Yeah, dumb, I know. Well, two lj-cuts then: the first cut will have the headers for the fandom if that's what it will take to let you know if you're willing to be spoiled and if you're at all interested; the second if you just want to leap in and take a chance. *weak laugh*
(If you want a hint, it's me doing the sort of notorious "violate the innocent source material" I'm known for.)
Fandom: Wreck-It Ralph
Title: Behind the "No One Under 18!!" Curtain
Octopuses! Octopi? Maybe squid. Whatever. He pushed through the wall of tentacles to get at their squealing target. There was slippery goo everywhere, ugh. People thought this game was fun?
Black hair, check. Short skirt, check, but...everything else was different. When had her legs gotten so long? And her chest so...bumpy?
And...yipe, that flipped-up-skirt view he had of her very white, very wet underwear had any thoughts of I see London, I see France dying away in his suddenly very dry throat.
"Get away from her!" He tore at the tentacles, grateful for the strength in his hands. More goo spurted, the squidopuses shuddered, and the probing tentacles fell away from their spreadeagled target, who dropped like the mercury in a candy thermometer.
Grown as she might be, she wasn't too big for him to catch. "Oof!" Dangling in his huge hands, she blinked at him through the goo. "Ralph?"
He set her on her feet, awkwardly smoothing down her skirt. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, what are you doing here? The players are going to think the game's broken!"
"Vanellope..." He gestured about. "You took a job in Oh My Honey Hentai Girl?"
She folded her arms. (Over the...bumps.) "I have a whole kingdom of displaced subjects to provide for, Ralph. I'm their princess; I have duties."
He blinked back at her. "How are you even using that word without giggling? I'm getting you out of here."
She set her heels; he knew that look. "Sugar Rush is gone! I have nothing to go back to!"
"I know." He picked her up, goo and all, and hoisted her over his shoulder even as she fought him. "They've lost an avatar in Dance Dance Your Stupid Socks Off. Job's yours if you want it."
She stopped struggling. "Pays as much?"
"You...might have to give up the daily double-syrup frappuccinos."
"Huh." He could feel her picking at her damp blouse even as he ran for the game exit. "Well, if it means less laundry."