all were supposed to escape together just like Emma said. No one was supposed to be left behind, yet Norman--bless his heart--acted on his own.

You hugged him as if he would disappear if you let go. "We were all supposed to leave together. But you--I thought you--shipped out--and then--!" You chocked on your words. What more could you say anyway?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. The muffled sob that ripped through your throat was more than Norman could handle. His knees went weak and you both slowly sunk to the floor in a heap.

"I'm here." he gently said. "I'm not going anywhere (Y/n)."

Despite the steadiness in Norman's voice, his shoulders hitched, and he sniffled. "I'm here." he repeated. "I-I'm here." It sounded like he were reassuring himself that he wouldn't leave you so soon, as if he were scared too. Not for the way you sobbed and sobbed, but for the ache in his heart that seemed to beat in sync with yours.

Slowly, your sobs turned to quiet sniffles, which then silenced into nothing but tiny hiccups. You basked in Norman's warm embrace. He didn't hold you too tightly, as if he were afraid it would shatter you to pieces. Instead, he pulled you close to his side and leaned on his desk behind.

You rested your head on his chest, taking the time to memorise his scent. Parchment, the woods, and old books. You liked that, it was comforting to know he still smelled the same. On the other hand, his voice wasn’t as smooth or rounded as it once was. It was icy. No one seemed to notice that tiny sharpness that hit the end of each note he spoke. You wondered what could've made his kind heart harden.

Sure, Norman was still the same Norman you remembered, but something about the way he acted seemed off. He was clingy, much more than he ever was. Maybe he just missed you? No, that couldn't be right. Norman acted as if he were running out of time. He held you close and gently, as if these would be the last moments you'd see each other again. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

You slowly pulled away to get a good look at Norman's face. His chin was slightly pointier, his cheeks less chubby and full. His lips twitched upwards into a comforting smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes because he looked so overwhelmingly tired. Your poor boy probably worked day and night to keep the hideout on its feet. It must be hard on him, you thought. Especially since he was revered as a god.

Norman's brows raised. "What's wrong?"

You took his thin hands in your own and gave them a good squeeze. "It's nothing. What about you?"

Ah yes, small talk. The perfect way to avoid any question thrown your way. Norman knew you well, sometimes even more than himself. When you asked simple questions such as these, that meant your mind laid elsewhere in a land he could never reach. Norman took that as a hint to drop the subject.

For now.

He wondered what invisible weight laid on your shoulders. Was it something as heavy as his? Perhaps your weight was worse and it ate away at you. Norman wished he could take that weight away and relieve you of that pain. He'd carry it all if he could, and it didn't matter to him if he'd die trying. This was you he was thinking about. He'd do anything for you.

"I've been okay," Norman vaguely responded. "But I have been busy, so I find it difficult to sleep sometimes.”

Norman liked to be honest, but you knew it was because that helped him figure out what was wrong with you. It was a game of tag. In this case being 'it' meant figuring out each others' worries through a back-and-forth match.

"You haven't been sleeping enough?" Your voice came out rather quiet as you traced invisible circles over the back of his hands. "Is that because you have so much work? Or do you refuse to get help?" Norman sat in a still silence and you sighed.

Of course.

This was your Norman after all. He always shouldered a burden too big for his shoulders to carry. It was always something so heavy, so terribly hard to balance by himself. If that burden grew any bigger, it would collapse, and that would be his downfall. But you wouldn't let that happen to your Norman. No, no, no. You'd take that burden from him, steal it if you had to, and be his crutch.

"What have you been doing here?" you quickly added. "As 'William Minerva', I mean?"

Norman looked unbearably uncomfortable. That little frown tugging at the edge of his lips was a tell-tale sign. “I’ve been getting a lot done." he carefully said. "In fact, I’ve figured out a way to end this. Once and for all.”

Norman began by explaining the first phase of his plan. The first phase had long been in motion. It started with the indiscriminate burning of cattle facilities, then the gathering of information, and continued on to pave the way for all the other phases you didn’t care to hear about.

The first few steps weren't too bad, but the final act in Norman's plan made your skin crawl. You half-wished you hadn’t asked him anything to begin with. Maybe it would have spared your appetite. Your grip on his thin hands loosened and loosened until your hands rested on your lap.

Norman wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up just a bit, but not in the way you wished to see. How could he think of something so cold-hearted and cruel? The extermination of all demons in Neverland was an act of genocide. If you re-called correctly, it was also considered a war crime.

Norman was smarter than that. He understood the consequence he'd have to face if that were the path he walked right? He understood that there were still other options right? Maybe you heard him wrong.

No.

You had to have heard him wrong. Norman wasn't ruthless like that. He was a ball of sunshine that made you smile whenever you were together.

"I see..." You tightly smiled. "So that's your plan on freeing everyone?" Norman nodded with a seriousness that took you back to the time he left everything to you and Ray and Emma.

You weren't mistaken then. Norman truly meant everything he said.

"Yes, that is my plan. It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion. I've decided to officially start tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

Your breath hitched. "Don't you think that's a bit hasty? What if...what if something goes wrong?" Norman smiled. It was hollow and wry and everything that he wasn't. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want." You didn't return the smile, and you didn't want to say why.

Norman was quick to catch on. But of course he would catch on so quickly, this was Norman. Your Norman.

"Do you have a problem with my plan?" he inquired. You shook your head. "No, it's...it's not that." Yes, it was that. Your plan is dangerous even if it is good, you thought. Innocent lives wouldn't be spared, and that would spell an unfair fate for the demons who ate to survive.

You wanted to tell Norman why his plan was wrong, and why he didn't have to be so unforgiving about it. But then what? Why would he listen when you didn't have any better ideas? He seemed to have his mind set anyway, so no half-baked ideas would make a difference. And besides, he was the smartest person you knew. Maybe that was the only way out of the terrible fate all you cattle children faced.

"If you're okay with my plan," Norman said, "then what's bothering you (Y/n)?"

"It's still a lot for me to take in," you admitted with a plastic smile. "I guess I'm just shocked that you're, well, here." Norman smiled, this time with a genuine warmth. "I understand." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you at dinner."

Your cheeks burned. How bold of him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you at dinner." Norman let out a cute little chuckle that made your heart beat a little louder than it was supposed to. You hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the door. Norman followed.

You flashed him a nervous smile, one that mixed in with your muddled worry and anxiousness. You glanced at his bright eyes. For a moment, they seemed to dim like the setting sun. It reminded you of Mama. When no one looked at her, she didn’t smile. She always looked so sad when she sat by herself, and maybe that was because she was.

"(Y/n)?"

Your fingers brushed against the doorknob. “Hm?”

"I want nothing more than to protect you and our family. I know you don't fully agree with me," his expression darkened. "But this is the way--the only way we can save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood."

For a moment, you forgot who you were speaking to. This wasn't the same boy you begged to run away with before he got shipped out. This wasn't the same boy who gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sweetly complimented you. This boy--did you truly still know him? Was he still the Norman you grew up with and fell head-over-heels for?

You blinked and that dark look washed itself off his face. He strode up to you and placed a hand on your cheek--just like the day he was supposed to be harvested. Norman’s eyes were soft, softer than any blanket, and his lips pursed into a gentle frown. With his thumb, he wiped a stray tear away.

Why were you crying?

"Norman..." You couldn’t find the right words. There were none that could explain the suffering you endured in silence. You worried, not only for Norman, but your family and all those other people in the world you didn’t know about. Norman’s plan--oh how stupid it was--had it changed him? Had it forced him to guard his heart to keep a still mind?

You wondered what he endured while you went on your crazy adventures. At least you had your family, and Yuugo, Lucas, and all your friends. But Norman? He didn’t have anyone but himself. He carried the whole world. Alone. Had he been scared? Worried? Angry that no one came for him? Your heart clenched at the thought.

"Smile,” Norman said. “It’s okay, I promise. I'm here." He gathered you in his arms and you didn’t have the heart to protest. “How?” you whispered. “How were you able to do all this on your own?” Norman helplessly shrugged. “You could say I have connections, either that or I’m just lucky.”

“What will you do after this is all over?”

Norman went still again, as if he couldn’t answer your question. You heaved in a shaky breath. If Norman wasn’t going to give you a straight answer, then you’d squeeze it out of him. “Did anything else happen to you? I’m sure there’s a catch, isn’t there?”

It was like someone flipped a switch. One moment, you were a mess of tears, sorrow, and anguish. Now, something menacing laid in your voice. It was almost threatening, as if you were indirectly telling Norman to dare avoid the question. “I don’t want you dying trying to be everything at once,” you said. “Here you’re revered as a god, and if I know you, then it’s plain that you set yourself up like that. Don’t tell me you plan to die on us again.”

He stiffened.

“I know you Norman, don’t forget that. And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again, but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.” You pulled away and took his hands in yours. A small smile of reassurance made its way up your lips, but Norman didn’t return it.

No, he couldn’t. And despite all he did, he couldn’t lie straight to your face. Not like this.

Dinner cheered you up. The smiles and laughter that your family shared with Norman made you feel just a little bit better. But how long would it last? And how long would those smiles stay present? All the questions swarming in your mind made you feel sick to your stomach. There was too much to think about, and too little time to answer them.

You forced down the last of your food with a sigh and brought the plate to its respectful place. Everyone was too busy chatting and catching up to notice, but that was fine. It was better that way.

You made your way to a secluded walkway. It was in one of the calmer areas of the hideout that overlooked the lower levels. It was quiet, save for the distant chatter of Hayato and his friends. He let out a bright laugh that echoed through the vacant walkways. What a shame it would be to hear that disappear.

“So this is where you went.”

“I told you she’d be here.”

You whipped around in alarm. “Ray, Emma!”

Ray sharply looked you up and down. He raised a brow and you squirmed under his gaze. He gently bumped shoulders with you. “What’s wrong with you?”

You absentmindedly shrugged. “Nothing.”

“That’s what someone who’s not okay would say.” Emma noted. She settled by your side on the railing and flashed a bright smile. “You were so quiet at dinner today.”

You shook your head. Que another absentminded shrug and plastic smile. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

Ray sighed. “Everyone but you?” He leaned against the railing next to you. “Did you and Norman talk at all?”

You froze. ‘Yes’, was what you wanted to say, but no sound came out. The image of Norman’s matured face, the way his his soft lips hit your own, and his stupidly tall build crossed your mind.

Emma let out a gasp and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ah!” she cried. “You’re all red!” You covered your hands with your face, ignoring Ray’s curious stare.

“What did you two talk about in his office anyway? Or should I say, do?” The glint in Ray’s eyes had subtext you didn’t want to recite out loud. “Rayyyyy,” you grumbled, “shut up.” He sent you a teasing grin as Emma frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Yeah, it’s grown up stuff.”

You ignored the warmth spreading to your cheeks and elbowed Ray. “Don’t say it like ‘that’! Now you make it sound like something else!”

He daringly raised a brow. “Like what?” You ran a hand over your scorching face. It was a miracle you weren’t on fire. “No, no, I’m not answering you!”

You shared a good laugh and a comfortable silence began to settle, blanketing your shoulders in a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while.

Emma softly smiled. “I’m glad we found you.” she admitted. “You looked really sad all by yourself out here.” Ray nodded with a small snort. “Yeah, talk about depressing. But seriously though, did something..?”

Of course these two would see through your façade. Of course they’d understand something was wrong. They were your family, and they didn’t deserve your silence. Your smile shattered. “I don’t know if Norman told you about his plan yet, but it’s...it’s bad. Sure, the demons have done some terrible things to us, but that doesn’t mean all of them are guilty. I want to stop him, but I don’t know how.”

Emma nodded in agreement. “He told us earlier and I don’t like it either.” she firmly said. “Ray and I talked it over and we have a plan, but it’s risky. Like, really risky. It has to do with the Seven Walls and...”

You held on to every word Emma and Ray spoke. Risky was your middle name. Well, not actually, but it was something that became your friend. You and your family looked death in the face too many times to count. What would be another?

By the end of it, you were sure this new plan would change Norman’s mind, or at least convince him to give up the whole ‘genocide’ thing. It was decided by Ray that tomorrow, you’d all talk to Norman. Things seemed to be looking up. No, they had to be.

------------

The halls were empty and you were alone. How was it you got lost in the first place? You made sure to have every twist and turn memorised, so why did you end up in the wrong corridor twice? Ray would surely tease you for getting lost. What an absolute--

You slammed into someone’s chest. A yelp escaped your throat as the person in question lost his footing. He sucked in a sharp breath and went tumbling straight into you. Your back hit the ground as the boy threw out his arms on either side of your head to brace himself. You didn’t need a name to know who you had tumbled into. Light hair, soft eyes, fancy waistcoat and suit.

“Norman?”

He hovered over you with wide eyes. His lips were inches from yours and he was just so, so close.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was so gosh dang loud. Could he hear it? Could he see the way your face burned red?

“Uhm--I--I--uh--”

Why wasn’t he moving? Why weren’t you moving? Why was it so hard to look him in the eyes? A nervous smile broke out across Norman’s lips. He pushed himself off of you and offered out a hand. You gingerly took it.

“Sorry.” Norman said, helping you to your feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” Your gaze darted from his lips to his dazzling eyes and then to his cheeks dusted in red. Your heart wouldn’t stop slamming against your chest. It kept going, and going until you felt like you were about to burst.

“Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted. “I’m not the one who--you know...gets sick all the time.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or why that made Norman smile so cutely, but he was smiling. That made your heart flutter. You glanced around the corridor a few times, and somehow, you kept finding focus on his lips.

What was wrong with you?

Norman caught on fast--like he always did. “Oh I see,” he said with a low chuckle. You swallowed. His voice really did deepen (but you kind of liked it). For a moment, you thought he caught onto your staring, but instead of commenting on it, he intertwined his hand with yours and led you through the winding halls.

“Don’t tell Ray I got lost.” you muttered. Norman laughed and it was like the sound of happiness itself. “I won’t.”

The halls all looked the exact same: cream coloured paint, nature-like decorations, and numbered wooden doors. You forgot what number your room was, so that was probably why you got lost. Norman took a sharp left where you recalled should be a right instead. “Wait isn’t it that way?”

“I have something to give you, so we’re going to make a quick detour.” Norman’s cheeks dusted pink and he looked the slightest bit nervous. “What is it you want to show me?” He flashed you a contagious smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s why it’s called a surprise.”

When you got to his office, you were nervous. Surprises were fun, yes, but in a world where nearly getting eaten by wild demons fell into the category of ‘surprise’, you learned not to like them very much.

Norman closed the door behind you and it softly clicked shut. Okay, you thought. So he was locking the door and making his way over to his desk. Okay, that’s fine. Norman shuffled through a cabinet, that nervous look still on his face. Okay, okay, nothing wrong here. He gently shut the drawer, and as he walked out from behind his desk, you took note of the small little box he fiddled with.

Okay. Okay. Box. Nervous. Locked door. Did he not want anyone to interrupt whatever he was about to do?

Norman heaved in a deep breath. A really, really, really deep breath. “(Y/n), I have never met anyone else like you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and kind.” He sunk to one knee and opened the little box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

---------

You jolted awake with a start.

“Sorry,” Norman said. He scribbled a few words down in his notebook. “Did I wake you?”

Ah, that’s right. After you talked with Emma and Ray, you all met up with Norman and hung out for a bit. But when had you gotten to his office? Much less, fallen asleep? You rubbed your eyes with a shake of your head. Judging by the tired look on Norman’s face, it was way past bedtime.

The heavy cloak around your shoulders offered a welcoming warmth. It smelled like books. It smelled like parchment and ink. It smelled like Norman and it was comforting.

He glanced up from his notebook and curiously met your gaze. “What are you smiling at?” The dream popped up in your mind and your smile grew. “I had a good dream.”

“What was it about?” he inquired without looking up.

“You.”

The scratch of the pencil froze and he met your gaze. “You had a dream about me?” Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and you proposed.” Norman’s back went rigid and he turned as red as an apple. “I-I pro--proposed to you?” he stammered. You snickered, a smug smile tugging on your lips. “It was really sweet. And if you’re wondering, I said yes. I was going to kiss you, but then I woke up.” You stood up with a sigh. “It was disappointing, but that’s okay.”

You let out a small laugh and neatly folded Norman’s cloak. You left it on the couch and made your way across the room. “That’s a nice notebook.” you said. “What’re you writing about?”

Norman stilled and closed the book with a smile. “It’s nothing special.” He put the pencil down ever so quietly and stood. “Do you seek my affections?” he inquired. You settled on the wall. “Don’t you have work to do?” Norman looked down at you. His fringe brushed across his eyelashes, and he loosened his tie. Slowly.

Your heart steadily drummed against your chest. “What are you doing?” The false innocence in your voice caused Norman to chuckle lowly. He caressed your cheek with a feather-light touch. “Well, you did say you were disappointed right? Why don’t I make it up to you?”

He rested an arm on the wall with a sly smirk. Your lips connected and it made your stomach flip-flop. The kiss was slow, it was sweet. You found yourself pulling him closer, running your hands through his hair and yanking him over. "Norman?" He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Yes (N/n)?"

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

He smirked and it was hot. The fact that he kept his arm braced against the wall didn’t help either. "Why?" he lowly inquired. "Do you like it?" Your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself wanting more.

Knock, knock!

Norman didn't look too happy about that. He ran a hand over your cheek and gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, that half-lidded look of his melting into warmth and love. He made his way to the door, tightening his tie and smoothing out his hair with a quick touch.

"Hello--?" Norman fell short mid-sentence. As soon as your gaze locked with the person on the other side, you understood why. Ray stood in the threshold, just as red-faced as you and Norman, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll come back later.” he muttered.

Oh great. Had he been eavesdropping? You glanced at Norman and he glanced at you, then Ray, and back to you. Ray sucked his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t have too much fun.” he said, a smirk twitching onto his lips.

You made your way to the threshold with a groan. “Rayyyy!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” he coolly replied. “Do whatever, I didn’t see anything.”

PART 2 <--- READ PART 2

NOTE: I spent a WHOLE WEEK writing this. Please reblog so I know you guys like it :)

TIP JAR

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