#<- for reach im not necessarily drawing them

[yesimwriting]

i NEED to see Louis having the biggest crashout of all crashouts over reader. He don’t play about the people he loves in his life.

Also, Im so curious about how he reacts/talks about her without her being in the room. We know he’s caring and funny to her face, but I want Daniel to notice Louis indeed does have someone close to him in modern age and ask him about her. Will Louis show Daniel her paintings Louis has in his home? (anonymously purchased with the highest offer, just so his bestie racks in some dollars. Bc we all know bestie reader would give him her work for free)

a/n i can't put into words how much i love this. louis is so lighthearted around reader, but he becomes so deeply un-chill the second something reminds him of her mortality.

omg the interview potential is too good 😭. i love that you used the word 'notice' bc i think daniel would pick up on a vibe (similar paintings all over the penthouse, louis periodically looking at his phone and smiling, louis occasionally using phrases that feel gen-z) so when reader actually comes up daniel's like yeah. there it is.

anyways, here's a fic that explores both louis talking about reader and louis crashing out over reader and her mortality :)

----

There's something about the painting serving as the living room's focal point, and the smaller piece in the foyer, and the art work decorating the guest room. Not necessarily a style or a specific theme, but some underlying quality that conveys a sense of unity between them.

"Are you recording yet?" The prompting is small and far from an accusation. Daniel still finds himself shifting slightly, his gaze tearing away from the painting as if he's been caught staring at something not meant for him to notice.

"Uh--yes." It takes him a second longer than it should to meet Louis's stare. "That's an interesting painting."

The corner of Louis's mouth tugs itself upwards at that, not quite a smile but something that feels incredibly warm. He turns his head slightly, looking back at the painting as if to re-experience the details of it. "It's from a dear artist of mine."

Daniel's immediately thrown by the phrasing. His attention shifts away from Louis and onto Armand, whose lips are pressed together but is otherwise giving no indication of how he feels. "...An artist of yours?"

"Don't get him started." Armand's warning feels much too tired to be amused.

Louis halfheartedly glares at his companion before returning his focus to Daniel. "There's an artist, and she's..." Louis trails off, his eyebrows drawing together as he thinks through the best way to make his point.

"His very best friend in the world," Armand finishes for him, the words flat in their blatant sarcasm.

"Stop it," Louis sighs, the defense so halfhearted Daniel has to believe that this is an argument they've had regularly enough. "She is my friend, but it...it sometimes feels so much more important than that."

Okay. So Louis has a friend--an important friend--that Armand doesn't seem to like. It's hard to imagine them embracing other vampires these days, but the thought of a human girl so casually and openly important to Louis and disliked by Armand is even harder for him to grasp.

"Yes, she's like you," Louis offers after a beat, "And it's not like that. She's--like family to me." Daniel's questions are distracting enough to dull the usual annoyance he feels when Louis enters his mind. "And Armand's a lot more accepting of her than he'd ever say."

Armand's gaze flits towards Louis. His lips are still pressed together, but he's not exactly frowning, and there's something behind his eyes that almost feels thoughtful. It's not so much his expression as it is his blankness. It's a neutrality that almost feels methodical. "Clearly."

Daniel reaches for his pen. This 'friendship' seems like the kind of thing that might warrant a few rewrites of the more current chapters. He'll need extensive notes for the sake of continuity.

"So," Daniel starts, "This artist..." Louis provides your name. Daniel writes it down, making a mental note to look you up online before his revisions for the sake of accuracy. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-two." It's not the most surprising thing. They've mentioned other friends and acquaintances in passing, and they're often close to the ages they resemble...but Daniel's never seen evidence of them in their home. And Louis has never spoken so fondly of a human before.

Daniel looks at the painting again. He still hasn't been able to decipher what makes your work feel so cohesive, but he's starting to think it might be feeling. For the briefest moment, it's almost enough to make him wish there was a way to keep someone he doesn't even know away from them.

"I know," Louis says flatly, something behind his eyes briefly hardening. "But we're...careful. I ne--"

"Does she know?"

For whatever reason, the question seems to remind Louis of his fondness for you. "She knows." Daniel resists the urge to sigh. Twenty-two and willingly running around with vampires. He's not exactly in a position to judge, but it's difficult not to.

Louis relaxes slightly, his hand moving to rest against his knee. "She even knows about you."

"Really?"

"Please, they don't go long enough without speaking for her to not know anything." Another passively-aggressive comment from Armand. Still, there's relevance in what he's implying. How close are you and Louis? And why does he choose to spend so much time with you?

Daniel hums once in acknowledgement of Armand's words as he finishes writing down his last thought. "Why?" The question feels like something crafted by a very bad journalist. Daniel tries again, "Why her? What about her made you want to be her friend?"

Louis is quiet for a long moment, and to Daniel's surprise, Armand allows it to pass without any sort of comment. "When I'm around her, I can almost remember what it felt like to have sunlight touch mortal skin."

There's an affection there that's impossible to deny. If Daniel didn't think you needed to be a part of this before...

"She sounds--nice."

Louis eases at Daniel's tentative approval. "She's funny, too." He relaxes, allowing his shoulders to slouch as he leans forward. "And talented--during her gallery debut, an anonymous bidder paid a hundred-thousand dollars over asking price for her first piece." Daniel writes down the detail. "I've got more paintings I can show you later."

Daniel has a feeling this isn't as much of an offer as it is an inevitability. He agrees anyway, "Yeah, later." He turns to a new page in his notebook, writing your name at the top before drawing a bullet point beneath it. He'll need to figure out where you fit within the larger narrative. "So how did you meet her?"

----

Interviewing vampires isn't that different from interviewing humans. Not when you disregard the lack of effort it'd take them to end your life if they dislike your line of questioning and focus on the stiffness that characterizes the beginning of each interview.

When individuals, human or otherwise, are made to dissect their thoughts and memories, they tend to be slow to share until they've answered a few questions and start to feel like they're having a genuine conversation. Daniel's used to the phenomenon, used to the shallowness of the answers provided earlier in the evening. What he isn't used to, however, is Louis's irritation.

"It felt like what you'd assume it'd feel like." The answer is so nondescript, Louis might as well have not said anything at all.

Daniel's instinct is to ask for elaboration, but Louis gives him a look that feels like a warning not to. Daniel glances at his notes, thinking through his latest line of questioning. Is this...a sensitive subject?

"Don't mind Louis." Armand's responds, answering the question that Daniel has yet to ask out loud. "He's beside himself because his darling angel hasn't answered him in almost two days."

Louis turns his head to look at Armand. "I'm not beside myself." The correction is sharp, but Daniel can't help but feel like Armand might have a point. Louis straightens to face Daniel again. "It's not like her. She either answers or tells me she's going to be busy."

It's a concern that's almost unnerving to witness. "...The artist?" Louis dips his chin downwards once in silent confirmation. "She's twenty-two, she probably just forgot--"

"She wouldn't forget me." There's a harshness to the interruption that Daniel sometimes forget Louis is capable of.

"No," the response is more a result of an instinct for self preservation than a genuine attempt at agreeing with him. "I didn't mean it like that." Surprise aside, there's something interesting about Louis's defensiveness. "There are a lot of reasons for someone to not answer their phone."

Louis's quiet for a moment, his expression slowly morphing into something more neutral. He's not exactly easing, but it's a step in the right direction. After another second of silence, Louis parts his lips. Before he can actually speak, he's interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.

Louis picks up the phone from the couch. He accepts the call so immediately, Daniel already knows who's on the other end. "Give me a minute," Louis mumbles as stands up.

Daniel sighs, leaning forward to pause the audio recording. At least Louis has a reason to come back in a better mood.

----

"No texts, no calls, you turned off your location--"

"I didn't want you to freak out."

The response only amplifies Louis's irritation. You didn't want him to freak out. What do you think he's been doing for the last day and a half? And what could possibly be so bad you needed to cut him out completely to keep it a secret?

Louis resists the urge to scoff. "What happened that was so bad you needed to keep it a secret from me?" The words are sharper than he usually is with you, and his phrasing isn't exactly fair, but he's not feeling very patient right now.

"It's not a secret--I just needed a second to deal with it before telling you." The vagueness only annoys Louis further. "I hurt my wrist." You pause, thinking through your wording, "I was out with a friend, and someone tapped the back of his car and I instinctually put my hand on the dash, and the pressure snapped my wrist."

What. "You were in a car accident?"

"No, it--" You cut yourself off with a partial sigh as you think through how to proceed. "It was a total fender bender. Josh's car isn't even totaled."

That's nowhere near as assuring as you think it is. "Thank God for that. Your arm's broken, but Josh's car is okay."

"My arm is fine." The defense means very little to him. "It's only my wrist." Louis rolls his eyes at the technicality. This is what he gets for leaving you alone. "But it's in a cast now, and in four to six weeks it'll be off."

The thought of you existing in New York by yourself, even more vulnerable than usual leaves a pit in his stomach. "I'm scheduling a flight."

"You don't need to do that." There's nothing surprising about the protest. "It's not a big deal, I've been checked out and the only thing wrong with me is my wrist." When Louis doesn't respond right away, you continue, "A lot of people break things."

Louis has never liked that kind of argument. You're not meant to be lumped into such a general category. "Those people aren't you."

The directness of the comment seems to soften you. There's a moment of hesitation, and then a reluctant sigh. "You're busy, you've got your book thing, and Armand--"

"If he has a problem with it, he can come, too." This should be enough to make the suddenness of their trip seem a lot less dramatic to you. Armand and him visit you semi-regularly, and they are over due for a trip. The thought of Armand being there might even be easing to you.

There's a brief stretch of silence, and then a careful, "You guys don't need to stop everything because I'm accident prone."

It'd be fair to argue that this isn't a result of your clumsiness. You were in someone else's car, and they weren't paying attention to the roads enough to keep you safe. Josh--you've mentioned him a few times in a variety of contexts, and Louis has yet to find a reason to be a fan. But that doesn't matter right now.

You're alone and even though you're not complaining, Louis can't help but imagine the pain you're probably in. You don't need to be lectured, and you don't need to hear anything that might make you worry about Josh. After a moment, he offers you something small, "Not your accident."

He wonders if there's a chance that you're injured in any other way. You said that you only broke your wrist, but that doesn't mean the accident didn't result in any superficial injuries. "Thanks." The word feels small. "I didn't call during a bad time, did I?"

Louis briefly thinks of Daniel and Armand waiting in the living room. "It's never a bad time to hear from you. Even when you're calling to tell me you've been in an accident."

"I considered texting, but I didn't want to give you a heart attack." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I really didn't like not talking to you."

It'd be easy for him to hold onto his worry, onto his anger, but he can't stand the thought of you being physically and emotionally wounded. "I didn't like it either." It didn't take much to hide this from him. There are so many ways in which you could be hurt, in which something could happen to you that he'd have no way of knowing about. "I also don't like the thought of you all alone."

There's the briefest crackle of static and then a soft sigh that feels like a yawn. "You sound like my mom."

"She's not wrong."

You sigh, the sound so familiar in its exasperation Louis is almost comforted by it. "You two have been on each other's side since Christmas."

The memory of meeting your mother when she came to visit you during the holiday season is one he's extremely fond of. It had been a brief shift, a small window into who you were before him, but everything about it had made him feel so normal. "I can't help that she's always right."

The crackly hum of movement briefly returns. Louis can picture you adjusting your hold on your cell phone. The thought is so tangible it only adds to the weight of your absence. "Why don't you come here?"

"Really?" He can hear the excitement bleeding into your voice. You recover quickly, the gentle static of movement briefly taking over the other end of the line. "You--you think that'd be okay? You have that writer over, and you're doing your--"

"Daniel's fine." In all honesty, Louis isn't sure if Daniel will mind another person around, but it doesn't matter. Injured or not, he can't imagine ever telling you to stay away from him. "He may even want to ask you a few things." That's true enough. Daniel was intrigued by the thought of Louis having a mortal friend. You'd be a good way at rounding out the modern era.

You're moving again. It isn't difficult for Louis to imagine you in your bedroom or on your couch, a heavy throw blanket on your lap. "I get to talk about you to a journalist?" The words are much too amused. "I'm going to tell him about the--" You're interrupted by your own laughter. "The club in Milan, with the LSD guy that smelled like--"

"Don't," it's a halfhearted attempt at stopping you, "We said we'd never tell anyone about that."

"I don't know, I think it's a story that deserves to be immortalized."

It's only an expression to you, but the reminder of the concept of permanence tarnishes the little peace the conversation has managed to bring him. Without intervention, you'll eventually vanish and leave him the sole holder of your shared memories. If he's not careful, that day might come sooner than it needs to. However, with intervention...

He pushes against the thought immediately. The prospect of turning you, of separating you from your soul for the sake of keeping you here is one that he only considers when he is at his most selfish.

Besides, he doubts he'd be able to bring himself to turn you himself. Armand is repulsed by the idea of having a fledgling, but there's a chance that he'd come around to the idea if you were the one to ask him. For all of his complaints and your shared bickering, something about the way that Armand never attempts to retaliate against you makes Louis think he might have a greater soft spot for you than he'd ever admit to.

Still, if Louis is allowing himself to imagine a completely self indulgent reality, the thought of Armand turning you doesn't fully fit into his ideal version of your transformation. Not when Armand's blood doesn't flow within his own veins. He banishes this thought more immediately than the last.

"Maybe I could be convinced to let you share that story if you agree to something."

You sigh in a way that's so incredibly telling. "You're not flying to New York to help me fly to Dubai."

Louis's not sure if he's more amused or irritated by your ability to read him. "I don't like the idea of you traveling by yourself, especially with a broken wrist."

He can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "It's this or no trip."

Louis doubts that you're extremely firm in this position, but he's willing to let you have a win. "You wouldn't do that to me."

You yawn, the sound low and tired. "Tough love."

"I'm not keeping you up, am I?" It's not particularly late, but there's a chance your body's exhausted. He'll have to read up on human injury before you get here. "You sound tired."

"The doctor gave me some pain killers for my wrist, and they make me kind of drowsy."

Great--you, all alone in your apartment, with a broken wrist, and painkillers in your system. The sooner Louis can get you here, the better. "You should get some sleep, I'll send you the flight information as soon as I have it."

"Okay." Your lack of questioning reveals more about your drowsiness than your words ever would. "Do you want me to send you my credit card info?"

"I've got it."

You let out a small breath that indicates resistance. "Louis."

There has to be a line somewhere. "It's this or no trip." He means the echoed phrase as much as you meant it, and Louis is convinced that you can that you can tell.

His hollow threat works. After a second, you give in with a small, "Okay." Wow, you must be more tired than you're letting on. "How long should I pack for?"

Louis isn't in the mood to think about your eventual departure. Fortunately, there's one topic that almost always works as a distraction. "Pack light, we'll go shopping when you get here."

"You so get me."

Louis smiles at that. "I know." The silence that follows feels a little less like a choice on your end. "Get some sleep, I'll send you the flight details tonight and I'll call you tomorrow." And then, just because he's not ready to let go of all his worry just yet, he adds, "Please answer."

"I was trying to spare you."

He doesn't doubt that at least some of your motivations were noble, but he also knows you, and he knows how you feel about his general wariness of the world around you. "That was the opposite of sparing me."

"Fine." You let out a breath, and Louis can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "My beloved Louis de Pointe du Lac, I promise to never intentionally ignore your calls again." The sarcasm in your voice isn't enough to taint the sentiment. You really do mean it.

Louis is nearly overwhelmed by his fondness for you. Things will be better, easier when you're here. "That's all I ask." You're quiet in a way that makes it impossible to not feel your drowsiness. "Goodnight, love you."

"Goodnight," you echo, "Love you. Tell Armand I said 'hi'."

"I will," he says, "Now get some sleep."

You mumble a response he can't fully make out before hanging up.

----

It's earlier in the evening than Louis wants it to be.

You're asleep in your own apartment, but it's difficult to not think about things much more gruesome than that. You kept the accident from him so easily, and you're at a greater physical disadvantage than you usually are.

You're also alone, not that you're safer when you're with others. The thought of the boy that allowed the accident to happen only adds to Louis's irritation. Josh. Josh, who crashes vehicles. Josh, who must have done something to make you think the accident was your fault in some way.

Louis pushes against the feelings. Josh, the details of the accident, the state that you're in. There will be time to deal with all of it later. He just needs to get through tonight. You'll be here tomorrow.

"It's still early," Louis's words are sulkier than he wants them to be, "We could go out for a bit."

"If you want to." Armand's response is slow and almost painfully nondescript in a way that suits the way he's been all evening.

Louis lets out a partial scoff. "What is it?" Armand angles his head to the side slightly in a display of synthetic confusion. "You've been passive aggressive all evening. What is it?" Armand doesn't respond. "Was it my worry? The phone call? The fact that I can't leave her alone like that?"

"You shouldn't have left her at all." The response is surprising enough to briefly silence Louis. "I told you it was only a matter of time before something happened to her."

The novelty of Armand almost expressing concern over you fades, leaving an unstable irritation in its wake. What right does Armand have to accuse Louis of abandoning you? Maybe if Armand didn't treat you like a puppy he didn't want, you would have wanted to live near them. "I didn't leave her--she chose not to move."

"You could have tried harder."

Louis blinks, his surprise clouding the potential anger. "Maybe if you didn't threaten her after every comment."

Armand's eyebrows draw together as if the possibility of you not enjoying your halfhearted spats had never occurred to him. "I have never once attempted to hurt her."

The distinction means very little to Louis. It's a statement that doesn't need to be made, because if Louis had sensed so much as an inkling of actual malice towards you on Armand's end, Armand would have never been allowed to be alone with you.

"We're different than her." The words are directed at Armand, but Louis's thoughts still latch onto the ways in which they apply to him as well. "After awhile, it has to be off putting to always be reminded of that."

Armand notes the thinly veiled self hatred immediately. As exhausting as it is to constantly hear about the poor saint cursed to be surrounded by such vile creates, it's even more draining to watch these sentiments impact Louis...and you.

He stands from his spot on the couch slowly, approaching Louis with slow, measured steps. "If you believe she's afraid of either of us, you are severely underestimating her."

Louis eases, the corner of his mouth tugging itself into something that comes close to resembling a smile. "You're not wrong about that." Armand extends an arm, placing a comforting hand on Louis's shoulder. Louis reciprocates the gesture, his hand coming to rest against Armand's forearm. "It's just hard not to worry."

To Armand, the response is a painful understatement. Louis worries about all that could happen in his absence, he worries about all that's wrong about his presence. Things would be so much easier if he'd get over the paranoia of 'ruining' you.

"You wouldn't have to worry so much if she was here more." Armand drags his thumb against Louis's shoulder. "Maybe this visit should be a little longer."

Louis's expression softens at that. "I'll do what I can to keep her here while she has a cast." He's never once asked you to leave, but he's aware of the temporary nature of your visits. You start missing your home and the access to whatever you need to create whatever you want. "But she starts to miss her home, and her studio."

"There's space here," Armand offers carefully, "You could give her a room." Louis's eyebrows pull together at the suggestion. "You're different when she's with you." Armand continues to trace patterns against Louis's shoulder. "And it's important we preserve that."

Louis's eyebrows draw together again, his confusion a little sharper this time. "Preserve it?"

"Human emotions are fleeting. The more time she spends away from you, the more likely she is to find more permanent relationships." Armand doesn't have to meet Louis's gaze to know that the implication has served its purpose. "And if she finds other people, falls in love and gets married, you can't expect things to stay the same between you."

Armand squeezes Louis's shoulder a little more firmly, a gesture meant to convey something comforting. "As your companion, I'm capable of grasping your relationship and even then, sometimes it's difficult to accept. Do you think some human boy would have the same patience? The same understanding?"

Louis frowns. Worrying about losing you to your mortality is a simple thing, but accepting the fact that he could just as easily lose you to change is nowhere near as easy. "I'm--I'm not going to make her do something she doesn't want."

Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. Louis's obsession with your free will is often a limiting thing. "Then we'll make sure she wants to."

----

manipulation is a love language, i promise <3

[andre-and-cal]

guys. we need something, ANYTHING, about what happened after cals poem (forget the driving scene)

andre def fucked the living shit out of cal ^^

-🎱anon

OUUUU HELLO DEAR ANON !! :33 Im happy to be at your service! Also, I agree… 😼💪

What happened after the poem scene?

Andre never liked fighting, he’d always preferred verbal disputes over physical violence— only one of those resulted in serious consequences. Besides, Mr. Kriegman occasionally mentioned how “boys will be boys”. Thus, while fights were absolutely not justified under their roof, that statement alone prompted Mr. and Mrs. Kriegman to hold compassion for the two boys.

Now, through the use of poetry, Calvin had essentially hinted at a sense of steadily-approaching forthcoming violence. And to say the very least, Andre was pissed.

Calvin had watched the veins in Andre’s arms swell, he’d seen the way his visage had screwed up with intense agitation… the way his brows knitted together as he’d erupted had caused Cal’s breath to hitch. He wanted to absorb the brunet teen’s energy like a sponge— not necessarily to be it, but instead to understand where he was coming from.

Yet Calvin felt the absence of shame… he recognized where that guilt would have surfaced if he truly cared that greatly. He neither felt sorry for writing the poem nor for scuffling with the two guys he’d been mocking up onstage.

Andre felt that it was appalling how Calvin wasn’t treading lightly with his behavior. To him, it was ridiculous that he even had to chastise the other teen for how he’d acted in the first place. Granted, the brunet knew that Cal was fully aware of how they couldn’t draw attention to the Army of Two— whether it be a small or large quantity of scrutiny— by indulging in blatantly hostile activities… fights included, fights especially.

Now that both boys had flounced off, Cal’s mind was continuously replaying images of Andre’s verbal aggression. Luckily, he’d seemed to have calmed down now, but— strangely enough— the blond wanted to calm him down in a different way.

Now sitting on Andre’s bed, the brunet was holding Cal’s thighs up, rutting against him. They were both nearly naked from the waist down, with boxers squeezing their damp bulges.

Andre was panting raggedly, beads of sweat hauling ass down his face. He knew he was soon going to make a mess in his underwear if he kept staring at Cal’s face, watching the way his lips parted, inspecting the way his eyes locked on Andre’s face as if he were some glorious being. His shaggy hair… all messed up and tousled, too…

Fuck, he was so desperate for some relief. He’d been yearning for something that would feel so much better than the cotton fabric of his briefs uncomfortably rubbing his hard-on.

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you stay here tonight...” Andre had huffed, chest puffing out with heavy breaths as he ground himself between Cal’s legs.

The blond let out a strained groan, weakly arching his back. “But I said I’m sorry.” He whined, the corner of his lip quirking upward into a sneer. He’d kind of wanted to goad Andre into getting loud again even though he wouldn’t have been able to maintain a sturdy poker face. Besides, Andre knew better than to waste his braincells on his sarcastic response.

“You’re not sorry,” Andre grumbled as he slowly pulled down his boxers, shyly freeing his dick. He reached down and carefully removed Cal’s underwear as well. “Because you don’t care.”

Calvin moaned as Andre began fisting their cocks together. “I do care! Stop putting words in my mouth!” He argued, bucking his hips. While Andre jacked off the both of them, his shaft throbbed so fiercely it was as though it had its own pulse.

Andre ignored him. Instead, he’d aggressively pumped his hand up and down their dicks, heaving hot, elated breaths as precum spilled out of his shaft. He never did last long, he wondered how Calvin was able to hold himself back sometimes.

Cal was a little louder than Andre, though he remained quite cautious while regarding his noisiness, as Mr. and Mrs. Kriegman were sleeping downstairs.

The tip of Andre’s dick wept, his precum warning both boys about his impending orgasm. Andre roughly released Calvin’s member before stroking himself instead.

“Mmffh,” he groaned, tipping his head back. “Fuck, Cal, gonna— ah—”

Calvin breathed heavily as his own dick was abandoned, and he’d grinned smugly as Andre pleased himself. However, when Andre finally came, he’d allowed his seed to spurt on top of Calvin’s stomach. Some of it splattered onto Cal’s shirt, too— however, he wasn’t complaining.

Andre caught his breath while Cal laid sprawled out underneath him, cock slick and stiff. What an asshole, Cal thought sarcastically. Of course he would only get himself off.

“Why d’you always leave me like this even after you touch me?? Hurry up and stick it in.” He complained.

He was such a smartass.

Andre’s muscles tensed with returning irritation and his member twitched with interest, preparing to penetrate this handsome boy below him. He didn’t give Cal time to process another thought or sensation before he was pushing balls-deep inside Calvin’s entrance. “Fuck you—” he breathed out, voice low and shaky as he leaned down and hid his face against Cal’s shoulder. “Fuck you, man…”

Andre could barely even comprehend his surroundings, it felt so fucking good with Calvin tightly hugging his cock. He could hear the blond-headed teen practically mewling, he could see his hands grasping the bedsheets beside themselves as he struck that damn sweet spot inside him. “Andre—!” He’d yelped, scratching his nails down the brunet teenager’s back.

Andre shuddered, one hand hastily clapping over Calvin’s mouth while his thrusts halted. He’d needed to remind Cal to remain as quiet as he could be, though he knew his dad was a heavy sleeper. Still, he didn’t want to risk being too loud. “Jesus Christ.”

Calvin gave a muffled groan in response, a reluctant agreement to comply with what Andre was essentially asking of him. Yet, he liked it when he and Andre could be noisy.

Further, Andre pulled his hand back and teasingly rolled his hips against Cal’s backside. His shaft quickly exited and then disappeared again inside the blond. Though naturally, the brunet grew rougher, with the sounds of light toned skin slapping against slightly fairer skin filling the room.

Cal then grabbed one of Andre’s pillows, covering his face with it. He practically cried out into the cushion because he knew that it would come out softer, that it would come out muffled.

Andre’s figurines were simply eyeing the two with harsh judgment hidden behind their plastic oculars; Calvin had always believed they were moderately creepy, but Andre insisted they weren’t.

Mel was currently downstairs as well, avoiding her “brothers”. She’d sensed the erotic tension between them and fled as a result.

Andre slammed into Cal so harshly the other teen saw stars. He’d pitifully attempted to groan out Andre’s name into the pillow, though his voice was muffled.

He was already finishing by the fourth time Andre made contact with his prostate. His groin twisted into knots before warm, sticky cum came spurting out of his shaft, splashing all over his exposed abdomen.

Andre quite nearly came again upon hearing the strangled whimpers Cal had let loose.

He pulled out and crumbled beside Calvin, who’d now removed the pillow from his face. The tightness in his upper arms and shoulders from earlier had mostly vanished as well.

He knew he and Calvin were going to need to take a shower before the morning sun rose, but frankly, the brunet was too tired.

He believed his blond companion felt the same.

[literaila]

Need more gojo reader smoochfest

“remember this one?”

you’re a little bit dizzy, by now. you can’t remember how long, or when all of this started—but the end result isn’t necessarily unpleasant.

you hadn’t wanted to join nanami and shoko (and gojo whoever that is) for a drink—after a long day, three too many outfit changes, and a bed that you missed like an old childhood friend.

but your complaints are only partially heard, and satoru tends to drag you along wherever he goes, like a doll.

currently, though, you don’t really mind that.

gojo is not drunk, but you definitely are.

that’s why, mind you, when satoru spins you around again on the sticky linoleum floor, in this shitty bar that is definitely too small for dancing—you stumble a little.

but satoru’s hand is right there on your waist, keeping you steady and making sure that you don’t run into anyone that could be passing by.

usually he would let you trip and fall and spill someone’s drink down their shirt—because that would be hilarious—but you’re drunk, and he’s not and…

he enjoys taking care of you, when he gets the chance.

“no,” you say, giggling, when you’re spun back to him. “but i don’t think you should do it again.”

he’s grinning down at you. “why not?”

“because i might puke.”

satoru snorts, slowing his dancing down a little bit—because you really are swaying. “cute.”

“i know. aren’t you glad you married me?”

his eyes are covered but they’re sparkling (or you’re hallucinating). “very glad,” he says, with all the swagger that his seventeen year old self had.

that is to say, absolutely none.

but you lean in anyway, drunk and giddy and sweet, and brush your nose against his.

and satoru complies, like he always does, so his breath tickles your mouth and one of his hand finds its way to your jaw.

you kiss him once, just a slight peck, and pull back. you’ve always been a tease, but you usually reserve it for at home.

not now, though, when he’s so focused on only you, and so close that he could swallow you whole.

dancing always reminds you of satoru proposing, of letting him guide you wherever he wants to go in some sick metaphor about love and torture, the cure and the curse.

and, goddamnit, you’ve always been a sappy drunk. you’re going to regret this in the morning—especially because satoru has the upper hand here.

you told him you loved him for the first time because you were drunk.

and so, “i think im in love you,” you say now, again, just to get him to smile.

“then don’t tease me,” his tone is stern, a bit whiny, but you can see his dimples now.

“it’s so fun, though.”

“everything’s fun when you’re drunk.”

“tipsy.”

“okay, baby.”

“and everything’s fun with you.”

satoru’s mouth opens, his canines glittering in the dim light of the bar, and then he scoffs, “you—“ but he never finishes the sentence because his hand moves to the back of your head and he’s kissing you again.

you settle on your tip toes to reach him, sighing as he pulls you closer.

and you’re not moving now, nonetheless dancing, but who the hell cares?

satoru bites at your bottom lip, as punishment for being in love with him, and allows you to wrap your hands around his neck, drawing circles with your fingertips.

your body is so heavy and uneven, but it’s easy to kiss him like this. you’re not self conscious about the other people because satoru will keep them away from you both, and you’re not worried about breathing because why would you need to breathe when you could be kissing him?

still, eventually he pushes you back, setting his hands on your shoulders so you don’t fall. and he grins at you again, cheeky. “i think i love you, too.”

“oh, good. or this would be awkward.”

he kisses you again, a bit softer, but it’s not even a kiss, really.

because you’re both just laughing into each other, and everything seems so funny for a moment that you just let it happen. if you could rank the moments in time, kissing satoru like this would be very close to the top.

and someone probably shouts at you to get a room—but who cares anyway?

[red-dead-n-dandy]

fluffy cuddle headcanons for bill williamson (+ anyone else you feel like writing!) and a gender neutral s/o? im in the mood for cutesy cowboy content 👉👈

Absolutely! Always! I try to write gender-neutral as much as I can so everyone can enjoy :) And mee too!! I need a cuddle, where's my cowboy at?!

Mind on You

Pairing: RDR2 Men x Reader

Game: Red Dead Redemption 2

Warnings: some of the men's headcannons got slightly angsty/emotional - it's not too ba,d but i always warn just in case! (Bill, Kieran and Sean)

{ How each of the men love to cuddle/hold you }

I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments or tags, thank you and enjoy! <3

ARTHUR MORGAN:

Lover of the slow morning cuddles

He's always on the go, so the mornings that he can relax with you are his favourites.

"Slow down, ain't got nowhere to be this mornin'." as you try to get up and get dressed.

It's a feeble attempt.

You barely manage to sit up before his arm snakes around your waist.

Chuckling as you're pulled back into the warmth of his chest.

"Now," he murmurs in his deep morning voice "you ain't going nowhere."

Slowly starts kissing your neck if you try to protest.

BILL WILLIAMSON:

Behind all the bluster, he's a big softie.

He seeks you out when he's had a tough day, the kind of day when the whole camp just views him as the camp fool.

It stings deeper than he's willing to admit

But you know

The soft "Come here, darling" just melts him.

Surrendering into your arms, hair on his body standing upright as you run your hands over his shoulders to ease away at the knots of stress.

Though he's embarrassed, he looks up at you - into your soothing eyes and he knows...everything's gonna be alright.

CHARLES SMITH:

Charles is quite a private man, so although he loves your affection; he wouldn't necessarily go for full-blown PDA and cuddles in front of the gang.

That's your time, together.

To him, it's sacred.

If you come and quietly ask him to cuddle, he'll take your hand and lead you away from everyone else.

Happiest with you in between his legs, your back against his chest

Whether you're reading, drawing, sharpening knives etc - he likes to wrap his arms around you and gently rest his chin on your shoulder to watch what you're up to

Has been known to fall asleep like this, but will deny it

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

Dutch loves nothing more than pulling you into his lap in the evenings when sitting around the campfire.

Does this in a low-key possessive way

He gets even more of a kick out of it when he knows you're busy.

I mean, who's gonna deny him?

Not you, that's for sure!

"Come, sit for a while. You've been so busy today"

Encourages you to cuddle in closer as the warmth of the fire envelops you both.

HOSEA MATTHEWS

BIG fan of having a cuddle while reading

Whether it's you laying in his lap or the other way around

Will read passages aloud to you if you ask him to

Help him up, his back will thank you!

Enjoys being quiet and with nature, points out different birds and animals etc

Will also randomly launch into stories, some true...some less so! but you love them either way.

"Did I ever tell you about the time..."

JAVIER ESCUELLA

Another member of the cuddly gang!

Loves affection, but can become nervous when he falls for someone

Talk to him about music or his (emotional support) guitar and he'll relax.

Better yet, ask him to teach you how to play!

Awkward reaching of hands to help you get the chords

"It might be easier if I move closer?" you oh-so-innocently ask.

God, he smells good!

He is a nervous wreck inside, but the proximity is oddly addictive.

Oh, stay a little longer! He'll teach you song after song if you're willing!

JOHN MARSTON

He's not massively cuddly, but god does he need some love!

He'll never ask for a cuddle, but you'll see the signs.

"what you doin'?" he asks defensively as you move yourself onto his lap.

Soon relaxes into it, but claims it's you "being all clingy and stuff"

Gets more affectionate when he's drunk

Secretly loves it when you trace your fingertips over his scars.

He hates them, but the way you coo over them - that feels nice.

JOSIAH TRELAWNEY

If you can hold him down for 5 goddamn minutes, then sure, he'll cuddle you!

I swear this man just disappears?!

The best time to cuddle him is honestly while he sleeps!

Move into his arms and he'll subconsciously wrap you up, his moustache tickling your head.

If you're lucky, he'll stir in the night and give you a couple of small kisses.

Also a big fan of cuddles in a shared bath?

KIERAN DUFFY

Please...can someone show this man an ounce of love?

He works so hard, so it's nice to have some affection at the end of the day, a shoulder massage that turns into a sleepy cuddle - yes, please!

Another one for bath cuddles!

Is just constantly serving, it feels like he's never off the clock, but for you? he doesn't mind!

Do you need him to wash your hair, and your body? Your clothes?

He can feel at a loss if he just exists with nothing to do

So hold him, sing to him, serve him for a change!

LENNY SUMMERS

Like Hosea, Lenny enjoys reading with you in his lap and loves to absent-mindedly run his hands through your hair.

He loves to make up poems for you and will recite them as you cuddle.

Is so eager to tell you about all the different flowers! His mum taught him and it makes him feel so close to her. knows which ones are rare, their different uses etc

Actually has a collection of dried flowers in a journal but thinks the other men would tease him for it, so only you and the women know..shhh!

Loves to loud watch with you as well, he's such a little dreamer! *cough* dreamBOAT *cough*

MICAH BELL

Not a cuddler.

expect to be teased and tormented relentlessly if you dare to ask

If you stick to your guns...like you are GETTING this cuddle, he'll be handsy

And it's just not that kind of cuddle, you know?

Not that he particularly cares

It's not a satisfying cuddle by any means

like this man is ticking a box at the very least, and getting something out of it if he can.

Honestly, I think you'd be better asking literally anyone else!

"Don't you dare ask another man, c'mere!" he'll say coldly.

SEAN MACGUIRE

He's always happy, always bubbly! If you were to try and cuddle him before he was tortured by the bounty hunters, it would be a case of "catch me if ya can!"

but things have changed, Sean has changed. The rest of the group hasn't noticed much of a change, he's careful to make sure they don't. The fear of not being good enough, or strong enough consumes him.

So long as he's good ol' Sean-y boy, everything will be fine!

But he has become more vulnerable with you, wants you cose, needs you close

You are his little ray of sunshine and he can't lose you now!

Whispering praises and promises like it's his last night on earth...because although the gang doesn't seem to recognise it...it very almost was.

[sexhaver]

I've been curious about this from a game design perspective but haven't had the time/desire to play rivals enough to decide for myself--is there anything rivals does differently from overwatch that's helping it succeed where overwatch failed? or is it literally just that it's nice that a game like 2016 ovw exists again? the lack of reinhardts seems like the most significant thing to me; 3rd person, assists, etc all seem neat and different but not necessarily "better" design wise. not sure tho

everyone online loves to say that one of the main differences between OW and Rivals is that the latter has a ton of overpowered stuff with the philosophy of "broken checks broken" whereas the former has taken nerfbats to the entire cast's kneecaps multiple times. i don't particularly buy this argument because Rivals is still in its infancy, and the recent midseason balance patch is already dialing back a lot of the specific stuff people were complaining about and increasing the charge times on the most problematique ults.

teamups are a pretty substantial design difference, but not necessarily for the reason you might think. the naive answer would be that gaining an extra ability button or boosting an existing cooldown depending on your teammate is a novel mechanic, which it is, but the actual interesting part is that there are two components to each teamup: the recipient of the teamup ability, who actually gets the shiny new button to press, and the "anchor", who has to be present on the team to provide said shiny button. to encourage players to pick these anchor heroes, those heroes get a buff to their max HP (tanks), damage (DPS), or healing (supports). the two crazy i mean neurodivergent parts are that 1. these teamups theoretically rotate every season (they kept the s1 teamups the same as s0 but will be changing them for s2) and 2. the anchor gets that buff EVEN IF THE BUFF RECIPIENT ISN'T THERE TO ACTIVATE THE TEAMUP. Hulk just gets 100 (used to be 150) more max HP this season and is going to lose it in a few weeks and become garbage tier as presumably some other tank gets a teamup and becomes the new hotness. it's an interesting approach to balance and im cautiously optimistic to see how it turns out. i've played video games long enough to see failures from both the "never rebalance anything ever" camp (early Hearthstone) and "weekly balance patches fucking up breakpoints and matchups faster than you can rememorize them" camp (early Vermintide 2), and the latter is at least entertaining if it ends in fire.

i don't think that's what's making it succeed where overwatch 2 is currently floundering at best though, i'm not videoessayistbrained enough to think the average consumer cares about heady game balance stuff like that. what got people in the door initially was the Marvel IP, and eventually it reached a critical mass of players where it started drawing in people who don't care about or actively dislike most Marvel projects just because it's the most active hero shooter. then content creators jumped ship from OW2 to start making Rivals videos because that's where the views were.

i also think it's worth noting that if Blizzard stole the Men In Black memory wiper and erased all memories of OW1 and OW2 and rereleased OW2 in its current state as a new game called "Overwatch" it would stand a decent chance of competing with Rivals and gain comparably positive reception. a massive chunk of the reason OW2 is currently struggling where Rivals isn't is because of how burned people still feel by the way Blizz killed OW1 and rolled out OW2. the single biggest thing Rivals is doing better than OW2 is something OW2 can literally never do: not being OW2.

[butchsophiewalten]

I am aware that your blog is so big for this much information about twf and everything else – but I have found interesting information,, I don't know if you know about this though.

It's recorded by the QnA twitter feed for walten files but its taken from the walten files wiki,, so source might be reliable or fake in some way, who knows?

Regards, thank you for reaching out.

Any opinions on the nature of "Bon" ? If that was already answered, I would like to hear about it! :)

Im gonna go ahead and add the screenshots from your second ask to this post so they can all be in the same place:

If you want my direct reaction/opinion to some of these points, I can do that for you, under a cut since it'll get quite long:

A lot of these bullet points are ones I've talked about or mentioned on my blog before! Pretty much everything you've sent me here is something that I can personally vouch for hearing Martin or one of the other VAs say in a twitter space or livestream, in case you were worried about any of this being inaccurate information. I think the only one here I don't personally remember (and I might have just been absent for the space/stream since I haven't seen all of them) is the one about Jason Pooltrick, but it doesn't sound at all implausible.

It's funny because I often have criticisms about the way certain pieces of trivia end up being worded on the Fandom wiki. If I was bothered enough by it I could just edit it myself but I feel like there's inherently a bit of nuance lost when you're summarizing something so I feel like some of the more interesting implications in these points get lost in how people word them on the wiki. That's one of the reasons why I kinda stopped doing very basic bullet pointed twitter space summaries of my own and I switched over to directly transcribing a lot more of what was said in the space, since I think it gets information across more clearly. Doing that is also a lot more time consuming through which is honestly why I eventually stopped doing it haha.

I love this point especially in how it both contrasts and reinforces the idea that Bon doesn't really believe that he's doing anything wrong. Like one of the long points in one of the later screenshots, while he understands that what he does is 'Evil', he sees that the ends justify the means. Though in my mind I definitely think that Bon is ultimately acting selfishly and is aware that he is acting selfishly, I also think that he has really and truly convinced himself that he is also acting in the best interest of his victims. He has a plan for them that is greater than what they were before his intervention, and they just don't realize yet how much they will appreciate it. That kind of mindset. It's funny because it's quite different from Felix's self-flagellating mindset on first brush, but when you get down to it, I think the two characters think very similarly. They are both very selfish characters acting very self-interestedly but have done a very good job of convincing themselves otherwise.

I think Bon can definitely feel pain, at least within the blue rabbit Bon Animatronic he can. That's sort of the whole conceit behind post-extensive object possession. Not sure if he can feel pain as the White Spectre, though.

I've mentioned this one Q&A question so many times to so many people. It was Bravvy who said this, and she said it pretty offhandedly, so it maybe isn't necessarily word-of-god canon, but I find it so funny. Does he have like... a moral compass? Like for realsies? This is such a funny thing. I don't know what it means. Why is that where he draws the line

I actually don't personally remember this point but this is like. I have no way of knowing if whoever said this was serious at the time because sandwiches (and especially specifically the phrase "make me a sandwich") are like a twfcrew inside joke. where especially Martin just thinks its really funny to say and he also brings up sandwiches in response to character Q&A questions that he doesn't want to answer because he thinks its a funny way to fuck with people. No hate I just am not really sure that this answer was serious.

This to me is one of the most interesting things Martin has ever said in a twitter space, but the phrasing here on the wiki like, really fucks with it. I don't remember exactly but from what I do remember he said something more like "[On the topic of the identity of Shadow Man] It's not really about who he is, but rather what he represents. He really represents how the animatronics perceive a certain character." Which I think is a quite interesting and nuanced answer on the point of Shadow Man....

[if-underourskins]

obsessed with brook having snowy, they sound adorable. got me thinking, do any of the other ros have pets (and can the mc have a pet)? also! what would the ros do if the mc one day just took in this feral-looking stray cat/dog off the street and decided to adopt it? the animal wouldn’t actually be feral lol, but let’s say they’re not the cutest.

sorry for the many asks btw, im just really excited about the game!

thanks for the ask!! i don't mind many asks it's really fun for me to answer <3

only brooks has a pet unfortunately, the other shapeshifters avoid pets because of the instability in their lives – they may have to flee at any moment, and having a pet complicates that. (they may have to leave pets behind, taking care of pets while on the run is difficult, they may have to be in animal form for a while and it's harder to take care of their pets then, etc.)

as for now, mc is unable to have a pet because of the circumstances stated above. in the past though, mc (spoiler alert) had a family pet, but you'd have to leave them behind when you went to live with your aunt. maybe in the future though!

if MC just took in a feral-looking stray animal off the street and came home with it, (assuming you and the RO share an apartment)

Victoria would probably rush over and start cooing at it. "Aww, who's this?" She'd reach out to pet the animal's head, and assuming the animal is okay with that, she'd gush over it. You'd probably have to be the more responsible one and take care of the vet appointments and animal registrations, but Victoria would absolutely buy all the food, treats and toys the animal could ever want.

Blaine would be shocked. She'd/ He'd rush over and check you over, lifting the animal up and away from your arms. "Did it bite you?" When you shook your head no, she'd/ he'd still insist on going to the vet because rabies is a very serious matter – seemingly dormant animals can have it too at the early stages. After all the vet visits and confirmations however, if you wish to keep it, Blaine wouldn't be necessarily against it. (She'd/ He'd end up loving the animal and bonding with it like a parent with the pet they didn't want, but shhh i didn't tell you that)

Elexis would be distracted as first, probably busy with his art but once you draw closer and he turns around to see the animal, he'd start. "Is that...?" His voice would trail off, eyes flitting between the animal and you. "Where'd they came from?" He'd take a while to warm up to the animal of course, having zero experiences with animals before, but once he does, you'd often spot him just cuddling with it.

Seraph wouldn't really know how to respond, just cautiously eyeing the animal. "Where'd you get it from?" They wince as you pass the animal over into their arms enthusiastically, and you almost laugh at the way they gingerly hold the animal, as if they'd shatter into pieces otherwise. Once you adopt the animal however, Seraph would buy them everything they'd ever need, even if their careful behaviour doesn't subside for the next few weeks.

Brooks would probably eye the animal (sigh does this man ever learn /j) even as Snowy jumps and barks at your legs. "Did you just pick them up from the streets?" He'd gently take the animal into his arms, fragilely cradling it. He has some dog food in the house, so he'd probably offer that to the animal, alongside water, before turning to you and asking what you want to do with it. If you want to keep it, he'd be hesitant at first, but between you and Snowy's enthusiastic welcome to the animal, he'd give in and the next thing you know, there's an extra pet bed in the bedroom.

[signanothername]

WAAA not really an ask but just wanted to say your storytelling is a huge huge inspiration to me! I've always sorta struggled with that sorta thing and you're stuff gives me motivation to try!! Also I love how u draw killer it's so... him

ABBSHSHAAAAAA THANK YOU SOB

AND IM SO GLAD IT GIVES YOU MOTIVATION TO TRY!! Cause the funny thing is, storytelling is something that i also really struggle with, but not necessarily art wise, so like, when I make comics I can easily imagine what the art would be like and how it would flow, but once I reach the dialogue? I get stuck BIG time, it’s like I can imagine what i want, but I struggle with how to word it if that makes sense, words are just so hard to think of for me vhhchchc

So what i usually do is make the dialogue in two parts, first i’d I write everything I have in mind down, without thinking whether it makes sense or if it suits the character, and once i got everything written down, then i start actually refining it and thinking about the little details like whether this character would actually say that, or if it makes sense or if it’s better for the flow of the story

Sometimes, I know what I want the dialogue to be, but I struggle a lot with how i want the words to go, for example, the “little life update” comic

I struggled a LOT with the dialogue for that one, here are a few examples of dialogue I removed, changed, added and edited

I originally had Killer say “I get easily overwhelmed” before I changed it to “it gets overwhelming”

It’s such a small change but for me, it makes a very big difference, cause Killer usually feels detached from himself, so it just didn’t make sense to me that he would use “I” in regards to his own emotions, so I changed the dialogue so it would match Killer’s detachment and used “it” instead

Here I originally had the entire dialogue to be “monsters and Determination don’t mix well” followed by “ I mean my body’s already suffering from it”, but when I reread it, not only did it make the flow of the comic awkward and jumpy, but it also made me think “literally everyone in the Undertale fandom knows that I don’t need to reiterate it to them like they’re stupid”

Here I decided to add “but you already knew that” to the og dialogue, to further emphasize Nightmare’s manipulation of Killer

Here I removed an entire sentence saying “cause it’s not like you truly cared about my wellbeing” cause it felt a bit too spiteful even for Killer (who’s extremely spiteful bdhdhsh) and it gave the vibe Killer wanted Nightmare to care about him, which is not what I wanted to imply at all

And then the biggest change, the last few panels, the og dialogue and the one I used are completely different, and it’s mostly just me not knowing how to end the comic originally, but then when i reread it I realized that 1- Killer wouldn’t care about Nightmare’s feelings of loneliness when he barely understands his own emotions, 2- the dialogue felt extremely out of place with the rest of the comic, and 3- this comic wasn’t about Nightmare, it was about Killer and I needed to keep it that way

Anyway sorry for rambling about it but it genuinely makes me happy to see people loving my storytelling when i struggle a lot with it hahahaha

AND THANK YOU! Killer is my son and I just want to do him justice, glad to see so many people loving the way I write him EEEEEEEE

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

Rearview - Chapter 5 - Collapse

Summary: Dean takes the reader to the arcade, where they run into an old friend of his from high school. His friend brings up a past lover, where the reader learns a bit more about his own history with his ex. Cas' concern for the reader reaches its limit, as he begins to take matters into his own hands once again.

Characters: Dean, Cas, others

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: eating disorders, stress, reader does not take care of herself, dean being a cute bastard, reader is a little mean to cas, cursing, medical problems

Author's Note: expect all of my work to come very late Thursday evenings, or very very early Friday mornings. my best work comes from when I push myself against my own deadline and I sincerely apologize for that. PS I DID NOT PROOF READ IM ON THE READER'S SLEEP SCHEDULE I DID NOT SLEEP

Songs: Disco by Surf Curse, Tired by beabadoobee, You Know You're Right by Nirvana

Series Masterlist - Chapter 6

Three weeks have passed. Someone could tell you it’s been a year and you would believe them.

You feel different. You don’t think you’re sick, you’re not necessarily feverish, or congested, or have an itchy throat.

But you are the most tired you’ve ever felt in your life, at such a constant rate.

The days blend together. Fear and exhaustion still rule your body, but you don’t give yourself the chance to unguard yourself. You look behind yourself everywhere you go, because that black Challenger won’t give up. The only reason youdon’t lock yourself in your room is that there haven't been any other moves. You never see the driver. You never see a figure step out of the car. You hopelessly convince yourself that because you take the shortcuts or the most populated streets, the driver will never-

And that’s the thing.

You don’t know what they want from you.

Was it purely to antagonize you into keeping your mouth shut? Was it really Nick behind the wheel, keeping watch of your every move, waiting to inevitably find you at the police station? Is he waiting for the go-ahead to keep up with his promises of that night? 

The only thing that distracts you from the lingering, anxiety-ridden ponderings is the incessant pounding in your skull- either from caffeine-induced headaches, or insomnia-induced headaches. Flip a coin. Hell, pick a card. Stress, dehydration, starvation… there’s a reason you never wondered as to why you always had a headache.

You’ve had to pick up single-use aspirin tablets from CVS on the way to work or school more times than you can count. 

You’ve lost weight too. 

Not intentionally, and it wasn't anything to celebrate, but you noticed it slightly when had to keep pulling up your work pants to your waist during your last shift.

You started to wear bigger clothes, not wanting to draw attention to it, but sure enough, even Charlie had a sense of your slight malnourishment. She stopped asking if you wanted anything when she went to pick up dinner and just brought you food when she could. Whether it was an extra side of fries or a full-size smoothie or a bagel, she would just kinda slide it in front of you with that knowing smile. Though she didn't press. 

Cas started to look at you a little funny, too. The other week, he had questioned why you were wearing a hooded jacket in the middle of September when the temperature hadn't even dipped below 75 degrees. You pulled some lame excuse from your ass and he wouldn't exactly believe it, but he didn't probe any further. However, he did probe at the bags under your eyes, and the dazed-off look you often wore. It didn't get him anywhere, and he would just shake his head with disappointment.

And Dean...

And Dean.

You and Dean are doing better since you two had briefly scuffled about the college pamphlet matter. If he thinks you look as exhausted as Cas seems to think, then he never commented on it. But, you admit that you throw on a little extra concealer under your eyes when you go out to see him. But, he'd been a little different, too, in a less drastic sense. He had been softer. A little less pushy, but still curious about your past regarding Nick. You gave him breadcrumbs compared to the whole story, only feeding him little bits at a time. You couldn't help but feel a little stupid, or ashamed when Dean would scoff at your recollections, followed by a muttered, "If I ever see this guy..." Though it was never intended to be at you, and you understood that for the most part. But sometimes, you can't help but wonder if he thought you were as dumb as you felt for staying that long. Trapped. You were trapped, you internally smack yourself. It was hardly you wanting to stay. It was never you wanting to stay.

Dean was excited to find out that there had been a loophole in your car-passenger-fear. 

You were barely okay with taking the bus.

Your logic was that since they had a “special license”, they had a better sense of the streets. It was practically for a living, too.

That and buses were different from cars. You didn’t get the same trembling feeling when you thought of riding a bus. You ultimately still preferred walking.

Setting your preference aside for the day, you reluctantly agreed to take the bus downtown with Dean to an arcade, but it came at a cost for him.

“I know, sweetheart, trust me. This is an all-inclusive-date-night experience. You ride, I buy. Including- but not limited to- the bus pass, a meal voucher, and two drink tickets. I can even upgrade you for free to get the bonus package.” He had mentioned the last part slyly.

“Bonus package?”

You immediately regret humoring him as he went into explicit details. Though, it was worth it to hear his amused laugh at your feigned disgust at his joke.

Which brings you to the here and now of Bunker Games, a rather grand arcade for such a tucked-away spot downtown.

Regardless of your ‘just dating for right now’ status, the two of you act like you’ve been together for years. The teasing is relentless, both in an emotional and sexual tense. Dean, despite being older than you, is very much a child at heart, you've discovered. That, or he's really starting to be himself with you. He’d been excited to take you to Bunker Games specifically, seeing as he rarely gets to go anymore now since most of his time is taken up by his job at Singer’s Auto Shop and Repair, and finishing school.

Once Dean purchases the wristbands for the two of you at the entrance, he excitedly drags you through the arcade- no, he actually drags you by the hand. The joint is disorientedly dark, with sparse lighting from the neon signs and decorations. Grungy-90's music is played throughout with occasional beeping sounds from games and machines. Being a Friday evening, it's moderately busy. There are a couple of small cliques of kids ranging from high schoolers to college kids, but not an overwhelming amount. 

He brings you to a couple of his favorites, like the mini-basketball hoops. He was on a basketball team back in high school, he mentions, and you challenge him with a smirk to "prove it". He scoffs, a little too confidently, as he inserts two of his tokens into the game. Once the timer for one minute begins to countdown, he starts to get basket after basket. His cocky gaze floating to you every now and then, but to his surprise, you kept up with his score fairly well. His face drops with nervousness. You laugh as he slightly panics at your rising score, and starts stealing basketballs from your side of the game. You gape at his behavior while out an, "Oh my God," broken up by your cackling. You try to take the basketballs back, but it is a short-lasted effort, as it results in him just enveloping your body in his arms as he holds you from the back, and forcefully hauls you away from the game. The score is 34-36 when the timer blares that the game is over. You crumble against him defeatedly, his arms still around you as he maniacally smiles, his shoulders shaking as he tries to contain his shameless snickering.

Dean buys a couple of drinks for the two of you, a beer for himself, and some brightly-colored mixed drink in a special Bunker Games plastic cup. About halfway through your drink, you feel a bit peppier, to which Dean looks at you with a narrow gaze, inquiring about what you had eaten earlier that day. When it takes you too long to reply, Dean's eyes travel up in a mocking annoyed expression, before turning around to grab the two of you a basket of fries to share before you continue to any more of the games.

You end up by the Ski ball wall where you finally get a chance to show off, after having Dean win on almost every game you two played. And you didn't care in the slightest, you weren't nearly as competitive as Dean came across, but even you knew he wasn't serious about the half of it.

You're mid-talking to Dean about something regarding the scoring of Ski ball when you catch bouncy blonde hair a few feet behind him. You pause, squinting before your jaw drops slightly, "Fuck, don't look behind you." You hiss under your breath.

You don't even know why you bother when the first thing Dean does is turn his head over his shoulder for a brief moment, with back to you with a perplexed look on his face, "What?"

His gaze meets your deadpanned expression, your lips are slightly parted in an unamused glance, as you give him eyebrows that say, "Really?"

He throws his arms up in defense, "You can't say 'don't look' and expect me not to look. Don't think of your comp teacher naked."

You vigorously shake the image from your head, wrinkling your nose in disgust, "Gah, Dean-"

"That's what I'm saying." He shrugs innocently, before returning to the conversation, "Why can't I look back?"

On the tips of your toes, you lean your hands against the top of Dean's shoulders, peering from behind his chest, trying to catch the back of the girl who was hovering close to the first couple of ski ball games.

Dean helplessly holds his arms out, extending them in a questioning manner, as he remarks, "You know, I can count on my hands the number of times I've been told that I don't make a very good window.."

You shush him and his face scrunches in feigned offense, as he closes his mouth, yet keeps still for you.

Your eyes widen some as she begins to turn around, but luckily, it wasn't who you thought. Eerily enough, the blonde hair and cowgirl boots were a common getup and not just a Jo thing.

The heels of your feet go back to the ground as you blow out a breath of relief. You look up to Dean, seeing his eyebrows arched in curiosity, "I thought I saw Jo."

Dean hums, nodding in understanding. 

"You haven't told her, have you?"

You bite your cheek, avoiding his gaze, "I don't know how I can. I'm not ashamed or anything like that- I've been dying to tell Charlie about you and everything, but...I don't know how I'm supposed to break it to Jo."

"Why is it so bad? We didn't even like each other that way, she was totally cool when I talked to her." Dean scoffs, but in such a way that he's not challenging you, but disbelieving of the effects that he left on Jo.

"She was drunk the next day when she told me..." You wince, looking back up to him.

"What? She was the one who was bent over backwards about our strict 'no-feelings' thing." Dean doubtfully points out.

You snort. "If anyone can break Jo's rules, it's probably Jo."

"Hell, I guess-" Dean relents and he curiously glances behind him, at not-Jo again and does a double-take at the guy who walks up to her. 

A young, dark-skinned man with a faded buzz cut wraps his hands around the giggling blonde's hips. She folds gently into his oversized white T-shirt, revealing his tall, muscular frame underneath his top. His loose shorts fall just below his knee,as he bends them to get a better angle to tickle his date, or girlfriend for that matter.

"No shit," Dean says under his breath, and now it's your turn to look at him in confusion.

Before you can respond with a "what", the dark-skinned guy seems to have caught Dean's gaze, and his smile brightens, now ambling his way over to him. 

"Dean Winchester. What's up, man?"

Dean lets out a shy laugh as they both clasp their hands and pull each other in for a brief hug. "Gordon, man, it's been a damn while."

"Yeah, no kidding. Maybe high school graduation?" Gordon marvels.

"Jesus, yeah. Sounds about right," Dean breaths out with a baffled grin, then looks back to you standing idle a little ways away from their reunion, "Gordon, this is-"

"Ah, wait- this is Lisa, right?" He points a finger in your direction with a sly smile.

Lisa?

Dean exhales sharply at the mention, shaking his head, "No, no, no. We've been done for a long while."

Gordon looks almost sincere as he regretfully replies, "My apologies, man, sorry to hear about that. Though, I'm not that sorry- you got a beautiful lady at your side now."

Dean looks conflicted for just a second, not sure whether or not Gordon is being nice or flirting. He gives him the benefit of the doubt, and returns a smile, "That I do, uh, Gordon," He gestures to you saying your name.

Gordon looks to you, reaching out a polite hand, to which you give him yours with a warm grin. You both share a "nice to meet you" as Gordon introduces his date, Tracy Davis, who also gives you and Dean a kind introduction. She definitely reminds you of Jo with her wavy hair, but she's slightly taller and her eyes are a shade of green, similar to Dean's. Small talk bounces between the four of you as the two boys play a bit of catch-up.

"You still play?" Dean nods to Gordon as old basketball talk is reminisced.

"Hell yeah, I do. I don't go to school over here though, I'm about an hour away, but we've got a recreational league that plays every now and then. We all meet closer in the middle to play. You wouldn't be interested, would you?" Gordon prompts with a lopsided grin.

Dean rubs a bit as his chest as he grimaces a smile, "Ahhh, man, I haven't played in years."

Gordon lets out a noise of disbelief as he shakes his head, "As Lawrence High School's best shooting guard to date? The guy who denied the full ride, who would've been a Kansas State Wildcat? Yeah, right."

Dean rolls his eyes bashfully and runs a hand through his hair, and you look at him with a wide toothy grin at his accomplishment.

Gordon turns to you, lazily pointing to Dean with his pointer finger, "This guy...this guy scored thirty-eight points in our semifinals championship during our senior year. He was a killer on the court."

The tips of Dean's ears turn pink as he looks away.

You gape your mouth open, eyebrows raising as you joke, "That's amazing, considering I almost creamed his ass at the mini-hoops by the corner."

A bark of laughter escapes Gordon, as he holds a fist up to his mouth. "Oh, Winchester has got it bad, doesn't he? Lettin' his girl take his sport."

Dean bites his lip, trying to hide his flushed expression, and playfully shoves Gordon's shoulder back, who's still chuckling at the instance.

Something inside you swells with pride as Gordon says "his girl". How you loved hearing that, though you watch Dean to see if he would react to that.

"I'm just messing, Dean- what're you up to these days besides giving away your title, anyway?" Gordon nods to Dean, containing his residual huffs of amusement.

At that, Dean stuffs his hands back into his pants pockets and shrugs, "I'm still doin' the auto stuff. Gonna run my dad's shop one day."

There's a subtle flash of disappointment on Gordon's face, before he nods, "Good for you, man. That's awesome. Well, hey, I'll let you enjoy the rest of your night with your lovely lady, but I'm gonna send you a text about our league, alright?You don't have to join, but we'd be lucky to have you."

Dean quirks his head in thanks, "I appreciate it, Gordon." 

Gordon wraps his arm around Tracy's midsection, walking back to their game as he calls out to you, "Great to meet you."

Dean mirrors the gesture, and does the same, taking you by the hip.

"You too," you reply coming out of your daze, picturing Dean in high school with his alleged career in basketball. It's an entertaining thought, in multiple ways.

Dean clears his throat, but you beat him to it as he aimlessly walks you through the arcade, "Mr. Basketball-Allstar had a full ride to Kansas State?"

He brings his hand to graze against his hairline, pursing his lips slightly, "I might've."

"You might've?"

"I did."

You bring your opposite hand to find Dean's as it rests on your hip still, "That's pretty important, Dean."

Dean starts to open his mouth, but nothing comprehensive escapes, just a couple of short breaths and noises of protest, before he finally says, "I guess, but, I don't know. It was fun- a lotta fun, but I don't know if I wanted to do it for a living."

"Still, that's really impressive." You breathe, giving his hand a bit of a squeeze, and he hugs you tighter to his side. 

A "thanks" doesn't quite make it out of his mouth, but he bites his lip, and you can see his smile peak through before he leans over to kiss the top of your head, hiding his flustered grin.

Dean sighs heavily, shaking his head after a moment, "I'm surprised you haven't asked."

"About basketball?"

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, hesitating, "No, about the Lisa comment."

Oh. 

You swallow, not exactly sure how to respond. "I mean, she's an ex I take it?"

Dean cocks his head a bit, eyes bulging for a second in an exaggerated gratefulness, "Yeah, she is."

"Well, then that's it. She's an ex. She's in the past." You shrug.

Dean squints his eyes, glancing down at you, "That's it? There's no interrogation? No asking if I like her Instagram posts, or if I still keep her number, or if I ever miss her?"

"Well, do you?" You ask simply. No bite.

"Well, no-"

"Did you want me to ask about her?" 

Dean sputters, "I- I wasn't, well, you don't have to. I just thought you would." 

You turn your head to him with a knowing smile, "Would she have interrogated you if I were her?"

His eyes travel around the arcade for a moment, before flashing his eyebrows up, "Yeah, probably."

You let yourself loose in his grip, facing him as he pauses in his steps, "I'm not her, so, I'm not going to question you about your past when I don't have a reason to. Unless you want to tell me about it, but that's up to you." You reassure him with a gentle stare, and you let the last part slip out before you realize your own truth to the statement, "I'm not Lisa, and you're not Nick."

Dean drags his teeth over his lip, reading you for some ulterior emotion that you might not've brought to the surface. He swallows, shaking his head, "Yeah, you're right about that much. Let's just say I'm glad you're not her," He chuckles bitterly, obviously joking, "It's my favorite part about you so far."

"I thought it was my money." You tilt your head.

"Ha," Dean almost enunciates it rather than actually laugh. He brings his arm back around your waist, continuing the search for another game. "My second favorite thing."

THE BUS RIDE

After sharing more food that Dean practically had to stuff down your throat, the two of you headed back home. The sun had already set, and the bus was making its last rounds back into the city.

You lean your head tiredly against Dean's shoulder, keeping your gaze on the window, violently blinking yourself awake every couple of minutes, the dull thump in the back of your head making its way forward again.

"Did I wear you out too hard there, Grandma?" Dean croons bringing a hand to pet your hair back.

"I guess so," You attempt to widen your eyes to stay awake.

Dean huffs out a quiet, amused breath as he looks down at you. "Hang in there, kiddo, we're the next stop."

You hum as your forehead nestles into his shoulder further. You feel his lips press against the crown of your head. You may not be able to open your eyes, but you catch your lips upturn at his affection.

The bus parks and you feel Dean nudge his shoulder up gently, signaling you to get up with a quiet, "C'mon."

You blink your heavy eyelids open, and across the street through the reflection of the bus window, it's there.

The black Challenger.

It races past the bus, not stopping, but zooming by it before any of the bus passengers could step out.

You pant out a breath, getting onto your feet immediately to try and catch it in your view-

And you think it must've been too fast.

The world tips without your permission, and you grasp the bus seat like your life depends on it as it keeps you from falling. There's a sharp ringing that muffles the ambiance of the confined space. You carefully bring your head to rest on the arm that grapples the seat. The ringing fades away as you breathe, fading out to Dean's voice.

"Hey, hey, hey- what's goin' on, sweetheart-" He mumbles into your hair, his hand reaching out to your elbows, trying to hold you up some as his eyes nervously rake over your body. His own breathing picks up as he's forced to watch you, feel your body give up for a moment, helpless as you struggle to hold yourself up.

Once you come to it again, you take in a couple breaths through your mouth as you stand up fully, "Sorry- I'm sorry, I- just, I think I stood up too fast."

Dean gives you a once over, standing over you now, his concern all over his face, "You look like you're gonna collapse on me, sweetheart, are you okay?"

Your hands find his chest, and you won't lie, it's as much for his own comfort as it is your own stability at this moment, "I'm fine, I'm just tired."

Dean's eyebrows draw together, looking you up and down again, and you're not sure he believes you, but he doesn't question it further, though his hand stays at your waist as he guides you through the aisle, and down to the sidewalks.

You must've really scared Dean because he checks on you at least another three times before you make your way to your apartment complex, which is less than a five-minute walk.

"You're sure you're not comin' down with somethin'?" His eyes don't dare to leave your figure.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just tired, I think, I haven't-" You're exhausted brain doesn't think as it lets out the words, "I haven't been sleeping well."

His face morphs into worry, "For how long?"

You inhale, shrugging your heavy shoulders, "Maybe a week or two."

"You didn't say anything."

"I'm saying now," You both reach the doors to the lobby, and you take a step to look at him, though his concern for you is racking your brain with guilt. "I don't know what good it'll do if I tell you, I don't think you can help."

He scoffs, "Well, I would've brought you back earlier, I had no idea."

"Yeah, but I had fun."

Dean almost smiles- he wants to- but his tender expression doesn't let it linger.

"I'm glad to hear it, sweetheart, but you need the rest."

"I'm going to." Lie.

Dean nods, wanting it to be true, "Good. Good- let me know if you need anything."

You grin at his offer, and try to lighten the atmosphere, "Studies show that a kiss goodnight helps with insomnia."

He clicks his tongue, inching closer to you, "Well, if it's for science," his lips meet yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, afraid he might break you after your little incident. His hands hold your face together like you're made of glass. 

Like you're a beautiful mosaic.

When he pulls away, the worry is still evident on his face as he takes the keys out of his jacket pocket, and walks backward to his car, "Get some rest, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. Goodnight." You wave your fingers to him, and he purses his lips in a kissing motion, returning the goodnight.

You question if you can constitute simply lying on the bed as rest, even if you're not sleeping.

You count maybe two hours of sleep, in and out as you toss and turn, and for what? You want to pin this on the caffeine,or the drink you had last night. God forbid, you come to your senses and realize that stress can kill you.

A few knocks at the door bring you out of your near-catatonic state on the bed, and you slowly trudge yourself to the front door, seeming as Jo and Charlie had both taken off this morning- or afternoon, rather, seeing the clock as you walk by read 12:47.

You look through the peephole and open the door, not expecting anyone.

"Cas, what are you doing here?"

Cas' jaw sets, scanning over your face, and it takes him a moment to say, "You left your laptop charger at mine. I thought you might need it."

You inhale deeply, blinking at him as he hands you the white cord, "Oh, shit. Thanks, I would've come to grab it."

Cas shakes his head to himself for a moment, almost trying to hold back. His lips twitch, before he can barely restrain himself anymore, "You look ill."

"I haven't put on my makeup yet." You respond dryly.

"I've seen you without your makeup several times." He objects, his gaze deepening, "Are you sleeping?"

You scoff, looking at the ground, "Cas, I'm alright," you answer lowly, not wanting to give this any more attention, "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."

He mutters your name with a pressing intonation, "You don't look it. Why don't you see if someone will cover your shift tonight? I'll tell them that you're sick, it wouldn't exactly be a lie-"

"Yes, it would be, I'm not sick." You reiterate with a huff.

"Just- ask if anyone wants to take it. Just for tonight. You don't need to run yourself into the ground. I know things are stressful right now-"

You hold your hand up stopping him in his tracks, quickly saying, "Thank you, Cas, for bringing over my charger, and for the concern. I'll think about it, okay?" 

He sighs. He doesn't quite believe you.

"You're welcome." He responds, with a curt nod. "Take a nap. Eat something." He steps away from the door as he leaves you with his last directions.

"I will." You'll try.

SILVER & FLAMES

This was the third table you had where Cas had run the entrees out for you. On any normal day you would've appreciated it, but after the whole "talk" he had with you earlier, you know it's because he doesn't want you here. At work.

You're brought out of your irritated daze and hear your name being called. Alex, the young, dark-haired hostess extends a ticket held between her fingers and passes it to you with a sympathetic smile. You sigh exasperatedly, your eyelids flickering shut for a moment. Your bitchiness isn’t directed at her, and you can tell she knows it. You could never hate her, even if she triple-sits you. Alex was always kind to you, although at the moment, even now you're starting to get real sick of seeing that look on everyone's face as they meet your face. The look, like you just had to put your puppy down. Almost everyone on the shift had given you a double-take, nonchalantly checking if you were okay, or they asked about the last time you had gotten sleep.

You mumble a tired thanks to Alex and turn to walk inside the kitchen again, no longer trying to maintain the fabricated smile you wore when you walked in.

The ice clatters in the glasses that you prepare for the next table in your section, and you see Cas walk behind you and towards the dishwashing pit, where he is dropping off discarded plates and glasses. The kitchen is a whirlwind of various noises from ceramic ware, yelling, and sizzling, which makes it easier to disguise the terse conversation you have with Cas.

“Cas, how many tables do you have?” You question, there was a hint of challenge in your gaze as you fill your glasses with water.

“Two. What do you need?” He grabs his tray and strides over to you, starting to pile some of the waters you’ve prepared to put on his tray.

When you finish the fourth water glass, you inhale sharply and go along with it, sticking it on his tray only to take it from him, “I need you to worry about them. My tables are fine.”

He lets you take the tray out of his hands, as you balance it on your forearm and hand. 

“I’m just helping-”

“If you keep ‘helping’, they're gonna tip you instead of me.” You give him a pointed look.

“Well, I’m a little less worried about your tips right now.” He cocks his head, returning with the same irked look you give him.

You blink angrily as you force yourself to glare at the wall instead of Cas, shaking your head, “For the last time, I’m alright, Cas. When I need your help, I’ll ask for it.” 

You take a few steps to try to make it out of the dining room, but Cas continues.

“Evidently, you won’t.” He mutters under his breath giving you a glance up and down to emphasize his point, but makes sure it’s just loud enough so that you can hear it.

Your tongue rolls against your teeth, biting back a yell, a frustrated scream, or whatever was threatening to erupt from you. You inhale deeply, against wanting to make a scene in the kitchen.

“Cas-” You warn, your eyes narrowing.

“You should’ve called out.” He doesn’t look at you this time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-” You turn back around heading out to your table, not bothering to listen to the rest of his dramatic reprimand. 

You greet your table with the best fake smile you can muster, pulling out your customer service voice like it was painful. You leave them the waters, asking if they want any other drinks and if they want to start with any appetizers. You go over the compiled scripts in your head for their questions and inquiries about the menu.

Cas still watches you when you walk back into the kitchen to plug in the orders on the point of sales, and he takes heavy steps out to the dining room, avoiding your gaze. Oddly enough, it looks almost guilty.

Once you catch up with all of the tables you have, cashing out the first two and getting the others their entrees or desserts. You land yourself by the server’s station, checking the daily side work sheet. You swallow hard again, trying to blink away the exhaustive pull on your brain, rereading the paper over and over to see if you’ve missed your name. But, it’s not there. 

Roy, the manager of the restaurant, appears from the corner and calls your name. Once you look up, he gives you a tight-lipped smile as he motions you over with a beckoning motion with his forefingers, bringing you out of the way close to the back entrance of the kitchen. Your anxiety raises for a moment, thinking back if you’ve fucked up an order, or if you’ve forgotten a table, and you widen your eyes as you walk over to Roy. 

“Yes, sir?” You politely reply.

Roy looks down at the ground for a moment, hands resting on his hips, and meets your eyes with an unreadable expression, though it’s obviously not pleased, but you weren’t certain it was anger. He leans a bit closer, looking like he’s weighing his words as he asks you an opening question.

“How many tables do you have left?” 

Your eyebrows knit together for a moment as they lower, and you blink confusedly back, “Just two right now, but they’re both eating still.”

He nods, bringing a hand up to rub against his mouth. His southern accent drawls comfortingly despite the cryptic request, “Honey, after those tables leave, I want you to be done for the night.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, and you don’t hide the way your voice falters, “Did I- did I do something?”

“No, no, you’re doin’ great, but I want you to go home. And I need you to get some rest.” He says, firm but kind, with a paternal glaze over his eyes peeking through his softened expression.

You don’t want to argue with him, considering his gentle insistence, but can’t help the disappointed defiance that creates a lump into your throat, “Roy, I promise-”

“I’m gonna have to insist on it, honey,” He says, a gentle tone of finality, “Don’t worry about cleaning up the tables, justcash them out when they’re ready, and go ‘head and clock out.” He strolls back into the kitchen before you can argue against it. You can feel the build of frustrated tears cloud your vision. 

Didn’t anyone understand that you were fucking fine?

You storm back into the main part of the kitchen, aiming to go back into the dining room but you catch Cas walking back in carrying more plates to the dishpit. It clicks.

You halt in your steps, the rage boiling in your body— too strong to hold anything back this time, neglecting any thought before you stomp over to Cas. “Did you say something to Roy?” You stare daggers into Cas, but he doesn’t even look up as he starts stacking the dishes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was flat and disinterested. He didn’t even try to convince you he didn’t.

“He’s sending me home, Cas-” You inform him sharply, eyes twitching with agitation.

Cas flings the last dirty fork from his tray into the bucket of silverware with more force than necessary and turns to you with conviction, “Good. As long as you listen to someone here, that works for me.”

A fuming breath leaves you in a loud huff, and your chest heaves as you ponder where he found the audacity, “What the fuck, Cas, you don’t have any business telling him to send me home.” 

He ignores your protests as he walks back to the kitchen line.

You follow him, hot on his heels, your narrowed gaze never leaving his face as he begins to plate up a new tray of foodfor his table.

“You should go cash out your table,” He monotonously prompts, as he reaches for his printed ticket, reading over it as heglances at the food he’s brought down from the ledge. 

You see red at his dismissal of the conversation. You are far from done.

“For someone who��s trying to get me to ‘rest and relax’, you’re making it real difficult. I have rent to pay next week.” You seethe at him as you remain planted next to him.

“Borrow from me until you come back to work- I’ve got plenty in my savings.” He offers, keeping his eyes glued to the ticket.

“What the hell is your game, Cas? That I don’t have my shit together?! Why- what- what are you doing right now?” You sputter out as your shoulders are tensely drawn in.

“I’m sorry if my concern is an inconvenience to you,” he says evenly, as he deliberately sets his ticket down and facesyou. “But if you refuse to take care of yourself, then someone has to.”

You shake your head, about to cut him off, but he doesn’t let you.

“You’re running yourself into the ground,” he continues, tone steady but firm. “Charlie’s worried, too. She says you don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you barely slow down. You think I haven’t noticed either?” His head tilts slightly, a flicker of something like hurt passing over his face. “Because I have.”

All you do is sit there, your chest heaving with each angry breath, knowing that there is truth to half of his words- most of his words.

His expression pinches slightly. “I don’t care how many times you say you’re ‘fine’. If you were fine, if you weren’t completely exhausted, you wouldn’t be this aggressive at me for stating the obvious.”

Your jaw clenches, guilt settling in your stomach.

“I don’t care if you’re mad at me,” he says simply, “But since you seem incapable of putting yourself first, I did it for you.” His lips press together before he finishes, softer this time, loading his food tray onto his shoulder. “Forgive me for interfering, but someone had to. Please, go check on your table, and go home.”

You look away from him, rapidly blinking the tears that threaten to fall. You know you’re angry- hell, you’re livid. But the heaviness of his concern presses against the temples of your head, almost causing a pain that travels through your chest and to your lungs, to your heart. Your whole body is affected. You try to ignore the lightness you feel- the imbalance of your weighted steps, and a floating sensation that you feel in your head.

Check on your tables. Shit, you might as well.

Before you walk back out to the dining room, a buzzing in your apron pocket catches your attention. Curiously, you step out of the doorway, and take a glance at the number. 

No caller ID. Odd.

You decline the call, but you’re immediately met with a text.

Maybe: Dean

Is it really anonymous? 7:49 P.M.

Your heartbeat thunders in your head.

It was the same number that tried to get you to the Student Union center alone. Where the Black Challenger waited…

Nick.

Your hammering heartbeat increases, so much so that you can’t tell if it is still beating, and you feel yourself lean against the counter of the server station. Your breathing comes out in pants, the voices in the kitchen muddle together, and a crescendo of ringing blares in your ear. You're afraid to close your eyes, but they start to drift on their own as you feel your elbows buckle against the counter. Your breathing sounds far away now like you’re underwater. You feel a hand on your upper arm. You think someone, maybe Cas again, is yelling. You don’t even know why. The hands are trying to get you vertical, but as soon as you back up from the counter to steady yourself, your legs crumble from underneath you as your body finally gives out.

The world goes black.

a/n: my bad guys, I killed her

taglist: @globetrotter28 @supernotnatural2005 @suckitands33

[frostedpuffs]

HI @rosekasa !!!!! 💗

(have to answer this as a text post bc it's too long for an ask)

i LOVE this question, because it made me think!! i wont rate them in any particular order, and i don't necessarily think these scenes are the best I've ever written, but they're some of my favorites because of how much fun i had writing them.

putting this under a read more because im gonna paste the scenes and this ask might get long. some of this writing is a few years old atp so forgive the awkward wording in some places

Sewing Sentiments - Chapter 7 First Kiss Scene

"You're dear to me, too," Marinette said, longing to draw him in, to kiss him until she couldn't breathe and her lips turned blue. "I'm no good with words, Adrien, but...I do like you. I like you s-so much that I wish I could tell you just how much I like you. How much I…"

I love you.

The thought didn't startle her. Not as much as she thought it would.

In a short time, Adrien had become so dear to her. She adored him like no one else. He was the light of her life, the shining presence that brightened her day. One of her best friends.

Marinette wanted to be his girlfriend more than anything. 

(Now, she only needed to tell him that.

…Or show him.

Her eyes found his lips again, burning with the desire to know how soft they would feel against hers.)

"You're so cute," said Adrien. "Fumbling over your words for me. I'm touched."

"Don't make fun of me," she laughed. "I'm not going to kiss you now."

His eyes grew large. "You were going to kiss me?"

"Maybe," she said, the tip of her tongue poking out from her lips as she turned away. "But you're being mean, so I might have to reconsider."

"No, no, I'll be nice," he said, grabbing her hand. "I will be so nice. So nice, Marinette."

She turned back to look at him. "Promise?"

He wrapped her in his arms, linking his hands over the small of her back. "You have my word."

“Okay,” she said, and before she could psyche herself out of the budding confidence sprouting in her veins, she tilted her head forward and—with a moment’s hesitation—pressed her lips against his.

His lips were just as soft as she’d imagined.

No—softer, like pillowed clouds, fluttering through the breeze as they danced in tandem with the beat of her heart. With one hand trailing up to rest on his shoulder, the other found his neck, weaving her fingers along the soft blond hairs at his nape. As if he were mirroring her actions, she felt him do the same, unsure exactly where to place his hands but enjoying it all the same.

Marinette had to stand on the tips of her toes just to reach his lips; Adrien took it upon himself to lean down, angling his head in a way that left her breathless.

It was a little clumsy—a steady mixture of gentle, chaste pecks and lingering brushes occasionally interrupted by breathy laughs—but it was undeniably addicting. Adrien flooded her senses, filling her nose with his familiar scent. Every breath she took smelled of fresh mint. His hair was silk between her fingers, like delicate wisps of gold.

When she finally pulled away, reluctant despite her desperate need for air, she ran her tongue over her lips, swearing that her mouth tasted just a bit sweeter.

"Wow," breathed Adrien.

Marinette giggled. "Yeah. Wow."

Her muscles tingled, and every inch of her body buzzed aflame. With a sated smile, she drew closer, capturing his mouth again, and again, and again until both of them were subdued to a fit of quiet laughter and whispered praise.

Adrien pressed his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes, his face warm as the flush of his cheeks traveled across his skin. He looked so adorably content that she wanted nothing more than to dive back in and kiss him senseless, kiss him, kiss him until neither of them could form a single coherent thought, lost in the languid movement of their mouths.

Marinette had been kissed before. She'd been kissed plenty of times, of course. But those kisses, as fun as they had been in the moment, balked compared to the feel of Adrien’s lips roaming over her own, slow and curious and perhaps uncoordinated, but so wholesomely him that she wouldn’t trade the experience for the world.

It had been too long since she had last felt something so freeing.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed, his warm breath fanning her freshly kissed lips. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re so sweet, too, and so funny, I—I can’t believe you—I can’t believe we…I just can’t believe—I mean, I've been going crazy all week, trying to tell you how much I like you and—and I—"

“Look who’s fumbling over their words now,” she teased, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling him closer—almost close enough to kiss him again.

Adrien shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was such an innocently intimate gesture that it had her melting like putty in his hands. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me all over again.”

“Maybe I do,” she said. Her fingers twitched as she brushed her lips over his, not quite pressing them together but close enough to elicit a gleeful little chuckle from his mouth. “Maybe I want you to stop talking so I can kiss you until I can’t think.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” He smirked. “How will you compliment me if you can’t think?”

“You’re gonna lose your kissing privileges.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll let that happen.”

“Shut up,” she teased, kissing him again.

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

Downpour pretty much the whole fic is one of my favorites because it touches on a darker subject/the stress of being a superhero, but this scene specifically i like.

"Can I ask something weird?" Chat Noir inquired, to which Ladybug nodded. "Do you ever think about, like…what would happen if we didn't win a battle? Like if we lost."

Oh. Oh.

Well, she'd never really thought about that before, at least not to a considerable extent. Sure, she often worried there would come a day when Papillon would seize the Miraculous for himself, but she had enough confidence in herself and Chat Noir to know they'd never let his crusty, evil hands near the precious jewelry. That's what they were there for—to stop him from stealing what was rightfully theirs.

(As "rightfully theirs" as two magical artifacts containing animalesque fairies could be, anyway.)

Thinking about it harrowed her, though. The idea of them losing to Papillon was disturbing in its own right, especially since nobody really knew what he would do with the Miraculous once he had them in his clutches. He could be bent on world domination, destroying Paris, or something equally terrible.

(Hell, he could even use them to injure Chat Noir and herself just for being a thorn in his side—but that thought made Ladybug's chest hurt, and she didn't want to dwell on the possibility any longer because…

Well, because thinking about her partner getting hurt was devastating. The concept often kept her up at night. His reckless behavior really got out of hand sometimes.)

Ladybug sat up and released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her eyes locked with his.

"Sometimes," she finally answered, though it felt unconvincing. "Most of the time, though, I worry about you. You're always jumping in to protect me without caring about what happens. You know how much that scares me, right? I care about you."

Her heart thudded. The thought of losing Chat Noir was too difficult to bear, so difficult that if she kept thinking about it, she knew her eyes would burn with the threat of tears, and crying was the last thing she wanted to do in front of him tonight.

No crying. Not now. It wasn't a good time.

"Oh," was Chat Noir's response. His voice was light and breathy; barely audible above the sounds of wind and rain. "I-I didn't know you…"

Ladybug patted his hand. "It's okay."

"It's not, though," Chat Noir said. His shoulders were hunched together like a child that had just been scolded. "I don't mean to scare you. I just know you're more important to the mission than I am, so—"

"Shut up," Ladybug huffed, surprised by the bite in her tone. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Chat Noir. I don't want to hear it. You're just as important to Paris as I am, and I wouldn't even be doing this if you weren't by my side. You matter just as much as I do!"

Chat Noir's face softened. He opened his mouth to speak, lips parted in preparation for a word (or two), but then he closed his mouth and pushed himself to a stand, arms wrapped around himself as he walked to the edge of the terrace awning and stared out at the city. "I'm glad you think so," he whispered. "And the people of Paris, too. It's just hard to convince myself sometimes."

"And why's that?" Ladybug asked. She stood and trailed after him, stopping at the awning's edge, where rain splattered the pavement. Her shoulder brushed her partner's. He responded to the touch by stepping closer.

Chat Noir met her gaze, his eyes cloudy and so full of despair that it almost made her want to wrap him up in a warm blanket and carry him home to her bed so she could snuggle the frown off his face.

(Almost.)

"It's too personal to say much about," he said. "But you're the only one who can purify akumas. Do you remember that one time you couldn't transform quickly enough to get to where the villain was, and I was just running around the city like crazy with an akuma in my hands? I accidentally said the F-word in front of a kid! You should have seen the glare his mother gave me. It still gives me chills."

Ladybug swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble up from her chest. "I remember. I'm still so sorry about that, kitty."

"It's okay," he told her, but the humor that had momentarily flashed in his gaze had already faded. "But it still worries me. Because what happens if you're hurt or stuck somewhere and I can't purify the akuma or fix the damage it caused? You know what happens when they get free. They multiply. And then the city would be in terrible danger. So, yes, you are the main concern when fighting akumas, because if you get injured and can't do your job, then we're screwed." He kicked a stay pebble across the floor; it bounced, clattering across the rain-soaked terrace. "That's why I'm always diving in to protect you. Because even if I get hurt, we can still win. You can still win. And that's all that matters."

Feeling her heart clench at his words, Ladybug touched her partner's shoulder. "I...wh...you. Okay, hold on. Sometimes I don't need saving, Chat Noir. You're reckless. You dive in before you even give me a chance to defend myself."

"That's not true—"

"Yes, it is!" she snapped. He flinched, and remorse instantly bled down her shoulders. She corrected her tone before she spoke again. "I'm sorry. Sorry, it's just…it hurts me when you sacrifice yourself. I can't stand seeing you throw yourself into battle like you mean nothing! I care about you, and I—"

"But I am nothing!" he shouted, his voice cracked with hollow despair. "Why does it matter so much to you when you've obviously beaten akumas alone? I want to be here to protect you so you can continue to do that just in case something happens, and I can't be by your side anymore!"

Ladybug's brow furrowed. Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling fiercely, and her chest squeezed with each breath she took in, quicker and quicker in succession until she was practically panting from frustration and sadness and—and some other emotion she didn't want to think about right that second.

"Why does it matter to me?" she asked incredulously, a hint of venom in her tone. "It matters because you're important to me, Chat Noir! I don't get why you can't see that. And, yeah, sometimes I have to fight akumas alone, but I don't like it! It's not fun. It's hard, and it sucks, and every minute I'm out there by myself, I hate it because all I think about the entire time is how much I want you by my side. How much I miss you!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "I always want you by my side, even if the battle is easy. You make it better. You aren't nothing. You matter to me. You make being Ladybug more bearable. I enjoy having you in my life! You're my best friend, damn it, and I don't get why you can't see how much I love you!"

Chat Noir's jaw went slack, then snapped shut. His pupils blew wide, growing from thin, black slits to black spheres that, if Ladybug's eyes weren't fooling her, sparkled with tears. He reached toward her, his clawed fingers hesitating momentarily before pulling back. Then his arm lowered to his side.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked shakily. His eyes never wavered from hers.

Ladybug swallowed thickly, feeling slightly out of breath from her outburst.

What did she mean…? Did she even have an answer to his question?

She said nothing. The weight of Chat Noir's raw emotion resonated heavily in her chest.

Chat Noir licked his lips, voice faint and cracked as he asked, "Did you mean anything by that?"

"Yes," she answered, finally relaxing. She glanced at the floor. "I-I think I did. I'm just not sure I really know how I meant it, though…"

"Th-that's okay," her partner breathed, reaching forward to gently—ever so gently—tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "It just, um. Feels nice to hear you say it. Even if you don’t have it figured out yet."

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

A Simple Suggestion - Chapter 21 Lake/Rope Swing scene

“Look,” [Adrien] said, pointing to the top of a large oak that craned over the lake's edge. It was jutting out from a small overhang, the water's surface about a half-meter drop from the rocky face of the ledge. “There’s a rope swing.”

Marinette’s expression fell flat as her eyes landed on the weathered old rope dangling from one of the oak’s branches. “Oh, no.”

“I’m doing it,” Adrien said, letting go of her hand and walking down to the sandy shore. “You can’t stop me!”

“Adrien,” she laughed. She nearly tripped over a stray root as she followed him off the path, silently mourning the loss of his touch. “You’re gonna walk back to the cabin soaking wet?”

He paused, plucking at his black overshirt and eyeing it warily. “You’re right. My dad would kill me if I ruined this shirt.”

“Come back,” she said. She didn’t want to admit how badly she missed holding his hand. 

Adrien turned his head to look back at her. With a smirk, he began to undress, slipping off both his shirts. His T-shirt caught on his head momentarily, ruffling his hair as he finally pulled it free. 

“Adrien!” She squawked as he began shucking off his pants. Her heart beat wildly, and her eyes told her to look away, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from his near-naked form. “What are you doing?!”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed, Buginette. You’ve seen me in my boxers before.”

She sputtered, her cheeks a fiery red. “B-but that was before—”

“Before you knew Chat Noir’s identity?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Newsflash, Ladybug: it’s been Adrien Agreste’s underwear you’ve been seeing the whole time.”

Marinette’s face felt so hot that she felt like she would melt into a puddle of blushing goo. She glanced away for just a moment, but her attention was torn back to the boy in front of her as he tugged on the rope to test its stability. She did not—would not—look at his butt.

She wouldn’t do it. No matter how cute she knew it looked in those black Gabriel-brand boxer shorts, she would not look at Adrien’s butt!

...

She looked at his butt.

Yeah, she thought, grinning. That’s a good view.

“You think it’s safe?” Adrien called toward her.

Crossing her arms, Marinette shook her head. “If you get hurt and I have to explain to the Ladyblog why Chat Noir is out of commission, I’ll kill you.”

He stuck his tongue out in retaliation. Grabbing the rope and taking a few steps back, Adrien braced himself, pausing for a moment before he dashed off the ledge and flung himself into the lake, the once-still surface rippling from his dive. His collision with the water caused a few small waves to rush to the shore. As a few water droplets splashed onto Marinette’s face, she rolled her eyes, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

She waited for her partner to surface, watching with her hands on her hips, ultimately unimpressed. 

And she waited.

And waited.

…He should’ve come up for air by now.

“Adrien?” she called, stepping toward the water. He didn’t answer. “Adrien!”

Damn it, Marinette thought, kicking off her shoes and preparing to leap into the lake after him. If he got hurt—

Adrien’s head breached the dark water, gasping for air. He wore a stupid grin as he swam toward her, his hair sticking to his forehead and wet droplets beading down his face. “Look,” he said, holding his hand in the air. In his palm was a smooth gray stone. “I found a cool rock.”

Marinette stomped her bare foot on the sand. “You idiot,” she hissed. “I thought you got hurt! I was about to jump in after you.”

Smirking, Adrien rested his arms on the small rock ledge he’d jumped off, gazing up at her with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes. It made her sick.

(Not really. She’d never get tired of those eyes.)

“Aw, Marinette,” he cooed, placing his head in his palm. “Do you care about me or something?”

“Yes!” she shouted. 

“Gross,” he laughed.

She turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re gross.”

“Not as gross as you being in love with me.”

Marinette sucked in a breath through her teeth, whipping around to face him. “I am not."

Pushing his wet bangs away from his forehead, Adrien snickered. “I thought you didn’t like liars, Marinette.”

“That’s it,” she huffed, a wave of confidence surging through her as she began to pull her dress over her head. Once free from the confines of her clothing, she folded it neatly and placed it on a rock away from the sand, marching her way over to the ledge. “I’m coming in there and drowning you myself.”

She didn’t miss the way Adrien’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as she undressed. Truthfully, she felt a little embarrassed to be in her lacy pink undergarments in front of her partner, but she held eye contact as she grasped the rope hanging from the tree. Adrien gaped up at her, his pupils blown wide. He at least had the intelligence to swim away from the rock ledge to give her enough space to leap. 

“This better not break,” she grumbled. 

“It’s okay,” Adrien said, sounding slightly out of breath. She wasn’t sure if his cheeks were red from the cool temperature of the water or from the fact that she was half-naked in his presence. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“And drown us both? I don’t think so.”

Adrien’s grin was all teeth. “You have so little faith in me?”

Marinette scowled down at him, hating how badly she wanted to kiss that stupid smirk off his face. Taking a few steps back, she braced herself for a second, mentally counting to three before she sprinted off the ledge. She swung in the air, and as she let go and collided with the water, Marinette was reminded of being at the mercy of her yo-yo, zipping over rooftops and flying over the city with her partner by her side.

Breaking for air, she gasped and shrieked, her body trembling from just how cold it was. 

“Adrien!” she cried. “You didn’t tell me it would be freezing!”

He held up his hands in a placating manner. “I didn’t think you were going to come in!”

Despite her shivers, Marinette’s shook with laughter. She hugged her arms around her body, rubbing her hands up and down her skin to try to recuperate the loss of her body heat. Adrien joined her in her laughter, and together, they filled the air with childish giggles, splashing each other.

They spent the better of the morning milling about in the lake. Marinette couldn’t count the times they’d both jumped from the rope swing, and by the time the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, Adrien had made himself a nice collection of rocks and shells he’d procured from the sandy bottom of the lake. 

It felt so lovely just to be with him that Marinette couldn’t stop smiling. Her heart felt light. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she was indescribably happy. 

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

Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) Chapter 19 the wedding pact scene

“Adrien?” [Marinette] inquired, setting her empty glass aside. “Do you want to get married someday?”

He choked on his drink. Sputtering, he asked, “T-to you?”

Marinette’s hand clenched around the tablecloth. “I meant in general.”

“O-oh.” He took a breath to steady himself. “Yeah, of course I do. I really want to. Someday.”

She watched the bride and groom as they twirled around the dance floor. “I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, she frowned. “You know why.”

It took him a moment to process the question. Once it settled in his brain, his expression softened with mutual understanding. “Oh. That.”

Her mouth tasted bitter, and not just from the wine. “Who would want to marry me when I'm never around? When can I never tell anyone why I leave so often? It wouldn’t be fair. Marriage is about trust and honesty. How would that be possible, being with someone who doesn’t know? Who could never know for their safety?”

Adrien smiled sadly. He was quiet for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the table. Then, setting his empty glass on the coaster, he stood from his chair and offered her his hand. “Want to dance?”

Surprised but not at all unwilling, Marinette nodded. She grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her to a stand.

“Marriage is a tricky subject,” said Adrien, leading her to the dance floor. A soft song played, trickling through the air in a beautiful melody of piano keys and violin strings. Placing one hand on her waist, he used the other to lead her around the floor in a slow waltz. “I understand where you’re coming from. It’s scary to think about.”

Glancing down at their feet so she wouldn’t step on his toes, Marinette laughed softly. “I don’t know if I would call it scary. More like...intimidating.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because that’s a commitment,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be fair to whoever I marry—if anyone at all—if I’m not around often. If I can’t tell them the truth about who I am, then what’s the point?”

Adrien hummed in thought. “That makes sense.”

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “So I guess that, so long as I’m Ladybug…” She blushed as Adrien pulled her closer. “I can’t hope to get married, can I?”

A frown creased Adrien’s brow. “That’s not true.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, it is. It wouldn’t be fair to whoever I dated if I told lies constantly.”

“I guess so,” said Adrien, twirling her.

“And what about children?” she continued. “I wouldn’t be able to tell my kids who I am. And I don’t know if I would want to bring children into a world where Akumas attack on a near-daily basis, anyway. It isn’t safe. I’d rather spare them from unnecessary trauma.”

Adrien’s frown deepened. “But you want kids, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I love children.”

“Well, if you could have kids, how many would you want?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Three.”

“Three is a good number.”

“What about you?” she asked, curiosity piqued. “How many would you have? If you could.”

His smile was soft and inviting, as warm as the summer sun and one thousand times brighter. “Three.”

Marinette swallowed. 

Three.

He’d said three.

Suddenly dizzy, she braced herself with both hands on his shoulders, overwhelmed by just how desperately she wanted that future with him. “B-but how can I hope to achieve that when safety is uncertain? When I already have so many responsibilities as Ladybug and Guardian? Keeping those secrets from my spouse or family wouldn't be fair. It's just…” Her heart sank as the thought weighed heavily on her mind. “It's too dangerous. I can’t be with anyone while I’m Ladybug.”

Anyone but you, anyway, she mused.

Adrien was the only one who understood.

(She only wanted him. Why couldn’t he see that?)

Noting her change in demeanor, Adrien pulled her closer, continuing to lead her in a slow dance. “Well, lucky for you, I have a solution.” 

“Oh?” She grinned. “And what solution is that?”

He winked, smirking wide enough to show off his perfect white teeth. Lightly poking her nose with one hand, he squeezed her fingers with his other. “You need to marry someone who understands you. Someone who won’t become suspicious of your mysterious habit of disappearing. Someone who always has your back and trusts you unconditionally. So, my solution is—” 

She gasped as he dipped her low, bracing her with his hand slotted on the small of her back. 

“—Just marry me," he finished.

Fuck.

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat. Eyes widening, she froze, absolutely stunned.

He’s got to be joking, she thought, her heart beating so hard she swore it would pop out of her chest. He loves flirty jokes. That kind of joke is right up his alley.

He doesn’t want to marry me.

…Does he?

She choked out a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a whimper. Her mouth flopped open and closed as she fought to find her voice. Eventually, she gasped, “Are you…proposing to me?”

His green eyes sparkled with mirth. “Nah. I don’t have a ring with me. And it’s not like you’d say yes, even if I did.”

Don’t be so sure, she thought, feeling light-headed as he pulled her back up to her feet. Disappointment curled in her gut like a cold, hard stone.

Instead, she offered an awkward laugh in response. “I...um. You know, I…”

What could she say? “Yes, I would” or “I’d marry you right now if you asked me”?

Ridiculous.

“...Never mind,” she said, heart sinking.

Adrien cocked his head to the side, offering a smile as he settled his hand back on her waist. “Listen. We’ve known each other a long time, right?”

“Right,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“And we’re great friends,” he continued. “So, how about this: if we’re both single by age thirty, let’s get married. Just for the hell of it.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“J-just for the hell of it?” she asked, hopeful. “N-not for any other reason?”

“Or for the tax benefits, I guess,” he joked.

Marinette snorted, amused despite her chagrin. “Y-yeah. The tax benefits. Sure. But I want kids earlier than thirty.”

“Fine,” he chuckled. “I can be your sperm donor.”

Startled, she burst into laughter. “You’re ruining the vibes, Adrien!”

“Nah.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I think they’re only getting better. Wouldn’t you agree?”

As they moved around the dance floor, bodies pressed close together, a fond smile stretched across her face. “Why even be a donor, then? We can have kids as friends.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. After a moment, he laughed, the sound breathy and light. “Okay, so we’ll get married—as friends—and then have three children.”

“As friends,” she added.

He nearly doubled over from the force of his laughter. “What’s next? Adopting a hamster?”

“Woah, slow down,” she joked, linking her arms around his neck. “I think that teeters too far outside the friend zone.”

“So getting married and having babies is fine, but adopting a hamster crosses the line?”

“Adopting a hamster is a big event, Adrien. You have to go to the pet store and pick one out together. That’s like a whole thing.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Forgive me for being confused, but how is that a bigger event than, I dunno…giving birth?”

"We don't get to choose what our kids look like. But we might argue over the color of a hamster."

"Good point," he laughed. "But I'm sure our hypothetical kids—and hamster—would be gorgeous."

"You don't know that," she said. "We could get an ugly hamster."

"Well, at least our kids won't be ugly. We've both got great genes."

"Yeah," she breathed, eyeing him appreciatively. "That's true."

He grinned, pulling her closer. His breath was warm on her face as he spoke softly. "I hope they have your eyes."

Feeling hot, Marinette swallowed. "N-no," she whispered. Subconsciously, she leaned in, seeking the heat of his breath with her lips. "I hope they have yours."

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

and finally probably one of my favorite scenes i have ever written in my LIFE

Perfectly Platonic (Unless...) Chapter 20 the drunken kiss

Her eyelashes fluttered as she met his gaze. “It’s been so long since the last time I was kissed that I don’t even remember what it feels like.”

“Oh,” he said. His heart danced wildly in his chest. Well, that just wasn’t fair. Ladybug shouldn’t go kissless. Of all people, Marinette deserved a nice kiss. “I’ll—I’ll kiss you. If you want me to. So you can—can remember.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes glowed like starlight as she sat up, looking up at him with such an intense fire in her gaze that he became lightheaded from her attention alone. “You would?”

He nodded furiously. Frantically. “Absolutely.”

“O-okay,” she said.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. “You…you want me to?”

Ladybug nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, dusting her freckles in a pleasant shade of pink. Wisps of dark hair framed her face as she inched closer, her lips mere millimeters away from his. “Y-yeah. Just so I can remember.”

“If you’re sure,” he said.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Doesn’t have to mean anything, just…just to feel.”

Chat Noir swallowed hard. He wasn’t even sure if his voice was working anymore, but somehow, through the cloudiness in his head and the frantic racing of his heart, he breathed a faint, “Okay."

There was no backing out now. Taking a breath to calm his nerves, he leaned in.

It was over before he’d even processed what it felt like. Just a quick peck—nothing more than the chaste press of lips on lips, every sensation dulled by the buzz of alcohol in his brain. 

…Huh.

It was strange. He had always figured a kiss with Ladybug would feel like sparks, fireworks, or a burning blaze, but…

But he’d barely felt a thing at all.

His stomach felt sour with disappointment. Though he tried not to let it show on his face, he knew Ladybug had picked up on it.

“What?” she asked as her expression fell. “Not good?”

Chat Noir shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then...what is it?"

Despite himself, a small smile cracked its way through his frown. “It was too quick. Didn’t really feel it.”

“Oh.” She scooted closer. Gently cupping his cheeks in her gloved hands, she tilted her head. “Here, then.”

Soft.

That was the first word that slipped into his mind as she kissed him. Soft, warm, sweet, and wonderful were next, embracing his entire being and wrapping him in a thick cloud of sensation. She was so soft, so—so amazing, beautiful, and her lips felt so good—

The relief that flooded his veins felt like a breath of fresh air. He’d wanted to kiss her for years, and now he finally was, and oh—

—he could taste the bitterness of the wine as their breaths mingled, feel the warmth of it as it puffed on his face, could smell the fruity aroma of the Merlot—

And then her lips were gone, replaced by the chill of the empty night air.

When he finally blinked open his eyes, his head spun from joy. 

Ladybug stared up at him through her lashes, cheeks red and eyes sparkling like firelight. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled, her nose scrunching adorably as she giggled.

It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life.

“Thanks,” she said. “That was nice.”

Chat Noir felt as if he was floating. “Y-yeah. Nice.”

Nice.

It had been more than nice, that was for sure.

She glanced at his lips. Then, tortuously, she licked her own.

He whimpered, his heart lurching with pure want. They’d only meant to share one kiss, to remember what kissing felt like. But now, as he stared at her lips—which were as pink as a peony, so soft and delectably kissable—he felt as if she was a drug, and he was undeniably addicted. 

(And the longer he sat there without the bliss of feeling his mouth on hers, the more the symptoms of withdrawal set in, needy as it sent a never-ending mantra to his brain of want-need-want-please-more-please.)

His hands twitched at his sides. It would be so easy to kiss her again…and it would feel so amazing, too…if only he could…

He wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

When their lips pressed together, it wasn’t the same hesitant kiss they’d shared before, which had been slow and tinged with curiosity. It was charged with something more desperate—something he couldn’t explain but didn’t care enough to. All that mattered at the moment was the feeling of her lips on his, soft as they glided along his in a fervent motion, and the warmth of her wine-scented breath as it blew into his mouth, like kindling to the ever-growing fire that blazed in his heart. Even as their noses bumped and teeth lightly clashed, he wanted more.

When her lips parted, his stomach tingled with excitement. His hands cupped her cheeks to draw her closer, to drink in her scent and—as her tongue slipped into his mouth—her taste.

(She tasted like heaven. Like pure stardust, she flooded his senses, overwhelming his every thought with nothing but her.

Of Ladybug. Of Marinette. His Lady. 

His love.)

Chat Noir sighed and tilted his head to the side to achieve a better angle, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was still damp from her tears, and as her hand reached up to rest over his, she gave him an affectionate squeeze. He could almost cry from the simple intimacy of it—as simple as making out with his best friend could be, anyway.

Her mouth was hot around his tongue, sizzling his senses with a pleasant burn. As their chests pressed together, he wondered if she could feel the frantic thundering of his heart. She was so warm, so soft, so—so Marinette.

He was kissing Marinette.

When her fingers fisted in his hair, he moaned.

“Chaton,” she whispered against his lips. “My kitty…”

He barely heard her. Drunk from the affection (and alcohol) swimming through his head, he barely managed a hum in response before his lips connected with her chin, following an invisible path that journeyed from her mouth to her cheek and then her jaw.

“Chat Noir,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Mm, what…”

Her sharp inhalation cut off her words as he dragged his lips down her neck and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse.

(What were they doing? This wasn't the plan. They were only supposed to kiss once.

Then again, if she didn’t want this…she could push him away, couldn’t she?

He knew he should stop. Of course, he knew. But it was so hard, and she smelled so good, and she felt so nice—)

“Adrien,” she moaned.

Fuck.

He snapped his head up at the sound of his name. It had been all the encouragement he’d needed to keep kissing her skin, but maybe they should stop before—

Ladybug’s lips crashed back on his before he could finish that thought, their shared breath hot as it smoldered between them. Her tongue was back in his mouth in an instant. Head spinning, Chat Noir groaned quietly as she gently took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging in a way that drove him insane, and oh, wow, had she crawled in his lap? Oh wow okay yes she had crawled in his lap and now she was suddenly kissing his neck and woah, were those her teeth? Oh okay wow yes she had just used her teeth and it felt so good and, okay, he was making some embarrassing noises because he’d had no idea that he had a thing for that until now and holy fuck—

He’d never imagined how amazing it would feel to have someone bite him.

“My Lady,” he gasped. “M-Marin—”

She shifted her hips, and he groaned.

Fuck.

Fuck, she was in his lap a-and moving her hips in a torturous motion, and ohh god her hands were pulling down the zipper to his suit, uh oh oh no—

He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He wanted to let her explore him more than anything, but…

...No.

Chat Noir pressed his hands on her shoulders, edging her backward until her lips released his skin with a wet pop.

“My Lady,” he panted, their chests heaving in tandem as they fought to catch their breath, “h-hold on. Hold on. Woah.”

Ladybug tucked a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear. She looked so gorgeous with her cheeks flushed a tantalizing red and her lips kiss-swollen and so perfect that it was challenging to resist diving back in for another taste of her, but—

(But they were getting carried away. And they were both a little too drunk to be sure that this was a situation either of them wouldn’t regret in the morning.

…Not him, of course.

Never him.)

“We need to stop,” he said.

Ladybug swallowed. Licking her lips, she nodded and crawled off of his lap. Though brief, he noted the pang of disappointment in her eyes. “Y-yeah. Sorry.”

(Wow, she was panting. Had he done that to her?

…Did he have the same effect on her that she had on him?)

She fidgeted uncomfortably. Looking down at the street below, she made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Um, I don’t know why I…I mean…I…wow.”

“Yeah,” laughed Chat Noir. “Wow.”

“I…I don’t know what happened back there,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

His head spun from the absurdity of the apology (and probably the wine, as well.) “You’re sorry? Why?”

She buried her head in her hands. “I-I lost control.”

“Am I that irresistible?” he purred, bumping her shoulder with his.

Hiding her face against the side of his arm, she grumbled, “B-be quiet.”

She hadn’t denied it. Feeling giddy with affection, Chat Noir chuckled, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her against his side. 

---

I KNOW THIS WAS SUPER LONG SORRY. BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN DIGGING THROUGH MY FICS TO ANSWER THIS ASK!!! THANK YOU!! 💗💗💗

[clownsnake]

guys. Astarion wasn’t literally considered a child when he was 30. Among elves he was clearly seen as Of Age to do adult things like drink and live independently and fuck and pay taxes. its just that elves have a stupid extra concept of adulthood that doesn’t MEAN adulthood in a literal sense. has nothing to do with physical or brain development. not even necessarily emotional development, but it kind of is depending on how u interpret it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

basically elves in the forgotten realms trance instead of sleep (we know this) and until around age 110, during their trances they “dream” of their past lives (I’ve only seen a few ppl who know this, but idk if they also knew it stops at a certain age). They then stop dreaming of their past lives naturally, and it’s generally considered kinda traumatic to go through bc well. you’re losing what has been a fundamental part of yourself for so long.

I interpret that as being like a “shared trauma maturation stage” where instead of elves brains literally becoming more adult, losing the guidance of their past lives feels like more of a final step towards independence to them. and adulthood is just the closest social experience to this stage of being “truly on your own”

around 30-40 they get a “first reflection”, which is when their dreams start having experiences from their current life. (Makes sense for Astarion having a dream about Cazador in origin runs that prompts the biting scene) And then the loss of past life memories at 100-110 is called the drawing of the veil.

Tl;dr Astarion was a young adult by elf standards stop infantilizing him PLEASE

Getting into headcanon land now, feel free to draw your own conclusions from here.

i imagine older elves kind of have a sense of being more “mature” than under-110 elves in the way tht people comparing their trauma tend to do. Like “u think ur so smart and worldly but you haven’t even been through half the shit I’ve been through.” PATRONIZING that’s the word I’m looking for, it’s patronizing. And since every elf goes through this, they just kind of assume that yeah, going through this trauma/emotional loss IS a big step towards being a full adult. so it’s like if the concept of adult had a Pokémon evolution that didn’t involve getting wrinkly and hair loss and going through menopause or erectyle dysfunction. Adult 1.5 steam update.

I have no clue if Astarion would have the drawing of the veil as an undead elf. The fact that he even has dreams shows that being revived as a vampire keeps certain bodily functions running, mainly anything relating to the brain and consciousness, but idk if it would keep him physically at 30 or let his brain change.

Although hold on, in the epilogue where you’re a mind flayer and considering eating Astarions brain, you get narration that’s like “ooohh his brain part that handles senses must be sooo wrinkly” which would only be caused by the shit he went through post-vampirification. Meaning his brain Would be able to change and “mature”. But that’s also just an assumption that mindflayer!tav/durge is making.

k I looked it up. The exact quote is “Astarion’s sweet brain may be a bit less wrinkled than the rest, but you hunger for its teasing cells. His parietal lobe - which controls his sense of touch - will be an aphrodisiac in your maw.” Hilarious, he canonically gets called smooth brain. Anyway if u kill him I don’t think you get to eat his brain, withers just banishes you asap lmao. So we don’t actually know if his parietal lobe changed over his un-life! I’d wager it did though, based on his “don’t touch me” selection line (and probably some other lines hinting towards over-sensitivity tht im forgetting). And change caused by external trauma vs change caused by aging is different anyway.

no conclusion wrt to if he’d reach the drawing of the veil or not. Does it even matter? He’s still the same adult man, who’s gone through far worse hardships than losing memories of his past lives. If he lost his past life dreams too, well then I don’t think that’d make much of a difference for him.

[skeletoninthemelonland]

hey starbs! I was wondering something, I know you are studying biolgy in uni and as someone who wants to be a biolgist but has been told im too "artistic and creative" to spend my life working with such precise things. I know you are also and artist, obviously, how has it been for you that you are a creative person, yet working with a course that is so strict to what it is (like not incudlign the different types of biolgist, like how you work there you rcant do what you want like you could with art or writing etc)

do you have any advice on how to reach for this goal or how youve felt just wanting to be a biolgist? im struggling alot with future stuff and it would be nice to hear from a fellow artist. (keep up the great work)

I'll be honest and say that studying Biology was a bit of a rushed decision (?)

I had no idea what I truly wanted to do while studying for the entrance exam. I knew I enjoyed different subjects and could work flexibly, but depending on the path I took, things would become either enjoyable or difficult for me. Biology has always been a subject I loved as a kid, but never something I was constantly interacting with growing up. With art that was different. I was definitely more passionate and skilled at art than at anything else.

I would have choosed to work with art, if only I had scored higher in the entrance exam and if only it was easy to make art for a living. Still, I don't regret choosing to study Biology.

It was a little discouraging in the beginning with how little I knew about the subject. Some students had far more knowledge than I ever had growing up. Some of them know exactly how a biology major will help them in the future. There were also people like me who had no idea what they wanted to do, but were willing to learn.

Turns out that Biology is one of the least precise things you could ever work with. Sciences in general is a subject that functions on uncertainty, and is what brings people forward to gather more information. My Plant Anatomy teacher often says "Mas é isso né gente, as plantas não lêem livros" (Which can be translated to "But yeah, plants don't read books"), because very often you'll find exceptions and unexplainable occurances everywhere (In this case, students are taught not to make assumptions about certain morphological characteristics that are present in plants... but not in all of them).

Artistic and creative are traits that are incredibly helpful and often necessary as skills. In a more literal approach, it might help you understand illustrated examples and "train your eye" for the tiniest details. Using your creativity as a tool to learn will immediately make things easier for you. I can't always draw and paint like I used to, but I can say that "motor proteins travelling along microtubules look like tiny people going for a walk :D" and never forget the information.

Being creative helps you make analogies with already existing information, so it's easier to retain it. I could also say "motor proteins travelling along microtubules remind me of Michael Afton walking down the sidewalk :D" and it's even easier to remember! Play with the information like it's a toy. If you can explain it to a 5 year old, that's because you learned.

But of course, there will always be classes that are more difficult than others. Mathematics will always be that one for me. You can't escape the challenging parts ^^'

Overall, it really depends on the person. It might work for me, and it might not work for you. The key is to explore and experiment on your own pace. Answers will come to you if you keep searching for them.

My best advice (in any major you're choosing), which will likely save your time, energy and sanity, is to find people like you. Not necessarily people who share similar interests as you, but people that you can count on and share your struggles — and they'll sometimes share their own. Befriending people often keeps you grounded and less anxious about how you'll perceive yourself and the future. It's a win-win interaction. Everyone is struggling, so we'll help each other out.

Remember it's okay to not know things right away. Remember it's okay that you're not as skilled as x person. Remember it's okay to be kind to yourself.

I could be saying all of this, but every day there's a huge effort to remind myself to take it slow. Reality oftens becomes skewed when we don't give ourselves a break.

I hope I helped you somehow, with the little to no experience I've had over the past few months. Wishing you and any other person reading this and who's in a similar situation good luck.

-----

One last advice.

Please, SLEEP!

SLEEP. SLEEP. SLEEP.

Don't even think about staying up late. SLEEP. Eat healthy whenever you can. Carry a banana with you, they have potassium — which is fucking great for your organism !!!

CARRY WATER. EVERYWHERE. TAKE 💧💧💧💦💦💦💦💧💧💦💦

How is anyone supposed to make good decisions while exhausted, grumpy, dehydrated, overwhelmed and hungry? THERE IS NO WAY. TREAT YOURSELF WITH CARE !!!! NOOOWWWW

[raven]

As someone who plays persona I feel you’re a good person to ask: should I play a persona game

you know a game is a real one when the answer is "if you do, please dont think im stupid for liking it". the first persona game anyone should ever play is persona 5 royal and that game is. well. the best part isnt until 70-90 hours in on average. tries really hard to be a social commentary but fumbles basically every aspect. can barely keep a cohesive character arc for most main characters. "the gameplay is really good though" -karl marx. so like short answer, do you have a hundred hours or so and want an excuse to hate on something's story and politics while also having a good time in the actual gameplay, sure... i feel like i can recommend this to any general person but i feel less confident recommending it to you specifically as i feel you are a woman of taste. but you're also someone who loves the slop at times. and what is this game if not slop. i put the rest under a read more because i said too much. My bad for being loquacious

like storywise i do like it... Mostly. and i do like the characters. and i think akechi is genuinely a great character, well written, well acted, yaoibait, knocked everything out of the park with him. he is what kept me going, but if you dont like characters whose main flaw is that theyre a teenager and therefore stupid, he might not click with you. like yeah, everything he does is poorly thought out... it's consistent. it's in character. and he does it with such swag, too. everything in the game's story seems designed around him, including the phantom thieves themselves. but i dont know whats in it for people who dont like him. not that you'll really get to know him for a good chunk of the game. which is the biggest thing... i could say "keep going, it gets better" but... does it? for everyone? it did for me, but it was made in a lab for me.

the game can understand that violence against women is wrong, but it doesnt understand what violence against women is. it can understand that the current system isnt working, but is too weak to actually take a stance on how to fix it. it's too obsessed with giving the player a power fantasy than to give them any challenges at all, or to make them think for a second. which i like in a game. i like it when games fuck up hard because theres more to discuss. and one of my biggest issues was discussed in the very last part. not necessarily to the depth i would have preferred, but it lets you draw your own conclusions. it also really shocked me at one point near the end there, which really colored my view in a positive way. i had grown complacent. i stopped thinking. i didnt think the game could do anything interesting... and then it did. but that level of shock was only because of my specific proclivities... i dunno. like it's hard to defend.. oh also theres a massive climax that builds up to a twist and reveal which is genuinely one of the worst ive seen a story ever do it, especially with such a strong set up. like genuinely laughable. but once you reach that part you're about 3/4 of the way through so you cant really stop there just have a laugh and know it's almost done.

the gameplay IS good though. like it's not only flashy, it's fun. i think the only issue is that it can be too easy, and the merciless mode is famously easier than hard. but as persona games go, it really is the best. it's just fun! the social sim elements are... well lets just say the majority of character writing in this game is stupid. otherwise, it can be fun to try to balance everything. it's possible to do it all on your first playthrough even if you don't know the perfect strategy, but if you fuck up too much you really wont be able to finish them all.

but heres the thing: metaphor refantazio just came out, which, aside from the time aspect (you have so much time lol) almost improves on persona 5 in every way. it's slightly less misogynistic. the social commentary... well, its fantasy racism, but it's a little more well thought out than p5's. but the main thing is the gameplay. and like, the gameplay in p5 was already good! metaphor is much more balanced for difficulty than p5's, but if you really get a hang of character building you can really take control. the slight differences in battle systems really take it for me. press turn system every day. i adore it. basically you get turns if you hit a weakness but if you miss you lose two turns. same goes for the enemies, so you can really get destroyed, but you can dodge every attack and they wont be able to do shit. but the story is, well, it's okay. there were some really good moments, and i liked it mostly because its kind of.. the least bad anyone could ever do it? it's pretty idealistic but just seemed like, nice in a way that i really cant describe. like, i have my issues with it that i could go into detail, but i still generally liked it. beautiful presentation as well-- and is that not all that matters? give me literally anything with a beautiful cutscene and I'll be tearing up. and the words "election magic" are so potent to me. its also shorter than p5r. but will it stick with me as much? no. would it have caused me to play the rest of the persona games? unsure. have i listened to the soundtrack so often while falling asleep that atlus is my number 5 artist on my spotify wrapped, not because the soundtrack is so calming or because i especially like it, but because i was trying to conjure a character in my dreams? NO. and persona 5 was a resounding yes on all fronts.

in terms of the other persona games, i dont recommend 4 unless you want to feel like, actually bad? i dunno it just put me in a foul mood. it was like radiation emanating from my switch for several weeks. incredibly homophobic with a side of (possibly slightly unintentional) transphobia. as well as some very fatphobic jokes (what game from this time period doesnt, but.. well it's bad every time!) and of course our classic misogyny. all this and the gameplay is worse than every other (new) persona game, and the story is fine. it thinks its twin peaks at the beginning. it is not twin peaks. LMFAO. 3 is better than 4 but theres not really a definitive edition even though it just got remade. each version has its ups and downs. if you look it up and any of it compels you i can give you more info on that one. the aesthetics alone are enough to be compelling , I'll admit. if you like boring and repetitive gameplay this ones for you! Im being serious. the story's pretty good though, and the characters are probably the best in the persona series. 2 (which is a duology, but the gameplay is the same and the second is well, a sequel) is pretty bad gameplay wise that i would only recommend if you're really into the series. i really liked the story but yeah i dunno. eh, it's fun. hard to recommend. 1 is okay. underwhelming. nothing much.

[moonsaver]

Introductory post.

hello, please call me moon, or moonsaver.

I now have a blog on AO3 – my user is Moonsaving.

As my name suggests, I like the moon. But to be honest, I like the sun more, which is why my blog is more gold and black themed, haha.

I use she/her pronouns, and am cis-female. I am an INFP, 4w5 and phlegmatic. My favorite food is ice cream. My favorite color is bottleneck green. I write, but also sometimes draw. I like reading about different "human" species [Neanderthals specifically]. And also any character analysis. My favorite animal is a Manta-ray. My favorite artist is Mitski. I tend to like characters that are INTJ or ISTJ. Of course, some exceptions apply.

Fandoms i write for, so far:

- Genshin Impact [excluding the natlan characters]

- Honkai Star Rail

- [Maybe] Twisted Wonderland

- 14 days with you

- The Kid at The Back

Trigger/Content warnings + other cautions;

None of the characters i write for, are owned by me and neither do i claim any ownership over them. All of my works are simply fiction.

Life should not imitate art – I do not condone the acts of violence, stalking, or any toxic behaviors involved in my writing in real life. It is all completely fiction. If you or someone you know exhibits similar behaviors, do not enable it and reach out for help. It is not normal outside of fiction.

On that note – I mainly write yanderes. Writing that contain yanderes may include stalking, violence, suggested noncon or dubcon, etc.. please be mindful while scrolling through my blog. Feel free to block me if my works disturb you.

Do not repost my writing anywhere without my permission. The characters and the setting does not belong to me, but the fanfiction does. Please do not post these works anywhere, nor use them as data to feed AI. If you might recognize my writing somewhere, please inform me immediately.

Rules for requesting

No nsfw. Suggestive is fine.

Yandere x reader is welcomed here. (Not all works will necessarily be yandere).

only character x reader. Unfortunately, I am not interested in character x character.

child reader and child characters can only have platonic requests. No yandere can be requested for these.

Incest, step-cest and age gaps are not allowed here. It's just a personal preference, no hard feelings.

I mainly write gender neutral and fem reader. Please specify, or i may assume it myself.

I will write how i please if not specified. Hcs, scenarios, drabbles, imagines.. anything is welcome.

On that note, i do not necessarily do matchups. Im just not good at that. I can not tell you which character would have what preferences on will, unless i already have a good grasp of the character and know the context specifically. I can not offer opinions on what a character might like or dislike in a person, what they might see platonically or romantically in a person. I simply write as I feel.

i take time. Im just lazy.

feel free to send prompts, although i may not be able to implement it well.

i will automatically assume it is romantic if not specified between platonic or romantic request.

[sparkforart]

3. 5. 7. 13. 14 and 17 for the oc ask ! sorry if its a lot in one go im just excited >_<

OC asks

Me 🤝 you -> being overly excited about these self destructive goofballs

3. What was the first thing you decided on, the character's name, appearance, personality or their role in the story?

Lydon: His appearance definitely came first! I wasn't sure what I would even do with an OC for he was just a dude™ in my sketchbook before. He uhh, he was definitely just a man in the early drafts. Dudebro looking ass.

Judas: He came after I fleshed out Lydon, so he was made with the purpose of being Lydon's rival! Their story was veryyy different originally though! They didn't know each other before F1 and Lydon was just an egotistical rookie who kept insulting Judas 😅

5. How did you choose their name and why? Was it simply based on vibes or is there any specific meaning behind the name? Are the reasons behind their name different in- and out of universe?

Lydon: His last name actually came first! Lambert! This actually just came from a joke with my boyfriend. We were talking about who will take who's last name for marriage, and then I said we can just... Have an entirely new one. I said Lambert and he gave me the nastiest side eye that had me dying. (It doesn't sound good with either of our names ☠️☠️)

So obviously the last name was stuck in my head, and I stared at my nameless blorbo and went "Yeah, you ARE a lamb." Lydon came after, but I knew I wanted him to have a first name with L as well. The initials LL vibed with me at first, but I hate tagging LL13 for some reason, which is why I use Lam13 instead 🤣

Judas: His name was chosen off of ✨ vibes ✨

No story, I just liked it! (And I thought it would be funny to have on the time tables "mad") <- Lydon used to poke fun at him "why are you always mad about your times, dude?" He says with the biggest shit eating grin

7. What is an aspect of their appearance that you like the most?

Lydon: Ponytail :3

Judas: I need to draw him shirtless and actually post it, because he has tattoos! He has tattoos of carnation flowers on his side and they're gorgeous (in my head 😭)

13. Do you have a voice claim for the character? What do you imagine the character sounds like?

Lydon: I don't have voice claims yet, but he definitely has a bit of a higher pitched voice. West Coast american 🫵

Judas: His voice is definitely a bit deeper. Not by a lot. But, his tone is always much calmer (till you put him in a car ☠️)

14. Do you have any quotes tied to the character, either from the story itself or from another source that fit them?

Lydon: ohhhhh, okay, he doesn't have a lot of quotes tied to him. He's not a quote kinda guy in the way that Judas is. But!! I attached Lydon to music and songs, which I guess technically count as quotes 😅

"I've got can't-miss-out personality syndrome. I buried my twenties, and soak in indulgence," Racketeer - The Blue Van

"What's the matter with that life that you lead? Well, you feel like a loner, you feel like a lonely little lamb. Can you feel anything? Are you more than a sensitive man?" Mary - The Happy Fits

Judas: He is my favorite to torture with dramatic quotes!!

"I may think of you softly from time to time, but I will cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again." -Arthur Miller, The Crucible

"All I do is make you bleed and bleed," - That one post with him 😇

17. Are there any motifs or symbols associated with the character? How are they represented, in their design, personality or in some other way?

Lydon: If it isn't obvious already, his thing is sheep and lambs! God, I love using that for all its worth. It goes so many ways and I will use all of them!

Judas: He doesn't necessarily have any motifs yet, at least not ones I am actively creating! I'm still needing to flesh out his backstory, so once I finish deciding what his history is, there might be more obvious ties for me to grab at.

[b0nk9]

i am clenry's biggest fan and here's my analysis of the comic snippet:

-as you pointed out, henry is wearing purple clothing, which is a clear parallel to william. when he's being manipulative, he mimicks william. does he realize it? does he do it subconsciously?

-this is more evident, but he's wearing charlie's bracelet. i like to imagine that as he says it, that clay will "never find them", he's looking at her bracelet- is he trying to tell clay that, or himself?

-when he talks to clay, he doesn't just speak face-to-face, he reaches for him. he's grounding himself, making sure he's feeling him, in more ways than one.

-clay is off-put. is he expecting a bad outcome? he's not defensive when henry denies his investigation, so perhaps he's already being dissuaded- and it's working.

but why is henry manipulating him? to catch william? or *not* to?

HIIII omg this is crazy. i love this though and I HAVE ANSWERS!! or at least my thoughts. great analysis btw i feel seen.

a bit of a long post:

- I have been of the opinion for a long time that henry and william are more similar than many people characterize them as being, and I think henry already has manipulative traits before this point BUT i also absolutely think in this moment and after specifically mci (and after many in town suspect henry for mci) he sort of takes on parts of williams personality to protect himself. its mostly subconcious but I’m positive he has moments of realization where he realizes who hes mimicing and feels sick about it.

i also remember having the thought while drawing it that they might LITERALLY be williams clothes. which the thought of makes me insane

- I love putting this detail on henry. On context of the comic, I think that henry is actually feeling rather detached and almost unemotional about the mci (in this specific moment) and using the idea of charlies death to ground himself to the bigger picture for a moment, while he says something he doesnt nessecarily believe, and something that wont necessarily help the investigation. Its a moment of moral ambiguity and his excuse for it is “if I want to get justice for my daughter in this moment I need to disrespect 5 dead childen” which is something only justifiable to him theough charlie.

- very true. I’d also like to say that the physical contact surprises clay, which heightens the moment, something im sure henry wanted to happen and knew that it would. despite being a very lonely person (or perhaps as a causation of it?) henry is at least partially just doing it to get into clays head with little thought to an actual connection. interestling enough though, hes still letting clay see into a part of his own mind literally no one has ever seen— him awkoledging that william killed charlotte even though he never outwardly would say it. Henry is weird about intimacy. and clay (closeted gay man) is easily moved by it.

- clay is absolutely dissuaded at this point, just like everyone. my original idea while making it is that henry is genuinely convinced of what hes saying, but then theres an implication to why hes saying that. it sort of brings into question if he knows where the bodies are, right? I think this moment and line might be equal parts self destructive and a show to convince clay that he cares about the mci in a similar way to how he cares about charlie. which i imagine he does care, just not to this extent. and the original thought in my head was that henry is putting up an emotional front in order to motivate clay to help him, to keep clay close to the freddys case, etc, but you posit a very interesting point that I think I like much more. The idea that henry might NOT want william arrested, assumedly so that he can seek his own revenge, so he goes out of his way to simultaneously inhibit the investigation (omitting things he knows— the bodies perhaps?) and play up the shattered man everyone knows him as, in order to set up some kind of justice for william that by now, everyone involved has realized will never happen.

and a bonus thought for that one: this comic takes place in roughly late 85-early 86. henry kills himself in 87 in the books, this could be an au where hes planning some kind of arson related murder suicide for william that william needs to be free for, in order for him to commit it. I doubt he will go through with it, and the plot would continue to ffps and be in games canon. maybe the plan is stopped by clay related means? but i will see

- there is absolutely a universe where they could be happy, but i have a feeling it isn’t the one im showing. I think what you’ve said about it being parasitic is very close to my intreptation of how it is currently. Although clays benefit being “to unwind” is also something id list, I think in my head the main thing I always assume he’s getting from this relationship is that, at least in the early days, he gets to feel like a hero. not only that but clay is getting information about his prime suspect that literally no one on earth knows but henry. For henry, he absolutely wants access to files and information about the case he absolutely should not know, he’s extremely paranoid and angry. I think a part of him, in addition to this, likes to play house with clay. He likes to pretend he can trust someone even if he will never actually be able too again.

oh and of course, both men are horribly lonely and use interrogations as an excuse to talk.